mainly writes genshin impact x reader fics (fluff, smut)
also on AO3: alatusperegrinus
I love: PHAINON, DAN HENG, Wanderer, HSR MEN
Currently fixated on hsr men
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Many things had changed during Dan Heng's time on Amphoreus, but a reversal of an ancient fact wasn't what either of you had expected.
Notes: Happy... belated egg laying holiday... This was supposed to be a ~250 word drabble. It's not. Sorry if this isn't hot 👍 Dan Heng is very instinct driven here, he is not usually this uncomposed.
Tags: Dan Heng pt x fem reader, established relationship, double dragon pp, double penetration (same hole), un protected sex, brief fingering, mutually non consensual oviposition, breeding technically, belly bulge, mild body horror :D, brief thigh fucking, size difference, pseudo rut kinda deal, too tired to do a last full proof-read
2.4k words
Minors DNI
Although things had slowly settled down after their return from Amphoreus, Dan Heng still found himself unable to forget the countless nights he'd spent utterly alone.
In a way, those nights (days? years? lifetimes? he truly did not know) had been even more cruel than the beginning of his life. Isolated like his time in the shackling prison, but with something he desperately wanted - needed - to return to.
And now that you were once more within reach, back pressed to his chest, it perhaps came as no surprise that he was a little more insistent than usual, always touching you in some way. Like now. You'd already tapped his tail and arm a few times to get him to loosen his grip around your waist.
He was absolutely crushing you. Dan Heng had previously admitted to being both a little embarrassed about the seeming lack of control over his own strength after his body had been changed by the Permanence and frustrated that he couldn't properly squeeze you without possibly breaking your ribs.
"Again?" You chuckled softly, rubbing along the part of his tail that had coiled snugly around your thigh.
Dan Heng had begun unconsciously taking any chance he could to rut lick your skin and rut against you. He nuzzled into the nape of your neck, mumbling a sheepish apology while undoubtedly becoming more keenly aware of your plush ass and his own half hard cocks.
"Don't apologise, it's not like I mind the attention yknow."
A low growl rumbled deep in his chest when you arched your back to encourage the little ruts. And you didn't mind, not at all. If anything, it was quite sweet to see him so overcome with instinct and want for you.
He was quick to reach down and free himself, the thick heads nudging against your thighs before slipping between them. Behind you Dan Heng groaned with satisfaction, and his tail coiled tighter around your leg, moving it a little further towards your chest.
A shiver danced along your spine at the wet feeling of one of his tips rubbing pre against your panties and inner thigh. Something at the back of your mind filed away that he'd never been this quick have such a strong reaction.
Within minutes of his lengths dragging back and forth between your thighs, your underwear was thoroughly soaked, the ridges on his cocks nudging your folds and making your breath come out as shaky puffs.
Dan Heng licked along your neck, his breath hot against your ear. "More, please.."
You'd barely nodded, barely had time to chuckle at his habit of always begging, before clawed fingers had torn through your underwear. They were cold against your core, making your body tense up in surprise. But Dan Heng was quick to distract you, biting down on your shoulder with a groan as he parted your folds.
A few ruts of his hips while nimble fingers kept your folds spread had your core completely soaked with both his warm pre and your own slick. You whined softly as he rolled on top of you, large hands grabbing your hips and keeping them raised as he continued to languidly drag his cocks back and forth through your folds.
He was so much larger now, crowding you so easily and pressing you into the mattress as his lips trailed down your spine. Every kiss was followed by the caress of his tongue and another squeeze of your hips. When he pulled back, one hand moved to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.
Dan Heng huffed when you tried to wriggle your hips, an almost pained edge to his voice. "Need to get you ready first.."
The first finger he pushed into you made your back arch further, the second following quickly after eyes fluttering at how carefully he worked you open. Your breath hitched at the feel of sharp claws oh so gently dragging against your walls.
Your thighs quivered by the time he added a third, and it was clear his patience was wearing thin as well, his body curled around yours while he continued to scissor his fingers inside you. Dan Heng's breaths came out in ragged groans, the hand planted beside your head grasping the sheets so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
The final straw came when you pushed back against him, taking his fingers a little deeper and making him hit a spot that had your body squeeze them tightly.
You could've sworn you heard Dan Heng curse as he pulled himself back, letting his fingers slip out of your hole. You turned your head just in time to catch him suckling on his soaked fingers with a dopey look.
Both his cocks were straining against his abdomen, one thick shaft stacked atop the other and both of them covered in glistening slick. One was longer, the head and shaft not quite as thick as the shorter one. Both had little ridges along the front that always rubbed your walls in ways that made you squeeze your thighs together at the thought.
No sooner had you thought to wriggle your ass to entice him before Dan Heng had flipped you onto your back instead. He hovered above you, shoulder muscles straining beneath the skin as he panted, using his tail and knees to part your legs.
"You ready?" He leaned forward, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and nosing at your throat. The length of his cocks rubbing against your abdomen, spreading a sticky trail across your skin. "Tell me to stop or I can't hold back."
You reached around to cradle the back of his neck, feeling a thin sheen of sweat covering his back. He groaned when you threaded your fingers through his soft hair, sharp fangs scraping against your skin.
"Mhm, want you~"
Dan Heng hissed, shifting his body and pushing the heads of both cocks against your entrance. Your eyes widened, and you brought his head up to press your foreheads together, whispering a quiet 'both?'
Your thighs trembled, entrance fluttering around the tantalising promise of relief. The sound of fabric ripping beneath his claws made you whimper, a testament to how much willpower it took to keep himself from slamming his hips forward. Only once had you taken both, and that was after being thoroughly worked open, so overstimulated you could hardly focus on anything but the tingling sensations along your spine.
Dan Heng nodded, something almost feral in his eyes. A whine tore from his throat as he pushed forward an inch, the first head breaching your entrance and making your toes curl. The stretch made you cling to him, heart rate picking up further as you felt the second tip nudge against your tight hole.
His hands are swift to find your chest, squeezing the soft mounds and rolling your nipples between his fingers. You take a shaky breath, feeling yourself clamp down around him despite his soft purrs and pleas for you to relax. When the second tip presses into your cunt, Dan Heng's head tips back with a filthy groan. The stretch has your head spinning and your hips shifting until one of his hands move to pin you firmly to the mattress.
The first roll of his hips makes you shriek, pain morphing into pleasure as tears gather in your eyes. Usually Dan Heng would move far more slowly, but tonight he looks almost possessed. Despite feeling far too full already, you doubt he's more than halfway in, too scared to lift your head and look.
"Fuck.. so pretty.." Dan Heng mumbles the praise while pulling back to look down your body, his hands finding the back of your knees and pushing your legs further towards your chest. The new angle has you whine from how much deeper you can feel him, the head of both cocks pressing against your walls and twitching.
After only a few deep thrusts, Dan Heng's pace begins to pick up, his hands moving down to squeeze at your thighs and ass, pulling them apart and stretching your hole further. You writhe beneath him, every drag of his cocks punching the air from your lungs and filling the room with obscenely wet sounds.
His skin feels like it's burning beneath your touch as you grasp at his chest, earning a pleased purr from the man above you. You can see the way his tail eagerly swishes behind him, the sight almost endearing if not for the way he was bullying you open.
Despite his usual stamina, it doesn't take long before his thrusts grow sloppy and almost urgent, one hand releasing your thigh to instead rub at your folds. He finds your clit almost immediately, causing you to clamp down and moan when he rolls the bud between his fingers. Pleasure builds rapidly from your core and you feel yourself slowly relax, letting him sink deeper into your heat.
Your eyes flutter as little tingles shoot up your spine, breath hitching as he hits a particularly sensitive spot that sends you over the edge. It's pleasant, your mind hazy as Dan Heng continues to fuck you through it, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto your stomach. His fingers are relentless, your swollen clit aching as you begin to come down from your high.
You're about to ask for a kiss when a pained scream fills the room, your blood immediately running cold and Dan Heng's movements ceasing. Heat floods into your body as you feel his cocks pulse inside you, his release having caught you both by surprise. His hips pick up their previous pace, but ruthless this time in how he's burying his entire length in you with each thrust.
You try to push yourself up, telling him to let go of your legs, but he doesn't budge, pressing your knees harder towards your chest despite your protests and clear concern for him. He doesn't stop even as his cheeks turn scarlet, his voice sounding raw from every broken sound leaving his lips. You can only pray that the walls of the express are soundproofed.
After a minute of being unable to snap him out of it, something in his eyes change and he finally relinquished the bruising grip on your legs. That's when you feel it. An uncomfortable pull like little hooks stuck in your sensitive folds trying to rip you apart. You try to breathe through it, telling yourself it was just the aftershocks of his brutal pace and girth, but the feeling doesn't vanish. If anything, it only gets worse, making you try to wriggle further up the bed and away.
Dan Heng collapsed atop your body, sweat sticking to your skin and pooling uncomfortably between your bodies. He was heavy, abs flexing against you
"Dannie?" Your voice cracked on the last syllable, panic and pain alike clawing at your mind as the overwhelming stretch continued to build. It felt like you were being torn apart at the seams.
You writhed beneath him, shoving at his chest to peek between your bodies. The sight that met you only made you more confused, a sizeable bulge now resting just below your abdomen where the pain was worst.
"Dannie- Dan Heng?" You cried out his name, fingers pulling at his hair with no thought for his comfort. When you finally got him to raise his head from your neck by pulling at his golden horns, his eyes were red and glistening with tears. Several beads of blood rolled from his bottom lip where his fangs had pierced the skin.
His lips moved but you didn't quite catch the words, only a broken 'sorry' that made your heart sink. Dan Heng shook his head and licked his lips, hips still slowly rutting into you even as you both choked on air.
"Hurts... I don't-... can't.." He slumped forward once more, both cocks sinking in another inch and making your vision turn white.
Your nails dug into his shoulders and he arched in response, driving himself against your cervix once more. A sob tore itself from your throat as something pushed further into you, and you realized with horror as Dan Heng tried to lift himself up that the bulge had moved a little further up your stomach.
His hands found yours, fingers intertwining as he so desperately tried to offer you comfort despite looking as confused and pained as you. You notice the exact moment Dan Heng's eyes wander down your body and spot the bulge, his hands tightening their grip almost painfully. He swears under his breath, one shaky hand reaching down to gently rest atop your tummy. It makes both of you jolt when he unexpectedly presses down harder, a shrill sound leaving your lips as blinding pain erupts for a moment before it's replaced with an odd sense of relief.
Tears cloud your vision and you barely notice how Dan Heng's eyes roll back before he falls down beside you, the sudden emptiness of both his cocks leaving you making you whimper quietly. The bulge in your tummy is still there even as the mess of sticky liquid slowly seeps out of your spent hole. It's oddly firm beneath your touch.
Everything aches as you roll onto your side, the sight of Dan Heng's flushed face and tear-stricken cheeks filling you with the need to hold him. Within moments of moving closer, his arms are around your waist, far gentler now as he pulls you flush against him, nothing but apologies on his lips.
He looks embarrassed, the haze in his eyes having lifted. "I think it's-.."
You press your lips to his, cutting off the answer you'd reached as well. The vidyadhara had, at some point long ago, been able to reproduce sexually.
Possibly by laying eggs.
"Did you know you could...?" You gesture weakly at where your bodies meet, looking up in time to see him shake his head. "It can't be fertile, right?"
A pause.
You feel his heart beat a little faster.
"I.. I doubt it.." His voice still shakes a little, but his agreement makes your own unease begin to settle.
His lips press against your temple, a silent reassurance for you both.
ㅡThe Hero Who Could Face Titans Couldn't Handle a Little Flirting
✑ Happy Phainon Month! I've got lots of stuff here for Phainon. Can you believe something could surpass my love for Chung Myung and Rafayel but here he was, Phainon in all his glory. I was inspired by Robin's SP and Aventurine's SP! I love the summer vibe and I want to see Phainon experience the beach too....(ꈍ ᴗ ꈍ✿) no smut but you all would be spoiled by khaslana not today but soon (❦ ᴗ ❦ ✿)
✿ warning/s: fluff, angst (just a pinch hehe), kind of suggestive but not too much, established relationship, can be served as post-ampho if you want, no major spoilers, flirting, puppynon is here, reader has a game and phainon is losing his mind, he is also shy, we can admire his muscular form, hoyo give us another shot of his abs (◕ᴗ◕✿), phainon and reader is bully for each other, phainon just love to tease, picture not mine it’s from lightcone a dream scented in wheat, let me know if i missed something!
✿ character/s: phainon, fem! reader
"Hello, miss."
The voice arrived before the man did. It was warm, smooth, carrying the sort of confidence that sounded rehearsed in front of a mirror or perhaps, countless mental preparation.
The afternoon sun blazed mercilessly over the shoreline, turning the sea into a sheet of liquid sapphire and convincing half the resort to surrender beneath umbrellas instead of challenging heatstroke.
Fortunately, you'd made the wiser decision in nestling comfortably beneath the shade of a woven parasol, you lounged against the beach chair with a chilled drink in hand, the condensation slipping lazily down the glass while a slice of orange bobbed with every absentminded swirl of your straw. The salty breeze tugged gently at the shawl draped over your shoulders, carrying the scent of the ocean and distant grilled seafood and for the first time all day, doing absolutely nothing felt like an accomplishment worth celebrating.
Then a shadow drifted over you.
Not the ominous kind, of course. It’s one you’re familiar with, funny enough.
Phainon stopped beside your chair with suspiciously impeccable timing, just enough to spare your eyes from the relentless sunlight. He leaned down ever so slightly, looking every bit like the mysterious traveler who'd wandered straight out of a romance novel and onto the resort's private beach.
That was clearly the image he was aiming for.
His gaze settled on you, lingering for a heartbeat longer than he'd probably intended. The ocean breeze traced the silhouette of your one-piece swimsuit beneath the light shawl, strands of your hair dancing against your cheeks while your attention remained stubbornly devoted to your drink. Somewhere between the sparkling waves and your unbothered expression, his carefully memorized opening lines quietly packed their bags and vacated his mind.
Phainon caught himself wondering, rather inconveniently, whether you'd always looked this breathtaking beneath the sun or if the seaside had decided to conspire against him today.
The light spilling through the woven canopy painted shifting patterns across your features and the chilled glass resting so casually in your hand completed a picture so effortlessly serene that, for one dangerously long heartbeat, he forgot he was supposed to be playing the role of a charming stranger. It wasn't fair, really. A game was difficult to win when your opponent had the unfair advantage of simply existing.
For his pride, Phainon recovered before the silence stretched into something suspicious. The word recover is too generous. It’s much closer to the stubborn resolve of a man who refused to lose a game the two of you had enthusiastically agreed to barely five minutes earlier. If this little challenge was meant to test who could stay in character the longest, then he intended to see it through to the bitter end even if the first obstacle he'd encountered was realizing that his urge to shower you with affection, words or not, is harder than expected.
A smile settled easily onto his face, the kind that was practiced enough to look effortless. He slipped one hand into his pocket while the other gestured toward the empty beach chair beside yours.
"Mind if I join you?" The invitation rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, polished enough that he'd have confidently awarded himself full marks the moment the words left his mouth. It was the sort of line he'd encountered countless times while leafing through the romance novels you were so fond of — stories he'd casually borrowed out of sheer curiosity and absolutely not because he wanted to understand what made you laugh, sigh, or shake your head at fictional heroes.
If those paper-thin charmers could sweep their heroines off their feet with a single sentence, then surely this was a respectable opening. Simple, refined, pleasantly mysterious. In his mind, the imaginary narrator was already applauding his entrance. All that remained was for his leading lady to follow the script.
Your response, however, was another leisurely sip from your drink. The tiny paper umbrella bobbed. The citrus slice floated innocently. Somewhere, a gull screeched into the awkward silence as if narrating his defeat.
Phainon narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly.
There it was again. Somehow, despite making a rather dramatic entrance worthy of every romance serial ever penned, he was once more competing with your beverage.
Honestly, he should've expected this. It wasn't exactly unfamiliar territory. Whether it was a fascinating book, an artisan's trinket at the market, a particularly fluffy chimera wandering through the streets, or apparently a glass of iced citrus, your attention had an uncanny talent for wandering somewhere other than him.
Most people would've accepted that with quiet grace and moved on. Phainon had never been particularly gifted at backing down, especially not from a challenge as harmless as this. Behind his easy smile, a familiar spark of quiet competitiveness began to stir.
This is the opponent today, he sensed. That drink.
You finally turned your head toward him, meeting his gaze over the rim of your glass. The corner of your mouth curved ever so slightly, betraying that familiar glimmer of mischief. "If I say no?"
The question landed like a pebble tossed into calm water, sending ripples through his carefully maintained composure. For the briefest moment, he looked genuinely thoughtful.
"...Then," he said after a beat, a laugh threatening the edges of his voice, "I'd have to spend the rest of the afternoon convincing you to change your mind."
His smile deepened, easy and disarmingly patient. “I also think I'm fairly persistent."
The remark only held the quiet certainty of someone who clearly intended to make good on the promise.
"If you say no," Phainon mused, "then I'll simply have to remind you that this is a public beach."
With the confidence of someone presenting an airtight legal argument, he lowered himself into the empty chair beside yours, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The chair creaked softly beneath his weight before settling as he leaned back as though he'd been entitled to that spot from the very beginning.
"You know," he added, sounding far too satisfied, "I believe that means I have every right to sit here."
You stared at him. It wasn't that you'd admitted defeat in this banter.
It was just simply difficult to think of a rebuttal when he looked so absurdly invested in this ridiculous little game, the unmistakable excitement sparkling in his eyes every time you entertained his antics. There was an almost boyish eagerness hidden beneath his composed smile, as if he'd been waiting all morning for the chance to test every line he'd painstakingly prepared. Denying him now felt less like winning and more like telling an enthusiastic actor the play had been canceled halfway through the first act.
"Fine," you conceded with a tiny shrug, lifting your drink again. "Let’s say that chair near me is public property."
"Exactly."
The victory came far too easily.
Phainon settled deeper into the chair. The sea breeze wandered through his pale hair, leaving several rebellious strands dancing across his forehead before the wind swept them back again. With the afternoon sun pouring across the shoreline, it should've been impossible for anyone to stand out against such dazzling scenery — Unfairly, he did.
Perhaps it was the easy way he carried himself, shoulders broad and relaxed or the effortless confidence that came from wearing far less than his usual layers. The fitted swim trunks left little to the imagination, exposing sun-kissed skin, muscled arms and the unmistakable definition earned through years of relentless training. Every shift in posture drew quiet attention to muscles that moved with casual grace instead of deliberate display.
For someone whose very existence seemed destined to belong to the dawn, Phainon looked suspiciously at home beneath the blazing sky — as if the sun had wandered down from the heavens, decided mortal life sounded interesting today and chose the seat beside you for its first vacation.
A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the rhythmic hush of waves folding onto the shore and the distant laughter of other visitors. Phainon leaned back, eyes wandering toward the endless stretch of glittering sea with such convincing leisure.
The illusion lasted all of three seconds before his hand wandered casually across the space between your chairs. By the time your brain caught up to what was happening, your sunglasses had vanished from your face and found a brand-new owner. Phainon settled them neatly over his own eyes, adjusting the frame with infuriating satisfaction before turning to you. The grin tugging at his lips wasn't merely smug — it was the unmistakable expression of a man who believed borrowing someone else's sunglasses was an undeniable display of charm. It’s now a public property if you use his logic. How infuriating.
"Okay," you said slowly, lips twitching into an amused smile as you looked at the shameless culprit currently wearing your sunglasses. "You mean bully."
Phainon's grin only widened.
"I'll show you how to charm a person."
He lifted a brow. "Oh?"
You didn't answer. Instead, you rose from the beach chair, setting your half-finished citrus drink onto the little table between the loungers. The breeze immediately welcomed your movement, catching the ends of your shawl until it billowed behind you like a soft banner, fluttering against the backdrop of glittering waves. Without another word, you strolled away.
Phainon watched you go. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his conscience politely reminded him that prolonged staring was generally frowned upon as he took the abandoned drink sitting innocently on the table.
You'd wandered a respectable distance away before turning on your heel. The moment your eyes landed on him again, something subtly shifted.
Gone was the amused beautiful lady lounging beneath the umbrella.
Now you wore the expression of someone whose attention had just been stolen by an unexpectedly handsome stranger relaxing alone by the sea.
You approached at an easy pace, each step was careful against the sand, your gaze roaming over him with open curiosity. It was not hurried, not embarrassed but thoughtfully appreciative in a way that made his pulse skip for reasons he didn't wish to examine too closely.
So you were really committing to the role. Watching you saunter toward him with the same effortless confidence he'd tried to pull off barely five minutes ago, Phainon was abruptly forced to witness his own antics from the receiving end and, to his horrifying realization, he realized he had looked exactly nothing like this.
By the time you reached him, he was already sitting a little straighter.
Without asking like he did earlier, you lowered yourself onto the edge of his lounger instead of your own, close enough that your hip bumped lightly against his. The contact was brief, barely there and it’s enough to make his entire body tense a bit.
You leaned toward him, bright and faux innocent. "Why, hello there, handsome. Are you alone?"
Phainon froze mid-sip. The citrus drink never quite made it down properly, leaving him to cough once into his fist while trying and failing to remember how swallowing worked. His throat suddenly felt impossibly dry despite the drink and warmth rushed uninvited from the back of his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were wide in panic.
You waited for his response.
Phainon stared.
The corners of your lips curled higher. "Hello~?"
The playful sing-song finally jolted him back to earth.
You were close. Far too close. Close enough that the faint scent of sunscreen mingled with the salty breeze, close enough for sunlight to catch the tiny flecks dancing in your eyes, close enough that he could no longer remember why he'd ever believed this game favored him in the first place.
"Hi," he said, only to hear his own voice leap several notes higher than intended. He hastily cleared his throat, pretending that had absolutely not happened. "I mean... hey."
You couldn't stop the quiet laugh escaping you.
He rubbed the back of his neck then awkwardly busied his hands with the hem of his swim shorts, suddenly finding the stitching immensely fascinating. The confident beach charmer who'd stolen your sunglasses mere moments ago had vanished without a trace, replaced by someone who looked like compliments alone were enough to short-circuit his entire nervous system. With how he’s acting right now, maybe you’re not that far from the truth.
"You should speak more often," you said, your voice warm with exaggerated sincerity. "Your voice is very pleasing to listen to."
Phainon visibly malfunctioned. "Wha—! O-Oh.."
It was almost impressive how effortlessly a single compliment had unraveled him. Watching the color continue to bloom across his face, you nearly felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor hero. Tilting your head, your smile softened into something brighter, equal parts sweet and dangerously mischievous. "Would you like to talk a little more?"
"Yeah," he answered far too quickly, the word tumbling out before his brain had the chance to approve it. He visibly winced at himself, cleared his throat for what felt like the tenth time that afternoon and tried again with considerably more dignity. "I mean... yes. Sure." After a brief pause, as though remembering basic manners had just returned to him, he added softly, "Please."
Every attempt at recovering only seemed to make him sound more earnest than before. Somewhere along the way he'd leaned a little closer without realizing it, his attention fixed on you with the earnestness of an oversized puppy convinced it had finally earned praise.
The silly wager between the two of you had long since slipped from his mind.
Ice cream? What ice cream?
A pleased smile tugged at your lips as your eyes drifted toward his arm, acting you'd only just noticed it for the first time. Your fingertips came to rest lightly against his bicep, giving it an experimental squeeze that made the firm muscle flex beneath your touch.
"My," you murmured, sounding genuinely impressed as your eyes flickered back up to his. "Do you work out often or is this from labor?"
Your hand lingered for just a moment longer, tracing the outline of his arm with innocent admiration before you added, "Your muscles are amazing."
The compliment left your lips with such effortless sincerity that Phainon's entire train of thought quietly derailed. His gaze instinctively dropped to the hand resting on his arm, staring at it like it had suddenly become an unidentified phenomenon worthy of scholarly research. "I...Uh..."
His mind, usually dependable enough to solve problems far more complicated than this, abandoned every coherent thought in favor of a single, embarrassingly loud realization that you’re touching him. The thought echoed through his head with all the grace of a temple bell. "A little of both," he finally answered after what felt like an entire amber era had passed. "I lift sometimes and help out on my parents' farm."
It was, objectively speaking, a perfectly normal response — miraculously assembled by a man whose higher cognitive functions had temporarily clocked out the moment your fingers found his bicep.
He looked at you with dazed admiration. Whatever clever lines he'd painstakingly prepared had long since dissolved beneath the warmth of your praise.
He is done for.
Still hopelessly adrift in that pleasant haze, Phainon's hand lifted almost on its own. Hesitant at first, his fingertips brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, tucking it carefully behind your ear as though afraid the breeze might steal it back. His hand lingered there for a quiet heartbeat before his palm settled gently against your cheek.
He searched your eyes.
The game had slipped away without either of you noticing.
Drawn by instinct more than courage, he leaned forward until the distance between you disappeared, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips — sweet, unhurried, and absent of any theatrical charm. It wasn't the kiss of a mysterious stranger on a beach.
It was unmistakably Phainon, your lover.
When the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far. The waves continued their steady rhythm against the shore, the breeze teasing loose strands of your hair as Phainon lingered close enough for his forehead to nearly brush yours. He looked pleased with himself, his expression soft and a little dazed.
You smiled and your smile grew just a little more smug. “I won.”
"...Oh." Phainon’s eyes are wide.
You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you as realization washed over his face in painfully slow succession. All afternoon he'd been so thoroughly swept up in your relentless counterattack that the original challenge, the one he'd confidently accepted with promises of smooth flirting and an ice cream wager are gone in his mind.
You folded your arms with exaggerated satisfaction.
Phainon stared at you for exactly two seconds before letting out a helpless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with the sheepish smile of a man who had, beyond any reasonable doubt, been completely and utterly outplayed. He slipped his hand into yours without another complaint as he rose from the lounge.
“I suppose," he said with the resignation of a man happily accepting his fate, "I'll have to buy my champion the biggest ice cream the store have."
"And?"
"And..." He squeezed your hand. "Maybe let you steal a few bites of mine."
You nodded in satisfaction. "Now that's how you charm a person.”
He tries to act tough, he really does. But the second your hand wraps around his thick length, it’s over.
He bucks his hips into your fist as he tries to stifle a moan, but then it comes out as a whine.
He’d be embarrassed if not for the fact that you get off on the sounds he makes.
You’re looking up at him from down on your knees, and Aeons, you’re such a pretty sight. Eyes fixated on his face, pupils blown with desire and adoration, that cute little blush spread across your cheeks.
He’s sure he’d cum from the sight alone if he didn’t hold back.
Then once you stick your tongue out to lick the tip of his cock, just to get a taste, he leans his head back and bites his lip to stifle another groan. “Fuck, sunshine”
He groans, unable to stop his hips from bucking. You take that as a sign he needs more. He lets out the prettiest moan as you engulf his tip in your mouth and suck gently.
His eyes roll back as you take him deeper. His hand threads through your hair, keeping it out of your face for you like the gentleman he is.
It’s not long before his orgasm sneaks up on him and he’s cumming down your throat, whimpering apologies for not being able to warn you and for cumming so fast.
But you don’t mind, because after all, it isn’t like he wouldn’t return the favor.
⸺ ⟢ pairing. owner! dan heng x kitty hybrid! reader. | warnings. hybrids au. smut. fingering. minors do not interact. pet play. heat cycles (not particularly accurate descriptions but it’s a hybrid fic, sustain our beliefs!) dan heng is an excellent guy and owner though. | word count. 4k words.
⸺ ⟢ notes. it’s felt like a very long time since i have written both dh + hybrids (has not been long) so here is BOTH IN ONE POST MWEH! ps. dividers belong to kai btw!
If you had asked Dan Heng if he ever saw himself with a pet in the future, he would most likely have been indifferent about the concept.
He likes animals, and more often than not he’s heard a handful of times that he looks like a ‘cat guy’. He’s not too sure what to make of that, but he’s never found the term to be entirely offensive. Though he’s just never taken the initiative to visit shelters or really given the idea much thought past a relaxed shrug and a polite response of “I would not be opposed to it.”
But one thing Dan Heng could never really have prepared for, was that the universe would do most of the initial hard work for him.
It had been a regular stop off in the city, running a few errands and grabbing lunch with March and Stelle after a particularly gruelling week of work and off jobs. But on his way home, following his usual route with a bag of leftovers for dinner later— Dan Heng had been easily drawn to an alleyway following a few sounds of rummaging and muttering, and upon a quick glance towards the noise, he’d encountered you.
He’d heard of your kind before. A rare half species that consists of half-human, half-animal genes, easily identifiable in most cases but Dan Heng thought you were one of the most humane he’d seen.
You looked mostly human, like a girl he could encounter on the street beside the cat ears that were peeking out from beneath your hair and the long tail that he could see twitching and shuddering behind your rigid form. You must’ve caught a whiff of his scent first, having whipped around to eye him from his space at the entrance to the alleyway and given your appearance, he couldn’t blame you for being on guard.
You were obviously starving, most-likely abandoned— but a cat girl of all things.
Perhaps it had been divine intervention to have Dan Heng of all people discover you, circumstances could always have been worse— especially when he notes that you’re pretty, really pretty. But half dressed, no doubt desperate and particularly vulnerable, so when he had noticed the way your eyes glimpsed to the bag in his hands, he offered you an olive branch.
He shrugged and said, “If you are hungry, I believe I can help with that.” trying to sound as little of a threat as possible and he’d watched your feline ears twitch as you listened.
You had the instinct to think about it at least, though not for aslong as most people usually would— and he took another moment to be thankful that it had been him to discover you, someone with better intentions than most.
Because just like that, you’d followed him back home.
But now, Dan Heng has become somewhat familiar with not only what you are, but also what you’re currently going through.
He assumed the role of being an owner quite quickly. Sure, sharing his apartment with a catgirl is probably much different than just sharing with a cat— but he still follows the duties that are expected of him either way. Some people may even say that he spoils you a bit too much, but that depends on who you ask.
When he had first taken you in, he had taken the time to extensively read through some articles that he had found online about your general care and needs. For the most part, you can take care of yourself the same way any regular human can, despite the feline traits— you eat, bathe and dress in the same way just about any girl might.
(Well except for pants, you’ve never really liked pants.)
But unfortunately, certain circumstances of your animal anatomy do still remain intact.
Most notably, your heat cycles, and Dan Heng has learned to pick up on them immediately.
You hide it well enough, but despite how affectionate you usually are with him— he can still see the change when the time comes around. You tend to linger more often, brushing up against him in circumstances where it isn’t particularly necessary and there’s a permanent knit to your brows that never quite settles.
He doesn’t like to point it out, perhaps you find it to be embarrassing because he’s a guy— probably not the best person to discuss your mating behaviours with considering you live together and well… he’s all human too.
But really, Dan Heng doesn’t mind at all. Actually, he’s subtly began to help you out with things that he’s read usually work; he’s left heating pads around the apartment that he often finds you curled up on, along with encouraging your affection with closer proximity and making sure you’re distracted.
Though he admits, there’s only so much he can do. And really, it pains him to feel useless despite all he’s done for you already.
So when one day he notices you clutching at your stomach from where you’re curled up on the opposite side of the couch from him, he can’t stop himself from speaking up before he ultimately does.
“You’re in pain.” Dan Heng says, matter a fact as he watches you freeze and your head turns to face him as you try and fail to play it off.
“I’m not, I’m perfectly fine.”
“That’s not particularly convincing.”
Your tail flicks once from where it rests tucked beneath your feet, as if peeved at his observation. You sigh, “I mean it’s nothing, it just…. it happens sometimes.”
Dan Heng watches you closely, sees the way you’re biting down on your lower lip now. Your shoulders are still tense, still dealing with the discomfort despite the way your expression is trying to stay still, and as he readjusts himself on his side he can’t help but feel overcome with guilt.
“I apologise if my asking makes you uncomfortable.” He begins but you cut him off swiftly.
“It doesn’t, I just don’t want you to feel awkward.”
“I can assure you I don’t.” He responds with a certainty that makes your ear twitch, and Dan Heng’s come to learn that it’s a trait that you have when you get flustered. He thinks it’s cute, the movement drawing his attention before his eyes fall back down to your features and as he continues to observe you from the sofa, he opts to continue the conversation.
He hopes if anything, it will distract you.
“How did you deal with it?” He begins carefully, hoping not to overstep. “Before this I mean?”
“Not quite as well.” You offer a half-hearted shrug. “Other hybrids can smell it on you, as if the suffering could get any worse. So I’m just happy to be…. safe this time around.”
Dan Heng picks up on the implication, and he watches you zone out as if recalling back on those times. Although he doesn’t feel like he’ll ever understand it, he can imagine how fearful a hybrid like you must’ve been knowing you were being hunted for the most part.
Constantly on high alert. Constantly in hiding, hoping to just coast by undetected and survive another cycle. Until the next.
It makes something sink in Dan Heng’s stomach at the thought of it, and he finds himself suddenly overcome with the need to make you feel comfortable and at ease. His hands almost twitch with it.
He watches your features flinch with another wave of what he can only assume is discomfort, and when your hand clutches at the muscles in your stomach with an urgency— Dan Heng doesn’t think twice before suddenly asking, “Is there anything that I can do for you? Anything at all?”
Your breathing is more shallow now, sweat beading at your brow as your kitten ears flatten themselves against the top of your head and for a moment he wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. Perhaps you would prefer if he just left you alone to suffer, his presence maybe making you feel less at ease than he would like.
But before Dan Heng can offer you that instead, you answer him. Staring back.
“Stay with me?”
And he responds almost immediately.
“I have no intention of leaving you.”
Whatever tension was in your shoulders releases with his words then, and Dan Heng watches you slink back into the couch as if relieved that he’s not going anywhere. Your hand is still resting on your stomach, and your tail has taken to tapping against the cushion but you still appear to be handling it best you can— so without thinking much of it he offers you another thing.
“Perhaps laying down will feel better?”
The question makes you shift a bit, almost folding into yourself as your ears flip upright again and your lashes flutter.
“Is it okay?”
He shrugs, “Should it offer you some relief, I would not mind it.”
“You already give me enough offering me your apartment.”
“I should remind you it is your apartment now too.” Dan Heng says. “But I insist. Trust me.”
“Okay.” You almost purr, nervously smoothing down the fur on your own tail before you cast him a sweet glance. “Thank you.”
You move with the swiftness one would expect from a cat as you push yourself up to your knees, and within Dan Heng’s next blink you’re coming to lay yourself down half-on his lap. Your head is on his thighs as the rest of your body curls up on the couch cushions to his side, and the warmth of your weight on his legs is enough to make him have to swallow and get his bearings.
He hears a small purr as you get yourself comfortable, and as a good owner would Dan Heng immediately reaches out to begin petting you.
The action had been awkward at first, but now it’s almost second nature whenever you’re close by. You like it, the appreciative little trill of your voice taking a pitch higher as his fingers stroke from beneath your ear to your shoulder and then back again. He tries to move slow and soothing, even as you roll over onto your back and try to push yourself closer to his palm.
Dan Heng lets his hand drift up to your ears after a few minutes, massaging the sensitive, soft fur beneath his thumb and forefingers until you sigh and then he goes for your jawline next, scratching there. Another brush of his touch, and he watches your eyes flutter in bliss— the ache in your body half-forgotten as you coo and purr in his lap.
Or almost atleast, your next words catch him off guard.
“Can you…. maybe go lower?”
You glance at Dan Heng from beneath your lashes, and the look is enough to steal the breath from his response. His hand stills its strokes along your body— and for a moment he freezes, thinking of all the possibilities and the rationale. Until his silence urges you to purr low, nudging your nose against his palm again and suddenly his mouth is moving before his mind can process.
“If that would make you comfortable.”
And then his hand is too.
Dan Heng touches you on your chest first, respectfully. He begins with tentative, fine strokes of his fingers; brushing them from your navel to your collarbones and then as low as your waist. You lean into every touch— purring, tail flicking and ears turning out, bathing in the strokes of his hand as you press your head back in his lap.
“Lower.” You gasp, twisting against him.
His hands brush your hips next, to your stomach— his fingers tracing the hem of your shirt and the skin beneath when it rides up. He holds his breath when it knocks your thighs wide open.
“L-lower.”
“Are you sure?” Dan Heng asks, his voice much deeper than he expects.
You look at him again, pupils blown wide this time. The most cat-like he’s ever seen them.
“Please, I can’t deal with it alone anymore.”
“If at any point you become uncomfortable, you—“
“I will.” You cut him off, knowing what he’s going to say. “Promise.”
“Okay then.”
Dan Heng tells himself it’s fine, because it is. After all it’s his responsibility as your owner to ensure your continuous comfort so he would be doing you a disservice were he to flat out ignore you in your current state, especially when he knows what to do to bring you some relief.
He read those heat articles after-all, memorised them even.
But still, Dan Heng starts slow, his fingers graze past your hips until they touch your inner thighs and he begins to stroke you there. He hears you purr, your eyes fluttering closed and he takes note of how warm your skin feels— your ears flicking in time with his fingers.
It’s different to that of a human, even in the subtle characteristics of your reactions past that of your appearance. The sounds you make, the expressions you show him— it’s new, and he’s careful but he finds himself needing to drag his fingers closer until your hips buck up and he knows what you’re asking.
Dan Heng’s eyes glance at you again.
“How does it feel?”
“It’s…. it’s feeling good.” Your breath catches but your eyes are still closed. “It helps.”
“Should I keep going then?”
“Y-yes, please!”
“Whatever you ask of me.”
So Dan Heng continues patiently, stroking a little higher and this is probably one of the times he’s found himself grateful that you hate wearing pants— it restricts my tail, they’re so uncomfy, was what you had told him initially. It may have been awkward in any other circumstance but for right now it’s beneficial, because Dan Heng finds out fairly quickly that you don’t wear underwear either.
He’d never noticed before, considering you usually opted to wear long shirts that covered you well enough where he’d never noticed, but when his hand travels higher and instead of feeling damp fabric he feels skin, he almost groans at the initial touch.
Though Dan Heng does manage to come to his senses quickly when it comes to the first real pet through your folds. It feels like any human pussy would, you’re wet and warm— perhaps a little more sensitive, but maybe it’s the heat.
Regardless, the small touch alone is enough to make you arch against the couch and Dan Heng tries his best to soothe you with his free hand as he brushes it along your sweat-slickened hairline. You settle with it, purring and tilting your head into his palm and he continues, growing hard in his pants as he collects your slick on his fingers and he trails them up with ease until he’s rolling over your clit.
You’re burning up from what Dan Heng can feel, but you’re purring and twisting into him— trilling and meowing as he applies a little more pressure to the sensitive bud of your clit, and he finds a pace before beginning to rub at you with two of his fingers.
He scratches behind one of your ears as he touches you, soothing you with sweet hums of his voice as the wet sounds between your thighs only become louder.
He wonders if other owners have ever resorted to the same strategy, relieving their hybrids by their own hand. Dan Heng rationalises it in his head by assuming it’s better to be done by someone they trust than a stranger, it’s what makes the most sense rather than allowing them to be in pain— or worse.
But he doesn’t think on it too much because your toes are starting to curl and you’re grinding needily against Dan Heng’s hand like you’re equal parts begging and thanking him for this. You don’t seem to be as uncomfortable as you were before, so he assumes that means it’s working.
“Can you take more?” Dan Heng speaks, still so focused on drawing circles into your kitten-cunt that he barely registers asking.
But you hear him, purring louder as your lips part and you sigh.
“Y-yes, it feels much better! Please don’t stop.”
Your thighs begin to shake when Dan Heng sinks one of his fingers into your pussy with such an ease it barely registers. You’re so wet he’s hardly met with any resistance, and he takes note of the way the hackles on your tail begin to raise in response. It’s like the discomfort in your body is responding to being filled, even if only like this— you seem to be grateful for it, the warm twitch of your walls beckoning him in deeper and he feels that first squeeze in thanks.
Your head muses back in Dan Heng’s lap again, and he hadn’t realised how hard he was until he feels you brush against his bulge— making him groan as he plays it off with a clear of his throat. He tries his best to ignore it, but you turn yourself to nuzzle against it, mouthing at his cock through his pants as you purr against his crotch, pawing and kneading there like a kitten would beg for a treat.
You’d never gotten like this before, and again Dan Heng finds himself blaming your heat. He should correct you, probably best not to make a habit of it but when he’s currently sinking his finger into the tight squeeze of your walls a few more times, does he really have a leg to stand on?
“Can I?” You ask softly, motioning to his clothed cock with Dan Heng’s finger curling upwards in your cunt.
“We should focus on you first.”
“L-later then?”
You sigh when his touch appears to press against the swollen, sensitive spots inside of you and he continues with the same pace before he decides it’s best to just respond in kind.
“Later then.”
Dan Heng continues to sink one finger into you until you’re arching again, toes curling from where they’re pressing against the cushions and he can feel your clit growing puffy and swollen with every graze of his palm against it. He takes these as good signs, assuming your intimate anatomy is the same as that of a humans, so he pulls his fingers out of you and rubs more slick around your sensitive bud— trying not to groan at the way it makes your hips buck.
He smooths your hair back from your face as you continue to rub your cheek against his bulge, and he takes the opportunity to admire your bitten lips and twitching nose.
“Tell me if it becomes too much.” He says after a moment, more so to himself than to you.
But you respond anyway, “It’s not t-too much, it’s perfect. I could take more even.” Sighing in a way that’s so breathy and beautiful that it earns you a throb from his clothed cock. So suddenly, smoothly, Dan Heng sinks an extra finger inside of you this time and drinks in the way that your thighs tremble at the sudden stretch.
You keen with it though, purring and kneading and arching into his palms. Its like a scene from the lewdest corners of his mind as he continued to sink his fingers in and out of you, and you bask in the way he pets you in two places at once— his hand in your hair, the other deep inside of you, relieving your heat as your lashes flutter.
Dan Heng curls his fingers up once more, scissoring them against the tight squeeze of your walls as he tries his best to stretch you out, to touch everywhere at once and give you the pleasure your body craves.
“Might I assume this is helping then?” He asks again, to distract from the way his cock is throbbing against your cheek. Your lips drooling all over his pants.
But you can’t speak now, you only offer him a feline Mhmmmm as you try to hump into his hand and Dan Heng feels lightheaded at how desperate you look, watching you shake from where you rest half on his lap.
He pets across your cat ears once more, rolling them between his fingers as he pets against your g-spot at the same time and both sensations at once leave you a mess beneath him. That, accompanied by having his palm grind against the spread, slick surface of your folds every time he sinks his fingers all the way inside of you seems to be working, and Dan Heng starting to wonder if you cum the same way humans do too.
He doesn’t want to think about it too much, reminds himself he’s just doing you a favour but he’s so hard— definitely in too deep, in more ways than one and he feels your walls squeeze again, stretching for him the deeper he goes and he knows your body is begging for that release.
But if you were just a normal girl, Dan Heng reckons you would be close.
Every draw back of his hands is squelching louder now, making a mess between your legs as the slick smears down his hand and you’re kitten licking at his crotch at the same time, arching into his touch and body like he’s your own personal catnip.
But then your lips part again and Dan Heng feels his ears begin to ring as your purrs and mewls sound louder, your pleasure seeming to grow closer. He faintly makes out a trilled “Close.” but had he missed it he would’ve felt the way your body is sending him signals anyway.
Your ears are flicking uncontrollably now, your cute features pinched up as you grind up into the press of his hand and he scissors his fingers inside of you again, making you quake and shiver as he keeps the pressure on your pussy.
Until finally, you grab at Dan Heng’s forearm when your thighs suddenly stiffen and snap closed around his wrist, and he hisses at the way your claws drag red marks up his skin as you finally cum. But he doesn’t stop, he continues to sink both fingers inside of your clenching walls as he sees you through your orgasm— hoping this will be enough to satisfy your heat cycle atleast until he’s calmed down.
But for now you continue to jolt at the pleasure, riding the waves of your relief as Dan Heng pulls his fingers back and rolls them over your clit again— prolonging your blissful state until you’re nipping at his hand with your teeth and he takes that as his cue to stop as he pulls back.
He doesn’t say anything initially, instead Dan Heng just watches you stretch yourself out on his lap and purr— cheek still resting against his obvious bulge, but you look content and at ease for the first time today so he doesn’t mind it too much. Your tail is flicking out beneath you again, as if satisfied with his work and when your eyes open to blink up at him this time, he notes the way they seem to glow— still cat-like in nature but much more dilated now.
“I think it’s safe to assume that helped then?” He asks after a beat of breathing, breaking the tension between you both and he finds himself relaxing when you laugh, scrambling up to your knees.
“I had my doubts at first but it really did the trick.” You respond with a smile, and when you come to curl yourself up on Dan Heng’s lap a little more this time he helps you— petting a hand down your back.
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” You motion down to the crotch of his pants, looking more feline in your teasing and Dan Heng tries to alleviate his own embarrassment with a sigh.
“I ask that you pay that no mind.” He huffs, a little pink in his cheeks. “My intention was simply to help you that’s all.”
“And help you did.”
That’s when you kiss him. It’s hard and clumsy, and Dan Heng notes the rough surface of your tongue as another feline trait of yours when he feels it brush against his own. But he welcomes it, feeds into it even— cupping his hand around the back of your neck he takes the lead and he feels you melt into his chest, kissing you with an eagerness that’s slow but warm and comforting.
When you pull away you almost look drowsy, at peace.
“Thank you.” You say after a beat, leaning into Dan Heng’s palm again as you urge him to pet at your ears.
He listens, looks at you. “You do not have to thank me. I wasn’t certain it would work to begin with.”
“Still, thank you. Now we know what’ll help next heat cycle too.”
content: smut, endurance training with ifa <3, handjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (unrealistic amount lol), fingering (ifa rec), praise, humiliation, some cumplay, ifa is slightly out of it but it’s all consensual, (accidental) omorashi, some aftercare, just super messy & wet :p
a/n: finally wrote something under 6k again pls cheer & clap for me. i find it cute that ifa is canonically weaker than the rest of the natlan cast so u know i had to write a fic about it 🙂↕️
word count: 5.7k
Ifa was panting.
Beads of sweat trickled down his neck to form a glistening sheen over his dark skin, scarred arms flexed and strained around the stack of medical supplies he was carrying, lips parted just wide enough for him to gulp down air with the hopes of not drawing too much attention to himself.
But you noticed—you always did.
The rim of his hat had begun to fall over his eyes from all his hunching over, and a low grunt of frustration escaped him as he tried to move it back into place with a quick jerk of his head, nearly making him lose his balance and stumble backwards onto the Stadium floor in the process. With Cacucu too busy pestering Ajaw inside Chuwen Fair to help adjust Ifa’s hat for him, you took that as your cue to step in.
You could hear Ifa grumbling quietly to himself when you approached him, shifting the full weight of the box you were carrying into one arm to pull the rim of his hat from over his face and brushing his messy bangs out of his eyes in the process. Droopy turquoise irises blinked at you for a moment, then softened when they processed your familiar form under the sun’s blinding rays.
He shot you a lopsided grin, half-sheepish, half-grateful. “Appreciate it. You didn’t have to, though.”
“And let everyone see what you look like without your hat?” you frowned, flicking playfully at the tassel dangling over his chest. “That’s a sight for my eyes only.”
Ifa tried to puff out a chuckle, but with how winded he was after nearly an hour of transferring supplies back and forth, it came out more like a wheeze. His arms, for all their sturdiness when calming the flapping wings of an anxious Qucusaur or holding down a stubborn Tatankasaur that refused to take its medicine, were mere seconds away from collapsing under the weight of the single box he was carrying. So, you used your free hand to take it from him before he could protest and add it to the pile in your arms in one fell swoop.
“Why don’t we take a breather? Everything’s more or less set up for The Pilgrimage, anyway.”
Ifa’s gloved fingers stretched and curled, no doubt sore from the near death grip he’d had on crates that Iansan could stack up to over twice her height, sprinting across the Stadium of Sacred Flame with her haul as though they were lighter than Puffed Grainfruit. She scurried past again just seconds after you’d last seen her, and as she did, you noticed her giving a disapproving shake of her head over the sorry state Ifa was in.
He scratched the back of his head, further abashed when the leather of his gloves came back drenched in sweat; an answer to your question in itself.
“Sure, why not,” he resigned without much of a fight, but not before doing a final scan over the clearing to find that you were telling the truth; most of your work was done for the day. “Don’t think I could grapple with another box of gauze right now even if I wanted to.”
Tempting as it was to tease him, you couldn’t bring yourself to when he really had no obligation to be helping with preparations other than out of the goodness of his heart—a goodness that kept him cutting corners of himself for others to the point you worried one day there may be nothing left of him. Instead, you shot him a sympathetic smile, carrying the remaining supplies in your arms to their designated area, then following him to take a seat on the Stadium steps under the shade of the cobalt blue banners draped overhead. He let out a heavy grunt as he sat, not bothering to mask his relief, or the toll less than an hour of physical labor had taken on his muscles.
“Man, my back’s killin’ me.”
You couldn’t help but stare as Ifa tilted his jaw up, golden sunlight catching on the droplets of sweat that adorned his skin like ore from the mines of Nanatzcayan, traveling down his neck and disappearing under his shirt collar to dampen the black fabric and stick it to his chest. The curve of his pecs was clear as day as he shrugged off his coat and rested his elbows on the steps behind him to lean back against them, eyes fluttering shut and spine arching with a soft crack.
He remained that way for longer than you thought was necessary—not that you didn’t thoroughly appreciate the view—but the way his mouth hung open as he tried his best to get his breathing under control was having more of an effect on you than it probably should’ve.
When he opened his eyes again, he caught the way you were staring instantly, brows furrowing.
“I know what you’re gonna say,” he huffed, the slightest bit defensive. “Spare me, please. I already hear enough nagging from Ororon and Iansan.”
You hummed, reaching out to wipe away a pearl of sweat that had gathered at the tip of his bangs before it could splatter onto his skin. “You’re cute like this.”
Ifa’s tired eyes widened, a rare sight even for you. “Cu—huh?”
It came just the slightest bit pitchier than usual, and when you kept your thumb trailing gently down his heated cheek, the skin beneath it began to tint a deeper red for reasons other than how heavily he’d exerted himself.
“You heard me, pretty boy. This is a good look for you, all sweaty and hard at work.”
He bumped his broad shoulder against yours with an unconvincing click of his tongue, head ducking so that his expression was out of view under the shadow of his hat. “Tryna sweet talk me into attending those fitness classes, huh?”
“Course not. I like your healing hands just the way they are,” you replied with a softness that went directly against the nature of thoughts that were swimming in your head at that moment. As you spoke, you reached into your bag to pull out an energy drink that Iansan had offered you when you’d first started setting up earlier in the day, pleased when Ifa—despite him trying to play it cool—lit up at the sight. Fruit flavored; his favorite. Even so, he still hesitated to take the can as you pressed it into his palm, crisp and inviting, condensation seeping through the material of his gloves.
He swallowed. “Nah, I’m all good. Thanks.”
It couldn’t have been a more obvious bluff, given that he looked and sounded like he’d just crawled out of a hot spring. You shot him an incredulous look—though, privately, an odd sort of warmth blossomed in your chest when you pieced together the reason behind his rejection.
“I already had mine when we started setting up,” you reassured him. “C’mon, drink up.”
He eyed you for a moment. “Yeah?”
“Mm. Coffee flavored.” You parted your lips, tongue peeking out mischievously from between your teeth. “You're welcome to have a taste if you don’t believe me.”
At that, Ifa’s attentive gaze flickered away in a flash, hand flying out to gently shove your face back with a light cough. Still, your taunt served its purpose, because he allowed himself to accept the energy drink from you without any further qualms, humming softly to show his appreciation.
You let yourself stare without any shame as he popped open the can and gulped down the refreshment, admiring how the sharp angles of his tattoo flexing as his throat bobbed, how a stray trail of liquid dribbled past the corner of his eager mouth. If it weren’t for the fact that you were still surrounded by other volunteers in the Stadium, you would’ve leaned in and kissed the sweet droplet away, just for the satisfaction of flustering the man who was always as easygoing as Tenochtzitoc’s breeze.
Ifa let out a deep sigh of relief after downing what was practically half the energy drink in one go, leaving his lips glistening just as brilliantly as the rest of his skin. You should’ve come to expect it, but you still softened with affection when he insisted on passing the can back so you could have the rest, looking apologetic for indulging in his own needs before yours, for once.
“I told you, I already had my fill,” you urged, trying to nudge it back towards him.
“That must’ve been hours ago.” He waved his hand dismissively, and you found yourself cursing that vigilant mind of his for what was neither the first nor the last time. “Besides, half is more than enough to hit the spot. Maybe I should start carrying these around with Cacucu’s snacks.”
You relented with an exhale through your nose, pressing your cheek against the cool, wet surface of the can to ease some of the heat radiating off your face.
“If you’re interested, I can think of a few more ways to boost your endurance.”
He lifted an eyebrow as you wiggled the energy drink around enticingly, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Yeah? So long as they don’t involve me arm wrestling with Chief Acat, I’m game.”
“Nothing like that. You might have to put your back into it, though.”
“C’mon, aren’t you underestimating me a bit?” With a good-natured huff, he lifted his hat to tousle the mop of white hair underneath it, slicking back the damp strands that had already begun to stick to his forehead again. “You know I’ll always give you my best shot.”
You smiled. “I know.”
You took a swig from the energy drink—now twice as sweet after it had touched his lips—to mask the way your smirk spread into something far less innocent than the oblivious half-grin he sported.
Ifa who delivered messages back and forth from Granny Itztli’s lonely residence in the corner of Mictlan all the way to Ororon’s cabin deep in the wilderness, Ifa who carried around fresh fruit religiously just in case his neighbors may ever be in need of them, Ifa who spent what little free time he had carving toys for Saurians and the children of Tlalocan alike. Of course you knew that he would give you his all, it may as well have been carved into his nature like the ancient messages carried by Phlogiston Engravings.
And you were determined to take it—just, in a way where you could trick him into getting some enjoyment out of it, too.
Ifa was panting.
His broad chest heaved with every labored breath, skin glazed over with a pearly mixture of his sweat and seed. Drool trickled from the corners of his mouth where it hung open like he’d forgotten how to close it, each gulp of air barely managing to keep him satiated when he felt as though all the blood in his system was bypassing his brain entirely and rushing down to where your hand worked mercilessly at his sore shaft.
His head had gone foggy long ago, thoughts clouded up with nothing but you—the sensation of your gaze, two chunks of blazing hot Dracolite that set his skin on fire as they bored into him from above, the sweet lull of your voice coaxing climax after climax out of him, the curl and uncurl of your fingers stretching out his insides in a rhythm that was so methodical compared to how frenzied his body and mind had become.
“That’s—God, fuck,” he choked out. “Close. Wait, ah, gettin’ close again.”
Without a falter in your pace, you slid down to the hilt of his length and squeezed your grip around him, tight enough to make his hips surge up off the mattress, pressing your fingers harder into the ridges of his walls in the process. His cock had been all but rubbed raw, spasming with overstimulation, but still so hard and heavy in your palm. His insides were still so tight around your fingers even after being stretched open for so long, trying to feel as much of you filling him up as possible. Greedy in a way that he so rarely allowed himself to be.
Lust pooled in your core as you drank in the view of his stomach clenching wildly, load after load of his milky release splattered all over his dark skin to form a contrast that was as filthy as it was mesmerizing. Sticky droplets began to gather at the dip in his navel as his breaths grew more shallow, signaling another approaching high.
Like everything else, Ifa had long lost track of how many times you’d made him cum already; only processing the sound of your voice anymore, deceptively gentle whispers that felt almost cruel when your hands were anything but, telling him that you just wanted one more orgasm from him. Just one more.
You’d promised to improve his endurance, after all.
“Really think ‘m gonna…hah, please. Can I? ‘S alright?” he gritted out, throwing an arm over his face to ebb some of the embarrassment that crept up on him over the sound of his own begging.
It took everything in you not to coo aloud, that same patronizing sort of affection you’d feel when watching a baby deer struggling to walk for the first time. You’d pushed Ifa well beyond his usual limit by now—to the point where every untrained muscle in his body was pulsing with exhaustion, to the point where you were admittedly amazed that he still had anything left in his system each time another wave of seed managed to spurt out of him—yet even now, he still remembered to ask you for permission. Like his gratification was just an afterthought to yours.
“Got even more for me, Ifa?” you giggled. “Starting to think all your stamina’s stored down here.”
He bit down on the flesh of his forearm with a weak grunt, in no state to handle your teasing when he felt as if your fingers were molding his core into a ball of white hot phlogiston.
“C’mon. Do-don’t mess with me, please. Feel like ‘m goin’ crazy, seriously.”
You pressed down against his leaking slit for good measure, feeling it throb beneath your thumb as if echoing his plea for mercy. “You can cum, baby. Put your back into it for me.”
Ifa groaned, that low, gentle voice of his now deliciously hoarse after all the times he’d cried out as yet another climax wracked his body, too far gone to even think about holding himself back, anymore. Eyes gleaming, you watched him empty onto his abdomen with just as much fascination as the first time, relishing in how his dick twitched pitifully in your palm as a few, milky beads managed to dribble from his swollen tip, how his walls fluttered around you in a fit of hypersensitivity.
“Look at all that,” you marveled, spreading your fingers in a scissor-like motion, warm and sticky with his fresh release. “Such a little giver, aren’t you?”
Dripping with amusement as they were, your praises still nipped delightfully at Ifa’s senses, like anything you said would send him further into a daze as long as spoken in that dulcet voice. It was a sensation he could only liken to soaring through the clouds during his first Flight Trial; but even that comparison fell short when the heights you took him to were twice as exhilarating and infinitely more cathartic. Never had he wanted to stay in the sky chasing the breeze more than he did now.
Carefully, you unwrapped your fingers from around his sore length so he could at last have the chance to catch his breath, to find his way down from his high and back to you. You let his seed drip slowly from your fingers, creamy lava falling to his stomach that shuddered with every sharp inhale and exhale until he finally mustered the strength to get his panting under control again. He swallowed down the thick saliva coating his tongue and peered up at you from behind his scarred arm, eyes half-lidded and unfocused.
“How’m I doin’?” he slurred. “S’ it good for you?”
You reached out to brush his sweat-soaked hair from his face, combing through those thick white waves and soothing the near-delirium creeping up on his consciousness. “So good, baby. See how strong you are for me? You’re taking it all so well.”
Paying no mind to the mess of juices coating your hand, Ifa let his head fall into the cradle of your palm, a low hum rumbling in the back of his throat. You let him stay that way for a moment, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he basked in a touch that—unlike everything else you’d made him experience for the better part of an hour, now—didn’t knock the air out of his lungs.
His lashes fluttered shut in contentment as you traced a tender pattern along the scar that crossed over his left eye, only for them to snap back open when he felt your fingers shift suddenly inside of him, then pull out altogether. He was left clenching around nothing for just a few torturous seconds before you filled him up again, index and middle fingers lathered with a fresh coating of cum you’d scooped from his navel. His reaction was immediate, the hot ring of his entrance closing around you so reflexively, you’d think he’d forgotten what it felt like to not have you inside of him.
The comfort of your hand on his cheek was lost, and his breath hitched audibly when he registered the feeling of you flattening your palm against his stomach. A full-body shudder rippled through him as you pressed down on the muscles of his abdomen, smearing around the blend of sweat and cum around to create a sinful coating over his skin.
Everything about him was soft but sturdy, sensitive but steadfast. His flesh molded like clay under the pressure of your fingers, pliant to the touch and packed with lean muscle underneath that you could feel each time you dug your nails into his skin just hard enough to draw a breathless sound out of him. You didn’t bother to mask your delight when he began to wriggle around in the sheets, hips twisting and stomach contracting wildly as you slid your hand further up to the swell of his chest. So broad and full, spilling out from between the gaps in your fingers; you’d never guess he had trouble carrying a few supplies across the Stadium of Sacred Flame.
His pectorals flexed under your palm with every deep inhale he sucked in, and when you spread some of his release over the stiff, brown bud of his nipple, it earned a pitchy whimper from him—as sweet on your ears as the melodies he’d strum you with his guitar.
“I was right,” you drawled, shamelessly squeezing the curve of his chest to feel his heartbeat hammering away beneath the soft muscle. “This is a good look for you.”
Despite the circumstances, that of all things was what had Ifa’s ears burning a little hotter. You let yourself toy with him to your heart’s content for a bit longer, completely taken by how the sticky cocktail of fluids painted his body like graffiti on your own personal canvas. Then, you dragged your fingers back down the ridges of his ribs, scooping up another dollop of his cum before it could finish drying against his skin and bringing your hand back to his spent length.
Ifa shrank away with a wince, still far too sensitive to handle even the faintest brush of stimulation. Unfazed, you curled your fingers around him like a snake constricting its prey, spreading his own cum along his cock as though it wasn’t limp and twitching pitifully for reprieve in your palm.
“I know, baby. But I promised to boost your endurance, didn’t I?” you interjected with a quick, single pump to his shaft, fighting back a smile when he hissed through clenched teeth like you’d struck him with a bolt of lightning. “I think you’ve got one more in you. Just one more. Can you do that for me?”
His voice broke, a low whimper spilling out from between the cracks, so rife with desperation that it had you gripping down on his poor cock a bit harder than you’d intended. His walls clenched hard around you in response, still so eager to take every inch of your fingers, even when he was unsure if he could physically give you what you wanted, anymore.
“But I…isn’t it ‘bout time I do somethin’ for y—?” The words died on his tongue as you began to stroke him again with a feather-light touch, delicately trailing down from the swollen head of his dick to its base, pleased when you felt it already beginning to perk up with interest again. “O-oh, man. Please.”
“You can do it, right? You’ve been so good, pushing this big, strong body to the limit for me. I know you can take it.”
Ifa melted into the mattress, muscles going lax and eyes going half-lidded as though your words had lulled him into a trance. “Mmm. Mhm.” His drowsy voice rumbled wonderfully in your ears, honeyed gravel. “Yeah, I can do it. Anythin’. Whatever you want.”
You crooned in approval, sensing by the dreamy expression clouding over his features that his people-pleasing instincts had kicked in. It was the only method you’d found success in when it came to getting him to accept pleasure so willingly; pleasure that he would only ever accept under the guise of satisfying you.
“That’s it. Gonna milk my pretty boy dry,” you murmured, pushing your fingers deeper inside of him and curling up into the tender flesh, right into the weak spot that made him jolt every time just as intensely as if it were the first. He choked out a moan, hands too busy clawing at the bedsheets to clasp over his mouth in time to muffle the pathetically loud sound that his ears would surely blaze red over later.
“Always taking whatever I give you, yeah? Bet I could play with you for the rest of the night if I really wanted to.”
Regardless of the fact that he was barely holding on to his last shreds of consciousness, his dick jerked at the thought, swelling up to fill out the curl of your fingers again. You gave him an experimental pump, puffing out a chuckle when his hips shot up instantly, arm veins bulging against his skin as though they might burst from the sheer arousal coursing through them. Little by little, that agonizingly good sensation began to creep back up on him, hypersensitive pangs in his cock being overtaken by the warm friction of your fist engulfing it in steady strokes, the stretch of your fingers burrowing into his walls, and the embarrassing squelching sounds his own cum made as you smeared it along his length.
Ifa’s thick thighs tensed, teeth sinking into his lower lip when you rolled your palm over his leaking head at the very same instant the pads of your fingers teased his prostate.
“Fu-fuck. Archons, that’s—” He tipped his head back, a low groan ripping from his throat that was gratifying enough to wash away the dull ache that had begun to grip your wrists after draining him over and over again. “Good, ‘s good.”
“You’re so easy, baby. Just a few touches and you’re ready to go again,” you let out a whistle of appreciation as you gave his now hardened dick a squeeze that made his chest heave with a punched-out gasp. “Think you can take another?”
He ground his lower half against the mattress in response, sucking your slick fingers deeper inside of him like his body was begging you for what his mouth was too ashamed to ask for. A garbled string of curses spilled from his lips as you wiggled your ring finger past the tight heat of his entrance, filling him to the brim and effectively making every one of his nerve endings go haywire.
There was a dangerous sort of lust glinting in your eyes as you watched him writhe around in the sheets like a fish out of water, fully enjoying the view of his body trying to adjust to the newfound stretch when two fingers had already been enough to wreck him.
“How’s that? Still good?”
Ifa couldn’t verbalize a reply even if he’d wanted to, not trusting his voice to come out as anything but a mess of stutters when he felt as though you were deep enough inside him to physically feel the pressure you’d built in his core, anyway. So, he squeezed his eyes shut instead, managing a frantic nod as his head fell back with another trembling exhale, hair splaying across the pillow in tousled white waves.
“Good boy,” you praised. “Keep it up, okay? Want you to give me every last drop.”
Slack-jawed, a tiny trail of drool started dribbling from the corner of his mouth again, mixing with the dewdrops of sweat that had beaded on his face. Spurred on by the sight of him so drowned in bliss, you curled up into the ridges of his walls with more vigor, swirling your thumb directly over his slit in a merciless rhythm.
Ifa’s death grip on the sheets finally came loose, scarred hands flying out in a blind search for you. “Ah, wa-wait. Easy, ‘m already—fuck. ‘M gettin’ close.”
His gentle features twisted into a look of pure desperation when you only hummed in acknowledgement, making no effort to slow down when, to you, his words were less of a warning and more of a promise to fulfill. Calloused fingers finally managed to find yours in all his grasping around, clammy and running so hot from all the adrenaline ripping through his system. You squinted as he tugged urgently at your wrist, unsure if you were imagining the faint, familiar gleam that was beginning to emit from his joints and bleed into his skin.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Seriously not g’nna last—hah. Feels…f-feels—”
“Feels?” you echoed, sickeningly sweet giggles gracing him for just an instant before they dissolved into mist against his searing flesh.
Amidst all his barely coherent babbling, it took you a moment to process what he was trying to say, your hands going still with concern as soon as you made out his words. But it came a heartbeat too late. Flashes of brilliant light burst before your eyes as Ifa’s hips surged up so fiercely that his back curved almost entirely off the mattress, his whole body stiffening in a mesmerizing arch, forcing your fingers deeper into the spot inside him that made his brain go numb. The added pressure earned a near-sob from him, choked and raspy as his climax hit—somehow, harder than all of his previous ones combined.
You watched, awestruck, as Ifa’s Nightsoul markings began to glow, beams of turquoise and orange lighting up his ribs and spreading out over his flesh like colorful threads winding through the fibers of a woven scroll. The illuminated skeletal patterns on his hands flickered like a heartbeat as he grasped at you for purchase, neck tattoo flexing with every bob of his adam’s apple.
Somewhere in the back of his foggy mind, he registered that the chorus of moans ringing in his ears was coming from him, but for once, he was too preoccupied with the intensity of what he was experiencing to care; a spasming of muscles so euphoric that it started to border on unbearable.
And he was wet.
Not just from the sheen of sweat that had coated his skin after countless orgasms, not just from the loads of his seed you’d smeared all over his body. This was something thinner, warmer—and suddenly, it was everywhere.
A chill ran up your spine as his release shot out of him with far more force than you’d expected. Clear fluid burst from between your fingers like magma, spraying all over his stomach and chest to add an extra shine to the vibrant markings adorning his skin. Some stray droplets managed to reach as far as his face, splashing against the deep flush of his cheeks, dribbling down his throat and along the swell of his pecs.
Between the activation of his Nightsoul state and the odd fluid coating his body, Ifa seemed to notice midway through that there was definitely something abnormal about the sheer extremity of his climax, because his muscular thighs squeezed tight around your wrist, frantically trying to close in on each other and put a stop to what was a sure to be a humiliating display. But what was mortifying to him had your core coiling so tight with arousal that you thought it might snap completely untouched, eyes drinking in the rivulets streaming down his muscles as though you’d been dehydrated for days.
His walls pulsed around your fingers, still clenching so erratically even once the aftershocks of his high had passed through him, like tremors rippling through Atocpan’s crust after a particularly violent volcanic eruption. As carefully as you could, you unwrapped your hand from around his length, letting it fall limp against the puddle of fluids on his stomach. Ifa’s deep, labored breaths stuttered again, a quiet whimper rising in his chest as you removed all three fingers from his slippery heat at once.
“Ifa,” you whispered. “You made a mess.”
Despite the sheer exhaustion weighing down his eyelids, they snapped open at that, a fresh wave of horror crashing over him as he blinked the blurriness from his eyes and processed the scene before him—the soiled bed, your drenched hand, the messy blend of juices covering every inch of his tan skin, and, somehow most damning of all, his Nightsoul markings that had yet to fully fade. He hadn’t thought his body could feel any hotter than it already did in that moment, but the evidence of his own filth instantly proved him wrong, engulfing him in a fiery cocoon of shame.
“Oh my God,” he groaned, burying his face in his palms. “Archons. Oh, man, this is…‘m sorry. Fuck. Real sorry.”
You ran your sticky fingers up the dimming pattern on his thigh, light as a breeze, careful not to overstimulate him any further. “Shh, it’s okay, baby. You gave me your best shot, just like you said.” Your words were half-playful, half-soothing, just enough of each to make Ifa wish he could bury his dizzy head underground like a Ruffed Pheasant.
“Y-you,” he sputtered. “C’mon, don’t tease me right now. I’m seriously…ah,” he trailed off into a miserable noise, face kept firmly hidden behind the cage of his hands. It was hard to find consolation in your reassurance when he could feel his release seeping into the mattress underneath him. So excruciatingly hot when it had spurted out of him, now growing cold as it stuck the wet sheets to his back, a cruel reminder of his complete and utter lack of control over himself. His body had never reacted like that before—he hadn’t even known it was possible for it to react like that until now.
Reluctantly, he pulled his hands from over his eye to cross one over his dripping chest in a feeble attempt to cover himself while the other scrambled around in the sheets, struggling to force himself upright when he was so disoriented. “God, th-this is…‘m sorry. I swear I’ve never—” You could barely decipher his frenzied mumbles, so rushed and riddled with nervousness, far from his usual lilt that could calm you even at your worst. “Real embarrassed right now, ha. I’ve never…oh my God. Gimme a second. I’ll clean it up, yeah?”
With a pang of sympathy, you reached out to rest your hand over his chest, catching a taste of his heart pounding away beneath your palm as you nudged him back against the bed, a task made far too easy when he’d more or less gone boneless after all the energy had been effectively sapped from his body at your hands.
“Relax, Ifa. Lie down, you’re all worn out.”
“I’m alright, just gotta…lemme…” he tried to object, but his muscles betrayed him, head falling back against the pillows with an unceremonious thump. Given how it was spinning as though he’d just gone for a joyride on the back of the Archon’s Flamestrider and his limbs had been reduced to honey, he wasn’t sure how he’d expected himself to stand, anyway, let alone clean up the pathetic scene he’d just put on for you.
His protests fizzled into a soft rumble as you gave his cheek a pat, unconcerned with the filth coating his skin. “You don’t have to move a muscle. Let me take care of you, pretty boy.”
It was a sweet command that made his face buzz pleasantly, but still firm enough to leave no room for debate. Your weight lifted from the mattress, leaving him weary and blissed out in his own mess. His embarrassment didn’t die down the entire time you’d disappeared into the other room, coursing hot and heavy through his veins and weighing him down even further to the point where even keeping his droopy eyes open became a challenge.
Just as his lashes began to flutter, you returned with a cup of water and the gentle press of a washcloth against his skin. Fuzzy and fragrant with the scent of your soap, relaxing his strained muscles and shooing away the shame that gripped his body to replace it with a comforting warmth. He sighed the instant you began dragging the cloth over his stomach, a kind of relief that was so scarce for him, one that you had to fight tooth and nail to coax out of him every time.
“You really gave me everything you had, huh?” you murmured, dabbing tenderly at the fluids drying on his abdomen and admiring the tiny, iridescent bubbles of soap glistening against his skin. “Hope I didn’t push you too far.”
Ifa grunted in response, mustering up a lazy half-grin as his fatigue from the past hour finally began to get the better of him. “Nah, s’all good,” he slurred. “Like I said, I’ll do anythin’. Whatever you want.”
You smiled back down at him, knowing he meant every word.
when you're highkey hot when you fight, so it's their turn to be flustered — gachiakuta x reader
ʚ♡ɞฺ main m.list ྀིᨯ — content. character is downbad for YOU, i go kind of in detail when reader beats trash beasts up, reader highkey body tea / body is built cuz of the way they train & what they do everyday LOL. jabber is a bit suggestive but eh, its jabber
m note: maybe i'll make longer versions of these separately soon
m word count: like 100-200+ each
m character included: enjin, zanka, tamsy, jabber, corvus, zodyl
enjin freezes up before smirking and keeps up with the pace you go at while beating down a few trash beasts right by your side. before starting the mission, he bet with you on who could kill more, but after seeing you? well...
"shit, seems like i... i lost." "well, you owe me dinner now, don't you?" a small smile appeared on your lips before giving his arm a pinch while walking off, going back to join riyo and the others.
kind of just leaves him speechless the whole night. thinking about how... attracted he was to you when you would stab a monster into its throat; wiping off the smelly musk of whatever you could call the trash beast's blood from your mask,
god even when you muttered how disgusting it was under your breath, why were you suddenly so hot?! (you've always been)
zanka's reaction is similar—i mean, hello, like father like son. his figure is just frozen on the field when he sees you take care of the bugs that had been pestering this poor elderly couple when they're just trying to grow a garden in quite literally the middle of nowhere.
so when you pick your weapon up and out of the monster's head that had deliberately covered the upper half of your vital instrument in smelly... can you even call that bodily liquids if its a trash beast?
he just feels his face fluster underneath his mask when you scoff at the corpse, "could've at least made it an easier job for cleaning. come on, zanka, let's go." "yes! yes. i- err, let's go!" suddenly straightens his posture and walks proudly as if you hadn't just gotten him a little hot and bothered from just telling a garbage beast to fuck off.
"...zanka, wrong way." "ah..."
tamsy's eyes widen in minimal surprise when he sees the way you utilize his own vital instrument, using your own to strike through every beast he had tied securely; watching their bodies become corpses one by one as they fell, the clothing around your arms were briefly scratched off,
yet the only thing you were concerned about was... "tamsy! come on, let's get out of here!" you already slipped your arm around his arms and legs, and rushed back to the vehicle you took to get there. the wasteland looked disgustingly teal as per usual, but now an unusual shade of red would cover tamsy's face.
you sat beside him in the car, silently closing your eyes as you rested, and as soon as he could see you weren't looking? he took more than a few glances at your figure, more specifically your arms. whether or not you work out, the work you do with him was more than enough to have you unintentionally flexing apparently.
and he was ALLLL for it.
jabber likes to think you're calling him a pest while you slice neatly through three beasts at once. has begged you once for a duel just to see you point your vital instrument at him and call him a dirty bug too but... well you being you; declining is the most sane option here.
"disgusting." your glare remains ice cold as you took your weapon back out of the monster, only uncovering half of your face to check out what the garbage had dropped, jabber was clearly enjoying himself in the background.
"god, are you sure you don't wanna... haah, take out your anger like that on me instead? we wouldn't have to go out all the ti-" "for the last time, no."
corvus trusts you with the fight, and watches. not just because he trusts you though, semiu knows the little glances he gives you, especially as of recent while your jacket is still being repaired by august. your arms hadn't looked as good as they did before... or maybe he just never noticed?
you had swung your vital instrument around you to take out multiple enemies at once, corvus having stuck right to the side, simply observing when all of a sudden... a creature jumps up from behind, yet he doesn't even flinch when you end up so close to him to cut it smoothly in half. a brief quirk in his brow,
his figure only moves to match your speed, never taking his eyes off you once. "you make quick work of them don't you?' expecting a cheeky reply, he watches you brush dust off your shoulder before checking on him. "you good, boss?"
"...never better. let's keep going, yeah?" you won't truly disregard the way he had slipped an arm around your waist to pull the both of you forward.
zodyl is similar, watching you fearlessly, and swiftly protect him without him having to lift a finger, he trusted you a lot. but his trust didn't necessarily mean finding you attractive, so why did his face wince when he saw the way your gaze stay sharp, easily hitting any enemy that tried to come near.
you hadn't even realized how his eyes stayed on you the whole time, not to mention the way you've developed your figure to fight with more agility... his eyes only dip down to watch your back flex when your vital instrument would uppercut a trash beast.
when it was all over, he quickly looks away, wanting to avoid you seeing him gawk over you. "...sir are you alr-" "let's not get distracted." quickly moving past you, you just give a confused stare before following behind. what's got him all hot and bothered?
content: ororon is a virgin & very inexperienced in general, sub!ororon, soft dom!reader, kissing practice, slight corruption kink, guided masturbation, praise, handjob, teasing/humiliation, ororon (jokingly) calls reader “master” & "ma'am" once, premature ejaculation, lots of apologizing & some goofy dialogue bc it’s ororon lol
a/n: this was originally meant to be one long fic with multiple scenes but the word count spun out of control so i decided to split it into parts lmao. you can read part two here & part three here!
word count: 8.3k
You were probably taking a little too much pleasure in Ororon’s squirming.
He’d gone silent for an amount of time that you might’ve found concerning if you hadn’t known him any better; but where his mouth fell short, his body spoke volumes. Long legs rocking from side to side as he shifted in his spot on the couch, nails busying themselves with picking at the loose threads of his scarf, and odd eyes darting up to make fleeting contact with yours, only to stray away again when your gaze set off another prickle of heat in his cheeks.
All you’d done was ask him a simple question, really.
“Why don’t I teach you?”
A simple question, but maybe, still just a bit too complicated for the man in front of you, judging by the way he was struggling to string even a single thought together, much less speak it. You’d made the offer half-expecting it to be dismissed, to be met with nothing more than a deceptively clueless head tilt or his best attempt at imitating the scoldings the tribe elders gave him whenever he said something that even they deemed too bizarre. He was easy for you to tease, sure, always just a few playful touches or whispers away from being reduced to an awkward mess, but rarely this flustered over an innocent little joke.
Maybe, because he sensed that it wasn’t entirely a joke. And maybe, because it wasn’t innocent in the slightest.
Finally, eloquent as ever.
“Huh?”
Ororon cringed at himself. Nearly a minute of fidgeting in his spot, trying his best not to evaporate into mist under your attentive eyes, and that was the best he could muster up. It got a grin out of you, at least, but for some reason that only added to the temperatures rising beneath his scarf.
“Why don’t I teach you?” you repeated. Slow and deliberate, the same way you’d train a pet to understand brand new commands.
“I—” he swallowed, reaching up to scratch behind his ear where it was flattened against his head in deep deliberation. “I’m not that bad. Am I?”
The first time you’d ever kissed Ororon, he’d held his breath. Or, rather, he’d forgotten how to breathe for a moment.
He’d been anxious enough already just leading into it—clammy fingers fiddling with the chain that dangled from his wrist, unsure of where they were supposed to rest as you pulled him closer than he’d ever had the courage to get to you, not to mention how his heart had been pounding so fiercely in his ribcage that he was certain you could hear it. The instant your lips had pressed against his, softer than he’d ever dreamed of and bolder than he’d ever anticipated, he’d stiffened up, breath trapping in his lungs. He couldn’t even think to move his mouth against yours, let alone remember to take in another gulp of oxygen before the lack of it started to make him dizzy.
Instead, he sat there, cheeks puffed out and lips puckered uselessly, letting the new sensation consume him. He’d felt mushy and rigid, frozen numb and crackling with electricity, all at once. Your mouth had encased his like the clouds of steam that rose from Ameyaclo Waters. It spread heat to corners of his body that had never been touched and made his abdomen flutter with something he could only describe as a cave of bats being awoken from their slumber, taking flight in a frenzied swarm.
By the time you’d pulled away with one last gentle tug at his lower lip, half-concerned and half-amused, his face was burning such a vibrant shade of red that you couldn’t help but wonder out loud if he’d ever actually kissed anyone before. To which he’d defensively clarified that of course he had—nevermind that he was referring to the pecks he’d give Granny Itztli on her cheek when apologizing for the many, many times he’d troubled her with his antics.
With each kiss you’d shared since then, Ororon had loosened up, little by little. He began learning how to melt into you instead of immediately tensing up, allowing his ever-curious eyes to flutter shut and his jaw to slacken so that you could twist and turn him in any direction you wished. But every single time without fail, he’d still break apart far too soon with a sharp sputter for air, breathless and disoriented and thoroughly embarrassed by his lack of stamina.
It didn’t bother you—not in the slightest, it was cute enough that you’d never once considered it a problem. Those traits of his that he’d long resigned himself into accepting that most others found off-putting, you found irresistibly charming, with every oddly phrased sentence and lovingly chosen nickname for his crops only drawing you in further.
The oblivious air he surrounded himself with was, more often than not, just as much of a ruse as the spells he would cast to evade the Spiritspeaker’s wrath, you knew that better than anyone, by now. When it came to his relationship experience, however, no amount of illusions could mask that he was every bit as clueless as he liked people to believe. You weren’t sure what it said about you, that you were endeared by how hopelessly lost he was when it came to even the smallest forms of intimacy. It was like the cherry on top of your favorite dessert—or as he might put it, the honey on top of his sour sauce ceviche, transforming an acquired taste into something addictively sweet.
You pretended to mull Ororon’s question over, and the flash of panic that crossed his face, as though his whole world might come crashing down on him if you actually disagreed, made you soften.
“No, baby. You’re not bad,” you reassured him, and his nose scrunched up when you gave it a playful tap. “But wouldn’t you rather be good?”
His tongue felt dry and heavy in his mouth, not quite fitting right in the confines of his teeth and preventing him from mustering up another answer—not because he wanted to say no, but because he wanted to say yes. But admitting that to you felt infinitely more dangerous, somehow. A trap set in the woods, designed to land him in your clutches no matter which response he gave.
Finally, he found it in him to lift his gaze from his boots for the first time since you’d proposed the idea, too intrigued by the possibility of satisfying you to let it slip from his fingers so easily. “Good, how?”
“Well, by breathing properly, for one.”
His face hardened into a comically serious look, one that he hoped imitated the male lead of that Fontanian film he and Ifa had begged you to watch with them, even after they’d seen it more times than either of them cared to disclose. “You take my breath away,” he said solemnly, pitch lowering an octave too deep and making his voice crack in the process.
You puffed out a laugh, and his chest lit up with pride just like it did every time he managed to coax that rewarding sound out of you, even if he had to make a fool of himself to do so. No amount of reprimand for embarrassing his elders would ever be enough to dull the warm glow your laughter bathed him with.
“Uh-huh. Gonna report me to the special patrol for theft?”
Ororon frowned at you, clearly thrown off by your refusal to follow the script. “That’s not how the next line goes. I knew you weren’t paying attention.”
You clicked your tongue, though it was more fond than exasperated. Leave it to him to distract you with a test of loyalty, now, of all times. “Please, you wouldn’t let me look away from the screen for a single second without nagging. I just need to watch it a couple hundred more times before I can recite the whole thing like you.”
Rather than reminding you of the proper line that he’d so proudly memorized (largely for the purpose of impressing you, though that part was best kept secret), he went quiet again, thick brows furrowing thoughtfully. It would’ve been so easy to move on from there, to take advantage of the opening he’d created and drop the subject entirely. Still, something stopped him—that being, the very simple fact that he didn’t want to, not when the promise of approval dangled tantalizingly above his head, just out of reach.
To do something well, to be someone he knew you would like, to be good. It was an affirmation he’d chased after his entire life, eluding him every step of the way until he began to believe that the only thing he was capable of bringing to this world was bad. Learning what “good” entailed in your eyes may just be the closest he could ever truly get to achieving it.
“You really do, though,” he mumbled, picking at the silver teeth of his vest zipper. “Take my breath away, I mean. Not really sure how to fix it.”
His words had a strange effect on you; a surge of affection battling it out with something that wasn’t quite as wholesome, something you’d been working tirelessly to suppress since the day he’d so adorably choked on air when your lips had first tasted the chasteness of his. You inched a bit closer to him on the couch, knee pressing against his thigh just enough to make it jerk.
“That’s what I’m here for.” You brought your index finger up to your lips, pushing back a smile when Ororon’s gaze fell to them like clockwork, pools of magenta and cyan dilating in the light that filtered through his cabin window. “I’ll guide you through it, so we won’t have to worry about you passing out every time I try to kiss you.”
“We might still have to worry,” he pointed out a bit too honestly. Your eyes glimmered with amusement, and he didn’t have the heart to tell you that it was a very real concern of his, not just another joke. Your proximity to him alone was already beginning to play with his pulse. As he watched the plush skin of your lips pursing around your finger, however, he made the very swift and noble decision that passing out seemed well worth the risk.
“Okay.” He nodded, straightening up in his spot with newfound resolve. “In that case, please teach me, Master.”
For once, it was you struggling to keep your composure over something he’d said. He tilted his head, blinking innocently when he caught the strange sound that erupted in your chest, something between a cough and a snort.
You cleared your throat, grateful that your voice came out steady enough. “You don’t have to call me that.”
“But—”
“Trust me,” you interrupted, already anticipating the lengthy recitation of The Masters of Night-Wind customs that had been drilled into both of your brains since childhood. “It’s for the best. Just…don’t tell the shamans, okay?”
Though he didn’t seem completely satisfied with the excuse, he relented out of respect for his new mentor, and you felt a tinge of both relief and regret. Had Ororon insisted on using the title for you—a very real possibility given how stubborn he could be—you were certain you’d end up teaching him about far more than just kissing, today.
“Breathe in,” you ordered softly, inhaling through your nose as a signal for him to follow. He did exactly that, sucking in a long, deep breath that swelled up his chest a bit more than necessary. “When you’re kissing someone—”
“You,” he corrected with the slightest huff. “You’re the only person I kiss.”
“When you’re kissing me, inhale through your nose, okay? You’re gonna run out of oxygen if you try to move your mouth and breathe through it at the same time. That’s why you always have to pull away so soon.” Mid-explanation, you began to notice Ororon’s face darkening in shade at an alarming rate, cheeks still dutifully puffed full of air. “You can exhale,” you reminded him.
He obeyed immediately, and the corner of your mouth twitched a bit over how pleased he looked with himself for following orders so well.
“Did you get that?”
His pupils flickered down to your lips, then back up to meet yours again, full moons swimming with a very obvious longing. “Mhm.”
“Good,” you murmured. “Follow my lead, okay?”
He nodded. That was something he could confidently say he was good at—following you, listening to you, copying the things you did until all your little mannerisms became his to the point where neither of you were sure which traits he’d taken from you, and which you’d taken from him. You cradled his face to hold him steady, brushing your thumb gently over the dark blue marking on his cheek. As you leaned in, his eyes fluttered shut to give you the perfect view of those long, dark lashes that rested so delicately against his pale skin.
“Breathe in.”
His nervousness was palpable in the quick flick of his tongue passing over his lips, desperate to get things right, this time. Careful as you wanted to be with him, the sound of his harsh, shaky inhale coupled with that first taste of innocence had you crashing into him with a bit more force than intended. He stiffened at first, just as he always did, shoulders tensing and mouth pressed into a tight line as you encased it with a warmth that shut down all his thoughts, leaving the roar of blood in his ears to fill the empty space. A small, helpless noise rose in his throat as he fought to regain control of himself.
“Breathe out,” your whisper brushed over his skin and brought goosebumps to the surface. With everything else overwhelming him, he poured all his focus into your commands, dutifully pushing the air through his nostrils and easing some of the tension in his body with it. You let out a hum of approval that spread like Xocoatl on his tongue, and when your hand slid up to his hair to card your fingers through those indigo locks, he all but melted into you.
The fullness of his lips met yours properly, no longer pursed and awkward, moving in a slow, careful rhythm. No matter how much time had passed, he was still so tentative in his every move with you, like one tiny misstep might make you change your mind about him altogether and realize that all of his shortcomings truly were as unpleasant as they seemed.
But even as he began to struggle for air despite his best efforts to follow your guidance, your nails continued to scratch softly at his head, as if scrubbing away all those pesky doubts that plagued it. You sucked in a long, deep breath through your nose, hoping that the sound of it would remind him to do the same, and, to your delight, he obeyed immediately. The excitement had your lips parting against his without any warning, bringing about a fresh wave of heat that made his whole body jump, hands flying up to grasp at you.
“Sorry,” he choked out. He went stiff again for just a split-second before trying to pull away in a panic, only to be stopped by the feeling of your hands resting over his, holding them in place. “Ah. Didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, baby. You can touch.” You pressed down gently on his hovering fingers, encouraging them to latch on fully to your waist. “Just don’t forget to breathe."
Ororon had most definitely forgotten how to breathe up until that moment. He inhaled another gulp of air, though it was more akin to a hiccup this time, blunt nails digging into your hips the instant you gave him permission to keep them there. Your own hands found his thighs, sliding up the expanse of his jeans and eliciting a low whimper from him, one that you swallowed down ravenously. A delightful tension began to build in both your bodies as your tongue dove into his mouth, wet and dizzyingly smooth. When he tried to tilt his jaw and let you in deeper, his fangs accidentally snagged your bottom lip, sending a tingle through your nerves that did more to thrill you than cause pain.
“Sorry,” he gasped again, barely able to slur out his apology when you dragged your tongue along canines without missing a beat. “Sorry—hah—‘m sorry.”
You gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze, catching his lips again before he could get carried away. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re doing well.”
A faint sigh met your ears at that, every bit as weak to your words as he was to your touches. Regardless of how his broken little apologies always disrupted your kisses, it had never once crossed your mind to wean him off that habit, not when the sound of him stammering them out, winded and oh so polite, was just as gratifying to you as devouring the unexplored corners of his mouth. Even if you did try to teach him to stop, you doubted any amount of practice could ever prevent those words from spilling from his lips, not when apologizing came as instinctively to him as breathing—or, perhaps even more instinctively, considering that you never had to remind him to do it.
He’d more or less gotten the hang of it now. A growing pattern of inhales through his nose, and exhales fanning out as heavy, shuddering huffs. Not exactly steady, but consistent enough compared to his usual breaks for air. His hands even began to find a tempo of their own, pawing experimentally at your sides, playing with the fabric of your shirt between fingers that grew more and more urgent the longer they traced over the curves of your body. With all his concentration channeled into making sure his lungs had enough air, he didn’t even notice his soft, needy little whines that were beginning to mix with wet smacking of lips.
His thigh muscles contracted under your palms, taut and thick. Every squeeze of your hands sparked something deliciously foreign inside of him; two pieces of flint being scraped against each other, threatening to ignite at any moment. When your fingers brushed over the frayed, open tears in his jeans that you’d always found so utterly maddening, you couldn’t stop yourself from sliding your fingers underneath, familiarizing yourself with the slivers of his exposed skin and burrowing further up his thigh.
Ororon moaned, completely involuntary and loud enough to snap him out of his daze all at once. It was such a simple touch, hardly past the threshold of what could be considered innocent, but it set off alarm bells in his head, making him bump his forehead against yours while his hips shot up off the couch.
“Sorry!” he yelped, legs flailing and hands darting away from you at the speed of light, like he’d been burned by liquid phlogiston. You made quick work of pulling your hands out from under his jeans as well, and when you caught sight of his frazzled expression; mouth parted as he panted heavily and fangs glistening with his own saliva, you were struck with a pang of guilt.
It was easy to forget how sensitive he was sometimes—not just because of his inexperience, but because of his unique constitution, as well. He was far more receptive to his surroundings than even the most powerful of shamans could hope to be, absorbing stimuli with a sharpness that must’ve burdened him to the point of exhaustion, sometimes. Every smell, sound, and touch, even the essence of people’s very souls, he was keenly aware of, all amplified for him far beyond the sensations an ordinary human such as yourself had ever experienced.
“Did I—hah—hurt you?” he rasped, still searching for the breath that had been stolen from him. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I, uh, did…that."
You gave your head a firm shake, realizing for the first time how your silence must have appeared to him. “I’m alright, baby. It was my fault, anyway. Shouldn’t have surprised you like that.”
Ororon swallowed, shifting in his spot as the lingering traces of your hands on his bare skin taunted him. “It was a nice surprise. I think.”
He ducked his head, and your eyes followed his, falling back down to where your hands had been feeling him up earlier. What snatched your attention away from the pockets of flesh peeking out from under his jeans, however, was the very obvious bulge straining against them. The realization had your heart leaping in your chest, but that was nothing compared to the absolute freefall that his went into when he caught wind of his little predicament a split-second after you did.
His cheeks, which had already been dusted with a pretty blush, were streaked fully red in an instant. This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten worked up after just a few kisses, in fact, it was practically a given, by now. You’d always pretended not to notice how his pants grew visibly tighter every time you pulled away from his lips, leaving him starstruck and wriggling around with a lack of subtlety that was far too cute when you considered its cause. But the state he was in now went beyond that, to the point where it would take a miracle for either of you to ignore. It made sense; your kisses had never grown quite this heated before, nor had they lasted longer than a few seconds at a time thanks to his never-ending battle with keeping air in his lungs.
What you saw now was fully hard, pressed so tightly against his pants that you could see the outline of his length clear as day. Not only that, to your delight and to his horror, a tiny, wet stain had begun to seep through the fabric where you could only assume his tip was pressing against his underwear.
“Ororon,” you began. “What’s this?”
“Oh.” He lurched forward with a flustered squeak, throwing his scarf over his crotch in a fruitless attempt to spare himself yet another steaming dose of humiliation. “O-oh. Sorry. It’s…sorry, it just. I-it happens, sometimes. Not on purpose, though, I swear. Can’t really…control it.”
It was cruel of you, given how he looked like he wished he could dissipate into the clouds of mist he used to deceive others right about now, but when his arousal was served up to you on a silver platter like this, all the self-restraint that you’d worked so diligently to keep in check for months threatened to snap at once.
You feigned interest, leaning in a bit closer and trying not to smile when you heard his breathing pick up. “Yeah? What do you do when it gets like that?”
“I…I dunno. I just…” He pressed his lips together, letting the rest of his sentence hang vaguely in the air.
Ororon was squirming again, veins pumping with adrenaline that was nothing like what he experienced in the heat of battle, yet somehow, far more frightening. His eyes squeezed shut, thighs pressing together in a desperate hope that the growing problem between them would disappear before he died of mortification right then and there. Cute as it was, you couldn’t ignore a pang of sympathy that still managed to wiggle its way past the hunger that was quickly clouding your judgement. This was all uncharted territory for him, and you knew by now how fortunate you were to be one of the few people within his zone of comfort—that was far more valuable than the gratification it brought you to mess with him.
You mellowed, taking his chin between your fingers and tilting it up, voice lowering to a whisper that tickled his ears like a pleasant breeze. “Wanna stop? It looks pretty uncomfortable.”
Though still refusing to look at you, he accepted your touch reflexively, cheek turning so that it brushed against your knuckles. “It is,” he admitted without much prompting, even more hushed than usual, barely audible to your ears. “But I’d like to keep…practicing, I think. So I can be good, like you want me to be.”
You could feel his pulse racing under your thumb as he forced the words out, and suddenly, all that desire brewing within you emerged at full strength, buzzing at the tips of your fingers with a need that was almost carnivorous. To roam over every inch of that sensitive, untouched skin and make it your own, to accustom him to your touch alone, molding his body and mind into whichever shape you saw fit.
“Should we take care of this, then?”
His eyes snapped open, widening into black holes of wonder when your hand dropped from his face to ghost over his thigh again. “How so?”
“C’mon, Ororon,” you drawled. “You really expect me to believe you’ve never touched yourself before?”
His face went as red as the beets that grew in his garden, providing you all the answer you needed. He was reminded, yet again, that the sole reason he ever got away with playing dumb around you was simply because you enjoyed playing along. That oblivious air he put up and his genuine bouts of innocence—you differentiated between them just as easily as he differentiated between good and bad quality Aphimead.
“I…um. Is it—” he choked a bit as your hand drifted back up his thigh, cupping the hardness in his pants with a touch that was feather-light, yet still managed to hit him with all the force of a gut-punch. “Is it bad if I have?”
“Of course not, baby.” You studied him for any signs of discomfort while your fingers curled tighter around him, properly feeling up his shape through his jeans. He hissed softly, head falling forward and bulge throbbing under your hand in gratitude, far more open about its needs than he was. “Why don’t you show me how you do it?”
He stiffened up. “Huh?”
Compared to the panic straining his every word, your voice lapped at his senses with all the calm of a summer breeze, cooling his fiery skin. “I wanna watch you touch yourself. Show me what makes you feel good, and I’ll make you feel even better.”
Ororon’s ears twitched uncontrollably, the mere suggestion enough to have him tugging his tattered hood down over his eyes—partially out of the shame that consumed him, and partially to mask how wildly the idea turned him on. The only problem was, you could feel it in the palm of your hand, an answer made abundantly clear in the way his dick pulsed again.
Your voice lowered to a murmur, and ironically, the gentle understanding in your tone only did more to overwhelm him. “Is that okay with you?”
He dug his canines into his lower lip, then nodded. Even if—for some incomprehensible reason—he had wanted to say no, there wasn’t a chance his body would be settling down anytime soon now that your touch had found it. Somehow, spending the rest of your time together with the both of you pretending not to notice that he was on the verge of spilling into his pants felt even more humiliating than baring himself to you.
You uncurled your fingers from around his length. Much to your satisfaction, he reacted instantly, jerking up in search of you once again, not quite ready to lose the taste of relief he’d been granted for the first time in his life.
“Take these off, baby,” you ordered, snapping at the waistband of his jeans. Light, but still enough to make him flinch. “Or do you want me to do it for you?”
Ororon straightened his posture, but his chin remained tilted down, long bangs obscuring his face as his fingers clumsily found the buttons of his pants. “No it’s…I can do it,” he mumbled.
Fingers so deft with his arrows and so careful with his crops, now fumbled awkwardly to undo the clothes that he put on every day. You said nothing, but the amusement he could practically feel bubbling off of you made it even more difficult for him to focus. With a cute, frustrated huff, he finally managed to unzip his pants, wiggling out of them only until they reached about halfway down his thighs. Trying to keep himself as concealed as the situation allowed, you mused. Had you been in a less forgiving mood, you would’ve asked him to remove them altogether until he was completely undressed for you. But he was way out of his element already, and your urge to cherish those purer parts of him overpowered your desire to taint them—for the time being, at least.
He hesitated for several seconds, then, his hands dipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, thighs lifting off the couch to tug them down in one fell swoop. Anything you’d planned to say was cut off by the strangled whimper that slipped out of him as his dick sprang free, so hardened that it slapped against his abdomen.
From all the times you’d snuck glances at him in the past, you’d taken notice of his considerable size, and now, seeing him properly for the first time, you understood why it’d always been painfully obvious to you when he was turned on. His dick was heavy against his stomach and dripping with an amount of precum that made your eyes widen. It glazed over his cockhead in a translucent sheen, almost as though he’d come all over himself once already.
“You’re so wet,” you marveled. “Do you always make this much of a mess?”
Ororon bit back a whine of protest, thoroughly ignited with embarrassment before he’d even had the chance to lay a finger on himself. “Just not used to…this. It only really gets like this when—”
He clamped his lips together, realizing a moment too late that he’d backed himself into a corner.
“When?”
“When you…um, w-when you kiss me.”
You let out a coo that contrasted how fiercely his words affected you, a twist in your stomach that was so, so gratifying after holding yourself back for so long. To think that every time you’d left Ororon’s cabin, his dick had been leaking so pitifully like this, crying out for attention that he didn’t even know he needed.
His throat bobbed as you veered dangerously close to his cock, moving away at the last second to grab hold of his hand instead. “Do you usually leave these on?” Your fingers slid under the gaps in his leather gloves that he’d forgotten to remove, and the contact alone was enough to make him shudder.
Teasing or not, he couldn’t take the accusation lightly. “O-of course not. I’d get my vegetables dirty.”
“Can’t have that,” you hummed in agreement, followed by the jingle of his chain as you tugged his gloves off of his hands to reveal how clammy they’d become underneath the leather. “There we go. Now you can show me exactly how you like to play with yourself.”
His fingers flexed, nervous and uncoordinated as he wrapped them just barely around the base of his length, tattoos stretching with the contraction of his skin. Tightening his hold just barely, he remained frozen like that, peering up at you through that dark curtain of hair as if to ensure that he had your permission to keep going.
Your lip curled with mischief. “What? Need me to teach you how to do that, too?”
Sucking in a deep breath, he slid his hand up his cock, gathering up all the slickness that had trickled from his slit and spreading it along his path. His exhale came fragmented, split into short puffs that gradually turned up in a whine. He lingered at his tip for a moment, seemingly mustering the courage to drag his fist back down. His strokes were slow and experimental, no real rhythm to them yet, but each one created a filthy wet noise that made his insides coil with shame, and yours with desire.
Watching him like this—wrist as stiff as the shaft he was trying to work—it was difficult to tell whether he was moving so awkwardly because of your presence, or because he simply knew no other way. He treated his own body with a lack of skill akin to his hopeless attempts at threading woven scrolls—even the expression on his face wasn’t all that different, brows pinching in a mixture of focus and frustration. Every now and then, a sharp, involuntary jolt would send his hand flying up his length far faster than the tentative pace he’d set, as if his own movements were catching him by surprise.
“Do you always do it like this?”
His shoulders jumped a bit, an apology already building on his tongue. “I…huh?”
“You just look a little tense,” you clarified softly. “You can let go, baby. Do whatever feels right.”
His fingers, though still shaky, curled tighter around his cock, adding a newfound pressure that was nothing short of electrifying when combined with the sensation of your watchful gaze raking over his body.
“That’s it, go a little faster. I can tell how badly you need it,” you urged him. “Wanna see you make an even bigger mess.”
“Mm. Yes, Mas—” He caught himself in the nick of time, mind scraping for an alternative. “M-Ma’am?”
You decided not to correct his choice of words, even if the effect this honorific had on you was no less dangerous than the previous one. For whatever reason, it seemed very important to Ororon to address you as his superior, one way or another. Now that he was on full display for you, chasing his pleasure for your own entertainment, hearing him speak to you so politely was enough to have liquid heat pooling in your underwear, too.
Despite you being the one puppeteering his actions, he still felt so inexplicably rotten for showing you such an obscene sight. It might’ve had something to do with the squelching sounds his cock made as he glided with more intensity than before, each one banging against his sensitive ears like a drum. Or, maybe, it was the indefensibly filthy moan that spilled out of him when he dared to swipe his thumb over the tip of his cock in a brief moment of ecstasy. Even as he clenched his jaw to silence himself, it still broke free, reverberating against the walls of his cabin like a jeer.
Regardless, he didn’t slow back to his earlier pace, partially because he didn’t want to disappoint you, and partially because his arousal was beginning to push back against his self-consciousness. All he needed was some sort of confirmation that he was meeting your expectations, some sort of—
“Good boy,” you murmured. “You already know how to listen so well.”
He choked on the saliva that had pooled on his tongue, hips surging up against his will so fiercely that his fangs nearly cut into his cheek. He’d touched himself plenty of times before—there was no use denying it, now—but never like this. With the burn of your eyes searing his skin harsher than any engraving ever could, with the honeyed lilt of your voice praising him for doing something so inappropriate. Calling him good for his most shameful desires.
Through the static that was quickly filling up his head, his brain screamed at him to say something back, with the hope that he might earn even more encouragement if he did. It’d be rude not to accept the compliment, after all. He’d been taught better than that.
“Well, I have sharp ears, s-so. Pretty good at—ah—listening,” he stammered. It was so matter-of-fact, such an earnest response that you had to hold yourself back from pouncing on him and pumping him to completion right then and there.
“Mhm. Bet they can hear all the cute little sounds your body’s making real well.”
Ororon ducked into his scarf with a weak, flustered noise, suddenly far less willing to reply. Still, his ears weren’t flattened against his head anymore, they were perked and alert, hyperaware of every wet drag of his hand and every poorly concealed whimper that rose in his throat along with it. “Sorry. It’s t-too loud, right? Am I doing it wrong—?”
“It’s adorable,” you reassured him. “You’re adorable.”
That only seemed to make him writhe around harder, thighs shifting from side to side in an attempt to build up more friction wherever they could, flexing erratically with each pump of his hand as if he were losing control over his muscles.
His cockhead was swollen now, trickling out more tiny beads of precum to add a fresh layer of stickiness to his strokes. Though he’d managed to build up a careful pattern, there was still a discernible stiffness to his movements, one that you were beginning to conclude wasn’t just because he felt shy in front of you, anymore. Just as you’d suspected, he didn’t seem to know any other way, like every time he pumped himself, it was on instinct rather than a genuine understanding of how to make himself feel good. The thought excited you more than it probably should have.
“You look like this is your first time touching yourself, Ororon,” you remarked. Sweet, but with a condescending edge to it that nipped wonderfully at his skin. He wasn’t sure if that was normal—then again, nothing about this situation probably was. You scooted closer to him so that your thigh pressed against the bare skin of his, and he sucked in a sharp gasp, mustering all his willpower to not come undone over the first hint of contact with you.
“Don’t be so shy, baby. I wanna see you feeling good,” you encouraged him. “Have you ever tried playing with the tip?"
His hips stuttered at that, his rhythm effectively crumbling as his fingers spasmed around his cock in cute, nervous little pulses. “It’s…mmph. Kinda sensitive there. I don’t usually t-touch it,” he confessed under his breath, well aware that he was more or less handing you the ammunition to load your gun and target him with. His meekness may have been genuine, but so was his hope that you would exploit it.
“Yeah? That just means it’ll feel even better if you do,” you purred. His muscles went taut as you wrapped your hand around his wrist, two-toned eyes locked on the sight of your fingers so agonizingly close to his dick, taunting him with tiny flickers of your body heat. You could feel his heartbeat going berserk under your thumb as you guided his hand to the head of his cock, urging him to drape his palm over it. “Cup yourself like this, and roll your wrist around it. You can stop if it gets to be too much for you, okay?”
Ororon hissed as his hand wrapped around his throbbing cockhead, and you instantly got the sense that he would not be stopping.
“Oh.” Was all he could bring himself to say.
He tried not to whine when you let go of him, instead focusing on the fresh bursts of pleasure ripping through his nerve endings with each experimental twist of his hand. Pain one second, and relief the next, just enough of each to keep him captivated with this new technique.
“Good boy. How’s that feel?”
You were met only with a long, trembling inhale, a meager attempt to retain some of the instructions you’d given him earlier so that he wouldn’t go lightheaded from a lack of breathing. It was impossible for him to get a sentence out without mewling pathetically in the process, so, much to his body’s dismay, he paused his movements just long enough to answer.
“I-I dunno. Feels…hah. Kinda feels like my stomach’s buzzing with aphids.”
You grinned. “Yeah? Are they making honey?”
The blush on Ororon’s face deepened so severely that he was dyed red in an instant, as though an Asha had mistaken him for a canvas and splashed vibrant graffiti all over his cheeks and nose. He sputtered out something incoherent, head falling forward to bury his burning hot face into the crook of your neck. You cradled the back of his head with a hum of faux-sympathy, wondering if you’d flustered him just a little more than he could handle. Then, to your surprise, you felt him nod weakly against your shoulder.
“Not the kind that tastes good, though,” he mumbled into your skin.
“You know what it tastes like?” You clicked your tongue. “Pervert.”
He jolted against you, whether out of indignation, or a fresh wave of arousal, even he wasn’t quite sure. He tried to object, but anything he wanted to say died as a groan rose in his throat, already disproven by the fact that he was clinging to you like an animal in heat, barely able to form a sentence and fisting his cock on pure, primal instinct, at this point.
With care, you tugged his hood down so that you could run your hand properly through his hair; gentle and calming as the indigo locks slipped between your fingers, completely unlike the absolute mess of sensations that were currently twisting his guts into knots. “It’s my fault you’re like this, right? Want me to take care of it?”
It took him a moment to gather the courage to pull his face from the safety of your shoulder and peer up at you, long lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly in curious blinks. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean—” You played along for his sake, reaching your hand out so that neither of you had to say it outright. Ororon sensed the incoming touch before your fingers had even curled around the base of his length, a touch so delicate, you never would’ve predicted the wildfire it ignited in his stomach.
“Ah, wait. W-wait, that’s—!” he gasped. Body betraying the protests of his mouth, he surged into the newfound contact with an eagerness he couldn’t even be ashamed of, anymore. “...Dirty.”
“Dirty? But you were just touching it, weren’t you?”
“That’s different. I’m—ngh.” His hips bucked up entirely against his will, as if to silence his mouth from spewing nonsense that would put an end to the pleasure that he had only just gotten his first taste of. “I’m used to it. T-touching dirt, I mean.”
You giggled, and his heart flipped for reasons entirely unrelated to your hand at last forming a warm, snug cocoon over his cock. He throbbed wildly under your fingers as you slid them along his veins, tender, but more than enough to send his hypersensitive body into a frenzy. He tried his best to suck in some air, to calm the burst of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, but he ended up choking pitifully on it, instead.
“You’re not dirty, baby,” you soothed him, coiling your grip tighter around him as if to drive in the idea. “You’re as pure as they come.”
“Hah…a-am I?” he panted, strained and hoarse in a way that you rarely got to hear from him, not even under the weight of war. Fragmented, tainted, cursed, those were all words he’d use to describe himself before ever daring to think of himself as pure.
“Mm. No one’s ever touched you here before, huh?”
“No. Never.” It was so immediate, so sincere that you wondered if he had even the faintest idea just how crazy his next words drove you. “You’re the first. I-I never wanted anyone else.”
You gave his cock a single pump, and just like that, he collapsed back into you, head finding a home in your shoulder once more with a high-pitched moan that vibrated against you, burrowing under your skin to shoot lightning straight down your spine. Petting his head, you kept the hand around his length perfectly still, trying to keep a smile out of your voice when, sure enough, he began wriggling around in a matter of seconds, already in search for more. “Is it too much, Roro? Want me to stop?”
“No, no. It’s just…” He nuzzled further into your neck as if that would be enough of an answer, feeling his brainpower dwindle by the second when all the relief he craved was quite literally resting in the palm of your hand. A bliss he’d only just discovered, yet was already completely hooked on, unsure if he could ever go back to living without. “If you keep…doing that something’s gonna—ngh—!” He bit back the tremor that was making his words borderline incoherent. “Something’s gonna come out.”
“Something?” you echoed playfully. To make matters worse, you gave his length another cruel squeeze, much stronger than before and making his hands fly out to grab at you in a plea for mercy. “You mean your honey?”
Ororon made a low, miserable noise in the back of his throat, but nodded nonetheless. He may not have known much about this kind of intimacy—nor had he ever really cared much to, in all honesty—but he did know two things. First; that finishing too quickly was generally frowned upon. Second; you’d given him all but a single stroke, and he’d already reached his limit. It was a wonderfully uncomfortable problem to have, an ache pounding at the confines of his skin, tightening up his muscles in ways he’d never known they could. He wondered if the sheer intensity of his dilemma had managed to transfer to you like some kind of telepathic spell, because you seemed acutely aware that one more flick of your wrist would have him cumming all over himself before you’d even touched him properly.
When you spoke again, it was barely above a whisper, but it rang out loud and clear in Ororon’s ears, a chill reverberating right down to his very bones. “It’s okay, baby. You can let it out for me.”
As if pushing a command button, your thumb pressed against the dripping underside of his cockhead, and with a sharp cry, he did exactly as you said. Hands that had been so hesitant to reach for you before, now fisted at your shirt in an iron grip as his entire body shuddered against you, a mix of grunts and curses spilling hot against your neck that sounded so deliciously foreign coming from him. You could feel every wave of his climax passing through his length, every throb spurting out another rope until your hand was coated with his release. There was so much of it, thick and pearly white like he’d been holding it back for years. Another testament to his purity, in an odd sort of way.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed that way, rubbing the back of his neck as he panted heavily into yours, still working to get his breaths under control even long after his high had ebbed.
“Everything alright?” you asked softly.
One of his ears swiveled to let you know that he’d heard. Not quite ready to face you yet, he opted for humming into your shoulder, so shy in comparison to the obscene sounds he’d been making moments ago. “Mhm. Sorry.”
“Sorry? Why?”
He hesitated, stiffening a bit when you used your clean hand to tug him up by his hair so that he had no choice but to look at you. The flush on his face had yet to fade, reminiscent of days when he’d spent more time working in the sun than his nocturnal skin was accustomed to. In a direct contrast, his pupils were blown wide as moons, dilated and alert to a degree that you only ever witnessed at night, at his most active. When he spotted the rivulets of his seed dripping from your fingers, they sealed shut in a flash, thick eyelashes shielding him from the depraved sight like a protective veil.
“I got you dirty,” he said sheepishly. "Like a beautiful carrot covered in pests."
It was difficult not to let a puff of laughter slip at that. From your perspective, it was very much you who had gotten him dirty, in a manner that wasn’t quite as obvious as the fluid coating your hand. Even with his vision obscured, he could picture exactly what you were doing when he heard the squelch of your sticky fingers spreading in front of his face, like you were showing off some kind of prize. “It's as natural as the soil you plant with, baby," you reassured him in the way you figured he'd understand best. "Besides, I told you to, didn’t I? You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
He cracked one eye open, relieved to find your face smiling warmly back at him, void of any hints of scorn. “I didn’t mess it up?”
“Of course not. You were such a good boy for me. Listened so well with those sharp little ears,” you praised him, tucking his softening length carefully back into his underwear and leaning in to kiss his forehead for good measure. “Let’s stop here for today, okay?”
Despite how utterly wrecked he’d become after just a stroke and a half of your hand, part of him still looked ready to protest, to insist that he could keep going until he compensated for every ounce of his inexperience.
“Are you sulking?” You tilted his chin up with a chuckle, and when he met your eyes, he found them swimming with a fondness that he’d never been able to wrap his head around. “Don’t worry, there's still lots I wanna teach you. You're a fast learner.”
Ororon wanted to say something to impress you, to promise that he would do better next time. But with the way your words alone were enough to have his dick twitching with interest again, he got the sense that no matter how many lessons you gave him, he’d never learn how to last very long.
this is so real !! you’re not even dating yet, he hasn’t worked up the courage to ask you to go check out that coffee shop nearby, but he’s oh so in love with you. completely stunned with the way you move, talk, head over heels with watching you hang out with your friends. his friends, on the other hand, are busy laughing at him, cackling as he hastily places his jacket over his lap. he doesn’t mind though, he doesn’t even listen to them because he’s so entranced with how good your legs look in these shorts.
he knows he’s being a real loser, a gross one at that, but he’s just so nervous. you don’t put two and two together, thankfully, and you just think he has a deeply rooted adversity against you, with the way he avoids you like the black plague. what you don’t know, is that he spends his nights pawing at his cock, desperately trying to relieve himself but he just can’t stop leaking sticky fluid, tip all red and angry and balls still heavy with cum. he thinks he’s a perv, he definitely is, with the way his eyes fly down to your tits and ass as you walk by.
but he can’t help it, you just look so soft, so perfect, and he just quickens the pace as the fantasizes about making sweet, sweet love to you. or maybe you’d beg him to go faster, harder, to treat you like a slut and… no, a cute girl like you deserves to be fucked nice n slow, no teasing, he’d make you his very own pillow princess, yes, he’ll take really good care of you…
oh, he really should ask you out. what will you think though? will you be grossed out by him? have you noticed the bulge in his pants, sitting heavily on his crotch? you’ll hate him, of course you will, so he figures it’ll be best to stick to jerking off at night, brain flowing with lewd scenarios of you. but when you appear in front of him, cheeks flushed and sweet words telling him how much you like him, he thinks this is a dream come true.
sub roomie kinich who gets so heavily flustered and flushed when you leave kiss stains on his inner thighs
🎮 afk
an: suggestive ! roomie kinich x gender neutral reader
"what are you doing..."
kinich softly whines under his breath, his hand trembling as his grip on his mouse tightened—eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he really tries to focus on his game.. really tries to ignore the fact that you are under his table right now..
you don't respond, only giving a small smile as your hands slowly bring up the edge of his shorts, the soft skin of his inner thighs peeking through.
"oh, nothing." you sing, placing a gentle, innocent kiss on his knee.
he swallows, eyes still focused on the screen along with the click clack click! of his keyboard.
kinich's fingers stutter over the keys, a mistyped command sends his character hurling himself off a cliff mid-game.
... coupled with how your lips leaves another kiss, lingering higher now..
"shit—" he gasps, he reallyyy should be pulling away.. his win streak is at stake here..!!
yet he finds himself spreading his thighs just a tad bit,
you hum, placing another kiss to the soft, sensitive flesh just below his inner thigh, a whimper tears through his lips before he could stop himself.
"you're.. you're being unfair..." he whimpers, thighs twitching.
he feels you smile against his skin, followed by the feeling of your lips trailing higher.. and higher... slow and deliberate.
"fu—fuck," he grits his teeth, thighs tensing under your touch as you leave a perfect red kiss mark just beneath the hem of his shorts in the middle of his inner thigh. the red also perfectly matching with how red his cheeks are right now.
"focus on the match now, gamerboy." you taunt, looking up at him through your lashes.
he looks down at you with a glare that you really can't take seriously when the color of his face currently matches with the color of your lipstick.
kinich opens his mouth to retort with a smartass reply, only for the words to immediately die on his tongue the second you press another sweet, achingly gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh.
"nnh—stop m.. messing around!" he hisses weakly, hips twitching instinctively as he grips on the arm rest of his gaming chair to keep himself from yanking you closer.
the words flash bright on the monitor, almost as if mocking him;
GAME OVER.
he groans, back slumping against the chair as his full attention focuses on you now—his chest heaves, eyebrows furrowed as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes, face cherry red.
he's a mess, ruined just from your lips alone.
"i was so close," he whines softly, voice low. "i was so close to winning."
you chuckle, "not my fault you crumble so easily from kisses like some teenager."
he huffs, not even bothering to retort—how can he think of anything when you're kneeling so prettily between his legs? with his shorts hiked up and his thighs now marked by you?
"you're so mean.." he breathes out,
you hum, placing one last fleeting kiss on the top of his thigh as you prepare to stand up.
"w—wait, where are you going..?" kinich's breath hitches, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he weakly grabs your wrist,
you give him a questioning glance.
his voice is hoarse, breathy, desperate all at once.
"c'mon.. you can't just—leave me like this." he pleads, looking at you with glassy, pleading eyes.
when you don't reply, he only whines softly—his fingers curling into your hair.
"don't stop now.. please?" he whispers.
you've got him right where you want him.
won't you indulge in your favorite roomie's request?
watching kinich jerk off n hes nervous about it 🙏🙏
NSFW content below the cut // old ass ask 😞
fuckfuckfuckfuck why are you looking at him like that?! fuck he feels like he's gonna cum already if you tend to keep watching that intently!
there was nothing wrong in getting 'confortable' in your own room but it was another thing if you got caught jerking it to your roommate.
but damn this whole watch him get off to the thought of you thing was making him real sensitive now. no way— was he really turned on by.. the mere thought of it?!
yes to tldr!! because he was caught like a bitch in heat, moaning your name oh-so-sweetly, thinking you wouldn't hear but there you were. on the edge of the bed, and observing his fingers slowly move up and down his shaft.
"no need to be so slow just because I'm watching you know." he only flushes harder hearing your words, but if he goes too fast than what he can handle right now, he feels like he's gonna explode!!
"buuut... you know.. that's fine.. I could.. always help you though." ahhh fuck what a loser you'll think of him, his dick just spurting out a load hearing that sentence. you'd really help?
he didn't let out a single damn moan, kinich was too embarassed to face you after what just happened. his head still thrown back out of pleasure, his back forming a perfect arch.
yet another warm, strong grip was felt on his cock. he immediately sprung back up— "what- what're you doing, (name)?!" the sudden panic sets in, yet it felt so pathetic as he tried to move away but the friction against your hand was too much for him to handle.
"look like you want help. and i'll give it pretty boy. don't worry." he wasn't one to submit but damn were you hot when in control. he shrunk back to his original position and let you stroke his member instead. it'd probably feel a lot better anyway.
and better it was—the euphoric feeling of your digits running over all seven inches, and teasing the slit of his dick. he actually just might cum all over your palm if you keep stroking it like how you are right now.
"ahhn—(name)..." his face scrunched up in pleasure, your touch lasting longer as it romaed over the tip of his shaft.
"soooo good right? you like the way that feels?" and all he can really do is hum, hum that slowly turns to a moan as he tries to find the letters of your name.
AHH I LOVE UR WRITING SO MUCH :3 can I please request edging sub!kinich??
“love how you got me #speechless…” — sub! kinich x gn! reader
there was just something about making your boyfriend kinich beg for it. it’s adorable really, the way his usually deep voice would uncharacteristically peak,
or how his back would arch up into your hand—desperate for friction when the rush of his climax fades to ashes again, making him whine.
small tears would well up in his eyes, “mmfgh… p—please, [name] m’begging y- you…! ahhn-“
his moan quickly getting cut off with the sudden quick stroke, your fist now in contact with his base. his tip angry n’ pink— you swear you could see such pretty beads of white leaking from his cock,
kinich only leans his head against your shoulder, you’re sat in front of him like a doll, sitting so closely to his rock-hard shaft, your finger teasingly rubs the clearly prominent veins that reach all over his length,
“f—uuck! mmn, p-please… baby, i-i’m… s’fuckin’ cl- close again…”
“mhm, but i want my good boy to come when j say so, okay?”
you swear you could feel him twitch in your palm when you say that, his face covered in dark hues, his hair messy and disheveled.
all you could feel in the air was how thick the atmosphere had gotten, it was cute whenever his brows would knit together—it was his tell when he was getting closer!
“jus’ hold it okay? m’jus gonna count ‘till five. and when i reach five, you can come,”
you place a soft kiss onto his forehead before moving your hand again, a long groan leaves his throat as he nods. heavy breaths leave him with a clear desperation in his tone,
“one…”
your voice starts out soft, whispering it so softly into his ear while leaning in to place more kisses on his cheek.
small whimpers leave him as his canines bite down onto his lower lip, trying to keep the rush of heat at bay; he only has an even harder time when you start to stroke a little faster,
“twooo…”
now your fingers focused on massaging his cockhead, making him hang his head back, his other hand momentarily covering his mouth, kinich is putty in your hands with how nice your warm palm feels like.
“fu… ck—mmn,” “can you keep going?”
“yes! yesyesyes, i can!”
his voice was quick and filled with desire, you could tell from the way his chest was heaving so hurriedly when he started to let out soft mewls of your name under his breath.
most would consider it almost a prayer with how fast he was trying to mutter each syllable,
“two—“
his eyes are shot wide when he realizes what you’re doing. fuck.
“haah- p-please, i can’t…”
“can’t handle it? aww, but i thought you were my good boy, kin’…”
the shine in your eye immediately got him to cave, swallowing hard, his adam’s apple bobs as he shakes his head, “nonono, i-i can handle it…”
“good.”
pressing a kiss onto his lips, it felt hungry—rather aggressive, thrusting himself up into your hand,
a string of shared saliva is made as you’re pulling away, “three,”
god your voice alone would be enough for kinich to come right here and now.
“ahh… hnnghaah—“ his moans continued to drag out the more your fingers would play with his cockhead, letting out a choked moan when you rub your thumb against his slit that’s already oozing a greedy line of precum.
“aww, you’re just the cutest…”
for a moment, you bring your thumb up to your mouth and lick it before going in to kiss him one more time.
your hand returns to palm his erection again, more obscene sounds being let out into the deep kiss you had kinich locked into, it was pathetic how well he was taking you.
only leaving his mouth for a moment to continue your count—“four.”
your tongues intertwine again, his heartbeat had raised a while ago, you could practically hear the way both of your heart were beating out your chests,
“mmmn—four—haah…”
kinich tenses in your hands, almost waiting for your command when-
“five.”
long strings of pearly white seed spray up, the rush of warmth he had been so desperately keeping down finally releasing alongside the prolonged moans of your name;
some of him getting onto his stomach and your own, you pull him in for one more lazy kiss.
i love ur kinich stuff i just found them :3 feel free to ignore this if u dont think that a lot of people would like it but I kinda want to see how kinich would deal with a perverted on the down-low reader that is especially happy to find out the nightsoul markings he carries cross over to his dihh 😏
id say this reader isnt a native to natlan and only knows about nightsoul markings where they are most visible instead of those.. intimate areas. anyway ty for reading 😏
. . . 𝝑𝝔 " YOU GOT ME DOWN ON MY KNEES " kinktober day idk i just be posting
❀ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈） synopsis. freaky s/o & kinich shenanigans
❀ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈）pairings. kinich x gn!afab!reader
❀ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈）director's notice. lowkey my tism rn is ace attorney oml
❀ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈）warnings. nsfw, perverted reader, blowjob, kind of sub!kinich, riding, kinich lwk a bum, reader is tuff and stays on top, kind of nightsoul play bye.
kinich is... surprised to say the least.
the first time you both met, mualani introduced you whilst you stumbled over your words, flustered with darker shades growing on your cheeks. you were adorable to him; what.. was this sudden change?
or... were you always like this?
i mean not that he were to complain, but obviously he wouldn't expect who mualani described to be a very shy person to be so... freaky?
kinich was taken off-guard with how addicted you were to seeing his cock glow in your mouth as you swallowed it whole. fuck—did you even have a gag reflex? no normal person can down his member that fast.
kinich who had his head thrown back while combing his fingers through your hair, groans prolonged and spilling from his mouth like a river with water.
"f—fuck, doing a.. a real g-good job, love.. ssshit—" and gosh you loved when his hand gripped hard at your hair while you continued to down his cock into your throat. and him?
his own thighs shook a little in anticipation at the plethora of soft kisses you pressed around his pretty cock, fingers tracing the rise and fall, sending shivers down your raven-head's spine.
he felt fuckin' ethereal, subconsciously activating his nightsoul with how great you were with head, no way he was your first.... right? your mouth felt so warm, and when he could feel your tongue circling his tip while your hand squeezed his base? he felt like cumming on your face right here and now.
or when you slid on your tongue on the sides of his dick, and had your free hand massage his balls? he felt... fucking powerless. powerless and turned on.
the same was felt when you had him pinned onto the bed, your back arched perfectly while riding his huge cock up and down, tears trickled in the edge of his eyes.
"nnh- sweet... ha.. h—heart i... think my dick g'na snap t.. sshit— the f-fuck off me if you keep r—ridin' me t.. this hard..."
the beads of sweat went down the sides of his forehead, only thickening the musky scent of this room. velvety moans left your glossy lips, leaving a hand over the large bulge in your stomach every time his member entered inside you.
your hips kept his down into the bed, the usual headwear he had on his hand had tied his wrists down, he only felt himself rearing his head into the bed again, but who wouldn't when your hips pistons into his own, although your own thighs quivered every time they slapped against his skin—you felt your own eyes rolling back to the back of your head.
"haa... y-you like... feeling like this d—don't you, baby?" you let out a small laugh in between all your moans. "you l-like it when y—you're my little toy to b—break..." you leaned forward and whispered into his ears, and you could feel his dick growing inside you even more than before.
"aw, nnh- you... mmf.. like it when i say t—that, pretty boy?"
he felt like an absolute loser. a servant who's accepting scraps from his master, and honestly was all for it. yes he was your pretty boy. yes he likes it when you treat him like your dildo, yes please keep using him like he is one!
a small hum emitted from his throat, his head nods as your lips crash into his. teeth scraping against each other without a care in the world, tongues intertwined while you rode him even faster than earlier.
you pulled away, looking down at the messy around the base of his cock, ans not to mention how brightly his dick glew inside you—fuck you felt like cumming.
"h—holy fuck... mmf, cum for me, prince—" you exclaimed before your entrance clenched hard around his cock, as his seed spurts inside you. his voice cracks as he lets out a long moan in unison with yours.
...
"i didn't know you liked being called a gpod boy." "..s—shut up."
Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.
or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.
Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back
An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.
Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.
But he was okay.
Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.
Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.
And he did such a good job at it.
The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.
The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.
It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.
But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.
Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.
He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.
Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”
“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.
Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.
“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.
“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”
“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”
“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”
“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”
Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”
Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.
“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.
As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.
In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.
“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.
Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”
“Sebastian!”
A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.
“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”
“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.
“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”
That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.
“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.
“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.
Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”
Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.
Well, at least one of them is.
He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.
The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.
“I was thinking –”
“Please don’t,” he groans.
“Why have you two never dated?”
Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.
“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.
“Because! When I think about it …”
Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.
“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”
Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.
“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”
If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.
“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall. “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”
Garreth winks.
“We’re still accepting members.”
He’s decided.
He needs to kill Garreth.
He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.
“Why have you two never dated?”
Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.
“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.
“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”
He stands up, escaping.
Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.
It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:
“Where’s the rest of you?”
He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”
She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”
Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.
Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.
That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.
“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”
He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”
Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.
Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.
It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.
But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.
He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush.
And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.
So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.
Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.
The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone?
It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.
It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face.
But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.
His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.
She can’t be that reckless, right?
He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.
There goes his late-night plan.
It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.
But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.
How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.
With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.
His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.
Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.
“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”
You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.
“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”
She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”
“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”
You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”
Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.
Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.
He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.
He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”
“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.
He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.
“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.
Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.
Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.
But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.
“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.
He smiles.
He was satisfied, he swore he was.
Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.
But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.
He feels it win.
“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.
“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”
“And?”
Leander was right: he really is a bastard.
But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.
“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”
Sebastian Sallow as Your Boyfriend Headcanons: Hogwarts Legacy
The Slytherin Boyfriend Things
- Sebastian has a reputation and he knows it. Half of Hogwarts thinks he's brooding and dangerous, the other half thinks he's charming and reckless, and he is absolutely both depending on the day. What nobody expected was how soft he'd get around you specifically. His friends noticed first. He noticed second. He pretended not to notice for another two weeks after that.
- Sebastian is an acts of service person who will never admit he's an acts of service person. He just happens to have already gotten your books from the library before you remembered you needed them. He just happens to know your class schedule well enough to walk you there. He just happens to have your favorite thing from the Great Hall already at your seat. Coincidence. Every time.
- Holds your hand like it's a decision he made and fully committed to. Not loosely, not absently — fingers properly laced, thumb moving in slow circles. If you try to pull away to gesture while talking he'll just recapture your hand mid-sentence without breaking eye contact with whoever he's speaking to.
- Walks on the outside of corridors when you're side by side. You pointed it out once and he shrugged and said "old habit" and absolutely would not elaborate. It is not an old habit. He started doing it the second week you were together.
The Morally Grey Side
- Sebastian has a…. flexible…. relationship with rules and a very firm relationship with his own moral code, and those two things are not always the same. He will not apologize for the things he's done. But he will sit with you in the quiet aftermath and let you say whatever you need to say, and he'll listen in that still, serious way he has when something actually matters to him.
- If someone hurts you — genuinely hurts you — Sebastian goes very calm in a way that is not actually calm at all. His voice gets quiet. His expression smooths out. You've learned this particular stillness means you should probably hold his arm and redirect him before he does something that can't be undone.
- He justifies everything he does through love. That's the thing about him… the darkness doesn't come from cruelty, it comes from devotion taken too far. Loving him means understanding that his worst choices have always been with someone's name behind them. Now that name might be yours, and that is equal parts moving and terrifying.
The Soft Side of Sallow
- Terrible at sitting still unless he's with you. Alone he's always moving, thinking, restless. Beside you he'll just... stop. Lean back, let his shoulder press against yours, and actually rest in a way that looks unfamiliar on him, like a skill he's only recently learned.
- Writes you notes in the margins of shared books. Not sweet nothings — Sebastian is not a sweet nothings person — but commentary. Observations. Little arguments with the text that he clearly wanted to have with you specifically. "This character is an idiot. You would've handled it better." You started writing back. The book became its own conversation.
- His laugh around you is different than his laugh around everyone else. The public one is easy, performative, handsome. The one you get is shorter and more surprised, like you caught him off guard, like he forgot to be composed. You collect those moments privately.
- Says "I was thinking about you" instead of "I missed you." For Sebastian it's more intimate. He's telling you his mind went there on its own, that you've taken up residence somewhere in him he didn't plan for.
- Will sit in comfortable silence with you for hours and consider it a perfect evening. For someone so constantly on, the fact that he can be quiet with you is something he values enormously even if he's never said so directly.
The Romantic Gestures
- His idea of a date is often technically against school rules. Abandoned corridors, restricted sections, rooftops you're not supposed to be on. He always has a reason — better view, no one will bother us, trust me — and the annoying thing is it's always worth it. Especially when his plans are less than appropriate for public places and prying eyes…..
- Gave you his Slytherin scarf in October with zero ceremony. Just unwound it from his neck, looped it around yours, said "you were shivering" and kept walking. You still have it. He has never asked for it back. He will never ask for it back.
- Remembers everything you've mentioned wanting to see or do and then makes it happen quietly, weeks later, without referencing that he remembered. You'd have to be paying very close attention to connect the dots. You are paying very close attention.
- His compliments come out sideways. Not "you're beautiful" but "I don't know how you're supposed to concentrate in that classroom when you're sitting there looking like that." Not "you're brilliant" but "honestly it's a little annoying how quickly you work things out." Flustered Sebastian is the only Sebastian who pays straight compliments, and you've made something of a game out of getting there.
The Complicated Heart of It
-He carries Anne like a weight stitched into his chest and he always will. You knew this going in. Loving Sebastian means making room for that grief, not competing with it. On the days it pulls him under he gets quieter, shorter, retreats behind that Slytherin composure like armor. You've learned to just stay close on those days. Not fix it. Just stay.
- He is terrified of losing people. He won't say it. But it shows in the way he checks that you're still beside him, the way his hand finds you in crowds, the way he says goodbye like he's making sure it sticks. You've made a private promise to always come back, to always say I'm here. He's never told you how much that matters. You know anyway.
- Loves you in a way that's slightly too large for him to contain gracefully. It spills out in the service and the notes and the scarf and the rooftops and the stillness. He is not a perfect person and he will make choices that frustrate you and he is working on it in the way that people work on things when they genuinely want to be better for someone.
- The day he actually says I love you… not sideways, not deflected, just plainly… you will know he's been carrying it for a very long time. It will land accordingly.
That was the first thing Professor Fig had told you, back when you were still new to Hogwarts, still learning what it meant to carry something this old inside you — it isn't emotional, it isn't personal, it responds to need and instinct, nothing more.
Professor Fig had, with respect, never met Sebastian Sallow.
It started small. It always did, with him.
It was the third week of term, Defense Against the Dark Arts, the two of you partnered for practical. It was nothing unusual, you'd been paired before, Sebastian was good and he knew it and he made an excellent partner if you could tolerate the running commentary on everything.
You could tolerate it. You were used to it. You had — and this was the part you were working very hard not to examine too closely — you had organized your entire Hogwarts experience around being used to Sebastian Sallow.
The practical magical application had been fine.
Normal.
You'd managed the shield charm, he'd followed with the counter, the exercise was going smoothly — and then he'd leaned over your shoulder to correct your wand angle, his hand over yours, his voice low and close because the classroom was loud and he needed you to hear him, and the ancient magic had surged.
Not dangerously. Not explosively. Just... a visible ripple, silvery-black and unbidden, flickering across your outstretched hand like something waking up in a hurry.
Sebastian had stepped back, glanced down at your hand, and then back up at you.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," you blurted, "Fluctuation."
"That wasn't a fluctuation, that was—"
"Sebastian." You lowered your wand, "It's fine."
He'd let it go. Mostly.
It happened again in the library.
You were across from each other at your usual table — the one in the back corner Sebastian had claimed like territory on your third week and defended from other students through the power of his general demeanor. You were trying to focus on Potions theory while Sebastian was trying to focus on the same and also, apparently, on a separate activity that involved watching you read with his chin in his hand and his own book open in front of him as a prop.
You hadn't noticed the watching part. You found out about it later.
You were aware only of looking up to ask him something. It was something about the Dittany passage, something textual and genuinely academic — and finding him already looking at you, closer than you'd gauged, because the light was low and you hadn't realized how much you'd both been leaning over the same surface until you were abruptly eye-level with him at approximately fourteen inches of distance and he was—
He was looking at you with an expression you didn't have a precise name for. Attentive in a specific way. Not the way he looked at a difficult spell or an interesting problem. Something else.
The ancient magic crackled, silvery-bright, and your ink spilled.
Neither of you moved for a second.
Then Sebastian looked at the spreading ink, looked at your hand, and something shifted in his expression. You couldn't read it fast enough.
"Sorry," you apologized, grabbing parchment to mop it up, "I don't know why it keeps—"
"Does it happen often?" he questioned with a tilt of his head. It was still in that tone... Thoughtful.
"No," you stated, too quickly.
"Just recently?"
"Can we—" you gestured at the ink— "this is a mess, can we address the mess."
He helped with the ink. He didn't bring it up again that night.
You could feel him thinking about it, which was almost worse.
Sebastian Sallow, when he decided to figure something out, was genuinely dangerous.
This was a trait you'd always admired in him. He was relentless and curious and he followed a thread until he had the whole thing unraveled. That was most of what made him brilliant in the field, it was most of what made him difficult in an argument, and it was turning out to be a serious personal problem for you when you were the thing he'd decided to figure out.
He started testing it. You realized this later. Much, much later.
The first test was probably the Great Hall, the morning after the library incident, when he sat down across from you at breakfast — which he did every day, this was not new — but he sat down and instead of immediately stealing your copy of whatever you were reading, he just said good morning and smiled over at you. It was his standard charmer grin. His smile, which you had spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time cataloguing over the past months.
The ancient magic warmed along your fingertips, starting to leak out of its own accord.
You put your hands under the table.
Sebastian's expression turned into a knowing smirk. He said nothing, but he looked all too satisfied as he poured his coffee.
The second test was the covered bridge.
You'd been walking back from Hogsmeade, the two of you and Ominis — and then, abruptly, just the two of you, because Ominis had said something about forgetting his things at Honeydukes and departed with the suspicious efficiency of someone who had not, in fact, forgotten anything.
"Ominis is terrible at excuses," Sebastian stated with a boyish laugh.
"He really is," you agreed.
The bridge in winter was cold and clean, the valley below wrapped in low cloud, and you walked beside Sebastian with your hands in your cloak pockets and tried to be a normal person who was not having any particular feelings about the proximity. It didn't help that every time the wintery breeze slipped across your face, you caught a whiff of his intoxicating cologne.
He waited until you were halfway across the bridge— until there was nowhere to usefully redirect yourself — and then he said, conversationally, "You're doing it again."
You looked down. A faint shimmer, ancient magic bubbling up at the edges of your fingers inside your pockets, just barely visible.
"It's cold," you stated defensively.
"Ancient magic doesn't respond to temperature."
"You don't know that."
"I've read everything written on the subject in the Hogwarts library," he replied slyly, which was probably true, "It doesn't respond to temperature."
"There could be things not in the library."
"There could be," he agreed, pleasantly, "but that's not what this is, is it?" He looked at you sidelong, "I have a theory."
"I don't want to hear your theory."
"I think—"
"Sebastian, I genuinely and sincerely don't—"
"I think it's emotional," he stated with a knowing smirk, "Your magic specifically."
The ancient magic flickered, bright and obvious and deeply treacherous, and Sebastian watched it happen with an expression you finally had a name for, standing on that bridge in the winter cold.
Satisfied.
He looked satisfied.
"That's very interesting," he stated teasingly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"It's not interesting, it's a calibration issue, I've been working on it—"
"What were you thinking about just now?"
"Potions," you blurted out, fast, and a complete lie.
"Were you?" He stated in a tone that very much showed he did not believe a word you were saying, with a raised brow, stepping closer to you.
"I'm always thinking about Potions."
"You hate Potions."
"I have a complicated relationship with—"
"What were you thinking about," he stated again, and his voice had dropped into the register it went when he was being deliberately patient, the one he used when he already knew the answer and was giving you the chance to get there yourself, and you wanted, sincerely, to be anywhere else.
"The view," you redirected with another lie finally, with great dignity, "I was thinking about the view."
Sebastian looked at the valley, stepping even closer, before turning his gaze down to meet your eyes, "The view. huh?"
"It's a nice bridge."
He said nothing for a moment.
Then — and this was the beginning of the problem, this was the point where things shifted from Sebastian figuring something out into Sebastian doing something deliberate with what he'd figured out— he leaned even closer into your space, and he reached over, and he tucked a piece of hair back from your face that the wind had pulled loose.
Simple.
Quiet.
His fingers brushed your cheek, before setting on your jaw tilting your chin up towards his heated gaze.
As if that was the que it was waiting for, your ancient magic surged outward.
Not a flicker.
Not a shimmer.
A full, rolling surge of silvery-blackish- blue that ran from your hands to your shoulders and lit the air around you both like something that had been waiting for permission, and you made an absolutely undignified sound and stepped back and the light faded and Sebastian was looking at you with his hand still raised where it had been, an expression of pure, unholy delight spreading across his face.
"Oh," he gasped out with a delighted grin.
"Don't."
"Oh, that's—"
"Whatever you're about to say—"
"That is very, very interesting."
"Sebastian."
"It's emotional," he exclaimed, like a man announcing the results of a very successful experiment, "Very specifically emotional," He tilted his head, "Maybe... about someone very specific."
"I'm leaving," you said, your tone very embarrassed, "I'm going back inside."
"We're in the middle of the bridge."
"I'll manage."
You started quickly walking towards the castle. He easily fell into step beside you with the confidence of someone who had just won something and was in no hurry about it.
"You don't have to be embarrassed," he stated gently.
"I'm not embarrassed."
"Your magic literally just—"
"It was wind interference."
"It was not wind—"
"Sebastian, if you finish that sentence, I will find a very advanced curse—"
"In the restricted section? Because I know where—"
"I hate you," you groaned out, which was the least true thing you'd said in months, and he knew it, which was the worst part.
He behaved for exactly three days.
You knew, in retrospect, that he was recalibrating. Regrouping. This was what Sebastian did when he had new information — he took it somewhere quiet and figured out what to do with it, and the outcome was never in your favor when the subject was something he wanted.
Three days of normal. Of him being the same Sebastian he'd always been, which meant present and sharp and occasionally insufferable but not doing the thing, not touching your face or looking at you in that particular way or saying your name in the raspy register that made your magic forget its academic obligations.
You started to relax.
This was your mistake.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, Friday afternoon.
New unit: advanced curse-breaking, another practical component. You needed a partner. Sebastian appeared at your elbow with his wand already out, because of course he did.
"Ready?" he called over to you.
"For the exercise," you said, precise.
"Of course," He quipped, perfectly neutral, "What else."
The exercise involved taking turns — one person cast a moderate binding curse, the partner broke it, technical and controlled. You went first. He broke your curse easily, because he was 'Crossed Wands Champion Sebastian Sallow' and also because it had been moderate.
Then... it was his turn.
His curse hit cleanly and you worked through the counter, focused, and you got it on the second try and he watched you do it with an expression of — you checked — genuine quiet pride, which was actually his resting expression when you did something well, and you had spent months pretending not to notice this but you noticed, Merlin knows you always noticed, and your ancient magic stirred warmly.
"Good," he praised. Simple word. Your magic pulsed.
He saw it gleefully.
You watched him clock the tiny shimmer at your hands and make an immediate, apparently involuntary decision.
"Really good," he purred, lower, and the ancient magic responded with the enthusiasm of something that had no sense of self-preservation.
"Sebastian," you warned quietly.
"I'm complimenting your curse-breaking."
"You are doing something else with your voice while you compliment my curse-breaking."
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"You know exactly what I—"
"Should we go again?" he interrupted, all innocence, and cast the binding before you could finish the sentence, and you were so distracted that you missed the counter completely and the curse ran up your arm and he looked catastrophically pleased about this, stepping in to help you break it himself. Sebastian dragged his hand up your wrist, and the ancient magic erupted, shimmering silvery blue from your elbow to your shoulder, and two other students looked over.
"Sorry," you called to the room, to the professor, to anyone, "Calibration issue."
Sebastian, beside you, said nothing. His hand was tracing along your wrist, thumb finding your pulse point with the careful precision of someone checking something, and your heartrate was not behaving, and he could probably feel that, and his expression was—
Delighted was still the word. But there was something else in it now. Something that had not been there on the bridge. Something that was watching you with the same heated focus he gave to things he wanted very much and had decided to pursue.
"Better?" he murmured lowly in your ear. About the curse. Possibly not about the curse.
"Fine," your response was high pitched and not at all helping your case.
"You're sure, pretty?"
"Sebastian."
"Because it looked like—"
"I will bind you to something," you retorted with an eye roll, "if you don't—"
"Hmm, kinky. You missed the counter completely," he mused, with tremendous fondness. "First time all term. What were you thinking about?"
You turned to look at him directly. He held your gaze with the particular steadiness of someone who had already won and was politely giving you the chance to arrive at that conclusion yourself.
"You're doing this on purpose," you wined, glaring up at him.
"I'm being a supportive partner."
"You used your voice—"
"I complimented you."
"You did it deliberately," you pouted, and his mouth curved up, and the ancient magic flickered between your joined hands like it was agreeing with you, "Oh, you are — this is unbelievable, you are using it on purpose—"
"I'm just being attentive," he blinked down at you innocently, "To your needs. Educationally."
"I will transfer to a different Defense section."
"No you won't."
"Watch me."
"Ronen's section has no windows," he pointed out, "You'd hate it. You always work facing the window."
You stared at him. The fact that he knew that — that he had filed it away, that he knew your habits the way you knew his, that this had been going on in both directions apparently, and he was standing here in the middle of class with his thumb over your pulse and ancient magic lighting up like a lantern between you—
The surge was bigger this time. Involuntary. Bright and warm and running all the way to your shoulder.
Sebastian looked at it, before turning his gaze back to you. The teasing thing softened at the edges.
"I figured it out," he added, quieter. Not performing now. Just him, just Sebastian, looking at you like you were the most interesting thing he'd encountered in his entire academically voracious life, "Took me a while."
"You figured it out immediately," you stated flatly.
"I suspected immediately. I wanted to be sure."
"And now you're sure."
"Very." His thumb was still on your pulse, as he gave you a boyish grin. "For what it's worth." A pause. "Mine does something similar."
You looked at him, "You don't have ancient magic."
"No," he said simply. "But my heart rate spikes just like yours does when I look at you."
The Defense classroom carried on around you — spells and counters, the general orchestrated chaos of forty students practicing curses — and Sebastian Sallow stood in the middle of it with his hand around your wrist and looked at you like a solved theorem, like something he'd been working on for months and was very satisfied to have proven.
Your ancient magic settled into a warm, steady glow that showed no signs of going anywhere.
For once, you didn't try to make it.
Ominis, when you found him after class, stated, "Finally," with great feeling and no further elaboration.
Sebastian grabbed your books with one arm, slipped his free hand in yours, and looked insufferably pleased.
Sebastian Sallow suffered from a chronic case of ‘being in the right place at the right time.’
Was he miffed about the diagnosis? Absolutely not. Not when it made him privy to a conversation like that, with, not to mention, the notable bonus of coming to understand the purpose of the strange, blue artifact. Sebastian chuckled to himself, thumbing over the star’s sanded edge.
Your words had played over and over in his head, loudest of all being the ever-important way you’d said them. Call him crazy, but it had almost sounded like you’d enjoyed the dream, because, hold on, hear him out— Anne’s ‘yuck’ from the depths of her soul had gone notably absent of an ‘I know, right?’ on your part.
You and Anne were close, like sisters close, so to hear — in a way — he hadn’t in fact been auto-sorted into the dreaded ‘like a brother’ category, he figured his chances wouldn’t get any better than this.
You were, by nature, a quiet observer. You were calm and composed, thought about what you said before you said it, and carried yourself like a doe grazing gently in a clearing— only now Sebastian was beginning to suspect something else lurked beneath your amber coat.
Within the sanctity of your dream, you’d guided him behind you like he belonged there, and had spoken to him like he ought to know that. It was a combination he’d never seen, and frankly wouldn’t see, the likes of during the waking hours, a realization that had him cornering his resolve to visit you again tonight— find out what was behind the ‘kiss him or pants him’ look you’d shot him.
Sebastian pulled the Dreamvisitor from his pocket. He didn’t want to part from it, but all of him had to admit it was far safer beneath his pillow than in his pocket during a duel. The last thing he needed was it tumbling out of said pocket and rolling to the feet of today’s opponent. You.
He sighed, staring at the dormant star. Dueling had always cleared his mind, but something about last night, and the confirmation he was anxious for it to serve, threatened to bring a side of him to the fight he wasn’t sure he could control.
-~- You -~-
Crushing on someone, you’d decided, was both the best and worst thing that could happen to a person.
On the one end of it, the word ‘bored’ no longer existed in your vocabulary. History of Magic with Boring Bins? Decidedly not. History of Magic with your best friend’s hot brother? Decidedly so.
Then there was the worser half of it all. The half where you acted a bumbling fool in front of said best friend’s hot brother. You’d see him from afar, down the hall, or even across the table, and before you could say ‘a pixie picked a pack of pickled poppies,’ your heart was hammering, your throat was closing, and most infuriating of all, you couldn’t look him in the eyes.
The eyes were the window to one’s soul. Narrowed and cold, distant and guarded, warm and comforting… ack. It didn’t matter. All were traitorous. You could always rely on them to give away your opponent's next move, always… unless it was Sebastian Sallow.
Sebastian stood before you, big, brown, doe eyes eating at your resolve like you were sugar in water. Damn him. He was too hot for his own good, and with that characteristic smirk painted along his lips, you’d swear he knew it. You tore your gaze from his, salvaging what was left of your composure, and took a deep breath, silencing the humdrum from a crowd that had gathered along the Clock Tower wall.
“By majority vote, and a landslide at that, the Crossed Wands have named their most-desired duel: y/l/n vs Sallow!” Lucan called.
You shook the tension from your wrist, letting the magic slow your breathing, tame your heart. If you couldn’t get a hold of yourself, banish this elementary avoidance of one stupidly gorgeous pair of eyes; you had no hope of winning this thing.
“Duelists, take your marks!”
You took another deep breath and the crowd quieted.
He’s just a boy.
A thrumming wand.
Just your best friend’s annoying brother.
One opponent.
Who wants absolutely nothing to do with you.
One target.
Your gaze snapped up in time to the small spark that shot from Lucan’s wand into the rafters. With a crack, it exploded, showering embers that fell like smoking stars. Game on.
The smirk Sebastian had flashed you earlier held true. He struck first, snapping his wand in an attempt to throw your wand from your grasp.
“Expelliarmus!”
You tucked and rolled, letting it sap into the stone wall behind you as you headed for the center of the room. Once there, you landed on a bent knee and swept your wand up and through Levioso.
The spell soared towards him like a swallow over a field, but Sebastian summoned Descendo. Yellow clashed with purple, and the colors tore each other apart in a fantastical display of opposing forces. The crowd ‘ooo’d’ and ‘ahh’d,’ but you didn’t have time for sightseeing, not when the boy was raising his wand for another attack. You had to find his eyes, and though it cut your heart short of a full beat, you found them. Mischief. Jinx.
You stood to your feet, blocking the Levicorpus he cast at your feet— a jinx, but Levicorpus? He was really going to hoist you into the air by your ankle? In front of at least thirty students?
You tilted your head, allowing the addictive burn of revenge to lace itself into your magic.
“Confringo.”
The incantation pushed through your clenched teeth and the emotion incarnate roared to life, but Sebastian kept his eyes on you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you froze, helpless to the grin etching its way into his features as he let the flame barrel toward him. A game of chicken with a blasting curse? Bold, and a notch too attractive for you.
At the last second, Sebastian side-stepped the assault like a curtain blown aside by a gust of wind. He watched the fire blacken the stone as it feasted on dust that lay atop it before it wilted, starving to death, then turned back to you.
“Confringo?” He mouthed over the amusement that poured from him like smoke. Or was that pride? Whatever it was, that gaze had no right pooling heat between your legs during a duel.
Damn it! He was trying to get into your head. Toss that, he was in your head. You lashed out, flicking your wand through Flipendo.
Sebastian blocked the jinx and sent an Accio of his own in return. You pulled a shield over your frame, bracing for its impact, but it was what he did next that rendered your seasoned experience near innate.
Sebastian wormed his wand to the side and spun it, and the spell you should’ve blocked pivoted left. Spells didn’t do that. They remained true, but it turned out your fellow Slytherin was the Top Duelist for a reason.
Before you could track its movement, your feet were lifted from the floor beneath you as the spell sank into your back. Caught in a force that cascaded over your shoulders and wrapped around your waist, you were pulled toward the boy who had summoned you. You kicked furiously, catching the grooves of the stone with the tips of your shoes, but it was a fruitless pursuit.
Though not nearly as insulting as being upended by your ankle, hovering helplessly before Sebastian Sallow in front of a crowd of now nearly fifty had its qualms. For one, hearing students snicker, followed by the rattle of monetary exchange, had you refusing to come to terms with this being the outcome. And secondly, the way he was looking at you, victorious, smug, like you were his to manipulate… had molten lava surging through your veins in one direction and one direction only.
“Haven’t seen that one yet, now have we?” He taunted, soft locks falling to gravity as he looked up at you.
His dark eyes settled on yours. He was close. Too close. A breath away from his chin brushing your abdomen. He’d only ever been this close in your dreams, dreams that often ended with distance being a long-forgotten stranger— dreams that often had him speaking to you as he did now.
“Want something, princess?” He slithered.
You avoided his gaze, an attempt to shut him out that also served to refuse him what he wanted.
“Be a good girl and ask.”
You shuddered. Sensual arrogance was pouring out of him, and though every nerve in your body wanted to swallow all he had to give, you noticed something. Plucking up the courage to peer once more into those damned brown eyes, you found something flickered beneath it all. Call you crazy, but it almost looked like Sebastian could see right through you, knew what he was doing to you, and either of those being even a slight possibility scared the living shit out of you.
With a sudden jolt, you flexed a knee forward. Sebastian dodged the physical attack with expected grace, but hadn’t accounted for your foot that made contact with his wand. It clattered to the floor and you caught yourself in a crouch as his hold on you was broken. The crowd went silent, transactions frozen beneath stolen conversations as all eyes were pinned to you, including Sebastian’s, but you avoided them all, focusing on the chest at the end of your wand, and then the Clock Tower erupted with cheers.
Sebastian stood before you disarmed, shocked, and was starting to extend a hand of congratulations, but you ran. You ran, because faster than you could say ‘a pixie picked a pack of pickled poppies,’ your heart was hammering, your throat was closing, and scariest of all, your best friend’s older brother might just want something to do with you.
-~- Sebastian -~-
Sebastian stood dumbfounded in the center of the Clock Tower, wand still at his feet, eyes trained on the corridor you’d fled down. Confused with a dash of existential crisis. That’s what he was. He thought he’d finally caught on, and if he hadn’t, just what had been that moment where he’d held you over him? He’d seen the look in your eye. It had been brief, but it had been the one and the same one you’d given him in the Undercroft… the one he would never forget… There was no misinterpreting that look.
“Just what did you do now?” Anne asked, arms folded tighter than a boa constrictor.
Sebastian shook his gaze loose only to get caught in Anne’s suspicious stare, “Gee, I dunno, lost?”
His twin blinked about twenty times in ten seconds, “Don’t play dense, Sebastian.”
He pretended to rack his brain, even gave it a confused squint, but twin telepathy was real, and it was being exercised now.
“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried, hiding from her scrutiny in the interest of picking up his wand.
He stood, scrubbing at a scratch on the handle, then just about jumped out of his skin when he caught the look his sister had fixed to him— one she’d one hundred percent inherited from their mom.
“What did you say to her?”
His shoulders relaxed slightly. He could share some of that information.
“Haven’t seen that one yet, now have we?” He repeated.
“That’s it?”
He threw her a stiff, but wounded toss of his head, “Yes, Anne, that’s it.” A beat. She wasn’t buying it. “Now, am I free to go mourn the loss of my crown?”
Anne didn’t respond verbally. Instead, she pivoted her gaze toward the same hall he’d gazed down, looked back toward him, narrowed her eyes, and then turned to leave.
“I’m gonna go ask y/n,” she disclosed, and once she’d carried herself a liberal distance from her brother, called over her shoulder, “And Sebastian, please wipe the drool from your mouth, you love-sick puppy.”
Sebastian frowned and practically smacked himself with the back of his hand. It wasn’t wet. He wasn’t drooling? Wait— love-sick? Puppy? And ‘I’m gonna go ask y/n?’
“Anne, wait! Don’t you dare!”
“No dare, just doing!” She exclaimed, then skipped around the corner and out of sight.
* * *
Anne wasn’t the type to sabotage, that much Sebastian knew, but having zero idea as to what she’d said about him was damn near torture. Against his wishes, his mind had run through all the possible ways the conversation could’ve gone, and that, in combination with his vital desire to sleep, had dragged the sun through the sky like a troll’s club behind a troll.
But now, with candles extinguished and curtains drawn, Sebastian, for the first time in his academic career, was going to bed early. He lay on his side, staring at the star that shone deeply. Now knowing its purpose, the Slytherin was faced with the burden of making a choice that teetered atop one assumed fact: your unconscious mind was more comfortable with him than your waking one.
Sebastian was fighting a two-pronged battle. In his right hand, he wrestled the ethics of it all, and in his left, his carnal desire to dip into what he’d been teased with the previous night. Part of him understood it was wrong, but a greater part of him knew that just as in the waking world, he wouldn’t try anything you didn’t want him to. Your dreams were of your own conscience— it was you, and if you really didn’t want him that close, he’d back off, pocket the star for a life-or-death situation, and go with plan B, that is, take you to the hidden library— even if that was just as friends.
He sighed, content with his reasoning, and finally shut his eyes.
* * *
Sebastian’s eyes fluttered open over a languid intake of the cold, dungeon air. It was dark, and what he could see of his room was lit faintly by the blue glow that emanated from beneath his covers. He frowned. Had it not worked?
He felt for the star and pulled it out, but seconds before he could interrogate it, he noticed the empty side of the room that Ominis’ bed usually occupied. He was pretty sure that had been clear and present when he’d gone to sleep. Maybe it had worked. If so, where were you?
That’s when his attention was drawn to his open dorm room door, firelight spilling along the wall. Through there, likely.
He padded over to it, squinting against the orange light, and once his eyes adjusted, he found you sitting before the common room fireplace, the same one he’d met you in front of years ago. You were alone, wrapped inside what looked to be a bed sheet as you bit at your fingers nervously. This was a dream. It had to be, a fact made sure by the strange geography of the dorm, and because it was a dream, he needed to act like it wasn’t.
Sebastian knocked gently on a side table, “Y/n?”
You turned and met his eyes, “Hey, Sebastian.”
He smiled, enjoying the gaze he could never quite find, “Are you ok?”
A sigh, “Yeah, just missed you.”
Sebastian tied his brows down. Don’t react. Instead, he took that as a sign he could get closer. He rounded the sofa and joined you on the carpet a generous distance away, then remembered he could talk.
“Missed you too.” And he really did. He hadn’t been alone with you in Merlin knew how long.
You hummed, adjusting your grip on your bed sheet before you scooted closer to him and lay your head against his shoulder. While he was able to soften his shock, he was unable to stop the turn of his head. Your cover had slipped down the side of your arm, revealing the dark viridian top you wore. It was a lace of some sort, a single strap over your exposed shoulder that held up a small amount of silk over your bare chest. Sebastian swallowed, hard.
And then you caught him staring.
He snapped his head forward, burning his gaze in the flames for its crimes, but then your touch was turning his head back to you. It was soft, warm, and raised goosebumps where it landed. His lips parted over a shudder and his eyes fluttered in time to the chill that ran down his spine.
“Sebastian,” you called, and the velvet with which you’d said his name matched the look in your eyes.
It was The Look, and it rendered him mute. What was English? What was any language for that matter? He swallowed again, chancing a misdemeanor at your lips that earned him a smile, a gentle thumb along his cheek, and a look of your own at his. He leaned forward, hesitantly, mouth watering when your breath ghosted along his cheek, and then you kissed him.
Sebastian was unable to catch the voiceless whimper that escaped his throat. For how many years had he wanted this? Three? Three hundred? Three million? It felt like that latter, and that fact tethered dreams and reality into the one and only here and now.
It was so real, and Salazar be damned that this was a dream. For all intents and purposes, you’d kissed him, wanted to kiss him, and were kissing him now, and though he’d been trying to purge himself of carnal desires, the fact that you too were dreaming of this, feeling all of this, a hall and a door down, had him hiding its effect on him with a bent knee.
Then you mumbled his name against his lips.
“Sebastian~” It was soft, so soft and wanting, and it hit him far too hard between the legs for him to keep quiet.
He voiced a gentle groan, pulling away to steady himself before whatever this was pulled him under. He looked down at you and found your gaze again, one you held poisonously as your touch sailed down his neck and coiled around his tie.
You didn’t say anything, but the want that had been laced in your tone now veiled over your eyes. You were asking for something… asking for him. He leaned toward you, intent on giving you what you wanted, but then you fell backward on an elbow, pulling him over you. Sebastian huffed with disbelief, shared a smile with you, then let his lips capture yours once again.
He kissed you gently, content with your earlier pace. He sighed, settling a hesitant hand against your side and you moaned. He squeezed his grip, letting the mix of your cool silk and warm skin shove his reserve up, over, and out the window. His tongue, that had been tied down by precaution, worked loose and swiped along your bottom lip, begging to cradle your own. A sigh, another moan, and you let him have his way, shuffling beneath him as you pulled your cover from your frame. He wandered everywhere he could, up and around your back, along your torso, and down your hips.
“Perfect,” the thought slipped between kisses, “So perfect.” And then he was mouthing at your throat.
You gasped, letting the sensation pull you into a quiet cry that paired exquisitely with your fingers around his wrist, guiding his touch to your breast. Sebastian obeyed and sank into the flesh, a feeling that dipped his hips toward you, but he caught himself with a knee. Kissing you was everything, touching you, Nirvana, but that? Him? Between your legs? You’d have to verbally ask for that.
For now, he kept himself busy with your neck, sucking your skin between his teeth because he was positive his craftsmanship would remain a thing of only this world. The thought pulled him back. He wanted to see you marked by him, and was met with an agonizingly erotic sight. You lay beneath him, dazed by him, neck ravished by him, and the small top you’d worn had been pushed up, leaving your chest entirely exposed.
“Fucking hell,” he stuttered, and brushed his knuckles over you.
One caught the peak of your breast and you whimpered loudly. You’d liked that. Sebastian let a toothless grin settle onto his features and swiped a thumb over it. Another whimper. Gods, he loved those sounds, and so, lips parted, eyes blurring, he continued the ministration, drowning in your cries.
Your chest began to rise and fall in time to his attention, your eyes fought to stay open, and your lips parted perfectly over your melancholic distress.
“Does that feel good?”
He knew it did, but something about seeing you nod languidly at him felt more than right, and it seemed you felt the same. In addition to your response, you now rolled your hips toward him… and that… that had his cock twitching painfully between his legs. Still, he needed you to ask.
“Use your words, love,” he pleaded, “Tell me what you want.”
Your brows knit together at his request, but you gave in with a sigh, “You, Sebastian.”
The Slytherin shuddered. You wanted him, but he needed more.
“Me? What do you need from me?”
He held his breath, watching you struggle for the words given his touch hadn’t relented.
“I need, gods,” you whined, then lifted a heavy head to peer between him and you, “Sebastian, I need your cock.”
Your words hit him hard, but not as hard as your foot that kicked his knee out from beneath him. In one fell swoop, he landed between your legs, now a victim twice to that fatal kick of yours. All the oxygen in his being was punched from his lungs. Through trembling lips, he inhaled sharply, blinking through the stars in his vision as his hard cock pressed deliciously against your clothed cunt. You groaned, loudly, bottom lip taken between your teeth when he gave a hesitant roll of his hips.
“God fucking damn it,” he cursed.
It felt good. He rolled his hips again. Too fucking good. He wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.
Mind clouded with lust, he did what only felt natural. With a hand still on your breast, he let his lips attach to the other. He took the bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and earned himself a disastrous moan from you. You rounded your own hips into his, grinding against him to a rhythm that saw his climax approaching far too fast.
Gods, he was close.
“Y/n, wait, I’m close,” Sebastian whimpered against your chest, hot breath fanning over the wet skin as he tried to hold back.
You didn’t stop. He looked up at you. The Look.
You were wrecked, intoxicated, pupils blown wide, drunk on him, and it seemed it was exactly what you wanted. You threw a leg over his hip and pulled him against you, then ground your hips harder.
“Cum, Sebastian,” you hummed, tethering his gaze with yours.
It was too much. Too much for the boy that, outside of your dreams, was forced to beg for even an ounce of your attention, so, with a pathetic cry, Sebastian did as he was told. His shoulders shook, his arm trembled, and as his length pulsed and ecstasy rushed through his frame, he didn’t look away from you. You watched him fall apart, looked at him like he belonged between your legs and he should know that… and that took the ground right out from beneath him.
He collapsed on top of you, whimpering helplessly as your fingers threaded into his hair, and though he fought it nobly, in the end, he slipped from your world.
* * *
Sebastian shot up, chest heaving as a waning pleasure buzzed between his legs. He ripped his covers back, and as he’d expected, the dream had translated over into real life.
“Fuck.”
It was the perfect word, and he meant every version of it that existed. Gods, it had felt so real. So fucking real, and the best part? It technically had been. Your dream, your conscience, your choice. You’d kissed him, you’d pulled his fingers to your breast; you’d asked for his cock, and you had told him to cum. Sebastian laughed softly. Never in a million years would he have thought that lay beneath a doe like you, but as he’d suspected — and now he knew — something downright sinister lurked beneath your coat. The challenge now was getting you to let it loose, to wreak havoc on him in the waking world.
With a sigh, he pulled his pajama pants from his legs and tossed them in his hamper, then rummaged quietly through his dresser for a new pair of underwear and sweatpants. He did his best, even dragged the Dreamvisitor over to provide a bit of light, but as he searched, a realization paused his digging.
He hadn’t been wearing his pajamas in your dream. He’d been wearing his uniform, with a tie, specifically— something he’d started going without because he couldn’t spare thirty seconds most mornings. Sebastian felt his lips tighten into a smirk. It seemed you had a favorite. He could spare thirty seconds. He continued his digging with newfound fervor, found the pair he was looking for, slipped into them and the new pair of underwear, then fell back into bed with a grin.
It was safe to say Sebastian Sallow knew what he was going to wear tomorrow.
- - -
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