𝕄𝕒𝕞𝕒'𝕤 𝔹𝕠𝕪

Hello everyone! This is my Art Info Post, if you have any questions please send me a message. I only accept PayPal. I’ve just recently started this, and I’m excited to start creating tons of more art posts, Horror related characters are my favorite to draw, but if you would rather have any other please let me know!

Hello dear friends!

❤🤍💚🖤🇵🇸🇵🇸

All the positive words cannot express how generous you are, especially in sharing my posts to inform other donors about the people of Gaza who are still suffering from the terrible conditions caused by the unjust war on Gaza!

❤🤍💚🖤🇵🇸🇵🇸

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the support you are giving to help Palestinian families stay safe and alive. ✌✌

❤🤍💚🖤🇵🇸🇵🇸

We collect such donations to provide the minimum basic needs of life and help find safety and peace for young children who do not deserve to live in such horrific situations. Thanks to your contribution, my family is slowly approaching 1/2 of the way to reach the goal. Every form of your help makes a difference to the free people who have been struggling and paying so much for almost 305 hard days

❤🤍💚🖤🇵🇸🇵🇸

Please continue to support the most just cause in the world either by donating directly or by sharing the link to let others know. Don't hesitate to help people in difficult and miserable times until the dark days are over.

❤🤍💚🖤🇵🇸🇵🇸

https://gofund.me/e7c7528a

---

i NEED more of predator loving the size difference between himself and you. I NEED IT.

A/N: Predator x F!Reader. Sex in a prison! Size difference. Pain kink. Semi-public smut.

From behind the steel bars of his prison, T'atha glared at the Android. He had thought it ooman until he had caught the subtle click and whir of machinery beneath its skin. 

"It'd be best if you behaved," it suggested before gesturing to his mate leaning against his arm. "We wouldn't want to introduce her to what we've captured downstairs."

T'atha did not reply but continued to stare flatly. He would not waste his energy. The thing was incapable of fear.

Though he could feel your fingers tremble around his forearm, you showed the Android not a hint of panic. You pinned it with an indifferent expression, and T'atha's chest bloomed with pride.

He had been captured, which, alone, was an embarrassment. But to add insult to injury, you had also been taken. Unthinkable. It was supposed to be a simple task. They were to slip aboard the USCSS Atlas to retrieve stolen eggs from one of his clan's Chiva locations.

However, once you and T'atha had boarded the ship and snuck to the lower level, it had become apparent that one of those eggs had hatched. There was a full-grown kiande amedha loose and very well-fed. The floors and walls were wet with blood. Ooman bodies torn to shreds. Glistening red-pink flesh and the stink of waste. T'atha had not hesitated before dragging you away from the slaughter, but it had been too late. 

The doors to all exits had been locked, and they were cornered like rats.

Several Androids had entered, and while T'atha had removed three of their heads, it had not been enough. They'd struck him with electric batons until his skin and muscle burned and smoked. He had attempted to cover you, but they'd ripped him away.

Your face still bore their marks. A hideous cut slithered across your temple, and T'atha worried it would become infected. Your kind was susceptible to contamination and you did not heal as quickly as Yautja. Last hunt, it had taken you weeks to recover from a broken wrist. He had been deeply distressed over it though he did not tell you that. He was supposed to be your strength, your pillar of courage in dire situations.

He glanced down at where you rested your face against his arm. Your body radiated heat and musky sweat. It was a very ooman flavor and one that he had begun to cherish.

He tucked you closer to him, helping you burrow into his torso as he cradled you possessively.

He had to be strong for you now.

***

A few days had passed and his brethren had not arrived. There was no doubt that his clan would have begun to look for them once their ship had failed to return. It was possible that the Atlas might have traveled too far into space, where the signal from the tracking device implanted in his neck was weak. It could take his brothers a considerable amount of time, and time was something they did not have. 

He was not optimistic about their captor's motives, but he had picked up a few things in the scattered chatter between the Androids and the remaining oomans beyond the prison door. He learned that they had managed to secure the black serpent and were going to deliver it to their superiors. In addition to the beast, the ship's crew would either offer you and T'atha to the leaders on their home planet or feed them to the serpent as incubators. 

With his enhanced hearing, he'd picked up many terms like cross-species experimentation, which did not bode well. 

"What will they do to us?" you asked, nudging his bicep with your cheek. He could smell your hair, the intense floral aroma from the oils you bathed in. It was only muddled by the sharp clash of rust due to the dried blood along your forehead. 

"Study," he replied curtly. He did not want to frighten you and was sure that he would get them out even if his brothers did not arrive in time. Failure would not be an option. 

"Study us?"

He nodded. 

"But I'm just human."

He lowered his head, grazing his jaw across your temple. "You are a mate of a Yautja."

"So?" you grumbled. "Is it because I can take a huge cock?"

Chuckling despite himself, he shook his head and pinched your hip. "Yes. Exactly, little one." He tugged you closer and felt a twinge of guilt at how clammy your skin was. He was constantly checking your temperature and it seemed like you shifted from too hot to freezing by the hour. "Only strong females can handle Yautja."

You smiled, squeezing his knee. He exhaled deeply, grateful you were in a lighter mood. He did not want to voice his true thoughts about what these Androids intended. He straightened his back against the wall, spreading his legs out to stretch his muscles. His posture was ramrod straight - fully aware of everything beyond the walls of their prison.

You had gone silent again, your eyes locked on the sealed door as you chewed on your lower lip. It was a nervous habit he could not break you from, and he worried you'd scar it. He was quite partial to that extra plush tissue around your mouth.

"You must relax," he crooned, stroking a paw down your spine. You shuddered and abruptly rolled onto your back to look up at him.

"Where are the others?" Your voice wastight in your throat. "Tahren? A'ta? A'kaand? They wouldn't leave us like this."

"It's a long journey," he explained. "We are in the Outer Veil."

You scrubbed a hand over your face and whimpered. For a moment, he was worried you would begin to cry. He did not like that. It was a disadvantage for your species. You could quickly shift from joy to terror to profound sadness. Your emotions ran you. 

He would have to remedy it.

Slowly, he crawled forward, covering your body with his own. He met your gaze, his enormous hand palming your cheek. "Rest." His tone was gentle as he spoke. He wanted to calm the heart he could hear thumping wildly beneath your breast. "You must sleep and gather your strength." You blew out a breath, lifting yourself onto your elbows until you were an inch from his face. Your expression was one that he knew too well. Stubborn. 

"I can't."

He drew back, sighing. "Why?"

"There's a fucking xenomorph on this ship, and we are stuck in a cage." Your brow creased as you regarded him with disbelief. "No weapons. No armor. We are dead."

You had fair points, but he'd never admit it. Instead, he would opt to distract you.

Huffing, he wrapped his arms around your waist and bound you to his chest. It was a cheap move on his part. He knew that. You instantly softened the second he began to purr, melting into him. He would not have you terrified or full of worry. It would not serve him. He had to focus, and he would not be able to if you fell apart. 

"The serpents won't touch you," he muttered as he stroked the crown of your skull. Compared to his own, you had such a tiny head. In his arms, it was alarmingly clear how small you were. You were formidable in a fight but against a kiande amedha? You'd be broken or worse - 

T'atha bristled at the thought of one stabbing you with its ovipositor; your chest cracked open. In the quiet darkness of their prison, he held you tighter.  

***

T'atha awoke with you still in his arms. He must have dozed off. Shame coursed through him. He could not afford to sleep, but he'd been awake for days - since they'd been thrown in here.

He blinked through the remaining dregs of his drowsiness. It clung to him like cobwebs, before his vision gradually cleared.

The room was cloaked in shadow apart from the occasional ping of light from the machinery surrounding them. He was certain this place doubled as a lab or medical facility. He studied the walls, the blinking screens, and tools. Nothing he could reach or use as a weapon.

Suddenly, T'atha felt your small hand between his legs. He startled, nearly bucking you off of him. 

"What are you doing?" he hissed, realizing that you had removed your leggings and were bare in his lap.

"Distraction," you replied as you nuzzled your face against his abdominal muscles. Your tongue's warm, damp pressure gliding against his skin before you drew away. 

He grabbed you by the upper arms, jerking you up. He could easily see you in the dark. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, and your mouth parted. He could smell that you were wet. "Now?"

"I want to feel you," you whispered, a note of desperation beneath the words. "I want to…just once…what if they kill-"

He growled - effectively cutting you off. "Do not doubt me. I will get us out and take every one of their heads for it."

"I know," you whined, clutching his neck to pull him towards you. You brushed your mouth along his mandibles before darting your tongue against his own. This was not the time for it, but he understood that your kind often required a sense of intimacy during moments of chaos or fear. He was surprised you'd even be willing to mate in a place where they were being watched. 

Unfortunately, he was not one to deny you especially when you begged as sweetly as you did. 

Perhaps, he could sate you with his tongue and fingers? Perhaps, that would be enough.

In the far corner of his mind, he knew it wouldn't be. The second he could smell you, it was over. It always was.

Without a word, he encircled an arm around your waist and forced you onto your back. You yelped, your fingers digging into his shoulders for leverage. He slid between your thighs, hooking your leg around his waist to keep you spread. Your mouth quirked, the whites of your eyes and teeth bright in the shadows. He would consider you beautiful. You were soft and strange and small. Your features pleased him just as the small ways you exuded bravery did. They were what drew him to you to begin with.

The first moment he had seen you, you had been slick with blood. Your body crouched in front of a small Yautja pup. You had had no alliance with his species. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and yet you had still protected him. 

Later, he would learn that your ship had crashed on a hunting ground. Your superiors had been experimenting on various life forms, including the young Yautja suckling. You'd used the chaos of the crash to save the child, killing whoever got in your way. His clan had offered you sanctuary in payment. 

Now, his gaze raked over you as he brushed his thumb across the plump of your cheek. Yes - you were enticing and honorable and always hungry for him. 

"T'atha," you whimpered, and he braced his arm above your head; his other hand slid beneath your thigh. He lazily scratched at the smooth skin before pushing it back so that your knee hit your chest.

"We do not have the oil," he reminded you. It was a necessary tool for them in moments like this. It allowed you to take him easier, making you hot, soaked, and slightly numb. There were a few instances that they had gone without it, and it was usually when you were loose and drunk with c'ntlip.

You curled a finger around one of his dreads, tugging it so that it sparked the sensitive nerves at his scalp. It bloomed outward before lighting down his back. He was aroused now, his cock hard and unyielding as it rubbed against the folds of your sex. At this point, he would not be able to stop if he tried.

"I don't care," you stated. "I want to feel you. 

Beneath his belt, he gripped himself, pushing his hips forward to drag the head of his cock against your cunt. "Brave one," he praised, rutting lazily between your thighs. "Such a brave girl."

You shivered at his approval, and he began to breach you inch by inch. Almost immediately, your brows met, and your lower lip sucked between your teeth as you inhaled sharply. He was barely inside you, your tight heat only beginning to stretch around him. He stopped and rubbed the side of his mandible against your face. "Relax," he murmured. "You are too tense. I will not fit."

He eased his pelvis back, the tip catching on the entrance of your cunt before he pushed halfway in. You shrieked, your nails biting into the meat of his shoulders. He paused, raising himself and glancing between them to observe where they were joined. He was barely inside you. Though his length glimmered in your wetness, it was not enough. He withdrew, and you made a frustrated noise as you reached for him.

Of course. Even though it hurt, you were determined to complete it.

Wordlessly, he knocked your hands away from him before sliding down your body, hitching your knees over his shoulders. "I will take care of you, little one." He pinned his palm to your belly to hold you still as he purred against your thigh, scraping a tusk along the soft meat of it. He could smell you - the flesh of your sex dark and dripping and swollen for him. It took every ounce of his self-control not to flip you onto your hands and knees and fuck you senseless. "You trust me?"

***

You nearly levitated off the cold, metal floor when T'atha plunged his tongue inside you. It was too much and not enough at once. The sharp edge of his jaws scraped your tender skin, but never enough to pierce it. He lapped at your pussy, sliding the muscle of it from your entrance to your clit. Gingerly, he introduced one of his fingers and then a second. They were thick, calloused and powerful and he was careful when he used them. He moved them slowly, scissoring and petting until you were stretched open. His hand on your belly held you down as he licked you to a climax. It shuddered through you, made you go temporarily blind. He could make you come in seconds with only his fingers and tongue. He'd turned it into a game, a competition of sorts, as if conquering your ooman body held the same thrall as completing his Chiva. He was a brilliant strategist in all facets of his life.

He was beautiful in the way that a giant crocodile was - a bull shark. He dwarfed you with his height and his width; the green-blue scales of his hide that dragged over your flesh.

Even if he was barely touching you, the sight of him crouched between your legs could get you off. His feral dark eyes danced over your form, raking along your tits or belly or your cunt. He loved grazing the dull tips of his claws along your nipple, marveling at the way it beaded and caused you to arch. His long tubular dreads tickled your hips and when you fisted them, he growled like a beast.

In this tiny prison, he was merely a giant in a cage. He filled your vision, wrapped himself around you until you were engulfed by him and the safety he promised. As he sat back on his heels, you forgot to breathe. He was a sight - an Apex predator that had just drank from your cunt as if it was nectar. Your juices coated the lower half os his face. The flickering green and red lights of the machinery, accentuated the rippling muscles of his torso.

You don't know why you asked for this. You were scared. Hormonal. You'd been off for weeks, and this situation felt direr than any others. You trusted him to save you, but nothing was certain. You wanted to be close to him; this was the only way you knew how. 

Lazily, he crawled up your body like an enormous cat. He grazed the side of his face against your own, a deep purr rumbling from his chest. He was molten-heat, skin like the sun, and you clung to it in the frigid, medicinal-smelling room. "The Yautja life is rubbing off on you, my female," he rasped in a rough voice. His fingers moved between your legs, teasing and dipping inside you. "You long to be fucked where they can see us. You do not care?"

"No," you whisper. You didn't. You'd allowed him to take you in front of his brothers once. The both of you drunk off the hunt, and the adrenaline and too much c'ntlip. "They'll be dead soon, anyway," you added as you nipped his jaw. 

He grunted, rutting against the tender flesh of your cunt. He was unbearably hard, and you hungered for it. The pain. The pleasure. The way he could hurt you terribly, but always straddled the line. He made you feel like a precious piece of weaponry in his hands, stroked and touched and held close.

"They will be," he agreed as he began to sink into you. You gasped, clutching at his waist. He was all muscle and unyielding flesh. Your nails bit into his ribs, and it encouraged him. "Relax," he said before lowering his chest, so it crushed your breasts. His heart thumped rhythmically as though trying to mellow out the bird-flutter of your own. He offered you soft, clicking noises - the sound soothing your agitation as he slid deeper and deeper until finally he was buried to the hilt. 

You were speechless. It felt like he was hitting the back of your throat. The pressure inside of you expanded, the tip of him nudging the curve of your womb. You swallowed, screwing your eyes shut as you bit the inside of your mouth through the ache of him. 

He gripped your chin. "No," he tutted. "Open your eyes. I want you to know that it is me who is claiming you."

You did as he asked, even though it was silly. As if it could have been anyone else nearly splitting you in half. 

He chuffed as he began to rock his hips, his thrusts shallow and cautious. "I want you to watch," he clarified further, his pupils eating away at the green of his eyes. "Your cunt will know no other than me."

You nodded, head dropping back against the ground. It hurt - pain shooting up the crown of your skull, but it was nothing compared to how he opened you up. Every snap of his hips branded you, making room for his cock in the small clutch of your heat.

You reached between your legs and felt the flesh of your pussy taut around his thick shaft. You were impaled - entirely at his mercy. He sped up his pace, one hand cupping your ass to lift you higher so he could angle himself down into the mouth of your sex. His strokes steadily became long and powerful. You felt pushed to your limit, your face burning with exertion as he pounded you against the ground. You reached above your head and clasped the steel bars of the cage to hold yourself steady. The space echoed with the squelching noises of your body wetly accepting him. You had outgrown any shame regarding your sex life with T'atha. He had bent you into nearly impossible positions. He could lift you like you weighed nothing, hold you against a wall and fuck you senseless. 

He said what he meant; there was no innuendo, no hinting. He was blunt about his desires just as he was blunt about everything else.

"Let me mount you, little one. You are tempting me."

"I want to lick you again. Get on your back."

He was especially insatiable after a hunt. Only afterward, of course, when he was full of adrenaline, his heart hammering in his throat, and both of you were cut and filthy. He'd bend you over and fuck you until you collapsed, then turn you onto your side, lift your thigh, and slide home again. During a hunt, he was still as a statue, an unshakeable force. He never lost focus of his prey even when you grew bored. He could crouch on a single tree branch for days on end as he surveyed the hunting ground.

But that was simply the Yautja way. 

"Those serpents will not touch you," he snarled into your ear, warm breath fanning over your cheek as he fucked you "I will take their skulls for you..."

You released a high-pitched noise on a fierce stroke of his cock, and it aroused him further. Abruptly, he sat back on his heels and hauled you up with him so you could straddle his lap and wrap your legs around his waist. He held you as he thrust upward, spearing into your tiny body and hitting an even softer, wetter part of you. You croaked, fingers scrambling until you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest. You were a doll at this point. Helpless and limp and at his mercy.

"Do not go quiet on me now, mate," he crooned as he pawed between your legs, the pads of his fingers brushing the bead of your clit before slipping against your folds that were stretched around him. Immediately, the pleasure burst through the whole of your pelvis. Your cunt clamped down on him, your back arching in his embrace. "There," he said, trilling in a way that coaxed you, pulling you closer. "Perhaps, I will finally fuck you into exhaustion."

You could do nothing, but nod and then whine his name like a broken record. You were a mess. He teased your pleasure out, a climax followed by another—small spikes of raw sensation in your core as you flexed around him. 

He changed positions again, flipping you onto your knees, hand on your lower back as he forced your cheek to the floor. He entered you in a single stroke, his size still shocking regardless of how wet and fucked out you were. His hips rammed against your ass, his grip harsh on the nape of your neck to pin you. His cock pulsed inside the narrow channel of your cunt - thrumming with the same fury as his heartbeat - as your own. He was reaching his end; you could hear it in his grunts, the deep, unsteady breathing. 

When he came, he growled out your name and it sounded utterly primal in the way his tongue dipped over the letters. He had told you once that sex with his oomani-di had been unexpected. 

"Your body brings only pleasure as if it was made for it," he rumbled, dragging his tusks along your shoulder. "Soft and wet and tight. Yautja mating is nothing like this...nothing at all."

You glanced over your shoulder, blinked up at him, utterly spent. When he eased himself out of you, there was the rush of his spend. You slid your hand down between your legs and felt it. It was warm, and your cunt was swollen and aching. Even so your skin remained on fire, there was a strong need to be rinsed in ice. He gingerly shifted you onto your back, squeezing your hips before once more blanketing you with his body. He nuzzled your jaw, the side of your neck. You longed for him even as he bore his weight above you, his abdominal muscles tensing against your stomach.

"Did I hurt you?" he murmured as his hand found yours against your sex. His thumb grazed your folds tenderly. It was always surprising when T'atha treated you like a fine instrument, desperate to ensure you did not break. It was why he was covering you with his body now, using his hide as protection when you were at your most vulnerable.

"No," you replied though you'd be sore for days. After a second, you added mischievously: "I think we could go again-"

"You jest!" he returned, his tone rubbed in disbelief. He slapped you lightly on the ass. "Are you ill? Surely - you cannot -"

"I'm joking," you replied, and T'atha narrowed his eyes and flared his mandibles. Humor often went above Yautja heads.

"You're impossible-"

Suddenly, a siren erupted in the room. Emergency lights flared - coating them both in red. 

"Either your brothers are here, or the Xeno has escaped," you sighed as you reached for your leggings. 

A voice sounded over the intercom that you recognized. A'ta. Beneath his gravelly timbre, you could hear the dying gasp of the captors unlucky enough to have been caught by the other Yautja. You hoped they'd left some for T'atha or he'd be a nightmare for weeks.

"Brother," he greeted warmly. "Only you would waste precious time copulating with your oomani-di instead of planning your escape."

You crossed your arms over your chest. "That fuck knows my damn name."

Ignoring your remark, T'atha scowled at A'ta's insult. "He is mistaken. I had a plan."

You patted him on the bicep. "I know you did."

---

✨don't judge book by it's cover✨

---

Roberto Ferri's Resurrection study

---

Thank you so much for your Tiefling smut contributions! I am so lovesick for Rolan and wanted to request--Rolan x fem Tav at the grove party? I know it's super early in both of their arcs but I can't help but wonder. 💕

Rolan x Fem!Tav (Unnamed)

Good Night For Company

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" Sometimes you need to feel lonely before you notice the person sitting right beside you.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Kissing, Accidental Cuddling, Feelings Realization | SFW

Word Count: 5,443 [Read on AO3]

Sometimes it was lonely to be the hero, she thought to herself.

Their camp was fuller and merrier than she’d ever seen it. Every last Tiefling she’d met at the Grove had joined them for a night of celebration, bringing along every last bottle of wine and spirits they could get their hands on as way of thanks.

Unsurprisingly, all eyes in camp seemed to be searching for someone else to spend the night with. Who could blame them? Mortal peril and hard-won victories tended light a fire in people, herself included. 

Yet somehow she still found herself short on options. Everyone at camp seemed more interested in clapping her shoulder in thanks than joining her for a night of abandoned pleasure. Even her close companions hadn’t taken much interest in what she had on offer.

Astarion was the only one who had made her an invitation. She practically felt grateful to him for it. He would tempt anyone, of course—just look at him. But underneath his beauty, there was a dark edge about the elf that made her hesitate in the end. How was it Gale had described him? ‘A tiger when it purrs.’ 

Honestly, she wouldn’t have said no to Gale, either. He was certainly attractive, and there was a sad weight to his shoulders that seemed to invite comforting. The kind she wouldn’t mind giving. Yet despite the lonely shine in his eyes, he’d made it abundantly clear to her in his loquacious way that his mind was elsewhere this evening. She left him alone to his private reflections.

She at least expected their own cheerful Tiefling to be smack in the middle of the evening’s revelry. Tonight, Karlach was nowhere to be found. Only when she later glimpsed Shadowheart’s tent standing dark and noticeably empty did she put the pieces together. 

Well, good for them. At least two of their group might have a chance at a lay tonight.

No such luck for her, it seemed. She raised the bottle of Ithbank to her lips and tried not to feel too sorry for herself. The last few days had been long, exhausting, positively brutal…her muscles ached from overuse. Really, a good night’s sleep should be more than enough to satisfy her. 

And yet—how nice it would feel to be touched and held with tenderness, even if it wasn’t real, even just for one night. Just enjoy a harmless tumble in someone’s bedroll before everything crashed around them again. The thought of the long road that would greet her in the morning made her groan, and she shook the thought away. 

It hardly helped her souring mood to see Danis and Bex practically sitting in each others’ laps in the middle of camp, gently knocking their horns together with affection. She averted her eyes and took a rather resentful swig of wine as she trudged past.

“Go on then, give us a show!”

Teasing laughter came from just ahead. At the edge of camp, she happened upon the three Tiefling siblings from the Grove. Rolan, the oldest, stood flexing his hands as if preparing for an impressive feat. As she approached, she thought for just a moment that he glanced in her direction.

His brother Cal heckled him mercilessly from the rock where he and Lia were perched. “Lose your nerve, wiz?”

Rolan sighed, long-suffering. “Have you no respect for showmanship?” Not leaving time for any more smart comments, he flourished his hands upward with a low incantation.

The effect was like tiny stars, or fireflies, or some combination of the two. Sparkling lights spread and popped above their heads, leaving behind a violet mist that gently faded into the night.

She found herself smiling up at the sky. It wasn’t a powerful display, but it was lovely nonetheless. And certainly unique. She wondered how one went about inventing a Weave spell; she wouldn’t know where to begin. 

Tucking the bottle against her chest, she offered a little round of applause. Cal looked over at her then and let out a groan of amusement. “Not you, now he’ll keep at it all night.” 

"Shut it," Rolan shot at him, positively glowering. Lia was clutching her side in laughter at his expense.

Two against one; that was siblings for you. She was in a newly generous mood after his pretty magic, however, and decided to lend Rolan a hand.

"Surprised you're still here," she said, cocking her head toward Cal. "Last I heard, Lakrissa was looking for you."

Cal's neck practically snapped with how quickly he craned it around camp. Lia turned her mirth on him, aiming a punch at his shoulder.

"As if, you idiot," she chuckled. "She's only about ten times out of your league."

"You don't know that," Cal told her, completely thrown off teasing his brother as he rose to look around the party hopefully. "She told me I had a good parry one time—I could have a chance—"

As he wandered off, Lia threw up her hands and rose to follow him. "Guess I'll go save Lakrissa. Or maybe just watch what happens. Nice one," Lia added over her shoulder, grinning appreciatively at her. 

She and Rolan were left standing alone to the side. There was some awkward shuffling of feet; somewhere past the campfire, Volo launched into his third stanza of Tymora's Melody. A song to make people lucky, she seemed to recall. A suggestive choice for the night.

"Drink?" She broke the silence, offering out the bottle of wine. Relief flooded Rolan’s face.

"Gods, please." He accepted and took a generous pull.

"You certainly have your hands full with those two, don’t you." She bit back a grin at the way his brow crinkled in response.

"They are…" Rolan cast around for the word. "Challenging. But I don't have to tell you that," he added, glancing sideways at her. "We were bickering the first moment you met us."

"That's just family, though," she laughed, taking the wine back from him. Their fingers brushed together slightly over the bottle.

“Nevertheless. My thanks.” He waved his hand in a general motion, but she could tell he meant her intervention before. 

“Don’t mention it,” she told him. 

Seeking a reprieve from the merry music and voices around them, her feet idly made their way toward the edge of the fire's light closer to the riverbank. From the corner of her eye she saw Rolan follow. They settled on a log of driftwood that faced the scenes at camp. 

"So, you're finally making your way to Baldur's Gate," she said. It wasn't a question; he'd already told everyone who would listen about his apprenticeship with Lorroakan of Ramazith.

"Finally.” His eyes glowed with pure enthusiasm. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. The slightest delay has felt like an eternity.”

“And Cal and Lia? They must be excited, too.”

“Of course” he said, though his lips raised in a little smirk. “They’ve never been to the Gate, so they don’t quite know what to expect. But they’re just as eager.”

She watched him for a moment as she turned the bottle over in her hands. "You're quite sure of yourself, aren't you."

Rolan looked at her with a challenging expression. “Tell me, in our position, what else is there we can be sure of?"

He almost made her regret herself. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that you’re very—”

“I expect most wouldn’t guess that a hellspawn could earn a position under the greatest archmage on the Sword Coast,” Rolan said before she could finish. 

His moods were volatile as a storm; turning this way and that without warning. She was never sure what to expect from him. Before she could protest his assumptions about her, he continued onward.

"We three never had much between us, you know." Rolan’s voice was abruptly low and bitter. "Somehow we've got less now than we started with. Not even our birthplace anymore. The one thing I’m sure of is my magical talent. I'm not going to deny it for the sake of being modest—" he tossed the words out with contempt. "Not when it's the one thing I always knew I had in spades. With the right instruction, I could be inimitable."

She studied his determined profile in the half-light of the campfire. Perhaps there were more layers to his self-important attitude than she'd thought. After all, without him taking on the challenging role that awaited him in the city, Rolan and his siblings found themselves in much the same position as the other refugees milling about camp tonight. A heavy weight despite his obvious enthusiasm. Who was she to judge him, or any of them?

Rolan finally caught her watching him and cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I think I've—had too much wine."

"Oh?" She gave the bottle a swirl; it was still more than half-full. "You're making pretty good sense to me."

"I don't usually speak so freely with strangers," he explained tersely, glancing away.

She pondered the comment over another sip. "Does that make us friends, then?" She asked, not sure if she was being serious or trying to tease him. He did seem like he'd be awfully fun to tease.

"That's a little premature," he said dryly, but he glanced at her with a serious look. "Though I suppose, given recent events, you've earned it."

"A roundabout way to say yes," she laughed. "But I'll take it."

Rolan only made a low, grumpy noise in his throat. But he didn't challenge her.

“I’m really glad you three stayed, you know,” she told him. “I know you were against it. It certainly wasn’t the easy choice.”

Rolan plucked a bit of dry grass from between his boots, twisted it between his fingers. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Once Lia gets an idea in her head to save some poor thing or other, there’s no arguing with her. And she knows I'd never leave her behind.”

"You say that, but anyone with eyes can see the way those two look to you for guidance. They would've followed you down either path."

"Not like us staying even made a difference," Rolan deflected, tossing the ball of grass onto the dirt in front of them. "We only lost a few more traveling days waiting around while you and your friends took care of everything. For which, I suppose, we owe you thanks," he finished sarcastically.

"I suppose," she said lightly. But she was looking straight at him.

Rolan was clever enough to realize he was being chastised. He let out a sigh, but dipped his horns to her in resignation. "Thank you."

She only smiled at him and offered back the wine in response. He accepted without comment.

Watching him tip back the bottle, she mentally fit another piece to his puzzle. "You don't like feeling powerless, do you?"

Rolan looked sideways at her. "Does anyone? Do you?"

"No," she replied, feeling a little foolish for asking. When he passed it back, she drank deeply from the bottle, grounded by the burn that traveled down her throat.

"That must make your situation difficult." Rolan was watching her almost cautiously, as if the subject should be carefully tread.

"The tadpole, you mean?" She spoke it aloud, not wanting him to feel any suspense about the subject. How the thought could fill her with dread and a kind of dark humor at the same time was beyond her. Maybe the worm in her brain was finally driving her mad after all.

"First I had to talk Nettie out of giving me a lobotomy. Then I thought the renowned First Druid Halsin might be able to heal me, but no luck. I even thought that crazy goblin priestess could have something up her sleeve." She gave a mirthless laugh, starting to feel the weariness closing around her again. "Suppose I just need to keep searching, right? Halsin thinks we might find answers in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Or maybe the cure is in Baldur's Gate. Who knows," she added, glancing over at him. "Maybe your Lorroakan could know the solution, if he's as powerful as you say."

"He is," Rolan answered automatically. His luminous eyes were sharp with enthusiasm as he watched her. "When you get to the city, come see me at Sorcerous Sundries. If a cure exists, it'll be recorded somewhere in the library of Ramazith’s Tower, I'm sure of it. I’ll even research it, if I have time."

Inwardly she hoped they'd all be cured far earlier than that. But she was touched by his sudden helpfulness, even if it was half to prove the powers of his new station. 

“Thank you, Rolan,” she smiled. “I appreciate it.”

He dipped his horns wordlessly toward her again. It was a gesture she was beginning to recognize, and grow rather fond of. She offered him their wine bottle in thanks.

From there they both let the moment drift. Seated on their log near the riverbank, she turned to watch how the rest of the revelry was progressing. Alfira had joined Volo in some kind of bardic duel; a rapid-fire melody drifted out to where the two of them sat. Lia appeared to be bravely trying her luck with Lae'zel. Judging by Lae'zel's very non-subtle body language, she was actually getting somewhere. 

And to her disbelief, she even saw Cal and Lakrissa sitting together at the fire, engaged in what looked like a very friendly, very close conversation. Was it seriously everyone's night but hers?

She glanced to Rolan's face at her side. He wasn't paying attention to her; his fingers rolled the neck of their shared drink idly back and forth.

It should've occurred to her sooner, honestly. Despite Rolan's initial bluster, she found it surprisingly easy to speak with him one-on-one like this. He had a depth she hadn't noticed before. 

And he wasn't bad to look at, either. Golden eyes set against inky black, strong jawline, lips that often curved up in a little smirk that she wasn't sure he deserved but found charming despite herself. She decided to dispense with caution and just try her luck.

"Would you mind if I kissed you?"

“What?” Rolan's head jerked around as he stared at her. "Why?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Maybe this was a bad idea; the shock on his face made her question her own boldness. But then she thought of his pretty spellwork. "Because you're the only person who's made me smile tonight."

Rolan examined her expression as though trying to tell whether she was joking. "We barely know each other," he said slowly.

She gestured her head toward the crowded clearing. "I mean, I didn’t know any of these people a few weeks ago. And now look at us. We’re practically family at this point.” She turned back toward him. "Besides, maybe I'd like to get to know you better?"

Rolan cast around for a response to that. "I suppose you're not…unattractive," he conceded. Although the nervous movement of his fingers gave him away a little.

"Know how to make a girl feel special, don't you," she laughed. "Look, Rolan, say no if you don't want to. I'm not after anything serious. It's just a good night for some company, and honestly, I’ve enjoyed talking to you."

Rolan was considering it; she could practically see his mind ticking between his options. "You're quite tenacious, aren't you?" He told her, the hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"When I want something," she agreed.

Something in the words seemed to tip his decision. She watched Rolan's eyes flick down to her lips.

Taking that as a yes, she tilted forward to press them against his. His skin was warm and softer than she expected. Rolan didn't move against her, in fact was practically frozen still. She couldn't tell whether he was inexperienced or just out of practice. Regardless, she pulled away to look at him through her lashes, checking his expression.

This close his golden eyes almost seemed to blaze. She watched them move over her face, taking in her features up close. When he realized she wasn't going to initiate again, Rolan leaned in for another kiss.

Definitely not inexperienced, she decided, as his lips slid and moved softly over hers. She breathed in and smelled smoke and wine and something spiced; a pleasant warmth coiled in her stomach. He sighed into the kiss, apparently feeling something similar.

She felt a tentative hand rest on the side of her waist. Without breaking from him, she scooted sideways to get a little closer, inadvertently pressing her leg up against his. Rolan made no objection, only circled his arm further around her back.

It was the nicest feeling. Being held by a firm yet gentle touch, sharing kisses that flowed from sweet to eager to shy and back again. How long had it been? The longer Rolan's mouth moved over hers, the less she cared about remembering. 

She hooked her arms over his shoulders to keep him close. As she tilted her chin for a better angle at his mouth, she took a chance and ran her tongue along his bottom lip. Rolan’s fingers dug slightly deeper into her side, but his lips parted to allow her in.

She felt a thrill run through her as their tongues melted together. They tasted each other softly for a moment; unconsciously, she combed her fingers up through the hair at his nape.

Rolan broke away gently at the feeling. She grew suddenly shy when their eyes met again, and she cast around for something to fill the silence.

"Why do you hide your ears behind your hair like that?” She wondered aloud. “They’re lovely." As she spoke, one of her index fingers went to tuck a lock of his hair back behind the long, pointed arrow of his ear, grazing against it with curiosity. Before she could blink, his hand caught hers to pull it away.

"Don't—" Rolan said abruptly, then let out a nervous laugh to break the tension. “Tiefling ears are…quite sensitive.”

"Oh," she said. His meaning sunk in the rest of the way. “Oh—I’m so sorry, I didn't realize—" The heat of embarrassment on her cheeks could have melted her.

"It’s all right,” he told her, laughing genuinely now. “Gods, your face is almost as red as mine.”

Rolan was even more handsome with a real, true smile on his face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen one there before. Before she’d found a response, his grip on her wrist was gently pulling her arm over his shoulder, and her body closer to him with it. 

She decided another kiss would shut up his teasing nicely. She followed his lead and then some, wrapping both arms around his lovely shoulders, melting against his lips again. He said something against her, but the words dissolved into a hum that sent a pleasant shiver down her back.

Finally, Rolan succeeded in pulling away to glance back toward the center of camp. "Sorry," he said breathlessly, and it sounded like he truly was. "I just—don't want you to face uncomfortable questions in the morning."

No doubt his siblings' teasing was another factor, but she didn't call him out on it. While she appreciated his chivalry, all she could think about was getting his mouth under hers again.

"We could go to my tent?" She suggested.

For all the cockiness he'd spouted from the first moment she met him, she felt Rolan's hands almost seize up around her.

The feeling made her bite back a grin. "I'd just like to kiss you some more," she said, tracing her thumb against his jaw. "We don't have to do anything else. It would just be more private. And more comfortable."

Rolan licked his lips, unsure. “Won’t that be even more obvious?”

“I don’t think this crowd’s going to notice much at this point…” She turned with arms still around him to look over the scenes near the campfire, and Rolan's gaze followed. The generous flow of alcohol was taking a clear effect on most of the faces gathered here and there. Around the fire’s edge, Alfira was leading many of her fellows in a rousing ballad that she didn’t recognize. Most voices were noticeably off-key.

“Come on,” she invited Rolan, rising with one of his hands in hers. He made no protests as she led him around the edge of camp, trying to stay out of the more obvious sightlines, and towards her empty tent. When she held the flap open for him, he ducked in quickly without a word, and she followed.

Inside, the light from the roaring campfire filtered dimly through the fabric walls. She watched Rolan’s luminous eyes glance around, taking in her personal effects, finally landing on her open bedroll. He swallowed hard. 

“Just sit,” she told him, guiding him by the arm down beside her. They settled side-by-side on the blankets. Somehow the mood between them was back to the initial uncertainty of before, as if they hadn’t already shared a score of kisses.

“Your tent smells like you,” he said out of nowhere.

"Really?" She chuckled, but the observation somehow made her very nervous. “Not sure if I want to ask what my smell is.”

“Balsam.” Rolan didn’t elaborate, only dipped his head swiftly to place lips under her jaw. Her laughter dissolved into a sigh of pleasure. Clawed hands snaked up around her side and down over her shoulder, tipping her torso into him. She let her head loll to the side to give him all the access he could want.

She’d forgotten all about his sharp incisors. As he kissed down the side of her neck, his warm breath sending a cascade of shivers over her spine, one of his fangs grazed her bare skin by accident. Her sharp intake of breath surprised even herself. 

Rolan pulled away to look at her, uncertain if he’d done something right or wrong. She used the moment to capture him in a kiss again, sucking and nibbling on one side of his bottom lip, letting him know how right he was getting this.

She sank sideways into her bedroll, pulling him down with her with hands clasped behind his neck, trying to be mindful of his angling horns.

Rolan's arm rested comfortably over her side, nails whispering against her back as he held her. He was so gentle like this; so unlike the way he presented himself to others. The thought that she was seeing a side of Rolan most others didn’t get to see—she liked that thought very much. She tangled a hand in his hair as their kisses turned soft, and lovely, and almost lazy.

The security of his arms around her in her soft bedroll, the alcohol making its way rapidly to her brain, the exertions of the day straining along her limbs…she felt herself drifting toward a state of relaxation almost like sleep. She roused herself, wanting to kiss him back while she had him here. She wasn't sure when they'd get a chance like this next.

But Rolan gently disentangled their mouths for a moment. "Here," he said, scooting his arm under her neck like a pillow. She leaned against him with a comfortable sigh. 

"Your arm's gonna fall asleep," she warned him, making no moves to shift the weight of her heavy head.

Rolan chuckled low in his chest. "I think you'll be doing that first."

She wanted to make a snappy response, but all that came out was a petulant groan against his lips. 

This wasn't going at all the way she intended. She wasn't supposed to doze off, she was supposed to kiss the Tiefling wizard until he saw stars, like the ones he'd conjured for her.

Because he had conjured them for her—she told herself that with certainty, whether or not it was true. The sweet thought carried her toward sweet dreams, and the memory of them behind her eyelids was the last thing she saw before she drifted.

—

The call of an owl nearby pierced through her sleep. As her mind surfaced in the darkness, the first thing she was aware of was the pleasant weight of an arm across her. She sighed and settled comfortably back into the warm figure pressed up against her hips and shoulders. The mystery arm pulled her in tighter in response.

Things began slowly filtering back to her; the party the night before, and the wine, and Rolan, and—

Her eyes opened wide then. The interior of her tent was so dark that she could only make out blurry shapes. Outside, she heard nothing but crickets and a few more distant owls hooting; it must be well past midnight. The fire hadn't been tended for hours, judging by the absence of light reaching through the fabric walls. Presumably the rest of camp had all turned in long ago. 

With the nervousness of a person who'd fallen asleep from drink, she shifted around a bit to confirm that yes, she was very much still fully clothed. Her toes flexed against hard leather; even her dusty boots were still on her feet. That answered that question, at least. She glanced down at the clothed arm over her stomach.

"Rolan?" She whispered through the dark. 

She felt and heard his lips mumble something against her hair, and then Rolan's face nestled deep into the crook of her neck with a happy sigh. The intimate gesture made her bite her lip. She could feel his steady breaths tickle against her collarbone. 

However much she might want to let him stay right there, forever, she knew she should wake him.

"Rolan," she whispered a little louder. Twisting a bit to free the arm under her side, she reached to gently pat the spot between his horns. She felt his hair rustle freely under her hand; its orderly tie must have come undone in the night.

Rolan inhaled sharply awake then. He lifted his head from her as if trying to cast around for where he was.

"We both fell asleep," she whispered, stating the obvious. She felt him tense up behind her as he took in his body's positioning: chest pressed against her back, one arm cradling her neck, the other wrapped tight around her waist to keep her pulled in close to him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she even felt his tail twined around one of her legs.

Every part of him retreated from her at once as he lurched into a half-seated position. "I'm sorry," he apologized in a groggy whisper.

"It's fine," she assured him, wondering why he would assume she didn't enjoy the closeness as much as he clearly had in his sleep. "I think everyone else is asleep by now."

There was a long, quiet pause. Then Rolan began, “Did we…?”

“No,” she interjected with certainty. 

"Thank Gods. I mean—" He cast around in the dark for one of her hands, realizing how that came out. "We both drank a lot, that's not how I want—it shouldn't be like that."

"I know." The sweet goodness of him made her heart swell.

Suddenly, Rolan grabbed his head with both hands. "Fuck," he hissed. "Lia and Cal."

"What about?"

"They'll know I didn't come back to our camp last night," he groaned low.

"Oh—okay," she said, trying to think; her brain was still fuzzy from the night's wine. "Well, maybe they'll just assume you got back late?"

“You don't understand, they know that I—” He cut himself off, and finished, “They already tease me about you.”

“Oh." She did her best to ignore the way that made her insides do a happy flip. But she couldn’t resist teasing a little herself. “Then maybe they’ll just assume you finally got lucky?”

His head fell against her shoulder with a groan, horns lightly knocking against her. “Please,” he begged.

“Sorry, Rolan—” She was instantly contrite, holding his head close to place kisses across his hair and forehead. "Listen, we've got an hour or two before dawn. Maybe you can sneak back and they won't know how late you were out. Where's your camp?"

"The bluffs just outside the Emerald Grove, with Lakrissa and the bard."

She knew the spot; they could easily reach there in a quarter hour on foot. But first, she scooted away and undid the flap of her tent to peer out for any signs of activity.

Everything outside was very still. She watched carefully for another moment just in case; near Wyll's tent, Scratch snuffled and buried his snout further against the owlbear cub's feathers. Beyond that, there were no signs of stirring in the camp.

She ducked back inside the tent for a moment. "C'mon—"

With quiet, shuffling feet, they crept out into the quiet moonlit night. Scratch's head raised silently in their direction. She stared into his dark eyes with a silent plea, begging him to be a good boy and stay quiet. He lowered his head back down without a sound. She swore to herself that she would find him the biggest, juiciest bone in the morning. 

She grabbed Rolan's hand behind her and tugged him quietly through camp. They passed tent after tent filled with steady breathing, boots padding against the dirt in near-silence.

Once they were outside the ruined wall at the edge of the campsite, she let out her pent-up breath in relief. 

Rolan kept his fingers twined firmly with hers as they walked through the moonlight. They talked about anything to fill the air, about things that didn't matter, both trying to stave off the impending end of their short night together.

Far sooner than felt fair, they rounded into a familiar clearing, and she knew his destination was just up the hill to their left. 

"Well," she began, as they slowed to a stop.

Before she knew it, she was pulled against Rolan’s chest in a tight embrace. She folded herself into him as completely as she could manage, breathing deep and committing his scent to memory.

When they broke apart, he kept her close so he could see her face in the moonlight. "Which route will you take to reach the Shadow lands?"

"Through the Underdark if we can," she answered. "I wasn't sure about it, but we all took a vote after the fight yesterday. What about you three?"

"I don't know," Rolan said honestly. "It depends how Zevlor decides. We're all going to travel together as far as we can."

"Oh," she said. She ought to say something reassuring about how that was a wise tactical choice, but she was overcome with the realization that she might not see Rolan again for many weeks. Possibly not until they both reached Baldur's Gate.

In that moment, she fervently regretted not fucking this wonderful man into tomorrow when she'd had the chance—wine be damned. From the way Rolan was looking at her, she wondered if he was thinking the same.

Instead, she leaned in to kiss him one last time with everything she had. She wanted to remember the way his shoulders fit perfectly under her arms. Rolan’s grip closed around her middle, and in the next instant she felt her feet dangle weightless as he lifted her off the ground into him.

The kiss had to end eventually. As he lowered her onto her feet, she touched back down to dirt and reality. 

“Your hair,” she gasped suddenly. It hung loose to his shoulders, his red ear tips poking from between the locks. It was a very handsome look for him.

Rolan raised a hand up in realization himself. “I’ll figure something—” he began, but she was already tugging at the leather lace that fastened her shirt. She raised it to her mouth to bite off a short length.

Before he could stop her, she stood on tiptoe to gather Rolan’s hair behind his head the way he usually kept it. Her arms circled him as she tied it halfway back with the makeshift string. She could feel his eyes on her face, but she steadily avoided meeting his gaze. She foolishly felt like she might cry if she did.

“There,” she sniffed as she pulled away. 

Rolan only gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his horns to her one more time.

Telling him goodbye hurt just to think about. “Good night,” she whispered to him instead.

“It has been,” Rolan agreed. “The very, very best.”

---

TALK DIRTY TO ME

how konig, ghost, and price talk dirty in bed.

thirsts : open

—

konig is surprisingly vocal when he’s rutting into you, though it’s probably not in the way you think. most of his words come out in hushed whispers laced with obscenities. he seems to lose any sense of shame he usually has because he’s just too drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him.

“feels s’fucking good—“ he mindlessly babbles out.

his large palms are stretched out on both sides of you, fingers digging into the mattress, while he keeps you caged underneath him.

“such a greedy pussy,” he groans out with another roll of his hips. “keeps suckin’ me back in…”

you can feel his hot breath fanning your face while his darkened eyes are stuck — transfixed — on the creamy white ring that covers his cock. the sloppy sounds that fill the room seem to only grow louder with each thrust, as your arousal practically drips down his balls.

“just begging for me to fill ya up,” he hissed out, as he presses down on your stomach which makes you whimper in response. the noise somehow flips a switch in him and has könig fucking into you even harder.

“s’that what ya want? need me to fill ya up, fuck a baby into this pretty cunt?”

price just exudes dominance in all aspects even with his dirty talk, his words are more praising than anything else though. he’s always coaching you through things and telling you how good of a job you’re doing, he knows it gets you off and he also just can’t help but spoil you.

“mhmm, just like that, baby.” he mumbles out as he lazily guides your movements, helping you bounce yourself up and down on his cock.

there’s a smirk on his face that he can’t even be bothered to hide when he hears you whining at the praise. he thinks you’re adorable when you’re like this, so desperate for him yet so adamant on not asking for his help. you could be such a brat sometimes, he’d have to deal with that later.

“doing so well,” he says with a groan as he thrusts his hips up in time with your movements. “but you don’t think you’re gonna make me cum just from this, do you?”

it doesn’t take much effort for him to flip you over and have you at his mercy. your legs are now lifted over his shoulders while his dick is fucking you even deeper, the tip prodding against your sweet spot just right it has your toes curling.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” his movements are slow and controlled, he knows you’re close — he can feel it — but he’s not going to reward you unless you use yours words.

“come on, princess. all you have to do is beg and i’ll have you screaming for me…”

everything ghost says is absolutely filthy, he is all about the little details. he doesn’t actually notice what he’s saying in the heat of the moment, all he knows is that his words have your cheeks flushing to a pretty shade of red, and he loves it.

“you’re such a fuckin’ slut for me even your pussy knows it.” he practically growls. “look at this sloppy mess you’re making.”

he ruts the tip of his cock against your slit, coating your folds with his pre-cum. “jus’ gonna slip in with how wet you are..”

your arm is slung over your face as a way for you to hide your embarrassment, you know he’s right, there’s no way you could deny it. something about the way he talks to you when he’s pent up like this has your pussy throbbing.

“fuck, need to be balls deep inside this cunt.” he breathes, as he eases his way into you, the fat head of his cock slowly splitting you open as he makes you take in more and more of him.

the veins on his length rub your slick walls deliciously and it’s not surprising that you’re already twitching and creaming all over him as soon as he bottoms out.

“that’s it, there’s my slutty girl.” his raspy laugh fills the silence. “stop using that pretty head, all you need to do is cum for me.”

---

a real bed

arthur morgan x female reader

summary: You’re tired. Arthur’s been gone. When he leaves you to spend another night alone, he works to make it up to you and show you exactly what you deserve. wc: 3.4k warnings: TB-doesn’t-exist au, some light/non-graphic smut note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY @margowritesthings​​! I loved the princess treatment prompt, I hope this is full of the fluff (and smut) you were looking for! thank you to @rdrevents​​​​​ for hosting the valentine gift exchange!

“Carrots are done,” you slide the last of the vegetables into the pot and wipe your hands on your apron.

Pearson grunts, and you accept it as the most you’ll get for a thank you. “Stew is going to be light on the meat again. Where is that man of yours?”

“He’s not…my man.” You don’t look at him when you say it, heat flaring in your face at the words. You know who he refers to, but you and Arthur still felt new. It was no secret, you admit, and after years of pining it was nice to have your affections returned. But as you fill a pail of water for the girls’ washing up, craning your neck to look over the short bridge to Shady Belle, you can see Arthur’s horse is still missing. “I don’t know where he is.”

Keep reading

---

ミ[technical difficulties]

🍓 pairing: recom miles quaritch x human fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, size kink, alien genitalia, human x na'vi, oral sex, vaginal sex, q gets a v messy blowjob and repays u by blowing ur back out, brief voyeurism, quaritch's pov turned out so filthy?

🍓 wordcount: 19k

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

Recently, you’ve had to come to terms with a number of things.

Number one, the food rationing system on Pandora means that you have to go without some of your favourite foods for months, years, or even for the rest of your rotation planet-side. Fresh fruit, chocolate, pizza, any food that gives you joy, is practically impossible to get here. And even if there is a delivery, it’s always the assholes in upper management and leadership roles that get all the good stuff anyway.

Number two, military men are absolute pigs. If you thought the ones on Earth were bad, you weren’t prepared for the ones on Pandora. They’re cocky, arrogant, rude, and seem to have come to Pandora for the big paycheck and the chance to cause absolute havoc among the native Na’vi populations. You avoid them as much as possible, but Bridgehead is absolutely crawling with a military presence, and your job makes it difficult to avoid them anyway.

And number three… well. Number three is a little more embarrassing.

“—and if you wanna survive out there, you gotta be alert. First things first, we’re headed out to this area in the… shit.” Colonel Quaritch pauses in the middle of his sentence, then turns to you with a scowl.

You’ve only been half listening, a little too distracted by the Colonel’s enormous frame and big biceps and the way his cute little ears flick back as he debriefs his Recom team.

“Hey kid, how do I—” He gestures irritably at the slide presentation behind him.

That’s your cue to jolt forward and help him change slides. It’s really so easy to do; just a simple click of a button.

“Ah.” Quaritch mutters when you change the slide for him, before clapping you on the shoulder in thanks before getting right back to his debrief.

The clap to your shoulder is almost strong enough to nearly send you stumbling, his wide palm and long fingers almost spanning the whole width of your back. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and your face burns as you hurriedly step back into the corner you’ve been standing in this whole time.

And that’s the third thing you’ve had to come to terms with – the unnerving tingles that start up between your legs every time Colonel Quaritch’s enormous blue ass needs help with technological problems that are so damn easy to solve.

You clear your throat a little self-consciously, praying that you don’t look as flustered as you feel. You’ve already noticed the way the rest of the Recoms are sending each other little smirking glances and elbowing each other in the sides.

It’s humiliating. Not the crush itself – that, you feel, is fairly understandable. He’s nearly ten-feet of smooth blue skin and intimidating muscle, with a condescending sharp fanged smile and sharp, cold eyes. You’re only human, and he’s hot as hell. You can hardly be blamed for developing a crush, the man is built like a god.

No, the part that’s humiliating is the way you react over his little technical difficulties. The way he squints at the data pads that look so small in his huge hands, the way he pokes uncertainly at screens that don’t even have touch-screen capacity, the way his tongue clicks in frustration when he can’t get something working for him. It all just gets you going in a way that’s actually a little bit unnerving.

You sit through the rest of the debriefing, but you’re distracted. There’s no real reason for you to be there, so you don’t bother listening. Literally nothing about this debriefing has anything to do with you; it’s all aimed at the Recoms for their upcoming scouting missions into the lowland forest region.

The only reason you’re here is because Quaritch had instructed you to sit in the corner, and your knees had promptly gone weak and you had sunk down into the rickety chair at the edge of the room. The reaction stems partially from Quaritch’s sexy authoritative voice and partially from the fact that you’re exhausted.

You’re pretty much glorified tech support, but that’s alright. If anything, you’re eager for it – it’s a stimulating change from the monotony of your usual duties. You’re watching him closely, pulse leaping every time you see that cute little furrow to his brow, or the way his mouth turns down as he grapples with the clicker that’s much too small for his hands.

His tail lashes in agitation, his mouth pressing together as he glares at the presentation behind him, attempting to bend the Powerpoint to his will as he continues talking.

“—so we’re gonna be actin’ like we got eyes in the back of our heads, ‘cause if we get caught unawares by these bastards then we’re gonna end up with arrows comin’ out of our skulls—shit.” Cutting himself off yet again, Quaritch turns to you with a scowl.

You’re up before he can even verbalise the need for assistance (not that he’d ever ask for help, more like he’d just grunt at you until you got up to sort out the problem). The buttons are obviously much too small for his big-ass fingers. You take the clicker, and press the button yourself.

The slide changes, displaying a collage of dangerous Pandoran wildlife; thanators, viperwolves, banshees, titanotheres. It looks good, very professional – because you were the one that had made it, revising Quaritch’s ugly, half-assed attempt at just pasting a whole load of grainy jpegs on a word document.

Quaritch grunts in satisfaction, nodding as his tail curls. “Now, I know we’ve gone through this a hundred times, but we’re gonna go through it a hundred times more till I’m confident you knuckleheads ain’t gonna get yourselves kill the second we get out there.”

There’s a chorus of groans at that, but none of them seem brave enough to complain outright. Quaritch fields the groans easily by electing to simply ignore them, turning to give them an in-depth run-down on the threats out there in the Pandoran wildnerness.

You hover near his side, uncertain if you’ve been dismissed just yet. You figure it’s best to just wait. Knowing the old man, he’ll need help again with something else in a minute or too anyway.

“C’mon, sir, we know this.” One of the men complains. You think it might be Fike. “We’ve gone over this a ton of times.”

“Yeah, well, if the information had all stuck then we wouldn’t have ended with Walker nearly gutted on our last outing, would we?” Quaritch barks, his tone so sharp and acerbic that it shoots down your spine with an electric jolt.

The other Recoms roll their eyes, apparently used to his authoritative tone, but it nearly knocks you flat. You have to breathe through your nose and fight to keep your expression neutral, trying to pretend like you haven’t just soaked your panties at the sound of it. God, this dry spell you’ve been going through is going to be the end of you.

Huffing out an irritated breath, Quaritch turns to you and makes an irritated sort of gesture with his hand. “Just go to the next slide, kid. I’ll cut this short.”

You sigh, and click to the final slide. You cross your arms over your chest as you shift on your feet, jutting your hip out to try and distribute your weight. You’re seriously hoping that he picks up the pace and finishes soon so that you can get back to your own work. Or maybe a nap – you can’t remember the last time you’ve slept for more than three hours at a time.

Quaritch gets back to his debriefing, and you tune out. It’s not like what he’s saying has any importance to you at all. You’ve been a good little employee at the RDA for going on two years now, working hard in the tech sector of the colony at Bridgehead, and not once have you actually left the compound. So all these stupid safety precautions for the Recoms going out into the forest are boring to you.

You tap your fingers absent-mindedly against your arms as you wait, trying not to get antsy. You know your work is probably piling up back on your desk, but you can’t leave until you’ve been dismissed. As you wait, you allow your eyes to trail back to Quaritch so you can watch him idly.

The attraction to him has bloomed so oddly. In the beginning, you hadn’t been any more interested in him than in any of the Recoms, and even that was just natural curiosity about the enormous new blue soldiers. Part of your rules for living on Pandora was to avoid military men after all, and the nine-feet-tall Recom soldiers definitely fall into that category.

And listen, here’s the thing. You don’t even like him. He’s rough, rude, abrasive, and entirely dismissive of you even when you’re actually helping him. Besides, like you’ve said, the military men on Pandora are pigs. You avoid them whenever possible, for the preservation of your mental health.

And yet – that first day he had come into the tech hub with a handful of new RDA-issued tech and a frustrated, bewildered frown on his face, you had felt the weirdest tightening in your stomach. It had only gotten worse from there, when he came in for help with the most basic of things. It seems like technology has progressed a lot in the fourteen years he’s been dead, and he’s obviously irritated by being outpaced by it all.

“Alright, get outta here.”

Quaritch’s voice jolts you out of your daydreaming, and you glance around to see that the Recoms are all beginning to stand, preparing to move out. You have to suffer a moment of claustrophobia as you’re quite abruptly hit with the fact that all of a sudden you are by far the smallest person in the room.

You shift, uneasy as you crane your neck back to watch them all file out. They positively tower over you, your head reaching under their navels, and you step back a little nervously. You’re sure they wouldn’t step on you, but you don’t want to take that chance.

As the others leave the room, Quaritch turns back to the little monitor on the desk and starts swearing quietly at it.

“Damn thing,” He mutters, prodding roughly at it. “How do I turn this off?”

You step up alongside him, frowning. “Hey, don’t be so rough. You’ll break it.”

“I’m not being rough.” Quaritch snaps back, though he pulls his hand away.

You switch off the display, then begin powering down the digital projector. It’s quick work, and easy to do despite Quaritch’s impatient confusion, and you slot the clicker back into place on the desk.

“This shit’s a waste of time,” He grumbles as he watches you fiddle with the equipment. “Don’t see why I can’t just tell them what I need to tell them without all these crap visuals behind me.”

It’s not the first little diatribe he’s gone on about the uselessness of technology, so you just roll your eyes and let him rant.

“You need to make the buttons on those things bigger.” He continues, stepping after you as you gather your things.

“I don’t actually manufacture the equipment, I only keep it working.” You point out, keeping your tone even.

“Well, figure it out.”

And there’s the downside of having a crush on Colonel Quaritch. He’s an absolute asshole.

The attraction you feel towards him is entirely physical, and it’s hard not to think about sex when you look at him. He ticks every primitive mating box: incredibly tall, handsome, the strongest of any pack he’s in. Everywhere he goes, he brings an air of authority with him. Making people cower is almost part of his charm.

But god, he can be such a dick sometimes.

“Is that all, sir?” You ask, your voice a little sardonic.

Quaritch grunts, but you can feel his wide yellow eyes watching you. It’s unnervingly akin to being under the sharp stare of a predator, and you try to ignore the way your hair is standing on end.

“That’ll be it, kid.” He drawls, though he’s still watching you.

You wait for a beat, but no thank you comes. You wonder why you bothered waiting in the first place, considering you’ve never received anything of the sort.

With an eyeroll, you gather up your stuff and head out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

Your head is pounding as you work, the fluorescent light of your blue screen making your eyes throb. The screen blinks, an underscore slashing across impatiently, erasing the authorisation and the past day-shifts requests. Thousands of malfunctions are listed in a matter of seconds, logged at the top right-hand corner in a series of white 8-bit texts. The centre terminal lists a series of errors of accompanied by steady beeping.

The abrupt diagnosis comes with a high-pitched ring, signalling its potential danger/damage at a level six on the twelve-notch risk scale. You swear.

“Todd, have you been keeping on top of the atmosphere composition readouts in the Recom sector?” You ask, glancing briefly over your shoulder.

Your co-worker glances up, bleary-eyed behind his wire-rimmed glasses. His chin has a bit of dried sauce on it from the overly-processed dried noodles he’d been eating earlier, and you feel your nose wrinkle a little at the sight of it.

“Uh..” He says, and the pause is long enough for you to purse your lips and raise your eyebrows. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s saying the nitrogen levels are too low.”

Todd blinks owlishly at you, and you feel your temper flare. Swearing lowly, you push yourself out of your swivel chair, feeling your spine crack ominously as you straighten up, lower back aching.

“Right, I’ll fix it myself.” You say grimly.

“You don’t have to.” Todd says unconvincingly. “I can do it.”

He doesn’t even twitch, making no effort to stand, so his offer falls flat.

Lazy shit.

You grimace at him, and don’t even bother replying as you stalk out of the tiny shared office that you do most of your work in. Having to shoulder your own workload can be challenging enough, but the weight of Todd’s added work can be stifling sometimes.

The brightness of the fluorescent lighting in the corridors hurts your head, and you squint as you scurry your way through the halls. Your headache is throbbing, your neck is aching, and you’re so goddamn tired.

The last thing you need is the added responsibility of having to fix Todd’s negligence before it turns into an actual problem, but you already know that Todd’s mistakes look like your mistakes too, given that you share the same shitty little office terminal.

The sector the Recom soldiers live in is no larger than any of the other sectors, though everything is almost comically over-sized. You fit an exo-pack carefully over your face as you enter the sector, making your way towards the maintenance terminal. It’s hidden behind a large grate, and you struggle with the heavy metal for a moment before you finally manage to get it removed, letting it drop to the lino floor with a heavy clang.

Your tiredness is making you lethargic and a little clumsy, and your eyes are dry and a little itchy as you turn your attention to the monitor on the terminal. The computer to the immediate left shows readings that atmosphere stability is down by 10%. You grit your teeth; Todd, you lazy bastard.

You grumble and swear to yourself as you jab at the screen and keyboard roughly. God, all you want to do is take a fucking nap.

You’re so tired that you don’t even look up when you hear footsteps heading your way in the corridor, though some part of your brain distantly recognises that they’re much too heavy to be human.

“Well hey, if it isn’t tech support!” A voice crows, way too enthusiastic for you to deal with right now.

You close your eyes, briefly praying for patience, before slowing swivelling your head around. Then you have to tilt your head back, because you somehow keep forgetting how tall these motherfuckers are.

It’s Wainfleet, accompanied by the quiet one that always wears those stupid shades (Mansk, maybe? You can’t remember). Wainfleet is grinning, as though running into you is just the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all day.

“Yeah?” You ask, a little more aggressively than you had intended.

Lyle’s grin just widens, as though your aggravation is amusing. “Oh, someone’s grumpy. What’s wrong, kitty cat?”

Your teeth grind together hard enough to hurt, and you turn your attention back to the terminal. With one nail-bitten finger, you press the system's recovery code. It takes a couple of seconds to bring the generator’s core back up to its acceptable 99.9% after manually inputting the proper chemical levels - switching two filters to output .2 more of one oxide mineral and .8 less of methane.

Your sight of the terminal is blotted out by the shadow of Wainfleet’s looming body over your head.

“What?” You bite out.

“What’s all that?” Wainfleet asks. He doesn’t seem particularly curious; if anything, it seems like he’s only asking to annoy you.

You huff a sigh, but turn your attention back to the monitor. “I’m keeping the air in your sector breathable for you.”

“How kind of you.” Wainfleet drawls lazily, leaning over to get a better look.

You squint at the screen. It looks like the filtering system is gradually getting back to normal, and you click out of a couple of error warnings as they’re thrown up onscreen.

The big looming shadows of the two recoms behind you are distracting, and you find yourself feeling irritably on edge while you work.

“Go away.” You grumble without looking away from your screen. “Let me work.”

Mansk, at least, has the decency to step back even if he doesn’t actually leave. But Wainfleet just snickers, as though your bad mood is amusing.

“Jeez, you’re such a pissy little thing.” He drawls, leaning closer just to annoy you. “Why’re you so much nicer to the Colonel, huh?”

You choke at that, your fingers spasming where you’re inputting strings of code on the keyboard. You have to bite your tongue hard to avoid snapping back, wanting to avoid escalating the situation. Before you can say a thing, another set of footsteps start coming your way up the hall. You drop your head, sighing explosively behind your mask. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone to work?

“What’re you two loitering here for?” The Colonel’s barking voice rings out through the hallway.

Despite your exhaustion, you feel your aching spine straighten out at the sound of his voice and you lift your head. Blinking your stinging eyes, you watch as Quaritch approaches, casting disapproving looks at his soldiers. It doesn’t seem like he’s noticed your presence yet; it’s like you’re too short, and he never bothers glancing down.

Wainfleet and Mansk both straighten up, though they still look fairly relaxed even with the arrival of their superior officer. Wainfleet offers him a crooked grin, and finally steps away from you.

“Sorry, sir. Just watching the little nerd fix whatever the hell that thing is.” He says, gesturing carelessly at you.

You grumble quietly to yourself at that particular form of address, but don’t bother looking up again. You’re obviously busy, and you have no idea why these big blue bastards can’t just leave you be to work.

“Right, get lost.” Quaritch grunts.

You glance up for a second, startled, wondering if Quaritch was talking to you. But then Wainfleet and Mansk are stepping away, smirking, and going on their way down the hall.

You exhale in relief, then turn back to the terminal. There’s a new error flickering in the upper corner of the screen, and you blink at it tiredly before dismissing it. You almost think that Quaritch has left too, but then you hear the sound of him shifting behind you.

 “Your men are morons.” You mutter irritably, jabbing at the screen.

“Mansk’s not so bad.” Quaritch says with a one-shouldered shrug.

Your mouth twitches at the conspicuous lack of mention of Wainfleet. “Mm. What are you doing here?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.” He says. A shadow falls over you again as he leans against the wall next you, dwarfing you as he looms overhead. “This ain’t your usual haunt.”

“Oh, and you know my usual haunts now, do you?” You ask wryly.

He hums, but doesn’t reply. The terminal beeps loudly, a grating screechy sort of noise, and you grumble a sour curse under your breath as you work. The readouts are improving, but they could still be better. You feel irritation flare yet again; if Todd had been pulling his goddamn weight, all of this could have been sorted out from the central console in the main control room.

“I need you to look at this.”

Your brows twitch, but you don’t take your eyes off your screen. “I’m very busy, Colonel.”

“It’ll only take a sec.”

You exhale through your nose, frustrated. The terminal emits another screechy beep at you, and you resist the urge to smack it. The filtration system is struggling to synthesise xenon, which is throwing off the ideal atmospheric pressure across the whole Recom sector.

Quaritch is mercifully quiet for a couple of moments as you work, though you have to deal with him peering over your shoulder. You ignore him to the best of your ability, inputting strings of code with quick strikes of your fingers against the keyboard.

“You writin’ that code yourself?” Quaritch asks, and you wonder if you’re imagining the undertone of surprise in his voice. “Thought the system did all that automatically.”

It’s a little surprising that he can recognise that’s what you’re doing, considering his frustration with other elements of technology (he had asked you to reset the password to his RDA-issued email account, like, three times already). You guess he must be more familiar with the compound’s frameworks than most of the everyday technology, given his years spent as head of Sec-Ops.

“Uh, yeah..” You mutter, distracted. “It’s faster. Todd fucked the system up earlier, so it’s faster for me to just manually override whatever shit he plugged into the mainframe.”

After another few moments of tampering, the screen display shifts. The numbers, levels, and bars read fine, and the readouts are showing normal to good – the air stasis is flickering between 99.9% and 100%.

You finally lean back, groaning quietly to yourself as the vertebrae in your back crack brutally. God, you’re tired.

You had almost – almost – forgotten that Quaritch was standing right next to you, until he shifts expectantly on his feet. He’s not a patient man, and to be honest he’s already waited for you longer than you thought he would.

You look up – and up and up—at him. And maybe you allow your eyes to linger appreciatively around his tiny little waist and big muscly chest, because you’re tired and you’ve worked hard today and you think you deserve a little treat.

“Yeah?” You sigh, finally giving him your attention. “What is it?”

Wordlessly, Quaritch holds out a datapad. A big error screen blinks up at you. It seems like he’s entered the wrong password three times into the RDA-staff portal, and it’s now locked him out.

You sigh again. You kiss the chances of getting your nap goodbye.

“Fine.” You grumble. “But you’re buying me a coffee.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

The night shift was surely invented by a total fucking sadist.

You sit at your computer terminal in the early hours of the morning, staring blearily at your screen. Your eyes are burning, strained from the harsh blue light of the monitor as you mindlessly input strings of code. You’ve spent your whole damn shift trying to fix all of Todd’s stupid goddamned mistakes, and you’re tired and crabby and hungry and so fucking irritated.

It feels sometimes like your whole job just revolves around fixing the mistakes made by your incompetent co-workers, and you’re so tired. You and Todd are responsible for only two sectors, but it’s overwhelming when you’re doing most of the work by yourself.

Most of the levels and readings are back to almost perfect levels by the time the rest of Bridgehead begins waking up, and you’ve finally begun to work away at the technical maintenance requests that have been racking up and waiting for your attention.  

By the time Todd finally clocks in to take over for you (fifteen minutes late, as always), you can only imagine what you look like.

The nightshift always has the same effect on you; your eyes are puffy with dark circles in hollow sockets, your skin is dull from the lack of natural lighting in your shabby little tech hub, and the big baggy sweatshirt you’re wearing has stains from the salty freeze-dried noodles that you’ve boiled and are slurping on as a poor excuse for breakfast.

“Morning.” Todd says, irritatingly chipper.

You grunt, slurping on your overstarchy, flavourless noodles.

Todd settles into his own swivel chair on the other side of the room, looking frustratingly well-rested. He stretches his hands overhead and sighs happily, then takes a look at his own terminal.

“Oh! Wow, the readings look good!” He notes, sounding rather pleased.

Your grip tightens around your fork as you grit your teeth. No doubt all your hard work will be undone by him in no time.

“Mm.” You say, stabbing at the somewhat gloopy mess of your overprocessed starch. “There are a lot of maintenance requests that need to be filled for the—”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m on it.” Todd says, without waiting for you to finish.

You purse your lips, irritated, but you’re too tired to start fighting this losing battle. You’re used to the thankless nature of your job, even if it exhausts you. You just sigh, and finish up on one of the last server maintenance requests you had been working on.

There’s a brief moment of blissful silence, but those never last long when Todd is around.

“So, busy shift?” He asks, and you can feel his stupid eyes staring at you.

“Obviously.” You grunt, shovelling another fork full of noodles into your mouth.

Todd laughs as if you had told a joke, and you feel your brow twitch in aggravation. God, he’s so annoying. You wish he would just work in silence.

“You work too hard.” Todd speaks with the air of someone imparting great wisdom. Insufferable moron. “You should take a break.”

It takes superhuman levels of strength not to roll your eyes. You can actually feel yourself straining not to.

“Yeah, well, my shift is over now.” You say with your mouth full, manners abandoned. “I’m going to take a nap now.”

Todd laughs gratingly, again acting as if you’ve said something very funny. You glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, irritated.

“Oh, I didn’t mean just a nap.” He says with what he probably thinks is a charming grin. “I just mean—you’re always so… wound up. Don’t you want to let loose?”

You have a feeling that saying you’re wound up is just another way of calling you uptight. The worst part is, you can’t even necessarily protest that. Your workload on Pandora has always been challenging, but since being paired with the most useless co-worker on the planet it has been damn near overwhelming. It feels like all you do is sleep, eat, and work, and sometimes those activities cross over – you barely even have time to shower anymore. Some days you barely feel human.

“Not really.” You say shortly, unwilling to be drawn into this conversation with him.

“Oh, come on.” He wheedles. “You deserve a bit of fun, don’t you think?”

You don’t even bother to reply, too busy trying to slurp at the briny liquid left over at the bottom of your Styrofoam noodle container.

“I was thinking, we’ve been working together for ages now and we spend hardly any time together outside of work.” Todd continues. “We should—oh, I don’t know, go for a drink or something sometime.”

What a bizarre idea. You send a look his way, hoping that your face expresses your disbelief.

“Too busy for that.” You say, wiping the noodle juice roughly off your chin.

Todd nods, as though he had been expecting that. “Sure, sure. But just one evening. Could be… you know, could be nice. Just the two of us.”

And… oh god. Your shoulders stiffen, your eyes growing wide and horrified as you stare into the bottom of your Styrofoam container. No, no, no. There’s no way that he means what it sounds like he means.

You feel yourself seize up with nerves, anxiety blooming in your belly. Fuck, why is this happening? All these months of working together, Todd has never attempted to cross the boundary of co-workers, so you’re completely blindsided by this offer.

You could have guessed that Todd was desperate, but this desperate? You hardly look like a catch right now, with your unwashed hair and coffee-stained sweater, yet Todd is blinking expectantly at you for your answer.

“Oh, um…” You hedge, staring blankly at your monitor as you scramble for an answer. “I don’t think so, Todd. I don’t think it would be—uh, you know. Appropriate. With work, and all.”

Todd is leaning forward now, and it’s taking a significant amount of energy to not look at him. “Billy and Gina from the North-East sector server maintenance team have been going out together for months now, and HR has no issues with it.”

You forcibly unclench your teeth, and instead start chewing at your cheek. Fuck – if this was just some guy at a bar, you could turn him down as harshly as possible. But you’re still on the damn clock, and this is a co-worker.

“I don’t want to.” You say, trying to keep your tone as polite as possible while also being blunt.

“Oh, come on.” Todd says, trying for another charming grin. “Just one or two drinks. It’ll be fun, honestly. We get on so well at work!”

 You realise with a sinking feeling that he’s not going to take no for an answer. Goddamnit Todd.

And you hate playing this card. You seriously hate that this is the only way to end the conversation, but you don’t want things to be awkward – you have to work with this guy for the foreseeable future.

“I have a boyfriend.” You blurt, and try not to wince.

It’s kind of infuriating, but you can actually see Todd deflate at this. Typical. You should have known he was the kind of guy that would be persistent despite your clear no, yet back off at the mention of a boyfriend.

“Oh.” Todd says, his mouth twisting in a disappointed frown. “I- shit, sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“Mm.” You say. Your shoulders relax a little bit now as you turn back to your monitor, relieved that the matter is resolved. You think you’ve handled that well, and with minimum awkwardness, but you don’t think you’re going to be able to look at Todd in the same way for a long time.

“So, who is it?”

You pause. Blink at the screen.

“What?”

“Your boyfriend.” Todd says, still looking your way. He’s barely looked at his own monitor even once since he clocked in, his attention focused all on you. “Who is it?”

It takes everything you have not to freeze up. You hadn’t thought this far ahead, and now your thoughts have gone slow and jittery with panic.

“Oh.” You say slowly, swallowing. “He’s…”

Todd just looks back, waiting.

And shit, but your mind has gone blank. You can’t come up with a single name. You can’t even come up with a made-up name, because Todd is staring at you and you’re already so damn sleep-deprived that your brain is barely even working at half-capacity.

A brief knock sounds on the door, and you seize on the distraction. You whirl around with far more zeal than you’ve displayed your whole shift, impossibly relieved that someone is interrupting this godforsaken conversation.

It’s hardly even a surprise to see the big blue form of Colonel Quaritch ducking through the door, jabbing at the screen of a datapad with a huge finger. In that moment, you’ve never been so happy about his complete inability to work all the new technology that the Recom squad has been given.

Todd straightens up in his seat, visibly intimidated by the sheer size of Quaritch’s Na’vi body, but Quaritch doesn’t even glance his way.

“Hey kid, you gotta minute?” Quaritch says, but it’s not really a question. It’s perfectly clear that he expects you to make a minute for him.

Usually you’d be irritated by that. But now you jump to your feet, accidentally splashing a little bit of noodle juice all over your already stained sweater. You swipe distractedly at it, but don’t pay it too much mind as you push your swivel chair back.

“You need help?” You ask, your voice coming out much too loud.

Quaritch glances up at you with him brow furrowed. You must sound off, because his ears twitch and his tail curls as he eyes you – a little hint of shame blooms in your stomach as you watch his sharp golden eyes take in your unwashed hair, dirty sweater, and no-doubt frantic expression.

“Jesus, kid.” He says, “When’s the last time you showered?”

Okay, that just adds salt to the wound. You wince.

“I’ve been busy.” You say lamely, trying not to feel like a big crusty loser. “Do you need help or not?”

Quaritch is still eyeing you doubtfully, but his ears are still twitching in a way that honestly looks a little adorable. It’s body language that you’re quite certain means something, but you’ve never looked into Na’vi anthropology before.

“This needs fixin’.” He says bluntly, holding a datapad up.

You blink at it. The screen has been absolutely decimated. The glass is smashed in spider-webbed patterns, little shards of the screen falling off of it, and the metal back of it is all bent out of shape.

“What happened?” You ask, staring at it in disbelief; it looks like someone had driven over it with a tank.

“Wainfleet.” Quaritch says simply. He lifts and drops a single shoulder, as though he’s not bothered to commit to the full movement.

“Right,” You breathe, shooting what you hope is a surreptitious glance towards Todd. He’s still watching, with wide eyes. “Um…”

Quaritch is watching you too, his tail swishing impatiently behind him as he waits for your answer. Their dual stares are making you feel shifty, and you shove your hands nervously into your pockets as you try your best to avoid eye contact. Fuck, you want to sink through the floor right now.

You need to get out of here, your skin itchy with aggravation and embarrassment. You reach out to grab the broken datapad out of Quaritch’s hand. It’s even worse up close, and you give him another look of faint disbelief; you don’t even think fixing it is possible. You’ll just have to commission him a new one.

You glance up to tell him this, and accidentally make eye contact with Todd.

His eyes are darting between you and the Colonel, and he mouths “Him?” at you with a look of astonishment.

It takes you a moment to realise what Todd is asking – he thinks the Colonel is the boyfriend you lied about? Is fucking stupid?

And yet…

In a moment of thoughtless panic, you give a jerky nod. You’ll regret the lie later, maybe, but for now you just need to get out of here.

Todd turns his head and stares up at the Colonel with a slightly dumbstruck expression, and you can feel yourself flush as you realise that he’s trying to picture how that might work.

“I’m finished my shift, I’ll fix it in the commissary if you buy me another coffee.” You mutter, already pushing past Quaritch with the datapad in hand.

His eyebrows raise, obviously confused about where you’re going since you almost always fix his shit here, but you can hear his big footsteps following along behind you as you head for the door.

You hardly even breathe until you’re out in the corridor, and then you cover your face with your hands and let out a muffled shriek into your palms. Fuck, you handled that so badly. You’re undernourished and sleep deprived, and you swear your brain isn’t working properly, because what were you thinking?

The door slides shut, and you can hear Quaritch’s footsteps, but he says nothing as you have your silent little breakdown by the wall.

“Damn, sweetheart.” He says at last, his tone mixed with disbelief and amusement. “You are just one hot mess, aren’tcha? What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” You mumble into your palms.

There’s a moment of silence, then Quaritch clicks his tongue. You’re afraid to look up and see his face; you’re sure that you’ll see a look of mingled disgust and horror.

God, you wish you had least showered before he saw you, but you’ve just worked a near 20-hour shift and you feel half-dead, so showering is way down on your to-do list. The first thing you need to do is sleep, but before you can do that you need to sort out Quaritch’s stupid data-pad.

“Alright.” Quaritch says, reaching out to push at your shoulder with his big index finger. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you that goddamn coffee.”

You grumble into your hands but don’t protest as Quaritch pushes you into motion, using that index finger pressing into your back to guide you towards the canteen. He doesn’t say a word, and you’re too afraid to look at his face.

The canteen is mostly empty when you enter, and the very few people who are lingering around take one look at the looming figure of Quaritch before promptly hurrying their way out of the room.

You’re left almost entirely alone with the Colonel, and you’re shifty and grumpy and embarrassed as you settle into one of the plastic tables. Quaritch taps on the tables once with his knuckles before leaving you sitting there as he goes to get coffee.

God, you want to sink into the ground and die. You wonder if you should take this moment while Quaritch is gone to run back to your work room just to tell Todd that there had been a little mix-up, that you hadn’t really intended to insinuate that you and Quaritch were involved in any way.

But then Quaritch returns, and you lose your chance. Not that you were seriously considering going back to explain things to Todd, but still.

“So, can you fix it?” Quaritch asks in a drawl, plopping a styrofoam cup of steaming coffee down on the table in front of you.

“What?” You ask distractedly.

“The datapad.” He gestures at the wrecked piece of technology. You had almost forgotten you were holding it, and you place it down on the table beside you.

“Oh. No, obviously not.” You say, glancing at the smashed datapad. “You’ve totally wrecked it. I’ll get another one commissioned for you tomorrow.”

Quaritch hums, satisfied with that. “So, what, you just wanted to spend some time with me, is that it?”

You choke, surprised. You almost knock the coffee over, your fingers going clumsy with embarrassment.

“No,” You snap. “I just—high rank officers get better coffee. You should see the shit served to us tech grunts; it’s gross.”

The stupid bastard looks amused. He’s watching you with his big golden eyes, and his ears twitch every couple of minutes. To your great irritation, you think he looks adorable – like a big blue cat. The illusion only lasts for as long as he doesn’t speak, which of course means that it doesn’t last long at all.

“Mhm.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, his tail coiling coyly as he watches you. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I think you just like being alone with me.”

“I—I do not!” You protest, mortified. “It’s not my fault that you practically harass me with all your stupid broken tech!”

He snickers, as if he finds your outrage funny.

“Sure, kid.” He leans back in his chair, and even sitting down you feel as though the sheer bulk of his body is dwarfing you. “Now, you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

You’re certain your face must be making your mortification perfectly clear, but you struggle to control your expression all the same. There is nothing on this planet that could convince you to explain that you had inferred to your co-worker that you and Quaritch were in some sort of relationship, and so you end up curling up awkwardly on your rickety chair like a child, tucking your knees up against your chest.

“No.” You grumble.

He snorts, and his ears flick again. “Try that one again.”

You fiddle with the over-long sleeves of your stupidly big sweater, flustered and clumsy under his gaze. You’re mortifyingly aware of the stains on your clothes, and your unwashed and messy hair, and the dark bags under your eyes. You half-wish that you looked better, but then again you know that he’s definitely seen you looking worse.

“I had a long night-shift.” You mutter, hugging your knees. “Spent the whole night fixing all of the stupid mistakes Todd made during the day-shift. I haven’t slept in like three days.”

Quaritch doesn’t look particularly sympathetic, but at least he doesn’t mock you. Maybe he can sense your exhaustion, but his amusement doesn’t falter and his fingers continuously drum an uneven rhythm on the tabletop.

“Yeah, I might’ve guessed that.” He murmurs, his big eyes tracking over your face critically. “But that’s not all, is it? C’mon, kid, out with it.”

You fiddle with the cuff of your sleeve, avoiding his eyes. “Mm…”

“C’mon, you look even worse than usual,” He points out, and you scratch self-consciously at a noodle broth stain on your chest. “And you looked as spooked when I walked in on you. I take it that it wasn’t me that startled you like that, huh?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, growing all hot and prickly with embarrassment. Maybe if you give him just enough of the truth to be convincing, but not enough to be humiliating, he’ll let this go and you can sort this whole misunderstanding out with Todd tomorrow.

“Todd, um…” You start haltingly. “Took me by surprise, is all.”

Quaritch’s fingers go still on the tabletop, and his eyebrows raise incrementally. “… Oh yeah? How’s that?”

Oh, his judgemental tone is even worse than you had been expecting. You have to fight a wince. God, why couldn’t the conversation have just stuck to technology?

“He, uh, he asked me out for drinks.” You say, keeping your eyes fixed on a couple of loose threads on your sweater sleeve, “And I said no, because Todd is kind of a jackass, but now I think things are gonna be awkward—”

Quaritch raises his eyebrows, an odd sort of expression on his face as he lifts his mask to his face to take a quick sip of air before dropping it to hang around his neck again.

“So what, he wouldn’t take no for an answer?” He drawls, sounding half bored and half amused. “The nerd’s some kinda pervert?”

Ugh, you feel all hot and prickly with embarrassment right now. It feels a little surreal to be having a conversation about your romantic life (or severe lack of it) with Quaritch, and you’re only telling him part of the story.

“He’s not that bad, he’s just useless.” You mutter. “But, um… that’s all.

His gaze is so intense it feels like it’s burning right through you. “Anything else?”

“No.” You mumble, avoiding his stare. It feels like he’s looking right through you.

A long moment of silence. And then a careless shrug.

“Alright.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

Quaritch jabs his finger at the screen of his shiny new datapad. It’s a sturdy thing, he notes with amusement. Seems like you had gone out and found a reinforced one, just for him.

Sweet, He thinks, his mouth curling a little.

You’re such a thorny little thing, always so aggravated and grumpy, and he always gets a kick out of seeing your reactions when he comes to you with any problems for you to sort. You always look as though you’re barely awake, under-nourished and surviving solely off of bad coffee and vacuum-packed instant noodles, and you always mutter so grouchily under your breath when he arrives with the pieces of tech he needs you to fix.

You’ve got such a foul mouth, too – most of the time you don’t seem to realise that he can hear you when you grumble insults under your breath thanks to his new big-ass Na’vi ears.

Shouting draws his attention, and he raises his head to see Fike and Wainfleet wrestling as they both try to get the other into a headlock. Quaritch purses his lips as he watches them, debating with himself whether or not to interrupt them. He eventually decides to let them be, though he watches them to make sure they don’t get too rowdy.

He clicks his way into his emails, and wonders absently how irritated you’d get if he showed up in your little tech lair to ask you to reset his password again. He always gets a little kick out of your eye rolls and annoyed little frowns.

He checks the time; 8.37pm. He’s not ever going to admit it to anyone, but he knows your schedule well by now. You’re on the day-shift today, no doubt tired and crabby from your long hours, but the night-shift will soon be underway. You’ll be alone in that tiny little office all by yourself. His lips quirk at the thought.

He gives into the temptation, and pushes himself to his feet. He’s pretty sure that his impulse control has gotten far worse since he had woken up in this stupid blue body, but it’s not as though he’s actually trying to stay away from you anyway.

He likes a woman with a bit of bite, and you smell good, and he gets a kick out of antagonising you until your face is all screwed up into that annoyed little grimace you do. So why not indulge a little?

His squad glance up at him as he stalks towards the door, but they’re wise enough to keep their comments to themselves. At least, mostly.

“Going to see your little girlfriend, boss?” Z-Dog drawls, a smug grin growing across her face.

Quaritch shoots her a look, but doesn’t bother to make any kind of reprimand. He hasn’t been particularly subtle about his interest in you, after all, and he doesn’t mind a bit of friendly ribbing from his team so long as they don’t cross any lines.

“Watch it.” He says without heat. There’s no point making any pretences when everyone knows where he’s headed.

The short exchange has caught the attention of Walker, who is already grinning.

“Rumour has it you’ve made it official.” She says, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows like a jackass. “Didn’t take you for a romantic, sir.”

And… that gives Quaritch pause.

“Rumour?” He repeats. Though his voice remains level, he is certain that the twitch of his ears reveals his interest.

There is some deep, strange part of him that preens at the insinuation. It’s definitely the result of some stupid deep-seated instinct built into this goddamn big alien body – he can feel his tail swish with the satisfaction of knowing that others recognise that he has some sort of claim on you.

Both women are laughing now, snickering and sending each other knowing little glances that irritate him. His tail lashes, waiting with diminishing patience for an explanation.

“Sure,” Z-Dog drawls, popping that damn gum. “Apparently, that sleazy little guy that works with her was telling the guys in mechanics that your nerd told him that you’re her boyfriend.”

Quaritch’s expression may remain impassive, but his tail lashes out of his control behind him. You had said that? That doesn’t sound like you at all.

The memory of you sitting in front of him in the canteen only a few mornings ago comes back to him; you were so small and grumpy and irritated, but anyone could have seen that you were also spooked about something. He had taken your explanation at face value; that the little creep you work with had asked you out. But now it seems there was something more to it.

“That so.” He says slowly, rolling his shoulders.

A slow, pleased smile of his own is beginning to grow on his face. Such a sweet little thing, deep down, he thinks smugly to himself. Should’a known.

“I’ll be back later.” He says, stepping away.

He can hear the quiet snickers he’s leaving behind him, but they’re wise enough to keep their comments to themselves until he’s out of earshot.

He can’t help the smug sway of his tail as he shoulders his way out of the Recom sector, nor the way his damn ears keep twitching. This body is still unfamiliar to him – while he relishes the strength and agility that his new body provides, the absolute inability to conceal what he’s thinking because of these new appendages is infuriating.

Your little work room is almost hidden, all tucked away down a narrow corridor that hardly anyone ever frequents. This means that Quaritch is able to slip down the hall unseen, which is a rarity these days now that he’s near ten feet tall.

Your shitty little room is empty when he pushes his way in, and Quaritch feels a momentary flash of satisfaction. You must have gone to get yourself a cup of coffee to wake yourself up before the end of your shift; this gives him enough time to position himself for your return.

He’ll admit that he’s always had a flare for the dramatic. He chooses the low, drab-looking couch that’s all set up in the corner of the room, and settles himself in on it. The springs creak ominously beneath his weight and the worn couch cushions dip right down, but it holds. He allows his legs to spread wide as he makes himself comfortable, his eyes fixed on the door as his ears prick up alertly.

It doesn’t take long for you to return, and when the door finally slides open Quaritch notes with immense satisfaction that you’re holding a chipped mug filled with coffee in your hand.

You freeze at the sight of him, your eyes flaring wide, before you visibly force yourself to relax.

“Colonel?” You say, and you almost sound calm but for the slight tremble in your voice.

“Hello, sweetheart.” He says, drawing the nickname out. “Long day?”

You gape, and Quaritch enjoys the look of bewildered surprise on your face before you manage to cover it up. Your fingers are twitching around your cup of coffee, and you swallow in a compulsive sort of motion.

Quaritch lets his eyes wander over you, lazily perusing your body. You’re wearing one of those stupid baggy hoodies you favour and a pair of soft baggy sweatpants, your body shapeless beneath your over-sized clothes. You look tired, your eyes a little bloodshot from staring into your screen all day, but your fingers drum nervously on the chipped ceramic of your mug.

“What are you—what are you doing here?” You ask, taking a slow uncertain step into the room.

Quaritch watches you move, and he can’t stop his tail from coiling in anticipation. You’re usually so crabby and grouchy, to see you all wide-eyed and uncertain like this sends a little bolt of excitement right between his legs.

He reaches out an arm to gesture you forward. “”C’mere.”

For a moment you don’t move, and Quaritch wonders if he’s going to have to stand and get you. But then you shuffle forward, if a little hesitantly, and he feels a smug smile begin to tug at his lips. Under all that bite you’re a good girl when it matters, though he can tell your obedience comes reluctantly.

“If you need help resetting your password or—or unlocking your datapad or something, come back tomorrow. I’m—I’m finished my shift soon, I don’t have time—”

Quaritch isn’t listening. That sweet scent of yours has just hit his nose, and he feels his ears twitch in response. Fuck, you smell so good. What the fuck is that about?

It doesn’t have the artificial acridity of a perfume, which means that the syrupy headiness is all you, all natural. Goddamn. He wants to bury his whole face in your hair – he’s pleased to note that you’ve showered since the last time he’s seen you, too.

“Thought you’d be happy to see me,” He says smugly, interrupting whatever the hell you had been rambling about. “Thought you’d wanna spend a little private time with your boyfriend.”

And oh, the way you freeze is just perfect. You look so startled, like a rabbit caught in a trap. Your breath catches, your eyes widen, your mouth drops open. He could just eat you right up.

And then you’re scrambling, your eyes all wild and horrified.

“Oh my god, listen, I can explain—”

Quaritch raises a finger lazily, and feels a thrill of slow satisfaction when you choke into silence at the quelling gesture. He reaches over and pats the threadbare couch cushion next to him, raising a brow as he waits for you to come closer.

And though you’re visibly hesitant and mortified, you do approach slowly like a skittish animal, as though you can’t help it. There’s really not much space left on the couch; he’s man-spreading hard, his knees splayed out wide as he stretches out, but you still approach and hover nervously near his left knee.

His senses are dialled up to a hundred in this new body, and he can practically feel the way your throat bobs as you swallow nervously.

“Sit beside me, kid.” He says, and his voice comes out in an unintentionally low purr.

You’re still clutching that damn coffee like a lifeline, holding the chipped ceramic mug to your chest even as you lower yourself to perch nervously at the edge of the couch beside him. You look delightfully nervous, and he grins lecherously at the sight. Cute.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to—it was a big misunderstanding.” You say. Your usually grumpy voice is missing, replaced with an uncertain wavering tone. “I was so, so sleep deprived, and I hadn’t eaten properly in so long, and Todd was just—he wasn’t taking no for an answer, so I lied and said that I had a boyfriend, and I thought that we could just leave it at that but then you walked in to annoy me like you always do, and then Todd thought that I had been talking about you—”

Quaritch listens with a crooked smile, making no effort to hide his amusement. You appear so frazzled, practically swallowed up by your over-sized hoodie as you bluster your way through a panicked explanation.

He reaches out and lays his arm against the back of the couch, resting it around your little form. You twitch, tilting your head back to stare up at him with wide eyes, but you don’t actually pull away from him.

Quaritch doesn’t actually give a shit about your explanation. He doesn’t need to hear it. Even if it was unintentional, you’ve been spreading around a rumour that you’re his little girlfriend.

“You been sleeping?” He asks, interrupting you mid-blabber.

You blink at him, clearly trying to stifle your irritation at being interrupted. He’s tickled by the little flash of fire in your eyes.

“Have I been—what?” You snap, clearly thrown off.

Quaritch doesn’t normally like repeating himself, but he enjoys the way you look when you’re floundering.

“I asked if you’ve been sleeping, kid.” He repeats, making a show of slowing his words right down. “You look a mess.”

Your hand twitches, as though you’re moving to try and touch your hair before you quickly redirect and bury your hands in the long sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes dart away, as though you’re embarrassed.

“I… I’ve been working some overtime.” You mutter, fidgeting. “Todd fucked up some of the systems I coded, so I’ve had to pull some long hours to try and fix it.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve mentioned your limp-dick, useless puke of a co-worker, and he feels his brows pull together in a frown. He can’t help but wonder how the hell someone so useless has held down a job for so long, but then he supposes that you’ve been hauling ass trying to fix all his mistakes.

He clicks his tongue, then reaches out and settles his hand at the back of your neck. You seem so tiny under his fingers, and he has to stifle his reaction at the sight.

“You’re just too sweet, aint’cha?” He rumbles, and feels his tail twitch. “Helpin’ that little loser out like that.”

He sees the breath stutter in your chest, sees you chewing uncertainly at your lower lip, and feels himself stiffen in his fatigues. His teeth ache; he wants to sink his canines into the squishy flesh of your thighs.

“It’s my job.” You say. Your tone is dry, but his ears twitch when he hears the slight shake in your voice.

“Nah, it ain’t.” He says slowly, allowing his fingers to curl around your neck as his palm rests at the top of your spine. “It’s his job you’re doing. Waste of your time, honey.”

He feels you shiver under his hand, and his grip tightens incrementally around the back of your neck.

“Someone has to do it,” You say, and though you sound defensive your voice wavers adorably. “I don’t want to get in trouble over Todd’s mistakes.”

Quaritch can’t help the wolfish grin that grows on his face. Oh, you don’t want to get in trouble. You might just be the cutest little thing he’s seen in his whole life – both of his damn lives.

“Mhm, you won’t.” He says, a little gruffly. He’s beginning to grow a little distracted, losing track of the conversation; you smell good, sweet and a little spicy, and he wants so badly to take a peek at what you look like under those damn baggy clothes.

You glance over at him, obviously about to say something before your eyes drop, then widen a little bit.

Ah, he thinks to himself, silently amused. You’ve noticed, then.

He keeps his legs spread wide, crowding into your space and throwing into relief the way that his hardened cock is tenting the fabric of his fatigues. The size difference between you and him only makes his erection look even bigger, and the obscenity of it gets him going even more.

He can feel the sharp breath you take, and he watches the way your eyes hastily dart away. You look bashful, and yet you don’t move away. His thigh presses against you, and your gaze visibly darts down to the bulge visible in his pants. You look a little mortified, but Quaritch can see the poorly hidden interest in your eyes.

He runs his thumb over the curve of your neck and the junction of your shoulder, and watches the goosebumps that raise on your soft skin.

“Tell me about this little white lie you’ve told.” He murmurs, his voice coming out in a deeper rumble than he had intended.

You swallow, then take a shaky breath.

“I didn’t mean to,” You breathe. “Really, it just—what I told you before was mostly true. Todd was asking me to go for drinks, he wouldn’t take no for an answer and I just—I just panicked, and I said I was with someone, but then he asked me who it was, and then you walked in here and he just assumed before I could really say anything—”

“Mhm.” Quaritch watches your face as you speak, enjoying your flustered panic.

“And then it all just snowballed, and people have been asking me in the corridors if it’s true – people I don’t even know—!” You seem genuinely horrified.

“You told people we’ve been fucking, hm?” Quaritch asks, just to watch you react.

You don’t disappoint; your mouth drops open, you take a sharp little inhale, and let out a scandalised sort of gasp.

“No, I didn’t—I didn’t say that—”

“But that’s what they’re thinking, honey.” He says, his eyes darting from your pretty little face to the way the soft skin of your shoulder yields under his stroking thumb. “Is that why you said it? Because you’ve been thinking of that too? Hm?”

You swallow thickly, your throat clicking, and shake your head. But you’re not meeting his eyes, and you’re fidgeting with your ridiculously long sleeves, and he swears he can see a bead of sweat forming on your temple. 

He reaches out and lays a hand on your thigh, letting his fingers curl around your soft flesh. Your leg twitches, but you don’t move away. You’re clutching that damn cup of coffee like it’s a lifeline, darting glances at him over the rim. You’re nervous, and the departure from your usual grumpiness is a novelty that he can’t get over.

Then you shift where you’re sitting, and Quaritch’s oversensitive nose twitches, picking up on a new scent.

Oh, he knew it. Beneath your usual sweet smell is something a little spicy, like brown sugar mixed with a kick of hot rum, and he swears he feels his cock pulse as the scent fills his nose.

You’re horny. He can smell it off you – and he can’t help the cocky grin that tugs at his mouth at the realisation.

That’s all he needs to take the next step.

He takes the hand that’s been resting on the back of your neck and brings it to his belt buckle, undoing it in one deft movement before unzipping his pants. He’s confident, but he watches your face carefully all the same; you’re a jumpy little thing, and he doesn’t want to scare you away at this point.

But it doesn’t startle you at all. In fact, if you had ears like him then he’d put money on them being pricked up right now, because you’ve turned to watch as his palm settles over the tent in his pants.

Quaritch grunts quietly as he presses the heel of his hand into his hardened cock through his pants, and the electric jolt that runs up his spine is only heightened when he sees the way your eyes have gone dark as you watch him.

His other hand squeezes lightly where it’s still resting on your thigh, and he gets to watch as you take a breath and squirm.

“Come on, kid.” He says, bending his head down so he can murmur into your ear. “Where’s all your usual bite?”

He punctuates the word with another squeeze, this one higher up on your thigh, right at the softest part, and he’s rewarded with a little jolt.

“I don’t—” You start to say, but then you stop and start again. You look more uncertain than he’s ever seen you, all wide-eyed and nervous. “Am I in trouble?”

He has to take a breath before he can answer you – the urge to put you on your back under him is growing overwhelming.

“For what?” He asks, nose twitching with the strength of the scent of your sweet-spicy arousal.

You’re frowning now, and he finds himself pleased to see that little furrow in your brow again. He has to admit, he likes it when you’re irritated with him. He’s always liked women with a little fire in them, even if you’re an awkward little recluse that hides away from society like a damn gremlin.

“For lying.” You say, and there’s an edge to your voice now as though you’re getting antsy. “About you. Being with me, I mean.”

He huffs a short laugh, and uses the opportunity to take a slow deep breath from the respirator hanging around his neck. He drops it after a beat, then reaches out to take you by the wrist instead. You’re so small under his big hands, and he’s so aware of how fucking delicate your bones feel; he could break you in two if he’s not careful.

He keeps his grip light as he guides your hand to his crotch, but you hardly need any guidance at all – as soon as he starts to move your hand, you move of your own volition. Your palm is tiny and soft when it lands on the outline of his hard cock, the touch so light that he hardly feels it at all.

“Does it feel like that’s something I’m mad about?” He rumbles, unable to disguise the amusement in his voice.

You swallow, and your hand tightens compulsively. Quaritch hums at the feeling, then rocks his hips up slightly to encourage you.

Your eyes dart up to his face, clearly trying to read him. He just raises an eyebrow; as far as he can see, this ain’t a complex situation. He’s sitting next to you with a cock as hard as a steel rod, and he can smell how wet your pussy is even through those baggy pants of yours. There’s surely only one natural conclusion to this situation, and it’s one that he’s hungry for.

“Go on,” He grunts. “Keep going.”

For a moment, it’s not clear what you’ll do. You just watch him, brow furrowed, hand still resting over his clothed cock. Quaritch watches you right back, waiting for you to make your choice. It feels like the two of you are teetering on a precipice, just waiting for one of you to topple over the edge and drag the other down with them.

Then you make your decision.

You slide off the couch and set your cup of coffee on the floor by the couch, and for a moment Quaritch thinks that you’re going to curse at him and march right outta there. But then you surprise him; you sink to your knees, right in front of him, in between his spread thighs.

“Oh?” He hums, flashing his sharp fangs at you in a grin.

“Shut up.” You say defensively.

He laughs, but says nothing further. He’s not stupid enough to ruin his chances of getting his dick wet for the first time since he’s woken up in this stupid blue body, so he just settles back and makes himself comfortable on the shitty, tiny little couch and spreads his legs wide to make room for you.

Your body is practically dwarfed by his muscled thighs, and Quaritch bites at his lip to try and suppress his smug smile as you reach clumsily into his briefs to pull his cock out. You’re a little uncoordinated, no doubt as a result of nerves, but that just makes it all the more endearing.

He’s big, thick in your small hand. Almost ridiculously so. You hold him in both of your soft little palms, staring at his cock with a look of blank surprise. It looks like you’re wondering as though you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

Quaritch waits a beat, then after a moment of inaction he grunts and rocks into your hand. Your fingers squeeze tight on reflex, and he revels in the momentary jolt of pleasure.

But then you pause, loosen your grip just slightly, and give him an exploratory sort of stroke before looking up to his face as though searching for approval. When he just raises an eyebrow, you appear flustered.

“I… I don’t know what to do with this.” You confess, still holding his weighty cock in your small hand.

The nervous furrow of your brow and your tentative, uncertain touch is only making his cock throb harder. He’s never seen you so hesitant before, so eager to please.

“Never seen a cock before, baby?” He asks, his voice a little gravelly from arousal.

You laugh, but it’s a shaky thing. “It’s—it’s been a while.”

A bit of apprehension begins to sneak through his haze of lust.

“You a virgin, kid?” He asks. God, he hopes you’re not a virgin. There’s little to no chance of him being able to successfully jam his cock into you if you’re as innocent as you’re acting right now.

You roll your eyes, but he can see that you’re all embarrassed. “No. It’s just—like I said, it’s been a while.”

“Mhm.” He eyes you, not entirely convinced. “How many men have you been with?”

You lower your eyes back to his cock, still holding him with both of your hands. You’re all bashful now, your little hands flexing around the thick length of his erection.

“Two.” You mutter self-consciously, glancing up at him again to see his reaction.

Ah. Well, aren’t you just perfect. You’ve already had your little cherry popped, but you’re still inexperienced enough to look a little lost as you kneel between his legs.

“You sucked a cock before?” He asks, schooling his expression into one of sympathy.

“Yes,” You say, a little too defensively. “I’ve—once.”

Once. Quaritch feels excitement unfurl in his belly. You’re such a thorny and grouchy little thing, he can imagine you keeping yourself all holed up in this shitty office of yours, losing yourself in all your screens and monitors and programmes, and shying away from real meaningful human interactions. God, he wants to ruin you.

“Go on, then. Try with your mouth.” He says, leaning back and making himself comfortable as he looks down at you.

You take a breath, and your small hand grips the base of his cock firmly. It’s as thick as a soda can, and he can’t help the smug satisfaction that swells when he sees the size difference between him and you.

His equipment is all still new to him, so he can only imagine how strange it must be for you. He’s messed around with himself a couple times, tugging at his blue cock and examining the little white dots that speckle the skin and glow and pulse as his arousal grows, but it’s different having someone else touch him like this. He feels like a raw nerve, more sensitive than he’s ever been as a human – maybe it’s because all his senses are primed, every nerve and synapse firing and alert and directed towards you.

He just — fuck — he looks so big in your hands. 

The moment he sees this, blood rushes to his cock at almost painful speed. He didn’t think he could get harder, but his new young body keeps surprising him. He watches your small mouth part with glossy lips as it keeps growing bigger and bigger in your hand, until a trace of apprehension flashes on your face. 

“What, can’t take it?” He drawls. After all these months of seeking you out, he knows the best way to wheedle anything out of you is by appealing to that stubborn streak in you.

And sure enough, you set your jaw and scowl. “I can!”

Then you’re leaning forward and your small pink tongue is flicking out to lick the smearing precum from his tip.

Quaritch hisses, his head tilting back.

“Fuck,” He says, reaching out to lay his hand on the back of your head. His palm spans the whole back of your skull, like he can hold your whole head one-handed. “Just like that. Take it deeper.”

For the first time ever, you don’t try to talk back or roll your eyes or grumble under your breath. You’re too preoccupied with trying to fit the big head of his cock into your mouth without scraping it with your teeth, your brow furrowing in concentration.

“That’s it, good girl, keep going.” He grunts, his stomach flexing with the effort it’s taking not to buck up and force himself down your throat.

You take the encouragement in stride, inhaling sharply through your nose as you try to do as he says. He reaches out to caress your soft cheek with his knuckles, and grins when you gargle weakly as you struggle to wrap your lips around the thick length.

You don’t know what you’re doing, that’s obvious, but goddamn if you’re not trying. Quaritch exhales through his nose as he uses his hand on the back of your head to keep you bobbing your mouth over him. Your hand lies forgotten on his shaft as you devote your whole focus to not gagging. Though inexperienced, he can see an excited sort of gleam in your eye as you suckle at the tip of his cock. Your tongue is so small and hot and wet, and the texture of it feels so damn good against him.

He feels more like a teenager than ever before when you suck the tip of his cock back into your sweet mouth, the first mouth he's ever felt on his cock in this body. He's transfixed as he watches your lips tighten around him. He can feel your tongue moving along the underside of his cock and he bites his lip. 

When you try to swallow his cock down, the feeling of your small tongue squirming over the vein running along the underside of his length nearly has him reeling.

You choke, and spit bubbles out over your chin as it coats his cock.

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, spreading his thighs wider and laying his arms across the back of the little threadbare couch. His fingers curl into the understuffed couch cushions as he tries to repress the urge to grab onto your hair and buck his cock down your throat.

You glance up at him, your slick glossy lips stretched around the bulbous tip of his cock as your eyes water. Fuck, you make for such a pretty little sight like this. Quaritch has never had much of an imagination, but he knows that this trumps anything he’s beaten his cock to over the past several months.

You lower your head and swallow his fat cock once more, taking only a fraction of it but still struggling. Your eyelashes are all clumped together and shiny as you blink rapidly to clear the tears forming as your eyes water furiously. You barely make it a quarter of the way down before you gag and sputter.

Quaritch hisses, his lips pulling off his teeth as he feels the wet heat of your throat constrict and convulse around his dick.

You pull away coughing, spit and pre-cum cover your pretty mouth as your chest heaves, trying to catch your breath again.

“Well, shit,” He breathes, his big golden eyes darting over your messy face. “Ain’t you just gorgeous like this.”

You’re still coughing a bit from gagging on his cock, but he can see the way the praise hits you – your still glossy eyes brighten as they dart up to look up at him, and you roll your reddened lower lip between your teeth.

“Treating me so well, huh?” Quaritch grins, unable to help himself from teasing you. “Like a good little girlfriend.”

You look a little mortified at that, which is what Quaritch had hoped for, but you apparently decide the best course of action is to simply ignore him by flattening your tongue against his cockhead and licking at him again.

He hums in satisfaction as he watches you explore what he’s sporting between his legs. The sight of the cranky little tech analyst he’s been admiring for months taking his cock and treating it so well with those little hands... It has him leaking right into your mouth.

Your mouth is so wet, slick, and hot, and a shiver rips through him as you suckle at the pale purple head of his cock. He reaches out and places his hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to swallow him deeper. His toes curl inside his boots as he stifles the urge to fuck deep into your throat – you’re so delicate between his big thighs, he’s never been so aware of how easy it would be to break you.

It's probably the messiest blowjob he’s ever gotten in his life – either of his lives. You’re slobbering all over him, saliva dribbling all over your chin as you suck at him. The gagging and slurping noises pouring from you are enough to make a hooker blush, and you’re finally getting into the swing of it. You’ve started using your hands to touch him, jerking him off as you drool and suck at the head of his cock.

Your mouth is obscenely wet and hot and tight, your tongue wriggling against the underside of his cockhead, and Quaritch can’t help but imagine how much better your pussy will feel around him. He feels his ear flatten back against the side of his skull and his tail whips around his thigh as he feels the tension of an orgasm build in his stomach, but it’s too soon – he doesn’t want this to be over yet.

He reaches out and grips you by the back of your neck, pulling you away from his cock, and to his surprise you whine. The sound goes straight to his cock, and he feels his arousal throb.

“Colonel,” You whimper, and your voice comes out hoarse and wrecked. “I—”

“You can call me Miles when you’re sucking my cock like this, princess.” He says, before taking a grip of your arms and hauling you up onto the couch again.

You’re so damn small under him, and pulling you around like this comes so easily to him. He tosses you on the threadbare cushions beneath him and then looms over you, enjoying the size difference between you as he bullies your thighs apart.

“You and these goddamn clothes,” He grunts, pulling at your stupid baggy hoodie. “It’s like you’re wearing trash bags. You trying to dress like a fuckin’ nun?”

“No,” You gasp, wriggling under him as he tugs at your clothes. “They’re just—they’re comfy—”

Quaritch just grunts, but he finally manages to pull your hoodie off and he immediately tosses it aside. Despite all the looking he’s done over the last couple of months, he’s never actually seen you without the stupid shapeless sacks you insist on wearing. And right now, he’s never felt so fucking resentful of a pile of fabric, because goddamn.

Your underwear isn’t in the least bit sexy; worn cotton gone a little shapeless from being washed so many times and the colours a little faded. The elastic around the waistband of your underwear is gone loose too, and Quaritch can feel himself salivate when he sees the way the thin threadbare fabric is stuck to the outline of your slick pussy.

There’s something oddly endearing about seeing you like this, all laid out under him in your worn out and shapeless underwear. It’s so unsexy that it’s obvious that you haven’t planned for anyone to see you like this, which only makes him desire you more. His cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing like one great bruise between his legs.

“Just look at you, girl,” He rumbles, one of his sharp canines hooking over his lower lip as he tugs at your bra and watches your soft tits spill over the cups. “Fuck. Spread those legs, let me see you.”

“Oh my god,” You breathe, turning your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut. You’re embarrassed, which is a reaction that Quaritch doesn’t have time for.

He reaches out and grips your chin, pulling your face back so he can look at you. His fingers look so big against your little face, and he leans in and presses a messy kiss to your spit-slick lips. He licks into your mouth, his wide rough tongue pulling a little shivery gasp out of your mouth.

“Spread your legs.” He repeats into your mouth, and this time you listen to him. Your thighs drop open, and he wastes no time in pulling your ill-fitting panties off of you.

He almost tosses them over his shoulder, but stops last minute. Your cotton panties are ugly, but there’s a certain charm about the faded floral print and worn elastic waistband, and before he can think too much about it he’s tucking them into the pocket of his pants. They smell like you, and he has no doubt that he’ll be using them later on when he tugs his cock to the memory of this encounter.

Next is your bra, and it falls victim to his rough grasping fingers as he grows impatient with the clasp and pulls a little too hard. The seam tears, and he pulls the scraps away and tosses it aside carelessly, ignoring your indignant gasp.

“Asshole!” You squawk, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get bras that fit on this damn planet—?”

You slap at his shoulder, and your little hand bounces off harmlessly. Adorable.

“None of your damn clothes fit,” He says dismissively. He’s not really listening to you; he’s too preoccupied staring at your soft tits, admiring the peaked nipples and the supple folds of your belly. “You don’t need to wear a bra. Can’t see anything under those stupid sweaters anyway.”

His enormous calloused hand paws at the fat of your breast, testing the weight of it in his palm and admiring the feel of it. He feels so large and rough, his body so huge and powerful and yet ungainly in the frenzy of his lust.

“You’re a fucking pervert.” You grit out through clenched teeth, though you still arch your back as he touches you.

And ah, there’s his snarky little loser.

“Never said I ain’t.” He says simply, leaning down and licking a wet stripe up the length of your breast.

You shiver, then gasp when he flicks your wet nipple afterwards.

 “You like that?” He teases, a finger tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.

“No.”

He laughs. “Liar. Your pretty little nipples are harder than my cock.”

You hiss at him, and it’s so similar to a Na’vi hiss that he’s actually surprised for a moment. But then he grins, and ducks down to kiss your tits again. He takes a swollen nipple between his teeth, practically taking the entire mound into his hungry mouth.

“Fuck,” You breathe, reaching up and interlocking your fingers around his neck. “Touch—touch me.”

Quaritch growls against your chest, taking his time kissing your tits. He leaves teeth marks on your delicate flesh and leaves your nipples coated with his saliva. He moved his lips back up to your panting mouth, slipping his hand between your thighs.

And Jesus fucking Christ, you’re wet. He drops his gaze to your pussy as he parts your labia with his thumb and pushes right up against you, and she’s so, so slick already, to the point where his thumb is already glistening with it. Fuck.

Distantly, he registers that you’re making some sort of noise, and he shushes you mindlessly, feeling a little wild. It’s hard to believe this is the same grouchy little tech analyst that he’s been eyeing up for months, here, lying in front of him, wet for him, moaning and squirming for him as he starts rubbing your clit with his index and middle fingers.

“How does it feel?” Quaritch asks. He slows his fingers enough to give you the chance to catch your breath, and you open your eyes from where they were just screwed tightly shut to stare up at him.

It takes you a second to focus on him and a second longer for words to leave your open mouth.

“Good,” You finally say, followed by a whimper as he rubs right over your clit. “It’s - it’s good.”

He hums at that, but he’s too preoccupied by the way his fingers are coated in your sticky slick to really pay much attention to your answer. He slips one of his big fingers inside of you, and his stomach clenches when he feels how tight you are around his single digit. You’re wet enough to make it a smooth slide, and god, but his patience is running out.

He hardly waits before sliding a second in; you squeeze your eyes shut and your nose scrunches, but you tolerate the stretch well.

That sweet-spicy scent of your arousal intensifies as you wriggle on his fingers, and he’s unable to stop himself from ducking his head down so that he can lean in and lap his tongue over your swollen clit. The tart taste of you bursts over his tongue, just to the side of sweet, and he rumbles out a pleased noise before licking at you again.

He knows that his tongue is different now, textured and rougher than it used to be as a human, and your legs jerk as he swirls his tongue around your clit again.

He’s been catching hints of this scent for months now, and he feels his erection strain at the idea that it was your slick pussy that he’s been scenting all this time. He drinks in your noises just as much as your taste; both are intoxicating, addictive, and if it wasn’t for the persistent arousal thrumming through his own body, he’d think he could do this forever.  

“Oh god,” You breathe, reaching down and tentatively running your fingers through his buzzcut. “Qua—Miles.”

The sound of first name falling from your tongue is better than he could have imagined. You’re starting to writhe, your hips trying to rut against his mouth even as he pins you down with his big hands. The noises that you’re making just from a little bit of licking to your clit are bordering on frantic, and he barely manages to keep from grinning as he sucks at your clit and works his tongue around your labia.

Unbelievably, it feels like you’re winding up to come already. It seems incredible that you, who’s always so sleep-deprived and tense and repressed, is currently humping your pussy against his tongue like a little fucking whore.

He slides a third big blue finger in, though it takes a bit of effort this time. You grunt and try to twist your hips to the side, but with the way Quaritch’s body is caging you in, there’s nowhere for you to move.

“Wait,” You gasp, your hips twitching, “Oh god, shit, wait, Miles, I’m gonna— fuck!”

You’re so sensitive and horny that it only takes a couple more strokes of his wide tongue for you to unravel. You let out a sob, shaking and quivering; your thighs tense around his head, pressing against his skull as your body goes rigid with the strength of your orgasm.

Your pussy squeezes tight around his fingers, growing impossibly wetter from the fluids of your release, and this tastes good too.

He groans as he laps you up, his much larger mouth almost swallowing you whole.

“That was quick, darlin’.” He murmurs, his slick lips sliding over your damp flesh.

You don’t even seem to hear him. Your gaze is unfocused, and there are faint tear tracks on your cheeks - a sight Quaritch never realized he would like as much as he does.

He chuckles at the dazed expression on your face, and pulls his wet fingers out of your cunt before letting them rest on his own tongue. You let out a soft sound of loss, though you watch him suck the taste of you off his fingers with wide, avid eyes as your gaze sharpens.

“When’s the last time you came, huh?” He asks, leaning in to murmur the words against the delicate shell of your ear. “’Cause that was a little too easy. You were too wound up, kid.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath from your orgasm, but you avert your eyes in embarrassment at the question. His interest piques.

“How often do you touch yourself?” He asks, stroking his hand down over your hip and squeezing lightly. “Hm?”

“I—” You say defensively, “I’ve been busy. I don’t have time for—for that!”

Good god, it’s like everything you say is specifically engineered just to make his cock pulse. You’re so disgruntled about the question, your little face all embarrassed and irritated even though your brow is smooth and your eyes are still a little hazy after your orgasm.

“Well then,” He murmurs, amused. “We’ll have to give you another couple to make up for that.”

You squeak when his thumb lands on the swollen flesh of your clit and rolls over it in confident little circles. “Wait, wait, I don’t—I’ve never come more than once in one go.”

“You will this time.”

His plan, as much as there is any plan left in his brain, is to get you off one more time before getting his cock into you. But now that he’s felt you around him, now that the slide of his fingers seems to be as easy as it’s going to get, he’s finding it difficult to wait.

But he curbs his impatience as well as he’s able to, and keeps rubbing at your clit. Your pussy has gone all puffy and creamy from your first orgasm, and the way you squeeze so tight around his fingers is sending him insane. At first you mewl and try to push at his wrist, but he’s bigger and stronger and doesn’t budge until you relax into him, overstimulation melting into pleasure all over again.

He loses track of time as he fucks you with his fingers, enamoured with the feeling of your velvet-soft walls. A thin film of sweat lays over your skin like a gloss, leaving you glowing in the unforgiving light of your little tech hub. You look so pretty like this, too young and too lovely for a dirty old man like him. It seems hard to believe you’re letting him do this, never mind reacting so positively.

When you start to let out those sweet little gasping breaths again, he leans in and swirls his tongue around your clit. Your legs jerk, one thigh splaying over his shoulder as your hips buck. Quaritch doesn’t let up, the movements of his tongue lazy and languid.

He pulls back, then spits on your pussy, watching your little body jerk under him.

He grins. “Oh, you like that?”

“No.” You choke out, but it’s unconvincing considering the way your eyes are practically rolling back in your head.

He laughs indulgently, letting his tongue loll against your clit. Despite your bratty attitude, he’s still set on making sure you come again. He’s feeling generous tonight.

“F-faster.” You demand, your voice coming out a little thready as you rock your hips back on his fingers.

He snickers again, his own breath coming out fast and a little ragged. “Fuck. You want me so bad, don’t you, kid?”

Your second orgasm creeps up on you faster than even Quaritch had expected. It washes over you in a shivery haze; your muscles convulse and you whine as your legs kick out.

He pulls back, licking his lips and grinning at the tart taste of you. He feels an immense sense of satisfaction, intense enough that it surprises him. He’s always felt a sense of pride when he’s succeeded in pleasuring his partners, but this is different. Your scent is thick in his nose, blocking out all his other senses, and it feels like he’s got tunnel vision right now. All he can focus on is you and your reactions to him, and what he sees soothes the jagged edges of his arousal for a brief moment.

He's never been so desperate to bury his cock into anyone in his living memory, but he’s careful to hold back. You’re still shivering and gasping, reeling as you twitch away from his insistent fingers.

“How’re we feelin’, mama?” He asks in a low voice, finally pulling back from you.

The distance allows him to regain a little clarity, but it also makes him aware of the painful strain of his erection as it hangs between his legs. His pants are still laying wide open and hanging low on his thighs, but the scratchy fabric of his clothes is beginning to feel unbearable on his overheated skin. He shoves the trousers down further, practically kicking his boots off so he can shed his pants completely, before turning his attention back to you.

“I feel..” You start to say, and your voice comes out pleasantly throaty in a way that makes his toes curl. “I feel like my muscles have turned to water.”

He chuckles, feeling his ego inflate yet again. “That good, huh?”

You roll your eyes, then push yourself up onto your knees on the couch beside him. You’re still breathing heavily, but you’ve lost some of the mistiness that had clouded your eyes. Now, you’re looking at him with an expression that’s a little wild, and hungrier than he’d expected considering he’d already given you two orgasms.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper, as bold as he’s heard you.

He’s not able to keep himself from wrapping a hand around his cock, squeezing lightly at the base. But despite the bass beat throbbing in his cock, he holds himself back. You’re so small, with your fragile bones and soft skin, and he really doesn’t want to accidentally kill you with his dick. He’s got to take this slow.

“Mhm.” He grunts. “When I’m ready to.”

A flash of irritation crosses your face. You’ve never liked being told ‘no’, and your lips twist into a pout. But that only lasts a second before it’s replaced by something a little more calculating, your eyes darting down to his cock.

His erection is as big as your forearm, and iridescent precome dribbles down the swollen lilac head. He’s expecting to see a flash of fear or apprehension at the idea of him fucking you considering the size difference, but your expression is pleased.

You reach out to touch it, much more confident and coy than earlier, and it’s shameful how the relief of your hand on him nearly knocks him flat.

“Oh, all this for me?” You coo, false sweetly. “Poor baby. You want me so badly.”

The mocking mirroring of his own words is his last straw. He moves, throwing you on your back on the couch under him so quickly he’s sure your head must be spinning. Oh, he’s going to make you regret that comment.

You squeak at the sudden movement, but your thighs are already spreading eagerly as he settles between your legs. That inexperienced nervousness from before is beginning to melt away, leaving you all breathless and restless as you wait for him to make another move.

“Hands and knees.” He directs you, and the order comes out with the same iron edge he usually uses for his squad. He watches as the words sink in, your breath hitching as a shiver runs through you.

You begin to roll over, and he reaches out to take your hips in his hands. He guides you over onto your stomach, then pulls your hips up so that you settle onto your knees with your ass in the air, your pussy visibly wet where it peeks from between your thighs.

“Jesus.” He mutters to himself. “Ain’t that a pretty sight.”

He shifts closer, putting his knees down on either side of your calves, and when he drapes himself over your back – or, really, over your whole body, with the way that the top of your head only reaches his chest – and slides his cock up against you, the helpless little sound that you make is nearly buried by his own groan.

He presses his cock against you, but doesn’t push in yet. He just lets himself relish the contact, the heat between your legs.

“In—put it in—” You gasp, your words muffled by the way your face is pressed into couch cushions.

“Shh, shut up. Just take a deep breath.”

He waits until he feels you obey, then plants one hand firmly on the couch, just next to your head, and the other on your back, and starts to push in—

– And it doesn’t work.

“You have to go slow.” You say, your voice small as Quaritch tries again to push inside.

“I am going slow— fuck.” He hisses, using his hand to position himself so he can try again, but you aren’t budging. “Too fucking tight—"

You make a noise like a wounded little animal, dropping your forehead down between your hands on the couch cushions as the tip of his cock presses into the tight ring of resistance at the entrance of your cunt.

To say the absolute least, it’s slow going. By the time that just the head of his cock is in, the edges of Quaritch’s vision is going black and your arms are starting to get shaky. You’re making soft, pained noises, but you’re not telling him to stop.

“Ungh.. Miles..” You croak, your fingers curling into the ratty couch cushions.

“Good girl,” He says mindlessly, hardly even aware of what he’s saying. “Take it, just like that.”

He rocks out, eases back in, rocks out, eases back in, back and forth and back and forth and moving a little further forward each time, until finally, finally, he’s pressed as deep inside you as he’s going to get. You’re gasping like you’re coming up from a long swim underwater. Even if he wanted to take it slow, Quaritch doesn’t know if he’d be able to.

You try to turn towards him, your mouth falling open with a silent gasp when your hips twist. You’re looking back over your shoulder at him with your eyes hooded and your jaw slack, your breathing pattern growing uneven and strained as he splits you open on his enormous cock.

“Too—too big—” You wheeze, your head dropping down between your folded arms.

He knows it’s mean of him, but he barely gives you a moment to adjust. You’re trembling, your back arched so perfectly as you practically present yourself to him, ass high in the air as he rocks himself inside of you inch by inch.

“Sh, shh… you’re doing fine.” He coaxes, pressing down on your shoulders to increase the angle of your arch for his own viewing pleasure.

You’re so warm and wet and if he thinks about the fact that the same little loser he’s been idly watching for months is currently crying out on his big new dick, his head starts to spin. You’re the tightest thing he’s ever stuck his cock in, and it feels like he’s cleaving his way through hot velvet.

“Just like that..” He groans, sinking a canine into his lower lip.

It takes a humiliating amount of effort not to come immediately upon feeling the slick hot grip of you around him – he’s reminded somewhat uncomfortably that he’s as good as a virgin in this new Recombinant body. He’s got his memories, alright, and they’re enough that he knows what he’s doing, but when it comes to the physical sensations they’re so much more intense than he remembers. He feels like a damn teenager again.

His ears are tucked flat against the sides of his head as he grinds into you, breathless as your body grips at him as though you don’t want to let him go. The scent of you is thick in his nose, and he feels his stupid neural queue tingle in a way it’s never done before.

“Am I—am I doing good?” You gasp. You’re visibly hanging onto his every word and noise, responding with an eager little whimper every time he lets out a groan or grunt.

“So good, baby,” He breathes, working himself back and forward just a single slow, hot inch. “So good for me. So good for—” 

Don’t, he thinks wildly. Don’t fucking say it.

You stare at him over your shoulder, holding his gaze like you’re urging him to say it out loud.

He gives in, resigns himself to the knowledge that he’s a pathetic, dirty old man.

“So good for Daddy, FUCK!” He practically yells it, curling his fingers into the couch cushions so harshly that his fingers tear through the shitty thin fabric into the stuffing.

You gasp, and he feels you clench down like a vice on him. Oh, you like that, he can tell by the way you squeak, how you go tight and gushy, how your lower lip quivers.  

“Nasty old man,” You hiss, though your ass arches higher to give him a better angle to fuck you with even as you grind your words out.

He gives a harsh, grinding thrust into you, and you promptly give up on looking over your shoulder at him as your elbows give out. You end up face down in the couch, your little fingers grasping at the grungy cushions.

He nearly slips out as you fall, and he quickly moves both hands back to grab onto your hips and hold you steady with a low, “Fuck.” Your hands are left to scrabble at the cushions below you, searching for purchase but failing to find it, and as he watches, a bit of drool slides from your mouth along with the helpless sounds being pushed out with each of his thrusts.

“Watch that mouth.” He warns, though he knows he doesn’t sound as harsh as he wants to. He’s sure that you’ve felt the twitch of his cock inside you in response to your name-calling, though that’s not something he’s willing to examine.

“Okay,” You wheeze, wriggling a little under him. It takes a moment for him to realise that you’re trying to fuck yourself back onto his cock. “I’ll be good, daddy.”

His head drops to your shoulder with a punched-out groan. Shit. He should have known calling himself that stupid name would bite him in the ass – hearing it come from your mouth might just be the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

 “Fuck.” He says, his voice gravelly and rough and more honest than he intends to be. “Can’t fuckin’ handle you calling me that, kid.”

He’s aware that he’s being a hypocrite, considering it was him who had said it in the first place, but he hadn’t considered the effect it would have on him. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten his dick wet, even when he was human – longer than he’s willing to think about. So to have a pretty little thing like you hanging off his dick and whining, calling him daddy as tears rolls down your cheeks, is pushing him right to his limit.

“Oh yeah? Is me calling you daddy gonna make you cream early, old man?”

Fucking hell. He’s always liked that smart mouth of yours, but right now he thinks it’s going to kill him.

He smacks his open palm against your ass, and the ‘crack’ of it echoes in the shitty little tech hub. You wheeze out a surprised gasp and rock forward with the force of it, but he can feel the way you clench down hard on him.

He adjusts himself so he’s fully over you, enveloping your body from above as he watches you take cock way too thick for you. You’re still trembling, glancing over your shoulder to watch him with glassy eyes, one of your hands reached between your legs so you can rub at your own clit. 

Quaritch drags his cock back, his eyes practically rolling back in his head as he feels your impossible tightness clutch at him, before pushing back experimentally. A little noise leaves your mouth and he can’t help himself. He does it again, slams back in — harder than he meant to.

You’re rocked forward, your hands grasping at the armrest of the couch in an attempt to grab some stability as you yowl. All that rigid tension and exhausted irritability has melted right out of you, to be replaced by desperate pleasure as you’re filled to the brim and pushed beyond your limits.

And then – he can’t help himself. He’s ruthless, fucking you so hard that you’re wailing with it. He can’t fit his whole cock inside you, you’re too small, but the part that he can get into you feels like it’s wrapped in buttery velvet, gripping him so tight.

You’re crying out for real, now, but you’re so wet that obscene, slick sounds are filling the room and it’s all he can hear. If he listens, he can make out some of the half-formed words falling from your mouth - “please, Daddy, please, please, feels good,” and so on and so forth like the best melody he’s ever heard. His ears twitch relentlessly, trying to pick up on every single sound you make, determined not to miss any of it.

He wants to leave you ruined, to leave you red and aching. Unable to walk without thinking of this, of him— of this whole encounter with him, of the way he has you used and crying on this dingy couch.

You reach back blindly as he fucks you, your little body taking him so well, and sink your nails into his thigh as he pistons his hips into you, your upturned ass making the angle so easy.

“Shit,” He hisses through his teeth, glancing down to see that your sharp little nails have drawn thin lines of blood from his thick blue thigh. “You’ve got fucking claws.”

You just whine in response, your face pressed into the couch as he ploughs into you, your legs twitching. It seems like you’ve sunk your nails into his thigh just so you can keep a grip on something.

The springs of the couch are squealing so loud that Quaritch has a brief, fleeting thought that the whole thing is going to collapse underneath the two of you. Between the grating noise of the springs and the gasping and babbling spilling from your lips and the soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock bullies its way in and out, he almost doesn’t catch the sound of the door opening.

But even though his senses are dialled up to eleven and directed at you, he’s still got enough situational awareness to realise that there’s someone standing in the doorway watching with a slack mouth.

It’s your co-worker. Tom. Or Troy. Something like that.

He barely spares the energy to send a glance his way, though he can’t help the sharp, smug grin that spreads over his face when he realises that your little loser co-worker is watching him fuck you with an expression of horrified and shocked fascination.

Quaritch has never been into voyeurism, but there’s a sense of bone-deep satisfaction that runs through him at the knowledge that this man, this challenger, is watching him claim you so thoroughly. His tail lashes as he humps into you, all hunched over your arched back so that he’s caging you beneath his big arms, and he glances over to the deadbeat in the door and bares his teeth at him.

Quaritch reaches under your belly to rub at your clit with one hand, using his other one to grab your hip, the flesh firm but supple and such a pleasure to squeeze, so he can fuck you harder and faster still. You cry louder for him, and he can’t tell who’s worshipping whom. It’s pure ecstasy, even despite the little worm watching you both in disbelief.

“Just for me, huh?” He snarls in your ear, his big fingers curling into the soft flesh of your hips. “This perfect fuckin’ pussy, mine. Fuckin’ mine.”

Beneath him, you make a soft, desperate sort of noise, drawing every gaze in the room to you – and you look nothing short of obscene. Your eyes are teary and unfocused, your face is flushed, your mouth is open and your lower lip bitten red, your pussy is wet and just this side of swollen. Quaritch dwarfs you in every way, and being above you like this, forcing your body to let him in and take him, is a sight that he suddenly feels grimly possessive over.

“Yes,” You sob, your finger scrabbling against the dingy couch cushions. “Y-yes, Miles, fuck—!”

Suddenly, he’s not so smug about someone else seeing you like this at all, especially not when it’s your loser co-worker that doesn’t take no for an answer that’s watching you with an open mouth and flushed cheeks.

The hiss that tears out of his mouth surprises even him – it’s born of pure instinct, a base urge rising out of the depths of his brain to get this motherfucker away from here.

Tom-Troy-Tim-whatever staggers back, eyes wide and frightened, before he promptly turns on his heels and flees, letting the door shut behind him again.

Below him, you don’t even seem to notice that there’s been a witness to your little rendez-vous. You’re too busy drooling as his cock carves out a space for himself inside you, mewling all soft and sweet as he strokes your clit.

“Perfect,” Quaritch says half-deliriously, “Perfect little slut. Doin’ so well, baby.”

He knows you’re a smart girl, and maybe that’s why seeing you all dumb and fucked out on his cock is so hot. It’s like all that sharp intelligence has been fucked out of you, replaced with nothing but the desperate desire to come as he pounds into you with your ass up in the air.

Liquid fire spreads from his loins, and he knows he’s close. It feels too good. He would open you up and crawl inside you if he could, just fuckin’ eat you from the inside out.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes heavy-lidded and your lips shiny as you watch him fuck you from behind.

And then you speak, your voice throaty and teasing despite your dishevelled state. “Gonna come inside, daddy?”

And that’s his last straw.

His orgasm almost takes him by surprise, even with how long it’s been building. He holds you by the hips so tightly that it’ll be a miracle if you don’t bruise, and he snarls like a goddamn animal as he comes, emptying his balls deep inside you. He holds you there for a long, long moment, letting your tight, tight cunt squeeze around him for just a moment longer before the feeling starts to edge into something bright and oversensitive.

He starts to pull out, the head of his cock already sensitive, but you’re just so enticingly wet and soft and messy that he can’t help but thrust against you once more, his breath hitching.

You’re gasping softly yourself, sniffling and half-lifting your head from where you’d dropped it on the couch as he pulls out, but Quaritch doesn’t let you so much as get a single word out before he sits back on his heels.

He uses his hold on your hips to flip you around, so fast that all you can do is wheeze in surprise as he throws you onto your back beneath him. Then he pulls you up so that your pussy is right in his face, pulling a shriek out of you as he licks right over your clit and dripping wet cunt.

He mouths at you with a fervour, savouring the way your sweet-spicy taste mixes with his seed and bringing you to full-on sobs in between your moans. There’s something feral about his movements now, his thoughts clouded from his release – his arousal hasn’t yet abated, as though he’s still holding out for your release.

“Miles—oh fuck, it’s—I can’t—please!” You cry, and Quaritch just flicks his tongue over your clit and lets your words dissolve into nothing.

Some part of him recognises that he’s not usually so generous with his partners. He’s never been selfish; he always gets his partners where they want to be, always leaves them satisfied, but he’s never felt this all-consuming urge to leave his mark on someone like this before.

You’re a mess, squirming all over his face as though you can’t decide whether you want to move closer or further away. He holds you as steady as he can, not letting you get away as he suckles and licks relentlessly at you.

You cry out his name as you come, your pussy clenching around nothing and your hips rocking helplessly back against his face. It has his spent cock twitching from where it’s hanging heavy between his legs, his eyes practically rolling back in his head as he tastes your salty-sweet release on his tongue.

He presses one more kiss to your clit, just to make you choke on a small squeak of a sound, and then he pulls back to let you both catch your breath. Once he remembers how to move his body properly, he lays you back down and follows you, laying his body on top of yours on the pathetically small couch, mindful not to crush you.

“Jesus Christ.” He rumbles out, his sweaty body heavy and numb from all the activity. “You okay, princess?”

“Princess.” You repeat breathlessly, snorting. “Thought I was a little slut.”

Quaritch smirks against the soft skin of your collarbones, tired but immensely satisfied. He loves the mouth on you, that familiar snark raising its head as you recover from your exhaustion, but it’s important to keep you in your place.

He swats at your ass, right over the same spot he had smacked before, and you jolt, squealing.

“Fuck!” You squeal, legs kicking. “That hurts, asshole!”

“You liked it before.” He points out, his ego and male pride swollen.

You grumble, but turn your head to hide your face, obviously embarrassed. Quaritch takes the opportunity to let his eyes wander, uncaring whether you catch him staring or not. Minor muscle tremors run through your calf muscles even still, and your skin is still damp from perspiration.

“’m not gonna be able to walk f’r days.” You mutter, though you don’t sound upset about it. Unless Quaritch’s ears are deceiving him, you sound pleased.

He just grunts, too preoccupied with basking in the feeling of bonelessness that comes after a good orgasm.

There’s a beat of silence, then you say, smaller this time, “That was… good.”

He snickers, amused by your sudden shyness. He strokes a lazy hand down over your flank, relishing the softness of your skin.

“Mm…” He hums in wordless agreement.

Some of that somnolent satisfaction that’s been weighing you down has begun to fade away; he can feel you begin to fidget beneath him, and then you dart a look towards the door.

“Todd’s shift starts soon,” You say, and now he can hear a nervous edge in your voice. “We should—we should get up before he gets here—”

His tails coils, curling around your lower thigh. He doesn’t move, and he’s too heavy for you to shift his weight off you.

“Shh,” He hushes you nonchalantly. “He ain’t comin’.”

You pause, a frown furrowing your brow. “What d’you mean?”

He just grunts, unwilling to explain.

“I’ll have a little chat to him tomorrow,” He says instead, his face still lazily tucked into your neck. “About doin’ the damn job that’s been assigned to him.”

He snuffles at your neck as though your scent is a drug, then sucks at the tender flesh of your throat. You’re no doubt already covered in bruises – he was rougher than he should have been – but adding another few along your collarbones makes some deep instinct in him settle.

“You don’t—” You start to say, your breathing somewhat jagged as his teeth scrape over your throat. “You don’t have to do that.”

He doesn’t bother responding. He thinks it’s obvious by now that he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. He strokes one hand down your body, curling it beneath your ass just so he can squeeze gently at the crease between your bum and your thigh.

You settle, relaxing with a somewhat confused little sigh. He’s still curled over you like a stupid big cat, and the resemblance irritates him, but not enough to move away from you. You’re not snapping or teasing him right now either, which he’ll take as a win.

“Think of it as repayment,” He drawls out, “You’ve been such a good girl for me, sorting out all my little technical problems. Least I could do, huh? Besides, I’ve never liked a deadbeat.”

Then he grins lecherously, and he squeezes at your ass again. “But if you’re that grateful, you can always show me how much you appreciate it.”

You groan and reach up to push at his face, but your weak little hands don’t shift him and you’re doing a poor job at hiding the little smile on your face.

“You’re such an old pervert,” You grumble, as grouchy as ever as you curl into him from underneath.

He huffs a snort in response, unoffended. He knows how it looks; he may have a nice shiny new blue body and all the perks that his new ‘youth’ has to offer, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is, in essence, a dirty old man pawing at the sweet young little thing beneath him.

“You’re gonna let this old pervert come to see you again though, ain’t ya?” He says, a low mocking tone in his voice. “Gonna let me come bang you in this shitty office again tomorrow?”

He’s just prodding at you, mostly. He knows you’re not going to be able to take him again tomorrow. You had done such a good job taking him tonight, but that doesn’t cancel out the fact that he’s big and you had confessed yourself that you were inexperienced, that it had been a long time since you had done anything with a man. He’ll be impressed if you can walk tomorrow.

You yawn, your little pink mouth opening wide like a kitten. “You gonna sort out a nice new office for me too?”

He thinks of fucking you in a bright new shiny office, with a comfy new couch and space to spread you out and take you apart as leisurely as he wants. It’ll have to be somewhere out of the way, so you can make all those pretty noises of yours and not get interrupted. Maybe close to the Recom sector – he’s sure he can come up with some sort of excuse for why they need increased tech support.

He wonders idly if he’ll be able to get away with it without General Ardmore catching wind of it, then decides he doesn’t care.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

tags:

@live-laugh-neteyam@narwhal-swimmingintheocean @mechformers @malinowoczekoladowebudynie @byunpum @areislol @kisssatoru @notquitehero @kyurii-chan @shadowshart @atokirina-writings @cantescapethefantasy @thespadedhazesrave @mooniequeen @marauderseragal @lovebeinaprincessworld @justcaptainnoodles @sweetdayme4427

---

---