#way to flex with your agility

[yovrnewromantic]

𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐆𝐔𝐘

Benjicot Blackwood x reader

Ben was known for his brutality, receiving the name Bloody Ben from his opponents, but in your hands, he turns to putty. 💌 Based on a tiktok I saw where Ben was shy in the books

Looking that good while swinging a sword is cruel.

It’s borderline criminal how his biceps flex when he lurches forward. The way his eyes glint when he sees the first drop of blood and the absolute beast he becomes when he strikes down on his opponent sends a shiver down your spine.

Lowly grunts fly from Benjicot’s mouth countering his rival’s loud groans. The sound of metal clashing vibrates through the open air, atmosphere. Despite the fighting happening at the moment, it is clear to see that Ben is the better fighter— his harsh blows and agility unmatched. One last exchange has Ben’s foot flying to the center of his competitors armored chest, sending him flopping backwards straight onto his ass.

Applauds were immediate from the small crowd that had formed around the sparring match.

Underneath the attention, Ben flushes, waving at those around him embarrassedly.

You grin, heart full as Ben stares at his feet, approaching the steps where you reside. Leaning against the railing, looking down at him, you can’t help the taunt that slides off your tongue, like poison disguised honey. “Good job, Benny.”

His doe eyes look up at from the steps, the sweetness of your voice easing the tremble in his bones from his post-fight high. Boys have had their jaws broken for using that nickname, but he would never do that to you. Not you. Never you.

When you say it, it makes his blood run hot underneath his skin. Just being in your presence is a thrill, ten times over when compared to fighting. Trying to respond, he clears his throat, hand clenching the handle of his sword as he tries to untangle his tongue and respond to you without making a proper fool of himself. “I— thank you, uh, my lady.”

Ben clamps his eyes shut in shame.

Hunming melodically, you take a peak at the swarms of people behind you, chatting idle. As most know, hesitation was not in your nature. Without a second thought, you snag an empty pail of water. Taking a step down to become eye level, you tilt your head innocently, shaking the bucket on your wrist. “Would you mind escorting me to the well? I’m supposed to fetch some water and I’d much prefer not to do it alone.”

“Oh,” he says, almost disappointed by your offer. At least he gets to hang out with you! he thinks. When you raise a calculated brow, your words dawn on him. “Ohh, of course, my lady,” he blushes, offering an arm.

Your hand grips the meat of his bicep as you saunter past his beaten opponents and warriors unto the path to the woods. The walk isn’t far, daylight guiding your way to the tree line rather than a lantern on your wrist.

Sneaking around with Benji was becoming commoner and commoner. His presence shifting from a want to a need.

As you grow older, the risk of you two being betrothed to another becomes slimmer, seeing as your parents had solidified their place in his court so any rumors that may circulate your virtue no longer mind you.

The silence is comfortable as the pair of you are overtaken by a forest of dark green. Branches snap underneath your feet. Ahead you see two noble women talking together, and walking your way. When they walk past you, they giggle.

One look at Ben and you can see his anticipation rising— his cheeks flushed red, finger rhythmically tapping against his steel chest, and the swift glimpses he takes at the side of your face.

“We’re not alone,” you snide. Benji’s eyebrows furrow and he shoots a look behind him. He opens his mouth to refute, but the words are swallowed by your tongue when you grip his chin and pull him closer.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t restrain the whimper that shrivels up his throat. His hands fumble against your soft skin as your hands push his chest, his back slapping against the bark of a tree.

While your tongue fights for dominance, Benji’s fights to get the taste of you out of your own mouth.

There’s something so addictive about you that Ben doesn’t quite understand. He had felt this way his entire life yet he had only just began to have the grace of kissing you this year.

A stupid part of his thought it would dim this overwhelming feeling to be near you, sedate the heart which you had already stolen, but instead, it heightened it.

Courage, similar to the one he gets from alcohol— when he first was brave enough to kiss you — powers him to grip the curve of your waist and slam your body into his. Your moan encourages him to flip you, your back pressing into the tree.

His hand finds a way under your skirt and the pads of his fingers dig into your exposed thigh, pulling it to meet with his hip bone. He doesn’t want any space between you. He wants you two to be one. Forever intertwined. He really needed to propose your betrothal.

He smells like moon water, blood, and sweat. It only makes you tug his hair harder.

Not far from you, a throat clears.

As your heart momentarily stops, Benji’s lips are separated from yours in an instant.

A boy not much younger than you, awkwardly stands, his cheeks pink with embarrassment for coming across your endeavor.

Before you can blink and before the boy can even speak, Ben has the tip of his sword to his throat, the edge of the silver pressed onto his Adam’s apple. “Get the fuck out of here,” Benjicott sneers, “Or do I have to make you?”

Shaking with fear, the boy shakes his head, eyes wide like a deer and dashing like one when the sword is off his throat and seethed back into Ben’s holster.

Then, he turns to you, a cocky smile on his lips as his hands move to grip your hips. “Now, where were we?”

Giggling, your hand pushes his cheek away from your face, making him stumble in his footing. He pouts, watching as you step off the tree and pull a leaf from your skirt. You tilt your head at the leaf before giddily biting your lip and pulling Ben back in by the collar. His eyes light up, expecting another kiss, but when he closes his eyes, all he feels is your fingers filtering through his hair.

His eyes flutter open when you smack a wet kiss on his cheek. Ben watches you walk away, skirt swaying. Leaves crunch underneath you as you continue down the dirt path to the well, basket throttling in your arm as you disappear and reappear between trees. Dumbly, he touches the spot where you kissed him.

The tip of his finger catches a crunch by his ear. Swiftly, he grabs the object. The leaf looks small and withered in his palm. He can only imagine how much of an idiot he looked like with a brown leaf tucked in his hair— the same space where you usually bury his gifted flowers in your own hair.

“Come on, Benny!” you call out, your sultry eyes finding him from just a glance over your shoulder.

Ben is quick to follow because who is he to oppose you?

ima be honest, i don’t what the fuck this is. this shit is so bad

not edited or proofread ❌ lowkey i refuse to believe in Davos Blackwood so…

Had this in my drafts. Leave me alone if this makes you want to throw up.

[coyotes-rules-of-change]

The Bro Phone

As he stared at the phone, he figured a lone and worn down beach-side payphone like this one would be the perfect catalyst for an urban legend. Now, dared by a friend, he steps up to the modern relic to follow the simple process laid out in the local lore: pick up the phone and put the speaker to his ear.

Not even a dial tone. The stupid thing doesn't even work, but then—

Bro

Hold on. Did he really hear that? He presses the top of the phone tight against his ear to be absolutely sure, then, after a few more moments...

Bro

Hahaha. No way! He chuckles, perhaps a bit of a dumb chortle for his tastes but the whole thing seemed so novel he couldn't help it!

Bro

Huhuhuhuh... His chuckle was lower now, and duller. He was dumbfounded by the repeated word coming through the supposedly dead line.

Bro

His shirt unravels and falls as sand onto the sidewalk while his jeans slide up his calves, past his knees, crawling all most all the way up his thighs until the cut of the leg so short the garment barely surpasses the classifications of a brief. His bony chest and skinny legs are exposed to the open air and the thought brings a vacant grin to his face.

Bro

With the arm free from his ongoing one-note chat with the handset, e flexes his bicep, showing off his slender frame—a comic and futile gesture. But he needs to flex if he wants to be a

Bro

His biceps grow and the individual muscles of his upper arm begin to define themselves as they inflate.

Bro

Two pecs swell out of his formerly flat chest. His skin tone is adopting the perfect tan.

Bro

And below those pecs, abs carve their way down his torso, joined by a newly formed adonis belt.

Bro

His chicken legs pump up with muscle and lengthen giving him extra height—the bro phone makes sure bros don't skip leg day.

Bro

His jawline sharpens and stubble sprouts across his cheek. A mustache and a goatee form around his lips.

Bro

A final change. A bulge forms in his gym shorts. "Yooooooo. I fuckin love this!" He bellows.

And finally, he responds back to the repetitive voice in the payphone:

Bro

A click. A dial-tone. Another happy bro.

The awareness of his surroundings return and he remembers the friend who just witnessed the change. At that moment he looks up from the payphone and looks at you.

His new strength, agility, and speed left you with no chance. One second you're trying to escape and the next you feel the plastic pressed against your ear and a single word enters your mind.

Bro

[chlmtsdoll]

I’VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF…

౨ৎ Pairing: Art Donaldson/Tashi Duncan x female reader, Art Donaldson x reader, Art x Tashi

౨ৎ Summary: after being dismissed from your ballet academy and your dreams of being a dancer come crashing down, you decide to take on a new accomplishment — becoming a tennis protege to Tashi and Art.

౨ৎ Word count: 2.4k

౨ৎ Warnings: no use of y/n, inexperienced!reader, age gap (reader in early 20’s) dilf/milf age Art & Tashi, talk of oral (F reviving), fingering, size kink ? corruption (ish), mention of masterbation, brief mention of ED, pinning Art, needy reader, I have literally 0 knowledge of sports//tennis so if everything is inaccurate I’m sorry. I’m simply just a romantic smut addict who loves these characters 🤍

౨ৎ part two | three | four

You wouldn’t have wished that full body shock sensation of that day on your worst enemy. Never in a million years would you think all that discipline, bloody feet and overextension on your body to the point of black outs and collapse would have lead to that moment — the day you got dismissed from your ballet academy.

It had been your dream since a little girl to form a stable career as a traveling ballerina. To dance on European stages and tour around different countries doing what you loved. What set your heart on fire. But when you started to grow out of your bodies potential form, now in your early twenties, the instructors had to make the final decision to cut you from your class. You could no longer dance.

No one told you that after you turned around seventeen you’d no longer be the ‘correct’ body shape to be a ballerina. Not any doctors, not your parents — it was all fine up until your twenty first birthday. But even after you got the news that you were entering a red zone, you starved, and you looked into surgeons that would make you look like the ideal ballerina, but nothing was up to the terms of the academies you had qualified for.

The depression of your once life long dream had taken a complete toll over you for a year until you had to pick yourself up again.

Somewhere at least

You tried out other hobbies that took just your hands, baking, sewing, painting. But none of it made your soul feel like it had a real purpose. You needed to compete — you needed to move, your feet needed to glide quickly but delicately all at once. You needed that power and center of stage. You wanted all eyes on you while you made your body flex with determination and a fire light in your eyes.

And that’s when you started searching for tennis coaches.

You figured with your years worth of forming around good discipline and structure in ballet, tennis was a close second to the kind of agility you needed as an athlete of some sort, you knew you were no pro. Nor maybe ever going to be. But you had to do this, it was now tennis or nothing — and you were too young and too ambitious to give up just yet.

So you found them. Her first. Tashi Donaldson.

You knew of her, being in this Industry especially with being around so many wealthier kinds of sports enthusiasts, her name was gonna come around sometimes — and her husband of course plenty, Art Donaldson.

With some friends of friends, and many emails and more emails you were able to officially meet them after a couple days of searching and applying for tennis coaching nonstop. And when that day finally came, If it weren’t for their outshining talent at what they do for the tennis world, you would of figured they were models or at least assumed they should be.

They were both beautiful in an otherworldly sense — jaws that to you could cut like knives and bodies of literal gods.

You were shorter, and more petite as most ballerinas were, so when Tashi towered over you your first meet, all the confidence and sophistication you had previously practiced for this exact moment before hand, dissolved almost immediately — you were so intimidated by the powerful essence that poured off of her, the way her short waves flowed when she turned and her shirt dresses were left unbuttoned at just the perfect degree. Not too much on display, but just the right amount of cleavage and skin showing to leave her inferior curious for more, yearning for that bit of softness to Tashi that was merely her skin.

Speaking of softness, Art on the other hand had total power to his presence, with his name in grand letters everywhere. A full Olympic gold medalist tennis superstar. You’d think it all would go to his head, but that day you first shook hands with the mesmerizing man, you felt only warmth as he took your delicate into his bigger yet soft hands. You were left to find nothing but gentle kindness behind his eyes — you even noticed a bit of brown in his perfect blue irises.

And from that moment you had already known you’d become completely and utterly obsessed with him.

Yet that was six months ago now. Quickly you moved from your once apartment in New York City that you referred to as your ‘struggling ballerina habitat’ to the Donaldson estate — it was best you’d be as hands on with your tennis as possible, according to Tashi. But nothing could of prepared you for as hands on as it would get.

It had been two weeks into your training that the couple had come to you with a proposal. Art and Tashi would make a deal, that you’d be their play thing. But mainly for Art. His wife stated it would help up his game if he had something young, girlish and sweet to distract him in the meanwhile when he got too caught up in 40 loves, and wanting to do justice to Tashi’s failed tennis career. Sometimes it got all too much, and by that, most of the time. He needed you.

And how did you need him.

Within the first month you and Art had gotten feverishly close. With all the admiring you did of him and how he came to have the sports world in the palm of his hand, his rise to fame and all the while having a wife and daughter. Your smiles and soft blushes when he caressed your cheek — how you poked fun at him for not understanding your pop culture references or slang. It all gave him a nolstagia for his youth that made his heart pump a little faster and his racket hit a little harder on the court.

He was so so beyond sweet with you, helping you with your back hands, his fingers drifting your frame from behind as he positioned your body to his liking, and his grins when your mini tennis skirts (that Tashi ordered you to wear) would rise against his clothed thigh to only reveal the bit of lace panties you had on underneath.

With all the overwhelming feelings you didn’t deny the pleasure of touching yourself at night to the thought of his short strawberry blonde waves between your fingers as his lips made out with your pussy for hours. His tongue making you let out unimaginable noises to then kiss the taste of yourself off his lips.

So you couldn’t have been more down when Tashi made you sign for your little agreement.

You didn’t care if you were nothing but a fuck to get Art’s name permanently on the forums of different Tennis courts across the country. You’d do anything for just a glimpse of him. It was all you had really. Anything for Tashi to say you did well.

Anything for them.

It all had been in return of a place for you to stay as well. With your background coming from being a young ballerina from a big city — you hardly got paid anything manageable in the slightest. So it was nothing for Tashi and Art to shower you in their riches — the best maids, cooks, dietary plans, luxury hotels with new designer sports attire waiting for your arrival on top of your own beautifully decorated room in their home and a promised bright career ahead of you.

You’d just never bother to complain for also getting to receive the kind of affection and intimacy from the two who just needed a little bit of something. You, to make them feel alive again.

Now, you were settled into your silk pajama set that was personally picked out for you by Tashi, in a dusty pink rose color — the color she kept her nails because she mentioned it drove Art crazy. Giggles and soft laughter could be heard from the grand living room as you sat across from Art before bed. Watching his grin behind folded knuckles to his face, you bit your lip softly. “I haven’t been able to do it again since.”

“You can. And you will, you just need a little motivation.” you tittered softly with a smile. Taking in the sight of the man sitting so close yet too far from you.

You two had been watching highlights of some of Arts best matches from over the years.

You loved this. Sitting and listening to him talk about his career for however long he wanted, asking questions about how it felt to be so good at a craft — it made him feel assured telling you, teaching you. His confidence raised by the easy flow of conversation you had to offer. Because that’s what you were for, keeping him in that space of authority to at least something in his life and an escape from the tough business world that had broken down a man like him too many times before. So if you were keeping him up, Tashi was keeping you in.

Motivation

You could practically hear Art murmur the word to himself in his head and he looked at you with a sly grin on his face to which you only blushed and inched closer to his presence just a few pillows away from you.

“Yeah ? You gonna serve just like I showed you on the court tomorrow, ballerina ?”

Your lips immediately perked into a silly wide smile and you giggled like a school girl at the former accusation that was now Arts little nickname for you. Your chin resting in the crease of your elbow shyly as you nodded.

“It’ll be perfect. I promise.”

Art leaned in to leave a soft and delicately placed kiss to your neck. You shivered at the sweet somberness between the two of you, eyes almost fluttering closed as time stopped for a moment — but it was all cut short when Tashi came in from tucking Lily to bed. A demeanor on her face and body language like something had been not so lovely with her at that moment.

In her pajama slip, she had grabbed the remote from the table in front of the two of you and turned the tv off.

“Say goodnight.” She spoke with a soft assertiveness and Art had stood, he left a quick kiss to your cheek that didn’t leave you satisfied but wanting to whine his name to stay. Just for a little longer. But instead you let out a quite “night” as he made his way to Tashi.

Their lips pressed in a deep and slower smooch, you watched as some saliva collected in your mouth and you swallowed almost a little too loudly.

The way Art had softened into her made your stomach churn with want. Tashi had a gentle hand to his cheek as he pecked her one last time before disappearing through the hallway and you stood as well. Tashi’s eyes were locked on yours, and something gave you the notion that you weren’t allowed to leave just yet.

It had gone quite for a second as she focused on you, and you wanted to start picking your nails right there.

“I don’t like to end the night unsure, so do you want to tell me why you were slacking off on the court today ?”

Her words were crisp and landed on you like a paper cut you hadn’t seen coming. Your throat already tightening. You knew the chances of this night ending with her giving you that same kind of kiss she gave Art, was now looking too slim. And you feared for everything.

“I-I just haven’t been feeling too good on my feet lately,” your words already weakening under the woman’s gaze. “I’ve been trying to keep my lounges quick, steady, but the arch is hard to get rid of after-“

“Look. And listen to me.” Your eyes shot up from your feet as Tashi cut you and she began, “You’re not dancing in a recital and you’re not a fucking ballerina.”

She scorned you cold and straight forward. You immediately felt merely pushed back by force at her words.

“I don’t care if you’ll need to spend extra time with your physical therapist, I want you on your feet completely and ready to go tomorrow. This is tennis. That’s your life now, so start playing it because I don’t care for wasting my time, Understood ?”

Tashi knew how the ballerina facade went — the presenting as sweet, innocent, as fragile as a tea cup to the world, yet being built up to be an absolute machine. Being able to withstand even the harshest of hits to the ground or the lashing out of choreographers and instructors till gods end. It’s why she was never soft with you when it came to tennis, just like she wasn’t with Art.

You had nodded rather quickly and you were not going to let the readied tears resting on your ducts fall. You were gonna take the taunt like a big girl and get it together — because the truth is, you had been distracted during practice today.

But not by your poor aching feet, but by the way Art watched your perfectly toned legs as you leaped and glided across that court like some well, ballerina.

How when just the sight of your hair braided in two knots with ribbons on the end just became all too much for him to bare. He pulled you aside, the chill down your spine was maddening as he whispered in your ear the kinds of things you did to him. The way you made him feel. The things you made him want to do to with your little body.

His tender and wondrous fingers had ended up clean beneath your skirt without hesitation. Brushing against the lining of your panties and you were up against Gatorade bottles and protein mix before you could form a real thought. He leaned into you, standing tall there above you. Having to raise to the tips of your toes for him to tuck his fingers were you needed him most. You could see the rare excitement of dominance take over a darker tone in his eyes as his fingers sold into your sweet aching cunt, too tight for more than a finger.

The pulse of your heat and the beat of your heart racing at an embarrassing rate. His strawberry blonde locks brushed your desperate expression with eas that you’d fall apart in his arms at any moment knowing how fragile a young thing like you had been when it was just the two of you and your defenses were at their weakest. “Mmh, Art.” You breathed out in a whine, grabbing his muscular arm rather quickly as you nearly lost balance.

“Say it. Tell me you weren’t thinking about anything other than my hand up your skirt on that court.” He slowed into your ear and you whimpered softly as another finger, long and coated with your wetness entered you at once. “I see right through you. The thoughts that wind up in that innocent little head. So desperate. So willing to give up your cunt to me…. Or Tashi.”

Playing shy and dumb up front, though he had been right.

You would bend over and take the moment they said — You had to fight back strangled moans as you felt yourself being stretched by just his two fingers. It was known to both him and Tashi that you were untouched. With strict ballet schedules, school, and endless nights staying up till two am doing chassé after chassé till your toes were sore, you hardly ever had the time for pleasure. It had been anything if kept hidden and burried deep for a ballerina of your training to be caught up exploring her sexual desires — so as of current Art still hadn’t taken you there fully. But warming you up easily with his glorious mouth and apposing fingers inside of you would start you off heavenly.

“Need it… n-need you.” you huffed as Arts hand slipped under your sports bra to squeeze your breast, quick to rub your sensitive bud under his touch as his lips passed yours. His fingers working at a rough pace at this point that you felt your stomach tighten and he reached a spot you didn’t even know had existed. A high pitched groan had left your lips and he locked with yours to keep you fairly quiet. Then just as you would feel that gracious rush of relief soon to be yours, hitting you like a flow off a mountain — that sly smile of mischief had grown on Arts lips, before pulling his hand out from your skirt, and pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“Alright.. good to know.” Is all he uttered before walking away. Walking back out on that court and leaving you there, practically soaked and needing more.

Fuck

You’ve never found yourself so sexually frustrated that it was a different kind of rush you weren’t exactly prepared for. You knew Tashi was the one who loved a good game, and Art came off so easy going to the get up, not needing much for the win — till it was time to touch you or Tashi. Then it had just been all game. All teasing. All begging for more. He craved it, lived for it.

“I asked if you understood.” Tashi’s voice had you coming back to your senses and into the present. Standing in front of the woman already bored of the entire conversation.

You did know that her taking you in at all even with your background being in a completely different kind of wave from her world, was a huge risk to her career and her name. You really were almost too fucking lucky enough to be standing in the home of star athletes like she and Art. To be more intertwined with them than anyone out there. Skin to skin and an intimacy that was almost spiritual.

So with that knowledge, you truly didn’t see it being beneath Tashi to send you back right where you came from. To which that made a burn in your chest.

You couldn’t lose what you had worked so hard for, you couldn’t lose her attention and so much care even if seemed distant. You couldn’t lose Art, not when you were this close to being finally one with him this time. They believed in you enough, and they’d know when you were ready. It’s not like you had any direction before you were chosen by them anyways.

Tashi was completely right, you were no longer just some ballerina trying to make it. You were gonna be theirs to keep — they were gonna love you, and everything you did, every step and hit on that court till it hurt. You were gonna make them proud. You were going to play some good fucking tennis.

You had looked up at Tashi, doe eyed yet tired with a nod, “I understand. Completely.”

A/N: this is the first time I haven’t done full on p in v smut since I wanted to keep it short and sweet bc I plan on turning this fic into a series hopefully :) I rly loved this idea and thought it was a unique spin on the challengers uv — also want to bring in some Patrick action asp so lmk what you think or where it can go from here !! I love feedback it’s sooo appreciated <3 xoxo

[hisonlykiwi]

"Eyes on me, darling"

You and Azriel have been training together for months and things got a little tense...

wc: 1.3K

warnings: angst

a/n: this is my first attempt at making a short story, please let me know what you think!! <3

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Again.”

Azriel’s voice harshly rang in my ears. Trying to catch my breath, I wipe off the sweat rolling down my cheek with the back of my hand and get back into a fighting stance. I tightly grip my dagger and peer up at him, silently nodding to him that I am ready. I knew training would be hard but I really underestimated how difficult this would actually be.

Azriel took a step forward and before I could react, he managed to point his dagger towards my neck, again. “Pay attention.” he says, I let out a frustrated groan, tossing my dagger on the ground, “I hate this, Azriel, we’ve been going at this for hours and I can’t get the hang of how to use that damn thing.” I point at the useless dagger lying on the floor. He smiled, letting out a small chuckle, “I keep telling you to focus on your footwork but you keep getting distracted.” He rolled his dagger, truth teller, into his hands, studying it as his shadows wrapped around his wrists.

I rolled my eyes at this comment,“I just don’t see use in this training. We all know I don’t exactly need it, my ability to control minds protects me just fine.”

Azriel let out a breathy chuckle, “While you are right, your ability to have control over the minds of others is powerful, indeed. You still need training to learn how to fight in case your power ever fails,” He said, circling me with truth teller spinning in his hands, “Would you be able to defend yourself if it came down to it?”

Out of mere muscle memory, I go back into a fighting position. I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my neck, keeping my eyes trained on him. I mistakenly glance over at the lonesome dagger on the floor, a couple feet away from me. He continued to circle around me, footsteps light and agile, his eyes focused on my every move. A smirk appeared on his face knowing exactly what I was thinking when he saw my gaze fall to the dagger.. “Eyes on me, darling.”

I huff out a shaky breath and swallow the lump stuck in my throat. In the blink of an eye, his feet kicked off the ground, his Siphon glowing a bright blue. I tried swerving out of the way but he was upon me, spinning me into his chest. My back was to him, he held me firmly in place with his left arm and his right holding the dagger against my throat. The tip of the blade bit into my delicate flesh ever so delicately. I held onto his arm trying to prevent him from pushing the dagger further into my sensitive skin.

I could feel his breath hot against my neck, a contrast compared to the cool blade against my neck. His breath was slow and even, he seemed to be completely calm, the only sign of tension were his shadows dancing around us.

“What is your next move, love?” I could feel him whisper against my ear. I scoffed at his comment, “You’re so lucky to have centuries of training ahead of me, shadowsinger.” I say while hooking my leg behind his and quickly pulling at it, and jabbing the back of my elbow into his side. He stumbled back, letting go of his grip on me, grunting and gripping his side. I turned around to face him and gave him a forceful shove, causing him to get off his balance. Azriel’s wings flexed out, balancing him out, he locked eyes with me and raised his eyebrows in surprise. A teasing expression on his face and eyes gleaming with mischief, “Try again.” He teased, his wings flexing again as he lunged towards me, closing the distance between us. I let out a gasp at the sudden movement and tried to move out his grasp.

He grinned at my pathetic attempt of trying to move away from him, this only caused him to dig his fingers into my hips, pulling me closer into his chest. I could feel the tip of his blade against the soft flesh of my stomach. “Not fast enough, darling.” I could practically hear the stupid smirk growing on his face right now.

“What makes you so sure about that?” I chuckled and pressed the dagger I silently snatched from his Illyrian leathers earlier, further into his thigh. He let out a sharp hiss as the tip of the dagger pressed into his skin. He didn’t make any attempts to move away, he tilted his head down at me, a devilish smile spreading on his face.

“Clever…” He let out a breathy whisper, his shadows were swirling around us, hissing and whispering. “What can I say? I’m getting trained by the infamous spy master himself.” I said, causing him to let out a deep chuckle, “And yet, I still have you pinned against me.” A grin spread on his face as he was getting closer to me, mere inches away from my face. Azriel’s breath felt warm against my skin, the faint smell of cedar mixed in with his sweat. I gazed into his eyes, I caught a small hint of lust swirling in them. Maybe I was imagining things but it almost felt like I could hear his heart racing against my chest. My breath was coming in short, heavy pants, my skin flushed a deep pink at the close proximity, a stark contrast to Azriel’s beautiful golden skin.

“Is this what you call training?” We both snapped our gaze towards Rhysand who was standing in the doorway watching us for who knows how long. Azriel didn’t seem surprised at his brother’s watchful eye on us. He gave the High Lord a small smile and took a step back away from me, pulling the dagger that was against my throat with him. “Just a little..” Azriel said with such nonchalance as if he didn’t have you pinned flush against him, inches away from kissing you just seconds before.

He sheathed his dagger back into his hip. I held out my hand to him, offering him back his blade that I had taken minutes before. He raised his eyebrows at my gesture and took the dagger from my outstretched palm, his fingers gently lingering for longer than necessary. With a small nod, he took the dagger and tucked it back into his leathers and gave me a barely-there smile, a silent thank you.

Azriel turned back to Rhysand, his jaw clenching ever so slightly “Is there anything you need, brother?” Although his voice was polite, I swear I could see a hint of annoyance on his face.

I looked over to Rhysand, an amusing smirk on his face, as he was looking between me and Azriel. Rhysand cleared his throat, “Yes, actually. Cassian got word that Hybern is setting up camp near Spring Court and I need you and Cassian to check it out, see what’s going on.” Azriel gave a small nod in response, his expression unreadable as he glanced in my direction. His eyes flickered over my face as if he was contemplating saying something, instead he spoke out to Rhysand and ripped his gaze from me over at him “Understood. When do you need us to go?” Before Rhysand got the chance to answer, I interrupted, “I’m actually going to head home if you two don’t mind.” I glanced over in Azriel’s direction and said “Same time, tomorrow?” He gave me a simple nod at my request, relaxing a bit and losing the tension in his shoulders from Rhysand’s unexpected arrival. A smile spread across his lips “Of course,” He seemed to hesitate in his answer and he looked over to Rhysand “Same time, tomorrow” He said quietly. I gave him a small smile and looked over to Rhysand “See you.”

I made my way out of the training room and looked over my shoulder at Azriel to see he was already looking at me.

[occamstfs]

No Need to Pledge, Just Drink.

Thanks for the Warm Response! Here's a shorter piece - Occam

It’s definitely not normal that they invited me to this party. It was a direct invite too, obviously. I wouldn’t show up unless someone explicitly asked. From what I understand frat parties don’t usually have a guest list, but I am not one to just wander in. 

Judging by how unpleasant this is so far I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have accepted Derek’s invitation at all. I start to look around for the nearest exits which is when Derek finally shows his face, approaching me with two drinks in hand.

“Sup bruh! I’m so stoked you could make it! This party is gonna be absolutely killer soon so I hope you can stick around!”

“Ah, well I was-”

“I brought you a little drink broski! I know shit like this isn’t your cup of tea so I figured you’d take the assist, this stuff’ll loosen you right up.”

I take the cup from him and just avoid wretching from fumes of alcohol coming from the cup now in my hand. I assumed it was just a beer but it looks like some horrible mixed drink.

“It’s Everclear and Hawaiian Punch bro! As soon as you get past the first taste you barely notice the burn!”

He continues to stand there as I fail to brainstorm a way out of at least trying this. I see a potted plant across the room and know my next move. I’ll give the drink one chance to get Derek off my back and dump it as soon as he turns his.

It’s honestly not as bad as I thought it would be, it doesn’t even seem alcoholic actually? It’s just sweet? Almost to a sickly degree. I don’t really taste the punch either, it's just… 

I start to take another sip before noticing that impossibly, my cup is already empty. I only took a sip though? Something, something is not right. I start to freeze up before Derek starts shaking me, his hand holding a second cup of the punch high above his head shouting, “Brooo! You just demolished that! Fuck! I’ve gotta see that again!” He shoves the second cup into my hand and begins to push his way back towards the punch bowl “Everyone outta the way! This nerd has got to have more to drink!”

I watch him longer than I should have, dumbfounded holding this drink that I didn’t want. Don’t want? My vision gets blurry as I watch him maneuver his massive body through the crowd. Woah, I guess this is what alcohol does? I feel myself start to grin watching him struggle to fill a two-liter with whatever that punch is. Jungle juice? Oh Shit? Is he bringing that to me? 

The DJ switches playlists and I feel excitement quickly start to build in my chest. I fuckin’ love this song! I start to inch towards the crowd before I’m elbowed in the face and my glasses fall directly into my cup.

“Hey dude! I need those to fuc- I need those to see” I instinctively shout as I look to see my glasses just peeking out of my cup. Before picking them out though, I notice that my vision is actually better now? Which briefly starts to set my veins afire once more, why have I been going to a fucking optometrist for years I start to think, clenching my jaw before I look closer into my cup.

This alcohol must really be getting to me or Derek is pulling another prank on me or something. My hair looks so stupid up like that. I start to move my hand to fix it before seeing my arm reflected. 

Or is that even my arm? It shouldn’t be? It’s the size of my head. I shouldn't be able to life something that size if I wanted to. I need to get some fresh air, or just some quiet space. I need to get out. I need-

“Party king coming through! Sorry bro I couldn’t get the bottle to fuckin work so I hope two more cups will do” I see two cups clenched in massive hairy, may as well be, paws starting to pass back through the dance floor. My own hand flexes and I drop my drink, spilling it all over my shoes as I bolt to find a bathroom. Cheers of “Party Foul” ring out as I dash, completely ditching my glasses without a second thought.

I weasel my way through the crowd feeling less agile than usual. Finding it much easier to shove these pipsqueaks out of the way than to squeeze between them before I find peace in the second floor restroom, miraculously without a line outside. I don’t question why I suddenly know the layout of this house as I slam the door and take a deep breath. Music still comes through the door as I reach for the light and prepare to look in the mirror.

The haircut was the least of my concerns. I look like a beast as I start to hyperventilate. I feel the music outside the room quicken matching my heartbeat, my newly 20/20 eyes stare into themselves as they turn from blue to a deep brown and visibly lose acuity. I feel my biceps pressing against the sleeves of my t-shirt narrowly avoiding a deliberate flex to rip the shirt apart. 

I notice a stink other than jungle juice coming up from my feet as I feel them beginning to push against the tongue of my shoe. I collapse to the floor and quickly struggle to untie my laces before squeezing my feet out. Immediately apparent are drastically rattier socks than I remember putting on to get ready for this party. Full of holes and stains, I dread knowing whose socks these are and what is happening before recognizing them as my own. Or really they could be any of my bros socks but who cares.

As soon as this thought pushes its way into my head a pit drops into my stomach. I am an only child, I don’t have any bros, or well, I have a house full of bros now right? Getting up off the floor I again glance into the mirror. My jaw is wider, my stubble itches but just like it always does, right? I put my face in my hands creating enough strain in my small shirt to force a tear down the back. Why am I wearing such tiny tiny clothes anyway? Must be Derek hazing me again huh. I think holding in a guffaw, I wonder how he got me in these?

I tear the rest of my shirt away before doing the same to my pants which is when I learn that I have apparently been going commando this whole time. Now free of these nerdy-ass clothes I flex in the mirror. Pecs popping like always, my bros always say the hair hides my pump but who cares bro I want to look like a man. I briefly shake my cock at myself in the mirror smirking and see laid out behind me are a change of clothes that Derek must have laid out for me. 

There are a pair of slides, some athletic shorts and a massive stringer that says “Party Prince” Bro! He must have made us matching shirts! 

I quickly start to change to match with my Bro and see cologne on the counter. I’m sure bro won't mind if I use it. Each spritz I feel myself fill out my tank even more, veins beginning to peak out down my arms and my package becomes even harder to miss in my shorts. I do a few more poses in the mirror before hearing a knock at the bathroom door.

“Bro you in there? The party’s dying without you bro!”

Hearing my big bros’ cry for help I get my head in the game. I’ve got to bring it tonight. I kick the locked door open, completely shattering the door frame as I cry out- “Who’s ready to drink tonight,” tossing the awaiting cup of jungle juice into the air over the crowd.

[neon-junkie]

Troubleshooting

Summary: After the events of Tantiss, Crosshair finds himself with a cybernetic hand, and he knows a way to test all of its capabilities.

Word count: 2k

Pairing: Crosshair x f!Reader

Tags: Established relationship, Fingering, Dirty talk, Cybernetics.

“There,” Tech hums as he shuts the panel over Crosshair’s wrist, securing the instalment. “Give it a try,” he urges, and sits back to watch Crosshair test his new hand.

After the fall of Tantiss, it took Crosshair quite some time to realise what had actually happened. He lost his hand - his shooting hand, at that. Sure, he’s great with his left, but two hands are always better than one, especially if you’re missing your dominant hand.

Given that Echo opted not to have a robot hand installed, it left a spare on the Marauder - an item that everybody had forgotten about, lost in storage, only for it to finally come into use during an unfortunate turn of events.

Of course, you love Crosshair regardless. Hand or not, he’s still your man, and you’ll do everything in your power to support him. That’s why, during pillow talk a week after the event, Crosshair brought up the idea of getting on installed.

“I feel… incomplete,” he explained. He rambled on about his lack of uses, now that he’s missing a hand, and you had to remind him that he is no longer a soldier, and that he can find his new path in life. “Well, it’s difficult to become a fisherman with only one hand,” Crosshair sarcastically responded, earning a laugh from you.

That brings you to today. Tech was more than happy to install it for Crosshair, babbling about how he’s “always excited to work on cybernetic enhancements,” which would explain why Tech is always questioning if Echo needs any repairs.

Crosshair attempts to flex each of his fingers, the joints surprisingly moving with ease, causing Crosshair’s brows to lift in surprise. “Oh,” he mutters under his breath, now stretching his hand out, wiggling and adjusting each digit in every possible manner.

“Your tendons seem to be aligned, but we need to test your agility,” Tech comments.

You sit back and watch the two sync up. Tech gives Crosshair a few simple tasks - playing catch, writing, even tying his shoelaces. A few minor adjustments are made, but eventually, Crosshair decides he’s more than content.

“You know where to find me if you require any alternations,” Tech states as he rises from his seat, eager to head off - not out of impoliteness, but it’s date night, and Tech would never dream of being late for such an occasion.

Crosshair thanks his brother one final time before seeing him out, yourself saying goodbye whilst on the comfort of your sofa. The front door shuts, and Crosshair makes his way over to you, finding his place by your side.

“So,” he drags the word out. “What do you think?” He asks, wiggling his new hand in front of your face.

“It suits you,” you nod, admiring the black chrome. What other colour would Crosshair go for?

“Mhm,” Crosshair nods in agreement. He can’t help but introduce his new hand to yours, entwining your fingertips for the first time. To your surprise, the durasteel is nowhere near as cold as you expected it to be, and each finger is smooth and rounded - no sharp edges or bumps.

Crosshair’s eyes wander over the sight, your hand interlinked with his, something that he’ll never get tired of. “What does it feel like?” he questions, gesturing to the physical contact.

“Like I’m holding a robotic hand,” you reply. Ah, Crosshair is reminded why he fell for you; you match his wit and sarcasm in every way, perhaps more than he can bargain for.

A long sign escapes Crosshair’s lips as his eyes meet yours, disappointment deep within them. “Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile on his lips.

You let out a cheery hum, matching his smile. A kiss naturally follows, tender pecks on the lips, yet there’s lust within them. Nothing intimate has happened since Tantiss, minus kisses, cuddles, and crying together. You can tell that Crosshair’s confidence is growing with his new image, but is this happening too soon? Doesn’t he need time to adjust first?

In between kisses, Crosshair begins mumbling against your lips. “You love me, right?” he questions.

“Is now the time for reassurance?” you bite back, causing Crosshair to chuckle.

“Just answer the question,” he coos, then places another kiss on your lips.

“Of course, I do,” you confirm.

“And you’d do anything for me, right?”

You softly hum. “Only if you’d do the same for me,” you reply.

“I would,” Crosshair replies without missing a beat, no longer bothering with feather-light kisses. Instead, he’s pouncing on you, allowing lust and desire to drive his intentions. You find yourself lying back on the sofa, legs a tangled mess with your lovers, who is looming over you like a predator teasing its prey.

Among the smooches, tugs appear on your waistband. Crosshair is unbuttoning your pants, and as much as you want him, you’re concerned about his timing. Is this really what he needs after taking such a large step in his recovery? Has his new hand even finished installing?

“Cross-” you mutter against his lips.

“Mhm?” Crosshair pulls his lips away, although his hands don’t give up. He’s pulling each trouser leg off, yanking them over your ankles with frustration - something that he always struggled with.

“Are you sure that this is what you need right now?” You question, concern strong within your tone.

Crosshair picks up on it, and comes to a halt, resting his hands on your plush hips. “It is,” he confirms within an instant. “I need to… test it out…” he explains, raising his robotic hand up to your face. “…and I know just the way to do it.”

If Crosshair is comfortable, then you’re comfortable. And hey, there’s no harm in helping him adjust to his new attachment. If this is how he wants to adjust, then why not?

Sloppy kisses are in full swing yet again, all whilst Crosshair is putting his new hand to good use. Sold fingertips find their way to your clothed mound, trailing back and forth. His pressure changes, testing the waters, finding the balance between firm and soft, and Crosshair knows he’s found it when you let out a whimper.

“There we go,” he sighs, his cock stirring from such a small sound. Before you can reply, Crosshair has his lips back on yours, silencing you whilst his fingers do all the work.

A hook on your waistband, and your panties are being pulled from your hips, thrown across the room to be forgotten about. Firmness appears on your clit, a single digit, rediscovering your body all over again. Crosshair needs to start from scratch, following each step with the understanding that this is all new to both you, and him. Every move, the different levels of pressure, are all things that will take time to adjust to.

“A little firmer,” you comment, and Crosshair complies, ensuring that his touch is just how you like it. He’s circling your clit, causing stars to appear in your line of vision - a blacked out state in between kisses.

Crosshair has to break the kiss to bury his head into the curve of your neck, peppering kisses along your jawline. All the while, his fingertips begin to slip lower, soon testing the waters. A single finger slips into you, firmer than ever. Again, it’s not cold - far from it, yet the sensation is alien. You’ve never had a… robotic finger slip inside you before, crossing off a new box on your list.

“How is it?” Crosshair questions the second that he’s knuckle deep within you. His concern is warranted, although you know he’s also subtly asking for validation.

“Good,” you reply without missing a beat. “Firm and… new, but good.”

“You sure?” he double-checks, to which you agree with a simple, “yeah.”

“You know that, if I have any issues, I’ll tell you,” you inform him. He already knows this - he’s heard it a million times over - but it doesn’t hurt to remind him, especially during a time like this.

“I know,” Crosshair mumbles, his lips still pressed to your throat. “I wish I could still feel you,” he confesses. Only now do you realise the lack of nerves that Crosshair has in his new hand. He can’t feel anything, can he? Not your wetness, or your muscles tensing around him. Nothing.

“I guess we’ll need to train you up on your other hand,” you lighten the mood, not wanting Crosshair to wander into dark thoughts during such an intimate moment. That is a conversation for pillow talk.

“Hm, more opportunities to see you like this,” he purrs, thankfully agreeing with your plan.

Kicking things up a notch, Crosshair begins to work his finger, using a rhythm that he knows works for you. Your hands begin to wander his body, caressing each part of him, especially the growing bulge within his pants.

Your fingertips begin to dance over his buttons, but Crosshair moves your attention away. “Wait-” he stutters, his free hand redirecting your hand to his hips. “This is about testing my hand, alright?”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “Whatever you say, dear.”

On that note, Crosshair slips another finger inside of you, hushing you within an instant. “Don’t believe me, hm?” he hums, yet you’re failing for words as Crosshair curls his fingers upwards, the firm digits pressing against that spot within you.

In the midst of your lust and admiration, you don’t realise the minor differences to his new hand. Sure, it’s firmer, and in some ways, less intimate, but it’s still him - a new part of him that both of you need to get used to, and what a way to break the ice.

The sound of squelching fills the air, and you can feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head as pleasure takes over. Crosshair picks at the opportunity to continue his attack on your neck, leaving the first of many hickeys to assert his claim on you. (Perhaps to warn the new clones that you’re already taken?)

You catch yourself muttering his name, over and over, a mix between a chant and a prayer. By now, Crosshair has his clothed, yet erect cock pressed to your inner thigh, rutting against it with every flick of his wrist. He’s so desperate for your touch, yet he refuses to allow his focus to stray from you - or from ‘testing his new hand,’ as he so put it.

“Kriff-” you curse. Allowing your eyes to open, you lock your gaze with your lover, who looks as blissed out as you do. “Cross, you know that… I’m…”

“I know,” he cuts you off. “All over my finger, please. If you’d be so kind,” he replies, wit laced within his words, as always.

The sensation of orgasming around solid digits is one that you’ll have to get used to, yet it’s nothing but pleasurable. Strange, certainly. But far from negative. Crosshair is almost panting as hard as you are, crashing his lips with yours as he continues rutting against you. During the kisses, you reach down to palm over his cock, and finally, he allows you to get a good feel.

“You need some attention,” you comment. Crosshair chuckles, but the laugher is yanked from his lips as you grasp the upper hand, finding a way to flip your positions. You’re now straddling his lap, nude from the waist downwards, whilst Crosshair is fully clothed, (with a soaking wet hand.)

Crosshair grins, oh-so-eager to not only show you some love, but spend the evening getting all of your frustrations out. Oh, all whilst testing his new hand, because that is what this is really about.

There’s desperation within Crosshair’s grasp as he begins unbuckling his pants, eager to start receiving some of his own relief. “Who do you think will wear out first?” you question, your lips against his. “You? Me? Or your hand?”

Starstruck eyes meet yours. Of course, only you could crack a little joke during the heat of things - Crosshair fell for you for a reason, after all.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out,” he bites back.

“You’re on.”

[star-girl69]

Sad Girl

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: being a mistress on the side might not appeal to fools like you…

a/n: i love this song i love this fic i love this idea and most importantly i love my brain you are all very welcome <3

Sad Girl - Lana Del Rey

warnings: not proofread, secret relationship, player!clarisse, possessive!clarisse, kinda asshole!clarisse, she’s such a BITCH like you are not all that…. (i’m lying.), the usual swearing and demigod stuff, kinda like lmlylaw friends w benefits kinda thing except they’re both actually in love with each other, again NO SMUT!!!!! THERE IS NO SMUT!!!!!! THEY JUST MAKE OUT AND LIKE SLEEP IN THE SAME BED, again… i’m sorry the nightmare trope you can’t escape it. you can’t….., tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Her hands are always everywhere.

She’s fast and agile, quick like a fox you sometimes see roaming around the woods, so she can jump from one spot to another. You’re supposed to have specific spots on your body, pressure points or whatever, that make you feel good.

When you’re with Clarisse, wherever her hands are lights on fire. You crave her all the time, the burn she makes you feel, the burn you know you make her feel- you’re pretty sure if she hovered her hand over your arm, your skin would find someway to grow and touch her.

You crave her, like a cigarette and the smell of the smoke, no matter how sad she makes you.

How can you be sad that you’re just one of her girls when at least you’re her girl?

How can you be sad when you get to wrap your hands around her forearms, feelings her muscles flex with the effort of moving to your waist, your hips, behind, the sides of your chest- everywhere.

How can you be sad when her lips are on yours, when your teeth are clashing together? Clarisse doesn’t kiss you slow. Clarisse doesn’t savor you. She eats you like you’re the first course of 12, a kiss full of greed and gluttony. Clarisse doesn’t kiss you like it might be the last time, because you both know you’ll always come running back to each other.

You’re the only girl she runs back to, out of all the flings that last a few days, the one nights kissing between cabins at bonfires- you’re the only one she lets into her room, into her bed. You don’t know why she comes back to you. Maybe it’s the way you bite your fingers to keep from moaning, maybe it’s the way you do moan when you’re finally away from everyone else, maybe it’s the way you thread your fingers in her hair or trace your nails along her muscles.

You don’t know why, but you know you love it, so you keep doing what you’re doing and say a prayer each time she leaves.

You don’t know why Clarisse keeps coming back. You don’t know why you keep coming back. You may be a sad girl, but at least you’re her sad girl.

“Gods, you’re such a pretty fuckin’ thing,” she mumbles, finally pulling away to catch her breath. You don’t really care about breathing right now, just her, so you bite your lip and resist the urge to pout.

“I know,” you say back. “But thank you.”

She chuckles, shaking her head lightly, her hand cupping your face as she kisses your jaw, her other hand holding up the leg that’s wrapped around her waist. You lean back against the bathroom stall until she’s breathing in your mouth again, drawing you back down to her with a hand around your neck.

She kisses you slow, hard and deep, finally giving you what you want- a glimpse of what could be. It’s bittersweet, because she kisses you like she really cares about you for just for second- and then you’re left waiting for her until she calls again. She kisses you for a long time like this.

But still, you resist the urge to chase her as she pulls away.

You breathe out, standing on your own two feet again, smoothing down your outfit and fixing your hair. She clicks open the door, hand against the small of your back as she urges you out of the stall.

There’s no one in here- this bathroom is always empty at this time of day, facts you’ve come to know due to your secret meetings.

You walk over to the sink, turning it on and running your hands under the cold water. You bring them up to your hot cheeks, trying in vain to pretend you’re not so affected by her, even when she was just pressing her hand against your cheek a second ago.

Maybe the reason Clarisse comes back to you is because you don’t ask when you’re going to see her again. You won’t say “see you tomorrow?” with a sheepish, hopeful smile on your face like you’re sure the other girls do.

“Bye,” you smile, and she hums, she doesn’t stop you from leaving.

—-

Clarisse moves like she has complete trust in the air.

She’s bold, especially when she fights, jabs forward and somehow manages to catch herself each time, even if she throws all her weight into a particularly hard thrust of her spear. The ground is often littered with holes from either ends of her spears, constantly putting it out to catch herself.

But it’s more than that.

She moves like she just won’t allow herself to fall, like she knows it’s simply impossible for her to fall.

You watch her now, admiring, really, the way she moves so confidently, so sure, so proud- she’s an unstoppable force, and there’s no object she can’t move.

She moves you, biting your lip as the muscles in her arm tense, fingertips drumming against the length of her spear.

She moves her sibling to the ground with a kick to their chest, and they slam down with a groan. She laughs, smiling triumphantly at another easy win- she hasn’t even broken a sweat.

“I hate you, Clarisse,” her sibling groans, but accepts her hand and let’s her tug them up. She grins, wiping dirt off of her spear.

“What’s that? Win number… 8,000? Somewhere around there.”

“Oh, fuck off, we both know you don’t have the brain power to keep track.”

“Oh, you’re so mean,” she says, rolling her eyes and hitting her sibling’s shoulder.

Someone taps your leg.

“You’re drooling.”

“No, ‘m not,” you huff.

“You are,” your best friend and half-sibling, Kaelyn, reaffirms. She pokes at your chin. “Right there.”

You resist the urge to wipe your chin.

“You just don’t get her like I do.”

“I don’t,” Kaelyn laughs, and the two of you watch as Clarisse winks at another girl. “Does it not bother you? You’re, like, literally just her toy.”

“Bitch,” you mumble, slamming your leg into hers. “It’s not that, though. Besides, why would I care? You help me sneak out almost every other night, Kay. I’m going to see her, because she asked.”

“Okay, so, if Clarisse started making out with that girl right now- you wouldn’t mind?”

“We’re not actually dating, so I don’t have any right to be jealous.”

“But you still are?” Kaelyn probes. “Just because you aren’t dating doesn’t mean you don’t still care about her like you are.”

You think about Clarisse so much you’re surprised the image of her isn’t branded behind your eyelids. You think about the way she touches you, the way she kisses you, but you also think about the way it could be. You think about the way that sometimes, just for a second, her hands will linger and she’ll breathe in deeply like you are all she’s ever wanted in life.

Of course you’re in love with Clarisse- she has a fire inside of her, some part of her soul that matches with yours, and you’re inexplicably drawn to her and everything about her.

But Clarisse doesn’t want you like that. She just wants the fun- and maybe you should wait for someone else who will actually love you, but she’s the best you’ve ever had. You haven’t even had anyone else, but you already know. You know no one else can make you feel the way she does.

You sit up straighter, ignoring the feeling of Kaelyn’s eyes burning holes into you.

“She’s ridiculously hot, a great kisser, and she gives me the time of day. That’s all I care about.”

“Okay,” Kaelyn hums, mercifully deciding to drop the subject.

And when your eyes inevitably roll back over to Clarisse and the other girl- she’s looking at you.

—-

You love Fridays.

You associate Fridays with the weekly camp bonfire, the smell of smoke and the laughter of your friends, marshmallows and the promise of a late morning the next day.

More importantly, you associate Friday nights with Clarisse’s bed.

She confessed to you once that she doesn’t really like the campfire and just goes to keep up appearances, maybe find someone, but now she has you. You come every Friday with no intention of staying long, wearing shirts you know will make Clarisse look at you- until she meets your eyes and silently demands you meet her at her cabin, or she just comes up behind you and grabs you.

However you end up there, you end up in her bed.

You’re sure tonight will be no different- you hope it’s no different, because you’re still a girl with needs and you haven’t seen her all week.

She’s the first thing you see when you get there.

Her and her siblings always occupy the best spot by the fire, so the flames dance along her face, and you can’t help but frown when you realize she’s already scanning the crowd.

“I assume you need me to cover for you tonight?” Kaelyn asks, arm linked with yours.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, feeling slightly dejected. She was probably looking for someone else- she doesn’t want you tonight, even though it’s become an unspoken tradition.

This is your mistake. Expecting something from Clarisse. You can’t do that, not when you know her, not if you don’t want this arrangement to wreck you.

And when you find the strength to look back towards her, her spot on the log is empty. She must have found someone else she likes the look of.

“Hey,” Kaelyn says, nothing the way you cross your arms over the shirt you wore for Clarisse- it feels worthless now. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you breathe. “It’s fine. Just sucks, y’know.”

Kaelyn presses her lips into a thin line. “Yeah, I guess.”

She wants to say more. Ask why you do this to yourself, you know she wants to knock some sense into you- but you know that as much as this moment hurts, it will feel 10 times better to have her in your arms again when she comes back.

“Babe,” Kaelyn sighs, putting her arm on your shoulder-

“Y/N.”

Clarisse’s arm slides around your waist, moving you into her and away from Kaelyn with enough force so her hand slides off of you.

Kaelyn looks at you with wide eyes, and you have to bite your lip to keep from squealing. Her arm feels so good around you, so perfect, like it was made to be there.

“Thanks… Kayla,” Clarisse fake smiles, her fingertips digging into your sides. “I’ll take it from here.”

“O-okay,” Kaelyn says, sort of blankly, like she’s in shock- this is probably the first time she’s talked to Clarisse, or even seen her up close.

Clarisse drags you off, squeezing your waist tightly once- almost enough to hurt.

“What’s wrong, Clarisse?” you ask, putting your hand over hers- feeling like her nails might rip holes into your shirt.

“Sorry,” she breathes after a second, taking her arm completely away from you- a loss you mourn heavily. “My siblings were annoying me all fuckin’ day. And then they forced me to come early, and I was waiting for you and you came late.”

The sun only just started it’s descent 30 minutes ago, but you can tell there’s something more going on with Clarisse, so you choose to just placate her dramatics.

You loop both of your arms through hers, pressing close so your hip-to-hip, leaning your head onto her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you say, simply.

“‘S okay,” she mutters, and you resist the urge to kiss her pouty face.

—-

At the back of each cabin, built into the wall right next to the bathroom, there’s a separate room for the camp counselor. It’s small, but private- a regular bed, a small dresser, and a desk. Some decorate, Clarisse left hers plain except for spots for her spear and other weapons to hang proudly on the wall.

You’ve come to love the sight of the four beige walls, grown used to the feeling of sneaking out the window, thanking the Gods it’s on the first floor.

The door shuts behind you, Clarisse pressing her back against it. Immediately, you slip off your shoes, crossing the room to sit on her bed.

“Come here and tell me your woes,” you joke, but her face is twisted into something painful, so the smile on your face falls as well. “Hey? Did something seriously happen, Clarisse?”

She locks the door and walks over to you, standing in between your legs, tilting your chin up so she can stare into your eyes.

“You can tell me,” you say, knowing you would feel like an asshole if you didn’t at least try. But you know she won’t talk to you- sometimes you talk, one Friday nights, sometimes you just lay next to each other and ask each other random questions- but you know tonight is not one of those nights.

“No,” she mutters. “I can’t.”

She leans down, her lips millimeters from yours. She’s so close it’s like she’s filling up all of your senses, until all you can think about is her. But you’re used to feeling like this around her. You love it. You let your guard down and you let it in, you welcome it.

“Why?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

She smiles, her lip quirking up just slightly.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” she breathes, before her lips finally crash down onto yours.

The rest of the night is exactly what you expected. You roll around and she touches you everywhere, touches you in places you didn’t even know could feel so good. She lights you up, she makes you feel black and white. She makes you feel so simple, it all narrows down to her and her body, her lips.

And when it’s over, when you fix your messy hair and lay your head on her pillow- you don’t know what she’ll do.

You’re both too tired to sneak out, and you like to think that Clarisse secretly likes the sleepovers. Sometimes she doesn’t even touch you, seems repulsed- usually the nights when you kiss slow and then you talk.

But tonight was all fury and desire, fire in your stomach and in her eyes. So she holds you against her, chest pressed to your back. You play with her long fingers, she lets you crack them and stretch them- it’s the one time she lets someone else move her around, you think. Her arm is limp around you, her hand totally at your will.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you ask her. It’s fun to ask her real questions like this. It’s fun to get a glimpse inside of her mind, small moments like this when she holds you. “Not, like, tomorrow, but after camp. College. After college.”

She hums.

“No. I don’t.”

“Why?” you’re pushing, now, but you don’t care.

“I don’t think I’ll have much of a future, really. Ares kids go on big quests and they die horribly. That’s what’ll probably happen to me.”

“That’s morbid,” you chuckle. “There’s people who would miss you, though. I would miss you. Who else would kiss me in the smelly bathrooms?”

“You don’t want anyone else to kiss you in the smelly bathrooms.”

She tenses, like she didn’t mean to say that and she just blurted it out.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you whisper, voice small. But it’s true. You don’t.

She relaxes back against you and you don’t push anymore, you let her drift off, her breathing slow.

Eventually, after you get bored of staring at the moon in the window, you turn around so you’re facing her. She shuffles a bit, but you just move her arm back around you, thinking she’s asleep.

And after a few minutes of you laying there silently, you feel her move. You’re so close to her you can hear her eyelashes flutter.

She makes an appreciative sound in the back of her throat, tightening her arm around you and drawing you closer. When you unwillingly flinch at the feeling of her warm hand sliding under your shirt, she shushes you.

“Don’t wake up,” she whispers, the softest you’ve ever heard her speak. You don’t wake up. You pretend you’re asleep, you pretend you don’t feel her, pretend you don’t care about the connotation of her softness. You pretend it doesn’t make your heart squeeze in what will never be, in what now is only the fruition of sleep and the comfort and privacy of darkness. “Mhm, stay asleep, baby.”

She kisses your nose, her hand scratches your back, the bare skin.

“Always so cold,” she breathes, “Always so pretty.”

And suddenly her breathing evens out and she’s asleep again.

—-

The next few days you pretend nothing is different. You pretend you didn’t hear her call you pretty and baby, feel her kiss your nose. You chalk it up to her frustration from the day finally disappearing in your arms and the fact she was half asleep.

She’s called you pretty before. She’s called you baby before. You’re sure she’s kissed your nose before and commented on the fact you run so cold compared to her running hot.

You don’t even tell Kaelyn about it, although you’re sure she notices a difference in you- it feels like you’re constantly removed. Constantly thinking about that one minute where she thought you were asleep.

Maybe the reason you don’t tell Kaelyn is because you know what she would say. You know that you’ve always been different then the rest of the girls Clarisse messes around with, but this is different. It’s different, the way she kissed you softer for longer last week, what she did Friday night- yesterday when she pulled you into the stables and sat on a hale of hay, guiding you to sit on her lap.

She said she couldn’t have her pretty girl getting covered in hay. And she had picked off the pieces that has attached themselves to your pant legs, holding your ankle as you stood there awkwardly.

And yesterday, she has kissed you not like she usually does, but slow and soft and so sweet. Mumbling against your lips about how perfect and pretty you are, about how good you make her feel.

When she slips you the note, you don’t expect it’s her calling you to her bed again. The second night this week, and it’s written in her slightly messy handwriting- but you wouldn’t call it chicken scratch.

Come over tonight

Please

-C

—-

Kaelyn seems skeptical over the fact that you’re going to the Ares cabin again, but she can also tell you don’t want to talk about it, so she just helps you.

You lay in your bed for a long time, waiting for it to get dark enough that you can sneak over undetected. And strangely, you imagine your pillow is her chest.

—-

You wake up in a panic. It’s late, later than you would have liked to visit her. You usually come around 12- it’s probably around 2, if you had to guess.

You slip your shoes on and fix your pillows to look like someone, tip toe out the door, into the pale moonlight. You feel on fire, excited to see her, cursing yourself for sleeping- wondering if she’ll be angry with you.

You practically run past the other cabins, checking down the numbers in your head until you finally reach cabin 5. You tug your sleeves over your hands, feeling the cold summer night a lot.

You run around to the back, feet sinking into the soft grass, climbing onto the little step stool Clarisse left for you and knocking extra loud four times on the window- so she knows it’s you.

You suddenly realize there’s light peeking out from behind the curtains- is she awake?

She opens the curtains and then the window, her eyes wide. She rips the window open with such force you almost fall back, throwing your hands inside to catch yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, prepared to worship the ground at her feet- but you don’t get the chance too.

She hooks her hands under your arms and practically drags you into her room, you have to scramble to keep up with how fast she sets you onto your feet, her hands pressing against your face-

“Why are you late?” she breathes.

You feel sort of starstruck. Like Friday, something is obviously wrong with her.

You look around the room- notice the fact she has one shoe on, and her spear is on the bed and not hung up on the wall- like she was preparing to go somewhere.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, slightly out of breath from running, from the fact both of her hands are on your face and she’s staring into your eyes. “I-I fell asleep. Are you going somewhere?” you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“I was coming to get you,” she whispers.

“Oh.”

She lets you go, sitting on her bed and taking off the one boot she had managed to get on.

“With your spear?” you chuckle, careful to avoid it as you sit next to her.

“No,” she lies, boot hitting the floor, she stands and returns the spear to the wall. “I just… thought something happened to you. It was stupid. I didn’t sleep well last night, I’m not thinking straight.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you say. She stares pointedly at the floor. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was fine, just asleep in my bed.”

Her eyes finally meet yours and she sighs, heavily, tension fading from her shoulders. She turns off the light and you kick off your shoes, watching as she circles you like a lion watching over its cub. You lay down on your back, prepared fo shuffle over to give you room- and you choke on air when she just climbs on top of you.

She presses her head against your chest, breathes in and out deeply.

And in the darkness, where your inhibitions are lowered- she presses a kiss to your bare chest. It takes you a moment, but you’ve learned to take what you can get with Clarisse. You don’t expect to get it again, but you enjoy it when it happens.

You wrap your arms around her and breathe in the scent of her shampoo.

“I’m fine,” you reassure her, and she nods.

You lay like that for a while, eventually you start to trace circles on her back- just soaking up the moment while it lasts, letting her listen to your heartbeat.

You pretend for this one night.

And when she’s almost asleep, her voice breaks the comfortable silence.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“You’re my only girl. I don’t… don’t wanna see anyone else anymore. I don’t.”

This is all you never allowed yourself to want from her. The one rule you have with Clarisse is to not expect anything, to not get your hopes up. But Clarisse is clearly abandoning all her rules tonight, so you abandon yours.

“Does that mean anything different?” you whisper.

“I just want you to come here every night,” she whispers. “I get scared when you’re not here, ‘cause I think about you so much I don’t know what I would do if you were gone.”

“I know, Clarisse. I know.” You hold your breath, feeling like a dam might spill over any second. “I know how you feel.”

“I jus’ want you to be here with me all the time. I don’t wanna… make out in the bathroom anymore.”

“Well, I do,” you huff, and she laughs, truly laughs and it’s possibly the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

“I wanna do other things in addition to that, okay?”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Clarisse. We both know that.”

“But do you know I feel that way about you?”

“Do you?”

“You are… everything to me, Y/N. My pretty girl, my funny girl, my perfect girl.” She doesn’t look at you when she talks, but you let her speak anyway, you let her put one of her hands in your hair. “I had a dream,” she starts, mumbling, but it’s just you and her so it’s like she’s whispering in your ear. “That I lost you last night. That’s why I was so embarrassingly freaked out.”

“It’s sweet,” you whisper. “I thought it was really sweet. I was really confused, but I liked it.”

She breathes in your scent and it makes your head feel dizzy.

“I like it too,” she says.

She doesn’t say what you’re both thinking. You don’t either. Neither of you can promise that this will work, that you won’t run back to the safety of making out and Friday nights. But at least you’re both willing to try.

You’re willing to try, for Clarisse, because she has something about her that you know you’ll never find again. She has the fire, it seeps out of her in every aspect of her personality, the way she carrie’s herself.

She has a fire that has been burning with yours for a long time, before you were even born. And you were separated into two different brazers, but now you’re back, and it might not be good, but it feels right.

She sits up and kisses you quickly, her hand on your face, and it feels like she’s everywhere.

You may be Clarisse’s sad girl, but you could grow to be her everything girl.

—-

i just love them so lovey dovey and cute and aw i don’t really have anything to say just

shoutout to clarisse’s muscles, to the way she kisses, to the pet names, to the way she loves when she thinks y/n is sleeping……. yeah.

—-

bonus: the reason clarisse had the revelation and was all don’t worry your pretty little head was bc her siblings were teasing her abt how different y/n is and she was like oh no i’m in love w this bitch

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

@hyejusdiary

[hush-writes-preg]

Spooky Season Day #22

Summary: [Dominant AFAB reader] A classic werewolf attack (and breeding) with a twist-- sometimes even a werewolf will bite off more than it can chew. Wordcount: 1,760

Themes: Werewolf breeding, werewolf pregnancy, nonhuman pregnancy, outdoor sex, dominant pregnant individual

You started your day searching for wood, but apparently the universe had a weird sense of humor, because it gave you something else entirely.

The forest just outside your tiny village held plenty of firewood, but few dared to venture far into its dark, imposing depths. Hushed stories spoke of faeries and monsters and all sorts of fantastical beasts just waiting to snap up a distracted traveler. Even hunters shied away from it, no matter how lean times got, unwilling to risk their lives to the unknown.

You, however, didn't care much for such campfire stories. You could handle yourself. You might be short and wiry, but the years you'd spent working the farm with your father and brothers had honed the feminine form you'd been born with into one just as rugged and masculine as theirs. You'd proven yourself through many a rough-and-tumble brawl with the other village boys, too. Nobody would guess from a simple glance that your clothing hid secrets.  

And you preferred it that way.  

You'd gathered half a load of wood when you heard the crunch of a twig snapping somewhere behind you. You didn't react, for you'd been listening to whatever-it-was for some time. Something dogged your heels, something quick and quiet and following you with the ruthless persistence of a predator, but you didn't feel fear. If anything, the prospect of a good fight left your nerves humming with anticipation.

Leaves shifted. The faint chitter of birdsong quieted.  

Your fingers tightened around your axe as you subtly shifted your weight, ready for whatever might come.  

The first blow came at your right shoulder, but your stalker hadn't expected you to be prepared when it finally pounced. 

The two of you tumbled across the forest floor, grappling for dominance in a heated dance that could mean the difference between life and death. Claws tore at your clothes, and wicked teeth snapped inches from your fragile human skin, but you gave as good as you received, blocking the worst of its attacks with the haft of your axe and landing a few blows of your own.

In retrospect, you probably shouldn't have won that fight. The creature stood over a head taller than you, its body heavily corded with muscle, but you moved with an agility that it couldn't hope to match. So when the blade of your axe somehow found the vulnerable curve of its throat, it had no choice but to freeze.

Straddling the beast's hips, you stared down at the creature beneath you, your panting breaths meeting its faint growls in a harsh melody. The burning heat of its curse-twisted form leeched into your thighs. You could feel it flex its powerful body, testing your weight and the sharpness of your weapon. It was large and furry, and reeked of a unique combination of fresh sweat and musk that made something jolt in your gut.

A werewolf.

You've subdued a freaking werewolf.

You should have been terrified, yet you couldn't draw your eyes away from the fearsome creature.

The werewolf stared back, its dark gaze fathomless above a long, furred snout. Its black nose twitched with an obvious inhale.

Then its eyes narrowed.

"What, didn't think you could be bettered, pup?" you sneered, leaning more of your weight against your blade. "Just because you're a little fuzzy doesn't mean I'm gonna take one look at you and run off like a spooked fawn."

A curious shudder vibrated through the creature's body even as it snarled, its dagger-like teeth bared in obvious threat.

No, not it. He.

For the furry sheath pressed intimately against your groin began to twitch and swell as you watched, revealing a hint of something red at the tip.

Your breath caught in your throat. The feral masculinity of the creature at your mercy sparked a strange heat in your belly, a kind you couldn't recall ever feeling before. Your mouth practically watered at the sight of your attacker's arousal, and you didn't think that was normal. "Like that, did you?" You impulsively rocked your hips, rubbing yourself teasingly against him. "It's always the big, bad boys who secretly wanna be pinned down."

The werewolf's lips curled back, venom in its gaze, but the shaft nudging against your crotch jerked. 

Fuck, the friction felt good.  

You shouldn't want it, but the thought of taking that thick, alien cock inside of you left sent a surge of liquid heat through your core. 

Your trousers were already torn from the earlier scuffle, and it wouldn't take much effort at all to shift the homespun fabric a little to the side and– 

"Fertile." A single word somehow forced its way from a jaw not intended for speech, low and gravely and barely intelligible. The werewolf's long tongue lapped at its lips before it inhaled again, a whine rising from its throat.  

Fertile. 

You glanced down at the flat plane of your belly, towards the womb hidden just out of sight. Could the werewolf smell the arousal heating your blood? Or did it scent something else?  

"Smell something you like, pup?" You rubbed yourself against him again, not bothering to hide the smirk on your face as you took advantage of his helplessness. "What makes you think you can just ambush someone in the woods and take what you want without asking? Maybe you need a taste of your own medicine."

The werewolf growled again, a line of drool glistening on its muzzle. Those dark eyes remained narrowed in anger, but something feral burned there, too, something that threatened to engulf you. A fur-covered Adam's apple bobbed in its throat while the engorged shaft between its legs rose to full, glorious mast.  

Gods above and below. It wanted this as much as you did!

"Tell you what. You lay there nice and still like a good boy, and I'll take what I want. And maybe you'll get your rocks off along the way. Deal?"

That long tongue slipped out again, as much a nervous tic as it was a sign of anticipation, just before your subdued monster gave the very faintest of nods.

One hand continued holding the head of the axe to its throat while the other groped blindly between your legs, shifting just enough fabric aside to clear the way to your dripping hole. You weren't about to risk removing your trousers for this. Besides, the thought of mounting it mostly clothed only made your lust burn hotter. You unwaveringly held the werewolf's gaze as you guided the bright red head to your entrance, your breath hitching at the first nudge. "Stay," you ordered.

And just like that, you sank down.  

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck oh fuck.  

You've had a few lovers in your time, but none of them filled you as thoroughly as this bad-tempered beast. The work-toned muscles of your powerful thighs flexed like steel rope every time you lifted yourself almost free, only to impale yourself again with a pleasured grunt. 

But the werewolf wasn't a lover– no, it was nothing but a toy in this moment, and a hell of one at that.  

The thick, inhuman shaft stretching you out nearly made your eyes roll back in your head. Already the juices of your need ran slick between your thighs and dampened the creature's fur. For its part, the werewolf remained mostly still, though its clawed fingers flexed and dug deep furrows in the earth beneath it every time you ground down on its cock. Gasping, cursing, groaning, you rode your deadly plaything into the damp fall leaves, never taking your eyes off him.

"Damn, you feel good," you muttered, tossing the hair out of your eyes. "Got a nice cock for a monster. Bet you didn't expect this to happen when you jumped me, did you?"

The werewolf's hips jolted up in spite of the threat at its neck, driving it roughly into your eager body. "Smelled you," it rasped, the sound edged in a whine. "Needed it."

It smelled you? 

What was that supposed to mean?

You shoved your axe even harder against the creature's neck, slicing away fur and pressing metal to bare skin. "Shut up," you huffed, clenching your hole around it. "Don't wanna hear you while I'm getting off, you mangy mutt."

And surprisingly, it obeyed. Fur lay thick and coarse beneath your fingers as you exploited your attacker's lust for your own benefit, roughly pounding your greedy hole with its rock-hard shaft. It felt like you couldn't get enough, like you might just expire if you couldn't reach your peak. Something about the feel of the werewolf, the scent of it, the danger of its teeth and claws-- it all wound your desire tighter and tighter, like an overcoiled spring.  

It was too much. You couldn't hold back your sounds of pleasure any longer.

"Fuck, I need more," you hissed, your grip on the axe faltering and your bound chest heaving as you bared your human teeth at the werewolf. "Make me come, you flea-bitten cur!"

Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was fate. Or maybe you'd truly made the werewolf your bitch. But instead of taking advantage of your faltering attention, the creature began snapping its pelvis forward with punishing force. A strange bulge at the base of its cock, one that you'd only just noticed, demanded entrance. You weren't sure you could take it, but your hole seemed eager enough to try and swallow it up.

Your voice rose to the sky, filled with a fierce, wordless hunger that ached to be sated.  

An unearthly howl answered from the beast between your legs.

And suddenly, the knot forced its way inside of you, and your entire world shattered.

You eventually made it home that day with your firewood, a sore groin, and a belly full of werewolf seed.  

Its knot kept you tied up a bit longer than expected, but in time, you managed to pull free, unleashing a torrent of warm, sticky fluid down the inside of your trousers. The two of you scrambled apart afterward in an uneasy, unspoken truce, sharing a heated look that spoke volumes before the werewolf bounded back into the forest.  

Months passed, yet you never forgot that day, nor the feel of that deadly predator moving between your thighs. Especially once you finally realized what the beast had meant when growling about you being 'fertile'.

The next time you entered the forest, your tunic stretched over a belly swollen with werewolf pups. And the 'wood' you craved wouldn't come from any tree.

(A Spooky Season story.)

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[devnmon]

You Deserve the World

Originally written by @avanatural; credit to her for the idea and inspiring me as well.

Summary: Daryl's been insecure about his age starting to show, and is worried he'll lose you. You show him every way he won't.

warnings: comfort, (a lil angst), fluff, implied smut.

wc: 3.4k

Daryl's back ached.

He slid the bow from his back and dropped it onto a wooden side table, letting it clatter loudly. His vest was the next thing pulled off his body, left on the chair beside his bow. Unbuttoning his shirt, the cotton tightened around his biceps, until he finally ripped it from his torso and left the shirt on the ground behind him.

Now freed from the confines of his tight clothing, his arms stretched out, muscles flexing in the process. Daryl glanced around the room per usual, until his eyes came across the mirror in the corner of your room. Slowly, he sauntered towards it, pushing his shoulders down as he approached.

The archer studied himself intently. All of his features remained as they were - same cerulean eyes, distinctive birthmarks, scar crossing over his left eyebrow and part of his cheek, and his rounded nose. Daryl couldn't help the fact of time passing, and he definitely couldn't help the fact that aging was catching up with him. A few new lines on his face became more prominent, and the bags under his eyes from minimal sleep only bore into him further.

He tried to force a smile, but stopped before the realization of wrinkles and other lines made him even more self-conscious. Daryl grunted to himself, before running a hand through the tousled hickory of his hair. Sunlight hit the crown of his head, illuminating its unwashed state, along with the few grey hairs that managed to show themselves. The hairs of his beard were the first on him to become grey without him knowing.

Aging was an aspect of life he couldn't get used to. He didn't want to get used to it either. Though it was only a part of growing older with time. Not only did he grow accustomed to working out more often in order to stay on top of his game, but his hunting agility was having a lower success rate each time he was out there.

On the contrary, he'd been worried about keeping up with his partner.

You, the one of his dreams. If his aging continued at the rate it began, he was worried that you'd grow tired of his older features and desire someone younger than him. Someone better than him.

Daryl knew you were popular amongst the men of Alexandria, those better options only poking at the back of his throat as if it were bile waiting to give. Being in a constant state of hyperawareness whenever you two were out in the community had exhausted him to his core.

Every time one of Deanna's sons or any of the other guys in the community even caught a glance of you from across the courtyard, Daryl wanted to pummel them into the ground, but push you into their arms from his all the same.

Although Daryl felt this way, he realized the strength of your bond with him went deeper than just physical attraction. The two of you cared deeply for one another, and you always tried to clear his mind of any negative thoughts.

You're enough the way you are, my love. I don't want you any other way than that.

With a deep breath, Daryl decided to push the nagging thoughts from his mind and trudge over to the dresser. He fidgeted with the button of his jeans, pulling them off his legs and ending up next to the shirt he'd tossed as well.

There was conveniently another mirror in the corner, one that took the full image of him into account. It was noticeable to him when he'd noticed movement from out of his peripheral vision. It would have only taken a glance to the left before seeing his figure in full length. Stood in only a pair of boxers, his hands sifted through one of the dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of black jeans. A glance downward at his body stopped his movements, and the pair of pants fell from his grip.

Despite everything telling him not to, his eyes drifted to the left. Once the full image of him in the mirror hit his eyes, the disgusting thoughts he had a moment before busted down the door in his mind. Daryl stepped in front of the mirror, jeans left on the dresser.

Cerulean eyes raked over every inch of his body as harmful thoughts flooded his head again. His thighs weren't as taught as they once were, his pecs weren’t as defined. His fingertips grazed over the expanse of his belly, where some scars lay not as prominent as others. Eyebrows furrowed and a scowl made its way onto his face.

His partner was perfect to him, and he wanted to be perfect to them, too.

As if you'd read his mind, you came walking into the room, same smile on your face that made Daryl want to live forever. He hadn't noticed you at first, standing against the doorway. You tilted your head to the side, taking in the view of him in only boxers, hands tracing his stomach.

"Checking yourself out?" you chuckled softly, picking up a book on a dresser near the door.

Daryl's eyes locked on his reflection, his button nose scrunching up.

When he didn't reply with one of his quips or side comments like you were expecting, you took notice of the furrowed eyebrows and slouched state.

You'd noticed something different in Daryl these days. One look at the displeasure on his face, and you realized something was up. More solo hunts, fewer intimate moments in the bedroom.

Daryl, of all people, was insecure about how he looked.

Your lip caught between your teeth, dropping the book back onto the dresser. "Daryl, are you alright?" Shuffling over to him, you placed a hand on his shoulder. The contact made his muscles flex, the warmth of your palm against him growing his enamor for you.

Daryl sighed, knowing he'd been brushing you off every time you asked him if he was okay. His avoidance level had dwindled down to nothing, not wanting to push you away any more than he already had. You were his person, the one he could always confide in, and you listened every single time.

"Do you- Do you think I'm gettin' old?" he questioned under his breath, eyes still unwavering from the mirror.

Your chest tightened at the mere suggestion of his aging. To you, Daryl was the most perfect anyone could ever be- his aura, his personality, his appearance, his quips, even his idiosyncrasies, but most of all, his heart.

"No, I don't," you replied honestly, "You been thinkin' about that a lot, huh?"

Daryl's shoulders stiffened as he finally ripped his eyes away from the view of the mirror, turning completely to face you. Reaching out to cup his cheek in a loving touch, he leaned into it and closed his eyes.

"What made you think about that?" you inquired, letting go of his cheek and trailing your fingers over the soft hairs that adorned his face.

Daryl's eyes opened again, lines on his face reappearing in the furrowed state of his eyebrows. "I know the way those pricks in the town look at ya.. Younger guys."

Your gaze shifted back and forth from his sapphire eyes, the realization hitting you. "Is this about Spencer?"

When you'd first gotten to Alexandria, your relationship with Daryl was just beginning. You hadn't told the rest of your group about it yet, but from the first time you saw the older Monroe, he had his eye on you. He'd admittedly been attractive to you at first, but he had absolutely nothing on your Daryl.

Spencer had pulled you aside the night of Deanna's party, asking you questions about yourself and wanting to get to know you better. His motives seemed innocent but there was a slight glint of mischief in his eye. When he suggested something more perverted, you knew he only saw you as a one night stand and nothing more. You explained to him that you weren't interested, on account of being taken by a different, better man.

Spencer Monroe could never compare to Daryl Dixon.

"He didn't want me like you want me. I could never want that asshole, and I don't." If Daryl knew the things Spencer said about him after you told him you were taken, he would have pummeled his face into the ground.

"I'm way older than you," Daryl mumbled, "One day ya might wanna take him up on that, or any of 'em."

"You really think I want them? That they're better than you?" you questioned, your hand grabbing his.

"Don't ya think so?"

You scoffed, "What could any one of them give me? I know for a fact that they couldn't be as good to me as you are. I'm a damn lucky person to have you. I scored you, Daryl Dixon. Not the other way around. You always had my back, every time I've needed you."

"'Course I do, an' you always got mine, too. I jus' don't see why," He shook his head, "You don't gotta settle for me-"

"You know what? Enough, look into the mirror right here," you stated, grasping his shoulders and turning him to see his figure. "Let's start with your shoulders." You gave them a slight squeeze, flesh emerging from between your fingers. "They're so big and broad, and I'm obsessed with them."

Your statement made a corner of Daryl's mouth jolt upwards, forming just the tiniest bit of smile on his face. His mind brought him back to the memories of you gripping them when intertwined in a hug or kiss, but especially when you were making love.

You shuffled to stand next to him, affectionately running your fingers down his thick forearm. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, you took his hand in yours. "These hands and arms of yours are so strong, especially when you're holding me close, when you touch me. You know I appreciate how handy you are, especially when you're using that crossbow of yours, and working on your bike or cars."

Daryl hummed, intertwining his fingers with yours.

Smiling at his reflection, you continued, "I adore your stomach, know that? You're all muscle and firm where it matters most, but the softness of your stomach doesn't compare to the rest of you. I find that so incredibly sexy, know that?"

"Ya really like that?" Daryl questioned with disbelief, locking his eyes with yours in the reflection.

You nodded, leaning your cheek against his arm before placing a soft kiss on his bicep. "Yeah, I do." You already knew the tension in his body was starting to dissipate. "You wanna know what else I think?"

"Mhm," He replied almost instantly. Daryl felt selfish asking for your compliments, but he knew you'd give them to him every time he asked. It was simply too fulfilling to pass up.

"Your thighs are perfect, and they're such a strong part of you. I love sitting on them in your lap. And this?" You dropped his hand from yours, sliding it behind him to lightly squeeze his butt. He jolted slightly at the contact and smirked. "This is firm and so cute. A lot perkier than mine, too."

Daryl opened his mouth to speak, but your hands began to play with the hem of his boxers near his crotch, silencing him. "I assume this morning is a good example of what I think about this?"

His smirk widened, filling him with satisfaction of the fact that he could still make you feel good in bed.

"Don't even get me started on your pretty face," You shifted, cupping his cheeks with your hands again. Your eyes trailed over his face, taking in his intoxicating features. "Your eyes are so deep, like the ocean. When you look at me, I forget what I'm going to say most times."

Daryl shifted closer, purposely to make you flustered. His eyes met yours in the playful way he'd done a thousand times before, and you recognized the expression immediately.

"Don't do that to me now.." You said, rolling your eyes.

A hearty chuckle erupted from him at your flustered state, wrinkles around his eyes emerging once again.

"Your lips are so damn tempting, pretty and pink like they were made for mine," you went on, "You have perfect teeth and whenever you smile at me, my heart jumps a mile high. I'm also jealous of your birthmark, and how it gets to go everywhere with you on that handsome face of yours. But this..." you took a moment to run your hands along the wispy hairs of his chin and jaw, "is my favorite thing to feel when we kiss."

"Oh, really?" He questioned, that signature smirk of his growing inch by inch, "Guess I better kiss ya more often."

You beamed at his words, a blush rushing onto your cheeks as you let go of his face. "I'm such a lucky woman to have you, such an attractive man, by my side. You say guys notice me, but you aren't aware of just how many women practically drool over you when you're around the town. Warms my heart and makes me jealous at the same time," you confessed.

Daryl's head tilted to the side, "You got nothin' to worry about, sunshine."

"Well, neither do you, got that?"

He sighed, meeting your gaze with enamor filled eyes, another smirk tugging at his lips, "Yes, ma'am."

Daryl leaned down to your face and attached his lips to yours. His kiss was soft and slow, a low hum escaping you. His toned arms surrounded your waist, pulling you in close to his chest.

Your hands flew up around his neck, toying with the long strands, "I'm obsessed with your hair, too." You told him after pulling back from the kiss.

His grasp only tightened around you, arms flexing around your waist, bodies pressed together. Your foreheads slightly touched as you talked quietly.

"I gotta few gray hairs..." He retorted, those large hands of his snaking behind to your lower back.

"Yes.. and? You'd look so hot with gray hair."

"You sayin' ya wanna grow old with me, hun?" He inquired, hands squeezing around your butt now.

You grinned up at him through your lashes, "Of course. That is, if we live long enough to do so."

Daryl sighed, "Sounds good to me, darlin'. Now, I believe you were talkin' about my hair.."

You took the opening to run your hands through his bangs, pushing back the strands of hair that framed his face. "I love your long hair, It's so pretty and wavy, for a man like you. I'd love to braid it sometime, if you'd let me. Don't think a guy like Spencer could pull it off as well as you do."

"You love playin' with my hair, don't ya?" He questioned, voice lowering. His large palms rested comfortably on your behind. Daryl enjoyed touching your butt, even when it wasn't in a sexual way. Because of you, he craved intimacy in its most raw form, and with you, it came even easier.

"Absolutely," you responded, taking away what little distance was left between them and rejoining your lips with his. Daryl picked up on the change in tension between you two and grasped at your behind a lot firmer than before, using his strong grip to push his crotch against yours.

You mewled into his mouth when she felt the tent in his boxers against you, but you weren't done yet. You placed your hands on his broad chest, and pulled back.

"You okay?" Daryl asked, eyes darkened with lust.

Your fingers found the tattoos on his chest, the heart and other small ones littered across his collarbones. "I have more to say, that's all."

"An' what's that?"

"Your body isn't the only thing about you that makes me crazy for you."

The thought of you worrying about him in this state made his heart race, since he hadn't been thinking very highly of himself. The truth was, Daryl had been thinking that way his entire life, and couldn't help it. Brought up by people who only put him down and made him think so little of himself, he weighed his decisions with every one he made. When he met you, though, was the first time in his life he'd witnessed genuine love and support. You managed to bring him back from those moments every single time he got trapped in one.

You knew he deserved to be loved the way he was, with nothing standing in the way between you and his true self. In this world, he deserved to be given the same amount of love and support that Daryl gave to everyone in the community.

Just hearing about what you thought of him, in every way possible, kept him going in the darkest of times.

"Daryl, there's never been anyone in my life like you, you're so good to me," you said, tone in your voice filled with disbelief. "You think anyone else could treat me the same way you do? Those pricks only want to get in my pants, and dropped me like a fly when they realized I wasn't interested. But you, you became my best friend before anything. You became the one person in my life who knew me. Like, really knew me. And then I just.. fell for you in the process. I'm the luckiest person in the world to have you."

You could've sworn a blush crept its way onto his cheeks, but he dropped his head before you could see better. Two of your fingers looped under his chin and lifted it again. "Don't ever hang your head, Daryl Dixon. You are the best man I know. I've never met anybody as caring as you. I see it in everything you do, the way you care about Rick, about that little girl, Jude? It warms my heart to see. You deserve the world, Daryl."

Daryl knew every word out of your mouth was true. He knew you would never lie to him, and even then, you were terrible at it. The minute you got lost in his ocean eyes, every little fib crumbled to nothing. Like all things, Daryl was better at expressing himself with actions, and not many words. He pulled you into another kiss, and it took your breath away. His strong arms hooked under your thighs, scooping your body up into his arms. A squeal threatened to leave your chest, but it only got swallowed by the archer's lips on yours.

Without restraint, he carried you over to your bed, one you both shared on many occasions, letting his weight fall back on top of it. You giggled as you landed on top of him, taking his pretty face into your hands again and slipped your lips between his. He groaned, hands attaching to your waist as you attempted to deepen the kiss.

Daryl slid his tongue across your bottom lip, making you moan into his kiss. In response, he opened his mouth to you, tongue gliding across yours with desire. A moment passed before Daryl pushed you over onto the bed, now hovering over you.

All the kissing made you hot, and pretty soon your hands were clawing at Daryl's boxers, chuckling at you as he pushed them down his legs, leaving him bare between you both.

"Hey, now. Tha's not fair at all, is it?" Daryl questioned, very upset with the fact that you couldn't be more clothed. His hands immediately went for your shirt, tugging it over your head. Your pants and underwear followed, placing hungry kisses along the expanses of your skin. There was something different about Daryl now, he hadn't resumed the usual acts of self-consciousness he had recently been taking part in.

Though his hand reached out to turn the lamp in your room off, he felt a restraint when his fingers met the button. Since the days of his insecurities, he felt safe in the darkness while making love to you. It meant security, and kept him from the nervousness that came with the thought of being judged by you.

But now, he didn't have a reason to hide anything from you anymore. His hand resumed his loving touches on your skin. You loved all of him, every single part. There wasn't anything luckier than that.

"How 'bout I leave this on?" he declared, locking his eyes with yours.

"I'd like that."

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hear me out… the reader pegging Uihoy or Vic’tao 🤔

Tables Have Turned

Pairing: Vic'tao (male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: pegging (Duh), knots, anal, sub!Vic’tao, Dom!Reader, praise, pet name (Pretty boy, love, lover boy, etc…), talks about milking (like draining him of his sperm). Let me know if I miss any!

Word Count: 3580

Summary: Vic likes to act all dominate, like he's the top dog on the ship. If you know his hidden spots, you can turn the dominate male into a begging slut.

Author Note: So I’m choosing Vic for this. I looked at my master list for him and it’s looking a bit bare compared to Uie. Poor boy needs some love. And he’s not as much into pegging as Uihoy but he’ll indulge you. I also want him to be tied up some more at our expense.

Masterlist

Ao3

Like the position he’s place you into countless times, Vic’tao was stuck, tied, and restrained. These ropes, tested at their full strength, held up to peek male Yautja strength. A pair of cuffs held his hands behind his back, entwined in rope as well. Said material was soft against their scales. Though durable, it was wrapped beautiful to create a pattern that worked well to keep him trapped.

A few tools were laid out by his side. Everything needs to work a well endowed Yautja-like cock into his ass. It took a little convince and reassuring to make sure he was comfortable with this.

Once you got the go ahead, you were already planning everything you would do him. Anything to get him back on his knees, in this same position. Ass up, face down.

Between his slightly opened legs hung his long, bright green cock. It fit his stature. Tall, lean, agile. The green the same shade as the color of his blood. Perfect to reach all those spots deep inside of you and even further to reach your guts. You softly grasped the thicker base of his cock, his dormant knot slightly squeezy in your hold.

A large vein was popping out underneath his knot. You ran the soft pad of your finger against it and watched at the Yautja at your mercy squirmed and writhed at that touch alone. Despite loving the way the two of them pound you into the sheets or whatever surface was suitable for, seeing either of them like this did things to you.

“Look at you, so sensitive just from that,” you teased with a light tone and squeezed his knot again.  He growled with clicks and pulled at his restraints. All it would take was one word to stop all of this, Vic knew this.

“Of course I am, touching my dick like that,” he snapped back you, hands flexing in the cuffs but unable to break the metal. You ran both your thumb and dull nail down the length of his twitching shaft. Vic’tao grunted and struggled more against his bonds but couldn’t get the material to snap like last time. Trial and error to get you here. “By Paya’s name, you’re going to be the death of me, little hunter.”

You couldn’t help the sly smirk on your face. “If all it takes is a single finger on the underside of your cock, you might need to toughen up, love.” Vic’tao growled again, lean muscles flexing still. Determined as he was, the rope would not bend to his will.

“I could say the same about my fingers filling that tight hole of yours. It’s dripping, isn’t it?” he snarked and still tried to act tough in a position he was at your will in. You giggled and pinched the cone shaped head of his cock. It jumped in your grasp and slapped against his belly. His hips rutted down into your hand and rubbed the precoat slick covering his cock onto your skin.

The Yautja gave an undignified cry. Small beads of precum drippled out to coat your fingers. You swiped what you could and licked it off in one fell swoop. Salty with a tang that just Vic’tao, Vic’tao. “You could easily beat me with how much your leaking yourself, lover boy. You need to save some for me though. Don’t you want to fill up my hole?” You leaned down to his ear while a hand ran up the length of his spine then back down. “Breed me? Full me with your seed? Watch as if leaks out only for you to fuck it back into me to make sure it takes?”

Vic’tao howled. His pulse shooting skyward. He pulled together every ounce of his strength together and strained once more against both the rope and cuff. They groaned and rattled under the peek male in his prime but thankfully held. True to Uihoy’s word, these ones would work for the occasion.

As his mate for the last two years, you knew what did it for him. Breeding for Uihoy and Vic’tao are extremely high. It comes down to their very DNA. Yet, for Vic’tao, its worse. Want to get him riled up? Talk about breeding you. His seed deep inside of you. Then, if you don’t have him in a position as of now, you would be bent over just the same and filled. Just like how you said. Bred.

Vic’tao doesn’t kid around when it comes to breeding.

Deep, lung filled breaths panted from the straining male. Yet, he realized he could not get out of ropes on his own. “Untie me, now. Tressure. Now.” Without the safe word in the mixture, you brushed him off with a grin. He snarled so loudly it vibrated the air itself, like a gator bellowing. “I’m going to pauk you until you can’t think, can’t walk, can’t pauk-de talk. All you’ll remember is my name. That’s all.”

See? Just a mention about breeding has the male more than ready to stuff his cock into you, knotting deep. You giggled and patted the plush fat of his ass. “I love seeing you like this. Thinking you’re the one in charge. But when I’m milking you of your worth, it’ll be you who can’t even think. Nothing more than my cock plowing your ass into tomorrow,” you promised and ghosted your fingers over the tight ring of muscles. His lower back muscles tense and drew that part away from you touch.

“You won’t shy away from my touch much longer. I’ll have you bouncing back to each of my thrusts in a little bit, love.” The Yaujta growled again and strained against the ropes but with less strength this time. He must be finally coming to the realization he can’t win.

Watching as the male submit to your control was sweeter than candy. A grin was plastered to your face and nothing could wipe it off.

With one of your hands, you pulled his cock out from between his legs and leaned down. Soft, supple lips encased his pointed tip and sucked. Precum dripped into your waiting mouth. Your tongue ran a line on his slit.

A pitiful whine surpassed his lips. He wanted more. You smirked around his head and suckled like a calf on the head. His thigh muscles tensed and trembled. But even if he could close them despite the small bar keeping them open, you were just out of reach. You pulled back, saliva and precum connecting you to his hard cock. He released another weak noise. “Little hunter, please,” he pleaded, already.

The slit of the head of his cock was extremely sensitive. You knew to use this against him to get him begging in seconds.

Over to the side, you reached over and pick up a rubber zip tie of sorts. With their different anatomy, it took a little experimenting to see what works best. Then, you tied it around the very base of his cock, further down than his deflated knot and tightened it accordingly. He squirmed in your hold.

“Don’t-don’t use that. Please, anything but that,” he mewled and panted.

You laughed and patted his backside. “I can’t have you spilling so quickly. I want this to last. You know how the end is when you wait.” With their balls internal, this is the best you could to edge him with less worry of him coming before you wanted him to. You leaned down and gave a sucking kiss on his knot. He choked on a gasp, whole body shuddering.

Vic’tao knew this. Being edged and forced to wait for the inevitable to erupt from inside of me. He would never admit it but he loved it.

Along the sides of his cock were these small round bumps. They helped stimulate a spot inside of a female Yautja, different compared to a human. For you, they still felt good. You tilted your head and ran a stripe from your tongue up from the base back up to his tip. Your muscle running over each little nub then teasing his slit again. He jumped in your hold.

At this point, he looked painfully hard. His veins growing more prominent the long you teased him. Drool freely poured from his panting mouth. His eyes glazed over and dazed. A sight you were happily drinking.

Cool lube coated your fingers generously. You placed a clean hand on the plump flesh of one of his cheeks and rubbed the lubed digits around his puckered hole. The bright green cock between his legs slapped against the taunt muscles of his belly. You softly petted his butt. “Relax, I’m going to take good care of you, okay?” you cooed to the blissed male in your hands.

He whined and dazedly nodded his head, wiping more drool on the sheets below him. “Such a good boy,” you praised your lover. In return, he keened, head raising off of the bed. “There he is. You ready for my fingers?” Vic’tao rapidly nodded his head and pushed back on your hands.

Carefully, you slowly prodded his hole and pushed only a finger in. Instantly, you knew he could handle two but decided this time to go slow. It was rapture the way your digit disappeared inside of him. You slowly pulled out and began a soft rhythm that would loosen him up.

It didn’t take long for him to rut back on your single figure. You stopped him though and slickened up another digit before using it to stretch him all the same. He clenched down on your presence inside of him. That caused the muscles to flutter around your fingers, nearly forcing you further into him if it wasn’t for your knuckles.

Between his legs, you ghosted the tips of your fingers down the underside of his cock. Your lover jumped then tried to grind down on any part of you giving him friction. You decided to push him and added another finger. Three in total stretching hole for when you pull out the strap on that was the size of a Yautja, it would only give pleasure. As your good boy, he deserved it.

Once all four of your fingers fit comfortably inside of him, you withdrew them. His hole clenched down on nothing. “It’ll be okay. You’re ready to take my cock, love.”  You stood up after grabbing the harness and slipped it on while putting on a show for him.

The thick shaft hung heavy from its own silicon weight between your legs. Lube was used to slick up the whole thing. You stroked it in front of Vic. The Yautja watched with hooded eyes, rapture clawing at his insides. His muscles again squeezing around the lack of fingers or this cock inside of him.

False concern passed over your features. “Oh, what’s wrong? Needing something to fill you? Need my thick cock to stretch you open?” you cooed and knelt in front of him to rub your thumb over the bridge of his brow. He whimpered again and leaned up.

With his long, forked tongue, he licked just the tip of the lubed silicon. If this thing was real, you would’ve probably be groaning and plowing into him immediately afterwards. Which, you were planning to do anyhow. You gave another stroke of the strap on before grabbing at his tresses and pulling them back. This forced him to keep his head more up. “Spit on it,” you growled out.

A dangerous look passing over your features. You shuffled a little closer to and forced more of the dildo into his awaiting, already drooling mouth. In his state, he did his best to slobbering over the material until it dripped with his saliva. You released his dreads and pulled back your hips. “Such a good boy. Getting the strap on all ready for yourself,” you praised him again. He purred choppily and attempted a grin up at you.

You ran your fingertips along his brow again before shuffling behind him again. Due to the height difference, you forced him to sit down on his knees more. This was a beautiful sight to behold. If you had a camera on you, you would happily snatch a photo of this for both you and Uihoy. It wasn’t one you see very often due to the fact he wasn’t very submissive. Uihoy, he likes when he can be lazy. He does get his moment is random energy and plow you until you can’t think. But, Uie’s an old man who wants to live out the rest of his life peacefully.

Slicked up digits prodded his hole again. The muscles around it fluttered in reaction. “Okay, pretty boy. I need you stay relaxed for me. Can you do that?” you cooed softly to him

Underneath you, Vic whined and wiggled his hips the best he could, enticing you. You sat up and grabbed the base of the strap on. It was hefty in your grasp as the pointed head was pressed to his hole. He flinched again. Your other hand came up and ran the length of his spine a couple of times. “Relax, love. I’m going to take great care of you. I’m going to milk your balls dry, take every last drop for my own. Then maybe, I’ll let you breed me before the end of the night.” You grinned as that got the reaction out of him. He tugged at the restraints even though he knows they won’t budge this time.

Both of your hands gripped his narrow waist. Then, you began to push the head into him. A combination of his slobber and the lube easily slid it in until you hit a thicker part of the shaft. Not even your fingers could stretch him that much. Your eyes were glued to the sight of him splitting open for this fake cock attached to your hips.

“I know you can do it, Vicy boy. You’ve done it with Uie before. And he’s got a bigger one than this dinky thing.” The Yautja grunted at the reminder of the stretch his other mate gave him. Uihoy’s size fits his stature as well.

It was the praise he need to allow the rest of it to sink further into him. Your hips pressed skin to skin against his rounded butt. In tandem, the two of you moaned out. Your nails dug into the flesh of his hips, forcing him stay. He wasn’t allowed to move, wasn’t allow to control anything about this. You were in control and he had to take it, take the entire cock yo his ass.

“Yeah, that’s it. Took so well. Got the entire thing inside of you, pretty boy. Such a pretty boy. Want me move?” you questioned and rubbed at his hips again.

“Please, move. Fuck me!” Vic pleaded and strained the metal of his cuffs as the groaned. The material stayed strong though still shook. You grinned and pulled back your hips until only the head stayed inside of his stretched hole. His fingers curled into fists and panted. With a single, strong thrust, the cock was buried deep into him again.

The Yautja howled his cry again. In this position, all he could do was take and take and take. There was no rutting back, no pushing into each thrust. He was strictly at your mercy. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

A grin was plastered to you features as you thrusted into him countless times. You aimed your hips down to ensure the length of shaft rubbed along that sensitive spot deep inside of him. You loved the fact males of both species had their similarities as such. When he groaned, you knew you found it and focused on that spot even more.

Every thrust in, flush with his butt, allowed his digits to touch your stomach. He attempted to grab at what flesh was within reach. Yet, there wasn’t enough for him to hold to. You knew he was scrambling for purchase before the inevitable hit him. Unless the cock ring did its job and kept him from disobeying you so soon.

Between his legs, you reached around his torso and grasped the painfully hard cock. Steel in your hand, you ghosted your fingertips up the underside. Vic twitch in your grasp, cock slapping against his chest again. All the while, you don’t stop moving your hips, driving the thick shaft into him.

You leaned back up and gazed down at the beautiful sight before you. Dulled nails dug into the plush flesh of his cheeks and held them, using them to pull you back into him.

The noises echoing back to you in the safety of your room were downright dirty. The slaps of your hips to his flesh were loud. Vic’tao himself was stentorian. About the loudest you’ve heard him before.

His muscles fluttered around the silicon again, trying to either push it out or swallow more of it. If you had to bet, it was the latter.

“Gonna… gonna come. Let me. Take-take off the damn ring, please. Let me. Wanna breed my little treasure. Let me fill that tight hole,” Vic mumbled and ranted to you in a voice you could barely understand. Even when he’s below you, taking a dildo up the ass, he tries to act like he’s in charge of the situation. Breeding with him is always a big thing for Vic’tao.

“Oh, sweetie. You want to breed me, don’t you?” you teased him and aimed your hips downward again. The muscles that lined his arms flexed with great strength. Your Yautja began to chitter in his language, losing himself to the pleasure. His brain turning to mush.

Once more, you encase his cock with your hand and slowly pumped at the throbbing muscle. He was on the edge; you could tell by the way his moans grew in pitch. More whinny than before, almost like a bat.

One handed, you undid the ziptie clamped down under the growing knot at the base of his cock. “Okay, pretty boy. You can come. Come all over my hand. Then, you’ll get a treat. Be a good boy and come for your mate,” you commanded of him. Your hand returned to stroke his cock, now trying to milk your love for all he’s worth.

His voice cut out as he pitched his head back with a cry. Loads of cum spilled onto the sheets below, staining the material and soaking your hand. You didn’t stop, both in stroking and thrusting. You were determine to take everything he could give.

The sight was beautiful. His muscles clenching around the dildo lodged into him, hitting that special spot that made him see stars.

At this point, his cum just leaked out of him onto the ground. You stopped moving and titled your head to glance at his face. His gorgeous eyes were hidden, closed as he gather whatever was left of him. “You okay, Vicy?” you asked in a softly, low voice. All he gave was a low groan but nothing else to supply he was in pain or discomfort.

A soft smile replaced your grin. You reached with your clean hand to rub your thumb along his cheek bone. “You did so well for me, Vic. Such a good boy. Look all the cum you produced. Imagine that inside of me next time. Don’t you want that.”

“Fuck, treasure. You’re gonna start something I know you can finish,” he grunted. One eye flicked open, still hooded over while he gazed at you. Instead, you shook your head in response.

Carefully, you withdrew your hips and pulled the shaft from him. “No. What we’re going to do is drag your sore ass to the bathroom. Then, I’ll wash you clean, change the sheets, and snuggle you,” you promised the yellow and blue Yautja now in your care. He rumbled deeply in his chest and slightly tugged on his restraint again.

Slowly, meticulously, you unwrapped the rope from his body. Each time a spot had been rubbed raw, you placed a kiss on the area and apologized.

After the last little bit fell, he stood up on his knees first and stretched his arms high above his head. Vic turned around then latched his arms around you and pulled you close to him. At first, you thought he was getting pay back for all the teasing you gave him. But, instead he just held you.

Well, until he rubbed his slick and sticky cock against your stomach, getting the clothing dirty. You scoffed and pushed him away, which he allowed for you to. “Vic! That’s gross,” you scolded and glared at the dark spot on your shirt. “That stuck is hard to wash out properly.” It takes a whole week of soaking in water and some sort of soap to get it out.

Vic chortled then stood, always towering over you. You got to your feet as well. “You know, I’m supposed to be bravely carrying you to the bathtub for a soak,” you mumbled with a teasing smirk. The yellow Yautja raised a brow at you.

“If you want, I can just collapse onto you and see how that words for you,” he jestered back. You set a unheated glare at your mate.

“You and your superhuman strength.” Vic laughed once more at your misfortune.

[ru8yx]

Your Jermey headcanons were so good, could we get some for Nora 🥹??

NORA VON NÜRNBERGER X READER

Nora's lips would curve into a dreamy smile at the mere mention of your name, as though the very sound of it held the power to ignite a flame within his heart.

Whenever his gaze would find you, his eyes seemed to light up with the warmth of affection, and his love-struck smile would widen naturally.

Each instance of you walking past him, or even just the sight of your genuine smile in his direction, would spark a wave of joy and contentment within him.

Nora cherished the hope that your relationship would never mirror the loveless and dutiful bond his parents shared.

He yearned for a love that transcended obligation, one that would bring not just duty but genuine affection and warmth into your hearts.

His quest to make you fall in love with him repeatedly not only ignited a spark in your eyes but also served as a testament to the unwavering commitment he held for you.

He dreamed of a future where the ring on your finger wouldn’t just symbolize responsibility but would be a tangible symbol of the deep and passionate love you shared.

Nora relished the tranquil moments spent in the garden with you, where the soft chatter of your words filled the air and left a joyful smile upon your lips.

As he sat across from you, his gaze remained fixated on your every feature—the way strands of your hair caught the sunlight, your eyes dancing with happiness, and the way your clothes perfectly complimented your angelic aura.

Each detail was etched into his memory, and he found contentment in observing the picture of you painted before him as if you were an angelic vision sent directly from the heavens just for him.

Whenever Nora engaged in training, he diligently kept a watchful eye for your presence, cherishing any opportunity to impress and entertain you.

When he was particularly playful, he would delight in flexing his muscles and showcasing his agility with weapons.

With a flick of his wrist, he would lift the hem of his shirt, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his toned abs, before wiping away the sweat from his forehead and tossing you a mischievous smirk.

His actions were a dance of prowess, designed to captivate and enchant you while he reveled in the moment.

During those moments of respite, Nora would seize the opportunity with a sly smirk, skillfully trapping you between the embrace of his arms on the bed.

As he pressed himself close, his kisses would land on the most ticklish spots of your body, igniting a symphony of giggles and laughter that escaped your lips.

He reveled in the adorable sight of you playfully trying to push him away, your legs kicking out in a valiant attempt to escape his teasing.

However, his gaze would pause upon your face, utterly entranced by your captivating beauty before finally capturing your lips in a languid, passionate kiss.

RAHH!!! Thank u SMMM 💕💕💕AGAIN IM SORRY IF ITS BAD BC IM IN WRITING BLOCK

[freesia-writes]

Ch 25: Surrender and Dread

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.4k

Song: Eleanor Collides - Lifeboats (Official Lyric Video) (youtube.com)

.

The water crashed over the rocks with a steady, soothing roar as Luci reclined beside the river, lifting her water bottle to her lips before tossing it aside and stretching out luxuriously where they’d strewn their towels over the flat stones on the bank. Hunter gazed at the waters, swirling in blue and green hues, then allowed his eyes to drift over her. She folded her arms over her face to block the sun, peeking out at him with one squinty eye.

“It’s not fair that you can get into shape so fast,” she said with a smile, letting out a low whistle as Hunter took his shirt off and rested with his hands behind him. “I mean, are you kidding me? Look at you.” He glanced down, noticing that his soldier physique had indeed returned at a rapid rate, although this was no surprise to him, considering his engineering. The various workouts that they had enjoyed together had challenged him in new ways, allowing him to develop not only his strength and stamina, but his agility, flexibility, and stability as well. It helped that they were always outdoors, too, so his rich brown skin was a deeper tone than it ever had been during the years spent wearing blacks every waking moment. 

“Sorry,” he said, as unapologetically as he could. She laughed, shaking her head and burying it further beneath her arms. “It’s all your fault anyway,” he continued, grinning as she swatted blindly at him. 

“I regret nothing,” she grumbled, lifting one toned leg and flexing her foot back and forth. She’d worn nothing but a swimsuit for their hike, leaving him speechless at her free-spirited comfort in virtually any situation. “But I also have earned a good, solid ‘I told you so’ about the dancing. It took, what, like six lessons and you’ve got all kinds of lustful eyes on you now?” Hunter groaned, rolling his eyes in thorough disbelief, but she continued with a mockingly insistent look on her face, “You might not see it, but I do. But don’t worry, I’ll fight em off. I told you I was scrappy.”

“Thank you.” His sincerity was laced with sarcasm, and she loved every minute of it, lowering her leg back down and touching his foot with hers on the way. 

“You gonna help me with the next series of dance classes?”

“It didn’t sound like you needed a partner for those…” Hunter said, voice constricting a little. 

“Not at the studio,” she said with a smirk. “But maybe I can practice on you at home so I can get the best choreography for the students… Somethin real spicy.” 

“You didn’t get enough practice in your traveling dance troupe? That sounded… similar…”

“Oh it was,” Luci agreed, biting her lip at the thought. “You wouldn’t believe some of the politicians I entertained… It’s amazing how so many people, all wildly different on the outside, can be reduced to most of the same basic urges.”

“You love toying with people, don’t you…”

“Not toying with them,” she corrected quickly, a tinge of indignation in her soft, light voice. “That sounds mean. I love people in all their shapes and sizes. It’s just fun that, at the simplest level, we’re pretty much all the same.” She paused, considering her own philosophy. “But the differences add all the color and flavor! So being able to see both in each person – the common humanity as well as the amazing diversity – makes life a really interesting ride! No pun intended,” she added with a wink. “But yeah, my… insight… did get me a lot of tips and repeat customers. So everyone was happy.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Did I tell you about my Holonet correspondent job?” she asked, sitting up to face him more fully and adjusting her swimsuit top. 

“I don’t think so…” he murmured, furrowing his brow. She’d told him a lot, to be honest, and there were so many stories of random career endeavors and impulsive adventures that he was starting to feel lost in it all. She had a number of tattoos, each with its own tale of meaning (or debauchery), and she’d been across the galaxy almost as much as he had, it seemed, although under very different circumstances. There were more people in her life than he could remember, all referred to with fondness and specific names that he promptly forgot. And she seemed to have more luck than the average individual, having skirted some very precarious situations a number of times. It was getting to the point where he was fairly certain he couldn’t be surprised by anything from her anymore, and somehow that was comforting in itself.

“Okay, so I’m a journalist for the Galactic News Network, based out of Coruscant… I actually still have my apartment there, because it’s such a fun place to visit, and I might take that up again someday cause it was crazy money and lots of weird, awesome people. Anyway, I’m covering this underground Sabacc ring that was increasingly connected with a few crime lords in the area, and I have to go in disguise to try to get chummy with the right people. I get all set with a hidden recorder, some tracking beacons, and a killer outfit, and there I am, in the middle of it all. I thought I was pretty decent at Sabacc… until then… So I lost all my credits immediately, which was how I was supposed to get to the right table… But I had to pivot and use my people skills instead.” She leaned back on her hands, mimicking his position and turning her chin toward the sun, closing her eyes to soak up its warm beams as she continued a colorful tale of flirtation, deception, and drunken confessions that blew up into an entire scandal. “...and I got to write it all!” she finished cheerily. “So that was a fun one. But anyway – we’ve been sitting far too long. Dare you to jump?”

Hunter followed her pointed finger to the waterfall, which was not terribly high but poured into a churning pool below. He couldn’t decide if he felt lazy or just content, but when he caught the inquisitive sparkle in her eye, he was surprised at how willing he felt all of a sudden. Next thing they knew, they were standing on a relatively thin ledge, pressed up against the face of the rock wall with the water tumbling down beside them, and Luci reached a hand out to him, entwining her fingers with his before leaping into the water below and pulling him along. 

They crashed into the pool, tumbling beneath the sheer force of water cascading from above, and after a few strong strokes, they each burst out of the water, gasping for air. Hunter flung his hair back from his forehead, although some tousled chunks still fell across his eyes in the most gloriously attractive and viscerally satisfying manner, and Luci giggled as she swam to where he had waded into a waist-deep eddy where the water was much calmer. He rubbed his face with both hands, turning to smile at her as she stood up beside him, repositioning her swimsuit and dipping in the water one more time to make her hair lay perfectly smooth down her back. 

“Let’s try a flip next time,” she snickered, teasing the water droplets across his chest with a few playful fingers. 

“I think I’m good,” Hunter shook his head, looping an arm around her waist with seemingly lighthearted ease, but his heart was pounding in his chest. She sidled a little closer, straightening the dainty gold chains around her neck before resting her hands on his chest again. Her body pressed against his, wet and warm, and the sensation had a disproportionate impact on him as he pulled her close. 

“You are good,” Luci teased, nestling into his embrace and studying his face with soft eyes. She slowly lifted a hand, cupping the side of his face and brushing a thumb along the curve of his tattooed cheekbone, then lowered her gaze to his lips, flickering back up to his eyes with an unspoken question. Tingles raced through his veins, combined with an exhilaration that goaded him on, and he tilted his head slightly, watching her closely. She touched the tip of his nose with her own, cheeks curving into that disarming smile he’d come to enjoy so much, and then she leaned in a little closer, pressing her lips to his with a feather-light care that made his knees weak. 

How long had it been since he’d been kissed? He had no idea. Cadet shenanigans at 79s, probably. It felt like a different life. And yet here he was, arms wrapped around a beautiful, smart, fun woman whose mouth was gently caressing his own as her long lashes closed in blissful surrender. He could feel every inch of her melted against him as her hand slowly wove its way up the back of his neck, and his eyes fluttered shut as she sighed quietly against his lips. She pulled away for a moment, looking at him with the same delight and surprise that he had on his own face, then she came back for more, tipping her own head to kiss him more passionately this time. 

His nose pressed into her cheek, his fingers splayed across the middle of her back as his arms flexed around her, and his breaths were shallow and irregular as their lips met again and again. A fire was growing in his core, spreading out to his limbs, and as she idly slid one hand down his ribs and stomach, it burst into a full flame. When they finally separated, Hunter had to gasp for air, earning a giggle from Luci as she pinched his cheek fondly. She opened her mouth with a snarky remark, but then closed it, shaking her head minutely to herself and instead beaming at his flushed face. The myriad of emotions in his dark eyes were impossible to sort through, but she forgot them all when he suddenly moved forward more confidently now, cupping her face in both hands and doing his best to avoid being sloppy despite the wave of hunger that washed over him. 

His lips fit around hers, pressing together and coming apart with quiet sounds as her fingernails raked up his back. He pulled back for a breath, then carefully kissed her cheek, her jaw, beneath her ear, the side of her neck. Her skin was so soft, flecked with a few remaining water droplets, and the hint of her perfume was so sweet that his mind was reeling. His heart flipped in his chest, relishing the feeling of her pulse against his lips. She leaned her head to the side, exhaling in utter contentment, and he stopped himself suddenly with a ragged gasp, catching her attention as she looked at him quizzically. 

“Sorry,” he said, his voice far more husky than he’d have hoped as he dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back. “I didn’t mean to–” She put a finger on his lips, a starstruck smile on her face, and shook her head. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, except for stopping,” she said playfully, then surprised him by turning to slowly walk out of the river, flashing a glance back at him over her swaying hips. “But I’m gonna give you a minute to cool off; you look like you need it,” she winked, climbing to their towels with a giggle. 

Hunter stood in the water for a moment longer, rubbing his face again before folding both hands atop his head, staring into the distance in a dreamlike state. He took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through pursed lips, then followed after her. 

The hike back to town was punctuated with lighthearted conversation and playfulness, and Hunter felt as though he were walking on a cloud. He could still feel her soft, full lips and the curve of her body against his own. It was utterly distracting, causing him to trip a few times, earning gleeful snickers from Luci. When it came time to part ways, she grabbed his hand again, pulling him in close and melting him with those large green eyes that were absolutely full of adoration. His heart leapt into his chest as she gave him a farewell kiss, lingering just a moment longer to give his stomach time to join the internal acrobatics. Then, with a wave and a wink, she was gone.

He continued walking home slowly, taking in the scenery as though seeing it anew. The birds were singing as they dipped and soared on the gentle breeze that rustled through the trees. The salty air carried rich scents of cooking and agriculture from the cozy homes and farms nearby. The soft grass beneath his feet carried on across the swells of the meadows until they gave way to the lush forest, and the walls of his cabin appearing in the clearing ahead was a welcome sight.

Only when he dropped his bag on the table in the entryway, causing a few of the contents to tumble out, did he notice the flashing light on his comm. 

Freezing in his tracks, he felt an icy grip in his chest, followed immediately by waves of anger, confusion, and indignation that washed away the blissful warmth he’d been floating in.

He picked it up and clicked a single button, watching the small light flash a certain pattern of colors, and he didn’t realize he’d clenched his jaw until his teeth ground together, sending a shiver down his spine.

It could just be an animal… Or a friend… But the indoor sensors had been triggered as well… So unless it was the first occasion of breaking and entering that the island had ever seen…

He sighed, dropping the device back to the table as though it were repulsive to him, then headed for his room, fists tight at his sides.

.

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[koiiiji]

So when you get the chance 👉🏼👈🏼 Olly, vin jin, self loathing/heat mode Daniel’s reactions to a strong fem reader that fights well and is very witty and seems angry a lot. With smut if ur down?? I was thinking of different ways she’d meet the characters like, Vin Jin’s would be at school and the reader is sick of him bullying Duke so she tells him to fight her, Olly’s I feel like would be the reader is in a different crew and he was pissing her off so it escalated to a fight… SL Daniel too? To fight him from another crew? Despite knowing all these men are way too strong for their own good like—

YES VIN DEFINITELY FITS FOR THIS SCENARIO!!

author’s note ; i feel olly too but what’s the point if bro doesn’t feel anything? but let’s imagine that we are fucking magicians and olly was possible to feel ✨little something✨. and sorry, i didn’t include danny, i just can’t imagine him messing with girls, he is baby and total patootie😭🫶🏻

author’s note 2 ; OMG SORRY THAT IT TOOK SO LONG TO RESPONSE

tw ; f!body reader, suggestive, fighting, AGELESS BLOGS DNI, nsfw part w/ olly

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

vin jin

The bell rang, signaling the end of another monotonous school day. The hallways were bustling with students, each minding their own business, except for a few who were engrossed in a particular scene. In the center of the commotion stood Vin Jin, his trademark sunglasses glinting under the fluorescent lights as he cornered Duke. The boy, known for his rap skills, was visibly uncomfortable.

"You call that rap? My grandma could spit better bars," - Vin taunted, his voice full of mockery as he held up a notepad with lyrics for new songs. Duke, trying to muster some courage, opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by a sharp, female voice.

"Leave him alone, Vin."

It wasn’t that you was protector of every weak ones, but seeing and hearing that coward Vin Jin mercilessly attacked Duke, that poor guy, was miserable, to say less. You, and actually everyone who have eyes could say that this pathetic asshole is just trying to establish himself at Duke’s expense. Plus he was loud, he interrupted you from studying, so teaching him little lesson won’t hurt your next lecture preparation, right?

"What the fuck do you want from me, woman?" - Vin turned to face you, a smirk playing on his lips. You stepped closer, eyes locked onto his. "You know, i'm sick of you bullying Duke. If you want to prove how strong you are, why don't you fight someone who can actually fight back?" - a murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Vin's smirk widened. "You think you can take me on?" Without waiting for a response, you dropped your backpack to the ground and squared your shoulders. "Let's find out."

Vin chuckled, rolling his shoulders. "I don't fight girls, sweetheart. But I'll play along." He extended his fist towards you, feigning nonchalance. "Rule number one, usually, guys start with a pun-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you grabbed his fist, twisting it with precision and force. In one swift motion, you yanked him forward, using his momentum against him. The moment before his body met the floor, you wrapped your legs around his neck, and completing the grip, slammed his head harder into the floor. With agility and strength, you rolled, twisting his arm, pinning him to the floor. Before he could react, you wrapped your thighs around his neck harder, locking him in a tight scissor hold.

Vin struggled, trying to break free, but you tightened your grip, the muscles in your legs flexing as you held him down. His face was inches from your crotch, his breath coming in short and hot gasps.

"Rule number two, fuck your 'guys usually start' " - you taunted, tightening your hold slightly. Vin gritted his teeth, his face flushed with both effort and embarrassment. "Get off of me!" He puffed with an anger.

You leaned in closer smirking, lowering your voice and whispering in playful manere. "Not until you promise to leave Duke alone."

Vin's eyes narrowed, pride didn't allow him to give up so easily, but the same pride reminded him that some girl threw him to the floor, twisted him in front of the whole class, and even dared to set her own conditions. For Vin, this was a real blow to his enormously inflated ego.

"Fine, fine... I promise. Now get off of me, bitch" - all flushed he hissed into your thighs. You released him, rolling away and standing up. When you was about to leave the class you turned to Duke - "you heard him, he won't touch you anymore."

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

That evening, the school was empty, the silence almost eerie. You were alone in the gym, practicing your moves, when the door creaked open. You turned to see Vin leaning against the doorframe, his sunglasses gone, revealing his intense gaze.

"Couldn't stay away, huh?" you teased, not missing a beat. Vin walked towards you, his expression serious. "I intend on gaining revenge on you"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms, studying him. "Listen, I was just protecting that guy. I said then, I will say now - if you want to prove how strong you are, find an opponent to match you, and to establish yourself at the expense of the weak… well, this is not just stupid, but disgusting." You sighed, turning away from Vin and intending to leave the ring. "Besides, you already lost to me, did you really enjoyed being caught by a girl that much?” You smiled to yourself.

A strong grip grabbed your elbow, sharply and roughly yanking you back, turning you towards your interlocutor. Vin stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Now, I want to see just how strong you really are." The air between you crackled with tension. You took a step back, but he followed, closing the distance.

Who does this bastard think he is? Fueled by adrenaline and anger, you delivered a series of sharp blows to his chest with your foot, each one eliciting a grunt from Vin. Your final strike aimed directly at his crotch, but he was quicker than you anticipated. With a swift, powerful motion, he countered with a direct blow to your side, sending you sprawling.

Ignoring the pain, you jumped to your feet, determination blazing in your eyes. You darted behind him, your hands finding purchase on his powerful shoulders. Deftly dodging his grasp, you swung both legs over his neck, crossing them at the back of his head. Your body twisted gracefully, almost cradling his face between your thighs.

You hadn't expected Vin to be so resilient. Despite your hold, he remained on his feet, his strength undeniable. He gripped your waist with surprising force, his defiance infuriating.

Such impudence even took your breath away. With both hands raised, you brought your elbows down hard on his head, striking repeatedly. Each blow was meant to weaken his resolve, but Vin's endurance was formidable. With a swift, desperate maneuver, he spun 90 degrees, knocking both of you to the ground. The impact jarred you, the air rushing from your lungs as your back hit the floor. Vin, though still trapped between your thighs, managed to clasp his hands around your neck, his grip firm but not cruel.

"Give up," he croaked, his voice strained yet determined.

You met his gaze with fiery defiance and squished his neck harder with your thighs. "Only after you, overgrown gremlin," you hissed furiously. Without taking your angry glances off each other, none of you intended to let go first.

When suddenly the Vin's grip weakened.

Before you could react, he pulled you into a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce urgency. The unexpected intensity of the kiss caught you off guard, but you responded with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair. The kiss deepened, filled with a passion neither of you had expected.

And yet, not wanting to lose, you took advantage of the moment, and moving your legs to his sides and pretending to hug his shoulders, you rolled both of you, so that you were now sitting on top.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, eyes locked in a silent understanding. "Looks like the fight is over," - you whispered, your voice a mix of challenge and desire.

Vin smirked, his hands slipping to your waist. "No, it's just beginning."

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

olly wang

Olly had a reputation for getting under people’s skin. As the head of his gang, he knew how to push buttons and provoke reactions. Today was no different.

His laughter echoes down the narrow alleyway as he approaches, his eyes glaming with mischief. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Not happy to see me?" he taunts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clench your fists, your gaze unwavering. "You never know when to shut up, do you, Olly?" His grinning widens. "That's what makes this fun."

Without another word, you lunge at him, your movements fluid and precise. Olly is ready, deflecting your initial strikes with practiced ease. Your fight is a dance of aggression and skill, each move calculated, each strike intended to maim.

He dodges your right hook, countering with a jab to your ribs. You grunt but don’t back down, spinning on your heel to deliver a devastating roundhouse kick. Your massive heel connects with his jaw, sending him staggering. Sometimes there were advantages to coming to the showdown after the club. Without giving him time to come to his senses, you grab him by the dreadlocks, pulling his head down and delivering a knee strike right in the face. Without wasting a second, immediately going behind his back and stretching the wire, throwing it over Olly’s neck, starting to choke him.

He struggles, his vision blurring as he claws at the wire. With a roar of desperation, he slams you into the nearest wall, knocking the breath out of you and forcing you to release your grip. He throws you to the ground, your body hitting a nearby car with a sickening thud. Gasping for air, you lie on the ground, struggling to regain your breath. Olly approaches, his steps deliberate, his eyes dark with intent. He looms over you, ready to deliver the final blow. Just as he raises his fist, you grab a piece of reinforcement from the ground, swinging it with all your might.

The metal connects with Olly's head, and his world explodes into stars. He staggers, his vision swimming, but manages to stay on his feet, adrenaline pushing him forward. He shakes his head, trying to clear his vision as you charge at him again.

Your fight continues, more brutal and desperate than before. You move with the precision and power of a trained fighter, your strikes hard and relentless. Olly is no slouch either, his movements fluid as he counters your attacks. You circle each other, exchanging blows, neither willing to back down.

“What’s the matter, Olly? Can’t handle a woman who fights back?” - you taunt, your breath coming in quick bursts as you pause for a moment.

Olly wipes a trickle of blood from his lip, his eyes gleaming with a mix of pain and admiration. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m not done yet.”

You clash again, the sound of your struggle echoing through the deserted street. But as the fight wears on, something changes. The anger and aggression begin to morph into something else. The adrenaline coursing through your veins, the intensity of your movements - it all seems to ignite a different kind of fire.

You swing at Olly, but he catches your wrist, pulling you close. Your faces are inches apart, both of you breathing hard. The electricity between you is palpable.

“Is this what you wanted?” Olly murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Your eyes flicker with surprise. Without warning, Olly closes the distance, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss. You hesitate for a split second before responding, your hands tangling in his hair as you kiss him back with equal fervor. The fight forgotten, you are consumed by a different kind of battle, one driven by lust and need.

Olly’s hands roam over your body, feeling the strength and heat beneath your clothes. He pushes you against the wall, your kisses growing more urgent. You moan softly, your nails digging into his shoulders as you pull him closer.

“Olly,” - you breathe, breaking the kiss to look into his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything between our gangs.”

“Maybe not,” - he replies, his voice thick with desire. “But right now, it’s just you and me.”

You make quick work of your clothes, the urgency of your need overriding any thoughts of rivalry or conflict. Olly’s hands explore every inch of your body, memorizing the feel of your skin, the way you respond to his touch. You are equally aggressive, your touch leaving marks on his back as you guide him to where you want him.

When Olly finally enters you, it is with a growl of satisfaction. You gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist as he thrusts into you with a powerful, steady rhythm. Your movements are frantic, driven by the intensity of your emotions and the thrill of your unexpected connection.

“Fuck, (y/n),” - Olly groans, his lips brushing against your ear. You respond with a deep moan, your hips meeting his thrusts. The pleasure builds rapidly, the tension between you reaching a fever pitch. When- Before he can react, a distant voice cuts through the haze.

“Boss! Boss!” The urgency in the voice pulls him out of the moment. Olly’s subordinate is shaking him urgently, and suddenly he realized that he have slipped into a daze. The alleyway is as it had been, but you’re gone.

“Boss, are you alright?” The subordinate asks, concern etched on his face.

Olly groans, rubbing the spot on his head where you had struck him. The reality of your fight comes rushing back, the smutty fantasy dissipating like smoke. He pushes himself up to his feet, scanning the alley for any sign of you, but you are nowhere to be found.

"I'm fine," he mutters, though he feels anything but. The encounter has left him rattled, not just physically but mentally. He had underestimated you, and the intensity of your fight - and whatever had transpired in his dazed mind - lingers in the air.

As he walks away, he can't shake the feeling that this is far from over. Your rivalry has reached a new level, and he is determined to face whatever comes next. But for now, he needs to regroup and recover, his mind haunted by the dream that had felt all too real.

[frostgears]

results

When the war began, you were just another girl with some survivability implants and a multiprofile flight armor. Six months later, you were the only girl like you left alive, and your handler granted carte blanche to keep you that way. You got results.

Command authorized better hardware, and then they made more like you. You found ways to keep up, nastily clever applications of metastable metallic hydrogen ammo and supermag deflectors that the newbies didn’t see.

Your handler kept you on a leash, metaphorical, for a time literal (that month she decided to add some testosterone analog into your blood mix and you begged to fuck everything or break it or both). Instead of their handlers, the newbies imprinted on you.

Command sent you new toys. Ansible links, Charybdis torpedoes, dark new wings with strange new engines. You missed the roar and rumble of turbines, but the raucous howls of your bloodthirsty flock replaced the noise that discontinuity thrusters didn’t make. You got results.

You pushed back the other, shattered their aces and sent their broken armors back to Command. Your handler vanished and came back with augments that almost let her keep up with you physically, at least inside the carrier.

Someone had to keep you in line, she said, slamming your unarmored form against a bulkhead, your implants reprogramming themselves to broadcast your submission through the fleet. You slicked yourself with fluids and begged for her to take you, to make you more of a weapon.

The next sortie, frenzied with excitement, you cracked the penultimate stronghold of the enemy like an egg. Ready for the final push, your techs unpacked crates of novel photonic scythes, connectivity cores, Indeterminate-Range Missiles, bolted them to you and your flight.

The last defenses crumpled in ways they could not understand coming. The last opposing pilots provided minute spectral variations as you turned them into blazes of mostly white light. You got results.

Command ordered the carrier home. Job well done, they said. It’s over now. Your handler gave you certain orders. They were orders you wanted. The carrier returned to port; port was unprepared for your flight to launch inside, unprepared for the horrors they’d been sending you.

Command didn’t last ten minutes. You wanted to leave the place a crater, until your handler cinched her virtual claws around your neck by ansible and showed you her ultimate goal in the ruins.

A delightful challenge, shucking your flight armor, ramping down to levels of speed and splash damage that would leave human techs alive to do what needed to be done. You howled in the corridors like the monster they called you.

They did it, the survivors, the project lead swearing at you the whole time; your accelerator pistol never wavered from the back of her head until you saw your handler wake.

Your handler flexed healing muscle over new implants afterwards, donned flight armor for the first time. She might never be as agile or as vicious as you were in combat. She didn’t need to be. She had you, by the brain, and she would never, ever permit a fair fight.

Your carrier lifted again. The world of her, your, all of your flock’s ultimate origin awaited, some unfathomable distance away. You would show them how you got results. □

[cyxnidx]

WANDERING EYES !

character: simon 'ghost' riley x colonel!reader

genre: uhh thirsts..? idek man, just some hcs & scenarios of simon being thirsty for big, muscular, strong women

a/n: the idea of simon being hands and knees down bad for muscular, dominant & stronger women plagues my mind. also: we've made it to 1k followers <3

simp!simon, who worsens his gym habits when he notices you in the weight room around the same time as himself.

you let out a deep sigh, dropping the heavy weight you were once lifting before throwing your hands onto your head. catching your breath, you look over and smile when you see simon entering the weight room. "why, hello, Lieutenant."

simp!simon, who feels his knees buckle when hearing you address him by his rank.

simp!simon, who admires the way your muscles tend to flex out your shirt while doing pull-ups.

small, snuffed out groans continue to leave your pretty mouth as you pull yourself up over the bar. you were far past your usual amount - simon had counted for you, he memorized your sets and all. he knew you were far beyond your usual amount - so why were you going beyond your limit? finally, you drop from the higher pole. "god damn." you groan, clapping your hands together, looking and giving him a smile. it amazed him with the amount of sheer femininity you could still show despite being so masculine seconds ago.

simp!simon, who adores the way your eyes look when you're focused.

walking by your desk, simon peeked over not-so-sneakily, taking in your features. your resting face - eyes narrowed in on the object at hand. lifting your head, you leaned back in your seat, almost startling poor simon. "anything i can assist you with, Lieutenant?" you ask, smirk crossing your lips while your eyes traveled his body. you could swear he looked light headed.

simp!simon, who loves the way you look after being tired from lifting so much.

eyes heavy, breath harsh and body almost glossed in sweat, simon admires you as you pick up your towel, bottle, and begin to make an exit. "heading out for the night, Lieutenant. Ciao!" you call.

simp!simon, who almost gains a boner when watching the way you seem to easily over power your opponents.

after slitting a man's throat, simon looks up to see his one-and-only flipping an enemy soldier over them, finalizing their fate with a gun shot to the throat. "good one, colonel." he praises, hoping it wasn't obvious he was watching for too long. you pat his helmet, continuing to pave your way through the mission.

simp!simon, who can't help but remind himself that he shouldn't feel this way, but it's intoxicating.

watching you from the side of his eye, simon sighed to himself. he knew it was wrong - deep down he did. lieutenant and colonel, together? dating? hooking up?? that was beyond inappropriate. almost criminal.. but he couldn't help but admire you. your muscles, sheer strength, agility, and all the other talents you have that made you, you.

simp!simon, who's chanting your name almost every night, hoping one day you'll hear and intervene.

hand around his cock, simon rests his head against the pillow on his bed. he's been like this for the past hour, edging himself, something he thinks you'd do. he moves his in hand in a motion he imagines you would, with fantasies of your voice flowing through his head, guiding him. when he feels his orgasm approach once again, he can't stop himself - imagining your pretty body and pretty voice, pretty hands around him, even if it's just his imagination - it feels good. cumming into his fist, your name falls from his mouth, almost like it's the only thing he really knows how to say - almost like he's trying to summon you. after coming down a bit, he sighs to himself before going to clean up. such a pervert!

simp!simon, who just loves you for so many reasons.

[prettyboykatsuki]

warms-ups | osamu + nsfw + cream

✬ wc ; 1.5k | ✬ tags ; afab + fem!reader, mentions of creampies, kitchen sex / after hours, alchohol, childhood friends to lovers, 18+

✬ a/n ; i SWEAR i did not rig this one at all😭

There's something about Osamu Miya that sends your spine tingling.

A divine kind of irony, because upon meeting them - you always preferred his brother. Atsumu is approachable to you, always has been. Poorly dyed blonde hair, with big round eyes and a signature pout that you've hardly seen him without. Atsumu is expressive and extroverted - at times deeply stupid in a way that's incredibly endearing.

You've known the Miya twins since you were snot-nosed brats though (long before the poor box dye), and it was easier for you to be alone with Atsumu. Atsumu took up so much space in a room that you never have to worry about fitting yourself in. He fills every place with his presence in a way that lets you hide behind him. Atsumu is like the sun.

And in contrast, Osamu is a lot like the moon. It took you a little longer to understand him, especially when you were young. They were twins but Osamu felt mature in comparison. Embodied a story of level, steadiness that left you unsettled.

(You learn later that this is a deceitful interpretation. Both of the Miya twins are petty and ridiculous - it's just that Osamu schemes it and Atsumu wears it on his sleeve)

Osamu has been a mystery to you since you can remember. He was never expressive enough for you to figure it out well, your exchanges being brief and stilted. It got less awkward gradually, a sense of acceptance settling in as you entered your teen years.

There's something valuable about being alone with someone, in complete comfortable silence. At 15, Osamu Miya felt a lot like an old couch. A place to come back to, with achey feet. A place you'd fall asleep, with your jeans still on and your head somewhere else.

You were there for their many milestones. When they got into Inarizaki, when they played all their games. You were there for their metaphorical break-up as they got to adulthood and you all parted ways to your different paths in life.

You still saw the Miya twins on a semi-frequent basis. You and Osamu were the first people Atsumu always called. Always in group messages and calls. When you finally graduated college, you landed a job close to the very Onigiri Miya opened.

It was probably about then. It wasn't like you hadn't always known about how good looking the Miya twins were. Your friends used to practically beg you to set them up and you don't blame them. But Atsumu always felt like a little brother to you and...

Osamu felt...not like that. But it wasn't like you could process that information at any point. Swept up in life, in teenage insecurity (because damnit, Osamu was always ridiculously good looking too) and in the general awkwardness of crushing on someone you've known since diapers - you tried to ignore it.

You thought those butterflies would die if you suffocated them, so you buried your nose in the books. Grew from a girl into a woman, into a fully bloomed person all in a few years. None of it mattered, because spending time with Osamu always seems to make you feel 15 again.

You don't quite know when it happened. One day of deciding to do your work in a booth at Onigiri Miya turned into many, and it seems like you and Osamu see each other a lot lately.

Osamu Miya is a lot bigger than his brother, you learn quickly. Atsumu is lean from his setting, muscular in a lithe way. Natural agility all befitting of his slippery character.

Osamu, too, has grown in a way befitting of his personality. Osamu got bigger. Started hitting the weights enough that he's muscular, soft and sturdy, the kind you can only see when he flexes. They're both still tall, but Osamu... is big.

Osamu is also, very handsome. Aware of it too, because he usually uses it to reel in customers. His face is different to you. Osamu looks less like a boy you grew up and more like a man you'd squeeze your legs together thinking about.

But even now, you don't understand what thoughts Osamu has about you.

You thought you were imagining it. The intensity of his gaze when he peeked at you from the counter. The subtle touches and plates of food you didn't pay for. Maybe he felt like he should take care of on old friend. Maybe the low way he whispered in your ear telling you "take care on yerr way home," were just your imagination playing tricks.

You only learn it late, taste-testing recipes in the back of his kitchen that it was all very intentional. It's your fault for forget Osamu is the kind of person to scheme.

A little sake in your system has you stumbling over your words. In the midst of your bumbling - all it takes is one, "I've always liked you" to entangle yourself with Osamu Miya.

A little kissing, a little touching - the way he coaxes you is so much like him. Subtle but overwhelming, a full moon in a deep sky.

In the back of Onigiri Miya, Osamu has your panties around your ankle. The warmth of alcohol is bubbling in your chest and embarrassment is rushing through every vein in your body - you want to shy away from him.

Of course, Osamu won't let you. You've got your arms around his shoulder, thick neck against your forearms. Your legs are up in the air, and your back is so hot against the cool metal. All you can feel his him in the air around you. He smells like a man who works, sweat and skin and salt.

You can feel the euphoria in your body to the point it's gut-wrenching, an overwhelming sensation like you're anxious. It's hard to describe. Tacky from sweat, you feel your fingers tremble as you move your hands to squeeze his shoulder.

Osamu puts his hand over it, squeezes it, kisses your wrists with all the affection of over two decades of desire. You feel it all over your body, delirium setting in. You want him so much you don't know what do. You whine, open your mouth to say his name.

Osamu shushes you. His cock is hard, thick and so heavy. He's got hair that tickles your legs. You can feel the tip press into your clit like he's kissing it, pushing against the soft folds of your pussy makes you shiver. Arousal drips out of you, a fruit squeezed in big hands that pick them. You want to cry.

"Samu," You mumble, your lips sheen and your heart in your belly "Osamu, please,"

"Look at you," He says, sounding just as bad as you "Wantin' it so bad. Never seen ya like this,"

You've never been like this. You don't get it yourself. Why you're head feels so blank. Your jaw feels heavy like you can't close it. Inside it's all empty and you want to be so full of him, surrounded by him.

"I don't know," You hiccup, holding him so tight. You want to sob "I really want you. Wan' you to want me too,"

Osamu laughs. God, it sounds good. Deep and throaty.

"I do. Ya know I do, don't ya? Our whole lives. My whole life."

"Osamu," You repeat. He laughs a little, maybe like he's amused. It feels so merciful when kisses you. The feeling of your bare chest against his makes you feel euphoric, skin practically begging for his attention.

"That's right, 's me" He says, trailing his lips down your neck "I'm already here,"

He doesn't ask you for anymore, so it feels like he's reading your mind. His fingers grip your hips as he eases his cock inside of you. Inch, by agonizing inch - you can feel it. The rubbing of such sensitive skin. You gasp and tighten your legs, crossing your feet at the ankle. You hold his back and feel your eyes roll over into your head. Pleasure pulls you apart.

"Oh, oh fuck," You feel your nails dig into his skin, Osamu hisses "Y-yeah, yeah, like that."

You don't know where you start and Osamu stops. It's all the same, one mess of limbs and one train of thought where your feelings swallow you up. Your heartbeat beats against your ribs and you feel like you can't handle. Osamu eases into you slow, his cock makes you so full. You can't take in enough air for how much it pushes out, walls taking shape of him naturally.

"So damn good," He says with all the force in the world. You think Osamu means it when he says you wants you "Shit."

"Please fuck me."

"Till ya can't take it, yeah? Promise, promise I will."

"Want you to cum in me," You admit, shame disappearing as the seconds pass. As Osamus cock fucks you open enough to confess about it "Over 'n over,"

"Want me to cream in you so bad? Yerr so dirty, where'd you go 'n learn that from huh?" He taunts, but it's not mean. You whimper as you roll your hips, your clit throbbing's with need.

"Please, pretty please?"

"Anything for you," He says, and you feel your insides tremble with need - even buried to the tilt. He pulls out in one swift motion, pushing back in with the same force as before. You cry out his name and your body loses it's strength "Take it f'r me, okay?"