19.Kinktober CREAMPIE
♡ AN: not really on prompt, but this is what it inspired...
♡ TW: noncon/dubcon, hybrid au, yandere, threats, feelings of dysmorphia, rumors and gossip, bullying
♡ FEM reader
Thinking about pretty little Pomeranian reader and the superior Graywolf and all the hot gossip being spread about you two.
You don’t remember him ever having asked you out, but before you even knew it, people were staring at you, whispering behind their hands about how the two of you were dating. They were even slinging around the word mates while you were still figuring out when, where, and how the rumor started—completely ignorant of the death glare the beastly canine gives any and all guys looking your way.
You even laugh when bringing it up with him over lunch, “People think we’re dating—wonder where they got that idea. I guess people see two of the same species and instantly draw conclusions, huh? The world’s still a little old-fashioned that way, don’t you think?”
You’d brought a boxed lunch—you never really know what you’ll be in the mood for, so you just end up packing a little bit of everything. Meanwhile, your friend across the table seems to be able to eat just about anything—and by the looks of it, he plans to. He’s got half an egg-sandwich in his mouth when he casually replies, “Are they wrong?”
Still just picking at your own food, you pause to look up at him and blink.
“Huh?”
Sandwich already all gone, he fetches the second out of the five he’d bought from the cafeteria, and continues as he chews, “We’re both canines. We’re the same age. We run in the same circles,” listing things matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t we date?”
You can still only manage a blink. Head chasing its own tail as you watch him finish the second and pick up the third. “Are you… asking me out? Or…”
He gives you a jaded stare at that, as if he’d been making obvious advances, or rather, that it really was just that simple—the two of you are the same species, so mating is only natural.
“Oh! Well…” you blurt out once it settles, voice reaching an awkward pitch before you manage to reel it back in, scratching the back of your neck as you twist your mouth from one side to the other. “I suppose… I just… how do I explain this?”
It’s kind of ridiculous, really, but the truth is, you feel more like a bunny compared to him—nothing at all like a dog. Sizing your fangs up with his, you can hardly even tell you’re a carnivore, let alone a canine.
What’s funny is that you wouldn’t even be thinking about any of those things if you didn’t feel like people were comparing you to him, because in the midst of overhearing rumors of your fictitious courtship, there were other comments, many with concerning sentiments and underhanded snickering of you not being what some would refer to as a real canine. Which is silly, you know, because of course you’re a real canine. There’s no such thing as a fake one, after all. Still, it gives you dysmorphia.
And you shouldn’t have to deal with any of those insecurities, and you wouldn’t be either if you were a bigger breed or if he were a smaller breed like you. It’s the size difference that makes people gossip, after all—that’s what sticks out like a sore thumb. Because, even though intermingling between dogs is common, to see two as different as the two of you walk around with each other is still a little unnatural.
But you don’t want to say any of that. You don’t want to rope him into your insecurities when he hasn’t done anything wrong. And so, “I mean, don’t you think you’d be happier with another wolf?” is what you end up saying, thinking he’d agree.
But he only raises a brow at you. “You want to be with another Pomeranian?” With all his sandwiches gone now, he reaches across the table and steals one of your carrot sticks. “I didn’t peg you for a puritan.”
“It’s not about that!” you nearly bark, jumping into a stand, feeling flushed at the accusation, though again, calming yourself and sitting back down with a lowered voice, glad the two of you decided to take your lunch out at the lonely picnic table in the yard, instead of inside the crowded cafeteria where everyone would bear witness. Here, only a few people turn their heads before going back to their own business. “It could be a Chihuahua or a Terrier, or something. I just… want someone more my size, is all. You know?” Surely, he must, right?
He just keeps giving you that same lazy, jaded look, like you’re overcomplicating something really simple. And by the looks of his tail slowly brushing from side to side behind him, you can tell he finds it amusing as well.
Still, you hold your ground. “I mean, imagine if it were the other way around! If you were a Pomeranian and I were a wolf, you wouldn’t even be able to reach up high enough—you’d have to settle for humping my leg!”
You thought it was a solid argument, but he only snickers lowly at it, grin full of those big teeth, “But it ain’t the other way around. And I have no issues lifting you up to the right height.”
You blush at that, looking off to the side sheepishly, grumbling under your breath, “You’re missing the point…” Between trying not to offend him or yourself, you struggle to find the right words with a sigh, denting your palms with your claws. Though fine-filed as they are, they don’t break the skin. “We might be the same species, but we’re not…, you know… compatible.”
He doesn’t seem to share any of your concerns, asking point-blank, “How d’you know?”
Again, you can only look back at him and blink. “What?” His suddenness always catches you off guard; you’d have to say you’re incompatible in more ways than one.
And yet, “How do you know we’re not compatible?” is the question he puts forward as he swipes another three of your carrot sticks.
You only now notice that more than half of them are gone as you splutter out, “Well… I guess I,” trying to find the answer, though coming up empty-handed. “I guess I don’t really know for sure…”
There’s a pause as he snacks on your lunch, but it isn’t long before he comes with yet another absurdly straightforward proposal, “So let’s find out.”
Your eyes go round this time again, all but gawking at him, not wanting to draw any assumptions, especially one so brazen. “What do you mean?”
And this time again, he only snickers at you, taking the last of your carrot sticks before getting up right as the bell rings. “After class today, come to my dorm, then we’ll see if you still want a Chihuahua.”
And then he’s gone. Off to class like you should be, too, if only you weren’t so stunned.
You had to sit there for another minute, collecting yourself until you were the only one left, face heated and flushed, needing to slap your cheeks to snap out of it, before shaking it off like fleas and sprinting off to class.
Though you might as well have skipped it altogether…
You’re not able to pay attention. Too busy rummaging through your thoughts while chewing your pencil to bits.
This is your last year of college, and you haven’t done that much experimenting, if any at all. This might be your final chance to do something totally crazy. Not that the whole size-difference thing is a big secret kink of yours or anything. Truth be told, as you’d said during lunch, you quite prefer guys your own size, but still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little intrigued. Many girls go for bigger guys, even more now that interspecies-mingling has become more common. Not to mention, it being one of the more popular tags every time you bother with watching porn: tiny pompom destroyed by her apex predator ancestor.
You don’t know… somehow the very thing you dislike about it is also sort of what turns you on just a little—in some twisted way you don’t entirely understand or even want to understand. You’re also not entirely convinced you even like the trope, or if it’s just something popular media has conditioned you to think you want. But also, even if it is, it’s not as though it’s a crime to just try it out one time, is it? It’s not like you’re betraying your beliefs or anything. It’s totally acceptable to be curious. Heck, it’s healthy even!
That’s all this is, you tell yourself as you stand outside his door. It’s just a bit of fun—to test it out before you settle down, and it’s too late.
You keep telling yourself that when you’re lying beneath him, too. Near-naked except for panties with him still in his boxers. You’re heart’s never beat any faster, trying to will yourself into kissing him back, though feeling bulldozed by his tongue and too scared to make much of a move with your own under the threat of those chunky teeth you feel graze your lips every now and again.
A groan or a growl, you’re not entirely sure which, leaves him every time he deepens the kiss, and you try to play off each flinch it brings by following it up with a continued movement. Though something about the way you feel his lips tug up into a smirk tells you he can tell, despite your efforts to hide it. And even though you think you should be made more comfortable knowing he’s enjoying himself, it only provides an even deeper sense of unease within you.
So much so that when you feel his claws, thick and curved, rake into the fat of your haunches, you can’t help but feel like meat that’s being assessed.
And it’s with that thought that you finally push your palms against his chest and break off the kiss by turning to face away, hoping you’re not being too much of a bummer while mumbling shamefully, “I’m sorry, but—maybe this was a bad idea…”
He doesn’t let up much, even though the message in your hands should be more than clearly telling him to give you some space. He remains close, lips by your ear, soft-voiced but with this undertone of something that makes you crawl all over.
“Why? Do I make you feel like prey?” It’s only a whisper, and still it’s shockingly loud, laced with a low snicker and a growl. “Don’t worry. It’s natural. I’m an apex predator after all… and you’re about the same as a stuffed animal.”
You jolt, facing him with shocked eyes. Nearly stuttering as you blurt out a “What–don’t say tha–”
“What? You feelin’ scared?” he cuts you off, flashing his canines, amusement painted on his face. “Not very dog-like of you. But then again—there ain’t much dog in you at all, is there?”
Your brows cinch up in a furrow, unable to tell whether or not he’s just playing some strange joke on you—but no matter the case, it sends a pang through your chest. “Stop—get off,” you demand, putting more mite behind your hands, trying to haul him off, or at least, trying to make it clear that you wanted him off, seeing as he’d not yet taken the hint.
But he only chuckles again, haughtier this time, saying, “Maybe you don’t know this, but when you’re pinned down by a Graywolf, you ought’a stay put—unless you want my teeth ripping your throat out.”
You flinch at that, quickly pulling your hands back as though he’d brunt you, before falling completely still, eyes moon-big, a shiver in your throat, not even daring to whimper as he leans in closer. Smiling still as his eyes appraise you from the feeble little quiver of your lips to the pretty curl between your brows and those big, glassy orbs staring at him in terror-felt suspense.
He scoffs, then licks his upper row of teeth, before continuing once again, “In a pack, you’d be the Omega. You know what that is?”
Now with an altered timbre, his voice is almost sweet, but with that sadistic gleam in his stare, you recognize the condescending truth behind it, as well as the awful sense that he’s one wrong move on your part away from devouring you.
“It’s the bitch of the pack. The punching bag. The chew-toy,” he explains with a grin, watching your face pale for every word. “But since I think you’re so goddamn cute, I’m gonna treat you nicer than that by making you my mate.”
Closer now, the tip of his nose bumps into yours. “Would you like that?”
You’re throat’s tight—seized up and sealed shut, with nothing coming in or out of it. No words, no air. Instead, your eyes well up, afraid to look away, even though staring at him is causing your heart to run itself ragged.
“What’s it gonna be, hm?” he continues while nose-kissing you. “My mate, or my chew toy?”
Gasping at the threat, your lungs greedily accept the relief, starting up the motoric again like a busted old car that’s been pushed to start, only for the brakes to be broken, causing a spurt of rapid breaths to take over.
Suddenly, his hand’s wrapped around your throat, not all that tightly, and yet shutting off all air once again.
“Come on, I asked you a question,” he reminds you impatiently. “Choose your pick before I do it for you.”
When his hand tightens up just a scare, it squeezes the word right off your tongue. “M-mate–”
His smile splits wider at your compliance, eyes bloodshot with hunger, and yet, intense as they are, his voice remains low and deceptively soft as he rubs salt in the wound, and pushes deeper, “What was that? I can’t hear you when you squeak like that. I don’t speak mouse.”
“Mate–” you yip a little louder at the request, eyes shut tight, breaking the dam, letting hot rivers roll down your cheeks as you bite back a sniffle with teeth sinking into your bottom lip.
Something even hotter and wetter slides up your face soon after, catching one of the runaway tears, followed by a rusty groan. “Yeah? You wanna mate?” You whimper under the assault of his tongue, twisting your head against the pillow, wanting to escape it, only for him to lick your ear, breath loud and voice even more so, “Wanna take my knot in your tiny pom-pom cunt like a fuckin’ ventriloquist dummy.”
You sob then, loudly, unable to answer.
He snickers again, raspily, salaciously, in mockery of your bleating. “I’m only asking twice, ‘cause you didn’t seem so sure before. You sure you don’t wanna be my chew toy instead?”
“No-” you whine wetly, voice now sticky with tears clogging everything, only further overwhelming you as you feel his teeth grit against your ear, growling underneath his breath.
“Then get on all fuckin’ fours and beg for it properly.”
Releasing you with a harsh shove, you scurry into action as if compelled to by higher instincts, immediately turning around with your hands and knees in the bed, shivering from head to toe, feeling his big looming presence behind you, making you want to crawl in on yourself and disappear completely.
“That’s a good little omega bitch,” he praises from above, snaring a hand around the base of your tail and another around the back of your neck, guiding your head down until you're all the way bowed with your cheek flush against the pillow again, feeling the chill of the tears left there from before.
“Now, let’s hear you say it one more time.” He leans after you, crotch pushed up against your rear, lips pressing a kiss on your temple. “Say you want to be my mate. And say it with your fuckin’ chest this time. I really don’t want to have to ask you again.”
This time, you all but cry out at his behest, “Please I–I want to be your mate!”
And again, he snickers, though now finally with some satisfaction.
“Good.”
♡ P2: Pom x Wolf
♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Atsumu ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Isagi ♡ COD – Simon
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
