#I wonder why I want comfort so badly for something so small | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ponderingmoonlight · 7 months ago

Note

hi lovely ! you asked for kny requests and i've just finished my kny volume 22 re-read, so thats perfect timing 💙

I was wondering if you could write something with Yoriichi — (tw for potential child loss)

Maybe a hurt/comfort fic where his pregnant wife actually survives the demon attack while he's away (but maybe she gets quite badly injured and their unborn child doesn't make it, if you want to add a little extra angst to it. If not then that's totally fine, this man deserves a happy ending after all 🥺)

Of course, you're the writer — feel free to take any creative direction you'd like or ignore this request if you're not comfortable with it. Have a lovely day/night! <3

Again, I'm beyond sorry you were forced to wait for this so long! But here you go honey, let me know what you think <3

Yoriichi saving his pregnant wife and unborn child just in time

Pairing: Yoriichi x pregnant!wife!reader

Word Count: 4,2k

Synopsis: You never expected to face a demon ever again, especially not when you are about to deliver your child while your beloved husband Yoriichi is in search for a midwife. Will you and your child be alright? Will your husband make it back on time?

Warnings: injury, horror, child birth, tortue, description of death, extreme angst to fluff, last part is not proofread

Notes: Since the first Yoriichi fic I wrote, I'm so deeply in love with his character that I adore writing him so much! Since this fic took a while, I would totally appreciate your support through liking, commenting and reblogging this fic - thank's a lot babes <3

He can’t get enough from simply looking at you. You with your head in the clouds, you with your hand mindlessly roaming around the soft grass underneath, the other one caressing your heavy pregnant belly, you when you give him those surprised eyes as soon as you notice his presence.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you’re already here”, you say in a small panicky voice.

You didn’t expect your beloved husband back this soon. If you would have known that he’ll be here by know you would have cleaned the whole house, made him something to eat and-

“I can only imagine what is going on inside your head again.”

His soft but at the same time rough hand touches your cheek gently, the loving gleam in his fuchsia eyes making you blush in an instant. All the voices in your head stop right in their track when he’s around.

Yoriichi Tsugikuni. Your savior, your best friend. And most importantly, your husband and father of your future child.

“How are you feeling, love? Did you enjoy your afternoon?”, he questions, eyes wandering down your body to your swollen belly.

It was hard leaving you alone in a state like this, but he wasn’t able to resist the urgent call from last night. He might be nothing but another simple man holding a sword, but it is his responsibility to save those who are in need. What else is he able to give to this world?

His hand lands on your belly, feels the tiniest kick of his unborn child against the palm of his hand. At least he was able to create a smaller version of you. Is it a boy, a girl maybe?

“I hope our child is a reflection of you”, he finally mutters into the silence, a small but somehow sad smile forming itself on his lips.

You suddenly forget how to breathe, glossy eyes fixated on his captivating sight. Oh, oh much you hate the stinging fact that your husband thinks so negatively about himself. Why can’t he see all the heroic things he has done so far, how respected he is in the demon slayer corps? Why can’t he see that every inch of his body is flawless? Out of instinct, you let your head rest against his broad chest, breathe in his strong scent. If you could only stay like this here forever, his hand resting against your body while the sun tickles your skin-

A violent moan escapes your lips when a sharp pain runs through your stomach. A kick. A really rough kick, to be exact.

“Are you alright, love? Did something hurt you? Is it the baby?”, your husband asks feverishly, his usual neutral face garbled by worry lines on his forehead.

“Just a kick”, you press out, still fighting to regain your composure.

“I will search for a mid-wife, (y/n).”

His words make your eyes widen in an instant, a wave of fear crushing down on you. Is it really time already? You look down at your swollen belly, so big that you aren’t even able to sit down properly anymore. This has to be the ninth month of your pregnancy.

Your heart sinks. The ninth month. If the books you’ve read are accurate, it really is time.

“I can’t do this, Yoriichi.”

Thick panic runs through your veins, forces your heart almost out of your chest. You aren’t ready to deliver a child, let alone to be a mother. All the things you haven’t read yet, the things you’ve probably never heard of…What if you mess it up? Until you met Yoriichi, all you were able to do was trying to survive. Your mother never had the chance to tell you about those things, isn’t here anymore to stay by your side.

You are…on your own.

“Look at me, (y/n). I will go out and search for a mid-wife and I’ll be back at sunset, you hear me? Just stay inside the house and nothing will happen. I promise to return as early as possible.”

Fuchsia eyes that radiate through your soul immediately. An angelic voice that calms down your tingling nerves with only four sentences. Strong arms that lift you off the ground and lead you back into the warmth of your home.

But know, it’s not the wooden cabin that feels like home. Your eyes wander to the neutral expression he wears on his face, only betrayed by a worried glow in his orbs. It’s him, your beloved husband.

“Are you feeling alright, love?”

You take a deep breath in, a deep breath out. Eyes focused exclusively on him until your mind finally silences. It’s just you and him. You and your beloved husband, the man you would trust with your life without battling an eyelid, the man who made you the person you are today.

“I do”, you breathe out.

Your heartbeat tames down as well as the kicks of your unborn baby, Yoriichi’s hands keeping you from falling over.

“Promise me to lock the doors and wait in bed until I return, (y/n).”

A seriousness you only know from him when he is forced to leave at night veils his calm eyes.

“But…you will be back before the sun sinks, right?”

He gifts you a small smile, hand caressing your cheek so gently that you almost forget about the worry lines decorating his face. The truth is that the next midwife lives miles away. Even if he gets to the village as soon as possible, the sun will be about to set when he returns. Yoriichi can’t help but clench his other hand into a fist next to your stomach. The sheer thought of not making it in time, that you’ll be defenceless.

“Don’t worry, love. Rest your eyes and be assured that I’ll return as soon as possible.”

But he cannot allow himself to fail you, to leave you alone in those oh so merciless nights. He will return, no matter what it costs.

He presses a soft kiss against your forehead before grabbing his sword tightly.

This. This is his fate, his family. You are his whole life.

And he’ll do everything to protect you.

-later that evening-

You are exhausted. Over the last few hours, your body was haunted by waves of pain coming and going like the seasons. Again, you dig your nail into the wooden floor, your heavy breaths hanging in the thick air. You definitely don’t need a midwife to tell you it’s time. Yes, your baby is on its way.

And your husband didn’t return yet.

Your glossy eyes dart towards the window, witness how the sky outside turns bright red in the down-going sun. Is Yoriichi alright? You know how cruel life can be. Maybe he met a person who needed to be saved on his way, maybe the midwife is too old to rush to your side in time.

“Rest your eyes and be assured that I’ll return as soon as possible.”

Those words. Even though he’s not yet by your side, you are able to feel his powerful presence around you, how he calms down your aching heart.

“Everything will turn out alright”, you mutter to yourself while caressing your tummy.

“Everything will be alight…”

You allow your lids to rest, body relaxing for the first time since your husband left. You will get through this, you will deliver your wonderful child tonight. A tiny bundle of joy, an image of its father. Is it a boy, a girl? As long as your child is healthy, you couldn’t care less.

Carefully, you curl up on your futon, snuggle yourself into the blanket that still holds his scent. Maybe you’ll be able to catch a few hours of sleep until he finally comes back. Sleep sure does sound very appealing at the moment.

But just when your breath begins to steady, a violent scratch forces you to sit straight up. It came from outside, without a doubt. Is it an animal, is it…

Your throat gets tight immediately, glossy eyes staring at the closed window in sheer horror. The trees bend back and forth peacefully in what looks like a tender night. But that scratch, it sounded exactly like claws digging into hard wood, sent shivers down your spine immediately. You know that sound all too well, experienced what it means to get slaughtered by a demon before. Just before your whole family died violently, this was exactly what you’ve heard.

Out of instinct, you bury yourself into the corner of the room, the blanket that holds Yoriichi’s scent still pressed against your now shivering body tightly. Please, let it be nothing but a wild animal, let your husband come back home soon. Maybe this is nothing but a nightmare and you’ll wake up any given minute-

A violent pain runs through your body so suddenly that a shriek escapes your lips. Suddenly all air escapes your lungs, the way your belly cramps making you see start. No, you know exactly what this means, that this is not the right time to deliver a baby. Isn’t there anything you can do to stop this? You still need to wait for your husband, the midwife, for this gut-turning feeling to vanish. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, sharp and fast breaths hanging in the thick atmosphere.

But it doesn’t stop there. As if this wasn’t enough already, you can only stare at the door that gets opened painfully slow, claws digging into the wooden frame.

Without any doubt, this is a demon.

You press your sweaty palm against your mouth, force yourself to stop screaming, to stop breathing.

“I know you’re here, human. You smell like a…woman.”

It’s like all life is drained from the dead shell of your body, widened orbs staring at the frightful creature that makes its way into your home. Get up, fight, defend yourself like you saw Yoriichi do countless times, use the knowledge you gained from him.

But you don’t move an inch, don’t dare to look away. For a brief moment, time seems to stand still. Out of all the nights you’ve spent together with your husband, this is the first away from him, the first without his protection. Is all of this a dream, a hallucination to test your nerves?

The second the monster’s deadly red orbs meet yours, you get hit by reality. No, this isn’t a dream.

This will be your death.

“I knew you were here, lady. Let me help you up, okay?”

“N-no. Please d-don’t”, you whimper under your breath.

Your coward of a body doesn’t even fight back when he lifts you off the ground with ease, his nails digging into your soft flesh.

“Oh, you’re expecting a baby, don’t you? Well, does this count as a double kill, then?”

Your baby getting killed? If that thing ends your life, it means your unborn child will never experience dawn, will never get to see the face of its father, will never take in his scent. Your glossy eyes widen in sheer horror, tears now streaming down your face like waterfalls when a single frown form on your forehead.

You couldn’t care less about your own life. After all, you were lucky that Yoriichi saved you back then, didn’t even deserve to survive when your whole family had to die before you. But that oh so innocent child that might have the eyes of its father, the blessing of your life right after your husband. That innocent life cannot be taken.

There is no way you will let this creature lay hands on it.

Your body reacts faster than your mind. With a surprisingly well-placed kick, you free yourself out of the monster’s casual grip. You need to get out of the house, out where you are able to find shelter, to run away. Your lungs feel like bursting any given minute, legs trembling underneath the weight of yourself and the unborn baby you still carry right under your heart. Even if it means you’ll die in vain, even if you won’t be able to see Yoriichi’s tender eyes ever again, you have to make sure your child is safe.

“I underestimated you, stupid woman. As it seems you didn’t give up on life yet”, the creature purrs what feels like right next to you.

A new nauseous wave of panic rises up your veins, makes you sprint even faster through the thick woods that surround your house. This has always been your favorite place to be. The calm trees waving back and forth in a soft breeze, your husband right by your side-

Your husband. Just the thought of never getting to see him again makes your heart ache. You didn’t even get the chance to thank him one last time, to let him know how much he truly means to you, that he’s way more than the man who saved your life back then.

He’s everything you ever wanted, everything you ever needed.

A sharp pain that radiates through your lower body sends you straight onto the ground immediately, figure cramping so violently that you can’t catch your breath. No, this is not the time labor, not when a demon is this close.

“Oh, there you are. Did you really think you can run away like that? You, a little human? You made me so man that I will kill you as painfully slow as possible.”

You try to lift your trembling figure off the ground, try to get back onto your feet, to sprint down the forest you know so well. But just when you’re about to get back onto your knees, a stinging pain in your right thigh paired with a contraction sends you straight back.

A violent scream escapes your lips.

Red. Everything around you is discoloured red. Is this your blood? Did this thing kill you already, are you going to die? Despite the way your guts start to turn when you follow the trail of blood, you can’t look away. And there it is indeed, a gaping hole in your leg, throbbing and bleeding.

All color that is left now drains from your face. With an injured leg, your chance to escape this demon’s claws is non-existent. Which means…

Your heart skips a beat, threatens to fail you any given second. What about your unborn child? A violent storm of anger and determination clouds your mind, makes all logical thoughts vanish into thin air.

“You can’t kill me”, you press out.

Since the day you first laid eyes on a demon, you accepted your own death. Your life is worthless anyway, compared to great warriors like your husband himself. But that oh so innocent child, that tiny life you were given to. You ball your hands into fists so tight your knuckles stand out white and lift your throbbing self off the ground. You cannot allow a demon to take the life of that unborn baby.

“I won’t allow you to touch me.”

You realize the stupidity of your words after they spill out of your mouth in rage. You, not allowing a demon to touch your puny figure? Another contraction makes your guts turn and vision almost go black.

As expected the frightful creature draws closer, its unpromising pair of razor-sharp teeth glittering in the dim moonlight. You never expected to see a demon this close again. Oh, how much you hoped you’d never find yourself in that situation again. But you have to get through this, have to make sure you will survive long enough for the mid wife to deliver your child to this world.

His child.

“I’m sorry Yoriichi. I never planned on leaving you alone like this”, you mumble to yourself, shaky lips tinted in salty tears.

“But this all I’m able to do.”

-Yoriichi’s POV-

Something seems off. Is it the way the trees bent back and forth in the soft breeze of the already set sun? Is it that distant smell that hangs in the air, the one that reminds him of fresh blood and lavender?

“We must make haste. I can sense that danger is ahead of us”, he speaks out with firm voice.

He promised you that he’ll be back before the sun goes down, that he will make it on time before demon are able to roam around freely. Are you feeling alright? Is the pain unbearable at this point? Do you still hold trust for him in your heart? His footsteps pick up instinctively, eyes set on the visibly stressed man behind him. In contrary to most people, Yoriichi doesn’t fear the night or the demons it brings. The only thing he fears at the moment is what you have to endure without your husband by your side.

With every he takes forward, the stinging smell of blood mixed with lavender becomes more urgent in his nose.

Lavender.

He always wondered how you did it. Even after washing, all your clothes kept that calming scent that surrounded you as if you were standing in a lavender bush. A smell so sweet that it caught his interest back then before he caught a glimpse of your fascinating orbs, a smell that always reminds him of home. Yoriichi’s home will always be where you are, where the sensation of lavender is the strongest.

Lavender, the stinging smell of blood that hangs in the air. His eyes widen when his mind starts to race. The smell, it radiates from the direction of your shared home, from the direction that usually fills him with excitement. Can it be…?

His heart starts racing uncontrollably while he dashes forward and draws his sword. Let it be nothing but coincidence, a cruel joke his thoughts play on him. But the stinging fragrance of lavender mixed with iron fills his heart with dread, makes his mind go numb. What if you got attacked by a demon, what if you are in great danger? All because he didn’t live up to his promise, because he didn’t make it on time. His eyes roam around the dark area, desperately searching for a sign.

And then his eyes find you.

Yoriichi’s heart stops.

There you lay, leaning against a nearby tree with a puddle of blood surrounding you, widened eyes starring straight into the face of a demon who hollers above you.

“No one is coming to save you, stupid girl.”

He doesn’t waste another second. With a swift motion of his sharp blade, Yoriichi beheads the demon on top of you while a toe-curling scream escapes your lips. Just one look at your sliced-up kimono reveals countless injuries, especially a gaping hole in your thigh. You hold onto your swollen belly for what looks like dear life, eyes still widened in nothing but shock.

“(y/n)”, he gently speaks out while letting himself fall down next to you.

You have to blink a few times. The demon, it was just about to dig its sharp teeth into your sensitive skin, to take the life of your unborn child in front of your eyes.

Maroon.

But those aren’t the deadly red orbs. No, those oh so gorgeous eyes look so familiar that your heart tames down in an instant. Could it really be, is it possible that it’s…him?

“Yoriichi.”

You breathe his name into the night like a prayer.

Maybe this is nothing but an illusion, a cruel trick your own brain plays on you.

“Words can’t express how sorry I am for arriving too late. I will never forgive myself for leaving you alone this long, for causing this to happen”, his oh so familiar voice blurts out.

Yoriichi’s usual so composed face twists in sheer agony, eyes filling with salty tears. All of this is his fault. He should have arrived sooner, he should have made hurry, he-

“We didn’t come this far to worry now. Please, help be delivering this child, let it all make sense”, you press out while grabbing his hand tightly.

It doesn’t matter that you’re severely injured, it doesn’t matter that your beloved husband took longer than expected to come back to you. All that matters now are you, him and your unborn child that waits to be delivered.

“Allow me to assist you.”

A foreign man suddenly speaks out with sweat dripping from his forehead in waterfalls. Just when another wave of nauseous pain hits you with full force, as if you got kicked into your stomach by a horse. You fail to breathe for a second, hands holding onto your husband for dear life.

“You are already close, it won’t be long now”, the man reassures you while gently opening your legs.

“You can do it, (y/n). After all the things you had to endure today, you will be able to get through this. With me by your side. I love you more than any words could ever say, darling.”

One more push.

One more wave of pain before your body goes numb, before you lose the ability to feel anything except for sweet nothingness.

Until a loud shriek finds its way to your ear.

A violent scream, almost frustrating. When you open your eyes again, you are greeted by a crying but alive bundle of joy, carefully wrapped into a white cloth and placed onto the arm of its father.

Those eyes.

“I prayed every night that he would have your eyes”, you whimper with tears running down your cheek uncontrollably.

You did it. You saved your beloved child who looks just like its father, you managed to somehow stay alive.

“She”, the midwife corrects you gently.

“She…”, you mumble with a small smile.

The last thing you see are the troubled maroon eyes of your husband before your world goes dark.

-the next day-

A foreign but still so familiar laughter fills the atmosphere around you with joy while you see nothing but black. When your stubborn lids finally open, you are greeted by the wooden ceiling you know so well. This is your home, without any doubt.

The home a demon invaded.

The home where you feared for your life while your husband rushed to the midwife in order to deliver your child.

Your child.

You get up way too quickly, glossy eyes darting around the room without a real aim. Is your baby okay? What happened after the delivery? All you can remember are those familiar maroon eyes that looked so much like the orbs of your beloved husband. Your husband…Where is Yoriichi?

“Don’t move too quickly, love. The doctor strictly forbids you to be in a haste”, his gentle voice speaks out next to you.

Just a few moments later, you get invited by the warmth of his arms swallowing you whole. Out of instinct, you let yourself fall against him, press your very own body into his despite the scorching pain that immediately takes over your whole self.

Right, you were attacked by a demon the night you gave birth. How did you manage to escape? Are your injuries critical.

But most important: How is your baby?

“Look what you have accomplished. A little wonder. Just like you, my love”, your husband murmurs, carefully lifting a little bundle off a blanket nearby.

Your heart nearly stops when you catch a glimpse of her. Those maroon eyes are the last thing you remember before everything goes black. With shaky hands, you start caressing her puffy cheek. This. This is what you fought for, what makes it all worth it in the end.

“She has your eyes”, you hush, tears now streaming down your face in waterfalls.

“And your hair”, Yoriichi replies with a soft smile towards you.

“(y/n), I promise I’ll do anything in my power to protect you and her from something like this. I promise I will stand by your side no matter what. And I hope that someday, you will be able to forgive me for not being there for you when you needed me the most.”

The second your husband’s voice cracks, you can’t hold onto yourself any longer. You wrap your arms around him and your daughter longingly, take in the scent who gave you strength that night.

“There is nothing to forgive and nothing to feel sorry about. You did your very best and that is all that matters. I love you, Yoriichi. And I have to thank you for saving both of us just in time.”

“You are my greatest treasure on earth”, he mumbles against your lips while giving you a passionate kiss.

What a plot twist, what a happy end after all. Yesterday you were sure your life is over, that you won’t live onto the next day. And now you’re lying in your house, holding your giggling daughter while pressing your heavy head against your husband’s broad chest.

“Well, I fear I will have to share this special place by now”, you comment while gazing at your perfect little daughter.

“This might be true, love.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @kayleegomez @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san

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megwritesriddles · 3 months ago

Text

I Despise You ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 1 - Angry Sex. Reader is the Head Girl and Riddle is the Head Boy, Riddle likes to push Reader's boundaries until it all boils over. Minimal plot but a smidge anyway.

Tags: Angry sex, P in V, Fingering (fem receiving), Unprotected sex, Magic as birth control, Enemies with benefits, Arguing (which is badly written oops), Attempt at angst, Tiny bit of sexism from Riddle, Reader is wearing a dress (I imagined one of those Sabrina Carpenter babydoll dresses lol), Head boy Riddle, Head girl Reader, Historical inaccuracy.

Word count: 3.4k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: First installment of Kinktober and first post on tumblr!! woo!! please show me some love if you like it!! I am terrible at writing arguments because I hate confrontation irl oops!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Being appointed as Head Girl was supposed to be the best thing to ever happen to you. You’d been working toward it since at least the third year and it was all you ever seemed to hope for. It was meant to be an achievement that you and your friends would all celebrate, perhaps head down to the Three Broomsticks and spoil you with free drinks for the night in honour of your achievement. But, life wasn’t so kind.

When your position as Head Girl was announced all you had received from your friends were pitying looks, all due to the pesky little detail of who had been announced as Head Boy to serve alongside you. Tom Riddle. Tom. Fucking. Riddle. Of course, Professor Dippett had had to announce his name first, meaning you hadn’t even gotten a second of enjoyment from your appointment. He had stood up smugly at the Slytherin table, basking in the cheers from his house, flashing a charming smile to the room as he made his way to the front of the hall. For the first time in your life, at that moment, you had prayed that Head Girl would not be you. It was. Your name was called, your house applauded and your legs carried you over to Riddle’s side. He grinned down at you, that little glint of mockery in his eye that you could only see from this close. You wanted to punch him, that would surely lose you the Head Girl position and solve this problem, but you had your future to think of. You had repeated that to yourself all that night as you and Riddle had been whisked off to the staff room to be briefed on your positions and given your badges. Riddle was the picture of charm, laughing with the various professors that came to speak with you, you just sat there, smiling falsely, looking a little like you’d just been hit over the head with a plank. You felt like it too. Your lifelong dream had just been turned into something poisonous. Really, you thought to yourself as Slughorn guided you through the corridors to the Head’s quarters, you should have seen this coming. They weren’t supposed to appoint two students from the same house, so logically, if you were picked for Head Girl, it was only ever going to be Riddle at your side. You wondered why you hadn’t considered this before, it was so obvious with hindsight. You scowled at the back of his and Slughorn’s heads as you ascended some stairs, them chatting together jovially, making your blood boil.

Slughorn shows you the small common room, enough seating for about four people, a fireplace, and a little kitchenette with some stools, decorated with opulence. It would all have been very nice if it hadn’t been for Riddle standing there commenting on the lovely brass crests. The separate rooms were your biggest comfort, both off of little halls from the common room in different directions. You could hide in there from him, you told yourself over and over. You didn’t have the headspace to be impressed by the beautiful ensuites with golden-tapped baths, just wanting Slughorn to leave so you would no longer have to listen to Riddle’s disgustingly smooth voice. Eventually, Slughorn did leave the two of you to go to bed. As he shut the common room door, you could see Riddle’s mouth opening from the corner of your eye. You darted to your room before he could get the words out, slamming the door, relieved to find all your things already there. You collapsed onto the bed and sighed. The nightmare was only beginning.

The hands on the clock point to 3:30 am. It’s a Monday morning, you have a meeting with Dumbledore in just a few hours, but sleep is impossible. He has friends over again. The deep bass of their voices reverberates through the walls of the common room. They’re chatting and laughing like always, most likely drinking too, you’ve spotted them with whiskey a few times. You seethe with anger in your bed, just last week you had kindly approached him, and not for the first time, about this issue. You had emphatically asked him to be considerate of you and your time. He had placated you like always.

“Yes darling, I didn’t realise we were being so bothersome, won’t happen again,” he had soothed, but of course, it was happening again right now. You kept somehow getting caught in his charms, the very ones you had been immune to for so long. It had to be the sleep deprivation he was causing, that was what was making you melt a little whenever he called you darling or smiled just so, in the way that used to make you feel sick. In the dark of your room, you lie on your side and curse inwardly. Reporting him had crossed your mind many times, but you knew he would just charm his way out of it, like he did with everything. Your ears rumble with another deep laugh from the group of men in the other room and you’ve had enough. Throwing off your duvet and stomping to your bedroom door, you fling it open and head into the common room. He sits reclined leisurely in an armchair by the fireplace, his sleeves rolled up and tie loose. His ankles are crossed, resting on the coffee table in front of him, he chuckles at something, you couldn’t care less what, the firelight dancing over his face. He hasn’t noticed you, but across from him on the opposite armchair, his friend, Avery, straightens up and grins at you. His eyes drift over you, you realise instantly that you stomped out here in only your nightgown and socks and flush lightly, but stand your ground.

“Riddle!” you bark, surprising even yourself with the viciousness of your tone. This brings his attention to you effectively. His other two friends turn to look at you over the back of the sofa, Riddle doesn’t even straighten up when he looks up at you, smirking in a self-satisfied way that makes your insides twist oddly.

“Hello darling,” he speaks smoothly. “You look a picture tonight,” he lets his eyes drift up and down your figure without shame. You go red with anger and embarrassment.

“Doesn't she just?” One of his friends, Rosier, comments with a mocking chuckle. This sets you off.

“Out!” You screech. All the boys look taken aback by the intensity of your outburst. “Out, out, out!”

“Fine,” Riddle hisses in an infuriatingly calm tone. “You lot should go, you heard the Head Girl,” you hear the mocking tone in his voice, suggesting he thinks you’re hysterical. You stand there with your fists clenched, staring the men down as they get up and head for the door, feeling ridiculous but not wanting to show any weakness. Once they all leave and shut the door behind them, the two of you fall into silence for a moment. He’s watching you, but not in the leering way from earlier, he almost looks impressed with you. You avert your eyes from the closed door onto his face, he’s leaning forward now, with his elbows on his knees. Just when you’re considering simply turning to leave, he speaks up. “Happy now, darling? You’re really no fun, we were only talking,” his eyes fix on yours, burning deeply. You scoff indignantly.

“It’s nearly 4 am Riddle, you know I have a meeting in the morning, I have brought this up to you countless times and–”

“Yes, but you don’t seem to understand that I simply don’t care to keep you happy, darling,” he grins. You let out a frustrated yelp.

“You are unbelievable! How were you ever chosen for Head Boy when you're this insidious? You don’t deserve it!” You snap. This stirs something in him. His eyes darken and he stands up from the armchair.

“And you do, do you darling?” he asks slowly, stalking toward you. “You’re the picture of perfection, aren’t you just?” You’re not sure what to say to this, any answer seems wrong like it’ll give him reason to dig into you further. Your mouth opens and shuts for a moment before you settle on a shrug. Your hands flex in the fists they’re tightened into as a smirk spreads over his face. “You don’t seem so high and mighty from here,” he chuckles, stopping in front of you. He has several inches on you and you’re forced to look up at him. “You look lovely in this little nightie,” he comments with a grin, reaching out to trace the lace at the strap with the tip of his finger. You jolt away instantly, glaring up at him.

“Don’t you dare touch me! And don’t you dare comment on my looks!” You hissed, smacking his hand away. His eyes darken even more at this.

“And don’t you dare smack me,” he growls. “I was merely paying you a compliment,”

“Like hell you were!” You scoff. “You’re trying to make me feel small,” he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“If the shoe fits,” he grins. You scowl, shoving at him without thinking about it. He stumbles back slightly, looking momentarily bewildered. When he realises what you just did he surges for you. He grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you into the wall. You let out a small oof sound as you collide with the wall, surprised it didn’t hurt more than it did. For a moment, you wonder if he had avoided hurting you until you look up and see the fire in his eyes, then you wonder if he wishes he had just killed you. “I would have rather had literally anyone as Head Girl than you, you are the bane of my existence,” he snarls, gripping your shoulders hard.

“I’m the bane of your existence? I don’t have friends over until the small hours of the morning! Imagine how I feel!” You spit back. You can tell he’s barely listening to you.

“You are insufferable! You’re the only person who doesn’t fawn over the sight of me and it’s you that I get stuck with for the whole year!” he scoffs. “I will not let you control my lifestyle!” he adds angrily. “I will not bend my life to make you happy! I am not subservient to anyone and I never will be!” you roll your eyes exaggeratedly.

“You are ridiculous,”

“I despise you,” he hisses venomously. “You’re always everywhere I am, you’re always following me around, tailing me in every subject, you had to go for this position when I’ve had my sights locked on it since first year!” He pushes you back into the wall again. “Are you happy now darling? You got Head Girl and now we’re both miserable! You must be thrilled!”

“You think I’m following you around?” you sneer. “How full of yourself are you that you think me going for Head Girl was about you? You seem to think you’re the centre of everything, but in my life Riddle, you are just an inconvenience, you are nothing,” you seethed. Something flashes in Riddle’s eyes, his jaw working.

“I am nothing?” he demands. “I am nothing?” he’s shaking now and you’re sure he’s about to hex you or punch you, his eyes flick between yours, his whole body coiled tight and ready to pounce. Instead, his lips are suddenly on yours, thrusting your head back against the wall. You yelp in surprise, your eyes wide, the back of your head hurting from being pressed into the hard surface. He kisses you without a single hint of affection, kissing you like it’s a punishment, a way of muzzling you, but Merlin, somehow it feels good. He’s grabbing at you, taking fistfuls of your nightgown in his hands. You find that you’re kissing him back, that you have been practically since his lips met yours and that you’re doing so eagerly. Your head is spinning as his arms wrap around you and he pulls you harshly to him, the hard planes of his lean body pressing against you. Your arms snake around his neck and he lets you yank at his hair. He’s kissing you so hard that you’re practically tipping backwards. Your tongues rub against each other as you kiss frantically. He’s leading you to the sofa, throwing you down and then settling above you. He props himself up, his hands on either side of your head. You both take this moment to catch your breaths, staring intensely at each other as your chests rise and fall rapidly. “Am I still nothing?” he growls, a little breathless. Once again, you don’t know what the right thing to say is. One of his hands moves down and starts to push up the hem of your nightdress, revealing your thighs to his devouring eyes. You grab him and kiss him again instead of talking, just as hard and unforgiving as before.

You feel your nightdress being bunched at your waist and hear the faint sound of a zip being pulled down. You kiss him harder, nipping at his bottom lip harshly and scrunching your eyes shut. He just groans in response, pushing down his slacks haphazardly, his other hand keeping him propped up above you. You’re suddenly awfully overheated, both from lying on the sofa in front of the blazing fireplace and from the realisation of what he’s planning to do to you. Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to let him fuck you on the sofa in the common room? Riddle? The man you’ve hated for years? The man who has been deliberately antagonising you for the past several weeks, and especially tonight? Your hands are resting on his stomach, and you connect the dots in mild horror that you’ve been unbuttoning his shirt without even realising it. You feel completely out of control of yourself, you’ve never acted this way before. You gasp in surprise when you feel his fingers pressing against your core through the fabric of your underwear. His fingers rub roughly, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through you. You whine slightly, feeling him smirk against your lips. You scratch at his chest a little in retaliation. He grunts, you can’t tell if he likes it or not and it bothers you. His fingers hook into your underwear and start to tug down. This is your last chance to back out, to throw him off of you and run away, but you find yourself unable to do anything but writhe and cling to his shoulders. The underwear is discarded on the floor and he is using his free hand to spread your thighs open, you flush deeply as he pulls away from the kiss to look down at you. You can feel how wet you are and you hate that, based on the smug little grin on his face, he knows it too. Your cheeks are burning as he reaches down, using two fingers to spread your folds. He lets out a needy sound by accident and it’s your turn to gloat. He flashes you a glare and plunges a finger into your tight heat in revenge. This makes your back arch and your lips part and he smirks back at you.

“So wet…” he comments, self-satisfied, his finger creating obscene squelches as he pumps it in and out of you slowly. You snarl at him, lashing out in embarrassment. You grab at the tent in his boxers, feeling him rock-hard under the fabric. He frowns in embarrassment, withdrawing his finger from you which makes you whimper a little. “You’re asking for it now, darling,” he growls. He’s scrambling to rid himself of his boxers. His tip is quickly prodding at your entrance and you gasp and arch slightly. He glides against you for a moment, his tip rubbing deliciously at your clit, seeming like he’s waiting for something. Then, he’s plunging into you. You let out a pathetic little cry and he grins. “Does that feel good?” he coos mockingly as he fully seats himself inside you. You both gasp for breath as your tight heat embraces him. It does feel good, torturously so, but his mocking tone irks you.

“I hate you,” you growl up at him as he lowers himself onto his elbows, his face right above yours. He scowls, panting slightly.

“I hate you too, believe me,” his arms wrap around your shoulders, keeping you in place. He buries his face in your neck and starts to nip as his hips begin to rock harshly. His thrusts are hard and punishing, slow, withdrawing almost completely and then slamming forward, just short of painful. You whine and grab at his back, letting your nails dig into him, he doesn’t seem to mind. He speeds up, grunting loudly against your neck. He pulls back to watch as you move along with his thrusts, your eyes scrunched shut and lips parted with desperate whines. He pants, his hot breaths washing over your face. He speeds up even more, growling like a crazed animal. “Look at you, falling apart under me, what would your friends think?” he taunts. Your eyes squeeze tighter shut, a wave of shame passing through you that somehow heightens your pleasure.

“Shut the fuck up,” you whine. You hear him laughing mockingly. You muster your strength and clench your walls around him. His laugh morphs into a choked groan at the sensation, his hips stuttering. He was more affected by this than you expected, his pace now brutal as he fucks into you, clearly desperately chasing release now, rather than focusing on playing mind games on you. His lips meet yours again and you kiss back. It’s clumsy and sloppy, given how fast he’s moving, but it just heightens everything you’re feeling. “You gonna come already?” you mock as you feel him faltering in his thrusts. He groans angrily against your lips.

“I despise you,” he hisses shakily, propping himself back up so he can thrust into you more relentlessly. You return the sentiment, but it’s a little half-hearted now between whines. You cry out when you feel his thumb on your clit, rubbing hard. He seems oddly determined to have you orgasm before he does, perhaps to humiliate you, but it feels so good that you can hardly complain. He grunts loudly, you can tell he’s trying to goad you, but his speech is incoherent between sounds of pleasure and the slapping of skin against skin. You feel it building up and you can’t deny yourself the pleasure, you don’t try to hold back. However, he still falls apart first. His hips stutter then stop entirely and he groans loudly, you feel his seed spilling deep into you, warm ropes painting your inside. His thumb doesn’t let up its rubbing and it allows you to also reach your release. You pulse around his oversensitive cock and he gasps and whines pathetically, but continues rubbing you through it until all the aftershocks are over.

He remains propped above you, catching his breath for a while, his head hung low. You both whine slightly as he withdraws from you slowly, leaving you with a pop. He takes a shaky breath, staring at his essence that trickles out of you. You just stare at the ceiling, unsure what to do now. You feel the sofa dip as he reaches down to the floor, his chest touching yours as he lowers himself gently. He grabs his wand from his trouser pocket and props back up. He mumbles a spell, cleaning you of his essence and eliminating the chance of pregnancy. It pleases you a little that he took care of it, rather than leaving it up to you. He moves, sitting back on his haunches between your legs, lowering the hem of your nightdress to cover you back up. You stare at each other silently for a moment as he tucks himself away.

“This changes nothing between us,” he asserts, narrowing his eyes at you. You want to laugh at that, as clearly everything has just changed in some way, but you know what he means.

“Yeah, it changes nothing,” you repeat with a sigh. He glances over at the fireplace for a moment, before his eyes flick to the clock on the mantelpiece.

“Now chop chop, don’t you have that meeting with Dumbledore?” he grins. Your eyes widen and then you kick at him in frustration, realising what he’s done. He just laughs. “You better figure out a way to cover those hickeys quickly,” he smirks. You whine indignantly, burying your head in your hands.

“I’m going to kill you!”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

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finsplurtz · 6 months ago

Note

hello! may I request a subbot afab hawks x domtop amab reader?

idk what trope to pick bc I have so many ideas, but if you're comfortable with it, could it be a sugarbaby x sugardaddy reader AU? maybe with some praise and breeding?

feel free to ignore lol (love your fics btw <3)

— GUYS NEWSFLASH first time writing ftm character hahaha erm i hope i didn’t fuck this up😢😢🙏🙏 (i lvoe dis requets)

something more — keigo.takami

— dom ! male.reader x ftm ! sub ! Keigo Takami

— contents : afab ! Hawks , use of pussy cunt clit and stuff…. Sugardaddy reader , tooo much yap , hawks falls in love with u… er praising , a bit of breeding kink , u might get him pregnant actually…, :( ending..

warnings : love NOT reciprocated sowwy

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Hawks waved flirtatiously at a guy walking by to try and get his attention, he scoffed after the guy payed no mind to him. He got a cigarette out and patted himself to try and find his lighter..where could it have gone…

he felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see .. you. Took him a bit but he apologized and took the lighter from your hands.

“thank you..! uh where was it..?” he nervously, struggling to light his cigarette up.

“you left it behind at the bar.” you took the lighter and lit it for the blonde.

“ah..thank you..” he smiled looking away.

“Ya know, you’re a pretty thing. I noticed you at the bar and was going to talk to you but I looked away for a second and the next, you were gone haha” you chuckled dipping your hands into your pockets.

“uh yeah sorry I was…I just needed to take in some fresh air” he seemed a bit more calmer than he was a second ago- he couldn’t get anyone else to pay his drink. that’s why he left the bar.

“mhh. well. I was wondering if maybe I could spend a night with you?” Hawks perked up and looked at you. You were….tall and handsome..you had a nice face…….

“sorry I don’t go around and—“

You held out 200$ to him, waiting for him to take it. “how ‘bout it?” you look at him and smirk.

one night..couldn’t be bad plus, 200 dollars??

“alright then, mister.” He takes the money and smiles at you.

well that’s how you met keigo. after one night you proposed the idea of being his sugar daddy and since the sex wasn’t bad at all, and you paid good money, there was no harm!

overtime you guys became very fond of each other, you weren’t just some cash pig to him, you were special. but to you…..he was sure he was just a fuck toy for you.

you weren’t that old, you had great looks so- why haven’t you gotten a wife? or husband?? a great business guy like you would’ve had someone special by his side by now.

“hey yn…would you ever want to start a family at some point?” Hawks asked. He was sat on your large couch in small shorts and a loose top.

you looked at him and flashed him a smile. “someday, but not now” you were working on your laptop, you kept typing away.

“hmm…” he stood up and walked over to where you were and sat next to you, cuddling your arm.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he hid his smile at the pet name. he shook his head and you chuckled.

the way you treated him was as if he were your special person, you always took care of him. his place wasn’t so safe and it quite frankly- disgusted you… so you insisted he moved in with you. you always paid for him, got him what he wanted, in return he’d let you use him in bed for however long you wanted to.

not only that, but aftercare was amazing. you treated him like if he were made of glass, gentle with him when you bathed him, gentle kisses every now and then. he fought the urge everyday to tell you he loved you because he knew this wasn’t that kind of relationship.

but he started to fall for you. badly. at one point he didn’t really want your money anymore, he just wanted to be there for you and for you to be there for him.

it was about to be a year since you guys started this…thing you guys had going on and he decided to be straight up with his feelings, just tell you. That anniversary or whatever, you took him out to eat like any other day and got him a couple gifts, he was extremely happy and confident things would go well. He was hoping that maybe you guys could be something more than.. this. I mean you already act like a couple! There’s no way he could be wrong..

you guys got back home drunk as hell, laughing and shoving each other around. There was absolutely no fucking way you didn’t like this guy….then again you could just be the devil in disguise

your hands roamed his smaller body while you kissed and fought for dominance. He was losing himself in the pleasure, he had to tell you he just had to..

“uh- yn wait I…need to..” you kissed his neck and sucked on it, he moaned under you and grabbed at your hair. he pulled you off and you looked at him confused.

“I just need to…t..tell…” his words started to get stuck in his throat, nothing was coming out why couldn’t he just spill it out.

“you’re so cute Kei, baby…” you sat up and removed his pants as he squirmed, propped his legs on your shoulder and kissed the inside of his thighs.

“ahh..yn p..please let mhh..~” his back arched at the feeling of your mouth on his cunt. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system that made this all the more enjoyable, but he figured he’d tell you after you guys were done.

he pushed his hair back and gasped when you slid your fingers into his loose hole, all while lapping at his clit. He was crumbling underneath you, his hands pulling harshly on your hair as he squirmed and moaned at the pleasure.

“F-fuck! I’ll c..com..~” he bit his bottom lip, his lower half twitched as he came intensely, His hands letting go of your hair.

You sat up and prodded your cock at his entrance, teasing it over his sensitive clit making him flinch.

“w…wait…no condo-..mm…?” He looked so out of it and cute covering his cunt with his hand.

“what…don’t want my babies…?” you coo gently taking his hand off and leaning down into his ear.

“we’d make the cutest babies..” you harshly grab his hips and slam into him earning a scream from the younger male. He shouldn’t have found that as hot as he did, he’s holding onto you and biting your shoulder as you violate his stupid cunt.

He’s asking you to slow down as best as he can but you ignore him and continue to chase your orgasm. You almost completely stop when he whispers into your ear, an ‘I love you’.

It sounded desperate and whiny, you sit back up, not looking at his face. You look down at your dick, engulfed in the blondes pussy, you push his legs closer to his face and grab his hands, placing them on the back of his knees.

He hold them tightly, so many thoughts running through his little head.

Did you ignore him just now?

Your big hands spread his cunt and you slowly push all the way in, a stretched out whimper leaving Kei.

“Soo pretty, hon….aren’t you such a good boy for me..” you smirk to yourself, your thumb rubbing his clit gently. You grab his legs and move them aside to finally look at his face again.

His face was red and sweaty, tears running down his sad face, droll peaking out of his mouth.

“You’d do anything I asked…wouldn’t you, dear..?” You caressed his face, wiping his dumb tears away. He just stared into your lustful eyes before slowly nodding and smiling.

“Thats right, baby. Your pretty self belongs to me.” You tilt his head and begin to mark his neck as you continued to fuck into his twitching pussy.

He’s losing himself, those dumb thoughts about you not loving him still lurked in his mind. Of course you love him! You love him so much that you want to start a family with him, take care of whatever he needs for the rest of his life. He loves you more.

He’s all smiles and giggles that he doesn’t realize that he agreed to letting you finish inside him, till he feels your hot semen shoot inside of him.

His smile slowly falls, his heartbeat speeding up.

“…y…yn…?” You sit up and pull out, grinning at how your cum spills out of keigo’s cute pussy.

“what? take some pills, dear. You’ll be fine.” You kiss his forehead ignoring the tears that fell from him as he touches his tummy.

“what was it that you wanted to tell me? I’ve got something I wanna say to” you smile and lay down next to his smaller figure, he’s staring at the ceiling, you keep looking at his side profile waiting for him to answer.

“I….don’t have anything to say…” he says tiredly. He finally looks at you waiting for what you were gonna say.

“Hm..i met someone who could join us next time. He’s real cute I think you guys could really get along! Don’t worry though, kei. You’re still my favorite baby…” you smile, exhausted, you kiss the blonde one more time before pulling him into a hug.

“….what…?”

a/n; you guys rlly like hawks y’all are FREAKS (i love him more)

#i was feeling SALTY #had to crush him… i still love him:(#mha hawks #keigo takami #hawks smut #hawks x male reader #hawks x reader #x male reader #dom top reader #top male reader #seme male reader #mha x male reader #bnha x reader #my hero acedamia #boku no hero academia #gay #male reader #smut #dark content

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k0yaz · 4 months ago

Note

I loved your parent Arle headcanons ahh <33

May I request something similar but instead it’s oneshot Arle finding out fem reader is pregnant? I was thinking reader is a harbinger too and they both find out together while on a mission in another nation but it’s up to you !

with you.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, moderately but also slightly suggestive, female reader, pregnant reader, arle referred to as husband, wlw, GIRLS KISSING OH MY GOD?? it’s their biological child bro don’t even ask how don’t ask and just hc whatever u want there’s like baby magic, arle’s real name mentioned blah blah yk this, harbinger reader, mention of sex, fluff, lazy writing toward the end, not proofread.

A/N: I want to write so badly but my homework says no anyway guys my brain loves cooking so much omg also my tea tastes EXTRA good today—update the second half was done the next day I have no tea :(…actually I’m just too lazy to get the giant jug out of the fridge and I’m finishing this so I can go get bubble tea instead lol🕯️

Heaps of fluffed blankets bunched up at the edge of the bed, messily piled below yours and Arlecchino’s feet. Her hand was draped over your loosely covered shoulder, the black gradient trailing up her arms contrasting with your skin dimly brightened by the illuminating candle filling the room. Small shivers surged through every vein of your body as you slumbered, stomach churning as you felt your muscles tense roughly even in your sleep. Arlecchino carefully blinked one eye open, her cross marked eyes eyeing your scrunched up expression of discomfort.

Soft fabric of your undershirt brushed along your shoulder decorated with goosebumps blistered across your skin, the shoulder strap of your undershirt sliding a bit lower past your shoulder as her hand brushed up and down to ridge along the blooming bumps decorating your skin. The constant jabs continued to rack your body over and over, a swelling ache seeming to stiffen every joint in your body and making you stir in your curled fetal position. Hunching your shoulders, you rolled over onto your side once more, the tip of your nose lightly grazing Arlecchino’s neck.

Honestly, couldn’t even think up a single reason why your body continuously harbored a pang of soreness spread through every small compartment of your body. It had initially crept in as a few light cramps, starting off bearable and only irritating you every now and then. Musing all the possibilities, you shrugged off the periodic stings stabbing at your abdomen as muscle cramps or mild injuries from your mission. After all, mild injuries weren’t anything of concern to a harbinger of your status.

Ever since you had been dispatched on a mission along with the Knave, or rather your dear husband Arlecchino, everything had gone smoothly up until the present. The two of you had carried out the Tsaritsa’s orders accordingly, and found a lavish inn to stay the night at in order to replenish your strength. Golden light shadowed across the hall endlessly, the bright glows of the looming chandelier swinging back and forth carefully above your head gave quite the nice impression of the inn the two of you had come across. After all, you deserved a nice, opulent stay for a night after getting through a tedious mission around the outskirts of Snezhnaya.

Even now as you looked back on it, the receptionist’s expression didn’t make much sense as she slid a polished room key across the wooden table in your direction, the quiet grate of steel on wood bristling across the wood in sync with her morphed smirk. You simply exchanged confused glances with Arlecchino, who was equally puzzled with the receptionist’s words of: “I wonder if the Fatui shake entire rooms…have fun in there!”

Of course you could shake entire rooms, you had one of the highest rankings that any member of the Fatui could bear.

You and Arlecchino stepped foot into the warmly lit room, a comfortable bed with draped silk covers spilling off the sides situated square in the middle along with a spruce bedside table and porcelain decorations standing proud on the other desk tables across the room. Sure enough, the lighting clearly wasn’t the only thing in the room that was warm. Your body was suddenly flooded with an unshakable heat, raising the temperature of your neckline as pores of sweat accumulated at the base of your neck. The faint scent of jasmine grazing your nostrils was too strong to ignore, enveloping you in a sense of fervor and mild passion. And surely enough, Arlecchino was affected too.

The next thing you knew, the two of you basked in the dimmed lights and gentle air tickling your skin within the cold darkness, movements intensifying as you took in each other’s unclothed form. Arlecchino clawed at your side with each breath you drew in, nails raking along your plush hips as the two of you were lost in the thick heat clouding the atmosphere around the two of you.

By the next morning, you both continued with your day, heading back to the Fatui’s headquarters as if this was a normal occurrence between you two. Upon creaking open the heavy doors to the Tsaritsa’s well furnished chambers, you and Arlecchino had knelt before the Cryo Archon, the black fluff of the coat’s neckline feathering against your cheek with each sway of wind slipping in through the small crack of the opened window.

A near frustrated groan came dangerously close to pushing past your lips as the Tsaritsa commanded a mission for the two of you once more, ordering you both to take care of matters somewhere around Fontaine once again. Of course, you two couldn’t deny a mission from the Cryo Archon. It was significantly less tedious compared to the one you had just returned from, so why not?

However, as you and Arlecchino wavered through the sea parting the way to Fontaine, you couldn’t shake off a gnawing sense of nausea clawing at your belly as the ship rocked along the currents. A few droplets of ocean water trickled onto the ship, the clear liquid stilled on the edge of the boat as it seemed to glare at you despite being a mere inanimate state of matter. Your mind couldn’t help but race with unnerving possibilities shrieking like a parasitic voice thickly buzzing around your skull. You had clearly never felt so agitated before, nor paranoid over seemingly nothing.

“(Name). Seriously, are you alright?”

Ah. Peruere’s firm, yet collected tone always washed a sweet comfort over you. Especially when she seemingly showed concern over your well being.

You simply nodded, palm running along your side in circular motions as a way to soothe the throbbing pain which thankfully subsided a few solid moments later. By the time you were already in Fontaine, the pain was almost always present. You began vomiting quite frequently, often removing yourself from diplomatic relations to go throw up somewhere else. If not that, then you sure as hell were drowsy 24/7, feeling like you were about to break and collapse onto the earth at any moment.

In this very moment as you huddled into Arlecchino’s neck, you drew in a sharp breath quickly as your hand rested atop hers, which was currently thumbing at the strap of your undershirt. Her sweet scent momentarily distracted you from the ache in your stomach growing to pester you every moment of the day? Sure, they stopped, but it felt as if something was landing blows on your gut from the inside, kicking vigorously at your swollen stomach. Thankfully, Arlecchino finally arose beside you, her body tilted forward as she sat upright groggily. The soft hue of the dimmed lights warmed the tone of your face, your drained expression on full view for her to see.

She simply quirked an eyebrow in concern. She was aware you could handle yourself, yet your fatigued form couldn’t help but fill her with a sense of worry upon seeing you stir in supposed pain. The past week had plagued her mind with constant anticipation and uncertainty about you, wondering if she should contact the doctor situated not too far from your accommodations in Fontaine’s main city.

“About 3 weeks, Miss (Name).” The doctor replied, pressing his forefinger down onto the middle of his glasses to lower them as his eyes glided along the scribbled paperwork in his hand. You blinked in surprise, hand resting on your own thigh as an awkward silence fogged the room for what felt like centuries. Carefully, you rose to your feet as to not exert yourself too much, before delivering a thankful wave to the doctor who examined you. Swallowing down the nervous rise piling in your chest, you creaked the door open to exit the office, mind racing with what Arlecchino’s reaction would be.

Would she be happy? Upset? What if she isn’t ready to have any children with you in particular? Would she feel tied down?

The pestering questions continued to eat away at you as you slowly paced to your quarters, growingly anxious about how she would react to such major information being dropped onto her. You simply shook your head as you reached the foot of your shared room, shaky hand resting upon the doorknob. It didn’t matter how she reacted. You were 3 weeks pregnant and that was for sure, it was just a matter of what the two of you would agree to do.

As you turned the doorknob with a soft click, creaking open the door, your body suddenly felt heavy and sluggish. Each trudge forward felt like you were opposing gravity when you set your foot down in a single step. Arlecchino was situated on the bed, sitting on the edge as she remained lost in thought while tracing her own cursed hands. She didn’t take long to notice you, and her head snapped up to meet your gaze once she caught sight of your form standing at the corner of the wall.

“Ah. Love. How did the visit go?” She inquired, her voice gentle and soothing. You felt frozen in your spot, staring at her like an unmoving stone statue as your fists opened and closed slowly. By this point, your hands piled up a small amount of sweat between them as you clasped your fingers close, breaths coming out slowly in your perception.

“Arle, I’m pregnant.”

The atmosphere of the room was stunned just as silent as it was when the doctor revealed the same information to you, your anticipation growing as Arlecchino stood up and started walking toward you. You began fidgeting with your own hands, thumbs slipping against each other as her tall stature slowly drew closer and closer to you. Within seconds, she was right in front of you, hands raising to rest onto your shoulders gently.

“What do you want to do with the child, my love?”

You found yourself almost immediately relaxing, tense muscles resting upon hearing her sweet tone brushing against your ears. It was as if the world around you slowly cleared your vision, alluring you into Arlecchino’s arms as she wrapped you into a soft hug. Her blackened hands pressed along your back in circular motions, massaging you comfortingly as her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear.

“I…was thinking of keeping it.”

Arlecchino simply smiled, a rare occurrence that crossed upon her expression…unless she was with you. Her arms hemmed around your waist carefully, drawing you in against her chest as she rested her chin onto the top of your head. She simply let out a quiet hum in response, closing her eyes to rest against you. You followed suit, closing your own eyes slowly as you relaxed in Arlecchino’s grip.

“Very well. We’ll finally be able to be at peace together.”

A/N: I am sorry BUR IM SO SKEEPY RN IM NOT GONNA BOTHER ANYMORE WITH THE END IM SORRY

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #wlw #genshin writing #alrecchino #arlecchino genshin x reader #genshin arlecchino x reader #arlecchino genshin impact #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #arlechinno x reader #arlecchino smut #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlechinno genshin #arlecchino fluff #genshin

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yvannile · 2 months ago

Text

Thinking of when you and gumi get into a fight... 💭

⊹　︶︶　 𖹭᪲　︶︶　 ⊹

Bf megumi! Who had been slipping further away each day, his gaze colder, more withdrawn, like he’d buried himself in shadows. Every time you tried to offer comfort or a gentle touch, he seemed to resent it. He acted as though your presence was a burden, something weighing him down rather than helping. You started to wonder if he even cared about what you were trying to do for him, you wondered if he even cared about you anymore.

Bf megumi! Who one night, after another icy silence, you found the courage to ask, “Megumi, what’s wrong? Why won’t you just talk to me?” He stopped, barely even glancing your way, his tone biting. “Why do you keep asking?” he shot back, anger creeping into his voice. “Do you really think you’re helping? Just stop—stop acting like you know anything about what I’m going through.”

Bf megumi! Who’s words stunned you, but you pushed back, telling him you were trying to understand because you cared about him. He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Care? You care because it makes you feel better. It’s like you need to feel important, like you’re actually helping. But the truth is, you’re just in the way.” The words hit like a slap, tearing down every effort you’d made, making you feel small and out of place in his life.

Bf Megumi! Who you looked at him, trying to hold back the pain, but he only grew colder. “Honestly, it’d be better if you just stayed out of my life,” he muttered, his voice harsh and unrelenting. “All you’re doing is making things worse. I don’t need you hovering around like you’re some savior. You’re only making this harder for me.” His words cut deeper than any blade, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart splinter under the weight of his indifference.

Bf Megumi! Who just when you thought he’d said it all, he looked you straight in the eye, his gaze empty and unfeeling. “You don’t belong here—you don’t understand anything about this world. You’re just… useless to me.” His voice was a final blow, shattering whatever pieces of your heart you had left. You swallowed back tears, giving him one last look before you turned and walked away, leaving him behind in the shadows he seemed to crave.

Bf Megumi! Who’s months passed, and as his anger dissolved, guilt took its place. Megumi couldn’t shake the image of your face, the pain in your eyes as his words had ripped through you. The silence he’d wanted so badly now felt suffocating, the emptiness left by your absence a constant reminder of what he’d destroyed. He didn’t understand why he said those things to you. He loved you dearly, is what he thought.

So imagine Megumi when he finally sees you from afar, a lighter smile on your face as you talk with someone else, a friend or perhaps something more. His chest tightens as he realizes you might be moving on, leaving behind the hurt he caused. For a brief moment, your eyes meet, but there’s only a fleeting recognition before you turn away, leaving him in a silence that now feels like punishment. He watches as you disappear into the crowd, haunted by the memory of all the things he said, and the reality that he may never get the chance to make it right. Because at the end of the day, he can only stand there, the bitter truth settled in—his cruel words had not just pushed you away, but had severed the fragile thread that held your hearts together, leaving him to drown in the unbearable silence of what could have been him and you, together forever.

≿————-　ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌷་༘࿐　————-≾

#jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk angst #angst #jjk headcanons #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #anime #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #x reader #𝔂𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓼 #𝔂𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓼 — 𝓶𝓮𝓰𝓾𝓶𝓲

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heaven4lostgirls · 9 months ago

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Can you pretty pleaaassse write for regulus black x reader angst

Where they were friends and got along really well and because they're both pureblooded there families arranged marriage for them. But then regulus gets paranoid and starts to think badly of you and thinks that you were only ever nice to him so that your parents would arrange marriage. And he thinks that you hold the same awful pureblood beliefs as both of your parents and he is afraid to say anything about it incase you tell his family that he doesn't really believe that muggles are lesser. Then regulus is quite distant and mean in your marriage and he eventually comes to his senses when he realises how upset you are and how much his distance hurts you and he can hear you crying yourself to sleep

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

warning: angst, regulus is a bit of a dick but he comes around ! miscommunication (i’m sorry✊)

summary: request above

authors note: hi! sorry this took forever, i’m really bad at keeping up with requests but i hope you enjoy this, i always say im hoping to get back into writing but it’s always touch and go, my mental health isn’t great a lot of the time and uni just piles on so much more, hopefully you guys understand ! 🫶🩷

regulus wasn’t used to people sticking around, he had been abandoned by the only person he ever truly cared about and left to fend for himself. which was why he assumed when news of his engagement to you was announced by his parents, at a shared dinner party for the sacred 28, you two would simply…co-exist. never fully acknowledging the others presence yet acquaintances at best.

what a shock to his system it was when he grew to know what a wonderful person you were, never abrasive or hostile like his parents, never boastful like most of the pureblood families he knew, instead you were the embodiment of everything he never knew he wanted, a calm to the raging angst inside of him he couldn’t quell after sirius had left, and that alone left him scared more than any of his parents threats to present him to the dark lord as a servant.

you two had formed a quick friendship due to the circumstances surrounding your fast paced engagement, you were set to marry next august and your engagement had only been announced in april. regulus had no problem performing his duties to his family, however this one came with little to no reluctance from either of you as feelings of love and respect blossomed from the friendship you two shared.

however, as time passed, regulus could slowly but surely feel his walls he had fought so hard to build up, crack. he couldn’t fathom why someone like you would feel so comfortable around him, how you somehow managed to worm your way under his skin like no one ever could, not even sirius.

except as time flew by, he had somehow found some of that “gryffindor courage” as james potter always declared, to tell you about his feelings, emphasizing that if you wished, he would never bring up again if you did not reciprocate and you two would still move forward together into marriage as friends.

to his surprise, you were much more welcoming to his feelings than expected, you two had shared a small kiss as you leant your forehead against his and claimed “i was just waiting for you to see me.”

since you two were already a couple in the eyes of the public, the only people he had really had to tell was your shared friends. as expected, they all reacted joyfully to the news and you both carried through the rest of your year no longer pretending to be in love, but actually falling into it.

however, at the beginning of your 6th year, you could tell something had shifted between yours and regulus’ dynamic. no longer was he patient and comforting, instead he was judgmental and fast to anger. some part of you knew it had to do with his parents but you didn’t have the heart to push your questions onto him.

as time passed you watched as he distanced himself from you, pushing away your touches, rejecting your offers to hang out, blowing you off when he would eventually agree. you could only handle so much of his behavior before you eventually broke when telling your friends.

“i don’t know what to do anymore, it’s like walking on eggshells whenever he’s around because im scared of him snapping at me for breathing too loud” you vent to your friends as you place your hands on your eyes to try keep the tears at bay.

“how longs this been going on y/n?” pandora asks softly as she shares a concerned look with lily. you blubber out as answer that sounds like “a couple of months” as tears leak past your palms.

“i can’t keep doing this” you emphasize to them both, “and you know i can’t break up with him because we still have to get married-“

“break up?!” lily questions surprised, “you can’t be serious y/n.” she says as she places a hand on your shoulder.

“i think you need to talk to him” pandora says again as she smiles softly at you as you look at her with tear filled eyes.

“…what if he doesn’t want me anymore?” you whisper, too afraid to say it out loud in fear of it coming true.

“oh love” lily coos as she drags you into a small cuddle with her and pandora, “you’re gonna need to ask him to know that y/n” she whispers as she rubs your back.

you sigh heavily and nod before looking at the both of them. “okay” you concede as you try and form some sort of a plan to confront regulus, your anxiety spikes at the thought of him not wanting your relationship anymore, you couldn’t imagine a marriage with the man you loved where his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

the next day, you planned to corner regulus at the library before dinner but as you walked up to his table, you heard the voice of not only regulus, but barty as well.

“reg, you know you’re hurting her by ignoring her” barty says with a sigh as you pause behind a bookshelf near the table to eavesdrop.

“you know better than i, that i can never be with someone who thinks the way she does…its disgusting” regulus says with a sneer but you can hear how disappointed he is by the statement.

disgusting? he thinks i’m…disgusting? what is he even talking about? you don’t think you’ve ever done anything remotely bad enough to be called disgusting.

“how do you know she thinks like them?” barty implores and you hear regulus sigh, “you’ve seen how she acts when the sacred 28 talks about the muggles” he says and you frown, part of being a child of one of the sacred 28 meant you had to act your part, regulus knew that better than anyone else. so why was he suddenly judging you and telling barty about your issues when he couldn’t even give you the time of day?

“i don’t know if i can marry someone like her” regulus says again and your heart drops. someone like her, you repeat in your head, every insecurity you ever worked through, comes back in tenfold from that sentence alone. you stumble on your feet from the flashes of tears and heartache from all your deepest points of sorrow.

you shake your head and straighten your back before reminding yourself, if he wants a true pureblood wife, that’s what i’ll be. quiet, docile,…perfect.

your wedding approaches faster than you can imagine, dress fittings, bridal party dresses and events all pass with a blur. never fully there, you encompass a state of numbness.

regulus and all your friends notice how you slowly fall into the facade you usually have in front of your parents, instead this time, it never breaks in front of them.

regulus waits for you to come to him, to seek his comfort like you have so many times before, but it never comes.

he spends his nights worrying about you, questioning if it’s something he’s done, you’re still sweet and loving to him, just…more hollow than you were before.

you embody the perfect pureblood princess and he couldn’t hate it more, he hears from people around you how you’re not sleeping, always coming to class in a perfect face of makeup everyday when you usually only used skincare, in beautiful dresses for hogsmead days when you used to use comfortable clothes.

he tries to talk to you, to question why you’ve somehow flipped the switch out of nowhere, but they go unanswered.

the day of your wedding, he can see past the makeup, your sunken in eyes and red eyes. he still places a soft smile on his face as you stare passively into the distance, never making eye contact with him while saying your vows.

the distance between the both of you grows larger as he starts to believe that this was the life you truly wanted, a prince and princess, a couple born out of need not out of love, arranged perfectly to fit the narrative of pureblood royalty.

however, one night he falls asleep later than usual and hears you cry into your pillow, small pleas of being good enough for him as your body shakes with small sobs. he resists the urge to reach out to you in fear of you not recieving his touch well.

he lies awake as he hears you say, “i’m not like i was before, please let him love me now, oh merlin please” you whisper with clenched hands and eyes that leak tears. his heart breaks at the thought of you existing to please him.

he had seen how his mother had done the same for his father, how she turned cold and abusive with no comfort and love from her partner, how she pushed her self hatred onto her children. how that pushed her eldest son to run away.

he spends the next week racking his brain for what he could’ve done for you to think that way before he realises that the summer after his 5th year, his parents had implored him never to give you anything more than the bare minimum because nobody could be trusted. he remembers pulling away from you and pushing you away in fear of you using him for his fortune.

the idea that his parents had made him internalize that you would never love him just for him, you were moving into this marriage not because of your shared love but because of necessity. his heart drops out of his chest as he realizes all of this must have translated to you and that he now had a lot to make up for.

he plans out meticulously how to get his wife back and slowly but surely, he does. it starts with small things, a single flower that you had told him once you liked the smell of on your nightstand, a pair of earrings you remarked look beautiful when window shopping. a handwritten letter telling you goodmorning and his favorite things about you in your bag before class.

your initial confusion morphs to anger at the thought of changing yourself all for him to want you to go back to the self he called repulsive. you don’t respond to his initial attempts to woo you, but as weeks and months pass, he doesn’t give up.

he speaks to you, really speaks to you, asking you about your day, how he can help you when you’re not feeling well, what you need whenever he leaves the house, small compliments about your cooking or how the colour of your dress matches your eyes.

you two start sharing small good mornings and good nights when going to bed, which then translates to small hand holding or shared touches between each other. the ice around your heart slowly but surely starts melting whenever he’s around, you quickly become accustomed to his quick kisses on the cheek whenever he leaves the room or house.

he holds you at night as he whispers sweet promises of never letting you down again, grasping your face to look into your eyes whenever he compliments you to let you know how much you mean to him.

your heart is now warm and full at the thought of his presence, no longer a shell of yourself, slowly but surely healing with his sweet actions.

#juliwrites #marauders #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black angst #regulus x reader #r.a.b #regulus black drabble #regulus black angst x reader #regulus black x fem!reader #regulus x reader angst #regulus angst #harry potter angst #marauders era #marauders era angst

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endursent · 2 months ago

Text

- Opened doors

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , cockwarming (sunday giving) , anal sex , comforting , halovian biological headcanons , penis haver!reader , NSFW 】

【 note; this is for the penis havers and wanters out there of any gender. stay strong in the perpetual drought of reader-insert fics dedicated to you, you're stronger than any troops. can of course be enjoyed by anyone, as usual no gender nor appearance described. 】

【 word count; 2.450 | read on ao3 】

You had barely started and Sunday was already digging his fingernails into your sides—whether in protest or pleasure wasn’t clear by the action alone. He was so still and stiff you wondered if he had changed his mind.

“Sunday, if this is too much, we can—“

“No—it’s fine, i-it’s fine,” his words aren’t very convincing, mumbled and stuttering as they are, so you try again.

“I can finish tending to your wings first, then we can do this,” it was slightly your own fault, you had offered him a seat while you go through his thinning wings to remove any feathers that have loosened but cling stubbornly to the ones around it… and Sunday is having a hard time already, giving him options isn’t the brightest idea right now while he’s adjusting.

He frowns slightly, chin on your left shoulder as his fingers stop clenching your poor skin and he instead wraps his arms around your torso, holding firmly. “No…”

It’s impossible to read his thoughts on a normal day, and you expected it to be easier today—this isn’t your first time helping him through moulting, it takes several weeks to complete the process for adult Halovians and you’ve helped him through it once before… though it took some convincing to let you help.

Sunday is stubborn and reclusive, though he’s less avoidant now after so long with the Astral Express… he learned the hard way that trying to ignore or avoid certain members only makes them more persistent and determined, it’s still a great effort to get him to accept help. Not because he doesn’t want it—he does, so badly—but because he neither wants to take your time nor waste it on something he could do by himself and has always done.

Unfortunately for him, you need to know his thoughts to help. “Hm, well, I won’t start until I know you feel well enough for it,” your own hands resting on his hips clap his skin lightly, just enough for a small smacking sound to snap in the air.

Instantly, he straightens as if a sudden burst of energy knocked him on the forehead, his golden eyes squint at you with the greatest offence he has shown. “What must I do—to prove it to you?”

Almost as if defiantly, he clenches even further around you—he’s been holding on tightly already—and nearly forces a groan from your throat. He’s so damn warm, inside and out. It’s a dangerous combo, to have him warming your dick, and giving you that defiant look at the same time… you almost give in. Almost.

But you don’t particularly feel like having him pass out on you from the feeling of having his wings touched as thoroughly as you will as well as the intensity of cockwarming you at the same time. You prefer to have him aware and enjoying it just as much as you are.

“How about naming every world in the Tiberius system backwards?”

His wings twitch in agitation. “That—that’s not even a real star system.”

“Yes it is,” you insist. “I read about it.”

“Then why don’t you name them and—stop stalling?” he says, voice tinged with annoyance and impatience.

A smile spreads on your lips. “I’ll get started then.”

He clicks his tongue in frustration. You didn’t want him to name anything—if Sunday had started blabbering some made-up names to get you to start and stop talking in desperation, you would have known he wasn’t in the position to do this.

Sometimes, you do like to use the perfectly functional brain between your ears.

His wings itch and ache, a dull throb that isn’t particularly bad during daytime when he’s out and about—but as soon as he takes his coat off, it intensifies until he massages for a long enough time or puts a salve between the feathers.

As soon as your hands leave his sides—the assured hold that’s been anchoring him since he sank down onto your stiff length—he almost feels off-balance, but it’s quickly rectified once your fingers touch his wings and he whimpers at the touch. You had barely slid your thumb under the ridge of his left wing and between the first two feathers, and he was already twitching and shifting subtly, causing your touch to falter as his hips moved just little bit and you almost give in to the desire to snap your hips upwards, but rein in every single thought and willpower you can muster.

Maybe this is going to be harder for you than it will be for him.

Swallowing thickly and continuing despite your extremely distracting throbbing inside of his hole, you carefully and firmly—but gently of course—nudge and press against the sensitive feathers of his wings. You comb two out and the base of his wings appear thinner, your fingers brush by feathers that are emerging and they feel impossibly soft and delicate.

Halovian wings are sensitive—but they’re not necessarily stimulating, having them touched tickles at most, yet during a moulting when the flesh and feathers are so fresh and vulnerable, it somehow amplifies the feelings fivefold and can promote certain feelings of pleasure.

Sunday’s eyes flutter closed, eyelashes equally soft as his wings as they brush against his cheeks and he leans into your touch instinctively. “Mmh… wait, go back—there, again… just a little…”

You follow any instructions he gives, despite the way your heart races with every movement he makes the slightest movement, with the way his expression contorts into comfort and a focus on himself—where he can only feel the overwhelming touches and barely has room to consider your presence outside of the way you stretch him with a mild, twitching burn.

Releasing one wing to reach for the oils he had prepared on the bedside table next to you, Sunday peers his eyes open, but closes them again when he sees why you stopped.

Outside of the now two times you’ve done this, you don’t generally touch Sunday’s wings… mostly because touching them—or stroking them specifically is an intimate act that despite your relationship (that has never quite been defined, as he finds an escape at the mention of it) he’s been hesitant about letting you do. And you’re not one to be pushy if he feels uncomfortable, a step forward can quickly become two steps backwards if you push too hard.

But despite the difficulty of navigating this delicate companionship… you find it to be worth the hassle, after all, having his slim—though a bit boney lately, the moulting requires a lot of energy and nutrition to sustain itself, and you imagine he hasn’t taken the best care of himself that he could—body pressed to yours, his soft whimpers and breaths trembling with every press of your fingers as you carefully massage the sore appendages. Your own cock is buried deep within him, throbbing desperately for movement that takes half your focus to suppress, while his twitches stiffly between your stomachs, now leaking slightly against your skin as a feather that was half-loose detaches when you nudge it only slightly.

Sunday’s lips part as your finger touches the area where the feather just fell, and you feel a deep urge to kiss him, to slide your tongue between his open lips and feel the sounds he makes instead of just hearing them. But you fear that might completely overwhelm him to a point it might make him dizzy. You will have plenty of opportunities to kiss him later.

The oils both are both cooling and soothing, helping ease the ache that comes with the development and lowering of new feathers. It’s always a bit funny to see how his wings get shorter and thinner, like a baby bird, before they grow again into the expressive appendages that you love so much.

“Sometimes,” you start talking and Sunday’s eyebrow twitches, brought out of his thoughts and focus. “There’s six wings, where are the other four now?”

“Stop talking,” he mumbles. Half your focus is on tending to his wings and the other half on holding back from thrusting fiercely into his welcoming heat. Thus as soon as you open your mouth, your hands still.

“I’m curious,” you hum. “Tell me later?”

He huffs as your hands start moving again, you’re almost finished anyway. “Fine…”

Feeling a little mischievous, and pouty by his dismissive response, you lightly pinch the ridge of his wing where it bends—and immediately, Sunday jerks in surprise, his wing stretching fully as his eyes fly open and his entire body tenses. He hisses your name as he clenches so tightly around you, your vision nearly dots, warmth and sparks shooting through you like an electrical line and you can’t stop yourself from pushing further up into him.

With both of you surprised and disoriented by each other, as well as you finally granting the delicious friction of movement—if accidental—Sunday grasps your shoulders tightly and inhales sharply. “C-careful…!” he blinks, the combined tingle of his wings and the pressure of your cock is a delicate balance that he’s very quickly losing hold of.

Your breath shakes when it leaves your lips, you feel dizzy with need, the suppressed desire you worked so hard to keep under wraps while you tended to him is very quickly slipping between your fingers. “Sunday… I’m not—sure I can…”

He clenches his jaw, in equal trouble with himself as you are. “You got m-most of it… we can finish later,” it’s a long process of checking and preening through over a few weeks, you already found seven, that’s more than enough for one day.

It’s all you needed to hear, you’ll take good care of him after—now, you desperately need to move. You already prepared plenty of protein-rich snacks to promote a healthy moult, and you’re sure you’ll both be hungry after this.

Sunday lets out a strange sound when your hand lays on his lower back and presses him closer, you other goes around his back—and you turn the two of you around, Sunday’s halo clanks against the headboard as he finds himself on his back, he groans slightly and hits you lightly on top of the shoulder. “Y-you—don’t do that while you’re inside of me!” he chides. The feeling of so much movement and how you twisted slightly made him cringe even as it also felt slightly good—only slightly, he won’t admit to more so you don’t get any ideas of rolling him around.

Any thought of further scolding leaves his mind like the scattering of ash after a fire has been stomped out as soon as you drag your hips back, halfway out—and move back in. Carefully.

Sunday swallows thickly, he feels a throb pulse throughout his entire body, behind his eyes and prick the ends of his fingers and toes. His stomach is wet, his cock freely leaking more than he’s sure he ever has before he’s even reached a high. He breathes your name and his nails dig into your shoulders, you seem so focused—but he wants your eyes to be on his. Before, he might’ve been embarrassed to lock eyes with you, but right now, he feels that he might cry if he doesn’t see you.

You blink, the breathy sound of his voice carrying your name to your ears snaps you out of your focus—to not thrust wildly, to not grab his hips in a bruising grip and lick the mess off his stomach. Your eyes move before your head does, and you see the watery squint of his eyes, the slight scrunch of his eyebrows and you fear you moved too fast—perhaps you should have pulled out before flipping him down, did it hurt him?

“Sunday,” your hand moves from the mattress next to his head, your fingers—still slightly fatty from the oil—brush over his cheek, his lower eyelid twitches as the tip of your thumb slides below it. “Are you okay? Should I stop?”

Surprisingly, he smiles. A small tug of his lips that feels like a rare treat to see, it’s infectious and you smile in return. “Continue?” you ask, having stilled as soon as he uttered your name. Sunday nods, not quite trusting his voice to form words in a way that won’t sound embarrassing.

You lean down and press your lips to the edge of his eyes, they squeeze shut the moment before you touch them, and you feel a tinge of salt from unshed tears.

He trusts you, you take good care of him—always have, despite his tendency for doubts and isolation. You will always be there when he opens the door again.

The drag of your cock pulling back and pushing in again burns slightly, but with repeated movements, the feeling of pleasure overwhelms the pressure. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and tugs you into him, his thinned wings tickle your cheeks and shoulder as he presses his nose into your neck. Sunday can’t hold back his moans as you slide one hand under his thigh and lift it only slightly, managing a deeper angle without lifting his hips too much.

“Nghh—w-wait, that’s—“ Sunday jerks slightly as you rock into a particular spot inside of him, his entire body feels alight and his joints freeze as they are. His breath deepens as his back bows and his head tilts back, and you can’t help but press your lips to his, swallowing his moans and whines as his leg that’s not firmly in your grasp hooks around your waist. His words are muffled and clumsy against your lips as you increase your pace, he clenches around you in a rhythm that almost finishes you off instantly—but you can’t give in until he’s been satisfied. You need to hear and see him as he falls apart.

Sunday moves his head to the side and away from your lips, his expression pinching as the final thrust needed sends him over the edge and he cries out, and you quickly join him.

His head spins, Sunday feels like he’s in a whirl-winding pool—but realises the wetness he feels is just his own, and not pool water. He pants, squinting at you. “D-did you pull o-out?” he’s barely recovered enough to ask, and his body thrums so much still that he can’t feel it.

When you only give a sheepish smile, he pinches your ear, earning an; “ow!”. Sunday’s lips purse in a frown-pout. “You better help me clean up, then.”

He doesn’t even need to ask.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday #sunday hsr #honkai star rail #my writing #fics #big time content #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #comfort #fluff #kind of

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biblio-smia · 10 months ago

Note

some fake dating with peter parker plzz<3

"Can I have your number?"

The horrifying question pulls you out of your work and into a waking nightmare as your eyes fall onto a boy, around your age, standing over your lonely library table, phone held out towards you expectantly.

You laugh, because it's your first instinct to, forced and too loud.

"Oh, I'm okay," you say nervously, hoping it's enough to wave him off.

The boy stands, stunned, wondering if you'd misheard. "I asked for your number," he repeats through his own forced laugh, inching closer to you, his phone only inches from your face.

Discomfort pricks at your skin as you bite your lip, unsure now of what to do. Your eyes stare directly at your now dim computer screen, your own reflection visible, your eyes not daring to look up at the stranger's.

As the screen of your laptop finally turns black you catch the glimpse of another stranger behind you before your head snaps to the shuffle of movement beside you. Another boy, this one tall and brunette, slides into the chair next to yours comfortably. Two pairs of eyes have fallen on him, yours particularly wide in surprise.

God, why you?

"Hey," he says with an easy smile, eyes focused solely on you. "Sorry I'm late." His hand reaches for yours, fingers linking together too naturally.

You recognize him now - you've seen him around campus a few times, definitely, but you're sure you've never spoken to each other before today.

"It's fine," you say softly, trying to wipe the shock off of your face to not flush all this new stranger's efforts down the drain.

"You could've just said you had a boyfriend," the boy standing over you scoffs, phone finally tucked away and arms crossed.

Words falter as he walks away - though your attention is brought back to your hand, still interlocked with a stranger's. Your intense gaze makes the boy next to you redden and suddenly retract his hand, nerves beginning to pick up now that he has no audience to act for.

"I'm so sorry," he begins immediately. "You looked really uncomfortable, I'm sorry if I made you more uncomfortable." His hands are raised in surrender while his knee bounces nervously, eyes glancing for a quick escape.

"That was pretty quick thinking," you offer with a small smile. "Thanks for getting rid of him."

The boy smiles back, just slightly. There's still guilt in his eyes as he looks over you and your makeshift work station, hands moving to grab his few personal items.

"I'm sorry, I totally interrupted your study session," he laughs awkwardly, shouldering the bag he'd dropped on the table so carelessly earlier.

"Well, technically..." The rest of your thought fades as you focus on the sudden flinging of a bag back onto the table.

Your eyebrows furrow as you tilt your head, ready to ask the boy why he'd thrown his bag back down immediately before you notice how intensely he's looking at you.

"I don't think it's safe for me to go yet."

Something about his gaze tells you not to look behind you despite how badly you want to; you're sure it has something to do with a certain guy from earlier.

"I can take care of myself," you defend.

"I'm sure you can," he says in a tone so genuine it catches you off-guard. "I just can't, in good conscious, leave until he does."

Your lips part slightly at how much care a stranger holds for your well-being. It's a little strange, but not in the way that makes you shiver; strange in a way that makes your eyes wide and your cheeks warm.

"We could leave first," you suggest, closing the lid of your abandoned laptop. "I'm pretty much done anyway." It was a blatant lie, but there was no way for him to know that. Really, your motivator was not wanting to hold up any more of his time; how indebted would you be?

"Are you sure?" He only moves to pick his things up when you nod, accepting the interlocking arm you offer with red cheeks. He walks with you out of the library, stopping a good distance away from the primary doors and hopefully, any onlookers.

"Thank you..."

"Peter," he all but laughs, finding too much humor in the fact that you don't even know his name. "Peter Parker."

"Thank you, Peter. That was very nice of you."

"I try," Peter grins easily at you, taking a few steps backward as he waves goodbye. "See you around?"

"Yeah!" You call, though it's not certain; you don't have his number (as ironic as that is). "I'll see you!"

As Peter's back turns towards you and yours eventually turns towards him, you can't help the tingling of your fingers where they had been interlocked with his.

Nothing is certain. As far as you know, you may not see him for another couple of weeks.

Your next meeting will just have to be written in the stars.

masterlist

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman x reader #tasm spiderman x reader #andrew garfield peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #andrew garfield #tasm #v + peter #v writes

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netherfeildren · 11 months ago

Text

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation.

Word Count: 13.9K

Read on AO3

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2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange.

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly.

Each other.

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps.

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at.

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you.

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost.

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way.

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed.

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words.

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do.

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that.

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no.

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too.

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead.

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before.

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks.

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand.

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows.

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea.

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you.

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know.

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing.

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong.

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest.

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here.

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath.

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment.

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already.

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot.

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating.

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.”

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign.

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint.

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed.

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging.

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here.

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so.

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–”

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion.

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you.

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake.

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child.

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it.

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger.

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too.

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin.

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him.

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be.

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box.

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not.

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by.

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is.

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts.

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable.

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you.

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you.

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on.

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive.

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge.

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge.

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks.

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so.

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now.

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears.

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him.

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within.

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give.

He takes it all regardless.

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided.

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line.

No, no.

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that.

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can.

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one. And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm.

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts.

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle.

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up.

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now.

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking.

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right.

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell.

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself.

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye.

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom.

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer.

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet.

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now.

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room.

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled.

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him.

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back.

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha.

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side.

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly.

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it.

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you.

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell.

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together.

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right.

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you.

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again.

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way.

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs.

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there.

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words.

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go.

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible.

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of.

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him.

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased.

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else.

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue.

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat.

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head.

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all.

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel.

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much.

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much.

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower.

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know.

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun.

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want.

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows.

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.”

Want, not need.

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

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frankenkyle19 · 1 year ago

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Kinktober Day 3: Toy Experimenting With Kyle Spencer

posting this before I head to bed because I have a very busy day tomorrow. Enjoy! :)

word count: 4.3k

warnings/description: Smut, porn with very little plot, anal stuff, unprotected sex, sex shops, dildos, vibrators, handjobs, whiny Kyle, cuteness. Very briefly proofread. Definitely at least a few errors.

Kyle was a bit different. Of course everyone was different in their own way, but he was…. A bit more than most. Maybe it was just his personality, but it also could easily be the fact that he had been quite literally pieced back together and reanimated by two witches that really had no idea what they were doing.

If you had to guess, you’d figure it was almost no doubt the second option.

Still, you loved him no matter how hard he was to take care of sometimes. He so badly wanted to take care of himself and do things by himself, but he was clumsy and sometimes (most times) he needed help, despite how much he hated asking for it. You tried to respect that and only intervened when he really really needed the help.

Well maybe, just maybe this was one of those times…

You had gone out with the rest of the girls to do some much needed shopping and decided it’d be best to leave Kyle behind. He had high anxiety in crowded places with lots of people, and you didn’t want to drag him around town while he was scared. Not when he could become a danger to himself and others in the blink of an eye. It just seemed cruel. You decided to come back to the academy a bit earlier than the rest of the girls, slightly worried about leaving Kyle alone for so long. You didn’t want him to get into something dangerous that could potentially hurt him or cause one of the other witches to be upset with him.

What you had not expected was opening the door to the bedroom you shared with Kyle to see him completely naked on your bed, hair a mess, body covered in a sheen of sweat as he tried pathetically to press a pretty pink dildo into his ass.

Your dildo-

You and Kyle had messed around before. You’d helped him find his release and let him stay deep inside you. He slept the best when his cock was buried deep in your warmth. It was comforting in a way to him, beyond anything sexual, a way he showed his love.

What you had never done was use your toys with Kyle, or even showed them to him. So he must have been snooping around the room while you were gone.. Jesus Christ. This is exactly why you shouldn’t have left him alone.

Kyle looked up quickly when he heard you walk in. His eyes were filled with a desperation that immediately made you melt. He was squirming on the silicone cock and whining pathetically.

“H-hurt. H-help pleaseee?” He asked, pulling the cock from his hole, wincing a bit. It was obvious he had done no prep and hadn’t even lubed up the toy. Poor boy…

He obviously had a very clear idea of what he wanted, but wasn’t quite sure how to achieve it.

You made your way towards him, stopping to grab your small bottle of lube from your bedside drawer. You sat on the bed and rubbed Kyle’s back gently, trying to calm him. He seemed so riled up and you needed him calm before you tried anything with him.

“I’ll help you baby, but next time you gotta be careful okay? You could have hurt yourself and we don’t want that, right?” You wondered how he even knew how to do this and realized at some point in his life, while he was still alive, he’d done something like this to be able to remember it even now.

Your presence immediately calmed him as he leaned against you, holding the dildo out for you to take.

“H-help please?” He said gently, his words more clear and thought through. You were always worried that maybe he didn’t exactly understand this, and could he really consent in such a state? But it was moments like this where he initiated it, that you realized he understood just fine.

You pressed a kiss to his temple and he chased your lips with his own before he kissed you. He was a bit sloppy and the kiss was definitely a bit wetter than you enjoyed, but because it was Kyle, it wasn’t as horrible as it could be. He leaned practically his whole body weight on you as he moaned against your lips, his clumsy hands coming to grasp onto your shoulders and squeeze gently. Well… as gently as he could. It was still a bit rough.

You pulled away, much to Kyle’s dismay until he heard the pop of the cap on the bottle, seeing you squirt some of the clear substance onto your hand and rubbing it around with your fingers.

Kyle, as curious as ever, and now having some idea what to do, reached out and coated his own fingers in the lube, watching as his fingers glistened.

You smiled softly, watching as he seemed to remember what this was and what it did. Many people thought Kyle knew nothing, but it was more like he needed to be re-taught, because when he was faced with something familiar, it was obvious that his brain started to remember what he’d used it for when he was still alive.

Once his fingers were coated he brought them back to his sore hole, rubbing across it gently as he let out a quiet whine, watching you the whole time. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed to have been walked in on doing something so private. He just loved you and always wanted you close.

One of his fingers breached his tight ring of muscles and he arched into it, letting it slip in fully as he moaned rather loudly. You were glad you were the only two in the academy at the moment, otherwise he would definitely be heard by the others.

“Mmm- g-good.” He groaned out, slipping a second finger easily into his hole, curling them a bit. It was hard for him to reach at the angle he was in, and soon he looked back at you, reaching with his free hand for the dildo still in your hand.

You placed it in Kyle’s hand and he slipped his fingers out of himself, holding the silicone with both hands. He leaned back to once again try to insert it into himself before you paused him.

“Wait, remember we have to make it nice and wet so it feels good.” You reminded gently, pouring a generous amount of lube onto the cock and rubbing it around before nodding at Kyle.

“Okay. Go ahead baby.”

It was obvious he enjoyed your help but wanted to do this himself. Maybe it was some way of getting control of himself back? Maybe he wanted to feel accomplished for something? You weren’t sure. All you knew was he was a sweaty, sticky mess in front of you and it was absolutely beautiful.

You watched as he slowly inserted the pink cock into his tight hole, his whole body arching into the feeling. God, this was beyond anything you’d ever fantasized about and you almost wanted to walk out and leave him to pleasure himself, but the second you stood up and walked to the door, Kyle let out a worried sound, eyes wide as he watched you helplessly.

“Nooo! Stay! T-touch K-Kyle-“ he spoke, gesturing to his hard, leaking cock. It was obvious he wanted to fuck himseld on the dildo, but it seemed he wanted your help in jerking off.

You were all too happy to oblige. You made your way back to the bed where Kyle was arched like a cat, thrusting the dildo in and out of himself, his free hand clenching the bed sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You carefully wrapped your hand around his cock, still covered in lube which made it easier for you to jerk him, letting his heavy cock slide between your fingers.

Kyle was so overwhelmed. He was unsure if he should push back against the toy or arch into your touch to his cock. So he did both, rocking back and forth he moaned the loudest he had yet, eyes closed tightly as he threw his head back, his dirty blonde hair a mess.

You slid your thumb across the tip of his cock and he mewled, arching into the feeling as his breath shuddered. With the way he was breathing and the way his stomach tensed, you knew he was close.

With a few more strokes over his cock he came hard, a lot all over your hand. He seemed to cum a lot more than a normal human, and you didn’t really have an explanation for that other then he just… did.

He collapsed onto you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he panted hard, his hot breath and drool smearing against your shirt and through it onto your skin as he came down from his high.

You gently reached behind him and helped him pull the toy out, causing a small cry to leave his lips at the loss of fullness. You set the toy down on the bed to be cleaned off later and just held your boy for several moments as he calmed down.

“T-thank you.” He spoke, voice still trembling a bit. He hadn’t came that hard since he’d been brought back to life, maybe even before that, but he couldn’t remember.

—————————————————————————

It was a few days after that that you had decided to take Kyle to go get his very own dildo. One just for him. Once you told him, he was all too excited, nearly bouncing off the walls as the two of you got your shoes and coats on.

You got a taxi that delivered you into town before taking Kyle’s hand and walking around for a while. You looked through some shop windows before finally arriving at your intended destination. A small, inconspicuous sex shop right on the edge of town.

Kyle squeezed your hand tighter as he pulled you towards the door, urging you to walk in with him.

A little bell above the door dinged announcing your arrival to anyone in the store. There was a young lady behind the counter who gave you a friendly smile before going back to flipping through a magazine.

The store was dimly lit but filled with all sorts of things. Vibrators, lube, dildos, literally any sex toy that ever existed. Several huge dildo’s lined the wall that had you questioning if they’d even feel good inside. We’re talking like 10+ inches. Ouch.

Kyle's dark eyes widened as he looked around the store, taking in every detail before a certain wall of dildo’s caught his eye. He looked back at you before making his way there, clumsy hands reaching out to grab the first one that caught his eye. It was pale and not super girthy or long, but he knew it was perfect and he wanted that one. He was so proud and happy that he was finally getting his very own special toy.

You chuckled softly at seeing he found what he wanted so quickly. He held it up triumphantly to you, showing it off as he grinned, dimples popping. Why was he so adorable even in times like these?

“T-try-“ he said, looking at you with a sort of desperation that told you you should pay quickly and get out of there before he ended up trying to take his pants off right in the damn store. You really never knew what would happen when Kyle was around.

You nodded and waved him over, grabbing a few things that caught your eye. A small vibrator and a new bottle of lube for the two of you to share.

You brought the items to the front and set them on the counter, the girl once again looking up from her magazine for a split second before closing it entirely and beginning to scan the items you set down.

“Find everything alright?” She asked, not looking up from what she was scanning as Kyle set the dildo down on the counter along with the things you had grabbed.

“Yup! Thanks.” You gave a gentle smile, though she didn’t see it nor return it because her head was still bowed low. Good, the last thing you needed was for her to somehow recognize Kyle. He had been all over the news when he passed and surely she’d seen it.

The total showed on the screen and you pulled out your cash from your wallet, handing it over to the woman as Kyle began to wander off in the store again, no doubt curious about everything there.

She bagged up your items and gave you your change, still never once looking up before she just went right back to her magazine. Odd, but you couldn’t really be bothered to care much. You were set on getting Kyle back home and settled.

He was waiting for you by the door, hand outstretched for the bag as he smiled. He was in a very good mood and no doubt excited to try his new toy the second you got home.

You handed the bag to him before opening the door, taking Kyle’s free hand in your own as you called for another Taxi that soon drove you back to the academy.

The drive back was almost completely silent, with Kyle looking out the window and seeing the passing places and people.

Thanking the cab driver, you paid and got out, Kyle following at your heels, bag still gripped in his hands as he hummed excitedly, fidgeting a bit as he followed after you. As luck would have it, you two were alone at the academy again, which meant that Kyle could be as loud as he wanted, which he would no doubt take full advantage of.

He set the bag down on the bed before beginning to undo his belt and the button on his jeans, trying to wriggle them off.

“Woah- eager are we?” You chuckled, looking at him as he stuck his tongue out in concentration before sliding the pants off his body, quickly followed by his boxers.

To no one’s surprise, Kyle was already hard, cock jumping out from the confines of his boxers as he took it in his large hand and began to stroke over it as carefully as he could.

His other hand reached for the bag and dumped out the contents onto the bed. He furrowed his brows and looked curiously at the small bullet vibrator you’d gotten. He hadn’t been paying much attention to what you’d grabbed in the store.

Taking it in your hand, you took it out of the packaging and turned it on, a faint buzzing sound emanating from it as it shook lightly in your hand.

Kyle tilted his head curiously as he watched it buzz in your hand. He didn’t seem very familiar with it.

Moving slowly, you carefully placed the buzzing vibrator against his thigh first to show him how it worked and how it felt. He jumped in surprise, glancing down at his lap curiously before looking back up at you.

“T-touch. Hereee” he said, pulling your hand along with the vibrator onto the head of his leaking cock. The feeling was instant and Kyle bucked his hips, yelping in surprise as he watched it buzz against his cock.

“Mmm- good- l-likeee.” He groaned softly, arching into the feeling to get more pressure on his cock. You grinned, pressing it down a bit more against him.

He gripped onto your shoulder tightly, hard enough to leave bruises as he leaned on you for support, the feeling making his whole body shiver. Why hadn’t he tried this sooner was all he could think in the moment besides how good it felt.

He laid his head against your shoulder and watched as you dragged the vibrator across his cock, down to his balls. He giggled softly, the feeling pleasurable but ticklish, before you went back up. It went on like that for a while, up and down, up and down. The only sounds in the room were the faint buzzing sounds of the vibrator and Kyle’s pathetic whines of pleasure.

Before you knew it, he was pushing the vibrator away with an almost panicked cry, pushing away from you as he settled himself. He was close, and it was obvious that he didn’t want the fun to end just yet.

You switched the vibrator off and set it down on the bed, reaching instead for the dildo that he’d bought, opening it and showing it to him.

Much to your surprise he took the tip of it into his mouth, suckling gently as he arched his hips up into nothing, and part of you wondered how many times he’d done this in life to be so familiar with it even now.

Kyle pressed a few sloppy kisses to the tip before pulling away, looking back at you. “Y-you nowww.” He said, pushing the dildo away from his face. You found it a bit odd but thought he meant he wanted you to suck on it now, so you brought it up to your lips and was about to take the tip into your mouth before he stopped you.

“Nooooo! T-to Kyleeee” he huffed, glancing down at his hard cock. Oh. That made more sense.

You hadn’t actually blown him before. You’d given him a handful of handjobs and he’d fucked you maybe twice, so this was all still new territory for the two of you, and you wanted to go slow as to not trigger Kyle in any way.

You brought your hand down to give him a few firm strokes before pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock. This drove Kyle wild by the way he groaned out, head falling back as he panted, hard.

You continued on, seeing this as a good sign as you suckled just the tip into your mouth, letting your tongue glide along the slit, ever so slightly dipping into it to collect the pre-cum forming.

Kyle whimpered this time, a much more pathetic sound then the ones he’d previously made as he arched his hips into the touch, urging you to take him deeper.

So, you did. It was obvious Kyle needed this and you wanted so badly to make him feel good. And also, you’d be lying if you said this didn’t turn you on just the tiniest bit. Maybe more than that…

Your lips slid down his cock, stretching as you went, the whole time Kyle’s moans urged you on as he gripped onto the bed, watching you as you swallowed him down before pulling off to take a breath.

Kyle watched you for a while, making quiet noises of pleasure that let you know you were doing it right, before his moans began to get increasingly louder and more desperate in tone. You popped off of him and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, checking to make sure he was still doing okay.

He pulled you into a kiss without any warning, his large hands pawing at your clothes in what appeared to be a desperate attempt to get them off.

“M-moreeee” he whined, actually ripping your shirt on accident (probably not so much of an accident) before he continued to rip at the fabric, sliding it off of you and leaving your bra exposed to him.

You took the hint and began to remove the rest of your clothing, slipping off your now nearly soaked panties as well as your bra.

Kyle let out a near animalistic groan at seeing your bare body, his hands coming up to rip his shirt off his body as well, tossing it onto the floor. He really needed to stop ripping all his clothing or he wouldn’t have anything to wear soon.

He pulled you into a sloppy kiss, the two of you now fully nude. He ground against you a bit, moaning as his cock brushed between your thighs. He was beginning to grow impatient and wanted to try out his new toy, but also wanted to play around with you.

He grabbed the dildo and the bottle of lube and with your help, he lubed it up. He groaned impatiently as you took it away from him, lubing up your own fingers to help stretch him out. He was always so impatient that he just wanted to fuck himself on it immediately, even though he knew it’d be uncomfortable.

He stopped his protests the second your finger circled his hole before breaching it, the stretch a welcome pleasure to Kyle as he moaned out, arching into the feeling.

When you were three fingers deep in him he began to wriggle around impatiently before he pinned you to the bed, kissing and nipping at your shoulder as he positioned himself at your entrance.

“Oh we wanna do that now baby? Okay we can do that.”

Kyle’s hands blindly reached around the bed, obviously looking for something before he found it, holding the dildo up for you to see as he urged you to take it.

“B-bothhh” he said, gesturing to the silicone cock before his own. You weren’t exactly sure what he meant, but you figured you had a pretty good idea.

Kyle positioned himself back over you as he clumsily placed his tip at your entrance before pushing in, burying his face in the crook of your neck as your warm, tight walls enveloped his cock completely, like a snug blanket.

You looked at the dildo in your hands, arching your back a bit as he began to thrust into you with no warning.

Making sure it was still decently lubed up, you reached behind him until it was positioned as his hole, causing him to freeze and arch back into the feeling.

“Is this what you want, Kyle?” You asked, teasing him with the dildo, not pushing it into him just yet.

“Yessss- p-pleaseee” he groaned out, back arching further to try and get it inside his needy hole.

You slowly slowly slipped it inside him. Well, as slowly as you could with the way that his hole sucked it in, wanting more more more until it was fully inside him.

He stayed still for several moments, the overwhelming feeling of his cock being buried deep inside your warmth and the dildo being buried inside him was almost too much.

Slowly but surely he began to rock back and forth, thrusting his cock into you before pulling back and leaning into the silicone cock.

This was heaven for him, he’d never felt anything better and never wanted it to end, although he already felt close so it would unfortunately come to an end sooner rather than later for the boy.

His thrusts were rough and bordering on painful, but the slap of his pelvis against your clit was just enough to make the experience pleasurable. He was using you for his own pleasure and it was honestly one of the hottest things you’d seen. He was definitely coming into his body more as time went on, and in times like this it was very obvious.

“MmmGahH… Good.” He groaned out, dirty blonde hairs falling in front of his cute eyes as he rocked back and forth against you.

You tried your best to thrust the dildo in and out of his hole, but with the way he was pounding into you, it made it a bit difficult. No matter for Kyle though, he was finding his pleasure just fine by rocking back against it.

His body began to shake subtly and you knew he was close by the way his hands held your shoulders tight enough to leave bruises. No matter, you enjoyed it too much to tell him to stop.

His thrusts became more erratic as he lost his rhythm, chasing his pleasure in an attempt to feel the sweet release his body so badly craved.

You weren’t far behind. The rough stimulation to your clit causing surges of pleasure to rush through your body and you would no doubt fall over the edge the second he did, if not sooner.

“C-closeee” Kyle groaned out, words barely intelligible as he lost himself to the pleasure. He gave a few more weak thrusts before stilling inside you. You felt the warmth of his release coat your walls thickly and you came as well, your own body arching up against his.

It took the both of you a few moments to gain back your composure but when you did you slid the toy out of his hole, gently setting it down to be cleaned and put away later. Kyle stayed inside you, putting almost all his body weight on you as he caught his breath. You let out a soft laugh, all the air in your lungs getting squeezed out the more weight Kyle put on you.

“Kyle- you’re squishing me-“ you choked out, and Kyle, despite how tired he was, slipped out of you and collapsed next to you on the bed before wrapping you in his arms.

He peppered kisses to the top of your head and clumsily played with your hair, smiling like the big dope he was as his eyelids began to flutter slowly.

“S-sleep nowww” he spoke, closing his eyes and pulling you impossibly closer as a yawn escaped his mouth. He felt asleep not a minute later, his soft snores music to your ears. Once you were sure he was really asleep you slipped out of his grip to get up and use the bathroom as well as clean yourself up. You looked at the boy sleeping on your bed. Sweaty, naked, hair all in his face and smiling in his sleep. He was so precious and as time went on you were sure he’d get even better at communicating his needs and wants but for now, this was a good start.

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