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[spamlikely]

Freeuse: Goblins x Reader

Reader is chained up and used by two goblins. a very self indulgent story I wrote super late one lonely night.

Rating: Explict Relationship: 2 Goblins x Female Reader Warning: Sexual content, Threesome F/M/M, Anal, light BDSM, Freeuse, Minor Cuckolding

Word Count: 1703

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Staring around the dank dark room has lost its appeal after an hour. My wrist tied behind my back lost its charm around half that time. My shoulders were beginning to cramp at the weird angle. Shifting around hasn’t seem to help. This wasn’t a great time. I have no idea where I am and no idea how I got here. No one has shown up and I’m beginning to believe no one will.

The room is barely lit by torches attached to the wall, too high up for me to reach. there is a single door that I cannot find out if it’s locked on the account of the chains attached to my ankles. I can barely get up with the tied hands, but I can barely walk around anyway. The floor is where I stay, the floor is where ill be.

Keep reading

[spamlikely]

whatever I'll post my addendum to it anyway

[spamlikely]

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

Right, then. Good luck! Calls the liason as he hurries to the horse and carriage without you. You stand on the porch, embarrassed and confused, wondering what about you must be so undesirable.

After a few minutes the door opens again, and a gruff voice orders you inside. He knows you're not there by choice, he says, he knows the town elders probably forced you there to settle him. You try to explain that's not the case, but he doesn't believe you. He says you can stay for the night, as the sun is going down, but he expects you to fuck off in the morning.

You try to talk over dinner, but he's defensive and quiet. You try to convince him that you want to be there, but he scoffs that you have no idea what soothing a bear's heat even means.

Over the evening, you try different techniques to tempt him. Using his bath, undressing a few layers by the fire, sleeping nude in his bed. He expresses total disinterest the entire time, a steely lack of any desire towards you.

Disheartened, you're about to give up. You have no idea the reason he's being so aggressively stoic is because the moment he opened his cabin door, the moment he saw and smelled you, the beast inside him said Mine. Only mine. You have no idea that every breath he's taken since has been measured and cautious, every effort he's made not to pounce and claim you. Gods, he can barely stand to look at you without the saliva filling his mouth, the feral lust clouding his thoughts.

There's no way you're here by choice, he reasons privately. No way any nice, pretty human would volunteer for the social ostracism that would come with mating a werebear. And whatever those fuckers in the elder council did to leverage you into coming here, he can't let himself take advantage.

Because once he let's his control slip, once he let's the beast inside know that yes, you're his for the taking, nothing will be able to stop him. Not reason or conscience, not if you're kicking and begging, not any ounce of moral goodness in him. Once the beast has you, it's not stopping until it's filled you up over and over and over again.

So he can't let it slip. He has to remain cold and stiff and rude, and just pray you leave him alone and then leave in the morning.

Little does he know, you have one last attempt at seduction up your sleeve. Little do you know what the consequences will be.

[spamlikely]

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

Right, then. Good luck! Calls the liason as he hurries to the horse and carriage without you. You stand on the porch, embarrassed and confused, wondering what about you must be so undesirable.

After a few minutes the door opens again, and a gruff voice orders you inside. He knows you're not there by choice, he says, he knows the town elders probably forced you there to settle him. You try to explain that's not the case, but he doesn't believe you. He says you can stay for the night, as the sun is going down, but he expects you to fuck off in the morning.

You try to talk over dinner, but he's defensive and quiet. You try to convince him that you want to be there, but he scoffs that you have no idea what soothing a bear's heat even means.

Over the evening, you try different techniques to tempt him. Using his bath, undressing a few layers by the fire, sleeping nude in his bed. He expresses total disinterest the entire time, a steely lack of any desire towards you.

Disheartened, you're about to give up. You have no idea the reason he's being so aggressively stoic is because the moment he opened his cabin door, the moment he saw and smelled you, the beast inside him said Mine. Only mine. You have no idea that every breath he's taken since has been measured and cautious, every effort he's made not to pounce and claim you. Gods, he can barely stand to look at you without the saliva filling his mouth, the feral lust clouding his thoughts.

There's no way you're here by choice, he reasons privately. No way any nice, pretty human would volunteer for the social ostracism that would come with mating a werebear. And whatever those fuckers in the elder council did to leverage you into coming here, he can't let himself take advantage.

Because once he let's his control slip, once he let's the beast inside know that yes, you're his for the taking, nothing will be able to stop him. Not reason or conscience, not if you're kicking and begging, not any ounce of moral goodness in him. Once the beast has you, it's not stopping until it's filled you up over and over and over again.

So he can't let it slip. He has to remain cold and stiff and rude, and just pray you leave him alone and then leave in the morning.

Little does he know, you have one last attempt at seduction up your sleeve. Little do you know what the consequences will be.

[spamlikely]

Hey ! I got really inspired last night after reading @snowkissedmonsters monster imagine and I could not resist drawing those little guys

I might even do some more little illustrations / mini comic as I found the prompt so interesting !

[spamlikely]

You live in a human town in a fantasy world. In recent history, werecreatures enlisted to fight alongside humans throughout a bitter war in the territory. The result of that alliance is a (sometimes tense) tolerance between these two species who generally do not get along.

In the wilderness near your town, a werebear veteran has made his home. Bearish in appearance and manner, he vastly prefers solitude and is actively hostile to visitors. Sometimes he comes into town to sell meat and pelts from his hunts. The other humans are frightened, but you find him fascinating and peculiarly handsome.

A slew of livestock deaths precede an emergency town meeting. There's no question who the culprit is, or why. The town elders understand that a werecreature in heat is aggressive and dangerous. The town's interspecies liason officer, a veteran who fought beside the werebear, explains that it's not a deliberate attack on the town's livelihood, but even so, the maulings cannot continue. It may only be a matter of time before a human is injured.

The liason suggests hiring one of the workers at the town brothel to act as a "heat soother," but the brothel workers don't want the job. There's still a stigma over non-human creatures. The werebear is dangerous, violent, monstrous. Who knows if a human mate would even survive.

Tentatively, you volunteer for the role. You have no living family that could be shamed, you're naturally infertile so there's no concern over cubs, and... Well. You like the idea of it, though you keep that last point to yourself.

You are escorted to the werebears cabin by the eager liason officer, who's just glad the precarious human-werebeast alliance is no longer in jeopardy. Answering the door, the werebear looks surprised to see the two of you...

Then annoyed.

I told you, he growls at the liason, I will not take a forced mate.

The officer coos and assures the bear that you are here voluntarily, which he seems to doubt very much. He throws you both out of his cabin and slams the door.

Right, then. Good luck! Calls the liason as he hurries to the horse and carriage without you. You stand on the porch, embarrassed and confused, wondering what about you must be so undesirable.

After a few minutes the door opens again, and a gruff voice orders you inside. He knows you're not there by choice, he says, he knows the town elders probably forced you there to settle him. You try to explain that's not the case, but he doesn't believe you. He says you can stay for the night, as the sun is going down, but he expects you to fuck off in the morning.

You try to talk over dinner, but he's defensive and quiet. You try to convince him that you want to be there, but he scoffs that you have no idea what soothing a bear's heat even means.

Over the evening, you try different techniques to tempt him. Using his bath, undressing a few layers by the fire, sleeping nude in his bed. He expresses total disinterest the entire time, a steely lack of any desire towards you.

Disheartened, you're about to give up. You have no idea the reason he's being so aggressively stoic is because the moment he opened his cabin door, the moment he saw and smelled you, the beast inside him said Mine. Only mine. You have no idea that every breath he's taken since has been measured and cautious, every effort he's made not to pounce and claim you. Gods, he can barely stand to look at you without the saliva filling his mouth, the feral lust clouding his thoughts.

There's no way you're here by choice, he reasons privately. No way any nice, pretty human would volunteer for the social ostracism that would come with mating a werebear. And whatever those fuckers in the elder council did to leverage you into coming here, he can't let himself take advantage.

Because once he let's his control slip, once he let's the beast inside know that yes, you're his for the taking, nothing will be able to stop him. Not reason or conscience, not if you're kicking and begging, not any ounce of moral goodness in him. Once the beast has you, it's not stopping until it's filled you up over and over and over again.

So he can't let it slip. He has to remain cold and stiff and rude, and just pray you leave him alone and then leave in the morning.

Little does he know, you have one last attempt at seduction up your sleeve. Little do you know what the consequences will be.

[spamlikely]

Imagine, a lonely monster who lives in the shadows of city streets. Lurking in abandoned buildings, only creeping out at night. It has learned from bitter experience that it is a thing to be reviled, feared, or hunted. It kills well enough for food. Rats mostly, night birds, sometimes foxes if it's lucky. It lives a hungry, empty life.

One night when on the prowl, the beast comes across a little kitten alone. It's no bigger than a rat, and one leg too few. It would make a fine morsel to the monster, an appetiser- but...

Something in the way the little thing wobbles and mewls gives the monster pause. Such a young thing, alone and emaciated. Abandoned by its mother, perhaps, or just hopelessly lost. When the beast reaches out a clawed hand, the kitten cowers into it. As though the beast is a thing which can protect. As though the beast is a thing which can be gentle.

It begrudgingly spares the kitten, and pretends to be disinterested when the little fluffball follows it back to its lair. Food is scarce enough, for a monster this size, to sustain itself on rats alone. All the same, it leaves half a carcass for the kitten, pretending to be full.

Cold nights pass and though the kitten is too small to be of useful warmth, the creature curls around little fluffball. Neither of them have a concept of names, or security, or even a home. But as the winter comes to an end and the soft spring rains roll in, the monster starts to feel inklings of what a those things could be. What they would like them to be.

In the daylight, the kitten wanders. Just about the building at first, which is unsafe enough, but as it ages it grows bolder. Ventures out onto the streets. No longer so small and cute, the humans regard it as vermin. A problem. The monster tries to communicate this to fluffball - that they will never be wanted. That they must stay out of sight. But the cat is curious, and restless. Each dawn when the monster sleeps, it frets that the kitten will go out alone. Each dusk when it wakes, they are relieved to find fluffball there, sometimes with a fresh kill to share.

Then fluffball gets sick.

The beast hopes it will pass naturally. A wrong thing eaten, perhaps. A few parasites too many, maybe. These are the risks of being stray.

The sickness doesn't pass. Fluffball is passing blood regularly, growing thinner than thin, becoming weak. The beast does what it can to find enough food and fresh water and newspaper bedding. Nothing helps.

One twilight, the beast wakes and the little cat is not there. It waits and waits. Hopes fluffball will return on his own. He doesn't. He doesn't.

The monster does something he never does, then. He creeps out onto the human streets, following the familiar scent. Fluffball didn't go much farther than the road, it smells like. Hopelessly, the beast searches for the cat, alive or dead. Searches for closure. It finds none. The scent just... Ends.

A week of despondency passes. The beast has never felt this before. Loss. You cannot lose when you have nothing. It is a nauseating feeling. It is a curse. The beast curls into a corner and weeps.

Then, a familiar meow.

The monster bounds out of the shadows, delight proportional to the grief suffered. Fluffball is back - Fluffball is alive - Fluffball is... wearing some sort of contraption on his neck. The monster removes it; a plastic cone. Perhaps that is why the cat was gone, it thinks. Perhaps he got caught in litter and became trapped by it. A fate that befalls many urban strays.

The beast is just grateful that fluffball survived. More than survived, he looks healthy. Energetic. Hydrated. No more blood.

It is night when the intruder comes.

Human. Alone. Shining an electric light and calling loudly on the street outside. Humans don't normally linger by the abandoned building. They stop to do their secret transactions, sometimes, but usually they simply walk past. A part of them senses the monster, even if they don't understand why their hair stands on end. They never, never come inside.

This one does.

A healthy human, the monster thinks, watching unseen from the shadows. Lots of meat on the bones. Unaccompanied. No witnesses. It would feed Fluffball for days-

Fluffball betrays their position, prancing happily out of their hiding spot with a series of chirps and meows. The monster cannot believe his recklessness, until...

"There you are!" The human stoops and Fluffball runs right to their waiting hand. He rubs himself against them with a traitorous purr. "My poor little Peanut," the human coos. "You found your way home, huh? You must think this is still your territory."

The monster waits and watches, tail flicking in annoyance. This human must have alternative motives. Their kind never show patience to the strays. If Fluffball is harmed, the beast will not hesitate.

"No, don't apologise, it was my fault," the human makes kissie noises as Fluffball meows. Chattier than normal.

The beast restrains a huff. He's only this chatty when he's pleased.

"I thought that window was on a latch. It won't happen again," the human promises. To the monster's mortification, it picks Fluffball up. Fluffball let's it.

"You've got to take your medicine, oh yes you do," the human nuzzles, and Fluffball nuzzles back.

This is... a new kind of pain to the monster. Jealousy. Abandonment. And something more, something like... yearning.

"Let's go- hey!"

When the human attempts to take Fluffball away, the cat wriggles and jumps from their arm. He runs straight back to the shadows, the hiding spot, the monster.

The beast freezes, half pleased he is not forgotten, half petrified to be discovered. If it cannot kill the human, and Fluffball's affection means it cannot, then it doesn't know what to do with humans.

Fluffball meows in an announcing way.

"Hmm?" The human follows him over. Their light sweeps through the space. The beast cowers behind the debris of the old building, trying to hide. "What is it, Peanut?"

Oh no, the monster thinks. Oh no.

"Do you have a brother in there? I can take him home, too." The human crouches down near the shadows, rubbing their fingers together and making soft, hushing sounds. "Out you come, little guy. I don't mind another stray."

[spamlikely]

Strictly Pleasure - Part 1 (Jek x Heidi)

orc x human paranormal romance

Summary: An awkward fresh-out-of-a-relationship woman and an orc that owns a sex store enter an adult theater together. She, intent on pushing her own boundaries. He, just looking to give her some sense of safety. Well, that and he wouldn't complain about having a bit of fun himself.

After they inevitably get interrupted, Jek deals with the problem while Heidi flees. Resigned, he believes he'll never see her again.

Thus begins Jek and Heidi's sporadic interactions until, eventually, they find themselves fumbling around each other daily at the very place it started: Strictly Pleasure.

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Masterlist | Next

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The human patron had been standing outside Strictly Pleasure’s theater for fifteen minutes. Jek couldn’t recall their name, didn’t think they ever introduced themselves on those occasions they came with their partner or friends. He watched them from the edge of his glasses, while pretending to read on his phone, as they ventured closer to the theater doors before turning away again. They’d busy themselves with some display or make a circuit around the shop before attempting again.

He only stopped watching the customer when Gnadi, his faun employee and co-worker, leaned over to whisper, “Boss, you should ask them if they want company.”

“Pretty sure they have a partner.” Jek kept his voice low and shook his head, but couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. At twenty-six, Gnadi possessed both a hot-libido and aspirations to be a matchmaker. A dangerous combination for Jek, their senior by twenty years, since they were always trying to hook him up with patrons.

“Well, they’re alone now,” Gnadi pointed out, eyes shifting from the customer to him. Their expression made it clear what they thought. Someone alone in Strictly Pleasure without their partner? A break up. Or a soon-to-be break up. “Besides, you know how often the freshly-broken up do things not in their nature.”

With a noncommittal hum, Jek glanced back over at the awkward patron. They certainly looked out of their element, if he had any insight. And there had never been a time in the past when they came without someone, whether it was a partner or friend. If they were here alone, there was a reason.

Nagged by Gnadi’s intent expression and a soft-hearted curiosity, Jek heaved a sigh and pushed off his stool. He ignored his employee’s whispered well wishes in his wake. If he let the words settle, he would get embarrassed, so he focused on closing the distance between himself and the patron. When he was close enough, he lobbed the ever-professional question, “Do you need help?”

Startled, Heidi’s attention snapped up as one of Strictly Pleasure’s employees approached her. Of course, it was the orc. It couldn’t be the androgynous faun, but the orc - with their badge reading ‘Jek’ and ‘he/they’ beneath - that her ex commonly teased her for staring at.

In Heidi’s defense, Jek had an elaborate - involving scales, flowers, and miscellaneous imagery - colorful tattoo sleeve on his left arm, always covered up to some degree. Getting a new peek of additional details always delighted her curiosity. Plus, recently, he had dyed his hair - a braided fauxhawk pulled into a ponytail - a strawberry blonde, which only brought out their usual red under-eye shadow and the red scale-like design in their tattoo.

Further, it wasn’t as if he was hard to look at. Tall and bulky, as orcs were wont to be, and with a face Heidi would consider sculpted, jawline currently sporting a five o’clock shadow. A scar notched across his nose, but there were no other scars she could see beyond that. Not that she looked too hard, of course,

“I’m fine,” she squeaked, trying to maintain eye contact with Jek’s hazel green gaze.

“Really?” Jek tilted his head until he peered over his half-moon glasses at them. “Because it looks like you’ve been trying to head into the theater for about twenty minutes now.”

Another flash of heat jolted through Heidi, her eyes widening behind her glasses. “You’ve been watching me?”

The way their eyes widened made a small pang of guilt flash through Jek. It couldn’t be helped. After all, they hadn’t approached for help, but now that he was closer, he realized they were dressed differently than usual. Everything else - from their light brown hair threaded with gray hairs and dark brown eyes magnified behind square frames - made faint memories bob to his thoughts.

In the past, they’d worn jeans and a t-shirt with a hoodie whenever they came in. Tonight, the only thing familiar was their hoodie. Under that, they wore a wine red dress, low cut  to show off ample cleavage and high hemmed to show off supple thigh. Vaguely, Jek wondered if they had bought the fishnets in his store, commending how the fabric strung tight around their plush legs.

Jek found his fingertips itching to coast over their legs, feel the ridges of the fishnet under his palm. Honestly, their entirety - from full breasts above rounded tummy down to their wide hips and pillow thighs - made Jek want to sink his fingers into them.

Not quite forgetting himself, he gave a mild affirmative grunt in response to their question.

His wordless reply made Heidi wince. It was his store and he did have to monitor customers, she reminded herself. That still didn’t make her anxiety lessen though. With her shoulders slumping, Heidi sighed and looked away from Jek and toward the theater. “Okay, okay. Yes, I’ve been trying to build up the courage to head in.”

“If you’re nervous, why not come with someone?” He leaned a shoulder on the wall by the theater’s entry point, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans.

The easy posture just highlighted how tall and broad he was compared to Heidi. Even dressed in a simple graphic tee, jeans, and black unbuttoned short-sleeved button-up, there was something about Jek that oozed quiet assurance. Heidi couldn’t say the same for herself, with how often she fidgeted and tugged at her dress. It just felt so flimsy compared to go-to jeans.

“No, I don’t,” she mumbled in return, another flash of mortification gnawing at her insides. It shouldn’t be something to be ashamed of, she knew, but there was an implication in her current actions that made her feel juvenile. With a sigh, she fessed up to the feelings, “It’s a story you’ve heard a lot, I’m sure. Doing something new and exciting because my boyfriend broke up with me and I’m too embarrassed to talk to my friends about this.”

Jek definitely had heard the story before, whether it was a recent break-up with a significant other or a divorce from a now-ex spouse. When he was younger, he entertained plenty of them. Often during business hours and in the back room. Hell, he still did on occasion.

Usually, the newly-adventurous in these cases never returned. If they did, it was usually after they had found a new partner. Sometimes they were awkward around him, other times they were completely fine. As if whatever they’d done hadn’t even happened.

Something coaxed Jek to look over his shoulder. From the counter, Gnadi watched with a grin, stirring ghosts of embarrassment inside Jek. Gods, why was he even humoring his employee?

It wasn’t like he could back down no. Not after finding out what this person was going through and not with Gnadi observing. Fuck him, Gnadi would probably loudly ‘suggest’ Jek accompany the patron if he dared to return to the counter. Turning back to them, seeing their conflicted expression and attention turned back to the theater, Jek sighed. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

Once more, Jek surprised her. Her attention swung back to him, confusion creasing the spot between her eyebrows. Why would he want to come back there with her? Wasn’t he on the clock? “You have the store to look after.”

Jek nodded back toward his co-worker, putting off far more nonchalance than he felt. “Gnadi has it handled.”

Heidi glanced to where he motioned, finding the faun smiling and waving from the counter. She pressed her lips together as a concerns washed over her. “Is that even legal? For you to go back there with me?”

In return, Jek gave a lackadaisical shrug, grunting an ‘I don’t know’ answer.

Worrying at her bottom lip, Heidi glanced from Jek to the theater doors once more. If he could get in trouble, he wouldn’t offer, right? But who would get him in trouble? He owned the store and she wasn’t about to report him for helping her. Besides, having someone with her, someone that could keep her safe if creeps crept up in her, did ease her anxiety.

Trying not to focus on how embarrassing the whole ordeal was, Heidi nodded. “Alright, sure.”

Pushing off the wall, Jek headed toward the faun and the register. “Okay, cool. Before we head back there, you need to pay at the counter.”

Shock brought a strangled sound from Heidi as she half-jogged after him. Shit, of course she’d have to pay. Why didn’t she think of that earlier? Better yet, why didn’t he tell her earlier? Before Heidi could stop herself, she blurted, “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

For the first time since approaching them, a partial grin broke around Jek’s tusks. He inclined his head toward the customer, but didn’t pause in his transit. “It was funny watching you argue with yourself.”

He actually meant cute. It was cute to watch them torment themselves over going in, especially when they’d retreat to a safer distance and theatrically busy themselves with something. Few people enjoyed being the object of mildly sadistic amusement, though. Funny was safer than cute.

Heidi shot him a withering look, though she feared it was a little less potent given the flush on her cheeks. By that point, they had reached the register. Pointing out how rude his actions would be a waste of time.

Once more trying to ignore how warm her face felt and hoping her voice didn’t crack, Heidi turned to the faun. “What’s the cost for the theater?”

“Six bucks.” Gnadi’s grin shifted from amusement to a softer smile as they looked at her. While Heidi rifled through her purse for the money, Gnadi tilted their eyes back to their boss. She missed how Jek tensed under their employee’s gaze. “So, who’s your friend, bossman?”

“Uh.” Oh, right. He hadn’t bothered with formal introductions. After all, he wore a nametag and it wasn’t like most people who came into Strictly Pleasure gave their name and pronouns.

Before Jek could fumble through the question, she crisply cut in while handing the cashier her payment, “Heidi. She/they.”

Once Heidi and Gnadi exchanged cash and receipt, she jammed the paper into her purse and turned away. Determinedly, she headed toward the theater, propelled by embarrassment and the fact she had paid for entry now.

Gnadi waited until she was a few steps away before leaning over the counter and muttering to Jek, “Smooth move, bossman. Not even asking their name before propositioning her.”

“Oh, shut up.” Jek barely refrained from running a hand down his face as he turned to follow Heidi. Whatever feelings had buoyed her to the door must have run out, since she paused to wait for him.

Her nerves flared up around her as Jek pulled the door open, motioning her to go first.

Heidi peered into the darkened room, the sounds inside making curiosity and nervousness battle in her head. One glance up at Jek, who watched her with that annoying slight grin and cocked eyebrow, made up her mind for her. She’d show him to be amused by her inexperience and shyness.

Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, Heidi marched into the dark depths of Strictly Pleasure’s theater as Jek tailed after her.

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If you want more now, read the next part on:

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[spamlikely]

Strictly Pleasure

orc x human age gap paranormal romance 13 of ?

Summary: An awkward fresh-out-of-a-relationship woman and an orc that owns a sex store enter an adult theater together. She, intent on pushing her own boundaries. He, just looking to give her some sense of safety. Well, that and he wouldn't complain about having a bit of fun himself.

After they inevitably get interrupted, Jek deals with the problem while Heidi flees. Resigned, he believes he'll never see her again.

Thus begins Jek and Heidi's sporadic interactions until, eventually, they find themselves fumbling around each other daily at the very place it started: Strictly Pleasure.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 (Coming Soon)

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Young Jek

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[spamlikely]

You know how people sometimes get a cat by just having a random stray cat with no collar and no chip walk in and sit on the couch like "yo fucknuts I live here now", and the people just go "well fuck, guess I gotta go get a litterbox then."

Now consider: Humans doing that to the fae. Not being captured by the fae folk, not taken against their will but stubbornly walking in to their realm and refusing to leave before one of them agrees to take this damn creature. Faeries telling each other "naww come on, you can't make it leave, it already ate your food. Everyone knows you gotta keep them if you've fed them."

And another faery yells back "I did not fucking feed that thing, it climbed into my pantry and was eating flour straight out of the bag!"

[spamlikely]

Feral werewolf who follows you home from the woods. He stalks you, follows you everywhere. You don't mind, he's just like a lost dog following you around. A really, really big dog. But he's harmless, and really cute if you ignore the bloody fangs and salivating mouth every time he looks at you. He's okay. You don't mind. And at night, he whines and scratches your door because it's been too long since he saw you. A couple hours are a lot for someone who doesn't understand time.

You have to open your door and let him in, where he proceeds to follow you to bed and drape himself over you like a weighted blanket. You are okay with that, too. Why not? He's harmless. He's just a giant puppy who likes to cuddle you. A giant puppy that transforma into a big human as you sleep and wakes you up grinding his hard dick against your ass. He whines as he humps you and traps you under him until he's coming all over you, satisfied with his marking. You complain and chastise him, but he looks so proud of himself you feel a bit bad. So you ignore it, what if he wants to hump you... He's harmless.

But things escalate fast after that. He follows you when you go running, excited by the chase, and tackles you to the ground where he fucks your thighs until he gets your leggings all messy and sticky. You chastise him, but once again, he's just proud of his work. You have to walk home with messy leggings that rub your inner thighs in a way that you don't want to think much about.

You wake that night with his head between your thighs as he licks your pussy over and over. You want to push him away, but he's too strong, and you don't put much of a fight. Why would you? He's just a feral werewolf fixated on you. He just wants to eat you out... And his tongue is so long that he can lick your G-spot and play with your cervix. You came so hard you scare him, making him bite down on your hip and making you come again. Well...

Maybe he's not so harmless after all. He's a feral werewolf... But you are a monsterfucker.

[spamlikely]

Demon / imp friend who keeps pretending they can't control their tail ⤵

Pretending to be bashful when it winds its way around your thigh or wraps around your waist.

"Oh! Sorry haha, this damn thing. Like it has a mind of it's own 😅"

You let it slide because you like them, until one day you see them not so discreetly catch a pencil with their tail and manoeuvre it expertly back into the pen holder on the desk it fell from.

You pretend not to notice, your sneaky suspicion now confirmed.

So the next time they're sitting next to you and their slinky tail starts winding around the fat of your thigh, you're so ready for it.

"You're doing it again."

They turn away from what they were pretending to focus on, act all bashful and start apologising,

"Oh shit, I'm sorry."

Before they can retreat, you cross your legs, effectively trapping their coiled tail between your warm thighs.

"It's okay, I don't mind."

You say dismissively, as you lightly stroke the arrow shaped point at the end of the tail with your thumbs.

You feel them shiver and look up to see them practically panting, staring down at you with heart shaped eyes and hot cheeks.

⛧𖤍⛧

[spamlikely]

Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case. 

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough… 

__

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[spamlikely]

do you think a cemetery angel and a gargoyle could fall in love

[spamlikely]

A Shift In Character

Your husband is coming home today. You shift listlessly on the couch, staring at the movie playing on your laptop while your mind travels hundreds of miles away, to where he must be in a hotel room, packing up and getting ready for his flight.

I'm going to have to talk to him, you think. We can't keep going on like this.

You love your husband, you really do. But it feels like at some point in your marriage of three years, you got on different trains heading in different directions. He dove headfirst into his work, while you settled down to start making a home out of your house.

You have terrible communication skills, but he isn't stupid.

He had asked what was wrong about a month ago as he hopped into bed after his nightly workout and shower.

He was home for a rare weekend off from work, and you had spent it with an amiable air between you. As if you were roommates and nothing more.

You had been reading, but now you pressed your face into your pillow and mumbled that it was nothing with your back turned to him.

What you really wanted to ask was why he wouldn't have sex with you anymore. Was there someone else? Was it because you had gained weight? Were you no longer attractive?

In your mind you screamed these questions at him. But in reality, the embarrassment froze you up so that the times he did ask, you always insisted it was nothing. So really, this is as much your fault as it is his.

That's why the guilt from last week is eating you alive. Your best friend had decided she'd had enough of your moping (you didn't want to talk to her about it either) and suggested that maybe you go to a professional.

"As in a therapist?" You'd asked, choking on your hot tea.

"Is that what you want?" She asked, speaking far too loudly and comfortably.

You snuck a burning gaze around the room and hoped no one was listening in.

"I'm fine. Therapists are for broken people," you mumbled and immediately hated how much you sounded like your father.

It was too late to take that back, though. Your friend tilted her head like she was seeing a new side of you.

"Who told you that?" She asked.

Suddenly, you felt stripped naked. You had said too much and at the same time, too little.

"I think I just need a fun night out," you said quickly, knowing it would distract her.

It worked. That was how you found yourself at a club at eleven in the evening, dancing till your feet were sore. You'd kept a strict regiment of clean living and sleeping early for a few years, but as you downed another shot you wondered why you had even bothered.

Before you knew it, your friend had disappeared in the crowd, and all of a sudden you had a stranger's hands on you. You turned to see a delightfully scruffy man with twinkling green eyes and a jaw you just want to rub your cheek against.

"Hi," you smiled and hiccupped, swaying to the beat.

He leaned in and for a second you felt his nose press against your neck, so quick that you thought maybe you imagined it. Goosebumps covered your skin.

"Where's your husband?" He asked, having to raise his voice to be heard.

"I don't know," you giggled, tossing your arms in the air. "He left me all alone."

You didn't think twice about how strangely pointed his question was. The strap of your high heel was coming loose, causing you to tip forward. You caught yourself with a hand against his chest. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to feel a sliver of his skin, burning against your palm.

"Oops. I think I drank too much," you yelled in his ear. "I drank like, way too much. You're very hot by the way."

"I know," he said and took your hand gently and led you to a table in a quiet corner and gave you a bottle of water, sitting next to you.

"You're sad," he said. "I don't like it when pretty women are sad."

You took a sip from the bottle and now that you had sat down, the sadness started to creep back in.

"I think my husband doesn't love me anymore. He won't sleep with me," you admitted, trying to adjust your dress which was riding up dangerously high.

"What a shame," he said. "I can fix that."

"Really. How?" You leaned towards him, your boobs threatening to spill out of your dress. "Can you make him love me again?"

"He'll find you irresistible," the man promised, a predatory smirk creeping onto his face.

"Let me guess, you're going to try and sell me some kind of love potion or charm," you snorted. "I don't believe in those."

"No," he said and put his hand on your thigh.

That was when you should have pushed him away and left. But that simple touch woke your body up and with the alcohol buzzing in your veins, your mind lost the battle against your body.

You let him caress your thigh, your breath quickening as he leaned in.

Just one kiss won't hurt, you thought.

But that one kiss seemed to rewire your brain. His lips were so soft and hungry against your own before you realized what you were doing, you had straddled him, barely able to keep your moans to yourself. In retrospect, he seemed to be doing it more for you than himself. Like he knew what you had been missing. He tugged at your hair and your back arched as you pressed against him. He buried his face in your neck, leaving kisses on your skin.

"So fucking pretty," he growled huskily. "Your husband shouldn't be able to take his hands off of you."

"I..." The mention of your husband was like a bucket of cold water, bringing back some of your self-control.

"I need to go," you said, putting your hands against his broad shoulders and pushing.

He chuckled but he didn't let you up. One of his hands secured your hip and the other cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in.

"Please stop," you pleaded, trying to draw on your weak conviction.

He ignored you, leaving an open-mouthed kiss on your neck and suddenly biting down. You yelped at the sting of real pain as his teeth broke the skin. You fell off his lap in shock. He grinned at you with sharp teeth and eyes that glowed faintly in the dim lighting.

A primal part of you was afraid. You stumbled to your feet wondering if the alcohol was still making you see things. You rubbed your neck but your fingers came away clean. You looked back at him, but the chair was empty. It was like he disappeared into thin air, however, the throb between your legs told you that the encounter was very real.

The next day you bought your very first toy and smuggled it home as if the bag was see-through. You came thrice in the span of an hour and that was what had sealed your decision. You had needs too, damn it. You were tired of pretending otherwise.

Fast forward to today. You'd had a glass of wine, and your courage was off the charts compared to the usual. Your heart leaps in your throat when you hear his keys jingle in the lock. You're jumping up and you're by the door when it opens.

"Welcome home!" You say, dragging him into a hug. "I missed you," you murmur against his neck.

He smells so good, you could just eat him whole.

"It's only been a week, darling," he laughs and kisses you chastely on the cheek. "Let me bring my things in."

You follow him like an affectionate puppy. Finally, he placed his suitcase in the bedroom. He's about to unzip it and start unpacking, but you're too impatient for that.

"Can't that wait?" You murmur, slipping your arms around his waist.

"I'll forget," he says. "I managed to spill wine on my favorite white shirt, I have to see if I can get it out-"

"Later." You shove him on the bed with enough force that he bounces slightly.

He stares up at you in shock, blinking as you straddle him and crawl up to his face.

"I've been so lonely," you murmur, rubbing your thumb over his bottom lip.

"What's brought this on?" He asks warily. "Are you mad at me?"

"Huh? No. Why would you think that?" You ask in confusion.

"You're clutching me like an anaconda," he grumbles. "I hate to be a spoilsport but I've had a long journey, dear."

It takes a moment for you to realize he's rejecting you. You see red. A few moments later, you're landing on the floor and he's scrambling away from you.

"What the fuck, woman?" He clutches his cheek and stares at you. "All this because I want to sleep? You're the one who used to turn me down!"

"I have not ever turned you down!" You huff.

"Right. Of course. That still doesn't give you the right to slap me."

"I didn't," you say, confused.

You don't remember doing that. One moment you were on him, furious as heck, and the next, he was shoving you off the bed. When had you slapped him?

He stares at you for a long moment. "You need to blow off some steam, that's what. Maybe you should go for a run?"

Your anger comes back even hotter and you're growling low in your throat as you pick yourself off the floor.

"Are you saying I need to lose weight?" You say through your teeth, which you're grinding together so hard that your jaw aches.

He rubs his forehead. "No, darling. I'm suggesting it because it's what works for me. Besides you're so angry right now that you're flushed. We need to talk, but not like this."

You glance at yourself in the closet mirror and he's right. Your skin is red and patchy from your face to your shoulders. That's never happened before.

"Oh god. Fine," you say, grabbing your jacket and marching out of the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" He calls after you.

"Out! Get your beauty sleep," you snap and slam the door on your way out.

You hail a taxi. You know exactly where to go, and who you're going to try and find.

When I copy and paste stories to Tumblr on my phone, Tumblr adds an extra space after each paragraph and I have to manually delete them. The headache. I did not add the mature rating to this story, I think it isn't really spicy. Should I add it anyway?

Anyway, note that there's a tag that says monster boyfriend? Ohhh I have plans for this story. Please brain, give me the necessary juice to write this one. I also need to stop living in make-believe worlds because goddamn. The daydreaming is making me lazy in the real world.

I bet no one wants to hear this, but I struggled to fall asleep yesterday because I was panicking about what I'd do if I lost my ability to walk in some kind of accident. 😭 And then I dreamt about trying to propose to a guy so that he'd leave my friend alone because he was interested in her but she was a lesbian and I had a crush on her.. Also my thoughts clearly got into the dream because she was in a wheelchair. ??? Well, okay.

[spamlikely]

Going INSANE thinking about this post by @curiousmons :

So here we go!!

Your Centaur Boyfriend being embarrassed when he explains he’s never cum before because he can’t reach “down there”. You’re stunned and ask why he hasn’t told you before. You tell him you’d have at least given him a handjob before now so he could get some release! He sheepishly tells you that he almost didn’t tell you at all because he’s worried he won’t last long and he doesn’t want to disappoint you.

After a soft heart to heart session, you explain that even if he doesn’t last long, at least you’ll be doing it together so it’ll be wonderful. The kissing starts off slow and soft with him stooping down and you on your tiptoes. Then him pulling off your shirt, and you eagerly finishing undressing yourself when he hesitates. He eases you onto your back on the soft (but itchy, not that you’d tell him) hay he made into a bed for you. His front legs are tucked under him as he goes back to kissing you, pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly.

Despite never having been with anyone before, he knows that his massive cock would hurt you if you’re not prepped, which is another reason you two had waited for so long. Now you could easily take his fingers, and you were already soaking wet for him. His cock is so hard that he’s already leaking precum and it’s almost painful. He wants to be inside of you so badly.

“Please,” you whisper, breaking the kiss to look up at him.

He bites his lip before nodding slightly. He stands back up and you adjust, pushing yourself into doggy style so it’s easier for him to push into you. You have to help guide him a bit since you have to be so far under him, but as soon as the tip of his cock is pushed inside of you, he starts going crazy.

He jerks his hips towards you, nearly impaling you with his massive cock in one thrust. You yelp, not expecting that sudden and deep of a movement, but you don’t pull away.

“I’m sorry baby. You feel so good. I’m sorry,” he groans as he continues to slam in and out of you, driving you into the floor.

His cock slams deep inside of you, stretching you out in the most delicious way. He bullies your cervix in a way you never thought possible, his hot and slick precum already coating your womb. You whimper, trying to find something to hold onto. When you start to squirm, he uses his front hooves to keep you in place, setting them lightly on you, of course not his full weight, just so he can continue to cram himself into you.

Once he’s close, his thrusting becomes more sporadic. He thrusts roughly and sloppily, almost pulling out in his haste to push back inside of you. You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, every thick inch of that cock stretching you out even more as he already was.

“You’re so good baby. So tight. So wet,” he whines, picking up the pace even more.

“Keep going,” is all you can manage to get out between the rough assaults on your body.

He complies until he crams himself as deeply as he can inside of you, pumping you full of hot, thick ropes of cum. You can feel it filling you, extending your stomach and spilling out onto your thighs and the floor under you even as he’s still deep inside of you.

His front legs tremble before he buckles them, pulling them off of you so he can support himself on them. You can hear his deep breathing and panting as he recovers, his cock still throbbing inside of you.

“That was amazing baby,” you sigh, almost dreamily, before you try to wiggle out from under him.

However, he’s already rutting into you, grinding his hips against yours with his cock still buried inside of you. “Just one more baby. Please please let me do it just one more time.”

[spamlikely]

Jaxson the Orc

I know the holidays are past now, but hey, I think this will be a really nice late gift to unwrap. Two coworkers who know next to nothing about one another aside from one is sunshine and the other is grumpy receive one another for a gift exchange. You know how this goes. Female Reader x Male Monster

Damn! That was all that came to mind when you pulled for Secret Santa. Everyone seemed quite pleased with their selections, even giggling and teasing others about who possibly they got. The office was a small one and there really weren’t that many people there when you got down to it. The small photography studio had grown over the past year, but everyone was friendly with one another.

    That was, except for Jaxson. Which was the name on the slip of paper you pulled.

    Jaxson was a videographer and the head editor on the team. His work was literal perfection, but that came at a price. He was often holed up in the editor suite, barely making eye contact with anyone. And when he did, well, let’s just say Jaxson didn’t look like the friendly lot. Adding to his large size, broad shoulders, and gruff expressions, the orc didn’t make friends around the office exactly. The editing team sang his praises, but outside them, no one really knew him.

    “Shit,” you mumbled at your desk. You stared down the small slip of paper with a furrowed brow. What do you get for the orc who won’t let anyone know him? “Maybe an Oscar the grouch doll,” you grumbled to yourself.

    “Who’d you get?”

    The sudden question came from your cubicle neighbor who popped her head over the wall. She was so sudden, so abrupt, you had to hold yourself up to keep from toppling over.

    “Lita!” You snapped.

    Her eyes lit up. How she, a  tiny goblin, managed to climb the cubicle walls every time amazed you. “So, who did you pull?”

    “Aren’t we supposed to keep it all a secret?”

    Lita sat atop the wall. “I got Rosemary.”

    You glared up at her and then sighed. Well, maybe having more hands on deck would help you figure Jaxson out. “I got Jaxson.”

    Her ears raised up and she gasped. “You got the Editing Demon?” She slid down off the wall and landed gracefully inside your cubicle. “What are you going to do?”

    “I literally do not know,” you pouted. “Do you have any ideas?”

    “Why not get him something off the goofy gift list?” She asked.

    “That’s not how I operate. I want it to be special. Personal! I don’t want to just chuck something at him. That’s so cold, and this is the holidays.”

    “You take these things way too seriously,” Lita chuckled.

    “How did you enjoy that stuffed animal of your childhood cat?” You tossed at her.

    Her look shifted to apologetic.  “I mean, you can always talk to the video team. I’m sure they know something about Jaxson.”

    “I don’t know why that makes me so nervous though.” You sat up more in your seat and tucked the slip of paper under your desk calendar. “I feel like getting to know Jaxson is like meeting a unicorn for the first time. It’s either going to hate you or-”

    “Excuse me,” another sudden intrusion popped up behind you. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Mr. Cagan wants to speak with you.”

    Yours and Lita’s eyes both widened. “Me?” You asked.

    “That’s right.”

    “What the-” Lita whispered under your breath as you got up.

    It was a strange nervous walk that took you to Jaxson Cagan’s editing chambers. The editing and videographer room wasn’t much different than your photography section in the front. There were just more computers, more noise, and there were just tables lined up as desks rather than a bunch of cubicles.

    In the back you saw him, glaring over his laptop. Jaxson's darker green complexion always made him seem like he was in shadows, adding to his mysterious ways. You walked as quietly as possible back towards him, noticing the elf on the shelf poised above his head, hanging on a coat hook.

    “You wanted to see me?” You asked.

    Jaxson barely glanced up from his computer. In the reflection on his glasses, you could almost make out what he was working on. But then he turned his laptop around. “I need some advice on a job. I was told you might be the best to help me.”

    You saw on the page was a website advertising a lolita convention and tea party. It was not what you expected.

    “What do you need help with?” You cautiously took a seat.

    “You’re…feminine, right?” Jaxson seemed hung up on his own words.

    Your eyes shifted, unsure of what was happening. “I mean…I consider myself a woman if that’s what you’re asking.”

    Jaxson huffed. “I mean you like…girlie things more than most.” He looked irritated, but maybe it was because he was trying not to sound offensive.

    “Oh, well, I suppose.” You smoothed your hand down your skirt that had Strawberry shortcake all over it. “So, you need help with the Lolita event.”

    He grunted and nodded. “They want it…cute. The website, the videos, the photography. The convention is in April and I’m not sure what I can do for them when I have to start taking promotional footage.”

    You’ve never worked with Jaxson before. He usually worked on his own or with a regular collaborator. “So you need my help making the shots girlie.”

    “Pretty. Fancy. Not uhm-” He waved his hand up and down himself. He was wearing a long-sleeved, black compression shirt with a red checkered flannel over top. “Well, if I wasn’t doing this as a favor for a friend, I wouldn’t usually take on this job. I’d offer it to Rosemary.”

    I smiled. “I’ll help as best I can. Email me the itinerary and whatever else you have about this job and I’ll start putting together some ideas and references for locations.”

    “Locations?” he grumbled. “We can’t do the photoshoot in the studio?” He sounded irked by this idea.

    “Well, considering the specialty here, I would assume those participating in the lolita event will want specialized settings and the like. It’s a fashion trend after all.”

    He grimaced. “Fashion?”

    “You’ve never heard of Lolita?” You asked.

    He shook his head. “I thought it had something to do with the book.”

    You were flabbergasted. “You think these people are celebrating that book? No! Lolita is about fashion and empowerment through it. It’s not about a book about a pedophile.”

    Jaxson’s eyes widened and he looked taken aback.

    “Have you even read the book?” You asked a little calmer, shyer.

    “Only know about it through like…word of mouth.” He leaned forward. “Is it really about that?”

    You nodded. “Afraid so. It’s supposed to be a commentary on such people. But people like it make it about Olita herself.” You laughed trying to brush it off. “The book and fashion movement are two different things.”

    “So you like books?” Jaxson asked.

    That seemed like such an odd question to ask. “I mean, sure. I often take trips to the bookstore to linger around and enjoy life.”

    Jaxson nodded, turning his computer back around. “So, location shooting.” he typed something into his computer.

    “Yes! I know a couple of restaurants and venues that allow us to use their premises for photoshoots. I have personal contacts with some. There’s a new tea house downtown that would love the publicity. Have you been to Red Velvet confections?”

    “Isn’t that a vampire place?” Jaxson grumbled.

    “Sure, but they offer so many good treats and baked goods for everyone. Oh! And down the road from it is the Full Moon Cat’s used bookstore! It would also be a good place for a photo shoot.”

    “Books and desserts?” Jaxson mumbled under his breath. “So, you go to both those places a lot?”

    “Uh…yeah. I do. I like supporting local businesses. I’ve built up a repertoire with most. I did the photography for Red Velvet’s website and menu.”

    He was typing slowly at his computer again.

    Maybe this was a chance to peek behind the curtain and see the wizard behind the scary illusion. “What about you? Do you like books or any sort of sweets?”

    Jaxson’s lips pressed together in a firm line. “Not really a book person. I like the radio more than reading.”

    Shit, you thought. You can’t gift a radio.

    “And I have to watch out for my blood sugar these days.” He scratched at his chin. “So I’ve broken my sweet habit.”

    What the fuck, you continued to curse inside your head.

    “I see.” You said to be polite.

    Jaxson nodded. “I’ll send you everything I have. Whatever you can do to help on this I would greatly appreciate.”

    You decided to act chipper about this. “Thank you for including me! With the holidays and everything I could use the extra income.” You stood up from your seat. “Gift-giving is super important in my family.”

    There was a look on his face you couldn’t read. Was it confusion? Fear? “Really?”

    “Yeah, it’s a big event! We all try to be really personal and sentimental with our gifts. It’s pretty amazing.”

    Was he growing pale? You couldn’t tell.

    He looked down at his laptop, adjusting his glasses so they became filled with the light on the screen. “Interesting, suppose that’s better than knick-knacks and trinkets.”

    “Well, I'll start getting to work on that! Thanks again for including me. I’m actually pretty flattered.” You walked away, miffed you barely learned anything about him, but excited you had more opportunities to try.

    A few days later, after having a rather sour conversation with a Bridezilla over the phone, you decided to treat yourself to a run to the bookstore and then the bakery. They were close to work and were often a regular trip for you.

    As you walked into the bookstore you were shocked by the wall of a back before you. You were stunned even further when you saw it was Jaxson. He turned around, shocked to see you as well.

    Lucien came out from around the corner with some books in hand. “I have the list compiled here if you-” he saw you and stopped in his tracks. “Well hello there. Come back for that copy of ‘Lady Silver’ after all?” he gave a smirking look to Jaxson.

    Jaxson stood stiff. “I was coming to scope out the place. Since you like it so much.”

    “That’s good,” you said, peeling away your scarf and matching hat. “What do you think of it?”

    “It has potential.” He stepped aside just enough that you saw a rather worn copy of Lolita on the counter. He saw you staring and he picked it up. “I uh, well, I wanted to check this out for myself. See what’s going on first hand.”

    “I told him it’s uncomfortable for some,” Lucien said with a knowing smile.

    “Well, I’ve apparently been fed a lot of wrong info about it.” He sniffed then looked you over. “Why are you here?”

    “I told you, she’s one of my regulars,” Lucien replied.

    Jaxson turned back to him.

    “Oh, because of the photoshoot? Yeah, I come here a lot. I like to see the cats and the rows of books. It’s homey. Then I’ll go and get something at the bakery.” You said.

    “You should go with her.” Even to you, it sounded like Lucien was playing with fire.

    This would be a good chance to get to know Jaxson more too. “If you don’t mind me lingering around here for a while!” You said brightly. “I had a bad call today and just wanted to melt that off me before I went home.”

    Jaxson pouted. “I suppose. Couldn’t hurt.”

    “Great! I’m gonna look around for a bit, but Lucien has a sitting area if you want to start reading.” You waved as you started walking, but to your surprise, he was following.

    You stared in the children’s section, which seemed to really surprise him. “I’m looking for a certain book for my sister for Christmas,” you said.

    “Oh,” that seemed to be a relief. “What is it?”

    “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” you replied. “It was our favorite as kids.” You scanned the shelf for it. “But this time of year it’s hard to find.”

    “Why not order?”

    “The new editions aren’t as cool,” you said. “Besides, having one that looks like the one we wore out is kind of nice.” You picked out another Seuss book. “This will do in case I can’t find it in time.” You wandered off again, heading to the fantasy section.

    “Do you like fantasy?” He asked, picking up a book.

    “Sure, who doesn’t?” You scanned a few new books on the shelf. “I loved things like The Last Unicorn, Lord of the Rings, and Howl’s Moving Castle growing up. Used to tap my shoes together and hope to be taken to Narnia or Oz or something.”

    “Hm,” Jaxson set a book down. “I watched Wizard of Oz as a kid.”

    There was something! You thought excitedly.

    “I liked the lion.”

    Bingo! You got something. “Really? The Cowardly Lion was your favorite?”

    He shrugged. “I guess. I had a stuffed lion since I was a baby, so I pretended like it was my lion.” Jaxson glanced at you, an almost pensive look on his face. “Don’t go around telling people that.”

    “Who would believe me?” You said with a smirk.

    He scoffed. “I don’t come across as the soft and cuddly type, do I?”

    You picked up a book to buy. “Our secret. Promise.” You waved him along. “Now we’re off to the romance section.”

    “Fine.” He set a book aside. “Hey, question, is it true they call me the Editing Demon?”

    You froze in place, giving him a cautious look.

    He glared. “It’s true isn’t it.”

    “It’s not because of anything bad! It’s because you’re so unearthly good.” You didn’t want him thinking the photography section was spreading horror stories about him.

    “Nah I get it,” he growled. “I mean, I’m not soft and cuddly after all. I’m barely approachable. My sister said I had RBF.”

    Ah ha! So he had family out there. “RBF? Ruth Bader face?”

    Jaxson laughed, it was the first time you’d ever heard him laugh. “No! Resting bitch face.”

    “Oh!” You gasped. “Oh,” you murmured apologetically. You continued your short stroll to the romance section.

    “Yeah, I spent a lot of time with Grandpa, so my sister and mom teased me I caught his grump.”

    That was shockingly cute. “Aww.”

    He scoffed. “Maybe I did pick up a habit or two from him.”

    This is great! You thought.

    After the bookstore, you took him to the bakery. You got yourself some cake and a hot cocoa. Meanwhile, Jaxson got black coffee and a croissant. You were both silent at first, sitting there enjoying your treats while you stared outside.

    Cowardly lion, loves his grandpa, you told yourself, hoping that info wouldn’t slide out of your mind.

    “These places should work,” Jaxson said. “If we can squeeze in a shoot after the holidays, we might get snow too.”

    “That would be great,” you said with a smile.

    “Won’t be so bad,” he murmured and took a drink.

    You found you were both walking the same way after leaving, so you both kept pace with one another. Quiet yet again.

    “It’s nice with all the lights out,” you offered as an icebreaker. “The painted windows. The twinkle.”

    “Yeah,” he mumbled.

    “Did you have big Christmases growing up?”

    He sighed. “Kind of. My dad was old fashioned so we tended to have Beast Feast rather than the usual Christmas.”

    You’d heard of Beast Feast, but you didn't know much about it. “I’ve never had one before,” you chuckled.

    “They’re pretty. Think Thanksgiving but on steroids.” He glanced up at the sky. “We’d just eat and lounge all day. Chatting, napping, sitting around the fire.” He breathed out slowly. “Well, I live here.” he motioned to the street where small apartments were lined.

    “Oh, sure. Thanks for joining me,” you said with a smile.

    He nodded. “We should scope them out again, discuss one one-on-one in person what to do. You know, there and stuff.”

    Why did that sound so exciting?

    You decided to wait before you ordered anything concrete for Jaxson’s Secret Santa gift. You wanted to wait a few more times before you pulled the trigger, although an idea was already blooming.

    In the next two weeks, the two of you met up more frequently to discuss the photoshoot and several ideas for the website. You both enjoyed the bakery, often meeting up there for breakfast, even after work.

    “You know,” he said one evening while you were walking away with hot chocolates in hand, “we’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

    “Yeah.” You were pretty happy holding that hot chocolate. It was covered in whipped cream and pretty holiday-colored sprinkles.

    “Feels like we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well.” he sounded a little unsure, not exactly lacking confidence, maybe he was more uncertain of you.

    “I think so too.” You smiled up brightly at him.

    Jaxson cleared his throat. “So I uh-” Now he was lacking confidence. He stopped just before the street leading to his apartments. “Why don’t I walk you home?”

    Your breath came out in a huge cloud. Your heart began picking up speed like a roller coaster going up the tracks to the drop-off. “Are you sure? It’s pretty far and it’s really cold out.” You motioned to his street.

    “You can come to my place if you’d like so you can finish your hot chocolate. I just thought the walk might be nice. With you, I mean.”

    The roller coaster of your heart was at the tipping point.

    “It’s not too far from work,” you murmured shyly. “Just beyond the park.”

    Jaxson nodded his head decisively and tightened his scarf more around his neck. “Okay, let's go. If you don't mind, that is.”

    You shook your head. “Not at all.” The roller coaster was tipping, but it wasn’t letting go yet. You walked beside him, both of you now struck silent. Snow began to fall, the flurries fluttered freely about you and you smiled.

    “Almost perfect, huh?” Jaxson broke the silence.

    “Almost, yeah.” You peeked up at him, your smile hidden behind your scarf. “My place might be a little messy,” you replied.

    “I don’t care,” he chuckled. “I’m pretty sparse with my things. I was afraid you’d think I was a weirdo.”

    “How?” You laughed.

    “I don’t decorate,” you grumbled. “I’m not, gifted like that. At least, not with my own things. I have furniture sure, but I’ve been told I don’t do those personal touches that make a house inviting.”

    “I see,” you smirked. “Well, I’ve been told I’mw word for the decorating I do as well. So maybe we’re even there.”

    You caught a smile on his handsome face, and you were satisfied.

    By the time you reached your place, you were freezing. You shuffled in, heading towards a heater and turning it all the way up.

    “Cold?” Jaxson asked, shedding his coat.

    “Very.” Your eyes focused on the flex of his arms as he took the coat off. You then spied the strain of his shirt, the buttons pulled, opening around his belly. His belly was probably very warm, you thought. That thought made the roller coaster tip over.

    You gulped. “Uhm, since the hot chocolate is gone, I can put on some coffee? Maybe some tea!”

    “Tea sounds good.” Jaxson was rubbing down his glasses which had fogged over from coming out of the cold.

    “Okay, I’ll get the kettle on. I have lots of different flavors and some fun stuff so uh-” You waddled into the kitchen, afraid to say much else. You were very aware of your movements now. Why was that? He invited me to only walk you home, right?

    “I knew your place would be cute,” Jaxson murmured as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “All pink appliances. Pretty curtains.”

    You smiled shyly. “Well, I always vowed to have a home that made me happy.” You turned away from the kettle on the stove. “Anything else I can do?”

    Jaxson stepped into the kitchen, coming close to you. That roller coaster of a heart was going around loop de loops, crossing upside down, speeding faster, faster, faster! He dipped down, kissing you, touching your cold cheek with remarkably warm hands.

    There wasn’t much time to think. The kiss swept you off your feet, off the ground. You kissed him back, touching his chest to feel the vibrations of his own roller coaster.

    His hand was on your lower back, and your fingers touched between the straining buttons. A small breath was captured between the two of you. You both looked at one another and the fate of that night was written in an instant.

    It was only when Jaxson was taking off your underwear you suddenly remembered where you were. You looked around your room, the soft glow of the twinkle lights hanging over your bed cast everything in a softer, more romantic light. Jaxson had your panties in his strong fist, and his tongue glided along the side of his tusk.

    “Uhm-” You instantly regretted speaking.

    “Everything alright?” Jaxson murmured.

    You nodded. “I’m just…a little in shock I guess,” you laughed. “I mean, I didn’t expect this when I first started talking to you.”

    Jaxson was crawling closer, leaning down. His long hair splayed out around his face, adding to the whole romantic vibe.

    “I was excited to get to know you! I swear I just-” His tongue was there! It was on you! There! “Oh!” You whimpered out before biting your lip and closing your eyes. “Oh my!”

    Jaxson was licking, suckling. Soft, wet sounds came up from between your thighs as he gladly tasted you. His tongue was warm and firm, pressing against you, inside you. His lips were a soft, little vacuum.

    “Oh wow-” your voice fluttered. You reached down, first petting his hair. It was so soft! Then you held a fistful of it. You were close, another typing point.

    Then Jaxson rose, a dark look on his face. “Not yet,” he said with a serious tone. “I want you cumming on my cock like a good girl.”

    Fucking hell! Your roller coaster of a heart shot through your chest in a tragic accident. When did he talk like that?

    He pulled you closer to him, laying his throbbing cock upon your belly. “This deep,” he growled.

    What could you say? What could you do? If he was going to continue talking like that you didn’t need to say anything.

    His dark eyes fell upon you. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me and take my cock?”

    You were dizzy. “Yeah-” you whimpered.

    “I can’t hear you.”

    “Yes!” You blurted out.

    Jaxson smirked. “Good.” His tip pressed at you. Gently he slid inside. The way his cock moved inside, he didn’t need to talk really. His cock must have been sculpted by the most talented of angels.

    “Very good,” Jaxson growled. “Fuck. You’re taking my cock so well.”

    He was going to kill you if he kept up that dirty talk.

    “You’re so fucking wet. Did I make you feel good?”

    You nodded.

    “Do you want me to make you cum?”

    You nodded more furiously.

    Jaxson’s wicked little smirk turned into a villainous grin. “I will then. Good girls deserve to cum on big orc cocks.”

    How dare he? But you didn’t have time to linger on how hot it was because he started moving, pumping his hips in such a way he found the sweet spot instantly. You’d never slept with someone who actually knew what the fuck they were doing. You weren’t ready. You lost your breath, maybe even consciousness for a second.

    “Fuck, your body makes me go crazy,” he snarled. “I’ve wanted to eat you up since I saw you. Soft…beautiful-” He growled between his teeth.

    He could have you anytime, anywhere, you’d just have to wait and try to gather to courage to say that later when you weren’t being fucked stupid.

    “Cum on my dick,” he commanded. “Cum for me like a good girl.”

    How did he control that? How did your body respond to his tone so instantly? Then again, he seemed very well-trained in how to treat good girls. You came for him, on him, harder than even you had on your own. The grin on his face grew then morphed into a dark, hungered expression. He was still going, still thrusting as deeply into you as he said.

    “Cum in me-” the words slipped so easily from your lips. “Please. Cum in me!”

    There was a look on his face, not pained, not dark, but it was soft and overwhelmed. He snarled, going harder still until there was a warmth, a rush. Inside his cock throbbed. He threw his head back, his long hair cascading off his shoulders. He shuddered, thrusting in the shallow.

    All Jaxson did was breathe for a moment. He looked down at you, his hair curtains round his glorious face. He leaned down, kissing you softly as overflow swept over your body. You touched him, taking in the shape and hardness of his body.

    “Wow,” you whispered.

    He nodded, agreeing with a breathless sigh.

    Later, you were both in the kitchen sitting in your underwear as you enjoyed tea and post-coital snacks. You were both quiet, but smiling like idiots.

    “I have to confess, I didn’t intend that when I first offered to walk you home.” Jaxson chuckled.

    “Oh? What did you intend to do then?” You smirked over your tea cup.

    You breathed out through his nose. “Well, a kiss really. And to scope you out.”

    “Scope me out?” You asked with a furrowed brow.

    You got a sudden look like he let the cat out of the bag. “Oh uh…yeah. For uh…for Christmas.” He swallowed and rubbed at his chest. “I uh…I pulled you for Secret Santa and I wanted to make sure I got you a really good gift. Well, at first a gift you’d at least like. But now…” His smile turned shy, he was no longer that sexy god of dirty talk he was in the bedroom.

    You weren’t going to let your secret slip. “You could have just asked me.”

    “Yeah well…” His face was turning a darker shade of green. “I also have harbored a crush for some time so…maybe I was being a little greedy there.”

    You smirked. “I think it worked out in the end.”

    His shy smile softened upon you. “It did?”

    You set your cup aside and moved into his lap, kissing him deeply. You were greeted by a  gentle prod on your rear end.

    Jaxson growled. “Fuck, I’m gonna be useless at work tomorrow.”

    “How come?” You teased.

    That sexy, confident smirk returned. “Because I was making my girlfriend cum.” He then scooped you up, carrying you giggling and squealing back to the bedroom.

    By the time the office was having the Christmas party, you and Jaxson had more nights together, and more actual dates. You were giddy and happier than you had been in a long time. Not only that, you had found the perfect Secret Santa gift for him.

    “Well, you know it was me,” Jaxson said as he handed you the wrapped gift box. “Hopefully you don’t know what I got you.”

    “Thank you!” You took the box, surprised he had found a pink wrapping paper. You set the gift down, then pulled out the big gift bag you had for him.  “Well, I have a surprise for you too.”

    Jaxson’s face went blank then his eyes went very wide. “Wait, what?” He laughed.

    “I was your Santa,” you said with a smug smirk. “I didn’t spill the beans.”

    He scoffed, almost glaring at the bag before smiling at you. He quickly scanned the room before delivering you a gift. “I thought I caught you snooping at my place the other day.” He found a pair of scissors to snap away tape at the top of the bag.

    You carefully unwrapped your gift as well. “I had to snoop!” You watched him closely as he reached inside the bag and then pulled out the big lion plushy from inside. His eyes were watery, and his jaw hung open a bit.

    “This was my lion,” he whispered.

    “I saw pictures at your place,” you giggled in triumph. “I managed to find the exact plush online!”

    Jaxson held the plush between his big hands, gazing down at it like a lost friend. “I can’t believe it.” he touched the small felt crown you had sewn on yourself. “He’s the Cowardly Lion too!”

    You continued opening your gift. The box was a little heavy, so you kept it on the table. Inside was a whole tea set. A cute pink and gold china with small strawberries. “Oh!” You flapped your hands in excitement. “It’s the special edition Strawberry Shortcake one!” You were almost in tears, this had been a dream item for your kitchen for years. You took out one of the surprisingly delicate teacups and stared at it in awe.

    Jaxson smirked. “I went a little over the budget.”

    You threw your arms around him, nearly jumping up to hug his neck. “I love it so much! Thank you!”

    He hugged you tight, his plush lion still gripped in his hand. “I love mine too. This was my favorite toy in the entire world. But I lost it.” He murmured.

    “Oh wow, what’s going on over here?” Lita laughed as she came towards you.

    “Good gifts,” Jaxson’s tone went a little stiffer and he held his lion a little behind himself. He looked away shyly. “We both got one another.”

    “Amazing how those things work out.” Lita sounded a little too knowing. You began wondering if she had something to do with this.

    “Yeah. it was.” You showed Lita the tea set excitedly. “Remember how badly I’ve wanted this?”

    “It’s so cute!” Lita gasped. “Who knew, Jaxson?” She laughed at him.

    You smiled at him. “I knew.”