Warnings!!: tail kink discovery, accidental overstimulation, whimpering top, smug/power-bottom reader, monsterfucking, size difference, cock-drunk giggling, comeplay vibes, no plot just porn, reader is crazy, smut
The mattress was already ruined.
Sweat, precum, everything had soaked through the sheets hours ago, but neither of you cared. Wukula’s hips snapped forward again, brutal and deep, the kind of thrust that punched the air out of your lungs and left your vision sparkling at the edges.
You were folded beneath him in the filthiest missionary variation possible, knees shoved up toward your shoulders, ankles locked behind the small of his back, heels digging into the base of his tail every time he bottomed out. Your arms were thrown over his shoulders, nails scraping uselessly at sweat-slick scales that refused to give.
“Fuuuck—Wukula—” Your voice cracked into something embarrassingly high and slurry. “S’too deep—s’too—hah—”
He didn’t slow down. If anything, the way you babbled made him go harder, tail lashing behind him in sharp, agitated arcs. The thick base of it kept smacking the back of your thighs with every thrust, hot and leathery and alive.
You were gone.
Brain melted, thoughts reduced to bright static and the obscene wet sound of him splitting you open. You couldn’t even clench properly anymore. Just trembling, open, dripping around the fat length dragging against every sensitive spot inside you at once. A stupid, glassy-eyed giggle bubbled out of your throat.
“Feels—feels like you’re in my stomach—” you slurred, head lolling back against the pillow. Another dumb little laugh. “Gonna—gonna cum again—already—”
Wukula growled low, fangs grazing the side of your throat. “Then cum. Again.”
You wanted to. You really did.
But then your legs, shaking, boneless. Slipped just a fraction higher.
Your toes curled tight from the oncoming orgasm.
And the arch of your foot accidentally hooked under the sensitive underside of his tail. Right where it met the base of his spine, and dragged.
One sharp, unintentional scrape.
Wukula’s rhythm shattered.
His hips stuttered once, twice, then slammed in deep and froze.
A sound ripped out of him you had never heard before.
Not a growl.
Not a snarl.
A broken, helpless whimper.
His whole body jerked like he’d been electrocuted. Cock throbbing violently inside you, pulsing so hard you could feel every ridge catch against your walls. His claws sank into the mattress on either side of your head, shredding fabric. Tail went rigid, then started trembling uncontrollably.
You blinked through the cock-drunk haze.
…Oh?
Oh.
Your mouth curled into a slow, filthy, delighted grin.
“Did I—” you panted, voice still wrecked but suddenly so much smugger, “-did I just find something?”
“Don’t,” he hissed through clenched teeth. Voice strained. Dangerous. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
Too late.
You deliberately flexed your foot again, slow this time. Letting the arch of it drag along that same tender strip of skin beneath his tail.
Wukula’s arms buckled.
He dropped onto his elbows, forehead slamming against your shoulder, a choked moan tearing out of his throat. His hips jerked forward in short, helpless little thrusts.
instinctive, uncoordinated, like he couldn’t decide whether to bury himself deeper or pull out entirely.
“Fuck—fuck—stop—” he growled, but it sounded more like a plea.
You laughed. Breathless, giddy, mean.
“Make me.”
You hooked your ankles tighter, heels pressing right against that spot again, rubbing in tiny circles.
Wukula’s whole body shuddered violently.
His cock kicked hard inside you. Once, twice. Then he was coming, sudden and messy and unplanned, flooding you with heat while broken whimpers spilled against your neck. He tried to snarl through it, tried to keep some semblance of control, but every drag of your heel against his tail just wrung another pathetic sound out of him.
You clenched around him on purpose.
Milked him through it.
When the last tremor finally left him, he was panting against your throat like he’d run ten miles. Tail still twitching. Cock still twitching inside you. Whole body trembling with aftershocks.
You tilted your head, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Wukula,” you whispered, voice syrupy with satisfaction, “I just found my new toy.”
Wukula growled. Weak, embarrassed, still wrecked.
You giggled again, softer this time.
Then you deliberately dragged your toes along his tail one more time, just to see how many more of those sweet, broken noises you could pull out of him before he pinned you down and tried to fuck the smugness right back out of you.
Warnings: brat taming, virgin corruption, dub-con edging into consensual, forced eye contact/mirror humiliation, size difference + unrealistic stretching, crying during sex, overstimulation, mean dom Wukula, belly bulge, degradation, praise mixed with humiliation, tail restraint, no aftercare depicted
You’d been running your mouth all night.
“Relax,” you’d said. Chin high, tail flicking like you owned the damn kelku. “I can take it. Just fuck me already.”
Wukula had only stared down at you, one scarred brow arched, tail giving a single slow lash behind him. He hadn’t even taken his tewng off yet and you were already squirming on his sleeping mat, thighs pressed together, trying to look like this was nothing new. Like you’d done this a hundred times. Like the way your breath hitched when he finally peeled the last strip of cloth away from his hips didn’t make your ears flatten.
He’d warned you.
“Do not test me,” he’d growled low while he stroked himself lazily to full hardness, “you keep talking like that and you’re gonna regret it when I split you open.”
You’d laughed, sharp and cocky and a little too loud. “I said I can take it.”
So he decided to make you prove it.
Now your back was plastered to his chest, legs dangling uselessly because he’d hooked his thick forearms under your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing. Your tail curled tight around his wrist on instinct, trying to anchor yourself as he carried you. Still impaled on nothing but anticipation, across the kelku to the tall slab of polished obsidian that served as his mirror.
He stopped right in front of it.
Your own reflection stared back: wide golden eyes, flushed cheeks, lips parted on shallow pants. And between your spread thighs. his cock. Fat. Heavy. Already glistening at the tip from where you’d been grinding on him earlier like you knew what you were doing. The dark, ridged length looked obscene pressed up against your slick folds, the blunt head nudging right at your entrance.
Your crazy, bratty giggles died in your throat.
Wukula felt the exact second your bravado cracked. Your whole body tensed in his hold. Your hands flew up, covering your face, fingers splayed over your eyes like that would hide you from the mirror.
He clicked his tongue. Sharp. Annoyed.
“Don’t you dare.”
You squeaked. Actually squeaked, when he flexed his hips and pushed.
Just the head. Just enough to stretch you open, to make your rim flutter and cling. The burn was immediate, bright, overwhelming. Your thighs jerked in his grip; your tail thrashed once against his forearm.
A tiny, broken moan slipped past your fingers before you could choke it back.
Wukula’s growl rumbled straight through your spine.
“Hands down.”
You shook your head frantically behind your palms. “N-no—”
“Hands. Down.” Each word was punctuated by another slow, inexorable push, another thick inch forcing its way inside. Your walls spasmed, trying to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time. The stretch was obscene. You could feel every ridge, every vein, every bump dragging against places you’d never been touched before.
A high, embarrassed whimper leaked out.
He thrust again, shallow, punishing. And your fingers slipped. One hand dropped to claw at his forearm; the other stayed half-covering your mouth like you could trap the sounds inside.
In the black mirror you watched it happen.
Watched your own cunt stretch around him, pink and slick and so small compared to the brutal girth splitting you open. Watched the way your stomach flexed every time he sank deeper. Watched your ears pin flat, your tail go limp, your thighs tremble helplessly in his hold.
And worst of all—watched your own face.
The cocky smirk was gone. Your eyes were glassy, pupils blown. Your mouth hung open on silent little gasps. Every time he rocked forward your brows pinched, your lashes fluttered, and another mortified moan punched out of you.
“See that?” Wukula’s voice was dark honey against your ear. One massive hand slid up to grip your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks.
forcing your head to stay forward. “That’s what a person who lies looks when she’s finally getting what she begged for.”
You tried to shake your head. Tried to deny it. But another deep grind of his hips made your voice crack into something pathetic.
“I—I’m not—”
“Liar.” He pulled back. Almost all the way out, then slammed back in to the root in one brutal stroke.
Your scream was instant. Sharp. Needy. Your whole body bowed in his arms; your nails raked red lines down his forearms. Tears—actual tears—sprang to your eyes and spilled over before you could stop them.
In the mirror you looked ruined.
Cheeks wet. Lips swollen. Pupils so wide the gold was nothing but a thin ring. And between your legs, his cock was buried so deep the bulge of it showed faintly under your navel.
Wukula groaned at the sight, low and feral, and started fucking you in earnest.
Long, punishing strokes that lifted you onto your toes every time he bottomed out. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the kelku. Your own reflection rocked with every thrust. Breasts bouncing, thighs shaking, tail wrapped uselessly around his wrist like you were begging him to hold you together.
“Say it,” he snarled, thumb brushing a tear track on your cheek only to smear it wider. “Tell me you’re inexperienced. Tell me this is your first time.”
You sobbed, half embarrassment, half pleasure so sharp it hurt.
“I—I c-can’t—”
He angled his hips and ground right against that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes.
You broke.
“I- ngh!—this—!” The words came out in a humiliated wail. “First—My first time—please—!”
Wukula’s rhythm faltered for half a second. Something hot and possessive flashing in his eyes, then he fucked you harder.
“Is that right?” he growled against the shell of your ear. “Now watch yourself take it like you promised.”
You couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t hide.
All you could do was hang in his arms. Spread open, stuffed full, crying and moaning and finally, finally admitting exactly what you were:
Warnings!! : Explicit Sexual Content, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, Consensual Violence, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Marking, Primal Play, Mating, Kuru Play (Avatar - Cameron), Na’vi Culture (Avatar - Cameron), Na’vi Mating Rituals, Established Mates, Messy Sex, Body Fluids, Comeplay, Blood Kink, Licking Wounds, Ash Play, Aftercare, Both Are Masochists
Some guy on tt genuinely influenced me
The furs beneath them were no longer soft, no longer the clean tawny-gray of Wukula’s kelku. They were heavy now, soaked through with the mingled evidence of their claiming. Sweat-slick, the sharp copper of his blood, the thicker musk of her arousal and his seed, and the fine gray ash still clinging to their skin from the night’s fire ritual. The scent was overwhelming, primal, a territory marker no other Na’vi would dare approach.
Wukula lay on his side, long blue limbs relaxed but never truly at rest. One thick forearm was curled beneath his head; the other hand, 3 strong fingers and an opposable thumb, toyed with the kuru that spilled over your shoulder like liquid moonlight. He separated the delicate neural tendrils with careful curiosity, watching them twitch and curl instinctively toward the warmth of his palm. Every so often he gave the queue a gentle, deliberate tug.
Each pull earned him the same reaction.
A low, rumbling hrrrrow rolled out of your throat. Half warning, half complaint. Your ears flicked back, then forward again as you shifted closer. The fine cut along the side of his neck still wept slow beads of crimson; the line you had drawn with your dagger was precise, ceremonial, possessive. Not deep enough to scar badly. Deep enough to remind every hunter, every wanderer, every curious eye that turned toward him: that “this one is mine.”
You pressed your mouth to the wound again.
Your tongue dragged slow, deliberate, tasting iron and salt and the faint undercurrent of his natural bioluminescence. The flat of it soothed the sting even as it coaxed fresh blood to the surface. Wukula’s chest vibrated with a deep, approving purr. Too low for most to hear, but you felt it rumble straight into your bones.
“Still hungry, yawne?” His voice was rough, smoke-scraped from earlier cries and commands. The word yawne came out softer than the rest, the way it always did when the rest of the world had fallen away and only the two of you remained.
You answered with your teeth. Gentle, grazing the uninjured skin just below the cut, then soothed it with another long lick.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest where it brushed yours. “You mark me like I am still unclaimed. Like I have not already spilled inside you until you could carry nothing more.”
Your tail lashed once against his thigh in answer. A small defiance. A reminder that you were no soft, pliant thing. That he had not tamed you. You had chosen him. And you would keep choosing, keep marking, keep tasting, until the so called Great Mother herself grew tired of watching.
Wukula’s fingers tightened briefly around your kuru, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your spine arch and your breath hitch. Then he released it, letting it fall free so he could trail calloused fingertips down the length of your back instead. Followingthe stripe of ash that still dusted your spine, the same ash you had both smeared across each other in the heat of it all.
He leaned in, nosing along the shell of your ear until his lips found the sensitive spot behind it.
“Again?” he murmured, voice thick with promise. “Or do you need to taste me more first, my fierce little hunter?”
Your hand slid up to wrap around the base of his kuru. Firm, possessive, and you tugged once in return.
He hissed through his fangs, hips rolling forward instinctively.
You smiled against his throat, tongue flicking out to catch one last ruby drop.
“Both,” you answered, voice low and wrecked and entirely unapologetic. “Always both.”
Outside the kelku the wind moved through the floating mountains, carrying distant calls of ikran and the soft crackle of dying embers.
Inside, the only sounds were breath, blood, ash, and the slow, inevitable slide of bodies already knowing exactly how they fit together.
jbbartram-illu
ellievsbear
jacobvanloon
dailybridgerton