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ateliersss · 9 months

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He Will Come

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: You were caught three days after you and your son's arrival on earth by an organization called Project Stargazer. Now you both were treated like guinea pigs. No wonder, considering said son was a hybrid of human and Yautja. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 4,126

You had been stupid, so stupid. You should have listened to Mi'ytiar, should have listened to him when he told you to stay on the ship during your stay on earth while your son went hunting. You had insisted on coming with him, as you desperately wanted to see your home planet again.

Not that you missed it. You loved Mi'ytiar, loved to be his mate, loved your life with him, your son and the new life you had on Yautja Prime.

You had just wanted to get out of the ship, get some fresh air, and see the full moon, which you couldn't see in your new home, when you suddenly were surrounded by soldiers. You didn’t even think about defending yourself, not in your condition. You had let it happen when they grabbed you and put you roughly in one of the black SUVs.

So many questions swirled around in your mind — how did they found you? What about the ship? What did they want with you? Would they hurt you? And what about Akail? Was he hurt?

You hadn’t dared to ask the armed men who were in the car with you. They all had looked at you with different emotions on their faces — disgust, curiosity, anger. One of them wore a grin that made your skin crawl.

When they arrived at their base, you were dragged through many corridors and were examined by — and you thanked God for that — female doctors. They took your blood, forced your into a strange suit, and put you into a completely white room.

Now you sat in a corner, huddled together. The door was in the middle of the wall on the other side of the room. A camera hung in the corner across from you from the ceiling and had an overview of the entire room. It reminded you of an interrogation room with windows to the left and right of the door, which looked like a mirror from the inside but allowed a glimpse into the room from the outside. A table and two chairs were standing in the middle.

You had pulled your legs to your chest as much as your swollen belly would allow, and your head leaned sideways against the wall.

It’s gonna be okay, you thought to yourself, everything’s gonna be fine.

You didn't know if you were trying to calm yourself down or your pup, who could sense your agitation and responded to you with kicking. You sat up straight in a cross-legged position, wrapped your arms protectively around your belly and caressed it soothingly.

Don’t worry, little one. Your daddy will get us out of here, he and your mei’hswei. We’ll be home soon. We can’t wait to meet you.

Not far from you, Sean Keyes greeted Casey Bracket. “There you are!” He said as soon as Casey stepped out of the elevator. “Welcome, I–“

Before he could continue, Casey walked straight past him to look at the two metal helmets and something that looked like a gun, everything displayed behind thick glass. None of it was human.

“Alien technology… Is that what you wanted me to see?” Casey's eyes wandered to the other showcases that displayed more weapons and equipment. “Can I take a better look at it?”

“Ahh.” Sean laughed, “But you haven’t even seen the main attraction.”

Casey tore her gaze from an interesting looking spear engraved with intriguing carvings and looked up at Sean. He had climbed the few steps that led to a glass wall overlooking a mix of operating room and laboratory and gestured with his head for her to follow him.

Quickly joining him, they both looked down and into the room. It was occupied by many people who, from their appearance, were scientists. There were guards, eight in total, guarding all four doors. Screens hung on the walls and desks carried computers and strange gadgets.

The only thing that got Casey’s complete attention was the table in the middle of the room and especially what was on it.

“Doctor Bracket.”

Casey looked away from the creature and at the man who had spoken to her.

“Would you like to meet the Predator?”

Yes, that’s exactly what she wanted.

Still processing what she had just seen, she followed Sean Keyes into the decontamination chamber. She was giving a suit that looked similar to the ones the scientists were wearing in the laboratory. The decontamination process didn't take long and she quickly slipped into the suit.

“Thanks for coming.” The dark-skinned man, Will Traeger, said to Casey as soon as the lab door opened and shook her hand. “I’m sure you have questions.”

“If I’m honest, only two.” Casey answered and followed the man down the stairs. “Why do you call it the Predator?”

They came to a halt in front of the table the creature was lying on.

“It’s a nickname. You know, the data suggests that it tracks its prey, exploits weakness. It seems to, well, enjoy it. It’s like a game.”

“That’s not a Predator. That’s a sports hunter.”

“Sorry?”

“A Predator kills its prey to survive. I mean, what you’re describing is more like a bass fisherman.” Casey simply answered, taking a step closer to the table.

“Well, we took a vote. Predator sounds cooler, right?” Will laughed and received approval from the surrounding scientists. “We found him, then his ship and more. He’s heavily sedated.”

She noticed that even unconscious, he was making a sound that closely resembled a cat's purring.

Casey had long stopped listening to him. She was completely absorbed by the creature, or Predator, taking in every inch of it. The physique indicated that it was a male. His height had to be around 7 feet. He had greenish skin that resembled reptilian-like scales. Its head was big and oval in shape. Instead of hair, what appeared to be dreadlocks grew out of it. His mandibles were the most eye-catching feature about him.

Could they be used for defense? And how did the food intake work?

“You are one beautiful motherfucker.” She finally said.

“I’m gonna guess your second question is why you’re here.”

Casey looked up to Will and signaled him with a nod to continue.

“Our test results yielded something a little… odd.”

Sean, standing next to Casey, handed her a device. She looked back and forth between the two men before accepting it. The screen showed a more complex DNA structure than that of a human, without a doubt that of the Predator.

“Is this a joke?” She questioned in disbelief.

“We ran the genome sequence ten times. This specimen has–“

“–human DNA.” Casey finished stunned.

“Yeah.” Will nodded, “Look, we know about spontaneous speciation. Mostly plants and insects but–“

“But some mammals. The Red Wolf, for example, a hybrid of the coyote and the grey wolf.” Sean interrupted him this time.

“It’s possibly some form of recombinant technology.” Will added.

“I get it. You want to know if someone fucked an alien.” Casey summed it up, finally knowing her purpose here.

“Not necessarily.”

Casey looked questioningly at Will. "Meaning?"

“Meaning, we have a rough idea. We would just like to know the detailed procedure.”

Casey's eyes widened and she looked at him in bewilderment. “You don't seriously expect a woman to procreate with that thing. There's no way that–“

“Oh, there is no need for that.” Sean assured her, “His equipment led us to his ship. We found it, but not only that.” He turned to the largest screen in the room and nodded to a man who started typing on his computer and turned the screen on. It showed some kind of interrogation room.

It wasn't long before Casey spotted a woman sitting cross-legged on the floor, slowly rocking back and forth.

“Are you trying to tell me that this is…”

“His mother, yes.” Will confirmed her thought. “His DNA matches with hers. Even through the father’s genetic heritage is more dominant than hers, you can still see differences between this one–“ He nodded to unconscious alien, “–and a homozygous Predator.”

“Wow indeed. And not only that, her human DNA has been altered to resemble that of the Predator.”

“Wow.” Casey mumbled and returned her gaze to the screen.

The woman now walked in circles through the room, stroking — and the biologist had to do a double take — her growing stomach.

Holy hell, she was pregnant!

Casey watched her mouth moving, so either she was singing or talking to the baby.

“We believe it’s a kind of adaptation to the living conditions of his home planet.” Sean started, “According to the blood tests, and we did several because we didn't want to believe the results, this woman is 73 years old, although she looks to be in her mid-20s.”

Casey’s mouth fell open, her heart pounding against her rib cage. “I want to meet her.”

He nodded and smiled at her. “That was the plan. No one has spoken to her yet, not even the nurse who brought her food or was taking her to the bathroom.”

“While science can answer many questions and give us great insight into our being, there are still things that remain unanswered.” Will added, "We don't know when she left Earth or how it was possible for her to reproduce with an alien. We don't know how her DNA changed, and because of that, we don't even know who she is.”

Casey nodded. “And you want me to get the answers to those questions from her?”

“Indeed.”

Casey was watching you through the one-way window. You were still pacing, one hand supporting your back and the other stroking your stomach in a circular motion. Even though you seemed nervous and scared, you also looked like a proud lioness ready to attack to protect her baby.

“Ready?” Sean asked.

Casey looked briefly at him and nodded.

“Great. We will wait here to watch and listen. In her condition I doubt she will attempt anything for the sake of her child, but if she does it will only take a second and security will rush the room.”

“Good to know.” She mumbled before heading to the door.

With a deep breath, she pushed down the door handle.

You caught that movement in the corner of your eye and turned to the intruder. “What have you done to him?!” You immediately demanded hysterically, growling at her like a wild animal. “Where did you take him? Where did you take my son?”

It was good that Casey was the first to speak to you. Probably no one out there had the slightest decency to treat you like a real person and would have strapped you to a table, too, careless of harm to you or your child.

“They took him to a lab and are holding him there. Nobody hurt him, I swear it.” Casey said, raising her hands to show you she meant no harm. “They just want to know more about him and his kind and why he is here, that’s all.”

You stared at her, softly caressing your belly as you pondered her words.

When there was no reply, Casey continued, “I just want to talk to you. We want to know how you… why you…”

“Why I got knocked up by an alien?” You suggested bluntly.

Casey nodded. “Yes. It’s practically unthinkable to come across an alien hybrid and its mother.”

“Where I went after his father took me from Earth, it’s more of a rarity than unthinkable.”

Casey took a step forward and hastily asked, “Do you mean you're not the only one? Are there other humans who procreate with them? Are they also studying hybrids and their traits?”

You laughed at her eagerness and walked over to the chair closest to you, sitting down on it. You waved your hand at Casey to do the same, as if you were hinting you were going to cooperate to answer her questions. The biologist glanced back over her shoulder at the reflective window where Sean and Will were watching the conversation. She sat down in the chair opposite of you and looked at you expectantly.

“Before I say another word, I want to see that my son is okay.” You demanded, trying to suppress the tremor in your voice, the very first sign of weakness.

Casey turned back to the windows and waited for someone to come through the door. Instead, the reflective surfaces of the windows turned into screens showing one and the same image — the captured Predator, still tied to the table and asleep.

There was a whimper coming from behind her. When she turned back, she saw tears building up in your eyes and one hand pressed to your mouth. It was surreal to Casey for a human having such an emotional reaction for an alien creature. On the other hand, this was his mother, unbelievable and absurd as it may seem.

You seemed to calm down, your eyes still fixed on the screen. You nodded to yourself before tearing your eyes away to look at Casey. The windows had returned to its normal state.

“We’re going to start with some easy questions, okay?”

You nodded again.

“Great. First I would like to know your name.”

“(Y/N) (L/N).” You answered.

“Would it be okay if I call you (Y/N)?”

“I would appreciate it.” You said, “It's a nice change from all the other names I've gotten so far.”

“What do you mean?” Casey inquired.

“Alien fucker. Alien whore. Desperate little bitch who thought a man’s dick isn’t enough for her. Nothing I didn't expect from men.” You shrugged, “It just proves once again that Yautja males treat their females with far more respect and honor than a human male could ever comprehend.”

“Yautja?” Casey asked, leaning forward, arms crossed on the tabletop.

“You call them Predator, but their kind is actually called Yautja.” You explained.

Casey nodded and started to play with her fingers, her next question burning on her tongue. “How did you get into this whole thing? How did you get in contact with them?”

You huffed. “It’s quite ironic, you know. On the contrary what you may have expected, he saved me.”

“Saved you from what?”

“Again, men. Three of them. They had cornered me, kept groping me, pulled on my clothes…” You had to pause for a second.

Almost 50 years ago, you had been afraid when Mi'ytiar had taken you from Earth to bring you to Yautja Prime. But looking back, that fear hadn't been as great as what you felt at the thought of what those men would have done to you if he hadn't intervened.

“He protected me from those monsters… my own kind.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yautja take their prey as a trophy after each successful hunt. Not only did he rip their heads off and their spines out, he also took me. I expected him to hurt me, to keep me as a slave, or... or to do what these men wanted to do to me. I found out later that I was really lucky that he, of all other Yautja, rescued me. It's incredibly rare that one of them takes an interest in a human being. Usually, they kill every last of them. Humans are too weak and too soft, but that’s exactly what he loves about me. That’s why he kept me alive.”

You let out sigh, considering how much you should reveal about the Yautja culture.

“On the contrary to me, a Yautja female is rough and large, even larger than a male. After all, they are the ones who carry their offspring and ensure the survival of their kind. The males have to fight for dominance and if the male wins, the female deems him worthy enough for mating and submits.”

Casey shifted in her seat. “Did you… Did he expect the same from you? Did he force you into submission to…?”

“Never.” You growled protectively, “He never forced himself onto me. Never. He was more patient and understanding than all the human males I ever met in my life. He treated me like I was the most precious thing he has ever seen. Never did he touch me without my permission.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Casey soothed you.

She had to be more careful and had to see this whole situation through your eyes — you were separated from your son and held at a facility who was examining you both while you had to worry about your unborn baby.

“Do you want to tell me about your relationship with him? Your, uhm…”

“He is my mate. My Life Mate.”

“Life Mate?”

“Female Yautja can mate with multiple males and give birth to their children, but some also choose a permanent mate. You could compare it to one-night-stands and marriage, only you can't divorce. It's not called Life Mate for nothing. You are bonded to each other for the rest of your life and they live for hundreds of years.”

“Can I know the name of your Life Mate?”

You eyed Casey briefly, looked over her shoulder at the reflective windows then at the camera in the corner and then back at her. “His name is Mi'ytiar. He is the leader of his clan.”

Casey sat up straight. “They live in clans? Like wolves in packs or horses in herds?”

You nodded. “With similar hierarchy dynamics, yes. There are many clans on their home planet, each living peacefully on their own. Sometimes clans visit each other, hunt together, celebrate together. That's how I found out that I'm not the only human on this planet.” You said, “But apparently I’m the only one who mated a clan leader. Most of them are expected to have a strong successor to take after them and Mi'ytiar, of all Yautja, chose a weak little human to bear his pups.”

Jackpot, Casey thought.

She finally got to the part that intrigued her the most — how was it humanly possible that you got pregnant, how was it possible for you to carry the child of an alien, and how did it not kill you?

“Since Mi'ytiar has fully committed himself to me, it was up to me to bear his offspring. The Yautja of his clan never dared to say anything. I’m the clan leader's mate, after all. But I noticed it in the way they treated me and looked at me. They knew it wasn’t possible for me to carry his children.” You looked down at your baby bump and returned to caress it. It seemed to keep you calm.

“At that point, that fact made me really upset. I got to know their culture, learned everything there was to know about them. I even started learning their language. I fulfill any task assigned to a clan leader's mate. I make my mate happy and proud. But I couldn’t give him a child.”

You looked up and into Casey’s eyes.

“Mi'ytiar is very attentive and he soon noticed that something was upsetting me. Apparently he was the only one who hadn't thought about his offspring at all.” You paused for a second to smile, remembering his reaction when he found out that you wanted to carry his pups. “The second he knew he wanted to keep me around when he took me away from Earth, he injected me with his blood. No matter how many times I've been called fragile and puny, the human immune system can sometimes work wonders. His blood had slowed down my aging and allowed me to survive on his planet. So we visited a healer to finalize my life as his Life Mate.”

Your cheeks flushed as you thought of how Mi'ytiar hadn't hesitated another second to make sure you got pregnant. You had spent several days in your bed, or nest as he called it, and there had been hardly a moment when he wasn't inside you. The thought of his beautiful mate, his love, carrying his pup in her belly had made him feral.

It hadn't been long before his seed took. The other Yautja had a satisfied reaction when they saw that their leader was about to become a father. Also, they finally treated you like a part of the clan. You had fully proved yourself, proved you could provide for the clan. You were finally one of them.

Akail's birth was hard. It felt like he was tearing you apart from the inside out. But thanks to the injections of his blood and the additional help of the tribal healer, your body strengthened enough that you didn't die, even though it felt like it. You were crying and smiling, with your mate at your side, holding your little bundle of joy in your arms.

He looked just like his father, no indication that his mother was human. However, his animalistic features were a little softer, difficult to recognize unless you were the mother. While you are being tended to, Mi'ytiar took his son in his arms to proudly introduce him to his clan.

Fondly, you thought back to one moment, a core memory — Mi'ytiar, lying on his side with you snuggled against him, both naked and partly covered in fur, and little Akail, just ten hours old, resting on your chest. At that point you were so incredibly happy.

It sounded weird and absurd that this was your life and no human would understand, but you would never trade it for anything.

“What’s the catch?” Casey asked after a while of watching you quietly stroking your belly.

“Huh?” You looked up.

“I don't think you're telling us all this without an ulterior motive. So what’s the catch?”

“I want to quench your thirst for scientific knowledge and in return, I hope you will release me and my son. There is no need to keep us here.”

Casey started to rock back and forth in her chair. “I don’t think that will be possible. There are still things that we–“

“Listen, I have cooperated in the hope we will be released when all your questions are answered. You won’t like what will happen if we are not soon to be freed.”

Casey glanced over her shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time, unsure of what to do or what to say.

“I promised him to contact him every day, you know. My mate.” You said, pride permeating your body. “And do you know what it will tell him? The silence?” Your question was obviously rhetorical. “It will tell him that something happened to me and therefore also to his son, because Akail would rather die fighting for his mother and Mi'ytiar knows that.”

Casey gulped. The threat was clear as the day.

“He will come and not alone. Do you really think you stand a chance against them?” You laughed, now more confident. “The human nature is arrogant, thinking they are superior to everyone. Eventually that will be the reason for your extinction. Your haughty stupidity will be the death of you.”

“(Y/N)–” Casey tried, but she was interrupted.

“No, you will listen to me just like you've been doing for half an hour now. I have lived among them for decades. I learned from them, I’m one of them. Stand between a Yautja and their Life Mate and it will end deadly for you. Stand between a Yautja and their Life Mate who’s pregnant and I promise you, you will beg for them to kill you.”

“(Y/N), there is nothing in my power to help you. I was simply asked here as an expert to examine this Yautja… your son. I can’t–”

“You will. And I'm not just talking to you in this case.” Your eyes wandered from her face to the windows and nodded to the people you assumed to be standing behind the glass, watching you. “I’m talking to them, the ones who have the power. Set me and my son free and I promise you nothing will happen to any of you.”

Suddenly, a blaring alarm sounded, startling both Casey and you.

Instinctively, you wrapped an arm around your stomach in a protective manner.

“Code Red. Subject Predator is on the loose.”

A shuddering sigh of relief left your lips as you slowly began to smile. You knew they couldn’t keep Akail immobilized for long.

One of the things he had in common with his father was that he was just as protective over you as he was. He would come to look for you.

Casey had already jumped out of her chair and was talking frantically to the people on the other side of the one-sided window.

You began to talk to your pup again, “Your mei'hswei is coming, sweetling. Soon the three of us will be back with daddy.”

continue with the second part He Is Here.

#predator #predator x reader #predator x you #yautja x reader #yautja x you #yautja x human

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tearful-bat · 10 months

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Batfamily love language headcanons

All memebers of Batfamily x reader

word count:608

Bruce Wayne

Gift giving: Bruce is busy being batman and what not so he doesn't really have time to spend with you, also he's pretty closed off with his emotions so I can’t see him giving words of affirmation so he probably just makes up for not being with you a lot by sending and buying you lots of expensive gifts

Dick Grayson

words of affirmation: When he's busy protecting Bludhaven he’ll send you cute messages whiles he's working

physical touch: after he gets back from it he’ll just hug you until you both eventually fall asleep

Tim drake

gift giving: like Bruce is pretty busy so will also just send you lots of mostly useless expensive gifts

physical touch: won’t out right ask you for physical affection but secretly craves it

Jason Todd

quality time: just likes having you presence there while he's doing things like reading or working on case files

physical touch: like Tim he craves physical affection but won’t ask

Damian Wayne

quality time: just generally likes hanging around with you even if you’re just doing stuff in comfortable silence

Gift giving: probably will occasionally buy you expensive gifts but I can also see him giving you paintings he's painted or if he goes abroad he’ll ll bring you back something

physical touch: probably won’t ask, maybe would motion for you to do it by holding out his hand and stuff but would kind of expect you to do it and if you didn’t he’d get all pouty

Duke Thomas

words of affirmation: loves to tell you how much he loves you is kinda cheesy and if you do it back he gets really giddy

acts of service: if you ask him to do anything he’ll do it no questions asked

Cassandra Cain

Acts of service: Cassandra isn’t good at telling you how much she loves you so she shows it through he actions

Physical touch: if your walking together somewhere will hold your hand the whole time. Will come to your apartment after her patrol and after you patch her up will hold you for the whole night until you have to leave for work/ school.

Stephanie brown

Words of affirmation: like Dick she’ll send you messages during her patrol and will also compliment any outfit you wear

Quality time: just randomly shows up to your apartment to spend time with you even if it’s during her patrol.

Physical touch: if you are both together chances are she’s either hugging you or holding your hand

Barbara Gordon

Quality time: just likes spending time with you. Will invite you to stay in the clock tower with her while she’s working as oracle she finds your presence comforting and relies on you to tell her to take a break from the computer

Acts of service: she already does lots for the batfamily as oracle so if you asked her to do something she’d be on it for you

Kate Kane

Gift giving: will leave sweet little gifts at your doorstep

Harper Row

Gift giving: will make gadgets for you as gifts

Quality time : just like’s casually hanging out with you maybe playing video games together or something

Selina Kyle

Gift giving: will gift you stuff she’s stolen or if you say you like something in a shop window or something will go out and steal it for you

Words of affirmation: like Stephanie she’ll compliment all your outfits and tease you a lot

Physical touch: when she comes home from being catwoman likes to fall asleep in her bed with you

Helena Bertinelli

acts of service: you ask her to do something for you and she’ll do it

#bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader #batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader #damian wayne x reader #duke thomas x reader #cassandra cain x reader #Stephanie brown x reader #Kate Kane x reader #harper row x reader #selina Kyle x reader #helena bertinelli x reader

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bi-writes · 6 months

Text

again and again | the mandalorian

he comes when i call. every single time.

type: one-shot pairing: the mandalorian x afab!fem!reader word count: 4.3k (quick work while i try and finish the 10k+ monster in my drafts) warnings: mature language and content, mature written sexual content, 🔞⚠️ (warnings under the cut) summary: the mandalorian is not very nice when he's jealous. but he can be nice to you. complete masterlist

concept art chosen: "envy" (2007), "jealousy" (1895)

detailed warnings: 18+ smut, size kink (reader is described as smaller than the mandalorian, able to be moved by him easily), possessive!mandalorian, soft!dom!mandalorian -> read at your own discretion

You had been here before.

Not this cantina, exactly. Not this planet. But you had been here before, in an outfit this small, in a room much too loud, feeling the glare of eyes you didn’t even know the fucking color of.

You were not quiet about your presence here. If you were being honest with yourself, you left a messy trail to your whereabouts in hopes a certain bounty hunter would follow your breadcrumbs. You had a feeling he would not be able to resist. You had a feeling that he would get a whiff of you, and not be able to stop himself from getting a peek, a glance, a taste of even just a strand of your hair or a trace of your footprint in that big, shiny helmet of his.

You smoothed out the front of your skirt as you shuffled your way to the bar. You had to elbow a few organics out of the way, but you finally had the droid in your sight, and you banged your palm against the bar counter for a refill.

If you were being even more honest with yourself, you would admit you dressed up just for him. You were in a bright red two-piece, a short mini skirt with a matching long-sleeve top made of shiny, geometric leather. Your midriff was on display, leaving little to the imagination, and you paired it with matching leather boots and an exposed thigh holster with your favorite blaster strapped to it. You wanted to put your hair up, but you had a feeling the style would only get in your way tonight.

Besides. He liked it when you had your hair down.

You hopped onto a barstool as the droid poured you your refill. You sat up straight, putting the straw to your lips and sucking it down almost entirely, letting the sugary alcohol seep into you and warm you from the inside out. You swung your feet and giggled to yourself, loving the feeling of his attention. It sent a lick of adrenaline shooting down your spine. Your toes curled, and your nipples hardened under your top, and you hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet.

“Need another?”

A warm voice motioned for the droid to give you another generous pour, and you smiled brightly at the unsuspecting human taking up space on your right side. He was wearing a uniform of sorts, dark and pressed, and he had a dazzling smile. Pearly white teeth, curly locks, and a sweet, innocent face. He was adorable. Too bad you didn’t care much for adorable.

“Oh, I’ll take whatever you’ll give me,” you laughed, nodding as he put a few credits down for you. After another fruity refill, you were finding yourself being pulled off your seat, soft hands gripping your bare waist as he tried to coax you onto the dancefloor. Your flirtatious banter was less than subtle; you knew he had so many gadgets adorned in that helmet, and if he was going to hide in the shadows away from your eyes, then you would give him a reason to come out.

Those fingers around your waist stiffened suddenly. Instead of a warm touch guiding you to move, you felt the change your stranger’s demeanor. His palms went clammy, and he went rigid at your side. You licked your lips, your eyes shutting for just a moment as you smelled that familiar edge—blaster residue, leather, iron and something dark and tangy and his.

“Come to ruin my fun?” You asked over your shoulder. You couldn’t see well in the dark of the cantina, but the Mandalorian was a ghostly, towering figure, nonetheless. He caged you into the bar, and you realized then that one of his hands was occupied—his blaster aimed right at the boy’s middle. “Maker, you just can’t help yourself!”

You stepped in front of the blaster, the point of it pressed into your bare stomach, and his helmet tipped down just enough. You would described the stiffness of his movements as unamused. He drew the blaster back immediately, away from you, but the damage had been done. The boy behind you fled before you could blink, and you huffed out an angry sigh, glaring up at the Mandalorian. You opened your mouth to say something, but he holstered his blaster, and with that same hand, he gripped your waist tight, yanking you forward until your middle pressed against his. Your bare stomach pressed against his utility belt, soft breasts squished up against that cool beskar. You fought the chill that ran through you, letting your eyelids flutter a bit as you fell into that comfortable headspace that could only be had right here, with him, in his arms. You lit up inside, fighting a grin.

Yes, yes, yes—

“You’re taunting me,” the Mandalorian growled finally. The edge in his voice should have scared you, but it enticed you instead. Lit a fire under your feet. The Mandalorian was nothing short of the being you craved the most, and every time you set eyes on him, you were reminded how much of an effect he had on you. He was all-consuming, and you were a bunny in a trap.

“Bite me,” you snapped, but a smile broke out on your face, nonetheless. You tilted your head to the side, standing up on your toes. Even in your heels, you craned to be level with him. You tucked your fingers into his belt, pulling him that much closer. “No, really…bite me.”

You let out a light giggle of surprise when the hand on your waist slid down to grasp you under your thigh tight, the gloves doing nothing to cool the heat of his touch. One of his hands reached to smooth over the handle of your blaster, a pretty little silver gift that he had given you some time ago. The sight of it strapped on your person didn’t go unnoticed; he was rather excited with the view, if the warmth against your thigh had anything to say about it.

“Maker, you missed me, didn’t you?” You cooed softly, leaning forward to kiss the beskar of his pauldron. The tone of your voice was almost pitiful, a childish reassurance that sent a pang of annoyance straight through him. “It’s okay…” You put your hand over his on your thigh, dragging it up until it slipped under your skirt, guiding him to touch you. “I missed you, too, baby.” You closed your eyes, kissing now just under the jaw of his helmet. “I knew I could get you here by leaving something along the way for you…wearing something pretty and shiny just like you…” You mewled softly as he kneaded the flesh of your ass in one large hand. “…getting boys to buy me drinks…”

Bunny in a trap, bunny in a trap—

“You’re coming with me,” he said simply. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. An order. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pouting just a little.

“Don’t be mad,” you whined. “Or jealous. If you think for one second that I have eyes for anyone else, you’re blind.” Your fingers rubbed gently along the nape of his neck. He wore too many layers for you to feel those soft curls you adored pulling on. “If you weren’t such a stubborn piece of work, maybe you’d let me call you my boyfriend—”

A disgruntled sound left him, and his grip on you tightened. You met his visor for just a moment before realizing if you wanted any conversation of substance, you needed to get him alone, in private. You liked playing games, but the Mandalorian seemed as if he wasn’t in the mood. Most times he found you this way, he let hands wander just a tad longer so he could take pleasure in breaking their noses.

You took his free hand in yours, turning and guiding him out of the cantina. The crowd parted for you immediately, patrons not wanting to bump into the armor accidently. When you were outside in the quiet, you moved to the alleyway, covered in privacy by tall walls and dark light.

“I-I don’t know why you get so mad at me—” You started, tucking yourself into his side. He was hard to cuddle against with the rigid layers, but you wanted to be close to him. “You always get so jealous, but at the slightest whiff of commitment, you run the other way…” You looked up at him, right into the visor, hoping to find his eyes. “I miss you when you go,” you whispered. “I miss you all the time. I know what you do is dangerous, but Din—” His head tilted sharply at the use of his name, “—I miss you, and I know you miss me, too.”

You stood up on your toes and cupped the cheeks of his helmet in your hands, kissing the space where you thought his lips might be. You smiled, eyes glossy with sadness, and you sighed with relief when you felt two gloved hands slip up your short skirt again and squeeze your ass firmly, possessively. You adored having his undivided attention, adored being at the center of it. Seeing only yourself in the reflection of his helmet brought more peace to you than he could ever know. The Mandalorian was always so cool and calm and collected, and you loved that he lost complete sense of it around you.

“Say you missed me, Din,” you murmured. “Say you were jealous tonight and that you missed me.”

The smile on your face never left. The Mandalorian thought you could not look more precious than right now, waiting eagerly for him to murmur in your ear the praise you so deserved.

“I was jealous,” the Mandalorian admitted, slipping one gloved hand between your thighs and guiding those fingers against the seam of the lace there. You swallowed a bit, knowing that he would be able to feel how wet you’ve been for the last hour. “I was jealous, and I missed you.”

You broke out into a bigger smile, giggling with delight and moving to take his hands out from under your skirt to hold, but he held tight. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head slightly.

“No…” He manhandled you, turning you around and pressing you up against the alley wall chest-first and caging you in with the broadness of his figure. It happened so fast, and your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you tried to keep up with him. “I’m taking what I deserve, right here, right now.”

You hummed softly, your body turning liquid in his grasp. There was no place safer, no place more tranquil and perfect, than in his arms. It didn’t matter to you that you were out in the open, that anyone could walk by and see you. The Mandalorian would never let anything happen to you. You were safe, always. You feared nothing except for losing him, perhaps.

“You’re such a good girl,” he muttered in your ear. His modulated voice was honey in your ears. You leaned back against him, your ass pressing against the front of him eagerly. “Always letting me have what I want, no matter where we are, huh?”

You nodded, reaching up and wrapping an arm around his neck, the other hand bracing yourself against the wall. “I’m safe with you, Din,” you whispered. “Always have been, always will be. Not afraid of anything when I’m with you.” You reached down and slid your skirt up until it was bunched around your hips. “And I’m yours, whether you want to admit it or not—” You moved your hips at an angle, the hardness of him now pressed against your ass, and he stiffened, his grip on your middle bruising. “Yours to do whatever you want with…whenever you want.”

The Mandalorian grit his teeth under the helmet. It was infuriating how much of an effect you had over him, and he couldn’t even punish you for it because you were being so good. You were saying all of the right things, talking sweetness into his bones, making him feel that hot, scorching satisfaction of his claim over you and everything you were. There was no need to convince you that you were his, there was no need to remind you; in fact, it was you that was begging for him to do the one thing he had refused all this time—to simply acknowledge you.

You were so pliant. Doe-eyed and soft, gentle and easy, so small and moldable. The Mandalorian felt a warmth in his chest every time he towered over you. He was big and bad and rough around all of the edges, but nothing ever seemed to cut you. His touch only warmed you from the inside out, only had you gasping and making such pretty noises.

“Just…promise me one thing,” you said over your shoulder, meeting the visor with your eyes. He said nothing, but he smoothed a hand over your waist and squeezed you there to encourage you to continue. “Tell me I’m yours, Din—” You rested the back of your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. He brought that hand up to wrap around your throat, but his touch was more soothing than anything. “Please,” you begged softly. “I need to hear you say it.”

The Mandalorian sighed deeply, his other hand moving to unzip his flight suit.

“If you want to know why I don’t want you to call me your kriffing boyfriend—” he spat, shaking his head, and you gasped as you felt his cock hard and leaking against your back, “—you should know it’s because that title is insulting.” You whimpered as he gripped the lace of your panties and pulled, ripping it apart easily. The delicate fabric was no match for those hands, and you squirmed under his grasp. The show of strength was enough to send another wave of need through you, wetting the place between your thighs even more. With no panties to soak, you could already feel yourself dripping slowly. “I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not your lover.” You moaned loudly as he notched himself at your entrance, hissing as he felt you immediately drenching him with your arousal. You were so wet, it was almost pathetic, but this was your Mandalorian, and by the chuckle that left him, you knew there was only satisfaction and need in the air, no room for embarrassment.

“I am yours, and you are mine—” His voice was muffled by your cry when he pushed into you, meeting little resistance as he pressed his hips into you until there was no space between you. You were tight, but so, so slick, sucking him in and squeezing him as another rush of slickness coated him. He groaned lowly as he felt you, realizing now just how much he had missed being so close to you, inside of you, intertwined and all around you. He hoisted you up in his arms, easily maneuvering you until you were right where he wanted you, full and squirming and drunk on the feeling of him. “—I could devour you here, and I would still be hungry, do you understand that?”

His voice in it of itself was enough to send you into another wave of pleasure. Deep, crackling static enveloping the roughness and neediness that he spoke of. It wasn’t a secret between the two of you the amount of times he had brought you over the edge with just his words, talking in your ear as your shaking fingers abused the soft, wet center of yourself.

My sweet girl. My perfect girl. Pretty, pretty girl, all mine, all mine, all mine to look at, all mine to touch, all mine to eat—

You moaned softly, clawing at him from behind as you tried to gain any kind of stability, but the Mandalorian was using you how he pleased, not giving you any sort of control. All you could do was cry and whimper and beg for more as he used the wall for leverage, fucking up into you. You managed to grab onto his forearms, digging into the clothed flesh there, feeling the pulse of him.

“What you mean to me…” He let out sharp groans, savoring the soft cries from you as he watched you take him so well. Your legs were shaking, your toes barely touching the ground as you tried to be coherent enough to say something back, but you were rendered speechless. There were tears forming at the corners of your eyes, the piercing feeling of the Mandalorian filling you and taking over you and consuming you almost too much to bear. He was so big in so many ways. Big enough to hold you, big enough to crush you in his arms, big enough to split you in two and put you right back together with those skilled, deadly hands of his, big enough to fuck a mark into your cunt so well that you would never ever forget that he had been there. “…mean more to me than anything in this world…wanna tie you up and stow you away all for me…wanna hide you from anyone and everyone—wanna have you every minute of every day and keep you full of me—” You squeezed him hard at the very thought, “—oh, you like that, yeah? Like that thought? Like the thought of me right here, all the time?”

Fuck, he was rambling. The Mandalorian was never a man of many words. You had seen him have conversations with just a nod and shake of his head, with just that steel glare alone, but whenever he was buried inside of you, he could never stop. Sputtering, grunting, spitting—maybe this was how he grounded himself, maybe this was how he kept himself just sane enough to not completely lose his self-control while he was inside of you.

Right here, all the time—mine, mine, mine—

You nodded, your jaw loosening and falling open in a silent cry as he snapped his hips quicker. His unwavering thrusts hit you deep, and he squeezed your throat gently before lowering them to your hips, spreading you open to give him more room to take you. There was something still soft about the way the Mandalorian fucked you. It was filthy this way, out in the open where someone could catch you, but his towering figure hid you from display. He held you tight, crowding you in his warmth. He was always possessive, but never cruel, and your pleasure came before his. You thought you couldn’t be anymore wet, but one gloved hand slipped up the front of your skirt, cupping your mound to give you the heel of his glove to grind against, your clit throbbing against the leather.

Oh, fucking—Maker—more, more more—

“Din—” Did other words even exist? Why couldn’t you form a coherent sentence? The only phrase you could muster was his name. Had his cock really dwindled you down to something so simple, so pathetic? The sounds between you were flushing you with embarrassment almost. So sticky, so wet, your thighs were glistening with sweat and your sweetness, and you nearly cried when you noticed one of his gloved hands smear his fingertips with that pretty creaminess and slip just under the lip of his helmet—

Yes, yes, yes—taste me—

“I’m gonna take you away,” he babbled. He was talking, just talking to fill the space, talking to keep himself from moaning too loud or cumming too fast, “Gonna take you away from here, keep you with me, yeah?”

He cursed under his breath, his hand finding its place spreading you open better, and his tongue was warm with the tang of you. It was enough to have him canting your hips just that much more, the tip of him prodding at the softest parts of your walls.

Soft, tight—she’s so cute, look at her, nothing there but me, all me, can’t think of anything except for how good she takes it.

“Yes, Din, please—!” You begged, your hands gripping his forearms harder and nails digging in hard to hold yourself steady. “Please, please, please—wanna be with you, please…”

“Shhhh…it’s gonna be alright,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna tease you today, don’t worry…gonna give you what you need, yeah?”

You nodded, gripping onto him tighter and grinding down against his hand, feeling the dull ache in your belly become sharp and buzzing and hot. Sex with the Mandalorian was always messy, but you were soaking your bodies, the wet squelch echoing in the alley and giving the Mandalorian an audible reminder of just how cockdrunk and dizzy and absolutely crazy you were for him. If you could eat him alive, you figured you just might.

“Know you’re close, yeah?” He panted. “Give it to me. You’re mine. Need you to show me.”

You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes tight. He dropped one arm to grip your leg, hiking it up to angle himself deeper, kissing your cervix and hitting a soft spot that had your tears falling quickly down your face. He was so good at this, too good at this, hitting it again, again, again—Din—right there—please—! Sheer, rippling, hot pleasure trickled down your spine, feeling so hot that your blood ran in your ears and your legs gave out underneath you. Like always, the Mandalorian caught you, holding you up so he could pound you through your orgasm. You could hear the thick wet of your release smearing between you, reaching up to grip the back of his neck and force him close.

“Inside me, Din,” you whimpered. “Need to feel you…”

He’s so warm, he’s so big, he’s mine, I want more—

“I know, I got you—”

You relaxed when you felt him, frantic thrusts and deep grinds as his cock pulsed and emptied and branded you so tenderly. You mewled happily, nuzzling back into him. His arms wrapped tightly around your middle, holding you close, and you hummed softly. The coming down was always sweet with the Mandalorian. The way he would press you to him, no space for air between your bodies. If the Mandalorian could fuse you to his beskar, you figured he would. You would let him, if only it meant he would take whatever he needed from you always.

“Wish we could stay like this forever,” you mumbled in a daze. Your mind was still fuzzy, your vision trying to straighten itself out as it basked in the rush of sweetness and calm and utter pleasure that seeped into your very bones. He brushed your sweaty hair back and off your shoulder, letting his heartbeat steady as he held you. The Mandalorian was the only thing holding you up straight, but you knew he would not drop you. “Were you serious, Din? About taking me away?”

He pulled out of you slowly, soothing you with gentle fingers through your hair as you winced a bit. You could feel the warmth of him slowly making its way down your thighs, a familiar, aching feeling that you wished could stay.

“Yes,” he murmured. “My ship is in the landing bay. I have more than enough room for you.”

The Mandalorian carefully moved your skirt back into place, slipping the cowl out from his chest plate and draping it over your shoulders. Something fluttery and nice settled in your belly at the gesture, and you were grateful that his hands didn’t leave you, still settled against your bare midriff and squeezing there absentmindedly.

“Why now?” You asked gently. “Every…every other time I’ve asked, you…you’ve refused.” You sniffled a bit, and he brought a hand up to wipe your tears. Tender, sweet, apologetic. “You never let me come with you before. You…you always…you always leave. Why is this time different?”

The Mandalorian tucked your head into his chest, smoothing a hand down your back.

“I guess I just can’t be away from you anymore,” he said simply. He took your hand in his, but you realized quickly that you had to hold onto his arm for support as you followed him towards the landing bay. You smiled up at him as you walked.

“So…does this mean I can call you my boyfriend?” You joked, biting your lip cheekily. He reached down and gripped your ass tight, squeezing it harshly for good measure.

“No,” he clarified, but you could hear the amusement in his voice. You picked up your pace when you saw his ship in the distance. You had been on his ship before. You had enjoyed many nights there, tangled up in warm sheets and small spaces. You planned to take full advantage of your new privileges in it. Before you could make it inside, the Mandalorian tugged on your hand gently, bringing you to face him. You smiled up at him, and he kept a hand busy adjusting the fabric around your shoulders.

“I just need you to know that you didn’t have to tease me this way for me to come get you,” the Mandalorian said lowly. “I know I hadn’t given you any reason to believe that I care for you more than…” Your eyes lowered a bit, a little sheepish, but the Mandalorian cleared his throat. He put his fingers under your chin and lifted your gaze back to him. You couldn’t explain the feeling, but you knew you had his eyes on yours. “I would’ve come for you. All you had to do was ask.”

You stood up on your toes, leaning forward until you could put your forehead to his. You closed your eyes to savor the kiss, and he followed easily.

“But did you like it?” You asked playfully, holding back a laugh. You felt the tips of his fingers playing with the hem of your tiny skirt, and he let out a low hum.

Teasing, little girl.

“Yeah…I liked it.”

#my kinktober contribution ig ��#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #pedro pascal #the mandalorian imagine

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puranami · 6 months

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✿ It's The Little Things - 3 ✿

A/N: @leafyturtle come get y'all Franky and Robin fluff! I'm excited for this one, lotsa faves in here >:3c

Summary: Little relationship things with (currently) anime/manga exclusives ✿

Characters: Franky, Robin, Law, Kid, Killer

Content: SFW, G/N reader, language in Kid's (bc it's Kid lol) bottomless fluff ✿

(Part 1 - Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji) (Part 2 - Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk) (Part 4 - Crocodile, Rosinante, Doflamingo)

Franky

✿ Multiply his self-aggrandizing by 100, and that's how he sees you; he is your personal hype man! Every single insecurity, no matter how big or small, will be kissed away, because you are perfect, and you should definitely tell people as such. Wait, you're too shy and don't want to? No worries, Franky's got you, and he'll tell everyone himself. Loudly. No, he won't stop or tone it down; "The world needs to know how super you are!" He loves when you hype him up in turn, and uses it to show you how great self confidence is; and it will rub off on you. He's so proud when you declare how amazing you are, even if it's just to him! "AOW! That's right, babe, you are amazing!" He'll pick you up in those huge, strong arms of his, practically crushing you in a bear hug.

✿ Franky loves to make you any and all gadgets he thinks you'd like, or need. Just as he is constantly upgrading his body, he develops and re-develops things that make your life easier, or that bit cooler! While he likes to surprise you with them, seeing how your eyes light up in wonder as he shows you how it works, he loves it even more when you're involved in the building process; brainstorming ideas, designing, picking out the colour palette, he'll even let you use a blowtorch, just, please be careful, wait what was that twinkle of mischief in your eyes? Okay, no more blowtorch - leave it to the pro! It would kill him if you got hurt on his watch, he's meant to protect you!

✿ He's made up a comfy little alcove in his workshop so you can keep him company while he's working. Soft cushions, blankets, lights so can work on your own hobbies, it's perfect! Even when you were just friends, you were always welcome there, and it's become your little safe space. It's comfy enough to fall asleep there when Franky works late, and he even modified it so that there is room for him to sleep there too. While hanging out, you'll talk about everything, and nothing, what you're both working on, or you'll simply listen to music and enjoy each others presence, and that often leads to loud singing, especially on Franky's part. He'll share his cola with you too, you just bring the snacks - can't work on an empty stomach after all!

Robin

✿ Robin is very calm and reserved, especially compared to the rest of the crew, so her way of showing affection follows the same pattern. She'll put a gentle hand on your arm, and touch your foreheads together, but her favourite thing to do is to grow an arm out of your own, reaching down to hold your hand, all while on the other side of the room, smiling to herself. If your eyes are sharp, you'll catch the delicate blush on her cheeks when you bring your arm up to kiss her hand, or gently hold it to your cheek. She'll also make a pair of arms to wrap around your waist, or shoulders if you're sat down. She'll hold you personally too, but that is saved for your private quarters or the library.

✿ Part of her flirting is making dark comments and jokes; "I know the best way to your heart, dear." - "Through my stomach?" - "Oh no, that's not very efficient! It's anywhere between the 2nd and 4th ribs." She'll say it with such a loving gaze and gentle smile, and if you didn't know Robin better, you'd be worried she was plotting your murder, but that's just how she is, and you love her for it. She will also tell you all the gruesome details she finds in her books and research. Part of you suspects that she's purposefully trying to spook you so she can comfort you, but really she just finds these thing fascinating. Robin will be ecstatic if you can match her gallows humour, or if you have morbid facts of your own you can share with her.

✿ She takes great comfort in the fact that you love her unconditionally, and that you have always accepted her as she is, morbid interests, and former associations included, and she makes sure that you know she loves you all the same, no matter your quirks, flaws, and mistakes, for that is the beauty of love! You are each others port in the unrelenting storm of life.

Law

✿ Law is so used to losing the people he loves most, so for him to open up, it will take a lot of time, patience, and understanding. You can't push him on things, and will have to wait for him to come to you - he needs to feel like he has some control over the situation so he can make better judgement calls, and do something if it all goes wrong. It's nothing personal, he just doesn't want to helplessly watch his world fall apart again; he's older, smarter, and much stronger now, he will keep those he cares about safe. Once he's at that point where he feels like he's ready to be open and honest, he is completely dedicated and doggedly loyal, though he isn't very expressive with it.

✿ He shows his love through acts of service; making sure you are eating and sleeping well, tending any injuries you get in day to day life, moving you if you've fallen asleep in a weird place or position so you don't get any aches and pains, or catch a cold. Law hopes that you can feel the love he has for you in each action. He just wants to know you are healthy and well so he doesn't need to worry about you. Well, he says that, but he still worries, he can't help it. You'll need to use his own tactics against him to make sure he actually sleeps and eats instead of just working. It won't always work, sometimes he's working on things that are far too important, but he will relent otherwise.

✿ PDA is not a thing for him. At all. It's almost like he doesn't want to jinx things with the world seeing he has entrusted his heart with another again. On the Polar Tang, when it's just you and the crew, he'll be a little more open, placing a hand on your head or shoulder, matching your pace as he walks beside you, slightly gentler eyes, and the hint of a smile; so subtle, yet the crew sees right through him, and they like to tease you both. Nothing serious, but it still gets them the worst chores in response. In private, when you are alone is the only time will he allow himself to be vulnerable.

Kid

✿ Given how intense and aggressive he is, you have the patience of a goddamn saint, and guts to back you up. He refuses to lessen himself for anyone; he is who he is, and you can either accept it and embrace him fully, or you can, in his words, "Fuck right off!" It will take a lot to break through the immense barriers he has - he will shout, argue, insult, and to get through, you have to be able to withstand that without crumbling. Shout back! Show him you're not gonna let anyone walk all over you, not even him, earn his respect, then you can build up from there. Once you've wormed your way into that exclusive club of 'We aren't Killer, but Kid still cares about us," he will be ride or die with you, and when he realises he genuinely likes you, or hell, even loves you, he would burn down the world for you if you asked him to.

✿ Out in public, you get no special treatment. It's just safer that way. He can't afford to be looking over his shoulder every other minute to make sure no one is trying to get to him through you. He'll still keep an eye on you of course, but it's indistinguishable from him watching over the rest of the crew. On the Victoria Punk he will be possessive, but not affectionate. Kid will keep you by his side, or drag you onto his lap, just generally manhandling you really, there will be no mistaking who you belong to. Once you're alone he will actually soften up; he knows he's a lot, and he cares deep down, but he's still in charge, he is your captain after all. You should take advantage of this time to get all the affection out of him that you can!

✿ You're one of the few that are actually allowed to hang in his workshop, as long as you don't bother him. He'll entertain some conversation if he's just setting up, or having a break, but once he's in the zone, zip it. He's fine with you watching him work - he's good at what he does and he knows it, but seeing the admiration in your eyes is a nice ego boost. He'll make you things if the mood hits him, particularly bits of jewellery, as it makes it easier to manhandle you from the other side of the room. He's a busy man, he doesn't want to wait for you to look his way and walk over, he wants your attention now!

Killer

✿ Like Kid, Killer has a tendency to manhandle, but it's not nearly as aggressive; he's a big guy with big, strong muscles, and he just enjoys hauling you around like a sack of potatoes. It gives him the opportunity to hold you close, 'accidentally' touch your butt, and your laughter through it all is just so sweet. He greatly enjoys your presence when he's going about his day, and deeply appreciates any assistance you can offer, such as in the kitchen, and certainly when trying to manage his idiot best friend and crew, as he's essentially the de facto caretaker on board. Often you'll end up sat on his shoulders, acting as an extra pair of eyes and hands - no shenanigans go unnoticed!

✿ You have become an expert at reading Killer's moods and expressions through his mask, every slight shift of his body, and the angle of his head has a very specific meaning. It doesn't help that he's a quiet man in general; balancing Kid's incessant ranting and raving with his well thought out, straight to the point statements. He much prefers to listen to you talk, only talking when he has something to add to the mostly one-sided conversation. He loves having these 'chats' with you sat in his lap, head resting against his broad chest. Sometimes his goatee will tickle the top of your head, and he lives for those giggles.

✿ It will take a long time for him to feel comfortable enough to remove his mask, and you can bet he refuses to laugh around you for the longest time. Just be patient with him, and let him do things when he's ready, and don't make a big deal out of it if something slips; he'll be pretty mortified, so just giving him a loving smile and a gentle touch will reassure him that maybe the things he's insecure about, or straight up hates, aren't as big an issue as he believes them to be. Telling him he is perfect is appreciated, but not effective in building him up, since nothing is perfect really, but seeing you love him unconditionally certainly will give him a boost.

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setsugekka · 1 year

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❥8 degrees (m)

↳ hyunjin loves so many things about you, and your willingness to placate his adventurous streak is certainly one of them.

hwang hyunjin x fem!reader — established relationship, explicit sexual content [2,3k wc] cws: penetrative sex (unprotected), hyunjin has a big dick, exhibitionism, dirty talk/praise, soft & they are in love.

Hyunjin liked having you in places he had no business taking you.

You always knew it was kind of his thing. It started as a quickie at home knowing the guys were coming home within the hour, and as time went on, Hyunjin kept cutting it closer and closer to their projected arrival time until eventually they did come home during a romp in the sheets together. The two of you weren't walked in on and no one was none the wiser - but you suspect that scenario changed Hyunjin in some way. Sometimes kinks have a funny way of unmasking themselves, even if by accident.

Then it was the dance studio one late Thursday night that he was practicing by himself. You brought take out and some small iced coffees knowing he was intending on making it a long night but you apparently didn't have any concept of exactly how long. The thought comes and goes quickly while he has the front of you pressed against the cabinet; clammy, sweaty fingers digging into the skin of your hips.

And there was also the time in the van - the van you have no business ever being in for any reason at all but a text from Hyunjin asking you to come help him bring some things in turns into legs dangling off of his marginally toned arms, teeth grinning into the skin on your neck.

So now, when you're asked to accompany Hyunjin anywhere, in the back of your mind you know what to expect.

"Oh good, you're right on time," Hyunjin says, darting up from his chair and getting the door from behind you as you carefully set all of the numerous items in your arms onto any available table space. "You should have called me to come down" he adds, watching you struggle with your hands full.

"Nah it's fine, I had it," you answer, shaking blood flow back into your appendages and looking up at him, "so how's it going?"

"Good, fine...I mean, it's going."

"So not particularly good or fine then."

"Yeah, not really."

He'd been working on something of his own for a few months now, and spent many a late night in the studio alone on top of all of the other responsibilities he had. In the beginning, he allowed you to accompany him, but as time went on and his inability to finish his project became stifling, the excuses for why you shouldn't come became more and more common, and less and less truthful. It was shame, and you knew that - you just didn't know how to fix it.

You leapt at the chance, when he finally invited you back.

Hyunjin sits back down in the chair, surprisingly large and spacious for just being a rolling desk chair - but suppose that is the luxury life of a successful entertainment company. You watch the way he stares daggers into the screen in front of him, a display of colorful lines and numbers and gadgets everywhere that you were sure you were never going to understand the intricacies of. Watch the way his eyes dart around as if trying to read actual words on a page but in an entirely differently language he was unfamiliar with. His arms cross. He looks sexy, and you feel a little bad for thinking that because you know he's struggling in the present moment but you can't help it.

"You should eat, babe."

As if your words break him from a trance, he seemingly snaps back to present day - raising an eyebrow toward you and rolling himself over to where you sit on the couch off to the side of him.

"I'm not too hungry, I’ll eat later."

"Hyunjin…" It's more of a disappointed, sort of accusatory tone than you meant, because you know he doesn't need the guilt of upsetting you on top of everything else. "Please, make sure you take time to eat tonight."

"I will, I promise," he responds, slightly pouting towards you and setting his chin down into his palm. "Come here, I missed you."

You set your styrofoam take out box to the side, carefully wiping your mouth with a napkin before making your way over to him. Hyunjin pulls you into his lap - legs to the side and wraps both arms around you and yours, squeezing you tightly before dipping one of his hands down to the hem of your dress. "It's 8 degrees outside tonight," he says questioningly, with lips pressed into your shoulder, and fingers slipping under the aforementioned hem to toy with the smooth skin there under.

You kind of knew that the recording studio was on the proverbial list. You came prepared after too many evenings of fumbling with tight skinny jeans under time constraints.

"Turn around."

Hyunjin's voice has already dropped when he whispers the words into you, huskier and more serious than he had been the moments before when he was teasing you about the temperature outside - allowing you to stand for just a moment before seating yourself back onto his lap with a leg dangling on either side of his now and arms circled around his shoulders. He doesn't waste time pulling you into him, pressing plush, pink lips into yours a bit harder than you expected for how early into the evenings activities you thought you were - but it appears that Hyunjin had every intention of hurrying things along - carefully gnawing at your bottom lip as his hands make their way to your behind, pulling the fabric of your dress up and away only to make another discovery that actually takes him so far back he physically pulls himself from you to look at you.

"No panties?"

It's almost a gasp, you like that look on him. You'll have to elicit that again somehow.

But you simply smile and pull him into you again, to which he happily - and much more hungrily this time - obliges. Hyunjin firmly plants his palms onto your ass again, this time digging blunt fingernails in to pull you closer against him and you can feel that his erection is already pressing into the confines of his sweat pants - and now your exposed core. Your lips part from his and exhale a breathy moan into his and he takes a moment to simply watch the way you fall for him all over again - his eyes darting all across your face just as they had been on the screen only minutes prior but this time he's taking you in - all of your best attributes and expressions and sounds.

You know this is his element, and you know he can't hold out too long.

"Stand up," he whispers, lightly nudging you to stand up off his lap but only long enough and with enough space for him to slide his pants down to his thighs and expose himself - pulling you back down quickly by the waist. He watches as you hover over him, the fabric of your dress bunched up in your fists to each side of your hips as if doing the lewdest curtsey before descending down onto his length.

Hyunjin doesn't pull you down into a seated position - he knows better. He's very aware of how big his cock is - length in particular - being an issue on occasion, and the lack of foreplay this evening not helping matters. He simply holds you by the waist, in place, until you take it upon yourself to move.

Feeling full was an understatement. You enjoyed watching his face as you excruciatingly slowly made your way down his shaft, centimeter by centimeter sinking onto him knowing he desperately wants you to take every inch right then and there but also reveling in knowing that you can't - that most people can't. It turned both of you on knowing how big he was.

"Please move." Is the first thing out of his mouth, and you're not fully in a seated position yet for all of the previously mentioned reasons, but you pull off of him slightly so that you can press back down him - despite the fact that the weight and motion on your thighs burns only a few movements in - it's worth it to watch the way Hyunjin comes undone beneath you, fingers digging into your skin again and now actually trying to pull you further down onto his cock - because he feels like he's going crazy. Because he feels an inhuman desire to be bottomed out in you in that moment. "Can you take it?" he whispers into your mouth, wrapping lithe arms around your body to slowly pull you the rest of the way onto his length, and you brace yourself for what might be evening-ending pain if you're not ready for it yet. He watches every movement your face makes as he does so - carefully holding you in place and taking you in as he seats you flush onto his lap - finally able to bottom out inside of you - and it's a sigh of relief for both of you instead of a disastrous yelp and end to the fun of the night (which isn't foreign to either of you, either.)

"See baby? You can take me," Hyunjin groans into your collarbone, ever so slightly angling his hips up and pressing even further into you than what flush on his lap grants. It hurts - slightly. It hurts in the same way that feels intriguingly good - teetering on the edge of excruciating. He pulls out only a few centimeters before pushing back up and into you - a slow and hard grind again - using the strength and leverage he has on your body to pull you onto him as much as he can. He whispers into your skin again, "you take me so well, you're taking it all," and it's the way that his voice sounds when he's so desperate for your body and the release you'll grant him that causes your walls to clench around him. And he notices. Taking the opportunity to pull you down with more of his strength again.

At no point is he necessarily fucking you - at least, not in the typical sense that someone would expect when hearing the phrase. Hyunjin is testing you. Hyunjin is seeing how much of him you can take and how far he can go before you have to tap out. It's definitely a power move - an ego thing, but you're happy to oblige because having him inside of you like this is absolutely heavenly.

It's almost involuntary, the way your hands press down and against his thighs in an attempt to create distance between the head of his cock and your cervix, but the pressure he applies to your insides makes you relentlessly milk his length even with little movement, and he feels every throb of your needy cunt - kissing and smiling into your neck and chest as he continues to ever so carefully pull your tiny body onto all of the inches that under normal circumstances you may never expect to be able to take into your body - but the way your pussy aches for him to move, sopping wet around him despite barely any actual stimulation to you tells the both of you that Hyunjin must be a perfect fit after all.

"Hy-Hyun-" you finally manage to whimper out, trying to get leverage to grind into his lap or against something that will give you actual friction despite the fact that he has you firmly wrapped into his arms, and he realizes immediately.

"I know baby," he answers, dropping his arms from you and allowing his hands to rest gently onto your hips in the event that he'll need to help. You quickly begin moving - and it's a slow pace at first but not for long at all - the previous stimulation surprisingly doing a number on your desperate need to cum. You grind into his lap hard, quick, pretty fingernails clawing into his shoulders in an attempt to receive the leverage you need to get yourself there and Hyunjin simply watches in awe - bottom lip pulled between his teeth and the occasional moan escaping from him. You moan his name again - sort of - as much of it as you can get out and he snaps to attention, pulling himself forward with chest against your own, hands now pulling your hips harder into his lap than before in an attempt to help get you there.

"H-hand, fuck," is all you can get out before you drop your head back but it's all the direction he needs, bringing his dominant hand around to the front of you and pressing sloppy, aggressive circles into your clit - desperate to watch you cum and much to both of your surprise it doesn't take long - much less time than usual - before he hisses a cuss as he feels your cunt vice grip his cock as you cum into his lap, desperately trying not to cry out but failing in somewhat spectacular fashion. You'd have thought that you would be better at fucking in public spaces by now but turns out you might only be getting worse at it. Hyunjin snaps you back from the noise concern, taking your hips into his hands with a rigid grip of his own and fucking you hard through your orgasm while also chasing his own and it doesn't take him much either - "fuck, fuck, I'm-" but the words are choked back from ever leaving his lips, one of his arms coming up your back and gripping onto your shoulder from behind to give him the leverage he really wants to fuck his cum into you the way he desires to, and you feel every stroke and throb as he releases deep - once again pulling you down to take absolutely every bit of him that you can into yourself.

It's a few moments of heaving chests and heavy breaths before Hyunjin finally lets go of you and allows you to create any sort of space between the two bodies, half-lidded, completely fucked out eyes eventually finding your own, and he only smiles before leaning forward and resting his head lazily on your chest.

"I'll eat now."

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask (⌒‿⌒) —this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2. i think this is one of the first things i ever wrote nearly three years ago lol

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thebearer · 8 months

Text

if you lie down, lie next to me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: you and carmen are newly weds, moving into your forever home.

inspired by @carmybears fic assembly required which has been SO heavy on my mind lately mixed with lana del rey's "if you lie down, lie next to me" <3

contains: fluff. just fluff newly weds, alludes at smut, some language, but tooth rotting sweetness and fluff.

“Carmen, I’m not even kidding. Where the fuck did all of this stuff come from?” You groan, collapsing another cardboard box with a huff, shoving it into the pile with the others by the door. “Our apartment was, like, one-fifth the size of this one. The living room was like our whole apartment. How do we have this much shit?”

Carmen snorted lightly, grinning and unpacking the various pots and pans. New pots and pans- wedding gifts.Your wedding came with an influx of appliances and cookware, gadgets for the kitchen that Carmen bubbled with excitement about. And a margarita maker- for you, of course- courtesy of Natalie Berzatto herself. The old apartment, you barely had space for the dishes and pots you had, let alone new ones.

So Carmen kept them tucked away, until he got the new place for you. He didn’t have a clue at the time he’d be buying you the Brownstone you were in now, nestled in the heart of Old Town. A good neighborhood, close-ish to the restaurant, zoned in a good school district- a forever home, for the two of you.

“I mean, most of it was wedding gifts.” Carmen shrugged. “The rest are your shoes.” He teased, a playful glint in his eye when he looked over at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Ha-ha,” You said sarcastically, bumping him with your shoulder. “Seriously, though, I’m never doing this again. We’re here for life, Berzatto.”

“That’s the plan, Berzatto.” Carmen nudged you back lightly, leaning to press a sweet kiss to your blushing cheeks, a loving squeeze to your ass when he passed you that left you squealing.

“The good news is,” Carmen paused, sliding the pot onto the hanging rack over the island, stepping back to admire it. “The kitchen is unpacked.”

“The most important room.” You hummed playfully. Carmen nodded in agreement, arms slipping around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“Think we should celebrate?” Carmen grinned. “Christen it?”

“We already christened it.” You rolled your eyes at him. “Twice- no, three times, already.”

“Yeah but now it’s done.” Carmen countered. “No more boxes in the way.”

“I think you can only christen something once.” You give him a pointed look, ignoring the way his crotch is rubbing against your hip. You were still sore from the celebratory round of “putting the coffee table together” from earlier.

“And I’m starving. Should we order in again?” You hum, looking at the fridge. Nothing but a bottle of champagne and leftover takeout Chinese food. Your stomach turned at the thought.

Carmen caught your grimace, a hand running soothingly down your back. “If you want. I can run to the store, too. Grab some things for dinner. Break in the kitchen now that it’s done.”

“I think I like that idea better.” You nod, leaning against his chest, feeling his chain through his t-shirt- the same chain you had tucked between your teeth earlier. Your knees wobbled at the thought. “What are you making?”

“What’re you in the mood for?” Carmen tilted his head back to look at you. “Can make you whatever, baby, just lemme know.”

“I am down for anything that doesn’t come out of a box.” You giggle, nose snarling at the Chinese food. “Surprise me, Chef.” You grinned smugly, content at how Carmen’s cheeks flushed with heat.

“You wanna come with me?” Carmen asked, reaching over to swipe his keys off the kitchen counter.

You rolled your lips in thought. “I need to shower.” You blink at him sweetly. “I feel all sweaty and gross.”

“Alright. Need anythin’ else, baby?” Carmen is looking for his phone, patting his pockets and turning in a semi-circle to look around him.

You roll your eyes, plucking the phone off the coffee table in the living room, passing it to him. He was always losing his phone. You’d begged him to get an Apple watch but he swore it got in the way of his cooking, so you took to texting Nat or Richie- who always had their phones- when you needed him.

“Something to drink? Unless you want champagne because I’m pretty sure that’s all that’s in there.” You giggle, looking at the fridge.

Carmen smiled, pulling his hat over his tousled locks. “I got it.” He muttered, leaning to press a sweet, soft kiss to your lips, hands splaying over your hips, pulling you closer and closer into him.

He always managed to make you swoon like that, cheeks rushing with heat, dizzy and light with love. You hoped you’d always feel like this. Even when you were old and wrinkly and wobbly, you hoped Carmen would still kiss you like that- in this very spot, in this very house.

“Oh, Cass Elliot?” You grinned, spinning with the vinyl in your hands, brows raised playfully at Carmen. “He has taste.”

Carmen snorted lightly in laughter, dishrag slung over his shoulder, spooning the sauce over the chicken in the pan. The kitchen was warm, smelling heavily of spices and a dash of citrus. You’d set up the vinyl in the corner by the nook, an old school record player passed down from Carmen’s grandmother. His Nonna Berzatto, who he adored. He had told you about how he’d always go over and help her make Sunday sauce. She had that same vinyl in her kitchen, next to a picture of her parents, and a prayer candle of Mary. It was all he managed to get, keep after she passed and his parents sold everything else that they could. He’d even snagged a few records, though the one you held looked new.

“Yeah. Thought you liked her stuff?” Carmen muttered, eyes cutting to yours gently.

“I do.” You grinned, slipping the record out of the protective paper. “How’d you know that?” You lifted the arm of the record player, slipping out the old disk and sliding in the new one, careful of the bouquet you’d just placed by it. Carmen had snagged one at the grocery earlier, surprising you with the beautiful bloom when you’d gotten out of the shower.

“Because, you told me.” Carmen said simply, checking the asparagus inside the stove. Your heart fluttered. “When we were comin’ back from that trip… The, uh, the one we took to Detroit, remember? You played it on the way back.”

Your chest soared, filling with that warmth that made your body tingle from head to toe. “You remembered that? That was… two years ago?”

“Of course I remembered that.” Carmen scoffed lightly, shaking his head at you like he couldn’t believe you’d say something so ridiculous. “You said that, uh, that one song was like the love song to you. So I-I started listening to it because… ya know, it reminded me of you and stuff.” Carmen muttered, cheeks heating at the omission.

You beamed, lifting the long arm of the record player, letting it softly come to life with a scratch of static before the slow melody filled the room. “You’re sweet.” You hum, arms wrapping around his torso, swaying gently to the familiar medley. “Never would’ve guessed you woulda been this sweet.”

“Yeah? I’m given’ off asshole vibes?” Carmen laughed, hips turning slightly to face you.

“Not at all.” You shook your head. “Gave off recluse vibes.”

“Recluse?” Carmen turned to you.

“Yeah, like… quiet, shy boy vibes.” You giggle. “You barely spoke to me when I started… and you hired me!”

“I thought you were pretty.” Carmen shrugged boyishly. “And I thought if I talked to you, I’d throw up or embarrass myself. Also thought there was no way you’d be single. Too pretty and funny and… I dunno, thought you’d never go out with me.”

“Little did you know.” You grinned wickedly. “I had been stalking you in secret.” Carmen laughed at you. “I thought you were pretty, too.”

Carmen blushed at your omission, lips twitching in a smile. You swayed lightly, cheek pressed to his chest, letting the soft melody lull you. You remembered the car ride back from Detroit. Carmen was going to some chef expo there, trying to network and get Sydney the star she deserved. You’d agreed to go along. Things were far enough along it was stable, but still new and exciting. Your first real trip as a couple. You’d stayed in a hotel, gone to Carmen’s colleague’s fancy restaurant, went sightseeing and shopping hand-in-hand. You couldn’t help feeling so romantic, shuffling songs from the playlist you listened to when you were getting ready for a date. Old school tracks, filled with symphonies and ballads of love.

“I think this is almost done. D’you want to grab the glasses and I’ll-”

“-Let it sit for a minute.” You sigh contently, turning down the heat on the stove top.

“What’re you doin’?” Carmen huffs in laughter, turning while you pull at him, your hand lacing through his own, tugging him to the open space on the other side of the kitchen island.

You just smile at him, pulling him close to you. Your hand in his, the other wrapped around and settled on his spine. His free hand followed, sliding down your back. You leaned towards him, chin tilted towards his face, his curls tickling your forehead. You swayed slowly, nothing elaborate or coordinated, just a soft shuffle type sway, Carmen pulled close to you.

“‘M not good at this.” Carmen’s breath hitched, hand squeezing yours, his thumb gliding over your wedding rings.

“Yeah, you are.” You hum, nose brushing his. “Best dancer I’ve ever seen.” You mutter, your lips slotting over his sweetly. Carmen’s hand left yours, cupping your jaw and pulling you closer, his lips soft against your own. Your head found his shoulder, dipping into his collarbone, arms wrapped around his torso while he rocked you gently. The sound of Cass Elliot’s voice humming out of the record player Baby, I’m Yours fading into Words of Love. The fan from the stove still buzzing with life, wafting out the steam from the pans, rhythmically merging with the sounds from the street. A relatively quiet neighborhood, filled with quiet cars and the occasional children’s screech from their strollers that pushed by. It was all so calming, the sound of your new home. Sounds you hoped would become familiar overtime and still shared with Carmen.

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m0llygunn · 7 months

Text

level one (modern!eddie x fem!reader)

tired of eddie spending far too much time playing games on his new laptop, you decide to play your own little game...

contents: 18+! mature language, smut, handjob, dirty talk, pet names, desperate eddie, porn with plot an: go go gadget extendo arms wc: 4.8k

You watch as Eddie’s forearm flexes with every press of his index finger on the mouse. The clicking of the button, too many clicks for you to count, sound throughout your room as he sits at your vanity— beauty products pushed back to make space for him and his stupid new gaming laptop.

The way his forearm tenses with each subtle movement of his fingers reminds you of other acts he could do that would elicit the same flex of his muscles. It makes you squirm in your bed in anticipation— anticipation that has been absolutely testing your limits.

You’ve been patient— beyond patient. He knows you’re waiting for him. He knows he shouldn’t be playing his game right now. He said he wouldn’t. He said it was your night, yet, here he is, preoccupied with his video game.

His forearm tenses in rapid clicks that peter out with a content sigh. He stretches his hand, drops the mouse and stretches his wrist out. He hums again, clearly happy with whatever the outcome of his game was. You hold your breath, hoping that maybe the screen will minimize and he’ll be done. Sorely mistaken, he reclaims the mouse in his hand and the steady clicking resumes.

You can’t take it anymore, you’ve waited long enough. You stand up quickly, tiptoeing your way to stand behind him. You try to catch his gaze in your vanity mirror but his eyes stay locked into the screen. In a desperate attempt for his attention, you rest both hands on his shoulders— nothing. With his lack of reaction, you slowly slide your flattened palms downwards.

“Eddie,” you whisper, nudging his headphones with the side of your face as you lean over him, hands smoothing over his shoulders, down his pecs to rest on his stomach. He radiates warmth from the heavy flow of adrenaline and heightened heart rate from playing his game for far too long.

“Mhm,” he hums, paying you less than a second of attention. His screen flashes bright colours as it changes rapidly with whatever he’s doing in game. The frequent clicks of his mouse and taps of his keyboard don’t stutter in the slightest.

“Eddie,” you say louder, voice dripping in a whine.

“Baby, just a minute,” he answers, attention so obviously elsewhere.

“You said that an hour ago,” you pout. Leaning over him completely, you slide your hands even lower, fingertips reaching his belt line. You watch his reaction in the mirror of your vanity— nothing.

Threading your fingers under the material of his belt, you pull the leather through the loops, metal clanking as you loosen it. You get your first real ounce of attention from Eddie when he spares a glance downwards. His eyes quickly divert back to his screen, attention barely drawn long enough to spot an inconsistency in his game play.

“I’m still on call,” he states quickly, referring to the voice chat he’s always in with his friends. He’s been quiet for the past while so you weren’t sure, but maybe this makes things even more fun for you.

“Oh?” you reply innocently.

Twisting the fabric around the button of his jeans, you pull it undone before dragging down the zipper.

“Baby, I’ll be done in two minutes. Just give me two minutes,” he bargains with divided attention.

“You just said one minute,” you retort, keeping your voice low, giving him your own divided attention. With your chin hooked over his shoulder you watch as the tent in his boxers comes to life, like an instinctive reaction to your hands being anywhere near his waistline. You don’t hold back your smile, you love the effect you have on him.

Running your fingers over the band of his underwear, you don’t miss the hitch of his breath. You let your palm smooth across the soft cotton of his boxers, feeling the stiffening of his length just underneath. His stomach tenses behind your wrists and you hear the sound of him swallowing down thickly. Turning your head, you press a kiss to his neck, tracing your fingers over his length. You hear the quiet intake of breath as he readies himself to speak.

“Baby, just a minute.” It comes out as a thick whine. You adore when he whines, could listen to it all day if it wasn’t so cruel. Closing your hand around his clothed cock, a moan falls from his lips that he quickly tries to cover with a cough.

“You really want me to stop?” you whisper.

He clears his voice, now all too aware of the quiet listeners on the other end of his mic. “I just need to finish this,” he says, over correcting his wavering voice by deepening it to a low register.

“That’s not what I asked,” you say, breathing out an amused huff from your nose.

“The guys can hear you,” he states. He adjusts the way he’s sitting, spreading his legs out wider on the chair to accommodate the growth between his thighs. His focus is slowly becoming yours but too much of it still remains on his game for your liking.

With a smile, you press another kiss to his neck before switching to rest your head on his other shoulder, right next to the mic on his headphones.

“Hi boys,” you purr and just like that, you have his full attention. With a hand quickly moving to muffle the mic in his fist, he turns to face you.

“What are you doing?” he asks incredulously with wide eyes. He pulls the headphones off, tossing them to the table, eyes never leaving yours.

You blink at him— pledging your innocence. “Saying hi to your friends?” you answer, with a virtuous tilt of your head.

His wide eyes transform into a humoured bewilderment. “That’s not what you were doing,” he laughs with a cynical shake of his head.

“Eddie. I’m just saying hi. Can’t I say hi?”

His short lived humorous front drops, turning serious very quickly. With an intense look, he meets your eyes, leaning in towards you.

“You can’t say hi to my friends when you’re touching my dick, baby,” he says, hushing his voice, adding an accusatory emphasis to his name of endearment . It’s condemning but you don’t confess your sins— not yet, there’s still so much more fun to be had.

“Well, did they at least say hi back?” you ask, ignoring him.

His mouth closes, pressing into a flatline. His dark eyes tick with a weak, forced, annoyance. He gives you a look, brows straightening out, eyes blinking once to harden, face tilting downwards to you— you could only describe it as an attempt to be stern.

“Baby. Give me 5 minutes and I’ll come to bed. 5 minutes.” It’s not a whine, it’s not a plea— it is stern. His eyes narrow in on you with a sincerity that makes your brows furrow and lungs fill with an argumentative breath. You let out a pouted grunt, not an agreement or disagreement, and he naively takes it as an answer.

He regroups himself, returning to face forward as he stretches his wrist out, tendons flexing all the way up his forearm before taking the mouse in his hand again. You sink your chin over his shoulder like before, hugging around his shoulders. It might seem like an act of defeat, but it's not.

When the clicking of the mouse and tapping of the keyboard return to its regular rhythm, you run your hands back down his chest. You feel Eddie huff a breath but you ignore it, trailing your hands down to his open jeans, letting your hands just barely touch his fully hard length trapped in the confinement of his boxers. You tut to yourself.

“Must be uncomfortable,” you whisper against the sensitive skin of his neck, giving him shivers. He shimmies his shoulders slightly, shaking the fluttery jolts away.

“It is,” he answers, trying his best to focus on his game. You press a kiss to the side of his neck, working your way upwards, softening his hardened disposition with nothing more than your lips. When you place a kiss behind his ear, he tilts his head, giving you more space and you know you have him.

“Want me to help?” you ask, resting the palms of your hands on his lower belly.

“In five minutes,” he answers unconvincingly, head still cocked to the side for you to continue your kisses.

“How about this,” you whisper. Eddie stays silent so you carry on, “you can have your cake and eat it too?”

He hums, a hint of intrigue appearing in his voice for the first time tonight.

“You keep playing your game, and I’ll keep myself entertained with my game?” you offer, punctuating your words with a kiss to his neck.

“Baby,” he laughs breathily. You run your hand down to his length again, rubbing your thumb over his boxers where the head of his cock lays. His breath catches.

“Want me to keep going?” you ask in a sultry tone. He nods. You run your thumb over his tip again, feeling the dampness seeping through the material.

“Keep going, baby, please,” he whimpers and that’s enough encouragement for you to crawl your hands up to the waistband of his boxers.

Lifting the elastic, you slide one hand in, taking his aching cock in your fist and squeezing it lightly.

“Fuck,” he curses, hips tilting towards your touch.

In a swift movement, he retreats both hands from his game, bringing them to the waistband of his jeans and tugging them just far enough down his hips so you can comfortably pull his cock out. He returns his hands to his game, pressing some buttons, making the screen flash bright colours. You can’t help but smile to yourself.

“Now you’re excited, huh?” you say with a teasing laugh, hand still resting around his length in the confines of his boxers.

“Baby,” he whines. “If you wanna do this, don’t tease.”

“Baby,” you coo back mockingly. He huffs a sigh but you continue all the same. “I’m about to make you cum while you’re playing your stupid game, you don’t get to tell me what to do,” you purr, pulling his cock out with one hand and pushing the band under his balls with the other.

His cock sits heavy in your hand, tip already glistening with a pretty pearlescent sheen. You feel Eddie’s chest puff out with his deep breath, preparing himself for what you’re about to do.

Despite his anticipation, in a swift movement you pull your hand away from him. His length bob against his bunched up boxers and his chest deflates as he lets out a disapproving ‘humph’. You know you’re milliseconds away from another whined ‘baby’.

“Spit,” you demand, bringing your hand closer to his mouth.

Glancing over his shoulder he briefly catches your gaze, eyebrows arched up in confusion. “Me?” he asks dumbly, uncertain if you were speaking to him.

“Yeah, you. Unless you want me to rub your cock dry?”

You see the faint grimace he makes, probably as he thinks about the sensation of dry skin on dry skin. He lowers his mouth to your hand, dribbling out a glob of spit. You move to take his cock again but he stops you with a hand on your wrist, bringing your open palm back to his mouth as he spits a second time.

“Aww, want your cock nice and wet?” you coo, smiling as you crane your neck to see his face from over his shoulder.

“Baby,” he whispers, a hint of embarrassment colouring his whine. You love him like this, you really do. Having him so bashful yet pliant.

“Just relax, baby. I’ll take care of you,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek this time.

You take him in your right hand, spreading his spit over his length. With your thumb, you glide over his leaking head gathering precum before fisting all the way to his base. He bucks forwards in your hand and you can’t help but smirk.

“Want it really wet and messy, huh? That’s how you like it?” you say lowering your voice, running your fist up his length, watching as the mixture spreads and shines over his skin.

“Mhmm,” he moans, cock jumping in your hand.

“Should we make it more wet than this?”

“Please, baby,” he answers, voice already sounding strangled. You pull your hand away, spitting into your palm. Eddie groans, listening to the wetness of your mouth. He moves his head closer to yours, tilting it as he affectionately nudges his warm cheek against yours.

An appreciative hum sounds in the back of your throat as you bring your hand back down to his cock. Wrapping your hand around him again, you loosely pump up and down his length. He’s being cute now, not so much for the better half of the last hour though.

“Too bad you didn’t come to bed, coulda been my mouth doing all the work,” you tut.

His breath stutters as he absorbs your words and a groaned “fuck” rises in his throat. Raising your other hand up to your face, you lick your palm before spitting into it.

“Then it woulda been really messy for you,” you finish, nuzzling your own cheek to his.

“You could still use your mouth,” he offers in a hushed voice, hopefulness peeking out in his tone. If he was good and came to bed that would have been your obvious choice, but it weighs heavy in your mind that he kept you waiting.

“Nuh-uh,” you laugh. At the same time you reach your newly wet palm under his length, cradling his balls in your hand. His hips lift from your upholstered chair, shoulders rising high enough to bump your chin as he lets out a mangled gasp that divulges into a heavy moan when you start to lightly massage them.

“Jesus Christ,” he curses, hips lowering back down. His hands stay sitting on his mouse and laptop but halt all movement as his head knocks backwards, coming to rest against your shoulder.

“Play your game, Eddie. You wanted to play so bad, don’t get distracted now.”

You run your fist up and down his length in slow languid strokes. In your other hand, you fondle his balls, massaging them with careful fingers that have his thighs tensing. His head knocks your cheek, still gentle, but harder than the affectionate nudge from before. He’s shaking his head, reduced to a one track mind, all thoughts of playing his game lost in the wind.

“Faster, please,” he pleads, meeting the thrusts of your fist with short jerks of his hips.

“Play your game, Eddie,” you say sternly, keeping your steady pace.

He lets out a huff of discontent before sucking in a breath. “Can't,” he whines, hair jostling beside you, tickling your cheek, as he shakes his head again.

“Oh but you have to, Eddie. You keep playing your game I’ll keep playing mine,” you tease, reveling in the whine and neediness rooted in the man crumbling before you.

Crumbling— yet pulling himself together enough to please you.

You watch as Eddie gathers enough focus to press the buttons, moving around aimlessly in his game. He’s definitely not completing any objectives— whatever those may be, but it’s enough for you to keep pumping his cock, slowly but surely increasing your pace.

His chest heaves under your arms, short breaths panting in and out beside your ear for you to hear. The way he presses the buttons on his keyboard is frenetic, in bursts as he remembers his personal objective is to keep playing.

“Poor boy,” you coo. “Doesn’t know what he wants. First he wants to play his little game, then he wants to cum,” you tut.

“Don’t want to play anymore,” he says through a tired, strangled breath, embellishing his words with a whimper as you run your thumb over his tip.

“No?” you ask, sprinkling your words with an overzealous empathy.

“No, just want you,” he answers, voice small and pitiful. His statement is more impactful on you than just his hearty whines, it plays its purpose well, pulling at your heartstrings, making your lower lip jet out in a sentimental pout.

“That’s sweet,” you answer, nearly matching the same smallness of his voice.

He tilts his head to yours again in another affectionate nudge. “Mhm,” he agrees, pressing his cheek to yours.

His fingers relax on the keyboard and you decide he’s had enough teasing for now. You punctuate your game with a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Showing him mercy, moving your fist faster, Eddie steadily meets each pump with a roll of his hips until he’s fucking your fist in quick, desperate thrusts. His head rests back against your shoulder and you hum in his ear encouraging him to keep going.

“Feel good, baby?” you ask.

“Mhmm, feels really good,” he chokes out, sucking in a deep breath making his belly push out against your forearms.

Twisting your wrist, you focus on his tip, rubbing over it in quick strokes that make the slick spit and cum mixture squelch between your fingers. He exhales in a deep moaned gasp and his muscles tense under your grip.

“You already close? Gonna cum for me, Eddie?” you speak into his ear, brushing your lips against his sensitive skin.

“Please, baby. Just like that, mm gonna— m gonna—” he says, words laced with moans and whimpers that get caught in his throat.

You pick up your speed, doing the same twisting motion of your wrist. You feel his cock pulsing in your hand and his balls tensing, his breath is ragged, laboured oxygen getting stuck in his lungs. You know he’s right on the edge.

“Fuck— fuck I’m gonna cum,” he warns, voice gathering urgency.

“Yeah? You’re gonna cum?” you purr, keeping your lips pressed to the shell of his ear, encouraging him with the sultry tone of your voice.

“G-gonna—”

“Mhmm, cum for me, Eddie,” you moan for him.

With the tense of his throbbing cock, and a deep throaty grunt, thick white shoots from his tip. His grunt diminishes to a strangled whimper and you coo for him, praising him with a chorus of ‘good boys’ and affectionate fawning. He pants in deep exasperated breaths, his chest heaving in and out as you continue slow tugs of his cock, milking him for the rest of his cum, letting it seep out over your fist.

When his breathing turns sharp, you show him mercy for the second time tonight, tapering the pace of your movements and coming to a slow halt. He releases a drawn out breath.

As the moment lulls, you let yourself take in the aftermath of his release, eyeing him through the mirror with pure admiration.

His eyes are shut, heavy eyelids weighing them closed in a lazy pinch that matches the relaxed furrow of his brow. His face is tilted back to rest against your shoulder, exposing the full expanse of his red splotchy neck. A matching blush carries up to his jaw and across his cheeks. It’s endearing and adds an extra beat in the steady rhythm of your heart as you appreciate him in his come down.

Your eyes flutter from the mirror down to the screen of his laptop, now void of movement. Something of higher interest peaks your attention; atop the glowing led screen are painted white streaks that bleed down into the crevice of the keyboard.

“Aw, would you look at that?” you start. Eddie knocks the edge of his face against yours, a low hum coming from the back of his throat. “You came all over your precious laptop,” you finish dryly. His cheek rubs against yours tenderly, his breathing still ragged.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, still in the hazy state of his orgasm, not yet clear headed enough to care about anything except you and the tingle of pleasure that cascades throughout him.

You turn your head, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. He brings a warm palm to your face, holding you there, gathering strength from the generous affection of your lips on his skin. You draw out your kiss before turning. He continues holding you by your cheek, keeping you pressed to the edge of his face, demanding more of your affection in any way possible.

“Fuck,” he repeats again, sucking in a heavy breath. “So good, baby,”

“Yeah? Just my hand was okay for you?”

“More than okay,” he breathes out.

“Good,” you reply, feeling the swell of his praise blossom as a warmth in your already hot belly.

“Gonna—” he breathes out an arduous sigh, “gonna come to bed now,” he says, nodding his head, agreeing with himself. He turns his face, pressing a kiss to your cheek before releasing you and pushing the chair back.

“Finally,” you tease standing up and putting a stretch in your lower back. Using your pinky to open one of your drawers, you grab a tissue, leaving the drawer open for Eddie to help himself. He appreciatively grabs a few and starts dabbing at his screen and keyboard, cleaning up his mess.

You watch him for a few seconds before leaning over him again, hugging him tightly. He rests his hand over your crossed forearms, hugging you back as best as he can. You let go and retreat back to your bed, waiting for him to join you again.

“I can’t believe I came on my laptop,” he says as he tosses the tissue in the bin under your table.

“Are you mad?” you ask. He turns his head, looking at you with a smirk.

“Nope. It was only a matter of time,” he laughs, dimples deepening.

You flash him a grimace, scrunching your nose up. “Gross,” you tease.

His gaze settles from amusement into something soft, somewhere along the lines of appreciative as he takes in the sight of you waiting for him in your bed, your eyes dark with your own desire, legs crossed over one another in attempts to satiate some of the neediness between your thighs that he so cruelly has dragged out.

“Just gonna log out,” he explains before daring to look back at the screen.

You nod and he turns back around, taking the mouse in his hand again. You settle deeper in the bed, watching as the game minimizes before disappearing from the screen entirely. He turns his head enough for you to know he’s talking to you but keeps his eyes on the screen as his fingertips fan over the keyboard. “Gonna send the guys a message too and— oh fuck.”

You perk up when you hear his abrupt curse, curious what could have gone wrong in such a short amount of time.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he choruses, face going completely pale. He scrambles for the discarded headphones pulling them over his ears.

“Hello?” he speaks nervously into the mic. His face relaxes completely before his eyes suddenly widen, going wider than you’ve ever seen them go.

Part of you wants to jump up, go over and listen to whoever is talking on the other end, but the other part of you stays frozen, planted in your bed, waiting for Eddie's reaction to give way and tell you how to respond.

His eyes remain wide, and his cheeks tinge a dark shade of crimson, even darker than the crimson you painted on him just minutes ago.

If you had got up you would have heard the way the call went from dead silence as they all listened eagerly, to the excited eruption of chatter, an overlapping frenzy of voices coming together to express all of their thoughts— from the way Eddie’s in game character moved (or rather, didn’t move), to the way his voice got squeaky as it picked up several octaves, and to the way he whined and babbled. You would have heard some lewd comments, some crude comparisons, as well as many other laughter ridden digs that filtered through the headset at a lightening speed, all in an intersecting race to get their shots in before Eddie hung up.

You certainly would have got an earful— it’s a wonder Eddie could pick out a singular voice to respond to. His face contorts into a look of shock, mouth frowning slightly, eyebrows raised high, before his face drops completely.

“Yeah, well at least I’m not on a call with a bunch of guys with hard ons listening to someone cum,” he replies. He listens before his brows pinch up harshly. “Dude, go jerk off, everyone knows you’re hard.”

“Eddie,” you gasp. He catches your eye in the mirror and his lip twitches up into a faint smile. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, glad to know that he’s at least harbouring some humour in this situation

“Whatever man. Was just gonna say bye because unlike you guys, I have manners— have a good night with your right hands.” he announces loudly before you hear a final click of his mouse.

He pulls off the headphones in an unsettling haste, tossing them to the side before shutting his laptop harder than he would have on a normal day. You wait with a bated breath for him to break the silence.

He untucks himself from your vanity, standing, taking long strides to the bed in which you can’t see his face no matter how hard you crane your neck. He throws himself down next to you lying flat on his back, sighing deeply.

“Everything.. okay?” you ask tentatively, pushing yourself up on your elbows to see his face. He looks at you with a blank expression before he grabs at you, tugging you down to his chest pulling you half ways on top of himself.

“They heard everything. Thanks a lot,” he says, teasing heavily in his voice as he so obviously blames you for the mishap.

If he asked you to admit it, you would— it, undeniably, was mostly your fault that all those listening ears got a free show. It wouldn't stop you from arguing that he should have just come to bed in the first place though. Regardless, neither of you argue, there’s no point. Eddie looks at you with a faux furrow of his brow, but sparkles of amusement in his eyes that give it all away. It’s not accusatory, it’s non-incriminating, it’s just pure tease.

“Everything?” you clarify, raising a brow at him.

“Oh yeah.” he emphasizes with a nod of his head. “Everything from your dirty talk to me coming on my laptop.”

“No,” you gasp.

“Don’t look so mortified, Miss ‘Hi boys’,” he mocks with a bat of his eyelashes before continuing. “They think you’re hot. I’m the loser who sounded ‘pathetic’,” he says, holding up finger quotes with the hand not wrapped around you.

“Who said that?” you ask curiously.

“That you were hot or I was pathetic?”

“Both?” you smile bashfully. He smiles back at you, shaking his head slightly.

“Gareth for both, but all the guys very enthusiastically agreed,” he says, brows rising in a shrug as he tugs you closer to him. You cozy up to his chest, laying your head down on his shoulder. With his arm around your side, he pats your hip lightly as he hums. “Yup, don’t think I’ll ever live this one down.”

“Should come to bed next time,” you retort, matter-of-factly tilting your face to see him. His jaw drops in an exaggerated bewilderment, eyes widening before his look settles into mischief. In a flash, he’s rolling over you, pressing kisses down your neck.

Kisses progressing into more, Eddie paid you back for your little game in a multitude of ways that left your head spinning and thighs shaking. While he wasn’t fully impressed by the fact that all of his friends overheard, he did get a sense of pride in them knowing what a damn prize you were. A serious angel on earth, something he had that they could never touch. He made sure you’d never forgot it too as he spent hours between your thighs.

Most importantly, the resolve that has the greatest interest to you, it has now become routine that every time you ask Eddie to come to bed, he does so happily and promptly— always diligently double checking that his voice call is off. No more drawn out anticipation, all it took was one messy hand job, and a forgotten mic with the listening ears of all his friends on the other end— friends who never miss out on the opportunity to remind Eddie about his misfortunes.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfiction #modern!eddie munson #gamer!eddie munson

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neteyamsyawntu · 3 months

Text

Good Little Boy

Teylan x Na'vi(Zeswa)Reader

Warnings: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, smut, m/f, p in v, riding, sub Teylan, dom reader, vulgar language, dirty talk, praise kink, potential spoilers for Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora, semi proof read cause I eepy.

Na'vi Glossary: muntxatan = Husband(male spouse) txe’lan = Heart Yawne = beloved

Just a little something for my moon✨@pandoraslxna

You loved your mate dearly, with every fiber of your being. He was such a gentle soul; kind hearted, attentive, always incredibly eager to show you the new advancements he had made with whatever pieces of tech he had been fiddling around with. You learned quickly that Teylan wasn’t your typical Na’vi, at least by traditional standards. Of course you knew your upbringings were wildly different. Yourself having been brought up as a true Zeswa warrior, taught to be fierce and resilient, whilst in Teylan’s unfortunate case, he was forced to live among the sky people, torn away from Pandora and its wonders, to serve as a voice for their schemes. When you had first met him, you observed this strange allure he had to “human things” which at first, that facet of his personality spawned a sort of disapproval within you.

When you had made the decision to stay with the resistance at their hideout in the clouded forest, alongside a few other members of your clan, Teylan was nothing more than an annoyance, always choosing to seek you out to show off his gadgets. You’d often catch yourself thinking, why wouldn't he just show his Sarentu companions? Then at a certain point you began to catch on that maybe this soft handed male was trying to impress you with these odd pieces of tech. It was what he knew best after all, what he was confident in. The more you had thought about it, the more endearing the act became. In return you eventually showed him what you knew, teaching him things your clan specialized in, like how to hunt with a spear despite him not being very good at it. Yet even though it wasn't his strength, he always managed to try his best, looking back at you for approval, his expectant eyes wide and ears perked as he waited for your validation, having only just thrown the spear a couple feet forward, nowhere near his target, all whilst trying to contain the eager swatting of his tail.

He was always so eager to please, and where Teylan lacked in brute strength or survival skills he made up for in other departments. While the initial idea of making love wrecked him with anxiety, Teylan was a quick learner, taking mental notes on certain things he did or places he touched you roused a reaction from you. While he was adamant on doing his part to please you, you couldn’t deny that what brought you the most pleasure was teasing your mate. Bringing the poor thing nearly to the point of tears, watching him squirm beneath you as you straddled his lap, running your wet, puffy pussy lips across his increasingly darkening cock-head. His plum colored tip glistening with a mix of your arousal and his own precum.

Teylan’s ears were pinned tightly against the sides of his head, his hands squeezing your hips securely, fighting the urge to end your torture and selfishly sink his cock into your warmth. His soft whimpers were music to your ears, each glide of his cock sweeping through your folds earning you little helpless gasps and labored breaths, his grip on you growing tighter by the second. “Haah.. my love-.”, “Ma’ muntxatan?” You purr seemingly unbothered, watching as your mate slightly flinches when your tail brushes against his thigh. You’d been teasing the poor thing for so long, only giving him little tastes with just the slightest drop of your hips, only allowing his tip to push past your entrance. You were driving him utterly insane and you knew it, a cocky smirk playing on your lips.

“Puh-please… I cannot take this anymore- It is too much!” Teylan whines, his arms shifting to wrap around your waist, pulling your front flush against his own as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, the bill of his hat completely hiding his face from view. A soft hum sounds from your throat as you pull back just enough to direct his face to meet your gaze with the simple lift of your index finger under his chin, “Mmn, is it too much, ma’ Teylan? Should we stop?” You tease with a slight tilt of your head. Teylan’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he mentally begins frantically back pedaling, “N-no, no! I don’t want to stop, it’s just…”, “Just…?”. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries his hardest to vocalize exactly what he wanted without sounding too demanding. “It’s just… if you are going to tease me, could you- at least sit on it? I-I want to feel you.” The shift in his gaze, going from worried and anxious, to heated and needy makes you clench around nothing. Even still, pushing a bit further wouldn’t hurt, would it? “But you are feeling me, ma’ txe’lan.” You sigh, rolling your hips ever so slightly, giving his already overstimulated tip another grind of your sopping cunt.

A muffled noise escapes your mate as he bites his lower lip, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, attempting to collect himself, “All of you.” Teylan clarifies. This draws a satisfied smile on your face, guiding your hand from his chin to caress the side of his face, “And do you think you’ve earned it?” You mused, gently brushing your nose against his own, your lips just out of his reach. His eyes are half lidded as he hangs off of your every word, nodding slowly before attempting to close the distance between you, only for you to gently tug at the roots of his hair with your free hand, pulling him back, “You will keep your eyes on me, won’t you ma’ txe’lan?”. Again he nods silently in response, lips parted, his eyes bouncing between your lustrous gaze and your own lips. “Hah.. you’re cute, but I need you to use your words, yawne.” You remind him, releasing your grip on his hair, to steady yourself on his lap, placing your hand just above his knee as you align your entrance with his throbbing cock, “Y-yes… I will.”, “That’s my good boy.” You purr, finally connecting your lips in a tender kiss.

Your praise sends a shiver down his spine, straight to his member, making it twitch in anticipation as you begin to lower yourself onto him. Both of your mouths hang open, eyes never leaving one another’s as the velvety slickness of your inner walls embrace his shaft. Teylan’s eyes flutter closed for just a moment, yet that is enough for you to keep up with your little game. They open again when the warmth of your cunt vanishes, only encompassing his abused tip. “Ah, ah, ah… eyes on me, remember?”. Teylan lets out a frustrated groan, mentally scolding himself before nodding with a bit more enthusiasm, “Yes- yes I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.” He nearly pleads, his tone desperate as if frantically trying to prepare his mistake, “Shh… easy, yawne.” Your voice is soft as you are quick to soothe his anxious mind, planting gentle kisses all over his face. Once you feel his shoulders untense you know he’s ready to continue, leaving a final kiss on his lips to grab his attention, “That’s it… eyes on me.”

A choked out moan leaves your mate, paired with the gentle sting of his nails running down your back, lost in the feeling as he bottoms out inside you, leaving you sitting flush in his lap. Your labored breaths mix, shared in such close proximity, each of your eyes full with wonton desire, it’s almost too hard to contain yourselves, but you’ve let your game go on long enough, “Mm… so good for me.” You whisper into his ear, nuzzling against his cheek to allow your scent to waft into his nose, and with a subtle lift of your hips, you allow yourself to fall onto him once again… and again… and again, slowly building momentum each time. “Ohh… ‘feels so good.” Teylan moans, gently shifting his hips upward to meet your bouncing hips. You return his moan in acknowledgment, continuing to scent him while you roll your hips against his, “Ahh, such a good boy for me… taking this pussy so well.”. Again your praise sends a rush of excitement through him, while simultaneously granting him a boost of confidence, his hands find their way to your hips once more, pulling you down onto his thrusts, his ears flicking in satisfaction when he’s rewarded with a drawn out moan from you.

It felt all too good, you almost didn’t want him to stop, but you were already so close having teased yourself as well as him for so long, yet still you wanted to last longer. Easily fighting against the restraint of his hands you pull yourself up and off of his cock, ears flicking as it slaps against his lower abdomen, earning an immediate whine from your mate. “Is everything alright?” He asks, his worry all too quick to come to the forefront again, “I am fine, Teylan. I just need a moment… I’m too close.”. His ears perk at this, tongue peeking out from behind his lips to moisten them. Even passed the curtains of your lashes, you can see the gears in his mind already turning, yet before you can object to any plot he’s forming, a gasp breaks from your lips as Teylan anchors you down onto your back, ensuring you are laying comfortably before pushing your knees toward your chest. “Let me take care of you now, my love.” He hums in nearly a whisper to you and before you can even think about protesting, his pelvis is dropping against yours in a matter of seconds, sinking his cock deep into your cunt.

Your back arches and your hands immediately shift to grasp at his forearms, where his hands are keeping your knees in place. While it wasn’t often that Teylan took initiative, in the moments he did, he made sure to make every second count, sorting through the “save files” of his mind to remember exactly how you loved to be fucked. Your body bucked along with his as Teylan effortlessly hit exactly where you needed him to. The sounds of your sweet serenades fill the room, eyes rolling back when a familiar tightening in your core prods at your attention, body shuttering, walls milking Teylan’s shaft as you clench tightly around him. An intense wave of pleasure unleashes in the wake of your release, feeling yourself become light headed for a moment.

It’s only when you are stable enough to process through your high that you remember that Teylan is still going. Forcing your eyes to focus you note that his own are squeezed shut, mouth agape, and beads of perspiration decorating his forehead, releasing trembling breaths with each of his thrusts almost as if he were caught in the cold. He was incredibly pent up, that much was obvious, his increasingly sloppy movements becoming a strong indicator of that, and when his voice broke into hitched and broken gasps, you knew he was close, he just needed that extra push. Reaching a hand up, once again you cup the side of his face, “My mate, you look so good, rutting into me like this. So powerful.” You manage to praise between your own sounds of pleasure, “You must want to cum so bad.”. Swallowing hard Teylan hastily nods, his whimpers growing in pitch, “Y-yes… I do- so badly!”, “Then what are you waiting for, yawne? Cum.”

The simple word is like a jumpstart right to his internal motherboard or that of a former programming that he could not disobey, spilling himself into you with the motivation of a few more pumps. As his exhausted form collapses on top of you, catching his breath, you can’t help, but giggle beneath him. “You may not be a warrior, but Eywa has blessed you with the will to fuck like one.” You coo in a playful tone, pushing a loose strand of hair behind his pointed ear. “I… that is only because you do not play fair.”, “And yet you still rise to the challenge. Rest, ma’muntxatan… you did well.”.

Tag list:

@turtlezee1 @awiltedpeony @xylianasblog @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @hotdsworld @itchaboi-itchyboy

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar twow #avatarsmut #avatar frontiers of pandora #frontiers of pandora #teylan #sarentu #afop #fop #sarentu prince #teylan smut #teylan avatar #teylan x reader #frontiers of pandora smut #avatar smut

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madaqueue · 2 days

Text

Good Boy

pairing: ryomen sukuna x f!reader

themes/content: sub boyfriend sukuna, soft dom reader. language, smut. bondage, handjob, light choking, praise, pet names (baby, sweetheart), mentions of degradation. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.5k

a/n: subby sukuna that's it send tweet

“Y’know I’m only doing this for you, right?” Sukuna huffs.

“I know,” you smile from behind him.

Leaning back, you admire your work: the pink rope tied around his wrists holds his arms in place behind his back, with matching ones stationing him on his knees, feet tucked beneath his thighs. His cock stands fully erect, a drop of precum beginning to form along his slit before you’ve even truly begun.

The sight of him makes your heart flutter. “You look so pretty, ‘Kuna,” you purr, sitting up to place a kiss on his cheek.

His skin is warm under your lips, flushing a slight red. “Aw, are you blushing?” you tease gently.

“No,” he scoffs, turning his head away from you. “Just get on with it already, woman.” “Gimme a second sweetheart, I gotta get you warmed up first,” you hum as your eyes cover his form.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips at just how innocent your boyfriend looks. It’s funny, almost, the way his muscles poke through the knots, tattoos coursing over his rough skin that’s now covered in a dainty pink. Everything about him looks so sweet, so soft, so submissive.

Normally he was the dominant one, demanding power and control in every aspect of his life, and sex was no different. Of course he treated you with care, but sometimes he showed it by fucking you harshly, ravenously, leaving proof of his love across your body in the form of scratches and bruises, a physical manifestation of his unadulterated adoration for you.

In fact, these ropes had originally been bought after a night when the skin of your neck was covered in teeth marks and hickeys from an hour of him teasing you. When you felt him nip at your chest, you couldn’t help squirming in his grasp.

“If you don’t sit still I’m gonna have to tie you down,” he muttered, moving lower to place his mouth around your hardened nipple, sucking on it between his teeth.

Unfortunately his words had the opposite effect, making you writhe even more against his thigh from where he held you in his lap.

“Oh, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckled at your reaction. “Pathetic little sluts like you need to be tied up to behave.”

He bought them the next day.

But, in the mix of all the other toys and gadgets you two rotated through, they had been tossed to the back of the closet and forgotten, unused, until now.

The idea popped into your mind a few days ago while you were scrolling on your phone and a video suddenly caught your eye: in the middle of a bed was a man with his arms and legs bound as a woman moved around him. She treated him softly but firmly, her fingers trailing over his body. You felt your heart rate pick up at the sight, warmth beginning to pool in your stomach as you watched. Seeing the trust, the control, between them sparked something in you.

Unsurprisingly, Sukuna was completely opposed to the idea when you brought it up.

“I’m not some fucking piece of meat to be tied up and toyed with,” he grumbled from the couch.

“Oh, but when you wanted to do it with me it’s fine?” you questioned sarcastically.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he rolled his eyes. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Please, ‘Kuna? Just once?” you begged, using the nickname you knew pulled at his heartstrings, the one that always made him give in to your desires.

After a moment of silence, he sighed. “Fine,” he conceded, “just once.”

Although he’d never admit it, the idea made his head spin, his cock beginning to strain at his pants just from hearing you say the words. After all, he’s not the type who does something just for the sake of pleasing others; when he agreed, you both implicitly knew there was a part of him that was curious, too.

As he’s perched on the bed in front of you, he finally gets to have his interest satiated.

Returning your mind to the present you settle in behind him, resting your head on his shoulder as your lips trail down his neck. The soft sensation of your breath tickles his skin, making him shiver despite the heat his body gives off.

Making your way down his arms, you trace the lines of his tattoos before following the pattern down his chest. Reaching his thighs, your thumbs draw gentle circles into his muscles.

“Are you gonna fuckin’ touch me or what?” he growls, moving his hips to try and coax you closer to his aching cock.

You hush him, lips still pressed into the space above his collarbone. “Patience, baby.”

He shuts his mouth momentarily at the nickname. Even though he would always deny it, some part of him cherishes the sweet things you call him, holding onto every ounce of praise or affirmation that leaves your lips.

The honeyed whispers, the airy complements, make his heart flutter and gaze soften. He relaxes slightly, dropping his shoulders through a displeased grunt.

Your palms travel his body, moving up his thighs before traveling to his back, trailing kisses along his spine. He shudders at the softness of your lips, the warmth of your hands, as you cover every inch of him, his skin left tingling wherever you touch.

Right now, the key to getting him into the right headspace is to be gentle, loving, the exact opposite of how Sukuna normally is.

Knowing how impatient he gets, you are languid and methodical as you trace the ropes between your fingers. When you reach the ones tied over his wrists, he shifts again, tugging against the restraints.

“Y’know I could break out of this if I wanted to.”

“I know,” you hum, “but you won’t. Because you’re gonna be good for me, right?”

He pauses - he doesn’t want to demean his own strength, but internally he battles the desire to agree with you. He needs you to know that he’s better than this, obviously, but there’s a part of him, buried deep down, that needs to make you happy.

“Good boys use their words,” you prod in his silence.

He takes in an uneven breath as he fights a losing mental battle.

“I’ll…I’ll be good,” he mutters, gaze shifting down to avoid letting you see how dizzy the words make him feel.

Smiling, you place another kiss to his cheek, the action sending sparks through his body.

Your fingertips continue covering the rest of his skin, one moving down his legs as the other runs up his stomach, following the grooves of his abs. When you reach the front of his neck your hand loosely wraps around it, applying a gentle pressure to either side of his carotid.

Before this you had never dared to choke him, and even though this could barely be classified as such, something about it drives him insane. He feels immediately lightheaded, despite knowing that you didn’t hold on for nearly long enough to physically have that effect.

No, it was something else.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” he spits, trying to cover the moan that threatens to escape his throat.

His words nearly get a rise out of you, but knowing that’s his intention, you calm your breathing before you respond.

“Watch your language, sweetheart,” you scold softly, “you wouldn’t want me to have to gag you, now would you?”

The idea makes his heart race in panic. Thinking about being gagged doesn’t worry him, he realizes - no, the dread in his stomach is there for a different reason. Is he afraid of disappointing you?

Letting out an unsteady sigh, he shakes his head no. “M’sorry,” he mumbles.

You hold back a grin at his words, your heart beginning to race in excitement. Sukuna has never, ever, said sorry for something like this before.

It was rare that he needed to apologize for things, both of you knowing and respecting each other’s limits well. However, on the few occasions when he did something like leaving hickeys in more visible places than you liked, he would just brush it off with a laugh. “You didn’t really expect me to hold back when your cunt is that good, did you?” he’d tease with a smack of your ass.

Hearing him now, you can tell something in him has switched.

“That’s my good boy,” you coo, placing another kiss to his neck.

Hearing the name, a sound shockingly close to a deep whimper leaves his lips.

Your touch is so light, your lips so soft, your words so sweet, he wants to just melt, giving everything into you. Something about being physically held in place like this makes him feel safe, dependent; despite the tight ropes against his skin the only thing he can feel is you.

His head is spinning, thoughts getting fuzzy as you trace over his body, your gentle touch igniting flames of desire beneath his skin.

As you continue drawing your fingertips along him, the teasing slowly becomes too much, his mind clouded with the need for more as you feed him soft praises. His hips buck off the bed, his cock straining against the ties as precum begins to roll down his length.

“Please just fucking touch me,” he groans, voice so low it’s nearly a whisper.

“Just one second, baby,” you purr, trying to keep him calm.

Sukuna has always been demanding, wanting things done his way exactly when he wants it. As such, you know you have to be careful, balancing his desires with your control, placating his needs with tenderness.

A smirk crosses your face as you think up a way to satisfy both.

Holding your hand out in front of his mouth, you open your palm. “Spit,” you softly command.

His eyes widen, barely even noticeably, as he processes your words. There is absolutely no fucking way he’s about to do this, and the fact that you would even consider making him is foolish. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of your request, but before he can, he’s leaning forward, body moving on its own as he parts his lips, allowing droplets of saliva to pool into your hand.

What the fuck happened to him?

Pleased at his compliance, you smile. “Good boy, Sukuna.”

Your words make him nearly shake in anticipation, his mind dazed as your hand finds its way to his cock. Using the mixture of spit and precum you stroke his length, thumb twirling his flushed tip.

Another guttural groan leaves his throat as his eyes flutter shut, leaning his head back against you. He should be embarrassed, ashamed of how absolutely pathetic he’s being, but all he can think about is how good your hand feels wrapped around him.

Grasping at any last shred of control, he weakly thrusts up into you, his movements limited by the restraints

Bringing your free hand over to his hips, you hold him in place. “Stay still for me, okay baby?” you hum.

Letting go of everything, he gives in. His motions still as you continue stroking him, his mouth hanging open as he takes in uneven breaths.

Normally when he’s fucking you his thoughts are hurried, almost frenzied, as he plans how he’s going to ravage you. He taunts you, making you beg, soaking in every sound you release as he drills into you.

But now, his mind is quiet. The only thing he can focus on is the sound of your voice, your words of praise echoing through his entire body, amplifying his desire to please you, his need to be good for you.

Continuing your motions, the wet sound of your hand sliding up and down him fills your bedroom, his cock twitching in your palm as you glide over his length. From the way his chest begins to heave with each breath you can tell he’s approaching his release, his eyes screwed tightly shut in pleasure.

“Are you close, ‘Kuna?” you ask, head still resting on his shoulder from where you sit behind him.

He nods, a soft “Mhm” vibrating in his throat.

“Remember what I said? Good boys use their words,” you remind him.

“I-I’m gonna-”

You cut him off. “Good boys also ask permission.”

His breath hitches for a moment. He never begs. Never. It was always you, asking him to let you finish one more time, or pleading with him to soften up as he overstimulates you. He loved the way you’d get all whiney for him, but it was something he viewed as inherently beneath him.

But right now, he doesn’t fucking care.

“Let me cum,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly.

“Say please.”

Fuck, is he really about to do this? Is he seriously this fucking pathetic?

“Please,” he whispers.

You can’t stop yourself from grinning, giddy at just how eager he’s become, how malleable he is under your touch.

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmur, pressing your lips against his neck.

Picking up your pace, your grip tightens ever so slightly around his cock as you reach his tip, a shiver racking his body as your other hand moves to gently massage his balls.

“Open your eyes for me, sweetheart,” you purr into his ear, breath hot against his skin. “I want you to see what a mess you’re about to make.”

Without a second of hesitation he complies, his gaze struggling to focus on his lap as he tilts his head down. His eyes are glassy, far away, as he moves, mouth still hanging open.

You both watch in awe as thick ropes shoot from his tip, coating his thighs in the sticky whiteness.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good f’me,” you coo, droplets of cum slowly pouring down his length as you coax him through his ecstasy.

He’s silent as he finishes, no words able to form in his head, too dizzy from pleasure to think. His blown pupils can only observe as your hand slows, lazily following your movements as you pull your cum-coated fingers to his mouth.

The moment he feels you on his lips he opens them further, allowing you to slide your digits in, too dazed in bliss to argue.

“There you go, doin’ s’good,” you murmur as he sucks himself off of them, his eyes fluttering closed.

Holding him against the warmth of your bare chest, his body begins to tremble as he comes down from his high, suddenly feeling the tightness of the restraints against his skin. Leaning up you pull your fingers from his mouth, gently placing a peck on his cheek as you get to work untying him

“You did so good, ‘Kuna,” you hum as you remove the ropes from his legs and wrists, kissing the indents left behind on his skin.

As soon as he’s free he wraps his arms around you, his body hot as he pulls you into his lap. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, holding you still for a moment.

“You better not fucking tell anyone about this,” he mutters into you.

“Of course not,” you whisper, reaching a hand up to gently stroke the back of his hair. “Now, let me take care of my good boy and get you all cleaned up, okay?” you follow, peppering his face with kisses as he holds back a lazy grin.

196 notes · View notes

lav-bee · 1 year

Text

Dr. Stone x Reader Headcannons

What they do when they want attention

Characters: Senku, Gen

❤️- read as romantic

Senku

- Wouldn’t come out and say it

- He’s kinda stubborn so instead of bringing it up he’ll get you to do work with him

- Even though you’re not really needed in the planning he still wants you there

- Will try to include you by asking for input

- His love language is quality time so whenever he sees you not doing anything he takes advantage of it by putting you to work in his lab

- He sometimes gets a small urge for physical contact

- And instead of doing the smart thing and just hold your hand

- He shows you how to work small gadgets

- He’ll come up behind you and move your hands to where they’re supposed to be

- If you get flustered from the close contact he’ll notice

- “Am I making you nervous?” He asks with a small smirk, “Make sure you’re still paying attention.”

Gen

- Very obvious when he wants attention

- At first he won’t say anything

- He’ll most likely follow you around if he doesn’t have any work

- Will start with small touches and try to tell you with action that he wants your attention

- If you’re not catching on he’ll come up from behind and hug your waist

- His face will nuzzle itself into your neck

- Won’t Care for a second if you’re talking to someone

- The less responsive you are the more dramatic and touchy he’ll get

- He’ll even start to leave small kisses along your neck

- His last resort is to bite you

- Not hard enough to draw blood but it’ll make you jump

- “Hey!” You look at him and rub where he bit you, “Why are you being such a brat?”

- “Give me some love” :(

#headcannons #x reader #dr stone #dr stone x reader #Senku #senku ishigami #Senku x reader #Senku ishigami x reader #gen #gen asagiri #gen x reader #gen asagiri x reader

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 7 months

Text

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ Chapters are a bit rushed, sorry bout that 😭 hope u enjoy tho

Chapter 1: Behind the chain

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mention of death, horrible Spanish. Also, I don’t live in America so idrk how people talk there, so please bear with me.

FIC MASTERLIST

Next Chapter

“Hello? Yeah, I’m at practice.”

As your feet hit the ground, the chain link fence shutters from the release of your weight— a sigh escaping your lips as you pull your phone up closer to your ear. The sound of your aunt's nags echo from your phone, bellowing across the abandoned subway and overpowering even the sound of your boots hitting the damp ground. It was shrill, her voice. Like a fork being dragged down a piece of fine china. Activating the flashlight of your phone, you swiftly slip your head out of your hood, the new spot now staring back at you like an empty canvas— devoid of life and color. It’s tragic.

As you trudge down the narrow space, your senses begin to process the stench of the horror movie-like scenery. You could heard the pipes’ leaking going along with your aunt’s ongoing lecture about something you couldn’t recall— somehow distracting you from your search.

But what certainly made you uneasy was the chill.

You hated the cold. You hated the way it’d ice your feet, dry your skin, restrict your clothes, and clog your nose. Though ironically, autumn was the season you found most enjoyable. Most of the nostalgia you bore came from the sight of those scarlet leaves— the smell of pumpkin spice, your mother’s old scarves, and the earthly rich tones of orange and red. It’d been so long, though, since your last happy memory in the season.

Nowadays, the nights are just longer, and the days shorter.

Soon enough, you stop before a tall, white wall, making you gasp as though you’d just won the lottery. Only then you started bidding your farewells to your aunt, who was beyond exasperated with your hurried adieu. Shoving the gadget down your pocket, your backpack falls right off your shoulder with a small thump, eyes still glued onto the blank space.

You make your way towards one of the seats, settling down your stuff while slipping your vape out the crevices of your sleeve and taking a slow puff— the taste of peppermint flourishing through your lips and covering up the stench of whatever was rotting in the railways.

"You're early." A familiar, sarcastic growl emits from the shadows. You turn around as the light from your phone blinds him, making him wince.

“I missed you.” You playfully answered.

The familiar gleam of hazel blinks and stares right back at you, the same stoic stare narrowing from your comment.

“Sure you did.” He huffs.

In the back of your mind, the same phrase bellows.

Well, well, well. If it ain’t Miles Morales.

It was one night, two months ago, when the two of you first met. You were an utter mess, and so was he— and it just so happened that beneath all that rain, the two of you found each other at the right time, at the right place. Supposedly.

The two of you bonded in loneliness and art. It was almost poetic, especially knowing that the two of you were anything but good for each other.

But you believed that that’s what’s great about life— the reckless things, and betting whatever you have on the line, for a taste of something thrilling. Miles knew how to pull on your strings, and the idea of being understood was still new to you. Still, whenever you do find yourself in the comfort of Miles Morales, you can’t help but ask yourself:

Who will we be to each other?

How will we change each other’s lives after this?

You couldn’t quite tell if it was your gut warning you, or your anxiety just being a little shit, but you knew the time to hear the answers was drawing near. You had no idea whether the possibility mortified you or not.

One thing for certain though, was that you knew you wanted him, and you were willing to take the risk to see him over and over again.

Miles took a step closer, his height towering over you like a tree. With a single finger, he maneuvers your flashlight away from his face with a light push.

"Get that shit away from my face."

“Awe, but I wanna see that pretty face of yours.”

“Stop.”

Cat and mouse was your usual dynamic. Though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who the cat was.

He clicks his tongue, moving away from you to head over somewhere else. A few seconds later, the power suddenly lights up and brings the subway back to life. Miles stood by the power switch, staring right at you as if to examine your reaction.

You straightened your lips and raised your brows.

"Well, you should've done that sooner."

He lazily shrugged his shoulders, approaching you once more yet with more meticulous steps. "Wanted to scare ya." He cooly confessed, earning nothing but another chuckle.

"If you wanted to scare me, don’t look so pretty."

Said pretty boy furrowed his brows, making you grin wider.

"Ay, díos. You're..." For a short moment, he thinks of how to complete the sentence.

You hum. "I'm what?"

".. so fucking unbearable."

"Awe, I missed you too." You smiled in a sickly sweet way while placing a hand over your heart. That certain sort of thrill began thumping inside you again, an unfamiliar excitement that got you staring right at him mindlessly with that stupid look on your pretty face. As Miles replied with silence, you shrugged and pulled the mod up your tinted lips— blowing the smoke away from his face. Only then, you gestured it towards him.

"Want a hit?"

"Nah." He dryly replies. "That's your first step to a rehab, y'know."

A low laugh exits your lips, taking another hit while slowly walking around. "With how fucked up I am, I'm bound to end up in either jail, a rehab, or a mental institution— so," You snap your fingers. "I'm just gonna enter all three of them."

Miles looks at you, horrified.

"M’just kidding. Don't you think I look hot while doing it, though?"

He peels the horrified stare away from you, instead choosing to kneel before your backpack, unzipping the damn thing as though it were his.

"What'chu got?" He asks, a certain twang in his voice that lightened you up. You head over in less than a second, grinning stupidly like a little kid in search of favor. You pull the plastic bag out of your backpack, waving it over his face.

"Only the best for you." You wink. "I just kindly borrowed these from my school's art club."

Receiving the bag from your grasps, Miles pulls out the newly bought spray paints. He furrows his brows at the sight of the bold fifteens printed on the bottom of each bottle, a tag left as if to brag. "Kindly borrowed, huh?" He skims over the bottle, evidently impressed. "Fifteen dollars per bottle? That’s a whole heist right there.”

“I literally just snatched it off the cabinet.”

“You must go to some rich kid’s school or sum. You even look the part.”

He gestures over your well-kept appearance. Your clean boots, pressed jeans, freshly done nails, and fragrant hoodie.

And yet you continued to look at him like he was the crazy one.

"... Miles, it’s called neatness. A basic trait." You stand up, stretching your arms above your head, the ache in your bones subtly easing. "If I did have the money, my art would be in an exhibition, not in an abandoned subway."

He pursed his lips, somewhat convinced. "Touché."

As he unpacks the paints, you stay beside him, watching as he goes through the colors and lines them up in order. You shove your hands down the pockets of your hoodie, humming.

"So what'll you be drawing tonight?"

"I ain’t really sure yet… The Subway logo, maybe." He shrugs, an exhausted groan rolling off his tongue as he stands up. "… I ain't got shit. I'm drained."

"Then why'd you come here?"

"Felt bad for ya."

You smirk. "So you did miss me."

He takes a step back, turning his head the other way. "I sure do find your delusional ass amusing." He mumbled, trying to hide the anxiety gnawing at his throat. You hardly notice it, as you were too busy staring at the empty wall, but Miles was uneasy. Uneasy in a way that he was desperate to hide it.

"At least I’ve got an ass." You airily snap back, silence following like an awkward stench. "Did you bring your sketchbook with you, by the way?"

He then proceeds to go through his jacket, eyes widening from the realization. "Ah, shit. I did... Not."

"Awe." You blandly answered, pulling out your own from the pocket of your bag. It was small, convenient, almost like a notepad. "Well, I've got mine here." You toss it over, which he successfully catches. "They're not exactly as good as yours, but you can skim through the pages to find some inspiration."

The pages spin from the flip of his fingers. Tens of concept art, a few unfinished sketches, and some dabbling in watercolor appeared before him in a flash. As he goes through the pages, you take the moment to have a momentary smoke, straying not so far away just so he wouldn't inhale any of it. The nicotine eased you as it normally did, though now that you were looking at this pretty boy before you, you couldn't help but ponder about quitting. Just for him. Just for the sake of him.

Though the feeling the nicotine often brought you was addicting, his presence hit you harder than any other drug, affecting your system in a way that made your stomach whirl. He was like your favorite cup of coffee— the strongest coffee to ever linger in your presence. Strong enough to appear on a drug test.

It was damning.

Dangerous even.

As the page flips again, Miles freezes at the sight. You take the gadget away from your lips, approaching him immediately as he huffs.

"... Huh."

Bursting in neons of magenta and violet was the sketch you made of a certain vigilante.

"Oh, don’t mind that." You mumble. "That's just some random sketch."

He brings the paper closer to his sights, marveling at your talent. The markers and the ink, mirroring the image of a cat on the run. His pretty lips part, mouth hanging agape as he asks. "You know this guy?"

A hero of the streets, some sort of final pillar carrying the weight of New York's safety on his broad shoulders.

"Well, I've seen him— Prowler, from the news. I thought he looked pretty cool."

Prowler, a name all too familiar to you. How could you not know he was? A man hiding behind an iron mask, a digital purple hologram over the metals, making his silhouette mirror a panther’s. The man was all your father recently growled about, the memory of the heavy morning still engraved into your mind. You can almost sketch it out— The stench of his tobacco, the shrill of his angered voice, and the image of your poor housekeeper silently brushing some broken shards into the dustpan. You remember sitting by the dining table, solemnly choking on your breakfast as you forcibly shoved it down your throat.

Eyes downcast and hands shaking.

"You think he's cool?" Miles' voice tears you apart from the memory. He sounded almost elated, like a child in search of praise.

"Yeah, I'd always wanted to be a vigilante, fuck—" The vape rolls off your tongue unconsciously. "Like, my life is so damn boring, but at the same time, I've got too many responsibilities to handle so I can't do the things I like. But hey, that's life, I guess."

"If you've got too many responsibilities, then what the hell are you doing here? It's like midnight r'now, damn."

"I kinda told my aunt I had practice for band."

"You're in a band?"

"…. No." You deadpan. "That's the reason why I'm here, man."

He snapped the sketchbook shut, sighing as he plucked out the red and purple spray paints from the line. "God, you'd be one hell of a headache if I ever had a kid like you."

"Woah, slow down, sweetie, you're already talking about kids and you haven't even taken me out to dinner yet." You tease, teeth nibbling onto your lower lip as you watch him crumble. He straightens his lips, forcefully holding back a smile.

"… Shut that mouth for me, would ya?" He shot back. "Just shut up."

"Oo, make me."

He pops the lid off the red paint, the sound of a nickel ball being shaken up in a metal can soon following. Without even an ounce of hesitation, he curtly sprays the paint over your sleeve, earning a gasp from you. You quickly snatch the neon pink can and start spraying back, the chemical smell wafting over your nostrils as the sound of your giggles echoed down the halls. A minute later and the both of you began drawing your new piece while being drenched in paint.

"Hey, pretty boy.”

Miles instinctively turns to look at you, as though he prided himself in the nickname.

"I need to do the top part, can you boost me?" You ask, voice muffled from the towel pulled over your nose.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but he agreed without making a sound.

He kneels, tapping on his thigh, gesturing you to take your step. Taking off your shoes, you cautiously climb over, feeling his hands brush against your calves, almost as if he was readying his stance to catch you just in case you fall. Initially, the pose seemed to be serving you well, but when your ankles started shivering, your hand latched onto his head, gripping gently in panic. Miles, who was, of course, caught off guard, began shaking. You finally took a step down.

"Fuck." You whispered. "Can you do it?"

"Hol' on."

"I think you just need to like, tiptoe a bit and—"

"Be patient."

And you did just that.

He stretches out his toes in an attempt to reach for the top, but he fails miserably. Miles then turned to you, bearing the pout of a frustrated child.

"... Ya already know what to do, right?"

"Mm, yeah."

An irrational thought crosses his mind, and it battles against his rationality like a civil war within the confines of his head. A second later, his lone finger signals you to come closer. You do so, and he looks up at the unfinished crown.

"I'm gonna carry you, a'ight?"

"What?" You blurt out. "Y-You don't have to—"

"Just balance yourself." He skips past your rant. "And you better do it well."

Before you could even intervene, he's down and offering you his shoulder. Hesitantly, you position yourself. Looking over at you, Miles skims over your face in search of approval. When your hand shakily makes its way over his other arm, Miles cautiously wraps his palm over the side of your knee, hoisting you up like a trophy he’d just won.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Y-yeah. Just— yeah." You stumble over your words, raising your hand over to start painting.

You could feel it tingling in your bones. Skin deep, rotting within the confines of your flesh, insecurity at its highest peak. And it shut you up. Miraculously, as Miles would say it. Your weight, your body, your own figure frightened you. It would be a lie for Miles to claim that he hasn’t noticed. But he stood tall, hardly showing an ounce of any struggle— which comforted somehow.

He was pretty strong, stronger than you first thought.

As you painted, Miles stood there in silence. Trying his best to focus on his breathing.

But the softness of your palm atop his shoulder, and the growing warmth of his own over your waist. Miles desperately tried to ignore growing warmth burning his cheeks. He resisted the urge to dig into the softness of your waist, and yet it remained like a taunt— allowing only his nails to grip over your shirt, the thin barrier over your skin. It seemed almost vulgar, how his hand was beneath your hoodie, gripping as though you were his favorite plush. How his wrist was pressed against the curve of your hip. Then and there, within the span of five minutes, the silhouette of your body was forever engraved into his senses, his mind, and his touch.

But no one spoke of it.

"... You done?" He groaned.

"In a bit, hol' on."

You thought he'd start complaining about your weight, but he didn't.

You were somewhat relieved, but at the same time, it flustered you.

And when the little scene ended, you and Miles stood there, backs pressed against the wall as you stared at your new masterpiece. You looked over the chemical stains on your sleeves, glancing at him. "This jacket's pretty expensive, y'know. It cost me like fifteen grand."

His face twisted in disgust. "You'd buy a jacket like that? In this economy?”

"It's a capitalist world we live in."

"No shit."

The two of you share a small laugh, evidently exhausted from the whole art process. It wasn't all that much, but it was based on one of your many doodles during class. The cursive that spelled out Stay Out was painted in an intimidating shade of red, its borders tainted in white and black— a crown of thorns resting above the text. It seemed like a warning, an open threat. Crafted by frustration, but upon its finish, you were eased.

"Next time, we should do something that says 'Eat the rich' or 'Vive la revolución.'" Miles suddenly suggested, jazzing his fingers comedically. You click your tongue. "We might get shot, man.”

“With all that smoking you do, you’ll wither away before the bullet even manages to get you.”

You raised your brows. “Okay, and?”

Miles scoffs at your ridiculous reply, but for a moment he thinks about it— some sort of plan in his mind. Sooner or later, he soon gently raises his palm without a word. You stare at his hand confusingly, “What?” you then asked of him. The boy then gestured over his lips with his fingers shaped like a v, imitating the act of smoking. “Lemme try, at least once.”

“… You’re kidding.”

“I’m being for real, ma, just let me try it once.”

You think about rejecting his request, but the curiosity had you fishing out your e-cigarette in less than a second.

“Okay, but if you die, I’m not paying for your damn ambulance bill.”

“Just uber me to the damn hospital.”

Miles then looks at it, glaring holes into the pen-shaped gadget as though he were waiting for it to speak. After considerably taking his time, he plucks it out your palm and starts a slow sip, the collision of the nicotine and the flavor flooding his tongue as the smoke enters his system. When the heat creeps in, however, he bursts out into a coughing fit.

You snatch the gadget away from his grasp as he groans.

“Careful.”

"What the fUCK—, ain't that s'pposed to calm you down?—" He slams his hand against the center of chest in an attempt to ease his lungs.

"… Did you fucking swallow the smoke or what?" You sigh while taking a sip, the smoke smoothly exiting your lips.

"... You know what? You are definitely gonna die early."

"Oh, darling, don't threaten me with a good time."

“Pu—” He coughs a few more times. “Puta, I almost died there.”

You take your palm and began rubbing small circles behind his back. “You shouldn’t do the shit I do, even if I look hot doing it.”

“Ain’t nobody told you that.”

“… Why’d you wanna smoke anyway?”

“I just wanted to know why you keep doing that.” He groans, staring at the pen in your fingers. “I mean— it’s unhealthy as fuck, hardly tastes good, and it’ll kill you the ugliest way possible. So why do it?”

You lower the pen as though your long-lost conscience re-entered your body.. “… I don’t know really.” You mumbled half-heartedly. “I think it’s what calms me down the most…? I don’t know.”

“… You don’t have, like, normal hobbies?”

“The fuck— of course, I do.” You swiftly shot back. “I just don’t have the time to do them.”

“Then what do you do at home?”

You blink.

“What— What do I do at home?” You repeat, thinking of it to yourself. “That’s a good question, what do I do at home?… I do chores, I study a lot. I-I take care the house.” Take care of the house? Yeah, shit I ain’t Mirabel Madrigal. As your mind short circuits, from a mile away, you could already guess his reply.

“I do that too, dumbass.”

You click your tongue. “.. It’s complicated. The time I usually have for myself is when I’m outside, that’s why I lied that I took up band for extra credit.”

You smoothed out the details of your life, picking out a few small details that were definitely not all that important.

"Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah.”

The boy curved his lips into a slight frown.

“I mean,” You shift closer, sighing as you palm the back your neck. “Sometimes, places like these are better than my own home."

"Places like an abandoned subway?"

“You make it sound like I’m homeless.”

“That’s what it sounds to me.”

"... It’s just.." You run your fingers through your hair, eyes glued onto the ceiling above. "I feel more at home in an abandoned subway more than my own house.”

Miles hummed. "… I'd always thought home would be more of a person," He tilts his head. "Rather than a place."

The silence was deafening, but this time, nothing was urging you to fix it— because there was nothing in need of fixing. You were comfortable, weirdly enough, as you never really found comfort in utter silence.

“It’d be nice to be.. Someone’s home.” You couldn’t help but utter those cheesy words. “I think I’d make a great home.”

Miles fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, holding back the words that echoed in his mind.

Yeah, you’re doing great.

Instead, what slips out of his mouth was: “How the fuck are you gon’ be a home? You’re a whole haunted house.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You roll your eyes. “If I’m a haunted house, you’re a rental where all the drive-by shootings happen.”

“Okay, what the fuck.”

“When you go low, I go LOWER.”

In the end, the two of you simply bursted into laughter, sinking down to the floor to take a seat. Another hour passed and so did a hundred topics. They flew by like the autumn leaves, leaving the both of you unconsciously huddling close for warmth beneath the large scarf you brought. Two birds of one feather, one nest. Easy conversations, light laughs, and genuine interest.

Even when the conversation grew darker, the two of you infinitely felt cosy enough to confide in one another. Especially when Miles spoke about his father.

You listened well, yet there was this ball stuck in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow. A heaviness in your heart, a stiff feeling in your throat. However, your ears were welcoming. His tone was grieving, but his words resonated with acceptance.

"He used to drive me every morning to school... We'd fight over the pettiest things, and god, I hated it, but looking back, it was better then." He buried half his head into his arms. "I'd rather have him annoying me than have him not annoying me at all."

The words hit you like a truck, leaving you defenseless. In a moment, your walls crumble as these words crawl out your mouth. "... Sometimes, when we're with someone, you can't help but wish they'd leave you alone, but when they're gone, only then you'll realize how much you can't live without them."

Though your words were meant for Miles, you knew damn well that they were also for you.

"... There's some truth to that, I guess."

"Does that mean that you'd miss me when I'm gone?" You tease.

Your gentle gazes collide, and eventually, you see that Miles had softened entirely.

"... Maybe."

“.. Maybe?” You repeat his reply. “.. Should I annoy you more then?”

“You’re annoying enough as you are.” He huffs, pulling his knees to his chest. “I hate you so much.”

“Sure you do.”

You lean against his shoulder. “Hate me all you want. I’ll pretend to believe you.”

A light chuckle emits from his lips, but as it fades, he turns his head, burying his nose in the scent of your hair. You were fragrant, and it was addicting. Slowly, he shuts his eyes and basks in your scent.

Then he called out your name softly.

You hum, looking up at him— the inches between you closing in, cold breaths like white smoke intertwining. His cold fingers dance atop your own.

“What?” You whisper.

His lids were heavy, gaze switching between the pool of your eyes and the plush of your lips.

Then and there, you knew.

But something screamed at you in the back of your mind.

We can’t.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And you pulled away before your lips could even meet.

"Shit." You cuss, clumsily pulling the phone out of your pockets. Your hands frantically scramble to answer the call, the look of Miles' defeated stare stinging the corner of your eye. "Hello?" You began, hearing the chauffeur's voice ask back. "Ma'am, where are you?"

Your fingers press the side of your phone, lowering the volume.

“We're currently clearing up the room right now. Can you please wait about thirty more minutes? Thanks."

As the call ends, you frantically head off to start cleaning up. Trying to evade whatever had just happened— at least, you try to. It invaded your mind and heart, left you breathless and unsteady.

You and Miles began picking up the bottles, shoving it inside the plastic. You then flung the strap of your backpack onto your shoulder, holding the plastic out to him. "You can have it."

Confusion was scribbled all over his face.

"Didn't you steal that from your school's art club?”

You look up, thinking about it for a moment before shrugging. "It’s their problem, not ours." You grin.

Miles shakes his head in feigned disapproval. "Tsk tsk tsk, eres una chica tan mala."

"Don't start, the only Spanish I know's from Dora."

"Que?"

"Queso."

You shove the plastic into his arms. "No hablo Español, lo siento." Was all you managed to form out of the past few weeks you started learning Spanish. You threw a hand in the air, waving him a fast farewell while pivoting your heel to leave.

“Can’t I walk you home?” A suggestion, and not a demand for the first time, Miles insists “It’s dark as fuck outside, and you might get.. Y’know.”

For a moment, you pause to laugh.

“Are you worried about me?”

He nods. “I am.”

“I— wait, what?”

He took a step further. “I am worried about you. It’s ten o’clock. I think I should take you home.”

Miles looked at you in a way you’ve never seen before. It was unfamiliar, or maybe you just weren’t good at paying attention, yet now that it was materializing before you— It overwhelmed you.

It was breaking you open.

You bite your lower lip, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“… I-I don’t know, I don’t think my dad would like that very much.”

“And I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like the idea of his lil’ girl getting hurt.”

There he goes again, towering over you, his cocky eyes never once leaving your face. Lil’ girl my ass, you can’t help but think. I’m tall, asshole. You just so happened to be taller.

“I’ll walk you home.” He reiterates. Now it’s an announcement, not a proposal. “You can tell me to leave when we’re near. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

“… Miles,” The way his name rolls off your tongue had him weak, and you couldn’t even tell. “.. Okay, fine— But, only up until the Gristedes down the block. Until then, you go home, alright?”

Your voice was too soft, too mellow. It made his breath hitch, made his neck tense in this already cold weather.

“Aight.”

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