#womnsfw

Despite this, Spencer’s paycheck isn’t exactly hefty enough to buy everything that he wants to buy. He can’t afford all of Dior neckties and Rolex watches that he wants on his own accord. He can’t even look at them without grimacing at the price, which is a little disappointing because he loves the way they look and feel.

Luckily for him, however, that’s where you come in.

Spencer isn’t exactly sure what you do for work. He doesn’t even want to know. He knows it’s not porn, and that makes him satisfied enough, because he isn’t too sure how he’d handle other men looking at you and touching you.

What you do for work is satisfactory. You keep it a secret, you keep it hush — though you have assured him it’s not anything illegal. It gives him a peace of mind, allows him to stay silent when you walk in with a hefty amount of cash after a long day.

Spencer stays silent because he loves you and he loves being spoilt. He stays silent because the second your eyes fall on him, you drop the overwhelming stack of hundred dollar bills on the counter, scattering it all over the place, just to pepper him in kisses.

It’s his favourite part of the day. Especially when he’s been away for so long on a case and he’s been waiting for you on your couch, stirring and needy for your touch.

Spencer can’t count the days one hand the last time he saw you. By proxy, that means it’s been too long. He shuffles on your couch, uncomfortable as he cranes his neck towards your apartment’s door, his eyes flickering down to the Rolex on his wrist that you’d gifted him only two weeks ago, before he left for the case.

You’re late.

Usually, you’re home at six o’clock on the dot. You’re punctual — it’s something he adores about you. Your obsession with sticking to routine allows him a comfort he didn’t know he needed, which is why his face is flushed red in confusion as he realises you’re a half hour late.

He suddenly feels so small sitting on your couch. You’re never late, and he wonders if he’s intruded — what if you had plans, and that’s why you’re not home yet?

He gets so wrapped up in his own mind that he doesn’t hear the door open, nor the clicking of your heels as you walk in.

A sight for sore eyes. Doctor Spencer Reid, your Spencer, is sat on your five thousand dollar leather couch, his knees drawn up to his chest in thinking. A cashmere purple scarf wraps around his neck like a snake, and you smile as you notice his fingers subconsciously rolling against the fabric.

Your heart flutters as you watch him. He smells like Creed Himalaya, the scent of the expensive cologne flooding your senses as you slowly saunter towards him. He’s wearing his glasses, for once — the frames being Cartier, a gift you had brought him three months ago when he’d dropped his contact lenses and lost them somewhere in your bedroom. There’s a few rings that you’ve brought him plastered on his fingers, and he toys with them nervously, his chest rising and falling.

“Spencer,” you call, and his head finally raises, his honey eyes dilating the second his pupils find your face, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he breathes, and his fingers abandon his rings, opting to reach out for you instead. “Are you okay?”

His voice is timid and small, so lovingly sensitive. His fingertips brush your waist, his hands toying with the fabric of your workshirt lightly.

“I’m perfect.” You reach down, your fingertips brushing beneath his chin. Spencer’s big eyes instantly flicker up to yours, a glint in them that has your stomach flooding with warmth. “Especially now I’ve seen you, handsome.”

His cheeks tinge pink, and you can’t bite back the smile which tugs at your lips. Always so nervy, his eyes dart away, a small ‘thank you’ brushing past his lips.

Brown curls brushing over your clothed stomach, Spencer nuzzles his forehead into your navel. His breath comes softly, his lashes tickling you as he closes his eyes, his big hands enveloping your waist.

“You haven’t greeted me properly yet,” you say finally, your hands trailing through his curls. “Two weeks without seeing me, and you’ve forgotten your place?”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and he stands from his position on the couch.

As he does, your head has to tilt upwards to follow him. He’s much taller than you are, and your hands gently brush over his Ralph Lauren cardigan. It’s fraying at the hems, and you pout slightly.

“I’m going to need to buy you another one of these soon,” you murmur, your face warm as Spencer’s hands softly press against your cheek, his head dipping to pull you into a gentle kiss.

Lips soft against yours, Spencer’s careful to worship you. To kiss you intently, as an apology for not greeting you as you’ve asked him to before. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, and he drowns in the scent of your Miss Dior perfume, the subtle taste of your cherry lipstick dancing along his tastebuds.

When he finally pulls away, his cheeks are flushed. His lips are a little swollen and puffy, and he smiles apologetically as your hands run over the worn fabric of his cardigan. “I’m sorry. I just pull at the threads when I’m nervous. You know, one in three people actually have an anxiety disorder, and out of all of those people, sixty-three percent are female?”

“I didn’t know that,” you say quietly, your fingers darting over the frayed woven. You watch his eyes follow your movements, and you wonder if he thinks you’re upset with him. “I’m not mad at you, Spencer.”

“I know. It’s just —” he swallows, and his Adams’ Apple bobs nervously, “—it’s upset me. This cardigan was a gift that you got me when we first started dating.”

His lips jut into a pout.

“I’ll buy you another one,” you state simply, and you run your hands along his scarf.

He smiles. “I know you will.”

You beam back at him, and you softly slip his scarf off of his neck.

His neck is plain, rid of the bruises that you sent him away with two weeks ago. It’s a reminder that it’s been half a month without his touch, and your body thrums with excitement as you gently glide your thumb over his throat.

“Was work okay?”

“Work was work,” he responds quickly, his hands coming up to cup your wrists. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, brimming with love and adoration. “You?”

You grin. “We don’t talk about my work,” you reply, your eyes flickering down to his pillowy lips. “Now, give me another kiss, Spencer.”

He obliges. Of course, he obliges. Spencer will do anything you ask of him. It’s his biggest weakness, and arguably his biggest flaw — you could tell him to ‘jump’, and he’d respond ‘how high?’.

This time, Spencer studies your face before he indulges you. It’s disobedient, it’s bratty, but he has to see you. His lips teasingly brush over yours as he memorises the way your nose crinkles slightly and your brows knit together, the way your lashes fan faintly across your cheekbones as your eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

“Tease,” you grumble as his lips brush softly against yours, hardly encasing you into a kiss.

“I’m not a tease.”

“Maybe brat is more of an appropriate word,” you quip back, and at this, Spencer finally presses his lips against yours in an adequate manner.

Your thumb glides over his button-up shirt, your mouth moulding perfectly against his. His tongue runs over your bottom lip, and you listen to his whimper when you reject him.

“You are most certainly being a brat right now,” you comment, your eyes piercing as you pull away from his lips.

Spencer pouts. He is being a brat, but that’s his role. “I’ve missed you,” he responds, ignoring your comment as he attempts to pull you back in, his hands delicate against your face.

It’s not exactly that he’s missed you. Sure, he most certainly has — but there’s a weird twinge of jealousy which pulses through him. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why you’re home late; and he wants your attention, and he’s too shy to ask.

He’s acting out. He knows it, and you know it.

“So that makes it okay for you to tease me? To forget your place?” Your voice is soft, but the underlying meaning behind it is not, and you resist his feeble attempt at drawing another kiss out of you.

He thrums with excitement at your pointed tone, his eyes scanning your face.

“I’m not being a tease,” Spencer says quietly, innocently, making sure to put on the most vulnerable expression he can muster, “and I’m most certainly not being a brat.”

Your eyes flick over his face. You hate how his big, rounded chocolate eyes make you melt. The way they glisten with apology, the way they never falter as they bore into your own.

“Stop lying to me.” You softly place his scarf on your coffee table, facing away from him. “If you lie to me again, you’re not getting your gift.”

At this, Spencer’s ears seem to perk up. His face literally lightens, and he takes a feathery step forward, his hands taking their rightful place back on your waist.

Gift. He should’ve known, really. It’s been two weeks. Of course you’d gotten him a gift — you always do when he goes away for long periods of time. His heart flutters in his chest, his fingers curling into the soft flesh of your waist.

“A gift?” He asks quietly. “What kind of gift?”

“You might not get it if you keep playing this game of yours,” you warn him, although you’re lying, and both you and Spencer know it.

His lips set into a frown. He weighs out his options. He could either continue being bratty and then be put in his place, perhaps having his present taken away from him as a result, or he could cave and behave and get his gift now.

“Okay,” Spencer says, his hands slipping from your waist. “I surrender. Can I get my gift, now?”

You snort at him. His hazel eyes are glinting with excitement, his hands intertwined as he awaits your answer. He sways on his feet, his thumb brushing subconsciously over the diamond rings you had purchased him.

“No,” you respond, amusement lacing your tone. “You can’t just be a brat and then get a present. What kind of person would I be if I let you walk all over me like that?”

Spencer pouts, a look of disbelief flooding his features. “All I did was not kiss you when you came in,” he argues, his voice coming out like a whine.

“That’s not all you did.” You raise your hand to cup his face, forcing his eyes onto yours. “You didn’t meet my eye to begin with. You didn’t kiss me. When I asked you for a kiss, you deliberately teased me. Do you know how hard it is when I’ve not seen you for two weeks, and then you decide to act out?”

Head dipping in guilt, Spencer tries to avoid your eye. Of course, he knows how awful it is to be teased after that long, because you do it to him all of the time. You flaunted around in nothing but lavender lingerie the last time he was away for more than a week, forbidding him from touching you. It had been painful — excruciating, and he can feel his head grow light as the uncomfortable tightness in his trousers grow worse as he thinks back to how mean you were.

He doesn’t want to get on your bad side again.

“Okay.” He raises his eyes back up to yours. “I’m sorry. I mean it.”

“You mean it?”

“I mean it.”

As if to add to his point, Spencer nods his head. His words are affirming, and he stays still. You convey him, weighing up his words.

“Get on your knees, then.”

Spencer’s eyes glint, but he doesn’t move. He stays glued into place.

You stare at him, unwavering. “Why are you making me repeat myself today?” You tut, and shake your head. “Maybe you aren’t all that sorry.“

As you begin to turn, Spencer sinks to his knees. His hands reach up to grab at the plush flesh of your thighs, and his eyes are slightly wide and blown as he cups the flesh through your dress.

“Please.” His voice is breathy and his pupils are dilated from his lust, sheathing his honey irises. “I’m sorry. I mean it.”

“Did I give you permission to touch me?”

Something similar to a strangled whine crawls out of Spencer’s throat, but his hands drop from your thighs. His lips are set into a small pout, his brows furrowed. You can feel your slick uncomfortably begin to paint your panties as you stare down at him; his subservient stance making your body thrum with arousal.

Feeling lightheaded, Spencer shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry,” he whispers, feeling foolish as he gazes up at you. All of his blood has rushed somewhere else entirely, and he finds himself forgetting about the prospect of gift-giving as he stares up at you from his position on the floor.

You look deliciously cruel.

“Colour?” You ask, your features softening for only a second.

“Green.”

He says green, so you go for it.

“You’re being awfully naughty tonight, aren’t you?” Your words cut through him like a knife.

Your hands glide into his hair, your lips quirking upwards slightly as he shivers from your touch. His brows pinch together as you reprimand him, confusion fluttering his features.

“I’m not meaning to be,” his answers, lying through his teeth, and you can hear his voice crack as your heels softly glide over the tight crotch of his trousers. “I’m sorry.”

Spencer is agonisingly hard.

“Your apologises mean nothing if you don’t have the decency to respect me by referring to me by name.”

His lips part, so pillowy and pink, so swollen. Desperate to touch you, but unable to do so, Spencer’s fingers curl into his trousers, a low whimper slipping past his lips as your heel gently begins to press down into his crotch, applying a satisfying amount of pressure to his throbbing cock. He knows what you want, and he’s now desperate to give it to you.

“I’m sorry…” his voice shakes as he meets your eye, “…mommy. I’m sorry, mommy. I mean it.”

“You mean it?”

“God, yes, I mean it more than anything,” he breathes, his voice laced with affirmation. His eyes screw shut as your heel teasingly glides over his inner thigh.

You blink down at him. You pull your heel away, tired of watching him writhe beneath you. “Clothes off, Spencer.”

You don’t have to tell him that twice.

His button-up and cardigan are tossed to the floor besides him before you could even finish speaking his name. The clinging sound of his Gancini belt floods your ears, and you watch as he struggles to unbuckle it, his lust for you making him dumb.

“I thought you were supposed to be smart,” you call from above him, taking satisfaction in the way his fingers glide over the leather.

“I am smart,” he says, wavering slightly as he tugs the belt off. He lets out a satisfied huff, his cheeks reddened from his frustration, and he scrambles to unbutton his trousers.

You hum in response. “Clearly not. You couldn’t even take off your belt, and you’re talking back again.”

Biting back a retort, Spencer slides his trousers down. The tent in his boxers is impressive, the grey fabric stained darker from his lust, and your eyes stay trained on the dribble of precum which has bled through.

“Needy?” You ask slyly, and he shuffles from your praise.

“Yes. I’m sorry, mommy. I can’t help it.” His breathing quickens as he slides his trousers off. “I’ve needed you everyday the past two weeks.”

His fingers tremble as he pulls his boxers down, exposing his cock. The tip is red, glistening with dribbles of precum, and you watch as his hands stay by his sides, waiting for your next command.

“Did you touch yourself when you were away?”

“No, never.” Spencer shakes his head, “I know the rules, mommy. I wouldn’t dare to break them.”

“You’ve broken a lot of rules tonight, baby. How can I trust you?”

You indulge him with your touch. Your fingers dance beneath his chin, tilting his head up to look at you. The expression on his face is priceless — his features contorted into a mixture of submissive and pure desperation.

He blinks. You rub your thighs together, the slick in your panties a result of his pitiful actions tonight. One thing you love more than a docile, willing Spencer is a bratty Spencer, and in reality, he wasn’t being all too bad.

You just needed an excuse to punish him.

“I — I wouldn’t lie to you, mommy. Ever.” His heart races in his chest as you sit on the couch opposite him, his hands still remaining at his side. “I promise.”

You smile down at him. “You’re such a good boy when you want to be,” you praise sweetly, “now, come here. Mommy wants you.”

Spencer shuffles forward slightly. He slots between your legs perfectly, his eyes finding yours. He waits.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Four seconds pass until you speak again. You’d spent those four seconds gliding your eyes over his frame, appreciating every dip, every freckle, every scar.

“You were being a brat —“

“—I was not being a brat, mommy, I —”

“—Interrupt me one more time, baby, and I’m going to make sure you don’t cum for a month.”

Your voice is smooth. Steady. Even. You mean it.

You blink, and then Spencer blinks. His cheeks tint a deep shade of red, and he leans backwards slightly. Lips parting, they then close. He wants to argue; to say that he just wanted to embed your face into his memory so he could relive the moment of seeing you for the first time in two weeks forever, but it doesn’t matter.

You’re going to punish him anyway.

“I’m sorry, mommy.”

You cock your head. “I know you are,” you say, after observing him for an additional for seconds.

He shuffles, the tip of his cock brushing against your ankle. You watch how his teeth grit, how a quiet hiss is born and killed in his throat. He’s sensitive, he’s sore, and he’s needy.

But he’s also bratty.

“You’ve been so naughty,” you begin again, your voice smooth and even as you stare down at Spencer, “why?”

He blinks. “I missed you.”

“Nuh-uh. It’s more than that.” Your brows pinch together, and you open your legs a little further. “What have I done to turn my pretty boy into such a little brat?”

Your fingers are cool and soft against his face. You reach towards him; angling yourself so the low-cut of your dress exposes itself to him.

From the way your thighs have parted to show him how wet you are, your panties dampened; darkened by your slick, Spencer knows you want him just as badly as he wants you.

He swallows. “I just missed you,” he tries again, his voice thick with emotion. “Please. I’m sorry, mommy.”

He’s lying, and you know it.

“Colour?”

“Green.”

You reach out to cup his face. “Stop being a brat, Spencer. I’m serious now,” you say, digging your nails into his cheeks slightly, relishing in the way he inhales sharply. “What’s gotten into you?”

He whines. His brows knit together and he pulls away. You let him, your eyes still trained on his.

“You were late,” Spencer mumbles, quiet as a mouse, gazing away from you. His words are incoherent, and you tilt your head.

“Repeat yourself, baby. I can’t hear you when you mumble. You know that.”

Your fingers gently graze his jaw, and you encourage him to meet your eyes. The necklace you’re wearing — the one which spells out Spencer’s name — is hidden between your cleavage, and his eyes flutter shut.

It’s pathetic, but he repeats himself, more clearly this time. “You were late home, mommy.”

You feel your shoulders lax. “I was late?”

“You were late. You’re never late.” Spencer opens his eyes again, and you almost pity him for how solemn he looks. “I — I don’t like the idea of other people having your attention.”

“How late was I?” You ask.

“Thirty minutes,” he grumbles, and he feels pathetic now. You’re staring down at him with an unreadable expression, and he pouts. “I — that’s our time, mommy. You know that.”

Spencer craves routine. He craves stability, and with his messy job, you bring him that. Coming home late meant that it was broken, and coming home late probably meant that one of your many male colleagues were dragging you into conversation when you were supposed to be at home with him.

“I do know that, baby.” Your voice is soothing, and your thumb glides over his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Your stomach twirls with heat.

Spencer Reid — your Spencer Reid — a doctor with three PhD’s, who has never been anything but kind and docile, is jealous.

“You’re being bratty because you wanted my attention?” You ask quietly, your fingers gently running through his hair.

Spencer feels his face grow even warmer. There’s an ache that’s been pulsing between his legs for the better half of forty minutes. You’ve been teasing him, non-stop. He presses his head against your cool thigh to soothe the heat on his face — and surprisingly, you don’t reprimand him.

“Yes,” he admits quietly, trying to dull the throbbing of his leaking cock. “I’m sorry, mommy.”

You tug him by his hair slightly. It sends a wave of pleasure throbbing through him.

“You could’ve just said so,” your voice is plain, “you know, because I understand.”

“You understand?”

“Yeah.” You see his shoulders lax. You part your thighs more, watching the way his eyes flicker down to your soaked panties. Relishing in the ways his pupils dilate. “But you’re still going to have to make it up to me.”

Spencer blushes. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

He doesn’t ask for your permission to touch you, and for once, you don’t scold him.

There’s something so arousing about the way his nimble fingers push your soaked panties to the side. He’s eager — there’s no denying that. The low groan which slips past his lips as his eyes dart over your slick, puffy folds is affirmation of that, and he gently grazes his teeth against your inner thigh as he nears the area in which you need him most.

“Spencer,” you warn as he presses teasing kisses to your thigh, his warm breath fanning your cunt.

You swear you hear him chuckle. “Sorry, mommy,” he murmurs, “I’ll get to the point.”

Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton.

The three brands swirl inside of your brain, creates a luxurious mixture of words as he dips his head further.

You’re going to buy him whatever he wants after this.

Spencer’s tongue rolls through your sticky folds, licking a deliberate, slow stripe up your heat. Warmth bubbles in your stomach as he does so, your chest tight with desire as your hands find his locks.

So perfect, positioned between your legs like the obedient little brat he is, his hazel eyes sheathed by their lids as he indulges in the taste of you.

“So sweet,” Spencer praises, and you don’t miss the way he grinds against your ankle in the process.

You part your lips to scold him for his movements, but the words die in your throat as his tongue rolls around your delicate pearl.

Spencer knows your body better than you know it yourself. You let out a quiet gasp, your stomach growing flush with arousal as his nose presses further into your pelvis, his tongue lapping at you. He’s like a dog starved; a bitch in heat, his tongue flicking up and down your folds as he grinds his hips into your ankle.

Another shuddery whimper glides past your lips. Spencer's fingers curl into the soft flesh of your thighs, and he nuzzles closer towards you. His lips pepper lewd kisses along your folds, suckling around your clit gently, aware that you're overwhelmingly sensitive.

You tug on his hair softly, encouraging him to do more. You can feel his lips quirk upwards, and he feels your walls pulse, desperate for something more than his mouth. You don't want him to indulge you — if you did, you'd say, so he keeps his hands by his side, rolling the sensitive tip of his cock against the soft skin of your ankle.

"That's it," you murmur, your fingers curling in his hair, tugging at the roots of his brunette curls, "my good boy."

Spencer lets out a quiet whimper. You angle your ankle so he can hump against it easier, the slick of his precum acting as lube against your skin. Your body grows electric with sparks as his tongue licks stripes up and down your cunt, his tongue carefully swirling around your clit.

Your legs jolt, and his fingers curl into your thighs more. You're sure his fingers will leave bruises in their wake, but you don't care — you praise him, consistently, until your sentences becomes strings of wordless, incoherent babbles.

"Spencer," you whine, bucking your cunt into his face.

"Please, mommy," he begs shakily, "cum for me? Please? Wanna taste you so bad, mommy, please?"

Movements becoming more deliberate, more sloppy, Spencer lets out a choked groan as you tug his hair again — this time, a little harder. Your thighs clench, and your walls flutter, your stomach blooming with butterflies as you grind down against his face.

You indulge him, blinking away stars as Spencer's lips and tongue sloppily dote on your clit. Your mouth opens and closes, quiet gasps of pleasure spilling past your lips, your stomach tight with pleasure.

It feels like there's a knot inside of you. Spencer's worshipping is ripping it apart, slowly, and your eyes grow teary, swirls of black and white stars shrouding your vision.

You walls flutter, and your hips judder against his face.

You cum, gasping and writhing, your hands curling in his hair tightly, locking him into place. Spencer doesn't move, instead, lapping up everything that you give him. He indulges himself in you completely, happily drowning himself in you.

"Thank you, mommy," Spencer blushes, pulling away from your cunt. A string of spit and slick follows him, and his lower lip glistens from your orgasm. "So tasty."

His voice drops, and you roll your eyes. Your breath shudders as you exhale, blinking away stars as you gaze down at him.

"You're stupid."

"No, I'm not, mommy."

You lean forward, swiping your thumb over his lower lip. You collect the string of salvia and cum, pushing the pad of your thumb past his lips, humming as they instinctively suck on your digit.

"You're not dumb?" you ask, not moving your ankle away from Spencer as he continues to roll his hips against you.

"No." Spencer's breath hitches slightly as precum dribbles out of his sensitive tip. "I'm not dumb. I have an IQ of —"

"— 187, three PhD's, and you can read up to 20,000 words per minute." You lean backwards, pulling your thumb from his lips. "You're not dumb, baby. You're right. I'm wrong."

Spencer beams at this, your appraisal sending jolts of electricity pulsing through him. His tip brushes over your ankle, and his head lulls against your thigh. It's not much, but he's been going at it for a while now, and the friction is just enough to get him going, to get his length pulsing with want.

It's when you draw your ankle away, he's snapped back into reality. "But when I'm done with you, Spencer," you sneer down at him, your painted red lips twisting upwards into a cruel grin, "you will be."

Already, the lustful desire of needing you has melted his brain to mush. He's entirely forgotten about the gift that you'd gotten him, and your lips quirk twitch in satisfaction as he gazes up at you silently, his beautiful, honey-coloured eyes glistening with anticipation.

You wait until he speaks.

"Mommy —"

"Bedroom, baby." You interrupt, drawing your hands away from his face. When he stays still between your legs, you instruct, "now."

You don't have to ask him a third time. Spencer practically scrambles from his position on the floor, desperate to reach your bedroom before you call him back and decide to scold him further.

Whatever you've got planned for him must be somewhat tame if you're secluding it to the privacy of your bedroom.

It doesn't take long for you to follow him. You're pulling your shirt off when you enter your bedroom — the blouse fluttering down towards the ground, forgotten as you begin to unclip your bra.

Spencer's mildly upset that you've decided to strip without his help, having been looking forward to undressing you. It's arguably his favourite pastime; being able to shed you of your clothes and worship every inch of your exposed skin. He tries not to show his disappointment, but it doesn't work, the frown on his lips evidence of his dismay.

"Did you really thing I'd let you undress me after you've been so bratty?" You ask, watching his eyes dart over your body, although they're primarily focused on your chest.

He pouts as you say this. "I guess I'd thought you'd be nice," he grumbles, his hands positioned on his thighs as he stares at you.

You bite back a laugh at this. "I'm never nice," you respond, sliding into bed. You pat his back slightly, urging him forwards.

"You are nice," Spencer responds, following your instructions. He shuffles forward, and you position yourself against your pillows, your body resting against the headboard. His brows knit together in thought as you struggle to grow comfortable, and he adds, "sometimes."

"I'm nice when you're good," you tell him, finally satisfied with your position.

Spencer leans his head against your shoulder, and he exhales softly. You're so close — there's not an inch of you not touching him. Your thighs are looped on either side of his, your arms wrapped around his middle. Spencer looks so content like this, snuggled against you, in your arms; entirely at your mercy.

"I'm always good, mommy."

"Liar."

You softly glide your hand over his front, beginning at his navel. You ignore the area which needs you most — simply swiping your hand over his tip teasingly, cooing as he jolts slightly. Your nails rake into his skin, dragging upwards, and he shudders as crescent moons indent in their wake.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asks softly, shuddering as your hands meet his chest, your nails gliding over his nipple incredibly gently.

The cold air nips at his skin. Goosebumps ripple on his arms and his chest, and he exhales shockingly as you give his skin a light pinch.

"I told you," you answer quietly, enjoying the way his muscles tense as you gently roll his hardened nipple between your fingers, "I'm going to make you dumb."

"Mm," he murmurs in disbelief, only engaging in your antics because of the desire simmering in his lower belly.

Spencer sighs sweetly as your palm presses against his chest, softly dragging down his body. Your nails gently trace lines over his tummy, jagged, gentle lines. You pepper soft kisses to his left shoulder, your nose pressing into his skin as you breathe in his scent. He smells amazing, and his skin is so warm, and you lull your head against him as you gently begin to trail your hands over his thighs.

His cock is perked and needy, and he lets out another gentle sigh. It sounds more like a huff this time, but you don't mind. He's frustrated — of course he is; he's been interested in his relief for about an hour now, so incredibly frustrated and needy for you.

Your touch lingers near his crotch, and your nails digging into the skin of his thighs as your lips skim his ear. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, baby, and I want you to answer them," you murmur, pressing a small, wet kiss to his jaw. "Can you do that for me?"

Heart racing in his chest, Spencer nods timidly. "I can do that," he breathes, his eyes fluttering shut as you softly suckle at his skin. "You know I can do that, mommy."

"Mm," you hum quietly, beginning to trail your lips down towards where his shoulder meets his neck, "do you know... when the first aeroplane was flown, baby?"

Parting his lips to speak, Spencer is interrupted by the feeling of your right hand gently circling around his length. It envelopes him, barely wraps around his girth, and he has to focus on steadying his voice as he responds. "That's easy, mommy," he says, "December 17th, 1903."

"Who flew it?"

You jerk your hand slightly, and Spencer's thighs flex. Your left hand scrapes at his thigh.

"The Wright Brothers," he answers finally, a choked moan gliding past his lips as your hand rolls slowly, up and down his length.

"Good boy," you praise quietly, and you nip at his neck softly. "You're so smart. Do you know that?"

"Yes."

Spencer's eyes droop slightly. He shifts his hips, a quiet 'ah' gliding past his lips as your thumb swipes over his leaking tip softly. He's so sensitive that even the small squeezes of your palm drive him overboard, his body sizzling with electricity as you tease him.

"Mommy, please," he begs quietly, his breath short and staggered already. His thighs tense again as you softly scratch your nails against his thigh, and his cock aches harder in your hand.

It's been so long. It's been two weeks, and your hand is so small and delicate against his length. So teasing. He doesn't dare rut into your hand, but he wants to.

You ignore him. "What's the one letter that doesn't appear in the name of any American state?"

"Q," he responds quickly — a little too quickly for your liking. "Please?"

Spencer shifts his hips again, hoping to allow you a better angle. If anything, it makes you pull away more, your grip on his cock loosening.

"Impatient," you comment, disapproval seeping from your tone as you glide your hand up his glistening cock softly, "so impatient."

"I'm sorry. It's been two weeks."

"I know."

"This is torture," he grumbles, his eyes screwing shut slightly as your palm softly squeezes him. His heart thrums.

"I know."

Spencer lets out a soft whimper as you continue to jerk your hand, your lips pressing warm, hot kisses to his shoulder.

"Another question," you say, breaking through the sound of your hand wetly rolling up and down Spencer's cock. "You should know this one."

His jaw ticks. "I know them all."

“Six letter word for the hole on a shoe in which laces are threaded through."

"Eye —" Spencer grunts as your hand squeezes his cock, forcing another spurt of precum to dribble out of the slit, "— eyelet."

"Impressive," you pause, and you kiss your teeth. "How many ridges does a dime have?"

Spencer's head tilts back in exhaustion. His curls are damp from sweat, his skin warm and a little sticky. You press wet, hot kisses to his exposed neck, and your teeth pinch at his throat softly.

"A dime?"

You glide your tongue over his pulse point. "Yes, a dime. My pretty boy is getting teased so badly he can't even think straight?"

He's so hungry for release. He's practically gnawing for the bliss that you bring him, and he lets out a soft whimper as your teeth scrape down his throat.

"118," he answers shakily, "the ridges allow the coin to determine if it is real or fake, and it —"

Faltering as your thumb twists around his mushroom head, Spencer's words stifle in his throat.

"What, baby?"

"It was implemented on all coins before the 18th century to help do so," he forces out, a pant following suit. "You're — oh, mommy, please?"

Voice coming out strained, you feel Spencer's thighs twitch beneath your palm. Your dig your nails into his skin a little harsher now.

"Please, what?"

"Let me — let me cum," he answers, his head lulling against your shoulder.

You smirk. "Not yet," you answer, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "That'd be rewarding your disobedience, Spencer, and I can't let you cum until I've got what I've wanted from you."

His hips shift upwards, a sign of his impatience.

You understand; you do. There's just something so satisfying about pushing him to the edge, melting his genius brain into a puddle of incoherent goo.

As his thighs tremble again, you pull your hand away. Spencer lets out his first irritated cry, his hips bucking upwards.

"This is awful," he grunts, his eyes screwing shut.

You smile. "You'll get what you want soon enough, baby. You'll get this present, and your present from earlier. I'll make sure that you're very satisfied."

You softly let yourself drool over your hand, massaging the sticky saliva into your palm. You pull your hand back towards Spencer, and as you grip his cock, he lets out a deep gasp.

He wants to speak — you know he wants to speak. His throat bobs as you gently jerk him off, the slick, lewd sounds of your hand slapping against him reverberating around your bedroom. You twist your palm perfectly, your movements deliberate, touching him exactly how he likes.

"What are the plastic tips of shoelaces called?"

"Aglets."

"What's a jiffy?"

"It's 1/100th of a second."

You hum. Your teeth nibble at Spencer's neck, and your hand continues to pump away at his cock. His tummy and thighs tense, and you drag your thumb over his leaking tip softly.

"How many seconds are in a year?"

Spencer shivers, a sickly sweet whine escaping his lips. Your hand drags down to cup his balls, the other still pumping his cock lovingly. It's so much, and yet it's nowhere near enough. He needs more, he needs relief, something that you're refusing to give him.

"I —"

His eyes screw shut, his hands clutching the bedsheets tightly.

"Seconds in a year?"

You nod your head in affirmation, a small coo gliding past your lips as he bucks into your hand. Your grip on his cock is tight, and it's wet, and he glides in and out of your palm beautifully. His lips part in wonder, his body trickling with warmth.

"Don't know," he breathes finally, a broken moan choking in his throat, "'m sorry, mommy, I don't know."

He's burning hot. It's like he's got a fever. You fondle his balls softly, careful not to squeeze too hard. You want him to dip into the feeling of ecstasy, not drown in it.

"I thought you were supposed to be a genius," you whisper huskily, a satisfied grin on your lips as you speed up your movements.

Your stomach is pinched with warmth, sizzling with desire as Spencer cries out at your words. You wonder if you've pushed him too far, if your degradation was wrong, but his incoherent babbles of, 'mommy, please' reassures you that you haven't.

Pleasure buzzes wildly in his body. He can't think, let alone speak correctly, and his back arches up to meet you better. "Please," is all he manages, his words coming out in staggered breaths, "oh, please!"

"You little brat," you murmur, twisting your hand purposefully, "so fucked out you can't even think straight."

"I'm going to cum," is all he can manage to say before his sentence gets swallowed by a moan, "mommy, I'm going to —"

You quicken your pace.

Fire blazes inside of his stomach. Your nails rake into the soft flesh of his thighs, and Spencer's head tips further back. His lips are all pretty and pink, dangerously pump, and your breath hitches in your throat as he lets out another strangled whine. His eyes screw shut, and you give him a deliberate, tight squeeze.

He moans your name as he cums. It's too much — all of it is too much. His hips jolt, bucking upwards into your touch. Your feverish pace burns a hole in his heart, the loving kisses you pepper to his shoulder soothing his quarrels as his cock spurts of lines of cum, his hot seed coating your hand.

"My sweet boy," you coo quietly, inhaling the concussion of his expensive cologne and his sweat, "all fucked out and dumb for me."

Spencer gasps softly. His head rings as he finishes, your thumb gliding over his slit carefully. He can't speak, and his body twitches as your palm slows, your hand still cupping his balls softly, worshipping every inch of his cock.

"So pretty," you praise, and Spencer blinks away the black stars which shroud his vision.

It feels like it takes forever for him to settle back down. Your nails lovingly scrape up and down his skin, your voice gentle and angelic as it utters sweet praises to him. He feels spent, exhausted, impossibly stupid as he slumps against you, his lungs burning with relief.

He's tired, and he doesn't open his eyes again until he can feel damp fabric softly press against his forehead.

"Did I go too far?" You murmur quietly, concern plastering over your features as your eyes flit over your boyfriend.

You've never seen him so physically exhausted. You gently glide the cloth down towards his crotch, wiping away any evidence of your rendezvous, and he shakes his head.

"No. You were perfect."

"I got you your gift," you say meekly, pointing his gaze towards the small box in the corner of your bedroom, wrapped neatly with a satin bow.

A chuckle is dragged from Spencer's throat, and you smile, unable to bite back your own small laugh as his face burrows into your neck. "Can I open it tomorrow? I'm a little tired now."

"Of course," you murmur sweetly, letting him rest the weight of his body on you.

Your fingers run it's way through his hair, a small smile of satisfaction painting your lips.

It drops, though, when Spencer speaks.

Tonowari clears his throat, satisfied with your answer. He holds the flower gently, appreciative of the pink and purple hues, his eyes flickering up to scan the horizon. He wonders how many flowers you must have picked before you fled your home. He can only imagine the pain you must be in, the grief - leaving your clan behind and everything you once knew, with nothing but flowers and trinkets to hold your memories.

“Thank you. It’s… lovely,” Tonowari nods his head in acknowledgement, trying ignore how his heart clenches in his chest as your lips quirk upwards into a gentle smile, relief washing over your features. “But it is getting dark, little one, and your father may be growing worried by your absence. JakeSully does not strike me as the type of man to appreciate defiance.”

You nod your head, eyes flickering between the Metkayinan leader and his flower, pleased that he accepted your act of gratitude. You turn heel, bidding him a meek farewell, before scurrying off to your family hut, excited to tell your father about your day.

—

Two days later, you are in Tonowari’s presence again, only this time, he does not appear pleased, and certainly does not look kind. There’s a stern look on his face as he approaches you - his lips are set in a thin line, and his body is tense, his eyes unwavering as they stare directly into yours.

“That flower is poisonous. You have gifted me a poisonous flower.” Tonowari declares, his lips curling in disgust as he shoves the flower in your face, before crumbling it into his hand. A wave of disappointment shoots through you as it falls to the floor, looking bent and pathetically broken. “I have been kind to your family, and this is how you have repaid me?”

You frown, shaking your head as you stare down at the flower. “No. You’re - you’re wrong - I gifted you an irayo flower. It is said to promote peace and to help bring comfort.”

“Comfort?” Tonowari seethes, so loudly that it sounds like a hiss, and your body stills when you notice his ears pinning threateningly against his head. “It has done the opposite of bringing me comfort. In fact, I am in incredible pain.”

Your own ears flitter backwards, your head bowing downwards in fear, and his heart pulls because he doesn’t wish to scare you, but he is terrible discomfort. Even simply suggesting to you that he is in pain is a massive understatement. Ever since being in possession of that stupid flower (which he couldn’t stop sniffing because it reminded him so badly of you) his cock had been aching. At first, he assumed it was because he hadn’t been around such a desirable women since Ronal, but that thought soon disappeared when the ache only got worse.

Even now, staring down at you, the ache overwhelms him. You overwhelm him. That stupid flower overwhelms him. His senses are heightened, and his heart is racing, and his cock is so hard, throbbing with a painful need.

And when you stare up at him meekly, trying to calm down your own rapidly beating heart, before muttering, “I’m sorry, Tonowari,” the helpless throbbing of his cock only gets worse. But then your eyes glimmer with hope, your hands pressing against his abdomen, and you ask, “is there anything I can do to help?”

“Would you? Would you help?” He asks, trying to ignore the desperate pulsing of his cock at your words, grumbling as you nod your head in time with his words.

“I feel obligated to help. It’s my fault you’re in pain, Tonowari,” you whisper, your hand cool against his hot abdomen, your placement friendly, nothing more, but Tonowari’s eyes glimmer with need as you splay your fingers across his skin. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

“It’s wrong of me to ask,” he breathes, his eyelids fluttering as you frown, shaking your head. You seem more than eager to help, trying to cool Tonowari down with the cold of your skin, and it’s helping. Your touch is easing the throbbing of his cock, and he knows that it’s wrong and that you’re Jake Sully’s daughter, but you gave him that damned flower.

You got yourself into this mess. “It is not wrong of you to ask anything of me, Tonowari. I have made you incredibly sick. What must I do to help you?”

It’s incredibly lucky that you’re by the coral shore, sheathed by tall, jagged rocks. It is pure, genuine luck that Tonowari has you here alone, covered by the natural environment of Pandora to save your dignity. “Get on your knees, little one,” he murmurs, his voice so low it resembles that of a growl. When you quirk your brow line up in confusion, he repeats sternly, “get on your knees.”

There’s a slight thrill which rushes to your core as you do what he says. Tonowari is so much larger than you - being of the Metkayina clan, he is built to withstand the conditions of water, and his body is much thicker than yours. His strong thighs flex as your fingers splay over them, your dark blue skin contrasting with the light of his own.

“You have no idea what pain your gift has burdened me with,” Tonowari grunts, and your eyes widen slightly as he begins to pull his loincloth to one side, slightly beginning to expose his length.

“Tonowari, what are you doing? This is not right,” you whisper from beneath him, trying to calm down your racing heart as he shushes you from above, a hiss rattling past his lips as he abandons his loincloth to the sandy floor.

“You said you would help. This is how you can do it.” He says simply, watching as your lips part in wonder, because you haven’t ever seen anything quite like it.

There have not been many suitors in your lifetime - none brave enough to face the wrath of your father - and you’d never even felt the touch of a man before, especially not in such a sensual manner. Yet here you are, knelt before Tonowari, his fingers softly trailing through your curls, your eyes set on his cock, which is so angry and hard that you feel somewhat afraid. A distorted gasp escapes your mouths as his cocks involuntarily pulses, his tip leaking with thick, white cum.

“I had no idea the flower had this effect on men,” You breathe softly, trying to calm the wavering of your voice as Tonowari’s hands guide your own to his cock. His strong fingers curl around yours, encouraging you to wrap your hand around his length, which you do, flinching as it pulses in your hand. “Does it hurt?”

The innocence in your voice and the your uneven breathing makes Tonowari’s eyelids flutter shut. You are just perfect - the right amount of innocent moulded perfectly with the right amount to please, and he wonders if he could even convince you to suck it. “It hurts more than you’d know. It’s unbearable,” he murmurs, coursing your hands up and down his length slowly, hissing as you slowly begin to take over his motions.

Tonowari is just tall enough to see over the rocks, onto his large stretch of land. The communal area is full, boasting with people celebrating over a successful hunt, and his heart tugs as he realises you’re practically stroking his cock in public. There’s hesitancy in your motions, but he doesn’t care - the smooth movement of your hand is enough for him, easing the once overbearing ache which pulsated through his cock every few seconds.

It’s more than obvious that you don’t know what you’re doing - your breath is teasingly fanning over his length, your lips almost close enough to brush over his tip, and it takes everything in Tonowari not to jut his hips forwards and force his length into your mouth. “I need more,” he tells you, his fingers playing at your hair, gently trailing through your curls, careful not to catch onto the strands too harshly. “Put it in your mouth. That will ease the pain greatly - it will almost completely get rid of it.”

You frown, unbelieving. The sandy floor is harsh on your knees, and your hands begin to slow their motion, stilling when Tonowari juts his cock closer to your face. It’s difficult to ignore the way your stomach flips with arousal when his jaw clenches as your tongue comes out to lick a wet stripe up the base of his cock. Your eyes are glued to his face, gasping softly as his nose crinkles when your tongue makes contact with his cock.

“Does this really help?” You ask, hesitant, eyes fixating now on his length, which stands hard and proud in front of you. “It seems like there may be better ways to go about this. Like - like you, giving yourself some relief.”

“I have tried to give myself relief,” Tonowari huffs from above you, his eyes narrowing condescendingly, as though he can’t believe your fiery tone. “That flower you gifted me does not allow for relief. I cannot relieve myself - where do you think I have been for the past two days? On a voyage, travelling the seas like a young warrior?”

You blink up at him, unnerving, his cock pulsating in your hands. His nostrils flare and his fingers tug at your hair softly. “No. I have been rutting against my bed like a recently mated Na’vi. The only relief I get is when I see you, little one,” he growls, his fingers now curling in your hair, a yelp slipping past your lips when he tugs you forwards. “So I advise that you put me between your lips and suck.”

There’s one final beat of hesitancy that passes through the air before you do what he says. Tonowari’s muscles flex under your fingers as you take him your mouth - your lips wrapping against his cock pathetically, a quiet whine leaving you as you begin to bob your head up and down his length. It’s intrusive, and it tastes funny - salty, but good, and he thrusts instinctively, your throat constricting as he does so.

And for Tonowari, it’s like the pain is melting away. The feeling of your tongue rolling up and down his length as you take him in your mouth eases the insufferable ache. Sure, his cock is still throbbing - desperate for uncertain relief, but he’s got what he wanted for now.

It would be wrong of him to complain. “Just like that, little one,” Tonowari hisses, his eyes flickering over to the camp, satisfied when he notices no lingering eyes. “Take in more. Come on, little one, I believe you can do it.”

The softness of his voice sends goosebumps shooting up and down your arms. Your stomach flips as you do what he says, gagging pathetically as you force your head down, your eyes pricking with tears, and it almost knocks the breath out of Tonowari’s lungs, his cock twitching in your mouth when tears begin to stream down your dark blue cheeks.

You want to speak but you can’t, and you feel so ashamed and embarassed that you don’t even try. Tonowari notices, but he doesn’t care - you’ve put him through enough pain already, and the shame you feel will soon wash away; instead, he’s focused on chasing his own high.

He’ll feel bad later on, when you’re defiled and confused, when he has to claim you as his mate. But not right now - no, he’s focusing on himself, and the feeling of your lips wrapped around his length is just perfect. Your tongue runs over every textured rib and every vein, working skilfully as though you’ve done this before.

And you haven’t, and you’re struggling, so Tonowari decides that enough is enough. His stomach flips slightly, and he tries to ignore the urge to grab your head and fuck your throat - he wants to be gentle with you, seeing how you’re such a sweet little flower, so he is. “I’m going to finish,” he grits out, his hands harsh on your head as he grips your hair, “and I need you to swallow, okay, little one? It will be salty, but it’s safe to eat.”

You blink your tears away, nodding softly in acknowledgement, flinching as Tonowari’s balls squelch against your chin, which is wet with your spit. There’s a split second he stills - a split second where the pain in the back of your throat from his intrusion eases - but it doesn’t last. He cums, and you grimance, unused to such a salty mixture in your mouth, trying to focus on the praises which spew from Tonowari’s lips.

“You have done so well, little one,” he tells you once you’ve pulled away, cooing at your teary eyes. “You have done perfect. All of the pain is gone. You’re a perfect little medic.”

You beam up at him, and he watches as your wet little lashes bat as he speaks to you. You cling onto every word, oblivious of just how pretty Tonowari finds you, happy to help the Metikyan leader at any chance. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“No. The pain is all gone.” Tonowari says, beckoning you to stand up with his open palm. You take his hand your heart straining in your chest as his fingers curl around your own. “Thank you for your help, little one. It is greatly appreciated.”

Defeat pulses through you as Tonowari begins to guide you back to the communal campfire, but his hand doesn’t slip from yours. There’s kindness behind the gesture, but also possession, too, and you try to ignore the way your heart sinks when you notice your father gazing at you from your hut.

“My family will be waiting for me,” you say, meekly, your hand slipping from Tonowari’s grasp defeatedly. Your fingers splay over his chest gently, kindly, and you murmur, “the flower becomes toxic when presented with water for too long. I presume that was your mistake. But if you find yourself in a similar position again, needing support, then I am always free to help you.”

Tonowari grins, his eyes flickering over towards your father, whose hands are now resting on his hips. “Go to your hut, little one. Your father is waiting - you are late for curfew.”

There’s something teasing in his tone, an edge of playfulness, and your cheeks flush as you stalk away from him, trying to ignore how your heart flips when you think back to minutes before, where you were kneeled in front of Tonowari whilst he pumped his seed into your mouth.

Your voice fades back in, and as you address him, it snaps Steve out of his train of thought. “So, I’m sure now that we’re well acquainted with each other, Captain Rogers—“

“Please. Just call me Steve. We’ve known one another long enough.”

He quirks a brow as your cheeks flood over in red, before beckoning you to continue your speech. “Well, then, Steve,” you swallow thickly, your voice dropping a few octaves, and Steve senses that he’s embarrassed you. “Now that we’re well - uh, better - acquainted, I hope that you can consider me for the position of your personal assistant.”

“What?” Steve’s blue eyes bore into yours, and they make you brood in anxiety. You feel childish, sitting in front of him in a flowery dress, at what could somewhat be considered an interview, asking to work for him. Perhaps you should’ve dressed nicer, more work appropriate? Yet, before you can blubber on, Steve continues; “doll, if you wanted to work for me, you could’ve just said. Did you do all of this to ask for the position?”

He blinks at you. Embarrassment washes over you like a tsunami wave as you blink back at him. Of course, you could’ve just said you wanted to work for him - you feel naive ever thinking otherwise. Steve’s not a stranger, you practically work with him every day, and he'd be more than enthusiastic to hear you out. He's not one of. the guys at work who ignore women and everything they have to say. He’s nice enough to always say hello to you and sometimes buy you coffee, and flowers if you were down. He's one of the good ones!“I thought it might’ve been inappropriate to ask you whilst you were training.” You shoot him a small smile, trying to ignore how the upwards tug of his lips makes your skin rise with goosebumps.

“Does Stark know you’re applying for this role?”

"He’s actually the one who suggested it.”

Steve takes a long sip of his drink. He stares at you over the rim of the glass, watching you squirm and ponder over his answer. He already knows the answer to your question, but watching you shuffle in your seat and act silly in front of him makes his cock throb, and he enjoys the feeling. You’re so innocent, pressing against the table, wide-eyed, acting as though your tits aren’t pressed together and basically on display for him. The dress is so low-cut. It makes him want to take you right here.

Did you wear that just to get him riled up? “Well, I can’t think of anybody more suitable to fit the position. You know the Compound, you know my office, and I’ve noticed you get on well with higher authorities. You seem like a doting employee.” He kisses his teeth slightly, looking down at the table, before looking up at you through his lashes. He tries to hold back the smirk on his face as he speaks, but it’s impossible not to: “of course, you will also be expected to work somewhat more flexible hours. Later start times, later finishes. We won't always be in the office at the compound - a lot of my additional work files are at my personal home office, but I can always make you up a key to give you easier access."

“Of course,” you chirp, nodding at him enthusiastically. “I’m okay with longer hours, and I can work around you and what you need.”

Steve grins. “Perfect.”

—

It has been about three weeks since you left your position as an intern at Stark Industries and began working for Steve Rogers. It was an exhausting process at first; the sudden change in routine, the heavy workload, the unsociable hours, and Steve often worried you would change your mind. If you couldn't bend for this position, you would break, and he was incredibly worried you'd do the latter. Perhaps because he hadn’t seen you frown so often before, but during the first fortnight of working as his assistant, your lips were always somewhat tugged downwards, and you were always so busy, unable to even joke with him.

You soldiered on, though. Managing to catch up to months worth of missed calls, avoided emails, old paperwork, and forgotten documents. Steve praised you every time you completed a task, and often he found you beaming up at him, prideful and flustered.

Yet, whilst peeking up from his desktop, he finds himself annoyed. You’re sitting quietly opposite him, noting down things and scheduling appointments, and he can’t help the twitch of his cock as he watches you do it. You're not incredibly busy anymore, and yet you're not engaging in any conversation with him. Steve knows you value professionalism, but he only really let you have this job because of his alternative motives when it comes to you.

His eyes flicker back to the computer screen, and then back to you. It's like before his brain can register what he's doing; he's doing it, but he doesn't mind. This is his office, after all, his space. You're his assistant, and if anything, you're supposed to assist him in doing it. His hands are wrapped around his thick, angry cock, and he pumps slowly, watching you intensely.

You're tapping away at your computer so innocently. Your eyes are wide and interested, and clearly whatever your scheduling for Steve has your entire attention because you don't even look up at him. He strokes his cock carefully, and slowly, and his breathing wavers as he runs a finger over his angry, red tip, using some of his precum for lube.

“You okay, Steve?” your voice fills the quiet room, and he looks over at you, his hands still wrapped around his cock. The naivety of your tone makes his cock twitch in his hands, and his pace slows. He makes eye contact with you, never breaking it as he slowly strokes his hand up and down his length. It makes him so much harder that you have no idea what he's doing, and he imagines what your lips would feel like wrapped around him.

“Fine, doll. Just a little sore.” Steve purses his lips as you nod. He meets your eyes, and you hold his gaze, concern plastering over your face.

You're so... modest. Completely unaware of what he's doing, and he loves it. Steve craves you; craves to taint the innocence which consumes you. You're too trusting for your own good, and one of these days, it's going to get you hurt.

Steve just needs to make sure it's him that hurts you, and nobody else.

“You do look awfully red, Steve.” You murmur across from him, concern painting your features. The heavy gaze your boss has on you makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable, but worry overrides any instinctive emotion. “Do you feel hot?”

Steve grunts in agreement with your question. He looks more disheveled than usual. His posture seems hunched, but he seems somewhat relaxed, and his gaze is hard and trained on you. You're unsure as to what's wrong - he's so red, it looks like he's burning up. Perhaps he has a fever, but you're sure the Super Soldier Serum ensures that he doesn't get ill. “Can I get you anything? Paracetamol? A glass of water?” you ask innocently, standing up from your desk chair, slowly walking towards him.

His computer monitor thankfully covers his crotch. Steve’s eyes don’t leave you, and it makes his cock leak when you softly begin to walk over to him. He’s almost certain you own nothing but inappropriate, seductive clothing; he’s seen more of your cleavage these past three weeks than he has anyone else’s, and it’s driving him crazy. The fact he’s managed to hold off from devouring you is insane, but he isn’t sure how much longer he can take.

Being the nice guy just doesn’t seem to be working. The hand which was stroking his cock stills, and he commands you to stop once you’re mere inches away, stood behind his monitor, so small he can hardly see you. “Do you own any appropriate clothing?”

His question is direct and his tone is reprimanding. Your knees wobble, and your head hangs slightly. Shame spreads throughout your body. “I didn’t realise this was inappropriate. My apologies.”

It’s unlike Steve to bark at you. Usually, he’s incredibly soft-spoken and considerate, yet it seems you’ve worn any patience he’s held for you thin. “Doll, every outfit you’ve worn this week has been low-cut and short.” He breathes, and your neck prickles with discomfort when you notice how dark and blown his pupils are. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I don’t think these kinds of… outfits would be appropriate elsewhere. You didn’t wear these outfits when interning for Stark.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Your subordinate manner only makes his cock twitch more, and he’s thankful his hand is sheathing his cock, because the precum that trickles out of its covers his skin and not his trousers. “I’ll try to be more considerate next time.”

It’s painful to let go of his length, but he has to, and he shoves it back inside of his trousers and innocently buttons them up. “Are you wearing these suggestive outfits to get a rise out of me?”

You gasp. “No. Never. I - Sir, I aim to be as appropriate and considerate as possible. I’m sorry I’ve been misleading you.” Steve rises from his seat, and you swallow thickly, feeling incredibly small compared to your boss. You’ve often been close to him - side by side, brushing shoulders, but he’s always been soft-spoken and gentle, apologetic and genuinely caring. Now, it seems like his patience is worn thin, and as opposed to seeing a civilian Steve, you feel as though you're standing in front of a soldier. “I can go and change now if you want?”

“No.” His tone is so low it matches that of a growl, and you cower weakly as he towers over you. Fear pulsates in your being as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling incredibly unsafe, and your heart races in your chest. Steve would never hurt me, you remind yourself, he’s one of the good ones.

You open your mouth to speak, but Steve shushes you. His finger splays over your lips, and you feel scolded and childlike. “I think you do it for attention.” His finger pushes against you, as does his body, as he stalks forward and you shuffle backward, trying to keep any space between the two of you. “You know, it’s been hard staying silent for this long. Watching you from afar, never knowing what to say or do.” His hot breath fans your ear, and Steve’s nostrils flare. “Trying to be a gentleman. Buying you coffee and flowers and cards when you were working at the Compound as a way to be friendly and nice. But I don’t think you want that.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You squeak out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Steve’s fingers gently press against your skin, wiping away any that spill, his skin icy against your own. “I-I’ve appreciated the gifts. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He asks, his eyes shooting down at you. You nod your head eagerly, staring up at him, trying to ignore how the dark look in his eyes makes your stomach flip. “I don’t think you’re truly sorry. I gave you this job to be my personal assistant. I expected more of you. You’re dressing as whore, and you can’t even apologize correctly.”

You swallow thickly, staring up at him. “‘M sorry. I haven’t meant to present myself that way,” your voice wavers. “What would y-you deem a suitable apology, Steve?”

“Captain.” Steve’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you squeak slightly as he tugs at it. “You only get to call me Steve when you’ve been good, which you haven’t.”

“How should I apologize, Captain?”

Your voice is an incredulous whisper. The subordination you show drives Steve crazy, and it takes everything in him not to force your mouth open and push you onto his cock. No, he needs to coax you into it - make you agree that this is the best way to apologize. Any other way wouldn’t suffice.

It’s as though you can’t believe this is happening - and in a way, Steve can’t, either. He’s always imagined this happening - having you begging him to tell you how to do something in a way that’s deemed fit in his eyes, having you be in pain whilst doing it. He curses slightly, before breathing out, “use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me’. Don’t expect me to repeat myself again.” He warns, blinking down at you, before muttering, “you’ve dressed like a whore, sweetheart. I think it’s only fair the Captain treats you as such.” His thumb drags down your lips, and you look up at him with such hesitation it makes his balls throb. He feels as though the look on your face could make him cum already.

Warmth floods over your cheeks. It feels wrong as Steve’s palms press heavily on your shoulders, the weight of him coaxing you down. A shudder leaves you as he forces you onto your knees in front of him, and you stare at his trousers, which are tight by the groin. “Captain, I don’t think -“ you swallow thickly, shaking as he comes down to unbutton his trousers, and flinching once his hands clasp yours, “-I don’t think this is appropriate.”

Your voice comes out in a hushed whisper, and he glares down at you, relishing in your embarrassment. Your eyelashes are wet and tears prickle your eyes still, “You’re on your knees now, doll.” He huffs, blowing out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Your hands shake as he guides them to his trousers. “You might as well get on with it.”

“No I - I don’t want to.” Your voice wavers as he uses your hands to pry his cock out of his trousers, which is an angry red and seeping with cum, and you feel like scurrying away from it. “I-I haven’t ever done anything like this before.” Steve is stronger than you and the grip he’s got on your wrists makes you feel as though they will snap, so you decide not to, rather cowering away from his length in fear.

“Are you a virgin?” His question makes your head shoot up in embarrassment, your eyes wide and distraught, and he groans. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking virgin.”

“I never said I was,” you mutter, yelping when his hands strike you against the face. Fresh tears fall over old tear stains, and you flinch as his fingers splay over your chin.

He tuts. “Don’t lie to me. Are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” you murmur, shameful, eyes watery as you stare up at him. You sniffle, thankful for his gentle touch, which replaces the cruelty of his hands seconds ago. It makes your heart bloom with warmth as he brushes your face softly with his fingers, although he’s wiping away the pain he’s caused.

“My pretty little baby’s a virgin,” Steve coos, and the tone of his voice makes pressure form in your lower belly. “This mouth has never been around anyone’s cock before? Ever?”

There’s almost a deluded tone in his voice as he presses his tip against your lips. You quiver below him, your eyes trained on him as he pushes himself in your mouth. It feels wrong to do this with him - it feels exploitative, and whilst you opt to pull away from him, the wetness in your panties warns you otherwise. You’re enjoying this, and it’s making you feel terrible. You’re letting your boss take advantage of you and you love it.

You'd be lying if you denied the fact that you found Steve attractive. You had a thing for blonds, and the Golden Boy reputation he had made butterflies form in your belly. The fact he was so unlike what he seems makes your thighs clench and your pussy throb. A Golden Boy with an urge to taint; and somehow, you want to be tainted.

You hum against his cock, and it makes Steve’s stomach explode with heat. The wet of your tongue and the hot of your mouth is everything he’s ever wanted and more, and as your teeth scrape against him, he hisses, trying to hold back the smack he wants to deliver to you. You’re not ready for that yet; you’re a virgin, a sweet girl who needs taking care of. He needs to be gentle with you. “Nuh-uh-uh, doll. Cover those teeth of yours and hollow your cheeks - yes, like that, baby."

Steve breathes heavily as you take it in. It feels intrusive to your mouth as you suck on his cock, your tongue swirling up and down his tip. His hands make their way into your hair, and he gently begins to slide your head up and down, going at a quicker pace. It makes your belly ache with warmth as he does it, the feeling of his hands wrapped in your hair making you feel surprisingly... horny? It makes your face flush when you realize you're enjoying being used by Steve, and you eagerly begin to run your tongue up and down his length, tracing his veins and making sure to pay extra attention to his tip.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his balls slapping against your chin uncomfortably, “make your daddy’s cock nice and wet.” Steve’s pace quickens, and more and more of his cock forces its way into your mouth until your eyes are pricking with tears and you’re almost certain his length is going to suffocate you. Gag after gag follows through with each desperate thrust of his hips, and you clasp your hands around his thigh, looking up at him, eager to breathe. He doesn’t let you.

“My perfect little girl. Let daddy cum in your mouth and he’ll forgive you for dressing like such a whore.”

It’s not like you’ve got much of a choice anyway. In Steve's eyes, he's waited long enough to paint you in his cum, and it doesn’t take long for him to finish. He pulls out slightly, spewing cum over your cheeks and lips, grunting with approval at the sight of you. His innocent little personal assistant, who has never felt a man’s cock before today, has just had her throat fucked as though she were a fleshlight. Steve groans, steadying himself by using your head for support, and your nose crinkles as you swallow his cum which had painted your tongue.

It doesn't taste that bad.

“Best you clean yourself up.” Steve murmurs as you clamber up, knees shaking, the heat between your legs throbbing. “I don’t want my personal assistant to look so... defiled whilst she’s working alongside me.”

“Yes, Captain.”

As you attempt to scurry off to the bathroom, Steve stops you. “I want to make a few things clear about your position as my personal assistant, doll.”

You nod your head, uncertain as to what he might say next. The sight of you covered in his cum makes his heart bloom with pride, and he realises that he has finally got you where he wants you to be. “Your role as my personal assistant is to assist me with anything I deem necessary. Whether that be sexual or otherwise. You got that?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good girl.”

—

Your body has been aching and sore for days. Forcing yourself up from your desk chair, you jolt slightly at the sudden pain which shoots up through your spine. You look away from Steve’s hot gaze, which makes you feel flustered and funny, and you begin to flip through pages in your folder, desperate to keep yourself occupied and not draw too much attention from Steve.

“Come here, doll.” His voice is gentle, his arms wide and open, urging you in.

You nod your head, opting to agree. You've become conditioned to his sexual advances, and he accepts when you're not in the mood, saying that he doesn't want to pressure you. Steve is a good guy in that way; he wants you to move at your own pace. You only have to do this for a few more months or so, as that’s how long your contract is.

Steve taps his lap. You comply, carefully seating yourself atop of him, crinkling your nose when he gets too close. He notices, but he doesn’t care, leaning backward slightly and brushing a curl away from your face.

“What have I done for you to hate me?” his once confident voice is quiet, oozing with rejection.

You blink at him. “I - I don’t hate you.”

Steve hums, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. You shuffle uncomfortably in his lap, looking up at him with big, doe eyes, and it makes his cock twitch. You’re so innocent, so friendly, a big baby that needs protecting from the world. All Steve wants to do is protect you and keep you safe. “You don’t look at me the same anymore,” he notes quietly. “You used to look at me like I was a savior before you started working under me.”

You shuffle uncomfortably, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves slightly to get comfortable, and your breath hitches in your throat when his clothed crotch rubs against yours. “I still think of you as a savior, Stevie,” you murmur quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

You’ve worked for Steve long enough now to know that the way around difficult conversations is to stroke his ego. His hand snakes around your back, and he traipses his fingers up and down your back slowly. “No bra, huh? What have I told you about dressing appropriately?”

“S-sorry, Steve.”

“Mmm, I forgive you, baby.” His hands fall to your skirt, and his fingers slowly ride up them. The material parts with the moving of his hands, and your body flushes with heat when his finger slides up and down your slits. He tuts. “No underwear, either? This'll be a little harder to forgive.”

You squeak slightly as Steve pushes a finger inside of you. “Y-you asked me not to wear underwear when I'm around you.”

“Nuh-uh-uh. I don’t remember that, doll. Don’t make things up to try and make yourself better off.” Except, he does remember it because he practically commanded you to strip your underwear off the last time you wore some when working alongside him. But you don’t need to remember that. Steve wants you to believe everything you do for him is because you want to do it, not because he’s told you to.

“Really?” you squeak as he curls his finger inside of you, ensuring he hits against your spongy spot. You try to ignore the heaviness of Steve’s gaze, and you swallow dryly, stuttering as Steve slips another digit in, beginning to fuck you faster with a ‘come-forth’ motion.

“Yeah, doll. Maybe you just wanted your daddy to have easier access to this pretty pussy of yours. I know how much you like getting that little pussy touched.”

His fingers slow down inside of you, and he gazes down at you with a raised brow. You protest, trying to roll against his fingers, but he grabs your thighs and shakes his head. “Bad girls don’t get to feel good.”

“I’m not bad," you whine, and Steve shakes his head in response.

“You lied to daddy. Said he wanted you to wear no underwear. You said it like I’ve been forcing you not to wear underwear when it was your decision.”

The sharpness in his tone makes you recoil, and you still your lower half. against him, not wanting to make him anymore angrier than he already is. “I-I’m sorry. It was my decision. I’m sorry for lying.”

Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You know, I’ve been holding back these past weeks. I wanted to break you in.” He pulls his fingers out of you, and you whine in protest, but your sounds are muffled when he shoves them inside of your mouth. You suck instinctively, and he groans against you. “I’ve been wanting to use that pretty pussy of yours for so long, doll. Been wanting to defile you and make you mine.”

Before you can even react, the tip of his cock is pressing against your slits. “I’ve wanted to fuck you and fill you up with my cum for so long now.” His voice is a growl, and you feel frozen in place, beginning to slowly shake your head. “Fuck you full of my babies. And I know you want that, too.” He groans as he presses harsh kisses against your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin.

“No, Steve,” you breathe heavily as he holds you into place, your own body no match for the strength of his. “I- I don’t want that. I'm not ready for a baby."

“But you are. You just don’t know it yet.” His cock pushes into you, and you let out a whimper, struggling against him. Your walls sheathe him, and you let out a pained squeak. "Look at how well you take me, baby. You were made for me. You’re so wet for me. Look at you, trying to deny your rightful place as my subordinate. My pretty little girl.”

He forces his cock into you slowly. Your walls squeeze around him, sheathing his cock so well, and you whimper, squeezing your nails into his shoulders so hard you feel as though you're going to leave behind crescent moons. "No, Steve," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut, desperately trying to get rid of the burn between your leg. "'t hurts. Stevie, I'm not ready."

"You're ready, baby," he seethes, throwing his head back slightly as he pushes his hips up further. "Your little virgin pussy is hugging my cock so fucking tight."

A mewl escapes you as his cock brushes up against the spongy spot inside of you. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and mascara begins to brew below your lash line. Steve stares at you, his gaze passionate, wondering how he ever got so lucky. Not only has he got you exactly where he needs you, but he's also ruining you, tainting you for other men.

The only way he can truly ensure other men will leave you alone is to fill that belly of yours with his baby, so that's exactly what he intends to do. "Does that feel good?" he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. "You feel so full, baby?"

"So full, Steve," you whine, trying to adjust yourself to gather more comfort. Your walls rub against his cock as you adjust, and it feels kind of... good, so you do it again. Your hips slowly roll atop of him, and you whimper to yourself, pain mixing with pleasure.

Steve lets you bounce on him. It's a slow pace, and it doesn't hurt, though it feels unnatural to have something this big inside of you. It's not that you're entirely sexually naive - you've masturbated before, but this is completely different. Steve is huge, and with every roll of your hips, you can feel him. There's no room for escape, and your stomach flips as you throw your arms around his neck. "Steve," you breathe, eyes flittering shut as the coil inside of you threatens to break and snap, your toes curled in desperation. It feels as though you're just inches away from experiencing pure ecstasy, but you can't reach it, and it's making you so frustrated, you feel as though you could cry. "H-help me, Steve."

"You want Daddy's help when getting off?" he coos, brushing a curl away from your face. You stare down at him, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, and he groans slightly. So cute, so small, so ready for him. This is how you should be - begging for his help, needing him, relying on him. You're just a woman, after all; you need a big, strong man like Steve to take care of you.

His hips thrust up, and it's incredibly painful at first. Steve's pace is nothing compared to yours - you were being slow and gentle with your body, and he just wants to ruin it. His hips smash into you, his cock sliding in and out, and he peppers harsh kisses against your neck. You mewl against him, pressing up against his chest to feel him, your toes curling in your flats, your eyes dazed, mouth gaping. You look like a picture-perfect image, and Steve grunts as he fucks you, wanting to tip you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until the coil snaps. You murmur and shake against him, your thighs clenched as you cum, squirting all over his cock, drenching his balls and trousers. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you yell against him, his cock relentlessly fucking you throughout your orgasm.

"I'm gonna fill you with my babies," he growls, "drown your pussy with my fucking cum."

"No," you cry out, unable to move as he thrusts himself into you; again and again and again. You feel so helpless, so small and weak against him, and you stare up at him. His pupils are dark and blown, and his Adam's apple bobs desperately, his nostrils flaring as his cock twitches inside of you. "Please, pull out!"

"I don't think so, baby," he grunts, and with one final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you. Your walls squeeze him simultaneously, and he lets out a low, powerful groan, as he coaxes your walls with his cum. "Gotta make you a nice little housewife. Gonna have you popping out all of my babies."

Steve brushes away the tears which slip down your cheeks. He doesn't even realize how hard he's been holding you until he lets go, your arms riddled with handprint marks which he's sure will bruise. "Don't cry, doll," he murmurs, "you knew what came with the job."

"No, I didn't," you sniffle, pressing your head into his neck. It's wrong how his warmth and his smell act as a safety valve for you when he's the reason you're so upset. "I would've never - I would've never gotten into this if I knew what you expected from me."

A gentle sob racks your body, and Steve looks down at you, caressing your face gently. "Baby, stop crying. You're ruining that little face of yours." In honesty, Steve's patience is running thin. He's been good to you; caring, doting, paying you well for an easy job, and this is how you react? You cry into his arms after he tells you he's going to pump you full of his children? He's Captain America, for God's sake. You should be begging for it. "Just - Jesus fucking christ," he huffs as you continue to cry, grabbing your face harshly, and the sudden grip shocks you. "Stop crying. If you're going to speak, at least try and be fucking coherent."

Nodding your head, you wipe your eyes, which are tender and you assume, red. "I'm not ready for this," your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve almost feels a bit sorry at the sight of you. "I- I don't want this."

"Only good girls get what they want," Steve states plainly, staring at your disheveled face. He certainly got what he wanted - you look ruined, and you feel it, too. He imagines his cum is mixed with a bit of your blood; what, with him defiling you and all, he probably broke your hymen as well. The thought makes him grin to himself, and he utters, "I don't think you've been good, so you don't get what you want, baby."

"I'm sorry! I just - this doesn't seem like a fair punishment! I don't want this!" You cry out as Steve delivers a harsh smack to your ass, and you gaze up at him pathetically through your lashes as he tuts.

“Please stop,” you whimper as he grinds your hips for you roughly, his cargo pants stimulating your clit shamefully. “It - it feels weird,”

"It feels good and you don't like it," Quaritch interrupts plainly, his fingers toying with your lips, letting out a quiet hiss as your mouth instinctively wraps around them to suck. "That's my girl. My little bouncy bunny, bouncing up and down her daddy's thighs. Feel's good, doesn't it?"

Shamefully humming in agreement, you dip your head slightly, your mouth still wrapped around his fingers, sucking carefully. Perhaps it's because there's so much of him that you can't hold back. The folds of his cargo pants press against you harshly, the fabric stimulating your clit, and you pathetically whine against him.

Quaritch smirks, leaning back slightly to take you all in. He presses his fingers against your tongue, satisfied with just how well you're taking him - how you're grinding against him despite the shame and guilt that comes with it. "Come undone all over my pants, bunny. I want the world to see what a dirty little slut you are."

As you gasp against him, your little hips desperately rutting on his thighs, squirting all over him like you have no shame, he lets out a gentle hiss, ears pinning backward instinctively. You're going to do this all over again until you're an even more crying, weeping mess on his thighs.

ꕤ 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘

Thick thighs; strong thighs. Once weak and small, foreign to the strength needed to run on forest floors and mountain land, now tough and powerful. It's hard to drag your eyes away from your mate, as he kneads moisture into his legs to soothe the ache from adapting to a newer climate: the ocean.

"You starin' at me, sweetheart?" Jake's voice is cool and calming, his eyes not leaving his thighs as he addresses you.

Ears pinning backward, a slight flush of warmth spreads across your cheeks. "I like what I see," you answer honestly, and your mate chuckles to himself, rubbing the moisturizer into his thighs in hard, circular motions.

He hisses. "You are doing it wrong, ma Jake. Gentle, gentle, here, let me help you." You take the pot of moisture away from him, silently clambering onto his lap, your chest growing tight as you softly begin to knead his thighs.

Jake stares at you. It is intense and piercing, and he grumbles as your fingers dully brush against his crotch as you rub his thighs. They are big and muscular - flexing every time you roll your thumbs against a particularly tight knot, and you find yourself dreaming about what you could do with them. How good they could make you feel.

"You okay, sweetheart? Seem to be dozin' off slightly." Jake's hand slither into your hair and you mewl quietly, your nose brushing against one of his thighs. You pepper a soft kiss to it, and he hums. "I think I know what you want."

"Do you?"

"Mmm. Sit on my lap for me, sweet girl, that's right - uh-huh, perfect."

It's a strange feeling at first. Jake's thighs are lotioned up, soft and glistening, and you find your body slipping subconsciously down his thighs. Your bottom half is almost bare against him, and you stifle an obnoxious moan as he steadies your hips so you don't slip anymore. The friction feels amazing, and you pout at his steadying, wiggling your hips side by side softly.

You hope he doesn't notice, but Jake isn't stupid. He grins to himself as he softly begins to roll your hips up and down, pressing you hard against his thighs. Your arms wrap around him instinctively, your head nuzzling into the crook of his neck, your senses overstimulated with his scent and the feeling of his strong thighs flexing under your cunt.

"Let's see how good I can make you feel, huh, sweet girl?"

ꕤ 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐈

"Make yourself feel good, my flower. Do not worry about me."

Tonowari's big, strong arms are wrapped around your waist, his face nuzzling into your neck, breathing in your scent. It is new to him, all of this - feeling so devoted and prideful. Your womb blooms with life, and he is afraid to hurt you. The birth of your first child will be soon, and he does not want to risk any consequences.

He's heard enough horror stories to know otherwise. Tonowari grunts as you shuffle against him, your loincloth abandoned on the hut floor. There is no light but that of candlelight, burning low, and he can just make out your lewd and illicit features. His bare thighs flex as you comfortably plant yourself against him, thighs spread either side of his eagerly, your womb swollen with life.

It makes his cock throb eagerly when he hears you moan - when he feels your slick press against his thigh, when you begin to grind atop of him. It's painful - so incredibly painful to watch his mate come undone with no help, but he cannot do anything.

He must watch.

Your body trembles against him softly, your voice wavering as you moan, "oh, Tonowari, your thighs are so strong. They are like that of a great warrior. You manage to please me in every sector of life."

Like clockwork, he tenses again, eager to please. Tonowari peppers soft kisses against your face, basking in the salty taste of water and sweat as you begin to rut against him in a desperate frenzy of heat. "My flower, do not wilt yourself out. I want you to bloom."

"I'm blooming, Tonowari - oh Ewya - I'm so close," your voice wavers a your cunt slicks against his thighs, comfortable as he flexes beneath you, urging him to bounce his leg softly. And he does - of course he does because all Tonowari ever wants to do is please you, so he looks away, a dark blue blush rising on his cheeks like the dawn, and bounces his legs.

It is enough for you. If Tonowari let you, you would worship his thighs - pepper gentle kisses to them, devote yourself to them - but he won't. So this is what you settle for, an orgasm that drowns you, which has your mate holding you up as you cream all over his legs, body convulsing atop of him.

Inside of you, there is silence. Despite the fact your face no longer burns with heat whenever you gaze at the Metkayina leader, you still drown in desire and want. Tonowari is sleeping, cocooned by his hammock, a peaceful expression clouding his face as his chest rises and falls slowly, soft breaths leaving his mouth.

You wonder if the sea had claimed you before you had claimed it. You knew your sisters and brothers had no trouble adapting — Lo'ak felt more at home here than he had in the tribunal forests of your homeland, and Kiri felt comfortable and in touch with Ewya wherever she went. Neteyam, the mighty warrior, had adapted quickly to the new hunting rituals, bringing home many pounds of fish, and Tuk had impressively learnt in days how to weave items of clothing by using Metkayina flora.

They'd adapted properly, using their labour to find a way to fit in, and though your family would always be outcasts — with your five fingers a contrast to their four, a constant reminder that you are alien — their labour proved their worth. They were accepted.

Though you're smiling at the thought of your brothers and sisters, your heart tugs — how would they react to the news? When your father had hounded you to find a mate, he surely meant someone more... age-appropriate. Your father certainly did not mean that he wanted you to mate with someone whom he often drank Pongu Lumpia with.

Shaking your head, your fingers close around your robe. It's a maroon red, woven by Tuk with flora she'd found in a cave on the reef. It cocoons you into a shield of warmth, hiding you from the cool ocean breeze which rustles throughout Tonowari's marui. The cold air causes him to stir in his sleep, the coolness a sharp contrast to his heated body.

You watch as he grumbles in discontent, his ears twitching in annoyance, your own flittering upwards in anticipation. "Tonowari," you whisper, edging towards the Metkayina leader, your fingers darting over his thighs when you reach his hammock. "The sun is rising. You must wake soon."

"It has not risen, yet. Come to bed, little one. I miss your warmth."

Tonowari's voice is groggy, ridden with sleep, and you hesitate, your fingers lingering on his strong thighs. "We must tell my parents—"

"—We will tell them later. Join me, for now. We will do whatever you wish when the sun has risen."

You pout in disproval, though you listen. The hammock is comfortable, adapting to your weight as you sink inside of it, and you squeak slightly as Tonowari's strong arms wrap around your frame. "You're so warm, little one," he grunts, his voice rumbling in his chest as he speaks, his nose nuzzling against your own. "It must be because of that robe."

Goosebumps flicker up your skin as Tonowari's hand begin to sneak underneath your garment. His fingers make lewd movements, darting from your abdomen up towards your chest, a shiver ghosting up your spine as his thumb flicks over your nipples, which harden as the cool breeze begins to wash over your frame.

"Would you like for me to take it off?" You moan, and it sounds so sweet that Tonowari's cock throbs with need. Your heart hammers in your chest as his deep blue eyes bore into your own, his finger gently begging to roll your nipple between his fingers.

"I do not want you to get cold, little one," Tonowari mumbles, his breath flittering against your chest as he dips his head, his lips peppering gentle kisses against your skin. "Keep it on."

There's a foreign sensation that crackles through you once Tonowari's lips wrap around one of your nipples. As he gently begins to suck, you gasp, your body jolting towards his as an overbearing feeling of electricity pulses through you. It bites at every nerve, making your body throb with electricity.

"Oh." You mewl, your face growing insatiably hot as Tonowari hums against your nipple, your eyes shutting tightly as he purrs against your skin. "This feels—"

"—Good," he finishes your sentence, pulling away from your breasts, a lewd trail of spit following him. Your gaze flickers down towards him, and you wishes you hadn't even bothered looking, because a moan catches in your throat when you see his swollen lips and lust-filled eyes trailing over your body.

Tonowari's tongue wets his lips, before he dips his head to latch his mouth around your nipple again. It's a strange sensation, to say the least. You've never really explored yourself there before — but now you're really wishing you had.

You squirm under Tonowari's touch, and a moan catches in your throat, but you're unsure of whether or not it actually escapes your lips or dies before it gets to do so. His lips wrap around your sensitive nub, careful as his sharp teeth begin to graze softly against the bundle of nerves, and your hands instinctively fall down to his head, your fingers running over his braids as he laps at your nipple.

Tonowari's tongue skilfully swirls around your nipple, and warmth pools in your lower belly as he begins to grow eager, his hands darting down towards your loincloth. "Please," you beg, though you're not exactly sure what you're begging for. Warmth curls at every nerve inside of you as his fingers disappear under your loincloth, your breath still in your chest as you try to anticipate his next move.

“Breathe, little one,” Tonowari utters, his fingers gently brushing over your slits, the sensation making you melt with warmth.

You nod and try to steady your breathing. Tonowari is still and it's driving you crazy — your hips instinctively buck against his fingers, and a breathy whine escapes your mouth. He shoots you an unimpressed look, and you blush. Once your breathing is even, Tonowari continues. Though the soft flickers of his brows are knitted together and his eyes are somewhat narrowed from your eager bucking, his touch is gentle, his wet, warm mouth wrapped around your nipples, his tongue beginning to flicker again.

Every nerve inside of you is lit, blazing and burning wildly. His fingers gently part your sticky folds, electricity crackling up your spine as he sucks at your sensitive nipples, his eyes lulling shut soothingly.”

"You are going to be even more needy for this once you're carrying our child," Tonowari says, his fingers gliding up and down your slits, satisfied with how wet and needy your cunt is. "Is this your first time being pleasured in such a way?"

"I've never touched myself there before," you admit hoarsely, shivering as Tonowari nibbles at your bud in response, the sensation sending butterflies fluttering through your stomach. "Just my — my, uh—"

"—Just your cunt. I know, little one. I saw everything when we committed Tsaheylu."

Your face blazes with embarrassment, but Tonowari does not falter. You swallow thickly, a whine catching in your throat as Tonowari's fingers press into your cunt, the curling of his digits making you jolt. The unexpected intrusion makes you mewl in appreciation, your hands pressing eagerly against the back of his head, encouraging him to keep sucking.

It's all you want. The sensation feels electric, and it makes you drown in heat. The air in the marui is scorching, making it difficult to breathe, but you focus on the rising and falling of your chest, not wanting him to stop again.

"I forget how new you are to all of this," he chuckles lowly, the sensation vibrating against you, making you mewl. Insecurity tugs at your heart, because you are new to this — but your mate seems so delighted. "You're so reactive. Tell me, little one, do you like this?"

Tonowari bites at your nipple, and you gasp, rutting into his hand like you're in heat. The sensation makes tears bubble in your eyes, because it stings to have your sensitive bud pressed between his two, sharp canines, but you're so wet that it doesn't matter, a sultry twinge shooting through you at the lewd action.

"Yes, I like it," you mumble drunkenly, your eyes blown and dark, your body craving him. His fingers curl inside of you appreciatively, a soft squelch echoing around the mauri, and he grins against your chest.

"Mmm. You're going to love it once you're with child," he states lowly, his fingers slowly working at your cunt, scissoring you open. "If you're this sensitive now..."

He trails off, unable to finish his sentence, and you let out a breathy moan. Between the lewd curling of Tonowari's fingers and the feeling of his hot mouth suckling at your chest, you feel yourself growing blind. Heat flashes through your body, an insatiable warmth pooling in your stomach as your thighs begin to tense, locking his hand in place as he fingers your cunt.

It feels so good. Tonowari devours you; his entire presence sending shocks shooting through your body. It's so deliciously wrong to have the Metkayina leader sending you into oblivion with his sharp teeth and gentle mouth, and you gasp as you squelch and squirm and clench down around his fingers, your moans mortifyingly loud.

"I need to — Tonowari, please, I need to —" you plead, your eyes beginning to grow heavy and your body edging towards numbness as his teeth catch your nipple again, rolling his rough tongue against the bud gently.

"Breathe." He says, tone so sharp that it feels like a knife, your body prickling with heat as your orgasm approaches; hard and fast and heavy, weighing your body down as you begin to tremble and shake against him.

Your eyes are closed so tight that you see stars. Tonowari's fingers curl inside of you as you attempt to take a deep breath, and you wail, the feeling so overwhelming and good that you begin to cry. Your chest is heaving — really heaving, and your lungs burn with the urge to breathe but you just can't, and despite Tonowari's reminder earlier, you’ve forgot.

Your body writhes beneath him. You wriggle, pleading for air because each stroke of his fingers and flicker of his tongue makes it impossible to breathe. You can't even think anymore, so dumb from the hot sparks which shroud your body into what you thought to be unattainable bliss that your nerves grow numb.

"Little one, you need to breathe," Tonowari repeats, but your ears are ringing and you can't hear him because his teeth are rolling over your nipples and he's sucking so good and his fingers are curling inside of your cunt so tortuously. You can't hear anything except for your own blood pumping inside of you and the shameful squelching of your cunt, and you hump against his fingers eagerly.

Just when you're on the brink of cumming, just as you suck in air and begin to shake and convulse, he stops.

You begin to gasp for air, writhing against his chest, your eyes tired and heavy as all of his movements stop. Tonowari pulls away from your chest, his look of disapproval burning through you.

"You forgot to breathe," he says accusatory. Your eyes peek over him, and your breath stills in your chest again. Tonowari's eyes are so blown that his irises are being swallowed, leaving just a thin ring of the aqua-blue around the edge.

"I'm sorry. Felt too good," you mumble breathy, your fingers splayed over Tonowari's head, pushing him eagerly towards your chest. "Please?"

He frowns, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I cannot please you if you do not breathe."

"I will breathe, yawne," you utter desperately, beginning to hump at his fingers. "I promise you I will breathe. Please, Tonowari, I need to feel good."

His lips press against your neck. His mouth is warm and wet, and he suckles slightly, a shiver spreading throughout you as he laps at the skin. Tonowari begins to pepper his kisses down towards your chest, leaving gentle bruises in the wake of his lips, and your body instinctively presses against him as his mouth brushes against your nipples.

"You're so good, yawne," you praise, your eyelids growing heavy as his lips reattach to your nipples, hot sparks exploding throughout your body. "So good to me."

You focus on your breathing this time — in, out, in out, in out. Tonowari's fingers curl inside of you again, and it's back to square one. Except, not really. You're so hypersensitive that as his teeth graze against your nipple, teasing and deliberate, you cunt clenches, and Tonowari grunts.

He's so hard that it physically hurts him. The lavender tip of his cock is leaking with pre-cum, but he doesn't even bother to move in an attempt to fist himself free of the shackles of his own desire for an orgasm. Tonowari is so focused on you and what makes you feel good, which just so happens to be anything he does.

You're appreciative of the fact that he's focusing on your pleasure rather than his own. Tonowari explores you, his tongue darting across your skin, goosebumps rising in it's wake, before returning back to your sensitive, swollen nipples.

Your chest feels so tight. Your heart hammers, pounding, and you focus on your breathing, making sure to satisfy Tonowari. You feel his cock, hard and rigid, pressed up against your thighs, as you try to brush against him but it's impossible. You can't move, pinned under his weight, under the feeling of his delicious tongue which swirls skilfully around your nipples and the curling of his fingers.

"I'm going to —"

"Do it."

You whimper, nodding eagerly at his words, dragging your lips between your teeth. It all feels too good, too much, and you begin to convulse. Warmth spreads throughout your abdomen, your cunt growing even slicker as he fingers you, rolling into the spongy spot inside of you with ease.

It feels like a knot is violently unraveling inside of you. Your breathing becomes unsteady, uneven; manic and quick. The knot feels like it's being ripped apart. Snapped and torn and frayed.

You let go of everything. You feel nothing but him. His touch is ecstasy, and you feel divine, holy as you cum.

The rays of the sun blind you as you come undone around him. Twitching, jolting, shaking. You're blazed with pleasure, dumb with need, and Tonowari's ears twitch eagerly, listening to every moan and cry that spews past your lips.

You blink, hazily, your breathing uneven as his fingers pull out of you, his mouth still suckling on your breasts. Tonowari groans, his hands grabbing at your skin, squeezing your hips tightly.

Confusion clouds you as Tonowari’s hips judder against your thighs, a gasp of realisation slipping past your lips as his hard cock pulls away from your plump flesh. He’s came — his own breathing is uneven and steady, and he’s left a painting of sticky cum against your skin. His ears pin tightly against his head, but he doesn’t seem embarassed at all. It’s like this is a totally normal thing for him.

And maybe it is. But it’s not for you. Your eyes are wide in shock, your fingers still as they press against Tonowari’s chest. His face is now inches away from yours, and he has a satisfied, smug grin plastered across his lips.

“Was that good, little one? Did that satisfy you?”

“You came.” You say, bewildered, your hands shaking as they press against his chest, your brows knitted together in confusion. “How — Why did you —“

“Your pleasure is my pleasure, yawne.” Tonowari mumbles, and the term of endearment makes your heart soar. “This is not unusual for me.”

As always, you frown. Tonowari is referring to his previous encounters, with his previous mate. Jealousy pricks at your heart and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fill such big shoes. You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the feeling of his fingers pinching you cheek, and you scowl, your tail thrashing behind you.

“You like making me feel good?” You ask timidly, eyes crinkling as the sun blinds you, hiding yourself in Tonowari’s chest.

“It is what I enjoy doing the most. Pleasuring my mate is my greatest pleasure.” Tonowari affirms, shooting you a loving smile before his head turns to the entrance of the mauri, his eyes squinting from the sun. “I wish we could continue, little one, but the sun has risen.”

The sun has risen. You pout, somewhat disappointed that it can’t continue, because your body still feels electric from where he’d been pleasuring you. “It’s time to tell my family about us,” you say breathlessly, and Tonowari grins.

“Yes, it is.”

The walk back to Tonowari's marui is solemn. Whilst your father had disapproved, at least at first, he'd shrunk into himself once you'd told him that you and Tonowari had committed Tsaheylu, now bound together for life. It's somewhat ironic — Jake Sully cannot criticise you for who you'd chosen your mate to be. Your father had not only stolen your mother from Tsu'tey, a mighty warrior of the Omatikaya, he'd also been actively working against your community and your culture when doing so.

Eventually, your father accepted. Although he almost keeled over in the process, he'd accepted.

Tonowari didn't celebrate the way you thought he would. He just nodded his head and thanked your father for approving, and then turned heel and left.

And you'd followed him.

That's how you've ended up here.

The floor is almost scorching, and you shuffle forwards in discontent. Despite living in Awa'atlu for a few months, you still haven’t quite gotten used to the insatiable heat. You feel sweaty, uncomfortable, and your heart tugs as your mate pulls you towards his marui, your eyes flickering over towards him.

He hadn't even celebrated. Maybe it was because he knew your parents couldn't exactly deny you of him — Ewya had approved of your bond, and he is also Olo'eyktan. This is his clan, and you are his mate.

But... maybe that wasn't the case. And you don't want to think this way, you truly don't, but a little voice is in the back of your head is telling you that he didn't celebrate because he'd been through all of this before. Tonowari, perhaps, didn't celebrate because he had no need to — he'd been mated before, with Ronal, and he'd probably went with her to tell her parents, also. And he'd probably celebrated then, because she was the love of his life and she was supposed to be his mate forever.

You grimace, pushing your doubtful thinking away. You know of Ronal. She was a strict Tshaìk, yet a loving mother. A fierce leader. Her connection with Ewya was strong, and your heart pulls in your chest as Tonowari's fingers intertwine with yours.

There's an ounce of comfort in the small gesture. Safety. Your ears pin backwards and you look away, your eyes fleeting over every grain of sand as an excuse to not look at him.

The reef is booming with life. Children run, and parents chase them. Nobody even looks your way — Tonowari had promised you that they wouldn't. Until your bond is announced, nobody would think that you were both seeing each other, rather just assuming that he was just guiding you somewhere.

When you see the familiar, curvy triangular shape of the marui, your ears prick upwards. You try to stop at the entrance, needy for rest, but Tonowari's strides don't falter, until your hands slip from one another's grasp.

"Why have you stopped, little one?” Tonowari asks, his voice gentle as he eyes you suspiciously.

You hesitate under his pointed gaze, shuffling on your feet. "I thought we were going back home."

"I have something I want to show you," he utters, offering out his hand. "Come on, little one.”

"Where are we going?”

"I will show you. Come on."

You pause, eyes flickering from the marui to your mate, before you begrudgingly accepting his hand. Despite the two of you both being Na'vi, the size difference is overwhelming — Tonowari towers over you by a couple of feet, and his hand is so big that it sheathes the both of yours.

Minutes pass, and there is only silence. There is no conversation shared between the two of you. Tonowari holds your hand proudly, guiding you towards the rocky reefs. The slippery surface of the rocks makes your heart patter in your chest fearfully — you still hadn't quite gotten used to the feeling of slimy seaweed on your feet, and your hesitant steps are proof of that.

"You have not yet adapted," Tonowari chuckles, his grip on you strong as he guides you between two rocks, that stand tall and mighty.

"It's not that easy." You mumble, shivering as cold washes over you as the rocks begin to hide the sun.

He smiles. "You will learn soon, little one."

As your eyes adjust to the loss of sunlight, you can't help the awe that tugs at your heartstrings as you realise where Tonowari has taken you.

In your homeland, there was no such thing as a private, docile place to clean. All of the Omatikaya, including the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk, used a communal lake to bathe. Although the clan leaders were allowed to bathe alone, the others bathed together. There was just simply not enough water in the forest for the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk to have a personal, intimate area to clean and bathe together.

But here — in the reefs — there is nothing but water.

"What is this?" you whisper, your skin crawling with goosebumps as Tonowari presses his lips to your forehead gently.

"What do you think?" Tonowari quips back, watching as your nose crinkles as you breathe in the husky, earthy smell, your eyes scanning over the deep, pear-shaped entrance of the shelter.

There's something so intimate about how Tonowari guides you. His hands are resting on your shoulders, eagerly pushing you towards into the cave, your eyes falling on the downwards curve of the floor, which transcends into a pool of milky, steaming water.

"Is this yours?"

Your mate smiles, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his fingers slipping down towards your loincloth, gently beginning to untie its knot. "It is ours," he states, his face illuminated only by the blue and green bioluminescence moss which laps at the sides of the pool. "I heard from your father that in your homeland, the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk did not have their own private bathing quarters."

"When did you hear that?"

"JakeSully loves to complain when he's intoxicated. Pongu Lumpia makes him even more insufferable than usual," Tonowari grunts, smiling as your loincloth drops to the floor, leaving you bare in front of him. "He feels that as Toruk Makto he is worthy of privacy."

Tonowari's freckles are glowing in the dim light of the cave. “I say that he gave up the title of a mighty warrior when he fled his home.”

You try not to giggle, but it’s really, really hard. Tonowari has always been critical of your father, and his small joke actually allows you to bask in a sense of comfort.

Warmth cocoons you as he ushers you into the pool of milky water, watching as you submerge yourself. The silky hot water is perfect, and your face flushes with a light sheen of sweat and embarrassment as your mate begins to undress himself.

He stands so proud as he shows himself to you. You feel warm and gooey as he traipses into the water, and you try to focus on anything but him. There’s a slight lingering feeling of dread which pulses through you, ruining the slightly intimate moment, because you know deep down that Tonowari had shown Ronal this exact cave before.

The cool, fluorescent algae illuminates the cave, and there's a low, bioluminescence glow shining from beneath the milky substance in the water. It's beautiful in the cave, and pieces of moss glow like stars above you.

Your heart tugs in your chest as Tonowari's hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer towards him in the water. "What is on your mind, little one?" He asks, pressing a soft kiss to your wet temple, his lashes long and damp, soaked from the water. "You have been quiet ever since we left JakeSully’s marui."

The blissful solitude shrouds you, and you let your head hang on his chest, which has a shines turquoise from the water. "Nothing. I'm fine, Tonowari," you mumble, shooting him a gentle smile as he embraces you, his braids sticking to the wet skin of his back.

"You do not seem fine," he grumbles, careful as he picks up some circular moss which resided on the rocks. He squeezes the soft green plush, gentle as he begins to excrement soap from it, rolling it between his fingers. As soapy duds begin to form, he hums, rolling the moss against your skin, using gentle circular motions when he washes you. "Do you wish to tell me what is bothering you, little one?"

Tonowari's interaction with your father keeps replaying inside your head. Everytime it repeats, your heart pulls, cracks in half, and you can't tell if you're being dramatic or emotional or what. Tonowari hadn't reacted, he hadn't celebrated, he hadn't even smiled when he got your father's approval.

Because he'd been through it all before. With Ronal.

As he's washing you, soft in his motions as he rolls the soapy moss against your skin, all you can think about is how he's done this before with someone else. It plagues you. It's like a sickness.

"Yawne, I cannot help if you do not say anything," he says softly, beginning to cup the milky water in his hands, his ears twitching as the water trickles your skin.

“How are you over her?”

“Over who?”

“Ronal.”

Tonowari pauses for a brief second, before continuing to wash the duds off of your skin. Your voices echo around you, bouncing off of the cave walls, and your face flushes when his hands gently begin to massage your shoulders.

“She died a long time ago, little one. I cannot live in solitude and mourn any longer. She is with Ewya now.”

“But you’re supposed to mate for life. You’re — you’re still here. She’s still your mate.”

Tonowari frowns, his motions gentle and circular, his thumbs riding down to your back, focusing on a tight knot between your shoulder blades. “You are my mate.”

The silky hot water mixed with Tonowari’s fluid motions is an incredible soother. You feel like all of your tension is melting away, and despite the self-doubt and insecurity which flitters throughout you, you find yourself relaxing.

“But so is she.” You’re exasperated, confused.

You knew Tonowari had been mated before. You knew all of this before you chose him.

So why now, when you’re in too deep, are you having second thoughts?

“You are my mate.” Tonowari’s voice is soft, fleeting against your ear. “Do you need me to remind you of just how badly I want you, little one?” His breath fans against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine and your stomach flips at his words.

You shake your head, a gentle gasp slipping past your lips as Tonowari turns you, his grip on your shoulders harsh as he does so. His palm squeezes your skin uncomfortably, and your breath hitches in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, so black and blown that the ring of ocean blue is barely visible.

“No, Tonowari. I don’t need a reminder.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak, wavering slightly as Tonowari’s nose nuzzles against your shoulder. “I know I’m your mate.”

“I do not think that you’re aware of how badly I’ve wanted you, little one.” His fingers dance against your skin, and his arms become submerged by the hot, silky water. Tonowari's hands cup your thighs, his body ushering you to the edge of the pool, and you squeak as you feel mossy rocks press against your back. "Ever since you came to the reef, I have not been able to keep my eyes off of you, and the second you gave me that irayo flower... it was the greatest excuse to get close to you."

"Excuse?" you murmur, breathless as his strong arms sit you against the rocks, his nose rubbing against your inner thighs. "What do you mean, excuse?"

Tonowari's teeth graze against your skin and you whine, your heart pitter-patting in your chest as his rough tongue laps at your skin, leaving dark-coloured bruises in its wake. “It hurt, yawne, more than you’d ever know. And like I told you — I was rutting like a newly mated Na’vi, and the only relief I got was when I would see you, and that is when I knew you were sent to me. From Ewya.”

“Oh,” you breathe, your heart tightening in your chest as Tonowari’s lips press against your cunt. His tongue laps at you eagerly, the rough muscle parting your slits, and a gentle whine slips past your mouth as he does so. Hot, electric sparks shoot up your skin, and your legs jolt slightly as his tongue swirls gently around your clit. “Tonowari.”

“You wonder why I chose you,” he purrs against your cunt, the vibration sending shockwaves through your pussy. “I wonder how you could ever choose me.”

The intimacy of Tonowari between your legs makes your stomach clench. Despite being recently mated, he hasn’t had an incredibly high libido — you haven’t snuck off to rut at every possible chance, rather having an even and steady sex life. But this — the way he’s nuzzling against your cunt, licking and lapping and sucking at the heat sloppily shows something different a

A primal side to him you haven’t seen before.

He's grunting, and you look down for a second, confused as to why he’s making noses. Then you notice his hand, which strokes up and down his cock in a steady motion. Tonowari is pleasuring himself whilst pleasuring you, and you moan, so conflicted to how a man can make you feel so horny.

Tonowari's tongue draws patterns on your clit, and his breathing becomes heavy as he strokes his cock, his eyes lulling as he laps at your cunt. He's so eager to please, kissing your heat softly, listening to every mewl and whine, and your stomach begins to twist, growing insatiable with every roll of his tongue.

And then you feel it — the knot inside of you begins to break, twist apart, fray at the hem. It's so peaceful this time, so satisfactory, and your moans bounce off of the cave walls as you cum, your hands behind Tonowari's head, pushing his face into your cunt needily. You hump against him like you're in heat, the feeling of his rough tongue stroking you through your orgasm making you shake.

"I must show you how much you mean to me, yawne," he comments, his voice shaking slightly as he strokes his uncomfortably hard cock with need. "Can I breed you?"

"Breed me?" You ask, exasperation lacing your tone as Tonowari joins you on the rocks, his strong hands pinning you underneath his body.

"That is what I asked, is it not?" He utters, his body sheathing your view of the bioluminescent moss which litters the top of the cave, shrouding your vision with black. The only light you have comes from the light-blue specks on his face, and a breathy moan leaves your mouth as Tonowari's cock glides through your slits, an unexpected jolt of electricity shooting up your spine.

"I'm just confused as to why you asked. We've done this before."

"I want you to carry my child, little one," he grumbles, a low groan sliding past his plush, sapphire lips as his tip rolls against your clit. "This is not just making the bond. I will be doing this with the intention of you growing plump with life."

You literally can't imagine anything hotter than being swollen and filled with Tonowari's children. You can't speak, the feeling of his tip rolling against your clit sending electric sparks fluttering through your nervous system. "Please," you squeak out, your heart burning with desire as his girthy tip presses against your entrance, your tight cunt beginning to sheathe his lavender tip.

"You are going to look so beautiful when I'm finished with you," Tonowari hisses, his stomach tight as his hips begin to roll into you, even and steady. "So beautiful, carrying our children, whilst practicing to become Tshaìk. I chose well."

Everything feels raw and sensitive. Your cunt clenches down around him, your senses somehow heightened in the dampness of the cave. Steam from the hot pool of milky water begins to evaporate, your skin covered with an aqua blue sheen from the condensation. Pressure pools in your lower belly, your ears twitching with every roll of his hips, your cunt tight when the tip of his cock brushes deliciously against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt.

It feels so liberating, knowing that he wants you. Truly wants you. You're not just a replacement — each needy thrust of his hips tell you that. Tonowari's fingers desperately grab at your queue, and you whine at the uncomfortably tug, but hot white flashes spark through your nerves system when his tendrils connect with yours.

Holy shit. This feels so much better than when he first ever bonded with you, and your legs shake as he stretches you thin. It's so painful but so amazing. His cock is nestled deep inside of your cunt, and you're so slick, so wet, droplets forming on your skin from where the reside of the water is beginning to dry. Tonowari's movements are smooth, easy, and your white ring of arousal paints the bottom of his length, coating his balls, and he groans as he fucks into you, his lavender tip throbbing as you clench around him tighter.

"You're made for me," he breathes out, "I cannot believe you ever doubted my love for you."

Through your connection, you can feel his pain. You can feel everything — the pull of his heart as he thinks about how insecure you'd been, and you scold yourself for ever being so silly. Tonowari, your gorgeous, loving mate intertwines his fingers with yours, and you swear you've never felt so good in your life.

You're intertwined with Tonowari in every way possible. Your cunt pulses around him, throbbing with need, and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your shoulder. "Oel ngati kameie," he mumbles, his eyes boring into yours, the black of his pupils so wide and blown you can no longer see any part of his irises. "Yawne, please, talk to me."

"Feels good, Tonowari," you blink, chest heaving as he fucks into you, being careful to focus on your breaths as your body begins to tingle with lust. "Almost ready for you to fill me up."

"Pxasìk," Tonowari curses, his accent thick, drawling in your ear and sending goosebumps exploding on your skin. "I'm ready. You're so — so tight, I can't hold back."

"Earlier all you did was hold back," you tease, moaning as the lewd squelching sounds of your cunt echo around the mossy cave. "Not — not letting me finish because I didn't breathe."

Tonowari is gentle as he slaps your thigh, warningly, a dangerous look painting his face, but it crinkles into something different as you purposefully clench down around him. You're so tight that it's like you're milking him, and you're so wet and warm, it's driving him crazy. "You were being naughty, yawne," he comments, his voice wavering as your eyes begin to flicker shut, your moans hitching in your throat as his hips roll into your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It's the most perfect thing you've ever felt. Neither of you speak as it happens, your orgasm crashing over the both of you in a perfect, delicious wave. You shake, jolt against him, cry out as your vision blackens with white stars, heat exploding through your body, your cunt tightening around him as you feel his seed begin to spurt inside of you. his own cum in you, your walls so tight and wet, the sound of his balls slapping lewdly against your cunt echoing throughout the cave, your moans merging with them to create an orgasmic mixtape.

You're so warm, the steam from the pool mixing with your insatiable heat from being crowded by Tonowari for so long, and he embraces you proudly as you twitch beneath him, your cunt feeling raw and full. He holds you, and his strong presence makes you feel so safe, the feeling of his cum painting your walls making you shiver.

"You are everything to me," he utters, his teeth grazing your neck as his tongue laps at your skin, basking in the slight, salty taste of sea water and sweat. "Please do not doubt that again."

"How can I?" you whisper, grumbling as Tonowari rolls over, positioning you atop of his chest as he lays on the mossy rocks. The blue and green glow from the algae and moss reflect on his face, painting his features, and you smile as you lean down to brush your nose against his, your finger splaying over your belly. "I'm going to have a constant reminder."

All that consumes you is him. You think back on how vulnerable you were, how small and timid and accepting you had been, sinking to your knees to serve him like it was your duty. Perhaps it was your duty to truly help him, because after all - you gave him that damned flower.

The way you feel burns. Your skin is hot, your fingers curling down on your pillowcase, your hips gently rutting against your mattress like you're a cat in heat, breathy, quiet moans slipping past your lips as you try to grind yourself to an orgasm.

You’d felt this way before. During your adolescence you grew cloudy and desperate for relief, but as you grew older, developing into a mature, adult Na’vi, that feeling soon fizzled away, content with knowing such feelings would never arise again until you’d met your mate.

And you hadn’t met your mate, at least not yet. The man that you crave to mate with, the man who defiled your mouth and admitted to thinking only of you is not your mate. Tonowari is already mated, and though she is with Ewya now, his life is promised to her. Your nose crinkles as you think of him, his large frame towering over yours as he played with your curls, deep groans rumbling from his chest as he fucked your mouth.

It's so painful as you pick up speed, rutting against your pillow pitifully, your stomach flipping and wetness beginning to pool from your cunt, because you know Tonowari could make you feel so much better.

He's so much bigger than you - even one of his fingers could break you, have you crying and withering beneath him, legs trembling as you beg for more. It's painful because you can't actually cum - your eyes prick with tears and you gasp, your clit stimulated by the fabric of your bedding, your stomach pooling with a insatiable warmth.

But no matter how hard you rut, no matter how hard you think of Tonowari and his eagerness to use you for his own good, your orgasm never comes. It fades into the abiss, and your hips still, your chest heaving as you left out a strained huff, all senses of pleasure oozing away from you.

You wonder how you will ever get over this crush you have on Tonowari. You groan as you collapse into your hammock, unsatisfied and unfulfilled, cursing yourself for falling so deeply for a man who is already mated.

All you can wonder is how your chosen mate will feel, when he discovers that you are pining for his leader and are unsatisfied because of it.

The next few days blur into one. Your father is encouraging you to mingle with the boys of the Metkayina clan, even suggesting you become friends with Tonowari’s children as a means to find a potential mate.

“You’re not getting any younger,” your father had told you, his hand smoothing your curls down softly. “And I know this isn’t what you wanted, and that choosing a mate is a long process. But the boys of the Metkayina clan are alright, and you’ll find someone you like at some point, sweetheart. In fact, your mother and I both think that Ao’nung seems nice.”

“I don’t want Ao’nung,” you had said, your tail thrashing angrily behind you as your father placed a reassuring hand on your back. How were you to tell your parents that you didn’t wish to mate with Ao’nung because you wanted his father instead?

It’s ironic, really. When you think of it, Ao’nung is much closer in age to you than his father is. In fact, he’d probably be a much more suitable mate, and you half expected your father to go ahead and arrange it with Tonowari anyway.

The thought of Tonowari makes you feel slightly nauseous. He has children, and he has been mated before, and your parents would certainly not approve of him. Perhaps you should listen to your father - Ao’nung is a nice boy.

Yet, despite all of the negatives, Tonowari is on your mind, constantly. The spark he ignited inside of you the night he confronted you about the irayo flower has been set ablaze since, burning high and mighty and consuming every ounce of you.

You can’t stand it anymore. You need him to put the fire out, to blow out the sparks he lit within you.

That’s why you’re in his hut, your tail swaying shamefully, your eyes fixated on Tonowari, whose browline is crinkled in concern. His presence makes you feel so warm, so drowsy, and you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out, and everything you’d planned to say wilts away.

"What is wrong, little one?" Tonowari asks, his hands grazing your face, moving the stray hair away from your face. "You have been avoiding me - running away when you see me at the communal camp, darting behind rocks to avoid being seen. Yet now you are here, in my hut, in my home, wanting to speak but saying nothing at all."

"I am to be mated," you force out, your tongue feeling cotton-dry in your mouth, your throat constricting as you speak. Tonowari's features stay neutral, void of any readable expression. "Well, I am to choose a mate.”

"I know. You are a mature Na'vi now." His voice is thick as he speaks, his eyes boring into yours. "You are conflicted as to who to choose?”

Your ears pin backward shamefully, guilt washing through you as his he cups your cheeks softly, Tonowari's large frame towering over yours. His touch sends sparks shooting over your skin, and you mumble, “There are many noble men to choose from. My father has suggested Ao’nung,” you say, your throat dry as you spit out the name of his son. Tonowari does not react. “I just fear the one I wish to choose will not choose me.”

Tonowari’s ears flitter against his head, his eyes trailing over towards the wilted irayo flower which sits besides his hammock, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “My son is to become a mighty warrior yet. I do not think he would treat a woman like you how you deserve to be treated.” He blinks, irritation rolling throughout him. “Who is it you wish to choose, little one?” He whispers, his fingers soft as they graze your cheekbones, and your heart hammers in your chest as he dips, to shrink closer to your height.

“I wish to choose you, Tonowari,” you murmur, your body flooding with warmth as his palm cups your cheeks, his ocean eyes glinting with an unreadable expression. “But it feels wrong to even say.”

Your lips tremble softly as you speak, and Tonowari shoots you a fleeting smile, his nose pressing against yours. “You wish to choose me because I can make you feel good,” he whispers, his ears raised on his head, his fingers darting over your shoulder. “Isn’t that right, little one? Isn’t that what you’ve been thinking about all these weeks?”

Guilt pulsates through you as his fingers run down your waist, resting at the strap of your loincloth. Your stomach feels tight, and your body warm, your senses are clouded with him. “Tonowari, you have children.”

“I can always have more,” he tells you, his voice deep as it rumbles in his chest. Your heart races as his fingers skilfully untie the knot of your loincloth, your stomach pooling with a familiar sense of arousal as he does so. “Do you want this as bad as me, little one?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, your voice dry as cotton as you speak, your skin trickling with goosebumps when your loincloth falls to the floor, the costal breeze washing through the hut and riding up your skin.

“That is not an answer.” Tonowari’s voice is husky, his ocean eyes flickering with unknown emotion as he stares at your bare frame. “I need you to tell me you want it.” He presses, his fingers darting against the bare skin of your hip, and your breath hitches in your throat as he stands over you, tall and mighty.

The Olo'eyktan stares down at you, waiting, wanting. He is burning with need — burning almost as brightly as you.

“Yes,” you murmur, gasping as Tonowari’s hands pull you in roughly, his palms kneading at the skin of your ass. “Yes, I want this.”

“That is all you had to say.”

A pathetic whine crawls out of your throat as Tonowari’s body presses you against the wall of his hut. He’s much bigger than you, terrifyingly so, and it has a pool of arousal swirling in your stomach. Tonowari’s hands eagerly press your thighs apart, his overwhelmingly large frame dropping to the ground as he kneels before you, his breath fanning against your cunt.

“I think you wanted this more than me,” he breathes, sliding a finger through your sticky folds, his cock pulsing when you writhe above him.

It feels so deliciously good but so immoral when his lips connect with your cunt. There’s a spark of heat that flashes through you, which snakes up your spine and bites at every nerve. It’s dangerous, it’s hot, and it’s electric. The simple sensation of his lips suckling around your clit has you burning with desire, and you buck your hips against him vigorously.

There’s a sense of danger when Tonowari’s thick finger swirls around your hole. It has the hair pricking up your skin, the overriding sense of fear edging against the fiery nub of pleasure which burns like a flame in your belly. “Tonowari,” you whimper, tensing up as his finger smoothly glides into your cunt, clenching down on his digit involuntarily.

“Stay still, little one. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice rumbly, vibrating against your clit. His tone is so sharp that you have no choice but to listen, despite the fact that your muscles are screaming at you to move.

Tonowari’s finger is so wide and intrusive, foreign, unknown. Yet it curls inside of you so gently, massaging your walls carefully, that your body relaxes. His tongue works at you skilfully, and you’re blissfully aware of how experienced he is. The thought makes your skin prick with heat because he has been mated before, so this is not new for him, and your emotions are much more heightened for you. The desire within him is not burning as brightly as the desire inside of you, and the thought makes you feel insecure.

You can’t even think about his mating status right now, though. You can’t focus on anything but the curling of his fingers inside of your cunt and the swirling of his tongue around your clit. This is so much better than rutting against the pillow in your room, trying to chase an unachievable orgasm, moaning his name in the depths of despair and need and want.

Tonowari’s lips are pressing so needily against your cunt that you feel like you’re being gorgeously devoured. You try to still the gasp which climbs up your throat, but you can’t. You’re so loud, so desperate to be heard, and it only makes him glide his finger in and out of your cunt faster, carefully beginning to push another inside, stretching you out.

The burn from the stretch is numbed by his tongue, which works softly against your clit. “You’re so wet,” Tonowari murmurs, pulling away from your cunt to admire your swollen, leaking pussy. “I forgot how easily pleased virgins are.”

Your cunt looks desperate, eager to be used, leaking with so much slick that it looks like it’s crying. He hums in approval, his breath fanning over your sensitive cunt, causing goosebumps to rush up your skin.

“It hurts,” you squeak, pawing at his braids like a cat, bucking against him to dull the burning pain from the stretch of his fingers.

He doesn’t utter a word, burying his face closer into your cunt, and your breath hitches, your hips stilling when you feel it. A fire sparks inside of you — burning wildly, freely, and your legs begin to shake involuntarily, your dull fingernails pressing into Tonowari’s hair, pulling him closer. “Please,” you beg, your chest heaving as his fingers curl perfectly inside of you, “I’m so close.”

“That’s it, little one,” he coos, his fingers relentless as they pump into you, the sounds of your squelching cunt echoing around his hut, muffled slightly by his mouth, which suckles eagerly at your clit. “Come undone for me, my pretty girl.”

It’s impossible to neglect an order from the Olo'eyktan, especially when he says it so nicely. You rut your hips, desperate for more, the friction of Tonowari’s tongue and the steady pumping of his fingers putting out your fire. It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt — your muscles somehow relax and constrict at the same time, your cunt pulsing and throbbing manically, your frame shaking from overstimulation. It’s impossibly good, morally shameful, and Tonowari rides you through your orgasm, peppering soft kisses to your cunt.

When he finally pulls away, a string of his salvia follows him lewdly, and his eyes are star-stricken, dazed, fixated entirely on you. The pupil is so blown you can no longer see the light aqua of his eyes, and you struggle to catch your breath as he grabs your arms and forces your body to face the wall.

“Can I bond with you?” He’s breathless, his head lulling against the back of yours.

His breath fans against your neck, making the hair on your skin stand upwards, your tail thrashing with need. “You want to bond with me?” You ask, an edge of exasperation in your tone as Tonowari forces your legs further apart.

“Only if you wish,” he tells you softly, gently beginning to work his tip between your folds, gathering your slick. The sensation makes you feel all warm and gooey, and your hips involuntarily buck downwards to meet his length. “But if we do not bond, we will not be truly mated.”

“Then, please,” you whimper, “make the bond.”

You can feel him smile against the nape of your neck in response to your words. Your cunt is slick with wet, eager to take him in, but you know that his cock is incredibly thick, and his fingers have most certainly not prepared you enough.

Tonowari’s tip aligns with your hole, and your breath stills in your throat. He doesn’t move - doesn’t dare to raise his hips, his breathing even and steady as he raises his queue to yours, a throaty groan slipping past his lips as the tendrils begin to connect.

You feel nothing but him. You experienced nothing but him. Tonowari is everything, everywhere, and it’s like there’s now an inferno inside of you. You’re uncomfortably hot, and the need to take him becomes overwhelming, so you shuffle your hips down, but his hand raises to stop you.

“You’re not ready, little one,” Tonowari mumbles, his fingers gently massaging your hips. “It will hurt. You remember the stretching of your mouth a few weeks ago, yes?”

“Of course. It’s all I could think about.” You say honestly, your face flushing with warmth as he pinches you teasingly.

“It will stretch more than that. Burn more than that. Your cunt is not used to me yet.” He hisses as he gathers more of your slick, making sure his lavender tip is well-lubed. “I haven’t broken you in.”

“Then break me in.”

Tonowari’s teeth graze at the back of your neck — a warning, and it makes you whine, needy for him and his length. “Okay. Stay still, little one - it's going to hurt.”

Your mouth opens to respond, but the words never come out. Tonowari gently begins to coax his cock inside of you, your velvet walls swallowing the tip almost instantly, your ears pinning backwards in response to the pain.

It’s agonising. Tonowari can feel your pain through the bond, and he grunts, continuing to force his cock inside of you. “Breathe, little one,” he says, his hands gently rubbing your arms. “I don’t want you passing out on me.”

The stretch is unbearable. The last sparks of pleasure from your previous orgasm dwindles, and you’re left shocked with the sudden realisation that Tonowari might not even fit inside of you.

“Is it going in?" You ask desperately, your voice hoarse. A gentle kiss is placed to the back of your neck by the Olo'eyktan, a shiver shooting up your body in response.

“You’re taking me so well, little one," he hisses, his cock twitching with need as your cunt finally swallows the mushroom of his cock, sheathing him from the outside world.

"Hurts," you mumble, head lulling on his brawny chest. Tonowari's strong arms hold you in place, pain biting and pinching at every nerve inside of your body. "Hurts so bad."

"Relax," Tonowari says, his voice so low and rumbly it makes arousal rush to your core. You feel so warm and gooey, so broken, so wrong. You're mating someone whose practically the same age as your own father, but when he pushes inside of you an inch more, you find yourself uncaring.

A broken mewl slips past your lips as his hefty cock brushes against your g-spot, his fingers toying at your sensitive clit in an attempt to null you into relaxation. "Tonowari," you gasp, shocks of electric pulsing through your spine when his pace steadies, his cock unable to stretch your cunt any further.

His hands clutch at the plush flesh of your thighs, grunts slipping past his lips as he fucks into you. It's the sexiest thing you've ever heard — the sounds of his desperation merging with the sound of your squelching cunt, which echoes lewdly around the hut, makes you even needier. There's nothing worse than this feeling. The heat consumes you, burning like an inferno.

You whine, bucking down against his length, basking in the incredulous pain from the stretch of him.Your cunt feeling so tight and full, clenching down around his thick length. It feels like you're milking him, and Tonowari hisses, readjusting his hips as to not push himself over the edge.

The bond makes you feel everything. Every good thing about Tonowari washes through you, blinds you - you know every error of his ways, aware of all of his good and bad, and you take him. You rut down onto him, your hips shuffling in sync with his. Tonowari's fingers are careful and delicate as they circle around your clit, the bundle of overstimulated nerves sending you into an overdrive.

You're so wet, it's crazy. Your cunt is practically pulsing, desperate and needy to be used. And he won't do it. Tonowari is rutting into you at a delicate pace, his strokes smooth and even, as not to hurt you. If Tonowari went any faster, he'd rip you apart — at least, that's what it feels like, but you're so overwhelmed with need that you don’t care.

"I want more," you force out, whimpering as his teeth graze against your ears. "I need more."

"I want to fill you up, little one," Tonowari growls, his rumbling shooting throughout your body. "Can I? Is that what you would like?"

Warm, hot flashes. A painful stretch, a beautiful moment. His cock is nestled deep inside of you, brushing beautifully against the spongy spot inside of your cunt. You're so slick, so wet. His movements are smooth, easy, and your white ring of arousal paints the bottom of his length gorgeously.

"Yes, I'd like that," you mumble, crying out as Tonowari's fingers abandon your clit and grab onto your hair, his hips beginning to roll into you faster. "Please."

Everything feels so raw, so sensitive, so new. You're desperate, needy for an orgasm, and the familiar feeling of pressure pools in your lower belly. Warmth consumes you, drowns you, nips at every nerve, and you let go.

It feels perfect. Liberating, free. Hot, white flashes spark through you, your vision peppering with black stars. It feels like you've known Tonowari forever, and your legs shake, unable to hold yourself up any longer. He holds you, strong and safe, your Tonowari. Your mate, who pumps his own cum in you, your walls so tight and wet, the sound of his balls slapping lewdly against your cunt echoing throughout his hut, puts your fire out.

"Thank you, thank you, oh Ewya, thank you," you blabber, tears staining your dark-blue cheeks, unable to contain the overwhelming emotions which wash through you.

It's perfect. Everything's perfect. Even the strange sensation of Tonowari's sticky cum pooling out of you when he pulls out of your cunt, a gentle grunt slipping past his lips. There's a dull throbbing from the absence of him, and goosebumps rise on your skin when he brushes his nose against your shoulder, breathing in your scent.

"I see you,"" Tonowari says, gently smacking his cock against your plush ass, watching as the last of his cum dribbles out and paints your skin. "All of you."

"This was so wrong," you mumble, your face flushing red when his nose nuzzles into your neck.

"There is no going back. We are mated, now.” He presses a gentle kiss against the feverish skin of your neck. "You will make a fine Tsahìk."

You feel nothing but him when he finally prys away from your exhausted body. Tonowari smiles down at you, brushing your curls away from your face gently. His fixation on you makes you nervous - he is so big, towering over you by at least two feet, making you feel meek and small.

"I see you," you mumble back, eyes wide in surprise when he places a soft kiss to your lips.

How the hell are you going to explain to your family that you are now going to be Tsahìk?

You're terrible at analysis, Steve realizes. You hadn't even noticed he had approached you - evident by how his touch makes you flinch. He feels your nerves jolt beneath him, but to the regular human eye, nothing appears wrong. Steve admits that you’ve grown incredibly wary of his touch recently, only engaging in displays of affection when around other people. In the comfort of your shared home, though, it’s like when he touches you, your body slithers with disgust.

“I am growing slightly tired.” You throw an apologetic smile over at the rookie you were speaking to, all whilst leaning into Steve's touch willingly. He doesn’t miss the prickles of goosebumps that ripple up your skin, the fear which prickles at the back of your neck. He frowns - has his touch ever been unloving, unkind? “I think it’s best I go home and rest up."

Your mutter a few apologies, which forces an eye roll from Steve. Why are you apologizing to people who aren't even worth your time? Frustrated, he begins to steer you out of the compound quickly, irritated as you shuffle away from his touch as though his mere skin is poison.

The drive back to your shared home is silent. Steve is seething as he drives, his grip on the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are beginning to turn white. He’s tried to be patient and understanding - he really has. But he’s blessed you and he doesn’t understand why you’re so hell-bent on rejecting him and then repenting as though he's a curse. You’re throwing tantrums similarly to what a toddler would, sitting next to him in silence and stewing in unspoken anger, and Steve can’t help but feel slightly hurt by your actions.

Is he not good enough for you? Is that it? Or have you grown tired of him? He has been more than kind, allowing you to still attend work despite the fact you’re growing his child. He has bent and adapted so you do not break, shrugging away every single urge to force tradition upon you.

Perhaps what you need is a sense of tradition. Maybe that will stop the fiery defiance you display, both in public and at home.

“We’re home.” Steve’s voice booms loudly in the car, and you stir from your position, your eyes fluttering open at him.

“Good. I’m tired,” you sigh heavily, forcing yourself out of the car quickly before Steve could come around and open your door for you. “Today’s been exhausting.”

“How so?” Steve almost sneers, grabbing your bag from the car and slamming the driver’s side door shut loudly. “All you do all day is make appointments for me and flirt with other men. It can’t be that difficult.”

You groan, waiting for Steve to unlock the front door before following him into your home. “I don’t flirt with other men, Steve. Stop being so delusional."

You drawl his name out with such annoyance it makes Steve’s jaw twitch. “Really? So you weren't all over that rookie earlier today?” He turns away in annoyance, flicking the light to the living area on. The house keys sway in his fingers, and he chuckles dryly, “give me a break, sweetheart. You were practically begging him to fuck you.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing exasperatedly. “So what if I was begging him to fuck me, Steve?" Your hands fall to your stomach, holding it protectively whilst staring at him with furrowed brows.

Holding something he made.

He stills. “Excuse me?”

The calmness in Steve’s tone makes your blood run cold. You try to ignore how he stops still in the archway of the living area; how his large frame tenses and his fists clench. You suddenly feel as though all the air has been sucked out of the room, and you stumble out (in one last act of pitiful defiance), “so what if I was begging him to fuck me, Steve?“

The drawl of his name is what finally makes him snap. It’s like he sees red - like he can’t believe how you’re actually treating him, despite everything that he’s done for you. Steve’s palm is quickly splayed across your throat, and he growls, sounding similar to that of a wild animal as he begins to try and force you to your knees.

It's not like you don't go down without a fight. You try to resist, somewhat, anyway, but you can’t, because he is so, so much stronger than you are and it’s fucking scary. His hands are so strong that they diminish any force of fight you had within you, as trying to resist him makes you actually feel like your shoulders are going to snap. You whimper pathetically as you kneel before him, staring up at his pupils, which are blown and blackened.

You know better than to irritate him by now, so why do you keep doing it?

“You’re mine,” Steve snaps, his blue eyes icy as he pulls his zipper down. The sharp noise makes you flinch beneath him, trying to shuffle away, but the grip he has on the nape of your neck is tight and holds you in place. “You must be fucking crazy if you think I’d ever let another man touch you. If you think I’ll ever let another man look at you again without consequence.”

His fingers grab at your jaw, forcing your mouth open and you cry out. Steve is visibly angry - furious is perhaps a better word, given the fact he’s practically shaking as grips your face whilst also aggressively pulling his thick, hard cock out of his boxers. “You’re going to have to learn how to put that mouth of yours to better use, doll. It's wasted on those shitty opinions of yours, anyway."

Hands roughly grabbing at your hair, pulling your face towards his cock, you have not much choice but to take him in your mouth. It’s intrusive - terribly so, and Steve manhandles you so roughly it makes your tears prick with tears, but it shamefully sends a throbbing to your pussy. You clench your legs together as you take him, choking as he slides in and out of your mouth until you’re a blubbering mess below him, spit and tears painting your cheeks as he fucks your throat relentlessly.

“Who do you belong to?” He grunts out, pulling so hard at your hair your head pulses. Steve’s hips stutter as you choke around him, your eyes doe-like and wide, covered in wet mascara. “Who the fuck do you belong to?”

“Y-you, Steve,” you choke out as he pulls out of your mouth with an uncomfortable POP!, relishing in the breaths he’s allowing you. “I belong to you.”

Steve's cock is so big it's actually painful. Your throat constricts around his cock as he forces your head down again, grumbling out, “I bet that rookie couldn’t treat you like this. I bet he couldn’t fuck you full of his babies like I have, doll.”

You whine beneath him as he continues to use your throat. Steve is driven entirely by his own pleasure, tiring quickly of your pathetic crying around his cock. With angry thrusts of his hips, Steve watched you gag around him, his cock twitching in your throat as you take all of him in; every inch, and his length is actually somewhat visible in your neck. And it’s driving him crazy- so crazy that he can’t hold back anymore, his rough hands grasping at your hair as he finishes, painting your tongue with his cum.

Steve watches as you choke and thrash against him in an attempt to get away, because his cock and his cum is stuffing your mouth in ways it’s never been stuffed before. It’s suffocating you, and blackness pricks at the corner of your vision - you’re just about to pass out before you Steve mercifully pulls his cock out of your mouth with a disgusting squelch and delivers you a hard slap.

The stinging from his hand sends a sheepish insatiable throbbing to your core that you know will never be satisfied. The tingle which tickles your core makes you clench your thighs, knowing no matter how hard you repent, tonight he will not forgive you.

“This throat is mine to use,” he seethes, his tip still leaking as he presses his cock against your cheek, satisfied with the discomfort that flutters throughout your features. “Say it.”

“This throat is yours to use,” your bottom lip quivers, your eyes spilling tears, some of which fall on Steve’s cock. And it’s shameful how wet you are - how the heat between your legs has grown uncomfortable and how you’re certain your pussy is slick with arousal because somehow it’s all you can focus on. You melt into a weeping puddle, your hands tiny compared to Steve’s cock, desperately trying to push his length away during your tantrum.

It doesn’t work. If anything, it makes him much so much harder - his cock throbs against the skin of your face, and you sniffle as he speaks. “Good girl,” Steve’s praises, his fingers curling in your hair, watching as your eyebrows contort in pain as he tugs gentler than you deserve. “Look at your pretty little face. Covered all over with cum and tears.” He coos, smoothing your hair down gently, a soft pang of love throbbing within his heart.

Your face flushes red, and you blink up, your wet, long lashes batting up at him ridiculously. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, your throat incredibly sore from his invasion, your hands desperately clasping at his thighs, and he watches you in amusement, unable to bite back the excitement as you brush your lips over his length meekly. “Please forgive me, Steve, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know if I can, honey,” he tells you, his big hands making gentle, loving motions in your hair. It’s a sharp contrast to the aggressiveness of his touch moments beforehand, but you bask in it nonetheless. “You were flirting with that rookie, baby, you said you wanted to fuck him. How am I supposed to forgive you for that?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to fuck him!” you whine, and Steve shakes his head.

“That’s what I heard, baby.”

You sniffle, and Steve shakes his head. Why do you have to lie to him? He doesn’t like making you upset - he certainly doesn’t like hurting you. His pretty girl, sitting in front of him with raw, red knees and an even rawer throat, whose ass is yet to be spanked until the pain renders you unable to move. He hates it, and he wishes this pain on nobody, especially not his little girl. Steve is meant to protect you, not hurt you. He’s your saviour, the one man in your life you can rely on and trust with all of your secrets, and yet you lie to him, again and again and again.

Steve hates making you upset, but he loves watching you cry. Conflict tugs at him from the inside, his thumb making gentle strokes in your hair as you speak to him. “I’m sorry, I really am,” you finally say, sinking beneath him obediently. “I didn’t mean any of it. It’s - its probably just the hormones.”

Steve hums in agreement. “It probably is, doll, but just in case it isn’t…I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.” He sucks in a breath, muttering, “let’s see how sorry you really are, doll.”

It takes everything in Steve not to finish all over again when he pulls you atop of him and you gasp in shock, his big hands forcing your hips down, and before you’re even aware of it, your walls are sheathed around his cock. Tight - so tight, and wet, too: ridiculously so. Shameful squelching sounds flood the living room as Steve fucks up into you with long, even thrusts.

The mewls that escape your throat as your small fingers dig into Steve's frame makes him want to impregnate you al over again. If he could, he would - your pussy is addicting, gripping him just right. You’re like Goldilocks. Your walls are so tight that you're practically milking his cock for his cum -, and he bites your neck slightly as you shake and tremble against him, your first orgasm crashing over you like a wave. Hot flashes come over you as your core tightens, the coil inside of you snapping- your little legs shake and you hold onto Steve for support, who rides you through your orgasm.

“This pussy is mine,” he practically growls, his fingers clawing around your throat, palm splayed against it uncomfortably. You thrash wildly when he squeezes, but Steve doesn’t care: you don’t deserve him, not at all, not one bit - he is Captain America! He can do what he wants!

“This pussy is yours,” you rasp as his cock nestles against the spongy spot inside of your pussy, your hips desperately rolling to get any source of friction. “Please, Steve! It’s all yours! Wanna cum again! Wanna cum!”

As you cry desperately, your frame pressing up against his, Steve grins, thrusting up into you painfully slow. The motion is enough, though. It sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, and your coil tightens - it grows tighter every single time he moves, the brush of his cock against the insanely sensitive spot inside of you making your legs quiver.

“You love it. I know you love it, sweetheart. Being filled with my baby. It makes you real wet, doesn’t it, doll?" His voice is gentle, and he peppers soft kisses against your neck, eradicating the pain he had left behind earlier.

"Mhm. I love it and I love you, Steve," you agree eagerly, your hands digging into his shoulders, your timid body taking every slow, dragged thrust of his. “I’m so close.”

Your whimpers make his cock twitch inside of you. You sound heavenly - angelic, the gentle moans that slip past your lips making him wish he could just give you his baby all over again. And he will, after you’ve had this one - god, he can’t wait to pump you full of his babies again and again and again. Steve's hands grip your hips gently, his eyes fluttering shut as your velvety walls squeeze him again, so soft and perfect, and he lets out a hearty moan which makes the knot inside of you tighten.

"I want it," you whimper, your nose brushing against his, and you gaze up at him through wet lashes. “Please.”

Your begging makes Steve bloom with pride, and at your words, he thrusts up into you harder. It's not long before you're bouncing quickly atop him, mewls and cries of pleasure slipping past your lips. Your curls fall messily in front of your eyes, and he sucks in a breath at the ecstatic state of you: you’re desperate - so close to your edge, again. Your cheeks are warm and messy, and the sounds of slick bouncing off of the living room walls makes you feel more cockdrunk than you already are.

And then you begin to come undone atop of him.

He does, too. Steve loves it. Your velvet walls squeeze him so tightly that you’re milking him - you take in every drop of his cum, and as his hips still inside of you, Steve places gentle kisses against your nose.

Your big, beautiful eyes stare back at him, your hips juddering against his. You pant, your nails digging into his chest as you steady yourself atop of him. For a second, you can’t believe it - you really let Steve use you again.

But he loves you. And then conflict tugs at you all over again, because he is a good guy, incredibly so! He’s Captain America, his job is literally to protect you - and hasn’t he done exactly that? You’re the most protected person in America right now, considering the fact you’re pumped full of his babies.

“Do you trust me, sweetheart?”

You nod. “I- I do, Steve.” Your voice trembles, leaning your body weight against his, unable to hold yourself up.

“Good girl.” He brushes his nose against yours, smiling as you tremble against him. “That’s all you’ll ever have to do.”

As Steve carries you to bed, tucking you in tightly, he smiles down at you. He’s glad he’s finally changed the locks, and he’s glad that you don’t have one of the new keys.

He can keep you here now until he thinks you’re ready to go. Until you’re ready to accept your place as Mrs. America.

—

What you used to call kidnapping, Steve called assimilation.

You’re not locked in his house, unable to go home, unable to contact any family or friends. No, you’re just in an educational program, learning how to be a perfect housewife. That’s what Steve says, anyway, snickering away to himself as he does.

It’s lonely, and it’s scary. Yet you have nothing to fear, especially when Steve comes home. He wraps you in his arms, engulfing you in his scent, pressing you against his brawny body as though you’re his world. You breathe him in, clutching at him desperately, thankful that he’s coming home safe and sound.

It’s been so long the thought of escaping no longer even brushes your thoughts, but still, Steve wonders if you have realised your place. He can’t risk letting you out if you haven’t - but then again, who would believe you? A pregnant woman whose husband represents all of the stars and stripes?

Still, he can’t help but worry about you. Have you assimilated? Have you learnt? It’s a question that Steve isn’t sure of the answer, but as you curl into his big frame, he believes that you have. Perhaps you’ve finally learnt it’s easier to comply with the Captain’s orders than to defy them.

“How has your day been, Steve?” you ask, nudging your head into the corner of his neck as he presses his palms against your stomach. He’s big and warm, comforting and strong, peppering gentle kisses against your face, praising you for being such a gorgeous girl.

You’re bulging now. Practically ready to give birth at any second. It sends a gentle ache to Steve’s length, his lips pressing lovingly against your stomach. He loves coming home to you. He always has, even when you defied him and cried and begged him to just treat you like a colleague again. It’s selfish - Steve knows it’s selfish - but he just couldn’t ever go back to not knowing you. Now that he has you, he can’t let you go. Ever.

“Work was fine. Buck and I had to do introduction training with some rookies. They didn’t even leave a scratch.” Steve laughs, hooking his fingers in your sweatpants, tugging them down slightly so your entire stomach is on display. “How was your day, mama? Productive?”

It is slightly distracting as Steve kisses your belly. You scrunch your eyebrows in concentration, your fingers resting in his blond locks. “I painted some of the nursery.” You say shyly, face flushing as he begins to murmur sweet nothings to your stomach. “Just did the trims. There was a few deliveries that came, too, but they were too heavy for me to move. Didn’t wanna hurt myself.”

“Good girl.” Steve’s breath fans against your stomach, his head nestling against you, his hands tugging your sweatpants down some more. “I’ll move them after dinner, get ‘em all sorted,” he tells you, eyes eagerly trained in on your panties as your sweatpants drop to the floor.

It takes everything in him not to let an audible groan crawl out of his mouth. The panties you’re wearing are lacy and baby pink - similar to the ones you wore the first time he fucked you, and it sends another terrible ache to his cock. You squeal as Steve presses a soft kiss to your clothed pussy, and he can hear how quickly your heart begins to race in your chest.

“Steve - Steve, stop, I have a question. Steve, it’s serious!” He stops, looking up at you with his big blue eyes which glisten with mischief. You almost don’t want to ask because he seems so giddy - but then you have caught him in a good mood, so you’ll risk it anyway. Your heart tightens in your chest, and your lips set into a frown when you ask, “I was wondering - uh, when I have our baby - could I - could I go back to work?”

Steve reacts like you’ve just slapped him across the face. His smile drops, and his eyebrows furrow. Just when he thinks you've learned, when he thinks he’s finally flushed you out of this ridiculous twenty-first-century feminist bullshit, it drags you back in.

A woman’s place is not at work. It’s in the home.

"Why do you need to work when you have me?" Steve's voice is eerily calm, and his stubble brushes against your inner thigh. You still against him, tense as your fingers stop in his hair, and he can hear your heart gently racing in your chest.

"It's - it's just something I'd like to do. To keep myself occupied."

Steve groans, rubbing his nose into your skin. "You will be occupied, doll. You'll have a baby to raise."

You gnaw at your lip. Steve’s eyes are intense, and he tries not to bark out an order for you to stop. gnawing on your lips. He despises it when you do that. “We could always get a babysitter so I could go back to work,” you suggest, voice faltering when you notice his eyes darken slightly.

"No. It is your job as a mother to look after our children, sweetheart.” He shakes his head. “Besides, I don’t trust anybody else to raise them.”

"Steve-"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore." Steve grunts from below you, his blue eyes darkening as he gazes up at you. "In fact, I don't want this mentioned again - ever - do I make myself clear?"

“Steve-“

“Do I make myself clear?”

You pout, nodding silently, and Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. His cool breath fans against your thigh, and his thumb doesn’t stop brushing your stomach. He wonders where he ever went wrong with you. You’ve been so good recently, and he ponders on why you have to ruin it. Steve thinks you do it on purpose, rile him up as a way to show one last act of fiery defiance.

He’ll be the bigger person today.

“I can work for us. I can provide for us. Your job as my personal assistant is irrelevant now that you’re carrying our baby.” Steve peppers another gentle kiss against your clothed pussy, and you shudder, your eyes fluttering shut slightly as his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, gently beginning pulling them down. “You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. Everything you’ve ever needed. Put your faith in me, doll, that’s all I ask.”

“Okay, Steve.” Your throat feels tight when you swallow, your knees buckling slightly as Steve’s tongue licks a stripe up your pussy. It sends you by surprise - a hot white flash shoots up through your spine as you tighten your grip in his hair.

“You're soaking, doll,” he murmurs as he parts your thighs with his hands, pressing gentle kisses against your heat. It does feel good - Steve's entire focus is you, and he gently rolls his tongue against your nub, circling his tongue from your clit to your hole and then back up to your clit. "Do you just love the thought of having my babies and taking care of them, baby? Does it get you as riled up as it does me?”

It's embarrassing that Steve's words make your pussy throb. It's even more embarrassing that he knows, a satisfied smirk painting his lips as he dips his tongue into your sweet nectar again. His tongue darts around your clit, and your knees wobble slightly at the action, your hands gripping onto him for support. "Roll against my face, baby, it's okay. I know you want to." His words of encouragement make you mewl, and you do just that - roll your hips against his face, your vision going starry as his tongue swirls against your clit perfectly, the stimulation making the knot in your stomach tighten.

"Steve," you whimper out, your eyes fluttering shut as your legs wobble, his large hands coming up to hold them in place. The feeling of his fingers darting across your thighs sends butterflies to your stomach, and you whine as his tongue keeps flicking against you, making sure to hit every angle of yours he knows that you like.

You hate how much he knows you. You hate how he knows that you're about to cum as your legs give way. Steve hums, the vibrations sending shocks to your pussy, your fingers curling in his hair, the grip tight. You see stars, and hot flashes shoot through you - the knot inside of you tightens and tightens until you feel it snap, to which you cry out, flooding Steve's face with your wetness. And he loves it - he fucking loves it, soothing praises escaping his lips as he quite literally licks your clean, his fingers rubbing soft circles on your thighs.

It's terrible how much you ache when he pulls away from you, how much you miss the feeling of his hot breath fanning against your pussy. Steve stands, his head nestling in your neck, his hands rubbing smooth circles against your stomach. You pant against him, still coming down from your high when you hear a timer ding in the distance of your kitchen.

"Dinner's ready," you murmur, looking up at Steve, flushing as his deep blue eyes stare down at you.

"Dessert before dinner. Not my usual go-to," he comments, to which you laugh.