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syoddeye · 23 days

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down the hatch / badgering

141 x f!reader | ~1.9k | series page tags: p in v sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, bad jokes, manipulation, spanking, manhandling a/n: you know that tunnel scene in willy wonka and the chocolate factory? that's how it feels when i write this. a hoot and a half. banner by @/cafekitsune.

it’s an adjustment. living with roommates again. roommates who refuse to leave, thanks to all the death and destruction outside. convenient excuse, really.

no more naked mornings. you could go tits out—they fucking do—but you’re not entirely without reason. as salivating as they are, the hunks are your enemies.

even if they’ve showered, trimmed, and got some of the bloodstains out of their clothes.

even if soap makes canned meat and powdered eggs palatable, whipping up a spam and rice bowl for you without asking.

even if gaz finds a five-hundred-piece puzzle on a scavenging trip and bites his tongue when you bat his hand away when he tries to help sort the pieces.

even if ghost slips a game of hangman under your door at lights out, and lets you guess a couple of letters each night. (first word? ‘wanker’. second? ‘larynx.’)

even if john—well, wait, no. the asshole hasn’t made a peace offering. probably because he knows you won’t honor them or because he’s sore about the whole ‘no cool nickname’ thing. whatever.

at night, alone in your room, you plot. how does one evict four man-roaches? make living with you worse than living outside.

in a weird way, your austrian neighbor and his aspirations for a fucking von trapp family: the squeakuel comes in handy. he hoarded all types of junk.

soap’s your guinea pig. he’s moody. something’s always itching under his skin. he snaps at the other men too easily and watches you like a dog admiring meat hanging off a bone. opportunity arrives one morning when john and gaz head topside and ghost settles in the living room. you corner the scotsman in the bunker’s tiny gym.

you linger in the doorway, fixated on the dark shapes under soap’s armpits. his mohawk sags, beads of sweat streaking over the freshly shorn hair. down his flexing muscles. and the grunting, christ. it’s a peek into heaven, which makes ruining it difficult.

without a word, you plop onto the other bench and take up the clarinet you found in your room. channeling the gusto of gus polinski, you wet your lips. how hard can it be? you don’t know polka, but you know rossini.

soap’s head snaps at the opening notes, nearly fumbling a pair of dumbbells, his face a flurry of anger, amusement, and annoyance. it’s a valiant effort, his ignoring you, but in the end, you only make it halfway through your best attempt at the william tell overture before he cracks. he rips the instrument from your hands and tosses it aside. he stands over you, smelly and slick, breathing heavily through his nose.

you end up dragging him to your room.

soap is the definition of a romp in the sheets. a no-holds-barred deathmatch. it’s the first dick you’ve caught in months, and what a reintroduction. a miracle the bed survives. he starts with his mouth sealed to your clit, tongue working like it’s making up for lost time, as if your cunt and his face go way back. it’s refreshing, but you saw how fast he dropped to his knees for gaz.

two orgasms slip out by the time he wrenches off his damp clothes, chin glistening and eyes glittering. he goes cross-eyed the second his dick slaps against your folds, and you laugh at his desperate groaning when he sinks in. though, your laughs are choked off by his sudden, furious thumbing of your clit. (you punch him in the stomach—ignoring the filthy moan that elicits—and hiss out, “a genie isn’t gonna come out, stop fucking rubbing so hard!”) he ends up coming on your stomach and contorts to lick it off, muttering little gratitudes into your skin. it’s…cute. kind of gross, but cute. you kick him out after a power nap.

soap’s a wash. ba-dum tish. try, try again.

you set your sights on gaz. he’s tricky.

it quickly becomes apparent he’s the best at scavenging. smug about it, too, which you leverage. his ego’s easy enough to feed despite his unease. all it takes is batting your lashes and complimenting his hauls.

amazing. this must be the last jar of berbere ever.

pads? for me? so considerate, i’m stunned.

a mostly intact game of monopoly? wow, here, i thought we were done with landlords and taxes.

it’s simple. you begin with small requests. toothpicks. socks. lip balm. when he returns, he drops the goods in your lap like a cat with a mouse. stares at you with those pretty eyes while you lay it on thick.

you escalate. either he’ll die on your absurd fetch quests or go crazy trying to fulfill them. brand new period panties. a specific type of hair dye. unopened baby lotion. naturally, he can’t find any of them. he still delivers approximations—granny pants, food coloring, and half a bottle of moisturizer—with a hopeful smile you crush under feigned hums of disappointment. ah, well, if this is the best you can do. it chips away at him. his smiles tighten.

you figure he’ll make a dumb mistake on his next outing out of some fucked desperation, and you’ll be down a roach. but after you tell him to keep an unopened pack of nail varnish because they aren’t your colors, he loses it. this time, you’re dragged to bed.

gaz pins you to the mattress, one hand on your throat and the other shoved into your leggings. pupils blown to the point where they’re shark-like. you’d spare a thought for all the poor creatures dead in aquarium tanks across the globe if he wasn’t hellbent on shoving a third finger in.

“so bloody irritating,” gaz seethes. “spoiled and greedy. have you always been a brat, or am i special?”

you spend your ration of oxygen wisely. “i think you think you’re special.”

for that, your knees meet your chest, and your pussy nearly chokes his dick. or so he tells you, pure filth spewing from his mouth. you giggle madly through the slight pinch of pain, mirroring the feral grin on his face. he’s big, and you could be wetter, but you’re not on your back for good behavior. he’s happy to tell you about that, too. how awful you are.

disappointingly, it doesn’t take long for him to lose his grasp on language. a shame, given his shit talk.

he bats your hand away from your clit when you try to coax your orgasm along. clicks his tongue, eyes half-mast, and smirks. “gonna be good? gonna thank me?”

in another world, you’d nod. whatever you say, beautiful. in this world, however, you flip the bird, and he flips you.

gaz pants like a bull, pulling you back onto his cock with an iron grip on your hips. his hand comes down across your ass, but there’s this je ne sais quoi missing. it’s the thought that counts, you guess.

after he makes a mess, you fully expect gaz to continue his tirade. instead, he finds a towel. he rolls you over and tucks you in. thanks you. it’s a shame memoirs are meaningless now as the perfect title comes to mind: ‘bunker bumping: backshots in the apocalypse’.

okay. zero for two. historically, settling for 50% isn’t unlike you.

back at the drawing board, you reevaluate. annoying the men to death hasn’t worked, and they’re exceptionally durable in dogshit conditions. each day, they get closer to rigging the equipment necessary to contact their ‘friends’, seemingly unperturbed by your efforts. in fact, they seem more comfortable. at home. they poke around the utility room to assess what needs maintenance or improvement. the nerve.

it’s untenable. no matter what that dumb voice in your head insists, you miss solitude. miss not having an audience. you want to watch leon and the silence of the lambs without commentary. dance naked. leave the toilet door open.

you withdraw.

the bedroom becomes your bunker within the bunker. you take meals alone. painstakingly move your puzzles and hoard books. shower at night after they go to bed. ignore them in the halls. keep your mouth shut when someone addresses you. it’s a fruitless endeavor, keeping your head in the sand, but a part of you hopes if you become as unobtrusive as possible, they’ll forget you exist. after all, they have each other. they put those squeaky single beds through the wringer.

problem is, you don’t account for scragglebeard himself. nosy fucker.

it happens on shower night. towel-clad and testy, you trudge from the bathrooms and find your door open. you freeze in the hall, hearing clinking sounds and lowered voices. gaz and soap emerge, ferrying dishes and dirty clothes, not sparing so much as a glance. your stomach twists, immediately jumping to the worst-case scenario. they’re reclaiming the space, and they’re finally going to kill you.

unfortunately, it’s not so simple.

“whatever this is,” john sternly says the second you enter the room, “we’re going to fix it.”

ghost traipses past, arms full of unopened cans and more dishware. you glare at his back, then turn to john.

“get the fuck out.”

he chuckles. “sweetheart, what’s not clickin’? this isn’t just your shelter anymore.”

“got it,” ghost reenters, a roll of duct tape held aloft.

well. you had a nice run. sure, the calamity was a setback, but considering you probably lasted longer than everyone you ever hated, present company aside, that’s a tick in the win column.

however, ghost doesn’t bind your limbs or cover your mouth. he crouches at the ventilation shaft connecting our rooms, rips off several pieces of tape, and covers most of the grid. “you fuckin’ talk in your sleep.” he points at the small hole he left uncovered and stands. “my bed’s right through ‘ere. it’s fuckin’ unsettlin’.” grumbling, he shuffles out once more.

john’s not shy about scanning you from top to bottom, but apparently, he doesn’t like what he sees. he turns away. “what are we missing?”

you pick through what’s left of your clean clothes. “loaded question.” poking your head through a shirt, you shimmy the towel to your hips.

“where else would you find a clarinet?”

“up your–” he glares over his shoulder, and you smile sweetly. “there’s a small storage space in the closet here. it’s empty now.”

“we found the surveillance room and utilities. it stands to reason that there are others.” john scratches his chin, watching you like a hawk as you pull on shorts.

“oh. you think?”

“i do.”

“well, think outside of my room. i’m going to bed.” you move to the bed and listen to john close the distance. he hovers, his breath hitting your neck in an exasperated huff. it sends a shiver down your spine. you bet he’s got what gaz was missing—experience behind the swing of his palm.

“like it or not, sweetheart, we’re sticking around. now, i’d prefer it if we kept things civil. based on what the boys told me, i know you’re capable of being friendly.”

it’s not the smartest decision in the world, wheeling on a man trained to kill. he catches your wrist as it winds up and twists it sharply behind your back. with one solid push, you get a mouthful of linen as your body promptly hinges at the waist. an angry string of obscenities gets lost in the sheets. you’ve never been so humiliated. or breathtakingly aroused.

john tuts.

“bad call, badger.”

#poly141 #141 x reader #141 x f!reader #you’re what the french call les incompétents.#irreverent. dumb. horny.

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f1daydreamers · 2 months

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𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: This is me writing in hopes to distract myself from that abysmal final! Just to preface that Lee Richardson is the performance psychology consultant at LFC :) Also, I feel like Trent’s quite shy so I don’t think he’d be as rude as he is in this fanfic but for this to be a kinda enemies to lovers, I upped his rude boi energy by like 100% lol

There's no age gap btw! In the UK, it's doable to become a licensed sports psychologist in 6-10 years. If it took Reader 7/8, that would place her around 25 or 26 years of age. So, both Trent and Reader are of similar ages!

Warnings: psychology but nothing too in-depth, Trent’s rude in this :D, angst, very tense energy

Word Count: 1.9k words (6 mins reading time avg)

…

You checked your watch once, twice, then three times within a mere five minutes.

The sterile office, with its minimalist decor and muted lighting, seemed to magnify your impatience. Your eyes wandered to the vacant chair opposite you, and you sighed deeply.

Trent Alexander-Arnold was now fifteen minutes late for his first appointment.

“Not the best start,” you muttered under your breath.

Jotting a quick note on a pink Post-it to purchase a digital clock for your desk, you flipped the pen and clicked it shut, placing it down with a resigned finality. The email that landed in your inbox felt almost comically timed. It was from Lee, wishing you luck on your first official day.

You’d been in and out of the training center for the past week, organising your office, which had previously served as a spare room, often only used for the odd meetings.

Boxy and unfamiliar, it was a space you intended to transform into something warmer and more inviting with time. But any attempt to distract yourself proved futile; even the mental image of your office becoming a cozy haven couldn’t quell the unrest you felt inside.

Trent’s absence was more than a minor inconvenience; it felt like a deliberate message. After what Lee had disclosed about his rather aloof attitude, you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised.

Locking your office behind you, you ventured into the heart of the training facility. As you passed by groups of players and staff, your shoulders tensed imperceptibly. You adjusted your pace, trying to find a balance between caution and confidence.

Every corner turned, every nod exchanged with passing colleagues, felt like a small test of acceptance. Your mind raced with thoughts of proving yourself here. While a flicker of self-doubt danced across your features, you masked it beneath a veneer of professional composure.

You eventually found Trent tucked away in the far corner of a sparsely populated gym. A few exchanged ‘good mornings’ and ‘hellos’ momentarily eased your stress, but your tension returned as your gaze settled again on the man who had been purposefully late.

With a deep breath, you started heading towards him, weaving your way through the labyrinth of gym equipment.

You skirted around the treadmills, their rhythmic thudding echoing your own anxious heartbeat. Passing by the clanking weights, you dodged a few stray dumbbells left on the floor. The aroma of rubber mats and iron filled the air.

Finally, you rounded the weightlifting machines and found Trent on a mat, engrossed in his exercises. His headphones were still firmly in place, and his expression remained inscrutably focused, as though he was blocking out the world around him.

When you finally reached him, you hesitated, wanting to wait until he finished his set so as not to disturb his workout.

However, Trent spotted your reflection in the mirror in front of him as he came up. He stopped mid-crunch, the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He looked down, knowing exactly what this would be in regard of. He’d seen you around the training grounds enough to be familiar.

His elbows rested on his knees as his arms folded inward. He exhaled deeply, trying to regulate his breathing.

He wiped the tip of his nose with the pad of his thumb, then pulled his headphones off and let them rest around his neck.

“What?” He looked at you with mild irritation, craning his neck to see you standing just a few steps behind him.

Your lips pressed together in a courteous and tight-lipped smile.

“Hi, Trent. I’m Y/N, the new psychologist. We had an appointment scheduled for twenty minutes ago.”

Turning back to face the mirror, he stretched his arms out in front of him before reaching for a hand towel to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck.

Then he shrugged, his indifference palpable.

“Yeah, I know.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his response as you studied his expression in the mirror. His face shifted subtly, but the changes were too fleeting to decipher.

“Then why didn’t you show up?” you asked, your tone calm but firm.

"I don't see the point," he responded flatly.

In one fluid motion, he planted one palm firmly on the ground before twisting his torso and hoisting himself up with a push, turning to face you as he rose gracefully to his feet.

Your eyes locked inevitably, the proximity of his body left you no choice but to gaze up at his face, your chin tilting ever so slightly upward.

Beads of sweat glistened from his forehead, and his mouth was slightly parted as he scrutinised you from head to toe. A scoff escaped him before he turned away, sliding off some weight plates and placing them methodically beside his mat.

"I don’t need some shrink telling me how to play football," he asserted dismissively, the hints of his accent colouring his defiant tone.

You took a moment to consider your response, your gaze tracing the broad shape of his shoulders. Despite the urge to react defensively, you couldn’t shake the awareness that someone might be listening in from behind you.

You cautiously approached him, aware of the tension hanging in the air, his eyes flicking to your reflection in the mirror.

"I'm not here to tell you how to play football," you began calmly, letting the weight of your words settle between you. "I'm here to help you navigate everything off the pitch that might impact your performance on it."

"Well, thanks, but no thanks," Trent said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've managed fine so far."

“Have you?” you questioned, quickly scanning the room for any prying ears, relieved to find everyone engrossed in their own routines.

Trent rose up, clutching a 15-pound weight plate between his hands.

"Because from where I stand, the club thinks you could use some support. And honestly, there's no shame in that." That was a saying your professors had instilled in you from day one.

Trent's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might ignore you. Instead, he pivoted to face you once more, his presence suddenly palpable.

"Look, I get that you're just doing your job, yeah? But don't expect me to pour my heart out to some stranger. Especially on someone else's schedule." He emphasised.

You blinked, but maintained eye contact, refusing to back down. "Fair enough. But I'm not going anywhere, Trent. Whether you like it or not, I'll keep trying to reach you."

He studied you for a moment, then shook his head slightly, leaning in just a bit closer.

"Good luck with that, psychologist."

…

"I think that's our time wrapped up, thank you so much, Conor." You hoisted yourself up with the armrests of your chair and gave a warm smile to the man opposite you.

"Yeah, no worries. I'll see you around." Conor said as he turned, rounding the chair he was just sitting on, giving you a final nod and smile before leaving and closing the door behind him.

You waited until it clicked shut before you sinked into your chair again. Your work was deeply important to you, one of few things in life you were immensely passionate about, but man, it took its toll on longer days.

You rubbed your temples in a poor attempt to alleviate the dull ache that had formed from hours of conversation. As you tried to gather your thoughts, the interruption in the form of a new email snapped you back to reality.

It was from Lee, asking you to come and see him when you were free.

Your head rolled back for a brief moment of respite. Trent had been on your mind ever since your confrontation earlier, lingering in the back of your thoughts throughout the day, despite the overall improvement as the hours ticked by.

Resigning yourself to more work, you pushed yourself up with a temporary surge of motivation. Straightening your blouse and combing your hair with your fingers, you headed towards Lee's office across the hall.

The door stood ajar, a silver name plaque bearing his name neatly affixed. Lee's office exuded an air of scholarly authority, with shelves lined with books, framed certificates adorning the walls, and strategically placed pieces of Liverpool memorabilia.

He glanced up from his desk as you knocked on the doorframe.

"You asked to see me?" you inquired, your head tilting slightly as he closed the folder he was reading, sliding it into the filing cabinet behind him.

"Yes, come in," Lee replied, gesturing toward the chair positioned across from him.

You smoothed down your skirt as you settled into the chair, intertwining your hands on your lap.

His demeanor exuded encouragement, warmth evident in the gentle lines of his smile. As he gathered his thoughts, your eyes fell upon a framed picture on his desk. Lee stood on the far left, flanked by several players including Trent and Curtis, their bright smiles frozen in time.

Your own smile deepened at the sight, noting how much younger they all appeared in the photograph. But as today's events replayed in your mind, your gaze momentarily lowered before returning to meet Lee's.

"A few years ago, that one," he pointed briskly at the photo, though he didn't give you time to respond before changing the topic - a relief, in your opinion.

"So," Lee clasped his hands together, "first official day? How'd it go?"

Pushing back thoughts of Trent deliberately, today had gone rather well.

"Good, honestly. Wataru and Conor were a little shy at first, but I think I was able to break through by the end of our sessions. Curtis was quite bubbly and a joy to talk to. We had some positive discussions too." You truthfully answered, giving a polite smile to round off your answer.

He nodded, impressed. Without a word, he turned to squint at his computer screen, his glasses perched atop his head. "And Trent?"

You cleared your throat, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip nervously. After a moment's hesitation, you shook your head once before answering.

"Trent didn't show up." You admitted with a wry smile. "I found him in the gym and brought it up but I wouldn't say that was a positive discussion."

Lee chuckled softly, his voice carrying a gentleness that belied his words. "Trent’s a tough nut. He’s got a lot on his shoulders and doesn't easily trust new people. But that's why you're here."

You nodded resolutely. "Absolutely. I don't intend on letting up."

"If you want me to step in-" He began but you shook your head again, halting him in the middle of his sentence.

"I respectfully don't think that's going to help. He's not exactly trusting of me right now, and I'm worried about the impression you stepping in might leave. I'm fortunate he's at least talking to me and sharing his feelings." You said with a measured tone, your words careful and tinged with a hint of apprehension.

"Well, you're the pro," you smiled at his joke, exhaling a sigh.

"I'm relying on your guidance, Lee. I can only hope he'll start working with me."

Lee nodded thoughtfully. "Trent respects effort and authenticity. He's introverted, sure, but once he's comfortable, he's a lovely lad."

"I'm sure," you blinked, fiddling nervously with your fingers.

Once he's comfortable.

That shouldn't take too long, you lied to yourself.

...

Part 2

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

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urfavoritewriter · 11 months

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Hardcore Gym Spotter

A commission for a user here on Tumblr who wishes to remain anonymous. Content: Male Pred, Unspecified Prey, Workout, Gym Vore, Open-Ended (Fatal or Endo, up to the reader.) Oral Vore.

Zane leaned back against the soft leather of his couch, one muscular arm draped casually across the back, the other hand gently caressing his round belly. Despite his chiseled pecs, strong biceps, and sculpted legs, his midsection had always been a bit softer, a stark contrast to the hard muscles that surrounded it. Now, however, it was protruding even more than usual, swollen with its latest addition.

A wicked grin stretched across Zane's rugged face as he felt the person inside him squirming around. "Mmm, someone's lively in there. You know, I hope you're not too tired," he murmured, pressing down and feeling a distinct push back against his palm. "Because today is leg day. Lots of squats and lunges in our future."

His fingers drifted across the taut surface of his belly, tracing the subtle outlines of the person trapped within. "Can you feel that?" he whispered, his voice dripping with sultry mischief. "Every flex, every movement. And trust me, after today's workout, you're going to feel every contraction and squeeze."

Zane's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Imagine, with each deep squat, my abs pressing tighter and tighter around you. Every lunge, every step on the stairmaster, the rhythm of my body working to its limit while you're just... nestled snugly inside, feeling it all."

He chuckled, the sound low and enticing. "And after the gym? When I'm all sweaty and spent?" Zane continued, leaning down and pressing a teasing kiss to his own distended abdomen. "I'll hit the showers, and you'll feel the heat, the water cascading over us. Bet you never imagined a spa day quite like this."

Drawing in a deep breath, Zane's belly rose and fell dramatically, causing the captive inside to shift and adjust. "You'll have the best seat in the house," he promised with a sly wink. "Every flex, every drop of sweat, every single burn of my muscles. You'll experience it all... up close and personal."

A low, resonant burp rumbled from Zane's throat, a small testament to his recent indulgence. The sound seemed casual, nonchalant even, but its implications were far from ordinary. He smirked, pressing a hand to his belly which rippled in response. The contained person felt it all — the vibrations from the burp, the warmth of his hand, and the incessant motions as Zane went about his routine.

Zane reached for his clothes, laid out in preparation for his gym session. He pulled on a form-fitting charcoal grey tank top that clung to his pecs and biceps, highlighting their sculpted nature. But as the fabric traveled downward, it stretched taut over his distended stomach, the material slightly translucent, emphasizing its swollen state. Each twitch and undulation of the imprisoned person caused the shirt to ripple, offering tantalizing hints of the drama unfolding beneath.

Zane then grabbed his shorts, dark blue and made of that perfect moisture-wicking fabric ideal for a good workout. As he stepped into them, pulling them up, they hugged his sculpted thighs and calves, accentuating every ripple of muscle. The waistband sat just beneath the bulge of his belly, almost as if presenting it proudly.

With his gym bag slung over one shoulder, Zane headed out, making his way to his preferred workout destination. As he entered the gym, the ambient sounds of clanking weights, muffled music, and the distant hum of treadmills greeted him. Those who noticed him, whether envious or admiring, couldn't help but be drawn to the pronounced curve of his midsection, a stark contrast to his otherwise athletic frame.

Each step Zane took caused a slight jiggle to his belly, a sensual dance of flesh and fabric. He made his way to the free weights section, picking up a set of dumbbells. As he began his bicep curls, the muscles in his arms bulged and contracted rhythmically, veins surfacing with each repetition. The tension in his forearms and the slow, deliberate movements exuded raw power.

Moving on to the squat rack, Zane positioned himself, the barbell resting securely on his upper back. As he descended into each squat, his thighs tensed, showcasing their defined musculature. But the real show was his belly. With each squat, it pressed forward, stretching his tank top further, the confined person feeling the increased pressure with every downward movement.

Positioning himself beneath the squat rack, Zane took a moment to settle, feeling the cool metallic touch of the barbell on the muscular expanse of his upper back. Flexing his hands around the grips, he took a deep, steadying breath, the expanse of his chest heaving. Then, with calculated precision, he pushed upwards, lifting the weight free from its resting pegs.

His first motion was careful, almost delicate, as he adjusted his stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, he directed his gaze forward, allowing a slight arch to his back. And then he began to lower himself, the descent a deliberate ballet of muscle tension and control. As he went down, the captive inside his belly felt a pronounced tightening. This wasn't just the sensation of being pushed and squeezed; this was an intense, all-encompassing pressure.

With the bulge of his belly positioned more prominently between his thighs due to his stance, every descent pressed the trapped person firmly against Zane’s powerful inner thighs. The heat there was more pronounced, and every single muscle contraction resonated through the person within, like waves crashing against a resilient shore.

After completing his reps, Zane took a brief pause, tilting his head back, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He could feel the lively shifting and prodding from his midsection, the protestations of his meal apparent.

"You feel that?" Zane whispered breathlessly, a devilish grin tugging at his lips. "Every time I go down, you're squeezed right there, between muscle and muscle. Tight fit, huh?" The teasing in his voice was palpable, his words dripping with wicked playfulness.

After giving his legs a brief rest, Zane approached the stairmaster. Climbing aboard, he set a moderate pace to start. As he began to ascend the virtual steps, each upward motion created a rhythmic bounce in his belly. The individual inside felt as though they were being lulled and jostled by the movements, a consistent rise and fall, much like the ebb and flow of a tempestuous sea. The relentless motion combined with the already tight confines meant there was no respite from the sensations.

A few minutes into his routine, as Zane felt the burn in his calves and the steady thud of his heart in his chest, he couldn't help but tease his captive companion further.

“Ever been on a roller coaster?” he quipped, smirking as he felt another flurry of movement from within. “This must feel like the wildest ride, huh? Only difference? This ride doesn’t end.” The sly chuckle that followed spoke of a man completely in his element, reveling in the sensations and the wicked game he played.

With sweat forming droplets that ran down the contours of his sculpted chest and neck, Zane decided to challenge himself further. He set his sights on the deadlift platform. The flat, polished surface gleamed under the gym’s overhead lights, and in front of it, a loaded barbell awaited him.

Approaching the platform, Zane bent at the waist, positioning himself. His hands gripped the bar firmly, one in an overhand and the other in an underhand grip. The sheer weight he was attempting, combined with the added mass of his current 'passenger,' made the task all the more daunting. Yet, the spark in his eye was one of sheer determination.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. With a grunt of exertion, Zane began to lift. As he straightened, the strain evident on his face, his belly shifted. The pressure from inside was immense, the trapped person being compressed between Zane's contracting abs and the weight of the barbell he was lifting.

The ascent was slow, methodical. Every inch Zane raised that bar, his stomach tightened just a bit more around his captive. Once he was fully upright, holding the barbell aloft, he took a moment, basking in the accomplishment.

Feeling the insistent push and prods from within, Zane chuckled, his breath ragged from the exertion. “Hey there,” he panted slightly, “bet you never thought you'd be my personal weighted belt, huh? Gotta admit, you're making these lifts all the more challenging, in the best way." A pause as he set the barbell down with a resounding clang. Wiping his brow, he continued, "You're my ultimate spotter, you know? Making sure I really feel every rep.”

With a sly wink, Zane continued, "Best part? You're the kind of added weight that sticks around." He chuckled, relishing in the casual banter even as he relished the dual strain of workout and digestion. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of hard work, accomplishment, and the intimate, teasing connection between predator and prey.

Post-workout exhaustion settled over Zane, but the adrenaline rush of his intense session still coursed through his veins. In a quiet corner of the gym, away from the primary hustle and bustle, he found a padded bench. He sank down onto it, legs spread wide to accommodate his well-earned muscularity and the notable bulge in his midsection. The weight of his meal settled between his thighs, the form of the person inside him clearly discernible against the tight fabric of his shorts.

Sweat, a testament to the sheer effort of his workout, glistened on Zane's skin. It trickled in rivulets down the contours of his muscles, making his tan skin shine under the fluorescent lights of the gym. He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Reaching down, Zane's fingers traced the curve of his belly, rubbing gently, feeling the occasional squirm and press from the one inside. It was a sensation unlike any other, a unique mix of dominance, satisfaction, and a twisted sort of intimacy.

Leaning forward slightly, Zane murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble, "Honestly, I'm impressed. Didn't think you'd hold on for this long after what I put you through. But don't get too cozy. Just because you survived today doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet." He smirked, relishing in the power dynamics of the moment. "Who's to say I won’t drag you in here again for another round of heavy lifting? One more gym day inside this belly of mine. Hell, you might just become my permanent workout buddy... from the inside."

His chuckle resonated, the vibrations palpable to his captive, the sentiment clear: their fate was entirely in Zane's hands.

#male pred #male vore #m/m #m/f #m/?#oral vore #gym vore #workout vore #open ended #digestion #endo #safe vore

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maletfwitch · 9 months

Text

It was Christmas day and Aurora was shocked to see some gifts under her tree since she lived alone.

She decided to unwrap one. as she opened the box a bright white flash of light came out blinding her for a moment.

When her vision returned she was shocked to see her body had drastically changed. her once dainty frame was replaced by a giant masculine frame with big strong muscles.

Aurora now Arthur got in front of a mirror to check out his new body. feeling his facial hair, and flexing his muscles, his cock was starting to get excited at the sight.

The rest of the gifts under the tree were things to help Arthur get adjusted to his new life as a guy such as dumbbells, clothes, and underwear. Santa also made it so everyone always remembered him as Arthur.

Best Christmas ever.

#maletfwitch #f2m #reality change #christmas #quick caption

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monstersandmaw · 1 year

Text

Male gnoll x gn reader (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

As promised, the modern gnoll story is here!

Content: insecure, squishy, gender and body neutral reader; praise kink from gnoll boy if you squint; penetrative sex, knotting.

There's also very fleeting mention of a young, terminally ill patient passing off-screen. If you want to skip that entirely, skip from: "Halfway through the third time you encountered him there though, he got a call on his phone and his whole demeanour changed." to the paragraph beginning: "Three days later, and you’d been to the gym every day in the hopes of catching him, you hadn’t seen him."

Wordcount: 6934

You stared at the weights rack and felt a bead of sweat roll down your spine that had nothing to do with your previous sets.

This would be the heaviest you’d ever attempted to chest press, and while it might not be much by some people’s standards — that half-orc last week had really put you off your stride by snorting at you, but we can’t all be built like brick fucking walls, can we? — it was more than you’d tried so far. But you were ready. You just… needed someone to spot for you. Just in case. Safety first, and all that.

But the only people in the weights section were the kind of people who, through no real fault of their own, you tended to find nauseatingly intimidating. Like that troll who could probably bench press one of you in each hand. Or that werewolf who was fully shifted and currently on her hundredth(?) chin-up on the bars. Or that gnoll. He’d been doing slow, measured bicep curls for the past five minutes and you’d been trying not to stare at him. Most male gnolls were a bit smaller than their female counterparts, and tended to be less aggressive and competitive in the gym, but this guy was huge.

You must have looked a little too long though, because his dark, rounded ear twitched and he turned his head to look at you. Instead of glaring at you, he offered you a wide, friendly grin that showed off his massive, chunky teeth and made you a bit weak at the knees. Always good to go weak at the joints when you were about to attempt a personal best in the weights section at the gym…

Fuck.

“You ok?” he asked, setting down a dumbbell that was heavy enough to double as a battleship anchor, and you swallowed.

Now or never.

“I…” you croaked and cleared your throat, looking down at the bench and back up at him.

“You want someone to spot for you?” he asked, stepping a little closer. His paws were massive and while he had clothes on — black gym shorts and a big, baggy, white tank top — he wore no shoes. His claws flexed as his dark, smoky brown pads spread to take his weight, and you swallowed again. He had really adorable freckle-like spots up his shaggy legs too.

“If you wouldn’t mind?” you finally managed to squeak.

At that, he beamed at you and gave a gnollish giggle that seemed genuinely pleased. “Happy to.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, and took a breath for courage. No going back now.

You lay down on the bench and he came to stand behind the rack. His big, clawed hands hooked under the bar but he didn't take any of its weight as you adjusted your grip and got settled, and prepared to lift it free. He loomed over you, his face serious with concentration. It was a comfort to know he was focused on the task, not gawping around at the other gym-goers. The future integrity of your chest and ribs depended on his concentration if your arms failed you, after all. You had no doubts about his strength though. He really was massive.

Getting your breathing under control, you shoved carefully upwards, and he grinned as you took its weight and began your reps. After five, you felt your arms start to burn, but you pushed on towards ten.

At nine, your muscles shuddered in complaint.

“You’ve got this,” he said in a low, quiet rumble, and it spurred you on to do the last one. You hooked it back in place and met his dark brown eyes. “Nailed it,” he grinned, all teeth and joy. “I reckon you can go up another five kilograms…”

“I’m not sure,” you replied, sitting up carefully and swinging your feet off to one side. The idea of making it heavier seemed overwhelming.

“I’ll spot you again, don’t worry,” he said, reaching for a couple of the smallest weight plates from the rack and slotting them easily onto the end of your bar. “But you definitely had some in the tank. Take a minute, have a drink, and go again.”

His quiet, easy conviction was enviable, but it sparked something in you that had been dormant for a long time. Or maybe it had been smothered into dormancy. Either way, it felt a lot like the echo of self-confidence, though the feeling was unfamiliar these days.

When you set down your water bottle and paused to let your muscles relax after the first set of reps, your eye was caught by a wiry looking goblin doing weighted squats on the far side of the room. She had iron grey hair and looked to be in her sixties or seventies, and you felt the heat of shame flood your cheeks when you realised she was lifting more than you could, at half your height and a fraction of your body-weight.

Seeing where you were looking, the gnoll gave a little snicker and said, “Oh boy, don’t compare yourself to Rose, friend. I’ve seen her outlast full-grown orcs in friendly pull-up competitions, and she can plank for an hour without breaking a sweat. Goblins are made of steel, I swear. Focus on your own journey.”

You laughed, feeling stupidly grateful to him for his kind reassurance.

“Come on. Give it a go?” he said, and you nodded and lay back. “I’ll be here. I won’t let you hurt yourself,” he added.

It was a struggle, but you made it to five before you needed a pause, and he hooked his rough-padded fingers under the bar and took the weight for a second.

“Breathe, and then just five more.”

Somehow when he said it like that, it didn’t seem so bad.

Things got tricky at eight, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through, and when you hit ten and he took it from you, your arms felt like wet noodles, but you’d done it.

“Alright!” he exclaimed as you sat up and cast him a sidelong look. He offered his paw for a high-five, and, embarrassed by his enthusiasm for you, you answered it. The pads of his paws were rough and warm, and his entire hand almost engulfed yours. When you lowered your gaze again, you could just see his little tail wagging back and forth and that finally brought a huge smile to your face. How long had it been since someone was genuinely excited for your achievements?

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice cracking a bit. “That was really kind of you. I’m sorry I interrupted your workout.”

“Not at all,” he smiled. “Happy to help, and you smashed it! I’ll leave you to get on, but shout if you need me to spot for you again.”

“Thanks,” you said, but your shyness returned, and you didn’t trouble him again that session.

Three days later, you were back in the gym with your muscles mostly recovered. On the ground floor of the building, there was a huge swimming pool and as you passed the viewing window you could see a couple of humans and a few orcs and perhaps an elf doing serious, focused laps in the swimming lanes, barely making a splash as they powered through the water. This whole ‘fitness drive’ thing was still pretty new to you, and just walking up the stairs into the upper level of the gym where the machines and weights were sparked the same nauseous anxiety in the pit of your stomach that you always experienced at the thought of going to a public gym. You didn’t look like someone who belonged here, with soft edges and extra weight in places it wasn’t conventionally attractive for humans to carry it, and while you weren’t really here to please other people, you were trying to take better care of yourself lately and that, unfortunately, involved exercise.

Your eyes scanned the space and you’d have been lying if you weren’t searching for a flash of honey-coloured fur. There was a large group of orcs messing around in the weights section, so you bailed and headed blindly for the nearest cardio machine, heart pounding in a way that made you want to throw up.

“Guess I’m running today,” you muttered under your breath as you stepped automatically up onto the treadmill. Panic had made you go to this one, and you thought you’d probably look even more stupid if you changed your mind now.

After an overly-long warm-up walk, you cranked it to something manageable and felt your body complain already. You made it to about one kilometre before you had to stop. Deciding to pretend you’d always intended to use it merely as a way to loosen up, you hit the ‘stop’ button and ignored its friendly advice to do a cool down, grabbing your water bottle from the holder and turning around to see if there was enough room in the weights area for you to slink in and do a few reps.

And there, looking at you across the room, was the gnoll from before.

Your heart flip-flopped in your chest, first with delight and then with horror as you realised he must have seen you lumbering away on the treadmill. Fuck.

But when he met your eye, he grinned, showing all his teeth, and he waved. You smiled back, and wove your way through the bristling array of cardio machines to join him.

“Hey,” he said, scratching behind one large ear with his right paw. “I wasn’t sure if you were a regular… I kind of thought I might never see you again.”

“No, I’m usually wheezing away in a corner at around this time every few days,” you snorted.

He didn’t laugh at your self-deprecating humour though, and instead turned his muzzle towards the weights. “You need someone to spot for you again?”

You bit your lip. “Yeah, I guess. You can be my cheerleader again too if you like,” you added with a spur-of-the-moment burst of bravery.

“Gladly,” he giggled, tail wagging back and forth. “You wanna do a few warm up rounds first? I just got here, so I’m kind of cold anyway.”

As before, when you were ready, he came over and stood at the head of the bench, hands ready to catch the bar. It was harder to concentrate this time round, with him looming over you. He had to be nearly seven feet tall, though he had that distinctive hunch that gnolls’ unique biology lent to their kind where werewolves were more upright.

When he took the bar from you at the end of your first set of reps, his fingers brushed yours and you nearly gasped at how velvet-soft his fur was. “Thank you,” you said, and as you sat up to take your short break, you introduced yourself by name.

“I’m Cade,” he replied, and stuck out his hand for you to shake.

Conscious that your palms were probably super sweaty, you tried not to flush hot and make it even worse, and you slid your hand into his. Again, the size of him was striking, and you felt something in your core tighten and start to tingle at the sight of it, let alone the feel of his paw flexing around your hand. His claws were dark and neatly rounded and you wondered what he did for a living. Most gnolls — not that you knew any personally — seemed to have active, outdoorsy jobs, but there was something about him that made you curious.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, and you got back to it with a shy smile. “Ah, come on. It’s not that bad, is it? You might even learn to love it soon.”

“It’s better with company,” you admitted as you took the weight of the bar and looked up just in time to watch his face go from serious to delighted at the compliment. “Not sure I’ll ever come to love it though. Not the way you seem to.”

He grinned and giggled gnollishly — the sound high and bright and a little silly coming from someone so intimidatingly built — and you couldn’t help the way your heart felt a little lighter and your body a little more energised. “I did consider changing careers to become a personal trainer for a while,” he said while you started to count your second set.

“Oh?” You didn’t have the breath to ask anything more articulate, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Mm. I just enjoy helping people out, I guess.”

“What do you do now for work?” you asked in a bit of a garbled rush between reps six and seven.

“I’m a paediatric nurse,” he said, and you nearly dropped the bar on your chest. He reached down and snatched it before it had even dropped an inch, and he shot you a look. “Don’t worry, I’m used to that reaction,” he said with a wink. “I was expecting it.”

“Sorry,” you said. Jeez, what a charmer. “I just… I wouldn’t have thought… you know… I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” he said. “Come on, get to ten and I’ll tell you the rest.”

You pushed through the last three and he took the bar and rested it on its hooks, allowing you to sit up with thrumming muscles in your shoulders and arms. You stretched out and twisted your neck to look up at him from your seat on the bench.

“We have a bad reputation still,” he sighed, “But actually, traditionally, male gnolls are the caretakers in our clans. Historically, the females did all the fighting and protecting, and we raised the cubs and taught them the basics before they went on to train with the females.” He shot you a cheeky look and added, “Statistically, male gnolls are the least likely of almost all species to be aggressive, so despite appearances, we make perfect caretakers. The kids at the hospital love me, once they get past the teeth and the size.”

“I can see why,” you said faintly.

Cade pulled a wide smile and eyed the bar. “Go for three sets this time?”

You did, and when you were done, you thanked him, and then headed to grab a kettle bell to do some other exercises. If both of you kept sneaking glances at each other for the rest of your session, well, at least it wasn’t just you.

Halfway through the third time you encountered him there though, he got a call on his phone and his whole demeanour changed. You’d been doing some lower-weight dead lifts, and as you set the bar down on the mat you watched all the joy bleed out of him; his tail bristled high and stiff, his ears swivelled back almost flat against his head, and his big brown eyes went wide with distress.

“Shit, now?” he hissed, turning away from you. “Fuck. Ok, I’ll be there as soon as I can. No, don’t worry about it. Thanks for telling me. Ok, I’ll see you soon.”

He hung up, took a deep breath, and then slowly looked over his shoulder at you. “I… I have to go. I’m sorry. Don’t try any more without someone to spot for you, ok?”

You nodded. “You alright?”

He bit his lip and shook his head. “No, not really. One of my patients is… Uh… Yeah. Not long left, apparently.”

“Oh shit, Cade,” you said, crossing to him. You laid your hand on his fluffy forearm and squeezed the solid muscle beneath your fingers. He seemed to relax just a fraction at that. “You need someone to give you a lift to the hospital? My car’s outside.”

Again, he bit his lip and then nodded. “You wouldn’t mind? I was gonna get the bus.”

You shook your head. “Of course not. Let’s go.”

He was mostly silent for the journey, his knee bouncing as he sat crammed into in the front of your car, but when you approached the main entrance to the hospital, he said, “You can just use the drop-off at the front. Thank you again. I’ll… I’ll see you around, ok?”

You nodded and reached for his arm again. “Take care of yourself.”

He smiled, gave a low rumbling noise that you’d never heard him make before, and then climbed out and strode into the hospital without a backward glance. You looked down at the seat and found a fair few golden hairs stuck to the fabric, and didn’t have the heart to brush them away.

Three days later, and you’d been to the gym every day in the hopes of catching him, you hadn’t seen him. Your mood was decidedly flat as you stepped out into the fresh night air and tried to plaster on a smile when your best friend uncoiled his muscular, python’s tail from the back of the taxi that was waiting at the curb and flung his arms around you. His dark brown skin had a pearlescent shimmer to it and his long, thick brown hair was plaited into a thick braid that hung down his spine. He wore a glittery, black shirt studded with a rainbow of rhinestones that matched the iridescent gleam that seemed to hover over his snake’s tail too, and he had the most exquisitely neat makeup on that you’d ever seen.

“Gods, Mal, you look incredible,” you wheezed as he hugged you.

“You look good too, sweetheart,” he grinned back. “Any sign of your delicious little puppy at the gym today? No, of course not. If there had been, you wouldn’t looked like a kicked puppy yourself. Come on. It’s my birthday. You’re not allowed to mope,” he said, and he practically bundled you into the back of the taxi before going round to the other side and piling in beside you.

He gave the driver the name of the club, and the car set off.

“There’ll be so many beautiful people there tonight, you’ll forget all about this gnoll of yours, I swear,” he practically purred in your ear, and you tried to smile.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” you said, and you drew an envelope from your clutch and handed it to him.

He frowned. “What’s this? We don’t do cards or presents anymore, sweetie,” he scowled, but he did look secretly pleased.

“Couldn’t resist this one,” you shrugged.

The card was nothing very special, just a lame joke about not throwing a hissy fit on your birthday, but it predictably made Mal groan and roll his eyes. “Really, darling? Didn’t we get over the reptile jokes in kindergarten?”

You did manage to muster a heartfelt smirk at that, and waved your hand. “I couldn’t resist,” you said again.

“You’re awful. I love you so much,” he laughed, and tugged you into a sideways hug in his arms. “You’re the only person I tolerate this kind of shit from, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

For a long moment, Mal held you and then he let you go and sighed softly. “I want you to be happy, you know?” he said. “You’ve been, like… ‘background miserable’ for ages.”

“I’ll try,” you said. It had been easier until Cade had vanished.

The club was packed already, but Mal dragged you to the front of the line and the two of you were admitted like celebrities and shown to the VIP area of the club. Perks of being with the brother of the owner, you supposed. Yves came over to greet you and his brother and to wish Mal a happy birthday. His present, it turned out, was unlimited drinks for the two of you all night.

For an hour, you and Mal chatted and drank leisurely, and watched the people out on the dance floor that was slightly below your booth, but just as Mal slithered with enviable elegance off the bench and started to make his way towards the dance floor, dragging you along with him, you caught sight of the familiar shape of a gnoll’s ears and froze so abruptly that your hands were torn from Mal’s grip.

“What, Sweets?”

You frowned, trying to make out the figure that was across the space, apparently also being dragged by his friends onto the floor. It was him. It was Cade. You had to laugh, and just as you did, he looked up.

His jaw dropped and he fell utterly still as well, then he laughed and shook his head.

“No way,” Mal breathed, now leaning in to hiss in your ear. “That’s him?”

“Yeah,” you said, and as Cade joined you, Mal — the cheeky shit that he was — gave you a solid shove between your shoulder blades.

You stumbled forwards and Cade shot his hands out to catch you before you planted face-first onto the dance floor. You whipped around the moment he had steadied you, and shot Mal the most venomous glare you could, and then turned back to Cade. “Thanks,” you yelled above the music. “My meddling best friend isn’t exactly known for his subtlety.”

“It’s ok,” Cade chuckled. “It’s good to see you. Sorry I haven’t made it to the gym lately. You find someone to spot for you?”

You shook your head and realised you were still holding his forearms. He hadn’t let go either, so neither did you. “How are you doing? I was worried about you when I didn’t see you after… you know…”

He bowed his head in understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d worry about me, if I’m honest. I’m good. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, even if it was still really sad. It’s part of the job sometimes though. It’s… It’s not my first. But I’m not here to mope.”

“Why are you here then?” you asked, squeezing his forearm gently as someone knocked into you from the side. “You look about as comfortable as I am in places like this…”

His ears were pricked as far forward as they could go, straining like satellite dishes to catch your words above the thundering music, and the urge to make an inhuman squeak rose up your throat like a physical presence. For someone so huge and muscular, he had no right to look so heartbreakingly cute.

“My friends’ house purchase went through so they decided to celebrate and drag me out with them. You?”

“Mal's birthday. His brother owns the club, so we’ve had free drinks for the night.”

“Nice,” Cade laughed. “You want to dance?”

You did, but it wasn’t something you were any good at. Then again, looking around you, there weren’t many you’d have said were actually dancing. Shyly, you managed a nod, and he grinned at you again, and held out both paws. You slid your hands into them and he exhaled, his chest falling noticeably.

“What?”

“You’re so small,” he said. “I… I’m so afraid I’m going to crush you all the time.”

“You won’t,” you smiled, and stepped even closer to him. Close enough to smell the soft musk that rose from his fur. Close enough to see the lights reflected in his coffee-dark eyes and watch the way the pale whiskers on his dark muzzle splayed wide with his anticipation. In the lights you noticed that the white trim of fur along the outer edge of his ears looked like a fine line of silver. “You’re really beautiful, Cade,” you whispered, certain that the music would drown your words, but he pulled his dark lips back in a broad grin and dipped his head shyly.

He turned you in his arms so that your back was to his chest and he stepped a little closer, moving his hands to your waist. You tried to fight the self-consciousness that roared to life like a wildfire in your mind, and when he felt you tense, he leaned down and murmured in your ear, “Is this alright?”

You nodded and leaned back into him, looking up at his pale throat and chest. It was a surprisingly familiar view by now after your sessions in the gym. He was wearing loose jeans that ended at the knee, the way many non-humans did, and he had a black t-shirt on that fitted his muscular frame beautifully. His red-gold mane melted into the dark fur of his ears and the creamy underside of his chin and neck, and you wanted to melt against him and have him hold you forever.

“Yes,” you exhaled. “It’s just been a while, that’s all.”

“We can go however slow you like, but you should know I like you,” he said in a low, inviting rumble. He pressed his cold nose carefully against your cheek and then nuzzled you with his jaw. “A lot. Gods, you smell amazing,” he blurted, as if he couldn't help himself.

That self-conscious heat evolved into something entirely different, and pure want coursed through you instead. You ached again and your body seemed to prickle all over with desire.

His hands drifted a fraction lower, to frame your hips, and his fingers dug into your soft flesh. Above the music you heard him give a long, deep lowing sound; primal and visceral and honest in its appreciation, and it made you shiver.

You lost track of time as you danced together. It wasn’t so much ‘dancing’ as ‘sharing the same space and touching wherever you could both get away with it before it became completely indecent’.

At one point, when you’d turned to face him again, someone nudged into you from behind and a hand wandered over your back, and you flinched closer to Cade. He pulled his lips back and showed all his teeth, and the human who had wandered too close to your corner of paradise shied away with hands raised.

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type,” you said, and Cade growled at you instead.

“I’m not,” he said. “But I am protective. If you want to leave here with someone else tonight instead of me, I won’t stop you.”

“I don’t want to,” you said, placing your hand on the centre of his chest. “I’m not sure I’m ready to go home with you tonight either, but I do want your number and I do want to see you again.”

He smiled, and drew his phone from his back pocket. He twitched his muzzle towards the edge of the dance floor and then offered you his palm, leading you through the jostling crowd towards a quieter spot and shielding you with the bulk of his body when you had to force your way through the crush. You exchanged numbers, and then he looked over your shoulder and said, “Your friend is coming over.”

You turned to find Mal easing his way around the edge of the dance floor. He was moving slowly, carefully, the way he did when he was very drunk and trying not to show it. “Ah, man, I’ll have to get him home safely,” you sighed. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

Cade nodded. “I’ll see you both to a cab if you like.”

“You are protective,” you chuckled.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“No, you’re not,” you smiled. “If you like, you can get on the other side of Mal and see that he doesn’t slither off somewhere.”

The two of you wrangled a very curious and very obvious Mal into the back of a cab, and Cade came to stand with his hands on your waist. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his ears tilted back in a perfect display of meek shyness.

“Yes,” you exhaled.

He lowered his head and brought his muzzle to your lips. His mouth was soft against yours and he pressed his lips against you and then let the very tip of his tongue lave over your lips while his rough hands rose to cup your jawline and hold your face delicately. Cade didn’t spend long kissing you, since it was evident that this was a human gesture for which his body was not really built, but he did move to nuzzle your cheek with the velvet fur of his muzzle before stepping back and breathing out a long sigh.

Before he could say anything sweet or romantic, Mal opened the door and half his tail spilled back out onto the tarmac, and he cursed. “Fuck. I just wanted to say to hurry the fuck up because I’m cold and drunk and I don’t want to sit the back of this cab any longer than I have to,” he slurred, his forked tongue thick with drink. “Sorry,” he tacked on a little late.

Cade chuckled and helped you tuck Mal’s python tail back into the car for a second time, and you shook your head. “I’m so sorry,” you said, and squeezed his arm. “I’ll see you at the gym? And I’ll text you.”

He nodded, and you got in to the taxi next to Mal and shot him a flat look. “That was not cool,” you said. “You only get a free pass because it’s your birthday.”

And with that, you told the driver his address, and then, when Mal was safely inside and a little more sober, you headed home.

A text was waiting from Cade but you saved it for when you were finally ready for bed, and as you lay there in the dark, you opened your messages with a little trepidation.

>> You looked so beautiful tonight. I was *this* close to not going out tonight, but I’m so glad I did. I hope you got back ok and that the birthday boy isn’t going to suffer too much. I’ll be at the gym tomorrow. Perhaps we can grab a coffee somewhere afterwards if you’re going to be around? Night, and sleep well. C x <<

You read it through four times before you replied, and after that, you saw each other every day for a fortnight solid.

It started with coffee after the gym and then progressed to drinks, and then drinks and a snack, and then dinner, and then dinner and a movie, and then dinner and the same movie again because there was nothing else on that you wanted to watch, and then dinner and a stroll along the riverbank while the city lights twinkled around you. Finally, after two weeks of meeting every day, he took your hands in his and kissed you silly on one of the bridges over the river.

He nuzzled you afterwards and let out all these delicious, gnollish noises that made your heart skip and dance and skitter around like a trapped bird in your ribcage.

“I want you,” you gasped as he leaned you back a little way and closed his mouth around your neck, raking his teeth oh so gently across your skin. He froze, and then drew back.

“You mean it?” he asked in an equally soft voice. His dark eyes were huge and his ears frankly adorable as they swivelled first back against his head in uncertainty and then pricked forwards in undeniable hope. His tail rose high and fluffy behind him and you giggled softly.

“Yes, I mean it,” you laughed. “I want you.”

“Now?”

“Not ‘now on this bridge’,” you snorted. “Now as in tonight. Now as in take me home.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Whose is closer?” you asked in a decidedly hoarse voice.

He paused. “Mine, probably.”

“Then let’s go there.”

He held your hand all the way there, and stopped at least five more times to nuzzle you and kiss you.

You’d been to his a couple of times before during your whirlwind courtship, but you’d only cuddled on the sofa while eating popcorn and watching reruns of your favourite shows. This time, you didn't bother with the sofa.

You kicked off your shoes at the door and he backed you towards the bedroom, growling and making those delicious, low-frequency lowing sounds in a constant, rumbling song. He loomed over you, but you grinned up at him and tugged at the lower hem of his black t-shirt.

He tore it off over his head to reveal the coarse, ivory fur of his chest and throat, and you reached for him, watching as your fingers disappeared into it. He growled — actually growled — when you scrunched your fingers and tugged experimentally, and you looked up at him again. He was panting softly, eyes half-lidded with his muzzle tilted upwards a fraction.

“Bed. Now,” you said in an unusually assertive voice.

Cade gasped and then simply picked you up by the hips. You looped your legs around his middle and let him carry you into his bedroom, where he deposited you carefully onto the bed and leaned down over you. It didn’t take you long to discard your clothes and he stared at you in wonder when you lay back again.

He was hard and as he rutted through his jeans against your thigh, you arched your back off the bed and moaned. “Now, Cade. Please.”

You ached all over and you’d never been this turned on in all your life. Every nerve ending seemed to have been dialled up to eleven and every time his rough paws skimmed over your skin, you gasped and jerked and groaned.

“So sensitive,” he purred, leaning back to undo his jeans and cast them aside. His boxers came next, and you tried not to stare at the size of him. You hoped you could take him.

He knelt between your legs and gently bit and mouthed his way up your inner thighs before closing his mouth over you and letting his tongue savour you. It should have been unnerving to have the most powerful jaws of almost any creature on land so close to where you were most delicate, but it sent a thrill up your spine instead. He moved his head between your legs and you let your hand rest between his ears, guiding his pace and taming his ardour a little.

Cade drew back, his eyes glassy and his muzzle wet with a combination of your arousal and his drool, and he rasped, “You taste incredible.”

“I want to come with you inside me,” you moaned. “I want you to knot me, Cade.”

His eyes fluttered and rolled at that and he gripped his cock in one hand as though trying to stave off his own orgasm already. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Fuck, that’s about the hottest thing you could have said to me. I’m really not gonna last long now. Oh fuck, I can already feel —”

“Cade, inside me. Now.”

“You’re sure?”

“Cade…” There was a growl to your voice too.

His cock was leaking all over his hand, all over the back of his fingers, and he wasn’t even working himself. You weren’t going to need any extra help to ease him inside you, but you were going to need him to take it gently.

“Slowly,” you warned as he lined himself up. He nodded, looking nervous and earnest.

The tip of his cock nudged inside you and you groaned and lay back, enjoying the huge stretch of him. Cade, meanwhile, bit back a curse and began to shake all over.

“I can’t,” he gasped. “Please… I…”

“Keep going,” you said, sounding gloriously winded already and he was only a little way inside you. “Don’t stop.”

The gnoll let out a long, lowing groan and then braced himself on both arms. You drew your knees up to help him and he began to pant again. “Fuck,” he cursed as he eased himself further inside you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I can’t I’m… I’m going to come… fuck, you’re tight. Oh fuck, beautiful, I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” you crooned, though the seduction in your voice was a little strangled by the intensity of the stretch as he eased almost all the way into you. “You can wait for me, I know you can. You’re so good; you’re so kind, Cade. You’re going to make this amazing for me, I know you are…”

At the string of praise, his heavy jaws parted to show all his thick, sharp teeth and he began to shake with the effort of not plunging into you in a single stroke until finally, finally, he was seated inside you to the hilt of his cock.

“See?” you said, reaching for the ruff around his neck and threading your fingers into the depths of the soft fur.

He keened and began to rock his hips. “Please… Please can I move now?”

“Yes, Cade. Let me feel all of you inside me.”

What began as a slow, careful slide of his huge cock inside you hastened to a desperate rhythm in minutes. His hips snapped against yours and you felt the weight of his balls as they rocked against you with each thrust. Cade was whining with each stroke, and you realised that the delicious stretch was growing, and each time he withdrew, it was a little less far.

“You’re going to knot me, aren’t you?” you gasped, drawing your knees up even further so that he hit you just-so with the tip of his cock at the apex of each desperate thrust.

“Mmnn,” he whimpered. “Fuck. I’m so close. You’re so gorgeous. Been thinking about this since… since we danced. Gods, I wanted to fuck you that night. Came all over myself when I got home. Popped a knot and everything, oh fuck, oh fuck you’re so tight I’m going to come, I’m so close, I’m going to come, can I come? Please let me come, beautiful, please let me fill you —”

His babbling, rambling pleas devolved into another gnollish low and he threw his head back, picking up the desperate pace. His hands grabbed your hips and his claws pricked your skin as he pulled you further onto his growing knot with every thrust. Delirious pleasure coursed through you and you barely had the presence of mind left to give him the permission he clearly craved.

“Yes, come for me,” you slurred. “Come inside me, Cade. Fill me —”

With a roar, his hips snapped against yours one last time and his whole body locked up. His lips pulled back from his huge teeth into a rictus of ecstasy and his eyes rolled as he came in huge, shuddering waves, lost to the pleasure of your body as his knot finally swelled to fill you and the sensation of it tipped you over the edge as well. As your body clenched around him, he cursed again and tugged you somehow even further onto his knot. His hips spasmed against you and you could feel him emptying himself into you in waves.

It was a long time before he stopped coming, and even with his knot plugging you tight, you felt some of his come start to leak out around you already, spilling down your thighs and onto the sheet. “Fuck,” he hissed again, and his body went suddenly slack, though his chest was still heaving for breath.

He fell forwards over you and braced himself at the last second on his forearms. You lowered your legs and he grunted as the movement jolted his over-sensitive knot, but you stayed there for a long time.

Gradually, your breathing settled into the same rhythm and your heartbeats slowed, and a leaden satisfaction descended into your whole body. You felt full, and cherished as he held you.

You lost track of time as you lay there together, but finally his knot receded and you felt a lot more of his come start to slide down your thighs. “Making a mess,” you mumbled from where you were half-buried by the soft fur near his ear.

“Mmph.”

“If you’re expecting me to have put on enough muscle to chest press you off me, you’re sorely mistaken,” you quipped, and to your joy, he gave a delighted, gnollish giggle and lifted his head enough to regard you with his slightly unfocused, dark brown eyes.

“You’re really something,” he said, and he let his pink tongue just grace the tip of your nose. “You sore? You want me to run you a bath?”

“Oof, yes please,” you smiled. No one had ever offered to do that for you after sex, and you were indeed a little sore from where he’d stretched you further than anyone ever had.

He lifted himself off you carefully, withdrawing from you and giving a little grunt as his softening cock slid free. He sat back on his haunches and ran his thumbs over the curve of your thighs, staring at where you knew you were probably gaping a bit. It was hard not to feel embarrassment until he murmured, “You’re exquisite.”

Cade leaned over you and fondly raked his upper and lower teeth over the soft flesh of your thigh before laving his tongue over your skin and then finally standing on shaky legs. “Been a while since I came like that,” he admitted shyly as he staggered towards the door. “Think I might skip leg day tomorrow and just chill out here.”

“I’ll join you,” you said. “I may never regain feeling in my legs.”

“I’ll carry you around anyway,” he grinned as he left and went to run the bath.

True to his word, Cade did carry you around his apartment the next day, and your feet barely touched the ground from the moment you woke to the moment you fell asleep in his bed for the second night in a row.

You weren’t exactly complaining though. It was heaven.

I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#gnoll #gnoll x reader #male gnoll #male gnoll x reader #gender neutral reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend

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frostironfudge · 2 years

Text

I Really, Really Want To Kiss You - Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Personal Trainer!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Fem Reader, Modern AU.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swear words, making out, allusions to body dysmorphia, a male oc being mean to the reader based on her appearance, protective bucky, mutual pining, sam has the braincell, weight loss mentioned, some not so good thoughts about herself by the reader, bucky fell first its canon for this au.

Word Count: 2.6k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

A.N: i've been meaning to write personal trainer bucky for a while and i might make this multiple parts (maybe 1-2 parts more) but i'm not sure about it, let me know what you think! also if i expand then that may include smut.

masterlist // Ao3

Heartbeat thunderous in your ears. Breath borderline panting. Then you see him, your step falters. Your hands grab the handle bar trying to right yourself.

Bucky’s hand shoots out to stabilise you and press the stop button on the treadmill.

Your eyes shift from the man to Bucky. He frowns at you.

“Where is your focus?” He worriedly tuns his gaze over you.

“I’m okay…” You murmur, heat creeping to your cheeks.

“You sure? I know we’re trying interval running for the first time—,”

“Sir—Bucky,” you correct yourself before he can tell you off again, “I’m okay.” You press on, the heat of his palm against your lower back grounds you more than it should.

Blue eyes give you a once over, “Okay, how about we try again?”

He smiles when you nod, you will your heart and mind to focus. When Bucky got assigned as your personal trainer you wanted the ground to swallow you up.

He’s tall, beefy, with a charming smile and eyes so blue you would tie dumbbells to your feet to drown into, well maybe not that literally but controlling your feelings for him for the past three months had been difficult.

Every-time he smiled at you, your heart would stop, every repetition he demonstrated you swear your mouth watered with drool brimming past your lips. Then when he joked around and eased your nerves over the whole ordeal to loose weight that that is what set your heart soaring.

Bucky was sweet, encouraging, the praise for him just never stopped. Everyone at the gym adored him, even if you were mid session and anyone required help he’d look to you if it was okay. He’d jog over help them and return to you.

He taught you to look at your journey from the point of view of getting healthier for yourself. Reminding you that the scale is just a number.

Just like the age gap between the two of you, fourteen years who cares? You definitely don’t, not one damn bit.

“Ready?” His voice brings you back into the present. You nod.

“Alright, thirty second intervals, speed at 6.5, and we’ll start at a speed of 3 for thirty seconds then switch higher.” Bucky watches for any signs of confusion on your face, you give him nothing to worry about, he gives you his beaming smile.

Blame the heat on your cheeks on the workout.

Blame the heat on your cheeks on the work—

Then he passes by again, your gym crush, Bucky had been deemed by your best-friends as your Gym Love.

You watch through the mirror discreetly as the guy-gym crush-because you’re too anxious to even ask his name or approach him. Runs his hand through his hair and you panic when the floor beneath you moves.

Oh, you’re on the treadmill right. You begin taking the steps, Bucky adjusts the speed to three.

“What has you distracted? Is everything okay?” He questions and you will yourself not to look at gym crush but your damn eyes betray you because he’s deadlifting and you can hear him groan and why is the speed increasing?

Shit you will yourself to catch up. Bucky follows your gaze to the guy. Then he scoffs calculating the weight the guy is lifting.

“Not impressive.” He mutters, attention back at you, “Alright there, Doll?”

“Mmhmmm.” You’re on the verge of beginning to pant and he lowers the speed. That damned nickname sends your heart into over drive.

You slow down to a walk catching your breath.

“How was that?” You question trying to deflect.

“Good, you’re keeping focus.” Bucky murmurs, its stupid he knows being a little petty that you’re stealing glances of someone else.

“Sorry, I um,” you begin,

“No don’t apologise, Doll, ready for the next interval?” His eyes meet yours and god he just wants to lean over and kiss you senseless.

“Yeah, I am.” You grin at him, Bucky increases the speed again. Watching your feet to see if you need any pointers on foot posture and landing.

This goes on for another fifteen minutes before he gives you a break. When you get down from the treadmill you have to look up at Bucky again because he’s tall. So damned tall he towers over you. You’d be lying if you didn’t want him to lift you up and—, god why does working out turn your brain into a horny mess?

“Go sit down, drink water, I’ll be back in two minutes okay?” Bucky watches you nod at his words your breath still fast, chest rising and falling, he swallows quickly heading to the main desk where Sam is stationed.

You make your way to the bench grabbing your water. Involuntarily your eyes scan over the gym, trying to locate your crush.

Tugging at your t-shirt. To stop it from highlighting your rolls, you sit up straighter as he passes by, heading to the machines. You drink water, then look down at your shoes then towards the area.

Very fucking discreet, you tell yourself.

He pays you no mind, focused on his workout. Then he looks your way you look ahead, trying not to make it obvious being caught staring.

Bucky sighs, Sam shakes his head.

“Just tell her.” He taps the keyboard, switching playlists.

“She already has a crush on dudebro deadlifts double digits.” Bucky grimaces, its been three months being your personal trainer, he wanted more, much more.

Everything about you pulled him in, the way you smile whenever greeting any of the staff, to your jokes during the sessions. The way you would light up when you made progress in your strength.

God he remembers your scent lingering upon him after hours of you jumping into his arms when you broke your own deadlift personal record.

Your warmth engulfing him, your skin so soft and pretty he just wanted to sink his teeth and mark you as his own, he could even hear you saying his name over and over.

“Bucky.” Your palm on his hand brings him back into the present. His brows furrow. Thank god for the desk.

“Y-yeah Doll?” He clears his throat. Sam chortles covering it with a cough, Bucky throws him a glare, then gazes back at you.

“You alright? It was around ten minutes I got worried…” You bite your lip. Bucky’s gaze falls to them, his tongue peeks out wetting his own bottom lip.

Your eyes follow the movement, you swallow.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Sam threw paperwork on my head. I’ll walk in with you. You feel up for doing abs or have I worn you out?” He wiggles his brows.

You giggle, “It takes a lot more than an interval training to wear me out.”

“Are you challenging me, Doll?” His lips curve up into a smirk.

Your core pulses at the innuendos being exchanged.

“Maybe.” You shrug, looking away to breathe.

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head.

“Come on, three variations with two sets of twenty reps, I’ll go easy on ya.” He winks when you look back up at him.

“When have you ever gone easy on me?” You feign surprise.

“You’d know when I get rougher, Doll.” Bucky pipes back.

Sam coughs in warning. Bucky purses his lips, thinking of thoughts that should help rid of his hidden predicament.

Your fingers intertwine out of nervousness. Licking your lips, “I’ll wait in the studio?”

“Yeah be there in a second.” He promises as you trace the path back.

“Just ask her. You’re both practically eye fucking the other.” Sam waves a hand gesturing between Bucky and where you were standing.

“She’s not interested in me—,” Bucky’s brows furrow pondering over the conversation, “do you think?”

“Man go ask her out before I throw you in the morning shift.” Sam warns as Bucky finds his way to you.

You’re in the studio, sitting crossed legged on the floor. Fiddling with the corner of the mat.

“Hey.” Bucky smiles when you grin at him, “Hey.”

“So I was thinking I’d do the reps with you.” He moves to grab a mat for himself.

“Won’t that be too slow for you?” You blink up at him.

“Nope.” He sits on the mat, “Now, first classic crunch, ready?”

You nod getting into position as does he, “Ready and go.”

How Bucky is able to keep the counts and do the reps is beyond you.

He’s staying true to his word in tandem with your movements.

You have to will yourself to do the reps instead of watching him. The way his hair begins to fall on his forehead and without breaking his movement he shakes it away.

Beads of sweat line your forehead and you grunt laying back covering your face with your palms just as Bucky gives the last call for the rep. That last set took a lot of energy out of you.

“Hey Doll,” Bucky leans over, you move your hands to look up at him.

“Yeah Bucky?” breathing is still hard even more so with those azure eyes gazing down at you.

“You okay?” He checks in, gaze tracing over you.

You nod, “Just need to catch my breath—,”

The door to the studio slams open, Bucky looks up. You sit up, gym crush stands there looking at Bucky.

“Yes?” He questions the dudebro.

“You’re a trainer right? I need a spotter, the dude on the front desk is with a client showing the gym. You’re the only other free trainer.” He says, Bucky raises a brow looking towards you.

“I’m with a client.” He gestures with his palm.

You offer a smile, “Its okay…”

Bucky scoffs when the idiot doesn’t even thank you. Just gestures to the training area for him to follow.

“Mannerless.” He comments, you frown.

Bucky wants to roll his eyes, of course you wouldn’t like anything bad said about your whatever the idiot is to you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” You ask hopeful, even though its your day for cardio having Bucky there makes it better cause he alway made funny faces through the mirror while passing by. You did the same to him just a little more discreet if he was with a client.

“Oh I have to go help a friend move so I might not be there when you usually come in… you can do your usually routine, elliptical, treadmill, cycling or jump rope’s cool too.” He helps you up not letting go of your hand even as you both are standing.

You like that, holding Bucky’s hand. He might not like it though so you look down and he blushes moving his hand away, if though he really didn’t want to do so.

“I’ll see you day after then?” You offer, he nods.

“See you, Doll.” Bucky smiles when he spots you smiling shyly at the nickname.

The next day at the gym you feel Bucky’s absence. Usually he’s smiling, greeting you or making a joke. Checking in upon your diet and how you’re doing mentally. He always made sure to know about your headspace.

You’re getting down from the treadmill making way to the water station. That is when gym crush walks in, you make eye contact while filling your bottle, in a moment of boldness. You offer him a smile.

He stares at you with his dark eyes, then his face morphs into a disgusted grimace. You look back to your water bottle, moving away rushing over to the locker room.

You can’t get his expression out of your head, the mirrors in the room turn sinister, you cover your face, heading into one of the stalls.

Resting your forehead against the door, trying to quiet your breathing and tears. Your weight didn’t please any man who held your romantic admirations, it was always a factor and despite the hard-work done these past few months it seemed as if this was to waste as well.

“Fuck.” You mutter, trying to find the positives over the past few months. Everything Bucky has done for you, taught you, you sniffle. It doesn’t work. Not even the mental footage of him doing dumbbell floor presses helps to distract your mind.

Wiping your eyes you grab your bag from the locker, heading out, not bothering to look at anyone.

As luck would have it you collide into someone, palms engulf your arms, steadying you. His cedar and patchouli scent surrounds you. Bucky.

“Doll.” Is all he says, you don’t look up at him.

You try to keep the sniffle down, but the stupid sound blubbers out. Immediately his calloused hands grasp your face, making you look up into his eyes.

“Who did this?” Bucky’s eyes scan over the gym floor.

His gaze settles on dudebro, his jaw clenches and eyes narrow.

“Bucky, no one—,” You attempt to defuse the situation.

“Don’t lie to me, Doll.” He warns, one hand leaves your cheek, wrapping around your wrist, he pulls you into the private office.

“You’re going to tell me the truth.” Bucky demands.

“There isn’t anything to say—,”

“That’s it.” He moves without warning, grasping your hips and you’re lifted up, and settled onto the desk, your legs parted to have him stand between them chest to chest.

You’re out of breath without having moved a muscle.

“Bucky?” Is all you can muster out, he grasps your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head back only slightly.

“Doll, you’re crying and its not the happy tears I’ve seen you shed and wiped away. Now please, please tell me what happened.” He requests, all the earlier range he harboured gone but not forgotten.

“I,” Your chest tightens and your eyes close, as though it would erase it all away.

“Take your time, Doll.” He encourages, thumb tracing over your jaw.

You gaze into his eyes, the warm comfort in them beckoning you close, “You might think it’s stupid.” you warn.

“Try me.” He shrugs, giving a soft smile.

You swallow and then spill the entirety of the event.

“He grimaced at you?” Bucky confirms, you nod.

“I’m going to kill him.” He begins to pull away and you instinctively wrap your legs around him to stop him.

“Doll—,”

“I’m so sorry—,”

“No fuck, I’ve thought of this so many times…” Bucky trails off.

“You, you have?” Your eyes widen, as he nods again.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me, all I can think about is you. Every sense of mine attitude to you.” He rests his forehead against yours, you close your eyes.

“I’ve thought about you too.” Your quiet admission has him smile.

“What have you thought about?” His curiosity getting the better of him.

“How your arms feel around him, how would it be to see you outside of here… to, to have you lift me up like—,” You squeal when he lifts you again, your legs wrapped around his waist, hands on his shoulders, Bucky grins mischievously.

You’re pressed against the wall and him.

“Like this?” He questions, breathless, eyes shifting between your lips and gaze.

“Yes.” the words a breathless whisper.

“Doll I really, really want to kiss you.” He admits, you raise your palm to cup his cheek, shifting your head towards him.

Bucky’s breath fans across your face, his lips are slightly chapped but soft, warm and oh so sinful. The kiss is bruising, he completely dominates and you allow him to, his tongue exploring your mouth and he sucks upon your bottom lip.

You tug on his lip as he pulls away, Bucky audibly groans.

“You’re so beautiful, so magnificent. And you taste so addicting.” Bucky rests his forehead against yours again, this time both of you stare into each other’s eyes.

You can’t keep the grin off of your face nor can he, “So does this mean I can take you out to dinner?” He requests.

“Yeah, yeah you can.” You answer smiling, his lips meet yours again.

permanent bucky tag: @slutforsexyseabass

permanent tags: @stevesmewmew @pandaxnienke

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tarithenurse · 3 days

Text

Feel the stretch

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaizen GYM AU Pairing/starring: PT!Nanami Kento x fem!reader Word count: 1790 Content: Probably incorrect gym exercises, pining, unprofessional conduct, someone doesn’t follow the rules of hygiene, smut. Not betaed. A/N: Got to talk with @maladaptive-ninja-returns and we ended up bonding over the need for proper motivation when at the gym...some of us resorting to different tactics than others but that’s life. Glad to corrupt. Choice of GIF just because we all loved that moment.

Feel the stretch

Your sweat is already running down the back along your spine. Your hands are starting to slip on the grip of the dumbbell, making it hard to do the exercise right and as if on cue, you feel the light tap of Nanami’s finger on your elbow, reminding you to lift properly.

He doesn’t speak much, your personal trainer, but Nanami Kento is still very good at instructing you how to do each exercise. Back straight, arms level, knees slightly bend so as not to overstretch the joints. It’s only your third month with him, but the results have been impressive (unfathomable to yourself).

Right now, as you are nearly through the day’s session, and you couldn’t curse him any more than you already do because he’s increased the weight and your arms are sore already.

There’s a gentle tap to your lower back, reminding you to straighten.

You’re standing with a hand and a knee on the bench, lifting the dumbbell with the free arm as best as you can to get it parallel with your body. Trying not to grunt with each lift.

“Five more,” he says softly.

You aren’t sure you’ll be able to do it. Your arms is shaking, hand slippery with sweat. Up and down. Up and down.

“Three. You can do it.”

And now you have to. It’s not so much encouragement when he tells you that you’ll manage as it’s simply stating a fact because you can’t let him be wrong. He’s never been disappointed in you the few times you have tapped out too soon but...Nanami could make you do anything.

“Good!” His praise makes you grin although it does feel great to have completed the set too.

Allowing you a moment (however brief it is to prevent cooldown), he preps the next exercise for you: the back extension. There’s a machine for that at the gym, but you prefer the bench as it allows you to work your back two ways and who would Nanami be to refuse you more workout? Even at this late hour (you’re practically the last people still at the gym), he wouldn’t want to cut corners and let you escape early.

Not that you’d want to escape, really. Or maybe you do but then it’d only be to go home and think of him some more. In detail. Undressed. You bite back a sigh of yearning.

Getting in position, you lower your upper body down towards the ground and grab hold of the weight plate waiting for you to clutch it to your chest. Up and down.

With closed eyes, you concentrate on the movement but still there’s a tap to your shoulder, indicating you’re coming up crooked.

Adjusting, for a few repetitions it goes well but then the tap is there again.

“Not high enough and not straight,” Nanami curtly explains, walking around you.

Focusing, you try to adjust but you nearly drop the weight when you feel his legs on either side of you, his inner thighs brushing your hips.

“Higher,” he demands and you comply until your shoulders meet his palms and his position suddenly makes sense. Kind of.

Again and again you lift your body to find his hands, almost as if attracted to the heat of them despite your own burning.

But eventually he’s satisfied, stepping away with a brush of your ass that you know is by accident but your mind is going to later pretend was on purpose. Just because you wish it was.

He always evaluates you while you’re doing your cooldown run. Short sentences to warn you of changes to the training regimen next time or information on how to deal with the soreness after the training. This time is no different and it’s with a certain worry that he mentions how you will have to increase the weight on the squats.

“But my ass is already sore!” you complain in horror.

“Your ass is fine,” he answers dryly, apparently not aware of how it sounds.

He helps you stretch. Arms first, and he even takes the time to rub some life into them with his strong fingers. It feels heavenly even if it hurts as his thumb digs into your muscle.

“You’ll feel it here,” he allows his palm to slide down by your shoulder blade to indicate where. “Here too.” This time his hand rests just below your lower back so close to it almost being you ass and you can’t help but hold your breath.

Slowly moving on, he points out and rubs life into sore muscles that will need special special attention.

“Legs,” he orders.

Obediently, you start stretching them, earning his help again to really push you into each position to feel the stretch. He rubs your calves when you complain about them then sits down behind you as you sit with the soles of your feet against each other, stretching the inner thigh. Large hands on your knees push down, making you groan in pleasurable discomfort.

“Ouch,” you moan softly.

Slacking, his hands drift up your thighs, coming to rest near your hips and causing you to still.

“Maybe we should work on your flexibility too,” he hums ever so quietly.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

A breath that’s instantly stolen as his hands glide to your inner thighs where the muscles are pulled taught clearly visible due to the fact that you’d decided to just wear shorts rather than long leggings. Long fingers find the edge of the shorts, tracing the line across your skin and causing prickles to rise in the wake.

“See here?” he changes directions to trace the tendon towards your crotch, “with the proper flexibility training, you’d be able to sit more relaxed than you do now. Get your knees further apart.”

Somehow you doubt you’ll be more relaxed but you aren’t about to argue that. Especially not as his fingers slip under the hem of the clothing, stretching the elastic to accommodate his hand as he reaches deeper. Fingertips brush against the next layer of fabric, swiping along the heat.

But next moment he retracts his hand, causing you to whine softly.

“Then come with me,” he mumbles into your ear.

Of course you follow, not even protesting as he heads into the women’s changing room before you and leads you to the sauna.

There, he leads you into the dimly lit room. It smells of warm cedar and flint, a scent you’ve always loved but now realize will never be the same for you because the man begins to undress you, diligently and without fuss, he peels off your sweaty t-shirt and your shorts only pausing to allow you to toe off your socks (shoes forgotten by the mats). Then he unclasps your sports bra, allowing your breasts the freedom they’ve yearned for and smiling gently at the sight – the first sign of any emotion. And still, he hasn’t kissed you yet, hasn’t laid a stray hand on you. Just methodically undressed while your cunt begins to soak unwarranted.

Once done with you, he simply points to the wooden seat before starting to undress too, unabashed by your eyes taking in every movement he makes, every flex of his muscles. Tall. Broad shoulders that ooze of strength. Narrow hips that you all too easily can imagine would fit perfectly between your thighs. An Adonis Belt that leads the eyes to something not easily ignored: a raging boner.

“Every time...” he says, “you do this to me.” Palming himself, he gives his cocks a few lazy pumps as he walks to stand between your knees. “But today...I can’t wait any longer.”

It’s almost the most you’ve heard him speak. Mouth agape, you look up at the man, nodding fervently to let him know that you are completely and wholly his to do with as he wishes.

“Move up,” he orders.

You scuttle backwards onto the next bench, glad to see he’s following on his knees, hands on your thighs to spread them apart. Hands that travel up to the apex, allowing a large thumb to swipe at your cunt and spread the wetness that’s pooling there. It sticks to his thumb as he pulls it back and looks at it, taking it to his mouth to suckle it off.

Next thing you know, he’s dived headfirst down to lap at your folds. Pointed licks that have your arch your back and wanting to bring your legs together but you don’t. You can’t because his shoulders are so wide they’re pressing them out.

And where his tongue isn’t, his fingers are: scissoring and wriggling and pumping, finding the right spot that has you see double and brings out the heat to your skin better than the gruelling workout or the sauna itself.

“Cum for me,” he mumbles, a man on a mission.

“Not yet!” you gasp, wanting it to last longer because you don’t want it to be over but it’s too good and you shatter around him as he rubs his longer finger over the gummy spot inside. Keening, you grab at nothing to ground you with.

Suddenly it’s like the entire room moves but it’s just Nanami who’s dragged your ass over the edge of the seat, positioning you properly.

He works you onto his cock slowly, steadily, allowing you time to adjust to the stretch before he pulls you further down on him. A low moan starts in the back of your throat rising with each inch until you don’t have any more air and he finally bottoms out with a groan of his own.

You can feel your cunt spasm around him, begging for more even if you yourself aren’t sure you can handle it.

You get it anyways.

Large hands around your waist, he lifts you up and down on his shaft until you’re dizzy and mewling, hands locked around his wrists in an attempt to keep upright in his grip.

Your world shatters again, and you’re only faintly aware of how he curses at the sensation, pulling out as you climax and turning you around to expose you. He takes a second to bite down on your plump ass, the sting a delicious contrast to the waves of bliss. And then he rams back into you. Frantic. One hand on your shoulder and one on your hip to hold you steady while his snaps into you.

“So good,” he grunts.

Drooling, you feel your brain melt as a new high approaches and the oxygen in the room has been used.

This time, he lets you cum on his cock, milking him for all he has before he collapses over you.

“I’ll feel that tomorrow,” you manage after a while, earning a chuckle.

#writing #fanfiction #fanfic #JJK #nanami kento #Nanami Kento x you #Nanami Kento x reader #x you #x reader #jujutsu kaisen #smut

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

Soap x Reader You decide to reward Soap after finishing a set on the bench press.

NSFW 18+, Explicit, Shameless Smut, Porn w/out Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Gym Sex, Teasing, Fluff, Flirting, Cunnilengus, Blow-Jobs, Cowgirl, P in V, Might be a little tame, but still Graphic Description, no Y/N usage, sorry if this reads kind of cringe or shitty, I'll fix what I can as I come back to it! (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩)

Word Count: 2.4k

OK, so I had an ex who used to take me to the gym with him on a private compound (he was a Ranger, mm good times (っ˘ڡ˘ς), and those gyms were always dead empty after like 5pm. So, I thought it'd be a perfect setting for something freaky. Enjoy!

But also disclaimer: This is a fake scenario I made up! (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡* Masterlink

"Can you spot me?"

Soap takes a seat at the bench press, having just added a fresh, new 100lbs set of weights to the barbell. He'd spent the last half-hour warming up with lighter weights; this time he felt pumped enough to push himself.

You set your dumbbells down beside you upon hearing Soap call for assistance. The two of you have been working out for well over two hours now, and your bodies were feeling sweaty and spent at this point. The showers were practically singing to you.

Any time you went to the gym with Soap, you left genuinely feeling like you got a good workout done. Often times in more ways than one.

As you walked around so you could spot him, you were met with a resounding smack to your ass, making you gasp.

Instinctively, you look around, afraid that someone may have caught that. Then you remembered why you liked this gym so much.

It was inside a compound; the other soldiers would need special clearance to even enter, meaning the place was basically a graveyard once it was time for everyone to clock out. And best of all, all the cameras were in the hallways. Or so you were told.

God help whoever has to watch the surveillance footage later if that's not true.

Now despite that, it wasn't like you and Soap ever actually did anything in here before; Beyond some kissing and heavy petting in-between sets, whenever one of you two looked just a little too good while pumping iron.

When you came to the gym, for the most part, you actually did want to work out. However, you couldn't get enough of how sexy Soap was looking in his gym attire today.

He went with his old rugby shorts and a muscle top, anything to show off how good his body looks when he's getting damp with sweat and flexing his muscles each time he starts another set. The man was almost too aware of how good he looked.

As usual, you knew he dressed like this on purpose too. Knowing you'll eat it up every time. You don't know how many times he's teased you today alone about your lingering eyes.

He wasn't the only one trying to distract with his clothing, however.

Knowing that this gym would be empty, you went in just some extremely short, thigh-high, tight shorts and an equally tight sports bra. When you didn't have to worry about perverted men ogling you as you worked out, it was nice to actually wear some clothes your body could breathe in.

It also made it easier to attract the right kind of attention.

You'd certainly been enjoying looking into the gym mirrors and seeing Soap's eyes smack dabbed right on your ass whenever you'd squat or deadlift. Unaware that you could see him. Each time he looked, he'd sigh to himself like he didn't even know where to begin with you. His hands would adjust the crotch of his shorts, and he'd blink a few times to get himself back into the zone.

You've been itching to tease him about it all day yourself.

You get behind Soap as he lies back on the bench, shifting his body until he's comfortable enough to take the barbell. You watch his hands grip the cool steel firmly, the veins in his arms looking especially mouth-watering from where you're standing.

"Let's see if you can break your last record," you challenge him.

Soap gives you a teasing look suddenly. "What do I get if I do?"

You place your hands on your hips and smirk. Having to look down at him, all laid out with his arms above him. It was making your imagination start to wander.

"Find out," you wink.

Soap takes one deep breath and lifts the barbell from the stand, beginning his set at a decent speed. Little droplets of sweat begin to roll down the side of his face, as his mohawk sat a little wilder for wear on his head. You listen to the little grunts and sharp breaths he lets out each time he raises the weights.

You start thinking about how he might look if you were in that bar's place instead. Having him a panting mess underneath you. It made you more impatient the more you thought about it.

"Almost there," you start to cheer him on now. "You got this."

Soap reaches his last one, as he struggles to lift the barbell up. You give him some time to rerack it himself, wanting him to feel accomplished with this workout. And wanting to reward him for it too. His arms shake and he grunts with frustration, but he manages to get the barbell back on the stand.

The sigh he lets out the minute he finishes felt equivalent to how you imagine he'd sound climaxing. It makes you giggle.

You're ready to put it to the test.

"You did it!" You applaud him.

"Aye," he huffs. Soap then extends his hands over his head, until his callous palms have met the bare skin of your thighs behind him. "Now come 'ere already," he practically growls out. "Give me what I won."

It seems his mind was in the same gutter as you.

His hands slide up your thighs until they've stopped right at the cusp of your ass cheeks, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your gym shorts ever so slightly. It makes the heat between your legs start to radiate; for a second you could have sworn Soap noticed. Judging from how his smile grew.

"Oh, was this the prize?" You tease. "Sweaty foreplay?"

"My favorite," Soap chuckles.

You take one final look around, making sure the gym was as empty as it had been for the past three hours. Soap didn't seem to care regardless, his mind already set on what he wanted. You don't stop Soap when you feel him pull your shorts down, the clothing falling to your ankles as you kicked them off.

Soap takes an eyeful of you, licking his lips and making sure to give your ass a generous squeeze before pulling you closer to him. You step forward, until you're right over the Sergeant, your arms using the barbell to lean on for support.

You already knew the man was about to treat your pussy like a five-star meal. It had you damn near dripping just thinking about it.

"You're good," you give him your final stamp of approval.

"Oh I know," the Scotsman teased.

He lets his grip tighten over your ass and thighs, swiftly bringing his tongue to your clit like a man desperate to feel your body react to his touch. To feel all the love he had to give to you. You jolt initially, Soap's strong grip keeping you still as you continued to hold onto the barbell for dear life.

Soap eats your pussy sloppy, in all the best ways possible, letting your thighs squeeze around his head like earmuffs as he does it. He sucks at your clit, running a tongue up and down your cunt, and slurping up any bit of you he could. The sting of his facial hair rubs pleasurable so against you; had he not been holding you so tightly, you're sure you would have fallen off your feet by now.

Your moans echo around you in the gym, as you try to keep them bottled. Of course, as soon as Soap sees you trying, he takes that as a personal challenge to make that task impossible for you.

His tongue starts circling and sucking at your clit faster, a rhythm having been placed, and your body bubbling with arousal. You feel yourself shake almost violently, your grip on the barbell so tight your knuckles turn white. You're damn near sitting on Soap's face at this point.

You don't even tell him you've just came. The chuckle he lets out was enough of a cue to let you know he was well aware.

So now you felt it was time he was the one shaking.

You step back, seeing his cool, blue eyes follow you from where he still lies. He watches you like a hawk, as you round the bench. You stop right at the rising tent that was beginning to form in his shorts.

You grab the top of them and begin lowering them down, until you've seen the large, hardening, girthy mass of flesh spring free from its prison. How Soap can walk around with this thing would forever be a mystery to you. Your eyes get wide every time you see it, and it always makes Soap laugh.

You let your hand run up his shaft, allowing your thumb to brush over the head teasingly, and seeing the Sergeant shiver in response. You get a cocky look suddenly. "Don't hold back."

You let your warm mouth wrap around him, your lips sucking over the head of his cock, as you let your tongue dance against him, teasing him. It makes Soap's head fall back onto the bench, as he lets out a pleasurable groan.

He lets his hands gently grab hold of your ponytail, as you let him lightly guide you. Though the more you get into it, the harder it is for him to even concentrate.

"Yer doin' so well, love," he just manages to say.

You let your head bob up and down, your hands touching what parts of him your mouth could not reach. Pretty soon your body works as though you were a conductor, hard at work.

Soap grips the edges of the bench now, his hips slightly gyrating, and his breath getting caught every time he felt himself graze the back of your throat, saliva coating his member like lubricant. You gave your services to him like the rent was due.

Your tongue travels down his shaft, as you let your lips hook over his balls, sucking unabashedly, and finally getting that deep groan you'd been waiting for.

The minute he does, you let go of him and stop, seeing Soap look up at you like he was about to burst at the seams. Yearning for you to come back. Fortunately for him, you weren't finished yet.

You climbed on top of Soap, his body feeling like a well-sculpted boulder beneath you. He looks up at you, worshipping everything about you. His hands slide to your sides and rest there, as he takes a moment to admire you.

"You're so beautiful."

You blush, but cover it up with a giggle. You playfully shush him, and bring your mind back to the important things right now.

You grab hold of him again, positioning yourself over him as you use his cock to play with yourself a little, letting the tip massage you. You hum at the warmth it creates in the pit of your groin, enjoying how the sound of your voice just seemed to make him bite at his lip impatiently. Doing everything he can to let you keep the power here.

He certainly enjoyed seeing you so in control of yourself over him. You keep your eyes locked on Soap's as you do, the man looking as though he were about to fall apart if he had to wait any longer for you.

After a few more seconds of teasing, you let him slowly come in, feeling your walls stretch at his length. You're slow to start, as you rest your hands on his shoulders so you can use him for leverage. Soap's hands stay on your sides, as you feel him starting to try and take power below you.

To combat this, you bring a hand to his throat, letting your thumb press in as you start to choke him. Warning him seductively. You haven't met a lot of men who liked being choked themselves; most were too fragile to give it a try. Not Soap though. The man'll do almost anything that'll lead to a satisfying orgasm, no matter the caliber.

Which only meant more fun for you.

You roll your body on top of him, lifting yourself up and down over his cock and letting your pussy smack back against him. You made sure to roll your hips when he was deep in, assuring that special spot of yours was hit every time you slapped back down. You let it make moans spill from your lips, adoring the way Soap craved for it.

Weak groans and whimpers leave his lips. It makes you move faster, wanting the man unable to keep himself from moaning by the time you were through. Just like he had you.

Once he's too overwhelmed by your own dominating nature over him to try, he settles back and lets you use him as you please, his moans low in his throat.

"I can't get enough of you," he moans.

You place your knees on either sides of the bench, resting your hands back on his thighs as you lift yourself up and down with quick, precise speed, grinding against his groin and taking him fully.

Soap starts to grit his teeth, his nails digging harder against your skin, as you feel his hands trail up to the small of your back. He grabs hold, and without warning, begins to join you in the pounding, as he starts thrusting harder into you, keeping up with your speed.

The moans practically hiccup out of you each time he pumps in, the air leaving your lungs and your entire body feeling like it just got lifted into cloud nine.

Once again, neither of you announces when you come, letting your exasperated moans and tightening grips speak for you. Soap brings you down to his chest and hugs you against him, taking your mouth and completely devouring it, as his cock twitches with cum in you. It makes your cunt vibrate against him, a weight-like rush of ecstasy flooding down your body and making your legs turn into noodles.

You both huff and puff for air, as you lie sprawled on top of him. "Fuck," you gasp. "I feel like that was more of a workout than what we just did."

"Aye," Soap chuckles, rubbing his hand over your back as he looks around himself. "We're gonna have to wipe all this gear down before we go," he says.

Forever the Good Samaritan.

More One-Shots Coming Soon. Thanks for reading! (ᴗᵔᴥᵔ)

#call of duty #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty mwii #soap mwii #Spotify #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #divider from tezzy-lovez

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