can we talk about desperate doms? doms that are focused and calm until they see you naked and all of a sudden they can’t keep their eyes off you, touching you everywhere, telling you, “Fuck, you’re so pretty. Look at your perfect body. I can’t believe you’re mine. God, you’re fucking beautiful,” over and over like they’re seeing you for the first time. doms that hear you whimper, whine and beg, and suddenly their resolve shatters, chest rising and falling rapidly as their pulse increases. you can hear them falling apart inside. doms that are vocal, responsive, tough on the exterior until they sense your want, then suddenly they’re a fucking mess for you. personally, i would love to keep it together 24/7, but having a pretty, needy little thing in front of me actually drives me insane.
talking to bakugou on a dating app hinge and you keep setting dates to meet up and twice now it’s been the day before that he’s cancelled saying something at work has come up. the third time it’s four hours before the date and he texts that something big at work has happened and it’s an emergency and he’s so fucking sorry.
at this point you think he’s fake, he’s never planning on meeting you and he’s just wasting your time. usually you block men who do this to you. playing you like a fool, getting you excited for nothing. but bakugou katsuki… his pictures are so good and even though his texts are a little dry, he’s funny and he compliments you and he has sent you a few photos of when he’s at the gym. you’re worrying your standards are all over the place.
but you know if he’s cancelled three times now it probably will never happen. so you’re about to block, you’ve tapped into the app to do it, when a message comes through.
Katsuki: Please don’t block me I still want to eat you out
that has you keeping him around as one of three chats on the app until he finally meets you next week.
This can be a drabble or smth since there's no actual plot, but... Leon coming home late in the night and using wife!reader to relieve some stress, AKA somnophilia (completely up to you if you wanna make it dubcon) 👀
kept it short but went for a slightly different spin than how I usually see it written. kinda borders on noncon at first maybe? starts with Leon’s pov then switches to reader’s. I tagged it appropriately just in case. but reader likes it n all that
wc: 2.1k
tags: Leon Kennedy/afab!reader, any era Leon, smut, somnophilia, dubcon/extremely dubious consent at first?, p in v, prone, creampie, praise, sleepy aftercare
It's half past three in the morning when Leon shuffles his way through the front door of your home. He’s exhausted. And when he opens the bedroom door quietly, the sight he finds nearly brings him to his knees.
You're sleeping away serenely, sprawled out on your stomach with an arm and a leg draped over his side of the bed, blue moonlight covering your skin everywhere the blanket had fallen off of your form. The sight makes his heart feel achingly full— but he feels something else tighten around it too, and it's gripping his soul like an angry fist.
It's got to be some kind of cute aggression, he thinks. Just replace cuteness with lust and aggression with primal need. He's never given in to it, but tonight begs to be different.
Reluctantly, he pulls himself away and towards the shower in the hall, squinting in the unkind brightness when he flips on the light and groaning as his overworked muscles smart when he bends down to start the water.
He undresses piece by piece and stares at himself until the mirror obscures his reflection with steam. His heart rate quickens as his eyes rest on the specks of blood still decorating his face.
This is the hardest part of coming home for Leon: clocking out. He's still wound up like a machine that's fine-tuned for overpowering his opponents, and it's harder than he'll ever tell you to come home and pretend that he isn't a violent man.
But then again, that's why he loves you. You make it easy to be soft ninety-nine percent of the time. What a shame it is for you that tonight he's stuck in that one percent.
Get it together, Kennedy.
He tries to wash it down the drain, imagining the feeling as what makes the water run dark as he scrubs himself clean of it. He takes the suds to himself three times over to be sure he got everything, exfoliating twice to shed the top layer of skin that carried out his violence, washing away his dirty soul until the water runs clear, until he's certain he left no traces of debauchery hidden in his toes or behind his ears.
He hums as he feels his tense muscles relax while he stands under the shower stream, closing his eyes until his racing thoughts are overtaken by the need for sleep. It takes over half an hour more before he finally feels okay enough to get out. He drags the towel over his face and slips on clean sweatpants, and sighs in relief at the feeling of normalcy.
As if the darkness outside the bathroom lights had been waiting to overtake him, that all goes out the window when he returns to your shared room and his gaze lands on you again.
With leaden feet he crawls into bed, careful not to wake you as the bed dips to his weight. He lies down flat on his back and folds his hands on his bare chest, keeping them threaded together to stop them from inching towards you.
He should have no problem touching you, and he wants so badly to pull you into him, to cuddle you until sunrise, and to fall asleep peacefully with the fact that he's finally home. But despite being snug in the soft bed he'd been longing for and beside the very person he survived it all to return to, it’s not enough for him to relax.
He’s still too damn pent up. His pulse rises again and eats away at his comfort. And the small wet spot of precum forming on his briefs is the least ignorable discomfort of all.
He throbs and aches for relief. He stares at the ceiling and feels more and more pained with every moment he can't sleep. And his goddamn cock keeps growing every second.
He just needs to get it out of his system, he thinks, and turns his head to look at you, watching your back rise and fall with slow, calm breaths.
How selfish would it be of him to disturb you?
What if he didn’t disturb you? What if you just stayed asleep?
Get it together, Kennedy.
He does no such thing.
He fails to stop his hand from moving. It's skimming the curve of your ass where your underwear doesn't cover, and he's studying your face for reactions that don't come. He wraps a thumb under the waistband and slowly pulls them down, and in the five whole minutes it takes to get them to your knees, you still don't make a single sound.
What's he supposed to do now? Not sit up and look at the part of you he's exposed? So that's exactly what he does. But how is he supposed to stop there? He's not just gonna leave them at your knees 'til you wake up, so he doesn't. He drags them all the way down until you're finally rid of them.
He holds his breath when you start to shift and exhales slowly when you still. You parted your thighs for him all on your own, and now he has space to kneel between them, to get an even closer view as he rubs both hands on your ass cheeks.
He starts testing his limits. He grabs the meat of them gently, just enough to shake your ass a little, then pulls them apart to spread your cunt ever so slightly. It glistens in the moonlight, already wet and halfway leaking. Just begging for him to put a finger in. With how wet you are, he bet it'd slide in easily.
It's so quiet in your room, and all he can hear is his heart as it starts beating in his throat. How wrong is what he's doing? He bites the inside of his cheek and wonders. How mad would you really be? You don't even know he's home. Would it be a pleasant surprise?
The devil on his shoulder says, only if they wake up, and the angel on the other isn't doing much better. More like a fallen angel, really, the way it's talking him into it.
You've had middle-of-the-night sex plenty of times, it says.
He reasons back, but they're always awake before I put it in.
That's only a couple minute's difference, it replies. How many times have they told you that they like being used?
The only answer was the truth:
Too many times to count.
He runs a finger up and down your crease, and the debate suddenly stops.
--
You wake up in the dark, and for a few brief seconds you have no thoughts at all. Then they slowly trickle in.
You're confused. It's dark. It must be the middle of the night. Why are you waking up? The room feels a little hot. Why do you feel yourself moving?
Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter open at the same time as a jolt courses through your gut. Then all of a sudden, your thoughts come in like a flood.
The first thing you see is a hand beside your head. Then you hear the low sound of someone groaning. You feel another hammer of a hard cock pounding against your g-spot and it forces out a broken mewl. The only reason you don't scream is the glint of a familiar silver ring.
You speak through the drool against your pillow as you recoil from each thrust.
"L-Leon..?"
“Oh, fuck,” he grunts in surprise, but his movements hardly falter. “I’m, hah, I’m home baby.”
No fucking shit you’re home are the words that don’t make it out.
Your fingers dig into the blankets as the situation comes into focus and you grasp to take his steady, brutal pace, each time bottoming out. You arch your back to adjust yourself and that just sends his thick cock reaming into your sweet spot again.
Your legs are already shaking. You moan into the pillow and bury your face in as you feel yourself clench around him. Not many concrete thoughts make their way into your head, but these are making them:
How long has he been at this? What time even is it?
When did he get home? I didn’t know he’d be home.
God, it’s wet down there. I think I’m— am I..?
Close. You were close. The build up happened while you were asleep, and it crept up on you suddenly. The soundtrack to your shattering is the sound of your husband’s strained mumbling that sounded akin to a half-apology.
“Didn’t mean to wake you up, you just looked so pretty, baby. So pretty when you’re asleep, just couldn’t— god, I just— ‘n I didn’t think you’d mind, fuck, you’re so damn tight.”
You grip his wrist beside your head and both of your rings sparkle in the low light, seen through an unclear view as your eyes roll back in your head. Your toes curl and you keen back as pleasure begins to mount, and your moans get increasingly loud as each smack of his hips gets sharper in your ears.
Yeah, he was right. You really didn’t mind.
“Oh, oh, Leon—“
“That’s it, yeah, cum all over my cock. Knew you’d love it, fuck, sweetheart. Keep cumming for me.”
Your thighs seize and your legs curl around him as your orgasm throttles through your tired and spent body, feeling your own slick gush around his girth as you tremble below him.
He sped up as you came down, your cum making him easy to take at such a pace from the friction it didn’t allow. A quick, warm kiss on your back made you sigh into it fully, relaxing into the sweet feeling of being his irresistible need.
Oh, and the fact that he was home. Your orgasm cleared the fog of sleep, and although your mind was well occupied with taking him at the moment, you could actually somewhat think.
He was finally home. And he was everywhere.
Every sound that filled the room was him, the smell of his skin was no longer just a remnant on his pillow where you could only imagine his lingering body heat. He was so warm in a way only he could be as he lowered down to press his chest against your back, the sweat on his skin cooling you in a soothing way, the kisses he planted on your cheek bone making you smile in your euphoric daze.
“Missed you,” you simply whispered.
He huffed through a smile and brushed the hair out of your face, and through half-lidded eyes, he looked devastatingly handsome in the moonlight.
He accentuated his words with heavy thrusts, like his actions were evidence of their truth.
“I missed you so, damn, much.”
Passionate and open-mouthed, he kissed you. It was all he needed to be brought to his own brink, and you could tell by the grunts that rumbled in his throat that he was close— you knew the signs by heart. You held him firmly by the hair and pulled him further in, pushing your hips back to let him know the answer to the question you knew he was about to ask.
You moan into each other’s mouths as he unloads himself inside, and his thrusts become impossibly wetted by his cum with each shaky motion deeper inside. You couldn’t possibly miss the pure relief in his sounds as they border on whimpers, audible evidence of just how badly he needed release.
He pulls out with a hiss and collapses beside you with a long sigh. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he looks over at you. You’re already preoccupied by staring at his bare chest and disheveled hair as he laid back in his rightful place in your bed, marveling the view of your husband’s afterglow.
He traces his fingertips in the shape of lazy figure eights up and down your spine, and the soothing movements remind you how tired you are. You were far from a full eight hours when you awoke to this kind of intermission, and despite how much you want to keep looking at him, to stay awake and continue his homecoming party, your heavy eyelids drift closed.
“I really hope that was okay.”
His whisper is thick with genuine worry. You only manage a hum that you hope sounds as reassuring as you meant it. You sink into the mattress as sleep begins to overtake, and use your last bit of strength to drape your arm over his chest.
The last thing you remember is him pulling the covers over you, kissing the top of your head, and his thumb circling your diamond ring where your hand lay on his chest. He practically sang you back to sleep with a reverent chant of praise he didn’t think you wouldn’t remember. But you did, and his words were all the sweeter because he said them whether you were awake to hear them or not.
“I love you so much. I really do. You’re too good for me, you know that? I’m so happy to be home.”
i’m still thinking about ashamed of his rut!scott and reader. they’ve been friends for a couple of years and met in college. the night after you meet, you don’t stay in the library late at night anymore. the college fixed the caved in wall fast though.
when your boyfriend cheats on you a few months later, he’s the one who shows up to your place with comfort food and words. you two end up always around each other after that. you’re the one who held him after fights. he’s the one who drove you home after nights out. who cares that neither of you ever left each others side at the bar.
it’s one random saturday night that he asks the question that’s gnawed at him every time he listened to you talk about an ex. you were notorious for cutting it off once anyone wanted something serious. you laughed, and he could smell the tequila on your breath. “can i tell you something you won’t tell anyone else?”
“of course.” scott focused his eyes on the road.
“that night me and ryan broke up, lydia was with me, remember?” he hummed, and you sighed. “that wasn’t the first time he cheated on me. if lydia hadn’t been there when i saw him with that girl, i might’ve forgiven him again. i just couldn’t keep it a secret this time, and that pushed me to leave.”
“he was an ass.” is all scott can offer.
you laughed. “well, he was a smooth talker and i fell for it. it’s not that i don’t think there’s anyone out there. i just… i don’t trust myself to not fall for it again. i don’t trust myself to protect myself- to leave when it gets bad.” your voice is forlorn but convicted. “it’s safer this way, for now at least.”
his hands were tight on the wheel. he didn’t realize he could still be so angry at someone else’s ex all these years later. hell, he couldn’t believe he could hate ryan anymore after he saw you crying. “i would protect you.”
your heads resting on his windshield when you turn to smile at him. “yeah, you have been ever since i met you.”
the reassurance settled his shoulders slightly. that he was fulfilling his duty. every time stiles asked, he said you were just a friend. that his protectiveness stemmed from being an alpha. besides, it was easy with you not seriously dating. no one else had to get your connection.
cw: 2.8k wc, female reader, best friends to (possible) lovers, suggestive, you and hinata decide to prank oikawa and everyone else by announcing that you're getting married. however shoyo has a weird phyisical reaction every time you mention anything remotely related to becoming his wife...
“How could you believe him?”, you chuckle to yourself, idly shaking your head.
Shoyo pouts.
“He looked scared!”.
“It’s Oikawa”, you shrug, “never believe anything he says. This one’s on you”.
Your best friend lets out an irritated sound, melting further into your couch cushions, legs wide. It’s cute, really, the way he still has a gullible side to him. Shoyo still puts far too much faith in other people and while it can be an admirable trait, it’s also something that often backfires.
Essentially, he’s easy to prank. And, coincidentally, Oikawa is an asshole.
“I didn’t sleep for a week”, he grumbles and you can’t hold back the laugh that bubbles up from your throat.
Whenever they’re in town at the same time and for long enough, him and Tooru usually rent a place together. They have known each other for years and are happy to be occasional roommates, happy enough to still spark the usual dating rumors every now and then. However, Shoyo’s happiness was severely disrupted by the chillingly solemn claim made by his roommate: their landlord admitted that the apartment was haunted.
Oikawa spent an entire week doing his absolute best to make sure Hinata fell into his trap of psychological manipulation and gaslighting. Obviously, he succeeded.
Strange noises (they were planned), the shower turning on on its own and loud banging on the walls (Mattsun was secretly snuck into the house) were enough to leave your friend sleepless and riddled with anxiety for over a week.
“Let’s prank him back”, you absentmindedly card your fingers through Shoyo’s soft curls, to push the now longer hair away from his forehead. You have received your fair share of pranks throughout the years and it’s time to give your friends a taste of their own medicine.
“I tried”, he grumbles, “no one ever takes me seriously”.
“Then let’s come up with something together”.
“Like what?”.
You hum.
“I want them to panic. Maybe we can make them think we had a fight and are not friends anymore?”.
Shoyo huffs out a low chuckle.
“That’s the least believable thing I can think of”.
An odd idea crawls its way into your mind and for some reason your stomach flips when you meet his gaze again.
“How about we do the opposite, then?”.
Your friend cocks his head.
“Like… tell them we’re closer friends than we already are?”.
“A little more than that”.
An odd intensity flashes in his hazel eyes too quickly for you to identify the emotion behind it.
“You want to tell them we’re sleeping together?”.
Something in the way he says it makes a nebulous emotion flare white hot in your gut. You hope the smile you offer conceals the strange way your body is reacting to your best friend’s pitch.
“Actually, I was thinking we should tell them we’re getting married”.
It is approximately by week two that Shoyo realizes how bad of an idea this was.
The prank itself seems to be working fairly well: most of your friend group didn’t find it hard to believe that you two are suddenly in a relationship. Like, at all. And, apparently, an abrupt marriage proposal is exactly what they would expect of him. Spontaneous, passionate, impulsive Shoyo Hinata who soon becomes all too aware of the way this whole thing is affecting him.
You’re so much better than him at pretending and, despite some initial awkwardness, it was embarrassingly easy to fall into a makeshift, fictitious, intimate relationship. You’re his best friend for a reason, he knows you like the back of his hand and you do too. But Shoyo has never been this physically close to you, not so often at least.
Going out with your friends means you’ll find a way to sit on his lap, wrap his arms around you as you press a kiss to his jaw. It means carefully smearing some makeup on your neck to pretend he accidentally gave you a hickey, it means he has to rest his head in the crook of your neck and breathe in your perfume. It means he’s getting increasingly unable to control how his body reacts to everything.
His real demise comes after a brief discussion about boundaries, prompted by the one thing that would convince the most skeptical member of your group, Oikawa Tooru: a public makeout session.
Of course we can kiss, it’s fine. Yeah, I don’t mind at all, we have known each other forever.
Why would he do that? And how on earth are you not affected by the sounds you pull out of him, the ones he pulls out of you?
Putting a strain on his body to behave despite what you do is hard enough, but keeping a cool facade while you talk like that it’s proving to be damn near impossible.
“Are ya sure ya want to put up with him forever?”, Atsumu playfully flicks his friend’s forehead and Shoyo rolls his eyes. You offer a grin.
“What? He’s the real catch here, you should be asking him”.
“So humble”, Bokuto, only recently arrived in town, taps his fingers on the sticky surface of the table you’re all sitting at, “why don’t you tell us what made you change your mind?”.
“Change my mind?”, you ask. He hums.
“Yeah, I mean, how did you realize he was more than a friend?”.
“Oh”, a small chuckle and a quick sip of your beer to gather your thoughts, “besides the very obvious bonuses given by his thighs, arms and shoulders?”.
Shoyo coughs, embarrassed, and Bokuto’s rosy cheeks make Atsumu snicker under his breath.
“Well, he’s the best man I know”, you meet your best friend’s gaze with affection embedded in the crinkling of your eyes, “I love everything about him. His heart, his mind. I can’t wait to be a Hinata”.
For some unknown reason, Atsumu keeps laughing but hides his chuckle into his drink as Shoyo shifts uncomfortably on his chair.
“You okay?”, your worry is met with a tentative smile.
“Yeah! More than okay, I’ll be right back”, Shoyo stands up so abruptly Bokuto’s half-empty beer bottle almost falls over.
As he disappears into the bathroom of the crowded bar, you worry that something you said ended up offending him or perhaps crossing a boundary. Was it the comment you made about his physique? But he must already know you find him attractive, you have told him before. Is he tired of pretending? Should you go after him and ask-
“My god”, Atsumu shakes his head, “and to think Oikawa still doesn’t buy this”.
“What?”, how dare he?, “he told you that?”, your pitch vibrates with indignation.
“Yeah, he says it was too unexpected”, Bokuto rolls his eyes as he makes quotation marks with his fingers around the adjective, “not the relationship, the marriage”.
“Not the relationship? I should hope so. You just gave that man the quickest boner I’ve ever seen”, Atsumu flashes you a big smile when you choke on your beer.
Could it be…? Is that why he…? What is he doing right now?
“Why are you looking at my man’s crotch?”, you playfully glare at him as your heart thumps painfully fast in your chest.
“I’m not!”, Atsumu shrugs, “I just sensed his pain. Poor guy, wanna go help him out?”.
“Keep your voyeuristic kinks away from this conversation, ‘Tsumu”, you throw a small piece of crumpled napkin at him as you all erupt in laughter.
Your mind is still racing when Shoyo comes back and it doesn’t help at all that, right after sitting next to you once more, his big hands cradle your face to pull you in for a kiss that burns its way into your gut. Something happens to you, something that makes you feverishly chase his mouth when he pulls away, deaf to the obnoxious whistles Bokuto and Atsumu are producing. And Shoyo finds himself lost in you as much as you melt into him, not quite able to discern where you end and he begins as he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you.
“Stop or I’m gonna start touching myself”, it’s Atsumu’s amused voice that remindes you where you are and you pull back with a jolt, dazed hazel eyes meeting your stunned gaze.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry”, you murmur as you try to pull yourself together. Shoyo, the actual receiver of your confused apology, just smiles as his thumb brushes along your lower lip, gentle but firm enough to clean some of your smudged lipstick.
“All good. I think they can handle that”.
As he walks you home, you apologize again but Shoyo promises he doesn’t have any issue with you kissing him as much as you want to. Which was probably a nice way to say he’s fine with you trying to essentially eat his face.
He’s kind, kind enough to make a comment about how you tried to act natural to make it all seem more convincing. You know that wasn’t it, the last thing you were thinking about in that moment was trying to look as authentic as possible for Atsumu and Bokuto. Shoyo was all you could think about, he was all you could feel and taste and breathe in and chase.
You have loved him as a friend for so long and yet none of these feelings feel confusing at all. He is the best man you know. Beautiful, kind, passionate, the kind of guy you’ve been trying to find in other people your whole life. So it’s not confusing but is it worth sabotaging your most important friendship over?
Maybe he won’t want to talk about any of this ever again once you announce it was all a prank. Maybe he’s already regretting how weird everything feels and you would never forgive yourself for making him uncomfortable in any way.
One thing’s for sure though, you’re really going to miss kissing him.
“A photoshoot?”, Shoyo asks, brows furrowed.
You nod.
“An engagement photoshoot. Oikawa picked up photography as a hobby a few years ago, we can ask him to take some pictures”.
He chuckles, your sheer dedication to this prank stirring something warm within his chest.
“That will convince him?”.
“It will”, you grin, “you guys have a nice garden, we can have it there. I’ll wear a nice dress and everything. You just have to look at me like you’re in love”.
“Easy”, Shoyo shrugs and the butterflies in your stomach flap their little wings a little faster, “can you look at me like you’re in love?”.
You scoff.
“Easy”, by the time you flick his forehead, Shoyo’s warm laugh is already filling your living room like bright daylight.
He knows the prank will be over in just a few hours, the time needed to make sure you can both have your “got you!” moment with Tooru.
Over two weeks of detailed scheming just to savor how triumph would taste on his tongue, two weeks you dedicated to each other in every way. Throughout all the years he’s known you, all the relationships, different time zones and distant experiences, Shoyo feels like the past weeks are what is going to torment him the most.
He thinks he might die when you meet him in the garden as he’s casually chatting with Oikawa, who doesn’t spare an appreciative whistle himself.
“Damn, someone pulled out the heavy guns ”, Tooru winks and you take a graceful bow.
“Just making sure the pictures look nice”, with a smile, your gaze meets Shoyo’s and it’s really hard to keep some sense of composure because he looks like that. Beautiful and exceptionally broad in his causal suit, the freckles on his cheeks and nose outlining beautiful constellatons across tan skin.
“They’ll look nice”, Oikawa gives you both a little, gentle nudge, “go stand by the rose bushes and try to act natural”.
“What do you mean?”, Shoyo takes your hand and you follow him, heels digging into the soft grass. His palm feels warm and reassuring in yours, like something you would like to hold on to for longer than a few seconds.
“Pretend I’m not here, do what you usually would. Talk to each other, kiss, discuss your plans for your wedding night…”.
You cough awkwardly and hide your face into his shoulder as Shoyo clicks his tongue, a low grumble of “Tooru!” uttered as Oikawa giggles.
The effect his hands have on your naked arms is quick, you relax under his gentle touch and hear the distant shutter noises of your friend’s camera.
“You look beautiful”, Shoyo intentionally brushes his nose against yours, his breath warm on your lips. The proximity makes little goosebumps blossom on your arms, where the pads of his fingers are still gently exploring the exposed skin.
“You are never allowed to wear oversized joggers ever again”, you murmur back and he chuckles. The sound draws you in but he kisses you before you get the chance to, soft and slow and so stupidly deep your stomach flips.
“I loved being an almost Hinata the past two weeks”, you confess when he pulls back, because what the hell? It’s true.
A low sound comes out of his throat and his fingers press deeper into your hips.
“Don’t say that”, the warning is hushed but firm. You tilt your head to the side.
“Am I such a horrible candidate?”.
Shoyo cradles your cheek with one of his hands, hating himself for not being able to properly explain why he needs you to stop saying shit like that. He’s already half hard in his, thankfully, black pants.
“No”, he says carefully, “it just affects me”.
“Affects you how?”.
“Shoyo, hold her from behind”, Oikawa’s voice makes you both jump. You throw your best friend one last confused glance before positioning yourself according to Tooru’s instructions, casually grabbing Shoyo’s arms to close them around you like you have done so many times. He rests his chin on your shoulder and sways you gently, which makes you smile.
“I think we’d look good as a married couple”, you whisper, head slightly turned to the side and lips grazing his cheek, “I’d be a good wife”.
He just clears his throat.
“You think I wouldn’t?”.
Why on earth are you so determined to be his death?
“You would”, Shoyo whispers, praying that you’ll let the topic drop.
“I’d come to your games and watch you by the beach, cook dinner. Imagine how my name would sound with your last name? I think-”
“Stop”, he groans, pressing his forehead into the juncture between your neck and shoulder.
“Are you okay?”, just as you’re about to spin in his arms, Oikawa asks you to get a bit closer. But before you can move on your own accord, Shoyo closes his arms tighter around you and pulls you further into him himself. He’s pressed flush against you now and it only takes a stunned moment to realize what else is also pressing against you.
“Oh”, you say, holding back a chuckle.
“Yeah”, he mutters, “exactly”.
A warm feeling unfurls in your lower abdomen and, before you can decide whether it’s a good idea or not, you carefully let yourself press against the stiffness teasing the curve of your ass.
His hiss is low.
“Don’t”.
“Why?”, you take the chance to press a sweet kiss to his jaw, “I think it’d be cute if you creamed your pants during our engagement photoshoot”.
Shoyo shuts his eyes for a moment. He can feel himself twitch at your teasing words and it’s embarrassing the way he’s unable to control the way his body reacts to what you’re artfully doing.
“I’ll kill you”, he whispers.
“Or make me your wife”.
“Fuck”, his breath hitches, “you’re cruel”.
With a light chuckle, you stroke the hand he’s pressing to your stomach.
“I think Oikawa will believe this after all”.
Shoyo isn’t quite sure why that sentence prompts such a reaction. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t want to think about a third person, the reason why it all started in the first place. Maybe it’s because he wants to delay the moment that will burst the perfect bubble of this moment.
Or, perhaps, it’s a feeling you don’t really know how deeply runs within him yet. Some sense of possessiveness you awakened the first time you allowed him to kiss you in a way that made him wish he could devour you.
You gasp quietly as he gently bites down on your shoulder, instinctively grinding your hips back against him once more.
“I’m about to give everyone a reason to never believe anything but this”, he rasps into your ear.
stupid thing to randomly cry about but I do mourn the fact I never made it through more schooling. ill never go to med school like I wanted to or grad school and ill never write that book
in a warm bed in heart patterned sheets I paid full price for, next to a cat who purrs just being by my side. he has his own special blanket with a kitty cat pattern, dusted with his black and white love notes. my bills are paid, my mother looks forward to seeing my face, and the job I like is putting more into my paychecks. People read the things I write, my ideas resonate with a few. I still want to die in my sleep
What happens after omega goes over to confess? How do they go on from there??
It's not much different than usual. Instead of sitting on different sides of the couch, you lay your head on his lap. The scenting spots near his pulse points aren't as strong as the the ones on his neck, but when you close your eyes, you can practically see the orange grove.
Your alpha talks aimlessly, rambling about life and other things as he strokes your cheek. He's careful not to touch your scar.
"And Kira and Keon are fighting again."
"Kira is your... younger sister?" you ask and you jostle when he laughs.
"She's older. It's Kilee, Kite, Kira-" he points to himself. "Me. Then Keon, King, and Kamari."
His hand pauses.
"No. Wait. King, Keon, Kimber, and Karami. Do not tell anyone I forgot Kimber. She's very sensitive."
"How do your dads keep track?"
"They don't."
His family is almost completely omegas, barring his beta father. It's an emotional household, one where he slips into the background very easily. He's a true oddity among them, despite how he tries to be one of the siblings.
The whole family is soft scented. It's demure and charming for an omega, but for an alpha...
"Why didn't you get a name that started with K?"
"My dads thought they'd stop with the theme," he says. "But then, King was born and they thought it was the perfect name for him."
You turn to look up at him, admiring the curves of his jaw.
"You're smelling heatish," he says suddenly. "Have you been taking your suppressants?"
You aren't; you're just... needy. "That's an embarrassing question."
"It's important for me to know," your alpha smiles awkwardly. "In case we... again."
If you enter heat, he'll need to wear protection. You were lucky your first fuck didn't give you a baby.
"We could have that conversation," you say softly. "About us. Together."
You bond to another complicates things, but your alpha just cups your cheek and dips low.
"Do you want to mate with me again?"
"Yeah." Your voice is a breath.
His hand trails down to your chest, right above your breast.
"Can I touch you here?"
A silent nod gives him permission to continue down. You're shocked at how nice his fingers feel against your clothed skin, how you flood with heat when he rolls your nipple between his fingers.
"And here?"
He hum a delicate sound and he goes even lower, hesitating above your waistband;
"There's something I want to do," he says as he undoes the button of your jeans. He moves slow enough you could rebuke him at any moment-- and you nearly do. Panic hits you without warning. Your hands fly to his
"Just one touch?"
Your grip relaxes and he runs his fingers through your pubic hair, down to the cleft of your pussy. His digits curl, running over your clit with a firm touch that steals a gasp from you. His touch pulls away after that as he promised. An embarrassing amount of slick glistens on him, but you have no chance to react before his pops them into his mouth.
"Fuck," he sucks in a moan, his eyes rolling back. His scent flares hotter than you've ever smelled it and you're reminded, despite his family, despite his demeanor, he is an alpha.
How close to death does she let herself get before her neighbor feels like he absolutely has to step in? I’m dying to know how this goes if it’s like… nonconsensual in that she was clearly trying to avoid sex but they seem to be closer after the fact.
He's knocking at the vents, calling to you, not even sure if you can hear him.
"This isn't some ploy to get into your pants! I care about you as a neighbor-- fuck, as a friend." He waits, but there's no reply. "If I call the police or an ambulance, there's going to be strangers barging into your home and I don't want to do that to you. I care about you. But I'm scared you're gonna die."
He rests his head against the cool metal grate. Your scent is thick like tar.
"I'm scared."
Finally, a sound comes through the vents, this desperate whimper. The break of your voice has him on his feet before he can even process what you're saying.
"Can you come over?"
He's out of the room and in the hall, shouldering your door open with his body weight. It was unlocked: so unusual for you. The cloying pall that hangs in the air sets every hair in his body on edge. His girl, his sweet girl: your pain is gustable. He finds you pressed in the back corner of your bedroom, the carpet made into a makeshift nest of blankets and pillows. Sweat drips down your cheeks, glistens on your chest; you've stripped to your camisole and sleep shorts, but it's not enough. You need an alpha.
He crawls into your nest and, to his surprises, you open your arms to him. Oh, his heart aches in a different way as he nuzzles into you. He knows you can't smell him through your own sick, but he tries anyway, hoping it does something, anything.
"I can take you to the hospital," he says.
But your lips have already found his.
"It needs--" you sob. "You, I can't-- It needs to be you."
and when he presses his cock into you, knot already half swollen, you flinch, hands flying to his chest.
"Ow-" you sniffle. It can't hurt more than the pressure building inside you, not while you're dripping with slick. it's smeared down your thighs, up his stomach-
"I'm sorry," he coos. "You need it, I'm sorry-"
But once he's seated inside you, you're moaning, gripping at him, claws dragging down his chest. It's only three strokes before he's knotted you, unable to move, but you're panting, halfway smiling as you lose yourself to your heat-
The third time he finishes inside you, he realizes your scent is settling. The tension is gone from your body, but you still hold him tight, desperate for more, even though he can't move yet.
"you smell like violets," he realizes aloud. it's muddled with sick, but he can taste it, under the waves, rising to the sunlight. He resists the urge to bury his face into your scent glands and instead rests his forehead against yours. "It's so pretty."
Your eyes go into focus for the first time since you kissed him.
"It's not," you whisper. "It's ruined."
He breathes in again, then catches a hint of what you mean. The rumbling back of a house fire, a metallic bite that clashes with everything about you: the scent of another alpha. He nearly growls; you should be his omega, his alone--
But instead, he presses a kiss into your forehead.
rlly fascinating phenomenon to me is when a character is extremely popular, and that popularity seems understandable enough because they've got something interesting going on, and then you look at the fandom and realize 99% of their fans don't actually care about engaging with any of the things that make them interesting and instead seem to be fans of an imaginary milquetoast version that exists solely for ship and/or angst content and is so far removed from the canon character they might as well be an unrelated OC at this point
you develop feelings pretty quickly and tell yourself that it's the fact that you two... connected, so you try to shake off the feeling. Being with another person is frightening still, especially since you're still bonded to another alpha. It wouldn't be fair to him, to ask him to be with you when you can't give him everything.
meanwhile he had feelings for you before he had ever seen your face.
the highlight of his day is talking to you, whether it be on the phone, or the days you let him into your apartment. he likes hearing about how you like summer rain, how you think tomorrow will be sunny, since your pressure headache is going away.
the first night you come to his apartment, he feels like he's bouncing around as he tidies up, stuffing laundry into the closet and pretending he's a guy who always had pillows on his couch.
he revels in how the apartment smells like you for the next couple days.
anxious shut in omega who works from home and has everything delivered because they’re terrified their scent might be too tempting vs. their alpha neighbor who can smell them through the vents and is stressed about it. alpha neighbor who starts threatening through the walls to call in a wellness check because they have very legitimate concerns that the omega is going to let themselves get so pent up they die.
omg I'm OBSESSEDD with thissss!!!!
he's never even seen your face; you get your groceries delivered, you work from home-- if he didn't smell you, he'd think you didn't exist at all. hell, he didn't know he lived next to an omega until this started.
but he keeps tasting hints of burnt sugar in the air when he walks by your place. then the sickly saccarine scent seeps through the vents. it (shamefully) (reflexively) makes his cock hard and even his knot swell slightly. the overwhelming amount of hormones that hang in the air makes him knock on your door in the middle of the night.
"You okay in there?" he calls. "You smell sick."
You don't respond at first, but he can hear you padding around.
"I'm okay," you squeak. With his scent patches and rut suppressants, he doesn't smell like anything at all. You assume he's a beta with a good nose or another omega. it's the only reason you respond at all.
"You need to call your alpha," he says. You had one that swung by often last year: this hulking, stinking guy who would come and go randomly. "If you go any longer without...."
"I'm okay!"
He clears his throat. "Your body's gonna-- your fertility, oh geez, I shouldn't say that. Just don't-- don't die."
OH there needs to be a misunderstanding between them through the door about his "alpha".
you assume he's an omega and thats how he knows so much and worries so much. besides, you've smelt another alpha through he vents before, so you just assume that they are mates.
"You have to find someone to help you," he says through the vent one night, softly. You've both shut off the ac to hear each other better and the heat just makes you smell stronger.
"Well, uh," you try and change the subject. "What's going on with the alpha that visits you?"
But he doesnt understand you're trying to skirt the question. he thinks you're asking for his friend to help you.
And it makes his gut twist.
"Him?" Why is his blood suddenly cold? He's never really met you, but he's grown so protective... you're afraid of alphas like his friend, the brash, ego driven ones. Is his scent that nice that you'd be willing to open your door to a stranger? Why would you pick that guy over...?
one day he sees you grabbing your grocery delivery from the hall and you make only a millisecond of eye contact, but his heart skips at least three beats.
you've been wondering why sho hasn't been rushing to meet you whenever he's free like he usually does. turns out, he has a new tongue piercing. a new tongue piercing that he's followed every instruction for fast healing for so he can finally show up at your doorstep after three weeks of him promising he'll go see you soon.
you don't notice it at first, chalking up to the glint between his teeth as a trick of the light. but when the two of you are lounging on your couch and he sticks his tongue out at you after you teased him for being too much of a volleyball meathead even when msby is off season, the cold hard truth lands like an anvil in your gut.
your boyfriend got his tongue pierced.
when you finally ask about it - as casually as you can, because you're definitely not imagining how it feels when it's between your thighs - shoyo turns red in the face almost immediately. he makes excuses. it's a dare. wanted to try something new. honestly i don't even know how i ended up at the piercer's.
the reason doesn't really matter because at the end of the day, shoyo isn't as innocent as people make him out to be. after poking fun at him for keeping this under wraps, the evening ends with you on your back, fingers fisting his tangerine hair, your eyes rolled back into your skull as shoyo finally puts that new accessory to good use.
