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tropes-and-tales · 2 months ago

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The Enemy of My Enemy

(The Predator/Yautja x F!Reader)

CW: Violence; smut (monsterf*cking; fingering; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 9889

AN: This was originally requested by an anonymous person!

The distress call is what bring Mah’tu to Earth: a Yautja ship infested with a single xenomorph that escapes its cell to wreak havoc before the ship crashes onto the planet of the oomans. Mah’tu, in a nearby star system, is the closest to handle it.

Thank the gods he has the foresight to call for aid. A single xenomorph on a planet full of soft, weak creatures…it turns into an infestation almost immediately. Mah’tu is grateful the Yautja ship at least crashed in a small ooman settlement

Still, the small settlement is overrun quickly. Mah’tu finds himself outnumbered, outgunned, overpowered. He sees some oomans as he fights: they scurry around, they try to run. Few manage to escape before they are slaughtered. He pays them no mind. They are a weak species and only worthy prey because of their inventiveness, but these oomans are panicky and stupid with fear, and easy prey for the serpents.

He finds himself cornered in a large building. He hears the faint crackle in his comms of other Yautja as they approach Earth, but he himself is lost: he’s trapped with two of the xenomorphs, and he dispatches one easily, but the second stabs him with its barbed tail, sprays acid blood, and Mah’tu falls.

The Yautja are strong, durable. They heal quickly, and neither of these injuries would be fatal, but he feels his vision edging in black, and he knows once he’s unconscious, the serpent will kill him.

Mah’tu is a noble warrior. He was Blooded young. His bloodline is ancient, and he’s sired many Yautja that will live on beyond him, so he does not mourn his own lost life as he slips out of consciousness. At least he won’t feel the blow, though there’s little honor in that sentiment.

It surprises him, then, when he doesn’t die. When he instead wakes up, comes to, and finds a ooman—small, trembling—crouched beside him.

No, not beside him. Not exactly. The ooman is crouched between Mah’tu and the second xenomorph. It lies dead and twitching as it oozes its acidic blood from where the ooman has impaled it with a metal pole through its long skull.

The ooman is a female of the species, even smaller than the males, and Mah’tu sits up with a grumble and takes in the measure of his savior. A small thing, filthy. Stinking of fear and sweat and the rich metallic tang of ooman blood and the acrid, biting odor of serpent blood. Trembling as she turns and stares at him, her too-wide ooman eyes studying him warily.

How did something so small and cringing manage to kill a serpent, and with a piece of scrap metal, no less? Mah’tu had seen better trained, better armored Yautja fall to serpents, and yet…

He knows what it means to kill one of the kiande amedha. The Yautja revere them as the ultimate prey, and to kill one is a feat to be celebrated.

He does it with little thought: the ceremony is ingrained in him, as it is ingrained in all of his kind. To kill a kiande amedha means the ooman is Blooded by Yautja culture, so Mah’tu reaches down and drags a claw through the pooling acid blood of the serpent. Then he reaches out to the ooman, who flinches away from him, makes a whimper of fear. But he reaches out his other hand to grasp the filthy face. He holds her still and traces a small mark onto her forehead that makes her cry out at the sting of the blood as it scars her.

He marks the ooman—you—as Blooded. In Yautja culture, it means you are an adult, capable of Hunting alone. But more than that, it marks you as a full member of the clan, and given the strange circumstances of this moment—Earth, a xenomorph infestation—he marks you as his clan.

When the crackle comes through his comms that his fellow Yautja have arrived, that the military oomans of this sector have loosed a missile of some sort to level this infestation, Mah’tu again acts with little thought. This is ingrained in him too: marked as his clan now, he grabs your wrist, tugs you to the roof of the building, and narrowly escapes with you before your settlement is leveled by your government.

He realizes what he’s done once the ship is safely away from your star system. He’s marked you as Blooded, as his clan, which means you’re his responsibility now.

-----

A famous ooman once wrote that the course of true love never did run smooth. Mah’tu, without the benefit of any sort of literature course in his Yautja education, never heard the quote, but it doesn’t make it untrue.

Who would have thought the cringing little ooman would be so relentlessly furious at him, once the fact of her situation became clear to her?

Reason must flee your little skull. There is nowhere for you to go unless out of the airlock into the void of space, yet you fight him.

Or you try to.

The first night you attack him, Mah’tu is taken unawares. Why would he ever think you’d try? He’s sitting in the pilot’s seat of his ship when the sensitive appendages on his head alert him to someone behind him, but not quickly enough: there’s a dull bloom of pain in his shoulder, and it comes accompanied by you yelling some ooman word he does not understand.

He turns in his seat and appraises you. He takes in the fury on your face, as it cedes to confusion, then dejection.

From the meat of his shoulder, a small shank of metal is half-buried. He pulls it out, the pain minuscule, the cut already mending. He examines the weapon, a pathetic thing that you’ve found and tried to shape into something that could kill him.

It makes him chuckle, which sounds like a trilling to you. Then he stands, takes your arm in his paw, and drags you back to the storage area he cleaned out to house you.

“Stay,” he orders you, and he locks you in anyway. He cannot know how you bristle to be ordered about as you would order a dog.

The second time you attack him? You’ve loosened the bolts on a seat in the cockpit. You must have been at it for hours at a time, working your feet against the fastenings while you slouched beside him and stuck the fleshy part of your mouth out in a pout. Mah’tu bends in his seat to recalibrate a certain piece of equipment, and a moment later, the loosened chair smashes against his skull.

The chair breaks into several pieces. His skull doesn’t break at all.

“God fucking dammit,” you breathe out as he straightens out, stands to his full height.

He locks you in again, and as he drags you to your quarters, you try to punch him. Your little fists aim for his face, his eyes, his throat, and they glance off of him with no effect. You land a punch to his mouth and it cuts your hand. Mah’tu smells the metallic tang of your blood as he tosses you into your cell.

He thinks on it a beat later, then tosses in a med-spray so you can heal your fragile ooman skin.

-----

From there, you change your tactics. You abuse him verbally. You narrow your eyes into slits and call him all sorts of names: monster, alien, crab-faced motherfucker. Slimy fucked-up lizard.

When he’s alone in his quarters, he must look up some of the words you use. A crab, for example, is a harmless water creature on earth that oomans eat. Mah’tu cocks his head, considers it. Have oomans ever eaten a yautja before? The records are silent on the matter.

The verbal abuse is much like your physical abuse. It glances off of him. His kind have little capacity for metaphor, for simile or abstract thinking, so when you call him a “motherfucker” it does not bother him because you are wrong—he has never mated with his dam. A silly thought.

-----

Your fury never seems to lessen, but it does cool into something more refined and less ruled by passion. You finally seem to grasp that he means you no harm and that attacking him could leave you stranded in a star system your kind has never even heard of before.

You don’t try to attack him anymore, and your verbal assaults have lessened as well. You still twist your too-soft mouth around into a look that means displeasure, and Mah’tu senses that you are assessing the situation. Waiting for an opportunity to escape him.

So be it. You may be a Blooded member of his clan now (a fact he must remind himself, as your behavior often puts him in mind of a youngling, rash and stupid), but he is your elder both in age and tradition. He has followed all the protocols: he’s alerted the head of his clan, who required several confirmations that yes, you were a ooman and yes, you had killed a kiande amedha. He registers your DNA in the clan’s codex. Lists both your ooman name and the Yautja one he chooses for you (his name means “Swift Judgment,” but yours translates roughly as “Vexing Thorn”).

And though you are Blooded, as your elder, he takes up your training. Against his judgment (swift or otherwise), it is protocol, so he trains you.

Wisely, he starts by teaching you defensive moves. Why put a blade or worse, a plasmacaster, in your twitchy little paws?

If he hadn’t seen the evidence of your killing the kiande amedha, Mah’tu would doubt it now. Even accounting for the general weakness of oomans, their lack of speed or agility or flexibility, you are terrible. Your reflexes…do you even have reflexes?

Mah’tu shows you how he’ll attack you, he shows you how to counter, he comes at you at quarter-speed, and still you fail. You take his punches, his slaps, the sweeps of his leg, and you always end up on the mat in the training room of his ship.

As your elder, he tries to give you helpful advice.

“You are very slow,” he tells you. “Move faster.”

His advice is not well received. “Fuck you,” you spit from your place on the floor, wheezing as you try to catch your breath.

Mah’tu shakes his head. “No, you must train more. How will you ever join the Hunt?”

“I’m not a hunter, asshole!”

“You are Blooded.”

“I’m a goddamned dispatcher at a heating and cooling company!”

He considers this—he did not know that the oomans could control the weather or environment in this way. He will add it to the codex so that other Yautjas may investigate it. But it likely will not help you on the Hunt.

He holds his hand out to you, and you glare at him for a long moment before you take it and allow him to haul you back onto your feet.

“Again,” he says. “I will attack you from the front, and you must feint and then counter by striking me low on my arm.” He pauses and adds, “I will go as slowly as I can.”

You make a growling noise in the back of your throat. “Fuck. You,” you grit out, but you change your stance as he shows you.

A second later, you’re on your back again, but at least you land a blow before Mah’tu puts you on the floor. Your weak little fist glances off his arm, but he is feeling generous and counts it as a win for you.

-----

At his next Hunt, Mah’tu judges that you are not prepared, so he leaves you behind at base camp. He’s not concerned that you’ll try to escape: if you run off, he’ll easily track you. If you try to steal the ship, you won’t get far, as you don’t know how to fly it.

“Stay here,” he orders anyway, and you do that thing with your too-close eyes where they move in their sockets. He believes it may mean you are displeased, but most of your expressions seem to mean that.

“Aye, aye, captain.”

He shakes his head, touches his hand to his chest. “No, I am Mah’tu. Not cap-tan.”

You do the thing with your eyes again. “It’s an expression. Sarcasm, in this case.”

He tilts his head, and you clarify, “a kind of joke.”

Ah. He nods, then turns back to his weapons. He inspects them one last time, then holsters them on his body. The different blades, the net-gun, the darts and spear.

“I will return victorious. You will stay here, little sain’ja.”

You scowl at the nickname but say nothing, and Mah’tu doesn’t tell you that it means “warrior.” It is a jest because you are no warrior. A kind of joke, as you’d say.

-----

It is a successful Hunt. It brings him much honor and new trophies.

You are unimpressed, but when he strings up his kills and begins to clean the skulls, you make an injured noise and dart to the edge of camp to retch. The retching goes on and on, so much so that Mah’tu pauses in his efforts to check on you.

“You are ill?” he asks. “You have eaten something poisonous, perhaps?”

“No, you fucking psycho!” You stand up, swipe the back of your hand along your mouth. “You killed those creatures just for their skulls?”

“Oomans kill for trophies as well,” he points out reasonably.

“Yeah, but we also eat the meat. Venison, turkey, whatever. Some humans, you know, use all of the animal. The skin and horns and stuff.”

Ah, a misunderstanding. It’s bound to happen. Mah’tu puts his hand on your shoulder and lowers his head to show he is sorry for not explaining better.

“Do not worry,” he tells you. “We will eat these creatures’ flesh as well.”

You blink at him, and then you turn away quickly to retch again. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding, but perhaps you are ill as well.

“I will get you a med-kit,” he tells you. “It will cure your illness quickly.”

“Dude, really?” You heave again, but your stomach seems to be empty of any contents. “Honestly, fuck you.”

-----

Living with you is never easy, but it does reach moments of ease, especially when considering how you tried to kill him at first.

He trains you, or tries to. You do get stronger, leaner. You lose some of the ooman softness you had, and through your spat-out cursing, Mah’tu learns small details of your life on earth. How, for example, your role as weather-shaman was a passive one that entailed a lot of sitting and little movement. You apparently were a leader of sorts, ordering other weather-shamans on where to go to bring heat or coolness to other oomans.

There is a limit to your abilities as a fighter, though, and you reach them quickly under his tutelage. You can block many of his attacks, and you can land a blow occasionally, but in twenty sparring sessions, you are lucky to draw his blood once.

He finds that the sparring helps to spend your general fury at him, and the time afterwards—your muscles trembling, your body fatigued and bruised—is almost pleasant. Mah’tu has always been interested in the ooman civilizations, and when he asks his questions, you usually answer them honestly.

“Who were your sire and dam?” he asks.

“My mom and dad?”

“Yes.”

“Then say ‘mom’ and ��dad,’ you weirdo.”

This is how Mah’tu learns that word choice is important to oomans, that your species uses words to differentiate things that are essentially the same thing.

“I never knew my dad. He took off before I was born. My mom was an alcoholic. She died when I was twenty.”

“You did not know which clan sired you?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Fuck you. I knew my dad’s name, but that was it.”

“Did you share your si…dad and mom with others?”

That, for some reason, makes your mouth turn up at the corners, your lips curved upwards. “We call those siblings. Brothers and sisters. And no, I was an only child.”

“Ah.” Mah’tu nods knowingly. “Your dad was not worthy to sire many oomans.”

And that, for some reason, makes you laugh. It doesn’t sound like a Yautja’s laughter, but it isn’t unpleasant, Mah’tu finds.

“Mom would have liked that. Not worthy. Well, the bastard never paid a cent of child support anyway.”

-----

The two of you continue like this: misunderstanding each other, clarifying what confuses the other, navigating your two separate species and cultures.

It’s not easy, but it grows easier with each passing moment. He no longer has to lock you in your room each night, as you no longer try to escape. He no longer fears your fury (not that he feared it much anyway), so he doesn’t keep such a close eye on you.

He deems you worthy of a blade. He knows you’ll likely never be trained to a level of plasmacaster, but a small blade, designed and weighted for your size and strength seems appropriate for the rare Blooded ooman.

He spends long hours in his workshop crafting it for you. His sire was a renowned weapons master, and he passed his skills onto all of his offspring. Mah’tu forges the metal, hones the edge to such a sharpness that it could split one of the hairs on your head. He carves the handle to fit your hand perfectly, and finally, he tools a fine sheath out of leather, because he worries that you’ll cut yourself sooner than you’ll cut an enemy.

On the leather sheath, he picks out the symbols for your Yautja name. His Vexing Thorn.

-----

Mah’tu learns much from you, and he adds all of it to the great shared codex of information so that other Yautja may know and learn.

Your mention of child support, for example. It is a thing that a sire must use to support his offspring—money, which is the paper goods that represents wealth. He questions you heavily on this point; Yautja honor is derived from the Hunt, but ooman honor seems to come from which of your species can acquire the most of those paper goods. It determines who may live in a fine home and who may starve, and when he explains it back to you—to make sure he understands it correctly—you stare at him, then nod.

“I mean, basically.” But then you try to explain a thing called a stock exchange, and a thing called capitalism, but when he presses certain points, you get confused too.

“I dunno, dude.” You throw your hands up, a gesture of helplessness. “I never went to college, and if I had, I wouldn’t have majored in economics.”

-----

Early on, he calibrates to the ebb and flow of your body, and the questions he asks you in regards to your biology is what makes you the most anxious. Through his bio-mask, he can see how the heat courses to your face. He can hear your heartbeat increase in cadence, but he cannot understand why you respond in such a way. A body is a body. It’s systems and rhythms are what they are.

“You are injured,” he tells you, early. He’s still locking you in at night, and you’re still scowling at him and calling him, among other things, a fucking lizard asshole.

“’m not,” you reply.

He breathes the air of the cockpit. “I smell blood.”

The heat floods your face; it shows white-hot in his mask. “Shut up.”

“If you are injured—”

“I said I’m not.”

“If you are bleeding, I can get a med-kit—”

“Fuck, dude! I’m on my period, okay?”

Mah’tu tilts his head and thinks back to the rudimentary studies he’d read about oomans. “Ah, you are menstru—”

You cut him off with another scowl, but your eyes fix on the stars in front of you outside of the cockpit. “And by the way, having one’s period in deep space is not as fun as it sounds. I bet Princess Leia never had to worry about it.”

He does not understand your ire. “Is this Princess Leia a famed statesman on your planet?” he asks, kindly as he can, but you cut him an icy glare and launch yourself out of your chair and out of the cockpit.

You manage to toss a strained “fuck you” over your shoulder before you leave, as you often do.

-----

So Mah’tu comes to understand the seasons of your body. He also comes to understand how your feel about those seasons. He does not mention when you are on your period, though he can tell. He is sure to give you more privacy, and that helps ease the strain between the two of you.

But with other things, your face does not get inflamed. When your head aches, or when you twist a joint in sparring, you are free with discussing these things with him. When you feel hunger or thirst, when you require a blade to trim away the excess hair that grows from your head. When you feel tired. You share these things with him.

The only other thing you don’t share is when you are in heat. Mah’tu can tell that too, can scent you when your heat is upon you. It runs in the same rhythm as your period does, the two part of the same cycle that seems to come every thirty or day earth days.

It happens so often, he thinks. Yauja females only have a handful of heats in their entire long lives, yet you could spawn eleven or twelve oomans in one earth year. His mind is baffled by the math of it until he checks the codex and learns that no, oomans do not spawn that much. Despite their numerous heats, they only produce roughly the same number of pups as a Yautja female would.

Mah’tu sighs and leans back in his seat once he reads that. He has so much to learn.

The next section in that part of the codex details observed ooman mating rituals, and below that, known instances of Yautja and ooman mated pairs.

It is the latter that makes Mah’tu lean forward, then glance over his shoulder, then lean forward more: a furtive move that would put one in mind of a teenaged human boy looking at pornography for the first time, though of course Mah’tu would not know that.

*****

Sometimes you wonder if you were in an accident that has left you in a deep coma somewhere. How else can you explain the hell that broke loose that night, your small town overrun by monsters?

And how else can you explain the monster who…what? Kidnapped you? Saved you? Because he stole you away from home, but you also saw that mushroom cloud from the porthole in his ship. Did earth even still exist? If you could escape, where would you go?

It’s easier to imagine this all as a fever dream. A coma. Some consequence of a broken brain throwing out insane story lines around monsters and aliens and space travel to worlds you couldn’t even fathom.

But then reality comes rushing back at you, usually in the form of the giant beast named Mah’tu, swiping at you or tripping you or hitting you with the dull blades of his goddamned fucking spaceship dojo.

Then you realize, arm or leg throbbing, bruise forming on your stomach, eye swelling shut or lip split: this is no coma. It’s real life.

-----

He doesn’t kill you. You learn, over time, it’s because you killed one of those disgusting black things with the giant head full of teeth. He had traced its blood onto your head, and you finger the scar sometimes when you struggle to sleep at night.

“You are Blooded,” he explains, like you know what the fuck that means. “You are a member of my clan now.”

Great. Wonderful. You finally had a found family of giant lizard aliens.

You try to explain it to him. Killing that thing was dumb luck. It was some animal instinct, flailing as it cornered you. Your hand had found the piece of metal, and the monster came at you, and you had swung in a move of self-preservation.

“Dumb luck,” you tell him.

But his beady little eyes shine at you, and he lays a heavy paw on your shoulder. “A warrior’s instinct,” he corrects you.

You snort. You, a fucking warrior. You barely passed gym class in high school, cringing during dodgeball, puking during the timed mile run.

“A mistake,” you counter.

He shakes his head. “Fate.”

-----

It’s not terrible. You’re no warrior, but your childhood with an unsteady mother left you with the ability to adapt pretty easily.

He trains you, or tries. He goes hunting for his psycho room of trophy skulls, but he doesn’t force you to eat the raw, dripping meat he harvests. He takes the time to feed you a fruit-type stew, great chunks of roasted vegetables, some kind of flatbread. You recognize the hypocrisy of it—you loved a good burger on earth—but now you’re a vegetarian by default.

He gives you your own space, a narrow storage closet that he cleans out and makes a little nest of furs. When you hurt too much or get sick, he administers some sort of alien medicine that heals you and gives you a boost of energy, like you imagine old-style Coca-Cola used to do when they made it with a little cocaine.

So you endure, and sometimes—you’ll never admit it to him, the goddamned asshole who stole you away from home—sometimes, you actually enjoy this new life. When the stress of work and debts and making rent each month and trying to save up for a new car fall away, when you are whittled down to a more essential sort of life, you find that your anxious mind calms.

You find that you sleep pretty well in that nest of soft furs, all things considered.

-----

The training, though.

The goddamned training.

He is unfailingly patient, at least. He never once gets frustrated when you fail to move the right way. In the rare off-chance you land a blow on him, his happiness is outsized, like a parent crowing when their toddler takes their first steps.

It should be humiliating, but sometimes his praise makes you smile in spite of yourself. You know he’s humoring you, but still. You’ll take your wins where you can get them.

The problem with your handful of training successes, though, is that he thinks you ready for more. He introduces weapons with dull blades. Today, you’re training with some fucking spear thing, and he raps you over and over with his own. A stinging blow across your knuckles. A stab to your belly that lands like a punch. Finally, a curt jab to your ankle that strikes you right on your ankle bone, and you hit the ground with a shriek at the pain that crackles like lightning from your foot.

“Asshole!” you wheeze. You pull yourself into a fetal position on your side, and you pull your injured foot up towards you. You flex your foot. It doesn’t seem broken, but you know it will bruise. And you know he’ll make you swallow a vial of whatever healing shit he has, and the bruise will heal within the day, and tomorrow you’ll be back here, tears leaking out of your eyes as you stare up at him.

“You were supposed to move to the left.” He tilts his head, studies you. “You stepped into my blow instead.”

“Fuck you!” You spit it out with all the venom you can muster. Sparring is as much choreography as it is strength and speed, and guess what? You’ve never danced in your life, aside from some drunken flailing at bars and wedding receptions when you were younger.

At your words, though, he tilts his head the other way, and his bright yellow eyes bore into you.

“Not now,” he replies. “Perhaps when you are in heat next.”

That immediately takes your mind from the throbbing in your ankle. You gape at him, and he stares down at you wordlessly. Did you misunderstand him? It seems a miracle he can speak at all, and English at that, but he is very literal.

“What?” you finally manage to choke out.

“If we are to mate, we should wait until you are in heat again.” He says it so matter-of-factly, and you can feel the blood flooding your face and neck.

“I don’t—”

“It will be upon you in four or five earth days.”

You uncurl yourself and sit up. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“I can smell you.”

You curl your nose in disgust. “Oh, gross. You can smell me? You sound like a fucking serial killer. Hannibal Lecter in space.” You struggle to your feet, and when he reaches out his hand to help, you bat it away.

He tilts his head again, but now there is a question in his eyes. “Is this a misunderstanding, little sain’ja? You have said numerous times you would like to mate with me.”

“The fuck I have!”

“Is that not what it means, when you say ‘fuck you’? The codex indicates that ‘fuck’ means ‘to mate.’”

You gape at him again. Then you close your eyes, pinch the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath. He’s not wrong. You’ve said ‘fuck you’ a thousand times to him. Goddamnit.

You keep your eyes squeezed shut, and you manage to say as politely as you can, “yes, it’s a misunderstanding.”

You hear the huff he breathes out, the low growl, and then he replies, “another instance of ooman words meaning different things, then.”

“Yeah, update the codex, dude.”

“I will.” A beat, and then he adds, “this Hannibal Lecter. Is he a great warrior in your species?”

-----

The problem is, once he says it, you can’t get it out of your head.

Why do you seem more open to it as time passes? You read once that Stockholm Syndrome wasn’t real, but perhaps it is and you have some version of it. Or maybe you’re just lonely, and had been lonely before you got kidnapped by him, or saved by him, depending on the lens you took on the matter.

It’s true that you had been in a dry spell on earth. You lived in a small town with few prospects. Everyone your age was already paired up, many married with kids. You and your ex had broken up a year before the alien invasion, and you’d had no dates in the interim, no offers, no tempting moments with another person.

And anyway, your ex hadn’t been that great. It had been a relationship of convenience until you had gotten wise to the fact that life with him was not convenient at all. The sex was mediocre at best, he was always borrowing money from you, and never rinsed his toothpaste down the drain when he brushed his teeth.

He never got you anything as a gift either. Mah’tu, in comparison, crafted a custom knife for you…which isn’t exactly a necklace from Tiffany’s, but there is no other knife like yours in the known universe, either.

He’s also considerate to your temperament, your likes and dislikes. He makes sure you have food you’ll eat. He does his skull-cleaning grossness out of sight now. More than once, he’s taken a detour to a planet just to show it to you, just to watch you stand on alien soil and gape like an idiot at flora and fauna that no other human has ever seen.

The craziest thought you’ve ever thought: maybe this fucking alien is the closest thing to a healthy relationship I’ve ever had in my life.

“You’ve lost it,” you whisper in the darkness of your quarters one night. “You’ve lost your goddamned mind.”

Because you lie there for a long moment, thinking about it, and you find that you don’t need to be in heat (the word alone makes you groan in disgust) to feel the sharp knife of desire lance through your belly at the thought of him.

-----

One night, around the fire of a planet where he’s hunting, you ask him.

“Why did you save me?” You watch him as he looks up from polishing his knife. He seems to consider his answer.

“Because you are Blooded, in my clan.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to do that.”

He shakes his head, the dread-like things on his head moving as he does. “It is required. You killed a kiande amedha.”

“I’ve told you, that was an accident. Dumb luck.”

“Many Yautja die in the attempt to kill one.”

“But I’m no warrior. I could never kill another.”

He makes a low trill, which seems to be his version of a chuckle. “No. But you only need kill one to be Blooded.”

You look down at your hands. They are calloused now from all the training, the nails trimmed short. “So it’s just that, then? Just dumb luck that got me here?”

“Not only that, little sain’ja. You could have killed me but did not.”

“So you owe me?”

“No. There is no debt.” He pauses. “Why do you question me?”

You lift your hands in a helpless gesture. “I dunno.”

“The codex says that oomans often question their fate.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you snort. “I just was curious. I thought maybe it was that thing, you know. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“You think I brought you here because we mutually aided each other against the serpents?”

You nod. “Sure.”

Mah’tu shakes his head again, and he chuckles in his way. “No, little sain’ja. I brought you here because you are Blooded in my clan. I’ve kept you with me because I enjoy your presence.”

It’s not Shakespeare, you suppose, but it’s a sweet sentiment, in his own sort of way.

*****

There is a series of Hunts, and Mah’tu fails in one, succeeds in the others. His trophy room has much more Honor added to it, though you remain unimpressed by his prowess.

“Gross,” you say when you peek in at it.

He points to the long skull of the kiande amedha, the one he killed to become Blooded. “Had we more time, I would have beheaded yours so you could keep your trophy.”

You make a face and lift a hand to touch the scar on your forehead. “I think I have plenty to remember it, but thanks. If I ever end up back home, I’ll need to look up a plastic surgeon to handle this.”

It takes some explaining what you mean, but when Mah’tu grasps your meaning, he is outraged. You think the mark makes you unworthy. Ugly, you say.

“It marks you as worthy. A special ooman,” he spits out. “The others of your kind would be fools to not see you as such.”

Normally, you’d do that thing with your eyes, but instead you study him. Stare at him, steady and unblinking. Finally you say, “you may be the only creature who sees me that way.”

He huffs. “Then I am the only creature with eyes to see and a brain to think.”

-----

He is not sure what changes with you. Perhaps you only needed time to adapt to life with him. Oomans, he knows, are highly adaptable.

You have stopped the verbal abuse entirely. You make an earnest attempt when training, and by applying yourself, you earn the right to learn the net-gun. You earn your own bio-mask, and Mah’tu labors over it for several star cycles. You have such a tiny skull, and your eyes are so far apart. It must be custom made.

You join him on a Hunt. It is just a small one, a training to whet a new spear he has made. The prey is hardly worthy, but Mah’tu uses the opportunity to teach you how to stalk, how to move silently, how to be still and watch. You are much better at that than you are at fighting, and though you kill nothing on your first Hunt, you earn Honor for yourself by successfully stalking a herd of very jittery prey. They never once suspect you, and Mah’tu trills in pride when he sees you get close enough to reach out and touch one.

That night around the fire, he gives you much praise. You like that, he finds—you duck your head as if ashamed, but it is to hide your smile. Which means you are pleased.

“Had you been a moment quicker, you could have killed one,” he tells you. “Though it would be a small skull. Our younglings often kill them to learn their blades.”

You laugh. “Oh, fuck you. Our younglings. Yeah, yeah, I get it. This weak-ass human is less skilled than a Yautja infant.”

That phrase again. He knows what it means now, though he was greatly disappointed that it wasn’t what he thought. Still, he bristles; he sits up straighter and looks at you when you say it, and when you realize what you’ve done, you give him a sheepish look.

“Be at ease,” he says. “I know what you mean.”

Incredibly, you lower your head, and he sees no smile there. You kick your foot in the dirt, scuffing it, and you mumble, “maybe I meant it the other way.”

“Which way?”

You groan, and you place your hands over your face. He isn’t wearing his bio-mask, but he can guess that your face is inflamed.

“Don’t make me say it.” The words are muffled, and your voice is tight.

“Say what?”

“Ugh, the gross way you phrase everything. You know what I mean.”

“I do not, little sain’ja.” Though he does—it is a lie to say he does not understand. As you’d say, it’s a kind of joke. Pretending one thing when another is true. A ooman sort of jest.

“You know what I mean. Fuck’s sake, I mean mating.” You whisper the last word, make it small in your mouth, but he hears it anyway.

He wonders what changed in this respect too, but he can consider it later. “We should wait until your next heat is on you.”

That makes you squawk, a sound of outrage. “Absolutely not! I’d never survive it if I got pregnant!”

He chuckles at your horror. “There would be no risk. There are no Yautja-ooman hybrids. It is an impossible thing.”

You sag in relief. “Then why wait?”

“We cannot if you are not in heat,” he points out.

Now it is your turn to laugh at him, and then Mah’tu has another clarification to add to the codex: oomans can mate nearly any time, any place, so long as the mood is upon them.

As it turns out, the mood is upon you now, and Mah’tu is grateful that his face does not show his emotions as blatantly as yours does—otherwise, you may see how he is flustered, then aroused in equal measure.

*****

He would take you outside, you think, but you douse the fire and lead him back into the ship. For one, you don’t want this to be out in the open, where any creature could witness.

For another, you want to be as close as possible to his array of med-kits and healing sprays. God knows how this is going to work. He’s bigger than you in every way possible. It may not work at all.

He seems confused, but he lets you lead him. You, for once, hold your hand out to him. He makes a low trill, and takes it, and he follows you into the ship. You start to lead him into your quarters by habit, but he stops, tugs you towards his.

“More space,” he says.

In his quarters, he only stands and watches you. Waits for you to make a move. Which is novel, for you: you’re used to letting your partner lead, though your partner up until now has exclusively been a disappointing and generally clueless human male.

“Um.” You kick off your boots. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, then take a breath and pull it off, as quick as you can. “How do you usually?”

That curious head tilt of his. “Usually what?”

You swear to god that he’s toying with you. His stupid face gives nothing away, but he’s not usually so dense.

“How do your kind mate?” You undo the snap on your pants, the zipper, and you push them over your hips. You kick them off, peel out of your socks, and stand in front of him in your underwear.

They mate like they do everything else: with ceremony, rules, customs, elaborate steps that either mean honor or dishonor. They mate due to some confusing clan alliance, and the mating is always towards breeding the next generation of Yautja. They don’t generally mate for pleasure, though of course it is pleasurable to mate, he explains.

“But you are not beholden to those customs,” he adds. “As you cannot add glory to our clan by breeding with me.”

“Noted.”

“Even if we could have offspring, they would be very weak.”

“I said I got it, thanks.”

While he gives his explanation, he strips too. He lays aside his greaves, his gauntlets, his weird footwear. The data pad he wears on his wrist. The fine netting of his invisibility tech. The thick belt that holds more weaponry than Batman’s setup. He leaves his loincloth-thing on, though, and stands to look at you.

He makes no move. You give him a long moment to lead, but when he only stands and watches you, you decide to lead.

You bridge the few steps between you, and this close—sans most of your clothing and most of his—the size difference has never been more stark. Hell, the difference in your damned species has never been more stark. He’s objectively ugly, you suppose. You must be just as ugly to him, but you wonder if he finds you as fascinating as you find him?

He's a greyish green at first glance, but you’ve noticed that his coloring depends on the light. Sometimes he looks more like a gem, glimmering a darker green like an emerald. Now, in the lower light of his berth, he shimmers almost iridescent.

You’ve touched him plenty in the training sessions, so you know that your first impression (cool and slimy) is incorrect. His skin is dry, warm to the touch. You reach out a tentative hand and lay it on one of his massive pectoral muscles, and when you do, he lays his own hand over yours. Engulfing it.

“How do your kind mate?” he asks, and honestly? He kinda nails the bedroom voice because he lowers his register and growls it, and the sound makes the ache between your legs grow stronger.

Who knew he had it in him?

You think on how to answer him, but he adds, “show me, little sain’ja.”

*****

It takes much of his strength to not overpower you. He can smell your arousal, sharper even than when you’re in your heat. He can hear your heartbeat growing faster, can hear your breathing getting a harsh edge to it. Mostly, though, it’s just his instinct to want to fight you, to submit you to him. To treat you like a Yautja female, really.

But you’re not Yautja. The sight of you in your thin underthings is proof of that. Your fragile skin has no variations aside from a few scars. Your fleshy mouth, your too-wide eyes, the strange lifeless hair that sprouts from your head…he should find you repellent, but when you touch him, he leans into the sensation of your hand on his chest.

He orders you to lead. He does not want to hurt you, so he puts the moment in your hands.

You pause, considering your moves. Thoughtful of what to do in order to make this work. You nod then, and remove the remainder of your clothing, and Mah’tu takes in what has been hidden from him: your breasts, despite having no younglings to nourish. The curls that cover your sex. You gesture to him, and he removes his loincloth, and your already-wide eyes go wider to the point where he fears they may fall out of your skull.

“Fuck,” you breathe out.

He nods. “Yes.”

You laugh at him, and it’s the merry version, not the frustrated kind. “We have to go slowly.”

“Yes.”

“I mean it. You have to….” You pause, and he hears the way you swallow as you study him. “You’ll basically have to not move until I, uh, get used to it. Once we…start.”

Another nod. “Yes. I understand.”

"But you can, uh, touch me. If you want. Before we start."

He lies down on his furs when you tell him to, and you approach him carefully. You cast a wary eye on him as you kneel beside him, then shuffle closer. He takes a hand and chances to touch one of your curves, the one from the dip in your waist to the swell of your hip, and you like that. He can smell the way your arousal blooms, so he continues touching you. Slowly. Carefully. He leads you to lie down beside him, and he touches all the parts of you he never has touched in your training sessions.

Each place is a revelation.

Your breasts are soft, malleable, yet they are tipped with firm nipples. He molds his hands around the shape of them, which makes you moan, but when he skates a blunt nail carefully over each nipple, one and then the other, you part your lips and swear at him.

“Fuck’s sake,” you say, and your voice is tight, like you’re pained.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. God, no.” Another hard swallow. “That’s…that’s good. You can do that again.”

So he does.

Oomans, he finds, perhaps like their pleasure with a little pain, or even just the threat of it. He is gentle with you, careful of his strength and his claws, but your arousal grows sharp when he draws a nail over your tender skin or when he wraps one hand around your neck to hold you still from your wriggling.

His exploration leads him lower, to the source of your arousal. He slides a gentle finger between your legs, feels how hot you are, how wet you are, how the slick seeps out of you in anticipation for the joining with him.

All the same…

“Your sex is very small,” he mutters. He drags the pad of one finger through your folds and finds your entrance. He tests it, pushes it into you, and it goes fine with how wet you are, but a lone finger is nothing compared to his cock. Still, when he breeches your entrance with his digit, he hears the breathy way you whisper his name. Better, he feels how your sex twitches against him. Like it seeks to draw him in deeper.

So he adds a second finger, which makes you curse, but it is much the same. The same twitching from the smooth muscles of your sex. A fresh pulse of wetness coats his fingers, and he pushes them in, draws them out, mimics mating in this way. Spreads his fingers inside you, to stretch you in preparation.

“God,” you whisper. “Please, don’t stop. Keep…keep doing that, okay?”

He nods. He’s an eager pupil, and you can teach him this. A moment later he feels it: your tiny hand, fumbling for his cock. Circling your slender fingers around his girth. You have little strength but it’s enough to give him pleasure, and he wonders how much is due to your grip and how much is due to the fact that it’s you, his Vexing Thorn, gripping him there.

“This gives you pleasure?” he asks.

“Yes.” You hiss it, draw the word out. With your other hand, you reach down yourself and show him another part of you, a firm little bud also slick with your arousal, just above your entrance. “If you, you know, touch that carefully. Rub it? Carefully. It will be…ah, fuck, yes. Like that. Just like that.”

As he works his hand, he feels you relaxing. Loosening. You are still very small, but it seems more likely that you can take him now, so he keeps going, and you writhe against him, stroke him as you whine out all sorts of words he’ll have to study later.

You reach some point where you deem yourself ready, and you push his hand away. You take your own hand from him, and he grumbles in disappointment, but then you are on him, on top of him, pushing him back, and he lets you.

“Are you okay with this?” you ask. You straddle him, and he feels the hot slick of you pressed against the length of him. “I mean, I don’t know the politics of this. Is this even consensual?”

“Explain your question more.”

You sigh, but you also slide against him, your lower body moving back and forth in small motions as your hands brace on his stomach. He feels how you’re coating him in your arousal, and the mechanics of it make sense. If your sex is slick and his is as well, it will make the mating easier—

“I mean, we never reviewed consensual sex with other species in high school sex ed.”

“I do not understand.” He grips the fat of your ass, you’re so soft there, and he urges your movements. There is pleasure even in this, and he feels himself growing harder underneath you.

“Am I…fuck, I don’t know how to say it without just saying it. Is this what you want? Am I coercing you for sex?”

He chuckles under you, trills deep and long. “Little sain’ja, how could you coerce me? You are so weak.”

You pout, the fleshy lower lip of yours stuck out and wet. “Asshole.”

“I could throw you off me in an instant. I could be on top of you before you could even blink.”

That makes a fresh beat of arousal pulse out of you, coating him more. He notes it. Perhaps you would find pleasure underneath him, just as he is enjoying being underneath you.

“Okay, yeah. Good. So we’re good, then.”

“This is what I want,” he clarifies to your question. “You can feel how I strain to seat myself in you.”

“Well, then.” You gaze at him a beat longer, but you shift, reach your hand down. You grasp him at the root of his cock, and you lift yourself up enough to slot the flared head of him against your entrance.

“I mean it. Please don’t move at all until I tell you. This is…” You trail off, and your pink tongue darts out to lick your lips. “This is a lot.”

He nods. “I will not move until you order me to.”

At that, you begin to lower yourself onto him.

It goes so slow. It must, despite your arousal. You are so small, and he is large, but your anatomy is such that it can take far more than he thought. But it must go slow, so your sex can adapt to him. Wonderful, adaptable oomans: your sex twitches and grabs at his cock as you work yourself onto him, but he enters you bit by bit, and you breathe deep and mumble curses, but you also groan at what you’re feeling, and it sounds like a pleasurable noise to him.

But you take him to the root, in time. In time, you sit flush on him, no space between where he ends and you begin, and Mah’tu has never felt a mating like this in his long life.

“Fuck, I can feel you in my throat,” you whine, and you wriggle at where you sit on him. It sends him a fraction deeper, and he can feel the end of his cock nestled against some inner part of you, though he assumes it is your womb and not your throat. But he also assumes it is one of those things where you say a word and it means something else, but he doesn’t ask for clarification because he needs all of his strength to lie still and wait for your command to move.

It doesn’t come just yet. You sit on him, the back of your thighs flush with his hips. You don’t move much; you move and resettle, you wince and then move, and your tense face cedes to one of panting pleasure. Little by little, you start to move: lifting yourself off of him a fraction, lower yourself back down. Your arousal keeps it as easy as it can be, and in moving, he feels your sex relax more, molding itself to the shape of him.

“Is this okay for you?” you whisper, and he nods his head. He keeps his grip on your ass but only as a place to touch you, not to harry you along. How can he describe what he’s feeling? He has no tricky words like you do, and he fears his blunt speech may anger you.

If he could say what he’s feeling, it would simply be this: that you’re his mate, and now that he’s felt this once, you’ll be his mate for life. He would not give you to another, nor allow another to touch you, and if you wanted to return to earth, he’d go with you and find a way to live amongst the other weak, tricky oomans.

Eventually, you begin to move in earnest. Riding him in a steady rhythm: raising off of him until only the broad crown of his cock is nestled in you, then sinking back onto him. Over and over, in this way, your constant phrase of ‘fuck you’ is realized, and Mah’tu growls at this new way of mating.

“You can…you can move,” you finally tell him. “But slowly, slow….ah, fuck!”

You don’t finish the thought because he moves. Not as you expected, probably, but Mah’tu is a quick study. He shifts one hand from where it kneads at the softness of your ass, and he draws the pad of his finger at where the small nub peeks out at the apex of your sex. He rubs it carefully, mindful of his claw, and it makes your hips jerk against him.

“Yes, don’t stop. Jesus, you’re….keep doing that. Just that.” The pace you’re riding him picks up in speed, and it makes your breasts bounce, drawing his gaze for a moment before it snaps back to where he disappears into the confines of your body.

“I’m close,” you tell him a moment later.

“Close to me?” he guesses.

You laugh, breathless. “Close to coming.”

“Coming where?”

Another laugh, and your rhythm falters for a moment. You reach out and steady your hand on his chest, and your face is perfectly relaxed, radiant in happiness, and Mah’tu thinks that even if you are ugly with your ooman features, he finds you beautiful. Perfect.

“Close to…my pleasure,” you clarify, and you resume the quick pace of fucking him, riding him, drawing him into your body.

“Ah.” He strokes the hot, swollen bud above where he slides into you, and he considers himself. His own pleasure has been close for a while now, his seed close to bursting. “I am close too, then, little sain’ja.”

“You can….come….with me.” You’re panting now, pushing out your words in time to each time you reseat yourself. A sheen of sweat glistens along your skin, making you look almost part Yautja in the low light. “If you…want. Want to…feel you.”

He nods. “I will do as you ask.”

Another breathless laugh, but then you say no more, and he can only observe your body for any clues. Ooman pleasure is blatant, he finds, because your sex gets wetter, and then you moan loudly. Then your entire body seizes in a way, trembles and shakes above him, but your sex tightens against him like a fist, and it’s easy for his pleasure to break as well. He feels it in a way he never has before, like a great wave carrying him towards you, and he spills inside you with a roar that must shake the walls of his ship.

-----

With Yautja mating, once it is complete, the two part. If they meet again, it is only incidental, a consequence of sharing younglings.

So it is strange, how you nestle against him after you both reach your pleasure. He remains nestled inside you, a snug fit that keeps his seed confined in your body—but you lean your upper body down onto him, nuzzle your face against his broad chest, and just lie there.

It is very strange. But it is not unpleasant. A beat after you settle, he places a hand on your back to hold you firmer against him. Your skin is warm and soft under his palm, and he strokes you softly.

“I did not hurt you?” he asks after a long while of lying like this.

“Only in the best way.” Your mouth is near his skin, and he can feel your warm breath against him.

“Explain your meaning.”

“I’ll definitely be aching in the morning.” You pause, seem to think on it. “But it’s a good ache. Like…the ache of training really hard.”

Mah’tu chuckles, and he drags the blunt tips of his claws along the skin of your back, which makes you squirm against him. The motion makes his cock, only half-hard now, twitch back to life.

“You are much better at mating than training,” he tells you.

“Asshole.” You turn your head against him, and he feels the blunt edge of your teeth. You are biting him, but there is no pain. The sensation—your wet mouth on him—makes his cock twitch harder, make the blood pool there to make him grow harder.

You can feel it. You breathe against the wet spot you’ve put on his chest, but then he feels you move—a deliberate rocking, very carefully.

He has many questions he’d like to ask you—other ways your kind mate, for example—but he saves them for later because the mood is upon you again, just as the mood is upon him. And anyway, in the course of your second mating, some of his questions are answered by showing, and Mah’tu is an eager pupil.

#kinktober2024 #clear the inbox 2024 #tropes and tales #the predator #the predator x reader #the predator imagine #yautja #yautja x reader #yautja imagine #the predator series

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arieswritez · 8 months ago

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puppy love

puppy love | yandere!mark grayson x afab!reader | MULTI-CHAP: 1

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!!! reader is neurodivergent, ableism, growing up is messy & adults suck, angst, niceguy™/slight incel mark, childhood friend/bully!mark, mark gets his powers sooner, teeny tiny implications of pseudo incest (blink and you'll miss it), violent rape, threats of violence, & canon typical violence, stalking, implied murder, gender & body dysphoria, mentions/implications of disordered eating, mark teases reader about their body once, overall asshole mark, implied grooming (mark handles it but he's a lil bitch about it later), so, victim blaming, misogyny, the inexplicable horrors of being afab, objectification, sexualization

about; snapshots of you and mark growing up together. neither of you make it to the other end of the spectrum - budding adulthood - unscathed . . . but at least you have each other. what is it they say? Sandbox love never dies.

a/n: alt title [vignettes of a life: growing pains]. here's something to make you wish you were never born xx. this came out wayy longer than i expected & i figured the only way to properly digest it was by breaking it up into chapters. this one’s pretty intense so please heed the warnings. they'll be included in every chapter forward. enjoy! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

1 .

you still remember the fog of childhood innocence.

the fluffy pajamas that were both comfy and scratchy all at once. the stickers on your bedroom wall, on your wooden headboard. plastic restaurant playground mazes, fishing out toys from greasy boxes. the feeling of chalk staining your fingers and gravel digging into your soft knees: chubby legs soon to be scarred.

and amidst the fog, you remember mark. the sporty, hyperactive kid who’d run across the school yard with a sweater wrapped around his neck like a cape, arms spread wide pretending he could fly.

you remember him.

vibrant, loving, quick witted.

it was glaringly obvious all the kids in your grade wanted to be friends with mark grayson. he had a posse: his very own group of 'superheroes', as the teachers used to call it. and before you learned to multiply, something inside you brewed like a poison. you wanted to be like him but you weren't, and so, your stubborn, little kid mind decided you didn't like him.

you hated him, actually. you hated the way he knew all the right answers in class. you hated his laugh. you hated how he was the fastest during sports. you hated how he was fun and smart and good at everything you weren't.

but dislike or not, that didn't stop your fixation. you continued to watch him from afar. and in your journals - to the best of your ability - you drew yourself striding across the playground with a sweater tied around your neck.

you kept to yourself. painfully shy and practically non-verbal: despite your daydreams of someday being a 'normal' kid like mark. your teachers held conferences with your parents about your struggles. despite the fog that blanketed the memories of your childhood: the feeling of dread settling deep in your tummy during the meetings is something that makes you wince to this day.

while you traced patterns into the table in front of you, they'd talk about you as if you weren't in the same room. your teacher did most of the talking. . and, like most of the time, your brain blocked out the sound of her droning voice. instead, your parent's voice was who you heard. and despite struggling to keep up with the onslaught of information, too, all your parent offered was a hushed, “I don't know what's wrong with them.”

you couldn't pay attention. you didn't talk to the other kids. you clung onto your teacher while in class. . and onto your parent during drop-off.

you were different.

intelligent.

but different.

the former a more pressing concern than the latter.

after countless tedious meetings, you soon associated being different with being singled out. being different meant spending an hour sitting in a boring office, listening to teachers repeat the same information - over and over and over again.

a mention about a doctor your parent(s) always refused.

regardless of the calming - sympathetic? - smile of your teacher, it always felt like you were in trouble. even if you couldn't quite put your finger on what you were doing wrong.

on the way home, your parent(s) would eye you through the rearview mirror. you pulled at the loose strings from your sweater and pretended not to notice.

the front door of your childhood home would creak open. your parent(s) would sit at the dinner table, silent, immobile, and - quiet as always - you'd go to your room until you were certain they were asleep to sneak either dinner or a midnight snack.

you were in trouble.

you just didn't know how to stop getting into it.

your teachers grew evermore desperate.

when suggestions of socializing would cause you to clam up: they decided to bite the bullet and break you in by force, hoping your behavior was caused by childhood timidity. one you’d soon outgrow instead of. . something else.

they’d grouped you with myriad of students in hopes you'd socialize or at least participate in something that wasn't independent school work. soon, your tears of frustration when you couldn't communicate correctly no longer held it's child-like charm. your teary, red eyed protests were ignored.

or met with indignation.

until finally - as a last ditch effort you assume - they sat you next to mark grayson.

you protested. not because he made you nervous - which he did - but because you wanted to dislike him. because being in the proximity of everything you wanted to be would be too much to bare. because mark would only make you look even weirder in comparison. but none of it mattered because as soon as the two of you met everything just. . fell into place.

much to your pleasure, he did most of the talking and didn't seem weirded out by your social skills - or lack thereof.

you found your tummy didn't hurt when he spoke to you and he didn't ask you something along the lines of why are you this way? why aren't you like the rest of us?

for the first time while in school, you were comfortable. the overwhelming pressure of having to perform was nonexistent in mark's company.

he'd ask you about your favorite cartoons and movies, and books, and “oh! do you read any comics?!”, and ranted on how unfair it was that the two of you would soon be forced to read books without pictures in them.

his excitement barely let you get a word in. his energy was contagious, all consuming, and the attention he gave you felt like the praise you'd hardly ever receive. you forgot all about your dumb vendetta, wondering why you had one in the first place. and you morphed into a mini version of him.

the two of you were attached by the hip by the end of the week. much to the dismay of your teachers, who you were sure began to rethink their decision when the two of you wouldn't behave in class.

and, perhaps, it was a mistake. they wouldn't want you to potentially stunt mark’s growth - what if it was contagious?

unbeknownst to you, your teachers did think about separating the two of you. but the risk of you reverting to your old ways and the possibility of invoking debbie grayson’s wrath must've been far too high for their liking.

ultimately, a unanimous decision was made to grit their teeth and bare it.

in the meantime, his posse reluctantly welcomed you in. mark even gave you your very own superhero name! and you tried your hardest to keep up with him. for his sake. for your own.

god knows you tried.

but you were never good at performing.

you weren't as fast or as agile as him. you couldn't jump high enough and your sound effects were nowhere near as good. and in an attempt to overcompensate, you overestimated yourself, took a leap you knew you couldn't make, and scraped your knee.

and like a true hero, mark was the first to come to your aid. he'd sat you down on the plastic playset of the playground while you sniveled - part due to embarrassment instead of the stinging, throbbing pain of a scraped knee. he'd dabbed at your injury with crumbled tissue and placed a colorful seance dog band-aid over your cut.

when you finished rubbing your eye with your tiny fist, you didn't see beading blood and irritated flesh, instead, you were met with big, dark brown eyes that glimmered as they stared into yours.

he was close enough to count his eyelashes.

“see?” he patted a chubby hand against your knee gently. “all better!”

and, yeah - heat spread across your cheeks with newfound emotion - it was all better. all evidence of injury, the throbbing pain and blood, was long gone save for the aid he’d given you.

he’d patched you up. he'd made you better. in more ways than one. and what remained was a fuzzy feeling inside your chest.

he’d grinned at you with missing front teeth.

and you found yourself grinning back.

CHAPTER 2

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #yandere mark grayson x reader #yandere mark grayson #invincible #invincible x reader #when he's just like his dad </3 #FIRST MULTICHAP FIC LETS GOOO #god this is gonna be a trip

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cherrycocaineee · 11 months ago

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39. Billy Hargrove - Ruined

* Synopsis: Billy Hargrove has been keeping an eye on Vivianne Blanchet for a while now; a sweet girl who was still somewhat new to Hawkins, Indiana. She was pure in every aspect and Billy just wanted to ruin her more times than once. *

* Warning: smut, rough, unprotected, drunk/tipsy sex, breeding, and anything else considered a warning. *

* Billy Hargrove’s p.o.v *

School hadn’t even started yet and she was already driving me crazy just standing beside her locker innocently. She was holding her books close to her chest while talking to one of her little friends about whatever it was girls talked about. Her lips were perfectly glossed, her hair bounced when she laughed, and her body moved delicately as she turned to talk to someone new. I couldn’t even pay attention to what the people were saying to me because she clouded all of my senses greedily. Even now while she was chatting it up with some guy, I couldn’t focus on the conversation I was supposed to be having. My eyes were glued to him, watching every move he made, daring him to lay a single finger on her. Her eyes fluttered close for a single second before they landed on me, a smile spreading across her perfectly, plump, dusk-rose lips as she waved at me. I smiled back giving her a small wave before she turned back to her friends.

“She’s cute, isn’t she?” Tommy grinned, his eyes following mine towards Vivianne, “I’ve been checking her out too. Bet she’s a freak.”

A low growl rumbled deep in my chest as I forced myself to look away from her to glare at Tommy. He never stopped staring at her. I noticed the way he licked his lips, the way his eyes dragged down to take in all of her body; every predatorial move he made made me want to rip his throat out. Instead, I chose the latter. Grabbing his collar, I pushed him roughly against the wall. He let out a yelp at the sudden impact.

“Back off,” I growled, “you hear me? She’s mine.”

“Okay!” Tommy agreed, holding his hands up in surrender.

I let go of his shirt just as the bell rang telling everyone to get to class. Vivianne was walking away with her friends towards whatever class she was supposed to have right now. I sighed, annoyed that neither of us had a class together due to the grade difference.

All day I couldn’t get her out of my head, specifically her voice. She was so innocently pure that I couldn’t stop picturing all the noises she would make just by me simply touching her. Or the sounds she would make with my cock pounding relentlessly into her tight cunt. Tommy was wrong, Vivianne wasn’t a freak in bed at all. No, she was innocent, barely knew a single thing and I’d have to teach her everything. I’d have to ruin every inch of her innocence.

Lunch rolled around pretty quickly, and I walked into the cafeteria already searching for Vivianne. I spotted her sitting at a table by herself, her friends probably in the lunch line. Luckily she normally brought her own lunch from home, giving me a decent amount of time to talk to her before her friends decided to butt in. Tommy and the others waved me over but I ignored them walking straight to Vivianne. As I approached her, I saw her reading a book while chewing on a strawberry. I plopped down beside her and took the strawberry she was eating out of her hand and bit into it. She looked at me, smiling.

“Hi, Billy,” she giggled.

Her just saying my name made my dick twitch.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I grinned, “How’s your day been so far?”

“Pretty good. What about you?”

“Boring until right now.”

I peeked over at the book she was reading curiously. I noticed there were several sets of highlighters sitting beside her and the book was marked up.

“You readin’ this for school, darlin’?” I asked.

She shook her head, “just for fun. My friends say it’s lame but it’s relaxing.”

I picked up the book and flipped through the pages roughly but careful not to lose her spot. She didn’t seem to mind, going back to eating her strawberries while I fingered through her pages. Then something in the margins caught my eye and I had to do a double take to make sure I saw it correctly. In the margins, it said “this reminds me of Billy.” Next to that was a highlighted portion of the text; the girl was watching and admiring a tall, violant man who made her heart race. I grinned. So she was watching me too.

“I remind you of this guy in the book?” I teased, pointing to where my name was.

Her bright, sinless eyes widing and her cheeks turning a vivid shade of red as she reached for the book. I just pulled it back, chuckling at her embarrassment.

“I forgot I wrote that in there,” she blushed.

“Am I in here anywhere else?”

“There’s no need to tease.”

“I’m not teasin’. I think it’s hot that you think of me.”

Vivianne covered her tomato red face with her hands, her hair shifting. I leaned over, moving her hair ever so slightly, letting my ring adorn hand brush against the exposed part of her face. Her skin was delicate and soft against my calloused hands. I leaned forward and whispered in her ear, my breath tickling her earlob causing a shiver to run throughout her body.

“I think about you too, pretty girl. Always runnin’ through my head, drivin’ me crazy.”

I spotted her eyes looking at me through her fingers before she went back to hiding herself from me. So shy, so innocent, so pure. So much for me to ruin.

Our time was cut short because her friends walked over and set their plates down.

“Billy, leave Vivianne alone,” Sandy grumbled.

I rolled my eyes, pulling my hand away from Vivianne reluctantly. My blue eyes staring daggers at Sandy, who was doing the same in return. Finally, Vivianne removed her hands from her face and the red color was gone from her skin.

“He isn’t bothering me, Sandy,” she sweetly laughed, “he was just being friendly.”

“Billy Hargrove is anything but friendly.”

Placing Vivianne’s book back in front of her, I stood up and placed my hands on her shoulders still watching Sandy.

“I’m just not nice to ugly girls,” I grinned, “and Vivianne Blanchet is anything but ugly.”

Sandy glared more almost squinting her eyes in the process. I leaned down and looked at Vivianne. She reached her hand out to Sandy probably ready to tell her that she wasn’t ugly because that was the type of girl she was. I pulled her hand back, letting my hand feel her skin a little longer.

“See ya later, doll.”

Then I walked away from their table and could hear the harsh remarks Sandy was making about me angrily. Vivianne was desperately trying to calm her down, telling her whatever she wanted to hear just so she’d stop her rampage.

After school, I was leaning against my car waiting for Max impatiently and grumbling to myself about how this girl was always late. I flicked my finished cigarette to the ground and groaned.

“Waiting for someone?”

Looking over, I saw Vivianne standing there with her books pressed against her firmly and her bag slung over her shoulder. The fresh, summer breeze waving her hair around her perfect face. I smiled.

“Just my brat of a sister,” I said.

She leaned against my car with me, letting her arms fall so that her books were sitting in front of her lap.

“Max, right?”

I nodded and she smiled.

“She’s sweet.”

“You think everyone’s sweet. Even me.”

“Because you are sweet.”

I chuckled. No one ever described me as sweet before, she was definitely the first.

Our timing never seemed to be right though because Max started walking this way with her skateboard in hand. Anger flared up inside me. The one time I now wanted her to take her time and she had to come rushing out. Vivianne tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I guess I should let you get going.”

Then an idea popped into my head.

“I can drop my sister off and give you a ride home, if you’d like.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

Max stopped walking in front of us but I didn’t care, instead, I manuvered myself in front of Vivianne and grinned, touching her waist and just barely pulling her closer to me.

“You aren’t imposin’ at all. I’ll drive ya.”

“Thank you,” she squeaked.

I led her towards the passenger’s side barely stealing a glance at Max.

“Get in the back,” I said, her eyes rolling as soon as the words left my mouth.

I opened the passenger’s side door and helped Vivianne inside by holding her hand as she lowered herself into the seat. Once her legs were inside, I closed the door and went back to the driver’s side. Max was just barely putting her seatbelt on when I got in. I started the ignition before even closing my door and the door was closed, I sped off causing Max to swing to the other side of the backseat.

“Hey!” She snapped.

“Should have been buckled up faster,” I said, speeding off towards home so I could drop her off first.

Vivianne turned to check on Max, apologizing even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. Max thanked her and buckled herself up quickly. The entire way to mine and Max’s house, she was talking to Vivianne about the most random shit and if it wasn’t for Vivianne I’d have told her to shut up. To keep my annoyance down, I squeezed the steering wheel letting my knuckles turn white.

Eventually we made it and I came to a screeching halt.

“Alright, get out,” I said to Max.

Max rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Vivianne, “bye, Vivianne!”

“Bye, Max!” Vivianne chirped.

When my door was closed, I pulled out of the driveway and headed towards Vivianne’s house that was fortunately a thirty minute drive from here. I stole a glance at Vivianne, she was watching the trees fly by through the window.

“So,” she said, “are you doing anything this Saturday?”

That was unexpected.

“Not that I know of,” I said, “why? Was there somethin’ you wanted to do?”

“There’s a party being thrown by some football player and I was invited. I was seeing if you were going to be there too.”

I knew what party she was talking about, pretty much everyone in the school got an invitation to that party this weekend. I wasn’t planning on going, at least not unless someone had given me a reason to. Now sitting in front of me was a reason to go.

“Are you goin’?” I asked.

She shrugged, “Sandy doesn’t really like parties and most of my other friends will probably get drunk. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go or not. Just curious if you planned on going.”

“You should go. I’ll be there, we can hang out together.”

“You don’t want to get drunk with all your friends?”

I shook my head grinning. “Why would I hang out with them when I can hang out with you instead?”

Vivianne smiled, running her fingers through her hair.

“Great. Then I’ll see you there.”

The rest of the way to her house, we just talked about nonsense. It didn’t really matter what we were talking about, we were just talking. Eventually we pulled into her driveway, her father was standing in front of his car with the hood open until he heard my car pull up. He poked his head around the side of his car, wiping his hands on a greased up rag then started approaching.

“Thank you for the ride,” Vivianne said, unhooking her seatbelt.

“Let me get the door for you,” I said, climbing out and strolling over to her side.

I opened the door for her and helped her out.

“See?” She said, “Sweet.”

“Only for you, pretty girl.”

“Afternoon,” her dad called.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, Mr. Blanchet.”

He reached out his hand to shake mine, I didn’t even hesitate grinning as I shook his hand.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Billy Hargrove, sir.”

“Well Billy, thank you for giving my little girl a ride home. She’d have been stuck up there awhile if you hadn’t been so kind.”

I gestured to the car he had been working on.

“Somethin’ wrong with your car?”

“Nah. That’s my wife’s car, just needed an oil change and a small tweek. I’m all finished now.”

“I’ll be in in a minute,” Vivianne said to her dad, “I’m just going to tell Billy bye.”

“‘Course. See you inside.”

He walked away from us, waving goodbye at me. I waved back.

“I’ll see you at the party,” she said.

“I’ll see you there too.”

I watched her walk away from me towards her home. My eyes travelling her body while she was faced away from me and landing on her ass. I licked my lips as I watched her hips sway back and forth. And when she was out of my line of sight, I groaned.

Saturday night approached faster than I thought it would and the party was crowded way before it even started. Vivianne wasn’t here yet so I was lingering around with Tommy and the others sipping on a drink while I waited for her. Plenty of girls tried to talk to us since the beginning of the night but I could only think of Vivianne. I kept stealing glances at the front door when there was no one in front of it to see if she was the next person to walk in.

“Billy, you alright?” Tommy asked, “Six total babes have tried to talk to you but you pushed them away.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, “just waitin’ on someone. I’m goin’ to get another drink.”

I was standing at the table where all the alcohol was and started mixing some drink together with a lot of vodka. I hadn’t planned on drinking too much but if I had been tricked into going to a party then I was going to drink heavily.

There was a tap on my shoulder and I sighed annoyed.

“Haven’t I already made it clear…”

I turned around and saw Vivianne standing there. Her doe eyes stared at me, her freshly painted dusk rose lips forming into a small pout. My eyes wandered all over her body; she was wearing a tight, somewhat revealing baby pink dress that barely reached her mid-thigh, she wore a pair of heels that matched her dress, and her hair flowed gracefully down her back in perfect waves. I could feel my jeans tighten as my cock stiffened.

“I can give you a minute,” she said, pointing away from me.

“No, no,” I said, taking her hand in mine, “I thought you were someone else, doll.”

She smiled and nodded. “Sorry I’m a bit late. I was finishing getting ready.”

I shrugged it off, sipping on my own drink then gesturing to the table. “Wanna drink? Or has my pretty girl never let a single drip of alcohol pass those lips?”

“I guess a drink won’t hurt. Something not so potent.”

I nodded my head and mixed her a drink with a moderate amount of liquor then handed her the red solo cup. She thanked me before taking a sip, her lipstick staining the side of the cup.

“Good?”

“Perfect.”

I took her hand again and dragged her away from the table and over to somewhere that wasn’t as crowded as the rest of the house. I plopped down and patted the spot next to me, grinning from ear to ear. Vivianne sat shyly beside me, crossing her left leg over her right. I let my eyes trace over her again and dug fingers into the cushion of the seat to keep myself from ripping her dress off now. Vivianne looked at me, smiling softly and gesturing towards me.

“You look nice,” she said, “handsome.”

“Thank you,” I flirted, running my tongue over my bottom lip, “you look fantastic.”

Vivianne played with her hair, her eyes avoiding me. I moved myself closer to her, our outer thighs touching and rested my hand on her knee.

“Nervous, pretty?”

“Maybe a little,” she laughed, “I’ve just never been to a party without my friends.”

“Well, you got me. I’ll make sure you have a night you won’t forget.”

The two of us sat there drinking and talking, telling each other random stories from our childhood. Other people from the party tried to approach us but their visits never lasted longer than a second after they saw the look on my face. Vivianne, either clueless or didn’t care, paid no mind to their sudden departures and always waved goodbye to them no matter who it was. An hour into the party and she was already feeling tipsy; she was a light weight and the small amount of vodka that I put in her drink was enough to get her drunk completely and she still had half a cup left. I reached over and took her cup.

“Think you’ve had enough, doll,” I chuckled.

“I think so too,” she laughed, “actually, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Let’s go, I’ll take ya.”

She was so trusting too that she didn’t even think about how inappropriate it was for me to take her to the bathroom, all the things that could happen once we were alone up there out of earshot of everyone enjoying the music and booze downstairs. Vivianne and I headed upstairs towards the bathroom. I practically had my chest pressed against her back as walked up the stairs and down the hall. She didn’t seem to mind, in fact, it seemed welcomed. When we got to the bathroom, she walked inside and I stood in the hall leaned against the wall finishing my drink.

Vivianne left the bathroom about three minutes later, closing the door behind her with a sigh.

“Tired?” I asked.

Her eyes turned to me and half smiled.

“Overwhelmed,” she corrected.

“How about we go somewhere else so you can relax a bit, pretty?”

“You don’t have to go with. I’m sure your friends would like to see you tonight.”

“Well that’s too bad for them,” I smirked, “because I don’t plan on leavin’ your side.”

She nodded her head and I pulled her along with me until I found us a room to be in. She went inside first while I held the door open for her then I followed close behind and locked the door behind us. I didn’t want anyone coming up here and bothering us. She laid on the bed, her arms sprawled out over the comforter, her legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. I finished the rest of my drink and walked over to where she way laying. My eyes grazed every inch of her intoxicated body. I noticed her eyes were closed and her fingers were playing with the ends of her hair. I climbed ontop of her and her eyes snapped open; my legs were on either side of her blocking her against my body.

“Billy,” she whispered.

“Shh,” I chirped, “just relax, darlin’.”

I watched her wiggle against my legs and chuckled. I moved myself so that I was half laying on her and half laying on the bed, my knee nuzzled inbetween her thighs inches away from her clothed heat. I had myself kind of propped up with one arm, using my fingers to play with her hair that practically melted in my hands. With the other hand, I touched her waist drawing shapes through the fabric of her thin dress. She bit her plump bottom lip, her eyes watching me intensely. I could see her chest heaving in and out as her breath quickened.

“You’ve been drivin’ me crazy all night,” I whispered, my lips getting closer to hers, “goin’ upstairs with me all alone probably wasn’t a good idea, doll.”

“I’m not scared,” she muttered, “I trust you.”

“Yeah baby, you trust me?”

She nodded her head. Her hand reached up and touched my face slightly, her eyes half-lidded as the alcohol she consumed more of her. I tore her hand away from my face pinning it back down.

“Answer the question,” I growled.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I trust you, Billy.”

Once those words were out of her mouth, I attached my lips to her kissing her hard. Her fingers squeezed my own and I tangled the other hand into her hair deepening the kiss. Vivianne didn’t even try to fight for dominance, letting my tongue slip past her lips with no fight and letting me explore every inch of her mouth. Our saliva started coming out of the corners of our mouth. I pulled away breathlessly, watching a string of spit connect between our lips.

“Take your dress off for me,” I groaned, sitting up and giving her the freedom to move.

She never took her eyes off of me as she got off the bed, kicking her heels off and reaching behind her to unzip her dress. She froze once the zipper was down, using her hands to hold her dress up now.

“I-I’ve never done this before,” she muttered.

“Trust me,” I grinned, “I know. Just do exactly what I tell you. Take off your dress.”

Vivianne took her hands off her dress and it fell to the floor. My breath hitched as I laid eyes on her lingerie; it was white and lacey and covered very little. I gestured for her to come closer to me and she didn’t hesitate this time, her body stood between my legs and my hands roamed every inch of her exposed skin. I squeezed her hips tightly and ran my tongue over her stomach, all the way up to where her bra was just barely touching her breast. My dark eyes looked up at her and watched her head fall back from just my tongue touching her skin. I chuckled.

“Let’s remove this,” I hummed, using one hand to unclasp her bra and throwing it to the side somewhere.

Her nipples were hard from the exposture. I hungrily took her left nipple in my mouth while tweaking the other one with my fingers. She gasped, back arching against nothing, pushing her closer to my body as I sucked harshly. A soft whimper was pulled from her lungs. When I was finished, her nipple was wet with saliva and the other one was worn out from being pinched. As I stood up, I pushed her onto the bed staring at her. I removed my black, leather jacket and red, button up tossing them on the ground with her own clothes. I took off my belt and unbuttoned my pants to give my cock some room. Grabbing her legs, I pulled her towards the edge of the bed and dropped to my knees. My lips peppered kisses along her thighs while my hands squeezed at the exposed flesh. Vivianne had propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes watching every move I made with lust in her eyes.

I got closer and closer to her core. Her scent was just as intoxicating as the alcohol I had consumed. I hooked my fingers to her pearly white panties and dragged them down her legs revealing her pretty, pink cunt. I licked my lips before bringing my mouth to her core. Vivianne’s body flinched as my tongue pushed between her wet folds and I held her in place. I watched her squirm as I moved my tongue tasting every part of her. She was sweet; she hadn’t even came yet and her juices already tasted like nectar. I hummed against her and she moaned, falling back on the bed. I started picking up the pace, assaulting her clit viciously with my tongue. Her moans grew louder filling up the room. Even with my jeans unbuttoned and the belt off, my cock was struggling to breath. I coated her thoroughly before slipping a finger into her, feeling her soft, spongy walls contract against a single finger. The entire time I worked my finger into her, I never took my mouth off of her pussy. Soon enough she was all worked up and relaxed that I was able to slip another finger in earning another string of moans from her. I fucked them into her while slurping and nipping tenderly at her clit.

“B-Billy,” she moaned, “I…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence as I continued to fuck my fingers into her, hitting every sweet spot I could reach with just two fingers. I knew what she was gonna say, she was almost there. My sweet, little virgin was about to cum all over my face and fingers. All that did was help me pump faster so she could cum.

“F-Fuck!” She cursed, her legs shaking as her orgasm crashed into her.

Waves of her juices washed over my face and coated my fingers. I fucked her through her climax, watching her body react to the aftershock of her first orgasm for the night. I slurped every drop of her juices then removed my fingers from inside her, climbing on top of the bed and grinning at her, my face glistening.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” I groaned, I brought my coated fingers up to her lips, “Have a taste, pretty.”

Her mouth fell open and I stuck my fingers in her mouth. Her lips wrapped around them and softly sucked drinking up every inch of herself. I moaned as I watched her drink herself up, her saliva replacing her juices.

“Atta girl,” I grinned, I pulled my fingers from her mouth with a pop, “now it’s my turn.”

She looked at me a bit confused and I patted her head.

“So innocent. Have no idea what I’m talkin’ about, huh?”

I took her hand into mine and led her off the bed. She looked up at me with her bright, wide eyes.

“On your knees,” I ordered.

She didn’t fight me, she didn’t tell me no, she just kneeled down in front of me while still watching me with her eyes. I pulled my cock free from my pants and sighed once it was released. Vivianne and I made eye contact with each other.

“Open, darlin’.”

Her mouth fell open obediently.

“Stick your tongue out.”

Her tongue rolled out of her mouth and I chuckled.

“Good girl.”

I tapped my hardened cock against her tongue, the wetness from it causing a slapping sound. The sound caused me to moan and lay my head back. Then I pushed it all the way in her mouth, all of her saliva slobbering up every inch of my dick. She started gagging once the tip hit the back of her throat but I didn’t pull away. I rocked my hips faster, pushing my cock further down her throat. Tears started falling from her eyes as I forced her to choke on my cock. I started panting, my hand wrapping around her hair so she couldn’t pull herself away from me.

“Fuck, that’s it, pretty girl.”

I picked up the pace, my grip on her hair tightening as I continued to fuck her mouth. Her drool started falling to the floor, pooling at her knees. She hummed around my cock, squeezing her eyes shut before opening them again.

“A-Aah,” I groaned, “f-fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

My thrust got a bit sloppy before I spilled my seed into her mouth. Some dripped to the floor with a mix of saliva, but most of it was in her mouth. I told her not to swallow just yet as I pulled out still rock solid. Her mouth wasn’t enough, I needed to feel that cunt squeezing around my cock. Taking my hand, I placed it on her face, under her chin, making her look at me directly in the eyes.

“Let me see,” I muttered, lowly.

Vivianne’s mouth opened and I saw all of my cum sitting there prettily on her tongue. I grinned as I pushed her mouth close with my fingers.

“Swallow.”

I watched her swallow all of it. Then I picked her up and laid her on the bed, climbing on top of her naked form. Her eyes were hazy.

“So pretty,” I hummed, “Once I’m finished with you, no one will be able to fuck you as good as I do, doll.”

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please?” I grinned, “Please what?”

Her body wiggled against the sheets, underneath me causing my cock to twitch at how smooth her skin felt against my own.

“Please, fuck me,” she whined.

I licked my lips still grinning from ear to ear as I pulled her legs around my torso, lining myself up with her glistening cunt. There was no time for prepping, no time for easing it in. I needed her, I was desperate to feel her, even if it meant hurting her just a little bit. So I pushed myself into her causing her to yelp from pain as I stretched her out. I held her still when she started to pull herself from me wanting to get away.

“You can take it,” I growled into her ear.

Vivianne’s legs tightened around my torso almost squeezing the life out of me and making it harder for me to move but I managed. Once I was completely inside her, I let her adjust to the size, needing her to ease up, her pussy was squeezing me so tight I wouldn’t last if she didn’t relax. Soon, Vivianne’s body loosened up and she wasn’t holding me so hard anymore.

“Better?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Good.”

I pulled my cock all the way out, the tip barely inside her before slamming back into her. Vivianne’s back arched off the bed as a scream rippled through her lips. I started pumping in and out of her watching as her breast jiggled with each snap of my hips. Moans and pants left my body as I used my hand to spread her legs wider to get a deeper angle. I could hear all the lewd squelching sounds of her cunt as I plunged my cock into her repeatedly, a ring of white forming around the base of my cock from all of her flowing juices. My hand wrapped around her neck just tight enough to make her a little breathless but not so much so she could still breath. Vivianne’s body was shaking, her eyes rolling back into her skull as I fucked her roughly.

“It…it feels so good,” Vivianne cried out, her hands squeezing the comforter beneath us.

“Yeah, baby,” I groaned, “s-shit. This pussy’s squeezing me so f-fucking tightly. All mine, you hear me. I’ll kill…a-ah…I’ll kill anyone who even looks at you.”

Vivianne nodded her head .

“Nu-uh. Use your words. Who do you belong too?”

“Y-you,” she choked out.

I grinned, moving my hips faster and faster, drilling my cock deeper and deeper into her. All of her juices were coating her thighs, my cock, and a little bit of my torso. She was so messy, it was hot. I nuzzled my head into her neck, removing my hand from her throat but not stopping the speed or force of my hips. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair and pulling each time I brushed against her sweet spot. I latched my mouth onto her neck and sucked harshly creating a purple mark against her skin. I did it a few more times too leaving a big mark that almost looked like a bruise on her neck. Sweat dripped from my hair, falling on her already thinly coated face. I growled against her as she tightened, probably getting close to her release.

“I-I’m so cl-close,” she moaned out, “fuck, fuck.”

“Let me see it, baby,” I growled, “Cum on my fuckin’ cock. Show me what a messy, little slut you are.”

She moaned loudly at my words, her legs were shaking around me as her pussy gushed all around my cock. Her arms released me as she arched her back off the bed.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” I moaned, “I’m almost there...shit.”

“B-Billy,” she whined, “It’s too…it’s too much.”

I didn’t listen to her, just kept fucking her roughly, my thrust getting sloppier the closer I got to my own climax.

“G-gonna breed that little cunt of yours, doll,” I panted, “Fill that pussy up, make you all mine. Forever.”

More of her juices flowing as she got more and more aroused from the words I was saying. I gripped her hair tightly in my hands and pounded into her roughly.

“Please,” she moaned, “p-please come inside me, Billy.”

“Fuck yes! Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Hot spurts of my cum were planted deep inside her coating her walls. I shuttered against her as I finished. A few minutes passed with me still buried inside of Vivianne’s abused cunt, then I pulled out and fell beside her. Both of us were breathing fast so we could catch our breaths. I felt her shiver beside me and I chuckled, wrapping my arm around her tired body.

“Sleepy, pretty girl?” I questioned.

“Mmm.”

“Let’s get you to my house, hmm. We can sleep real good there, doll.”

“In a second,” Vivianne whined.

I chuckled and buried my head into her and wrapped us in the used comforter. There was nothing to worry about right now, the door was locked and we weren’t going to be bothered. For the first time in a long time, I could relax.

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 2 years ago

Text

Bend us, Break us Pt. 4 ~Sub!Larissa Weems xSub!Morticia Addams xFem Dom!Tall!Shapeshifter!Reader

Anon request—(What sets Reader off is when she peaks into Rissa's office and sees them masterbating side by side but they don't know Reader saw till she gets home) (Biting kink(likes to bite and be bit, Morticia), spanking(both), Daddy kink(both), shapeshifter peen(Reader), praise kink(both), they both absolutely PREEN at being called good girls and melt on the spot (literally ruined underwear).

Link to Part 1, Part 2, & Part 3

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, smut, teasing, spanking, bondage, vibrator, punishing, strap fucking, doggystyle, biting kink, Daddy kink, spanking kink, praise kink, degrading kink, shapeshifting d!ck, etc…

Part 4 & End of mini series

Enjoy (;

Both women continued their administrations, recording it all, but little did they know… you had stayed right outside Larissa’s cracked open door, watching their every single move…

When you had seen enough to cause you to soak through your knickers, you walked off with a ache in between your legs and one determined thought, Larissa and Morticia were going to pay for that bratty act…

~~~

You went through the entire day with an ache in between your legs and the ingraved image of Larissa and Morticia fucking themselves in Larissa’s office… They had broken your rules and they were going to pay for it… It had been eating away at you all day. And the soonest you could do something about it, you would.

Morticia had planned to send the little mighty video to you at dinner, but you decided to see the two right after your last class, skipping dinner all together. You walked down the corridors to Morticia’s classroom, catching the class as it dismissed.

You walked up and around the desk to the goddess in her black dress. Morticia’s eyes lit up at the sight of you. Without warning you scooped the the woman up and she instinctually straddled your waist. You then pushed her against the wall as your lips attacked hers.

“Daddy…?” Morticia desperately whimpered through the dominating kiss.

“I advise you don’t speak until your spoken to, slut…” you growled, drinking in the reaction you were getting from her.

Morticia merely whimpered and nodded in response.You then carried her through her classroom and out to the corridor, while your lips were still ravaging hers. Morticia’s breath hitched as you began walking through the corridors, with the very real possibility of you two being caught.

Morticia was pulled out of her head when she felt you bite down on her pressure point, making her cry out in pleasurable pain. You had broken her skin and when you fiercely connected your lips back to hers, Morticia could taste her blood on your tongue, making her moan only more.

You made it quickly to Larissa’s office, barging in without knocking, and placing a breathless and needy Morticia on the desk of the blonde.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have to call you back…” Larissa quickly told whoever was on the phone, before quickly hanging up.

“Strip, sweet slut…” you husked into Morticia’s ear, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

You then turned your attention over to Larissa who was sitting at her chair, stunned and confused. You walked over to her side of the desk.

“You haven’t been a very good girl… Neither has ‘Tish…” you purred with an edge.

Larissa blushed, recalling her earlier activities, but she though Morticia hadn’t sent the video yet.

“What do you mean, Daddy…?” Larissa asked, switching glances from you who was towering above her to Morticia who had bite marks and hickeys all over her neck and was now sitting on the edge of the desk, completely naked.

“Get up.”

Larissa immediately followed your word, and you quickly swapped position with the blonde, tripping her to fall leaned over on your lap. Larissa yelped at the sudden change. You quickly rolled up her dress to reveal her cream colored ass.

“Watch what happens when you break the rules…” you purred towards Morticia, who was sitting stone still, gawking at your and Larissa.

Smack!

Larissa cried out in pain with a mixture of pleasure as smacked her ass. Hard.

“Fuck Daddy…! Please…!” Larissa whimpered.

“I saw you earlier today…” you warily purred, “Take your punishment like a good girl.”

Smack!

Both the women’s eyes widened at the realization of what you were referring to.

“Did you really think you could get away with being so bratty and not get punished my Daddy…?” You lustfully spewed.

Smack!

“Oh God Daddy please I’m sorry…” Larissa cried out.

“Shhhh… Be too loud sweet girl and the whole school will know who you belong to…” you chuckled, as you caressed the blonde’s flush red ass.

You then placed the flushed blonde, her legs trembling, on the other side of the desk, walking back around to a whimpering Morticia who was practically begging to be put in her place…

You eyed her luscious, naked form, licking your lips hungrily…

“So you can be a good girl and follow instructions…?” You toyed.

Morticia nodded vigorously, pleading with you, “Yes Daddy please I’ll be such a good girl…!”

You scooped her back up, her legs locking into your waist once more and her face nuzzling itself in your neck, her lips leaving kisses and bite marks along your neck. You let out a strained moan at her administrations.

With that you turned to Larissa, “Strip and wait for me. I’ll be back, sweet slut…” you purred with that same punishing edge.

Larissa gulped and nodded, “Yes Daddy…” she whispered.

You then turned back around and carried Morticia into Larissa’s private quarters, which were attached to her office. You threw the goddess on the bed.

“Stay.”

“Yes Daddy…” she whimpered.

You went to Larissa’s closet and rummaged through her drawer of toys. Once you’d located your toys of choice, you stripped down to your undergarments. You came out of the closet and met Morticia’s gaze, whose mouth dropped at the sight of you.

“Like something you see, sweet slut…?” You teased.

Morticia gulped and nodded, “You… stunning…” she whispered, practically speechless at your sleek, black garter lingerie set.

“Awww, my sweet sluts already dumb with words…?” You toyed with her.

It was then that Morticia noticed what your were holding in your hands. She whimpered as she noticed you holding silk ties and a small vibrator. You then came to straddle the goddess and placed her spread out across the bed for you to properly tie her up. Morticia moaned out at how dominant you were being. You grabbed her wrist and tied it to the bedpost. And then the other. You then placed the vibrator on her clit and turned it on, causing Morticia to yelp.

“Not a word…” you warned her, “and don’t even think about cumming…”

Morticia whimpered in response and reluctantly nodded, pulling lightly on her restraints. You then got off of her and went back to the office to attend to Larissa. You entered the office to find a needy and completely naked Larissa, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“Ass still sore?” You toyed with the blonde.

Larissa’s eyes widened at the sight of what you were wearing, “Yes Daddy…” she whimpered.

You came over to her and slotted yourself in between her legs.

“And just how wet did me spanking your pretty little ass make you, slut…?

Larissa whimpered in response, arching her back for your touch, “so wet Daddy… please Fuck so wet…”

You hummed in satisfaction with her answer, then scooping her up with a yelp from Larissa and carrying her bridal style to her bed. You placed her on the floor on the edge of the bed, and you then sat yourself on the edge of the bed, your cunt merely hidden from Larissa by your black knickers.

You both could hear the vibrator and Morticia desperately trying to muffle her moans and cries. Larissa bit her lip and blushed at the sight. You grabbed her chin and swiveled it back to you.

“Be a good girl and make Daddy feel good…” you purred, opening your legs even more.

Larissa immediately obeyed, whisking your knickers off and delving her tongue into your soaked cunt. You grabbed her blonde curls, which she had taken down while you had been gone, and tugged her even deeper into your pussy with a guttural moan.

“Fuck… such a good girl right there…!” You moaned out.

Larissa desperately rutted her hips into nothing as she ate you out with her skilled tongue. Morticia pulled against her ties and tried her hardest not to cry as the vibrator edged her on and she watched you unravel in front of her.

You were quick to come, screaming how much of a good girl Larissa was being, which only made Larissa even more needy and desperate. Morticia was also a mewling mess, bucking her hips violently in need for some sort of release. Once you had come down from your high you ordered Larissa to untie Morticia and for them both to wait patiently on the bed. The two scrambled to your command, in hope that you would have mercy on them.

When you turned around from the edge of the bed, their mouths dropped. You smirked as they gawked at your shifted member. You could see both of their brains completely short circuiting in that moment.

“Tell me what you want, sweet sluts…” you tauntingly purred.

“Want you to fuck me Daddy…!” Larissa pled, the first and most desperate to speak.

“Wanna be bitch fucked Daddy please!!” Morticia cried.

You chuckled at their neediness. Although you yourself needed release pretty quickly as well…

“‘Rissa spread yourself out on the bed. ‘Tish, sweet girl, ride ‘Rissa’s face, while Daddy fucks her to high heaven.” You purred.

Both women moaned in delight at your words. And they were quick to follow your words. Morticia swiftly straddled the blondes head as soon as she had splayed herself out on the bed. A pornographic moan escaped Morticia’s lips as Larissa’s tongue swiped through her folds.

“That’s right…” you purred, lining yourself up to Larissa’s aching cunt, “Tell everyone who owns you, sweet slut…”

With that, you slid into Larissa heat, causing Larissa’s eyes to roll back and a cry of pleasure to escape her lips and vibrate into Morticia’s core. You let out a groan as you bottomed the blondes delicious cunt out.

“Fuck— Daddy please…” Larissa mewled through Morticia’s cunt, “Fuck me please!!”

You didn’t need to be told twice with how she was squeezing your dick… you began pounding into the blonde, eliciting moans and cries from Larissa, begging you not to stop.

“Oh GOD fuck Daddy M’mm close!! Wanna cum please…!!” Morticia cried out, rutting her hips against Larissa’s face.

“Me too Daddy Fuck me!!!” Larissa screamed as you pounded into that spongey spot inside her.

“Fuck, come for me good girls… Daddy’s close too…” you groaned.

In one fell swoop, all three of you came; Morticia squirting her juices all over Larissa’s face, Larissa clenching around and milking your cock, and you spurting you cum and painting Larissa’s walls with the sticky substance. And they cried out your name like broken records.

Once everyone had started to regain their composures, you carefully slid out of Larissa. Larissa mewled in her sex fog in response.

“Awww, is my good girl fucked dumb already…?” You teased.

“Just… need a break Daddy…” Larissa whimpered.

“That’s alright, sweet girl, Daddy needs to bitch fuck your slutty friend anyway…” you purred, glancing over to Morticia with a glint in your eye.

Morticia’s senses pricked up at your words.

“Yes please Daddy!! Fuck me please…!” She pled.

You chuckled and went to scoop up Larissa and place her against the head board.

“Be a good girl for Daddy as I rail your slutty friend, hmmm?” You purred, cupping the blondes cheek and giving her a peck on the lips.

Larissa lightly nodded with a gentle smile.

You then went around and grabbed Morticia’s hips, making her yelp. You dragged her in a position where she was facing Larissa, on all fours with her ass in the air.

Your cock was dripping with Larissa’s juices, as it hit Morticia’s clit. Morticia moaned out in desperation, raising and wiggling her ass in her neediness.

“Use your words, good girl…” you purred into her ear, making Morticia shiver.

“Fuck me Daddy!! Fuck me so hard pound into me God please…!!” She begged with strained cries.

And you were more than happy to comply. You both groaned as you sheethed yourself into her aching cunt. You were quick to snap your hips and ram your dick fully into Morticia’s tight hole, making her cry out in pleasurable pain. And then you fucked her. Hard.

You had Morticia cumming over and over again, while Larissa just watched with a stunned face as you fucked Morticia dumb. When you had properly filled her pretty pussy, you finally relented and pulled out of her. Morticia whined from overstimulation, and you immediately brought her into your lap.

“You did so good for Daddy… were such a good girl…” you purred, while caressing her cheek.

At that Morticia nuzzled her face in the crook of your neck. And Larissa was quick to snuggle into your side. You shifted back to your normal cunt with a sigh of relief, and morphed into the other two women’s embrace with a caring smile.

~~~

Tag list: @scream-queenlover @weemssapphic @dopenightmaretyphoon @s-c-rambledegggs @fleurdemaesblog @ladyzmilf002 @principal-weems09 @hercules240414 @grumpyheartbear @bigolgay @specialsatyr @wandanatslittlewhore @sicklygrlsicklygrl @snakeskins-world @lilsmeaux @muddledthoughts @teenybean @thesamesweetie @enchantressb @opheliauniverse @blessmysouljessisonaroll @shyladyfan @lady-darkswan3 @v3nusxsky @willowshadenox

#morissa #morissa smut #morissa x reader #polyamarous #poly #poly couple #polysexual #poly co

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colourstreakgryffin · 1 year ago

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If it's okay can I please ask for a platonic yandere Adam and Eve with you komori

Reader that still has PTSD from being used as a blood bag

And still has the heeled bit marks

To give you a description on her she's super sweet kind-hearted careful and shy

If you are uncomfortable with this you don't have to take this request

To be honest! I would never imagine I’d see my beloved father and mother become Yandere but you know what! I wanna check this out and see what I can do so let’s try it out!

Yandere! Adam and Eve- Broken Little Heart

The parents of humanity had always loved their children. Every single one, their attachment to mankind went to all the souls but yet. Neither of the couple could have predicted finding one child of their own to be so wonderful, their lives would change for good

You… a innocent little girl rescued by Adam after he and his dear wife, Eve found out you were being treated as a blood bag by a bunch of older men. Adam may love his children but his protective nature over actual children beat that as he beat down the men with Eve running to your rescue to pick you up

The parents of humanity grew attached to you very quick, out of their natures to simply love children but their love for you wasn’t very normal. It started relatively innocent but then it got it corrupted over their obsession to keep you as their child

Adam grew obsessively protective and talkative with you. You cannot touch anything without Adam taking it from you and examining it to make sure it’s safe for you whilst he holds you to his chest. He is rather controlling but he always proclaims it’s for your safety and nothing more as he holds you in his lap

Eve is clingy and possessive. She constantly follows you around, much like Adam and she always tries to hug you, hold you and cuddle you to her bare chest. She needs affection from her beloved little daughter; just focus on her, not whatever you’re playing with

Their presences are suffocating as they’ll never let you have a breath of your own. One or both are around 24/7 and it seems to you, they view you as a precious little infant that needs constant parenting, due to your past trauma

Both parents love how sweet-hearted, shy and careful you are. You’re the embodiment of purity and innocence, and that must be protected at all causes, their want to protect you drove both of them to become so unhinged and possessive over you, they can’t interact with others without snapping

Adam and Eve are nowhere near as obsessive and crazed over their actual biological sons then they are to you. They do love their sons with all their hearts but for you, you require so much care and attention that looking after you draws away all of their time from the two boys that actually share their blood and DNA

They both understand how emotionally fragile you are. You’re cheerful and optimistic, with a naive and indecisive streak, this behaviour further drives Adam and Eve to take charge of you and ensure nothing can hurt you. Ensure you grow love for them back, no matter what

Eve loves comparing your light blonde hair to Adam’s. You can come off as their biological child very easily and honestly… you don’t really mind as on your end, you don’t recognise their blaring Yandere-like traits, you only notice their intense parental love for you… finally, a true family

The more you respond positively to their parenting, the more their Yandere traits grow and when anybody tries to intervene, it’s get messy. Adam throws hands with literally anybody who hurts you in the most brutal manner whilst Eve picks you up and yells at the person at the top of her lungs

How dare anybody hurt your precious little feelings? Anybody who does shall pay a huge price

The parents will never ever force their ideals of living onto you. You don’t want to be naked because it’s cold and uncomfortable? That’s completely fine to them, as long as it makes you happy. That’s all they care about, that you’re happy with them

And you truly are happy with them. They may be corrupted and with black poisonous souls now but they are both such caring, loving parents that rejecting them would be a silly idea. They have flaws but Adam and Eve are the best parental figures you’ve ever had

Both Adam and Eve will never let your PSTD damage you anymore. They’ll do everything they can to ensure it never affects you again, Adam continues to play with you in a soft manner as Eve brushes her fingers through your hair to further comfort you

All in specific strategies to help you get over your trauma for good and not care so much about those bite and needle scars on your skin anymore

“My little one, are you okay? Oh. A child scared you with stories about vampires? Do not worry now, your father is here to protect you from all of the scary bad things. Okay? May we hug so I can prove to you I’ll always be here”

“My baby daughter! What happened? Did you scrap your knee? Oh no! Don’t worry, mother will make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore! Here, let me pick you up, Mother will heal you and make all the pain go away forever!”

#record of ragnarok #ror imagines #ror x reader #ror humans #anime and manga #ror adam #ror eve #record of ragnarok adam #record of ragnarok eve #ror characters #headcanons #parent headcanons #ror parent #yandere imagines #platonic yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere problems #ror headcanons

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hyvcklvr · 1 year ago

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love language -Mark Lee

Mark, your classmate, had a huge crush on you, but he was way too awkward and shy to talk to you. Instead, his love language to you was music.

He'd quietly snatch a place next to you on the bus and after some time probably offer you one side of his earphones. “Uh.. if you like.. wanna..” He was so flustered and awkward about it, you found it cute.

He asked you what you wanna listen to, knowing exactly which song he'd play when you said you were okay with anything he plays.

Mark had a playlist of songs to listen with you, full of songs he's listened to over and over again to make sure they match your taste and convey the genuine amount of attraction he holds for you. He probably psychoanalysed every lyric to make them coincide with the situation you're both in.

“What's the name of this song? Its really good.” You asked after each song ended.

That's when he knew he had done a good job, and smiled and blushed before eagerly sharing the song with you.

Of course he'd let you choose music as well, and he'll make a mental note of the songs you recommended to him and listened to with him. Coincidentally (not), those same songs will end up being his most played for the rest of the year.

Something about sitting next to each other and sharing a mere wire between the two of you felt so intimate, especially because you were both too shy to talk to each other. Neither of you were paying attention to anything else on the bus, all the chaos seemed to have been cut off as the song connected the both of you, looking away from each other, humming the tune and bopping your heads. Sometimes Mark looked at you and found you lipsyncing along to the lyrics while looking out the window. Your shoulders were touching each other's. The single wire of the earphone hung between the two of you.

send in asks!

masterlist

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moowithmidnight · 7 months ago

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Spencelle headcanons

- Both of them are just so bisexual, but neither of them are out because they don’t want to risk their jobs. Elle has known for a while, and Spencer is still untangling it while they’re “together”

- After Elle left, Spencer went to Garcia to ask if she could track her down, and then proceeded to totally breakdown in Garcia’s office. They never talked about it again, and Spencer asked her to keep it a secret, which she took very seriously. But every year on the day she left, Garcia will pay extra attention to Spencer.

- Elle left a few personal items at Spencer’s, and he keeps them all in a certain drawer on his nightstand. She used to leave concealer there in case he wanted to cover up the dark circles he got from working late hours. When he was an addict, he used to use it to cover up his track marks.

- Elle used to try to teach him Spanish, but his pronunciation continued to be terrible and she gave up. Despite that, they would watch old Spanish movies, or- if it was a bad post-Garner day, nostalgic soap operas together. (When she came back after Garner, Reid asked which soap opera Elle said she’d considered watching out of boredom)

- They used to play poker together at insane hours, like at 2 in the morning, and Spencer almost always won. Every time Elle won instead, she’d find a way to brag about it at the BAU. It took a long time for Spencer to believe that he wasn’t somehow betraying her when he started playing consistently with Emily

- Neither of them ever slept great. Spencer would sometimes call her late at night, and she would almost always answer. She still answered, but post-Garner, Elle never called him first. He’d asked about it one day and she’d brushed it off as her dislike of phones.

- After Elle left, Spencer would periodically send her emails. She checked her inbox everyday, read every single one, never responded and never planned to. She only did when he finally confessed that he’d become addicted and the team wasn’t helping. She called him, and Reid cried.

- Spencer was wildly insecure the entire time they were “together” about how she’d picked him over anyone else. He never told her that, but it bled through, and Elle couldn’t understand why he didn’t realize how incredible he was. Their views of each other were so different.

- He would read up on all of her interests and hobbies so he could talk to her about them. She’d always listen to what he was ranting about regardless, but he liked seeing her light up when he started talking about something she was passionate about.

#together in quotations marks bc they were never officially dating Elle refused #criminal minds #elle greenaway #spencer reid #spencelle #bau #cm #cm headcanons

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ghostofaboy · 9 months ago

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Inter-Agency Cooperation

Summary: Jack runs into another agent on a mission and figures out a new way for them both to get what they want.

Pairing: Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels/Javier Peña Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only | Word Count: 2633

Warnings: Frottage, anal sex, public sex, Jack is his own warning

Note: This as not been beta read so I apologize for any mistakes. This is a fic with gay/bi characters. Please make sure you've read the warnings. Header by @beskarandblasters

Of all the places Jack thought he'd find himself today, a dive bar in the middle of butt fuck nowhere watching a cage fight wasn't even on his list. Silly, really, considering all the strange places his Statesman missions took him. All around him, large drunken men in plaid shirts jeered and shouted at the two half naked men in the cage. The entire bar stank of stale beer and sweat, which made Jack long for the heady woody smells of the Statesman barrel room, but he couldn't argue with the view.

In the cage, a massive slapdash metal structure that dominated the center of the rundown establishment, were two young men. Neither could have been older than twenty-five, both striped to the waist in just their jeans, and both covered in blood and sweat. It was the most homoerotic shit Jack had ever seen in such a painfully hetero bar. He had to stifle a laugh whenever he thought about it.

Taking another sip of his shitty beer, Jack glanced over to his mark, only to find him in the exact same spot since the last time he checked. Fast asleep in a corner booth, drooling into his thick, bushy beard. Another quick look around the bar confirmed that no one else was paying either of them any attention; except for one man.

Sat at a table, set off to the corner with a view of Jack, his mark and the cage, was a broody looking motherfucker. Sporting a well-worn leather jacket, a mustache similar to his own and a casual air that oozed practiced confidence, the other man had definitely made him. Everything about this guy said agent, the only question was what kind.

Jack's money was on CIA considering the dealings his sleepy mark was into, but FBI was also a possibility. There was only one way to find out, and considering Jack didn't feel like competing with another agent for the mark, working together was the better option for them both. Eying the other man, Jack could see he was also nursing what passed for beer in this shithole. There was his opening.

Sliding off his barstool, Jack glanced over at the two young men now slumping against each other, gasping for breath, the sweat rolling off them. Swaggering over to the stranger's table, Jack was met with a single raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head.

"Evenin'." Jack tipped his hat, before leaning down slightly closer to the other man. "Enjoyin' the entertainment?"

"Not my usual kind of thing." The other man smirked and Jack could just pick out the hints of a Texan accent. "But when in Rome or whatever."

"I agree." Jack gave a chuckle. "Almost makes up for the terrible beer. Do you mind if I join you?" Jack gestured to the free chair next to the stranger.

The other man didn't respond beyond a small nod, but his eyes watched Jack intently as he slid into the seat.

“I don’t know about you,” Jack leaned in conspiratorially, “but I usually prefer somethin’ a little stronger. Now, I’m a whiskey man myself. How about you?”

“I’m a cut the bullshit kinda man.” The stranger sat up a little straighter, locking eyes with Jack with a steadiness that could only come from years of experience in the field. “So, why don’t you do us both a favor and tell me who you are and what you want.”

“To the point, I respect that.” Jack nodded. “All right. I’m Agent Jack Daniels, and I’m here keepin’ an eye on that fella over there. Reckon you know who I mean, seein’ as you’ve also got eyes on him. I need him alive as part of an investigation, and I get the feelin’ you do too.”

“You CIA?”

“No.” Jack carefully pulled his fake DIA badge from his jacket, flashing it under the table at the stranger. “You?”

“DEA.” The stranger mimicked Jack, carefully and covertly showing his badge. “Javier Peña. Our guy has links to a new player in the narcotics trade.”

“Indeed he does.” Jack nodded again, glancing around to make sure no one was watching or listening to them. “Amongst other things. Peña, huh? Weren’t you part of the team that took down Escobar?”

Javier shifted in his seat. “That was a long time ago. So what do you want to do? I’m here tonight to see who he meets up with.”

“He ain’t meetin’ up with anyone tonight. He was meant to, but I’ve already made sure that ain’t happenin’.” Jack leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting over to the cage fighters who were rolling around on the floor trading punches. “The dumb fuck’ll stay here, so I was gonna wait until the mornin’ and tail him back to wherever he’s holed up. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jack watched as Javier’s sharp eyes assessed him thoroughly. Jack could feel those dark eyes taking in every detail of him and knew that on some level Javier wasn’t buying his story. But was it enough for him to leave?

“Fine.” Javier scowled, taking a swig of beer, pulling a face at the taste. “I guess we just wait then.”

“At least there’s a show.” Jack gestured to the cage, scooting his chair back slightly so he was parallel to Javier at the table. “Who’s your money on? The fuckin’ twink blond or the other one?”

“At least that one can grow facial hair.” Javier let out a harsh laugh as he watched the two fighters.

The crowd was getting impatient now, roaring and booing for the two young men to hurry up and finish. The blond responded by lunging at the darker haired man, who stepped back to avoid the attack. Grabbing hold of each other by the jeans, the two men fell to the floor of the cage again, tussling back and forth, much to the pleasure of the crowd.

A loud whoop came from one section of the gathered men and as Jack craned his neck to look he could see that the blond had managed to pull down the other man’s jeans, exposing his ass. As the fighters rolled, grabbed and tugged at each other, the jeans worked their way further down until the man’s cock and balls were free. By this point, he was pinned under the blond, who had straddled his back, causing the other man’s legs to kick wildly. The result was a fantastic view of his asshole bared for the crowd, with his heavy dick and balls swinging back and forth.

Much of the crowd was cheering now, clearly enjoying what they were seeing, as the blond fighter rolled the other man onto his back, yanking his jeans completely off victoriously. Now stark naked, bruised and bloodied, the other fighter slowly climbed to his feet before quickly barrelling into the blond.

Jack could feel his cock stirring as he watched the younger fighter’s naked body in front of him. He wasn’t alone, and Jack could spot more than a few tented pants in the audience. The blond was grabbing the other fighter’s ass and pulling his cheeks open, giving everyone a good view of a tight puckered hole, and Jack could feel his cheeks heating up as he stared. Pulling his eyes away to grab his hip flask from his belt, Jack’s eye flickered over to Javier.

The other man was leaning back casually in his chair, giving the impression to anyone that he was completely disinterested in what he was watching. Taking a mouthful of whiskey, Jack let his eyes drift lower, his curiosity getting the better of him, and to Jack’s delight he could see the very obvious outline of an erection in those ridiculously tight jeans.

Holding his flask out to Javier, Jack couldn’t stop himself smirking as the other man jumped slightly, dropping the veneer of coolness for a moment, before taking the flask. Letting his eyes drop back down to the bulge in Javier’s jeans, Jack made sure to let the other man catch him looking as the flask was returned to him.

“Good show, am I right?” Jack’s voice was a husky whisper as he leaned over to Javier.

“Uh, sure.” Javier’s cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced around, looking everywhere in the bar except at the two young men glistening with sweat as the naked fighter ripped open the blond’s jeans as he swung him against the cage. His body clattering against the metal, his long cock squashed against the bars.

Jack waiting patiently until Javier’s eyes returned to him before gesturing discreetly at his hard on. “Wanna fuck?”

/////

Crashing around the back of the bar, lips clumsily found lips as teeth clashed and hands roamed. Slamming Jack up against the wall of the building, Javier’s mouth forcefully met his as the two men grunted and moaned in the cold night.

Venturing his hands lower, Jack cupped Javier’s erection through the denim, making the other man buck into his palm as he forced his tongue past Jack’s lips. It had been a long time since Jack had been with someone so aggressively dominant, and it was going straight to his cock, which strained against its confines.

Tugging open Javier’s fly, Jack reached inside, stroking the hard length, feeling it twitch in his hand as Javier’s finger’s tangled into Jack’s hair under his hat. Freeing his own cock, Jack pulled Javier in closer, bringing their erections together, as he began to steadily pump them with his hands.

Javier moaned into Jack’s mouth an incomprehensible stream of English and Spanish as he trapped Jack against the wall, pinning him with his body as he rolled his hips in time with Jack’s strokes. But it wasn’t enough. Jack needed more. There was something about this grumpy DEA agent that was filling his head with the most obscene thoughts, and damn it if Jack wasn’t going to try and fulfil some of them.

Pulling his head back slightly to break the frantic kiss, Jack nuzzled against Javier’s jaw as the other man growled and ground against him.

“You wanna fuck me?” Jack panted into Javier’s ear, stopping his hand and pulling it away from their cocks. “I got lube and condoms.”

“Yes.” Was the simple, growled response as Javier took a step back, glancing around as Jack fished a condom out of his jacket.

As Javier busied himself putting it on, Jack quickly unbuckled his belt, pulling his jeans and underwear down to his knees. Reaching behind him, Jack pushed a finger into his ass, hissing at the coldness of the lube, before adding a second finger. Satisfied at the lubrication, Jack handed the tube to Javier, who applied a couple of drops before returning it.

Turning round, Jack steadied himself on the wall with his forearms, planting his feet as far apart as he could and bend over slightly to give Javier access to his ass. He could feel a hand on his bare hip and the tip of Javier’s cock lining up with his entrance before, slowly, Javier began to enter Jack.

Jack let his head drop down as he bit back a moan as Javier’s thick length steady began to fill him. Inch by inch, Javier sank into Jack's hot waiting hole, both hands now gripping Jack's hips as his cock disappeared into Jack's body. Then, once he was buried to the hilt, Javier paused. Jack could hear him muttering and breathing heavily behind him as Jack adjusted to the size.

"You good?" Javier eventually whispered, one hand idly stroking Jack's exposed skin.

"I'm good." Jack hissed back, his arousal fogging his head. "Gimme all you got."

Jack heard a soft chuckled before Javier began to move. Pulling almost completely out slowly, before suddenly slamming back into Jack's waiting ass. Jack bit back a yelp as Javier began to set a rough, unrelenting pace. Each thrust pounding into Jack, rocking him forward until his cheek was barely touching the cold stone of the building. Javier's hips snapped against him as the obscene sound of flesh against flesh filled the night air.

But it still wasn't enough. Jack was sure at this pace Javier wasn't going to last long, and given their extremely public locale that might be for the best. But Jack needed more. Arching his back, Jack tilted his hips slightly and sure enough the next time Javier plunged into him a jolt of electricity coursed through Jack. That's what he needed.

Javier seemed to quickly pick up on what Jack wanted, grabbing his hip with one hand and his hair with another to keep Jack in the right position. Then, like a jackhammer, Javier began to brutally fuck Jack.

Jack's skin prickled with heat as the tension building in him threatened to explode. All he could do was get out shaking moans, and Javier huffed and panted behind him. The pace was becoming more erratic now, with each strike of Javier's hips against his ass, Jack could feel the other man's grip on his control slipping. The hands holding him dug their fingers in deep as Javier's tempo faltered.

Between his legs, Jack's cock swung with every thrust, adding to the tantalizing anticipation as he got closer and closer to the edge. Then with a grunt and a hard snap of his hips forward, Jack felt Javier come. For a few seconds, he stilled, as Jack felt the cock inside him twitching through its release. Then, without warning, Javier began to pounding into Jack again.

The hand on his hip moved, reaching under to gently pump Jack's cock in time with Javier's thrusts. That was enough.

Like falling off a cliff, Jack came, spilling himself onto the dirt as his trembled in Javier's grip. Shockwaves of ecstasy rocked him as Javier continued to roll his hips, hitting that sweet spot, making Jack's knees buckle.

Jack would have been content to rest there against the wall of the bar, Javier's cock still buried in him, as he allowed the high of his orgasm to ebb away for a little longer. But just as his head began to clear of static, he felt Javier tense behind him, then quickly pull his softening length from Jack's now gaping hole.

"Fuck." Javier hissed. "Someone's coming."

"Dammit." Jack muttered, his words slurring together as he fought to pull his jeans up.

Voices drifted through the cold night air and Jack watched warily as two men stumbled their way towards a truck, laughing heartily as a third more sober looking friend brought up the rear. Turning back to Javier, who was in the process of disposing of the condom, Jack smirked.

"We're good. You wanna head back inside, or are you up for a second round somewhere a little more private?"

"Fuck." Javier chuckled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and after offering them to Jack, brought one to his lips and lit it. "Tempting. Very tempting, actually. But we have work to do."

"Ah, that dumb fuck'll still be asleep for a few hours yet." Jack waved a hand, but following as Javier started to make his way back round to the front door of the bar. "How about we wait till this place clears out some, then have round two in the men's room?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Javier stopped at the door, looking around thoughtfully. There were only a handful of patrons still in the bar now. As predicted, their mark was still sound asleep where they had left him. The fight was over, with the two young men now redressed and counting their winnings at a table in the corner. Leaning against the doorway, Javier turned back to Jack with a smirk.

"You wanna fuck me this time?"

/////

If you enjoy this please give it a reblog to share with other.

#agent whiskey #jack 'whiskey' daniels #javier peña #kingsman #kingsman: the golden circle #narcos #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years ago

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May I request a crossover of sorts? Arven and Nemona meeting a strange new student!Reader. The reader is quiet, always has their head down, and is never seen with any pokemon, despite having pokeballs on their belt. One day they're either provoked into a battle or just seen with their pokemon, which turn out to be the most horrifying pokemon pretty much anyone has ever seen. Their team consists of Freakachu, Missingno, Purin, and Disabled, which are loyal and friendly toward the Reader.

I LOVE this idea to the moon and back-

.............

"I'm telling you...[y/n] has some super cool Pokémon!! Maybe they're just shy about showing them off!"

"Or maybe they're not in the mood for battling, unlike you."

"Still, I really wanna see what their team looks like!"

"...so you can beat them up?" Arven just stared at Nemona with a deadpanned expression, unable to understand why she wanted to fight you so badly.

Recently the pair, alongside Penny, befriended you--a new student who transferred from Kanto and into the Naranja/Uva Academy.

But all three of them noticed some rather peculiar things about you..

For one, you're always so quiet--even moreso than Penny--and you had your head down during the lectures, never speaking unless called on. Some professors were led to believe you were dozing off. Yet you always got good marks on your tests, so it's clear you've been paying close attention.

Outside of school, you declined Nemona's invitations to battle whenever you saw her...which was pretty much every single day. And it wasn't just her. You didn't engage in Pokémon battles with anyone. Not even during battle studies class.

Some younger students have called you "chicken" when you refused to fight their Teddiursa or Chewtile, while older folks would say that you have "the potential" to be a great trainer...but you were never bothered by their remarks. You just carried on with your day.

But the strangest thing is that nobody in Paldea has seen your Pokémon team, despite your friends noticing the four pokeballs attached to your belt at all times. Not even during picnics did you bring them out to play or chat.

Arven didn't let it bother him too much, believing you shouldn't be pressured into revealing them if you weren't prepared to; although he was curious about what was holding you back. He wasn't an expert trainer, but he let his team out to get fresh air every once in a while.

Penny can understand you wanting to hide in your shell for a little while longer. You are a recent transfer student, after all. It took her ages to even admit that she has an Eeveelution team, so she sympathizes with you in that regard.

As for Nemona? She was gonna goad you into a battle even if it killed her. You just needed a little confidence boost!

When she tried calling you, Arven suddenly snatched her rotom phone, being extremely annoyed that she was trying to nose her way into your life without permission, and the pair began arguing.

Yet neither of them have realized they've stumbled upon the secluded spot where you did let your team roam free.

But when they noticed you approaching, Arven fell silent and ducked down behind some bushes, taking Nemona along with him despite her protests. "What are you doing?!" She whisper-yelled, seeing you setting up a picnic table. "It's [y/n]!"

"I-I know, just be quiet!" He whisper-yelled right back. "All we're gonna do is scare them."

"..why are you acting like they're some timid Starly?? That's our friend!"

"Yeah? Well maybe they won't be anymore if we jump out at them! Let's just...see what they're up to before we do anything. Maybe they're gonna bring out their Pokémon." He pointed as he saw you unclip the pokeballs from your belt.

Although irritated she couldn't greet you, Nemona kept quiet and stayed hidden with Arven, excited at that prospect. Both of them watched as you tossed the pokeballs high into the air, opening one by one to reveal....

Creatures that look like they crawled out of a horror movie or broken video game.

Neither of them could believe what they were seeing:

There was a white-furred Pikachu with bandages plastered all over its body, yet it still looked very much wounded as it was missing an arm and ear. One of its legs was stripped of any fur or muscle, exposing its bones. But that didn't seem to limit its mobility as it ran happily around the table.

Then their eyes gazed upon a Jigglypuff and Wigglytuff, both with greyed fur and red stains underneath their eyes. The Wigglytuff had a bandage wrapped around her mouth, along with a stitched ear, but she seemed content sitting in the grass, sharing berries with the Jigglypuff--who seemed to sport a thousand-yard stare.

The final Pokémon was something...quite incomprehensible. Arven and Nemona didn't know if they were hallucinating at first.

But it was just...a blob of glitches shaped like a backwards L. And it seemed to be spawning Pokémon eggs all around the picnic table. Though you somehow were able to talk to it, and they disappeared before it took the shape of an Aerodactyl's skeleton. It sat patiently as you used the Mareep sponge to scrub soap onto their skull, before washing it off with the handheld sprinkler.

After shaking the water off, it let out a distorted cry that rattled the nerves of the duo.

They tried taking a scan of that Pokémon to learn more about it, but their pokedexes showed a bugged entry. Though they were able to make out several things: its name was Missingno, its number was 000, and its type was apparently "Bird/Normal".

"Wha...bird?? Isn't that just the flying type?" Arven furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, staring at his phone. "That thing is no freaking bird, I can tell you that. What kind of name is "Missingno" anyway??"

"Dunno, but we can always ask [y/n]!" Nemona suggested with a hopeful smile.

"How do you suppose we show our faces without looking like stalkers-?"

"Pikaaaa..."

Tensing, they both looked down to suddenly see the zombified Pikachu staring up at them, tilting its head. Then it grinned from ear to ear, revealing rows of sharp teeth and red fleshy gums--a far cry from the cute little smiles they're used to seeing on normal Pikachus.

One of them would've freaked out for sure....had you not whistled.

"Hey Freakachu. Come back, please...sorry, guys." You muttered apologetically, looking up at your friends. "I promise he doesn't bite."

Although you were a tad bit irritated that you caught them spying on you, you knew you couldn't keep this a secret from them forever. This could revelation could either make or break your friendship with them...but you had to take that chance eventually.

Hearing your voice, Nemona jumped up and waved excitedly. "Hola, [y/n]!! We were just doing some field studies so it's fancy seeing you here!" She stepped out of the bushes as Arven stumbled after her. "How are your Pokémon? They..seem to be in rough shape."

"I know they don't look it, but...they're happy." You noticed the grey Jigglypuff waddling beside you, tugging on your pant leg. "Oh hey, Purin..need something?"

Shaking her head, she simply hugged your leg, and you smiled as you reached down to pet her ears. She genuinely felt safe with you, as her eyes closed and a smile formed on her own face.

"Oooooo, so that Jigglypuff's name is Purin? That's cute!" Nemona cooed, whereas Arven remained immensely concerned with their conditions.

"That's cool..I guess. But why are you calling him "Freakachu"?" He gestured to the white Pikachu. "That's not really a nice name, if you ask me.."

"It's the only one he responds to, so..he doesn't mind it at all." You shrugged.

"..you sure they're all okay, [y/n]? 'cause they look like-"

"Death?"

"Wha--n-no!! I wasn't gonna say that-!"

"It's okay. I get that a lot. The thing is..they weren't always like this." You explained calmly. "They were all hurt. Disabled and Purin were abandoned by their trainers and lost their Sing...and Freakachu was dying of frostbite on Mt. Silver. I tried healing their wounds the best I could..or at least the physical ones. But they trusted me to help them, and...they've become my best friends.."

"Awh, that's muy bueno!!" Nemona beamed, clapping her hands together. "Now I kinda feel bad I was begging you to battle me..." She chuckled awkwardly. "They probably don't wanna fight."

"They know some good moves, but I was worried about how you guys would rea-"

"AH!! I-Is that a real ghost?!!"

Blinking in confusion, you looked over your shoulder to see Missingno right there, having assumed its Ghost form. You just smiled and shook your head. "No, it's just Missingno being able to turn into several forms. I don't know much about this one's history, but...old Kantonian tales claim it's a collection of lost souls that can grant you infinite items if you pay your respects to it."

"..o-oh, so it's like..a Spiritomb-" Arven concluded, only to get a light elbow in the gut by Nemona, which made him grunt in pain.

"Y'know you're being quite rude, chico." She huffed. "Screaming at our friend's Pokémon is no muy bueno."

".....sorry."

"It's fine. I know looks can be deceiving but..these Pokémon follow my every command and are very loyal. They don't hurt people anymore, so there's no need to worry."

"Anymore? That's comforting.." Arven grumbled under his breath, only to tense as Nemona glared at him. "..b-but it's great that you've trained them!" His voice went up an octave. "Do they like sandwiches?? I brought some herba mystica! A pinch of it should help with their injuries no problem!!!"

Both of you watched in amusement as he rushed over to the table to help set up the condiments, before you sighed and followed him there. Nemona joined you, a skip in her step as she was eager to learn more about your Pokémon.

Purin, Disabled, Freakachu, and Missingno all gathered there as well, lying in wait.

This was sure to be an interesting picnic.

#this crossover was inevitable-#clanask #anonymous #pokemon x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #pokepasta x reader #pokemon arven #pokemon nemona #missingno #freakachu #purin #pokemon disabled

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pedge-stuff · 1 year ago

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Fic request: Pedro or reader has an intense panic attack in a public. Reader has to talk him through it and calm him down enough so they can leave the event. Holding each other in bed.

clean up, aisle 4 (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," per usual.

thanks, as always, for everything.

summary: sometimes, you deal with the downsides.

——————————————————————————

"I feel like we tried this and didn't like it."

Pedro inspects the back label on the box— some kinda chickpea flour protein pasta 'alternative' that came less-than-highly recommended by his personal trainer— before re-shelving it alongside the other sad, fake noodles.

The grocery store has become a little bit of a minefield. Gladiator 2 prep was exciting, until the rigorous hours in the gym started requiring a specialized diet. He can't eat carbs, you don't eat meat, both of you love frozen pizza, and neither of you really want to participate in the whole classic disordered Hollywood eating thing. And yet, here you are.

Home-cooked meals have consisted mostly of roasted vegetables and dry, baked proteins. You're attempting to eat "clean" in solidarity with him, but...

"We don't need pasta," Pedro laments, turning away from the shelving altogether. "What's left?"

You pull the notes-app list back up. "Whatever kind of frozen fruit you want for smoothies, plus pitted dates. I'd love those wasabi almonds from last month, but I dunno if they have them again. We could get Skinny Pop, if you want it?"

A grimace. "That's fine."

"We don't have to get it, Pedge."

"It's fine, really. We need something for the movie tonight, right?"

His shoulders slump as he pushes the cart onwards. The back right wheel is making a little squeaking sound, sharp and grating on your last damn nerve. This grocery store feels more and more like a minefield with every aisle turn. The balance between supporting Pedro in his training, and wanting him to just say fuck it and be happy, feels entirely precarious.

"Almonds," Pedro mutters, veering right, around an obnoxiously large Goldfish display and the toddler sobbing loudly in front of it. An obstacle course of bright lights and loud sounds. "Almonds, almonds—"

"Ohmygod, Pedro Pascal."

Immediately, no. Two college-aged, tri delta-looking, fresh-from-the-salon type girls, grinning like they'd won the damn lottery. Fans— no one he actually knows says "Pay-drow."

The wheel squeaks again as they grind to a forceful halt; the girls are standing directly in the path of the cart.

"Should we ask for a picture?" They speak at full volume, to each other, as if he isn't standing right in front of them.

"We have to, for the gram. Oh my god."

"Maybe Deuxmoi will pick it up."

Pedro grimaces as they start rummaging for their phones. He's always generous with his time— sometimes a little too generous, so concerned with hurting peoples' feelings that he'll take selfies through the drive-thru window, or walking the dogs. Even one memorable time, pumping gas.

Only at night, lights off, tucked away, does he ever confess his frustrations. As though he should not want privacy; as though being grateful was more important than being safe. Guilt eats him in ways that you alone cannot heal. All you can do is hold him a little tighter.

A phone is thrust towards you. "Can you take a picture of us?"

Before either of you can react, one girl has her arm over Pedro's shoulder. The other, on his waist. He's never been one to shy away from affection— had been pushing the cart single-handedly, with the other on the small of your back, since the dairy section— but that intimacy does not extend to strangers.

They are laughing, chattering— something about Game of Thrones. You distinctly make out so sexy and slay.

But you hardly register them, instead frowning at your partner as you snap a couple pics without looking. He is frozen, eyes fixed somewhere past you, though he offers a wan smile for the camera. Answers a question you can't hear with a half-hearted laugh, before gesturing to the next aisle. A polite gesture, too far from the fuck off on the tip of your tongue.

Pedro attempts to move away, but the girl's arm is still snaked around his waist. Trapped. She reaches to wrap the other around, attempting to encircle him in a teddy bear-style hug. This, here, is the limit.

With a rough, jerky motion, he forces her off of him. "Sorry, sorry," he says quickly. "We need to go."

"But—"

If you push the cart, and it happens to roll over a perfectly manicured foot, well...

Pedro is a few paces ahead of you, stalking towards the almonds like they owe him a grave debt. His fists clench and unclench at his side.

Not good.

His tells for a panic attack are well-catalogued in your brain. You push the cart to one side, mouthing an apology to the man you almost plow down, before approaching Pedro with caution. His chest heaves as he frowns at the Blue Diamond display, breaths noticeably shallow.

"Pedro." Fighting muscle memory, you don't touch him. Don't want to startle him, though concern burns a hole in your own diaphragm.

"Mm."

"Baby, look at me."

His eyes squeeze shut, instead. "I'm good. I'm good."

"Why don't you go to the car, I'll finish up quick."

"I'm good," he insists, voice cracking.

"It's OK if you're not good."

A hitch in his breath, and Pedro's face crumbles. "Just startled me, is all," he whispers, brown eyes pooling remorsefully. "So stupid. Can't even make it through the fucking supermarket to get my fucking fruits and veggies."

You reach for his hand, lithe fingers prying his clench fist apart. Soothe the red-crescent divots in his palm with the pad of your thumb. Wait for him to continue, as if you're not both standing in the middle of the nuts-candy-and-coffee section.

"Everything is just a lot right now," Pedro says, dragging in a shaky but deeper inhale. His other hand swipes across his cheek.

Mentally, you catalogue how difficult it would be to return the items in your cart; how fast you could retrace your steps, and rush the man home.

You bring his palm to your lips, instead. "Go take a smoke," you suggest. "And then we can get the fuck outta here."

"Someone's gonna post it online again. Everyone's talking about how I reek of cigarettes."

"You have reeked of cigarettes as long as I've known you. They are late to this." Tugging playfully on the hand you still hold, you wait for him to crack the barest, thinest of smiles.

"You still love me, though."

"Enough to fight off anyone else who tries to dry-hump you in this Whole Foods."

Slowly, you both retreat to the abandoned cart. "Can we—" Pedro stops himself, unsure of how to ask.

"Whatever it is, babe, yes."

He pushes forward. "What if I was asking if we could get naked right now and run through the supermarket parking lot so people would think we were crazy and leave us alone forever?"

"Then I'd start untying my shoes. It'd be hard to pull my jeans over 'em."

The wasabi almonds are, finally, pulled from the shelf. You proceed to the freezers. "That's not what I was gonna ask," he admits, grabbing a bag of chunked mango.

"Bummer."

"Can we just get some normal fucking popcorn? If one night's worth of fake butter is what does me in, someone else can be the Gladiator, I give up."

For him? Anything.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #din djarin x reader #din djarin #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the mandolorian

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vipetriol · 2 years ago

Text

Free time? Not really. You’d expect Ruggie to know as much by now. Plus, Jamil wouldn’t peg his roommate as someone with an abundance of free time either, so the abrupt invitation isn’t only unusual, but suspect.

( Then again, it is curry of all things, and it’d be a lie to say his interest isn’t piqued. )

He turns to face Ruggie, searching for any tells that might betray malicious intent. A beat passes in silence, then two.

With a huff, Jamil folds his arms over his chest, a sneer tugging at his lips when he finally says:

“Your treat, then? Since you’re going out of your way to invite me, I’m not paying a single mark.”

“MAN, I’m huu~uungry!” It’s a typical complaint following the conclusion of afternoon classes. Ruggie yawns, arms stretching skywards. Outstretched fingers passively try to hit the bottom of their door frame but narrowly miss. Ruggie wiggles his fingers, nose wrinkling as he finally steps into their room. He takes one step inside before he suddenly turns, facing Jamil.

“How about we go somewhere t’eat?!” It’s less of a suggestion and, surprisingly, more of a demand. Ruggie looks at Jamil with a wide, expectant gaze, “I know a place ‘n they serve some rea~al good curry! We don’t gotta go t’our evening trainin’ cause our groups won that last exam, so ya got free time, ri~ight?” @vipetriol

#mini #hyania #((NEITHER OF THEM ARE PAYING A SINGLE MARK IN THIS OUTING #((LETS GOOOOOOOO #((I wish mustard and ketchup emojis were a thing so badly

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33max · 1 year ago

Text

Thank you to everyone that participated, we managed to bring twenty two wonderful pieces of fic/art into the world!

Please show the authors/artists some love for all of their efforts, comments and kudos make everyone’s day ♥️

All you need is love and some cats by Astron03

“I think Teddy is finally getting used to the flat.”

One sentences was enough to completely break Daniel's world.

A story of misunderstandings and some olympic level jumping to conclusions.

Comfortable in chaos by winhighmaintenancemachines

Max and Lewis know the terms that they both deal in, the choices they make every day. Their whole world is walking on a spider’s thread.

Or, the NICU doctor/nurse au.

De Sebly (Part 2) by @miesgaga

Most people only meet one soulmate goose with a connection to them. Soulmates were sometimes romantic and sometimes platonic. Family bonds happen too, but those were rare.

Max met his goose, fell in love and felt like his life couldn't get better.

This is not that story.

Max meets his second goose, this is that story.

GBB Server Exchange by anangelwillfly

Headspins by @albertparks

“I do have feelings for someone else though.” Max’s comment breaks Daniel from his thoughts. “I broke up with her because of it.”

Daniel’s gobsmacked at first, before saying, “Who is she, Maxy?”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke, but now it’s his turn to be nosey, to put his beak in business that isn’t his. Max has never been single for long, he can’t imagine now would be any different.

Except Max says, “It’s a man. And it doesn’t matter.”

I don’t get much sleep most nights (I’m seeing you in every dream) by @enjoythebutterflies

In the real world, Max is well-versed in breaking more than just records.

The one where Max and Daniel dream.

in paper rings by @thewindowatkirkland

"Maxy I would fly to Vegas with you tomorrow and pay some guy dressed as Elvis to marry us. I don't care about any of this crap, I don’t care about anything other than you being happy and us being married. I thought you wanted all this, but if you don’t, then fuck it all."

And Max just has to kiss him, hard and fast and certain before he says "okay, let's fucking do it. Let's go, tomorrow. just me and you and a fake Elvis."

OR: after a ten year engagement and with an extravagant wedding all planned out, they decide to elope to vegas instead.

It was written in the stars, but you erased it by @formula-maxiel

Max was twelve when his father had his soul mark removed. He had no idea how much anguish it would cause him.

Let me guide you by @waddlingpenguin

Max learns something about himself.

Daniel is more than happy to indulge.

listen to the slow parts by winhighmaintenancemachines

Neither Max or Daniel are the one to find the baby. That honor belongs to Christian, and Christian alone.

lock it up by @33max

Max is in their bed frantically humping a pillow that he’s folded in half. He’s shoved his little dick into the crease of it and he’s rabbiting his hips, he’s not got the equipment to properly thrust – if he pulled his hips back too far his cock would slip out of the fold.

the meaning of a flower by @meecamille

silly cute fluffy stuff led me to flowershop and hopeless romantic boys.

of angels and demons by @shitferraristrategy

Daniel loves to corrupt his little angel~ <3

platinum trophy by togenkyo

Fame, fortune, fortitude: For the man who has everything, what's left?

postcards from the past by @thatsapodium

I’ll send you another postcard soon. Miss you, love Max

A selection of postcards from the time Max backpacks across Australia.

Punch it! by @stardust-speedway6

An animatic of Lando and Max.

Max admonishes a punching bag.

Static by @chaoticzoomies

Walking into the Red Bull garage that Friday something felt off but Max couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling but just slightly off kilter, like someone had shifted things a few centimetres to the left. As he rounded the corner to the operations desk it clicked.

stay in for the summer (it's quiet, i'm trying) by @33and3

Take me to the Water by @fricative-pharyngiale

Still, he yearned for more, for everything Daniel could give him and then the rest too, his greediness all-consuming until it was all he could feel. He wanted to be the muse of every song Daniel wrote, so that they would be immortalised together. He wanted to take his poet to the river and drown him in his waters, keeping him close forever. He wanted to let his body liquefy so Daniel could drink him entirely, not a single drop left behind. He wanted to drain him of his blood and replace it with water from his river so they’d be the same, always.

A series of vignettes about nymph Max and his poet

The Tale of Max Verstappen by @danielfuckingricciardo

During the summer break, Max and Daniel take a trip to the Lake District to spend some time together alone.

When Max suggests they visit the Beatrix Potter museum, Daniel is only happy to take him on a date and treat him to a gift.

until I hear it from you by @fourmula1

DeuxMoi (also stylized Deuxmoi or @/deuxmoi) is a pseudonymous Instagram account which publishes celebrity gossip.

with the right amount of sugar by flyingkageyama

Max only wanted to find solace in one of the coffee shops he knew was a few miles away from campus, he didn’t expect one of the employees with a crappy drawing of a honey badger on his name tag to come try and get him to talk about his problems.

#gbbserverexchange #please do me a solid and reblog the fuck outta this!#everyone worked SO hard!

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sakumasmut · 5 days ago

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hi! can i request Yuzuru and 1/7/8 from the dom list? preferably with an AFAB reader!

Yuzuru Fushimi Breeding Kink Asks

(afab reader)

1, 7 and 8 combined

1. Trying to impregnate their s/o

7. In rut, with an insatiable urge to breed

8. Watching their cum seep out of their s/o’s hole and getting hard again

Poor Yuzuru. The moment his rut started up he locked himself in his room, all alone with only his hand and pillows to hump against. He’s ashamed to be this needy, even though it’s only natural. Not only is he neglecting his duties, unable to fulfill them in this state, but his mind is full of impure thoughts of knocking you up, as unreasonable of an idea as it might be. The first painful day of his rut passes with his mind only on you, and when he dreams of you underneath him, spreading your legs so obediently and whining for his litter, he wakes up with a hard on and marks on his bedframe.

Of course, that means he can barely restrain himself when you insist on paying him a visit. It takes everything in his power to not throw open the door while he calmly recites every single reason why he shouldn’t let you help him out. He would be throwing away his life duty and both your careers if you ended up pregnant! Yet you’re stubborn, and he’s only a man. When Yuzuru finally lets you in after much insistence, you’re immediately thrown onto the bed.

Neither of you can count the hours that pass during the feverish mating that ensues, all you know is each other. Constantly, his cock buries itself inside you, over and over until his cum seeps into your womb and overflows out of your hole. And it only takes one look at all of his seed that’s going to waste for him to grip your hips and slam them back against his own, using his spend as lube to reach even deeper inside you with each thrust. He’ll be full of worries for the future once his rut has passed, but for now, he’ll gladly give you as many of his kids as you want.

#nsft es!!#enstars smut #ensemble stars smut #enstars x reader smut #yuzuru fushimi smut #ask game

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fullscoreshenanigans · 9 months ago

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Is CloverWorks entirely at fault for TPN S2's mangled production?

I see so many people default to blaming CloverWorks for being the sole arbiter of S2's horribly disappointing production (sometimes Shirai is added into the mix too, especially by anime-onlys), but every time I do I'm genuinely asking the question of whether that's true and where they're pulling their information from.

I'm not involved in the animation industry at all so I'm interested in receiving input from people who are more familiar with it, but my understanding is the people in charge of the decision to truncate S2 would be The Promised Neverland Committee listed at the end of the opening credits.

(I could not find a single video of the English dub that aired on [adult swim] for the English credits of S1, so a screencap from the Japanese credits)

TPN Committee is comprised of the following entities: Aniplex (Distributor), Fuji TV (TV Station), Shueisha (Manga Publisher), Cygames Anime Fund, Dentsu (ads)

(Sources 1 | 2 | 3)

kViN from Sakugabooru details what a production company is in this post:

"I personally find it enjoyable to see who is involved in a show, and as you’ve seen there is plenty of information to draw from that. Animation production studios are listed in the credits for each show, so it’s understandable why audiences would imagine they have a ton of influence over a production. It’s even natural to think that the company that is actually manufacturing something would have great input! If you start paying attention to these committees though, you get a clearer picture of the finances of production and how each show is actually made rather than assume that studios that often don’t have much of a say are in charge of everything."

And CloverWorks is the more prominent name, especially for English speakers watching the subbed version of the series.

This is also something that Geoff Thew brings up in the last seven minutes of this video around the 18:50 mark:

youtube

"I'd bet good money that the last credits were supposed to roll right after that big stone door slammed shut, and I'd further wager that a combination of fan reactions to and dipping ratings for early episodes is what caused the production committee—who are the ones who actually have final say in this, not Cloverworks or even Shirai—to cut their losses and turn that cliffhanger into a skeleton of a conclusion."

I disagree with him on them making the call to retool the series during the clipshow episode between S2e05 and S2e06 though. It doesn’t seem like they had enough time to do that when a single episode of animation takes on average nine months to complete, even with the ridiculous crunch they seemed to be in. My guess is it was made back in early 2020 after Shirai made everyone involved in production aware the manga was ending that year, with the pandemic potentially factoring in to a degree.

He also mentions this a bit earlier:

"It's just such a slap in face to anyone who ever gave a shit about any version of this story. Including the people telling it, apparently, since neither of the anime's screenwriters nor mangaka/series composer Shirai wanted to take credit for the last two episodes. They probably didn't have much say in how it all went down. That's important to keep in mind before you start yelling at animators or even studios on twitter. I guarantee that every adaption that hurts you personally was ten times harder on the people who actually had to make it. As hackishily slapdash as this finale is, a lot of people probably slept under their desks to get it out the door, if they slept at all."

I always come back to this tiny addition toward the end of S2 episode 2 as an indication that on the creative side of things, in storyboarding and animation at CloverWorks, the care was still there at some level.

It was just squashed down in order to cut and condense 146 chapters into 11 episodes for a production that, as ZersEditor puts here, was "bleeding money."

But CloverWorks is less to type out, so they get the majority of the ire over a tragically butchered production in casual conversation.

#The Promised Neverland #Yakusoku no Neverland #TPN #YnN #約束のネバーランド #約ネバ #Kaiu Shirai #CloverWorks #FSS Chatter #TPN S1 #TPN S2 #TPN S2e02 #Long Post #I'm not trying to portray CW as a saint of a studio because again I'm not involved in the industry so I don't know all the nuances to it #and this production of theirs is the one I'm most familiar with‚ with the other one being S×F for comparison #and like Ruby's pointed out in another post I can believe they're complacent in the lightening of skin tones for characters of color #as part of a larger industry-wide trend which is still shitty and should be critiqued #but I don't think they're the only ones guilty of this #so it kind of deflates me a bit when I see people comment on my posts taking a dig at CW #because it feels like a pithy comment of misdirected ire when the body of people actually at fault #get to continue on with their business of utilizing stories as investments to build up portfolios #instead of any genuine interest in a series' story or artistic merits #so then I kind of zone out even if I agree with the spirit of the sentiment of grieving over a series you care about #like “is it their fault? is it? are we talking about the same thing/on the same page here?”#tbf people are probably making more productive use of their time than I am #after delving into this for a sense of personal closure on how S2 turned out the way it did lol #but if anyone has any further reading on the subject or personal insight and feels like sharing I'd be interested #either in CW's favor or against

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all-about-kyu · 2 years ago

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Pairing: Toyger!Mark x fem!reader Genre: fluff, very minor angst, hybrid au Rating: PG Warnings: breakups, language, brief Markhyuck, mentions of anxiety, kissing, mentions of feeling inferior/judged, vague allusions to sex Word Count: 7,740 Summary: You’ve worked alongside Mark almost your entire career. You stay by his side when you learn about his somewhat awkward breakup. The closer you get, the more you realize that you enjoy his company. Maybe you want to stay by his side longer than you thought.

Neo Hybridverse Masterlist || Toyger!Mark Masterlist

Mark was minding his business, getting ready to head into his office for the day. Nothing seemed out of place other than the fact that Donghyuck was already out of bed and making himself breakfast. His boyfriend never got up this early if he could help it. Still, he didn’t pay it any mind as he went about his usual morning routine. Donghyuck’s scent was slightly off and smokier than his familiar campfire smell, but Mark still paid it no mind. As he moved around the apartment, he didn’t bother asking his boyfriend if anything was wrong. More likely than not, it was because he got mad at the game he was playing during his stream the night before.

It isn’t until he comes back to the kitchen table, where the younger was angrily munching on his cereal, that things explode. Mark had simply leaned down to kiss the tip of the Shiba’s ear. Donghyuck jerked in the opposite direction. He glared at his boyfriend before standing up and moving a chair away. This time though, Mark doesn’t shrug it off. Instead, he moves over to the chair his boyfriend had moved to. Again, he tried to kiss the tip of his furry ear, and the younger jerked away.

“Baby pup, what’s wrong? Was your stream really that rough last night?” the kitty hybrid asks naïvely.

“Fuck you.” the Shiba grumbles, not adding much else to the conversation.

“I can’t fix anything if I don’t know what’s wrong, Hyuck. Can you communicate so I don’t leave you here all angry?”

“There’s nothing you can fucking do!” the younger screams out, “You’re always fucking working, and I can’t remember the last time we had a proper date and-” he breaks down in tears on the spot.

“Pup,” Mark sighs, taking the slightly smaller puppy hybrid in his arms, “I thought we were on the same page with everything. We’ve been dating since I started this career. I thought you understood that I’d be working weird hours. My creative flow for writing doesn’t have a set schedule. I’m sure I annoy the hell out of my illustrator for making her wake up and come into the office at 2 am at least once a week.” he says, trying to lighten the mood while running his hand up and down the Shiba hybrid’s spine (who still has yet to stop crying), “I’m sorry I hurt you Hyuckie, that wasn’t my intention at all. Maybe-” he interrupts himself with a sigh, “maybe this isn’t going to work out.”

Hyuck’s already agitated smokey smell got more intense, “What did you just fucking say? Know what fuck you, Mark Lee! Fuck you and your stupid fucking job!” he forces himself out of the kitty’s grasp and storms off to his gaming room, slamming the door behind him.

Mark can’t do anything to fix it anymore, he said something he can’t take back, and now he’s suddenly single. As much as he would love to fix things between them, he also knows that he’s already running late for work as it is. He knew you would kill him when he stepped foot in the office too. If he asked if you could be there at 8 am sharp, he should be there by at least 7:30. Collecting the last of what he needed. He left the apartment despite the notably furious Donghyuck on the other side of the shared home.

“Hey, it’s about time you showed up!” you call without looking up, hearing Mark enter the small work studio, “Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb are sitting in our kitchen right now. Don’t ask me why neither of them are-” you stop rambling when a very frisky Bengal kitty stomps into the room.

“I know for a fact you did not just refer to my absolutely fabulous boyfriend and myself as those blubbering idiots from Alice in Wonderland. If anything, we’re Romeo and Juliet… wait, no, they both end up dead… maybe-”

“Down, kitty,” Johnny says, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, “you’re going to hurt yourself thinking about a good duo for us.” he laughs.

Mark doesn’t say a thing, though. He just quietly shuffled over to his desk, which was probably not helpful since there was a picture of him and Donghyuck sitting in the corner. The youngest kitty groans and slams his head down against the desk, effectively making everyone else aware of his emotional state. Only then do Ten and Johnny notice how Mark’s scent has changed. His normally smooth green tea scent was bitter, almost chalky in a way. Of course, being human, you couldn’t smell the change in his scent. Despite your whole family being hybrids, you’re the only one who was born human. The only advantage you have in this situation is that you’re slightly more in tune with handling the situation than the average human. You watch as Ten releases himself from Johnny’s grip and slinks over to sit on the edge of Mark’s desk. Reaching over, he starts stroking the younger’s kitty ears, hoping to soothe him a little, just enough to relax his scent.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you offer gently, still sitting at your art table, keeping a distance.

Mark groans in reply.

“Come on, Mark,” Johnny adds, “Ten, and I can smell that you’re not happy right now. And we both know that she can sense it even if she can’t smell it.”

“You must’ve at least talked to Donghyuck about it, right?” Ten adds, hoping it’s a helpful addition.

When Mark’s scent gets even more bitter, Ten puts two and two together. Looking over at his boyfriend, then back to Mark, then to you, and again back to Mark, he tries to find the best words to say. You sigh and finally stand up from your workbench and gently move Johnny out of the way. Ten, of course, catches the hint and moves as well. You take the more petite kitty’s place and begin rubbing the base of Mark’s furry ears, and a soft purr of appreciation erupts from his throat. It took quite a while for Mark to be comfortable enough to show any of his kitty qualities to you. Still, he’s timid about showing them. Now though, he couldn’t care less due to his emotional state.

“When did it happen?” you ask softly, “Your breakup with Donghyuck, I mean.”

“This morning,” Mark finally sighs, “just before I left to come here. So that’s the reason I was late.”

You hum in response. With your free hand, you take a picture of the former couple and pass it to Johnny. You knew the picture on his desk would only add salt to his incredibly fresh wound. You prod further into the situation and coax Mark to talk bit by bit until you get the full story from his perspective. You have always known Donghyuck to be a somewhat impulsive person, it was his nature, but for him to explode like that, you knew it must’ve been weeks, if not months, of the build-up to get to this point. You look over at the other two kitties, who, in the past few months, you’ve grown to become friends with too. You share a silent conversation and ultimately realize that Mark is simply in no state to write or edit anything.

“Since she’s got it under control, I hate to say it, but Yuta just texted me saying there was a walk-in customer asking me to do a tattoo for them. He tried to tell them I wasn’t in until the afternoon, but…” he trails off.

“It’s okay. I should probably… write, I guess… I need to finish this chapter of the book.” Mark sighs.

“You will not be working.” you state matter-of-factly, “I’m treating you to a nice little brunch at the cafe downtown. You’re in no mindset to write, and I’m sure you don’t really want to do that right now either.”

“Go relax and decompress a little bit Mark.” the oldest kitty adds as soon as he notices Mark is about to protest.

Before the youngest could fight anything, both his older friends left the small office, leaving the two of you alone, which is not uncommon. More often than not, if you were both sitting in your shared office space, there was quiet music playing or silence as you both did the tasks you needed to complete for the day. Of course, the occasional question regarding which scene to illustrate came up, and Mark asked if the flow was okay or used you as a bounce board for ideas. It was always comfortable, though. There was never an awkward air between you. With your fingers gently scratching the base of the kitty hybrid’s ear, you don’t feel a single strand of tension in the air.

“You want me to continue scratching your ear for a little bit? Or would you rather head out to go to that cafe now?”

“This is nice,” he admits, “I was never really on the receiving end of these scratches with Hyuck. He much preferred having his ears scratched than scratching mine.”

“Do you like this?”

“Yeah, it’s really comforting. Not something I ever got a lot as a kid either.”

So you stay like that for a while, knowing you were providing some comfort to him was more than enough satisfaction to you right now. You offer absentminded questions, get short but meaningful responses out of him, and offer them back when he asks for your reply. You even managed to get a few giggles or chuckles from him when you mentioned a rather interesting or random anecdote. You take note of his tail flicking back and forth in a content manner. That’s when you decide to remove your hand from his head and offer to begin your drive downtown to the cafe. He finally lifts his head from the wooden surface and nods in agreement.

The entire drive to the cafe, you continue to have leisurely conversations. Despite you working side by side for a few years now, you rarely get to talk about things outside the sphere of work. You learn very quickly that when Mark is comfortable, he’ll talk forever. You also get more insight into how he processes the world and, ultimately, how he builds the worlds in his novels. You couldn’t smell his scent, but you knew he was still not feeling his best. Being raised around hybrids your whole life helped you immensely when it came to deciphering your co-worker’s emotional state. Even after you had parked and started to walk towards the doors of the café, his tail wasn’t swaying like it typically does, nor were his ears upright and perky. All you can do for now is keep him distracted and as happy as you can.

“Why don’t you go find a table, and I’ll order our drinks.” you smile.

“Do you know what I want?” “You always get the same thing, Mark, I know.” you giggle.

Luckily it isn’t busy, but you know Mark will want a sunny seat. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he loves when the sun shines on him in the office. As you get in line to order, you see him sit in the corner where the sun is beaming through the window, just as expected. His ear twitches seemingly content, even if you know the actual underlying cause of the twitching is anxiety. You order your typical drink and order Mark his go-to. Peach Jelly Iced Tea; he’s never been fond of coffee as long as you’ve known him. He shudders every time he witnesses Johnny drink black coffee in the office when he’s around. With the drinks in hand, you make your way over to wear Mark had chosen to sit. His tail flicks lazily back and forth under the table. It’s a habit he has when he’s lost in thought.

“Where’d you run off to?” you tease lightly, placing the drink down in front of him.

“Hmm?” he jumps slightly, “oh, just one of the upcoming chapters of the book we’re working on. I think I want to have that android escape his factory and meet the professor.”

“What if he met Kyren? She’s kind of a rouge. It’s more likely that he’d meet her rather than the professor.”

Mark chitters slightly but swallows the sound before it entirely escapes him, “He can’t! Kyren is in prison right now after stealing those bionic parts for Becca. You’re right, though. The professor wouldn’t cross paths with him.” he whines, the two characters have a lot of history. He’s putting them through hell as any good author would.

“Dzia? She escaped that facility in the previous chapter you wrote, right?”

“She did. Maybe that could work. Dzia is the one to start the uprising against the government. It couldn’t hurt to have the android assisting her.”

You giggle at the pout that grows on his lips as he thinks. You nudge his drink closer to him before taking your own sip. He doesn’t notice until you push it enough to have the cold cup touch his hand. He scratches the back of his head, slightly embarrassed that he got so lost in thought. There are a few moments of silence before either of you speaks again. Mark makes a happy sound as he sips his tea, filling your chest with warmth.

“What made you start liking that specific tea so much?”

“You’ve heard about Yuta, right?” you nod, “He got this tea for me a while ago, and he got me immediately hooked on it. Jungwoo, one of my and Jaehyun’s friends, really likes it too. It’s like our thing to get these together when we hang out.”

“Jaehyun, as in that Newfie hybrid that comes around with those pups?” you question.

“Yeah, those are his boys. He really loves them a lot.”

“Wait, they’re all his? Isn’t he close to our age?”

Mark chuckles and takes another sip of his fruity beverage, “Yeah, we’ll just say that Jaehyun has always really wanted to be a dad. His boys are well-behaved, though. He’s a good dad. I babysit for him sometimes so he and his girlfriend can do classes or have dates. Baekhyun is seven now; he’s a Newfie like Jae. He’s a terrific kid, and I can’t wait to see what he does when he gets older. Hoseok is five, a basenji like his mom. He just started kindergarten this year, but he’s such a funny kid. Jaehyun thinks he’s going to do big things one day. They just had their third, Subin. He’s a cute baby. His ears are far too big for him, but all pups grow into their ears eventually. Much calmer than his brothers ever were.”

You smile gently, listening to him talk about his friends and their kids, “Do you think they’ll have more?”

Mark nearly spits out his tea, laughing, “If Jae has anything to say about it, they won’t stop until he gets a little girl. That’s all he wants.”

“And what does his girlfriend think about that?”

“She’s had three kids in the past seven years. The poor woman wants a break from being pregnant.” “I can’t blame her.” you laugh, “I give her a lot of credit for doing that and also still going to school.”

From there, your conversation with Mark devolves into whatever comes to mind. You’re having such a good time with him that you lose track of time. The spot eventually got shady, and then the sun began setting outside. The golden light hits him at just the right angle that it seems like his irises glow a gorgeous amber color. It nearly takes your breath away. You have no idea where these emotions came bubbling from, but you think it best to suppress them. He turns his head and looks out the large window beside the two of you. A piece of his hair falls on his face as he turns. His kitty ears twitch again when a different bit of hair tickles against them in just the right way.

“We didn’t get any word done today.” he says in a slightly sad tone.

“Good. You needed the day off.” you say determinedly.

He sighs, “I guess I did. Let’s get back to the office. I have to walk back to my apartment.”

You can’t smell his scent, but you can tell how he deflates. You’ve known both him and his ex-boyfriend long enough to know that Donghyuck has already moved all of his things out. A small pit in your stomach forms thinking about how horrible your kitty friend must feel.

“I’ll drive you home. Do you have anything we could use to make a suitable dinner?”

“I couldn’t ask- you shouldn’t-” he stutters, “I don’t want to bug you any longer than I already have.”

You sigh, “Fine, then we’ll have to get dinner together on a different day.”

“Deal,” he smiles softly, “consider it a date!”

He slaps his hand over his mouth after processing what he just said. His tail flicks behind him quickly, trying to express any excess energy it can. You just smile and put your jacket on.

“If you want to call it that, we can see how it goes.”

About two weeks later, you’re turning off the overhead lights of your art desk in the office. Mark is still clacking away at his keyboard, getting his last few thoughts out onto the document. You had agreed to get dinner tonight since it worked well for both of you. The weather was uncharacteristically chilly for this time of year. The leaves have just started changing to the bright fall colors, yet the weather seems to be bordering on a winter feeling. Over the two weeks before your date, you and Mark have become closer than ever. It got to the point that Ten asked if you were dating. Mark lets out a low growl at him, but it does nothing, though. Ten is just proud of him for allowing one of his kitty sounds out while you were around.

“You almost done?” you chuckle, pressing your fingers into the scrunched-up skin between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, one more paragraph.”

You know that one more paragraph actually means two more chapters of writing, at least. Eventually, you talk him down to only finishing the paragraph he’s currently writing. You take a peek at what he’s working on. The imagery of his words alone gives you plenty of material to work with for the illustrations. You’ve always been very thankful that he describes everything so clearly, and if he doesn’t, then he’s always very helpful when it comes time for you to draw a scene. Just as he shuts down his computer, his phone starts ringing. You glance down and see that it’s Jaehyun. You know that the puppy hybrid doesn’t call unless it’s an emergency.

“Is everything okay?” Mark asks as soon as he accepts the call, “What? Are you sure he’s not just fucking with you?” his eyes go wide, “Sicheng never- okay, um, one second.” he mutes himself and looks up at you. “Sicheng backed out of babysitting last minute. Jae wants to know if I can babysit tonight.”

“I don’t mind watching the boys with you. If Jae and his girlfriend are really in a bind, I don’t mind tagging along.”

He nods at you and unmutes himself, “You cool if my um- the girl I’m talking to comes too?... my illustrator… Okay, cool, cool, we’ll be there in like,” he pauses to look at the time, “fifteen minutes.”

The drive is relatively peaceful despite the sudden change in plans. As always, Mark walked to work today, so you drove. The house you pull up to is small, but you can still feel the love radiating from it. You opt to park along the curb on the off chance that both parents would be driving separately. Mark smiles at you, eyes curving into pretty crescents as he does so. Mark gets out of your car, his tail swishing happily behind him as he approaches the front door, and you follow behind him. As you approach the door, you can hear the liveliness of the home bursting through. Mark turns around, flashing you a smile before knocking on the door. When it opens, a pretty basenji hybrid opens the door, one arm full, holding a little pup.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice.” she sighs, “Jae and I both have lectures we need to attend tonight and-”

“Baekhyun, come back in here and clean up after yourself.”

“Sorry about him. Baek has been forgetful lately. I think it’s partly on purpose at times. Please come on in.” she smiles softly, moving out of the way.

The home is just as welcoming on the inside. There are a few areas covered in toys, but you can’t be too surprised when three kids are in the house. First, you spot a tall kid running past with big brown floppy ears. You assume it’s Baekhyun since a more petite boy with blonde ears comes bounding up and throws himself in Mark’s direction.

“Hi, Hoseok,” Mark giggles, “how has school been?”

“Good!” the little boy chuckles, showing a toothy grin that’s missing a tooth right in front.

Jaehyun walks up a few moments later and sighs before speaking, “Thanks so much for doing this, and I hate to ruin your date- it was a date, right?”

“Yeah,” you smile, “it’s okay. You and your girlfriend have classes to take care of. I’m sure your boys won’t be too hard to wrangle.”

The puppy hybrid lets out an airy laugh and shakes his head. His girlfriend joined him not much later, still holding Subin in her arms. She passes the small pup to him before informing the three of you that she’ll be getting her school supplies ready to go. Jaehyun called after her to grab his stuff as well. Mark’s older friend chats with you for a few more moments before Subin gets fussy.

“He should get a bottle soon. The instructions are on the fridge. Baekhyun has one more assignment for homework he needs to do. After that, Hoseok should be all set. Both of them go to bed in about an hour and a half. Subin should be ready to sleep right after he has his bottle.” he pauses for a moment, “That should be about it.”

“We’ll be back around 9:30 from our classes!” his counterpart calls down the hallway.

“That too.” he chuckles, “You comfortable with holding the baby?”

You nod, “Do you trust Mark to make the bottle, though?”

“Hey!” he argues, ear twitching as he speaks, “I can do it!”

“You can’t even make eggs, Mark.” you tease.

Jaehyun passes Subin over to you and takes his bookbag from his girlfriend. She calls both of her older boys into the room. Giving them each a kiss on the tops of their heads and then scratching Subin’s ears, she grabs her own things. With that, both parents were out the door. Mark’s tail starts swishing back and forth again, displaying his content state. However, Hoseok sees his tail as something he can pounce on. The kitty hybrid nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels his tail being tugged. Turning around, he scoops the puppy up and spins him around in his arms. The little boy giggles up a storm as his uncle shakes him and tosses him around.

You bounce Subin in your arms as you make your way to the kitchen. Mark is right. He’s an adorable baby. The Jung boys are very adorable pups. Perks of having two gorgeous parents. As Jaehyun had mentioned, the instructions for Subin’s bottle are on the fridge. Shifting the newborn to be resting against your shoulder, you start preparing the bottle. It doesn’t take incredibly long, nor is it complicated, but to anyone who hasn’t had any interactions with babies, you could understand why it would be slightly confusing. So you just stand in the kitchen, rocking the tiny baby back and forth in your arms until his bottle is ready.

“You look pretty.”

Hearing Mark’s voice makes you jump, “How long were you standing there?”

“Not long, seriously though, you look pretty.”

You don’t know how to react; he’s never been so direct with you before. Right now, of all times, is another reason you don’t know how to respond; you’re standing in his friend’s kitchen holding said friend’s newborn. You just stand there and look at him for a few moments. There are stars in his eyes as he looks back at you. His hair seems to frame his face and ears so perfectly. Then, mark walks closer to you, and it looks like he’s about to kiss you in the small kitchen. Your heart pounds out of your chest at the idea that he might do it. Then, just as he starts to search your eyes for any remnants of an answer to his silent question, you hear a quiet growl.

“I think that’s Baekhyun,” he says quietly, “I’ll go check on him.”

You nod and redirect your attention to the bottle that is finally ready to give to the baby. With the bottle in hand, you move to the couch. It would be easiest to hold and feed him there so you could also be comfortable. Subin almost instantly takes the bottle in his mouth and drinks to his heart’s content. However, you feel a pair of eyes on you. It’s not Mark; you can hear him talking down the hall. When you look up, you see Hoseok looking at you with a confused expression. One of his blonde ears flops over as he tilts his head at you. He doesn’t say a word to you and just looks at you. You can practically see the cogs turning in his mind. You smile before looking down at Subin again, ensuring he’s alright. Two pairs of footsteps come down the hall, and you see Baekhyun, followed by Mark, entering the living area. Only then does Hoseok speak.

“Where are your ears? Do you not have ears? Do you only have a tail? My classmate only has a tail… he keeps it hidden, though, cause it’s a little bunny tail. Not a big long tail like Baek and me have.”

“Hoseok! You can’t ask people that!” Baekhyun chastises.

“Why not?” the younger pup asks, utterly oblivious to why his question was bad.

“It’s okay, Baekhyun,” you assure, “I don’t have ears or a tail, Hoseok. I’m a human, not a hybrid.”

“Ohhhhh,” the five-year-old draws out, “are your mommy and daddy humans too?”

You shift slightly and move Subin into a position so you can burp him. Hoseok doesn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by any means; he’s only five, after all. The question does hit a bit of a sensitive topic for you, though. Baekhyun seems to sense your discomfort despite your attempts to brush it off. You answer just as he’s about to drag his brother away to play with him.

“No, my parents are hybrids like you guys. They’re a type of kitty hybrid.” you smile sweetly, “I just wasn’t born like them.”

“Oh, I think it’s cool that you’re a human!” he giggles, showing the empty space where his tooth should be, “I think Uncle Mark likes you too.”

Mark seems to choke on air when the pup says that. He’s coughing up a storm off to the side, and you do nothing but giggle. You finish burping the baby moments later, and both of the boys settle in front of you, playing with their toys together. Jaehyun had told you that Subin would likely fall asleep quickly after his bottle, but you still lay him against your chest and rubbed his small back to be sure. Mark comes and sits beside you but doesn’t speak. You can tell something’s on his mind, though. He offers to take the infant from you, but you reject it. You rather like the comfort the small hybrid brings. He’s only a month old, but the slight weight against your chest, combine with his warmth and little puffs of breath against your neck, makes you feel more at ease.

You both hear a disgruntled noise escape Baekhyun again. When you look over at where he was previously sitting with his brother, he wasn’t there. A few moments later, you hear his footsteps pad back into the main area of the home. He’s holding a singular sheet of paper and a pack of colored pencils. You can immediately tell what’s wrong and, this time, take Mark’s offer and hand him the baby. The oldest of the three boys sits at the dining table, clearly brooding over the blank paper in front of him. You approach slowly, gauging where he is emotionally as you do so.

“You okay there, Baekhyun?” you ask quietly, sitting beside him at the table.

“‘M fine.” he grumbles, “It’s just a stupid project.”

“What’s stupid about it?”

You glance down at the paper and read the instructions. He needs to read a short story and then draw what he visualizes. It’s not very difficult, but as an artist, you can understand how frustrating it can be just to draw sometimes. The seven-year-old groans and flops his head down face first on the table, his chocolate brown ears laying flat out on either side of his head. You scratch his hair gently, and a giggle escapes your lips as you notice his tail wagging slightly.

“I just don’t know where to start.” he admits, “There’s too many parts I could draw…”

“Do you want my help?”

The boy looks up at you with glittery eyes, “You can help me?”

You nod and smile at him, “I do all the drawings in your Uncle Mark’s books. I won’t do it for you, but I can absolutely help you.”

The next fifteen or so minutes were spent helping Baekhyun choose which scene he wanted to draw and how to get it started. His eyes seemed to light up when you offered a little bit of direction to his creative energy. You know precisely what that spark is, he loves what he’s doing, and you remember when you first felt that spark for art as well. It’s one of the most rewarding feelings you’ve ever had in your life. Now, you get to show that spark to someone else. Yet, something about the entire situation feels extremely domestic. You’re sitting and helping Baekhyun with homework; Hoseok peacefully plays with his toys while Mark watches him and holds Subin. Yet, a flutter of something invades your belly that, at this moment, you’re choosing not to address.

Once Baekhyun is finished with his art assignment, you walk back over to Mark. Baekhyun rejoins his younger brother on the floor playing. Mark smiles at you when you return. His ears are angled out slightly, and he blinks slowly. It’s extremely obvious that he’s happy. When you look down at the infant, you see that he’s happily asleep in his arms. The tiny pup nuzzles closer against Mark’s chest. Even in his sleep, Subin displays his comfort with his kitty uncle. You sit beside him for a few minutes; the silence is comfortable, and not a single word feels the need to be said.

“I’ll get the older two ready for bed. You seem like you’re enjoying your time with Subinnie.” you giggle quietly.

“You’ll come back and sit with us, right?” this time, his slow blinks are directed at you.

“I will,” you promise.

Just as you go to stand up again, Mark calls your name. You turn towards him, and before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward and places a quick peck against your lips. You don’t get a moment to react because a pup, namely Hoseok, is crying out in disgust.

“Don’t you know Uncle Mark has cooties!” he half yells.

“Shh, your brother is sleeping.” you chastise gently, “Don’t worry, I can’t catch his cooties.”

“Are you sure?” the five-year-old asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m sure, pup. You and Baekhyun need to clean up now. It’s bedtime.”

Both older boys whine but do as their told and clean up their toys. Baekhyun is the first to make it to their shared bedroom, nearly slamming the door in his younger brother’s face. You hear the younger whine before opening the door again and closing it behind him. After Baekhyun pops his head out of the bedroom door again, you take it as a sign to go check on them. Baekhyun looks up at you with big eyes when you get to the door. He doesn’t say anything but opens the door more to show you that Hoseok is currently fighting with the buttons of his pajama shirt. The older puppy tells you that his brother won’t let him help. You just chuckle lightly and make your way over to the growling five-year-old. His frustration subsides almost immediately after you make your presence known to him. Hoseok’s ears fall down slightly, making it clear that he’s now more relaxed. Baekhyun makes a noise that you can only call a rumble when he sees his brother calm down. The two boys dash into the bathroom moments later to brush their teeth and wash their faces. You, of course, assist Hoseok with both tasks when he asks with the most adorable pout ever.

Baekhyun and Hoseok say good night to Mark and their baby brother before you tuck them into bed for the night. When you return to the couch, you see Mark happily cuddling with the sleeping baby. He’s purring quietly; the sound makes your chest burst with warmth. Unfortunately, though, the moment he registers that you’re back, he forces the noise back. You plop down beside him, laying your head back against the couch. Lolling your head to the side, you find Mark already looking at you.

“I can go put him in his crib.” you offer.

“I like cuddling him.” the kitty responds.

You nod, “Ten more minutes. Jae and his girlfriend would have our heads if we readjusted Subin to only sleep while being held.”

Mark nods, looking down at the small pup, “Ya know, I never really thought about being a parent until I heard Jaehyun talking about his boys. That kind of unconditional love is so crazy to me. Something you have to experience. It can’t really be described in words.”

“Yeah?” you respond, “Is that something you and Hyuck ever talked about?”

“No,” he replies shortly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bringing that stuff up. Especially when this was supposed to be a date.”

He hums, “Can I ask you something?” you nod, “Are you the only human in your family? Like including extended family and such.” “Yeah, it was hard for me growing up. That’s part of why I applied to art schools here; I needed to get away from it.”

“I get that,” he responds, “being the only kitty in my family was really rough for me too. They didn’t really understand how to handle my behavior sometimes. That’s why when I reached the end of grade eight, I talked my parents into letting me come here for the end of grade school. Same as you, kinda.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Hmm? Do you mean Canada? Of course, I love working here, though. I don’t feel as suffocated by my family when I’m here.”

“Suffocated?”

“They love me, my parents and brother, they mean well… they just… stigmatize me a little bit.” he sighs, “I wish they could just see me like you see me. I’m just Mark. I’m not ‘the cat son’ or ‘little kitty’... I’m just… Mark.”

“Well, just Mark, you never have to feel out of place with me. I know exactly what it’s like to feel out of place when you should be very much in place.”

The kitty hybrid smiles at you, leans his head forward, and nuzzles against you. It’s the first time he’s genuinely let his kitty behaviors display around you. You chuckle and let him nuzzle as long as he wishes. But, of course, Subin isn’t a fan of being leaned over slightly. He whimpers quietly, and Mark takes that as a sign to put the baby in his crib finally. He sighs and gets up to lay the infant down to sleep. His tail swishes happily behind him as he walks away. You find it rather endearing. He doesn’t take long to return. When he does, his tail is still happily swishing, his ears are slightly tilted out, and a soft smile rests on his lips.

“Hey,” he sighs happily, “I checked on Baek and Hoseok; they’re both fast asleep already.”

He plops down next to you and leans his head on your shoulder. You smile at him and reach to take his hand in yours. At first, Mark tenses up at the feeling of your hand on his. After a few moments, he relaxes and laces his fingers with yours. The silence between you two is comfortable; you don’t feel any need to speak up and fill the quiet moment with sound. His furry ears tickle against your skin lightly, but you don’t mind it one bit.

“Sorry,” Mark whispers softly, “about earlier…”

“There’s nothing to apologize about, Mark. If anything, I should say thank you.” you chuckle.

“Thank me? I kissed you without even asking first… and also disgusted the boys in the process…”

You giggle again, “Mark,” you start, squeezing his hand for good measure, “I may not have said anything, but I’m so happy you did kiss me.”

He picks his head up from your shoulder to properly look at you now, “Is it if I kiss you again? Like properly, not whatever I did before.”

“Of course,” you smile, though your heart is beating out of your chest, “I like you, Mark.”

“I like you too.” he whispers.

He leans in and presses his lips softly against yours. His grip on your hand tightens as if you would disappear from his hold at any moment. Your other arm wraps around his shoulders, bringing him closer to you. You can feel the slight rumble of a purr growing in his chest. Smiling against his lips, you think you could burst right there due to how happy you feel. His fingers unthread from yours to wrap both his arms around your waist. The positioning you’re sat in isn’t exactly ideal, but at the current moment, you couldn’t be bothered to care about that. You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t hear the front door unlock or open.

“Woah, woah, woah.”

Jaehyun makes his presence known immediately. Mark jumps away from you as if you burned him. Meanwhile, Jaehyun’s girlfriend laughs quietly.

“Happy things are great between you two, but I don’t need any more children being made in this house… right now.”

“We weren’t- it’s not-” Mark stutters trying to find the right words.

“Noted.” you smile, “All three are out cold, and Subin had his last bottle around 45 minutes ago.”

You get up off the couch and grab your bag from the kitchen table. Mark is still stunned, not sure how to react to his older puppy friend’s comment. You have to physically walk over to him and guide him to the front door where his shoes and jacket are. You say goodbye to the couple, and Mark gives some semblance of one. He’s still shocked by Jaehyun’s forwardness, but at least now he’s speaking and just a little jittery. Even during the walk back to your car, Mark seems to be deep in thought. His right ear keeps twitching, and he holds the end of his tail, wringing it gently as he walks.

“You okay there?” you tease once you’re settled in the car.

“I won’t be able to look Jaehyun in the eyes ever again.” he deadpans.

“Why?” you ask, trying not to laugh.

“He implied… and he also… nope, nope, nope! Let’s just go home.”

“Home meaning dropping you off, or am I staying over, or are you staying at mine?”

He blushes, “Just drop me off tonight.” he explains.

“Where is she?” Ten asks the moment he steps into Mark’s office.

“Hmm?” Mark hums, not looking away from his computer.

Ten narrows his eyes at the younger kitty and hisses slightly. Johnny chuckles and takes the liberty of sitting down at your empty station. Mark pushes his glasses back up his nose and finally looks at his older friend. Ten’s tail flicks annoyedly, and his arms are crossed over his chest. Mark just blinks at him a few times slowly.

“Oh?” Ten questions, amused now, “How long have you been feeling that way towards her?”

“Huh?” his boyfriend questioned, “What did he do?”

“He was slow blinking! Johnny! He-” Ten cuts himself off with a happy noise, “Tell me, tell me!”

Mark takes a breath, about to speak, when you walk through the door with a cup carrier full of drinks. Ten notes the slight change in Mark’s scent; it gets slightly smoother and calmer. Johnny picks up on it too. The oldest of the three suddenly is very invested in what’s happening despite being highly interested in his phone moments ago.

“Good morning, boys.” you beam, “I got you guys drinks.”

You set the carrier down at your desk, shooing Johnny out of your seat in the process. Next, you place your bag on the floor against your station and take off your jacket and scarf. Once you’re reasonably situated, you look at each of them.

“A large Iced Americano for you,” you state, handing Johnny his coffee, “a caffe americano for you,” you walk over and hand Ten his drink,

“Thank you,” the kitty smiles at you.

“It’s not a big deal,” you reply, “this is mine,” you say to yourself as you place your drink on a coaster, “and this a Peach Jelly Iced Tea for you.”

You walk the short distance over to Mark. You notice his slow blinks again and smile at the sight. Handing him his drink, your fingers just hardly touch. You still haven’t gotten past the butterflies that erupt in your belly each time you come in contact with him in any physical way. You’re about to step away, but Mark grabs your wrist. You turn back around and hold eye contact with him for a few moments. You know exactly what he wants when he tugs on your arm slightly; you know exactly what he wants. You lean down and press a peck against his lips.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Hold the fuck on!” Ten interrupts your moment, “I think we skipped a few chapters. Can I get a refresher?” “Ten, you ruined their moment!” Johnny teases.

“Fuck that! When the hell did you two start dating?”

“Um,” you start.

“About two weeks ago… when we babysat for Jae…”

Both older kitties seem to accept it as the truth. You, however, are trying to hold back a laugh.

“Mark, you never asked me out yet.” your voice laced with a slight bit of laughter.

“I-” he goes to defend himself, “I didn’t…”

Ten isn’t as subtle as you. He bursts out in loud laughter, “Good job, Mark.”

“How did you mess that one up?” Johnny adds to the teasing.

“Shut up.” Mark whines, “We’re dating. I’m not making things up! We’re just writing our story our way, right? ” he directs the question to you.

“Of course, we are,” you smile, “now, you two out! We have work to get done, and you’re distractions.”

You start ushering Johnny and Ten toward the exit of your small office.

“Don’t have too much fun, you two.” Ten winks.

“Goodbye, Ten.” you groan, “Bye, Johnny.” you sigh.

Once they’re out of the office and the door is shut, you lean your body against the doorframe. You let out a sigh before pushing off and walking towards your boyfriend. He has since reburied himself in his writing. You come up behind him and gently rub the base of his stripped ears. A slight purr escapes his lips before he looks up at you.

“You finally figure out where the plot’s going again?” you ask softly.

“Mhm, do you think you could illustrate this scene?” he asks, highlighting a section he had just written.

You read over it briefly, “Of course, I can. Can you just jot down that description so I can get sketching?” you ask, kissing the crown of his head.

He nods and takes a napkin quickly, writing down what he had just described in the story. You think for a few moments about what has just transpired in the past few weeks. Life threw a huge curveball at you in the best way. Did you ever think you’d fall for Mark? No, not at all. You would never change a thing that happened in the past month.

“Maybe we should move your art table right in front of mine, so you don’t have to get up mid-sketch to show me what you’re doing…” he thinks out loud, then processes that you’re zoned out, “Where’d you run off to?” Mark asks, just like you had asked him the day you took him to the cafe.

“Just somewhere.” you chuckle, “thinking about how crazy the past month has been.”

“It was a good crazy, though.” Mark adds, handing you the napkin note.

“That it has.” you smile, taking the note from him, “Shall we get back to work?”

“Let’s.” he smiles, “I’m serious about rearranging the office, by the way.”

“I know you are. I like how you think.” you nod, “Plus, the added benefit of seeing your face every time I look up from my sketchbook.”

“Shut up!” he whines out of embarrassment.

You just giggle and place a kiss on his cheek. Now off to sketch out the art. As you sketch, you find yourself wandering in your mind again, thinking about the present and the future. Yeah, this is good. Writing your future with Mark is more than you could ever wish for.

Networks: @neowritingsnet @nct-writers @k-vanity @kwritersworld @kdiarynet

Tag List: @raibebe @its-taeil-time @jaehunnyy @brattybunfornct @notbeforelong @n0hyuck @spiderrenjunfics @umbralhelwolf @tarutarumilk

#nct fluff #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #nct fanfic #nct x reader #nct hybrid au #mark lee fanfic #mark lee x reader #mark lee fluff

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