Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vega sat on the bed in front of you with a wicked grin of expectation. You gave him an uncertain nod and crawled forward. Like everything else on the estate, it was elegant and beautiful in an extravagant and overdone way. The four posted-bed had red velvet curtains that slid down into pools on the floor. Every wall had huge oil paintings of Lord Vega on horses or in battle—one even had him emerging from the sea like an Aphrodite.

Like many of the servants on the estate, he had liked the look of you and just picked you up to bring you to his estate without another thought. At first, you had been another living decoration, but he had gotten fresh and drug you to his bed. That first time had been terrifying and painful, but it wasn’t your first time in being in a tight spot and you had stumbled over his one weakness—full tilt flattery and unabashed, constant praise.

“Come worship me,” he smirked.

You knelt between his strong legs and began at his feet. Rolling down the expensive silk stockings and you began kissing each of his toes. “You have the most amazing feet, my lord.”

He pointed his foot for you to kiss it. “Your feet are strong and smooth. Your skin is flawless like a...a—.”

“Like a what?” His eyes glistened in amusement. “I want to hear this.”

You fumbled blindly for a moment, licking his toes. “There are no words in any language to describe the beauty of even your feet, my lord. To describe such beauty by mere words is in itself desecration.”

What a job for an English major.

He was satisfied for the moment and kicked back so you could unfasten the tight cuffs at his calves. You kissed the slick, colorful fabric, arching your back theatrically. “It is such a waste that your beauty must be covered in even the slightest way.” He purred as you began stroking his legs. “Such flawlessness must have been the work of God himself.”

“Tell me more about...me.”

He leaned back, allowing you to undress him, sliding the pants down and away. He nudged you and you folded the priceless pants and set them aside. Kissing his feet again, you began to kiss and nuzzle his skin. “We are but mere mortals unworthy of your grace. We are all but shadows fleeing the blazing sun of your glory.”

You stroked his skin. Surprisingly—or perhaps unsurprisingly—he spent a fortune on treatments to remove the thin hairs on his legs. His skin was a smooth milky caramel and you kissed every fragrant and smooth inch. “A blaze of glory, my lord, like the phoenix before sparrows.”

He was half hard when you got up to his thighs. You kept lapping, short little kitten licks along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. His hand came up to pet your hair absently as you kept up your soft touches.

First, you nuzzled the soft, ruddy skin of his balls. “Your balls are beautiful and made of perfection itself.”

“Good. Good.” He laughed softly. “You may continue.”

You licked the slightly pebbly skin, feeling the slight shake and and tremble of the highly sensitive skin. Slowly your hands came up to stroke his thighs. “I can only kneel in tribute to your gracious generosity in allowing me to worship your body.”

He leaned back on his elbows, staring up at you with an indulgent grin. “Do go on.”

You nodded uncertainly. “You indulge me far too much, to allow me to worship you. It is almost enough to make me faint to be in your presence, let alone to be allowed the honor of worshipping your body.”

You kissed his skin, dropping small pecks to his balls in careful circles around the base of his cock. “Would you be generous my lord, and allow me to praise your beautiful cock?” Your hair—tremendously longer since he did not allow any of his servants to cut their hair—brushed his skin. “Would you allow a lowly person like me to worship your gorgeous—,” you kissed his left thigh, “—amazing—,” you kissed his right thigh, “—perfect cock?”

“Mmmm. It is perfect, isn’t it?” He laughed shortly. “And why would I allow you to this very great favor?”

You tongue flicked along the thick, turgid base. “I am unworthy of such a favor as to be allowed to touch you. I am as lowly as a worm.” Your tongue went along the underside from the base to the red tip. “I am a mere worshipper in the presence of a good and generous angel who allows me such favors.”

“I am far too generous,” Vega mused idly.

You were about say something else—you had a hundred thousand variations of praise that you had created and memorized—but his hand grabbed the hair at the back of your head and yanked your eyes up to his face.

“Why would I be so generous with an ugly thing as yourself? Tell me.” You gasped nervously as his other hand lazily came up, the claws glistening in the antique lamplight. “I am waiting.”

You whined softly. “You are as generous as you are perfect. Your generosity is legendary and almost as great as your beauty.”

“Open your mouth,” he purred, whisking his long steel claws in the air. You did so instantly. “My blades do love it when you use your mouth.”

Your eyes went wide and then shut tightly. He tugged on your hair hard and your mouth slid down the soft, smooth skin. He was long and thick and you tried to relax your lips.

“There you go, my lovely little whore,” he whispered. “All the way down!”

Your face went down all the way to the crisp and neatly clipped curls. You gripped the sheets helplessly trying to not push away from him—he hated that. Instead, you sucked gently and pulled in a hasty breath through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you began humming a popular love song.

“Adore me,” he purred as your head began to bob. “Make me enjoy it.”

You tightened your lips and went a little faster. You had done this often enough that you knew how to make sure he enjoyed it. Your fingers traced little patterns on his thighs as you sucked in another hasty breath. A quick look at him and you grinned to see his head thrown back against the bed. His throat bobbed quickly as his fingers threaded through your hair again.

You nodded, sucking hard. Gently, you ran your fingers around the taut balls. He loved that—bucking upward. With another suck, you tasted the salty and bitter first drops of his cum. That made your lips tighten and you rolled your tongue around the bucking cock.

Suddenly, your cheeks filled with spurts of salty cum. Hastily, you rolled your tongue and swallowed as he bucked. Ignoring his Spanish curses, you gulped it down as you ran your hands up his taut stomach and then down to hold his cock. Your fingers went to his cock as your lips tightened.

“Milk my perfect cock,” he ordered thickly. “Drink down my flawless cum.”

You did, rolling your tongue tightly against his cock as you swallowed. He purred, his grip loosening as you took in another hasty breath. Then, as gently as a newborn, you lapped his soft skin clean. He grinned, rolling to lay in the bed with an absent pat to your head.

His half-closed eyes turned to you and you offered your usual praises. “You are as flawless as usual, my lord. Even your cum tastes of your beauty and perfection.” You gave him a theatrical lapping of your lips that soothed his ego. “You have honored me far too much to allow me to worship your cock.”

He nodded and purred. “I am far to generous.” His violet eyed smirked down at you. “But would you be so good at this if I weren’t?”

“N-n-n-no, my lord,” you sighed, backing away. “Of course not.”

“I thought not.” He waved his hand. “Dismissed.”

“Yes, my lord.” You took a short breath of relief. “Thank you....”

Chapter Text

Blanka slunk away from the street fight, drawing a long gray trench coat over himself with a gray fedora pulled low over his face. On a rainy, foggy day like today, the only thing that would identify him at all was the thick mane of red hair down his back. The crowd was thick and milled about restlessly as they hustled towards taxis and cars and the parking lots. He pulled away from them, disappearing behind the building to the alleys. He knew a place he could go—away from anyone who might be frightened of his appearance.

He turned away from a group of prostitutes under a flickering streetlight. They did not seem to have any particularly high standards based on the clientele that was currently talking to him, but he didn’t want to cause a panic or whatever now. He was tired and while he currently craved the company—particularly warm company on such a dreary night.

So, he simply turned down a different alley and disappeared into the darkness between two buildings. He got a few steps out of the light when he felt something brush his bare leg. Looking down, he saw a shivering form reaching out to him.

“Please, sir—I will go with you if you will give me some food.”

Blanka shuddered as your soft hand reached blindly for him. Your voice was such a warm and soft sound after the roar of the crowd and the sounds of combat. Gruffly, he waved. “Go on.”

You shook at the deep voice. Your father had thrown you out a week ago in another of his drunken rages and you had no money. He was wealthy on paper—his personal fortune going from several million to negative several million depending on the stock market and whatever the rumors and gossip were saying that day. What even the seedy gossip magazines didn’t know was how indebted your father was to several groups that did not call collection agencies. And none of the shelters or anyone would offer assistance to someone who was “obviously wealthy”, so you were quickly on the streets in little more than a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and some sandals. You had been fortunate the first three nights with good weather, but now you were hungry and cold and desperate.

“Please, sir,” you whispered again. “I will do whatever you want.”

Blanka shook in the rain, looking down on you. “Anything?”

You shook and nodded your head. “Just get me out of the rain.” You sneezed violently. “I’m tired of sleeping outside.”

Blanka snorted. “I can give you shelter, but—.”

“I’d do anything,” you whimpered, grabbing his trench coat.

“Fine!” Blanka grunted. “Walk this way.”

He led you through the alleys to what had to be the cheapest motel in the universe. The front office showed a man who had to be dead drunk lounging against the monitors. He gestured you over the gravel parking lot to the room at the very end of the single story building at the darkest end of the parking lot. If you hadn’t been desperate for food and shelter, you would have run like crazy.

As it was, you were trembling as you went to the door with the huge hulking shape. He took out a cheap key with a large plastic tag on it and unlocked the door. “Here we are.”

You peeked inside at the tacky gold and green room with its single bed and the bedside table. There was a bathroom and a closet and a television and that was it. But it was warm and your best option, so you slipped inside.

You shivered as you dripped on the idiotic shag carpet. “Th-th-thank you.”

Blanka nudged you further inside and closed the door. “It isn’t much, but it’s—.”

“It’s warm and dry,” you nodded.

He grunted, pointing to the bathroom. “Towels are that way.”

You nodded your thanks and crept to the bathroom. You found a few rough towels that didn’t look too disgusting and dried off. Your clothes were disgusting as you looked at them. Seven days of constant wear had irrevocably damaged them and you finally had to admit you needed to do something about them. You shouted, “I...need to get cleaned up. Give me a second.”

There was an uncertain growl from the other room. You took it as assent and stripped off everything to rinse in the stained bathtub. Wringing it all out and setting it on the side of the tub, you took the last decent towel and wrapped up in it. Considering you were bargaining with your body, you supposed it was a small mercy to have it around your torso.

The other room was completely dark when you came out. Trembling, you looked down at the small square of light coming from the bathroom and saw a black scarf on the carpet. Nervously, you called out, “Hey....uhh, are you there?”

There was a bark of some kind of growl from the darkness of the room. “Blindfold.”

“Okay,” you sighed and nodded. The other girls you had talked to had said that people hired whores for all kinds of things. One of them had scars on her back because one of her regulars liked to bring out a whip. So, all things considered—especially since you were out of the money you had managed to beg for—a blindfold was really tame.

The dark was instant and complete as you tied the thick cloth over your face. You shuddered, feeling chills going down your spine as you adjusted your towel. “Okay...so now I can’t see.”

He hummed from his darkened corner. You were nervous, shifting from foot to foot with one hand vaguely out to feel the area around you. When he was a man, he would have known your fear, but as a beast and with a beast’s refined and intense senses, he could taste it. You had a scent of sweat and he could almost taste the adrenaline that was in your blood. You didn’t reek from fear, though—not as much as some of his opponents did.

Still, he had a bit of a secret weapon in the form of a rather large bottle of rum. A whore he had managed to approach some time ago—another dark and stormy night with a whore who was desperate for the twenty he had given her—had gone into the liquor store and brought him the bottle. He pulled it out of his bag and shuffled carefully forward with the bottle.

Your outstretched fingers hit the cool glass bottle. You tilted your head slightly as your hand slid down the bottle and took it. It was very heavy—probably almost a new bottle. Your hand slid the knot of the towel and shoved it under your armpit so that both your hands were free. Absolutely, you were starving, but this was your first time, dammit, and you didn’t want to end up mutilated or scarred or something.

“Take a drink,” came the shadowed, gruff voice.

You shook and nodded, fumbling with the cap. With that kind of low growl, you didn’t even want to ask about a glass and, honestly, in this place, you weren’t sure you could trust them even if they were plastic wrapped. So, you took in a breath and took a few swallows. It burned your throat and you coughed heavily making him laugh in a way that felt friendly. So, you took another. “Here,” you croaked, handing it back.

He took it and you heard him gulp twice. He didn’t cough, so you assumed that he was able to handle the strong drink better than you. Then he put it back into your hands. So you swallowed a bit more.

On your empty stomach, the rum hit your brain hard. You were a fan of horror movies—Frankenstein, Wolfman, Dracula—and your sodden brain kept picturing them as your mystery host. It helped your fear because a black-and-white Bela Lugosi or Lon Chagny or Boris Karloff sitting in a green hotel room was absolutely hysterical to you. Even when you brushed his claws once as you passed the bottle back and forth, you only gave a half laugh before taking a swallow.

You barely realized that you had sat down cross legged, the towel riding up and exposing your legs and almost everything up to your waist. You felt loose and friendly and warm and happy. Or maybe even more than warm—maybe even hot. It was kind of hard to tell when you both were silently passing the bottle.

Blanka, on the other hand, was intimately aware of how the towel was utterly failing to cover your body. He liked what he saw a little too much. In fact, it made him take a really large gulp of the dwindling rum. If he happened to be hoping that you’d eventually abandon the towel entirely, then no one knew it but him. He had already adjusted his ragged pants twice as he kept watching you. You passed the bottle to him, your soft hand brushing his rough one and lingering over the claws curiously.

It startled him a little—enough that he almost dropped the bottle—and he rasped out, “That did not...scare you?”

You giggled in a silly way. “No. Should it?” He gave you a grunt. “I am picturing Lon Chagny and Lon Changy, Jr.”

“The classics,” he murmured.

You nodded in a silly way, almost falling over. “Along with Vincent Price, Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff. I really loved those old movies.” You laughed again. “And the music was always phenomenal. Really creepy.” You felt a remembered shiver of fright. “It would make me jump every time.”

He grunted, going to the floor as well. He couldn’t manage right now to think about what was supposed to happen next. He supposed that he should offer you something to eat. Maybe offer the bed. You weren’t scared—not really—and seemed to be actually relaxed. He looked at your blindfold and it was still secure, but he was actually a little curious as to what you’d say if you saw him.

You didn’t know what you were drinking, but it was making your head swim. You were overly hot in the towel now and you knew that you needed to eat something or you’d probably be sick. You might have a hangover tomorrow, but it was a nice thing to just be warm and comfortable right now. Surprisingly, there was a rustle and you felt him passing you a few things—what felt like a candy bar and a stiff plastic covered stick or two. Stroking it, you found it was a thick candy bar and two sticks of jerky.

His voice was rough and deep. “Sorry—it’s what I have right now.”

They were delicious when you ripped into them. You practically gulped down the jerky and then began eating the chocolate and caramel and peanut candy bar. “Oh God—this is fantastic.” Your stomach growled at the sudden rush of food. “Sorry. I...haven’t eaten much.”

Blanka nodded—that much had been obvious. He’d give you the other candy bar before he left in the morning. If you were still here. Slowly, he crept around you and turned off the bathroom light—you didn’t notice as you fumbled with the wrapper of the candy bar. It might be a pointless thing, but he didn’t want to ruin this...whatever it was.

You belatedly realized that you had dropped the towel entirely as you fumbled around to find the trashcan for the wrappers. It made you giggle and, blindly, you bumbled into a warm form. You almost bounced off—your dexterity and agility was shot—and your hands came up as you sat on your heels. You had bumped into...a knee?

That perplexed you. Slowly, you felt the rough skin, trying to figure out what you had bumped into. It took a few minutes to realize that your secretive host had moved—or you had—and that you were feeling his leg. Your fingers went down first to the metal rings around his ankles and that made you unbearably sad because you couldn’t stop thinking about some poor beast locked in a dungeon somewhere. You stroked them gently, your eyes stinging with tears.

He growled softly, embarrassed and more than a little excited about your wandering fingers. Then his ears perked up and heard your sniffling sob. He couldn’t think what to say, how to pry your words out. And then your fingers stroked up to his knee again and up to the hem of his ragged pants.

Your buzzing brain was absolutely befuddled now as you slid back and forth between giggling over old movies to a muddled and shaken over ice sadness over the Beauty and the Beast story caught in your head. You still had no balance and collapsed forward—surprisingly against him.

Strong arms caught you, trembling as he pulled you close. You had a thing for a man with hair on his chest—probably a holdover from your Beauty and the Beast obsession—and you snuffled as you scooted closer to him. Finally you burbled, “Sorry—I shouldn’t be crying like this.”

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was deep and shook as he asked you the question. You took a deep breath and leaned against his chest. “I’m sorry—I’m really sorry. I....” You shook a little. “I really shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head a little, wrapping your hands around his shoulders. “I just was thinking about an old movie.”

“Which one?”

“Beauty and the Beast.” You gave a hiccup and a belch and continued. “1962 with Matt Damon and...and...and I forget who.” You shuddered as he held you closer. “I...I shouldn’t judge, but your...uhh...jewelry and I couldn’t help but think of.... How sad the Beast was.” Yu couldn’t help but give an anxious sound that might have been a laugh. “And I was thinking that I’d love to cuddle the beast and no one ever just goes and gives him a hug.”

Blanca’s mind was more than a little fuzzy. Beauty and the Beast? He could work with that. In a low, gruff voice, he said, “I...I like that.” You gave him a little soft sound. “I could be a beast...if you want.”

You hugged him, unbearably touched at the low voice. Hell, he felt all warm and heavily muscled and if he was a beast, you were a princess. You nuzzled his thick pecs. “I’m sorry for falling apart like this.” He felt amazing, strong and far more sure than you were. “I should be doing what you want.”

He purred softly and laid back a bit, propped on the wall. Your hands seemed to be roaming more now, seeing him with touch rather than anything else. “I want to do...what you want.”

Hell, if that wasn’t what you needed. Your body shook and you felt all the last tension leave you. You had been scared of trying to have sex with some stranger, but this was so bittersweet and soft you felt better and better. It made you glad that you had gathered your courage and approached him instead of trying to go towards any of the others with their flashy jewelry and suits.

He laid back under your hands, allowing you to stroke his skin and touch him however you wanted. You were timid in a way—shy and light—and then unexpectedly bold as you went over his abs and to his sides. He did try to push your hands away when you got to his neck, but when you lowered your head and began kissing his skin even that fell away. You were warm and soft and even if you smelled of rum, you still seemed to have some kind of soft, intoxicating fragrance on your skin.

You were still weaving, but it was a good way. The fantasy of the fairy tale went to your head harder than the rum. He was warm and heavily muscled and strong. There were a few places that he had scrapes or something, but you kissed them to make them better. He gave you purring sounds like a huge cat when your fingers went through the hair on his chest. He was big—if you had thought about how huge he was, you might not have approached him—and you straddled his waist uncertainly to be able to reach all of him.

Sometime, as your hands stroked his skin, you fell forward, your lips coming almost right against his. You gave a silly smile and nuzzled his chin. “There you are.”

He growled low in his throat. “I want more than that.”

He growled again—this time at himself. What a foolish thing to say—stupid him. He was sure you’d pull away at that—anyone would at such a blunt and obviously predatory thing. He braced himself to be slapped. Or worse.

Instead, you leaned over and kissed him. “There....” You giggled again. “Now we can start to turn you into a prince.”

“Start?” he burbled out with a strangled sound.

You shrugged. “Well, I don’t know that I believe a single kiss does it. Just one kiss and the prince is handsome again and goes off doing handsome prince things? Uh-uh. Besides, it’s more fun to have lots of kisses—don’t you think so?”

He nodded, reaching up to kiss you again. You were tasty—the rum still on your tongue and the slight taste of spice of from the jerky—as you opened your mouth. His animal senses went into overdrive and he could taste your blooming arousal even as he could get whiffs of arousal scent.

You were an aggressive thing, weren’t you? Putting your hands on his shoulders, you pushed slightly and your hips went to settle over his groin. Your princely beast let out a pleased purr and you unsteadily rolled your hips against him.

That was more than he could bear. He rolled you over on the floor and his fingers fumbled with his clothes, pulling them off clumsily and tossing them aside. You were abandoning being shy, stroking his warm skin eagerly. His clawed fingers went to between your legs—he remembered that much about being human—and he found thick wetness for his fingertips. In return, your fingers went to stroke his hard cock.

“I’m scared,” you blurted as your fingers investigated the thickness.

He growled, low in his throat, and pulled back slightly. “I won’t hurt you.”

To his eternal surprise, you said, “I know. Just...go slow.” Your cheeks burned. “I haven’t done this before.”

“I’ll...I’ll stop.”

“N-n-no,” you whispered, reaching for his shoulders and pulling on them so that his head was right above yours. “Just...go slow.”

He nuzzled your neck. “I can stop.”

You whimpered softly, spreading your legs out. Instinctively, your arms went around his neck, threading under his heavy hair. “I want this to be with you.”

He gently pressed forward, his cock just at the entrance of your core. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

You whimpered, kissing him. “I’m...okay.”

He thought he was surprised before, but when you pushed up that first little bit, you took his breath away. He lapped at your breasts, listening to how you keened in his ear in pleasure. Then he slowly dropped his weight and began going forward as slowly as he possibly could. His tip slid slowly along until it brushed the entrance to your womb.

You shuddered as he was fully inside you. There were painful little twinges, but hell, you didn’t feel the screaming pain you expected. Instead, it was just a bit of a stretch inside and a lot of heat. He was wonderfully attentive, as though he could almost hear your thoughts in what you liked.

His claws gently scratched your neck, your breasts. It made you feel vaguely, pleasantly threatened in a playful way. You gave him a whine and bucked up, enjoying the prolonged buzz of your beastly fantasy. One of his meaty hands went under your hips, pulling them upward.

His thrusts were shaky, but gentle. It made you feel better, like he was really a nice guy instead of the skeezy guys you had cringed away from on the street. The passion burned away the buzz and it became more and more real, more and more hot.

He sped up, taking you with him. You both rocked together on the floor. Lord, that mane of coarse hair was amazing as it brushed your cheeks and chest. And he loved it when your hands went to pull his head down to kiss him. His growls told you that.

He was a noisy lover—growls and purrs and moans. He seemed to be entirely unrestrained, not hiding anything as you slid your legs up to his tightly muscled hips and then up to his waist. That made him all but howl and his toes dug into the carpet with a noisy sound.

Suddenly he stopped, shuddering and growling. “I...can’t.”

You whined, tugging fistfuls of his hair down desperately. “Don’t stop now!”

“Not until you cum,” he growled impatiently.

“Don’t stop!”

One rough finger wriggled between you both and hit your clit. You screamed, “Fuck! That is—.”

He froze. “I hurt you?”

“It’s amazing,” you whimpered in his ear.

He purred and growled into your neck and began thrusting again. His fingers kept strumming and stroking your most intense nerves. Too soon, you were panting and grinding, trying to claw him closer. Your hips jumped up to swallow his cock and draw it in as deep as you could get it.

You cursed every foul word you knew as your body shook. He growled and his hands held you tightly, going as fast as you could take it. Suddenly your voice went soft and your body exploded with pleasure. You could almost taste the stars in front of your eyes as your body shook.

He purred in your ear—it was definitely a purr—and without another breath, he pounded into you. His climax rocked him and he ground down to savor the feeling rushing through him. It was like nothing he had felt since he had been turned into this monster.

You held him so closely, whimpering against him as you trembled. “My wonderful prince. I didn’t know it could feel so good.”

He snickered, rolling to his side beside you. “You were...magical.”

You curled up next to him. Dropping a weary kiss to his chest, you smirked, “So were you.”

Chapter Text

You were a good, responsible, upstanding adult who happened to be an omega. You were employed at a good job, gave to charities, exercised, and did everything you could to be a good person. You took your suppressants on time, every time. So, you weren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary as you were crossing the street in the middle of lunch.

You had your head filled with visions of some scrumptious food. After eating at your desk all week to get that last thing out the door, you were ready to settle down and spoil yourself with a lunch out. And this evening, you had a couple of great movies queued up, your favorite soft pajamas washed and dried, and a pile of soft pillows waiting for you. It was going to be a great start to a weekend where you did very little.

You noticed that suddenly, everyone was shoving away. As you were walking across the six-lane road, everyone seemed to be parting like a sea before a prophet. Your eyes went wide to see the huge, muscular man in a ragged, dark ghi with a huge bag over his shoulder. His hair was wild and dark, flickering with highlights of red in the sun around his ragged red headband. Even his dark skin seemed to be soaked in animosity.

Everyone around you was suddenly very interested in their phones or newspapers, the weather or seeing someone else, rather than looking at the scowling man as he stalked over the pavement. You cringed in the middle of the shifting crowd, sensing he was an alpha that you didn’t want to mess with.

Just then, the wind shifted and the crowd ducked around you. The man stopped in the middle of the road, turning to look at you. You gaped at him, staring at his gleaming red eyes. His smile was white and predatory as he smirked directly at you. Everyone walked around him, slumping over to avoid attracting his attention.

“There you are,” he growled.

Suddenly, everyone seemed to leap aside so that you were out in the open. His stare held you frozen to the spot, terrified to move like you had once been terrified to move when a bee came too close. Slowly, he sauntered to you, grabbing your arm and dragging you along with him.

It was more terrifying that no one stopped him. The crowd of people simply opened up a hallway, avoiding him and flowing around him and you. He paid no attention to your weak struggles, simply dragging you to an alley.

It was a closed alleyway—a high fence at the end and the only door was locked and had no handles on this side. There didn’t even appear to be any dumpsters or any fire escapes here. It was dark, though—the tall buildings creating an artificial dusk as he drug you deeper and deeper between them.

He yanked on your arm, spinning you ahead of him to tumble to the ground. You cringed in the dirt and grime as your clothes were hopelessly ruined. You tried to get up, but your ankle twinged and you fell back down to the ground again. You couldn’t help it—you stared at him as he stood over you. His ghi was loose at the top and you gaped at the strange red scar or wound or whatever it was on his chest.

Dropping the bag, he casually untied the top and began digging in it. Over his shoulder, he said, “Stay there, omega.”

You shook your head. “N-n-no.”

He pulled out a length of leather out along with what appeared to be an ugly nylon dog collar. “Ryu.” You scooted backward weakly as he stalked forward, opening up the collar meaningfully. “Your alpha’s name is Ryu.”

You shook your head wildly, your eyes inexplicably tearing up. “N-n-no.”

He shuffled forward for more quickly than you expected. In spite of his size, his steps were light and agile as he backed you up against one of the brick buildings. He grabbed your hair and wrapped the collar around your neck. He buckled it and spun it around your neck experimentally. Nodding with a grin of satisfaction, he took the rope and wrapped it around the leash loop before knotting it tightly.

You shook your head again and reached up to the collar. Suddenly, he scowled and slapped your hand as you reached to tug at it. You gave him a dark look of your own and reached for the knot he had tied. Scowling harder, he backhanded you with an obvious fraction of his strength. Your head snapped aside and you couldn’t even let out a cry.

“Stupid omega,” he hissed, his eyes glowing a darker red. You cringed back from him as far as his grip on the collar allowed, tears in your eyes. “Are you going to leave it alone, or do I need to fuse it permanently around your neck?” You nodded slowly, the thick and snug ring around your neck making it hard to swallow, let alone move. “Maybe I will anyway.”

He led you out on that humiliating leash and down the road again. Again the crowds of people—even the curious ones—parted to let you both past. Even the police you passed and waved at looked pointedly aside once they got a look at the huge fighter leading you. It was chilling enough to see that everyone was simply going to let him lead you away, but when he started whistling as he walked you away, you felt frozen to your core.

You shivered as the sun went down and he kept walking. Even though you were in some pretty comfortable pumps, your feet hurt. You kept looking at his thick, huge bare feet and wondering how he was able to keep walking like that. He never slowed, never flagged as he kept silently walking towards a dark and wooded area.

“Where are we going?” you whimpered.

He shrugged, “Wherever I want.”

He led you through the park area with its pleasant walking trails and colorful toys and sandboxes. You stumbled, looking at the empty playground as he kept going over the steep gravel covered trail. Then he went back beyond the bike trail and hiking trail to the wooded acreage beyond.

At last he stopped in a clearing, dropping his huge bag on the leafy ground. He barely seemed to notice you as you dropped to your knees wearily. When he finally looked at you, he smirked, “I suppose you think you are tired.”

You nodded, licking your dry, chapped lips. You sure as hell were tired. And thirsty. And hungry. And hurting. The huge alpha’s eyes seemed to glow more red in the dying afternoon. Even the strange wound on his chest seemed to be glowing softly now.

He took the rope and wrapped it around a heavy tree. Glancing at you, he shrugged lightly. “I see I will need to get a proper chain for a leash, omega.” He stretched slowly, grinning like a maniac while he stared at you. “So I will need to guard you. Closely.”

He had a piece of thin netting that he strung up over you and he wrapped himself around you. Your wrists were wrapped in part of the rope leash and he tied your ankles securely with some thick twine. He pulled you close and wrapped one massive hand around your wrists. He slept like that, one hand around your wrists and a thick leg over your hip and around your bound legs.

You shuddered as he slept—or what might have been sleep in another person. He growled and his teeth snapped in his rest. His hands curled painful as they gripped you, fisting and twitching violently. His sleep muttered words were violent and hissing, sparks appearing in shocking purple madness. You would just be drifting off when he would curse, jerking angrily, his hands clenching with bruising force.

Near sunrise—you had no idea how you managed to get to to sleep at all—he jerked wildly. His hands seemed to crush your wrists as his legs snapped and twisted around yours. When you glanced nervously over your shoulder, he was scowling with his eyes shut tightly. His words chanted in your ear, “Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill...everyone.”

You whined, biting your lip as you twisted and pulled. His muscles tightened, clenching all around you before opening his eyes and growling at you. “You are awake, omega,” he purred at last. “After I train, I will get you a real leash.”

He ruffled your hair idly as though petting a stray cat. You cringed, your body sore and aching from what felt like being beaten all night. He untangled himself and began exercises that made you ache watching him. Still, it meant that you could lean on his big bag and catch a little extra sleep.

He shook you awake, tugging on your leash. You staggered up wearily, pulling on the leash and collar without thinking on it. Immediately, he slapped you again, jerking you awake.

“I told you not to do that,” he growled. With an impatient sigh, he growled, “I’ll have to fuse it on you.”

He led you back through the park to a small downtown hardware shop. He bought a length of chain and several steel padlocks and a long camping lighter. He led you to a small stand and bought you both some breakfast which you ate standing up. Another alpha was there, with an omega standing next to him. She gave you a nervous smile and a nod.

The big alpha next to you growled and you looked down at your food. As soon as he was done, he replaced the rope with the chain, locking it to your collar. When you finished, he tossed your trash and led you around to an alley. Pushing your hair away and tilting your head to the side, he flicked the lighter and stared at the flame at the end of the long plastic wand.

With a fierce grin, he stared at you as he grabbed the collar. “I’d suggest you hold still.”

You nodded fearfully. He twisted the collar until he had the buckle end. You shrieked as he brought the flame close. The nylon began burning, melting together the ends. The flame felt scalding hot as it drifted closer to your neck. You coughed, jerking in the collar.

Finally, he nodded down to you. He jerked it, scraping your skin and making you cough. “There you go.” He smirked as you scrambled away, hacking and choking and holding your throat. Almost immediately, he grabbed the chain yanking you almost off your feet. “Now you aren’t going anywhere.” His laugh made chills go down your spine. “And you are going to just have to be my omega forever.”

Chapter Text

Ryu’s rut hit during a tournament. You were exhausted from following him around, leashed and collared and helpless. If he was really furious with you, he’d tie your hands behind you as you walked. He whipped you once with a piece of green bamboo he cut from a roadside median and that was plenty for you to never want to disobey him again.

He left you outside the arena, the leash wrapped around a steel bike rack and then back to lock on the strap of his huge bag. You watched as several huge fighters walked in, surrounded by fans and handlers and agents. A few even had omegas—nicely dressed, comfortably shod, safe and at ease as they followed their alphas into the event.

Instead, you were out here, huddled and hoping it wasn’t going to rain.

Faintly, you could hear cheering. Or screaming—it was hard to tell which.

You were exhausted anyway. He had drug you all over Japan, it seemed, seeking fights and tournaments. While he didn’t insist you do the exercises with him, he did insist you walk. And walk. And walk. And, truthfully, after seeing what he did to stay in such excellent shape, you felt he was being merciful.

For one thing, he kept a huge a pair of 20 or 30 pound kettle balls in the bottom of his bag. When he practiced his punches, he picked one up in each fist to do his drills, swinging 40 or 60 pounds with each precise punch. If he needed you to stay somewhere without a convenient bike rack, a large tree or something similar, he’d chain your ankles together and then put the chain through the kettle ball’s handles. You couldn’t move that much weight chained up like that and were forced to stay wherever he put you.

So, you remained “missing”.

There were screams and more noise from the arena and you eventually heard sirens. Ambulances and police cars came up and there was still screaming. People came pouring out, shouting and running from the arena. You looked at them in alarm, but no one paid attention to a helpless omega sitting by herself. You were sure that it meant that you would be free, but in the midst of the crowd, you saw Ryu stalking out.

He came over to you, stood over you and watched the police and emergency personnel run past. Unlocking your chain, he yanked it bitterly. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“What happened?!”

He shrugged, dusting off his shoulders. “Akuma showed up, the bastard.”

There was no further comment as he drug you behind him. People were shrieking and you saw several stretchers being wheeled out. More than one had bloody sheets over them. He was in no hurry and you had time to stare at everything as he walked you away.

You were shaking as he led you through a series of dark roads and alleys. He was so furious that you didn’t have words for it. It meant he suddenly walked faster too, so you ended up stumbling after him. He kept cursing softly as you both walked.

Whoever this Akuma was, you had never seen Ryu so angry.

He drug you to an hotel office and got a room, kicking the door in before shoving you to the bed. “I had everything going fine. And Akuma dares to interrupt?!” You whined as the air grew thick with a pungent scent. Ryu paced back in forth bitterly, scowling at everything and growling at you as you trembled on the bed. “So now I’m stuck waiting for the next tournament.”

You barely saw him as he spun on one heel and leapt to the bed to land on top of you. He snarled in your face. “But you’re my consolation prize, aren’t you?” You couldn’t help but shake your head. “A sweet little omega.” He smirked as you shivered. In a rare soft gesture, he nuzzled your neck. “A needy little omega for my rut.”

“What?!” You let out a frightened cry and struggled wildly. He had no problem holding on to you, his weight pinning you even without his skill stopping you. “R-r-rut?!”

He nodded with a gleam in his red eyes. “I have been waiting for this.”

You whined with a shiver. You didn’t dare kick or hit or scratch or anything—not again. He had only had to punish you once for fighting him. You tried to push his shoulders, but he only smiled and dropped all his weight on you. Your breath whooshed out and you tapped his shoulders anxiously.

“Are you going to be a good little omega?” He waited until you nodded and smirked. “Good.”

He looped the chain around a leg of the cheap bed before locking it. You had no chance of escape—not that you ever had any chance, but it depressed you each time you realized it. He smirked darkly and went to the minuscule bathroom to clean up. As the steam billowed out, you realized that his rut scent was also flowing out into the moist air.

The smell began doing what it was supposed to—make nearby omegas receptive to breeding. You whined and tugged at the collar, but of course it was going nowhere. It hadn’t moved in weeks—why would it now? Of course, the lock and chain were steel and wouldn’t give now that you were desperate for them to let you go.

The smell boiled out and thickened in the air. You were immediately fearful as it filled the tiny room. He was going to be rutting—even more vicious, more ruthless. Even your father—a gentle and considerate alpha—was sharp tempered and quick to explode when he was nearing a rut. You loved your father and he loved you, but you had learned to duck and flee from his temper as his rut hit.

You whined into the pillows, burying your nose into their softness to try to avoid the alpha’s thickening scent. It kept getting stronger, making you feel softer and weaker. The scent dipped into your body, sinking in through your pores. You mentally begged him to stop, begged him to release you. His soft whistle echoed in the tiny tile walled bathroom and that made you feel even more sensitive and humiliated as your body began to grow receptive.

He kept washing—he loved scalding hot showers pounding on his skin—and you panted as you felt yourself growing warmer. You skin began prickling, your breasts feeling full and heavy, your nipples tight and your core growing more moist. You pushed your fingers between your legs, trying to take the edge off, but you knew it was useless.

The scent kept growing, and you finally realized how useless it was to try to pretend this was anything but a full-force rut. You forced yourself to your knees and yanked on the hated collar and chain with all your might. The chain rattled, digging into your palms, as you tugged. But even when you put both your feet against the bed and pushed, it didn’t move.

“What are you doing, omega?”

You gasped, whirling to see him standing naked in the doorway with a rough, thin towel over his shoulders. Blushing, you dropped the chain and began backing away from him. His skin seemed dark with his malice and now more ruddy with the hot shower. His long, thick cock was erect, standing out from his thickly muscled body and it kept drawing your fearful eyes.

Ryu smirked as your face turned red. Still you pulled away as far as the chain would let you. Why you insisted on being so timid was beyond him, but he supposed that it was just a weird thing about omegas. All of the ones he had seen recently pulled away, too, with a similar wide eyed panicked expression. He shrugged, tossing the towel aside to the floor and stalked over to your chain.

Grabbing the chain, he smirked as he began pulling on it hand over hand. You dug your feet and fingers into the cheap hotel carpet as he drug you closer. The loud sound of you clawing away from him made him laugh. “You are hopeless, omega. You can’t fight me.”

You whined as you looked up at him. Your skin all over seemed prickled with heat and now you had wide patches that were rubbed raw. He grabbed the burned nylon collar, forcing you to be mostly still as your face was inches from his cock. Unfortunately, it also meant that your nose was inches away from that rut scent that was making every muscle in your body quake.

He studied you as you huddled down there on the floor. “It will be nice to have an omega serving my rut for a change.” His huge hand patted your hair. “Being on the road—going to tournaments and fights all the time—I haven’t had the chance to pick one up. And then—then I found the power of the dark power of the Hado.” His eyes glistened with some kind of frantic energy. “I thought that killing in the ring was fun—but now, I can’t wait to try you out.”

You shivered, yanking hard on the collar. “Please don’t. Just—don’t.”

His only answer was to haul you to the bed and shove you down on it. Ryu laughed as you scrambled helplessly like a fly on flypaper with your limbs going everywhere and you going nowhere. A single careless swipe of his hand and your shirt was ripped halfway down to your waist. With jerking yanks, he clawed your dirty clothes off with loud ripping sounds.

You sobbed as your clothes seemed to disintegrate into ribbons. The shreds floated around and hit the bed as you tried to scramble away. You knew already you weren’t going anywhere, but his rut was overpowering you and forcing you to at least try to escape. Your whine only made him laugh and rip the last bits of clothing off of you.

He rolled you to your back without effort, terrifying you with how strong he really was. You shook in fear as he smirked down at you, pulling your legs apart and settling them on his waist. With a savage grip, he yanked you up and drove his hard cock into you.

Your core stretched painfully, the friction of his invasion filling you with fire. “No!” you screamed as he pulled you further onto his hard dick. “I...I don’t—!”

He smirked as you writhed. You felt amazing as you struggled against him with your meager omega muscles. No rut had ever felt this good, this powerful. It was as if the Satsui no Hado had trebled his pleasure, heightened the need of the rut until it was almost unbearable only to make joining with his omega sweeter.

His throbbing cock finally grated into you. Hell, you felt like velvet and sakura petals and fire as you grunted and shook on the bed in front of him. His jaw was clenched as he savored the feel of your unwilling submission. It was even more hot because you were unwilling, better for your jerking and sporadic and manic fighting. If the darkness of the power in his veins was satisfied by seeing his enemies broken bodies, it was only heightened by the harsh act of taking you as his omega and having you serve his rut.

The rut scent drowned you and you couldn’t stop your body from growing softer and more receptive. You couldn’t stop the sudden spurts of hot slick your body started to produce. You couldn’t stop your muscles from loosening. You couldn’t stop any of it any more than you could stop an avalanche from tumbling down a mountain.

The first time your body thrust up, he growled in pleasure-pain. His cock couldn’t stand it as he felt you grow warmer, more eager. Finally you grabbed him, your hips clumsy as they tried to accept his invasion and begin the labor of milking his seed from him. He let out a howl of laughter and leaned over you to get a better angle.

His mind’s eye loved your breasts as they bounced up and down in front of him. They would swell to feed his children, growing larger and sweeter to fill even his big, rough hands. He lapped at your tight, dark nipples, suckling hard enough on them that you shuddered and whined. One of his hands stretched over your belly, making him more excited to think that your womb would be filled with his pups. You would be a pretty enough mother, your body soft and round and swollen. And then, he could do it again and again. Perhaps he could even give you something, make your heats come more often. He had heard of pills and drugs—one did not travel as he did and stay in the alleys and streets with the bums and hobos and homeless without hearing things—to make an omega go into heat at will.

You whined, your muscles gripping him. Your heat was starting to thump in your heart and in the heartbeat between your legs. His rut may have jumpstarted your heat, but your heat was taking on an addictive life of its own. You felt compelled to wrap your arms around his thick neck and meaty shoulders. His cock slid so deep into you it seemed to touch your soul.

Abruptly, your climax shattered around you. Your slick was already making both of your bodies a sticky mess, but the harsh and throbbing orgasm forced a small squirt from between your legs. That was pathetic, but there it was—a liquid reminder of how much your body wanted this now that it had been forced on you.

It only made him thrust harder. Your hips ached with the harsh pounding as he went harder. His hands squeezed your breasts until you thought they were going to pop like grapes. And when you screamed, he pinched your nipples and pushed harder.

Ryu never imagined it would feel like this. You were helpless, prey to his predator. Yin to his yang. The harder he forced you to accept his cock, the more he needed to claim you. His teeth ran over your neck, grazing your skin like a lover’s touch. You arched up to grind up against him and press right against his swollen knot.

Hell, this was the largest it had ever been, hard and swollen and achingly sensitive to even the slick soaked touch of your cunt. He shifted to one side slightly and felt your muscles tighten as though you were pushing him out. “No, omega. You are going to take my knot!”

You shook your head wildly. “Too big!”

His hands went to pull apart your knees into a wide split that made your muscles burn. “Take my knot, omega!”

You whined, feeling like a wishbone. It made your core stretch open so that his knot could press harder. “I can’t!”

He laughed again and shoved harder. His knot slid into you with almost a popping sound, locking you to him. When he let your knees go, your legs automatically wrapped around his waist to keep him from pulling back and forcing the knot to scrape back out of your body.

“With training it will no longer hurt,” he grinned, rocking again forward again. “And you will accept it even if it does.”

Then he bit hard. Your scent glans exploded with instinctive pleasure as he marked you. His teeth dug in deeper, jerking slightly and grinding to make the mark deep and clear and you could practically feel the dark purple bruise blooming on your skin.

Your writhing pushed him over the edge. It felt like gallons of seed flowed out and filled your plugged core. He gasped to feel it drain him, his ki sparking and receding with the intensity of the rut slaking.

“No!” he shouted angrily as the Hado seemed to flow away from him. His hips jutted forward again, as he growled, trying to focus. His eyes suddenly locked onto yours. “Give it back!”

You gasped, feeling unbearably tight. Your inner core had swollen tight like a ripe fruit filled with juice. It all ached—the liquid hot and prickling and feeling...sharp like you had squirted pickle juice into yourself. And it hurt, making your innards feel like you had you were a spicy chili pepper and burning with your own heat.

Then, just as quickly, it was cold. You gasped and twisted, cramping in the sudden cold and shocked to feel your eyes burning. Tears slid down your cheeks to ease the burning and when you reached up to him, you saw your fists glowing, burning with purple fire that did not scald and did not hurt.

Ryu shuddered wildly, stilling and closing his eyes and taking in steady breaths to focus. When he opened his eyes again, you could see them burning with red. Somehow you knew his eyes were like your own. And when his ki began burning in low purple flames, you knew it matched the flames flickering against your own skin.

He laughed again, nudging you one more time to settle the knot more comfortably inside you. You suddenly laughed as well. And when you began hearing the steady beat of “kill...kill...kill...kill” in your head, it didn’t alarm you at all. In fact, it excited you—knowing your alpha could kill. Perhaps it was an omega instinct harkening back to the days when alphas had to kill to provide for their families and their nests. Perhaps it was something else, dark and sinister.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

His rough hand went to your belly. The purple flames flared for a moment, rising higher as he stroked your skin over your womb. His grin was sinister and you both stared at the flames for a moment. A sharp yellow flash sparked as his hand went low over the bottom of your belly and you felt a stabbing prickle deep inside you.

“My child,” he purred, his angry red eyes back on yours.

You laughed, feeling reckless and powerful and more than an omega. On some level, you knew—just as he did—that your child had just been conceived.

Chapter Text

You set out your tray of cookies to cool so that you could ice them. Ever since you were 2 or 3, you had been helping your mother at her small bakery. You were lucky—you had a flair for it and a talent for colorful and tasty treats as well as more ordinary bread and other bakery items. It was a pleasure for you even though it meant you were often up at dawn and frequently covered with flour and up to your elbows in dough. It almost didn’t phase you any more to greet friends with streaks of flour on your face.

Except for him.

That was the other constant in your universe—Gouken’s adopted son staring into the window at the treats on display. You liked seeing his dark eyes widen as you would stack the cookies on their tray or his admiration as you swirled colorful icing on top of them or when you would stack moon cakes and slices of mizo yokan on the cake stand for celebrations. The old master would walk around, doing the shopping and visiting friends or buying his supplies with his two students—the foreign looking American with the open smile and stilted Japanese and long blond hair in a ponytail and his far quieter adopted son. Everyone whispered the boy was a foundling, but no one really seemed to know who his parents were or how Gouken found him. A few snarling gossips insisted it was some foul play on the old master’s part since he had no son to inherit, but thankfully no one gave them much notice.

He followed the old master everywhere and, at one point or another, Gouken walked past your mother’s shop. Other small children were watching the window hungrily and he cautiously approached to stare inside. When the old master had turned around and found his protege gone, he had gone to the logical places—the candy store, the small shops that featured toys or electronics and then, at last, the bakery.

You hadn’t heard what the Gouken said to Ryu from the other side of the window, but you were taking two of the last three double chocolate chip cookies out of the window when he did. The poor boy hadn’t even heard him come up, and you saw him straighten and then whirl around with a red face. All the kids had laughed at him and scattered at the big man’s frown as he scolded the boy and began to lead him away.

You met his shy eyes and, on impulse, you took the last cookie out and wrapped it in a small piece of waxed paper and darted out of the shop. “Sir.... Master Gouken?”

He turned with a smirk and a question on his face. Ryu looked back at you with another flush on his cheeks. “Sir...umm?” You held out the iced cookie. “Ummm...he forgot his cookie.”

Master Gouken looked down at his student, and patted his dark beard right where the gray streaks were appearing. “Ryu?”

Ryu turned red, his head shaking and his face flaming. “Sorry.... It wasn’t me.”

You handed him the cookie anyway. “It’s.... I wanted.... I mean—he ....” You turned red. “It’s the last one on the tray and...and it’s late and...I thought that he....” You took a deep breath and tried again. “He...never gets a treat—.”

“Oh?” Master Gouken asked in his deep voice with a teasing lilt.

“Here,” you muttered, putting it into his hand. “I...I want you to have it.”

He stammered his thanks, turning as red as you were. You flushed at the stare of his master—who, honestly, was more than a bit intimidating with his huge muscular build that towered over you—but gave him a shy smile. You were going to say something—something stupid since one look at him usually tied your tongue into knots—but between his embarrassed stare and the stare of the bigger man, you just bolted away.

It started a trend. If you happened to see him, he got a single cookie from the window. Then came the inevitable day when you sold completely out of cookies by the time he managed to get down the steep trail. Nothing you said—not even the silly apologies for having dared to have a great day of sales—made the young man’s disappointment vanish or straightened his shoulders. As you watched him walk away with that slump of his shoulders, you resolved to keep one aside. He liked them all—the chocolate chip, peanut butter, the oatmeal raisin, the sugar cookies, your special pumpkin cookies, the iced gingerbread—and you hustled to keep one aside until it was closing time.

Now, your mother had retired and you were running the shop. Nothing changed during the years as you and Ryu grew up, you kept one cookie aside for when he happened to come bursting through town to the shop. Master Gouken had long since stopped looking for his pupil anywhere but your bakery where he could be found lingering with a cookie and something cold to drink.

Of course, Ryu failing to make his daily run down the path gave you some concern. He so rarely missed a day—even after doing it for years—that you were reluctant to sell the final chocolate chip cookie that evening. Then he missed the sugar cookie with the silly icing on it the next day. The third day, you made an extra batch of chocolate chip cookies and wrapped them in a pretty box. At the end of your long work day, you took the box and began the long trek up the path to the old dojo. Master Gouken answered your impatient knock—you had spent the entire time going up starting to think he was simply forgetful to thinking he had a cold to thinking he was nearly dead—and smirked to see the dozen cookies in their cardboard box.

As gently as he could, he said, “I am very sorry—but Ryu is not here.”

Your eyes went wide. “But—?”

He sighed. “He had decided to go into the world.”

Tears filled your eyes and you blinked them back. “Why?”

“He wants to prove.... Ahhh....” Master Gouken, for a moment, seemed lost for words. “He is proving to himself that he has mastered his skills. So, he is traveling to a tournament in Tokyo.” He paused at your fallen face. “I believe that from there, he plans to travel to China.”

“Oh.” You gulped in an uncertain breath. “W-w-when will he be back?”

“I cannot say. But when he does come back, I will send him to you. He will regret missing your special cookies.”

It felt strange the next day, selling all of the cookies you made without holding any back. It was a hole in your heart to put the last sugar cookie in a little folder of waxed paper and give it to someone else. A month passed as you slowly adjusted to not holding anything back. Master Gouken occasionally walked through, but he only nodded in your direction occasionally and had no news of his pupil when you managed to ask him.

There wasn’t a clear amount of time before you saw him again. You had simply gotten used to selling everything and going through your stock as fast as you could bake it. The spare loaves and cookies and treats went to the local charities—a homeless shelter this month—and you had already given them to the nice lady who picked them up. So, all that remained was to count the cash and lock up. Then, there was a knock at the door.

When you went to the door, you were surprised to see Ryu there, looking down at you with a shy grin. “Do you have any...any more cookies?”

“Ryu!” you shouted in joy. Then you flushed darkly. “I...I....”

His face fell as he stared at your empty shelves. “I guess...I’m too late.”

“I...I’ll have some tomorrow. Whatever kind you like.” You couldn’t bear the sad look on his face, the slump of his shoulders under his heavy bag. “Hold on. I’ll.... Come on in.”

You locked up and turned off the outside lights, flipped the sign to “Closed”. Pulling out your bowls, you started up the oven. The fastest thing to fix would be to put together some peanut butter cookies and you knew the simple recipe by heart.

“Give me a half hour, Ryu.” You smiled at him and tossed him a water bottle. “These won’t take long.”

He gave you his bashful smile. “I.... Really I didn’t expect this.”

“No problem. These won’t take any time at all.”

He watched you as you whipped through mixing them and putting them on the sheet and sliding it into the oven. “Really...it’s okay—.”

You impishly stuck out your tongue at him. “I’m half done, so you may as well stick around.” With a flirtatious grin, you added, “I mean, otherwise I’d have to trail after you up the path in the dark and you wouldn’t want me to get hurt or anything, would you?” He gaped at you in surprise. “And if I did, I might not have any cookies for you tomorrow.”

“Wow...all that from a cookie.” He put down his bag and sat down with his water bottle. “I guess I’d better stay, huh?”

“Yeah.”

You finally got the bowl and your tools in the dishwasher again and went to sit at the table with him. “So, what all is out there in world?”

He flushed and shrugged, his eyes going to his hands. “I fought in a tournament.” You nodded. “I lost.”

“Oh, no,” you sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t good enough,” he grunted sourly.

You reached out to his hands. He had never taken defeat well—even the minor defeat of not getting your last cookie. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugged slightly. “Master Gouken doesn’t know yet.” He gave you a secretive smirk. “I just kind of don’t want to face him.”

“But why? He’s going to be so happy that you’re back.”

“He worked so hard training me and I failed him.” He stared at your joined hands sullenly. “I wanted to come back a winner, not just another loser.”

You nodded slowly. “But you’re going back out there, right?” He looked up at you with a question on his face. “You have to go back out, and try again.”

He nodded slowly, looking at you. “I guess I am.” He grinned. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“That’s me—the bakery psychiatrist.” You gave him a smile. “And I prescribe peanut butter and chocolate kiss cookies immediately.”

He chuckled. “Okay, doc.”

“Stick around for your fresh dose of cookies,” you winked. “There’s nothing that fresh cookies can’t help.”

He shrugged and sipped his water. “I suppose.”

“You’ll see.” The timer went off on the oven and you went to pull out the cookies. Opening your huge bag of chocolate kisses and put one in the middle of each one. Then you loosened them from the pan and set them on a cooling rack. Grabbing another drink, you put them on a plate and set them in front of him. “Let’s see if these help.”

He stared at the cookies morosely and then looked at you. “I don’t deserve these.”

“Of course you do,” you insisted. Timidly, you reached around his neck and hugged him. “And I know that you’ll better next time.”

He leaned over to you. Instinctively, you offered comfort and stepped closer to brush his face with a kiss. He let out a strangled sigh and his head dipped. “Don’t.”

Your eyes seemed to mist with unshed tears. “B-b-but...why?”

He smiled sadly at you. “Save your kisses for a winner.” He pushed the small paper plate of cookies towards you again. “And your special cookies.”

You watched as he stared at the plate, his whole attention focused on the steaming cookies. He sighed again, his shoulders slumping. He looked up at you with dark, puppy dog eyes and whispered, “You have no idea how much I was looking forward to getting some cookies.”

You pushed the plate back. “But you’ll try again, right? And next time you’ll be better and maybe you’ll win next time.”

He propped his cheek on his fist with his elbow on the table. “I guess so.” He flushed and looked up at you. “I guess I’ll go out and try again. But...I don’t know if I’ll ever be a winner.”

“Sure you will,” you smirked. “Just give it some time.”

He looked so glum as he stared longingly at the cookies. “You know I’ve been looking forward to them.”

You frowned at him. “I made them just for you.” He stood up with the water bottle and red cheeks and a shy shrug. “And they’ll just go to waste if you don’t eat them.”

He looked at you with a sheepish expression. “I really don’t deserve them.” He picked up his huge bag. “You should save them—.”

You shook your head, touching his arm. “Just eat one.” He looked at you with a scowl. “And when you win, I’ll make you a whole batch of whatever kind you like best.”

He looked up at you with a faint look of surprise. “R-r-really?”

You nodded. On impulse, you kissed his cheek and you felt him shudder. “You’ll win—I know it.”

He gingerly reached out to touch your cheek. His eyes were wide and uncertain as though he wasn’t at all sure what was going to happen next. It made your heart squish to see he was still the little boy who couldn’t believe that you were giving him the last cookie.

“Will you...?” You felt your cheeks turn a bit pink. “Do you think so?”

You nodded shyly. “I know it. And then you will get a whole batch of whatever cookies—.”

“N-n-no,” he stammered, glancing down. “I.... Ever since you gave me the first chocolate chip cookie—I wanted....” He turned red. “You know, that first cookie you gave me had eleven chocolate chips and six white chocolate chips.”

You looked up at him in confusion. “What?! You counted them?”

He nodded bashfully. “I made it last all the way up to the dojo and I counted every one of them.” He looked up at you seriously. “I’m going to go to the next fight, but—if I win—I want....” He took a deep breath with a wince. “I want...a kiss.”

You looked at his dark eyes. He was looking anxious, as though he expected you to slap him. Slowly you nodded, giving him a timid smile. “And a batch of double chocolate chip cookies.”

Finally, he smiled. “I’ll win it for you.”

Chapter Text

Bison went through the base, his hard soled boots snapping as he stalked the hallway. Everyone shot to attention as if they weren’t gossiping and whispering just a few moments ago, suddenly silent and dour. He didn’t recognize any of them—not even a short nod—and kept going.

Most of them at one time or another had speculated on his past, his identity. It was apparently some kind of interest i what the “M” stood for. Some said it was for “Master”. Some said it was for “Michael”. Some said it was “Monster” or “Monsignor” or “Monsieur”.

His first name was “Malcom”.

It had been his great grandfather’s name—a sodden, drunkard with delusions of grandeur as he drank down some rotgut and claimed that he was descended from a Scottish laird. Just which laird or notable person changed from drink to drink, bottle to bottle. Sometimes it was William Wallace. Other times it was Bonnie Prince Charlie. Sometimes, if he was really deep in his cups he would claim he was descended from Lief Ericsson—only to cuff anyone who tried to point out that Lief was a Viking.

Bison had endured all the taunts and teasing from his school mates for his “strange name” and his short and relatively weak stature. He had endured the gossip about his drunk of a grandfather and his whore of a mother and the absent father. And, he had decided then, as he laid against the wall of the school building, he would show them all.

So he had begun spending his time in the school weight room to grow stronger. He spent time in the library when the football team and lacrosse team were training. He ended up in fights anyway, right up until he met another man in detention. They hit it off—he, a genius with the strategy and plans and the big junior varsity boxer with heavy hitting muscle—and it was a quick friendship.

He had outgrown those schoolyard bullies, the cliques and the need to have their approval. Once he had gone to college and then dropped out, only to find the boxer who took the name of “Balrog” again, he had conceived the idea of an complete coup. The losers and druggies and bullies deserved to be under his thumb for a change—they deserved to know what it was to be subjugated.

Getting started was simplicity enough. Walking away from his mother with two 14K necklaces and a switchblade and twenty dollar bill, he started as an enforcer for a gang. Balrog came along when he was thrown out of professional boxing and brought about 500 with him, so they joined up and overthrew the small time hood to take over the gang. Then came another gang—a drug running gang with a few whores who brought in seed money for them to invest in guns and property to brew the drugs. Then another gang that did primarily did prostitution and made boot-legged porn. The next gang ran drugs over the border and then illegal weapons.

He had risen through the ranks, taking his gang up with him. He developed a reputation that he welcomed scientists and para-medical students and carved a safe haven for them in his organization. The smaller, scrawny nerdy kids—the ones with thick glasses who carried heavy books around and got bullied and beat up—flocked to Malcom’s gang, bringing technical and scientific and medical expertise. He even had a pool of accountants who figured out stock trading and commodity trading and moving money around and making it grow. He welcomed them, providing protection and an unlimited canvas to indulge their wildest fantasies of vengeance.

Sagat had been the one to take him international. The big Muy Thai fighter had approached him, joining their gangs to begin running an even more exotic array of drugs and connecting him to some Thai gun runners and people who were willing to sell whatever military hardware they had to whoever had their price. Now he had old choppers and planes and tanks and a ready pool of people who wanted nothing more than to make them even more deadly.

Now, he ran the largest criminal cartel in the world. Not a single person on the planet was ignorant of his name, his status. He still regularly recruited scientists and accountants and medical people—whether from pressuring them financially as they were crushed with school debts or stoking their need to pay back those who beat them down or simply appealing to their base desires to prove their worth—and he offered safety and freedom from health and safety and legal regulations.

But despite the huge success of his work, the larger than life persona, he was still just a man.

So, as often as he could manage, he would leave his huge chair—his throne of power—and let his advisors and generals handle things for just a bit. He would come to his headquarters here in the mountains and stomp through the hallways, coming to his one haven.

He slid open the heavy metal door and took in a breath of relief.

There four rooms—a bathroom, a bedroom, a sort of sitting room and an atrium—and then a double length room in the back that was an almost gourmet kitchen. Every room was comfortable with large, heavy wood furniture accented with thick pillows and warm blankets. He had a wall mounted television that not only could show him almost every corner of his base, but also things like cartoons, movies and football games.

“M?” came your soft voice. “Is that you?”

He tugged off his heavy cape and tipped off his military cap. “I’m here,” he grunted as he toed off the slickly polished boots and set them aside.

You came slowly into the sitting room. You wore the lovely, innocent little babydoll nightie he liked in white with white lace along the edges. Your hair was mussed and curled—you simply hadn’t combed it out after washing it. Your feet were bare and your nails were painted a soft pink. All in all, you looked like a small baby doll with your air of innocence and youth.

“There you are, my dear,” he purred. Moving slowly, he bent to kiss your cheek. “You look wonderful.”

You flushed. You had been another bullied kid from his school that was two years younger than him—once he had become too big to be bullied himself, the ravening crowd had turned to you and unmercifully ground you down. You had been born with a malformed ankle and too-small feet and so used clumsy crutches. Once he had managed to come back to get vengeance on one of the worst bullies, he had found you on the floor of the men’s shower of the gym. Your crutches had been smashed to splinters and you were huddling under the lukewarm spray in your almost transparent white shirt. There were splotches of pink on the cold, wet white shirt. He had been transfixed as he stared down at you as you wept at his feet.

For once, his icy heart had thawed and he looked down at you in shock. You were beaten half to death—your eyes dark and swollen shut and purple bruises all over—and shivering and cold. He picked you up and wrapped you in his shirt, murmuring softly and carrying you out of the showers. Even Balrog had known not to say anything as he came out with you in his arms.

He took you with him, giving you the safety you had never had before. He protected you, secreted you into his private quarters and forbade anyone from so much as talking to you. He could not protect you from the abuse and bullying—the beating in the showers had damaged your eyes and you were perilously close to being blind and your feet simply were not going to ever be right—and then given you a home to be settled in.

You clung to him, desperate to be just safe and to have food and water and a roof over your head. It seemed like a dream come true that he offered you a place of your own, let alone an apartment. He had—somehow—managed to get a set of crutches created to exactly your height and build. There was even some kind of robotics or something that spread the bottom point into multiple little legs when you needed the extra stability and then folded back up when you were fine. They also could walk to you when you said the command words, sliding to you. He had brought you a small pod chair that hovered and could go just about anywhere, but you rarely left the apartment, so it largely lived in a closet.

He waited patiently as you wobbled to sit on the couch. “Are you all right, my dear?”

You nodded, smiling at the vague gray-red shape that came and sat beside you. He was, in a word, huge. He was also the nicest person you had ever come across. He had designed this apartment with wide open doorways and a single story so that you could get around easily. He had big, heavy furniture that didn’t slide around or get rearranged and no slippery rugs or anything. The bathroom had a wide shower and then a custom bathtub with pull bars mounted on the walls and handy hooks just about everywhere so that you could stop and hang up your crutches.

“How was work?” you asked as he settled on the couch.

He smiled to see you flush shyly. You were still so innocent, so soft and quiet, almost shy. You never spoke to anyone else, just lapsing into silence, if you even heard anyone’s voice. He had been amused that when he had finally moved you into this apartment—you had clammed up and almost vanished into the walls simply because he had been watching Balrog talking to someone else over the television.

“It was fine,” he smirked.

“I’m glad,” you said, sliding carefully over to sit next to him. You always waited until he settled before getting close so that you didn’t bump into anything. “I made some pancakes.”

He grinned, giving you another chaste kiss. “Wonderful.”

You snuggled in even closer. His body was huge and warm as you sank into his arms. It was always nice to have him here in this little apartment. He arranged to have new Braille or large type books to come in almost every week. He made sure that the large television got all kinds of channels, so you had noise and entertainment. You had new clothes every so often, small gifts or toys and presents on special occasions.

Your hands went to his lap, feeling that his dick was growing larger and harder. You smiled at him, purring as he pushed backward into the sofa so that you could reach him. You wrestled down his zipper and pulled his cock out.

His body shuddered as your pink lips went to suckle him. Immediately, he was not the ruler of the underworld, but just a man. And like any man, he liked his pleasures. Your adorable lips stretched over his shaft, your head bobbing and your curls bouncing in his lap. Immediately, he felt the rush of blood and the feel of fire in his veins.

And when you straddled his immense hips, your tiny little fingers guided his cock right into your warmest, wettest core. You were so tiny, such a little doll, and your body stretched tightly around his cock. You gripped him, squeezing him until his breath huffed out.

His hands shook as he gripped your hips gently. Ever so slowly, he began guiding you up and down in a slow and steady rhythm. You quickly took to his thrusts, trusting him not to go too fast or too hard. It was a long-standing, hard won trust that he never wanted to break, even when everything inside him wanted to fuck as fast and as hard as he could. So, he kept a slow and steady pattern every time, no surprises and nothing that could ever hurt you.

He cupped your breasts gently, tugging gently on the stretchy fabric until your pretty pink nipples bounced in front of him. What a darling little doll you were, so charming and beautiful and innocent as you grinned at him. It made you look more adorable, a fuckable doll and he loved seeing you like this.

Almost immediately, you gasped and whined, curling in his lap with soft little pants as your core fluttered. Your silky curls relaxed, bouncing and tangling as you slid up and down. The soft white gown fluttered around you, covering nothing in its lacy billows. Your lips were pink and shiny and your cheeks rosy as you buried your face into his neck.

His iron will was tested as you kept going, your slick pooling on his cock. Obscene wet sounds echoed in the room, filling his ears along with your soft whines and wordless cries. His own ruined toy tested him, the baby doll an innocent tease and a sibilant satisfaction.

The moment you thrust down, your back arching and another soft shout leaving you as you fell over the edge, he shuddered. Your core was sweet as you came, fluttering and drawing him even deeper. Almost instantly, he grunted—tensing that a too loud sound would somehow frighten you—and his cock throbbed. Finally content that you had been pleased, his cum shot into you, filling you.

Immediately, he smiled, his hands gently curling around your waist as your whole body seemed to almost flop against him. You were spent, every muscle limp and weary, and you nuzzled your head into his shoulder. Your gown settled around you as you smiled.

What a perfect doll you were....

Chapter Text

Ryu stalked the alleyways, his eyes burning as they flicked across the cement. Tiny mice skittered away from his stomping feet and it seemed that even the cockroaches and bugs fled from him. A cat’s ears flicked and it stuck its head from a garbage can further down to see what was the ruckus, only to flatten its ears and hiss and leap away. From behind a door, a dog barked hysterically, only to whine pitifully as he passed the door as his hand brushed the ragged panel.

It didn’t matter.

He was after... better game.

A bold tom cat limped across the alley and looked up at him. It was missing half an ear, an eye. Its coat was ragged with mange. Still, it looked up at him with that one-eyed glare of wicked gold. He glowered at it and it seemed the cat was burning with the same chaotic, hostile ki energy that floated through him. It was as if that feline had the same dark Hado, the same training as him, contained in a tiny body.

He snarled at it, his teeth flashing. It looked up at him with its ears flattening against it head. Ryu shuffled aside in an echo of false courtesy. Master Gouken had advocated that all life was precious. His Master Akuma said that only the strong survived and as one survivor to another, he let it pass.

He was after better game.

The alley emptied out into an abandoned back street. It seemed that every deserted street was the same—throughout the world. Limp laundry hung overhead on loose lines between the buildings. Many of the windows that were not boarded up were open, letting the stale air in through ragged screens. Trash cans lined up like soldiers, waiting for the noisy garbage collectors, stinking up the place. Restaurants—the cheap kind that advertised on the back of receipts and by folding up menus in mailboxes—spilled out more smells of cheap food.

At the corner, he found his prey.

She sat under a flickering streetlight. He had seen her there before, and knew her from her long brown braid to the ragged leather sandals. She sat there under the light with a banged up guitar and the guitar case open at her feet to collect any tips anyone threw her way. She had a long skirt in a bohemian style with a similarly loose top.

He didn’t care for her song—something insipid about love and flowers and peace or something—but she was lush and curved in all the right places. She was also, most importantly, alone. Or at least, as alone as she could be, with the scant foot traffic and no one paying attention to her.

She smiled as he came up. Her feet tapped as she sang her stupid melody, her long fingers strumming the strings happily. The song flowed out easily and a suited businessman strolled past, absently dropping a few dollars into her case. Ryu glared at him until he scuttled away with a fearful look.

“Come with me,” he ordered shortly.

She looked up at him, blushing, and shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m going to be going... soon.” He scowled at her. “In fact—it’s getting late. I’ll be going.”

“Come with me.”

She looked up at him, her face growing pale. She dropped the guitar into the case with a twang. The coins and money clunked against the instrument as she closed the case. Taking the case up, she spun on her heel to run.

But he grabbed her arm.

She let out a yelp as his hand gripped her, tightened. He didn’t hear her protests as he began walking away. The hostel wasn’t far and honestly it was long since after the rush hour when the businessmen deserted the office buildings and after happy hour when they got out of the bars.

Halfway down the block, she dropped the guitar case with a clatter. Ryu only grinned as he kept tugging her away. She screamed loudly, which made a few people stare, but one look at his face made them scuttle away like the cockroaches.

The hostel had a separate entrance into the guest suite, and he pulled her there. She stumbled after him, panting breathlessly. Tugging the door open, he shoved her inside and walked in after her.

Akuma knelt there, his presence almost burning in the air. The large man looked so dark and fierce, with his hair a shaggy mane around his face and muscular shoulder that anyone would know him for a demon. He slid his mighty arms out of his ragged jacket so that it flopped over the black belt at his waist.

“How delightful—a sweet little girl.”

Ryu bowed behind her. “Yes, my master.”

“You have done well, my disciple.” Akuma licked his lips impatiently, and it looked like an animal lapping at his tusks. “She is sweet.”

Ryu shoved her to her knees. His huge hands—almost as dark as Akuma’s—ripped her loose blouse and shoved her skirt up to her waist. The little girl—practically a waif compared to the two massive fighters—shrieked and tried to pull her clothes over herself, but Ryu was too quick and had her stripped in moments.

Akuma was almost impassive at the scene playing out in front of him. Then, with a lightning quick move, he grabbed her face, his long fingers going from cheek to cheek. With an imperceptible squeeze, her forced her jaws open. “Now, you will be very quiet and obedient.” She shook her head, but even with all of her will, she didn’t move his hand even an inch. “Or my disciple will take you out that door and he will not stop until you are dead.”

Akuma turned her head, silently amused as she went completely white. Ryu slid out of his jacket until it flopped around his waist like his master’s. Her eyes went wide as she saw the huge scar in his chest, and Ryu flexed his muscles to watch her eye grow wider. Akuma’s voice was soft and almost... reasonable sounding if it weren’t for that deathly, inhuman tone.

“Now, we only want you for little while. And you will be obedient—.” Akuma’s dead white eyes went to Ryu’s glittering red ones. “—Or my disciple and I will end your insignificant existence.”

She nodded, which Akuma could feel even if Ryu couldn’t see it. “Good. Now—hands and knees. Mouth open. And not a sound—or I will be... very upset.”

Ryu grinned as his master pulled her open mouth down. With deliberate fingers, Akuma untied his ragged hakama and pulled out his massive dick. Her eyes bugged out and she let out a breathless whine at the size of it. Quite carelessly, Akuma kept his grip on her jaw and drug her mouth over his cock. With long, dirty sounding slurps, the demon pumped her head quite casually up and down.

Ryu grinned as he watched. Undoing the ties at his waist, he pulled his pants down and wrestled out of his jacket to toss it aside. Everything was more intense, larger than life, since he had finally embraced the Dark Hado and this was no different. He was ready for her since the moment he opened the door to the hostel.

Akuma lazily kept her mouth pumping on his cock. With a smug grin, he looked up at Ryu and shrugged. Ryu wrapped his fist around his cock, tugging at the length smoothly. The girl whimpered softly, drool trailing down her chin and face, as her flanks tightened as if she could see what he was going to do.

He pressed his cock against the soft flesh of her ass, letting her feel every inch of it. Her eyes bugged out and she let out another whimper. Akuma said nothing, only kept up the smooth and steady pace back and forth.

Finally, the demonic master nodded. “Her fear is delicious. Don’t you agree, my disciple?”

Ryu’s laughter was throaty and deep. “Yes, my master.”

“You will feel it when you mount her.” Akuma gave him a nod. “It will feel like honey in your mouth, like silk in your fingers. Fear gives you strength, and feeds the Dark Hado. Then the Dark Hado give you strength and power.”

“Yes, my master.”

“Your power will grow. You will be a fine student and we will cleanse the corruption that Gouken embraced.”

Ryu’s hand went faster, gripped tighter. The ruddy tip glistened in the uncertain light of the room. It did feel good, in fact it felt better than good, better than anything. A thrill went up his spine as she gave a muffled little whine. Her fear scented the air—he could smell it—and it was sweet.

The next moment, he thrust into her. Her shriek was muffled in Akuma’s crotch, buried against his bruise purple skin. There was a thick sound, a smooth scrape against his cock, all around it, as he plunged in deeper.

Her skin was so pale against his dark hands. It was so pale and perfect and smooth and soft. More like a painting than real in that creamy rose. He couldn’t help but pinch it. She bucked hard, a slender leg kicking out but not hitting anything. The skin bloomed brilliant pink right there, like a pink pansy in a field of snow. The pink was not dark and violent like his fingers, and he poked at it to hear her whine.

Immediately, he spanked her. Hard. He spanked her so hard that she rocked forward, smashing her face into Akuma and all but choking her on the oni’s cock. That showed him a beautiful red splat on her skin, ruining the porcelain perfection of it. Again. She stumbled forward and then was shoved back, gasping for air. Perfect outlines of his fingers stayed behind. He liked them and did it again and again. Now outlines of his fingers and palm crisscrossed her skin in overlapping designs like feathers.

His hips rocked forward with little thrusts like her terrified pants. She was slobbering now, a puddle of spit under her chin, and her face was red and blotchy. Ryu grinned as she seemed to go from pale perfection to a mottled mess. The perfect angel was falling fast, sinking into sin with them, and he was delighted to watch her fall.

The mottled pink and purple was a siren call to him. He snapped his hips, driving into her. Something loosened or something, and the moist grip that she held on him became... more. More enflamed. More welcoming. More slick and smooth. Faster. He could go faster, dipping in and out of the slick. The crowing in his blood was growing louder as he began panting.

It was Akuma who sped it up again. He grabbed a mighty fistful of her hair and pushed forward with his own hips. She let out a sputtering choke, one of her fists pounding the floor beneath her. Akuma chortled and simply snapped his hips again before tugging on her hair again. “You do not want to fight us.”

Ryu was amazed to see her bob in what appeared to be a nodding agreement. Then he grinned as it seemed that they all suddenly fell into a heady rhythm. Her going forward and back in a smooth way that was just fast enough that it enflamed both master and disciple. Then faster and faster. Akuma kept the rhythm and Ryu practically didn’t have to do anything, simply let her ride his cock.

Akuma grinned wide, nodding at Ryu, before he thrust his hips forward powerfully. Ryu growled as she thrust back, burying his cock inside her. Akuma let out a growl and seemed to have a shower of ki energy burst over his shaggy head. She let out a terrified, wide-eyed shriek that was cut short with a gargling sound.

Ryu saw the whitish spurts shoot out of her bulging cheeks and bucked up. Hip to hip with no further to go and his blood blazed. He crackled and the Dark Hado flamed in concert with his master’s. It was like she was merely a conduit—a live wire between master and disciple—that joined their ki into a joined pool of power. Then the Dark Hado joined, crackled and exploded.

She screamed as Ryu came, bursting into her. Every bit of his body tingled, as if he was floating in champagne and every bit of his skin was covered with that effervescence. His hair floated as every muscle tensed and then snapped, dropping him. Power receded, flowing away for an instant before he felt a jolt of power pour into him again like he was being jump started.

Master and disciple pulled away, relaxing and sitting on their heels in unison. The nameless girl flopped down in an unconscious heap. Ryu’s red eyes looked at her—her skin bruised and marked, her knees and hands scraped up, her hair a floppy and sweaty mess around her face, filth and sweat and trails of slick all over her thighs and face—and for a moment he felt... almost grateful for her sacrifice. Power joined to power, mixing and somehow becoming spent and renewed at the same time, and refreshing them both.

Akuma let out a pleased purr, tilting his head back as if he was relishing a light summer rain on his face. Then, just as smoothly, he pulled his massive bulk upright and pulled his hakama back up. Ryu followed, tying the hakama back at his waist. Without another word, they both rose to their feet and pulled their ragged jackets back up, tied their black belts around their waists, and picking up their heavy bags.

“It was a refreshing break, my disciple,” Akuma murmured.

Ryu nodded, “Yes, my master.”

“Tonight we will train for your next fight.”

“Yes, my master.”

“And you will be free from the chains that Gouken wrapped around you when you have won.”

“Yes, my master.”

“When you have defeated your most difficult opponent, you will be free.” They left the hostel in unison, walking down the back alleges and roads. “Free to learn the true power of the Satsui no Hado. Free of the corruption, the weakness, that Gouken forced down your throat.”

“Yes, my master.”

“When you defeat Ken Masters, you will be free.” Akuma’s form seemed to flicker as he walked into the deep shadows and the small shafts of street lights and neon signs. “You will be free and he, too, will be my disciple.”

“Yes, my master.”

“And perhaps we will do this again. When he can join us.” Akuma’s teeth seemed to shine in even the darkest shadows, despite his own body fading from view. “And then there will be three....”