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rhiannonsknife · 2 months ago

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Okay okay so hear me out.

Imagine the Yellowjackets are actually at the nationals instead of the plane crashing. And Jackie desperately tries to avoid r BUT the coach puts them in the same room for whatever reason, maybe shauna and jackie were playing around too much so as punishment shauna had to switch with r.

Now that they’re both forced to be closer than usual Jackie is genuinely losing her mind and her emotions are ALL around. Maybe they hook up, maybe not. Or they have a GENUINE conversation for once, which surprises Jackie..

You can do whatever you want with that idea, it’s totally up to you

— summary: secretly hooking up with jackie taylor. masterlist.

— warnings: implied internalized homophobia & cheating. angst. hurt/no comfort because this is how things are done here. fem!reader. nsfw content. mdni.

— a/n: enough with the jackie taylor fluff, back to the filthy lesbian sex + angst. you’re welcome.

the hallway of the hotel buzzes with the usual pre-competition chaos: teammates of various different schools all across the states scurrying between rooms, the sound of laughter and last-minute pep talks echoing off the walls. nationals. the peak of everything the yellowjackets had worked for all season. your last chance to win the thing as a team before most of you graduate.

obviously, jackie should feel excited, focused, and ready to step onto that court and lead her team to victory one final time.

instead, her stomach churns, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the pressure of the next couple of days.

“switching rooms is a terrible idea,” she reasons, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glares at coach martinez.

“this is not a debate, taylor,” he replies, voice clipped. “this isn’t summer camp. you’re here to win, not distract your teammates with shipman. now get your stuff and make the swap. it’s only a weekend”

jackie glances sideways, catching your eye from where you stand a little further down the hall. you’re leaning casually against the wall, trying to act like you’re not paying attention, but she knows better. you’ve always been good at reading her, too good for her comfort. what you’re not so good at is pretending.

she can see the way you’re watching the exchange, trying to hide the obvious amusement in your gaze as jackie tries to reason with the coach.

she’s been doing her absolute best to keep her distance, to keep things simple and clean. nationals are stressful enough without throwing whatever this is into the mix. but now, thanks to shauna’s antics, the universe has decided to test her self-control all over again.

with a resigned sigh and not another look back at coach martinez, jackie grabs her bag and stalks toward her new room.

you’re barely done setting your things down when she barges past you and into the space

“hello to you too, roomie” you mutter as you close the door on your own way in.

she shoots you a look, tossing her bag onto the other bed with more force than necessary. “don’t get too comfortable,” she mutters. “this isn’t permanent”

“oh?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “didn’t realize you had the power to override coach’s orders all of a sudden”

jackie’s jaw tightens, her posture stiffening as she stands by the bed. “i don’t,” she snaps, her voice sharp. “but i’ll talk to him tomorrow and get it fixed. until then, just…stay on your side of the room”

you scoff, setting your bag down with a little more force than necessary. “stay on my side of the room? what are we? fucking twelve?”

jackie glares at you. “i’m serious,” she says, brushing past you to grab her toiletries from her bag. “i don’t want any trouble”

“trouble?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. truthfully, you don’t mean to. but ever since you started whatever this is between you, jackie has been doing the same thing over and over: pushing you away, pretending like you don’t exist at all. she won’t even look at you in school. all you can do is watch when she’s with jeff instead, holding his hands or kissing him in the hall, for once not afraid of the affection

“you’re the one acting like this is the end of the world. it’s just one night, jackie. maybe try not making it weird for once”

jackie freezes mid-motion, her hand gripping the zipper of her duffel bag. when she turns to face you, there’s a familiar edge in her expression. “i’m making it weird?” she shoots back. “you think i want to be stuck here with you?”

the words hit harder than they should, but you refuse to let her see the sting. of course jackie taylor wouldn’t want to be caught in the same room with you if you’re not knuckle deep inside her simultaneously.

“right,” you say flatly, crossing your arms. “because it’s so awful being in the same room as me, huh? god forbid we have to actually talk like normal people”

jackie flinches at the unexpected bitterness in your tone, but she doesn’t back down either. “i’m just saying,” she starts. “this is nationals. it’s a big deal. we should be focusing on the game, not…whatever”

“whatever,” you echo, narrowing your eyes. “right. because that’s all this is to you. just some ‘whatever’”

her cheeks flush, and she glances away, busying herself with folding a stray sweatshirt. “i didn’t say that,” she mutters.

“you didn’t have to,” you reply, your voice slightly quieter now, but no less tense. “you know, for someone who’s so concerned about ‘trouble,’ you’re pretty good at creating it”

jackie’s hands still, her knuckles whitening as she grips the shirt tightly. for a moment, it looks like she might say something, but then she exhales sharply and shoves the sweatshirt away. a part of you would prefer it if she actually did. if she, for once, recognizes what you two have, rather than keeping it something shameful. something unspoken. it shouldn’t surprise you that she doesn’t.

“i’m going to take a shower,” jackie announces instead. “just…stay out of my way”

she doesn’t wait for a response before grabbing her things and heading for the door, leaving you alone in the too-quiet room. the door slams shut behind her, and you sink onto the edge of your bed, rubbing a hand over your face.

this wasn’t what you had envisioned for the nationals. you didn’t ask to be thrown into a room with jackie, but now that you are, you can’t help the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. why do you have to be punished, just because she and shauna can’t behave?

jackie has been keeping you at arm’s length for months now, barely acknowledging you outside of stolen moments behind closed doors that she won’t talk about. and now, trapped in this tiny room together, all the tension and unspoken words feel like they’re pressing down on you, endlessly heavy and suffocating.

when she finally returns, her hair damp and her face scrubbed clean, the air between you is no less charged.

she moves stiffly, avoiding your gaze as she sets her toiletries down and climbs into bed without a word. you briefly consider saying something to break the silence, but the memory of her earlier words

you think I want to be stuck here with you?

holds you back. instead, you turn off the bedside lamp and lie down on your back, the too-small room plunging into darkness.

a long time passes by in the familiar silence. it’s all it ever is with jackie: radio silence until it’s not an inconvenience for her to want you. then, you’ll have her for a couple of hours, before things go back to how they were before.

the other bed creaks softly beside you as jackie shifts, her back to you. for a second, you think she’s fallen asleep already. then you hear her sigh, low and almost inaudible.

despite everything, her sharp words, her cold demeanor, you know jackie, for better or for worse. you know she’s scared, for reasons beyond you, and conflicted. she’s trying so desperately to pretend to be something she’s not. and she would've been able to succeed with it, had it not been for you.

the silence stretches on, thick and heavy. at some point, you roll onto your side, your back to hers too, determined to get some sleep, yet to no avail. you hear it before she speaks: the faintest shift of the mattress as jackie turns.

“are you awake?” she murmurs, her voice hesitant.

you don’t answer right away, torn between wanting to keep your distance and the part of you that aches to close the gap between you. finally, you whisper, “yeah”

she falls silent for a moment, and you can almost sense her weighing whether or not to say more.

you hear movement in the dark, and you’re about to turn when the mattress dips by your legs where jackie has sat. ”i didn’t mean what i said earlier. about not wanting to be here“

you swallow hard, your heart thudding in your chest. you don’t dare to turn and look at her. “then why say it?”

jackie hesitates. you can feel her shift closer, the warmth of her body radiating against your back. a part of you wants to push her away. another, stronger and more determined part wants her endlessly closer. “because it’s easier,” she admits quietly. you force yourself to fight against the shiver that threatens to run down your back when she curls up against you, her breath warm on your shoulder blade. “it’s easier to push you away than…than deal with any of this”

her words hang in the air, and you find yourself turning to face her. the darkness between you doing nothing to hide the vulnerability in her expression from this close. this, you realize as you take in jackie’s features, is the most vulnerable she’s ever been around you.

“how do you feel?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

jackie’s gaze drops, her fingers curling into the edge of the blanket between you. “i don’t know,” she says, but the tremble in her voice betrays her. “i just know that when i’m with you, everything gets so…complicated”

you reach out, your hand brushing against hers. “it doesn’t have to be”

jackie doesn’t move, her eyes locked on yours. then, slowly, tentatively, she closes the distance between you, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s equal parts hesitation and longing.

when she finally pulls away, her forehead rests against yours, and she exhales shakily. “this doesn’t change anything,” she whispers. there she is again. the jackie you know. the jackie you will despise again in the morning. the jackie you have, unfortunately, fallen in love with months ago, long before she decided that you were worth to keep around for some occasional hook ups.

you don’t respond verbally. if this is all of her that you’ll get tonight, you will still very much take it.

jackie’s fingertips trace your cheeks as your mouths move together. you’re not even sure who has leaned in first this time, only that you’re kissing her again and that she’s kissing you back just as eagerly.

her lips are so soft against yours it’s unfair, yet they’re demanding and hungry, ravishing your mouth in a way you never dared to imagine. simultaneously, her hands are running all over you, wherever jackie can reach. frustrated with how restrictive these blankets are, she grunts and pushes them aside.

with the newfound space, she smoothly slides on top of you, your legs tangling together on the plain bedsheets.

“come here” she murmurs, closing the distance between you again. you part your lips almost immediately, giving in to all that stupid, pent-up hunger.

it’s not long after, that you try bucking your hips upward, chasing after a pressure she is not yet providing. jackie has never been one to give. you can remember the one single time where she’s actually shoved her hand down your pants. it’d been in the back of your car, from a slightly awkward angle and without much aftercare to it. but it had been, to this day, one of your best orgasms simply because it was jackie taylor’s hand that had been touching you that night. to this day, it is what you think back to when you’re alone in your room.

now, she seems oddly eager to touch you. except this time, you realize, you have time. there are no parents anywhere nearby, no jeff that could catch or overhear you. just the two of you, in the middle of the night.

maybe coach martinez had, unknowingly done you the biggest favor of your lifetime.

you bite your lip when jackie leans back to look down at you. her hair is a mess, her chest heaving with how hard she’s panting.

one tug is all it takes before she’s all over you again, caging you in between her forearms on either side of your head. you bury your hands in her hair and allow yourself to pretend that any of this is normal.

her shirt comes off first, tossed off the bed carelessly. you sit before her, hands roaming her sides, eyes glued to her chest. yours is next and jackie seems almost impatient to peel it off of you. once you’re both topless, she pushes you back into the mattress and straddles your hips.

you moan into her mouth when her bare breasts slide up against yours. eager to feel more of this, for as long as she lets you, you arch your back up against jackie. she groans softly into your mouth, the noise shooting straight between your legs.

“jackie” you manage. your fingers have, without you even noticing, wrapped around her forearms in a silent plea for her to stay this close. you only let go when she puts her mouth to the side of your neck and sucks.

well, this is new, you briefly think. jackie, for obvious reasons, never lets you mark her up at all. but you didn’t think of her as one to be into leaving hickeys. how you’ll cover them in the morning is a problem for your future self. for now, you just don’t want her to stop. whatever has gotten into her tonight, you want more of it.

“jackie” you sigh again, more urgency in your voice this time. “touch me”

she leans back from where she had her face buried in the crook of your neck. for a moment, as your hand slides from the back of her head, you think you’ve messed it all up. you’d been playing with fire from the start. and now you’ve pushed her too far, asked for too much. then, an unfamiliar determination flickers over jackie’s face, and her fingers drop down to your shorts.

“holy shit” you can’t help but mutter when she, unlike what you expected, doesn’t immediately shove her hand down past the waistline. instead, jackie pushes them all the way down your legs with your help, leaving you in your underwear. she watches as you kick them off, then turns back to face you. you do notice that she’s purposefully not looking right at you, but you don’t mind it all that much when she settles down beside you and runs her flat palm down your body.

her fingers briefly brush over your nipples but don’t waste any time to get to where you both want them the most. you’ve learned to love jackie in the quiet, stolen moments in between. you can’t miss anything you’ve never had and only the comfort of a bed and a room all to yourselves seems too luxurious to be true. you’re not going to ruin this for yourself by getting caught up in the lack of proper foreplay.

you involuntarily spread your legs wider for jackie when she reaches your underwear and you can feel her smile against the side of your neck, where she’s resting her head.

when her index finger runs over the fabric there, her mouth falls open. she must feel the wet patch of your arousal.

“you’re so-“ she gasps, just barely managing to cut herself off in time. jackie taylor doesn’t speak to you while she gets you off. she clears her throat and makes up by finally pushing your underwear aside.

you have to slam a hand over your mouth so your next-door neighbors won’t hear the sound you make when jackie circles your clit for the first time. she’s deliberate, her wrist moving in firm, clockwise circular motions.

the blankets rustle quietly as she adjusts, propping her weight down on one hand as she lingers above you and watches, then presses down harder.

your head falls back into the pillows and your jaw goes slack. to your surprise, jackie’s expression is a reflection of your own: her mouth hangs open as though she’s the one who’s getting touched, and her eyes are heavy as they study your reactions. just by the way she’s touching you, you wouldn’t know that this is only her second time doing this. she must've been attentive to the way you've been touching her during all of your past hook-ups.

you can feel how wet you’re getting -embarrassingly fast. her fingers slide over you in no time whatsoever, gathering your arousal on them before pushing it up and over your clit.

a shuddered breath falls from your lips. jackie is still watching you, alternating between your face (yet never your eyes) and where her hand is moving between your legs.

she keeps this up until you can feel her in every single nerve ending. whether jackie knows this or not, though something tells you that she does, this is not quite enough to make you cum. it’s merely enough to get you towards that edge, toeing it, yet never falling over. the pressure isn’t hard enough, the sensation too brief.

in spite of yourself, you begin to rock your hips into her hand. at this point, you’re so wet it’s dripping through your underwear. there’s no reason to hide your own desperation anymore when she can feel it herself.

“jackie-“ you gasp. it’s tortuously good.

the first time she looks into your eyes that night is when she dips her soaked finger lower and pushes it inside. the moan that you let out at this is definitely too loud for a packed hotel, but she makes no attempt to hush you.

you can feel the place where jackie's pebbled nipples press against you, every inch of exposed skin curled up with your own, and her breath fans against your earlobe. you’re half convinced you’re only imagining it when she whispers: “you like this?”

you hardly hear the words at all, drowned out by your own, mindless gasps and the sounds coming from where jackie is pounding into you; the obscenely slick noises.

she’s deep. she’s so deep inside of you, her delicate fingers pressing deeper than she’s ever been before. it’s the first time you actually feel her there and that alone is enough for your eyes to roll back in your head.

“yeah” you manage just so.

“yeah?” jackie pouts, almost mockingly, forcing them inside some more.

“oh my god” is all you can say to that.

usually, it would be you touching her. this is one of those rare occasions where the roles are reversed. where jackie gets to touch you. to fuck you, really: she's pressing her hips against you from where she’s lingering on top, draws them back as she does the same with her hand, then snaps them back immediately the moment she pumps her fingers into you. like she’s really fucking you, you think.

it briefly occurs to you that maybe, if jackie is so eager for this, you’ll have to invest in a strap so that you can fill each other up properly. then again, it would probably be too much to bring this idea up to her. you’ll consider yourself lucky if she so much as looks at you after tonight.

as soon as jackie’s third finger slips into you, you no longer bother to even try and hold your head up. she’s never fucked you like that and you’ll spend the rest of your life wishing for this feeling back.

she’s steadily pressing, curling, and exploring with three of her fingers and all you can do is chant cries of her name as you try to ride her hand.

your head falls to the side, into the pillows. a necessary but pointless try to stifle your moans.

“jackie please”

you can hear her mumbling words of “that’s it” and “take it” against your temple but it’s white noise to what you feel when her thumb finds your clit, rubbing in fast circles that match the brutal pace she’s set. even jackie is panting now. her wrists must be aching, at this rate, but she’s not stopping. you wonder if she’s as wet for you as you are for her. you know how easy it is to get her wet. so she must be, it wouldn’t surprise you if she’s stained your bed.

in the end, these aren’t the thoughts that push you over the edge. it’s jackie’s voice urging you to “cum” to “please cum for me”.

the rest of the world blurs in and out of focus and, for as long as your orgasm lasts, there’s nothing but the pleasure that explodes in your abdomen and leaves you shaking on the mattress.

you choke out a moan as it washes over you. jackie is watching you, her mouth hanging open like it only dawns upon her now that she's got this kind of effect on you.

even as the pleasure starts to fade, your thighs are still shaking. jackie is almost hesitant about lifting her hand from between your legs, though she makes a point of not looking down at your arousal on her before she wipes it off on the mattress.

“holy shit” you mutter, staring at the ceiling above and dropping the weight of your head back onto the pillows. your whole body feels ten times lighter than it did mere minutes ago.

reality sinks in soon enough though.

after another deep breath, you turn to jackie. she's still sitting on your mattress, but her bare back is turned to you. stupidly enough, you try to reach out. she senses the movement and shoots you a sharp glance, so your hand freezes mid-air, never reaching her.

“don't” the sharpness in her voice has no right to sting the way it does. you pull your hand back, uselessly dropping it onto the mattress.

“jackie...”

“i said don't" she snaps all over again. "it's better this way”

better for who? you wonder. the question burns but you force yourself to bite it back. there's no point in trying to push her further. you watch jackie reach for her discarded clothes on the floor. her movements are hurried as she pulls her shirt back over her head. like if she's frantic enough about it, it'll all go away.

“was it something i-” “no,” she immediately interrupts. with her shirt back on, she stands. “don’t make this into something it’s not”

“jackie you don’t have to-“

“this didn’t mean anything” she interjects all over again. “we shouldn’t have…it was a mistake, okay? it won’t happen again”

“a mistake?”

it’s not the first time jackie calls it that. for a ‘mistake’ she’s been coming back a surprising amount of times. yet it always comes down to this.

“i don’t want to talk about it,” she snaps, her arms cross defensively over her chest as she turns toward her bed. “we have nationals tomorrow. we need to focus”

“are you serious right now?” your voice rises slightly. “jackie, you can’t just-“

“i can,” she says firmly. “and i am”

you sit there, half naked and stunned into silence as jackie climbs into her own bed and pulls the covers up to her chin, facing the wall so you can’t see her expression. her breathing is shaky, though, and you can tell she’s trying hard to steady it.

“fine,” you say stubbornly when you realize she’s actually serious. “pretend it didn’t happen. pretend it didn’t mean anything to you”

jackie doesn’t respond.

you sit in the stillness for what feels like an eternity. as you finally settle under the covers, your back turned to her, you hear jackie’s voice:

“stay away from me. for the rest of this trip”

you swallow hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “got it,” you whisper.

then, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of her breathing. jackie doesn’t move, and neither do you. whatever you’d hoped might come from tonight has slipped right through your fingers.

eventually, jackie’s breathing evens out, and you wonder if she’s actually asleep or just pretending. either way, you close your eyes, trying to make the hurt fade.

#˙💌 ̟ !! ─ my works #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x female reader #jackie taylor x fem!reader #jackie taylor x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x female reader #yellowjackets x you

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flemingsfreckles · 10 months ago

Text

Puppy Love

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Preview: you come home to a surprise from your girlfriend

Warnings: none

WC: 1.3k

A/N: here’s a very short blurb a wrote based off the middle photo of Jessie with the puppy. I’m in the process of working on 3 other fics that are multi part (better boyfriend is one, the other two are stuff that isn’t out yet) those just take a while so I’m taking time to write some small short stuff as well because it prevents my writers block from showing up.

“Oh no come back here with that” you hear your girlfriend yell at someone or something as you walk in the door. You set your keys down and begin to take off your shoes when you feel a warm soft body against the back of your leg. Turning around you see a small brown puppy standing looking up at you, one of your shirts hanging from its mouth.

Only a second later your girlfriend comes flying around the corner into the entryway, nearly slipping with the combination of her speed, her socks, and the tile flooring. She catches herself against the wall and looks up at you with huge eyes.

Jessie looks frazzled in every way. Her hair is sticking out in every direction, her cheeks are bright red as if she’d just been to training, she’s wearing only shorts and a sports bra. You can see a couple red nail scratches across her arms and she’s breathing heavily.

“Jessie.” It doesn’t take long for you to make the assumption that your girlfriend had brought home a puppy.

“Hi.” She gives you a tight lipped smile, just looking up at you before the puppy takes off running again, through your legs and off toward the kitchen.

“Oh my god” you hear Jessie mutter and she turns and chases after it. You’re not even sure if you should follow, still processing the scene that you came home to.

You take a few steps in the direction that Jessie ran off in and see her coming back toward you, a wiggling puppy in her arms. Your shirt now in her hand. She holds the puppy out to you, holding it under its arms like a small baby.

“Hold her.” You don’t have much of a choice so you put your arms out and take the puppy from her. The puppy is small and a little ball of fur in your arms, for a split second you forget that you should be questioning your girlfriend about what is going on. Jessie throws on the shirt the puppy had stolen and holds her arms out to take her back. You hand her back and you two just stand looking at each other, the puppy whining to be put down.

“Jessie, why is there a puppy in our house?”

“She needed a home.” She gives you a quick glance before her attention is redirected to the dog.

“So what? You thought ours was a good option?” You feel your voice raise slightly, you really weren’t mad, just more confused at the impulsive decision Jessie made, and a little frustrated that she hadn’t checked in with you before she brought home a huge responsibility.

“Maybe?” She looks at you with hopeful eyes. “Come on babe we’ve thought about it a couple of times.”

She wasn’t wrong the two of you had thought about adopting a dog on a couple occasions now that you lived together, you both wanted one but you never followed through in the process of actually picking out a dog. Something always got in the way.

“The dog came from Niamh’s neighbor, their dog had a bunch of puppies. The rest got adopted but no one wanted her because of her ear.” She holds the dog's ear up for you to see, but it was missing a large portion of it.

“It’s not her fault she was born like that. How could no one want her?” It looks like your girlfriend is on the verge of tears looking at the puppy’s face. “I know I should have asked babe but I didn’t. I’m sorry for that. She’s already house broken and can walk on a leash. Can we keep her please?”

You didn’t have a good reason to say no. You both wanted a dog, you were ready for the responsibility and you couldn’t help but admit how cute it was to see Jessie playing with her. She was poking its nose with her own, the dog trying to lick her face every time she leaned it.

“Sure Jess, we can keep her.”

“Yay! Did you hear that, you can stay.” She is back looking at the dog in her arms, talking to it as if she could understand. The dog just wiggles around, excited by the attention from Jessie not her actual words.

“I haven’t named her yet, I wanted to wait for you.” She sets down the dog and leans toward you, lips pursed waiting for a kiss. You lean in to place your lips to hers, giving her a quick kiss. It’s short and sweet, a nice welcome home.

“When did you have time to pick her up?” You point at the dog who has run over to the doorway and is rolling around on the rug scratching her back.

“After training, I went with Niamh, then we went to the store and bought all the things for her.” She points over to the pile of toys, a bag of food, two bowls, and a crate. You just nod. “She might want to go outside. She goes by the door when she needs to go. She’s so smart. Do you want to join us on a short walk?”

“Sure babe.” Jessie hurries over to where the puppy was rolling, grabbing the leash and harness that had been hung neatly next to both of your keys.

It’s warm out, the sun is just starting to set as you start your first walk with just the three of you as a small family. You walk for a couple minutes before the unnamed puppy starts sitting down, every couple of steps, bored of walking she sits and chomps at the grass.

“Come here.” Jessie says in a high pitched tone, the same tone she used earlier to talk to the puppy. She picks up the dog once again.

“Babe, what are you doing?”

“Her little legs are probably tired. She’s had a busy day.” You couldn’t help but smile, looking at your girlfriend grinning ear to ear as she held the puppy in her arms. She looks so content with the ball of fur. She carries her for the rest of the walk, letting the puppy lightly bounce in her arms as she walks alongside you.

You spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the puppy who you both agreed to name Maple both after her color and because you shot down Jessie’s original idea of naming her Moose but you refused to name the dog after another animal. Early into the night Maple found her own way into the large crate Jessie had bought and lined it with a bed and blankets.

“Look, she's sleeping.” You point out to Jessie as you both were standing in the kitchen waiting on a bag of popcorn to be ready. Jessie looks over to where Maple was, sound asleep in the pile of blankets.

“She’s so cute.”

“I cannot believe you brought home a dog.” You truly were shocked when you walked in the door earlier that day, the last thing you were expecting was a puppy.

“I know, I was a little worried you’d be mad.”

“How could I be when I had her cute face and your cute face both giving me puppy eyes?” You gently grab Jessie’s chin and place a kiss on her lips.

“Plus it’s good practice for when we have kids.” Jessie says when you pull away from her. The thought of having kids with her sends a flutter to your stomach. You knew it wouldn’t be soon, but in the future it was definitely something you both had talked about and wanted.

“Yeah it is but you better not bring home any kids without telling me first.”

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming imagine #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader

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ash5monster01 · 3 months ago

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Hello Darling 🩷Could you do an imagine with Charlie Dalton x plus size reader where the reader feels insecure about her weight and Charlie shows her how perfect she is to him if you know what I mean 😉. (If you don't write smut or just feel uncomfortable don't do it it is fine. Just do him being comforting)Thank you so much and have a nice day 🩷🩷

Just The Way You Are

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x PlusSize!FemReader

Warnings: 18+, foreplay, nudity, language, minor angst, self deprecation, use of the word fat, mentions of bullying, fluff

Summary: Being a bigger girl was already hard enough, when the college hot shot starts to take interest in you, you think it’s a joke. Charlie proves to you it isn’t.

word count: 2k

Masterlist

“Please go away” you beg, eyeing the brunette boy who had purposely thrown his frisbee your way at least ten times. The quad was large enough for everyone and yet the annoying and overly cocky boy from your English class found it funny to nearly hit you each time. You wanted to rip the dam beret off his head and throw it up in the tree you leaned against.

“Sorry doll, it’s an accident” he says giving you a sickly sweet smile as he retrieves the item once again. He’s joined by two other boys who were smug faces like they know he was doing this on purpose.

“Sure” you scowl, collecting your books and stacking them in your lap. That’s when his face falls, actually realizing he had upset you. It takes a few moments to collect everything and even then you stand awkwardly as you try to balance it all.

“I’ll be right back guys” he calls out to his friends, throwing the frisbee with actual skill their way before turning his attention back to you. He doesn’t even give you a choice as he scoops half the stack of books out of your arms. “I’ll walk you”

“It’s fine, you really don’t have to” but he’s already starting to the dorms with stuff you can’t finish your assignments without. Groaning you shuffle along behind him, doing your best to keep up.

You couldn’t really explain Charlie’s interest in you. It was already tough enough being the weird fat girl on campus. The other girls whispered mean things about you in the halls and rounds of laughter came from boys when you passed by. You had planned to keep your head down and graduate, that is until you met Charlie. The brunette boy with mischievous eyes and a daunting grin who had a will to drive you up a wall. You had thought it was to make fun of your size but so far he was the only boy in this school to have never brought it up.

“Are you trying to push my buttons?” you ask as you join his side and this time he gives you an earnest smile, head looking down to eye you.

“Can’t I just do something nice without you accusing me?” he asks and you roll your eyes, fearing anyone in this school was everything but nice towards you.

“I just don’t understand your constant need to be in my face all the time. I’m just trying to get through school like everyone else” you say as you reach the girls dorm hall. Charlie’s following you now and that’s when you realizes you had absentmindedly guided him to your home base. The only safe haven on this entire campus.

“I thought I was being obvious” Charlie says once you reach your door, noting how you have a single. You use your elbow to push the handle down and open the room up to you both. He happily follows you in.

“Obvious about what?” you ask as you drop your stuff onto your desk. Charlie sets his half of the pile on top of it before propping his hands on his hips and looking you up and down. Just the idea of him checking you out has your body lighting up with nerves.

“I’m flirting with you doll” he says like it’s the most natural thing. The confession has you choking on air, gaping at him like what he had just said was absurd. To you it was.

“This isn’t kindergarten Charlie. You don’t pull a girls hair or call her names to get her attention. You do not like me like that” you inform him, shaking your head and trying to calm the panic that swells in your chest.

“Well forgive me but I went to an all boys school. The only flirting knowledge I do have comes from the playground. That’s not for you to decide if I like you or not” he defends, eyebrows furrowed and looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. Suddenly it’s hard to look him in the eye.

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is but I don’t want to hear it. Go find another girl to throw your frisbee at” you say, trying to usher him out the door but he holds his ground, unmoving as he looks at you.

“Why is this so hard for you to comprehend?” he asks and you gasp, face flushing as you realize he’s just called you out on something you have no interest in explaining. Yet you have no where to go.

“I’m not the kind of girl you flirt with. If you haven’t noticed I’m fat and everyone else on this campus acts accordingly. I suggest you do the same and leave me alone” something flashes behind Charlie’s eyes, something you don’t recognize as he looks at you with something different than sympathy. Had it been sympathy you would’ve shoved him out the door.

“Doll you are not fat, please don’t say that. You’re so beautiful. I’ve never seen a girl like you in my life. I didn’t even know what to do with myself around you so I just started acting like an ass” the admission is paired with a look in his eyes that convey adoration. Something you had never seen directed at you before.

“This isn’t funny Charlie, you don’t have to pretend for my sake. Let’s just let this go and pretend it never happened” you go to shove him out the door again but his hands lock around your wrists, holding you in place until the only thing you can do is look him in the eye.

“You have the most beautiful eyes. Every time I look at them I feel like I’m lost as sea, drowning in the color until there’s nothing left of me. Your smile is astounding, it freezes me in place every time I see it. I spend my nights dreaming that one day you’d direct it towards me” you’re silent as he says this, the words washing over you like the tide dragging you out to sea. You had never heard anyone speak about you like that.

“What else?” you whisper and Charlie grins when he realizes he has really caught your attention now.

“I have to try not to get dizzy when I smell your shampoo. The scent of you intoxicates me and I dream of my clothes smelling like you too. You’re also so funny it hurts. I never thought it possible to meet someone I found funnier than me. Paired with your body-” he’s cut short by the soft shake of your head, him having lost you after his small spiel.

“Nothing to say about my body” you try to pull away but he holds you in place. Eyes piercing your own in hope his next words will resonate with you.

“Your body is different than any I have ever seen. I trace your curves with my eyes everyday, wondering what it would be like for my hands to travel the hills of your breasts to the dip of your waist. Even just the sight of your ass has me dreaming about how plush it must be. The expanse of your neck when you wear your hair up makes me drool. Everything about you is soft and I want to cover myself entirely in your warmth” you suck in a sharp breath, not expecting the honest words that had come from the boy. Words that had made the curves and size of your body to sound so beautiful.

“I don’t know what to say?” you tell him, unsure if you want to cry happy tears or hug him for uplifting you in a way you never had been before.

“Then just let me show you” he says and your eyebrows draw together, confused as to what he means until his hand brushes your hair behind your shoulder and glides across your bare skin. Fingers tugging the neckline of your blouse and pulling it away slowly.

“Oh” you blab out like a fool, his eyes asking you for permission that you grant with the nod of your head. Every part of you is screaming not to but the way he looks at you is enough to have your fingers fumbling with the buttons of the silk material.

Charlie’s hands make home on your waist as you continue, the top opening more and more to reveal the white lace bra underneath. Charlie’s throat goes dry before helping you shrug the material off your shoulders. Next is the zipper of your skirt that he’s happy to assist with. It takes only moments for it to fall and pool around your feet. In front of him you stand in only your undergarments and Charlie can’t tear his eyes away.

As you sit there fearing the largeness of your arms and the plump of your stomach he feels as if he��s reached heaven looking at you. You were a real woman, the kind of girl that only he could handle. He wasn’t sure if it would be to forward to ask for you to suffocate him. Either way he’s sure no air would ever return to his lungs if he doesn’t kiss you right now.

“Doll, can I take care of you?” and the desperate whine from your lips is confirmation enough for him to seal his against your own. He swallows the sound and locks it in his heart forever, tongue dipping in to taste you as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. You reach out for him, hands grabbing his shoulders and tugging his hair as the straps come loose. You only let go for him to pull it off of you.

“Wow” is all he says as he pulls back and takes in the sight of you. All those years of stealing his Dads playboys to finally see a pair of breasts that could easily be in the magazine in person. As a man possessed he reaches out, cupping you in his hands, squeezing softly and unable to hide the hard on anymore.

“Charlie” you say in a plea, unsure what you’re begging for as he gropes you softly, nipples pebbling under his palms.

“I know baby, I know” and then his mouth was latched around your nipple, sucking softly as he pinched the other. Unable to stop the moan you let out your cheeks turn red from embarrassment. You’ve made a mess in your panties and if you had known what this was going to turn into you would’ve yelled at him sooner.

“Feels so good” you cry as he switches to your other breast, hand now nudging your panties down. It should be unfair that he was still fully clothed.

“Lay down” he orders and you obey, sprawling out on your bed as he tugs his own shirt over his head, knocking the beret off in the process. You watched shamelessly as he removes all articles of clothing until his length is brushing along his lower abdomen. You swear you already feel him as heat pools in your stomach.

“I’m gonna show you just how gorgeous you are” he says crawling above your form and you grin, trying not to whimper when his length brushes along your inner thigh. It’s then he smiles wide at you, looking like a simple boy.

“What?” you can’t help but ask, the smile still etched across your face and Charlie shakes his head lightly.

“Nothing, it’s just you finally smiled at me” and the sentiment makes you blush. Your red cheeks earn you a soft kiss, his hand trailing from your shoulder over your breast, down the expanse of your stomach, and inching closer and closer to the spot between your legs. It’s then you swear to always take Charlie for his word again.

“Keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll smile at you forever”

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redflagshipwriter · 5 months ago

Text

Nest Swap 9

masterpost

Having a mission changed everything.

Tim took full advantage of his new knowledge of the holy manuals. The first rule that he took to heart was that he was meant to be armed. Of course! It made sense.

Unfortunately, he was also not meant to take any weapon onto the field that he hadn’t trained with. Tim thought hard for a while whether or not a suburban house counted as ‘in the field’, but it seemed like he should pay lip service to Batman’s rule. So he got some sharp things that seemed interesting and spent some time throwing them at a target. They kind of looked like Batarangs, but… different.

“I don’t think bats change shape in the next ten years or so,” Tim muttered. He gave another half hearted throw. The thing dinged off the wall below his target. “So this isn’t meant to be a bat shape. Did Batman rebrand to the Birdman and no one fixed his wiki page yet? Is this a parallel universe and not my actual future?”

It occurred to him that it might be a bird because of Robin. But come on, Robins didn’t use sharp things. Robin was a child. It was irresponsible for children to use blades.

Tim sent another thingy into the wall. It hit with the pointy end first this time and sank an inch into the wall to the right of the target. He held his breath as it wiggled for a moment. Then it went still without falling.

“Yes!” He punched the air. Thank gosh! He was getting bored with that. It was good to be done with training. It was kind of dull.

Steps one and two were finished. He had a weapon and he had trained with it. Tim went back to his list. The next technical skill set was lock picking. That was super easy and fun! Tim enjoyed the clear diagrams and explanations. There wasn’t anything to practice with, but he thought that he had the concept down handily. He grabbed a set of lockpicks for his khaki pockets.

He needed to do a little more to understand the patterns of the target, as well as their background. Tim considered asking Jason for any information, but he probably didn’t have any. Maybe he wasn’t very good at googling. So he just did it. The Sausage Guy was more commonly known as Benedict Orange, a name that Tim really liked and mentally stored away to use as an alias when he was a superhero.

Anyway. Tim figured out how old the guy was, where he’d gone to school, and a bunch of other stuff like the record of his marriage ten years ago.

“Huh,” Tim said, brows furrowed. “I didn’t find a divorce record. But he’s single now?” Mr. Orange had accounts on a lot of dating sites. He was using his engagement photo for the profile photo, with his wife cut out.

That was weird. He tried to find the wife, but there wasn’t anything more recent than 8 years ago, when she’d announced that she was quitting her job on social media.

…Tim had kind of a bad feeling about that.

He put a pin in it for now, but he had a small theory at the back of his mind that started with ‘I think this guy killed his wife.’

Maybe that was how the human sausage thing started. Maybe he’d killed her on impulse and then needed a way to get rid of the body. And then maybe he’d gotten a taste for it.

Tim shuddered. Okay, okay, he was for real done thinking about this! Big yucky.

Benny Orange was an office worker with a title that Tim didn’t really understand. It seemed vague to the point of uselessness, but then again, that was office work. The relevant thing was that he got home around 6 pm, and he left at 8 am.

It was 10 in the morning. Tim could get over there and toss Benny’s home before the end of the workweek if he hurried. The manual said that you should never spend more than an hour investigating an unsecured location. It also said that you should file a report or directly inform someone of where you’d be.

That part made Tim pause for a moment before he remembered that he’d told Jason. Jason would probably check on him when he woke up, or whatever.

Tim found an equipment belt that he could wrap around his waist twice to buckle on. He put his sharp things in it. Then he untucked his shirt, because he had tucked it in out of habit and that would make it harder to access his weapons. He frowned as he did it. It just felt wrong.

He put on his shoes and got out the door. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste if he wanted to be able to take his time, so Tim hailed a taxi to cross most of the distance this time. He was grateful that Mrs. Henderson was gone and there was no chance of seeing her. Last time had been a little bit of a disaster. Needing civilian help to get into the building was not a winning move.

He had bat-approved lockpicks this time. He went to the front door and did his best.

It turned out that maybe he should have practiced? Tim started to sweat out in the open. It felt like someone was staring at his back. He looked at the houses around. No one was at their windows or walking outside. He started jumping whenever the tall herbs in Mr. Orange's garden swayed in the breeze. He had a lot of plants.

His hands were shaking. The sweat made his shirt stick to his back. He was going to get caught and in so much trouble.

When the door finally opened, Tim offered up a thanks to Bast, because he assumed the cat goddess was more likely to be pro-breaking and entering than other gods. That logic was just based off of what he knew about Catwoman, honestly.

The first glimpse into Benedict Orange's home was disappointingly normal. He had vinyl flooring (easy to clean!), leather furniture, and a big flat TV high up on the wall. He didn’t have enough knickknacks and there was no art. There was a wood and glass case that was full of identical, unlabeled bottles with something red in it. Hot sauce? Was he a hot sauce guy?

Tim mentally reclassified Mr. Orange further down the list of ‘people I could talk to at a cocktail party.’

The place had the same layout as Mrs. Henderson’s place, just in reverse. Tim beelined to the kitchen because.. Well.

He just did.

The counter space where Mrs. Henderson had a hot water kettle, a big stand mixer, and a toaster was mostly clear here. Mr. Orange only had one piece of cooking machinery. Tim didn’t know it. He squinted at it. It was a big shiny stainless steel thing. It had a metal tray, a wheel, and like… a nozzle. When he climbed on a chair to look down, he could see there was a little tunnel tube thing where you could put stuff inside the body of the machine.

Weird. Moving on!

He checked inside the fridge. He stared for a moment of aghast silence. There was a stack of takeout containers, a bunch of seasonings in the door, and a stack of tupperware with something red in them.

Cautiously, Tim dug one out and opened it.

“That’s raw meat,” he said, voice high. He put the box back in and then hesitated. Maybe he should be like, taking it? Or taking a sample? To see what animal it came from?

“I’ll think about it.” Tim shut the fridge a little harder than he needed to and beat feet out of the kitchen. He started checking the other rooms. He found the master bedroom. His nose wrinkled. “I don’t think he’s restyled this since Brenda died,” Tim complained. He looked at the curtains with extreme judgment. They were so outdated it wasn’t even funny, but they also weren’t retro yet!

Oh. Wait. Belatedly, Tim remembered that it was ten years into his future. So, maybe they were retro now. Anyways, Brenda had liked the trend for chickens and roosters. There were chickens and roosters everywhere in the decor, including a cute print of what was obviously intended to be a husband and wife pair snuggling on a sofa.

His heart hurt a little. He looked at it a little too long.

Tim took a deep breath. Then he went back to looking for evidence. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, so clearly Mr. Orange had a personal office elsewhere. There were two more rooms in the apartment.

Tim opened the next door. The room was mostly a guest bedroom, with the notable exception of a huge chest freezer and a weird long wooden bar across the room.

Tim shut the door.

The last room was the office. There was a desk, a file cabinet, and a lockbox full of women’s drivers licenses.

“Yeah, okay,” Tim said under his breath. “He’s a serial killer.” He took photos and sent them to Jason immediately with the subject line “Yeah he’s a killer!!!”

Then he got down to sorting through the papers to see if there was anything else. Jason was a Robin, Tim supposed, so he’d need the evidence to show the police. It would be helpful if he just went and sorted it out now. He found warranties for the TV, the new freezer, and he presumed that ‘Meat Grinder’ meant the thing in the kitchen.

“I appreciate that he’s so organized, actually,” Tim muttered. He was hunched over digging through the bottom drawer now.

A key went into a door.

Tim froze stock still. He slowly, silently shut the drawer. He stared at the closed door to the living room. On the other side of it, Mr. Orange unlocked and opened the front door. Tim slowly looked up, saw 12:14 on the clock, and vaguely registered that sometimes people come home on their lunch breaks.

The front door shut. There was a quiet metal sound that Tim thought was probably the chain lock. The chain lock that was too high for him to move without a chair to stand on.

Okay. Uh. He looked around for a place to hide. The best option was under the desk. Tim crawled through the legs of the chair, heart beating furiously.

He weighed his options. Wait it out and hope Mr. Orange didn’t come in?

…Seemed risky. But there was no way he was going to run out past the guy to the front door. At least, the odds that he’d get grabbed were just not good, not when he didn’t know where Mr. Orange was.

Alright. Tim knew reality. He might not be able to get out of this on his own. At the very least, he should let Jason know what was going on so that they could add his murder to the list of charges. And maybe Jason was close by to help? Wayne Manor was awfully far away, so probably not. But it didn’t hurt to try.

He got his phone back out and was silently very glad that he had it. Jason had responded to his message. Tim didn’t take the time to read it, instead typing up a blank email with the subject line “um might need help asap :( he here”. He sent it. Then he huddled down to wait.

Noises came from the kitchen- the suction as the fridge opened. The beep of the microwave. A man’s voice saying, “What the fuck? Did I leave this here?”

His blood turned ice cold.

‘What did I do?’ Tim desperately tried to remember what he’d touched in the kitchen. Had he really moved something around? He didn’t remember anything! His heart rate went up like crazy.

The door opened. Tim flinched. His whole body started shaking uncontrollably.

Oh. No. It wasn’t this door yet. It was the door to the next room, the spare bedroom. He heard the weird squelch of the chest freezer opening. Then the closet door squeaked open. Something heavy moved around.

“Well, it wasn’t you,” said Mr. Orange. There was a mean satisfaction in his tone. The heavy thing moved again.

Tim’s brain went a bit blank.

Who was he talking to? Was there someone in the apartment? Hidden behind something heavy?

He opened up another email. Jason hadn’t responded, so there was no way to know if he’d seen. Tim hastily typed up, “I think there’s a living hostage in the house” and sent it as the door to the office opened.

He hugged his arms around his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. Oh gosh. Oh heck. Oh no, oh no. He bit his lower lip and broke skin.

‘No. I can’t be a baby about this.’

It was really hard with how stiff his fingers felt. But Tim put the phone in his pocket and wrestled the sharp bird weapon out. He held it clumsily. And he watched Mr. Orange’s feet move around the room. They walked around the room. He saw the curtains move as Mr. Orange pulled them to check no one was hiding there. Then he knew that Mr. Orange was coming to his hiding spot.

Tim swallowed. He waited until Mr. Orange’s feet were in sight. He stabbed his sharp thing down through the top of Mr. Orange’s sock.

Mr. Orange bellowed and fell back against his filing cabinet.

Tim scrambled out and ran.

He went towards the front door on automatic and nearly got there before he looked up and saw that yes, the chain lock was on. He couldn’t reach it.

“You little shit!” Mr. Orange bellowed. He lunged at Tim. Tim barely dodged. He jabbed at him again without looking and barreled towards the door to Mrs. Henderson’s apartment. It only had a doorknob lock. He unlatched it, praying that she had not changed her ideas about the open door policy. The door handle turned.

He threw himself into the room and slammed the door shut. He clicked the little button lock.

Mr. Orange hit the door, hard. It shook. He wasn’t saying anything anymore. There was something about that which struck Tim as absolutely terrifying. Didn’t people bellow and yell when they were mad?

He looked towards Mrs. Henderson’s door. The door shook again as Mr. Orange hit it.

Wood splintered.

If he went out Mrs. Henderson’s front door he could sprint for it. What were the odds he could outrun a grown man? If he did, wouldn’t Mr. Orange just get in his car? Potential witnesses had made Mr. Orange back off before, but he was more invested now in silencing Tim. And there was no one around. Tim had checked.

The door splintered again. He could see Mr. Orange’s shoulder. Then a socked foot.

‘I don’t think I stabbed his foot well enough,’ some distant part of Tim’s brain catalogued. ‘He’s still moving on it. If I live past this, I’m going to commit to the next stabbing with more enthusiasm.’

He bolted for the stand where Mrs. Henderson kept her mace. He was just out of sight from Mr. Orange’s hole in the door. His heart thudded so loud. His shaking had stopped. The mace didn’t feel heavy.

‘If I was taller, i’d aim for the face. I can’t pull that off. I’ll aim for center mass. He may block with an arm, but theoretically his arm will be hurt enough that I’ll be able to pull back and make another swing.’

There was a catastrophic smash from inside Mr. Orange’s apartment.

Then a “What the fuck-” that got cut off a little early. Mr. Orange sounded mad and confused.

A thud. Two smaller thuds. A clicking. Tim wanted so badly to know what was going on.

A hand reached through the hole in the door and unlatched the lock.

Tim swallowed. He readied a swing.

The door opened.

Tim took a step forward and swung Mrs. Henderson’s antique mace with maximum strength directly into the armored center mass of a guy who was NOT Mr. Orange.

“Oh my gosh,” Tim said, horrified, at the instant he connected. The guy was looking forward. He looked down too late, just as the mace hit.

There was sort of a bounce. The mace bounced back off the tummy armor without digging in or drawing blood. Half of Tim was relieved, and half was terrified that his plan had failed.

The guy doubled over and made a sound that was a lot like GURK. He clutched at his torso with one arm and pointed a gun at Tim with the other.

Tim put his hands up.

The guy looked at Tim. Presumably. It was hard to tell through his ugly red motorcycle helmet.

“I really should have known.”

His mechanical voice was scary.

Bad guy!

Tim took his chances and another swing before the guy could shoot him. He expected to hear a shot as he smashed his mace again. The guy yelped and jerked backwards to avoid getting hit. Then there was a thud.

Tim peered through the door cautiously. The guy had tripped over Mr. Orange. Mr. Orange was laying on the floor facedown, arms zip tied behind his back.

“Oh, sorry,” Tim apologized. He took a couple steps over to put the mace back away. He gave Mr. Orange a wide berth.

“I never would have guessed that the Red Hood used kids like this,” Mr. Orange said meanly. He narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Small, even for bait.”

The Red Hood guy pointed his gun at Mr. Orange’s head. Tim shrieked.

The Red guy stopped. He seemed to look at Tim again. He had some really bad words. “Alright.” He got back up to his feet and put the gun away.

Right. He’d probably just been joking or something. Tim belatedly registered the control it must have taken to not accidentally shoot while being attacked and falling over.

Oh. Wait. It was a huge coincidence that a hero came right now, unless-

‘Is this Jason?’ Tim felt his eyebrows go all the way up. He wanted to ask a million questions. His mouth was firmly glued shut, though. Partly it was infosec. But it was also embarrassment.

#red nest swap

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dukeofdelirium · 5 months ago

Note

Would you be able to expand on what you mean when you say El’s character isn’t strong enough to hold the show together? I think she’s a good character on paper and has good arcs in the first two seasons of the show, but the writers have tried to draw it out (especially her Papa and lab arc) for wayyyyy too long, so we’re just repeating the same beats over and over. I think the lab stuff is also too separate from the rest of the characters for her to be an effective centre of the show, whereas Will for example has the link with the regular normie cast and the supernatural stuff. The show also tries to critique the fact that the characters treat her like a superhero, but then they turn around and rely on Deux ex El every season. It’s getting a bit tiring and happens at the expense of the rest of the ensemble.

I didn’t say strong, I said she doesn’t have enough depth as a character to carry the show. Which is true, she doesn’t.

We know basically nothing about El beyond her superpowers and time at the lab (and even that we don’t know much on), because El doesn’t even know herself. What are her interests? What are her passions? What does she love and dislike? We don’t know anything about her.

I agree that they have tried to keep up this lab shit for way too long. They really shoehorned in the Vecna backstory to try and connect her time in the lab to the overall plot which I think is pretty dumb and boring as hell. Maybe I’d give a fuck if I cared about El as a character, but I don’t. I have practically no attachment to her because the show hasn’t even allowed us to view her as a character with depth, but rather as a character that is our superhero and weapon to save the day. Literally all she does every season is raise her hand and scream. Im serious that if I have to keep seeing this bullshit in s5 I might actually bash my head into a wall.

El has repeated the exact same arc since the beginning of the show. Run from trauma and into the real world. Find friends to connect with. Run away from friends to develop alone. Reunite with friends and save the day in a dramatic moment where she almost dies. Everything she does is not enough to actually stop anything so cycle repeats.

I’m sorry, it’s getting old. It was old by s2 but I let it slide bc s2 is the best season of the show. By s3, it’s really time to put it to bed. By s4, I was sitting there throwing my hands up in the air because I was so fed up with the same damn thing over and over again. And it wasn’t just me. I know tons of ppl feel the same. There is genuinely so much screen time wasted on El especially in s4. There are other characters who desperately need development, like Lucas and Erica, especially given the focus on them in this very season. Why are we spending so much screen time on El when she has nothing to show for it? At the end of the day, we still don’t know shit 🤣

There was an obvious decline in quality for the show after season 2. The second the show stopped focusing on Will and tried to make El the focus instead, it went downhill. S3 was genuinely bad. Like it actually sucked lmfao. S4 was ok.. but that’s all it was. The best part of it was the Hawkins plot with Max and everyone because that felt like the first 2 seasons. They’re trying to make this show a big Hollywood blockbuster and that isn’t what makes ppl love it… bring back the Smalltown horror, the Stephen King vibes, match the damn energy from that INCREDIBLE opening scene with Will Byers running home. Bring that energy BACK, this show is in desperate need of it. Like can I tell you how much I miss that vibe? That excellently written horror? That genuine mystery and intrigue on the shoulders of a character you feel a real attachment to in a matter of minutes in part because of the actor but also in part because you already saw aspects of his character? And the aspects of character we saw weren’t forced down our throats and weren’t told to us like we were children, either. They were shown.

Bring back s1 and s2 vibes PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY!!!

#it’s one of the best opening scenes of a show I’ve ever seen we need that vibe back #stranger things #will byers #el hopper #anon

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critterbitter · 1 year ago

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Hi there! I wanted to preface this by saying that your submas and Nimbasa trio art are awesome, and I adore the way you draw them and write their interactions ❤️ . Their expressions, the way they move and interact with each other and the world around them, it's great 👍.

There's something I wanted to ask regarding your comics, and I ask this with the utmost respect 🙏, because it's something I've been wondering: where are their parents? It's awesome that they do all this stuff together, but the parents are, like, never brought up. Not even Elesa's after her introduction to the twins. And Ik that in the Pokemon verse, you're free to do whatever at age 10, but I still wanted to ask in your comics, at least, since they're still so young, if there's going to be any mentions of them.

I don't want you to feel pressured to draw designs for their parents or anything like that! It's perfectly understandable if you've never thought of the subject, I just wanted to know if they're still in the picture or if, for drama effect, they're orphans adopted by uncle Drayden in your lore. (Ofc, if you believe in the uncle Drayden theory, that is).

And once again, thank you for all the work you do! You're awesome, and your art is awesome 👌. And I really hope this ask doesn't come off as mean or offensive, I'm just really curious about anything you'd be willing to give about submas parents. Thank you 😊 for everything once again. Your work is greatly appreciated 🙏.

:0!

Going to be honest, I didn’t really think about them parents much— pokemon treats most parent figures as non-entities, so… yeah. Feral teenagers running around.

If you want to hear my rambling though! (Note that this is all work in progress! Things are inclined to change.)

Worldbuilding for this iteration, I like to think it’s cultural that everybody has a pokemon starter/ ace that they grow with, but it depends on individuals to decide how close their lives intertwine. That in mind,

Ingo and emmet have two moms! Their ma’ is drayden’s twin sister— Kaita, haxorous ace, and a dragon specialist. And their mother, Lucielle, a stoutland ace, works as a full time trainer. The ladies are a bit absent from the twin’s life because they have their own business, but like to send Ingo and Emmet stuff from wherever they roam. (They tried their best when the kids were younger. But talking about having kids, and actually raising kids are two different topics in life.)

Drayden serves as an uncle figure for the twins, but he’s a bit bitter he got two patrats dumped on him.

((Does the lack of parent figures and a distant uncle have lasting effects on ingo and emmet? That’s up for your interpretation. Though it would explain latching onto each other and then later litwick and tynamo…))

As for the pachirisu child—

Elesa’s parents are separated. Her dad, Rin, works a full time desk job. He means the best, but he’s never home. He lost his staraptor a while back and is still dealing with the grieving process, and isn’t really equipped to look after a kid on top of all that. Elesa’s mom, Himawari, is still in Sinnoh and works as a ranger. Her ace is a solrock.

(Why are they separated? That’s for you guys to postulate! I am simply throwing ocs at the wall.)

Elesa was moved to unova partially due to her dad’s new job, and partially due to that Entire Nebulous Situation. She adapts fast, but it’s not a fun adaption.

Anyways, the twins and elesa in turn grew up very independent as a result.

And that’s the barebones!

#asks #mailbox #submas parents #elesa parents #feel free to use these guys! i came up with them in a moment of blind panic when i realized <aah they would have parents… right>#pokemon #critterbitter screams into the void

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bipanicoverthegravessiblings · 9 months ago

Note

How about Ashley x Emo Fem Reader? Like gothic with uhh emotic? Or something like that. Like they meet when they been in high school. And they live in Y/N's house that she get from her parents when they passed

If you had any questions, ask me

Oooohhhh- okay okay!

Ashley Graves x Emo Fem!Reader

Social outcast, you generally considered yourself

Not just you, your peers as well had called you that- or…crude variations of it

Point is, no one in school really liked you

You’ve overheard their gossip- all the same shit really

“I bet she lights cats on fire!” “Look at her sleeves, I bet she cuts herself.” “She’s gonna blow up the school I swear”

They couldn’t even bother to be creative with their assumptions about you- a lot of the same depressed demon stuff

….and you are depressed- but that’s besides the point!

You never really connected with any of your peers..

…well- except one..

Lunchtime was quite possibly the worst part of your day. It was a war zone. In the classrooms you had teachers to lessen the blows your classmates would throw at you, both metaphorically and physically, here the only solace of a savior were the underpaid lunch ladies who were occupied handing out food to students.

You hugged the wall as you carefully watched your peers, they all seemed fairly occupied in their own conversations- not even noticing you. You liked it when they forgot your existence. Loneliness beat cruelty.

There was a table you always sat at, tucked into the corner of the lunchroom- and for good reasons. The surface was littered with graffiti of swears, slurs, those cool S’s, and various crude doodles left by your peers. Not only that, but the table was very wobbly, so badly you usually have to use two textbooks to prop it up. The bottom was covered in dried out, chewed gum- the entire thing was just a sitting “DO NOT COME HERE” sign.

And it was perfect!

No one ever sat there due to how shitty it was, you think the students and faculty didn’t even bother to go near it. They either think it’s cursed, or forgot about it. Or both. Maybe both. But today someone had actually got there before you did.

A disgruntled girl with messy black hair poked at the mystery meat on her lunch tray. Poked isn’t the right word- more like viciously stabbed it repeatedly. Her nose scrunched in frustration, likely not directed towards the so-called food, but it was the only thing she had to vent her frustrations on to. She hadn’t noticed you.

You stood there a little awkwardly, not wanting to startle her on accident, so instead you spoke up meekly.

“Uhm…hi.” You smiled a little, trying to harmless. She didn’t look like your average bullies, but you can never be too careful.

She looked up at you with her pink eyes- her gaze was sharp, and you instinctively tensed in preparation for some insult to be thrown. She gave you a once over before returning to her tray, “…hey.”

“Can I…sit here?” It was a dumb question. Technically this table had been your seat, and this girl just showed up out of nowhere- but, oh well.

She gave a frustrated sigh, “God- did Andy put you up to this?” She asked rather accusatory, pointing her fork at you.

You opened your mouth to reply before she interrupted you, “Look how many times do I have to tell you hussies, you’re just wasting your time! He’s not going to fuck you if you’re nice to me so just—“

“Who’s Andy?”

The question you asked sounded genuine….cause it was. Really, you had no idea who this ‘Andy’ guy was. The girl lowered her fork, eyeing you wearily before she decided that you weren’t lying. She turned her head and muttered,

“….you can sit.”

And so you did. The two of you ate in relative silence. Well- you ate. Your new lunch friend more-so stabbed at her food then ate it. You swallowed down the lump of unidentifiable cafeteria meat and gave her a friendly smile. The silence was deafening and you’d never had anyone to eat with so maybe…maybe this could be nice for a change..

“I’m Y/N.” You introduced yourself.

The girl glanced up at you before returning to her tray, “…Ashley..”

“I’ve never seen you at this table much.” your hands patted the surface nervously.

“Normally I sit with my brother and so-called friend,” her words dripped with malice, “But my stupid brother had to go study for some history test! And my ‘friend’ conveniently didn’t save me a seat…” she stuck her fork into the biggest chunk of her food and muttered, “Fucking bitch…”

“That’s a bit harsh..” you mumbled, causing Ashley to perk up and glare at you.

She practically climbed over the table and held her fork out towards you, making your hands instinctively raise in surrender, “She is a bitch! A doe-eyed hussie who thinks she’s soooooo innocent when she sucks just as much as everyone else!”

“I meant it was harsh that she wouldn’t let you sit with her,” your eyes were fixated on the fork, kind of worried Ashley would drive it into your neck, “I…should’ve been more specific. Sorry.”

Ashley’s pink eyes widened a little, she almost seemed- shocked someone took her side. Slowly, she clambered back to her seat and went quiet. You lowered your hands back into your lap and stared at her. Ashley pushed her tray and folded her arms overtop the table.

“….thanks.” She mumbled.

After that, you saw Ashley a lot more

It wasn’t every day, maybe once a week or two she would show up at your hidden table to eat

Slowly, she came out of that shell and actually initiated conversations

Well- conversations were a stretch. It was more like her venting about her frustrating day while you nodded along and ate.

Eventually, she liked you enough to stop you in the halls and walk with you

Usually her brother, Andrew you had come to learn his actual name, walked with her and she made a show to cling on to your arm

It never failed to make the heat rush to your face

Ashley was cute. Very cute. And had a general unhinged vibe that just made her all the more alluring

So it didn’t surprise you that you’d catch feelings for your new friend

No- what surprised you was when Ashley actually liked you back

You paused, silence hanging in the air as Ashley stared at you expectingly. Her foot tapped with impatience as she awaited what you were going to say.

“Well?”

You didn’t know what to say, the only time anyone has asked you out was as a prank. This was different. The question wasn’t coming from some bully barely able to keep their giggles in, this was coming from your friend. Someone you trusted. Someone who wouldn’t hurt you…..at least you think. She did threaten you with a fork.

Ashley’s growing impatience let you know just how slack jawed you were, “Look- if you’re going to be weird about this then just…forget I said anything.” She crossed her arms, turning away from you in a huff.

That was when you came out of your stupor, trying to salvage this, “No! No! It’s okay- really! I’m just….shocked that you asked me out.” You stammered with your explanation, “I didn’t even think you liked girls..”

“Me neither.” She mumbled, the faintest starts of a blush painting her cheeks. It was cute. She was cute.

Your face softened as you placed a hand on her shoulder, “….I’d love to.”

From there you two were dating

Had it only put more unwanted attention on you? Yes, but you wouldn’t have it any other way

You were happy, so fuck what those jerks had to say

Things were good, and after high school the both of you fucked off to another town

With Andrew in college, it’s not like Ashley wanted to stick around her shitty homelife

And you- honestly had no connections aside from your parents, and moving out was expected

So, it was you and Ashley. Outcast for outcast

#the coffin of andy and leyley #ashley graves #tcoaal #x reader #ashley graves x reader #OKAY-#I am so sorry this took so long #and to anyone who’s sent requests I haven’t forgotten those either #I’ve just been….so goddamn tired lately #motivation to write has been low and I’m trying to find some to make these fics for y’all #cause I love doing this #I love making these things for you folks #and I want to keep doing that #so if progress slows I am very sorry #take care of y’allselves <3

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whoreforsplatasha · 26 days ago

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Jealousy (Jinx x Female r)

Part 6

series contains- *smut, violence, obscene language*

"wake your lazy ass up" I could hear the aggravating noises coming from an annoyed sevika.

damn who the fuck ticked her off

"today's the day you fulfil that promise you made to miss pyscho" if it was even possible, my mood quickly shifted from annoyed to livid. "WHAT?, you said that was next week!" I huffed in annoyance. "well someone's gotta watch her, i have an errand to run for silco today and jinx somehow persuaded him to let you spend the day with her, surprised i'm not fired yet at the rate she's going" sevika scoffed. "fan-fucking-tastic" I muttered rolling my eyes. "great to see that you're so enthusiastic" her smirk widening as she caught the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

2 hours later

I walked down the dim, oppressive hallway that led to silco’s office. I silently cursed sevika wishing I was with her instead of dealing with the ticking time bomb waiting on the other side of the door.

I'm telling you she's missing a few screws. the way she acts and everything, she's gotta be on the spectrum.

"hello?" I called out, stepping cautiously into the room but was met with silence. as I scanned silco’s office, taking in its dark eery atmosphere a sudden loud thud startled me. I swiftly spun around seeing jinx now perched up on the once body less table. "heya toots" she shot a toothy grin, "where did you-" i trailed off looking at the ledge space in the ceiling. "uh huh" "so what do you wanna do first? blow some stuff up? orrrr we can throw knives at the enforcer dummy i made? OO OO WAIT HOW ABOUT WE DO BOTH?!" I stood in awe of the amount of energy she possessed.

didn't she want to kill me like 2 days ago... she's probably just waiting until she burns me out to attack

I hadn't realized the length of time I had been staring at the floor until I noticed jinx furrowing her eyebrows and scanning my face, carefully attempting to pick up any signs of dissatisfaction. I quickly snapped back into reality and agreed, "yeah, we can blow shit up" that seemed to satisfy her and within a second I felt a pair of strong but gentle arms grab my hands, pulling me like a dog on a leash.

oh boy here we go

"WE'RE HERREEE" jinx beamed. "wow" I exclaimed in pure awe of her room. the walls were adorned in neon spray painted symbols and scattered on the floor, pieces of metal, tools, pigment powder and a pair of goggles. My eyes darted towards a dummy that claimed male features, carves of wood for eyes and a square+circular like mismatched body made of metal. "what or who is that?" I inquired, her mood immediately changed and her aura darkened.

jinx's pov

"no one, he's nobody he's.." I paused, no no she doesn't know she'll never know.. i can't let her find out. ‘i'm nobody? tell her the truth jinx, tell her the reason why i'm no longer alive' i can't! leave me alone! it's your fault. no...NO IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. liar, no i'm not SHUT UP. i screamed, clutching my head as the voices spiral led out of control.

your pov

the piercing scream snapped me out of my thoughts. i turned to see jinx crumpled on the floor, hitting her head with her fists and sobbing uncontrollably.

holy shit. this isn’t an act. shes actually messed up

“JINX?” I rushed to her side, panic flooding my chest. “hey, calm down, okay? i’m here. just breathe. deep breaths” to my relief, she followed my instructions, though her body trembled with each exhale. after a few minutes, she was silent. I grabbed a nearby cloth and gently wiped her tear streaked face. she flinched at first but eventually let me continue, her head hung low, shame clouding her features. “jinx?” i whispered softly, she didn’t respond but her eyes were locked on mine. they were the most beautiful shade of violet pink i’d ever seen, though they were clouded with pain. her lips, slightly parted into a light frown looked so soft and tempting.

no. snap out of it y/n. you’re not supposed to- but she’s just so gorgeous

i eyed her figured and without thinking I leaned in and pressed a determined kiss to her lips.

(hey guys sorry for the long break i really have no excuses 😬 also remember this fic was written by me in 2021-2022 and is based from season 1 events 🩷)

#arcane #gay #jinx arcane #jinx smut #jinx league of legends #league of legends #wlw

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sweet-self-indulgence · 2 months ago

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Ask:Can you do the boys favorite sex positions with Mika and maybe their kinks? I know Michaela posted them but j was wondering if you have a different headcanon (inspired by your femboy! Mika post)

Yeah! I know Michaela has posted a lot of post hoc stuff on here. But I’m a believer in death of the author (not in a hater way, just in my opinion what’s part of the story is what’s in the story), so I’m like: this doesn’t apply to me :D and proceed to do whatever the fuck I want

James

If James isn’t bending Mika over a desk he’s probably still hittin’ it from behind using another position

Or maybe he wants to play with her breasts, so she lays on the desk instead

He will also pin her to a wall sometimes. This one happens more often when Mika teases him

As far as kinks go, James likes some light BDSM

He likes providing impact play (mostly spanking, but he would enjoy a crop)

Light dom/sub, he mostly just likes when Mika does whatever he tells her and calls him “sir”

It’s kinda more roleplaying. They act like an actual power dynamic exists for the purpose of hot sex. That could take the flavor of something traditional like teacher/student but honestly demon/human is hot on its own.

He’ll use sex acts like spanking or rough sex as ‘punishment’

But it’s all within the scene

Also super into partially clothed sex, think skirt still on, pushing panties to the side, unzipping just enough to get his cock out

Erik

huge fan of shower sex, great opportunity to explore Mika’s naked body

As a well-trained gentleman, Erik is a skilled cunnulinguist. The shower is a great place to savor the pleasurable noises he can get from Mika

In bed, he’s the most likely to play with Mika’s leg position, throwing them over his shoulders or doing something fun from the side

His main kinks center around body worship/ providing pleasure

This can look like shower sex with complete nudity and ample excuse to massage and praise each part of Mika’s body

Alternatively, he would ask Mika to wear lingerie that accentuates her figure

Think of it like putting art in a frame

Also, a little bit of denial of pleasure

Mika’s pleasure is very important to him

He’s eager to do service top things:

eating her out as the entire sexual encounter

using toys to masturbate her

Super into hearing her make noises of pleasure

Echoey bathrooms are also great for that!

Providing her with multiple organisms/ overstimulating is very fun for him

Sam

Likes feeling close to Mika by physically touching as much of her as possible

Variations of a seated rear-entry let him feel her pressed against his chest and also play with her breasts and bite her neck

He also likes to show off his strength and would hold her up while she wraps her legs around him

Gets a rush out of how turned on Mika is his show of strength

Sam’s typical sex mode involves biting and marking

Neck and lips are the best spots

It doesn’t even need to be super hard

But testing how much damage human teeth can do to a demon is fun

He’s also very turned on by marking

Hickies are obviously a great side-effect of biting (and instigate a lot of second rounds)

Lowkey Mika smelling like him (saliva, sweat, semen) is super important to Sam and he is quite happy to smell like her too

His demonic sense of smell plays a key role here

Sam is into bondage, but only sometimes

Honestly it mostly just requires too much planning for it do be something that happens very often, and Sam likes to be spontaneous with sex

Matthew

Is very spontaneous with sex. When a bed isn’t nearby standing is a good option. He’s capable of lifting Mika up, but since he’s close to her height it really isn’t necessary.

The other favorite spontaneous option is to eat Mika out when she sits on a counter or chair.

When he does take the time to go to bed he’s more likely to try stuff that takes some setting up.

Matthew has the widest range of the most random kinks

Mostly this comes to fruition through roleplay with costumes and props

Cat girls are his favorite thing

The essential components are cat ears, tail (typically a butt-plug), and an occasionally meow

Mika can get him really flustered by going ~nyaa!~ in public

Other favorite costumes include waitress, UPS driver, and nun

The first two come from an appreciation of uniquely human uniforms and hard work, the latter is fun to roleplay with as a demon

Other than that, he is the most into receiving oral sex and can get uncharacteristically dominant during it

Would face fuck

Gets turned on by Mika gagging

Damien

Huge 69ing guy. Reciprocal pleasure creates an incredible feedback loop in his mind

For a less intense experience a variation on missionary that feels like an embrace is a favorite

He loves when Mika rides him cow-girl style, it’s a great way to express her enthusiasm for being with him

Damien is a bit of a voyeur

To some extent he doesn’t have control over observing people’s fantasies

But he’s not looking away either

He prefers fantasies overhearing the thoughts of people actually having sex

They tend to be either underwhelming or unintelligible

He really likes porn since it’s basically fantasies that people act out for other’s pleasure

Would watch porn with Mika once they’ve established a relationship

Video porn is a classic, once he learns to read erotica is fun (but it’s hard to focus on reading while turned on), audio porn is really good for him

Masturbation instruction is probably his favorite genre

His first sexual encounter with Mika he asks her to fantasize about him while he’s in another room

He still really likes watching her touch herself

Mutual masturbation is a favorite activity

#trying again without the pictures #seduce me otome #seduce me the otome #seduce me #seduceme #ask #incubrothers #headcanon

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

Text

“You want us to what.”

Lance doesn’t give a flying fuck how angry he sounds, potential diplomatic crises be damned – hell, he wants to cause a crisis. He wants to raise some hell.

The dignitary sniffs derisively. “The beast is a dangerous pest, Blue Paladin.”

“Not the blue paladin,” Lance growls, because he isn’t, “and I am not murdering an animal in cold blood just because you can’t deal with it properly.”

“Lance,” Allura hisses, but he has no problem ignoring her.

“Can’t deal with it properly — do you hear your paladin!” the dignitary sputters, waving an angry hand in Lance’s direction.

Shiro closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, before plastering on a tight smile and trying to salvage the situation. Usually, Lance would hate to cause Shiro any stress at all, and would do whatever he could to reduce that stress. This time, Lance is going to dig his heels in. He is not going to let a living being be needlessly exterminated. Lance isn’t anti-animal death, or anything — he has no problem with others eating meat, or using animal products. He thinks using animals as gifts and not letting any part of them go to waste is very wise, and he has a lot of respect for people who manage to do so successfully. Sport hunters, on the other hand, or people who kill without good reason? Therein lies his problem, and he’s beyond happy to make a big stink of it.

“Could you describe the beast?” Shiro asks.

“Happily,” the dignitary grumps. “I’m eager to describe its horror to you, Oh Great Leader of Voltron.”

Shiro visibly tries very hard not to roll his eyes. Lance refuses to take any joy in the reaction, even though he would usually laugh.

“The beast is as large as half our royal castle. Its teeth are larger than our tallest soldier, and sharper than a luxite blade. Its fur is rough and coarse, enough to sand the paint clean off the walls it brushes by. Its roar shakes the very foundations of our city. It walks on four legs but stands on two, right before it rears up to smash our buildings to dust. It is a menace, a pest, and a danger besides!”

“So you have a grizzly bear problem,” Lance snaps. “Close your garbage cans at night and quit complaining.”

“Lance, please,” Hunk mutters, but Lance will not back down. Not when a life is at stake.

“Has it actually…hurt anyone?” Keith asks.

Lance shoots a grateful look at Keith.

At least someone is on his side.

“Yes!” the dignitary cries.

Keith shoots a look back at Lance — a well, I tried if Lance has ever seen one — but that is not good enough. Lance glares at him.

Traitor.

“Explain,” Lance demands.

The dignitary frowns, looking down their nose at Lance and shaking their head. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Would you mind explaining,” Pidge deadpans, barely refraining from rolling her eyes.

Lance knows Pidge well enough to know that she’s not on his side, exactly — she threw stuff at him when he started insulting the dignitary initially — but there’s nothing that pisses her off more than someone talking down to her family. Even if she doesn’t agree with said family. She’s loyal, like that.

“Fine, since you asked so nicely,” the dignitary says, cutting a look to Lance, who makes a very crude gesture with his hands in response and ignores the four (4) tired sighs from assorted teammates and co. around him.

“The beast easily and ruthlessly took down several of our soldiers as soon as they opened fire on it. And it further still injured many of our knights when we sent them to its cave! It is a mindless, killing machine, and must be exterminated immediately.”

Lance throws his hands up in exasperation. “No shit it’s defending itself! What do you expect it to do, stand there while you shoot at it?”

“If it didn’t want to be shot it shouldn’t have ventured into the city in the first place!”

“It’s an animal! How the hell is it supposed to understand city limits and boundaries?”

“That’s not my problem,” the dignitary says coldly. “It has posed a threat to our people, and so it must die. And if Voltron wishes for our signature in the Coalition, you will come to our aid, or else you can count yourself down one planet’s alliance.”

Allura stiffens. “You would really risk your people’s protection over a difference in opinion?”

“Your blue paladin —”

“I am not the blue paladin, you brainless amoeba —”

“Your blue paladin,” the dignitary repeats, pointedly and icily, “has insulted us greatly. The situation is no longer up for debate. If you wish to sign an alliance, the paladin must handle the problem himself. That is our final stipulation.”

With that, the dignitary ends the call, cutting off Shiro’s pleas for him to wait.

All eyes turn to Lance.

“I am not killing an innocent animal,” Lance snaps. “Forget it.”

Keith sighs. “Lance —”

“No.” Lance clenches his fists, glaring at his team, chin raised and shoulders set. Beside him, Mr. Snuggles spreads his fangs and hisses. The mice — currently resting on his head — scramble to their feet, presumably also tensing up. Ivy — a venomous vine he picked up on a planet a few missions back — winds up his arms. “I am not just being ridiculous. You heard that idiot. They’re provoking it. It’s not doing anything wrong.”

“Lance —” Keith tries again, but Lance is not willing to hear it.

“I will not take an innocent life to buy an alliance. And if you do, I swear to God, I will never forgive you.”

With that he stomps out of the bridge, ignoring the dozens of calls of his name and pleas to “wait a goddamn second, Lance, c’mon.”

Lance stomps all the way to his room, muttering about stupid careless dignitaries and team members who won’t listen to him and how everyone is going to make him grey early and he is not Shiro, lord above, so he can’t pull that garbage off. Ugh.

He slams his door behind him and flops on the bed, and is marginally surprised to find his tears stinging his eyes.

“This is a stupid reason to cry,” he announces to no one, voice muffled in his pillow. “Why must I cry about stupid things. Why can’t I cry about regular things. This is dumb.”

There’s a clicking sound accompanying a gentle bump to the leg hanging off his bed. He drags his head off the pillow, sniffling, to see Mr. Snuggles sitting to the side of his bed, fangs clicking. The mice sit on his head, as they are wont to do (which, understandably considering the natural predator of mice, used to scare the shit out of Allura. But Mr. Snuggles has never been anything but gentle with them, even when they roughhouse on his back or play tag under his leg and accidentally trip him. He seems to be quite protective of them, actually. It’s very sweet. Lance thinks it might be a microhylid frog/giant tarantula situation, even though Mr. Snuggles can’t lay eggs, and it amuses him greatly). Ivy uncoils from his bed frame, wrapping a vine around his ankle and tugging carefully. Blue and Red both loudly mother him in the back of his mind.

It’s nice.

Lance sighs, wiping his tears and sitting up against his headboard.

“This sucks,” he says to his assortment of companions, all who seem to agree with him. Mr. Snuggles and the mice crawl up the leg of the bed to sit in front of him, and Ivy makes her way around his shoulders.

None of them can talk to him, obviously — how fucking cool would that be, though — but each one of them is an excellent listener (even the mice, who like to gossip, but Lance preemptively forgives them).

“It’s just —” Lance huffs, frustrated. “I get that the planet is probably tired of being lightly terrorized by a giant beast, sure, but is murder really the answer? Plus, have they even tried talking to it? Maybe it’s very reasonable! I’m sure I —”

Lance shoots up, startling poor Ivy, but holy shit.

Holy shit!

“That’s it!” he shouts, grin nearly splitting his face in two. He leans over, just barely managing to grab his holopad, and starts sketching out the plans.

“Now if I just — and it shouldn’t be too hard — I’ve done more in less time — hell yeah!”

He’s startled out of his fervour by urgent squeaks, and when he looks up, he sees the mice waving to get his attention.

“Yes?”

At his acknowledgement, they scurry into formation, laying together to make a question mark with their little bodies.

Lance snorts. He may not be able to speak their language, but they have no problems making themselves clear.

“I can’t tell you,” he scolds. “You’re going to snitch to Allura.”

They mice squeak sadly, but Lance knows better. Last time he gave in to them, Allura knew within the minute.

“I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t wait up for me. Platt, Chulatt, Plachu, Chuchule — there’s some of that fancy grain you like in the cupboard. Mr. Snuggles — here.” He opens up space youtube, quickly opening up a horror movie reaction compilation for the fear demon spider. “That’ll keep you fed for a bit.” He props the holopad up on his pillow, scrambling to his feet and heading to the door. On the way out, he pulls the string on his special blue sun lamp — “That’s for you, Ivy!” — and then he’s out the door, plans in hand, to find Coran.

Luckily for Lance, he runs straight into him.

“Lance, dear, I was just coming to look for you,” Coran says, right outside his door.

Lance grins. “I can see that.”

Coran narrows his eyes. “You’re… remarkably chipper, Number Four.”

“Mhm.”

He holds up a hand for Coran to pause. He strains his ears, and smirks as he just barely picks up on the sound of near-silent footsteps behind a closed door. He makes pointed eye contact with the advisor, then inclines his head at Keith’s door.

Coran gets the point.

“Well, if you’re really feeling so much better,” Coran says loudly — too loudly, but Lance doesn’t have much in the subtlety department either, so he can’t complain — “would you mind helping me recalibrate the fabricator?”

“Absolutely,” Lance says, dragging the advisor by the hand in the opposite direction of the fabricator.

“Will you speak plainly, now?” Coran asks, once they’ve put some distance between them and Keith’s eavesdropping ass. (That is, however, probably an unfair reaction. Keith was likely listening in to try and find a way to help, in his own awkward way. If Lance wasn’t currently feeling just a smidge betrayed, he would feel touched.)

“Okay, so. I have a Plan.” Lance puts emphasis on the word so Coran knows it’s Capitalized, because this isn’t just a regular plan. This is a rescue mission. It’s espionage. A heist, even.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes!”

Coran sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“Lance,” he says warningly, but Lance won’t hear it.

“C’mon, Coran! You trust me, right?”

“That is a manipulative question —”

“You trust me! You said so yourself!”

“Fine, child. Yes, I trust you.”

Lance claps his hands together. “Excellent! So. I refuse to be a murderer, as you may have heard.”

“That would have been very hard for me to miss,” Coran says drily.

Lance gracefully ignores the comment. “And since I will also go apeshit if anyone else becomes a murderer, I have come up with a plan!”

“Lance. Number Four. My dear. Time is not our current luxury. Please share your plan.”

“Right. Okay.” Lance rocks back on his heels, shooting Coran a guileless smile. “How well do you think you can imitate my mannerisms?”

———

Lance has no idea how powerful he truly is.

Seriously. Completely oblivious. He’s convinced that he’s the only one on the team who’s not powerful — and Keith knows this because those are the words Lance said with his own mouth. He’s so convinced that power is Shiro’s strength, Pidge’s intelligence, Hunk’s wit and compassion, Allura’s regality, and Coran’s wisdom. He’s even completely sure that Keith has power in his speed and initiative.

Somehow, though, the heart of Voltron does not know how he holds everyone in the palm of his hand. He does not see the picture of terror he makes; jaw clenched, brown eyes flashing with determination, back straight and shoulders set, demonic spider at his side, telepathic mice gathered on his head, poisonous, sentient vine wrapped around him — and the spirts of two lions, red and blue, growling in tandem behind him as he swears that no harm will come to the beast by Voltron’s hand.

Lance did not see the fear in the dignitary’s face. He did not notice his team staring at him with wide eyes, leaning far away from him and his own army. He did not see the pure, concentrated power rippling from him in waves.

If Keith’s being totally, completely honest, it’s kind of hot.

But it’s also a pain in the ass. As much as Lance’s greatest strength is in convincing people to listen to him, when he sets stubborn eyes on a task, the Universe herself cannot sway him. Keith has a snowball’s chance in hell of managing either.

“Just try,” Shiro pleads. “Please. Attempt to convince him that, as much as it sucks, killing the damn beast is the easiest way to secure this alliance and move on.”

“Shiro, your braincells are spilling out your ears like loose marbles if you think that I can convince him to even listen to the words I will attempt to say.”

“Holy idiom, there, cowboy,” Pidge teases, and Keith breaks away from the intense stare-down with his brother to stick his tongue out and shoot her the finger.

“That’s a normal idiom. Sorry that you grew up in Michigan where the most interesting insult you ever hear is someone saying please with a little more passive aggression than usual.”

“…Alright. Point to Keith.”

“Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

“Paladins!” Allura snaps, ignoring Hunk’s smartass comment that she is also, actually, a paladin, and as such is included in such snappish remarks and thus has lost a good chunk of ethos. “Focus! Stars, it’s like I have to do everything around here. Keith. Put your big boy pants on.”

Shiro chokes with laughter, desperately trying to pretend it’s really a cough, but it fools no one.

God, those two need to stop hanging out together. Shiro is dragging Allura down to his level. Poor woman.

“Talk to Lance,” she continues. “He only really listens to you.”

Keith looks at her incredulously. “Listens to me — have I missed something? I asked Lance to lead a briefing yesterday and he asked me what deity died and made me king of the jungle. He doesn’t listen to a goddamn word I say.”

Allura raises an eyebrow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Lead the briefing yesterday?”

Keith deflates. Because, well. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“So you’re just being a pussy, then,” she summarizes – why does Pidge insist on teaching her modern slang and why does she like it so much – and this time Shiro doesn’t even pretend he’s coughing. Hunk and Pidge also lose their shit.

“I resent that,” Keith says haughtily, denying nothing.

“Yeah. Okay. Off you go. Convince him to at least attempt to hear us out.”

Keith sighs, but does as asked, making his way to his and Lance’s rooms. He decides to take a minute and gather his thoughts — see, he’s learning, look at how not-impulsive he’s being — and heads to his room first.

When he gets there, he spends a few meditating beside his bed — he’d rather stick a hot iron through his eye than admit it, but Shiro and Black may be a little, teensy, itty-bitty bit correct about taking time to gather up thoughts and reflect or whatever.

Just as he’s about to get up and knock on Lance’s door, he hears Coran’s heeled boots click down the hallway.

Oh, fuck yes. If Coran talks to Lance, he might actually listen without argument! Lance has no issue following Coran’s instructions!

…On the other hand, Coran’s just as much of a — and Keith says this with all the fondness in his heart, believe him, if he didn’t find it so damn endearing he would not be spending his nights imagining what will happen when he finally grows enough of a pair to ask Lance on a date — tree-hugger as Lance is. He won’t be happy about the beast killing either.

But, hey. Coran’s a wise guy. It’s probably fine.

Just in case, though, he gets up as quietly as he can — he knows Lance’s goddamn bat ears will hear him if his fucking heart beats too loudly — and leans against the door to hear their conversation.

“Lance, dear, I was just coming to find you,” Coran says.

So far, so good. If Coran was already trying to find Lance, it was probably to try and gently convince him that saving the beast might not be the best option, right?

Keith heart sinks a little as a new thought worms into his brain: maybe, Lance isn’t just being stubborn, and he’s actually upset. Maybe Coran is going to make sure Lance is feeling okay, like a good person.

…Yeah. That’s more likely. Keith kind of feels like a jackass.

He startles out of his thoughts as Coran’s voice, notably louder than before, speaks again.

“Well, if you’re really feeling so much better, would you mind helping me recalibrate the fabricator?”

“Absolutely,” Lance says, and he does sound remarkably happier than he did when he stomped out of the bridge.

Huh. Maybe Lance convinced himself…?

As he thinks it, he knows it’s not true. But it might not be best to bring it up now, then. He’s only just gotten into a good mood, it will probably be better to bring it up over dinner, or something, when the good mood has enough time to settle properly.

Keith nods to himself. Yeah. That’s totally not an excuse because he doesn’t want Lance to look at him in complete betrayal again when Keith attempts to convince him that saving the beast is not an option, or anything.

Right.

Totally.

———

Lance is feeling remarkably better at dinner. Coran wasn’t sure about the plan, at first, but Lance was very convincing, so he relented. It helped that Coran also is not fond of needless animal murder, which is why he’s Lance’s favourite.

(Well, currently. Usually everyone is tied for his favourite, but no one else had his back today at the meeting, so they’re all currently tied for second-favourite. But they’ll have a chance to redeem themselves after this mission is over.)

He and Coran are the last to arrive to dinner, predictably, so Lance doesn’t waste a second.

“I am now on your side,” he announces as soon as he walks through the door. “You’re all correct, we should get this alliance at all cost, and murder the beast in cold blood. I am completely on board with your plan and happy with all the innocent blood about to be on my hands.”

The team, also predictably, stare at him in shocked silence. Lance sits primly in his chair, accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Mullet in the head, and immediately shoves food goo in his mouth so no one can ask any follow-up questions.

Also predictably, that does not work.

“…There were a lot of contradicting words in that announcement,” Mullet says. (Lance is currently very mad at him and as such he has been demoted from fond nicknames and even his regular name so he will be Mullet until Lance wants to bite him — angrily, angrily, not the way he usually wants to bite him — less.)

“Ooooh, SAT word,” Lance responds, just to be a jackass.

(It works. Keith reaches over to attempt to flick him, but unluckily for him Lance is very used to that reaction to his particular brand of annoying, and so Mullet falls off his chair due to Lance kicking it out from under him before his flick lands).

“So,” Lance says, as Mullet curses at him from the floor, “does anyone else have any comments or concerns?”

There is a very heavy, loaded silence, before Shiro, Allura, and Hunk sigh in tandem.

“Yeah, you’re not going to be leaving my sight,” Hunk says.

“Agreed,” Shiro mutters, head in his hands. “Sorry, buddy, but at the moment I can’t trust you not to go rogue. I was going to let you stay on the castle with Coran, but I no longer think that’s viable. You’ll have to stay with me for the mission.”

“That’s fine,” Lance says, working very hard to shove the smugness out of his voice. He thinks he does a pretty decent job. “You’re all dead to me anyways, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Christ,” Pidge mumbles into her goo.

Allura pinches the bridge of her nose. Lance hears her muttering ‘I signed up for this’ over and over under her breath.

The rest of the meal passes in tense silence. When Lance finishes, he stands up abruptly, tucking his chair back in with enough force that he might as well have thrown it, and washes his dishes with such vigour that he actually has to slow down so they don’t break. He then stalks to the door, pauses, and faces the team (except Coran, who is visibly fighting back a smile and avoiding eye contact — hehe, Lance knew he’d get him fully on board eventually).

“I am going to go to bed, for my final night as a man with a soul,” he says. “I’m sure the rest of you soulless individuals will have no problem going right to sleep tonight, but I will be tossing and turning for the whole time, as I ponder how many of my moral codes I will be breaking tomorrow, so I’m going to get an early start so I can squeeze out as much rest as possible. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

He walks calmly out of the room until he’s out of eyesight, then sprints full speed to Coran’s room, resisting the heavy urge to jump on the man’s bed to expel some nervous energy. Instead, he meticulously reorganizes the advisor’s bookshelf. (He gets pretty into it, honestly. Coran has a veritable rainbow of colours decorating the covers of his collection, and Lance loves to go ham with the colour coding. That’s the best part of the ‘tism, he reckons.)

“I had those ordered in a specific way, you know.”

Lance practically jumps to his feet at the teasing remark, turning to face Coran so fast he makes himself a little dizzy.

“Did it work?! Are they suspicious?! Are they ready to velcro me to one of them so I can’t run off?!”

“It did work, you evil mastermind. They’re all convinced you need to be under constant surveillance. They’ve even created shifts so you’re always being watched.”

Lance cheers.

See, his plan is really quite simple. No matter what he says or does, the team is never going to fully trust him with this mission. And understandably so — Lance has made his position quite clear. It would be foolish of them to think that Lance wouldn’t try anything. No matter what, they’re going to be wary of what Lance is doing.

But Lance was counting on that, you see.

He fully expected to be under watch. He also knew that they expected him to fight them, tooth and nail, the whole way. But if he subverted their expectations, just a little — if he said he was on board with the plan while making it very clear that he had no intention of following anyone’s orders — well, now they’re paranoid.

And if there’s one thing paranoia does, it’s make you sloppy.

Tomorrow, they’ll be so focused on watching Lance, so focused on thwarting whatever potential mutiny that they think he has cooked up, that they’ll be forgiving if Lance’s mannerisms are a bit… off. They’ll expect it, even. And they’ll spend so much energy on watching Lance and planning for his acting out that they won’t notice if Coran, up in the castle, isn’t sending a constant barrage of cheery check-ins on the comms.

And, most importantly, they will not be investigating the beast very closely at all.

The actual plan is very simple, with all that information in mind. All Lance has to do tonight is record and set up some of Coran’s regular check-ins to sound off during the day. Then Coran is going to exercise his shapeshifting ability — he’s going to turn into Lance for the day, as shifty and suspicious as possible.

And Lance? Lance is going to sneak out the castle after everyone’s already gone, find the beast before they do, and solve the problem his own damn self.

After all, that’s what the stupid dignitary wanted.

If you wish to sign an alliance, the paladin must handle the problem himself, the dignitary had said. Lance smirks to himself.

That’s not a problem.

Not a problem at all.

———

The first emotion Keith feels, immediately upon waking, is intense dread.

And if that doesn’t sum up the day he’s about to have. Fuck’s sake.

He already feels pretty guilty about yesterday. Besides the fact that Lance is his right hand man — they’re supposed to have each other’s backs, and Keith definitely didn’t have Lance’s, because even though Lance wasn’t in the right he wasn’t in the wrong either — and they’re supposed to be leading this as a team, Keith knows part of the reason things fell apart so quickly is because he didn’t talk to Lance last night. He probably couldn’t’ve convinced Lance to kill the beast, obviously, but they could have definitely explored some different angles together. By letting things fester, Keith pretty much ensured that Lance was going to come up with some elaborate, dangerous scheme that was going to cost them an alliance, and worse, possibly get Lance hurt or killed. (Lance had a good track record with dangerous animals, sure, but this is a beast. The thing sounded like a mix between a polar bear and a dragon. There’s only so much Lance can do, uncanny abilities or not.)

But what’s done is done. Keith can’t very well redo yesterday and make Lance un-mad at him and everyone else, so he’ll have to make do with what he’s got.

And what he’s got is first shift on make-sure-Lance-doesn’t-mutiny-duty.

Fuck, Keith thinks as he makes his way out of his room, this is going to be the Actual Worst.

As usual, Keith is one of the first people on the bridge. Unusually, Lance is next. (Usually he is last, and also late).

“Hey, Lance,” Keith says, trying to muster up a smile.

Surprisingly, Lance beams right back. “Hello, Numb — uh,” his smile falters. “I mean, hi there, Mullet.”

Keith slumps. “I’m still Mullet, huh.”

Lance nods.

“You reckon I’ll work my way back up to Keith, soon? I’ll do anything, you know I will. I’ll even try your horrible face mask with you.”

To his further surprise — Lance must have actually slept well, or something — Lance smiles again, and this time it’s soft even to Keith’s eyes.

“Really? You would do that?”

“I’d do anything for you,” Keith says, and it’s more than he means to.

Lance frowns, and Keith’s heart sinks for the millionth time in just a few hours.

“Except help me save an innocent animal’s life,” he says, and there’s nothing Keith can say to that.

They sit in tense silence until the rest of the paladins arrive.

Shiro counts them once they do, like they’re kindergarteners and he’s a very tired EA, and furrows his brow when he finishes.

“Six. Including me. Who are we — where’s Coran?”

“He said he’ll be here in a few dobashes,” Lance says. “A calibrator broke down in the control room somewhere — nothing urgent, but he wants to get it fixed to get it out of the way. He’ll be back before we’re gone long.”

“That’s fine. Thank you, Lance,” Allura says, transparently trying to ease the tense line of his shoulders, a little.

It does not work. Lance sets his jaw and looks away.

Allura sighs. “I’m sorry, Lance,” she tries. “I know this is hard for you. If it were possible, and we had more time, we’d find another way.”

“Whatever.”

Keith decides that enough is probably enough. Allura and Shiro look genuinely dejected and apologetic, and both Pidge and Hunk look upset.

“Look, Lance, this situation sucks for everyone, okay? It sucks. We’re going to do what we can. If we get to the situation in question and we can actually manage to fix things without killing the beast, then that’s what we’ll do, okay? We’ll do our best.”

Lance exhales, shoulders slumping. He looks… guilty, and his guilt certainly does nothing to appease Keith’s.

“Sorry,” Lance mutters. “I know this is hard for everyone.”

Keith swallows the lump in his throat. He genuinely can’t remember the last time a non-major battle mission sucked so unequivocally for everyone involved, but Jesus Christ.

“Let’s just go,” he says, and everyone nods before following him off the castle and to the wet, humid heat of the planet.

———

Lance wants to bolt the second they step out of the castle, but he knows better than that. So he waits, watching them carefully from the windshield (he’s got no better word for it, okay) of the bridge until they’re itty bitty specks. Then he throws on his backpack, grabs his scanner, waves to his pets, and runs in the direction the beast was last seen.

He keeps up a pretty quick pace for a while, not bothering to muffle his footsteps — he doesn’t want to startle the poor thing — and keeps his ears peeled for the sounds of a large animal making its merry way through the woods.

By ‘large’, he means ‘unfathomably gigantic’, because everything on this planet seems to be. Every tree is as wide as four Hunks, and taller than the castle. The various small woodland critters he’s seen running around have been at least the size of Pidge. Idly he wonders how the hell the evolution on this planet even worked, because all the flora and fauna seems to be gigantic, but the people here aren’t much bigger than humans.

He eventually starts to hear the sound of running water, and wastes no time following it. If he’s correct — and he truly thinks he is, as does Coran — this beast will be sitting carefully by the river’s bank, waiting for fish to swim close to it.

See, Lance is almost sure this beast is the planet’s equivalent to a grizzly bear.

And he’s positive it’s injured.

It’s the only thing that makes sense! He did some light research last night, and discovered that the planet is right in the midst of their springtime. He also discovered that, over the winter months, the planet’s city limits had expanded pretty dramatically, cutting into a large chunk of the forest. Lance believes the new city limits bled into the bear’s hunting grounds, and when the bear woke from hibernation in the spring and went looking for food, it ran into the new neighbourhoods. Startled, of course, it got defensive, only further terrorizing the people. Lance thinks that the bear was dazed enough to be hurt by the city’s armies, and now the bear is in pain and full of anger towards the new animals in its territory.

Of course it’s attacking.

Now, if only the team stopped a goddamn second to listen, and I wouldn’t have this problem, Lance thinks to himself, but pushes the thought away just as quickly, scowling to himself.

He forces himself to pause the reflection and save it for later, because it’s not the right time. He’s on a mission. He doesn’t have time to feel sorry for himself, let alone have time to be mad at the team.

It’s just as well that Lance pulled himself out of his thoughts, because straight ahead, looking at him warily, is the bear.

And oh, what a beast it is.

The dignitary — not to give him any goddamn credit, the bastard — was barely exaggerating. The bear is huge. It’s definitely not bigger than a castle, sure, but it’s big enough that Lance knows to keep a respectful distance, and right now the bear is sitting. He can’t imagine how scary it would be on a rampage.

For the first time, a tiny tendril of guilt crawls up his spine. The dignitary might be a pompous dick, but Lance is starting to realise that’s coming from a place of genuine fear, for themself and for the people they represented.

(Lance is still not going to kill the bear, obviously. It’s not the bear’s fault that it’s scary. But Lance is willing to admit that he did not handle the situation with the dignitary like an adult, and especially not like a paladin, and probably owes them a bit of an apology.)

“Hey, there,” Lance says softly, slowly swinging off his backpack and setting it down in front of him.

The bear growls in warning.

“I know, I know, you like your space. I’ll stay over here for now.”

Without looking away, Lance crouches down, blindly searching around the bag until his hand wraps around the two objects he’s looking for. He slowly takes them out and carefully sets one of them — a back of Altean-style dehydrated wild berries — on the ground in front of the bag. With his other hand, he pours a steady stream of water on the pouch, and he and the bear both watch as the pile of berries gradually grows in size until it’s the size of Lance himself.

Lance sits next to them, criss-cross-applesauce, with his backpack on his lap.

“These are for you,” he says, tone even. “I figured it might be pretty hard for you to forage or hunt right now. You must be hungry.”

Logically, it should be impossible for the bear to understand him. But it must like his tone, because slowly — ever so slowly — it uncurls, keeping a careful eye on Lance as it limps over to him and the berries next to him.

Its legs are the size of Earthen tree trunks. Its head alone is bigger than Lance. Its teeth —visible now that its mouth is open, tongue hanging out, salivating in anticipation of the wonderfully juicy berries — are sharper than any razor.

Lance should be afraid.

He’s not.

“Oh, you’re a beautiful thing,” he coos as the bear leans forward and takes a tentative bite from the pile.

The bear side-eyes him — a look that so clearly says ‘bitch, please’ that Lance can’t help his laugh.

“And you take no shit, huh?”

The bear grunts, apparently deciding the berries are safe, and then digs the hell in. It devours the pile so quickly that it’s there in one second and gone in the next.

Once the pile is finished, the bear turns to look at Lance expectantly.

Lance holds his hands up. “I got nothing!”

The bear huffs — no, really — and ambles closer to Lance. It lowers its great head down, and with a nose bigger than Lance’s head, starts sniffing Lance’s backpack for more.

Lance laughs again. “There’s nothing in there, you silly creature. No food, anyway.”

The bear finally decides he’s telling the truth — or, more likely, doesn’t smell any more food — and flops to the ground, looking to Lance in what he can only describe as petulance.

“I have no more food,” Lance says again. He reaches out hesitantly, slowly, and carefully rests his hand in between the bear's cute little ears when it makes no move to stop him. “But I might have more help for you, though.”

The bear rumbles. Lance takes this as an indication to continue.

“I noticed you were limping. Your front right leg. You’ve got some matted blood on there, too. If you’ll let me, I can clean that wound, stitch it right up, and you’ll be as good as new. That sound okay?”

The bear doesn’t make any more noise, but it does flop over on its side, leaving its right side up for access.

Lance takes a deep breath.

“Okay, big guy. Let me fix you up.”

He gathers up his bag and walks over to the wounded leg in question. He inspects it, but can’t really see the wound under all the blood.

“I’m going to clean it first, okay? I’ll get some river water first. That’ll be better than antiseptic.”

The bear grunts.

Lance grabs a clean cloth out of his bag — really, it’s a queen-sized sheet, but in comparison to the bear looks as small as the tiniest of rags — and soaks it in the frigid river, ringing it out as best as he can with his tiny human hands.

He walks back over to the bear and begins gently wiping away the nasty, coagulated blood from matted fur. It takes a while, but he’s eventually able to see the wound.

He does not like what he sees.

The wound starts cleanly, like it was a cut, but then looks torn, like the flesh was ripped. Lance isn’t sure what weapon may have caused it — that’s more of Keith’s thing — but knows it was certainly no natural cause.

“I’m going to need to apply quite a bit of antiseptic,” he tells the bear, even though the bear most certainly does not know what that is. “It’s going to hurt, but I need to do it, because it already looks a little bit infected.”

He opens his massive tub of antiseptic and holds it out for the bear to sniff. Its giant nose wrinkles, and then it looks pained, but it carefully lays its head back down on the ground and tenses its muscles.

Lance takes that as permission.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Lance babbles as he pours the horrible chemical over the wound and the bear roars in agony. “I know, I know. I know. It’s okay. Let it out. It’s done, now, once the sting fades.”

The sting must fade eventually, because the bear quiets, although it breathes heavily and remains tense.

“It’s okay,” Lance whispers, petting the first patch of uninjured fur he can reach. “It’s alright. The worst part is over, okay? That hurt so bad that you’ll barely even feel the stitches, okay? Just the smallest pinch.”

The bear whines, high and long, and Lance bites back tears.

This could all be avoided if people just used some compassion, for fuck’s sake.

He closes his eyes and swallows roughly. That’s not fair. It’s unlikely that anyone meant for this to happen, and it’s unfair for Lance to blame people. Sometimes life just sucks.

But it’s his job as a paladin to make it suck marginally less, and by God, he is going to do his job.

“Ready for the stitches, big guy? It’s the second-to-last step.”

Lance reaches into his back again and digs out the absolutely giant suture needle, so big it’s basically a weapon, and the beast-sized sutures. He gets to work carefully stitching up the wound, applying every ounce of Abuela’s sewing lessons into his furrowed brow and steady hands.

It takes a while, but eventually the wound is closed up neatly.

“Almost done,” Lance assures the bear. It makes an almost purring noise in response, which makes Lance beam in delight.

He takes two last things from his pack — some Altean antibiotic numbing ointment, and a mummy’s amount of bandages.

“This’ll be cold,” he warns, before spreading a generous amount of the ointment onto the wound. The bear audibly sighs in relief, slumping further into the ground as its muscles finally un-tense.

Lastly, Lance carefully wraps the wound in the bandages until it’s completely covered, then stands back, hands on his hips, to access his patch job.

“I think you look okay!” he says with a grin. “Try standing.”

The bear gets up using its three unharmed legs, then gingerly applies weight to the injured one once it’s balanced.

It blinks.

It applies more weight.

Suddenly it roars, in delight this time, and ducks its head to nudge Lance gently in thanks. Lance laughs, petting the creature everywhere he can reach.

“You’re welcome!” The bear makes that almost-purr noise again, and Lance sighs. “Now all we gotta do is convince this whole damn planet that you’re a big, giant softie.”

The bear pulls its head away, making Lance pout, and stares at him for a moment.

“What? You have any bright ideas? I, unfortunately, did not plan this far. I kinda thought something would come to me on the way.”

The bear grunts. Then it opens its great jaw, reaching for Lance, but it doesn’t eat him — it carefully hooks Lance’s hoodie in its teeth, lifts him up, and tosses him gently on its back.

Lance blinks.

“Well this is a — development.”

The bear grunts again, pawing at the ground. It starts off down the river, but not in the direction where Lance assumed its cave to be.

It’s headed to the city.

“What’re you — oh,” Lance cries, and is a little embarrassed to be outfoxed by a bear.

“That’s a great idea! If the people see you treating me gently, then won’t be so scared, and I’ll be able to explain. You’re so smart!”

If Lance didn’t know better, he’d think the bear seemed smug.

But he does know better, so he gets comfortable, organizes his pack, and starts planning what he’s going to say to make this whole crisis blow over.

———

“See! There it is again! It is going to attack us, we must act immediately!”

Keith wonders how badly it will make everything worse if he feigns a heart attack. He thinks he could be pretty convincing.

“Animals make noises,” Keith says tiredly. “The roars are not getting any closer. How did the previous attacks go? Was there some sort of roar-increase?”

The dignitary hesitates. “Well, no. The first time it happened the beast seemed startled, and then it was angry.”

“Shocking, that,” Lance says, and this time no one fights him.

The longer this debate has been going on, the clearer and clever it has become that Lance was correct.

Before they decided to go after the beast, the team decided it would be best to get as much information from the dignitary, security team, and royal family of the planet as possible. They expected it would take maybe half a varga to go over a couple reports, make a plan, and go after the beast – and hopefully manage to subdue it rather than kill it, to solve the problem on as many fronts and please as many people as possible.

Of course, because the universe finds their endless struggle amusing, it did not go that way. Instead, they’ve been here for the past four vargas at least, trying to get as much information as possible from the scattered reports and eye-witness accounts they could gather, all while half-watching Lance in tense silence (who, to be fair, has mostly stayed in one place and ignored everyone except for making the occasional bitchy comment).

They are getting nowhere.

It turns out the royal family and many community leaders are not nearly as fond as the dignitary and the soldiers of killing the beast. No one can agree on anything, not a plan of attack, not a plan to avoid attack, nothing. Keith has been listening to the same circular arguments ever since he got here, and as the not-black-paladin, he’s expected to contribute, so he has to pay attention. And usually that’s tolerable – it’s not the first time he’s expected to participate in a meeting that has gone on forever and done nothing productive, nor will it be the last – because he’s got Lance next to him, with a running commentary and joke stream that makes the whole thing easier to bear, along with a steady hand on his arm when he gets mad and often even a solution to wrap the whole thing up.

But, obviously, Lance is furious with him and everyone, right now, and is sitting as far away from Keith as he can manage, doodling on his holopad.

It’s miserable.

“I simply feel like there are more options that we should consider,” someone says diplomatically. Since that is literally the ninth time that exact sentence in that exact tone has been said in this meeting, Keith does not get his hopes up. He’s honestly half prepared to die and be buried in this stupid meeting room.

As the room descends into arguing once again, with absolutely zero new conclusions or changes, Keith finally gives up on paying any further attention. There’s nothing he’s missing, there’s nothing he’s contributing, and, he will admit it, doing meetings without Lance on his team is genuinely more than he can handle. He has no idea when he reached this level of codependency – because he can distinctly recall a point in time where doing meetings with Lance so much as in the same room would have them at each other’s throats in seconds – but he is in no place to handle it now. He lets himself drift, staring out the window across the table from him and deliberately thinking of anything except the flash of hurt in Lance’s eyes before it settled into fury, last night during the call.

As he observes the pretty scenery in front of him, rolling hills of yellow grass and an off-blue sky, he notices something strange along the backdrop of a pretty countryside. Along the edge of the far-off forest, there is a dark spot, out of place from its surroundings. He squints his eyes, leaning forward to try and figure out what it is. His posture piques the curiosity of the others at the table, and soon everyone is looking at the spot, watching with growing concern as it seems to get bigger, significantly bigger, and starts even to take shape.

“It has come again,” the dignitary says, hushed. They have genuine fear reflected in their eyes, which softens Keith slightly towards them. Maybe they aren’t just being a stubborn dick.

It takes a second to process, but soon the room descends into chaos, because for all that they have been discussing for hours, no plans have been made. Time is up, though. The beast as come to them, and now they must plan on the fly.

“Ready the guards,” says the queen. “Be vigilant and prepared. I would have appreciated more time, but there is none. We must be prepared to protect ourselves and our people. Last time we managed to scare it off with –”

“Wait!” Pidge shouts, the only one still sitting and facing the window. There is command in her voice, the likes Keith rarely hears from her, and her fingers twitch like they do when she’s calculating something in her head, solving a problem none of them even considered. “Nobody move!”

All the gathered officials in the room stand in tense silence, half watching Pidge and half watching the rapidly approaching beast. As it gets closer, it becomes apparent that it’s not approaching on its own. The beast, which Keith can now see resembles a truly gigantic bear, has a carefully bandaged leg, more than is capable for an animal, and is guided forward but someone sitting on its back, tiny in comparison to its head but visibly determined from even this distance.

“I knew it!” Pidge crows, springing up from her seat and pointing at Lance with manic glee in her eyes. “I fucking knew it! Your posture is way too good!”

Lance stares at her for several moments, eyebrow raised, and then sighs. Keith watches with a dropped jaw as he grows several inches taller, as his hair gets redder and his face gets bushier, until Coran sits in the place where Lance just was.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Shiro mutters, dragging his hand down his face. “I’m going back to the astral plane.”

Coran shrugs. “Lance’s plan simply had more research and direction. Also, I’ve not been out on a mission in too long. I will admit that played a role in my decision.”

“Well, Jesus, Coran, do you think we maybe could have –”

“Hey, guys, not to interrupt, but the giant beast is getting closer, people are aiming fire at it, and my dumbass best friend is currently riding on its back, so,” Hunk says. “Can we maybe worry about that first?”

The seriousness of the situation hits them all pretty quickly, and they adjust their attitudes accordingly. Lance is approaching faster by the second, no longer a shadow in the distance but a distinct figure, waving his hands like a dumbass and either completely oblivious or completely apathetic to the myriad of weapons, poised to fire, pointed in his direction by a horde of soldiers. The team rush outside with the rest of the officials, calling out for people to hold their fire, although it doesn’t do much, and the great beast swerves several times to avoid getting blasted.

“Stop! Stop! Don’t shoot! That’s a paladin!”

“Fire away!” the dignitary shouts over them, fury lighting their features and stubborn set to their jaw. “The insolence of their paladin does not negate the risk the beast poses!”

The paladins and the dignitary, along with several others on their side, glare at each other. The team may not approve of Lance’s methods, and there will be some serious discussion later, but that doesn’t change the fact that their fucking friend is out there being shot at, and they’re not going to stand back and let it happen.

“I swear, if you hurt him –”

“If he wasn’t trying to be hurt he shouldn’t have –”

“Hold on!” Lance shouts, finally close enough to hear. “Everyone – cool it for a sec! Hold on!”

There’s still a lot of fear on a lot of faces, and a lot of anger, and a lot of weapons raised. But when a guy riding a fucking giant beastly grizzly bear the size of a house tells you to cool it for a sec (Jesus fucking Christ, Lance), then you cool it for a sec. There’s a kind of inherent authority demanded.

Lance pulls gently on the beast’s when he reaches a respectable distance, and it stops. (Keith knows, at this point, with the demon spider and the poison plants and just…everything else, he shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow he still is). He leans down and kisses it right between the ears, which causes several gasps and, if Keith is hearing correctly, a couple fainting bodies to hit the floor, before hopping to the side and sliding to the ground. His slight smirk suggests to Keith that the show of friendliness with the beast was an intentional one.

He keeps on hand on the beast, but he turns toward the gathered crowd of people, searching until he finds whoever he’s looking for – who, it turns out, is the dignitary.

“I have come to apologise,” he says solemnly. His tone and posture give no indication of sarcasm, and in fact, he has softened his entire face considerably, looking to the dignitary with more grace and understanding than anyone has, so far, let alone the person who not twenty four hours ago was flipping them off and calling them a brainless amoeba.

“I give up,” Allura mutters after a moment of shocked silence, throwing her hands up and sitting heavily on the ground. “I rescind my position. Hunk, you’re in charge now.”

Hunk pats her delicately on the head. Lance easily ignores the both of them.

“I really am sorry,” he says to the dignitary, which Keith thinks might be a hard case to make with the giant beast of controversy not two feet behind him. “I didn’t…I think there was some miscommunication here.”

The dignitary sniffs derisively, keeping one wary eye on the beast. “If by that you mean you refused to communicate with me at all, then yes.”

Lance holds his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, fair. I didn’t handle this well. But there was something off, here. If you’ll allow me to explain?”

For a moment Keith thinks, somehow, everything is going to go smoothly (for once). The dignitary seems to be genuinely considering Lance’s offer, and from experience Keith knows how convincing Lance’s earnestness can be. Besides that, this whole alliance is rocky, and the tension is coming to a head – a civil agreement could end this whole thing. Lance, although still among the most stubborn here, is offering something of an olive branch.

But all at once, the dignitary’s eyes harden. They open their mouth, stubborn set to their shoulder, and Keith’s hand tightens on his bayard. Lance, sensing the incoming fallout, does what he does best:

He talks.

“Corduroy was as scared as you were!” Lance blurts. The absurdity of his statement gives everyone pause – who the fuck is Corduroy – and he takes that opportunity to steamroll right on, talking so fast it’s difficult to keep up but impossible to look away. “You guys expanded your city limits in the winter, right? An increase of the entire perimeter to compensate for new growth and new projects. You’ve been planning for it for years, replanting a forest farther out to prepare for what you have to cut down. But Corduroy’s hunting ground was all the way to the edge of the first.” He looks back at the bear, who Keith can only assume he has named Corduroy, and smiles at it. It makes a rumbling noise in the back of its throat and limps forward, causing several scattered shouts of fear and raised weapons, but the beast only stares at them in what can only be described as judgement before nosing gently in Lance’s hair.

Keith’s jaw drops. Lance has had, what, four vargas with this thing? Five? And it already treats him with the same quiet affection that Blue or Red do, covering him in affection when he comes buzzing into their hangars, a bundle of enthusiasm. Only this bear is wild, and untameable, and apparently scared and injured besides.

The Blue Paladin is the Paladin of empathy and fluidity, indeed.

“Corduroy didn’t intend to attack anyone,” Lance continues softly. One of his hands reaches up to stroke the flank of the beast, as high as he can reach – which is not high. He doesn’t even reach up to the bear’s shoulders. “But if you woke up from a month long nap to try and find some food only to find other people taking residents where you used to live and hunt, and all of those people were screaming and running and making a ruckus at you, you’d get defensive too, I think. In fact you did! Understandably. This whole thing was just fear from all sides.”

The queen clears her throat. “The beast,” she says. “Corduroy. It…you have subdued it?”

“Not subdued,” Lance corrects. “It was just hungry. And hurt. And a little distrusting, I think, but it seems to understand reason pretty well.”

The queen hesitates for a moment, then nods to herself. She takes a step forward, her people parting for her instantly, until she is inches away from the beast. The beast watches her warily, but does not bear its teeth, nor does it growl at her closeness.

“Don’t, your majesty,” the dignitary begs. There is genuine fear in their voice. Keith wonders what has made them so afraid, if it was just the up-close struggle with the beast itself or if there is more to it. He figures it’s not his place to ask. “Just because one inane individual has somehow earned the beast’s trust does not make it trustworthy. Remember the pain it has caused.”

“And look at the pain we have caused it,” she murmurs. The bear snorts, injured leg pawing carefully at the ground. Slowly, giving the beast ample time to turn away, she extends her hand. The air itself feels like it’s holding her breath. Her hand finally stretches out as far as it can go, and she rests it on the bear’s great snout as it bends its head to meet her. The touch seems to loosen her shoulders instantly, and with her relief the rest of the crowded people exhale, tension that has been building finally coming to a head and leaking out.

“I can’t say I approve of your methods,” the dignitary says begrudgingly. “But I suppose I did ask you to solve the problem yourself, didn’t I.”

Lance beams. “Yes! I was very smug about it!”

Keith hears a snort behind him. When he looks, Hunk and Shiro are looking deliberately at the ground.

“The important thing is that I think this matter is as good as solved,” Coran interrupts smoothly. His face is a mask of pleasant professionalism, and Keith suddenly remembers that Coran has been managing disastrous diplomatic affairs for longer than toilets have been invented on earth, so. Maybe they should be asking him along for way more missions than they do. “I trust, your majesty?”

The queen nods. “Yes, I think so. If you’ll return with me to the meeting room, we can outline final arrangements for the alliance, and then you may return to your ship.”

“Indeed,” Coran says, cutting a glance back at the rest of the gathered team. He meets eyes with Keith, then glances at the stubborn way Lance distances himself from the rest of them, and purses his lips. “We have some matters of our own to settle, I believe.”

———

The walk back to the Castle is silent, and endlessly, endlessly tense.

Lance expected it to be. Well, kind of. He didn’t expect it to be easy. He’s grateful, at least, that he was allowed to say goodbye to Corduroy, to bite back his tears and hold the great beast tightly. He’s grateful at least that the team gave him that kindness, before this strainedness, the discomfort, the side-eyes and significant looks.

Coran isn’t mad at him, which is better than nothing. Coran slung his arm around Lance’s shoulder the second they left to the castle, the way Lance does to Hunk when he’s anxious, and walks next to him merrily humming to himself.

“You did the right thing, child,” he whispers as they climb the steps, lagging behind everyone else. “Were there things you could have done more gracefully? Yes. But you made the best choice and worked with what you had. I’m proud of you.” He presses a kiss to Lance’s hair and squeezes his shoulders gently, allowing Lance a moment to shudder an exhale and compose himself, before letting go and walking off, knowing Lance can handle himself.

Lance straightens his spine. He can handle this.

Everyone stops just inside massive front hallway of the castle entrance. Lance considers just marching forward to whatever room he likes and making them follow him, but he doesn’t quite have that much confidence. As unlikely as it may be, some part of him hopes that no one is even going to bring up this whole…thing. He hopes Shiro is going to clap his hands and say ‘great job, team’, and they’re going to split off to unwind as they always do after missions.

But of course not.

“So are gonna head to the briefing room, or…?” Hunk asks, wringing his hands.

For whatever reason, the idea of locking himself in the briefing room to sit at a table and discuss the matter as they usually do makes him want to throw up. The idea of going anywhere, or waiting even one half second longer to talk about the situation makes him feel like he’s going to explode.

“You promised that we were a team,” Lance blurts. He’s not sure who he’s addressing, and he’s not facing anyone, eyes trained to a random spot on the wall, but the words bubble out of him, as warbled and hurt as he feels. “But you left me.”

Lance can feel his eyes begin to burn, and the humiliation of it makes him hunch, makes the surety of Coran’s earlier words fade to the back of his mind. He can feel the lump in his throat grow larger and larger, feel the unsteady pound of his heart, but he can’t bring himself to move, to look around the room, to meet eyes with his teammates. He forces them open and keeps his gaze locked on the wall, unblinking, terrified to let the water he feels building start to drop, because he can’t afford to look weaker than he already does.

“I try—” He can’t quite manage to choke down the tears, and his voice comes out weak from the failure of it, not quite raspy but reedy, almost. “I try so hard. I know that’s not enough, but —”

“It is.”

Lance looks over, startled at the same choked quality the words have to his own, and finds Hunk in a similar state, cheeks wet and eyes blurry. The rest of the team, upon further inspection, do not look angry with him but distraught, and it shocks Lance, truly, because he knows that they love him, obviously they do, but then why was he less important? Why was his position the wrong one to have? Why was he not consulted with the same seriousness as a random dignitary from a not-yet-allied planet, if not moreso?

“You guys don’t trust me enough to make real team decisions,” he whispers. “I’m not — I’m not smart enough for you.”

Every face looks stricken. Coran, even, looks at Lance wide eyes.

But it is Keith who makes a strangled noise, a sound caught in his throat, and says “No, Lance, that’s not —”

— and something in Lance, that has been bent since yesterday, cracks in two.

“I trusted you the most,” he chokes out. He doesn’t say the words so much as flings them in Keith’s direction, barbed and pointed. “You’re my — you said I was your right hand. You said you couldn’t lead without me. You said there’s no one else you trust more to have your back.” His face twists. His next words are near silent, but nonetheless ring through the hall. “You lied.”

Keith’s hand, extended halfway between them, remains frozen, unmoving, as still as he is. The only part of him that moves is his chest, rapidly swelling and flattening with his quick breaths. Lance’s breathing is just as quick, heartbeat only racketing with every inhale, but none of it is actually managing to carry any oxygen to his lungs, and his vision begins to blur, limbs start to feel heavy.

“I just want to be your equal,” he manages, before his legs begin to give out from under him and he stumbles to the floor, barely managing to catch himself in a sitting position. He sees Shiro twitch out of the corner of his eye, either a startled jump or a reflex to catch Lance does not know, but ultimately he doesn’t move; none of them do, frozen in their spots.

For a while Lance sits there. At one point he puts his head between his bent knees, breathing heavily, blinking the spots out of his eyes. It takes his lungs a long time to start working properly, for every inhale to actually bring in air, but even then it’s shuddering. All the strength and stubbornness, and maybe even adrenaline, that has kept him up through this mission has leaked out of him. He is too weak even to stand.

He feels when someone sits down heavily in front of him. The floor vibrates slightly with the force of it, tingling at his palms flat on the floor.

“You make me nervous,” Keith says quietly. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“That’s a stupid cliche.”

“You’re a stupid cliche.”

Lance’s head is still between his knees, but he can almost feel the intensity of Keith’s wince, the force at which he cringes in on himself. It unfortunately makes him smile.

“…Sorry. Reflex.”

It’s not okay, really. But he’s getting there.

“It’s okay. You’re still learning how to express your big boy feelings.”

Keith kicks him gently on the ankle, and this time Lance looks up, meeting his wry smile.

“I really am,” he says softly. He holds Lance’s gaze for a moment, then his expression shifts to something more troubled, eyebrows creased and mouth turned down, although his indigo eyes hold the same softness.

“You do things…I’ve never seen anyone do what you do. No one can come close. No one else can coo at a fear demon spider, no one else can befriend man-eating vines, no one else can scoop up a scorpion. No one else can tame a grizzly bear the size of a house. That’s all you, Bug Boy.”

Lance’s breath hitches. Keith’s use of the nickname is deliberate, evident in the slow and careful way he said it, and it is a risk. He knows the history behind the name, and Lance’s history in general. Further still he recognizes the precocity of the situation they’re in.

But for the first time since Lance learnt what that nickname really meant, since he learnt how most of his peers felt about him, the name doesn’t sting. In fact, something like pride blooms in his chest, if cautious and surrounded by doubt.

“Then why didn’t you let me try my way? Why were you — why was everybody — so dismissive?”

Keith shrugs. “Honestly? I was floundering. I was completely out of my element and I was stressed out and I just chose the easiest option.”

“The option that was the least fair to you,” Allura summarizes, taking a seat next to them. “And I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Hunk says. Pidge and Shiro quickly follow suit, earnest nods and leaky eyes, all coming to join Lance on the floor. On even footing. Coran’s hand comes to rest gently on his head.

“We will do better next time,” Shiro promises. “You have very distinctive strengths, Lance. I’ll be remiss to forget then again.”

“Ditto!” Pidge says, solemnly holding her hand up.

Lance considers making them squirm and really beg for it, but tears are actively streaming down his face, and also his mouth keeps trying to smile without his permission, so he decides to let it slide.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he threatens.

Keith grins at him. “Good, you Snow White-ass heart attack inducer.”

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