Chapter Text
Most folks consider them just a mythical story. Something to tell children at night while they get tucked to bed. The werewolves would eat you if you don't sleep early, or the boar man would snatch up unruly kids and mix their guts with the feeds they give the pigs.
The kids listen to the adults scaring them, but they grow up realizing that those were only silly stories told so they'd behave.
A normal human can go about their entire life not witnessing a single Hybrid, but they are very much real.
Hybrids make up only around 0.000027 percent of the humanoids in society.
Hybrids. Humanoids with animalistic features and tendencies. You can differentiate them from actual humans with just one glance, either from their distinct kemonomimis or the way they strut about. Some have long, thin tails while others flaunt their short fuzzy ones around. While some lack intricate communication skills, a lot of them are able to form simple words.
They are very much sentient.
Still, they are creatures that are not quite animal, but not fully human either. A scientific breakthrough or a blasphemy against god and his creations—no one can really tell.
Ever since the first Hybrid turned up, the government has started mandating laws and rules around them. It's to no one's surprise, people in power would always seek to control what they cannot comprehend.
And control they did. They set up research centers. Flocks of scientists, doctors, and veterinarians worked together to uncover the truth behind the existence of these anomalies. The government set up protocols and mandated laws around the handling of these uniquely, valuable assets.
A two-part test: a written examination that everyone who desires to take part in the Hybrid Handling Program must take, and if one passes, they continue on to the Medical Examinations.
There is no publicly available information about the Medical Examinations.
Most people believe it's a simple blood test, urine test, and physical examinations.
When the last batch of passers for the written examination was released—Gojo Satoru's name was number one.
"What the hell…" Ieiri, Gojo's long time friend and a student of psychiatry laughed. "You really did it, you dumb bastard."
Gojo was giddy. No, he was elated. Being a Hybrid Handler has always been his dream. Ever since he heard about them and ever since he saw one from that banquet his parents made him attend over ten years ago, Gojo was hooked to the career.
His parents supported him. Being a Hybrid Handler is a rare and sought after profession, after all. While Gojo never had any direction in his life before, this is the one thing that seemed to put a goal in his lifetime.
And it felt all the more sweet when he realized, as they read down the list, that no one else in their friend group passed.
Geto shook his head from side to side, a bitter grin on his lips. "I can't believe the one who almost flunked out of college is the only one to pass the National Hybrid Handling Exams."
"Tell the truth. How much did your family pay?" Haibara poked on Gojo's side, and the taller man squealed like a high school girl. Always the quirky, unserious one.
"Stop overreacting," Came Nanami's cool yet stern voice. "But it is quite curious that only Gojo-san passed. I would have assumed at least Ieiri-san would."
Gojo huffs at that. He thought that the time where his friends belittle his intelligence and capabilities would end as soon as he pass the exams, but it seems they're more or less still at a disbelief that the Gojo Satoru is capable of taking things seriously once in a while.
No matter, Gojo's just happy he passed. There's only the Medical Examinations left, and he patiently waits for the email of his schedule and appointment for it.
As they slowly filter out of the halls and walk in their own little groups, Ieiri huddled up next to Gojo. She gave him a concerned look, eyes shining with an odd glint in them. "Gojo, if something's weird, you know you can back out, right?"
Gojo didn't know what she meant. This has been something he had waited for his entire life. He isn't going to back out.
If anything, Ieiri can still get to the Hybrid Research Program as a doctor, even if she isn't a Handler. So Gojo has a hunch that it isn't envy leaking out of her gaze.
Then what is it?
"Gojo! Ieiri! Hurry up, I'm hungry!" Haibara waved at them, and the conversation was left at that.
"Gojo."
Gojo stares at the cake in front of him. The cream mixes well with the strawberries, giving off a tantalizingly sweet yet gentle scent. The sponge looks soft and the icing fluffy.
However, Gojo Satoru, well-known sweet tooth, has no appetite to devour such a delicious slice of cake.
"Gojo!"
Gojo's eyes snap up with a startle, breath hitching as he looks at Ieiri with wide eyes. The surprise is surely evident in his face as his other friends start looking at him as well.
"Are you okay?" Ieiri offers him a glass of water, which he accepts with a subtle nod. "Hey, if the medical exams got you feelin' under the weather, you should have told us. We wouldn't mind you skipping night-out to rest."
"I'm fine," Gojo drinks with large gulps. He's fine, really. He isn't sick or anything, and the area where they took blood samples from him has already healed, even if his right arm still feels a bit weak.
He knew he shouldn't have listened to people's random chatter. Nothing weird happened on the clinicals. Again, as he suspected, they just took blood, urine, stool, and spit samples from him. Just to check if he has any communicable disease that might transfer to the Hybrid that will be assigned to him.
Yeah, nothing's wrong. That's normal medical procedures. That was a normal medical procedure.
"A-are you sure this is—"
"Yes, Gojo-san. We need to check your reproductive health as well. It's imperative that all bases are covered, so we apologize if this feels invasive."
It didn't just feel invasive. That exam felt almost nightmarish.
No one has ever seen his genitals since the last time his doctor checked his reproductive health before prescribing his HRT shots.
Ieiri and Geto doesn't seem too convinced that he's fine, so Gojo took the initiative and changed the subject. "Just thinking 'bout what kind of Hybrid they'd assign me."
"Oh, did they say when you'll meet it?"
Gojo shrugs. They hadn't. They'd contact him again, but he was reassured shortly after the medicals that he passed that as well. So his status is already sealed and done. An actual, licensed Handler.
He was about to say so, but his phone buzzes in his pocket. Gojo fishes it out and checks the notification only to see an email from the Official Hybrid Handlers Society informing him to report by next week to the Headquarters.
And that he had already been assigned a Hybrid.
Gojo's mouth breaks into a grin.
Gojo Satoru is just incredibly lucky to be the certified, licensed Handler of one specific Wolf Hybrid. He met the little pup just a week ago, and yet they've been living together easily with not much adjustment.
Well, not much except for one thing, apparently.
Sometimes, when Gojo comes home from running errands outside, his Hybrid would be waiting by the door, tail wagging. Then he'll start sniffing him, almost like a security check.
Most times, it's all good and he gets to pass and cuddle with the Hybrid on the couch.
Other times, the Hybrid would growl at his hands. Sometimes the left, sometimes the right. Gojo doesn't know what the criteria is. But when that happens, the Hybrid would avoid touching him at all cost and make him feel bad. Like he did something wrong.
But Gojo doesn't know what.
That is until today.
Because the said Wolf Hybrid is now challenging him with unperturbed eye contact, his one leg raised over a pile of Gojo's clean clothes—all rummaged from his closet that he distinctly remembers locking since the last incident from the very first day the Hybrid came home with him.
The Hybrid even has his shorts pulled off from that leg he's raising, and it pools around his knees. His soft doggy-dick is just above the clothes pile.
The Hybrid never liked clothes. Too "Tight," he said. Gojo understood he meant it's restrictive to his movements. So he let the wolf forgo the shirt and almost everything else, except a thin and breathable shorts. Gojo is not going to have the Hybrid drag his balls and asshole over all the surfaces in his house!
"H-hey," Gojo starts, his lips dry. He licks over them and the Hybrid in front of him follows the wet swipe of the red muscle, eyes sharp and alert. It doesn't move from the position it's in. "Let's not make any hasty decisions…"
The Hybrid's ears flick about, his nose sniffs, then he snarls at Gojo.
What great luck it was. When Gojo was informed that he passed the National Examination for Hybrid Handling, he was over the moon. Not more than a week after the result of all the exams, he was immediately assigned a Hybrid.
A Wolf Hybrid with the name Fushiguro Megumi.
"I don't understand," Gojo gestures at the Hybrid, helplessness slowly slipping between the cracks of his words. "Why are you so upset, Megumi?"
The Hybrid's ears stands in attention at the mention of his name, but then goes back to the guarded expression he had soon after. It sniffs the air again, then makes a face towards Gojo. "Smell. Bad."
"Hey! I took a bath!" Gojo makes a show of sniffing his own clothes, and by his standards they're completely clean and not at all smelly. So what is his Hybrid complaining about? And why threaten him by pissing on his clean clothes!?
"Not Clothes." Megumi scrunches his nose and points towards Gojo's hand with his own humanoid ones. "Hand. Bad."
"My hand?" Gojo raises his right hand and pauses when he sees thin strands of fur stuck between his nail and finger. Oh. He did pet the dog outside that always greeted him whenever he passes around it's home.
The Hybrid in front of him growls. Gojo immediately hides his hand behind him. "Ooh-kay! I'll wash it! Just— if I turn my back, do not piss on that pile, I swear to god, Megumi…"
"No. I Wash."
There's a tense moment where Gojo doesn't actually make any step towards the bathroom. They're still keeping each other's eye contact. Then the words suddenly sink in to Gojo's brain.
"Oh," He says, dumbly. "You'll… wash it?"
Megumi only nods.
What…?
The Hybrid still hasn't put his leg down and Gojo is still on edge about his clothes but…
Gojo sighs. He really doesn't trust Megumi not to piss on his clothes right now. Not when he already did it last time. Gojo still grimaces when he remembers how he washed his entire cabinet and almost broke the washing machine with how large of a batch it was.
Some of those clothes were designer! And over half of them he had to get rid of because the smell didn't leave even after three cycles in the wash!
"Okay, let's go to the bathroom?"
To Gojo's relief, Megumi finally relents on his position and slowly crawls over, passing Gojo on the way and heading straight to the bathroom. His tail is held high and swaying around, as if he's satisfied with the turn of events. His ears has slowly tucked themselves inwards as the Hybrid relaxes. Happy that the offending fur and scent on Gojo's hand will finally be removed.
Gojo follows Megumi to the bathroom. He sees the Hybrid sitting on the floor, shorts still pooled around his ankles this time, while he scratches behind his ears. It almost looks so cute, almost looks way too human if not for the wolf ears and tail behind him.
Honestly, Gojo thinks Megumi is more human than animal, especially if he's quiet. Then that teeters over to more animal side when he speaks. But nonetheless, Gojo thinks Megumi is cute.
"Okay, how do we—Ah!"
Before Gojo can finish his question, Megumi has stretched his back and lunged at him immediately. They struggle, mostly because Gojo was taken by surprise and he has no idea what Megumi is trying to do. And while he believes Megumi will not go for his jugular, he still is part wolf and the little leaflet of Hybrid Manuscript bestowed to him before meeting Megumi mentioned something about instinctual drive and uncontrollable urges.
Unsurprisingly, Gojo failed to read the entire thing, way too excited at the concept of finally meeting his Hybrid.
Gojo yelps when Megumi pushes him to the floor and hovers over his body. He doesn't move, watching as Megumi spins around him—wait, this is what he does when he's going to shit!—Gojo startles and tries to stand up, but Megumi pushes him back down with a powerful hand and sits on the arm he was just complaining about earlier.
"Megumi, what—" Megumi purrs, almost like a cat if Gojo doesn't know better, "—are you—" Megumi lifts himself just a tiny bit, balls dragging over Gojo's arm, and raises one of his legs.
Then warmth spreads over Gojo's arm.
It takes him an unbelievably long time, and the sharp pungent smell of piss, for his gears to start working and realize that Megumi is pissing on his arm.
"Oh my god you motherfu—"
"Shut. It." Megumi growls, but his face is so relaxed as he continues emptying his bladder on Gojo's arm. The golden liquid seeps through Gojo's shirt and starts spreading on his sides.
Gojo tries prying his arm away from Megumi, but the Hybrid merely places both his hands on his shoulder to both balance himself and stop Gojo from squirming away.
Eventually, as the last trickle of piss leaves Megumi's system, Gojo accepts his fate. One set of clothes to throw away is better than an entire wardrobe, he supposes.
Megumi shivers as he finishes, then he shakes his entire body like the wolf he is. "All Done. Very Good. Smell Right."
Then the Hybrid hops off and leaves the bathroom as if he didn't just dump the smelliest load of piss on Gojo's hand. Oh, and he left his shorts behind to soak up the piss as well.
Unbelievable.
It might be too late to question how he got his license.
Don't get him wrong, Gojo still believes this is his dream job and that being a Handler is an amazing work. While he doesn't particularly care for the pay, what with his family being wealthy, it still isn't something bad.
There are just times where he thinks he definitely should read that manual and guidelines they gave him.
Sometimes, he looks at Megumi and sees the same Hybrid he once saw all those years ago. Albeit Megumi has softer features, a rounder set of cheeks and gentler eyes, Gojo believes that the sharp green irises Megumi sports is unnervingly similar to those of that Hybrid he saw when he was a kid.
He's sure it isn't the same Hybrid though. That one had a scar on his face, on his lips specifically, which Megumi doesn't. But those eyes… it's the same forest green look. That hair color, the exact same shade from those years ago. Almost like… Megumi is a descendant of that Hybrid.
Which is silly because no one knows how Hybrids came to be! Or at least, Gojo doesn't.
Would it be on the Manual?
With a sudden urge to learn about, uhm, Hybrid Reproduction, Gojo retrieves the thick Manual from his messy office desk and sits on his couch. Megumi is sound asleep on his bed, and it's still a few hours before he himself get drowsy. So might as well, right?
He flips open the Manual.
I. Introduction
Boring. Gojo skips that. He also skips the following chapters until he stops on one that reads, "V. Hybrid-Human Cohabiting; Wolf Hybrids"
Gojo skims through the contents quickly. He has always been a fast reader, but don't ask him if anything ever registers on his pretty little brain. He almost failed his undergraduate when he tried relying solely on his common sense.
But as he scans the content, he bites his lower lip at the realization that dawns on him.
He's a really bad Handler, isn't he?
V. Hybrid-Human Cohabiting; Wolf Hybrids
Number one, space, it reads. A Wolf Hybrid must, at all times, be either a step behind the Handler, a level lower than the Handler, or always by the Handler's feet.
Gojo's eyes involuntarily flicks up to the framed photo by his coffee table. A self printed image he took of him and Megumi, lounging on the couch with Megumi's head on his lap, snoozing peacefully.
He must fix this as soon as possible, it must only be one slip-up, right? Yeah, he can still fix that.
Gojo's eyes returns to the Manual, reading the next entry.
Food. Wolf Hybrids must be fed a strict diet as prescribed by its doctor. Gojo sighs in relief. He knows and follows this one. Remembers Megumi's diet and follows it exactly as the doctor instructed. Phew.
But then the next line makes Gojo grimace.
Wolf Hybrids must be fed strictly AFTER the Handler has already eaten, and should not in any circumstance eat WITH the Handler or ON a dinner table.
Fuck. He's been… eating with Megumi, for sure. He was even so giddy when he taught Megumi to sit with him on the dinner table and eat with his hands, even if he didn't know how to use utensils. And he was a bit messy with it too, but Gojo thought it was so cute and didn't bother to correct Megumi that much.
They've been eating at the same time since he came on the house.
Shit. Oh no. Is that bad? Well, there really isn't any stated consequences here for that… so it must be fine, right? Gojo doesn't feel like it's right to make Megumi eat on a bowl and on the floor! Even if he's Hybrid, he's still… well… he can talk and looks more human than animal!
This is absurd. Gojo continues reading.
Sleeping. Wolf Hybrids have designated kennels for sleeping time. They are to be provided with enough pillows and blankets, but not excessive. Handlers should NEVER allow any Hybrid to sleep with them on the same bed.
Gojo wants to slap himself. Or slap whoever made this Manual. He glances up and peeks through the cracked door to his bedroom. His bed is in view and with it, Megumi's curled form. The Hybrid is sleeping still, mop of black hair resting on Gojo's pillow and his chest rising in even breaths. He even got Gojo's blanket stuck between his legs that kicks slightly every now and then. Must be having an active dream.
How can anyone deny such a cute Hybrid the warmth of their own bed? The kennels doesn't look that comfortable, and Gojo has gone and kept it up the attic even after the staff from Hybrid Handler Society came to install it. It just… didn't feel right to use.
Megumi doesn't deserve such a cramped space. He's been nothing but a good Hybrid—except for the pissing part, Gojo guesses—but such a precious, cute little thing deserves soft sheets and warm bed!
Gojo closes the Manual shut and throws it haphazardly onto the coffee table. He'll read more… later, yeah. Oddly, there's no routine checks or testing during the Hybrid's stay with him, so no one would know that he's not following those absurd list of rules and guidelines. There's only that Designated Veterinary visit every three months. Yeah. The doctors wouldn't know just from one visit. It's fine, Gojo has nothing to worry about.
He finally stands up and prepares going to bed. As he leaves the living room, the air flips the manual open to a page that reads, "VI. Hybrid Cycles: Wolves in Rut."