Archive of Our Own

Oikawa Tooru grew up listening to tales of misaimed hatred and envy. 

A world of different species — gods, vampires, sirens, dragons and so many other intelligent living beings — forced to coexist wasn’t a world typical for peace. 

His world was crimson violence, every step he took was intended, considered, and careful. Tooru moves with heightened senses, reflexes ready to block a murder attempt.

And it wasn’t only him. It was the rule for every living being. 

Though Tooru didn’t need to worry about that, he never had to, being the youngest son of an ancient bloodline that was known to be powerful. 

His family members were born with the gift of the Oikawas’ genes; there were few of them, but each carried a special title, addressed with honorifics and bowed to. 

Tooru was special in every aspect, compared to his peers and his family as well. He was born expected to be the smartest with the sharpest senses out of them all. Tooru carried the Oikawas’ high intelligence and ability to sense intentions from miles away.

His family’s reputation wasn’t just rumors, it was real and present in Tooru everywhere he went, and if you made the mistake of doubting it, you’d pay the price before getting to step close enough to see the man’s face.

That being said, Tooru is all sharp eyes, perfect reflexes, and an uncanny ability to read people’s minds or pinpoint the slightest changes in — anything — he handles.

So it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to notice a change in the way the blood of his prey tasted.

The demon king lived long enough to have the way every race tastes categorized in his mind. 

He knows what lust tastes like, knows what greed, betrayal, and anger taste like.

And knows really well what fear tastes like.

Lately, his prey's blood started to taste suspiciously the same — a hint of their own species, gender, and age. Then an overcompensating taste of prolonged panic.

Multiple occurrences of the same prolonged fear, stubborn relentless attempts to escape, and the same final realization that they were helpless.

He wouldn’t have found that suspicious, if not for the slow deliberate way he used to lure his prey in. 

Tooru loved to enjoy it, to draw it out and watch them fall for it, all his charm and looks. It saved him the mess and allowed him to go for a more relaxed, thrilling way to spend his night.

So he’s used to the blood tasting differently, a hint of fear, helplessness, and anger wasn’t foreign to him. But a prolonged one that tasted like their bodies were acting the opposite of what they felt. 

Like they spent hours in fear unable to act on it, unable to follow the kick of their fight or flight.

It wasn’t an every time thing, but it recurred enough times for Tooru to start being suspicious.

That was one of the first hints Tooru’s sharp senses caught, followed by a series of other small incidents that led him to a conclusion.

Something — someone was working for his favor in the shadows.

If Tooru can point fingers, it’d be directed towards the owner of the cold, unapologetic aura that has been following him around for a long time. 

It started as a curious observer, uninterested and slightly annoyed like Tooru was the one invading his space. 

He’d sense the same presence for days in a row at times, then it’d disappear for months before crawling back to Tooru’s side like his own shadow, one he can’t see.

It should scare him — alarm him that there was a thing this much stronger and more capable than him. Because it really never happened. No one was ever close to hiding from Tooru’s eyes, let alone sit right by him and leave Tooru confused and unable to pinpoint where this presence came from.

But him being himself, Tooru was more thrilled than alarmed. 

He can’t deny the goosebumps this aura always brings to him, but at the same time, it’s one of the main things that attracted him to the owner of this aura. 

So Tooru started trying to lure ‘him’ in, he even gave ‘him’ a few nicknames. 

It kept going for months until one day during another attempt at finding out what exactly was following him, Tooru remembered something as he sat in his family’s old library.

Sitting back there took him to a memory that dates back to a hundred years ago, the first time a book piqued his attention as a little kid. 

The content and the mystery of it still makes him sit and wonder every time he gets reminded of it, make him purse his lips and knot his brows in interest.

—

When Tooru was younger, he understood very well that being born into the Oikawas came with its own consequences. 

That him being the spoiled, beloved youngest did nothing to help him escape his family’s school program. 

His least favorite class was the one where he had to sit and read when he could go out and experience it for himself. 

Until the day he found a book that piqued his interest.

A book about ancient mythical creatures, a section about a creature some people called a curse and a god from hell, some claimed he’s merely a lost wronged soul who needs guidance, and some blatantly denied his existence. 

What piqued Tooru’s interest the most was how this book had multiple stories, with this one having significantly more pages written about a single myth, detailing their history and all the possible origins. But nothing of the things written down was a clue or an actual encounter. 

So why is ‘he’ that interesting? 

How come hundreds of ancient generations of multiple powerful beings still talked about him?

It says that it wasn’t one presence, more like an ancient sect that was once the greatest and strongest. That they took over the world until they were forced to deport somewhere far away, somewhere where their strength matched the other residents of the planet.

They were rumored to be invisible unless you carried a part of them inside you in a way — their blood, their DNA, their kids.

However, these are all words passed through hundreds of generations. 

The last time someone claimed to have a way of contact with ‘him’ — the last and only Iwaizumi left on earth — was a long time ago.

And it was a bizarre attempt that everyone who tried to listen lost interest after two sentences.

—

Tooru’s old studies and curiosity led him to a single conclusion.

Which is, the presence lurking in his shadows was of an Iwaizumi. His Iwa-chan now.

It explained why he could control all of Tooru’s preys, why all they could do was panic internally without being able to act on it.

This conclusion should’ve scared Tooru into at least being more careful, but all he felt was delight.

Tooru is smart, way too smart he can pull tricking a literal all-knowing god if he so wanted.

So he starts to play a dangerous game. 

Dancing around and tiptoeing his way to hell, pushing to see how many calculated mistakes would take him until he faced the consequence that was Iwa-chan’s wrath.

He knows he probably shouldn’t. That he should prioritize using his abilities to push ‘him’ away. 

But Tooru always loved the thrill of danger that followed near death experiences.

He starts by experimenting with the different ways that can possibly make Iwa-chan give him a different reaction. 

A way to understand him more, to  figure out how to stir up his emotions into giving Tooru’s heightened sense a slightly different feeling.

It started hard, because Tooru could barely sense his presence, let alone the changes in his demeanor. 

It took him years. But Tooru was willing.

He learned to spot the slightest differences, learned when Iwa-chan was annoyed, angry, or approving.

Learned how to push his limits and how far he was willing to go for Tooru’s sake — which was farther than he anticipated — so far it's been a hundred years and Tooru hasn’t reached the limits yet.

The more he messes around, the more he notices Iwa-chan letting him get away with things he shouldn’t.

A hundred years passing in Iwa-chan’s presence didn’t only teach Tooru how to get him to play exactly into the scenarios Tooru planned, it also taught him how to sense the — now familiar — constant buzzing emotions emitting from Iwa-chan. 

Like care and devotion so deep it renders Tooru breathless. 

Like a slight worry when someone starts moving towards Tooru with malicious intentions. 

Like satisfaction after helping Tooru with something and watching his genuine smile, 

Or the mild annoyance when he figures Tooru is planning something that’d force ‘him’ to put on work, something intentionally done to push Iwa-chan’s limits.

The fury he feels when someone gets close enough to harm a strand of hair on Tooru’s body.

When Tooru would play around and push too close to harm himself while Iwa-chan was nowhere to be found.

The fastest way to feel the familiar goosebumps announcing Iwa-chan’s presence was to throw himself in danger, was needing the help.

In Tooru’s defense — days passed without any hints of him and Tooru missed him. 

Plus Iwa-chan loved indulging him, who’s Tooru to deny himself that? He lived to be indulged and spoiled.

Tooru senses Iwa-chan all over him, it’s been years of it, it’s not newsworthy.

It’s really not, except for the times Tooru would feel him.

The times he feels a calloused finger rubbing soothing circles on the skin over his aching fangs while he’s out looking for a prey hard enough to get, for the taste of horror to satisfy his hunger.

Or the possessive palm resting on his lower back in a silent reminder for when Tooru was craving to be touched, to be loved in ways he never dreamed of. 

A silent reminder that his body wasn’t his own to do as he pleased anymore.

Or in the way his thighs get forced open whenever it gets too much and too overwhelming as he touches himself — thighs held wide apart and in place to stop him from squirming after coming so many times, after two desperate dry orgasms ending with Tooru unable to feel satiated. 

Iwa-chan’s hold serves as a silent, cruel warning to keep going, 

A disapproving touch, a reminder that Tooru wasn’t the one in charge, that his only option is to keep going, to whine, cry thick tears, gasp in pain, and keep doing his best to stop feeling Iwa-chan’s disapproving presence pinning him down.

It’s a sudden thing other times — a show of boredom or interest from Iwa-chan’s side. 

Tooru gets passionate and loses himself in his journey aiming to be better, most times spending days laser-focused on perfecting one technique. 

Drowning in his own self-destructive tendencies, before a harsh pinch on his nipple leaves him trembling and gasping for air, weak knees giving out on him.

Because the touch was just the way Tooru likes it, and the perfect distraction he needed.

Sometimes it’s a pressure around his neck, for when Iwa-chan is feeling generous, nice, and sweet. 

A hold meant to help Tooru tipping over the edge when it’s been too long of him riding his fingers with no signs of him being close to release.

One touch — a steady pressure dangerously close to cutting the blood flow from going up, is what does it for Tooru. 

It leaves him back arched, bowed so tight it hurts, eyes rolled back, a stream of incoherent desperate babbles and pleas to keep going leaving his red-bitten lips.

And sometimes, like currently, the pressure around his neck turns into a makeshift restraint. 

Fingers wrapped around his neck, wrists, and hip, serving as a blunt indication that Iwa-chan was pissed. That Tooru crossed lines Iwa-chan wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Tooru, being himself, his reaction was a head tilted, eyelids drooping in interest, and lips curling in a lopsided smirk. 

“Too much, Iwa-chan?” He purrs, pressing into the pressure in a half-assed attempt to escape the hold. An attempt ended with him sighing softly at the added pressure against his neck.

An attempt at rebelling, at being a brat when he knows he shouldn’t. When he knows Iwa-chan’s fury is not to be tampered with. 

It backfired almost instantly as Iwa-chan tightened his grip just so — a subtle movement enough to wipe the smirk off Tooru’s face, forcing a hitched, soft whine out of Tooru as his knees started to feel weak and thighs pressed together, already desperate for more of the friction, more of Iwa-chan.

This reaction was infuriating to Tooru, because Tooru isn’t easy — was never this easy.

But years of tiptoeing around the only thing he ever wanted and wasn’t immediately handed to him, of craving, chasing a high so close yet so far away, years of being tested — of being teased — coupled with the anticipation of being in Iwa-chan’s presence yet again, made him so easy, so sensitive and needy.

Tooru lives for the thrill of feeling Iwa-chan’s touch, for the high when a second of Iwa-chan’s time is spared for him. 

That being said, Tooru still refuses to accept that fact. That he’s turned too soft, too easy.

Because who is the Great Demon King Oikawa Tooru if not a man who puts on a fight? A man too stubborn to let go and accept defeat, including a defeat he desperately wants, one he would get on his knees and beg for. 

So he squirms, tries to free a hand so he can reach under the hem of his long sleeves, fingers wriggling in protest. “Calm down Iwa-chan,” Tooru sighs, loud and dramatic. “I didn’t plan for that, they just happened to be in my way.” He lies, not fooling anyone, really.

Iwa-chan stayed still, grip strong and steady, his skin around Tooru’s felt hot with anger and disapproval. 

Tooru knows if he were able to hear him, he’d be faced with a low, pissed growl, deep enough to vibrate through both their bodies.

The thought was what pushed him to try harder.

He pursed his lips, before biting the inside of his cheeks to hide a smile, and started murmuring a quiet summon — a silent spell to move the small item under his clothes lower — just enough for it to touch Iwa-chan’s fingers.

It was a piece of fabric rumored to render the Iwa-chan helpless, one that’d force them into revealing themselves, or allow the other party to be the one controlling them for once. 

Something that’s mostly lies and bullshit, Tooru knows that, but he was desperate, and bored enough to give it a try.

The item moved — halting in a stop after it touched Iwa-chan’s skin.

The action made Tooru hold his breath in anticipation. Attention completely on the small piece of fabric.

A second, two, and three passed before Tooru felt the hand around his neck squeezing, long calloused fingers pressing against the underside of his jaw to force his head up.

Tooru stilled, breath hitching as he looked up at the ceiling. His mouth opened, ready to throw another jab before he felt a strong grip manhandle him, his whole body slamming back against a solid chest. 

Tooru’s world paused. 

His eyes widened in awe, body tense in confusion and anticipation, not daring to move, not in the right headspace to question what exactly happened. 

Frustration was seeping into the mixed whirl of emotions he was feeling. His head being held up, adding to his long limbs restrained in place was Iwa-chan’s way of forcing him into prolonged torture.

He was intentionally cutting all the ways Tooru could see or feel Iwa-chan to make sure he wasn’t just imagining it, to make sure he wasn’t going crazy, that his stupid hopeful thinking didn’t get him again and he wasn’t just imagining things like usual.

Tooru could swear he feels him. 

Could sense that what pissed him off into appearing, the final blow was Tooru’s audacity, not that whatever trick he pulled worked.

Tooru swallowed, there was a high chance he was presented with the only thing he wanted to have for the past hundred years — but unable to look, to touch, or make sure of it.

He could feel Iwa-chan’s breath hot and fast fanning against the shell of his ears. It was enough to overwhelm him with the truth. 

But Tooru couldn’t take chances with this one. Because the disappointment of possibly being wrong would eat him alive.

He doesn’t understand the reasons behind Iwa-chan’s persistence in hiding himself, neither does he care, nor wants to understand.

Tooru just wanted to have him, no matter what the consequences are, if there is any.

It could be his life, his dearest friend’s life, the whole world collapsing and he wouldn’t bat an eye if it meant he could hold Iwa-chan back, just for once.

So he tries to push it. Wakes up a man on a mission every day. 

Restless and hungry for success, for touching Iwa-chan, having him, kissing him, and keeping him.

Tooru can hear the blood rushing through his veins, feel his muscles contract and relax in a messy rhythm — he was lost as to how to proceed. He wanted to squirm out of Iwa-chan’s restraint but he doesn’t want control. 

Doesn’t want to be the one responsible for the way his body reacted anymore. Tooru just wants to turn around, to look Iwa-chan in the eyes, and sag in relief. He needed the confirmation so badly, it was making him antsy and even more restless.

“Iwa-chan.” Tooru whines, breathless and antsy, his heart racing in anticipation about what this was and what it could mean.

No response.

“Let go.” He tries again, weak and shaky, but to no avail. Iwa-chan isn’t budging, still a heavy solid weight against his back.

A high-pitched whimper followed next, Tooru was close to tears, it was all overwhelming and thrilling at the same time. His emotions were overbearing.

His face embodied what he’s feeling — a wreck. Tooru was losing all his usual ability to mask his emotions. 

His breath came out in small rabid bursts from his chest, panting and shaking with each exhale, his pulse rising, thighs squeezing with a moan on the tip of his tongue. He could swear he’s already drooling on Iwa-chan’s hand, that his pupils dilated with lust.

Tooru suspects Iwa-chan has the ability to read his mind, but for this moment, Tooru knows it won’t take a mind-reader genius to tell how desperate, nervous, and needy he is.

Iwa-chan was close.

Too close and all over him at once. Tooru was able to feel his hot angry breath fanning over his jaw, his ears, and his nape for once, able to sense how Iwa-chan is done with indulging him. 

Tooru loves it.

Iwa-chan was intentionally drawing the moment out, stretching it longer. It felt like he was enjoying the emotional torment he was putting Tooru through.

And it was mean and condescending, Tooru whimpered again, this time it was an attempt at protesting. The pressure between his legs was starting to get annoying, slick dangerously close to marking a wet patch through his underwear. 

He hated him. 

Hates how Iwa-chan’s effortless way to force him into submission was working. Hates how his knees already feel useless.

Tooru opened his mouth, baring his fangs in an attempt at protesting — sharp teeth ready to dig at Iwa-chan’s palm, to be mean and draw blood.

It made a low disapproving rumble shake his body, Tooru jolted at the feeling, his senses were heightened turning his body sensitive.

Strong arms manhandled him into spinning around and before he could register it, Iwa-chan was facing him, speaking to him. His lips almost touched Tooru’s own with how close they were.

“You think you’re fucking untouchable, huh?” He growled, low and pissed, and suddenly Tooru was breathing his air. 

It stunned him into silence, Iwa-chan was handsome, breathtakingly so.

His eyes were a deep green, burning with fury, directed right at Tooru’s own, if it were any other time, this look alone would’ve been enough to force Tooru into submission. To leave him whimpering, not daring to blink or dart his eyes an inch to the side.

But tonight, Tooru’s eyes wandered. Too eager and thirsty for more.

He moved his gaze slowly, taking every inch of Iwa-chan in. His breath hitched when he noticed the scar slitting Iwa-chan’s left brow. It looked rugged — like it didn’t get the chance to heal properly. Like caring for rough, deep scarring injuries was never one of Iwa-chan’s concerns.

Tooru’s eyes moved higher, spotting his short spiky hair, it looked soft and Tooru really wanted to lean forward and bury his nose there. 

To muffle his moans there. To tug on it as he begged for more.

His eyebrows were perfect, though knotted in anger. Tooru’s hand twitched in interest to move up and caress his eyebrows, down to his cheeks, but Iwa-chan’s hold was still an iron grip around him.

Iwa-chan huffed a hot irritated breath against Tooru’s lips and it made his eyes flicker to Iwa-chan’s lips, breath hitching as he spotted another deep scar across Iwa-chan’s lips that was curled in displease.

Tooru tried to lean closer, to feel the scar against his own lips, to satisfy a bit of his overcompensating desire, but Iwa-chan’s hold around his neck kept him in place.

He wanted to scream, to protest, to sob, and free himself. 

He could do it, he knows he could but does he want it? 

Tooru huffed in annoyance, lips parting ready to say something bratty, something as annoying as he was feeling. 

But his brain short-circuited with a realization before he could spit out anything.

Iwa-chan had four arms.

Tooru was being held down by four strong, big, calloused palms.

His eyes almost rolled back at the realization — the possibilities. 

He wanted to look, to touch, to kiss, to bite, and mark him all over, he wanted a lot but was allowed nothing.

Tooru looked through his long lashes, big brown eyes meeting Iwa-chan’s green ones, gaze needy, small, and pleading for anything, for everything. 

Iwa-chan stared back, his presence so dominating that it made Tooru choke on a whimper, awed by how it didn’t take anything for Iwa-chan to get him into this state — eyes dipped into submission, panting and dizzy —

His knees felt weak, trembling with the effort to hold his weight up. Tooru hated that he was still standing and wished Iwa-chan would hold him up.

Toss him around or bend him over something. He would take anything Iwa-chan would give him over having control over his own body right now.

But Iwa-chan wasn’t giving him anything.

It was cruel, and he wanted to apologize, to beg, but all he could let out was a breathy whine. 

Iwa-chan was shorter because Tooru can barely see his bottom lip with his chin forced up, but the difference between their builds and strength is showing.

Tooru was wide,  Iwa-chan was wider. 

Tooru was strong, Iwa-chan was stronger.

And the list goes on, Iwa-chan wasn’t one of his people anyway, he was a thousand-year-old mythical beast. His name lived strong and relevant for a thousand years and that wasn’t to be taken for granted or toy around with.

Tooru has always been competitive, always aiming for the best and only. 

At this moment, if you ask him, he would try to deny it, but Tooru is content with this one defeat — content with this being his first and only loss, if it means he would get to have his Iwa-chan.

“Iwa—“ He tries to beg, finally letting out an actual word instead of a whiny plea.

“Shut up,” Iwa-chan growled, the low rumble of his deep voice made Tooru pant in response, the pressure between his thighs crawling closer to unbearable.

He squeezed his thighs, looking for the faintest hint of relief,  desperately rubbing them as they trembled.

Iwa-chan flicked his tongue in disapproval, knee moving to kick Tooru’s legs and force his thighs apart, replacing them with his own.

The feeling of Iwa-chan’s toned and solid thigh did nothing to ease the pressure, he could already feel his cunt drooling, gushing out a thick stream of slick down Iwa-chan’s thigh. 

Tooru whimpered, back bowing before he rolled his hips once, twice. He wanted to hump Iwa-chan’s thighs, wanted relief and wanted to be good, to show Iwa-chan how good and beautiful he could look coming on his thigh. 

His brain was clouded with need, enough to misjudge the situation, enough to forget whose hands he was in.

“You really think you can get away with everything.” Iwa-chan grits out, incredulous. “Think all that pretty face and smart head can get you away with everything, don’t you?” 

Tooru wanted to reply, to hiss, to bite back but all he could do was stay silent, frozen again in awe. 

He didn’t notice that at first, but he did now. Iwa-chan’s tongue was split in half. Rough like a werewolf’s tongue. 

Tooru’s eyes were laser-focused on it, attention on anything but processing Iwa-chan’s questions.

Iwa-chan growled, bringing him back to reality, and Tooru sighed, “You’re so annoying today Iwa-chan.” He says, loud and bratty, mouth curled in an exaggerated pout.

Iwa-chan should be in disbelief at his audacity — at the way he’s still pushing and trying his luck but Iwa-chan knows better, he’s familiar enough with this.

And knows exactly how to break him.

“You know I spoil you beyond comprehension. It’s my fault, really.” Iwa-chan says, before bending his knee and driving it up against the wall, watching Tooru be forced to take his thigh as a seat, legs trapped, and pussy rubbing on it. Rendering him unable to move besides the fruitless attempts to grind down or squeeze his thighs, panting and shaking for more.

“Iwa-chan,” he gasps, squirming as he watches Iwa-chan’s four arms move — it was breathtaking, mesmerizing, and thrilling. Tooru can’t wait to feel them all over him, inside of him.

He snapped out of his head at the feeling of two of Iwa-chan’s hands holding his thighs wide open, blocking any friction, the other pinned his hip in place, strong big arm pressing across his hip, he could feel the weight of Iwa-chan’s arm muscles pulsating against his hip bones. A loud whine left his red bitten lips, tears starting to brim his eyes.

Tooru’s mouth parted to protest but Iwa-chan’s fourth hand moved up to hold one of Tooru’s horns, using it to angle his head downward, closer, shutting his attempts at complaining with a kiss, mouth pressing against Tooru’s to swallow a loud petulant moan. 

The contact made Tooru’s eyes roll back, mind stilling for a second, then bursting, blood rushing through his veins as his hands fumbled to fly up and wrap around Iwa-chan’s neck, holding him closer and tugging at the tufts of hair on the base of his neck.

Iwa-chan kissed him like a man starved, and Tooru was too lost in the feeling of him to reciprocate at first, completely focused on the way Iwa-chan’s lips tasted, the way his scar felt moving against his lips. 

The way Iwa-chan sucked at his bottom lip, the way he bites, the way Tooru could feel hunger and possessiveness seeping through one kiss.

It was addictive. Tooru needed more — more of his kisses, more of his touch, more of him.

Iwa-chan’s sharp fangs grazed his lips, before licking his way inside Tooru’s mouth, split tongue doing nothing to help calm his loud moans and attempts at grinding on Iwa-chan’s thigh, hips buckling and desperate.

Tooru has always been desperate for Iwa-chan, it isn’t news. 

But it was always a slow, deliberate process, with a bit of a fight on his side. 

This time though, it’s different.

Tooru is loud, desperate, and squirmy with no hopes of putting up a fight, and doesn’t really want to. 

His muffled moans and whines filled the quiet room, coupled with the sounds Iwa-chan’s tongue was making sliding against his own, wet and slippery.

Tooru was a good kisser, he tried to keep up with the kiss, to kiss back and show off his skills, but Iwa-chan’s touch and tongue wrapping against his own, lips sealed around his tongue to suck and bite, rendered him useless, forgetting how to think for himself.

And he likes that, likes not having any control over the situation, likes being toyed around and used as Iwa-chan pleases.

Iwa-chan was a merciless kisser, he moved like he knew exactly what his next step was going to be, like he planned for every second of this. Not allowing Tooru to make a step of his own. 

Tooru knows he’s being loud, unapologetically so, but isn’t aware of how needy and obscene he was being. 

And what it was doing to Iwa-chan.

“God, you’re so annoying.” Iwa-chan pulled away, sounding and looking on edge — as desperate as Tooru was feeling. 

“You don’t know what you do to me.” He leaned back in, gladly swallowing Tooru’s gasp, tongue lapping his teeth.

Iwa-chan moved fast and desperate, switching between sucking on Tooru’s tongue and prepping soft kisses on his lips under the span of seconds. 

He moves like he wants everything, wants all of Tooru’s at once, wants to give Tooru everything he could give at once.

It was overwhelming, but Tooru was unable to protest, Iwa-chan forced his thoughts to stop midway. Rendering him unable to formulate a coherent one. All he could do was take, take, and take.

“You drive me fucking crazy.” Iwa-chan pants, a thin string of drool connecting their lips, his pupils were wide and frenzied, Tooru swears he could spasm in a full-blown orgasm just by the way Iwa-chan looks at him.

The hand Iwa-chan had resting across Tooru’s hip bones moved up, sliding under his shirt. “Iwa-chan,” Tooru gasps, he tries to talk back — tries to form one coherent sound, but Iwa-chan’s calloused fingers curled around his perked nipple, teasing the touch before pinching hard, twisting his fingers and pulling, turning Tooru into a mess of senseless babbles.

“Hajime, it’s Hajime.” He mutters against the shell of Tooru’s ear, and Tooru’s eyes roll back, before realizing what Iwa-chan was saying.

The feeling of his husky deep voice rasping something so close to Tooru’s ear made his brain short-circuit.

Hajime. 

Tooru thinks, replying the name over and over again in his head, testing the syllables, thinking of how fond and sweet it’d roll out of his tongue. 

“Hajime.” He whines, arms tightening around Hajime’s neck.

“Hajime.” He tried again, it felt unreal, all of it. 

“Yeah, baby.” Hajime huffed a fond chuckle, willingly following Tooru’s hold and letting himself be pulled impossibly closer to Tooru’s embrace.

Baby.

Tooru’s mind exploded again, it all felt euphoric, like he was in a lucky, happy dream. 

Being able to hear Hajime, feel his words vibrate out of him, get to kiss him, and bury his fingers in his hair and feel its soft spiky nature — was the only thing he wanted for years. 

Getting all this in under a couple minutes was overwhelming. He was dizzy, brain foggy like he lives in a cloud.

And Hajime wasn’t helping, he was calling him Tooru and baby.

He looked at him again through his lashes, unable to voice what he wanted because it was all overwhelming, but his eyes were bleeding for more.

More of Hajime’s voice, more of his touch, more of being called baby.

Hajime’s baby.

Hajime’s lips curled in an infuriating smirk, slow and all-knowing, “My baby.” He says, eyes locked on Tooru, watching closely for his every reaction, hungry, starved for it. “My pretty baby.”

Tooru’s eyelids drooped, his lips parted to say something — make Hajime’s heart race and explode like he was doing to his own, but he choked on his words, his throat felt hot and tight with bent up lust.

So he moved his palm up to the back of Hajime’s head to pull him in for another kiss, another sloppy and desperate kiss. All breathless, pants and tongues sliding.

Hajime’s hand roamed under his shirt, fingers toying with his nipples, sliding to feel every inch of his upper body. He traces his waist, nails scraping the sensitive skin before squeezing the plump meat of his pecs, pushing — forcing — Tooru into sounding needier, louder, and even more desperate. 

Tooru tries to squeeze his thighs, to grind down on Hajime’s drenched thigh. Just to fail again, thighs still forced open and in place by Hajime’s hands. 

He was fighting hard to squirm out of the grip and it still felt like Hajime wasn’t trying, not even bothering to grunt in warning, to acknowledge any of Tooru’s attempts.

Tooru was close to sobbing frustrated tears, but Hajime didn’t care, he was patient, his grip staying cruel and unmoving. 

Hajime started trailing kisses down his neck,  tongue flattening on the underside of Tooru's jaw, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin to tease, lips sealed to suck a red mark on Tooru’s already angry red flushed skin.

“Fuck, Tooru,” Hajime groaned, low and full of barely restrained lust. “You taste so good, so sweet,” he says, fingers stroking Tooru’s horn, pressing and rubbing the underside of it.

The action made Tooru’s nerves tingle, interest shooting up his spine, he jumped with a loud moan, sensitive and confused — unable to decide if he wanted more or wanted it to stop.

He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew his cunt drooled more sticky slick, leaked out, and squished between the mess he made of his pants and Hajime’s thigh. He knew he was getting more desperate, more easy.

“I don’t know how I waited this long.” Hajime rasps, snapping him out of his haze, “Perfect doll,” he flexes his wrist, tugging on Tooru's horn to tilt his head back. Tongue lapping the span of his long neck, eager and greedy for more of the man in his hand.

“Haah, ah—Hjime.” Tooru pants, drool wetting his lips, spilling down to where Hajime was planting open-mouthed kisses. 

And Hajime takes it, gladly slurping it as he groans a deep and guttural sound proof of him losing his usual calm and unwavering composure.

“Mine.” He growls, possessive and careless in the way he bites down on Tooru’s shoulder. Sharp wide fangs easily break down the delicate skin, adding blood to the mess of sweat and drool.

Tooru was nodding, frantic and needy to please Hajime, a series of small whiny — yes, ‘s true, yours, Iwa-chan — leaving his blush lips as he loosened his hold around Hajime’s neck.

He tried to let his hands roam lower, eager to touch, to become familiar with the way Hajime’s skin feels, map his body, learn about his scars.

But Hajime moved a hand to pin his wrists above his head.

It’s almost as if Tooru forgot the whole point, as if he doesn't understand why Hajime was denying him this, why is he being so mean to him? 

Tooru sobs, lips jutting out in a pout, he’s dizzy and annoyed, wrists shifting in Iwa-chan’s hold as he glared with tears brimmed eyes. 

“Think you deserve this?” He questions, one eyebrow raised, head tilted, and mean.

“Hajime—Please please Hajime. I wanna—let me touch you. Please ‘m sorry.” Tooru begs, squirmy and frantic. 

“No.”

Tooru blinked, thick tears rolling down his face at the blunt denial.

He was used to Hajime toying with him, controlling the pace in a cruel, lazy, unhurried manner, yet it was always only touching, he was never faced with Hajime’s blunt refusal. It felt so mean, evil, and unfair.

“Oh baby, don’t cry,” Hajime says in a mock pity, nuzzling Tooru’s neck to hide a smirk, knowing the tears were needy, and knowing he’s into that — into making Tooru cry because of prolonged edging or overstimulation was his guilty pleasure.

Tooru turns his head to the side, hair falling over his eyes helping the dramatic effect as he sniffled, pouting, and his eyes darted the farthest away from Hajime.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Hajime coos, huffing a laugh.

He leans to kiss a trail up Tooru’s cheek, fingers rubbing soothing circles on his hip bone. 

Tooru refused to look, his head stubbornly turned away, and Hajime didn’t budge; he kept kissing all over Tooru’s face, soft, tender kisses over his tear-strained cheeks.

“You’re so demanding,” Hajime eventually clicks his tongue, sighing in defeat as he slowly loosens his grip around Tooru's wrists and thighs, hands coming up to gently wrap around his waist instead.

He pulls him close in an embrace, planting a final kiss on his lips before changing their position to lay Tooru down on the floor, long strong limbs moving to cage the demon under him.

Sitting back on his knees, Hajime took his cape off with his eyes still on Tooru’s face — who is still adamant on refusing to look — 

Hajime could still see him twitch in interest whenever his clothes made a noise hitting the ground, the sounds letting him know that Hajime was stripping for him. 

“Happy?” Hajime asks when he finally strips bare, nothing covering him but the thin fabric of his underwear. He slid a hand to rest across Tooru’s trunk, fingers long and wide enough to cover the expanse of his stomach, it was a silent demand for Tooru’s attention.

Tooru still refuses to look, and Hajime sighs, his fingers sliding under Tooru’s shirt to take it off, causing Tooru to whine, arching his back the second his bare skin touches the cold floor. 

“Sorry,” Hajime mutters, palm sliding under Tooru’s back to act as a barrier between the cold floor and his back, the other arms working to strip his lower body, now having to deal with Tooru’s squirming.

His skin was flushed and hot against Hajime’s hands. Hajime could only focus on the way his panties were soaked, the way they smelled so good.

He couldn’t wait to take them off, bury his face in Tooru cunt and spend the rest of his life there. 

Tooru loved wearing tight pants, started as one of his attempts in getting Iwa-chan to show up, and ended as a habit. All his clothes were fitted or a size too small. 

And it was a real problem right now, because Hajime was struggling to peel them off.

Tooru heard him growl impatiently a second before jolting in a gasp as Hajime ripped the pants off.

Tooru wanted to kick, to complain because he loved this pair, but Hajime was faster, moving on primal instincts and a hundred years of yearning before Tooru could let a word out.

He snapped Tooru’s hips down, burying his nose in the demon’s inner thigh. He could drool on it from how good Tooru smells, let the drool travel down and mix with the slick, just to tease him more.

He could, but not this time, Hajime knows he can’t wait any longer, that he’ll go into full frenzy if anything holds him back from having his mouth on Tooru’s cunt right now.

“Fuck.” He swears, chest heaving, already sounding too out of it. Drunk on the smell of Tooru’s slick.

Tooru was wet down to his thighs, flushed red, and adorned with Hajime’s fingerprints from how much he rubbed them, and how hard he tried to squirm out of Hajime’s grip.

A loud whine snapped him back to Tooru’s squirming and pushing his hips down, breath coming out ragged, chest bursting with desperation and need.

Hajime muttered a curse again before leaning closer, hovering over Tooru’s entrance — hot breath causing Tooru to cry out, loud and needy.

“Easy, doll,” Hajime says, hands holding Tooru’s thighs in place before leaving a kiss on his entrance.

One featherlight kiss was enough to coat Hajime’s entire lips in hot wetness, throwing all his former plans on starting slow, teasing, and taking his time out of the window.

He sealed his lips around Tooru’s entrance and sucked. Raw and hard. Forcing more slick out, it gushed all over his mouth, down to his chin.

Hajime groaned, deep, and primal. A sound punched from somewhere deep in his gut, he felt like he had lived his thousand years of life for the sole purpose of tasting Tooru’s pussy. 

Like everything happened to him so he’d end up here, between Tooru’s thighs, tongue deep inside his cunt. 

His groans made Tooru jolt, eyes completely rolled back, back bowed tight. His mouth opened in a wail, followed by loud, long obscene moans. His feet kicked, fumbling to rest his leg around Hajime’s neck and cage him in, fingers pulling on his short hair as a series of incoherent pleas was forced out of him.

Hajime didn’t spare a second for slowly easing Tooru in — for letting him adjust, he moved in a frenzy. The suction was already a lot, Tooru could jerk and squirt all over.

But then Hajime pushed his tongues in, they reached so deep in him, Hajime started curling his tongues, scissoring for more space, to work more slick out.

The feeling was euphoric and like nothing Tooru had experienced before.

For the longest time, Tooru believed that Hajime’s hands all over him as he lurked in the shadows was the best he would ever get, because it was good. It was so good.

But this — having Hajime’s arms all over him, his tongue deep inside, reaching places Tooru’s fingers never did before — doesn’t compare to all the pleasures he experienced before combined.

So he wasn’t surprised when it didn't take him long to spasm and burst in a full-blown orgasm, slick leaking down Hajime’s chin to his neck, it was messy and sloppy.

Hajime was a messy eater and Tooru doesn’t know what exactly to feel about this new information.

“Hajime,” Tooru’s whole body turned into a confusing mixture of feelings. He was too hot, too cold. He wants less, wants more.

Tooru wants more, more, and more.

And Hajime gave it to him.

He didn't stop, hands keeping Tooru’s hips in place, ignoring the way he kicked and babbled, trembling and panting like every touch was electric.

Hajime ate him out like a man starved, because he was one. He sucked on his entrance, starved and ravenous, swallowing all the sweet slick Tooru’s pussy leaked. 

When he finally pulled away — just enough to watch Tooru’s swollen pussy — Hajime’s fingers moved to spread the reddish folds and bare his clit, 

Tooru squirmed at the cold air touching the sensitive nub but Hajime fixed that, wasting no time as he leaned back in, flattening his tongue to lap the demon’s pussy.

He tossed his head left and right, sobbing and overstimulated, the movement made strands of his fluffy hair stick to his tear-damp skin. 

“Haah—Iwa-chan, ah,” he gasped, feeling Hajime’s split tongue curling around his clit, to drool on it, to tease and listen to Tooru’s whines. 

He curled his tongue tighter every time Tooru would try to arch his back and kick to free himself from the overwhelming pleasure. A warning, a reminder of who’s in charge.

Hajime moved to satisfy his primal need to taste every small fold, lap Tooru’s cunt till he has the taste and smell memorized like his own name.

The room was filled with loud obscene sounds, mainly from the way Hajime groans and hums with every movement of his tongues, he was drooling to make the slide of his tongue sloppier, the sounds of his mouth on Tooru’s cunt even louder and filthier.

Hajime’s hands started to roam, groping and scraping all of Tooru’s body, eager to enjoy all of him, Tooru could tell he wasn’t even listening to him anymore — not in the headspace that’d allow him to listen to what he was saying, completely lost on devouring Tooru’s inside out, his tongues moved with intent and eagerness.

One of Tooru’s hands lifted off Hajime’s hair, following the movement of his wandering palm to pull it closer to his mouth and suck on his fingers sloppily, muffling his loud moans and sobs, tears mixing with his saliva and adding to the salty taste of Hajime’s skin.

Tooru could get drunk on this.

He wanted more. Needed to know the taste of Hajime’s blood. 

The thought alone made him jerk in desperation and impatience, hips rolling down on Hajime’s mouth as he bit on his fingers hard enough to draw blood.

But it didn’t work, Hajime’s skin was fully intact, and Tooru didn’t even leave a scratch.

He whined in confusion, legs kicking in protest as he bit down harder, freeing his fingers for a second before doubling down in strength, still unable to break the skin.

Tooru let out a frustrated sob, “Hajime.” He cries out, hand tugging on Hajime’s hair to get his attention.

Hajime looked up at him, lips curled around his clit, his eyelids drooping and pupils blown wide. He blinked before pulling away, just far enough for Tooru to still feel his breath fanning out on his pussy.

He raised an eyebrow, “Really think you can do whatever with my body, Tooru?” He asks, lazy and unimpressed.

Tooru blinks back frustrated tears, realizing it was all in Hajime’s hands, and all he could do was take what Hajime decides to give him and only that. 

He wanted to spit out something mean — but Hajime noticed and shoved his fingers that were resting on Tooru’s lips down his throat.

Tooru choked, gagging as his hands fumbled up to grip Hajime’s wrists, drool leaking down his neck.

“That’s not how you ask.” Hajime hums.

Tooru kicked his legs, nails digging into Hajime’s wrist, still stubborn.

Hajime clicked his tongue before moving two fingers to circle Tooru’s entrance, humming pleasantly when more slick spurts coated his fingers.

He looked at Tooru again, eyes pinning him with patience and expectation, Tooru didn't budge. 

Hajime gave him three more seconds, and Tooru didn't show any signs of backing down. 

So he shoved two, thick, calloused, and long fingers into his pussy, curling them the second they were fully inside.

Tooru gasped on Hajime’s fingers, choking on them again as he arched his back, muscle contracting and locking, forcing Hajime’s fingers to stop moving.

The stretch was too much, and Tooru was tight. But Hajime knows he can take it, and knows he needs to break Tooru. So he kept moving, he moved his fingers, curling and scissoring them slightly.

Tooru’s hip lifted off the floor, nails scratching and digging harder on Hajime’s wrist but again it was doing nothing. Tooru was torn between showing he was enjoying the stretch, the way it burned, and how Hajime’s fingers felt inside him, and between being stubborn, fighting against it.

His eyes rolled back, and his thighs trembled, falling on the sides of Hajime’s head. It was so good his muscles stopped working, he was unable to lock his thighs around Hajime’s head, or kick to protest, they fell useless and shaky.

He started whining, feeling so close to another orgasm and this made his demon’s need to taste Hajime’s blood multiply, making him whine, choke on Hajime’s fingers some more, pleading eyes meeting Hajime’s own.

Hajime raised an eyebrow, fingers moving faster inside Tooru’s cunt as he eased out the ones deep inside his throat, freeing Tooru’s mouth.

Tooru’s eagerness to beg made him choke on his babbles again, desperate and messy. He gasps, back arching, “Haah—Hajime, please, please Iwa-chan, ah, Ha—”

Hajime hums, unimpressed eyes on Tooru’s, he looks unaffected and it makes Tooru cry, more thick tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Please—please, please,” he begs, fast and frantic, hands grabbing at whatever he could reach of Hajime. 

“No.” 

It feels like he could die, Tooru thinks he will.

“Not yet,” Hajime says, fingers moving faster as he vibrates his wrist to add more stimulation, to force an orgasm out of Tooru.

Tooru threw his head back, sobbing, wailing, it was good, it was so good but he didn't want it like this. 

His body reacted like it had a mind of its own — like it craved Hajime’s approval and was following his lead.

Hajime added a third one to coax more gasps and tears out of Tooru, looking at his tears in awe and so much lust. “Pretty,”

“Prettiest thing,” Tooru could hear him mutter more praises, cooing something that sounded breathless and in awe as his fingers caressed Tooru’s soft cheeks, eyes pinned on his face in pure worship.

The demon started to squirm, trying to run away from the touch, but Hajime’s hold around his waist tightened. The hand on his cheeks moved down to rub his sensitive clit with a calloused thumb, experimenting until he learned the perfect pace and pressure to drive Tooru insane, make him scream the loudest.

Tooru felt white-hot inside out, his body reacted against his will, again, pussy squirting all over Hajime’s arms, pleasure shooting up his spine as he spasmed in yet another mind-blowing orgasm. It felt like he was floating, like his whole existence wasn’t real.

It was too much but he knows Hajime could do better — could do worse. 

He could pin him down, take everything, then take and take again. 

Could fold him in half and spend days taking, could use Tooru like he was Hajime’s own tailored doll to toy with however he pleases. 

And Tooru craves all of it, craves to be left sore, content with his insides full of Hajime, marked as his one and only.

So he forces his hips to move, rolls them to meet Hajime’s rhythm to get called good, to hear Hajime hum in approval as he calls him sweet.  

“Oh, baby.” Hajime coos, “So good for me, my sweet baby.” He leans down, kissing the corner of Tooru’s mouth.

Tooru gasps, eyes meeting Hajime’s fond gaze, his eyes were so full of love and tenderness that Tooru’s breath caught in his throat. 

He wasn’t any better, he could swear that if his eyes could reshape, his pupils would turn into a heart anytime he looked at Hajime, or even felt the possibility of his presence. 

Hajime kissed Tooru’s parted lips once again as he pulled his fingers out, the action gentle and slow, the complete opposite of how he was moving inside him.

Tooru huffed, clinging to Hajime’s warm palms, Hajime kissed him again, lifting him onto his lap. He was big, warm, and smelled so good. 

Tooru curled closer instantly, nose nuzzling in Hajime’s neck as he purred, delighted he finally got to become familiar with his beloved’s scent.

Hajime kissed the top of his head, and Tooru kissed back, planting lazy open-mouthed kisses across Hajime’s tanned skin.

—

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed, and Tooru was getting squirmy again, two orgasms weren’t enough, never enough to satiate his need for Hajime.

His chest heaved with heat, fingers clutching Hajime's arm while his kisses got more slippery and desperate.

Hajime chuckled, kneading Tooru’s thigh, “Wanna show me how good you’re for me, baby?” He asks, and Tooru shudders. Hajime’s voice was deep, husky, and drunk with need for him.

The demon looked up, big brown eyes eager to please as he nodded, “Yes Iwa-chan—please,”

Hajime brushed his damp bangs away from his face, tenderly kissing his exposed forehead as his arms moved to adjust their position, grinding Tooru’s pussy down his bulge

Tooru gasped, rolling his hips to meet Hajime’s rhythm — to take the lead and hump down harder. His cunt was sensitive and swollen but the pain was only adding to the pleasure.

He didn’t care, his need overshadowed his body’s screams for a minute of rest. He needed to have Hajime deep inside him.

His hands fumbled down, sliding past the waist of Hajime’s underwear, he was shaking — impatient. 

The wet warmth he was met with made him moan, loud and obscene. “Iwa-chan,”

His hand wrapped around Hajime’s cock, panting and pumping it once, twice, coaxing more precome, whimpering when it coated his hand. He kissed Hajime, tongues sliding, greedy, and sloppy, shoving the fabric of his underwear down enough to free his cock.

Tooru grinds down again — fast and frantic, he flicks his wrist, fingers smearing precome down the shaft.

He gasps against Hajime’s mouth before stopping in his tracks.

Tooru grinds down again, experimenting, and the bulge is still prominent against his cunt. 

His brain short-circuited, breath catching and his heart raced impossibly fast. Pupils dilated more at the possibility.

He looked up at Hajime, eyes wild and searching for obvious answers. Only to find him leaned back — arms crossed against his chest with a cocky, lazy smirk across his smug face.

He looks like he intended this, planned out this exact wild look that adorned Tooru’s face.

“Hajime.” Tooru breathed out, hand sliding back in, and as he expected, it landed on another cock. 

The realization hits Tooru like a blow. His head falls back, breathing out a frustrated, hot, and annoyed whimper. His cunt gushed enough slick to leak down, coating Hajime’s cock.

“I want—Hajime please, I’ll be good, please, I can,” Tooru loved challenges, and it wasn't a surprise to Hajime how he started begging for it almost instantly, he could swear Tooru begged for it before fully registering what was happening.

Hajime vibrated in a laugh, fond and incredulous, “Okay, Tooru, calm down baby, we will—I know you can.” He says, kissing the demon’s nose, amused eyes meeting Tooru’s wild, desperate ones.

Two of his hands cupped the backs of Tooru’s thighs to lift him, the third one lining himself with Tooru’s entrance. Tooru wasn’t stretched enough yet, but Hajime knows he can take it.

The tip sinks in and Hajime almost blacks out, head thrown back in a curse, almost fumbling his hold on Tooru.

He inhales, sharp and shaky in shredded control, careful not to drop Tooru and bottom out in one thrust.

“Hajime,” Tooru whines, hands coming to wrap around Hajime’s wrists, fingers digging and head tossing from side to side in protest — he wanted all of it, wants Hajime to stop drawing it longer, to buck his hips up and sit him on both his cocks.

But Hajime hushes him, mouth meeting Tooru’s to swallow his protest, teeth sinking on his bottom lip for a distraction. 

He tries to squirm, to push himself lower but Hajime growls, his two free hands coming up to grip his horns for better control, “Don’t be fucking greedy,” he growls, a warning “We move at my pace.”

The pressure around Tooru’s sensitive horns did nothing to calm him down, turning him louder — needier, and more annoying.

In his defense, his horns were so sensitive that he’s incapable of controlling his reactions the second they’re touched.

Tooru’s nails were scratching down the span of Hajime’s solid chest, leaving a trail of red angry marks as he choked out a sob.

Hajime’s hold didn’t budge, though. Keeping him in place and sinking, slow and patient until he bottomed out, cock bulging the demon’s lower belly. 

Tooru’s hands started fumbling to line Hajime’s other cock against his cunt, ready to be stuffed full, to have Hajime’s cocks deep enough to fill his womb.

He tried to lift himself but his thighs trembled, unable to carry his own weight, Tooru tried again — this time almost succeeding but Hajime held his hips, pulling him down on his cock again.

Tooru looked at him, confused and frantic as Hajime soothed the hold Tooru had around his cock, leaving it to rest back against his thigh. “Not now, Tooru.” 

Tooru wailed in protest, loud and frenzied “I can! I swear, Hajime I—“ he whines.

“I know you can,” 

“Then why? Please—want it so bad,”

“I know baby.”

“But—“ Tooru gasps, forced to stop midway by Hajime grinding his hips down, cunt throbbing with how good it felt his insides clenched around Hajime’s cock to cage him in for now, and for forever. 

“You’ll have to show me how much you want it first, doll.” Hajime rasps, hands moving Tooru’s hips in lazy circles on his cock.

“Work for it.” He says, slowly pulling his hands away, resting them beside him, and pinning Tooru with an expectant look.

That, makes Tooru’s brain short-circuit. Body stilling as he blinks, slowly realizing what Hajime was asking of him. 

He’s barely holding up his sitting posture — his body feels uncoordinated and his intended movements feel unintentional and foggy. He was shaking so much to hold up a steady finger, let alone move his body up and force it down on Hajime’s cock. Over and over again.

But it was his only option, Hajime asked him to be good, to show him how much he wanted it, and he really, really wanted all of Hajime.

So he nods, a tiny jerk of his head. Hands coming up to rest on Hajime’s shoulders for support.

He starts by lifting his hips — the action almost drains the remainder of his energy, his thigh muscles give out causing him to slam down on  Hajime’s cock, the belly bulge becoming prominent again in one swift motion. 

He threw his head back, wailing in a mixture of pain and pleasure. It was too much, too good.

“Good boy,” Hajime coos, and Tooru chokes on a sob. He wanted to deserve the praise, to be good, and to come on Hajime’s cock.

He tried again, and again, his movements were weak and clumsy, there was no actual rhythm besides his repeated sobs and whimpers. He’d circle his hips in desperation, press his palm against the bulge when it got too much — when his thighs would fail him for more than a few seconds.

And it hurt, he felt fiery-red hot inside out. Heat crawled up his spine, down to his toes. 

Hajime sat there throughout it all. The four of his arms rested beside him, lazy, bored, and comfortable. Not bothering to help carry a bit of Tooru’s weight, or even guide the movement. Help him find a rhythm.  

The only indication of him being slightly bothered was his pupils, and the way his chest slightly heaved. 

Tooru glared at him, frustrated tears rolling down his cheeks, he was so annoyed, if this exact moment was Hajime’s only attempt to piss him off back for all the time Tooru did then it would’ve been a successful, very smart attempt.

He wanted to lean closer, bat his eyes at him, force more pathetic needy tears to get him to do the work, Tooru knows his charm. Knows he can.

But his stubborn part wasn’t letting him, it was fighting hard against this exact idea. Not allowing him to ask for help, at least not tonight. 

This doesn't keep going for long, because Tooru was growing desperate, and the visceral need to be filled with Hajime was rubbing his bones — stronger and louder than the stubborn voice yelling at him to keep going.

He felt empty though the current stretch was bordering on too much, his need for Hajime was primal in a way that made the deprivation burn and hurt.

He shook his head—trembling with effort to hold himself up, “Can’t.”

Hajime hums, eyes fixed on him, he draws the moment out. No response, just watching him shaking, hands fumbling to hold on to Hajime for any semblance of an anchor.

He eventually sighs, feigning disappointment. It causes Tooru to whimper, choking in a sob. “Maybe you don’t really want it.”

“No—Hajime please,” Tooru whines, hips grinding down in a last desperate attempt to prove a point.

“No?” 

Tooru sobbed at the teasing, and the hint of disappointment. He couldn’t — he wants to be good but he couldn’t, and it feels humiliating, to be rendered useless in the arms of his beloved after a long life of being feared, of being the most powerful in any room he steps into.

The truth of being overpowered, coupled with the humiliation of it made his skin buzz in interest, cunt tightening around Hajime’s cock.

He darted his eyes, face turning to hide the way he's blushing a darker shade of red, lips jutting in an exaggerated pout to muffle his needy whimpers.

Hajime’s response was giving in. Finally cupping the backs of Tooru’s thighs to take over, wasting no time in setting the fast, deep pace Tooru wanted.

His eyes were on Tooru’s face, his tears, the way his face twisted, a scream leaving his red bitten lips.

Tooru’s toes curled, throwing his head back, eyelids drooping and mouth open in a silent scream, red blotches dotting his face and traveling down to his chest.

He looked mesmerizing, Hajime couldn’t believe he was all his to have, only his to have.

“Pretty baby.” He breathed out, eyes glinting in awe. 

Tooru nods, babbling praises of his own. It was barely comprehensible — but Hajime cherished it.

The drag of Hajime’s cock was deep, slow, and addictive. Tooru thinks he could live on that, use it as his only source of energy.

His moans turn louder and more lewd by the second, rolling his hips to meet Hajime’s cock, eager to have more of him, to keep him deep inside.

Hajime’s fingers scraped down his trunk, starting with his neck down to his lower belly, leaving pink marks. Tooru pushed against his fingers, pressed to beg for more, for red angry marks that’ll stay for days. He craved the traces of Hajime on him.

But Hajime kissed his temple, as an apology and a promise, moving his fingers lower to spread his folds and pull the hood to expose his clit.

Tooru squirmed, gasping in anticipation, and Hajime huffed a quiet laugh against his jaw, mean and condescending.

The laugh offended Tooru as Hajime intended, distracting him for a split second and it’s all he wanted because the second Tooru pouted, frowned, and opened his mouth to retort Hajime’s nails found his clit.

He rubbed circles with his dry, calloused finger pads before using his nails to lightly graze the swollen nub.

And Tooru wailed, jerking in Hajime’s hold, one of his hands circled Hajime’s wrist to stop him, or try to — because he knew it was to no avail. 

His other hand curled in a fist against Hajime’s chest, trying to push himself away, to escape the overwhelming pleasure.

He gasped, lips parting in a breathless moan that sounded like a ‘no, Hajime.’

“Easy, Tooru,” Hajime growled. Tooru was so tight around him that it was already so hard to keep control. “Be good.” He says, fingers not budging, hips meeting in the middle with Tooru’s shaky ones.

Tooru sobbed, nails painting another trail of angry red lines against Hajime’s chest and wrist.

He tried to breathe out a warning for Hajime before he thrashes in overstimulation, squirting all over his own belly and Hajime’s. Over his wrist and cock. He tried letting out one comprehensible word but he couldn’t. More tears rolled down his face as he spasmed again, and again, unable to stop himself. 

“Oh, fuck—‘m gonna come!” Tooru sobbed, feeling so close. But he can tell Hajime wasn’t planning on giving it to him, so he lets himself skip to the begging part, plead and cry for it.

“This fast?” Hajime teased, huffing a breathless chuckle — like he was doing nothing. Like his cock wasn’t grinding deep inside Tooru’s pussy and his hand pressed on the demon’s already swollen, red clit. “Not yet, baby.” He says, voice lazy and raspy, like it was nothing at all.

Tooru sobbed, chest heaving in protest and small shreds of control. He babbles small pleas, head falling to Hajime’s shoulder. It was too much. “Please,” 

He begged as his cunt leaked so much slick, thick, and gushing down to Hajime’s neglected cock.

Hajime groaned, long and guttural it vibrated through both their bodies, he tightened his grip around Tooru to thrust up in him faster, deeper.

The feeling of Tooru’s slick slowly coating his other cock made him curse, his hips jerking and cocks twitching. Hajime was losing his composure, leaning into his frenetic animalistic side. 

The steady, rational part inside him was fading with each drag of his cock inside Tooru’s cunt. “You feel good, so tight around me—fuck Tooru.”

“Feels good,” Tooru whimpered in response.

“Yeah, perfect, angel.” Hajime heavies, his impatient side finally winning. “Come for me, baby.” He says, hand caressing Tooru’s back, as he slams him down once again, hips bucking to bottom out, deep and urgent inside Tooru’s cunt.

He wanted to draw it longer, to tease him more. But being deep inside Tooru made his body pulse in urgency, he was struggling not to come himself.

So he lets him come, guides him to fall limp against a solid, warm chest. 

“You did good, proud of you.” Hajime coos soft praises, his tone fond and tender, kneading Tooru’s aching thighs and lower back, the other lightly scratching his scalp, careful around his sensitive horns.

Tooru purred, still breathless in the aftershock of his third orgasm. Hajime chuckled, leaning to leave featherlight kisses on Tooru’s temples, his jaw, and raw lips.

“You’re an animal,” Tooru grumbles, pouting as Hajime kisses his lips again, and again.

“Really think so?” Hajime mocks, and Tooru rolls his eyes so hard Hajime almost could see the back of his head.

He shifts to move away, Tooru wanted to break the contact between his body and Hajime’s solid, warm, and scarred one in protest. But he ended up jolting at the feeling of Hajime’s cock twitching inside him, still hard as a rock.

He looked up at Hajime, frowning and pouting, his lips parted to throw another jab but the look on Hajime’s eyes stunned him. He was met with wild, frantic, and full of barely restrained lust red-brimmed eyes. 

Tooru’s lips part, and Hajime raises an eyebrow, cutting him off with a kiss before he starts, teeth sinking into the demon’s bottom lip as he slowly breaks the kiss. 

“You can, I know you do,” Hajime mutters as his hands not-so-subtly twitch, control leaving his body with every passing second.

“I can rip your cocks of—“

Hajime clicks his tongue, arms wrapping around Tooru’s waist to shift their positions, laying him back on the floor. “You can cry on my cocks.”

“You will.” He says, snapping Tooru’s hips back on his cock.

As he rearranges their position, Hajime’s cock almost slides out of Tooru’s pussy, this little misstep pushed the demon into a frenzy — he arched his back, completely bowed tight to chase it, legs locked around Hajime’s hips, and cunt locked around his cock, caging him in as he whined. The possibility of the loss, hands fumbling to grab Hajime and pull him closer.

Hajime Chuckled, eyes glinting in amusement as he hushed, nose nuzzling Tooru’s neck, “Told you.” He says, hands moving down to knead Tooru’s tensed thighs.

“Easy,” he rasps, kissing Tooru’s shoulders, urging him to relax.

Tooru whines, arms wrapping around Hajime’s head as he slowly lets his thighs fall back on the floor, “Good boy.” Hajime coos, pulling one of his hands to kiss the inside of his flushed palm.

Tooru whines, arms wrapping around Hajime’s head as he slowly lets his thighs fall back on the floor, “Good boy.” Hajime coos, pulling one of his hands to kiss the inside of his flushed palm.

Tooru sighed, he really wanted to fight back but he was drunk on Hajime, drunk on the way he sounds, the way he talks to him, the way he holds him, and the way he fucked him.

He pulls Hajime in, mouthing on his lips. Too out of it to kiss properly but he wants the contact.

The feeling of Hajime’s cock deep inside him is bordering on painful, too sensitive after coming three times with no breaks — the constant stimulation burns, his body twitches with every touch.

But Tooru wants it, needs all of it. 

He whimpers in the kiss, whining a small please, Hajime.

And Hajime lets him be, swirls his tongue to help Tooru’s slippery kisses, he lets him grind down, lets him distract himself to relax.

He kisses back once or twice, fingers circling Tooru’s red, swollen entrance enough times for him to start begging for more.

“Greedy,” Hajime teased, groaning as he eased a finger in. Slow and steady until he was knuckles deep, finger pressed against his aching cock.

Tooru shook his head in protest, his eyes brimming with tears, begging for more, and this time, Hajime gave it to him.

He added two fingers, unhurried and lazy, taking his time to enjoy the stretch of Tooru’s cunt, tight and sloppy around his cock and fingers.

Hajime was lost in the feeling — heaving deep breaths to stay still, to hold onto the last threads of his control for a bit longer.

Tooru held onto him, head tilting back as he heaved, trying not to tense and worsen the burn of the stretch, he was whining, whimpering with every breath he took, the fingers he buried in Hajime’s hair helping him to stay rooted, to let himself relax and let Hajime take care of him.

“Sound so good baby,” Hajime said, and Tooru’s hips buckled hearing how Hajime sounds so out of it, deep, heavy with need, and barely coherent. Tooru could feel him starting to shake in control.

“Haji—move.” Tooru begged.

Hajime growled, his hips stuttering as he debates sitting Tooru on both his cocks in one swift motion, makes it deep and bulging, makes Tooru cry and scream on it. 

But he doesn't. Not yet. 

“Fuck,” Hajime growled, again. His fingers started pulling out, slow and torturous; he dragged them almost all the way to the rim, then pushed back to knuckle-deep, again, and again.

Hajime kissed him through it, muttering sweet words and leaving kisses all over Tooru’s face, his neck, and his flushed shoulders. 

He cooed praise as he curled his knuckles, coaxing more whimpers and slick out of the pretty demon under him, Hajime kept dragging his fingers, curling and pressing till the stretch felt enough, till he felt Tooru had begged just about enough.

Tooru’s head fell to Hajime’s shoulder, hands clawing his back as he pressed his red-bitten lips against the tanned, sweaty skin. “Please.” He whines, words sinking right onto Hajime’s skin.

“Please, please,” Tooru sobbed, breathless and needy, and Hajime obliged by lining the head of his other cock against Tooru’s entrance, drawing a deep shaky breath as he — finally — pushed his second cock into the demon’s hot, wet cunt.

“Fuck, Tooru,” Hajime groans, his whole body shaking on top of Tooru’s squirmy, flushed one. 

“So good baby.” He pants, squeezing his eyes shut to keep himself from bottoming out in one deep thrust, keeping on a slow, torturous pace instead.

Hajime dragged out the motion, adding more to the delicious stretch that rendered Tooru a breathless, babbling mess.

Tooru writhed as he slipped into a blurry, pleasant subspace, falling into it more with every inch thrusting inside his cunt.

When Hajime bottomed out after minutes of teasing, he whispered it against Tooru’s ear and watched his eyes roll back, watched as the demon almost blacked out. 

The experience was like nothing Tooru had ever tried before, like nothing he had dreamt of. It was otherworldly, good. 

So good he could swear it was all a joke to take him down. To get him so hooked on cock that he can do nothing but turn into a slut to taste it again, again, and again.

Hajime held him still, his hips touching Tooru’s own as he waited for the whiny demon to adjust, whispering praises that Tooru could barely register.

Words were too much, too complicated for the current state of his foggy, cock-drunk brain. 

“You’re taking it so well, baby. Already feel so good.” Hajime pants, nibbling on Tooru’s ear. 

His panting was sounding more and more ragged and impatient, Tooru whined — long and needy, pushing down on Hajime’s cocks to get him to move, to fuck and ruin him. 

Hajime started to rock his hips, almost moving in circles more than actually thrusting. Lewd, wet sounds filled the quiet room alongside their heavy breathing and Tooru’s small whines.

The slight rocking brought some of Tooru’s mushy senses back, urging him to go back to scratching Hajime’s back, nails scraping his scapula. 

“More, more Hajime, more,” Tooru begged, frantic and breathless.

“God—fuck, Tooru.” Hajime cursed, eager enough to give right in, he pulled his hip back, cocks almost pulling out of Tooru’s cunt before thrusting back in, bottoming out deep and bulging.

He watched the bulge in awe, both his hip and breath stuttering before he locked his hands around Tooru’s body, caging him in as he repeated the motion, setting a deep, fast pace with his eyes fixed on the demon’s lower belly.

Time and consciousness were lost fast after that — both of them losing their rational thinking in the moment. Lost to pure, animalistic needs. 

The room was a mess, the ground beneath them wet and slippery. High walls barely shielded the sounds of their skin slapping, Tooru’s whimpers, and Hajime’s groans. 

Tooru was squirming — or trying his best attempts at it — the constant, deep grind of Hajime’s cocks feels too much but his own to have. The voice in his head repeated a happy, possessive chant of mine, Hajime, mine. All of this was making Tooru’s possessive nature bloom bigger. 

He wants everything Hajime was giving him, wants Hajime to only ever feel good with him, inside him. Needs all of this to stay his and only ever his.

And for a moment his thighs felt no longer shaky, Tooru could move them again, wrapping them around Iwa-chan’s hips and caging him in a tight grip, keeping him there, inside, and only ever Tooru’s.

His hands flailed as he reached for Hajime’s hair because Hajime’s fast, bruising pace halted the motion multiple times but it didn’t stop him. 

Tooru tried, and tried again until he could hold onto Iwa-chan's hair, fingers tugging the short damp strands to pull the man close in a possessive crash of their mouths.

Mine.

Mine, mine, mine.

“Calm down.” Hajime chuckles into the kiss, the sound doing nothing to distract Tooru out of his possessive fit.

“I’m right here doll.” He rasps before snapping his hips as fast and steady as Tooru’s needy thighs were asking of him. Lighting the demon’s nerves on fire.

Hajime swallowed Tooru’s moans as his hands moved to hold his hips up and closer, forcing his back to arch more. For his cunt to take more.

And Tooru lost it. Head thrown back, completely losing control of his hands causing them to fall on both sides of his head, his eyelids drooped, mouth open in a silent scream as his face turned drenched in needy tears.

He was barely breathing — barely paying any attention to that. His whole body was fixed on Hajisme’s cocks bulging his belly, how it felt like he was already round and happy with their babies.

Choking on a sob was his only way of asking Hajime for more, so he sobbed, choked on his own drool, and whined for more.

And Hajime gave it to him, his hips moved intending to leave bruises that’ll turn into a reminder with every move Tooru takes in the next few days.

“Pretty baby made to sit on my cocks and take it.” He rasped, cursing and groaning at how good it feels to be inside Tooru. How tight and wet his cunt felt vise-gripping his cocks.

 Hajime is addicted, nothing can pull him away. He’s buried there for life. 

He sighed, fond and mean watching Tooru writhe under him as he moved, rutting into the demon with less and less control.

Hajime always knew himself to last long, he always liked to tease, to draw the foreplay into long, torturous hours. 

But he knows for today, it’s gonna be his first time cumming before the person under him, because Tooru is this good, and Hajime doesn’t feel like fighting it any longer.

He bucks his hips deep, thrusting desperately and frantically as he finishes with his teeth sinking onto Tooru’s neck, a loud guttural groan vibrating out of him.

As surprising and new as it is, Hajime couldn’t deny how close he was to blacking out with his cocks filling the demon’s womb. It was the best he ever had, so he made sure to make it deep.

Made sure Tooru would spend days cleaning the thick sprouts of his come to no avail.

He watched as Tooru felt it inside, felt Hajime’s thick cocks make a mess of him — of both of them. And how fast it made Tooru follow, coming so intensely for his strained body. 

Unable to fight it as well as Hajime had, Tooru let his heavy eyelids slowly fall shut, blacking out with a satisfied smile adorning his flushed, pretty face.

—

“God, you’re perfect,” Hajime replied, leaving soft, feather-light kisses on Tooru’s face.

“You did so well, so sweet, my baby.” More kisses, as three arms wrapped protectively around him, rubbing soothing circles on the demon’s delicate, sweaty skin.

The fourth arm was busy with fingers switching between curling the demon’s damp strands and lightly scratching his scalp and horns, making him subconsciously purr and sigh softly.

Tooru slowly regained consciousness. Hajime’s kisses, sweet praise, and gentle touches helped him stay relaxed as memories of what happened returned.

When he realized Hajime carried him to his bed — their bed now, hopefully — Tooru moved his head up to look at him. His body barely twitched in Hajime’s arms, but the slight movement was enough to make him gasp at the sudden rush of sensations, as he was unusually sensitive.

He whined, pouty and petulant, before letting his body melt against Hajime, giving up any hope of moving. He wrapped both arms around one of Hajime’s arms and nuzzled his nose against the man’s neck before inhaling. His rich scent almost made Tooru blackout in bliss again.

Sighing, Tooru started nibbling on Hajime’s neck, hungry and demanding his blood again. He lifted his head, whimpering with big, glassy eyes looking at Hajime’s own, pleading for him to let him drink.

Hajime raised an eyebrow, rolling his eyes in disbelief, before muttering something about how greedy and spoiled Tooru is.

“Shut up,” Tooru pouts, and Hajime could swear his horns drooped a little as he looked down — like an angry, sad small bunny.

It makes Hajime get hit with the sudden urge to bite the demon’s lips in a fit of cuteness-aggression but he manages to talk himself out of it, barely. Opting to puff against the demon’s sensitive horn as payback instead.

Tooru jolts, looking back up with a deep frown, ready to say something bratty, something too big for what he’s capable of doing when he’s in bed with Hajime.

Hajime stops him by leaning down to land a quick kiss before cupping the back of Tooru’s head, pressing the demon’s lips back against his own neck. 

“Here, drink,” Hajime says, and it sounds like a firm demand instead of a peace offering, somehow managing to make Tooru even more eager to drink his blood, since it also meant pleasing Hajime by following an order.

He doesn’t waste a second before biting down, breaking the skin just enough before biting again, and again. Delighted by hearing Hajime sigh, sounding too close to a soft, breathless moan.

Blood started to pool down Hajime’s shoulder, making Tooru stop biting and start licking up the mess of broken skin he made, sucking and drinking too fast, too eager to drink enough till he gets the taste memorized for forever, till he hears Hajime humming in pleasure, calling him good and pretty.

“Slow down baby.” Hajime chuckles, palm on Tooru’s head as he pets him, ruffling his hair and tugging it back for his own enjoyment.

He always loved how soft and fluffy Tooru’s hair is, plus the demon deserved the pets and coos. 

The relief after asking for it way too many times made Tooru lost in a daze, drinking too much in a little time. Losing himself to a mess of whimpers.

It took him a while to slowly relax again, melting back against Hajime’s warm firm chest, all full of Hajime and Hajime’s blood.

While Tooru was in his own happy world, the quiet made Hajime’s mind dart back to the reason as to why he didn't let Tooru drink his blood before.

It wasn’t only because Tooru pissed him off and didn’t deserve it, though it’s true, but half of the reason and the more important part of it was him being worried that Tooru wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He sighed, deciding it was too late now to worry about the consequences. He made sure Tooru’s body is completely safe to drink his blood now by slowly familiarizing it with his own body, by kissing, spitting inside his mouth and his pussy, then coming inside him — so that wasn’t a worry.

What worried him, was the upcoming shift that was going to happen to Tooru’s life, and how well he was going to take it.

Tooru made a small, happy sound against him snapping him out of his worries, the demon’s hands clutched his arm before curling closer against him as he kitten-licked the remnants of the bloody mess he made of Hajime’s upper body.

Hajime smiled, arms firmly holding him closer, listening to him purr fondly at the tight, perfect pressure he’s receiving.

A few minutes passed with them cuddling, and Tooru stubbornly fighting sleep was enough to make Hajime wonder. “What is it?” He whispered, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence they were in but he could tell something was on Tooru’s mind.

“I love you,” Tooru suddenly whispered, low but earnest. He then looked up, big doe eyes finding Hajime’s own, gaze wide and expectant. 

Hajime’s breath caught in his throat, eyes widened in shock — before huffing out a laugh. A fond, and genuine one. 

His chest vibrated, making Tooru protest at both the lack of an answer and how it ruined his position, making his body slide slightly to the left.

Hajime smiled, exasperated and fond as he cradled Tooru’s face. Tooru saw his eyes glistening in adoration. Hajime was happy.

“I love you, too.” He said, leaning down to kiss Tooru, tasting his blood on the demon’s swollen, pouty lips.

Tooru stayed quiet, his hands came up to wrap around Hajime’s wrists as he looked at him with conflicted, hesitant eyes.

Hajime raised an eyebrow, resting his forehead against Tooru’s as he waited for him to spit it out, but Tooru eventually pulled back, finding his place back in Hajime’s lap. 

He curled up against him, waiting for Hajime’s arms to hold him tightly again before he muttered a soft, “Don’t leave.”

It was too small, too desperate and so unlike the demon. He was scared to face Hajime. Scared of the answer, so he kept his head down, eyes looking at their soft tangled limbs for comfort.

“Did I ever?” Hajime says, watching Tooru hesitate before curling smaller — face completely hidden now as he pressed it against Hajime’s chest.

Another few minutes passed in silence before Tooru whispered, “You know what I mean Hajime,” he said, stopping to take a deep breath before his lips parted again, “You’re not being fair.” he mumbled, voice dropping into a shaky, sad mumble.

Hajime hummed, holding him closer as he looked out the window to find a crimson sky. 

The exact view he expected to be met with and the answer Tooru needed.

He sighed, head thrown back, giving himself a little time to completely take it in before he smiled, leaning back to bury his nose in Tooru’s hair, nuzzling it as he spoke, “The damage is already done, no use in hiding anymore.” 

“From now on, you’ll be wherever I am—whatever I am, Tooru.”