pinkslibrary - Tumblr blog

pinkslibrary · 3 months ago

Text

Hey guys! Uh... I wrote a drabble... and I'm sorry lmao

A Random Kuzudam Drabble feat. a Voice Kink

Rating: Super smutty

Word Count: 5752

Fuyuhiko wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten here.

He knew how he had physically gotten here, obviously - he remembered being in the dorm room and getting manhandled onto the bed, sure.

But mentally? He could genuinely not figure out how he had ended up on his hands and knees, half naked, about to get fucked by Gundham Tanaka, of all fucking people.

“Prepare yourself, my paramour,” Gundham's deep voice rumbled in his ear. A shiver ran through Fuyuhiko's body and his predicament suddenly made a lot more sense.

***

The trouble had started two weeks prior. Fuyuhiko was finally starting to interact with his classmates more, attempting to get more comfortable with himself and with them.

It was their final year of high school, and Fuyuhiko's first year of being openly gay. He had come to terms with it over summer break, and was trying not to shy away from letting others know. Peko and Natsumi were very supportive, which he appreciated, and as his classmates gradually figured out his secret, they were all just as supportive.

Some of them were a little less so. Hiyoko obviously gave him a hard time, despite being gay herself, and Kazuichi was super awkward about it, since he was clearly still in the closet.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, some of his classmates were too excited. Sonia kept offering to initiate some sort of gay school club she had heard about online, which Fuyuhiko was not even remotely interested in, and Teruteru hadn't stopped propositioning him since he came out.

All in all, though, Fuyuhiko was happy with how things were going. Everyone accepted him, which was all he could really ask for. None of their opinions really mattered beyond that, since it wasn't like he wanted to date any of them.

…At first.

Fuyuhiko wasn't attracted to anyone in his class, really. He knew them all far too well for that. Unfortunately, there was one aspect that his traitorous body decided actually was appealing.

He realized it one day after school. He was walking through the courtyard and happened to pass by Sonia and her two boytoys hanging out in the shade of a tree. Sonia waved him over, and, against his better judgment, Fuyuhiko actually stopped to say hi.

“Fuyuhiko! We were just discussing the possibility of having a picnic this weekend! Would you like to come with us?” Sonia asked with a sincere smile.

Honestly, the glare Kazuichi was giving him after that invitation was almost enough to make Fuyuhiko agree out of spite. Still, he wasn't particularly interested. “Nah, I wouldn't want to crash whatever weird occult threesome shit you jerks will probably be up to.”

Gundham laughed, the same deep, cartoon villain laugh he had been doing since Fuyuhiko had met him, but holy shit, it had a much different effect than usual.

The sound of the Ultimate Breeder's laugh sent a shiver through Fuyuhiko's body, straight to his core. The blonde's face heated up, not sure what to make of the strange reaction.

Luckily, none of the others seemed to notice. Gundham struck some sort of ridiculous pose, smirking at the yakuza heir. “Your hesitance to witness our weekend ritual is understandable, Tiny King,” he announced. “However, I assure you that there will not be any ‘threesome shit,’ as you put it.”

Fuyuhiko probably would've laughed at his own words coming out of Gundham's mouth, but he was far too preoccupied. The low timbre of the dark-haired boy's voice had heat pooling in Fuyuhiko's lower belly, and the concept was horrifying. He heard Gundham's voice every fucking day, so why was it suddenly affecting him like this?

His inner turmoil was interrupted by Kazuichi. “Yeah, what the hell, man?! We don't have threesomes or anything like that!” He sounded indignant, but his cheeks were bright red. “Miss Sonia would never do something so dirty! Right, Miss Sonia?” He turned to the princess for validation.

But Sonia put a hand on her cheek, looking off dreamily. “Oh, I would love to try a threesome one day! Perhaps even an entire orgy!”

Kazuichi's jaw dropped as he stared at her, expression equal parts horror and arousal.

Fuyuhiko grimaced, the spell broken by what fucking weirdos his classmates were “Right, well. I still don't want to be part of your nonsense. Thanks, though.” He quickly took his leave before any of them could say something, trying hard not to think about the weird effect of Gundham's voice.

***

The issue didn't go away, though. If anything, it began getting worse. Any time he heard Gundham speak, his body reacted. Even if the breeder was just answering questions in class, Fuyuhiko couldn't help but shiver.

It was even worse when he heard the other boy talking quietly. When Gundham lowered his voice, it became even deeper, and the way it rumbled made Fuyuhiko's whole body feel hot and tingly. It was horrible.

Much to his chagrin, Fuyuhiko found himself partnered with the breeder for a class project. Once Gundham calmed down a bit, he began using his lower voice to discuss the project, being surprisingly serious. Fuyuhiko tried to stay focused and not let his discomfort distract him from the assignment, but it was hard with the way heat was roiling in his core.

His partner fell silent and Fuyuhiko looked up in surprise, only to find Gundham studying him with a concerned expression. “You appear quite flushed, Tiny King. Are you unwell?”

The other boy's concern made Fuyuhiko's heart skip a beat, and the low, quiet rumble of his voice made Fuyuhiko's hole clench instinctively. Horrified, the blonde put a hand over his face. “Y-Yeah,” he replied shakily. “I'm great. Peachy.”

Gundham furrowed his brow. “You cannot fool me. Your aura gives you away.” Fuyuhiko was shocked when the taller boy reached out and took his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face. “If something is the matter, you can tell me, Fuyuhiko,” Gundham implored quietly.

Unable to take the way his body tingled, the yakuza heir yanked his hand away and stood up. “Sh-Shit,” he muttered awkwardly. “Uh, you're right. I feel like shit, I'm gonna go back to my dorm. Sorry about the project or whatever.” Not waiting for a response, he hurried out of the classroom.

Fuyuhiko certainly wasn't proud of himself, but as soon as his bedroom door was closed and locked, he began palming his erection through his pants. He whined softly at the much-needed stimulation, squeezing his eyes shut.

Why the fuck was he hard? How had Gundham's voice gotten him to this point? Fuyuhiko didn't know the answer, but as he crawled onto his bed, he decided to worry about it later.

Pushing aside his shame, he yanked his pants down, kicking them off completely. He grasped his cock, stroking himself roughly, trying to get off quick and dirty. He moaned softly, trying to keep his mind clear, but his imagination had other plans.

The memory of Gundham's low voice made him shiver, and he found himself imagining that same voice saying all sorts of lewd things. It was honestly hard to picture Gundham talking dirty, with his particular speech pattern, but somehow Fuyuhiko's imagination was making it work. He imagined the breeder whispering directly into his ear and he felt his hole clench involuntarily again.

He quickly popped two fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva before reaching down between his legs. He eased one digit past his entrance, no stranger to fingering himself. After only a moment, he was able to squeeze a second finger in alongside the first, and he let out a pleased purr.

Fuyuhiko pumped his fingers in and out of his hole, stroking his cock at the same pace. He moaned helplessly as he worked himself over, desperate for release. It didn't take long for him to reach the edge, and as soon as the fingers inside of him brushed his sweet spot, it was all over. He came with a breathy cry, spilling over himself and clenching around his fingers.

***

Facing Gundham the next day was nearly impossible. They still had to finish their project, though, so Fuyuhiko bolstered his nerve and went to class.

The breeder was understandably concerned. He immediately approached the blonde, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. “Tiny King, I was quite perturbed by you leaving so abruptly yesterday. Are you feeling any better?”

Fuyuhiko nodded, not meeting his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to look at the guy he had literally jerked off to the night before? “I'm fine, don't worry about me. We can still get the project done.”

Gundham frowned. “It isn't the assignment that I'm concerned about.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You truly seemed unwell. My concern is for your well-being.”

Shivering, Fuyuhiko forced himself not to instinctively shrink away. “Seriously, I'm fine. Thanks.” He gazed up at the other boy awkwardly.

The dark-haired boy studied him silently for a moment before taking a step back. “Very well. Then shall we continue our partnership and complete this infernal assignment?”

Fuyuhiko quickly agreed, eager to regain some sense of normalcy.

The rest of the day passed without any problems, but the two of them didn't quite get the rest of their project done. As class drew to a close, Gundham made a suggestion. “In the interest of completing this damnable report, I invite you to join me in my domain.”

Raising an eyebrow, Fuyuhiko attempted to decipher what the hell he meant. “...You want me to come to your dorm?”

Gundham laughed, tossing the end of his scarf over his shoulder with dramatic flair. “Foolish mortal, you may only see a simple dorm room, but I assure you that my domain is much more than that!”

Fuyuhiko grimaced, feeling even more ashamed of himself for fantasizing about this idiot. “Ugh, fine, I'll come over, just stop calling it that.”

Against his better judgment, Fuyuhiko followed the other boy to the dorms. Being alone in a small space with the boy he had become inexplicably attracted to was probably a terrible idea, but the yakuza heir worried that backing out now would look too suspicious.

So he followed Gundham into his room and sat down on his bed. He tried not to think about it and just focus on the assignment.

They finished the project fairly quickly, much to Fuyuhiko's relief. Being so close to Gundham while he was talking like this was absolute torture, and the blonde couldn't wait to have an excuse to leave. Before he could, however, the other boy stopped him.

“If you will humor me, Tiny King,” Gundham began, voice low, sending another involuntary tremor through Fuyuhiko's body. “I may have had an ulterior motive for inviting you into my domain.”

Fuyuhiko's eyes widened and he stared at the breeder, genuinely unsure of where this was going. Part of his brain was already panicking, while another, much more annoying part was weirdly excited. He silently scolded himself, having already decided not to act on whatever these complicated new feelings were.

Gundham met his gaze, looking serious. “I am concerned about you, Fuyuhiko.”

The blonde had to fight off another shiver at the way his own name sounded coming out of Gundham's mouth.

“It seems as though you are having some sort of adverse reaction… to me,” the breeder continued hesitantly.

Fuyuhiko's face flushed and he felt panic fully take hold. Gundham had actually noticed his strange behavior? Great. He was probably going to tell him to fuck off, that he was being too weird, that he-

His frantic thoughts were interrupted by Gundham's next words. “I have noticed you becoming flushed and… twitching in my presence.” He looked at his friend with a troubled expression. “...Is my evil aura causing you pain?”

The blonde froze. That was the conclusion Gundham had come to?! Of course it was. Fuyuhiko nearly sighed in relief, but settled for a bemused smile. “No, dumbass, your ‘aura’ isn't hurting me.”

Gundham seemed relieved by his words, but he clearly wasn't convinced. “Then what is it about my presence that has you so on-edge, Tiny King?”

Fuyuhiko shook his head. “Nothing. I'm just in my own head about some shit. You're not doing anything wrong.”

The dark-haired boy surprised him by leaning closer, immediately sending him back into panic mode. “It certainly seems like it's my doing,” Gundham asserted, voice low and rumbling.

The sound went straight to Fuyuhiko's core and he had to put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from whimpering. He tried to pull himself together, but his proximity to the taller boy had him sweating. “N-No,” he finally muttered. “It's f-fine.”

But Gundham wasn't giving up so easily. “My apologies, Tiny King, but I don't believe you.” He folded his arms and looked down at the floor. He kept his voice low as he continued, unaware of the effect it was having on the other boy. “Clearly I am having some sort of negative effect on you. I assure you that whatever it is, I'm not doing it intentionally.”

“I know,” Fuyuhiko gritted out, trying to ignore his body's response. “It's nothing, I swear.” He stood up from the bed. “I should get going, anyway.” He started moving towards the door.

Gundham climbed to his feet and followed, clearly not ready to drop the subject. “If I have upset you in some way…”

“I'm fine!” Fuyuhiko snapped.

But Gundham was persistent. “Please, Tiny King, I-”

“I said I'm-!”

He whirled around to shout at the other boy, but Gundham was a lot closer than he expected. He ended up crashing directly into the breeder's chest. Gundham instinctively wrapped his arms around the smaller boy to keep him from falling, which only made the predicament worse.

Now Fuyuhiko was pinned up against the source of his frustration, gazing up at him with wide, panicked eyes. Gundham stared back, looking just as surprised. They froze in place, neither one willing to break the silence.

Finally, Fuyuhiko forced himself to act. He wasn't going to fall victim to some cliche romance anime bullshit. He raised his hands, bracing them against Gundham's chest, preparing to push him away.

“...Tiny King,” Gundham murmured, and oh god, that particular tone was too much for Fuyuhiko to handle. The blonde felt his knees go weak and he leaned heavily on the other boy. Gundham seemed unbothered by his weight, but his face was turning red. “Your, er… body is…hrm…”

Fuyuhiko stared blankly for a moment before realizing what he was referring to. After listening to Gundham's baritone voice for so long, Fuyuhiko’s body had, unfortunately, responded. His cock was maybe half-hard, but it was enough to be noticeable, and with the way his body was pressed up against Gundham's…

The yakuza heir panicked and squirmed away from the taller boy. “Sh-Shit! Don't read into that!” he snapped, mortified. “It's not on purpose!” He clenched his fists at his sides, face bright red. “It's not my fault your fuckin' voice is so-”

“My voice?” Gundham asked in disbelief. “...Fuyuhiko, is this what has had you so distracted?”

“No, shut up,” the blonde quickly denied, looking anywhere but at the other boy. “Fuck off.”

There was a beat of silence, both of them struggling with this revelation. Fuyuhiko was contemplating grabbing his phone and calling a hit on his classmate, but that line of thought was interrupted.

“Fuyuhiko.”

Gundham's voice was intentionally low and velvety, and Fuyuhiko's eyes went wide. The deep tone went straight to his core and his cock twitched with interest. “What the fuck?” he whispered breathlessly.

The breeder was watching him with a strange expression, but he didn't seem horrified or angry, so that was probably a good sign.

“Look at me,” Gundham commanded, and Fuyuhiko instinctively obeyed before he even realized what he was doing. “Is my voice the problem?”

Fuyuhiko nodded weakly. He grasped the edge of the nearest piece of furniture to keep himself upright, since his knees felt like they would give out at any moment.

“And what is it about my voice that has you so flustered?” Gundham clearly knew what he was doing to the yakuza heir, and that knowledge had Fuyuhiko's cock throbbing, fully hard now.

The blonde considered not answering, but something about the other boy's tone told him that he should listen. “...W-When your voice… gets low like that,” he explained quietly. “Drives me fuckin' crazy.”

“Oh?” The breeder was still speaking in a low, rumbling tone. There was only one possible explanation why, and it had Fuyuhiko's heart racing. “Drives you crazy in what way?”

Fuyuhiko swallowed hard, trying not to back away as Gundham began moving closer. “...You already know,” he murmured.

The dark-haired boy stepped into his personal space, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. “Indulge me.”

Gritting his teeth, Fuyuhiko fought back another shiver. “Fuck, fine!” he snapped, desperate to be out of this situation. “Your fucking voice turns me on, okay?!” He blushed darker, looking away. “Christ, just let me go so I can die from embarrassment.”

Rather than allowing him to leave, however, Gundham surprised him by grabbing him. One hand grasped his waist while the other took hold of his chin, forcing him to look at the taller boy. “Is it when I speak like this?” he asked, voice deep and velvety.

Trembling, Fuyuhiko grabbed onto the front of Gundham's shirt. “F-Fuck… Yeah…”

The breeder slowly leaned in until his breath washed over Fuyuhiko's ear, making him shiver. “You find my voice so arousing?” he murmured, and the smaller boy really couldn't handle anymore.

“Either touch me or kick me out,” Fuyuhiko growled, hanging onto Gundham's shirt for dear life. “Please, I can't take it…”

Gundham chuckled low in his throat and an actual moan escaped from Fuyuhiko's lips. “Something tells me that you would be quite skilled at taking it.”

Fuyuhiko didn't even have time to question if Gundham fucking Tanaka was calling him a whore, before the other boy's mouth was suddenly on his. The yakuza heir's mind went blank as Gundham kissed him. There was no way this was really happening, right…?

But then Gundham's tongue swiped over his lower lip and Fuyuhiko instinctively opened his mouth, allowing him inside. Surely this was all some sort of bizarre hallucination. There was no way he was making out with Gundham after admitting to being turned on by his voice, of all things.

The breeder pulled their bodies flush together and Fuyuhiko gasped. He knew that Gundham would be able to feel his erection… and he could feel that Gundham was now just as hard. He moaned softly, clinging to the taller boy's shirt.

They kissed hungrily, mouths clashing desperately. Fuyuhiko kept a tight grip on Gundham's shirt, using it to keep himself upright. One of Gundham's hands moved down to grab Fuyuhiko's ass, fingers digging into one round cheek, making the blonde moan and squirm.

Gundham growled into the kiss, a low, feral rumble, and Fuyuhiko's entire body trembled. He had never felt so turned on, or so unbearably empty. He knew that this was getting out of hand, that going any further would be crazy, but his hormones were overwhelming. The blonde broke the kiss, flushed and panting as he gazed up at his partner. “Ngh… Fuck me, you bastard,” he breathed.

The taller boy grabbed Fuyuhiko by the waist and easily tossed him onto the bed. He quickly unfastened the yakuza heir's pants and hooked his fingers into the waistband. “Raise your hips, my paramour,” he commanded in a low tone.

Fuyuhiko bit his lip and complied, lifting his hips enough for Gundham to slide his pants and underwear down his legs. His cock was fully hard, precum already leaking from the tip. He looked shyly up at his partner, gauging his reaction to his exposed body.

Gundham certainly seemed to like what he saw. He ran his hands up Fuyuhiko's thighs and over his hips, breathing heavily. His eyes snapped to meet the blonde's gaze. “On your hands and knees.”

The command went straight to Fuyuhiko's core and he promptly rolled over, getting up on his hands and knees. His heart hammered against his ribs as Gundham climbed onto the bed behind him. The breeder grasped Fuyuhiko's hips, and he used his thumbs to gently spread his cheeks, exposing his entrance.

Fuyuhiko squeezed his eyes shut, face flushed with shame. This was too much, he shouldn't be here, none of this should be happening, what the fuck was he doing-?!

His panicked thoughts were cut short when Gundham let out a pleased hum. “Your mortal form is exquisite, my paramour,” he murmured, running one thumb along the cleft of Fuyuhiko's ass. “So sinful and enticing.”

The yakuza heir whined and instinctively arched his back, further presenting his entrance.

Gundham chuckled quietly, rubbing his thumb against the tight opening, making the smaller boy gasp. “Does your body yearn for me?”

“Yes, holy shit,” Fuyuhiko replied breathlessly. “Fuck me already, please!”

The breeder reached forward, unceremoniously shoving his fingers into Fuyuhiko's mouth. “Such whorish behavior,” he chastised. “I suppose I shall have to sate your fiendish hunger.”

Fuyuhiko wanted to be upset about being called a whore, but in truth, the name-calling made his cock throb with want. He focused on the fingers in his mouth, sucking and lathing his tongue over them, coating them with saliva. His inner muscles clenched in anticipation. He couldn't wait to finally get some relief.

Gundham withdrew his fingers, moving to press them lightly against Fuyuhiko's hole. The blonde arched again, hips pushing back towards the taller boy. Another chuckle escaped Gundham's throat. “Patience, my dear.”

The yakuza heir opened his mouth to snap at his partner, but all that came out was a loud moan as one finger abruptly slid into him. Fuyuhiko's eyelids fluttered closed. All that mattered in that moment was finally having something inside of him, easing his body's desperate craving.

Humming in satisfaction, Gundham pressed a second finger inside. He carefully moved his fingers in and out, admiring the way Fuyuhiko's muscles squeezed around him. He began pumping his fingers faster, spreading and curling them as he opened his lover up.

Fuyuhiko barely tensed his muscles at all, and even began rocking into his thrusts. Gundham took notice. “Marvelous,” he murmured, voice making the other boy shiver. “Your body was made for this, wasn't it?”

“Sh-Shut up,” Fuyuhiko whimpered, biting his lip as Gundham's fingers curled against his prostate.

“There's no need to feel ashamed,” the breeder assured him. He worked a third finger into Fuyuhiko, groaning low in his throat at the tight sensation around his digits. “So naturally receptive… You were fated to become a consort.”

Blushing, Fuyuhiko let out another helpless moan. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the fingers inside of him were pressing into his sweet spot with every thrust, and Fuyuhiko was quickly losing his will to fight. “Mmmn…! Just fuck me, goddamnit!” he gasped.

“As you wish.” There was no argument, no resistance. Gundham immediately pulled his fingers free and unzipped his pants. He spit into his palm, slicking over his erection, then he moved into position behind the smaller boy and pressed the tip of his cock against his entrance. He leaned forward to growl into Fuyuhiko's ear, “Prepare yourself, my paramour.”

“I'm fuckin' ready,” the blonde snapped. He looked over his shoulder, glaring at the other boy. “If you don't put your cock in me right fuckin' now-” He cut off with a sharp moan as Gundham began pushing inside.

The breeder chuckled, but it sounded strained. The tight heat slowly engulfing him was almost overwhelming, and he gritted his teeth as he slid all the way to the hilt. “...Fuck,” he hissed quietly.

Had Fuyuhiko been thinking clearly, he probably would've laughed at the sound of Gundham swearing. As it was, though, his thoughts were anything but clear.

Being stretched open by the other boy's cock felt incredible. Fuyuhiko had always liked fingering himself, liked the feeling of being stretched and full, but this was so much more intense. Gundham's cock was much larger than his fingers, and just having it inside of him made Fuyuhiko's entire body tremble.

“...Are you alright, my love?” the breeder asked. His voice was soft, but his fingers were digging into Fuyuhiko's hips, betraying his own tension.

Fuyuhiko wasn't entirely sure why Gundham was checking on him. Did he not realize how amazing this felt? The blonde tried to organize his thoughts enough to reply, but the taller boy shifted his weight, inadvertently putting more pressure on Fuyuhiko's prostate, and he suddenly couldn't think at all.

“Ngh… ‘s good…” Fuyuhiko finally managed, inner muscles twitching around his lover. “S-So fuckin' good…”

Gundham would've sighed in relief, but his body was already moving on its own. He rolled his hips forward slowly a few times, gauging Fuyuhiko's reaction. The yakuza heir moaned breathily and Gundham took it as a good sign.

He began rocking his hips faster, striking up a quick rhythm. His thrusts were rough and deep, drawing a continuous stream of moans and cries from his lover's mouth. He tightened his grip on Fuyuhiko's hips, pulling him into each thrust, skin slapping against skin.

Fuyuhiko slumped forward, arching his back even more. His fingers dug into the sheets, clinging desperately to something, anything. Having the other boy pounding into him from behind had his head swimming. Gundham's cock brushed against his sweet spot and Fuyuhiko let out a loud, keening moan.

“M-My paramour,” Gundham murmured, hammering his hips forward. “Your body is… so tight… so heavenly… so ephemerally beautiful…!” His voice rumbled pleasantly through Fuyuhiko's body.

The yakuza heir let out a whine, rocking into each thrust, desperate for more. “Shut the fuck up,” he slurred between moans. “Just fuck me!”

Laughing breathlessly, the breeder leaned forward, closer to his lover's ear. “Oh? But I thought you were quite fond of my voice.” He practically purred the last word, making Fuyuhiko shiver and clench around him. “Mmn… I believe I was right.”

Fuyuhiko gave up on arguing. Everything Gundham was doing felt incredible, including the way he was talking. “D-Don't stop,” the blonde pleaded, legs spreading further as his body trembled.

“I have no intention of stopping, my love,” Gundham replied in a low tone. His fingers dug into Fuyuhiko's hips as he pounded into him. “...Ngh, f-fuck…”

The blonde keened, raising his hips to take Gundham's cock easier. His body felt like it was on fire, like every nerve was alight, but the burn was so good. Pleasure coursed through him and his inner muscles squeezed instinctively.

“Hah… my paramour…” Gundham panted, losing himself in the tight heat of his lover's body. “I… don't know how much… how much longer I can… mmnh…!” His hips slapped desperately against Fuyuhiko's ass. He could feel his peak approaching and he leaned down to growl more praises and obscenities into his partner's ear.

Fuyuhiko's eyelids fluttered as the breeder's voice vibrated through his body. “I’m so fucking close…” he whimpered. “Please!”

“Mmn, is that so?” Gundham purred into his ear, not slowing his pace at all. “Give in to your ecstasy, my love… Hah… Let me hear your lurid crescendo…”

The yakuza heir had no idea what that meant, but he loved it. He gasped and arched under his lover as his climax crashed over him. His hips jerked forward before pressing hard against Gundham, keeping his cock in deep, spilling onto the sheets.

The taller boy gripped his hips tightly, leaning all of his weight onto Fuyuhiko. With the way the blonde's inner muscles clenched around him and the erotic sounds flowing from his lips, Gundham reached his own orgasm right after. He slammed himself inside of Fuyuhiko, shooting his cum deep into his body.

Both boys collapsed onto the mattress, breathing heavily. Gundham was just barely able to pull out of his lover's body and roll to the side. They laid there for a long while, trying to regain their wits.

Finally, Fuyuhiko raised himself up just enough to look over at the breeder. “What the fuck was that all about?” he huffed.

Gundham stared back, confused. “Was that not what you desired, Tiny King?”

Fuyuhiko blushed and gritted his teeth. “...Yeah, but only because your stupid voice made me so fuckin' horny I couldn't think straight. What's your excuse?”

Realizing what he was actually asking, Gundham propped himself up on one arm. “...I have always found your countenance quite captivating.”

The blonde has no idea what that meant, but it sounded like a compliment. He flushed darker. “You… what?”

“Apologies, I know my manner of speaking can be… difficult,” Gundham looked almost frustrated as he said it. “I'm trying to say that I think you are… pretty.”

“W-What?!” Fuyuhiko snapped. “What guy wants to hear that he's fuckin' pretty?!”

Gundham sat up, gazing seriously at his partner. “I find you attractive, Fuyuhiko,” he corrected himself. “When you revealed your amorous desire, I couldn't help but answer in kind.”

The yakuza heir was stunned. He carefully sat up as well, wincing at the pain in his hips. “...You like me?”

Huffing quietly, Gundham just nodded.

Silence stretched out between the two of them. Fuyuhiko finally gathered his thoughts, coming to an unexpected conclusion. “...I think I like you, too.”

Gundham's eyes widened, but he let out a bemused chuckle. “You think?”

“Yeah,” the blonde replied, looking away. “I've never… really thought about it. But,” his eyes slowly drifted back to Gundham's face, “I know I wouldn't just fuck someone I didn't have some kinda feelings for, y'know?”

The breeder nodded hesitantly. “...I believe I understand.”

Fuyuhiko paused before speaking again. “So maybe we should give it a shot.”

A slight smile tugged at Gundham's lips. “I would like that, Tiny King.”

“Okay, first thing’s first, stop calling me that,” Fuyuhiko snapped, cheeks flushed. “I know you have this whole dumbass nickname thing, but quit calling me tiny, you bastard.”

Gundham laughed, some of his usual bravado returning. “Very well, my paramour. I shall refrain from referring to you as such.”

Rolling his eyes, Fuyuhiko accepted his words. “Good. Cool.”

They managed to get cleaned up and dressed. Fuyuhiko stood on wobbly legs, and Gundham put a gentle hand on his hip to steady him. The blonde just blushed and slapped his hand away.

Fuyuhiko gathered his belongings, but paused at the door. “...No one finds out about this, got it? Not Sonia, not anybody.”

The breeder chuckled, following him to the door. “Of course, my love. I shall be discreet.”

A thought occurred to Fuyuhiko and his brow furrowed. “Wait, so are you and Sonia not dating?”

Gundham seemed surprised by the question. “Erm… no?”

“But you guys are always together, and you act like… that,” Fuyuhiko grimaced, not really knowing how to describe the way he saw Gundham and Sonia.

The dark-haired boy seemed to understand anyway. “The Dark Queen and I are quite close, and our fates are eternally entwined. However, I assure you that there is nothing romantic about our relationship.” He blushed, looking a little awkward. “...I have no desire for the touch of the feminine kind.”

Fuyuhiko wanted to laugh at the confession, but he knew that Gundham was actually being vulnerable with him, and he didn't want to ruin it. “Don't worry,” he told him softly. “I get it. I'm gay, too.”

Gundham seemed relieved that the yakuza heir understood. “So you and I are free to explore whatever type of affair you desire. You need only tell me what you want.”

The blonde hesitated. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he wanted. He hadn't been lying before, he was positive that he wouldn't have slept with Gundham if there was nothing there. But he had never really thought about the breeder like that. His sudden reaction to Gundham's voice had certainly made him aware of his sexual attraction, but he still didn't know about his romantic feelings.

“...Let's feel it out,” Fuyuhiko finally answered. “I don't know where we are in our relationship, but… we can see what happens.” He looked up at Gundham, searching his face for any sign that he was upset. “Is that okay?”

Smiling patiently, the taller boy nodded. “I have no opposition to taking things slowly.”

Fuyuhiko felt relieved. “Then I'll head back to my room. But I'll see you tomorrow?” It came out as a question and Fuyuhiko mentally chided himself for sounding so unsure.

Gundham just nodded. “Of course, my paramour. I will await our reunion with bated breath.” He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Fuyuhiko's waist.

The blonde glared at him, but allowed himself to be pulled closer. “Speak normally, dumbass. I swear, if your voice wasn't so goddamn sexy-”

Chuckling, Gundham leaned in, lips brushing Fuyuhiko's ear. “Well, should you find yourself longing for my voice again, you may always return to my domain.”

A shiver ran through Fuyuhiko's body and his knees went weak. He gripped the front of Gundham's shirt. “Mmn, fuck… Don't tease me like that.”

“Apologies, my love,” the breeder told him, but the look on his face didn't seem particularly sorry.

With a growl, Fuyuhiko pulled him into a rough kiss, effectively ending the conversation. He pulled away after a long moment. “I'm gonna go before I end up jumping your bones again.”

Gundham laughed loudly. “If you must. I shall see you tomorrow.”

Fuyuhiko gave him another quick kiss before turning to the door. He paused again in the hallway, casting a glance back over his shoulder. “If I, uh… need you again, can I call you?” His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

“Of course,” Gundham replied, also blushing. “In fact… I hope you do call upon me again.”

Fighting back a smile, Fuyuhiko fiddled with his school bag. “Okay, then… I will.” He glanced at the other boy again. “You can call me, too. If you need me.”

The breeder's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. “...Perhaps I shall.”

There was a brief pause before Fuyuhiko huffed and turned away. “Okay, I'm leaving for real. Bye.”

He hurried back to his own dorm, ignoring how sore he felt. All he wanted was to take a shower and then lay down. He certainly had a lot to think about.

Lol... I'm sorry for betraying Kuzuhina like this, but I also like Kuzudam and there's virtually no content for it, so I wrote my own.

Don't worry, we will be back to our normal Kuzuhina content asap.

I hope you still liked it, lol.

#oh 👀

12 notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 4 months ago

Text

153 years ago, I had to say goodbye to my mortal love, my mate. I feared the day that she would start to age, and I would not. She would eventually ask questions, and I could not choose between turning her into a vampire or letting her live a normal life. Could not make her choose, either. So when she came to me, crying that her family was moving across the country, I let her go.

I was a young man then, hardly grown into myself. A foolish, foolish man. It took only a few months for the maddness to set in. I searched everywhere for her. Tracked her to the edges of the earth. She was gone. Years went by, and the ache in my chest grew. When I realized the human lifespan of my mate would have long since passed, I stopped caring about being alive. I did everything I could to feel happy, and when that didn't work I turned to feeling numb. I mourn, every second of every day.

So then, how the fuck is she here?

Deep in the underground caves of R'ac, lights flash. Music pumps, but I cannot here it through the feral bloodlust that rushes through me.

This time, I will not let her go.

32 notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 5 months ago

Text

😭 i have to choose ??

I think I am actually gonna post a detailed smut Ody x reader fic when I am not so tired.

27 notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 9 months ago

Text

A wizard cursed you with immortal reincarnation, everytime you die, your soul is implanted into a newborn with full knowledge of your past lives. It's always rough the first few months before you gain control of your new body. Now, after 5 incarnations and only 2 years old, you find the Wizard.

3K notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 10 months ago

Text

Literally such a beautiful piece, amazing story

Orc Boyfriend - Bash

Oh my gosh guys I just hit 160 followers! I honestly didn’t think I would have nearly this many when I made this blog, and I’m so thankful for all those who read and like my stories! Here’s another one featuring a gifted woman and her orc babe. If you like my work, please consider donating to my kofi, it helps me out a lot <3 Also, sorry if you’re seeing this twice, I had to fix the ‘keep reading’ thing so it wouldn’t be so long. NSFW

I was a little girl when I heard the siren’s call. My parents were busy doing anything but watching me, and slipping away was never hard. I followed the voice through the forest near my home, the song notes pulling at me like strings tied around my bones. I saw a woman laid out near a creek, sick and dying. She was singing a mourning song for herself, so I sat with her and tried to offer her any comfort I could. She was scared of dying alone; that much I could tell from her pained wails. So I sat there and held her hand for as long as it took, and she thanked me with a gift. I felt the power come over me, blue lights whirled up my arm and through my body from where my hand was grasping hers. I didn’t understand what had happened for a while, but it became impossible to ignore. I would whistle a tune and birds would start to follow me, or I would sing and my parents would suddenly want to spend time with me. I didn’t understand the strength of the power until I started school, though. A boy tried to grab at me and lift up my skirt, and the shrill sound that left me was anything but human. He was on the ground with blood pooling in his ears by the time my mouth sprung shut.

I was more careful after that. Being different in my town is often a death sentence, so I learned to control it and keep this power to myself. I always figured my parents had a hunch, but as they didn’t spend time with me much I was unsure. That was until my parents sold me off, though. Then it was confirmed.

The men came in the middle of the night. They were dirty and unkempt but dressed in good, although mismatched, armor. They probably had a single set of teeth between them all. I heard the commotion and came downstairs.

“Ah good, she’s awake. Go ahead and take her, I have no need for her here.” I heard my father say, his nose upturned and his awful fake accent exaggerated.

Keep reading

#dirty #orc #reader insert

667 notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 11 months ago

Text

Talentswap AU - Take Me Hot to Go

YES THE TITLE IS A CHAPPELL ROAN SONG I LOVE HER VERY MUCH. Anyways, I have a certain rarepair (I think it is anyway) that I love (it's Nanamiki but I affectionally call it Tsunanami bc they're so soft I love them), so this is gonna be highly self-indulgent under the cut. For this AU, I do have my share of drabbles as well as other character interactions, but I'm dropping this first since it's fresh out the oven (see what I did there?). Also, this is definitely longer than usual, and that's in solidarity for the next thing I'm planning to post. That one's turning out to be a behemoth, and it has to do with certain hcs that I reblogged before ;>.

“WHAAAA-!?” Ibuki gasps. “You guys haven’t talked yet?!”

Chiaki nods while Mikan timidly looks down.

“Well, that’s a HUGEEEEE problem! You girls are Ibuki’s super duper close friends!” Ibuki lifts a hand to Chiaki. “Tsum-tsum, meet Chiaki, a super awesome baker! Just the absolute best.” She wraps an arm around Mikan. “Chi, this adorable girlie is the florist I’ve told you about! She's the reason Ibuki's place smells so nice and looks so good!”

The Ultimate Florist takes her eyes off of the clinging Ibuki and turns to the baker, who meets her gaze.

She quickly averts her eyes.

A-ah! That was so rude of me!

She looks back and glimpses at the soft smile that’s pointed right! at! her!

She offers a hesitant smile back.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It didn’t take her too long to get all the way to Chiaki’s dorm, the dark entrance beckoning her to lift her hand and raise it. A chill runs down her spine. She doesn’t usually hang out with people like this… but she’d really like to. But can she do this?

C’mon Mikan, I know you’ve got this. You gotta tell me everything later, after all. Hajime’s encouragement rings through her mind. Her eyes close shut as she rapidly pounds her fist against the door. Knock knock!

The florist thumbs at her bandaids, biting her lip. Does she look like a mess? Maybe she doesn’t have the right address? Did she possibly get the wrong address?! AHHHHH! She needs to check her phone again-!

“Hey, Mikan. I’m glad you can make it.”

“Wah!” She jumps. Her phone thumps onto the ground.

“Oh, I’m sorry for scaring you. Here, let me…” The baker crouches on the maroon tiles, reaching out a hand to grab the fallen object before presenting it to her. How embarrassing! She bows her head, gently taking it from her hands. “S-sorry about that. I’m just… weird…”

“No, you seem nervous. Am I right?” Chiaki states bluntly, and Mikan’s face reddens. “There’s nothing strange about being nervous, as far as I know. So come in, maybe it’ll be more comfortable.” She opens the door again, this time sidestepping for the dark-haired girl to enter first. She mumbles her gratitude and enters.

The place is homey, a simple couch and coffee table decorated in soft pastels of pink and teal accents, while the walls are majorly white. There’s not much decoration though besides a cute rabbit plush close to the doorway, its arm suspended in the air like it’s waving to every person that enters. She sees a modest shoe rack and slips off her sneakers. The door closes with a click.

“Um, you sure you’re okay with being here? I know it’s a little sudden, it seemed like a really nice idea but…”

Does she want to kick me out already? “N-no, I was just looking around!” She has to gnaw her lip from saying ‘I could stop though’. “I was actually wondering if I could see you bake! Since I’m here!”

“Hmm? You want to watch me bake? Really?” Mikan nods her head. “That sounds like it’d be nice…”

“Y-yay!” She whispers with a grin. “Eep! Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s alright. I think it’ll be fun too.”

“I, um, brought the rose petals and rose water, like you asked. I… didn’t forget anything, did I?”

“No, you did great, thanks Mikan.”

She hands them over out of her satchel, and Chiaki moves, but she freezes. Her pink eyes stare intently at her hands. Was something wrong with her hands? Were they still dirty with dirt? She swears she cleaned them! She washed them multiple times!

“You’re wearing a bunch of bandaids… Are you alright?”

“A-ah! It happens. I get pricked by thorns a lot, haha… but I’m okay! I’m just clumsy!”

“Well, they say food is a great medicine, so maybe working on this recipe will help.” Was… that meant to be a joke? The corners of her lips tug upward. It was a little odd.

She follows the baker into the kitchen. There’s a chair pulled out for her, and she sits with a giggle at the silly grin the girl throws at her. Before her is a marble counter, a rectangle on it looking like what could be one of those fancier stoves. There’s more counters lining the walls, with a modest refrigerator and multiple ovens, one already alight with orange. Besides dishes, there’s baking sheets, cutlery, jars, and cups scattered about. It’s very stacked, as expected of the Ultimate Baker, if not a little messier than she expected…

Chiaki washes her hands, setting the rose ingredients down with what appears to be the rest. Some standard baking ingredients from what she can tell, except for the raspberries and a carton of whipping cream. Is she making a cake? “I wanted to make some cream puffs for everyone.” The baker explains, placing a pan on the stove, turning on the heat. She grabs some device underneath that kinda looks like a blender, but smaller, and starts placing raspberries, a cup of sugar (she’s guessing?), and the rose water. They’re quickly blended and set aside. “They’re pretty simple, I think, and I wanted to add a rose-infused raspberry fool filling.”

“Raspberry fool?”

“Hmm?” Chiaki hums, swiftly placing ingredients into the pot with an ease that she wonders if she admires or is jealous of.

“What’s that?”

The baker stares at the pan. The silence weighs on her. Does she sound stupid? Is this something that’s actually common knowledge? Oh, darn it, maybe she should’ve studied common baking terms! Maybe then Chiaki wouldn’t be so bored of her already.

Chiaki blinks. “Oh, sorry, it’s berries and cream.” The baker directs her attention to Mikan’s face. She isn’t sure what she looks like, but Chiaki’s head tilts at the expression that must’ve been there. “You seem upset. I should’ve warned you, I do that sometimes. Space out, I mean. You’re free to try getting my attention. I promise I won’t be mad. Hajime does it all the time.” She cracks a smile, briskly mixing the whipping cream and powdered sugar in a bowl she grabbed. “He treats me like a pot. If he keeps watching me, I won’t boil.”

Mikan giggles. She doesn’t understand the analogy at all, but it’s kinda cute to see the other girl looking so amused at her own jokes. The baker’s smile grows wider at her reaction. She scoops out the dough from the pan and Mikan watches as she places it into a metal bowl connected to a mixer and turns it on. Afterwards, she starts adding the raspberry mixture with the whipped cream and folds with a spatula. Sensing her opportunity, she blurts, “Y-you’re very composed! It’s… amazing.” Even at her shop, she’s always zipping to different flowers, checking on their growth and health, or checking inventory, or cleaning. She does love it, the sense of urgency born purely out of passion, but she’s never looked so laidback about any of it.

Chiaki goes quiet for a moment, yet still keeps folding. Mikan studies her face, this time seeing the way her pupils dilate. “Chiaki?” She softly calls out.

“Right. I’m really not that composed. I’m just-” Her cheeks puff, “focused. You probably saw from looking around, I can be a bit messy.”

“I, uh, don’t think that changes much actually! If anything, I-I think it’s a fun fact to learn about you! If, um, you don’t mind me saying.”

She watches the other look down. “I-” Is it just Mikan, or was she blushing? The baker shakes her head, clearing her throat. “I appreciate that.” She switches the mixer off and grabs one of the stray trays, grabbing an ice cream scoop and plopping out dough balls perfectly. “Ibuki wasn’t kidding. You’re very sweet… like caramel, I suppose.”

Mikan giggles once more, trying to ignore the way her feet want to kick. It’s one of the kindest things she’s ever been told. She wonders if she should tell Chiaki she reminds her of a sweet pea. No, that would be a bit much, huh? She probably wouldn’t like it. She shouldn’t be so forward, that wouldn’t be very good (“but we all wuv wuv you as you are Tsumi! Trust in Ibuki! I swear you’re a cutie! Yourself is the best self there is!”).

Chiaki places the dough mounds into the oven. Wow, that was admirably fast. The baker grabs the bunny timer sitting atop, which is just very adorable, and she covers her mouth to yawn. She stumbles over to the chair beside her.

“I’ma take a little nap.”

“A-a nap? Right now?”

True to her word, the pink-haired girl is out like a light on the counter. She looks at the sleeping girl, curled up on the counter in front of her. She wants to melt from the softness she finds. Kind, talented, cute… she’s always been so terrified to talk with her. Gah! She’s so thankful for Ibuki.

Well. She eyes the oven. Hopefully she isn’t the reason those burn, but it’s best not to touch it. The last thing she wants to do is ruin Chiaki’s creations…

In the meantime though, she can try being helpful. Those dishes from earlier seem like a good place to start. She heads over to the sink and starts washing.

The timer rings. Mikan, after finishing the dishes, spent a few moments guiltily switching between watching Chiaki rest, berating herself for it, and also watching the oven because she genuinely doesn’t want anything to burn on her watch. In her pursuit, she manages to see the super cute way Chiaki’s eyes blearily open and meet her gaze. “Huh? Were you watching me?”

Mikan immediately scrambles, arms flailing like crazy. “SorrySorrySorry!” The rapid movement causes her chair to teeter, and soon she’s flailing her arms for another reason.

CRASH!

She yelps.

“Oh!” Chiaki crouches to her side. “Are you okay?”

Mikan runs a quick check. “Ah, yes, I’m alright! Sorry!!! I’m sorry if I was being creepy, I should’ve known better…”

The baker shrugs. “I didn’t really mind. It’s not like you were doing anything weird, right?”

“I would never!” She quickly exclaims. And she means it with all her heart. She would never…

Chiaki smiles. “I know, sorry, that was a joke. I appreciate how quickly you said that though. Now c’mon, let’s get you up.” Chiaki pulls her up, and feeling it, she notices how rough they are. There’s callouses. Before she can ask, Chiaki immediately heads over to the oven, and her curiosity is thrown out the window. “I really hope those aren’t burned! I’m s-sorry for distracting you!”

Instead of replying, Chiaki grabs oven mitts and presents the tray to her. She warily glances at it. Thankfully, it’s not the hockey pucks she was scared she’d find, but golden brown puffs of delectable goodness. “It came out looking pretty good, wouldn’t you agree?” Mikan nods, breathing out a sigh of relief. “I don’t know if this may help, but I always set it a little early since I don’t want to burn it either.”

She drops it off on the counter. Silently, she grabs a piping bag and fills it with the raspberry filling. “Well, we sort of have to wait until these cool down. In the meantime, I’ve got these-” She pulls out a tray from the fridge. “Wanna help me decorate them? They’re sugar cookies, for fun.”

“C-can I really? I don’t really know how to.”

“I can show you.”

Chiaki sets the tray down. Mikan can’t help but laugh. These cookies…

Chiaki grins. “I’m the Ultimate Baker, not the Ultimate Artist. That’s why I have Nagito help me decorate for super complex stuff.”

Mikan and Chiaki proceed to have a fun time messing around with decorating sugar cookies, laughing and smiling all the while. Chiaki teaches her the technique with premade icing she had, and Mikan finds herself relaxing as she carefully smoothes out her design.

She’s finishing the pricks of seeds on her cookie when she hears a gasp behind her. “That’s beautiful.” Mikan looks back at her sunflower bouquet. “Oh no, i-it’s nothing special!”

“No way! I may need to fire Nagito!” She scrambles. “I am going to save this and take a photo of it later, is that okay?”

Mikan chuckles. “Um, yes! I’m… really flattered, actually.”

They go back to the puffs. “So there’s kinda a balance in making the dough-filling ratio just right, but it’s pretty easy to tell if you filled it properly. It gets all puffy, like this.” She demonstrates. “Here, wanna try?”

Mikan grabs the bag. She hesitantly places it into the puff. She squeezes the bag, and- POOF! The puff drips, and icing lands on Chiaki’s apron.

“Oh no oh no! I-I’m so sorry!”

Chiaki blinks. She squirms. Is she going to kick me out now?

And then the baker bursts out into a loud guffaw, clutching her stomach. Plum eyes stare, wide-eyed.

Chiaki wipes the tears from her eyes. “Oh, wow, I haven’t laughed like that in a long time. You’re really funny, Mikan. I didn’t expect that at all.”

She blushes. “Oh… thank you!”

They fill the rest, this time with Mikan succeeding in filling one without any problems. It’s not perfect, but she’s proud all the same. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. When was the last time she’s ever felt like this?

They both eat one (Chiaki bumps hers with Mikan’s with a “Cheers!” and Mikan wants to melt even more) and Mikan hums, pleased. “This tastes amazing!”

“I’m glad you like them.”

Her phone buzzes. It’s just a spam email, but it causes her to check the time. 23:32. “A-ah! I have to go, sorry, I have to open my shop in the morning…”

“Ah, really? Man… Guess that means we’ll have to continue another time.” Chiaki grins.

Mikan matches her grin. “I guess it does.”

Chiaki walks her out to the door.

“Really, this was a lot of fun. I hope we can keep doing this, I never thought I’d have so much fun baking…”

“I would love to.” She says honestly.

“I’ll text you?”

Mikan nods, perhaps a little too excitedly, because she feels light-headed.

“Then, good night Mikan. Or maybe morning, actually…”

“Good night, Chiaki.”

The baker closes her door.

She grins, giddily giggling and internally kicking her feet in the air all the way home.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The brunet perches on the metal railing like a bird. He scouts out his surroundings, wondering if he has the time to scale the wall as he waits. Never mind, he sees familiar wine-coloured hair. He moves to wave at her, and glances at the way she's grinning widely the whole time. Wow, I haven’t seen her smile like that so easily before.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” Hajime asks.

“I’m great! I, um, got to bake with a friend yesterday.” Mikan sing songs.

“Oh, Chiaki, right?”

Mikan nods excitedly.

I’m glad they had fun. Hajime smirks. “Did Chiaki fall asleep during her baking again?”

“Oh yes! She did! And she…!”

Mikan rants the whole time while Hajime listens.

#read later #its 3 am 😅

4 notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 1 year ago

Text

coming up with titles is the bane of my existence frfr

these two weirdos really have the ship dynamic of all time. i care them

#read later

12 notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 1 year ago

Text

🥺 stoppp I love it so much 🥹 eddie just showing him again and again and the angst of it all and then the dam breaks and just aaa

Steve had always been the one left behind. First his parents who as soon as they deemed him capable at ten, had left for longer and longer. They hadn’t been home in almost two years at this point. It had been about two months since they had defeated Vecna.

Then it had been Nancy, calling him bullshit. He believed it now, knew that anything he loved was just that. Bullshit.

Robin had shown him true friendship though. That maybe some of his love was okay, if it was platonic. That was his platonic soulmate, his best friend. He loved her deeply. But he knew she’d move on eventually too. Go to college, find a girlfriend. She wouldn’t need him for long.

And Eddie. Steve knew he was destined for great things. You don’t survive dying and having your heart restarted without some kind of stubbornness. And Steve knew the songs he wrote and his voice. It would only be so long before he got out of this god awful town and onto a stage where people loved him. Because Steve knew what his love did, it pushed people towards better things. Away from him.

He’d begun to really like Eddie. The hangouts, getting high. He was his bi awakening. His first kiss with a man. The person he wished he could love but knew he’d loose so he’d save himself the hurt.

Until the day Eddie showed up at his door, looking hopeful. Excited. And Steve knew this was it. He was leaving him for good.

“We got a record deal! An actual record deal.” Eddie jumped up and wrapped his arms around Steve, spinning him in the doorway. “We’re going to L.A. Steve.”

Steve hugged him back tightly, trying to keep the tears from his voice. “That’s great! I’m really proud of you!”

Eddie pulled away, staring at him intently. “You’re coming too. Can’t do it without you.” He whispered, taking his hand. “Please say you’ll come with me?”

“You can have the world. Why would you want me there?” Steve asked, voice rough from the tears he tried to hide.

“Because I can’t have the world without my sunshine there.” Eddie said like it was the simplest thing in the world. He couldn’t hide the tears anymore.

Steve yanked Eddie close again, burying his tear soaked face in his neck as he cried. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t bullshit after all.

1K notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 1 year ago

Text

happy pride!! i just wanted to share one of my favorite scenes from If You'll Have Me, my sapphic graphic novel 🌈💕✨

IYHM can be found on this list of retailers, but it can be requested from libraries too! or support your local bookstore if you can! i will also be restocking signed copies in my shop this sunday 😊 thank you for reading~

9K notes · View notes

pinkslibrary · 1 year ago

Text

Voluntary Sacrifice

inspired by this prompt/setup by @snowkissedmonsters as well as their art

The local werebear is in heat and its become a town concern. You, who's always been fascinated by him and doesn't much to lose reputationally, volunteer to help him through it.

If only he believed you were doing so voluntarily, instead of being forced by the council.

Can you convince him of your sincerity before the full moon rises?

Male werebear x human reader, Heat, NSFW

Status: Complete (One-shot)

Length: 12k

AO3: Voluntary Sacrifice

Prompt:

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

“Good luck!”

You stare after Anton, the liaison officer, as he rides away, at a complete loss of what to do now. You’ve felt a headrush of sorts, like sliding down a hill in winter, since you first resolved to volunteer to help Temar and his slamming of the door in your face was an abrupt stop before you even reached the bottom. You cross your arms, telling yourself its because of the mild chill, not out of anxiety or embarrassment.

But you are, so so embarrassed. You don’t know exactly what you thought his reaction to you might be, but stonewalled indifference and complete refusal to even entertain the idea of mating with you wasn’t one of them. Heat licks at your cheeks from the way he’d looked at you, his lip curled in a snarl, something more than even just annoyance in his eyes. You’d felt the urge to shrink right then and there and only surprise kept you frozen upright.

You know you weren’t as young as the other unaffiliated women in town, weren’t as pretty, weren’t as agreeable, but surely he couldn’t smell your infertility or whatever made you feel so out of place with everyone else. What about you had been so offputting he’d not even considered you for a mate? You’d almost hoped that whatever made you so unappealing as a human mate might make you more appealing to a werebear. So much for that.

You’re not one for much dignity as it is, no one to stand on high graces, and you try not to let others’ opinions bother you, beyond where they interfere with your own ability to make your living. But even you can’t bring yourself to try to convince him to mate with you when he so clearly has absolutely no interest. Did you sacrifice what little standing you did have a reasonable and respectable person by volunteering for this only to not even be able to manage it? Was it for nothing?

You had only found the courage to approach him because of the surface-level reason of slaughtered livestock and fear for a person’s injury, but now, now you felt almost responsible for not being able to prevent such an occurrence. All because Temar found you unappealing.

You can’t leave without even saying more than a hasty word to him though. Maybe there’s some other way you can help. You’ve wanted an excuse to get to know him better for years, since you first saw him. Even before that, when someone stopped by your shop with some of the pelts they’d bought from him.

Beyond his attractive appearance being more than enough to draw your attention, he’s lived such an interesting life. The liaison was liberal with his stories and his own accomplishments in the war, but he never short-changed his friend. You also found the stories of people who have crossed him or questioned him entertaining more than scary. His refusal to play along with the petty etiquette of the town was funny, as were people’s puffed up reactions. Perhaps you should have expected this reaction after all, maybe he just doesn’t like humans.

The thought against brings embarrassed heat to your face once more as you remember how he’d looked in the doorway. His beard and mustache, short but full, the scar across his nose, those dark brown eyes. His hair was shaved on both sides, but long in the middle, pulled back into a loose bun and peppered with gray like his beard. Tall as you remember, but stockier—his frame particularly broad in the narrow doorway. You’d always found him especially handsome. There was no question what sort of were he was.

Before today, the closest you’d been was at the general store, behind him line for some flour, putting to rest the rumors that werecreatures only ate meat. His presence had fascinated you, large but contained. Wild but settled. Immovable, but not aggressive. Deliberate. You’d found your mind drifting to thoughts of him that night. Your mind liked to turn the idea of him over, half speculation, half pieced together clues from overheard gossip. When you were particularly lonely or even just particularly cold, it was comforting to know he was on his own too. He seemed to prefer it even. You preferred your solitude most of the time as well—half caught between feeling like an outsider for the inclination, half relieved since that’s where you ended up. You wouldn’t mind another friend who felt so, a bit of company you didn’t need to perform in front of. And it would be nice, to be useful to someone else who had no one.

You know he needs help now, more than ever. The liaison had assured them at the meeting that Temar was making every attempt to contain himself. Which reassured you that you’d not missed a callous trend in his nature, but also made you want to help more—not help with the abstract problem, but help him. The next best solution that had been discussed—and would likely need to be implemented now that it turned out you’d failed, you realize with a sinking heart—was to institute a town wide curfew until this ran its course. But maybe there is still some way you can aid him, even if not by soothing his heat directly.

You stand up straight, pushing off the railing you’d been leaning against, and resolve to at least try to talk to him. After all, you understood his continued solitude, but it felt silly during the meeting, that he wasn’t there to lend his own input. Surely he had the most insight into his situation. He must know what he needed. You raise you hand to knock on the door when it opens before you even get the chance.

“If you ain’t gonna have the sense leave, then get in,” a gruff voice orders.

Your feet are moving before you fully register the words. Relief floods your veins. Well, that was easier than you expected. Perhaps things were turning around.

They were not. Any hope you had for some softening of his attitude was quickly dashed.

It had seemed promising: the smell of cooking food, the heat that filled the main room from the large fire, the sound of crackling logs. All ease some of the tension in your bones immediately—not to mention that same deliberate air Temar had, the one that made you feel steady and safe. Safe enough to want what you want, without your usual instinct to hide such thoughts and feelings until you were alone lest others use them to hurt you.

You try to focus on the room itself, from the handmade furniture—you’d have recognized Ben’s work if it was—to the scant decoration. The cabin was simple, unadorned, but solid. It suited him. It made the few personal items he had stick out all the more. The large blanket and rug to make the room feel lived in. The well-cared for hunting gear in the corner. The collection of copper kitchenware, clearly used often.

Nearly as soon as you finished your preliminary survey of his home, he makes it very clear he still did not want you. “No notion of what’s going on in that fool Anton’s head, leaving you on my porch like bottles of milk,” he sighs, looking disgruntled and you fight the urge to apologize. He tucks a strand of hair that escaped his bun behind his ear and your fingers itch to do the same. You clench them tighter behind you, upset at how wild your thoughts are in the face of his rejection. “Fess up, what did they tell you? I don’t know what those old fearmongers at the counsel did to make you come here, but I’ll not hold it against you—only them.”

You tilt your head as you watch him pace over the fire, trying to keep your eyes on his head, not how well he fills out his trousers. You realize belatedly that you must still need to clarify. “There was a town meeting, but I volunteered, like Anton said,” you reply tentatively. He’d heard what his friend said. Right? Maybe that was why he’d refused? Not because he found you so abhorrent.

Temar scoffs. “Anton wouldn’t recognize subtle coercion if it stabbed him the back.”

You frown, starting to get a little frustrated with his seeming inability to hear you properly. “Be that as it may, I can. It’s the truth.”

Temar raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he says flatly. “Just like five years ago, when I moved here and Miss Ketevan was left on my doorstop around harvest time. She just wanted to offer some apples before high tailing it out of there once her grandfather was out-of-sight. Must have been crying and yelling for some other reason.”

Your frown deepens. The last of your family had died around then and you’d not joined a town meeting for a full year, plenty busy with grief and figuring out how to run the dye shop without any guidance. Keti was a younger than you but had a reputation as a troublemaker so she had been in the gossip plenty. Her grandfather, Carlos, was on the counsel and had seemed to consider her something of an embarrassment.

You thought she’d run off with the milkmaid, not because she was a failed sacrifice to the new werebear neighbor. It does throw into relief some other statements at the meeting. Like Anton’s emphasis on volunteers as he’d stared Carlos’ down, which had led to no one but you speaking up—not even the brothel workers. They’d not said but you knew they feared clients shunning whoever they sent, let alone however they felt about the stigma and fear associated with werecreatures.

“I have no idea what did or did not happen five years ago, I wasn’t at any of those meetings nor at your house,” you say with a shrug. “Keti’s moved to the other side of the river, according to her sister, and is quite satisfied there. None of which was brought up at the meeting today.”

“What do they have on you?” Temar asks, squatting to stoke the fire, as if you just didn’t want to tell the truth his face. Ignoring everything you were saying while still trying to get answers from you. You liked tell about how stubborn he was in gossip. You liked it less at this moment. “If I can aid you and you can go on home, you’re welcome to ask.”

“They don’t have anything on me,” you reply slowly, trying to match his even tone so he doesn’t think your lying. The embarrassment that comes with volunteering so plainly to mate with him comes and goes in waves, but having to repeat it to him is a different flavor all together. “I am here of my own free will.”

Temar scoffs and huffs. “If you don’t want to tell me then fine.” He heaves himself back to his feet and peers out the window. “Sun’s going down. You can stay here for dinner and for the night. That better satisfy them, because you’re leaving first light in the morning.”

You turn away from his back, staring blindly at the countertop covered in ingredients for dinner. The one you interrupted with this piss-poor intrusion. He was likely just trying to give you an out, an excuse to save some dignity. You should’ve known you’d have no skill at seduction, not that you’d believed you’d need it. You’d hoped he be satisfied enough, in need enough that you’d suffice by being willing and not unattractive. Or so you thought. How pathetic. “I just wanted to help,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

You sigh before walking over to the counter and picking up a knife. “Thank you for your hospitality,” you manage, your voice stiff with discomfort, but unwilling to completely give up yet. “Allow me to assist with the food.”

Dinner preparation is tense, quiet, but a relatively smooth affair. Temar’s already got the chicken dumplings nearly done so you leave that to him and handle the rest.

He only speaks to point you toward where things are when you ask. You’re happy he’s letting you do this much as you’ve more than got the message he’d prefer to do it all alone. You try to concentrate hard enough not to think about anything else.

“These dumplings are delicious,” you say belatedly, after you’ve already scarfed down two of them. They really are, hot and flavorful.

Temar grunts in response and you can’t help but pout, wondering if he thinks everything you say is a lie. You try at some other small talk, but nothing gets more than a yes or no out of him—after the first few, he just makes some vague noise of acknowledgment as he steadily eats through three times the portion of food you got, which had been more than generous. You’d been skeptical of how much he was making until you’d seen how much he was eating.

Did he also have to eat more before winter, like a normal bear? Was he going to sleep through it too? You swear he still came in with pelts, but you don’t really know. You’re more than aware that he’s not likely to give a straight answer if you ask. You ask anyway.

He gives you a look like you’re touched in the head. “No, I don’t hibernate. I stay in more, sleep more since its dark more, but I’m not actually a bear.”

“I know!” you protest, blushing, “but I’ve heard there’s overlap of some kind, forgive me for not being an expert. You’re the only werebear I know by name.”

“You know nothing,” he retorts, words finally bursting from him in a fit of frustration. You’re taken aback, but eager for any information given his recent impression of a clam. “You say you volunteer and yet you don’t know the first thing about werebears, let alone heats. You expect me to think you know what you’re saying you got yourself into when its clear no one explained anything.”

“Well, then you tell me,” you bat back, fed up by now with being treated as a criminal for even entertaining the notion you might be a suitable mate for him. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t have called me a liar even if I’d written a book on werebears and their heats.”

As his way seems to be, he ignores you to keep focus on whatever incorrect train of thought he has stuck in his head. “Even if you’re ignorant, didn’t your family object? Doesn’t someone have sense or self-preservation?”

You glare. Of all the—. “No—” you reply hotly before he cuts in.

“I thought that was something y’all paid attention to,” he drawls, waving with his fork. “ Fraternizing with the werecreatures is still a no-no right?” He leans forward, eyes bright, like a predator finally spotting their prey. “Is it them that the council is leaning on?”

Unfortunately for him, its a false sighting. “Don’t have any,” you reply bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. “They died. About five years ago.”

You wonder if he’ll make the connection and to your surprise, he seems to as his brow furrows. “I see.” He leans back in his chair as if surrpised to notice he’d moved at all.

“Besides, I’m grown,” you’re annoyed you even have to remind him. He’s treating you like a child, ignoring you, calling you ignorant, making you out as a liar. Like a fool. You’ve long resolved not to let anyone treat you like a fool. “I make my own choices.”

He scoffs in that same manner that’s truly getting under your skin. “Right. How could I forget.”

“I don’t know,” your voice is sharper than its been all evening. “Seeing as I keep reminding you.”

Discomfort creeps into his frame and he looks down at his plate to mutter, “What even made them come up with this plan? Was this Anton’s idea?” He warms up to this new wrong idea—it was Jessaly on the council who had mentioned “heat soothers” seconded by Carlos. Anton only stepped in to mention volunteers. “Because if so, I’ll be having words with him next chance I get, strong words. I anticipated an order to leave town or to be taken to jail or a fight. I’m surprised the council even risked the chance for cubs.”

That last part completely derails you from your planned support for Anton. “Oh,” you can dismiss that concern easy, so you don’t hesitate to, “I can’t have children.”

That stops him completely, freezes him in his chair. “What?”

His reaction surprises you. “I thought…” You thought he could smell the infertility on you. You thought that was part of why he’d refused, like the others. If he couldn’t tell, you still didn’t think he’d have a reaction like this, like everyone else. “I can’t. My monthlies stopped only a few years in and a doctor confirmed the nature of the issue. It’s noted in the records because my engagement to—” You don’t even want to say his name, for all you don’t blame your former fiance. You hadn’t even been that excited about the marriage, but the reality of no marriage ever, well, that had been more of blow the coming years dealt to you. You manage a shaky smile. “No risk of children with me.”

You meet his eyes valiantly and he stares back. You hope you’re right when you don’t see any blooming realization that you’re broken, that you’re any more undesirable, but you’ve long given up trying to tell. Still his focus makes you babble, “I don’t want children anyway.” That at least is the truth and the reminder steadies you. You thought you’d gotten over the worst of this self-recrimination years ago. You were happy not to have that burden, that expectation, that danger in your life. You just want Temar to think well of you, and this always changes how people perceive you, no matter how much you wish it didn’t. That is what truly gets under your skin. Your shoulders drop some tension as your smile softens, becomes more genuine. “Better me than someone who did. It worked out for the best that way.”

If only it meant no partner, no chance for sex beyond work at the brothel—which you were not interested in despite them asking—or visiting one, which you have in years past. Or the affairs some of the less reputable had tried for in the past. They always made it clear in the end, even if you were alright with the infidelity—it was only because you were ‘safe’ that they wanted you.

“Neither do I,” he says, causing you to look up at him. His expression turns defensive as he clarifies, “That doesn’t mean anything anyways. Still the most foolish idea I ever heard.” He stands up abruptly to refill his plate with a fourth helping.

You eat the remainder of the meal in silence.

Finally, your plate is clean and your belly is full. You manage to take Temar by surprise by snatching up his plate in addition to yours, bringing them over to the wash basin before he could do some himself. You’re determined to do something useful while you’re here and he’s feeding you.

Maybe all lack of eye contact was for him and not you. Maybe you’ll have better luck staring at the water. “So, is there anything you’ll actually let me do to help?”

Another huff, almost a growl of frustration, and Temar replies, grit in his tone, “I told you I ain’t taking a mate just because the town’s made my heat their business this year.”

You don’t even bother arguing the point again and consider his words. You hadn’t thought about other years. There’d never been notice of it so you assumed it wasn’t actually an annual event. What made this year so different? Instead of asking, you return his own volley. “I heard you. I didn’t mean that, though I must mention that the town is only involved because it has become their business this year.”

Temar doesn’t answer, but you can feel his gaze on your back. Being the focus of his attention is electrifying. “Other than having a mate,” you remind yourself outloud. “Are there other things that I can help with? Measures to be taken, information to be shared. Anything?”

There’s silence behind you before he stands up from the table, the scrape of his chair loud. You hope to the gods he’s actually doing something, thought of something in response to your question rather than just leaving. Although technically, you suppose, that would also be a response to your question.

You methodically scrub the dishes while you listen to him move about the main room of the cabin. He sits back down at the table, bringing something with him. You can’t dry this tankard any more thoroughly so you turn around to see if he’s simply ignoring you or not.

He’s bent over something on the table, a piece of paper? You frown and walk over to get a closer look. As if he can sense you, once you’re close enough he points one thick finger at the paper. “Who’s land is this?”

You frown as you study what you realize is a map of the town. Unlike most you’ve seen, it doesn’t have roads or even real buildings on it. Abstract symbols represent structures—you think—and the town center and main street buildings are one big marker. Nothing indicated for individual stores. It takes another minute to realize the outlined shapes covering the map are the property lines, not buildings, roads, or rivers, though some overlap with where you know those to be. Leave it to a werebear to have a map of the town by territory.

“If you don’t know—” he says, huffing per usual.

“Apologies if I need more than a minute,” you huff back, more than fed up and far more assured after the time spent with him that he has no plans to kick you out tonight. “I’ve never seen a map like this.”

He quiets down and you manage to follow your memory of the road out to… “The Meskal’s Farm, Evanna and Leon.” You also manage to make the connection, although you’re not sure he meant for you to. They’d been the most recent farm that had suffered from slaughtered livestock.

Temar brings over a slate with some notes in chalk already written out. He’s got shorthand notes, similar to those on the map, but all unlike any you’ve seen before. He jots down what must be their name above some already existing notes. You squint, trying to make sense of the letters and numbers. “Two ewes and one lamb,” you correct, hoping you decoded right.

He freezes and you hold your breath for annoyance or anger, but instead he merely erases one number and writes in another. “I assume this was discussed with the council?”

“Yeah,” you see no reason to beat around the bush. As you continue to squint at his notes, leaning over his broad shoulder to see better. “The Oche’s steer had to be put down, but they salvaged the meat. Anton reassured them it was edible and bought some himself so the rest of the town followed suit.”

“Still, I’ll be paying my debt, it just might take some time,” Temar replies gravely. “I’ll not have anyone say I don’t pay what I owe or think I don’t owe it, like some uncivilized beast.”

“I can pass that along,” you offer, still reaching for some way to contribute, to help. His integrity touches your heart, makes that urge to give aid stronger. Anton had something vague to the affect, but the town had little confidence in Anton’s assurances. You have confidence in Temar’s.

“I would appreciate that,” he sounds a little belligerent, a little abashed.

You smile, happy to have found anything useful to do and lean in again, to study his map more closely. You mentally map out the other families who had damage and notice they’re all in a line from his property west and against the forest. He does seem to be attempting to keep to limited area. How much control does he have? Could you help corral him somehow?

You reach to point. “Is this the river or—” You start to lose you balance from the awkward angle you’re at. Your other hand reaches for the next closest thing to steady yourself—Temar’s shoulder.

Next thing you know you’re knocking into the table and he’s standing several feet away, a snarl on his face. “Don’t.”

You’re stricken by the vehemence from a such a small, almost-touch of his person. It had been too easy to forget he disliked you so, is so offended by your very presence. “I’m sorry!” It’s as if he thinks you were attempting to trick him. You hasten to clarify, hands raised in surrender. “I wasn’t trying—”

Temar leaves the room before you even finish speaking.

Temar braces himself before he goes back in the main room, his forehead pressed against the solid wood of his walls.

He’s hoping he’s gotten used to your scent, built up a tolerance, but knows it’ll only have gotten stronger for each moment you’ve been here. Gods know he’s only become more susceptible to it. How anyone in all his life has such a bewitching scent, he’ll never know.

The second he’d opened his front door, he’d wanted to drag you inside and never let you out. The beast inside instantly proclaiming Mine. Only mine. He’d barely heard anything Anton said over the roaring in his ears. The slam of his door had been as much panic defensiveness as it had been frustrated aggression.

The line between those two does seem to blur most during heat.

You stayed out there, looking so lost and somber on the porch, lip caught between your teeth as you thought. He’d had to get you to stop before he took over the task for you. An early sign of heat madness surely because of fucking course it was far worse having you in his home. Where his beast said you belonged. Where you could say all the words he was salivating to hear as truth even though he knew them to be false.

Those council assholes would pay for putting him through this torture. Temar knew he was a werebeast and yet this was inhumane even for his kind. He tried to find a proper target for his aggression, but you’d given him nothing to work with, persistent in your tale. As if a kind, quick-witted, pretty thing like you would ever subject yourself to a beast like him unless you felt you had no other option.

Distractions haven’t been helping, trying to keep his eyes off you was impossible to sustain, and stonewalling didn’t ever seem to deter you for long. It’s as if you were perfectly designed to get past all of his defenses. There are still so many hours until sunrise—if Temar’s even going to last that long, even be able to let you go at that point. After you’d seeped into his home, his life. You seem to fit so well.

You play at being kind like a master actor and he hopes that’s not all a front. You’re smart, independent, but oh so willing to help. Duress, he reminds himself, you’re here under duress. The fuckers in town must have forced you here somehow. He can’t believe how low they’ve stooped, taking advantage of your lack of family, of your infertility to make you into a sacrifice. The perfect sacrifice.

His beast still wants to try to breed you, undeterred by logic, but it’s his human head that’s unfairly tempted by the knowledge. When he’s in his rational mind, he stands by what he said. The risk of children, others with his condition, his ostracization from society is something he’d never condemn an innocent soul to suffer. Not mention he likes his solitude, likes only being responsible for himself and only answerable to himself. It’s why the council involving itself is so frustrating. Its why the idea you might be here of your own free will is so appealing. Lack of such a child-bearing risk is even more appealing, more alluring than he’d ever realized it would be. Than it had any right to be. Why are you so damn perfect for him?

Clearly distance was not helping. Perhaps it was even making his beast stronger, without you to look at him and, for all your knowledge of his nature, expect a rationale man to look back.

Temar walks back into the main room, feeling like a man condemned, only to immediately regret his choice as he rigidly locks every muscle he can to prevent his beast from pouncing. He’d thought you’d stopped trying to seduce him with your faux willingness and pretty eyes. Your soft, steady kindness…

Even he’d admitted to himself once alone that you likely hadn’t meant anything by hovering so close, by trying to steady yourself on him. Your fall onto the table, not to mention the complete startlement on your face from his reaction. But what the fuck is this?

“What are you doing?” he asks through clenched teeth, hoping the beast inside isn’t giving away the feral lust coursing through his veins.

“What?” You look up, surprised he’s back, but there’s no embarrassment in your face. If anything, your expression smooths back to usual faster than he feels it has a right to. “Oh, I hadn’t realized how wet my apron had gotten from the dishes, sorry about the wasted water.”

“Why have you removed it?” Temar’s voice was strangled as the words passed through his lips. Ordinarily, he knows it would barely register with him, but you removing any article of clothing has his beast pulling at the chains he’s trying to use to keep it inside where it belongs.

“Well, I didn’t know how else to dry off,” you reply, brow furrowing in confusion as you dab at yourself with part of the folded-up apron. Temar can see the damp stains where the water had soaked through the light green fabric underneath. “Besides, I don’t want to catch anything, sitting around in wet clothes. It’ll be dry by morning if I leave it by the fire.”

Temar’s mind is already overrun by the reminder he’d invited you, like the numbskull he is, to stay the night. You’re unlikely to sleep fully dressed. You’ll take more than just your apron off in his home. You’ll strip down to your chemise. He can see the edges of it under your dress—white cotton poking out. Nothing more under that except soft skin—skin he isn’t allowed to touch.

Temar tries to combat the pleasing images of you splayed naked in his bed with images of your bruised and bloody from his claws, his strength, his carelessness. They’re impossible to sustain with you so hale and unbothered in front of him. The comfort of his den discourages such violence from his thoughts, his heat poisoning his mind against him. You aren’t here by choice, he reminds himself.

It’s hard to believe when you cross his room with self-assured confidence, bending down to arrange your apron by his fire, acting as if you’ve no fears to worry you. Your hair is ruffled from either the dishes or taking off your apron and you pat at it absentmindedly. Temar wants it spread across his sheets, his pillow, mussed and messed by his hands while he claims you for himself. The town clearly doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t value you what they have. He’d treat you right. He’d make sure you loved being his.

With a shake of his head, he blinks and the image before him resolves to you seated on a chair, delicately rebraiding your hair. He can’t keep his eyes off the swift movements of your fingers. Temar imagines what it would feel like if you did the same to him, this simple careful, everyday task. You look up at him from under your full eyelashes, looking perfectly innocent and not a creature pulled from his greatest nightmares and most sincere dreams. “So do you have a plan for managing however many days are left? Have you gone into heat in previous years? How did you manage then?”

The flush that blooms on your face is endearing and attractive. Temar wants desperately to know what you’re thinking when you say ‘heat’. You’ve avoided saying the word nearly the entire time you’ve been heard. Temar knows the rumors that fly about the human population about werebeasts, about heats, he’s overheard it all. From eating human mates to potent fertility and everything in between. Which ones have you heard? Which do you believe in? Likely none of the violent ones or you’d find the prospect far more intimidating than whatever bullshit the council is using to coerce you.

“Temar?”

“You’re right, I’ve already managed to work out a solution on my own, making you presence doubly wasteful.” You flinch at his words and every instinct screams at him to sooth you, to take it back—whatever is needed to make his mate stay. Temar turns rather than continue to watch your reactions to his harsh words. Despite knowing its necessary, it hurts to see your hurt and only encourages the beast to want to soothe, to steal your mind from any hurt by drowning it out with lust and heat. “Follow me.”

“You’ll sleep here,” Temar points out, continuing to refuse to look back at you or his bed for that matter.

His control would surely shatter if he saw you so close to it. He imagines how easily he could push you down on the furs and sheets until he had you spread out like a feast for him and him alone. How he would savor you. How he wouldn’t let you up until he was more than satisfied. A glutton of lust.

The cold metal of the door knob jolts him out of his thoughts. “I’ll be out back.” The crisp air, the brisk breeze, blow your scent from Temar and clear his head. He nearly sighs with relief as he walks off to the right, purpose in his steps, a reminder of his duty as he follows the familiar path.

“Here.” Its clear no matter where you thought he was leading you “pit” was not on the list. Your eyebrows lift nearly to your hairline as you stare down, allowing him precious seconds to gaze at you without a mask of stoicism or frustration, only naked hunger.

“You asked where I weathered heats of the past?” Temar neglects to mention that the first couple years in town rendered his heats short and taxing. Just a handful of nights around the late summer full moon, when the first chill to the air heralding the coming winter. Between his beast’s discomfort with new territory and his own war memories haunting him, his heats were not a concern. It’s only last year that his heat was how it used to be in his youth.

Wild. Hungry. Enduring.

This year is worst yet, not only because of the tight grip it has on him and how he can tell, despite more than a week in, that he has days to go, but also due circumstances outside of his control.

You’re smart enough to spot it. “Did something happen to this…?”

Temar puts you out of your awkward misery. “There was a flood after that storm a couple weeks ago. It dislodged that tree and a wall collapsed.” He’d hoped his heat wouldn’t return with the vengeance it did and so had put off excavating. “In the end, the den took longer than I thought to rebuild, to dig deep enough again. Still not sure I have,” he confesses when you look at him with such open, receptive eyes.

You frown and squint down at the den and Temar doesn’t like the reminder of how dark it’s getting. This entire evening has been a distraction, from the knock on his door, to the meal, to now. He ought not neglect the den any longer, not let his beast draw this out until it can overpower his conscience.

He puts down the ladder, hands grateful for something to do besides itch to settle on your hips. “I’ll be needing to get everything out of here, before the moon finishes rising.” Temar descends as quickly as he can, jumping the last few feet and turning to survey the den.

It was nicer before, he thinks with some dismay, some shame at you seeing such a bare hole in the ground. It’s primarily filled with tools for digging and fortifying, none of the minimal furs and blankets that should be givens for a den. The roof had been damaged when the tree fell in so he hopes it doesn’t rain. Temar resigns himself to waking up covered in dew. It’ll still be better than waking up covered in blood, even after verifying it was all from livestock.

“Temar?” His name on your lips draws his attention back up, like a flower to the sun, like a fish to water, like blood to a bear.

“Can I help you clear it out?” Temar just stares at you, part of his mind still surprised you’re here. Still here. Still offering to help. Help him. You cross your arms again and Temar wishes it didn’t look so good on you, the way it pushes up your chest, makes your arm muscles more prominent. What sort of shop did you say you had again? “Look, I’m another pair of hands, ain’t I?”

“Technically,” he allows, speaking without thinking. All his thought concentrated on your form above him, ripe for the plucking.

You seem to take that as permission and start climbing down the ladder. Temar turns so quickly to avert his eyes from your ass that he forgets to forbid you from coming down. You touch down lightly and Temar reluctantly faces you again, a puppet on the strings of his inner beast, to soak in the sight of you in its den.

The cabin belongs to Temar, the man. The den belongs to Temar, the beast.

Something of that must come across on his face as you pause, one hand on the ladder. “Does it break a rule, for me to be down here?”

A den is a personal, sacred space, with only those closest allowed entry. The beast does not allow you to lie. “No.” A prospective mate is more than a natural allowance. It’s expected.

You nod with satisfaction. The beast preens in approval at your persistence, at your ease in its den. “Then I’m helping. What’s next?”

Wordlessly, you point to the table with the hand tools.

“All of these?” you ask, even as you begin to gather them.

Temar turns away, unable to watch you ascend, and focuses on the final wheelbarrow he needs to move out, the planks he’s using as ramps he’ll need to remove. “Gotta get everything out of here so it don’t get broken.” Also so he can’t use it to escape. When he’s more beast than person, the use of tools doesn’t come naturally, but he’s relentless. Safer to keep them out of reach. That’s the real challenge—keep himself out of reach.

“Right.” There’s a pause while you move around behind him. Temar tries to focus on the feeling of the smooth wood of the wheelbarrow handles, the shudder of the wooden planks below as he moves it out of the den. “How come the walls are like this?”

You must be gesturing to the flat stones embedded in the dirt walls. “Harder to climb, although I haven’t had time to finish the back wall that collapsed yet. Claws don’t do well on smooth stone. A lot if the grout needs to be redone. Something for tomorrow.”

“Smart,” you say, sounding impressed.

Temar grunts in response, trying to focus on pulling the crude ramp out of the den and not on puffing up at your approval. Not seeing how else he might earn your esteem, might otherwise impress you.

“What’s it like,” you ask, quietly but clearly. Temar had been wondering if you’d ask. Waiting. “When…”

You trail off so he’s not sure if you meaning being a werebear or being one in heat. He supposes the answer isn’t terribly different. “Simpler, harsher, more vivid,” he says, “Less control when in heat than the rest of the time. In the army, we were trained to control the transformation, taught how to keep our minds more intact—it doesn’t work like that for heat. Getting locked up is how it was dealt with even there.” Not that they lasted long back then for anyone.

“I’ve heard of the loss of control.” You don’t specify if you mean in general or in heat, but Temar supposes it doesn’t matter either way.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind both of you what’s at stake, how dangerous Temar is in heat to anyone vulnerable around him. “Just a beast at that point.” Temar doesn’t look you in the eye as he keeps talking, heading back down into the den now the planks are out and it’s the only way down. “Can’t understand human speech. Can barely tell human from animal. No reasoning with me. I’ll do what I want when I want to. Damn anyone else.”

Not that you’re as intimidated as he wishes you were. “What about other weres?”

“Aye.” Temar doesn’t mind confirming that, not when he knows it can’t encourage you. “Thats a mite different. We can handle each other better, can find that sliver of common ground. Family can calm you, your own territory, and of course, if you’ve got everything you want, you won’t go roaming for it. Won’t get angry and frustrated you can’t find it.”

“That all the time, or just in heat?” He can still hear the shyness in your voice whenever you say heat, but its obvious your curiosity is too great. Temar surveys the den while he considers his answer, hands you left over plates and cutlery from his noontime meal, eaten down in the den while he worked furiously to get it ready for tonight. He’s careful not to let his fingers brush yours, not to look you in the face, lest he see some fear there that hadn’t been before. Lest the beast see a lack of such fear. Temar truly felt caught between a rock and hard place.

He can see the question you’re dancing around and cuts to the quick, praying you’ll be sensible and leave since he wouldn’t be able to make you anymore. He’s not sure he even could back on the porch. “Its dangerous for any human to lay with a werebeast. Injury from strength or claws or teeth is impossible to prevent. Even if you’re mates.” He reminds himself as ruthlessly as tells you. It was rare, but it happened. Heartbreaking accidents. “Even if you’ve known each other for years. Someone in my troop had killed their husband in a heat frenzy once.”

“Not always though,” you reply, too hopeful by far, too logical not to notice the exaggeration. “It can’t be or weres would have died out.”

“No, not always,” Temar allows. “The tendency towards multiple children in a litter helps. But usually longer held relationships fare better. If the were isn’t in a bad mood, isn’t stressed—if the partner cooperates right.”

He hands you the last item that needs out and once you get to the top, he says, “Pull up that ladder, now.”

You pause, standing stock still and for a second he wonders if you’ll even listen. Temar’s not sure he has the strength to ask a second time.

“Sure.” You pull up the ladder.

His human mind eases at that, at the sight of you more than seven feet overhead, out of reach. His beast disagrees, seething in displeasure and unfulfilled lust. Naturally, you can’t leave well enough alone and sit down, legs dangling into the den. He knows he could grab your ankle at this, yank you down and—

Temar turns to study the den once more. It won’t stick in his mind with you clouding his judgment the way you are. He narrows his eyes, forcing himself to assess if its deep enough, the walls defended enough. “I still need to get the cover fixed, if that damn blacksmith ever manages to be around when I stop by. The back wall needs to be stoned, but if I try to climb it like it is, it’s just as likely to crumble which’ll keep me in just the same. It’ll do. It had better more than satisfy those bastards on the council.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose it will.” You shrug, as if you’d forgotten about them. “Will you let me visit? After I leave in the morning—” you add swiftly as if to cut off a correction Temar for once wasn’t offering. “In case there’s anything else I can help with? I meant it when I said we could help each other out. I admit I do not relish the chore of fetching all fuel for my fire in these coming months and perhaps I can provide something for you? I’m a skilled weaver in addition to my work with dyes. If you would not be opposed?”

How can you forget the council so easily? Dismiss them offhand like that. Why do you speak of ‘after’ so lightly? As if you expect to see him again, as if that’s something you might want. Temar’s thoughts turn in circles once more over your duress. He must remember you cannot be here by choice. It’s getting harder by the minute. By each minute you sit on the edge of his den, not a care in the world. Not a notion of his steadily deteriorating self-control. His lack of giving any indication of his growing need has gone from helpful to sinister, a wolf in sheep’s clothing no longer trying to reassure, but to lure closer its prey.

“Perhaps,” he manages to say.

You continue to talk, but the words’ meaning slip through his fingers. The change is pushing itself on him while he wiles away a few more minutes in your presence. Just to try to burn off excess energy, Temar turns to push one of the stones in better, to align it flat with the rest of them. Except… he can feel your eyes on his back while he does so.

Your scent to spikes.

He wheels around, wildly, and belated realizes the height you’re at, brings your loins far more to a height with his nose than ever before. Did his display of strength inspire something of lust in you? His beast roars for you once more at this indication of receptiveness.

The moonlight colors your hair, emphasizing your etherealness, the wonder at your very presence. How much Temar wants to hold you in his hands, claim you for his own. How much he wants to bring you down to earth, push you under him and take his pleasure from you.

He takes a step closer and it feels like the first sprung leak in a dam. The first domino to fall. The spark of fire on dry, dry tinder.

“R-un.”

In retrospect perhaps the most provocative thing Temar could have done was instigate a chase. Actually, the most provocative was definitely you listening and running.

You pull your legs up swiftly, battling your skirts to get your feet under yourself with a haste that surprises even yourself. Only one word and a glimpse of those glowing eyes, and you’re dashing for the cabin. Adrenaline pours into your veins as you the image of the fur rippling out over Temar’s body as he gave that last command fills your mind.

In retrospect, the fur had been spreading steadily since you’d taken away the ladder without you fully registering it. His voice had been changing, although that you’d noticed plenty. The lower tone was a little harder to make out, even more pleasant to listen to, stirring up those lascivious thoughts that hadn’t left your mind since the town meeting was called. You swear his muscles had swelled too. The way they had moved beneath his shirt, which fit tighter with each minute that had passed. You’d felt spellbound, even though you swear that’s not a rumor associated with weres, and unconcerned by said compulsion.

Given the seriousness with which Temar gave the order as well as his earlier apprehension, you feel guilty for the mad sort of excitement rather than fear that courses through you. A roar, harsh and throaty, comes from the den behind you. It's one of rage and frustration. A beast that’s just realized it's been trapped. That it can’t get to what it wants. A loud thud follows. A growl of continued frustration hurries you on, feet pounding the ground as you run. You can almost trick yourself into thinking you hear your own name mixed in with the next roar that comes from where you’ve left Temar behind.

Due to your haste and unfamiliarity with Temar’s land and the fallen gloom, you end up missing the door along the back of the cabin and re-enter through the front. You lock that door with shaking hands and a pounding heart. The sounds of nature, of wind, of the echoes of Temar’s growl, are replaced by quiet solitude and the crackle of the fire, still burning in the hearth. You attempt to catch your breath. You try to let the mundane familiarity of the cabin and the silence calm your nerves. It’s not working very well.

You’re not sure what prompted his yell or his roar. Temar had said if he had everything he needed, he wouldn’t want to go searching for it, so it must have been his inner beast’s continued frustration at the lack of a desirable mate, which you continue to attempt not to take personally.

You’re still keyed up from the experience and seeing him actually start to transform, which still held some magic to you having never witnessed such a thing before, as well as all your interactions with him this evening. Temar seemed somewhat open to the idea of being friends, which was nice, you remind yourself. He is still immensely fascinating to you—this night has only made that more apparent. He feels less onerous to be around than some of your other acquaintances. He doesn’t put up any fronts and you feel like you don’t have to either. Even when he was clearly frustrated or angry—which you believe is exacerbated by whatever physical and mental toll his heat is putting on him—he never raised his voice. Temar only ever physically moved away from you, not towards you.

Speaking of physicality, he was so strong. The way he moved, carried, and shoved the tools out of his den had been impressive. The skill and strength it must have taken to make it in the first place, from the manual labor of digging it out, to stonework, to the manner of transportation in and out were all impressive. You’ll have to make sure to stop by Nicolas’ forge tomorrow to ensure Temar can get his roof fixed. But for now, your mind’s eye lingers on how his muscles had flexed, how easily he might be able to move you about, lifting you, arranging you to best please him.

You shake your head to try to rid yourself of such thoughts when none of them are going to come true. Temar is the one who’s having a hard time, not you here in his home. He hadn’t complained about the den, but you can tell it must be a far cry from what it was before the damage, it saddens you to think of him out there and alone. You long to comfort him, even though you know he doesn’t want your comfort. His roar had only proven his frustration and unhappiness, how unfulfilled he must be, stuck in the pit. You swear you can still hear yet another roar mixed with your name.

You take another look around the room and sigh, finding it far less interesting without him present. You’re still wound up from today’s jostling ship ride of events. Your hormones are out of balance after plans and hopes of helping Temar through his heat. While ending your night alone in Temar’s cabin, in his bed, while he’s stuck out in a hole in the ground isn’t where you expected or how you wanted the night to end, you suppose it's better than him still out in the woods where he might cause more damage or hurt someone.

Your hands go to your buttons as you start to undo them. An early night is in order. Just because Temar doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to go unsatisfied. Your outer clothing drops to the floor, leaving you in your underthings. Draping the cloth over the couch, you wonder if he might be able to smell what you get up to in the morning. Would it be cruel to leave such a trace behind? you wonder as you slip over to the bedroom door. Or would it be your due after his refusal?

Something to worry about in the morning. You’re too hot and bothered to care much now. You turn the knob and enter the dark room. Your eyes just barely adjust enough to make out the outline of his large bed of furs when you’re pushed back against the door, slamming it shut.

An almost subsonic growl fills the small room as you look up and up to meet glowing yellow-green eyes. Your heart hammers in your chest, even faster than it had when you’d been running only a few moments ago. A cloud moves from in front of the full moon and the beast that Temar must be now looms over you.

Heavy hands—or are they paws now?—pin you to the wall, one spread over your sternum and the other engulfing your hip. Your hands reflexively reach out and curl around his arm, fingers sinking into dense, soft fur. With the hand pressing against your chest, you barely manage to make a sound more than a surprised inhale, anything else compressed by Temar’s savage strength and your own shock.

Fight or flight seems to have tried to kick in only to unexpectedly leave you both at ‘freeze’ while you stare one another down. The moonlight illuminates his face, throwing into relief the complex mix of man and beast Temar now is. The same black salted with gray that had been evident in his beard is now more evident in the thin layer of fur covering his face. His jaw is larger to accommodate the sharp teeth and prominent fangs now present. His mouth is open as he pants and huffs, eyes fixated on you. You can still see the man in the beast, but he’s more than he was only moments ago.

You hold perfectly still as Temar leans down and starts to huff and sniff at your neck, shifting his fingers as he does so. You can feel his claws snag in the looser weave of your chemise as he does so. Has he always smelled like the forest? you think in a shocked haze, like the pine trees and the freshly turned earth with an undercurrent of musk. He growls into your neck while you stay pinned like an insect on a card, unable to do anything else when confronted by the reality of his transformed appearance, of his touch when he had recoiled from you so vehemently before.

You jolt when he manages to do more than growl, when you realize it isn’t your imagination that puts your name on his lips. Heat sears through you to hear the need in his voice, the demand, by the idea that you’ve managed to make such an impression on him that he managed to speak at all. Then those lips cover your own in an uncoordinated but wanting kiss. Instantly, your mind is wiped clean of rejection, and disinterest, and undesirability. Those ideas can’t exist in tandem when he kisses you like he’s starving.

When you break apart, you breathlessly gasp out his name, a hand cupping his jaw. You suck in shallow breaths, as if you only just stopped running, as if he’d been chasing you since he’d told you to run. You tremble with shameless lust at being sought after specifically—he hadn’t just been demanding after vague wants but for you.

He manages your name once more, tongue and jaw and teeth making the word hard to understand except that all your senses are straining for him, desperate for anything to help you understand him, to understand this change. “Mate.”

You don’t know if it's a question or not, but it's all you’ve been offering since you first showed up on his doorstep. “Yes,” you reply breathlessly, suddenly more desperate than ever in his hold. Desire burns through you for him. You tug futilely at his jaw, push desperately against the massive paw on your chest to reach him. “Temar. Mate.”

You don’t fool yourself into thinking your strength is what moves him, but perhaps your words do manage to penetrate his mind because he presses his lips to yours once more, immediately deepening the kiss. He fucks into your mouth with filthy promise. Your head is held between the door at your back and him, hot and massive, crowding you, boxing you in, cutting off any escape. Escape is the absolute furthest thing from your mind.

His grip on you strengthens, the hand on your sternum moving to bracket your neck. His thumb rests lightly against the column of your throat, the claw drawing a line of danger on your collarbone. His fingers hooked over your back, their claws digging into the meat of your shoulder. They haven’t broken your skin but you know they could, the sting of them makes you want to arch both away and into them.

You tremble as you realize how securely and sinfully caught you are by this werebear, by Temar. You know that he could hold onto you like this for hours and nothing you could do would be able to force him to let go. You never want him to. Instead you melt in his hold. His hand pinning you by your hip is likely the only thing keeping you on your feet and not just a pool of lust at his.

His need is evident given the way his hips rock against your own. The press of him against your whole body is unlocking some hidden need in you and you attempt to push back, to rut against him in return. You feel desperation growing in your bones, in the heart of you, something wild and wanting that can only be sated by him. Temar rumbles his approval, moving more deliberately against you until a growl of frustration escapes him.

When he pulls back, readjusting his hold on you, you open your mouth to protest, to say something, anything to get him back. It’s reflexive after how this night has gone, but unnecessary now. Temar picks you up with no apparent effort, only impatience, and tosses you onto the bed.

You land with an oof, scrambling to think around the rolling heat that moves through your body threatening to drown you at such a display. You’ve barely made any sense of yourself after being flung through the darkness when he’s dropped low and moved on top of you. His movements are strong and decisive as he pushes your chemise up. He noses his way between your thighs, spreading them apart to make room for him. You barely have time to consider being embarrassed about being exposed, at how wet you know you are, when his wide tongue, inhuman roughness obvious, covers your cunt.

Your yelp of surprise turns into a long drawn out moan as he licks at you, vigorously, hungrily. He places a massive hand on each of your thighs, claws stinging just enough to quicken the pulsing need between your legs. You twitch and shiver as he pushes your legs further apart to accommodate his bulk. Your heated skin finds the remaining fabric bunched around your waist too much and you hastily try to shuck it the rest of the way off as fast as you. It's the most uncoordinated you’ve ever felt due to the manner in which Temar is concentrating on sucking your mind out of your head via your cunt.

Free at last of the uncomfortable and restricting garment, you reach down, fingers threading into Temar’s wild mane of hair on instinct alone. You don’t kow if you’ve even stopped moaning since his tongue attached itself to your cunt. Simultaneously, it's too much and not enough and all you can do is try to hang on for the ride he’s determined to take you on. Sweeping you down into the heat of feral lust with him.

One of his hands leaves your thigh to clamp down across your stomach and hold down your hips. Your fingers tighten as he holds you in place to take what he wants from you. His unwavering focus is on eating you out, so starving for you that for now even the beast is content with your taste, leaving his hips rutting against the bedding.

Temar wrings sounds from you know you’ve never made before. You never want anyone else to even try. Fuck, so good, you think. Or maybe you say aloud because you swear he grunts his approval and his tongue somehow manages to reach deeper.

The black pad of his thumb rubs your clit perfectly and you scream you shatter. He growls triumphantly as he greedily drinks down every last drop of your release

You feel unspooled and languid, molten in your pleasure. Temar too seems satisfied with the meal he’s made of you for now as he pulls back, licking his lips. His fingers tighten their hold on your hips as your only warning before he flips you over. Dazedly, automatically, you try to brace yourself. He grunts in approval at how he has successfully maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. Right where you wanted to be ever since you first understood that he was in heat without a lover. Since you realized you wanted to be that lover.

One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke up your spine and you shudder at the feeling of calluses, iron strength, and claws. Instinctively, you arch into the motion, wanting to encourage him to touch you as much as possible. You’re so grateful you’ve already tossed your chemise gods know where. “Please,” you gasp out.

He rumbles with approval and as if having heard your unarticulated thoughts, drapes himself further over you. He pulls you against the cradle of his hips with one firm motion eliciting a squeal from your lips. It's evidently not close enough, as he wraps his fingers around your shoulder and pulls again until he can rut his cock against where you feel oh so empty.

With you where he wants you, Temar releases his hold on your shoulder to lurch you both forward, him bracing you both with that hand on the bed. It leaves you clearly trapped under him. You close your eyes to savor the position and you’re struck by the image you two would paint, were you able to see. Perhaps that should be more intimidating or even frightening than it is, but you like the heavy weight of him, the power evident in his body as he cages you in.

The ache between your legs only grows more acute. “Temar,” you plead, attempting to move your hips against him despite the hold he still has on one of your hips. The gnawing hunger and persistent emptiness are starting to hurt, desire buzzing along your every nerve.

“Mine,” Temar proclaims as the head of his cock finally catches perfectly and he starts to drive into you. The stretch and ache of him causes your moan to fracture under the strain. It’s been so long, but you're so wet it almost doesn’t matter. He’s so thick, so long, you’re losing all sense of anything outside of where the two of you are joined. The last few inches cause a pleasurable burn as you clench around him. Gods it's been too long since you were filled like this, if you’ve ever even had someone with his girth before.

Temar growls contentedly once he’s fully seated inside you and you gladly take the precious few seconds to adjust. Soon enough, he pulls nearly all the way out of you causing a desperate whine to build up in the back of your throat until he thrusts back in, ripping a ragged sound from your throat that might resemble his name.

He picks up speed with each movement of his hips, getting surer and stronger each time. You feel your whole body move and jolt with his each and every thrust. Your hands scrabble fruitlessly at the bedding under you, trying to brace yourself or get a grip but you can’t, uncoordinated and weak from your previous orgasm as well as the overwhelming way Temar is fucking you.

He’s going to ruin you and you’re going to thank him.

His control seems to be fraying the longer he’s inside you. You can see the claws tipping his fingers get longer where they dig into the bedding and you can feel the way they dig into your hip. The pain is the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure of him finally hitting that perfect spot inside. You can feel your inner walls flutter from the sensation. Temar must like that because he groans and makes a noticeable effort to strike that same spot repeatedly.

The unrelenting attention pays off immediately as you can feel your need wind tighter and tighter while your mind empties of thought except for the sensation and heat Temar is bringing forth from the depths you. The continual barrage of his cock finally shoves you over the edge of pleasure once more and you obligingly shatter.

He groans as your clenching around him seems to be all he needs to let go. He hilts in you one last time and you feel him come hard. He fills you up with his seed, warmth spreading, and continuing to make little half thrusts, as if trying to make sure it stays deep within you. You’re still coming down from your orgasm but the sense of satisfaction expands in your chest now that Temar’s reached his peak too.

You close your eyes, limp underneath him, but more content than you’ve felt in ages, in perfect harmony with your werebeast mate.

At some point, you feel him tip you both over onto your sides, though he keeps his cock firmly seated within your heat, keeping you full. Temar’s rumble is full of satisfaction and he engulfs you in his hold, making it clear neither of you are separating anytime soon.

You don’t know how long you lay there on your side, blissfully fuck out, still full of him. You don’t care. You enjoy floating in the hazy afterglow. Eventually he slips out of you, pulling a gasp from you and a whine from him. He nuzzles against you, as if to comfort you. You’re too boneless and witless to do anything more than nuzzle him back.

At some point you do notice him start to move against you once more. His large hands are running along your body, as if committing it to memory. It’s not until he starts to focus on your nipples, rubbing his thumb in increasingly tight circles. Desire starts to zip through your sluggish veins and you whine, twitching in his loose hold. He seems to appreciate your reaction, nudging your head with his until you turn it to face him better. He catches your mouth in a consuming kiss, more coordinating than any previously but just as hungry. It's deep and filthy and leaves you vibrating for me.

His hand covers your cunt, still swollen and wet from your combined cum, in addition to the desire within you he’s stroking back up into a blaze. Your sensitivity causes your hips to stutter as you’re caught between wanting more and being too tender for it. He loses interest in using his hand once you’re pushing towards him more than you are moving away. Pulling you down his body once more, his fur causing goosebumps to ripple across your flesh until you’re back where Temar at least seems to think you belong: in the cradle of his hips.

“Oh! Temar, you—mm, o-oh,” you attempt to say something to address the reignition of his desire, but before you can, his stiffening cock has managed to press against your cunt just right, moving through your lingering wetness and the spend that’s leaked out of you since said cock last left you.

“Mate,” he intones, lust certainly back into his voice. He pulls you up off the bed, securing you to his chest with the hand still clutching your chest. You’re not sure his other hand he's left your hip since it settled there. “More.”

“I, yes,” you reply, trying to pull yourself back together. Of course while in heat, he’d want to—you cut your own thoughts off with a surprised moan as he pushes back into you. Your fingers clench in the sheets as your sore, but slick muscles allow him back inside. The overstimulation is giving your head a rush.

Luckily, this time Temar seems more deliberate and rhythmic with his thrusting rather than frenzied and desperate. His other hand resumes kneading your chest and rubbing against your stiffened nipple. The change in angle seems to keep him from going too fast and luckily requires none of your strength. In fact, the sensation of him fucking you while you lay limp in his grasp is quickly bring your own lust back at a dizzying pace you don’t expect.

He shifts and the angle gets even better, causing you to moan loudly in encouragement. You sag against him, your bones feel liquid from the way he’s been relentlessly thrusting within your cunt. His grunts and your pants fill the room. You’re still so hot, with sweat rolling down your back only to be absorbed into his fur. The sensation ensures you never forget who and what is taking you. You glory in it, in knowing he chose you.

You feel like he’s determined to fuck you until you can’t see straight, can’t move and you’re beyond willing for him to try.

Gods, he’s going to make you forget your own name.

Something curls deep in you, winding around itself with each passing second he continues moving within you. He hunches forward, just enough to press against you, to change the angle some minuscule amount, and that spring releases. You fracture around him. As before, that appears to be all he needs to push as deep as he can and spill his seed in you one more time. The sensation of his release, of the desperate way he continues to try to fill you are the last things you remember before the pleasure pulls you under.

-/-

In the morning, or given the angle of the sun, the afternoon when you wake after a sleep longer than an hour, Temar surrounds you still. You’re in no rush as you take the time to regain your bearings and take stock of your aches. Without opening your eyes you can tell he’s looking at you. “Regret?” you ask simply, stock still in his hold, voice scratchy from overuse. You lost count of how many times aTemar fucked you last night. It's all a blur of heat and desire.

“No,” Temar rumbles, adjusting his hold. “Mine.” The added growl behind the words even in his human form sends a shiver down your spine and reignites the ache in your muscles in the most pleasing manner.

It's more than you were hoping for, and yet you can’t help but ask, cautiously, “For the rest of your heat?” Some small part of you is still expecting to be sent on your way far sooner than you’d like to be.

“I suppose you’ve convinced me,” Temar replies, the amusement in his voice unable to stay hidden under his put upon reluctance. “If you’ve made this foolish choice, I suppose I’ll let it stand—for now.”

“You may be stubborn, but I think we can agree I won this battle,” you point out. You finally blink your eyes open for long enough to look over your shoulder and meet his brown ones. He looks indulgent when you cup his cheek. “What makes you think you’ll fare better in the next one? I’m not sure I want for this to end with your heat.”

“I thought you’d say something of the sort,” Temar replies with a roll of eyes. He nips at your ear and pats you on the hip. “We can discuss after your bath.”

You hum, pleased immensely by the prospect. “See? Perhaps it’s you who is mine after all.”

---

Extra thanks to everyone who followed along with the original posting! all your comments and tags and asks were super encouraging!!

#read later #werebear #nsfw

604 notes · View notes