bf!nanami is a man of physical habit, when you two are winding down on the couch after his long shift—his heavy, warm hand naturally finds a home on your thigh. the first time it happens, he’s just reading the paper, but he feels the immediate, rigid tension in your muscles.

he casually glances over, assuming you’re just caught off guard or feeling a bit shy. "are you cold?" he asks, his deep voice slicing through the quiet room. when you quickly shake your head, he simply pats your knee and shrugs it off, returning to his reading, though his observant mind notes the slight tremor in your frame.

bf!nanami who starts getting genuinely suspicious after the third or fourth time. it doesn't matter if his touch is a passive weight or a gentle, absentminded caress through your sweatpants—your breath hitches every single time. he notices the way your toes curl, the subtle shiver that runs up your spine, and the way you try to casually shift away from his reach.

nanami is nothing if not analytical; he knows compliance versus involuntary reaction, and you are definitely hiding something. he begins to purposely linger his touch, tracing the seam of your pants just to watch your eyelashes flutter and your lips part in a silent gasp.

bf!nanami decides to test his hypothesis on a rainy saturday afternoon. you're both cuddled up, your guard completely down as you watch a movie. without a word or a shift in his stoic expression, his large hand slides up your inner thigh and delivers a sudden, firm squeeze.

bf!nanami watches you gasp, a high, completely involuntary sound escaping your throat—a sharp, needy little squeak that cuts off the moment you realize what you've done. "oh? and what exactly was that noise for?" your hands fly to grip his wrist, trying to pull his hand away, but he doesn't let go.

instead, a slow, incredibly rare, and distinctly smug smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. he looks down at you through his glasses, thoroughly amused by your bright red face. "i don't recall the movie being quite that exciting," he drawls, his fingers sinking deeper into the soft flesh.

Shadow falling over you, broad enough to swallow the reflection in the mirror behind the machine you were just using at the gym. You look up and find Ghost standing there in a black compression shirt stretched tight across his chest, mask in place even here, eyes flat and unreadable above the fabric. One gloved hand resting on the frame of your machine.

The question lands blunt, no lead up, no softening. Like he’s asking for the time or the weather. Your mouth goes dry. He’s too close, too big, the sheer width of him making the space between you feel airless.

You could tell him to fuck off. Should. But the words stick somewhere behind your teeth, and what comes out instead is a mumbled number, barely loud enough to carry, your eyes dropping to the seam where the mat meets the floor.

He doesn’t react at first. Just tilts his head a fraction, that slow, assessing cock of it Then, low and rough through the mask: “Lighter than I’m used to.”

Confusion flickers across your face but he’s already moving, already loading the bar next to you with plates that match the number you gave him exactly, no hesitation, no adjustment. The barbell settles across the padded support with a dull clank.

You should look away. You don’t.

He lies back on the bench, plants his feet wide, and rolls the bar into place across the jut of his hips. One smooth motion and he drives up, hips snapping high, the loaded bar rising clean with the power of it, his body locking into a straight line from shoulders to knees. The muscles in his thighs flex hard under the fabric of his shorts. Up, hold, lower. Up again. The bar doesn’t even tremble under the weight.

It takes a beat for the meaning to sink in. Heat crawls up your neck, tightens in your chest, but it doesn’t stop there. It drops lower, coils hot and insistent right behind your navel and settles between your legs with a heavy, liquid pulse, cunt clenching around nothing. The reaction is immediate and traitorous, slick gathering hot and fast, soaking into the seam of your leggings, clit throbbing in time with every snap of his hips.

Oh.

— pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick × fem!cat hybrid!Reader

— cw: hybrid au; past abuse; hurt/comfort; fluff; domesticity

The hybrid shelter calls you a behavioral case.

Kyle reads the file on the drive over.

Female, late 20s to early 30s, black domestic cat hybrid. History of neglect—not the dramatic kind that makes the news, but the slow, grinding kind that leaves invisible scars.

(contains eating of both of your holes if you’re not into that)

—

nanami knows you really need to go to this dinner party. i mean, it’s to celebrate your best friend’s engagement. you absolutely have to go! and you absolutely should be there on time! it’s very important! but all of that goes out of the window when he sees you in the dress you’re wearing. it hugs your body in the perfect way, and even though it ends a little before your knees, the black patterned stockings that you wear seem to make him just as hot and bothered as when your wear mini skirts that show your panties if you bend over too much. the color of the dress makes you glow, the heels are so fucking sexy, and god, the way you smell. it has nanami tugging at his tie while you’re putting on your jewelry.

you’re none the wiser to the wound up wolf that your husband is becoming, trying to hurry up and put on your last finishing touches so that you can get there on time.

“honey, go turn the car on! i’ll be out there, i’m almost ready. hurry up so we’re not late!”

you’re trying to find your favorite silver bracelet, rummaging around your drawers when you find it and look up and almost jump. your husband, that you were sure was going outside to the car, is staring at you through the mirror.

“what’s wrong? you can’t find your key? just use mine until-”

“i’m really sorry honey, but we’re going to be late.”

“what are you talking about? we still have-”

he’s across the room in three strides, right in front of you before you can process it. when you open your mouth to question him, it gives him the perfect opportunity to devour your mouth whole, pulling you into a mindbreaking kiss. you can’t pull away, you can’t think enough to. when you’re almost out of breath, he finally pulls away, a string of spit connecting you both for a moment more.

“forgive me, won’t you darling?”

your mind is still reeling too much for you to say anything, just giving him a questioning and confused face. he walks around to stand behind you, and instantly falls to his knees.

“i know she’ll be mad at first, but she’ll forgive us soon enough too,” he says through kisses he presses on your ass through your dress, as his hands reach under your dress and pull down your stockings and panties together.

“ken wait! i…don’t want to be late!”

you would try to pull away, but once he pulls your dress to sit right above your ass and holds your hips in his tight grip you can’t.

“i love you, but i can’t wait. you look and smell way too delicious for me to do that. just hold on tight for me, sweetheart.”

he takes the cheeks of your ass in his hands, squishing them for a moment before he spreads them wide apart. you feel your body flush and heat up as he has your holes on display for him. he spreads them even wider, making your whine as he makes you show him your insides.

he leans down so he can fit his head under and takes a long, wet lick from your clit all the way over your asshole. you gasp and hold on tight to the dresser in front of you. he watches your holes clench in response, your pussy letting out more wetness.

you should really feel bad. your friend is waiting on you, and you’re leaking slick on your husband’s tongue.

nanami gives a light chuckle and repeats the motion, putting more pressure with his tongue over your holes. this time he immediately shoves his face in your pussy, slurping up your juices and licking over your syrupy folds. with one of his hands, he presses into the small of your back to make you bend over more. you bend until your face is pressed into the mirror, sending all the moans and whimpers you’re letting out into your reflection. your spread out even more for him now, allowing him to swipe at your clit here and there.

when you wish that he focused more on the place you really want him to be, you feel his tongue move farther and farther up, or back for you. you really start whining when he licks over your asshole, over and over with more force everytime. it’s not where you wanted him, but it’s making your slick drip down your thighs nonetheless. he twirls his tongue around your hole before he flicks it up and down over it again. the wet noises that it makes are loud as he splashes the juices from your pussy and his own saliva. when he starts to push his tongue in, you cry out.

“f-fuck ken, that feels…shit!”

he starts fucking his tongue in and out of your ass, using his tight grip on your hips to help it. it feels insanely good, but your soaked pussy is being unfairly ignored. you try to move your hips, making his face trails back down to where you need him, but he’s not budging.

“kennn,” you whine out.

“hmm?,” he hums against your ass, going back to licking and sucking at your hole.

“n-need you…please”

he takes a quick break to answer you, “where?”

you could scream at how unfair he’s being. he knows exactly where! you don’t say anything back though, but you look back at him as you take his hair in your fist and move his face where you want it. you could feel his smile in your pussy and hear the quick laugh he lets out. as soon as he’s placed on your clit, he gives a mean suck as his tongue flicks over it. you actually do scream this time, gripping his hair tighter. he lets go and trails down to drink up all the juices that he’s missed so far.

he goes back and forth, slurping and licking and sucking over your clit and your pussy. you don’t let go of his hair, using the grip to allow you to move against his face. he starts to go back and forth between the two places in a rhythm and you begin to properly ride his face. you lean your head down into the mirror until your forehead is touching it. it cools you down for a second before your hot pants start fogging your mirror up and warming you up all over again.

when he decides to be the good husband that he is and focuses solely on your clit, you’re grateful for his hold on you since you would probably fall to the floor with your shaking legs.

“yesss, right there ken! stay right there please!”

he’s being nice now. he keeps sucking and licking over your clit with the perfect pressure. he’s using his whole mouth and your orgasm creeps up on you so fast it makes you lightheaded. your moans are so loud and high pitched it’s a wonder the mirror doesn’t break. when he swirls his tongue around over and over your clit in just the right way, you’re screaming and panting and cumming all over his face. and because he’s nice, right now, he doesn’t overstimulate you to tears and actually decides to lighten the pressure a bit to work your through your orgasm.

you give your last few humps against face before you lean forward and rest your whole body on the dresser, your entire torso and up pressed against the mirror. when your breathing is back to normal, he quietly pulls your stockings and panties back up and pulls your dress back back nicely over them. he stands up and fixes his tie back into place. you’re pulled back to earth when you feel and hear him whisper in your ear.

“are you ready? we’re a little late but that should be fine.”

you take a deep breath and lean on your arms to hold yourself up on the dresser to look into the mirror.

“well, now i have to fix my makeup and hair a little. give me 5 minutes.”

“ok dear, i’ll get the car started.”

he gives you a sweet and way too innocent kiss on your cheek before he leaves. though on the way out, you hear him say something else.

“make sure not to take too long darling. we might have to leave a little early to finish up here.”

The tension is so thick you think you may choke, your dear husbands entire demeanor closed off from you. Kyle seems...nervous. spending almost all your days with him means you know how to read him. He's practically sweating bullets.

You chew the inside of your cheek, glance away. This whole...everything has been perfect. The life you've made with him, you don't want to risk it but...you take a breath.

"Kyle...I don't want to be pregnant." The words come tumbling out, then, you tack on "and I don't think I want kids either."

...gaz stares, eyes wide. He lets out a deep exhale "oh thank god."

"...what? You're not mad?" Your mind stutters, not expecting that reaction. "You don't want kids? A family of our own?"

"Me? Baby, me?? Just last night my dinner consisted of a bag of crisps and burnt eggs." Kyle snorts, already up and moving around the table to claim a seat next to you. He smiles in that way where he seems totally in love with you, "and you drank a bottle of ghosts mystery brew last week. we are not made for being parents."

"but...all that talk whenever we...?" Your mind drifts to those filthy words that spill from kyles mouth, about breeding you each night until it finally takes, about making you a proper parent.

Kyle kisses your temple with a snort, laces your fingers into his own "just a fantasy, baby."

"Besides," his whole body leans into you, warm sides pressed together "you're already my family. Even if its just you."

you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.

When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.

"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.

"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.

"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.

"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"

"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"

Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."

That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.

"Until next time."

He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.

(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)

none of the gifts come with a note.

one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.

the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.

-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.

The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.

"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."

You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.

-Dearest husband,

Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.

Your patient and thoughtful wife

A second letter arrives within the week.

-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?

The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.

-Dearest, sweetest husband,

A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your last name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.

Your less than patient and less than adoring wife

The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.

tortured wife,

I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.

— your fire lord boyfriend meets your tribe

cw: fluff. suggestive a teeny tiny bit. self indulgent. could have continued forever. i might just.

it’s always warm and cosy in the fire lord’s private chambers. red silk sheets rest languidly on your waist as you lay bare on his chest. his arms, thick and solid, are loose at your back but you know how quick they’d tense if anyone was to storm in here.

but they wouldn’t. with it being a little after midnight, all of zuko’s fire lord duties are over and your duties being an earthbender in ba sing se continuing sometime midday, it feels like you have forever in his arms. 

the air still smells of sweaty hot sex, which you just enjoyed a few moments ago with a mix of petrichor. warm, comforting and grounding.

you rest your head in your palm, your elbow digging into his cotton mattress and zuko’s honey amber eyes only drift to your exposed chest for a second, okay two, then he meets yours.

“hm? why’re you looking at me?” he rubs up at down your back soothingly and you sigh wistfully.

you brush his long onyx hair off his pectoral, out of his face and behind his ear to reveal his scarred eye. the sight of his complete face. pouty lips, glowing eyes. stupidly straight jaw and slightly crooked nose (apparently he broke it once as a child). it all makes you want to kick your feet in the air and giggle. but you hold it together, you’re a lady somewhat. eh, not really.

Briefing room lights low, projector casting shifting blue-white glow across the long table. Price stood at the front walking the team through the latest op intel. Soap was leaning forward, scribbling notes and occasionally interjecting with his usual chaotic enthusiasm. Gaz sat beside you, arms crossed, focused.

And you… you were seated directly across from Ghost, trying- fucking desperately- to remain professional.

Hands clasped tightly in your lap under the table, knuckles white, spine ramrod straight, thighs pressed together so hard the muscles trembled. Your cunt, however, was a soaked, throbbing mess.

Because Ghost had your portal pussy strapped securely over the lower half of his face, hidden beneath the balaclava, pressed flush to his mouth. He was relaxed in his chair, gloved hands resting loosely on the surface, heavy lidded eyes fixed forward with that signature dead stare.

No one noticed the subtle, rhythmic shift of his jaw beneath the fabric.

No one saw the way his eyes fluttered half closed for a split second every few minutes.

No one could possibly guess that Simon Riley was eating your pussy like a man with a terminal oral fixation. Tongue moving in broad, flat strokes under the mask, dragging from your dripping entrance all the way up to your swollen clit.

Lapping at you lazily, savoring the taste that coated his tongue and chin, swallowing every fresh gush of slick with a quiet, satisfied hum that no one else could hear. Circling the sensitive bud, sucking it gently between his lips and sending low vibrations straight through to your cunt.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood when another wave of pleasure rolled through you, cunt clenching hard around nothing, leaking more arousal that Ghost eagerly drank down.

You tried to keep your breathing carefully controlled, slow inhales through your nose, but your cheeks were flushed, and you could feel sweat beading at the small of your back.

Ghost’s cock was rock hard and leaking steadily into his pants, thick length straining painfully against the zipper as his tongue pushed deeper, curling to stroke that spongy spot inside you that always made your vision spark white at the edges.

Price gestured at the screen. “Ghost? Thoughts on the exfil?”

Simon lifted his gaze lazily, voice coming out gravel rough and perfectly even from behind the mask. “Solid. No notes.”

The moment Price turned back to the slides, Ghost doubled down, sucking harder on your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, then slowed to lazy, teasing circles that had your hips twitching involuntarily in your seat. You gripped the edge of the table, forcing your face into a neutral expression while your poor, oversensitive cunt fluttered and pulsed against his mouth.

Every time your walls started spasming harder and your thighs began to shake, he’d pull back just enough to lap softly at your folds, letting the intensity fade until you were no longer right on the brink. Then he’d dive back in, tongue fucking you, sucking your clit, humming those deep vibrations that made your eyes nearly roll back.

By the third orgasm he ripped from you, your cunt was puffy, swollen, dripping down his chin beneath the mask. By the fourth, you were fighting not to whimper out loud, biting your lip bloody.

You were a wreck, legs trembling under the table, panties long since ruined, core clenching uselessly. Every slow, wet lap sent sparks up your spine. Every suck on your clit made your vision blur. You wanted to moan his name, to beg him to let you come properly, to spread your legs and let him bury his face for real.

Ghost knew it. And the bastard was enjoying every second.

When the briefing finally wrapped and the team started filing out, Soap clapped Ghost on the shoulder with a “You alright, Lt? Lookin’ a bit focused today.”

Ghost remained seated a moment longer, voice low and slightly hoarse as he replied, “Never better.”

His eyes locked onto yours across the now emptying room.

You stood on shaky legs, trying to walk normally as you gathered your notes. The portal was still pressed to his face. He still hadn’t stopped. Even as people left, his tongue continued its slow, torturous circles around your oversensitive clit, occasionally dipping inside to curl against your walls.

As the last person disappeared through the door, Ghost finally rose from his chair, and crossed the room in two slow strides until he was standing right in front of you, mask still firmly in place.

His gloved hand came up, tilting your chin so you had to meet his eyes.

“Been such a good girl fer me,” he murmured, voice rough and thick. “Sitting there all while I ate this pretty cunt. Didn’t make a sound.”

A low, hum rumble vibrated through his chest.

Imagine ghost forced into retirement as androids become increasingly advanced and take his place, right?

He's left with practically nothing while a mockery of a soldier fights other hollow-chested things. What's the point of a war if there's no bloodshed? If there's no weight? Ghost hates androids, hate what they've made of him.

He can't even fucking escape them in retirement, it seems everyone has or wants one. They scan out his food at the shops, drive him places on the bus, chat with people on the streets like they could ever be human.

People love them, fawn over them. All ghost sees is a cheap plastic toy. He's seen what a real android is, the kind that moves like the perfect human on the field, the kind that's packed full of processing power for complex political decisions in a fight. Used a few during missions, cannon fodder.

Now...he's alone. No structure, no bloodshed to lean on, and a face too disfigured to keep anyone around.

Ghost begins to look at those foolish "companion bots" a little different. Warm hole, clean house. It's a nice toy, at least. But every single one ghost has taken a chance to brows seems subpar to even the basic androids from the field. Nothing could compare, their slow response time and jerky movement irritate him.

So...ghost decides if the best out there are war bots, then he'll get himself a war bot.

Bots are so often dumped, it's not difficult to find a good one in an area technically only accessible to the military. He pulls one out of a pile of other models, on the smaller side for ease of repair...or dismantling if things go wrong.

The wiring is a pain, takes him weeks, and giving the bot a warm cunt scrapped from another almost makes him lose his appetite all together. But it works in the end.

Ghost has himself a pretty little bot, outfitted to serve him perfectly. It still has blood in the seams of it's faceplate. Ghost kind of likes the familiarity.

All he has to do is turn it on.

====

"Ghost, mate," he places a hand on ghosts bicep, if only to make sure he's not hallucinating "what do you mean there's a stranger in your apartment??"

Ghost shrugs, casual, as if he didn't just tell gaz about how he came home two weeks ago to find the lights on and fresh food in his kitchen that he hasn't been in for months. "Means what it means, innit. Nice bloke."

"You've talked to them?!" Gazs voice rises in pitch, astonished. He follows after ghost, feeling like he's suddenly on an alien planet "and they're still there?? Ghost!"

"Yeah. Decent company." Is all ghost says before turning the corner to head to his little apartment.

When ghost gets back, just as its been for the past two weeks, you're sat on his counter eating cereal. The house smells faintly of citrus, a welcome change. You've also managed to clean the bloodstain around his fridge that ghost had come to terms as being permanent. Huh.

He's pretty sure you're some sort of criminal in hiding, but he likes having the company around. You two never really speak to eachother but you use the cash he leaves out to buy groceries, and you don't comment when he stands too close or comes back in the middle of the night covered in dirt and blood.

Hell, you didn't even comment when he accidentally crashed on the sofa you were sleeping on after a bad night. In fact, you two practically share a bed at this point. Ghost doesn't care what gaz has to say, he likes having you around.

Ghost understands, vaguely, that gifts and certain gestures are shared with someone as courting. He's seen it plenty between soap and gaz, and with the young pretty betas price always goes for at bars.

So of course he thinks he knows what he's doing when he decides to court you, the other lieutenant he sees around base.

"For you." He'll appear out of nowhere while you're talking to a colleague, just to place a pair of metal utensils in your hand after watching you grab a handful of the plastic ones the mess uses. "I have more, if you need it."

He likes to bring you lunch in your office, set down a big plate of meats and veggies and rice with a "it's hot, be careful. There's a drink in yer bag." Before promptly leaving. Ghost doesn't even realize he's expected to stay in the room and eat with you, let you get used to his scent and mannerisms.

When he starts to smell pre-heat on you? Doesn't ask to be your heat partner at all. Instead you get a box of snacks, vitamins, and two hoodies for your nest from him. Ghost reeks of pleased alpha the entire time because he's doing such a good job providing for his future mate.

The craziest part? You love it.

You love all of ghosts weird mannerisms, how he's nothing like the typical alphas who've tried to court you in the past with excessive physical touch and crude gifts. In fact, you don't think he's even touched more than your elbow to get past you in the hallways.

Ghost is unlike any alpha you've met, and that's the thought that runs through your head when you slip his hoodie on a settle in for your heat.

He crowds you against his bed, either unaware or uncaring of just how much strength he's slinging around. Ghost envelops you in his presence, breath hot over your skin, hips thrusting into you with a "does it feel good? Like this, right? Like this?"

Every desperate question is accompanied by a thrust right against that sweet spot inside you. He'd already spent so long stretching you open, terrified to hurt you, that all your nerves feel alight with sensation. The slick slide of his cock in and out of you leaves you breathless and clutching at the sheets.

"What? Am I doing it wrong? C'mon, love, work with me–" he groans, head tucked into your shoulder, using one large hand to push your hips into a different angle that makes your mind melt.

"Shit– si– ahh!" You try to tell him yes yes it's so good so fucking good, but all that comes out is little stuttering gasps.

"Mhhh you feel so good– christ, love– is it good? Am I doing good?" Ghost licks against your neck, almost on instinct, brows knit together because you're still not saying anything!

Your whole body draws tight, orgasm crashing over you when ghost changes tactics to grind as deeply as he can into you for a second before thrusting again. Ghost genuinely yelps, arms buckling and catching himself only a second before he crushed you, riding it out with you as he warmth floods your stomach.

"Mmhh– sorry– sorry– I know I should've waited–" ghost whines and....keeps thrusting–

"It's okay, I can keep going, yeah?" He nuzzles against you apologetic. Ghost doesn't realize you've already cum, too caught up in his own mind and not recognizing what it feels like.

He keeps thrusting, driving you both into overstimulation. You can't manage to get a word out, not between the way he saws into you with each sob, and the kisses he presses to your lips frantically.