I wrote some Kirsh x reader, set in the same weird universe I've been writing in where Kirsh and reader are basically fwb. This is so gratuitous. I lost the plot with this prompt, but someone mentioned exploring breeding kink Kirsh, so here we are🙏🏻
Kirshtober prompt: look with your eyes
Kirsh is a scientist. Kirsh thrives on data. Obtaining data, interpreting data, producing data. He constantly observes, documents, experiments, manipulates, always seeking more data, more numbers, more patterns. There is not one quantifiable physiological or biological indicator of yours that Kirsh has yet to categorize, catalog, graph, or document. You are his favorite experiment because he is his own favorite variable. Entirely controllable, easily manipulated, and always reliable.
Today, Kirsh regarded you as a series of numbers and behaviors. 14 days since the start of your last menstrual period, which he surmised was particularly uncomfortable compared to the previous month's. You favored one side of your body, right hand often rubbing at your lower back or around your abdomen as if to sooth away pain or discomfort, the ovulatory pains caused by the release of an egg, waiting to be fertilized. You removed your standard gray lab shirt, choosing to work in your black undershirt. Likely too hot, with your current body temperature being up to 0.6 degrees higher than your normal resting temperature. You wore a very thin, unlined bra with no wiring, likely to accommodate your sensitive breasts. You were full of energy, although nervous, likely caused by increased levels of estrogen in your body, produced by your ovaries. You were tense and easily frustrated, as if plagued by the presence of an unfulfilled need that rendered you restless. Kirsh hypothesized that you were ovulating, and your frustration was spurred by your subconscious need for sexual release.
Kirsh was fascinated by you when you were ovulating, always touching you with reverence and exploiting your sexual relationship by winding you up to observe the outcome. He was pleased by any opportunity to experience a semblance of animal instinct, to play with the idea of being less than a machine, but more than a human. He enjoyed playing with you. He relished in your profound need for his attention. He found himself wishing for genetic material to plant in your womb. Reproduction was the ultimate animal act, the ultimate biological purpose of every living creature. Create more, breed more, continue your lineage, increase your genetic fitness. He wanted to give that to you.
While Kirsh observed and plotted, you were clawing your way through a Friday shift from the pits of hell. You were uncomfortable, you were hot, and you were irritable. Every fumble, every mistake you made in your absence of focus drove you further up the wall and to the edge of your sanity. You couldn't place the source of your frustration or the excess of nervous energy that settled in your hands and legs and rendered them untrustworthy. You knew Kirsh noticed, because he noticed everything, and his gaze was particularly oppressive today. You wished you could be imperceptible for the rest of your shift.
Your favorite white haired synthetic was a decidedly looming presence in the lab today, standing too close and staring for too long. You were normally comfortable with his odd and or socially inept behaviors, but his quiet observation and lingering eyes were getting under your skin. He hadn't touched you at all. No lingering brushes of a finger when you handed off a tool, no hand on your back to maneuver around the table, no knees brushing yours when you sat together at the fume hood. Just staring. It was unlike him, and it made his constant presence in your space feel too clinical. It pissed you off, to be honest. Today, you felt like a specimen in his little glass terrarium. You could imagine his patronizing voice echoing in your enclosure, presenting you to the kids with a sassy “Look with your eyes, not with your hands,” while they peered bug eyed into the simulated natural environment Kirsh prepared for you.
When the analog clock on the wall finally read 4 p.m. and signaled the end of your shift, you allowed yourself a dramatic sigh of relief. Kirsh's mouth turned up in an amused smile, eyes wandering over your body with a tilt of his head. He approached you from behind at the lab bench, a hand reaching to slide under the hem of your black undershirt and rest above the curve of your hip, fingers pressed firmly into your bare skin. The calculated contact cranked the tension in your body up to 11. “Your body temperature is 0.5 degrees higher than your normal resting temperature. You are ovulating,” he said simply, not unlike the tone he regarded his specimens with. His hand felt wonderful on your skin. Your breath caught in your throat and exited in an embarrassing sound that toed the line between a sigh and a moan, and you cleared your throat as if that would conceal your pitiful reaction.
Kirsh smirked, leaning down to speak into your ear, a finger toying with the waistband of your pants. “Would it be acceptable for me to accompany you to your apartment?” He rasped in a near whisper, artificial breath ghosting over your neck. His voice and the implication of his question went directly to your pussy. Kirsh only ever came to your apartment to fuck or apologize or fuck you as a form of apology, and he'd never quite asked to come over, he just appeared. Your frustration had been misplaced all day, you realized. You were ready to jump out of your skin because you needed to get laid. You needed to be fucked into a mess of bodily fluids. How ridiculous of your ovaries to make such a scene over sex, you thought. Kirsh's hand smoothed around your waist, fingers coming to rest over the ache that bloomed low in your belly. He spoke again, his sickly sweet voice right in your ear. “You'd let me bend you over the dissection table, wouldn't you? You'd let me fuck you within view of the hallway as long as I filled you up and sent you home with me leaking down your thighs.”
His vulgar assessment of the arousal now occupying every space in your mind burned in your belly and pulled a frustrated whine from your throat. Kirsh knew how to manipulate you, and he wielded your penchant for crass language like a weapon. You placed a hand over his, encouraging his fingers to slip under the waistband of your pants. He acquiesced, shifting forward to box you in with a hand braced on the table while his fingers slid under your panties, finding you wet and hot. He deftly slid his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, feeling your heat grip around his still fingers. He smirked, satisfied with his findings, and removed them at once, to your growing frustration. He raised his fingers for both of you to see, spreading them to observe the consistency of the fluid coating his digits. “Cervical mucus,” he began clinically, though his dick was hardening in his pants. “Produced during ovulation to aid in the movement of motile sperm through your cervix. You've likely been sufficiently prepared for penetration throughout your entire shift.”
You leaned onto the table, your ass firmly pressed against his hips. “Why don't you fuck me right here if you're so sure of yourself, Kirsh?” you tossed over your shoulder, calling his bluff. Amusement lit up his eyes, and he simply wiped his fingers on the fabric over your hip before stepping away and ceasing contact. “Go home,” he said in his gentle authoritative voice, retreating to the other end of the lab to wrap up his work and wait for his erection to subside. “I'll be there shortly.”
He didn't even turn to look at you, the smug asshole he was. You opted to take the hit to your pride and offered no argument, immediately heading to your apartment to wait for him. You shouldn't indulge him by obeying him like this, but you were simply too horny to debate with a synthetic about your boundaries. It shouldn't turn you on to know that he tracks your menstrual cycle. From him, it was endearing. From anyone else who should know better, it would be enough for a restraining order. You slotted your keycard in the lock and entered your apartment, unlacing your boots with shaky hands and throwing them haphazardly to join the other pairs of shoes that sat neatly by the door. You opted to stand in your living room, only feeling marginally pathetic for waiting like this. Kirsh kept you waiting for 16 minutes before you heard the accepting “beep” of the electronic lock disengaging.
He opened your door, eyes finding yours immediately. He let the door close automatically behind him, standing with inhuman stillness until the soft click of the latch hit his ears. “Say, ‘viviparous’ if you need me to stop,” he said softly, and your heart jumped in your chest. You nodded in response, and he shook his head. “Say it.” You licked your lips, pupils blown out under his intense gaze. “Viviparous.”
He closed the distance between you in 3 steps, hands gripping the back of your head and your neck to pull you in for a filthy kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth immediately, drawing a wanton moan from your throat. Both of his hands dropped to the backs of your thighs, hoisting your legs up and around his waist. You clung to him when he dropped to his knees on your living room floor, depositing you on your back.
He sat back, eyes roaming your body as if searching for a desired starting point. His hands rucked your black undershirt up above your breasts and he eyed your hard nipples through the thin gray fabric of your bra, no thicker than your cotton underwear. Kirsh leaned down, taking a nipple between his teeth through the fabric, and your back arched up off the carpet. “Fuck! Kirsh,” you exclaimed, a hand rushing to tug at his hair. He was not dissuaded, and he continued to roughly bite and suck at your sensitive nipples through the cotton. It felt dirty, him handling you this way on your floor, and the ache in your abdomen was back with a vengeance. Kirsh paused, admiring the way your nipples strained against the spit soaked cotton before hooking his thumbs into the fabric of your bra and lowering the cups to free your breasts.
His lips returned, sucking a nipple into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth before swapping for his fingers, pinching and toying with the taut skin while he moved to suck and bite at your other nipple. The pain was delicious and forced groans and pitiful whines out of your throat while you writhed against him. Kirsh sat up on his knees, eyes lingering on your now glistening breasts while his fingers worked on undoing your pants. He extracted himself from between your legs and hooked his fingers into the waist of your pants and underwear, tugging them down your thighs to just above your knees. Kirsh undid his own pants, hungry eyes finally meeting yours while he pulled out his hard cock.
You moaned and choked out an incredulous laugh when he lifted both of your legs along his chest and gathered them over his right shoulder, and the laugh died in your throat when he immediately slotted the thick head of his cock at your soaked entrance and buried himself in your pussy in one thrust. He moved his hips in a slow grind, working you open and giving you a brief moment to adjust to the intrusion before he snapped his hips into yours. Kirsh usually prepared you with his fingers or went down on you to give you an orgasm before he fucked you, but this was urgent and dirty and so absudly hot. Kirsh was using you, fucking you into the floor of your living room, and it was exactly what you needed.
Kirsh hauled your hips up his thighs and leaned forward, folding you nearly in half while his hips snapped to meet yours, the tip of his cock bullying your cervix on every thrust. Your fingers reached for this thighs to grasp fistfuls of his gray pants, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth in an effort to quiet the sobs you were helpless to hold back. Kirsh fixed you with a disapproving glare and a particularly cruel snap of his hips, a smirk pulling at his lips when your mouth again fell open with a shouted “Kirsh!”
“Yes,” he groaned raggedly, a praise you also understood to be an order. All you could do was let him rip inhuman sounds and near screams of his name out of your chest for the neighbors to hear, and you could no longer be bothered with being considerate. Kirsh wanted to hear you, and your cock drunk brain found that to be more important than propriety. You were nowhere near close to finishing, but Kirsh's punishing thrusts became erratic, and your eyes rolled back at the thought of him using you like a hot, warm toy to cum inside of.
A deep groan resonated through his chest and his thrusts stuttered to a stop, hands gripping your legs to hold your hips flush with his while he filled you with his artificial cum. You finally began to catch your breath while he pulsed inside of you, hips rolling in shallow thrusts to fuck his cum into your pussy. Kirsh met your eyes, his face softening while he leaned back on his heels to stretch out your hips, sore from being folded in half on the floor. He removed his still impossibly hard cock and pulled your pants off your legs, letting them fall around his waist. His hands rubbed soothingly over your calves, eyes glued to the mess he made between your thighs.
His cock leaked and twitched, and he gave you the sweetest moan when he lined himself up and slid back into your now sore and overstimulated pussy. He was gentle this time, sealing your lips in a placating kiss while he fucked you. You moaned and sighed in his mouth, hands gripping at his gray overshirt. “Kirsh,” you whimpered, on the verge of tapping out. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, shifting his angle to grind against your clit. “Just a little more for me. You can take it,” he cooed against your lips. He swallowed up any potential complaints with his kisses, the hot slide of his tongue and grinding against your clit enough to keep you from asking him to stop. Kirsh spent the entire day preoccupied with painting your cervix in cum and fucking you until he dripped down your thighs, and he wanted to see it through.
The gentle roll of his hips became firm thrusts, an obscene wet sound filling the room when he bottomed out in your pussy. Kirsh paused to hook his arms under your legs, bracing his hands on the floor near your shoulders, spreading you open for his thrusts. Strings of expletives poured out of your mouth, hands grasping for his thighs as if to push him away. Kirsh's rhythm faltered and his hips pressed flush into yours, the head of his cock pressed against your cervix while he came for a second time, twitching and pulling inside of you. He released your legs and aided their boneless descent to the floor.
Kirsh pulled out, watching the white fluid leak out of your pussy onto the floor. You remained sprawled out on the ground, panting and enjoying the cool cement beneath the thin carpet, which has surely given you some rug burn on your ass. Kirsh tucked himself back into his pants before pressing a chaste kiss to your already parted lips and sliding down your body to drape your thighs over his shoulders. You didn't cum yet, and you weren't even sure you wanted to anymore. You brought a hand to his disheveled hair to tell him not to bother, but your protest dissolved in your mouth when Kirsh's tongue gently caressed your clit. He was mindful of your comfort, delicately coaxing an orgasm out of you with his lips and tongue. It didn't take long to get there, the pleasure building until your pussy gushed and squeezed around nothing, forcing more of Kirsh's artificial fluid to drip out of your entrance.
Kirsh crawled up to lay next to you on the floor, prompting you to lift your head so he could slide his arm under for you to rest on. “Was that acceptable?” He asked, eyes observing your face for your reaction. “More than acceptable,” you offered weakly, eyes still shut in your blissful, post fuck haze, devoid of the tension you carried in your body all day. He watched you rest until your eyes opened to meet his, and he offered you a soft smile. “If you are too tired, I will prepare you something to eat,” he said pointedly, not keen on allowing you to shirk your responsibility to care for your body. You smiled, a breathless laugh on your lips. You searched for his hand, lacing your fingers to give him a squeeze. “Be my guest.”
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