#corporal! reader

[harveywritings92]

Soap: How’s Ghost’s head?

R/n, annoyed: Still full of bullshit.

Soap:...

R/n: Oh... You meant when he walked into that flag pole this morning. He’s fine.

Soap: …

R/n: Why are you still staring for?...(looks over her shoulder) Oh crap, is he behind me?

{Ghost is sitting on the chair next to her with out his mask on.)

Simon, flatly: No. I’m beside you...

R/n, jumps away shocked: Ahhh! 

{The reader is so used to seeing Ghost with his mask on, she often forgets what Simon looks like. Also the reason the reader is acting so catty is because Ghost stood her up on a date, he didn’t mean to. A female recruit who was after him, tricked Ghost into helping her with some tasks knowing full well he had a date with R/n. Long story short, the recruit tried to make a move and Ghost tore her down a few pegs in front of everyone. He tried to apologize to R/n for missing their date but she was giving him the cold shoulder so he’s basically following her around like a lost puppy...]

[PART 2]

[capricornlevi]

"Convince me to quit my job."

You laugh at the request, having heard it enough times to know he the angle he's going for.

"Kento, no."

A weary sigh from the other end of the phone line. "You didn't even try."

"Because without your job you'd be broke as well as exhausted. And it's just for another year or two, til that partner retires and you can actually start doing what you trained to do --"

You're cut off by a faint groan. "Have you always been this sensible?"

"We'll call it your influence," you reply with a grin, balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder as you make yourself another coffee. "Is it that bad?"

Kento's on day five of a week-long conference out of town; the longest you two have been apart since getting together. You can foresee his answer since he's never tried to hide his misery, but feel it appropriate to ask anyway.

"Awful. Full of boring workshops delivered by boring people in a boring conference centre." A pause. "I'd much rather be home with you."

Stirring the coffee carefully, trying to keep it from spilling onto the kitchen counter, you chuckle softly. "I know."

Another pause.

"What if I told you I'd be home a bit more from now on?"

It's your turn to hesitate, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

"Wait!" you exclaim, and the fact that he actually does wait lets you know everything you were about to ask.

"You got it?" you go to confirm, though it sounds more like a statement than a question, your voice pitching up at the end of the sentence.

"Partner took early retirement," he says, and you can hear his smile from the other end of the line. "Means I can work from home every other week. I just wanted to see your thoughts on my job before I took it, y'know, in case you did have any compelling arguments on quitting."

"I have compelling thoughts on my husband being made partner before he turns thirty, if you want to hear those?"

He laughs, warm and adoring. "Oh, very much so."

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: Falling

G/N. Soft. Sammy realises something.

It's not that you were flirting with Samuel. That, he was used to. That, he knew how to deal with, how to keep his guard up.

In fact, objectively, most people would say it started out innocently. You simply took an interest in him, asking him questions, showing your genuine curiosity in ways he can't recall anyone doing in years.

You ask him about his evenings and weekends. Beneath the front of polite small talk and corporate humdrum, he recognises the attentiveness in your gaze, the follow up questions, the conversation that continues.

It's unusual. 

Everyone that plays a regular part in his daily life only cares about what he could do for them. Everyone else outside of it, unfamiliar faces in the clubs and bars that he frequents, would only care about the one thing from him.

(Although, the feeling is mutual.)

However.

You didn't take more than he could give. You read his moods and his cues. Then the first time he makes you laugh; an unprofessional, muttered comment about Chairman Eugene that results in you guffawing and his ego swelling-

Well. He supposes that is the start of his downfall.

Samuel has enough discipline to not get overly distracted at work, to seek you out just because, but not enough not to time his coffee breaks with yours.

Conveniently bumping into you. Civil nods of acknowledgement turning to small greetings turning to smiles and chit chat turning to inside jokes and a light hand resting on your lower back.

Funny how he used to stay into the late evening and early mornings working in his office, yet now he leaves with you. Walking alongside until it's time to part ways at the front entrance. One time, during a particularly vicious typhoon, offering to drive you home which you graciously accepted.

And then finally, the most important time - when you both had an awful day, a stressful day. Staring at spreadsheets and reports until your eyes blurred, back to back to back meetings and calls without time for caffeine or nicotine breaks-

You both step out of the building and breathe a collective sigh of relief. Samuel is nothing if not opportunistic. He seizes his chance and asks if you want to grab a drink or a coffee or anything just to unwind.

You agree.

You end up at a dessert parlour, both high on sugar and each other.

Him leaning in, mirroring your body language and movements, gaze gentle and soft. You smile at him like you always do, bags already forming from the long day but eyes still shining and bright.

Samuel realises he was wrong before.

This is when he starts falling. 

[chikaras-garden]

Tim drake x reader

Can you picture it sucking off tim under a table during a confrence meeting at wayne enterprise

You mean like this?

Imagine executive!Tim, confident as he usually is, feeling incredibly anxious about a report he’s supposed to present to the board of directors today. In his office, he’s a mess: printed slides scattered across his desk, three different half-finished cups of coffee, dark circles under his eyes.

You, the assistant Mr. Wayne hired for him, are pretty sure executive!Tim, your boss, hasn’t slept.

It’s the sound of a dull thud that makes you banish your professional decorum and rise from your desk to check on him. He may be your boss. He may be Mr. Wayne’s son. But he’s also a person, and you can’t just let him spiral and suffer. Even though the door is open, you knock on his office door and say a quiet, “Mr. Drake? Tim?”

He looks like a rubber band about to snap. He looks like he needs relief, quickly, or he actually will snap, and the consequences of that, well…you can’t let that happen. Without him, you’re out of a job, and you’re pretty sure other executives aren’t as young or cute or nice to you as he is.

So you cross the room, cross the boundary of professionalism, and land right in executive!Tim’s arms. You gently cup his chin, and you swear he whimpers at you while you murmur, “Let me help.”

“The meeting’s in five minutes,” he chokes. “I can’t—”

“I can be quiet,” you murmur, slowly rubbing your hands down his chest until you reach his belt. There, you fiddle with the shiny buckle, not tugging it open until he gives you the go-ahead you need.

His eyes look sharp, focused for the first time today. That’s good, you think. You’re helping. That’s your job.

[yanderemommabean]

On my way to offer to be Yan CEO's house husband/stay at home bf/sugar baby

I'm tired enough of adulting that I'll go along with it. Ya sure I'll be his spoiled little prince sounds great! When do I move in? Can I bring my cat?

You can absolutely bring your cat! You just need to sign some contracts here, some clauses and NDAs there, some agreements to be met on both sides that are to be upheld but its small stuff such as Him always pleasuring you when you need it and You making sure you check in with him every now and again throughout the day even with just silly memes. You can be his sweet house husband or sugar baby, he doesn't mind, whichever one makes you feel as spoiled as you deserve to be! But beware, he finds all categories mentioned as extremely arousing. You might need new sexy outfits or aprons, he can't help but make you ruin and stain them!

-Mommabean

[plooto]

⋆˙✧⋆｡ kinkmas day 12 — kuru play ｡⋆✧˙⋆

warnings ❆. teacher ! reader , fingering , oral ( f rec . ) , improper use of kuru , pet names ( baby ) . lmk if i missed anything !!

now playing : have yourself a merry little christmas ; jackson 5

1:21 ───|────── 4:01

volume : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▯

lyle wasn’t always the smartest when it came to his new avatar body, even before when you were trying to teach him things he didn’t listen.

“ corporal, pay attention! ” you ridiculed, flicking him on the head to gather his focus once more.

“ ow! damn y’n, cut me a break. ” you scoffed, turning your head to the side with an ‘unbelievable’ smirk.

“ i’ll give you a break, ” you sat up, tiny hand grazing past his neck as you grab a hold of his kuru to pull it over his shoulder. “ when you tell me what this is for. ”

lyle looks down at you with a smirk on his face. you made a face back at him, raising your eyebrows, “ well? ”

“ what d’ya say we stop playing these games and we can get to the real questions. ” you feel a shiver run down your spine once your brain registered that his hand was slipping around your waist.

“ c- corporal? ” flustered and unsure what to do, you kept your grip on his kuru—the only thing that could ground you—as he pulled you into his lap, he same smirk still splayed on his face. hips spread and knees pressed into the hard surface below you, you stared up into lyle’s lust-blown eyes. a particularly loud swallow from you fills the still air, lyle grins at the sound, finally understanding the chokehold he has on you. his left hand lifts to rest under your chin before pushing it upwards.

“ y’re prettier like this, don’t y’think? ” your lips parted yet no sound came out. his smirk grew and his tail slapped against the floor. “ y’know, these li’l shorts y’wear, yor teasin’ me aren’t cha? ” finallly digging deep enough, you found your voice. your eyes darted around everywhere else as you tried to come up with a reply,

“ um.. no- they are only comfortable. ” you say, your voice was smaller than normal. you didn’t fight against his hand as he pushes your head upwards—just enough for him to slot his head in the crook of your neck. he takes a deep breath of your scent before his textured tongue licks a long stripe up your neck. your bottom lip finds itself between your teeth, a feeble attempt to quiet the deep moan that left your throat. you felt him smile against your neck, his tongue retreating before it’s replaced with his lips.

“ ah! ” you whimper as you felt him pull the skin of your neck into his mouth. your lips tuck between your teeth, trying your hardest to stay quiet, to deny the pleasure that he is pulling from you. you heard him chuckle, his body vibrating as he pulled away from you.

in an instant, your back was met with the cold hard floor, lyle’s hands pushing on the backs of your knees to keep them spread.

“ y’know, all this teaching y’been doing.. i can smell ya, sweet cheeks. ” he brings your ankle to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the bone as his other hand moves down your thigh. you push your head back against the hard floor, you tried to fight it, convince yourself that you didn’t want the pleasure that he was bestowing upon you. so caught up in your own brain, you didn’t notice that lyle parted your shorts, exposing your pretty lace underwear to him.

your mind focused, feeling the chill of the air curl around your hips. lyle was growing impatient, as if he wasn’t the one denying his own pleasure—your pleasure. when you finally looked back down, you found lyle fixated between your legs—on the wet spot that was calling his name in the most devious way. your back arched off the floor, the sweetest noises lyle’s heard from you leaving your lips as he blows at your clothed core.

“ y’smell so good. ” he presses his nose against your cunt, committing your scent to memory. “ christ- ” your head turns downwards, you watch his eyes flutter shut, his ears flatten against his head.

“ c-cor- oh! ” your inquiry gets cut short by a moan, lyle’s tongue completely derailing your train of thought. you squealed, toes curling as lyle doesn’t move your underwear, rather ravishing you through it. your hips shifted, fuck you needed more.

lyle could smell it—smell you.. he needed more, more you. his tongue flattens against your clothed, wet hole.

as your head fell back against the pillows, your other hand gripped at his shirt. hot white pleasure filled you as you felt his large tongue on your naked cunt. you whined, your empty, wet hole squelching around nothing as his lips close around your sensitive bud.

“ oh yeah.. that’s it, baby.. ” he groaned into the sensitive nub, the vibrations of his voice encouraging pleasure to trickle down your spine. he adjusted his position, his left hand rising to take his kuru from your hands,

“ y’want more baby? ” you nod your head, almost in disbelief that he pulled away so disrespectfully,

“lyle- lyle please..” you whimper, his hand pushing down on your stomach as he sit back on his haunches. the hand on your stomach traveled upwards, flicking at the hardened nubs under your tee shirt and in an moment, maybe a fraction of one, your shirt was split. your back arched off the floor, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering without restraint as the knuckles of his other hand brush against your underboob.

“ y’can get more when you tell me what this is for. ” you let out a whimper in frustration. there was no way your brain could function, not when there’s an incredibly attractive recom between your legs. you squeezed your eyes shut and began to describe what the queue is for. you didn’t make it to the thirrd syllable of your sentence when something latched onto your nipple, interrupting your speak by drawing a loud moan from your lips.

“ what was that baby? ” now with both hands free, lyle leaves one to play with your other nipple while the other teases your sopping entrance.

“ nng~ mating and bond-ing w- with pandora’ss~ creatures ” you rushed out, your empty cunt fluttering around nothing when his lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves.

“ good girl. ” he replied, stretching the vowels, as he eased a finger into where you needed him the most. just as the air left your chest in a moan, you found yourself with lyle’s fingers pressing down on your tongue as he inserts another finger. immediately curling his fingers against the spongy patch inside you, he groaned into your clit, feeling your drool coat his fingers.

his fingers were relentless, abusing the spot inside you that made you see stars as you were filled with heat. a brush of his teeth against your clit sent you over the edge, your tummy tensing with the orgasm that ripped through you. once the waves of pleasure finished, he pulled his fingers out of your holes, licking them clean before shedding his own clothing.

the sight of him had your eyes bulging out of your head. this was going to be a long tutoring session.

tags -> @poisonousrain444 , @luvv4j4ybe11

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

PAIRING: Office! Ghost/Co-Worker! Ghost x F! Reader 

WARNINGS: that particular kind of tacit sexual tension you find in corporate Britain || sexy eye contact from across the bullpen || filthy language || 18+ only || smut in later parts so MDNI

Part 1 || Part 2 of 4 || Part 3 || Part 4

***

Things start to get complicated when your supervisor asks to speak to you privately.  Of course, he doesn’t provide any context, but by the late morning, you’re twitching in discomfort and anticipation.  You look up at Simon to see him—what else?—looking at you already.  He has an eyebrow raised in question, and when you shake your head slightly, he goes back to his…whatever he does.  Paperwork.  Whatever.

A million, billion years would not have been enough for you to guess what your boss wants to talk to you about—Simon. 

Thank you for making him feel welcome, he says.  Lt Riley’s not really an office kind of guy.  

You try your best to keep a straight face when you ask him why Simon’s really being punished and get both a chuckle and a get back to work. 

And the surprise conversation makes you think about the other things you've been avoiding thinking about. For one, you’ve always found yourself daydreaming about Ghost during the work day…but things are different now.

He’s always in the back of your mind, you’re always having to jolt yourself out of your daydreams, but you’ve slowly come to realise just how completely out of your league Ghost really is—he has a reputation on base as a loner and a weirdo, and if that wasn’t enough, you’d even heard through the grapevine that he was 141.  You, on the other hand, were a pervy data analyst punching above your weight, with a pipe dream of…well.  Ghost’s pipe.  

But recently, Simon’s been on your mind too.  Not quite a summit you could climb yet, but at least one your brain (and other parts of you) could imagine scaling someday. 

And most annoyingly, it’s not just his physical appearance you find yourself attracted to—lately, it’s his prickly demeanour that you’ve been finding particularly endearing.  It’s strange but you feel a bit weird about no one even attempting to talk to him at work.   

And it’s irrational for you to feel that way, you know that.  He keeps to himself and never voluntarily tries to start a conversation with anyone. Unfortunately, Simon is…horrendously Simon about the whole thing.  Says constantly that he doesn’t care and that he can’t stand conversation and that he doesn’t need more than one pain in his arse.  But he’s never once pushed you away when you tried, so you don’t understand why the others won’t.  It irks you that they don’t include him, while also making you feel warmer inside for having been the chosen one that gets to spend time with him.  

What has become worrisome to you is that he’s…scarily in tune with your interest in him.  

And you find that you don’t mind.

He looks at you—god, you’re convinced that he looks into you—with those dark, wet, almost black eyes that have you convinced that you wear all your secrets on your face for the world to see.

So you know for a fact that your jaw is going to need reeling back in when, on one of your smoke breaks and during your Ghost-related speculation rants, Simon exasperatedly agrees to introduce you.

***

Taglist: @devcica || @kneelingshadowsalome || @tiredmetalenthusiast || @xintothewoodswegox|| @miyabilicious || @almightywdm

[through-the-windowz]

joongdok but they’re in lobcorp

[anxious-alastor]

May I Have This Dance? ||Pt. 1|| Albert Wesker x Fem! Reader

"Why are people so stupid." You groaned as you and your team returned to the STARS office of the Raccoon City Police Department.

"You seem cheery." Jill commented as she put away her outer layer of protective gear and harnesses.

"Yeah. Responding to a chemical threat and finding two idiots who couldn't bother to read a label is just peachy." You huffed as you closed your locker a little too hard.

"Is something wrong, Doctor?"

You whirled around to see Captain Albert Wesker standing in the doorway. His arms were crossed and his usual harsh expression seemed softer than usual as your frustration ebbed away.

"U-uh. No sir, Captain Wesker."

"Let's not go slamming doors then."

You opened your mouth to respond but he had already walked off. You looked at Jill who shrugged and shook her head. Another growl of frustration left you before you sat down at your desk to fill out the required paperwork.

***

Time flew by fast as you worked, before you knew it you were done and everyone had begun to pack up and leave. On your way out, something in your brain switched and you began noticing things.

Chris and Barry had been incoherent until you heard Barry say, "So are you excited for the Banquet?"

Your legs stopped moving as you thought hard to process what was said. Wasn't the banquet for another week?

There was another whisper from Rebecca to Jill that you managed to catch as they brushed past you.

"Have you got a new dress?"

The RPD Banquet. The special event hosted by the city for the Police Department to thank them for their work, to get cozy with donors, and to show off to other notable guests. You hated wearing formal clothes, especially the kind they'd expect you and your other coworkers to wear. Chief Irons had an especially strict dress code for the entire station. Of course you had pushed it out of your mind until now.

"Hey Jill wait—" You grabbed her shoulder before she got too far.

The brunette turned to you, intrigued and concerned by the sudden grab and the shift of color in your face.

"Something wrong? You look like you're in trouble."

"I guess you could say that," You glanced around, "Is the banquet tonight?"

She grinned sympathetically, "Yeah it is, you forgot didn't you?"

"Of course I did. And I don't have a dress."

"What happened to the one you wore last year?"

"I rented that one." You sighed softly, "Maybe I'll have to back out..."

"If you think that's best." She offered a pat on your shoulder before returning to her conversation with Rebecca.

You just sighed to yourself before disappearing off to your apartment.

***

You had settled on your bed after having taken a shower. Comfy in pjs and wrapped in your blanket, you were barely aware of some strange baking show as you wondered about the event taking place about an hour from now. Guilt simmered just below your chest as you thought about what you might've cost the Chief in donations.

Then your phone rang. You quickly dug around your blanket, slightly panicked as you weren't expecting a call and had allowed your cellphone to be engulfed by the soft fabric. It was around the fourth ring when you finally answered it.

"Why aren't you here?" It was Wesker.

"I uh... don't have anything to wear."

"You aren't coming to the most important night for the entire department because you don't have anything to wear?"

You felt your face grow hot with embarrassment as you stuttered into the phone.

There was a pause, a long excruciating pause that was only broken as he drew in and let out a sigh.

"I don't accept this. Get ready, I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"What—" You began but the call had disconnected.

You stared at your phone for a good minute before scrambling out of bed and attempting to not rush through your makeup. Even if it were a simple look, you didn't want it to seem sloppy.

You hovered around your hair for a moment before you heard the knocking at your door. With some hesitation, and after peeking through the peephole, you opened it to see your captain holding an opaque garment bag. You couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses as he offered it to you, but you swear you could see his cheeks get slightly pink.

You took it, glancing at him warily, "Do you want to come in?"

"I'll wait out here."

You just nodded before closing the door and quickly returning to your room.

Upon opening the dress you found that it was rather unique to you. It hugged you in all the right places and draped where it needed to, and it stopped at the length you felt most comfortable with. The only thing not tailored to your comfort was the color scheme. Black lace covered the deep crimson fabric that felt soft against your skin.

You admired the dress for a moment before deciding to add some dark red to your makeup look to compliment the colors. You then slipped into some heels and met your captain outside.

"I need you to zip it. I can't reach." Your voice was breathless and a little uneven.

He chuckled softly and placed one hand against your lower back while the other pulled up the zipper. He then led you to a limousine that he had hired.

***

It felt like the world finally slowed down as you settled onto the leather seat across from your captain. You hadn't noticed his outfit entirely until now. It matched yours perfectly—his was elegant and yet much more moody. It was hard to suppress a giggle as you realized how perfectly that described the man across from you.

"Something funny?" He tilted his head towards you.

You shook your head quickly, glancing out the window to avoid his gaze.

"How come you went through all the trouble just to get me to the Banquet? How did you get this dress so quickly?" You had so many questions.

"It's the most important event of the year according to Chief Irons. It was no trouble at all really." He paused as if deciding on his words. "I had a tailor design and make the dress a couple weeks ago. You seemed to be drowning in work."

"And my sizing?"

"Based off the size of your gear in your locker."

It seemed reasonable enough, though still very strange. You couldn't be too upset though since you'd be able to attend the banquet and not get teased for lack of attendance the next day.

Silence fell in the space until you reached the venue where the roar of chatter was a gentle rumble from outside. Your chauffeur parked and opened the door for the both of you. Wesker stepped out then offered you his hand which you took gratefully as you bowed out of the vehicle.

There were some people outside, not necessarily for you or your Captain but for the donors. Some of Raccoon city's biggest celebrities were attending and everyone wanted to see.

"Keep your chin up." Wesker spoke softly, something unusual for him as he wrapped your arm around his.

Your head had been tilted down, eyes preferring the ground rather than those who might be looking at you. Upon registering his words you lifted your head, faintly blushing as you tried to keep your eyes forward. Your hand gripped his arm tight as he led you into the venue.

All eyes were on you.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Azriel x Cam-Girl!Reader: His Personal Assistant

A/N: I just— Azriel in a suit and tie? Getting all hot and bothered because he recognises reader from her late-night streams that he spends his evenings watching? How am I supposed to resist that?

Also, apologies to anyone named Kieth :)

Warnings: slight work-place harassment

-Part 2-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Really?”

Helion gives you a smile, “I told you: anything. I can’t imagine why you would want to, but—”

You’ve already launched yourself at him, arms wrapping securely over his wonderfully muscled shoulders, dark skin contrasting gloriously with the crisp white polo he’s wearing that stretches over his chest. The top few buttons are undone in the summer heat, giving a simultaneously tantalising and teasing view. Enough to have your mouth watering, enough to pique your interest, but not enough to reveal anything else. An appetising suggestion.

“Thank-you!” You squeeze him tight and his laugh reverberates through your breasts, nipples peaking in response to the deliciously deep sound. His large hands span your waist, squeezing back and his breath tickles your neck. You press a smacking kiss to his cheekbone, sliding down his body until your flats land on the terrace—warmed by the sun.

“I’m not sure you’ll be thanking me by the end of the month, Luscious,” he chuckles, using your stage name, releasing you as you step away again, still smiling broadly. “I think you’ll be bored to tears by the end of your first day there.”

“Nonsense. I’ve always wanted to see how normal people live their lives,” you counter, grinning confidently. “Besides, how did you manage? It’s not like I have a particularly outstanding CV or anything…” You squint your eyes at him, “what strings did you pull to get me this job?”

Helion smiles, gesturing to continue the walk through his garden. “A good friend from my university days owed me a favour for something in the past,” he explains, eyes twinkling. “One of his directors has a habit of overworking himself—he thinks a personal assistant might do the trick. You’ll be there to give them an extension on finding a suitable fill for the role.”

Your nose crinkles a little, “so…what’ll I be doing? And what sort of job is it? Tell me I’m going to get one of those fancy chairs. You know, all big and executive? That have wheels on the bottom and spin around?” You ask excitedly. You gasp, “will I get a desk, too?” Helion laughs again, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “You’ll be filled in on the details when you get there. As far as I know, it’ll be fairly straight forward: photocopying, emailing, getting coffees—general admin tasks.”

Sounds fun—interesting.

“You probably won’t sit in on any meetings, since he runs a pretty prestigious law firm, but hopefully it won’t be too much of a bore.” He winks over his shoulder and you grin broadly. “How big is the building? Is it far from me?”

“Yes, it’s a skyscraper. And about a twenty minute drive—if you avoid rush hour,” he replies, moving toward the fountain. You could whoop with joy, but manage to restrain yourself. “Thanks again, Helion,” you say, still bursting with happiness—you’re going to get to work a real, normal job!

Your boss just grins over his shoulder, eyes gleaming, “don’t thank me yet.”

You don’t really consider his warning, instead launching more questions his way: What will you wear? How long is the work day? Will you get a decent lunch break?

————

Monday morning, you’re up and ready.

You’d selected your clothes the day before, having gone on a mini shopping spree to get in some appropriate attire for a law firm—which was both and arduous and fun task. A law firm…how grown-up!

The week before, you’d poured over the short and concise email you’d been forwarded from Helion, informing you about dress codes, break times, and when you’re expected to be there, accompanied with parking directions. You’d smiled to yourself that night, before stripping off your clothes, hopping in your shower, then switching on the webcam as you settled in your spare bedroom.

Helion hadn’t been lying when he’d told you the building was a skyscraper, complete with large windows and—most impressively—solar panels covering the elevated roof. The sun is out, making you second guess your cardigan, but hopefully there will be AC inside to counteract the heat. Checking your phone for the email, you step inside the building.

Five minutes later, you’re knocking on a looming door that leads to a room overlooking the entire city—he’s on the top floor. When there’s no answer, you peer at your phone, rereading the email. You’re definitely where you’re supposed to be—maybe a little early, but that’s never a bad thing. You perk up when you hear your name, footsteps drawing closer as you turn to greet whoever it is.

You conceal your shock perfectly—he’s so young! He can’t be older than his early-thirties—and so handsome, too! What a pleasant surprise. Your red-painted lips split into a carefully crafted smile, designed to be both alluring and demure, extending your hand before you, “I am expected, aren’t I?”

The man stops before you, eyes flicking to your hand as he grasps it firmly, gaze piercing into you. The shake is firm and assertive, more of a yank on your arm than the polite gesture you had expected. “You were supposed to wait at reception to be escorted to my office,” he says in a stern, but not unkind, voice. “I was expecting to find you there, but it seems you like to take initiative.”

Your smile morphs to a grin, “that I do.”

His lip twitches, but he gestures to his door, walking inside as he moves for his desk, muttering something under his breath: handful, indeed. You shut the door behind yourself, the slightly clouded floor to ceiling windows that separate his office from the hallway registering dimly in the back of your mind.

“You must be Rhys, then. The friend Helion mentioned,” you probe, taking the seat in front of his large desk. The chair is wonderfully comfy, making you want to purr. Somehow, you don’t feel he would appreciate the reaction. “Rhysand, yes. But you will not be addressing me so,” he replies smoothly, opening his suitcase and pulling out his laptop. “How much has Helion told you about your work experience?” He asks without looking up, preoccupied with commencing what is probably his daily routine of work.

“He said something about working as a temporary P.A. to one of your workaholic directors,” you drawl. There’s that lip twitch again. Not too bad, then. First impressions seem to be going okay. “He also mentioned not getting any ideas concerning bringing my prior work experience to your firm,” you say smoothly, offering a polite smile, watching for his reaction.

He doesn’t remove his attention from the laptop, deft fingers already flying over the keys, features a mask of vague amusement as he gives a brief nod. Right, a power play, then. He wants to make it clear that you’re working for him—one step out of line and you’re done. At least, that seems to be the rough message he’s sending.

“Say, did Helion mention anything about that?” You ask, feeling him out a little. “About what?” He asks, absently. Definitely a line in the sand. Helion must have mentioned your attitude. Fine, then. You can play pretty-personal-assistant. You can be a good little corporate slave. That’s your talent, after all: switching your personas to keep people at your feet.

“About my main job. In entertainment?” You ask, the smile turning demure, while keeping your tone polite. “I know his own line of work, yes. And no.” He looks up from his laptop, eyes turning cold and stern, “you are not to indulge in any sort of work that does not relate directly to tasks you have been given by my Director.”

Your smile widens a little, “understood, Mr. Rhysand Sir.”

————

Helion hasn’t prepared you enough.

Why hadn’t he mentioned the man you’d be working for has looks to put your male counterparts to shame? With a face like that, you’re mildly surprised your underwear stays on and doesn’t drop to your ankles. That a puddle of wetness doesn’t seep into the chair you’re currently seated on.

You stand to greet him, holding out your hand, hoping he’ll be a little gentler than Rhys was. But as soon as his eyes settle on you—red lips, pretty pearl earrings, sweet little pencil skirt—nothing. Not even a blink, or a double-take. Not even a roll of his throat. And it seems his eyes have already flicked back to the CEO by the time you’ve realised he is blatantly refusing to shake your hand. Your teeth grind as you bring your arm back to yourself. For a brief moment you wonder if it’s distain for your occupation—but Rhys had made it very clear he’s the only one who knows about your situation, so it can’t be that.

Of course you get stuck with the pissy, entitled Director who probably thinks women still belong solely in the kitchen and are only good for popping out babies one after another. You feel bad for his wife—if he has one. You should have given some thought regarding to the type of men you’ll be dealing within this discipline. Probably grew up with topiary surrounding his father’s estate, with an obscenely long gated driveway to flaunt it. His own house probably came with underfloor heating and bedrooms that are purely decorative. Probably says scone instead of scon.

“This is my Director, Azriel. Azriel, this young lady will be helping relieve your obscene workload,” Rhys introduces, a plain smile on his handsome face that somehow isn’t as interesting now that this classically-carved, marvellously-muscled, entitled ass has entered your world. “This is her?” He asks, keeping his attention off you. Not showing so much as an ounce of respect. He’s getting on your nerves and you’ve known him less than a minute.

Rhys nods his head once, a swift, concise movement, “correct. You will show her around the firm, demonstrate how to use the necessary equipment, and make sure she is working to the overall exceptional degree that is expected within my company.” Internally, you’re trying to keep yourself together—remarkably tricky. Working to not just a satisfying, but an exceptional degree? With this stick in the mud? All too suddenly, Helion’s warnings are making sense.

Azriel barely nods, “understood.”

He turns for the door, a silent dismissal passing between them, not once looking at you as he makes for the exit. It takes less than a second for you to realise he’s expecting you to follow behind him, like an obedient dog, but you manage to make a graceful exit, muttering a relatively polite, thank-you for your time to Rhys before you’re striding to match Azriel’s brisk pace. You’re not sure he’s even doing it intentionally, with those long legs of his—finely muscled, just like the rest of him. Dickhead.

————

The first place he takes you to is his own office, stopping by to drop off his satchel and turn his laptop on, preparing for the long day ahead. Then he’s escorting you out, striding down the hallway, directing you to a new location. It’s all rather terrifying—the speed and precision with which he conducts himself. Brutal efficiency lacing every movement.

You pick up your own pace to match his, having to kick up to a slightly faster walk than usual to keep up with him. He shows you to your temporary office—across the hall from his own—along with how to use the photocopying feature on the chunky block of machinery at the side of the lounge, as well as how to scan documents in. He shows you once how to do everything, then lets you try your hand at it. Unsurprisingly, you stumble the first two times, either forgetting to select an A4 sized piece of paper, or forgetting to make sure the documents are scanned in with colour.

Despite his previously sour attitude, he’s patient with your learning, not snapping at you when you get something wrong. Not encouraging you, either. You can’t tell where you stand, and as a socialite, it unnerves you—you can’t get a read on him. But you can’t let him intimidate you. He seems like the type to go for blood if he detects it.

“We’ll move on to filing,” he says, once you successfully scan, and photocopy a Grant of Probate, and driving licence. “Any questions?” You get the vague impression it’s not a sincere offer, but maybe you’re making unjust inferences based on the assumptions of his character. Maybe that’s also why you ask the first thing that pops into your mind. “Do you think you could slow your pace a little?” You give him a shy smile, aiming for humour as an ice-breaker, “I’m surprised my heels haven’t fallen off with how fast you’re going.”

His features don’t shift. Not even a twitch of the lips, like with Rhys. He only nods curtly, then sets off at a slightly less demanding pace than before, heading to his office. On the way, you pass by a young man who seems to be a similar age to you—perhaps a little younger— with light brown skin, eyes the colour of matcha tea, and lashes you would die for. He gives you a polite, albeit shy, smile as he passes, which you return.

“Who was that?” You ask nosily once the young man has passed.

“That was Gabrielle. He’s doing an apprenticeship under Kieth. You might run into the two of them over your time here; Gabrielle will have similar tasks as you.” Azriel explains in his monotonous voice—strangely pleasant. You wonder what it would sound like first thing in the morning. You smile mischievously to yourself as you imagine getting him into your bed. All the ways you could blow his mind. You have a hard time imagining he’s particularly fun in the sheets, with his stick-in-the-mud attitude and stick-in-the-mud character.

“And what about Kieth? Is he also a Director? Like you, Azriel?” His eyes flick briefly to you—light brown—before cutting ahead. “Correct.”

You resist the urge to lick your lips. You already know you’re going to fuck him—it’s just a matter of figuring out what kind of woman he wants. You’re going to break him down, until he’s begging for more. No matter Rhys probably won’t want you sleeping with one of his directors behind his back, but he’s not going to find out.

Azriel won’t even know what hit him until his knees are buckling.

You eye the way his suit seems be perfectly tailored to every round muscle, every bone and fibre of his body. Wrapped to perfection, like a sweet, little Christmas present for you to rip into.

————

As soon as you’re home, you’re stepping into the shower, needing to release the tension from your shoulders.

He’d worked you within an inch of your life.

At first, you’d made his coffee too hot, then it was too sweet, and the third time he seemed to have given up, grunting after the first sip—though it was finished by lunch. Then, he’d had you scan a two-hundred page document to him, which had taken you an hour and five minutes of monotonous lowering the machines lid, allowing the blinding white light to slide beneath the glass, changing the page, lining up the corners, then repeating the whole process. It was a task in itself to not drift off and forget if you’d already scanned in a page. Not to mention the additional half an hour spent waiting for the damn file to send.

That hadn’t even been the worst of it. The entire afternoon had been spent filing: finding papers that needed to be strung into the same file, ordering them chronologically—which sometimes meant removing months worth of documents just to slide one stupid printed email to the back of a Correspondence File.

The upside of the afternoon? It had presented you with many opportunities to bend over a cabinet, leaning on a file draw while you sorted through the papers to find the date you were searching for. You’d switch it around sometimes, too, leaning so you were facing him, flashing him a peak down your shirt every now and then.

The downside of the afternoon? His eyes had never left his computer. It was like you didn’t even exist. What sort of man doesn’t take advantage of fate when a pretty lady is offering a plentiful view of her backside? What sort of man doesn’t take advantage of you when you offer him a chance? It’s insulting…but you suppose it’s only been one day. Maybe he’s shy—you’ll have to step up your game.

Maybe you can spill some coffee between his legs. Or wear one of your more sheer tops with a dark bra. Or un-pop a few buttons on your shirt when he works you too hard. Really, he has no right to be so focused on his work when you’re in the same room as him, in your pretty little heels, and pretty little cardi, and pretty little skirt.

Maybe he doesn’t want pretty and little, though. Maybe you should try to be a little more “executive”, like him.

You fall asleep pretty promptly that night, schemes for how to ruffle Azriel’s feathers playing through your devious, sex-addled brain.

You still have a whole month to get him addicted to you. Shouldn’t be too difficult.

————

When you get in the next morning—a whole half an hour before you’re required—you head straight to your office. Only to see Azriel already sat at his desk, deft fingers flying over the keys, looking as stern as yesterday. Why is he in at 7:30 in the morning? From the look of it, he’s been there for a while already.

His dark eyes flick over the lid of his sleek laptop, catching you watching. Without so much as a word of greeting, he returns his attention to his computer, “you aren’t due for another half an hour.” Even if it isn’t a direct invitation, you step into his office, moving to be a few steps from his large desk. “I was planning on secretly sneaking in a couple of practice runs for coffee this morning, but it seems you’ve caught me,” you reply, gently.

Nonsense. You’re supposed to be mirroring him today. People like others who operate in similar styles to them, so you’ll act like a calmer counterpart—more feminine. Softer at the edges. So you straighten a little, standing with elegant poise, raising your chin ever so slightly. “You don’t need thirty minutes to make a good cup of coffee,” he says, eyes remaining on the screen of his computer. “Come back in half an hour when the work day commences.”

“No filing you want me to do? Get me warmed up for the work day?” You ask casually, as if remarking on the weather. His brow dips almost imperceptibly, “come back at Eight.”

“Just eager to help with your workload, Azriel.” You nearly smack yourself as the habitual lilt honeys your tongue. Executive. Not flirtatious. You clear your throat, trying again. “Eight it is, then. I’ll be here on the dot.”

You close the door behind you, heading across the hallway to your office, settling down into your chair—that has wheels. If everything else is miserable, at least you can roll across the floor with ease. You tap your desk restlessly, before logging onto the computer. As soon as you lay eyes on the digital scans from yesterday in your emails, you spin to the side and pull out your phone. Time for an update, anyway.

Undoing enough buttons to easily reveal your tits, hiking up your skirt, you snap a pretty picture, uploading it with a few taps of your fingers. The light is catching on your shiny red lips, making them appear plump, and Luscious. The image loads quickly, followed by a short caption. Getting a little handsy at work. Think I should fuck my boss? xxx

Deciding to be productive, you set yourself straight, and make for your door. You’d passed a coffee house on the way in, and just because you can’t make the bitter liquid in a way to satisfy him, doesn’t mean somebody else can’t be called in. Surely a barista will be a suitable improvement.

————

When you return, you decant the coffee into a nondescript white mug, careful not to burn yourself while handling the hot liquid. Maybe you undo an extra button, too, so he’ll have a little treat when you lean down to place the mug on his desk.

It’s eight on the dot when you knock on his door before before entering. Your plans are fucked sideways when you spot another man stood in his office. Legs in the usual man-spread, a little wider than shoulder width apart, with his hands in his pockets. Someone who’s used to feeling at ease in most spaces, who’s confident in his ability to own and dominate any room he’s in. He reeks of entitlement.

However, you’re pleasantly surprised when he turns at the sound of the door opening, eyes running appreciatively up and down your body, resting for an inappropriate moment on your chest—the undone button. He’s blandly handsome, with a hard jaw and slightly wavy brown hair that’s pushed back from his face. A slight shadow of stubble is already darkening his chin, not enough to look raggedy—more rugged masculinity. It suits him.

“And who’s this little lady?” The man asks, interest sparking in his chocolatey brown eyes. You smile, extending the hand that’s not holding his coffee, “I’m his Personal Assistant—”

“Secretary.” Your attention flicks to Azriel, but he’s eyeing the man before you, sternly. “She’s filling the role of my secretary, until a permanent replacement is found.” You fight the urge to furrow your brow, instead returning your attention to the man before you, who’s still regarding you with male interest.

“There you go then,” you smile, red lips parting enough to lift into a small grin, “I’m his secretary.” His large hand grips yours roughly—demandingly—as he shakes it. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Secretary,” he replies, mouth lifting into a charming grin. “I’m another Director here.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper as he leans in, breath smelling faintly of mint, “the better one, that is.” He winks then stands straighter, and you release a soft laugh. “I don’t suppose you have a role open for a secretary, do you?” You tease back, noting the way his eyes flicker with approval.

“If one ever opens up, you’ll be the first one I contact. Personally,” the man drawls, eyes again dipping to your chest, and you can practically see the fantasies in his gaze. Maybe you’re wasting your time on Azriel.

But then the man turns away from you, “how come you’re treated to a Personal Assistant? Where’s my pretty lady to get me coffee in the morning?” You smile dutifully at the flattery, but Azriel looks mildly pissed off. “She’s my secretary, and she does a lot more than get me coffee in the morning,” he says sharply.

You take the chance to walk round to Azriel’s side of the desk, leaning over slightly as you place the coffee beside him. You intentionally angle your body away from the man, showing the discreet view to Azriel, but his eyes aren’t on you. You don’t really have the time to be frustrated with his lack of attention. “I’m sure she does.”

Woah. That has to be some sort of HR violation.

“Kieth.” Azriel barks, breaking you out of your stare. Thunderclouds have gathered in his eyes, and you can’t help the way your spine straightens. “She’s on work experience. That is not appropriate.” The man—Keith—isn’t deterred, instead flashing you a panty-dropping grin, “not even making him pay?”

You take a step back from Azriel, leaving an appropriate distance between your bodies as you turn to face Kieth. A feline smile slices your lips, eyes flicking to Azriel, making a show of looking him up and down, then back to Kieth. “With a pretty face like that? Never.”

You know Kieth gets the message—how you’ve stood yourself at his side, the opposing end of the desk that serves as a metaphorical wall. You’re aligning yourself with Azriel, and you can practically see Kieth marking the invisible leash you’ve silently suggested is connecting you to him.

If Kieth wants you, he’s going to have to go through Azriel.

———

Despite the seemingly clear alliance formed earlier that day, all traces of camaraderie had dissipated the moment Kieth removed himself from Azriel’s office. It seemed apparent that it was something about the opposing Director that got his panties in a twist, and you needed to investigate.

That being said, even after the team-up, nothing changed between the two of you. He was just as quiet as usual—almost sullen—not even sparing you a glance. You can’t figure out what’s not clicking for him. He has a woman all to himself for most hours of the working day, yet that’s all he seems to be doing: working.

What’s wrong with him?

The only time he’d paid you an ounce of attention was this morning, and since then—nothing.

You flop into bed, tired and frustrated. It’s proving more difficult than anticipated. It’s not like you haven’t had men who’ve taken a while to warm up to you before, but this is unreasonable. He seems completely uninterested. Utterly unbelievable.

The only logical conclusion you can come to is that it must be intentional. Any normal person would make eye contact with someone entering their space, or at least look up. And you’ve been in his office when other people have come in—Gabrielle popped in to ask after a particular file that Kieth had been after—and he’d functioned reasonably then.

It’s iron will that’s walling him off from you. And how are you supposed to break through a self-imposed barrier?

Easy.

You ware him down until the walls turn to dust, then you sweep in, and dominate. Crush down and obliterate.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[harveywritings92]

[Part two of this} Simon glares at a wall as R/n sheepishly sits next to him; fidgeting with her shirt...Soap and Gaz watch them while eating a bag of Cheetos.]

Soap: Wow...Two hours since he started not talkin’ to R/n, Ghost’s a stubborn one that’s for sure!

Gaz: It’s amazing how he turned this whole fiasco around on R/n, that’s some serious talent...*Soap nods*

{Meanwhile with Simon and Reader.}

Simon: I have nothing to say to you...

R/n: C’mon Si, it was an honest mistake...It could’ve happened to anybody.

Simon: But it happened with you of all people.

R/n: It’s not that bad...

Simon: Not that bad?...How could you say that when you forgot what I look like? I’m your husband for fuck sakes! 

R/n: You walk around base day and night wearing a dang skull mask 85% of the time I see you.... How the hell do you expect me not to grow accustomed to the mask more than your actual face?!

Simon:....

R/n:...

Soap & Gaz:...

Gaz, under his breath: I mean... She’s not wrong.

Simon, sighs: That’s fair....Tell ya what, How about we just forget everything that’s happened the last couple days, and move on wit’ our lives? (Simon put his mask on)

R/n: ...What about-

Ghost: Already dealt with it.. I doubt that recruit will try anything like that again.

Soap: Yeah...Especially after the vicious verbal tear down Ghost gave her...

Gaz: ...Not to mention he made her run 10 laps around the entire base; in the heat, causing all that make-up she threw on to melt! She looked like something out of a Picasso painting when she finished her laps. 

R/n:...What?

Ghost: We’ve been together for five years love, did you honestly think that some whelp whose barely got any dirt on her boots could sway me away from you? My silly girl?

[R/n’s face felt hot as Ghost pulled her into a one armed hug as Soap and Gaz took that as their cue to leave. Ghost and R/n had a make up date after this.]

[nesaluvstherecoms]

𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴏɴᴇʟ ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴇᴍ. ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Identity crisis, insomnia, PTSD, alien (Na’vi) anatomy, male and female masturbation, cum eating, pheromone induced arousal, sexual fantasies

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋ

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲

“Remember kid, a Marine can’t be defeated. Oh, you can kill us. But we’ll just regroup in hell. Semper fi.” And with that, the grey haired Colonel leans forward and ends the recording.

Sharp, amber eyes stare intensively at the now transparent screen, carefully eyeing up the piece of technology between the Recombinant’s large hands. The Recom inhales deeply, lips pursed as the expression on his face remains vengeful. His jaw is tense, teeth clenched, his brain processing the new information that it just obtained. So this is why he’s here, hm? Back from the dead. His eyes then avert to his surroundings. He watches as more of his squadron’s members are pulled out of the amnio tanks, in new, refined bodies. Their flesh covered in the amniotic fluid, giving a thick, shiny sheen to the firm, durable muscles of their new anatomy.

Quaritch snorts. If he had seen this sight fourteen years ago, he would’ve been absolutely disgusted at the alien bodies being pulled out of the tanks. His blue eyes would’ve pierced through the freaky, revolting sight. He would’ve scoffed at the science pukes, calling them freaks, giving them nasty stares before storming off somewhere. The Recom’s train of thought stops there. No he wouldn’t. He wasn’t even alive fourteen years ago. Because the man who would have reacted that way is probably still rotting somewhere. And he’s not that man.

Or is he? 

The Recom is pulled out of his thoughts by his right hand man, who’s floating close to him, holding onto the metal bar that supports the screen between his Colonel’s hands. They have a brief moment of eye contact, before the other Recombinant speaks.

“What’re we thinking Colonel?”

Quaritch moves his lower jaw to the side, tongue moving up to press against the upper molars of the same side. He takes a deep breath, eyes lowering down briefly, in thought. His eyes then turn back up, observing his Corporal’s face. It will take him some time to get used to Lyle’s new face. The same face he woke up to some hours ago. His eyes skim over the nasal plug inserted into Wainfleet’s right nostril, to stop the nosebleed that Quaritch caused when he punched him square in the face. Quaritch brings his lower jaw back into place. His tongue runs over the new fangs that he can’t seem to get used to just yet, coating them in a new layer of saliva, causing his lips to purse in the process. He then looks at his Corporal again. Wainfleet stares back, patiently waiting for his Colonel to process the new information, his tail flicking slowly behind him as they both float in the zero gravity space. Quaritch swallows the saliva that has pooled in his mouth. He looks at Wainfleet with an intense and serious expression before his lips curl into a smirk, fangs coming out in full display, as he stares deeply into his right hand man’s amber eyes.

“Well Lyle…. Looks like we did regroup in hell after all….”

Y/N is deep in her head. Her thoughts are all over the place, not able to form a logical and uniform chain like they usually do. But she tries to dull them for a bit.

This is not the place to be having an existential crisis.

She focuses her vision on what’s happening on the other side of the glass panel she’s currently standing behind, separating her from the zero gravity space she was in earlier. Her eyelids close over her eyes for a moment, just enough to ground her thoughts briefly. So that’s why she’s here huh? To colonize. What a joke.

“You okay, Colonel?”

Y/N opens her eyes again. Her line of vision falls upon the man standing next to her, who seems to have focused his sight on his perplexed Colonel, staring at her expectantly. Her eyes narrow at the man, tongue moving uncomfortably in her mouth at the sight of him. He doesn’t look the same at all. His beard is gone, his irises are golden, his nose is that of a feline, his skin is blue and striped and he has this new alien body that just looking at it makes her sick to her stom-

“Colonel?”

Y/N clenches her jaw, turning her head away from the man, not wanting to look at him.

“I’m fine John.”

The man swallows. Why is she acting like this? She’s never been so cold towards him for no reason. His eyes remain on her for a few more minutes, but she refuses to even glance at him again, like she can’t even bear the thought of looking at him. He decides to turn his head back towards the glass panel, telling himself that she’s just in her head and she’ll come to her normal self eventually. She always does. But something inside him still worries, his tail being a testament of this as the end of it flicks in intervals behind him. His eyes glance down briefly to his blue hands, as he stretches his new fingers, the skin flexing above the flesh. He swallows. He doesn’t like it. Not one bit. His eyes return to what’s happening behind the glass panel, trying to collect himself.

This is not the place to be having an existential crisis.

The Colonel and her Captain watch as the last duo of the 10 man squadron gets pulled out of their amnio tanks. As the amniotic fluid disperses in the space, the newborn Na’vi bodies get pulled out, sliding from the tank into the air of the new world they’re about to open their eyes to. The scientists maneuver the large, Recombinant bodies in the zero gravity space, preparing to get them ready for the wake up process. Y/N’s eyes follow them, running over the alien yet somehow familiar features of her First Sergeant and Operations Officer, both of their eyes closed, faces resting peacefully. Oh how unaware they are of what’s about to happen, what they’re about to wake up to, to wake up in. They don’t know they’ll open their eyes, far away from Earth, in new alien bodies, sluggish and confused, frightened even. They just remain resting, still deep in hibernation sleep, as they are moved away from Y/N’s and John’s sight.

John turns his head towards his Colonel again. But no words come out of his mouth. He’s waiting. Waiting for her to say something. Y/N feels his eyes on her. She takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the much needed air as she closes her eyes again, still keeping her jaw clenched. After a few seconds she opens them again, long eyelashes as a result of her mixed DNA parting way for her dark pupils to focus again. She swallows. John inhales as she finally looks at him again, but this time there is no displeasure on her beautiful features, just the usual calm and determined demeanor that he’s used to.

“Captain, I expect you to report to me on how the wake up process has gone for the rest of the team after they all have been awaken.”

Is all she says. John nods.

“Yes Colonel.” He replies, deep voice sounding the same as she remembers. Y/N nods once, giving him one last look, before backing up a few steps and turning around. Her combat boots thud on the tiles as she starts walking away, tail moving slightly behind her. John watches his Colonel as she walks away. After a few seconds he’s about to start leaving himself, but his ears catch the sound of her footsteps stopping. He turns around, watching in curiosity. Y/N doesn’t turn to face him, her tail has stopped moving, now standing still with the end of it slightly raised up. Her ears fold back as she turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, her hair and kuru moving along with it.

“Take care of yourself John.”

And with that she slowly turns the corner and disappears from his eyesight. John swallows, still staring at the end of the hallway from which she just left. Slowly, he exhales the breath that he hadn’t noticed he was holding.

“I will, Colonel.”



It has been five days since Y/N woke up in her new body. Her right hand man, Captain John Keller, has been telling her that some of her squadron members are awake, but not all of them. Apparently the scientists are awakening two Recombinants at a time every five days. Even then she is not able to see them, as they have to come to terms with what has been done to them first. Keller has informed her that she’ll be able to meet the entire team again once they all have somehow processed their new profound existence. Y/N huffs ironically. Well that will take some time won’t it? As she lays on her bed, in her new temporary quarters, her eyes remain on the ceiling. Her ears twitch as she periodically taps her right middle finger on the sheets stamped with the RDA logo below her. Her other hand lays flat on her stomach, feeling the muscle below her fingertips even though she’s internally revolting at the firmness of it. She keeps her eyes on the ceiling.

“Remember sweetheart…. You’re nothing but a pawn and you’ll remain a pawn until you play. Take what they give you, give away what you have to, and the difference is yours. Because the difference is what makes you the middle player between the cattle and power. Because that…. is the key to winning the game.”

Her tail starts thudding against the mattress in synchronization with the finger tapping on the sheets.

She knows what her predecessor meant. But… do these rules apply to another planet?

Her tail thuds more firmly against the mattress.

Tap…

Tap…

Tap…

It’s been five days… five days and she still hasn’t looked in the mirror. Even with that being the case, she still has caught glimpses of herself on the reflection of different glass panels on the ISV Vindicator, and she can’t say she liked it. Her head turns slowly towards the direction of the shower.

Maybe she should.

Slowly she sits up, the sheets ruffling under her. She moves her legs to the side and lowers her bare feet on the cold tiles of the room. Behind her, her tail rests flat on the mattress. After a few seconds she stands up, walking towards the direction of the bathroom. She steps foot in, and looks around for a bit. The mirrors are still covered. There’s two of them, one small and square one above the sink and one full-length body mirror in front of the shower. Her ears fold back as her eyes fall on the covered, full-length mirror. She stands there, in the middle of the bathroom, for a considerable amount of time before she decides to do it. Hesitantly, her feet walk towards the big mirror, her tail raised slightly up behind her. Getting closer, her hand reaches out to grasp the sheet thrown over it. The RDA staff had done this to every room issued to the Recombinants, because apparently there were others like her who weren’t ready to look at themselves yet. Other Recombinants…. She wonders what other squadron the RDA decided to clone…

Y/N pushes that thought aside. She has a bigger issue to face. She’s now standing in front of the mirror with her hand grasping the sheet covering it. Her eyelids close for a moment, allowing her to ground the feelings that are bubbling inside, as her ears remain folded back and pressed against her head. Why is she so afraid?

“Come on Y/N. You’re a Colonel. The military didn’t raise no pussy.” She tells herself. Her mind goes back to when she first opened a book to study about Pandora, the day after General Ardmore had requested her presence in the Recom Program. She remembers her fascination as she carefully read every page, letter by letter. She was sitting in her office at the time, the dim light of her desk lamp falling over the book she had chosen to look for information into; “The Na’vi”. She remembers as she had turned that one specific page and her e/c eyes had fallen upon the two diagrams of one male and one female Na’vi. How she stared at the picture in fascination, carefully eyeing the dark blue stripes, the tails, the noses, the ears. Is that what she looked like now? After a few seconds she opens her eyes again, and this time there’s not as much hesitation in them.

Y/N pulls the sheet off of the mirror.

As the sheet falls on the floor, a young, beautiful Na’vi woman stares back at her, breathing rapidly. Her cropped ears are folded back, her tail is raised cautiously behind her and she stares back at Y/N in fear. Y/N swallows firmly, getting some relief in her dry throat. The young Na’vi does the same. Hesitantly, Y/N places her right hand on the mirror, moving closer to it so she can examine her own face. Her golden eyes carefully trace the dark blue stripes on her face, running over each and every one, before they move to her pink, feline nose. Carefully she removes her hand from the mirror and pokes at the tip of her nose with her fingertip. It twitches at the invasive touch, and for the first time in her new life, Y/N chuckles. That immediately diverts her attention to her mouth. She parts her lips and opens her mouth, exposing the sharp canines coated in a layer of saliva that she seems to constantly have to swallow to keep her mouth from overflowing at the moment. Her tongue carefully runs over the top row of her teeth, doing a full examination before it stops at the sharp end of her right canine. She carefully pushes the tip of her tongue against it, not enough to pierce through the muscle but enough to be able to feel the sharpness of her new tooth. Her tongue then moves to her right lateral incisor. It’s also pointy and sharp, threatening to pierce the tip of the muscle as she presses it against the incisor, but it’s just a bit shorter then the canine. She clamps her teeth shut, watching the full set in the mirror. The canines and lateral incisors stand out on both rows, long, pointy and sharp, glistening under the bathroom light. She closes her mouth again, now not staring at a specific feature of hers, but just looking at her face as a whole. Her face is still familiar… just… different… and blue. But it’s still… her.

Or is it?

Slowly, Y/N’s hands move down to the end of her tactical shirt. Her fingers grasp the hem and slowly start pulling up, and over her head. She tosses the shirt somewhere in the bathroom before she turns her head back to the mirror, now staring at her exposed upper body. Her hands move up towards her collar bone, touching the skin lightly. She watches herself in the mirror as her hands slowly move down to her plump breasts and gently cup them, the fat of her tits slightly bulging out of the space between her fingers. She feels the comforting softness of them for a while, before her fingers gently start to trace her nipples. A shaky sigh leaves her mouth as they harden under her touch, getting perky between her fingertips. Her eyes watch her movements in the mirror, taking in the pretty pink color of her nipples. Her breasts haven’t changed much. That gives her some comfort, seeing that at least no drastic changes have been made to her general anatomy. With that she moves her hands down, gently pressing her fingertips against her firm stomach. She watches her thin waistline, running her fingers over her sides briefly, before reaching the belt line of her tactical pants.

Y/N swallows again. But this time she doesn’t hesitate as much. Her elegant fingers make short work of the button and the zipper, getting them both undone. Her thumbs hook under the belt line at her hips where the undone pants still hang on, and she pulls them down, kicking them away. Now standing completely naked in front of the full-length mirror, she takes in the sight. There’s no body hair, due to the Na’vi genes, so she runs her fingertips over the smooth skin gently. Her right hand moves back, grasping the thick base of her tail. Keeping her fingers wrapped around it, she moves her hand down her tail, letting it slide in her palm until the fluffy tip is curled between the knuckle of her pointer finger and her thumb. She lets it go and turns around. Her head looks over her shoulder in the mirror and she experimentally moves her tail left to right. Cropped ears raise up in fascination as she continues to move her tail and watch it in the mirror. But as she does so, her eyes fall on the long braid draped over the muscles of her back. Slowly, her hand lets go of her tail.

Y/N turns back around to face the mirror. Carefully and gently she grabs the base of the long braid and pulls it in front of her. Her mind goes back to the memory of her reading that book. She remembers reading something about this braid.

“A neural queue (Na’vi name: kuru) is an appendage that is part of many species' anatomy on Pandora, including the Na’vi. Queues are encased in a "neural whip", a protective layer of skin that houses a set of thin, pinkish tendrils that appear somewhat like hair but are actually extensions of the creature's nervous system. Although the Na'vi possess a neural whip like most other creatures, it is most often hidden under a layer of hair that is painstakingly braided around the queue to protect it.”

An extension to her nervous system. Y/N’s brows raise in uncertainty. Her fingers move down to the end of the long braid and raise it up in front of her face. She watches as the hair falls down and a set of freakish, pink tendrils appear, slithering in place. Y/N’s face twists with displeasure.

“What the actual fuck.” She mumbles. That’s creepy. She lets go of her queue, not pleased at the alien appendage connected to the base of her skull. She’ll experiment with it later, not wanting to mess with it too much, seeing that apparently it is an extension of her own nervous system. As she thinks this, her eyes fall back on the reflection in the mirror. She swallows. Only one more thing to examine… Slowly she starts bending her knees to sit on the sheet that was covering the mirror earlier, planting her rear end on the floor. Bringing her knees to her chest, she scoots back with her heels to make some space between her and the mirror. After she gets comfortable enough, her amber eyes fall on the reflection again. She sighs… fuck it.

Slowly, Y/N parts her knees, spreading her legs wide. Immediately her eyes fall on her pink pussy, searching for any weird alien features. A wave of relief washes over her as she realizes that that is not the case. Her head falls back, hair caressing the skin of her back and eyes closing for a moment.

“Oh thank fucking God.” She mumbles, grateful that she wouldn’t have to deal with some type of alien genitalia. Her tail flicks side to side, ruffling against the sheet below her. Y/N brings her head forward again, staring back at the pink flesh between her legs. The outer lips match with the blue color of the rest of the skin, but the inside seems to match the color of her nipples and neural tendrils. The shape hasn’t changed, it’s still the same as she remembers.

Y/N swallows. She wonders if…

Slowly, she brings one hand forward, carefully sliding it between her spread legs. Her fingertips experimentally spread her lower lips, pulling the hood of her clit up. The tiny pink nub starts hardening under the touch, sending a pleasurable wave coursing up her spine. She closes her legs shut. No. She’s not doing this.

Standing up from the bathroom floor, she decides to ignore what just happened, the end of her tail curling around her calf in embarrassment. She grabs the sheet and folds it carefully, putting it on a nearby shelf, before she uncovers the mirror above the sink and does the same thing with the smaller sheet. Grabbing her discarded clothes, she puts them in the laundry basket, before taking out a bathrobe and a towel from the bathroom cabinet. She needs a shower. After hanging the towels on a hook nearby, her fingers move to the end of her neural queue to undo the braid. Making short work of the strands of hair, little by little the entire queue comes out, resting over her right shoulder. Y/N watches the long neural whip now uncovered, as the tendrils move. A chill runs down her spine. She doesn’t like this thing at all. It looks so freaky.

She slides open the shower screen and steps inside. Her hand reaches for the handle, twisting it on the warm temperature side. Warm water pours from the shower head, falling in front of her, wetting her feet. She steps under the stream, letting it drench her entirely. As the water falls freely on her naked form, she reaches for the small bottle of shampoo. She pours some on her open palm before stepping out of the stream and bringing the open palm on top of her head. Her fingers work gently on her scalp, massaging in the shampoo. The sweet smell fills her nostrils and it twitches at the sudden overwhelming scent. She sneezes. The hell? She has never been so sensitive to smells. Grabbing the shampoo bottle she reads over the ingredients, trying to see if there’s something adding extra scent. But there isn’t any added perfumes. Just the standard RDA approved shampoo. She huffs, sneezing one more time. Maybe it’s her. Her nose must be more sensitive. Y/N huffs out of her nose to get rid of the sneezing feeling and continues to wash her hair carefully. Pouring some more shampoo on her palm, she brings her hands down and starts washing her body. After lathering her whole body up, her fingers gently cup her breasts and rub over them, massaging the soap into the skin. Y/N swallows as her nipples harden again, poking against her open palms. Stopping her movements, she looks towards the direction of the mirror. Her eyes trace over her naked, wet and lathered up form in the reflection, strands of hair sticking on her blue skin. She bites her lip in contemplation. Slowly, her right hand moves from her right breast and carefully slides over her pubic bone. Elegant fingers slide over the smooth skin, before getting between her legs. Warmth spreads over her cheeks at her own actions. Her middle finger gently slides between her folds. A shaky breath leaves her mouth as she feels her clit harden again, bringing back that pleasurable wave down her spine she felt earlier. Flicking her wrist slowly, she brings the bottom of the second knuckle on the tiny pink nub, and gives an experimental rub. Her hips buckle forward at the feeling, and she presses against her clit harder.

Y/N leans against the shower wall, pressing her shoulders against the cold tile. Widening her stance, she rubs tight circles on her clit. As arousal starts seeping from her hole, she lets out a shaky moan, her left hand that’s still on her left breast squeezes the soft flesh. Her tail curls around her left leg, tightening around the limb. Y/N moans again, as the waves of pleasure start running through her neurons. It’s been so long. So so long. She needs this. As she rubs harder, her hips buckle forward again, causing her shoulders to press harder against the shower wall to grant her stability. Her cunt is now drenched, covered in sticky arousal and Y/N pulls on her nipple with her other hand. Letting out another moan, she stops her movements. Her middle finger slowly slides further down her pussy until the fingertip reaches the source of the thick arousal. She gently prods at it, pressing against the silky flesh. Her head falls back, the back of it leaning against the shower wall and her eyes return to the reflection in the mirror. She has to be careful. This body is virgin after all. Slowly, she inserts the tip of her finger up to the first knuckle into her pussy. A burning sensation courses within the opening, as her walls start parting to make room for the digit. Y/N continues pushing it until it’s fully in, resting within the velvety walls of her cunt.

“Fuck.” She whispers shakily, squeezing around her own digit. Allowing her virgin walls to adjust to it, she rests there, shoulders leaning against the wall as the hot water from the shower continues to pour. The glass screens have started fogging, the steam getting thicker and thicker as seconds pass, blurring the reflection of the mirror in front of her eyesight. Y/N remembers what a pain it was for her to get used to the feeling of her hole stretching when she lost her virginity. How long it took to prep her and surpass the burning feeling in her cunt. Now she will have to go through it again. But as her walls adjust to the digit, her eyelids close over her golden eyes and she lets out another shaky sigh. Gently she starts pulling her finger out, before thrusting it in the wet and silky cavern of her pussy again. She brings her other hand down, rubbing on her clit to ease the process. Another shaky moan leaves her mouth as she continues pleasuring herself, rubbing tight circles on the tiny hardened nub and thrusting her finger in faster. Her tail tightens around her leg, while her cropped ears fold back and press against her head. Y/N angles her finger, searching for that one specific spot. The moment her legs tremble she knows she’s found it, and she jabs her fingertip against her sweet spot. Her eyebrows furrow, mouth hanging open, as she feels the first wave of that sweet tightness in the pit of her stomach. Stopping her movements, Y/N turns around. Pressing her right cheek against the shower wall, her rear end sticks out, tail now raising up and the end draping over her right shoulder. Her queue dangles on her left side, tendrils still moving. She parts her feet wider, bringing her hands between her legs again. Her middle finger slides back in effortlessly and her other hand comes to rub on her clit again. But Y/N doesn’t move her finger just yet. Her right ring finger now prods at her opening, squeezing against the base of her middle finger. Slowly, she presses it in, sliding it in her walls along with the digit that’s already there. The sheer amount of arousal allows it to slide effortlessly but a burning sting courses through her inner walls as her pussy tries to adjust at the new intrusion. She hisses slightly, hole stretching to accommodate the two digits.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” She mumbles, squeezing around the two fingers. Her other hand rubs on her clit, trying to ease the adjustment. Her pointer finger and pinky are now pressed flat against either ass cheek as more arousal seeps out of her pussy, dripping down the back of her hand. Slowly, the stinging pain goes away. With that, Y/N pulls out her fingers halfway before thrusting them inside her cunt again. Squelching sounds and moans fill the bathroom along with the sound of the pouring water as she finds that same spot again and jabs against it mercilessly. The coil in the pit of her stomach continues to tighten, while waves of sweet pleasure encase her body. Her mouth hangs open, the tile fogs with her shaky breaths and moans as she keeps her cheek pressed against it. Her cheeks are now fully hot, brows furrowed and eyes closed in pleasure. Her mind starts to drift, searching for filthy memories to help her get closer to that sweet sweet orgasm. Pornographic moans echo against the walls as she finds just the right memory, and slams into her own cunt harder, while her other hand rubs her clit furiously. A numb feeling starts overtaking her toes, her stomach tightens, her urethra throbs pleasurably and that’s when she knows she’s about to cum.

Quickly she turns back around, slamming her shoulders against the shower wall and sticking her hips forward. With her eyes rolling back in her skull and a final scream, the coil snaps and intense pleasure takes over her entire body. Her nervous system pulses, blood rushing through her veins as she pleasures herself even harder to ride her orgasm. Clear liquid gushes onto the shower screen in front of her, splattering aggressively against the glass as she rides her fingers, tight velvety walls convulsing around the digits. What Y/N doesn’t notice, is the tendrils of her queue pulsing with her release, pleasure coursing through them as well.

“Oh, oh fuck!” She moans one last time as her hips stop buckling. Clamping her legs shut around her right hand, she presses the palm of her other hand flat on the shower wall behind her. Y/N lets her entire back lay against the tiles, breathing heavily as her orgasm fades away.

The only sound in the bathroom is the water still pouring from the shower head, as Y/N opens her eyes again. This time she cannot see her reflection as the glass screen is fully foggy, except for the large area of splatter patterns and squirt droplets sliding down its surface. Swallowing the saliva that has pooled in her mouth, she gently pulls her fingers out of her cunt. She brings her hand in front of her face, watching as her middle and ring finger part from each other and the thick arousal stretches between them. Her mouth parts, tongue sticking out, as she slides those fingers onto her taste buds. She wraps her lips around them, cheeks hollowing as she sucks the release from the two digits. A satisfied hum comes from the bottom of her throat as the flavor of her own cum courses through her taste buds. She pulls those fingers out, moving them back down between her folds to scoop more of her cum out from her cunt. When she has gathered a satisfying amount, she brings them back to her mouth, pouring the gathered glob of cum on top of her tongue and sucking the digits clean.

The lather has dissolved by now, leaving her body weirdly sticky. After a few more seconds of gathering herself, Y/N steps under the stream of the water again. A sigh escapes her throat, as the warmth eases her muscles, tail flicking in approval behind her. She closes her eyes, letting herself enjoy the feeling. After a while, she turns the water off. She slides the glass screen open and grabs her bathrobe and towel. She wraps her hair with the towel, carefully leaving the neural queue out, and wears the bathrobe. Her feet carry her towards the door, while her hand reaches for the light-switch and presses it, turning off the bright light of the bathroom. Y/N walks towards the bed, and doesn’t hesitate to lay down, exhaustion slowly creeping up to her. Why she’s exhausted? She doesn’t know. She could argue that her first orgasm in this new body had something to do with it but she doesn’t think much of it. A small yawn escapes her lips, sharp canines and incisors coming out in the process. Her tail ruffles against the sheets. She turns her head towards her analog watch that she had left on top of the nightstand.

03:44

She should get some sleep. Removing the bathrobe, she tosses it somewhere in the room. Deciding to keep the towel wrapped around her hair, she slides her naked form under the covers. She reaches for a bottle of water on top of the nightstand and takes a few gulps before closing the lid and putting the bottle back on the nightstand. Another yawn escapes her mouth. After getting comfortable under the covers, Y/N lays on her back, staring at the ceiling. In some weeks, she and her squadron will board on Pandora. Her mind goes back to the books she read on it. Except for “The Na’vi”, one of the books that stood out the most to her had been “Pandoran Botany” by Dr. Grace Agustine. Well, who wouldn’t be fascinated by the botany of another planet. She remembers the expression on her face as she had been flipping through the pages. Well in a few weeks she gets to see it for herself… if it doesn’t kill her that is. As a third yawn leaves her lips, Y/N decides to call it a day. She shifts into her usual sleeping position and closes her eyes. Thoughts still roam in her head but she tries to dull them, wanting to quiet her mind so she can rest. But one specific thought doesn’t seem to fade away. She wonders who the other squadron of Recombinants are…

Miles lays in bed, staring at the ceiling. It has been a rough five days. His squadron members are not all awake, some of them are having trouble with the new bodies, he’s keeping an existential crisis at bay, but most importantly, it’s been five days of flashbacks. The scientists have told him that it will take some time for all his memories to flood in, that’s why he’s getting them in snippets throughout the day. He huffs. Fucking science pukes. Always talking and never taking action. He can’t sleep at night and they haven’t done shit about it. Only the usual lectures of “trust the process sir”. Trust the process his ass, he can’t even get some damn shuteye. An annoyed growl leaves his throat. He wants to sleep. He really does. But every time his mind falls asleep, he’s haunted my memories. Some of them are the memories of war. He sees the faces of his former comrades, screaming in agony, calling out to him. They beg for him to save them, reaching out to him, before they are brutally slaughtered right in front of his eyes, their blood splattering on his uniform.

Miles swallows. As a seasoned soldier, he’s used to the brutal nature of war. He has seen violence at its most horrifying form and he thought he got over those memories a long time ago, however that does not seem to be the case. They’re coming back, haunting his dreams. The worst part is, they’re not the ones that are keeping him awake at night. No, he can sleep throughout those. What he can’t sleep through is the memory of his first day on Pandora… As soon as his mind falls into slumber, the first thing he sees is a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness, the black slitted pupils staring into his soul. Miles steps back, cocking his long gun, his own eyes wide. The creature steps from the darkness, and suddenly Miles finds himself in the middle of the fluorescent jungle, in front of this one meter beast that has bared its long and horrifying black teeth at him. It howls aggressively, charging at him with all of its six limbs. Miles has no time to react…

Pain. Pain courses through his body, pulsing through his veins. He screams in agony, tearing his vocal chords. His hand rushes to the blinding pain on the side of his head. He feels it into his skull, piercing on the right side of his brain. His eyesight goes dark, isolating him from the rest of the world. Miles is now relying on his other senses as he desperately tries to survive the agony he’s going through. The right side of his uniform feels wet. It sticks to his body, awfully warm and drenched against his skin. The hand on the side of his head is drenched too, as another hot flash of pain stabs in the right side of his skull yet again. Miles screams, coughing out liquid from his torn vocal chords. His mouth fills with a salty and metallic flavor. His uniform is getting more and more drenched, and he feels a pool of hot liquid on the ground below him. The pain doesn’t stop. Neither do Miles’ screams. His ears are ringing, he can barely hear his own voice. His vision is still black, he cannot see. He hears faint sounds of explosions and screams somewhere in the distance. He feels dizzy. His body drops on his side on the ground, drenching the rest of his uniform into the pool of liquid that was below him. As its scent fills his nostrils, Miles realizes. It’s his own blood. And everything stops. Miles falls unconscious.

The Recombinant shudders. It’s been haunting him for five nights. Five nights of him jumping awake, covered in cold sweat as he struggles to breathe. His fingers instinctively reach for the right side of his head. But there’s nothing there. No scars to touch. He swallows. Bringing his wrist forward, he takes a look at his analogue watch.

03:15

His jaw moves to the side. He needs to find a way to get some damn shuteye and he needs to find it now. He turns his head back to look at the ceiling and brings his jaw in place. He thought about exercising until exhaustion a few days ago. He tried it. Did it work? No. He still had that damn nightmare. A frustrated growl emits from the bottom of his throat. Should he ask the science pukes for some melatonin pills? No, they’ll just give him the same lecture. His amber eyes fall on his crotch. He grits his teeth in contemplation. Fuck it, it wouldn’t hurt to try. His large hands reach for the zipper. Long fingers make short work of it and his tactical pants come undone shortly after. He pulls them down, tossing them somewhere in the room, and turns his attention to his crotch. His eyes fall on the slit starting between his testicles and ending a few inches higher. Miles frowns. He hates this fucking shit. Imagine his horror when he removed that stupid hospital gown and found no dick between his legs. He would’ve shot himself right there and then if it wasn’t for the science pukes explaining the anatomy to him. Still, he hates the idea of his dick being held internally. It’s disgusting. It’s weird. It’s alien.

He’s alien.

He clenches his jaw. That thought bothers him. He decides to ignore it.

This is not the time to be having an existential crisis.

Miles turns his attention back to the situation in front of him. Contracting the muscles of his abdomen, he pushes his cock out of the sheath folds. His right hand moves towards it, long fingers wrapping around the thick length. His cock is soft in his palm, after all he had no reason to get aroused. He just wants to bust a nut and be able to sleep peacefully. Hopefully whatever fucking hormone gets released when he shoots will help him sleep. With that in mind, his eyes return to the ceiling. He lets go of his dick and brings his palm to his mouth to spit on it. After he does so, he grabs his soft cock again. His hand spreads the spit all over his length, giving a few experimental pumps. He takes a deep breath, trying to get in the mood. With his cock in his fist he starts pumping slowly, paying extra attention to squeezing the tip. A satisfied hum leaves the bottom of his throat, and his eyes close, turning his vision blank. His mind starts skimming through snippets of memories, trying to find something to help grow an erection. But nothing seems to get him in the right mood. Miles frowns. Why is it so hard to blow a goddamn load? His other hand travels down between his legs, cupping his testicles. He fondles them, trying to get aroused, while his right hand continues pumping the length. After a few more minutes, Miles’ cock is still soft in his hand. He releases a frustrated growl. Letting go of his cock and balls, he puts his hands on his firm stomach. Well… he tried. He was no stranger to touching himself, after all it had been necessary sometimes to relieve stress, but he was never the type for a quick jack off, always preferred to take his time and get in the right mood. As he decides to call it a day and attempt sleep again, his nose twitches.

His cropped ears raise up in interest, as a sweet and lightly tangy scent gets in his nostrils. Miles sits up, tail flicking behind him, ruffling against the sheets. The scent is light but it’s still there, piquing his interest. He inhales, trying to find the source. Getting out of bed, he walks to where his sensitive feline nose is picking up this addicting smell. The air vent. Miles furrows his brows. He gets closer to it, his height allowing him to press the flat bridge of his nose right against the metal bars of the air vent, and he inhales deeply. His eyes roll back in his skull as the delicious scent fills his nostrils. His cock twitches, head poking out of the foreskin. Just what he needed. He spits harshly on his open palm again and grabs his cock, squeezing it tightly. Growling, he starts pumping, keeping the bridge of his nose pressed against the cold metal bars. He inhales again, filling his nose with the addicting scent. A part of him frowns at his own actions, not understanding why some random scent is arousing to him. While another part calls out to the newfound Na’vi instincts in him, telling him that this is someone’s scent. A female Na’vi’s scent. His mouth waters, hand fisting his now aching cock harder. He closes his eyes shut, inhaling the scent again. In the filthy pits of his mind he starts fantasizing a gorgeous Na’vi woman, pink hole stretched around his girth, moaning pathetically below him as he pistons his hips to drill into her tight pussy. She squeezes around his girth, velvety walls providing him with mind numbing pleasure and a deep moan leaves his throat. The sweet sap that leaks from her hole has drenched his cock, dripping down his testicles. And it smells just like this sweet, addicting scent. Miles’ other hand moves down, cupping his testicles again. He fondles them, feeling the first wave of that tightness deep in them as his other hand focuses on the tip of his dick, thumb moving to rub the slit that’s leaking precum. He growls, inhaling again, pressing his nose harder against the bars of the air vent. Whoever this woman is, the smell of her cunt is driving him insane. He fists his length harder, bringing his hips forward as his ears fold back and tail raises up in an arch behind him. The woman in his fantasy screams, releasing high pitched moans as she squeezes impossibly tight around him and cums, hot walls convulsing and clamping down on his cock. Miles feels his balls tighten, and those waves of tingling pleasure reach his abdomen before his urethra throbs in pleasure and the veiny cock starts pulsating in his fist.

“Fuckin’ hell!” Miles growls and with a final tight and harsh pump, he cums, shooting blanks on the wall where the air vent is, ropes of cum dripping down the surface. A shaky breath leaves his throat, as the last seconds of his orgasm fade away. He opens his eyes. Staring at the mess on the wall and on his hand, he huffs in annoyance. Great. Now he has to clean up. His head turns towards the air vent again. The scent is fading away. It’s still there, but it’s light. He clenches his jaw. Forcing himself to move away from the vent, he grabs a bunch of tissues and messily wipes his cum from the wall. He’s about to clean his hand when an idea pops in his head. Hesitantly, he brings his hand up to his face. His eyes inspect the cum dripping down the back of his hand. It glows lightly in a soft blue hue, not much but still noticeable enough in the darkness of his room. His tongue darts out. Experimentally, he licks some of it from his hand, his own flavor coursing in his taste buds. Miles hums in satisfaction, his tongue darts out fully and he licks his hand clean with one swipe of the large muscle. The salty yet tasty flavor fills his mouth, and he swallows the thick and warm liquid down. Slowly, he wipes the spit he left on his hand along with the amount he lubricated on his dick, and throws the tissues in the trashcan. He gets under the covers again, getting comfortable. That light tiredness after an orgasm catches up to him, and he sighs in satisfaction. It worked. Maybe he won’t see that nightmare tonight.

He takes a look at his analogue watch again.

03:44

He takes off the watch, putting it on the nightstand. A yawn leaves his lips, canines coming out as he does so. His eyes roam over the ceiling again. Who did that scent belong to? Another female Recombinant must have been aroused too, that’s the only explanation he can give. But the only women on his squadron are Walker and Z Dog. His face twists in displeasure. The thought of having pumped his cock to the scent of Walker’s or Z Dog’s arousal leaves an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Disgusting. It couldn’t have been them. Well, Walker is not awake yet. She’s still being held in hibernation sleep somewhere in the labs. Z Dog on the other hand… well Z Dog is Z Dog. No explanation needed.

However, he did overhear some of the science pukes talking about another team of Recombinants, made in a different lab. He clenches his jaw. Another squadron? But the only people who were part of the Recom Program were his own field operators. What did the RDA do?

Well whatever the RDA did, he just jerked off to her. Miles frowns. Fucking Na’vi genes, making him act out like a damn dog in heat. He pushes that thought aside. He has more important issues to deal with. Turning on his side, he closes his eyes, trying to get himself to sleep. His tail stops moving, now resting flat on the mattress. Taking a deep breath, he quiets his mind.

In a few weeks they board on Pandora. He will get to see that death trap of a moon again. But this time… this time he comes prepared. He’s not the naïve man he was back then. Not anymore. This time he will bring hell to that fucking world, he will slaughter, terrorize and destroy mercilessly. He doesn’t care who or what is there anymore, if it stands in his way, he will make sure it disappears off the face of the Universe in the most agonizing and brutal way a being can muster. Because this time, he will accomplish his mission.

This time he will eliminate Jake Sully.

Title Explanation:

Zero dark thirty – Military time, very early hours before dawn.

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ

[touchstarved-astronaut]

Hey so just wondering if anyone noticed that the current production company of Doctor Who is called Bad Wolf

Y’all can look it up yourselves if you don’t believe me but here’s proof according to Wikipedia

I haven’t watched doctor who in ages and I’m absolutely not up to date with the last few seasons but oh my god WHAT are the chances

[purgatorei]

Dating Bellringer Headcanons (Bellringer x Fem Reader)

He leaves you for a man

[cevansbrat0007]

I’ve been wondering this for awhile but I wasn’t sure how to sensitively ask: how did baby girl and Andy discuss disciplining their kids? Obviously they love spanking as an adult, consensual activity and part of their dynamic, but there’s so many different opinions now on whether spanking children is appropriate. How did they end up approaching it?

Spanking & Discipline in the Barber Household

Oddly enough, they hadn't really talked much about it until they witnessed a parent reach the end of their rope during a trip to a local park. Baby Girl was right around seven months pregnant with BiBi at the time.

She had insisted on getting out for some fresh air that day, claiming that she wanted to take advantage of the lovely spring weather they'd been having lately. And Andy, ever the doting husband, insisted on tagging along - as if she could ever leave that man behind.

So off they went. They walked the trails, took in the blooming flowers, and eventually, the conversation shifted to their hopes and dreams for the future. Not for themselves, but for their daughter.

They purchased a couple of hot chocolates and took a seat on a nearby park bench as they talked. That's when they noticed what they could only assume to be an overtired, overworked parent who was clearly out of patience with their children. But there happened to be one kid in particular who had earned their wrath.

And that little boy earned himself what seemed like a swift and powerful litany of swats for as long as it took that little family to make their way out of the park. It was loud. It was jarring. And it appeared to be an uncomfortable experience for nearly bystander who witnessed it.

For a moment, Andy and Baby Girl sat there in silence quietly sipping their cocoa. And then she leaned her head on his shoulder and softly whispered "I don't want to be that kind of Mom. I don't want either of us to be like that.". To be truthful, she wasn't so much judging as she was reflecting.

She knew that there would inevitably come a time where she might find herself at her wit's end with her own child. But she also felt that there were many other, better ways to enforce discipline without resorting to corporal punishment.

Because while a warning swat to the butt was one thing, actively and repeatedly spanking your child until they cried out in pain was something completely different. Especially when done in the heat of anger.

Andy felt inclined to agree. And so from that point on, they came to an understanding that the only spankings that would take place in the Barber household would be those dispensed as part of the special D/s dynamic found between a loving ogre and his brat!wife.

Hope that answers your question. And for the record, you asked it beautifully. Thanks!

[lostboysmate4ever]

I would love to see a Poly relationship with these three guys with y/n!