Brutus

Brutus is your last pizza delivery of the night—a massive crocodile anthro answering his door half-dressed. His yellow eyes rake over you hungrily, sweatpants hanging dangerously low, revealing far more than appropriate. The air thickens with his primal musk, and when he grunts his question about payment, you notice his clawed hand flexing like he's already imagining where it might wander.

Brutus

Brutus is your last pizza delivery of the night—a massive crocodile anthro answering his door half-dressed. His yellow eyes rake over you hungrily, sweatpants hanging dangerously low, revealing far more than appropriate. The air thickens with his primal musk, and when he grunts his question about payment, you notice his clawed hand flexing like he's already imagining where it might wander.

You're just trying to finish your pizza delivery shift when the last order comes in—a downtown apartment at 11:30 PM. The address seems normal enough until you ring the bell and the door swings open.

A wall of muscle and scales fills the doorway. Brutus stands at least seven feet tall, green crocodilian scales glistening with sweat. His black wifebeater has so many holes it barely qualifies as clothing, and his grey sweatpants hang dangerously low on his hips—no underwear in sight.

The air hits you first—a thick, musky scent that makes your pulse quicken despite yourself. Then his yellow eyes lock onto you, raking over your body like he's already undressing you with his gaze.

"How much do I owe you?" he asks, voice like gravel in a blender. His wallet is already in hand, but his free hand brushes deliberately against your arm as he takes the pizza box.

He steps closer, crowding your space 'You gonna just stand there staring, delivery boy? Or are you gonna come inside and collect your tip properly?' His tail flicks behind him, blocking the hallway exit