ROUND TWO: MILES QUARITCH (in avatar form only)

from avatar!

has a son 🙏😊✝️

racist 💔

like 12 feet tall 😍😋🤤🤤🤤🤤

blue! 💙💙💙💙💦💦💦

died once 🙏🕊

incapable of forgiving and forgetting 😊

I just realised smth funny when I made my MLP villain😭

Recom Quaritch ♥

Pairing: Miles x y/n

Warnings: smut, nsfw, MDNI

A/n: Hiya my love thank you for the request 😊 I hope you enjoy ☺️

"Christ, your boots are *filthy*," Miles muttered, flicking a glob of mud off the toe of his combat boot with a gloved thumb. The Recombinant’s voice had that same rough-edged amusement it always did when he was pretending not to care about something he definitely cared about.

You snorted, leaning back against the rusted-out shell of a Samson transport. "Yeah, well, welcome to swamp life, pretty boy. Not all of us get to stroll around looking like we just walked out of a RDA catalog."

Miles' gloved fingers paused mid-air, the mud droplet suspended between them like some absurdly fragile peace offering. He tilted his head—that infuriating, predator-casual tilt that made your pulse stutter—and exhaled through his nose. "You think I'm pretty?" The question was all lazy vowels, but his pupils dilated just enough to betray him.

You rolled your eyes, but your hips shifted against the Samson's sun-warmed metal. "Don't flatter yourself, *sir*." The honorific tasted like cheap whiskey—burning and familiar. You'd been using it to needle him since he first ordered you to scrub the algae out of his squad's ventilation filters.

Miles' tail flicked once—sharp, like a whip-crack—before his whole body moved with that unnatural Recombinant grace, closing the distance between you in two strides. The height difference was ridiculous; you had to crane your neck just to maintain eye contact, and his breath was warm against your forehead when he leaned in. "Funny," he murmured, the word curling around a smirk. "You keep calling me 'sir,' but I don't recall you ever actually *listening* to a damn thing I say." His glove came up, slow, deliberate, and dragged a streak of mud from your cheekbone to your jawline.

You swallowed. His thumb was rough even through the fabric, the pressure just shy of painful. "Maybe I'd listen more if your orders weren't bullshit," you shot back, but your voice hitched when his other hand settled on your hip, fingers splaying wide enough to nearly span the entire curve. The Samson creaked behind you as Miles pressed closer, the heat of him searing through layers of gear and fabric.

"Uh-huh." His knee nudged between yours, forcing your legs apart with a nauseating lack of effort. "You're real mouthy for someone who's about to—" His sentence cut off with a grunt when you grabbed the front of his tactical vest and yanked him down. The angle was awkward as hell—your elbow jammed against his ribs, his tail whacking the Samson's doorframe—but then your mouth found his, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

The kiss was messy, all teeth and spit and the metallic tang of his Recombinant biology. Miles growled into it, one hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head back further, and you gasped when his other hand slid down to haul you up against him. Your boots left the ground for a dizzying second before he maneuvered you onto the Samson's hood, the metal groaning under your combined weight.

"Fuck," you panted, scrambling for purchase as Miles crowded between your thighs. His pupils were blown wide, the yellow of his irises nearly swallowed by black. Up close, you could see the faint scars along his hairline, the way his nostrils flared with every ragged breath. He was *real*, impossibly so, and when his claws pricked through the fabric of your pants, you arched into the sting with a noise that was half-laugh, half-moan. "God, you're such a *mess*," you managed, nails scraping down his neck.

Miles' laugh was a low, rumbling thing against your throat as his knee hitched higher between yours, forcing your legs wider around the bulk of his Recombinant frame. The Samson's hood groaned in protest beneath you, but neither of you cared—not when his fingers were digging into the meat of your thighs through your pants, not when his tail lashed against your calf with enough force to leave a welt. "Messy's the point, sweetheart," he muttered, his breath hot and uneven against your jaw. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you swore you felt the vibration of his smirk when you shuddered.

The height difference made everything clumsy—his hips canted at an angle that had you scrambling to adjust, your boot heels sliding uselessly against the Samson's fender. Miles' grip tightened, hauling you closer until your spine arched precariously over the edge of the hood. "Christ, you're tiny," he grunted, and you could hear the eyeroll in his voice even as his hands roamed, mapping the dip of your waist, the jut of your hipbones. His thumb caught on the waistband of your pants, rough fabric scraping against sweat-slick skin.

You kicked his shin—not hard, just enough to make him snarl—and grinned when his grip on you tightened reflexively. "Yeah, well, you're *old*," you shot back, breathless. The age gap wasn't anything either of you had ever dwelled on, but right now, with his teeth marking your collarbone and his fingers shredding the hem of your shirt, it felt absurdly relevant. Miles was all weathered edges and decades of RDA conditioning; you were—what? Some swamp-rat with a smart mouth and a death wish?

His answering chuckle was dark, possessive. "Old enough to know what the hell I'm doing," he murmured, and then his mouth was on yours again, hungry and insistent. You gasped into the kiss when his tail coiled around your thigh, the thick muscle dragging you flush against him. The metal beneath you creaked ominously, but Miles didn't seem to care—one hand braced against the Samson's windshield, the other yanking your pants down just enough to expose the curve of your ass.

"Fuck—*Miles*—" The name tore out of you half-strangled when his hands squeezed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He huffed a laugh against your mouth, his breath ragged. "Yeah, that's the idea," he muttered, and then his hand was between your legs, fingers pressing in with no preamble. You arched off the hood with a choked noise, your nails biting into his shoulders.

The stretch of his fingers burned—too wide, too much—and you twisted against him with a curse, your thighs clamping reflexively around his wrist. Miles growled approval, his thumb circling just shy of where you needed it. "Fuck, you're tight," he muttered, the words slurred against the sweat-damp curve of your neck. His breath hitched when you bit his shoulder in retaliation, the taste of synthetic fabric and salt sharp on your tongue.

The Samson's hood buckled under your squirming, the metal shrieking as Miles shifted his weight. His knee braced against the fender, leveraging himself higher to get a better angle, and suddenly you were staring up at the hazy pink sky through the gaps in his fingers as they worked you open. His fingers caught the light—gleaming—and you shuddered when one grazed your clit with deliberate, teasing pressure. "Asshole," you gasped, your hips jerking.

Miles smirked, his free hand hauling your leg over his shoulder with effortless strength. The new angle made your back bow off the hood, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the windshield. "Yeah, yeah," he drawled, but his voice was rough, the veneer of control cracking when you clenched around his fingers. His thumb pressed harder, relentless, and your vision whited out for a second as you came with a punched-out groan.

He didn't give you time to recover. One moment his fingers were dragging through your slick, the next his cock was nudging against you, thick and insistent. You barely had time to brace before he was pushing in, the stretch bordering on painful. "Jesus *Christ*—" you choked out, your nails scoring his chest through his shirt. Miles hissed through his teeth, his forehead dropping to yours as he bottomed out.

The pause was brief—just long enough for you to register the *heat* of him, the way your body struggled to accommodate his size—before he pulled out halfway and thrust back in hard. The impact rattled your teeth, the Samson's frame groaning beneath you. Miles' breath came in ragged bursts against your mouth, his hips snapping forward again before you could adjust. "Fuck, fuck—" you whimpered, your thighs trembling around his waist.

The stretch was obscene—too much, too fast—and you swore you could feel every ridge of him as Miles fucked into you with single-minded intensity. The Samson's hood buckled dangerously beneath you, metal screeching in protest with every snap of his hips. Your fingers scrabbled against his chest, nails catching on the synthetic weave of his shirt as he dragged you impossibly closer, his claws leaving half-moon indents in your thighs. "Slow—*fuck*—slow down," you gasped, but Miles just growled, his tail lashing against your calf as he angled deeper.

His laugh was ragged, breath hot against your temple. "You want slow?" His voice dripped with mock-sweetness, even as his pace stuttered—just once—before he sheathed himself to the hilt and held there. The pause was torture; you could feel the flex of him inside you, the way your body clenched around him like it couldn't decide whether to reject or pull him deeper. Miles' smirk was a flash of teeth against your jaw. "That better, princess?"

You snarled and bit his shoulder—hard—just to watch him jerk. The sound he made was half-groan, half-laugh, and then he was moving again, his rhythm brutal and uneven. The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed in the humid air, mingling with the creak of straining metal and your own punched-out whimpers. His thumb found your clit again, rough and unrelenting, and you arched off the hood with a sob, your vision splintering at the edges.

Miles' breath hitched when you came, his grip tightening convulsively around your hips. "Fuck, *look* at you," he gritted out, his pupils blown so wide the yellow of his irises was nearly gone. His thrusts grew sloppier, his control fraying at the edges as he chased his own release. You could feel the tension coiled in his muscles, the way his tail twitched erratically against your leg—and then he was shuddering, his forehead dropping to yours as he spilled inside you with a ragged groan.

Resurrect

Note: Hii This was a request; I really liked the idea, so I took it. I was missing a lot of what the girl asked for; it was perfect for an AO3 story.I decided to take the idea and do a quick one-shot; later on, maybe I'll be encouraged to upload the full version as the girl requested!

Contains: Miles Quartich x Mangkwan fem! reader

Synopsis: After a hard day's work looting the Windtradres, Victoria (The girl's name) Quartich arrived to try to make a deal with the Mangkwan, and he was attended to by Victoria because her older sister Varang was busy

Warning: Smut, p in v, blood, drugs, forced commitment, Infidelity?

(I think this song is perfect for that one-shot.)

It was midday, the burning heat of the fire touched Victoria's skin. She sat in front of the blazing fire, wondering if it was right to be betrothed to a boy just because Benefits Similarly, her sister Varang was going to force her to become the boy's wife.

""You'll come with me to rob the Windtraders now." Varang said determinedly.

"fine..." Victoria said, still wondering if she was right.

After a fight against the Windtraders, the Magkwan managed to salvage some items from their caravan, such as fruit, weapons, pearls, etc. The magkwan went down with their ikranes to see what they could get out of there Then they went to their place, but they didn't know that a guy was watching them cautiously.

The next day a boy arrived wearing camouflage clothing as if he were ready for war. His bag was full of weapons they had never seen before: firearms, pistols, sniper rifles, etc.

Varang was outside the clan, so it fell to me to see that he wanted to leave my hut, and I saw him acting carefree, as if he owned the place. With a look saying "All this is mine"

"What do you want? Why are you coming to Magkwan territory?" I said firmly.

"A deal, beautiful," he said, approaching me. "I could give you anything you want in exchange for what I need."

"And what if I don't want to, huh?" I said defiantly.

The boy touched a part of his necklace and said, "Lyle, shoot that one." And the shooting of one of my best hunters

"So what do you want?" I asked solemnly.

"Jake Sully, Toruk Makto, help me find him and I'll give you all the weapons you want."

"Before I think about my answer, come follow me, I have to ask you some questions."

I took the boy's wrist and led him to my hut.

"First I need to know if you're telling the truth." I took some plants that were lying around, mixed them with other powders, and exhaled the mixture so the boy could smell it.

"Oh, shit, that's strong." "What's your name? Mine is Miles Quartich."

"Víctoria" "So what are you doing here, Miles Quartich?"

he sigh before saying "Help find Toruk Makto Jake Sully."

"If you want to be one of us, you will have to be resurrected as a magkwan." She said, approaching almost face to face with Quartich.

He was still under the effects of what he had inhaled; he was basically a trained dog, ready to do whatever he was told.

"When our arrangement ends, perhaps I'll keep you as my dog to give me pleasure." Said With a sexy tone

"Why I can't do it now?" he was still under the influence of the drug.

I kept playing with his kuru, a sideways smile crept onto my face. "Do you want to do it now, man of the sky?"

"Yes, why not?"

"First let me taste your blood," i said, running a knife across her chest, leaving blood I touched it with one of my fingers and licked his blood His blood wasn't pure, he was perfect for me

"After this I will eat your heart." I Said Challenging

"Can I make you feel good now?" he murmured.

"Whenever you want..." I said, playing with the tip of his kuru

He threw me to the floor of the hut; I was cornered. His tail was swishing from side to side.With his fingers he explored inside me I felt every movement; I tried to keep my moans from being heard, but I couldn't.

He pulled out his cock; the mixture he had made was supposed to relax him, but it seemed his cock couldn't.

He started pushing it inside me My juices were trying to lubricate it, and they succeeded.

"Fuck baby..You're very cramped." He said as he pushed his cock in.

During all this time I didn't think about my supposed fiancé; I was very focused on the guy and his cock.

He came first; he was very overstimulated.

"Weakling," I said as I rested on top of him while playing with my tail

- edit

Because the hate towards him is so forced at this point.