#instead of that disappointing shade of blue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oceantornadoo · 26 days ago

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ch4 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: some mild dubcon groping but reader is into it she just hates him. (or does she????)

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Your mother doesn’t come to your wedding, understandably so. Her lack of presence makes the day seem less real. However, one Johnny MacTavish decides to become the Scottish mother hen you’ve been missing.

“Everyone decent in ‘ere?” A chorus of yeses ring out. Johnny opens the door to the bridal dressing room with a smile, looking suave in his tuxedo. “Shite, was hopin’ to sneak a look.” He winks at your nearest cousin and she flutters her eyes. Even as a married man, Johnny likes to flirt and fluster women. It helps hide his marriage to Simon and provides you with much entertainment.

“How’s the blushin’ bride?”

He walks over to your vanity, taking in your bridal makeup and hairdo. Johnny whistles low, reaching out to ruffle your hair, which you stop by smacking him. “The bride is hungover and not in the mood.” He shrugs, then takes a sip of your champagne on the vanity desk. “Y’r fault fer doin’ a hen do the night before. Nice job slippin’ the hag, though.” It’s your codename for Aunt Riley. She’s always been suspicious of him and Simon, making little comments here and there that have put her on his shitlist over the years.

“Thanks. I can say, the London nightlife didn’t disappoint. I might throw up at the altar though.” He snorts and takes a seat in the empty chair next to you. “Price was pissed last night. Called Simon while we were mid-” You cover his mouth with your hand. “Don’t finish that sentence. As far as I’m concerned, you guys haven’t even kissed.” Johnny licks your hand, making you squeal. “Can’t believe he called Simon like I’m a little kid and not a grown woman.”

Johnny doesn’t answer, instead popping a chocolate-covered strawberry offered by a passing waitress into his mouth. She’s been the one supplying you with Gatorade until you switched the champagne half an hour ago. Can’t believe the bridal suite has a waitress. John Price is too rich for his own good.

“The Shepherd family’s gettin’ bolder. Can’t blame ‘im fer not wantin’ ya to die before the weddin’. Would be bad publicity.” You scoff. It might be true, but John has never seemed too concerned about your health. Except that night in the park, when- never mind.

“Ya nervous?” Johnny asks. You shake your head. “Trying not to think about it. I’m more focused on not tripping in front of multiple mafia families. I’d never live it down.” He smiles, then squeezes your knee over your white dressing gown. The look he gives you is too knowing and you hate it. Instead of holding his gaze, you turn to the mirror and will any stray tears away. “You probably need to go soon. I think they’re putting me in my dress in a few minutes.” He nods, dark eyes full of understanding.

“Ya look real bonnie, doe. Gonna make a beautiful bride.” You nod, swallowing down the thickness in your throat. “Thanks, Johnny. You look handsome in your pink bowtie.” It’s the same color as the bridesmaid dresses, a horrid shade your aunt insisted on. He winks, then rises out of his chair. Johnny squeezes your shoulder, then kisses the crown of your hair like Tommy used to do. “Simon’ll walk ya down the aisle. I’ll see ya on the other side.” And just like that, he’s gone.

“You know you’ve turned my life upside down in only a week, right?”

“I know.”

“And you know a small part of me will always blame you for it?”

“I know.” Simon sighs.

It’s five minutes before the ceremony. You’re all dolled up in your poofy dress with perfect makeup and a bouquet in hand. A phantom weight is heavy on your left finger, waiting for the ring you tried on only a few days ago.

“Ya know I’ll always be sorry yer father is mine.” Simon murmurs. You nod stiffly, swallowing down any emotion as you look at the closed church doors in front of you. The ones that will open in a few minutes, leading your path down the aisle and to your new husband.

“I didn’t have to come back. I could have hung up on you all those years ago.”

“I know.”

“I think a small part of me wishes I had.” You whisper, like a confession. He takes your free hand and wraps it in his own. “But I think a bigger part would do it all over again.” Simon squeezes your interlaced fingers.

“Best thing tha’ ever happened t’ me, ya know that?” Your smile is weak, eyes watery as you catch his gaze. “What about Johnny?” He smiles under the mask. “Tha’s a different category, love.” You laugh, small and hollow.

This feels like goodbye. You know it’s not, you’ll only be 200 miles away, but you’re both aware of the new boundaries around this marriage. London will be your home now, and any visit to Manchester will have to be approved, and probably accompanied, by John. That’s all it’ll be - a visit. A few days at most, doing the rounds and seeing friends and family. You’ll never live there again, never run your bookshop, never chat with regulars, never- you stop that line of thinking before you ruin your makeup.

“If he hurts ya, you call me.” You nod, but that’s not enough for Simon. A gloved hand tips your chin in his direction, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll call me. An’ Johnny if I don’t answer.” You nod again, firmly, which finally satisfies Simon.

“C’mere.” You hug your big brother with all your might. He’s careful, turning your face to the side so you don’t ruin your makeup. His hands tighten around your shoulders while yours can barely wrap around his torso. He’s always wearing suits but this one feels different, more structured and finely woven.

“Simon, are you wearing designer?” He stiffens, pushing you off him as you start laughing. “‘M alway wearin’ designer, comes with the job.” You shake your head vehemently. “No, you’re always wearing Fred Perry. This fabric is fancy, it’s like Dolce and Gabbana.” Your brother decidedly does not answer.

“Simon! Are you wearing Dolce to my wedding? Are you trying to upstage the bride?!” Only you, his all-knowing sister, would be able to tell he’s blushing under his mask. In an uncharacteristic move, he scratches the nape of his neck, looking off to the side like he’s suddenly interested in church architecture. “Johnny picked it out.” You slap his arm and he moves to ruffle your hair, before remembering it’s in a fancy wedding do. “You’re an absolute git, this is completely unfair. I demand you go to the nearest mall and pick something off the rack.” That comment finally dismisses the dark cloud that’s been hanging over you, sending you two into a laughing fit.

“I wish Tommy was here. He’dve torched that suit.” His eyes crinkle in a sad smile. “I know, love. I know.” Simon kisses your forehead and you lean into his shoulder, wishing the moment would never end.

But all good things must.

A frazzled assistant, one of your Aunt Riley’s minions, practically sprints over to you. “Doors,” he wheezes, “doors opening in thirty seconds.” And just like that, he’s gone. Probably a cake emergency or something of the sort.

“Do I look okay?” You take one last glimpse in a nearby mirror. You’re wearing a traditional veil, something Simon turns up over your head to hide your face. Despite the hideous dress, the rest of your look turned out quite nice. The flowers are decent, your makeup looks great, and you were even allowed to pick out your own jewelry. A win is a win.

“Most beautiful bride th’ church’s ever seen.” Simon puts out his arm like a gentleman, letting you wrap your own around it. “I love you, Si.” He takes a second, and you swear he’s holding back tears. “Love ya too, kid.”

Most of the ceremony passes in a blur.

Lots of flowery words, preaching about commitments you’d rather not think about. Some scripture or Latin thrown in there, but you’re really not paying attention. You’re more concerned with the man in front of you.

Your veil is a little sheer, allowing you to see him in all his groom glory. His eyes are dark, fixated on yours, and you’d be an idiot not to notice how handsome he looks. His tuxedo is sharp, and he’s got a flower tucked into the pocket. A heliotrope, a purple that matches well with the pink bridesmaid dresses. A half memory comes to you, something about heliotropes and eternal devotion, but you tuck that away under your might be mad box.

Finally, it comes to the vows. You haven’t written any and neither has John, instead deciding to use the olden ones. It frightens you, to have this surly man swear you such promises.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

He takes off your veil and you swear his breath hitches. It’s just a split second, but the muscle of his throat freezes and you’re captivated by how manly he looks. All bitter thoughts of enemies can be paused for a moment, you reason.

“You may now kiss the bride.” And he does.

It is not a polite kiss. You don’t know why you thought it would be.

He’s hungry. He catches the small of your back in one hand and your waist in the other, dipping you back in a picture perfect moment. His lips devour yours, delivering small bites and licks before pulling back so suddenly you think you’ve imagined it. You blink and you’re standing, your hand wrapped in John’s, as you look out at the cheering crowd. Mr. and Mrs. John Price.

You try to avoid John during the reception, which takes place in the backyard of the local country club. It’s hard to do when you’re supposed to thank everyone as a couple. You greet mafia and community leaders and business owners and politicians, all with the same sweet smile and John’s hand on your back. Do they know this was arranged? It’s hard to tell from the venomous sincerity dripping from their foaming mouths, eyes scanning the four-carat rock on your hand like it’s a prize to be won.

At least you’ve been allowed to change into a lighter dress. The reception dress is shorter, falling respectably right above your knees with long sleeves and a low back. Not low enough to show off the temporary tramp stamp smudged on your back. You keep the veil in, a cute detail that the inner little girl in you adores. If only this was a wedding you wanted.

Thankfully, champagne is in constant supply. You must have drunk at least four flutes now. That, plus your lack of food due to your hangover, makes you sway. John, who has not spoken to you directly at all since maiming your lips at the altar, notices. He tugs you away from the crowd, finding a secluded bench tucked away behind a tree. It reminds you of the garden you met him in a few nights ago.

“Thank god. One more sweaty handshake and I would have keeled over.” You murmur, mostly to yourself. He grunts, taking a seat next to you on the bench and loosening his tie.

“Who said you could sit next to me?” Uh oh. Drunk you is talking.

“‘S gonna be like that? We’re barely five minutes in, sweetheart.” He drags a hand down his face in an exhausted and adorable manner. No. This is the enemy. You must remind the both of you of that fact.

“You’re the enemy.” You poke him sternly in the shoulder, which sort of ruins the effortless effect you were going for. “You finally gonna tell me wha’ I did t’ you? Or is this our next ten years?” You frown at his words, crossing your hands over your chest. He’s acting like you did something wrong, not him. Out of the corner of your eye, you see John avert his gaze as you inevitably (and accidentally) push up your tits. Interesting.

“You ruined my life.” He barks out a laugh. “‘Ve ruined a lot of people’s lives. Need ya t’ be more specific.” Instead of answering, you slide down awkwardly into the grass beneath you, leaning your head back on the bench. It’s nighttime now and the only thing in the sky is the North Star. John’s star.

“You told my father I was a weakness and,” you hiccup, “and you told him to send me away. And lookwherethatgotme…” You trail off, eyes fluttering. Your eyes feel a thousand times heavier than normal, and everything hits you at once. Your lack of sleep from your night out, the stress of the day, the emotional conversations - they all boil over like a pot on the stove. “Think I’m gonna sleep now…” John hums, still next to you, and you drift off to the sound.

When you wake up, your head is throbbing. Why are you sitting on grass? There’s a suit jacket covering your front, keeping you warm from the night’s chill. Your neck throbs from laying back on the stone bench. There’s a stink in the air, a nasty smell, and when you turn to your right, you see your new husband smoking. Jacketless.

“Nice nap?” You nod, embarrassment coursing through your veins like a drug. “How long was I out?” He flicks the ash of his cigar onto the grass. “Long ‘nough people thought we were consummatin’ the marriage.” Oh. That was…not something you needed to think about.

“You feelin’ sober? Remember anythin’ you said?” You shake your head. Unbeknownst to you, John is frowning. The last few hours are a blur, a black spot in your memory. There’s still alcohol in your body, but a headache is starting to form as well.

“Let’s get some food in ya. Can’t have my new wife droppin’ dead at the weddin’.” You let him help you up, slipping on his jacket to cover the grass stains on your dress. That’s the only reason you don’t take it off.

The rest of the night gets easier. Dinner saves you, but then Johnny’s putting drinks in your hands and your cousins are pulling you to the dance floor. You have an emotional dance with Simon, a not-so emotional one with John, and then you’re passed to a slew of people to make nice with.

It’s 2am when the party finally settles down. People have gone home, thankfully including your aunt, and you say your goodbyes. John takes you back to the Ritz, a silent, quick car ride. You’re thankful for the quiet but confused all the same. The air is charged, like you just had an argument and lost. Is he mad? Regretting this? You don’t know him enough to tell, and that irks you.

The elevator takes you to the penthouse this time. Only the best for the king of London. John stands beside you, no hand on your back. It’s entirely businesslike: the walk to the room, shutting yourself in the bathroom, donning pajamas and a dressing gown. You would shower, but you need to finish your routine at the vanity.

If this were a real wedding, maybe he would have carried you in his arms over the threshold. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off you, ravishing you in the entryway. Maybe he’d whisper in your ear, “Mrs. Price”.

Instead of that fantasy, you’re tipsy and angry about the fact that you are now Mrs. Price. Maybe that’s why you say it.

“I’m not a virgin.” You’re at the vanity, taking out the mountains of jewelry that pour out of every crevice of your body. It’s the last thing to remove before the weight of your wedding is off your shoulders. The mirror is giant, big enough so you can see John stop unbuttoning his shirt when you say the words. “You’re not?” You shake your head. He frowns. “Might as well send ya back now, get my money, and-,” he stops. Maybe it’s because you’re staring hard at his reflection. You don’t even like him, but the champagne and sting of rejection cut deep.

“Was jokin’, sweetheart. Didn’t expect you t’ be a virgin. Too much pressure, honestly.” Oh. Oh. He’s always called you sweetheart, spit it out like poison designed to kill. This is the first time he’s said it kindly and your heart curls around the word like a sleepy cat. Which will absolutely not do.

“Will make it easier, I reckon. ‘S a tight fit.” He winks jokingly and you scoff at his insinuation. He’s being oddly jovial, a 180 from the car ride, and you need to ruin this truce before it becomes permanent.

“Sure, that’s probably what your exes have said. It was probably a ‘tight fit’ because they weren’t wet, John. Ever heard of foreplay? F-o-r-e-p-l-a-y, look it up. I expect-”, except you don’t get to tell him your expectations because he’s shut you up with a calloused hand around your throat. It’s not violent and you know he wouldn’t hurt you, but the shock factor hits its target.

“Yer used t’ yer brother an’ his men, crude jokes an’ the like. I get it. But I demand respect an’ you’ll respect your husband now. Got it?” He isn’t blocking your airway, just holding your throat with his hand like a collar around it. He stands behind you with his unbuttoned shirt, giving you a glimpse of his hairy torso, hard with muscle. “The same way you respect me?” You mutter. He straightens in the mirror, his hand loose. A thumb caresses your jawbone, one stroke then two, before he pulls it away completely like it never happened. “I’m tryin’ to. Let’s agree on that, yeah?” You nod stiffly, sobered and treading with cautious feet. Is this how he’ll be? Acting like a military captain, an all-consuming force?

“And, sweetheart.” He grabs your free hand, the one lying on the desk. His large paw engulfs your own, bringing it to the outline of his cock in his boxers. You can feel the weight of him and, against your will, you squeeze. He’s thick, no, girthy. The fabric is thin, allowing you to feel the ridges of his cock, the veins, and its shape. Your hand acts of its own accord, sliding down until your thumb brushes the mushroomed tip. His cock twitches in your hand and you jump in your seat, snatching your hand away like it’s on fire. His chuckle is low and bruising, a damning caress.

“Thought so.” And your new husband walks away.

When you toss your silk dressing gown into the hamper for housekeeping, neither of you comment on the wet spot that’s soaked through. That’s the closest you get to consummating your marriage tonight.

i dont care if this is in london, im using miles. deal with it

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cat0901h3 · 20 days ago

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Goosebumps Books 1-10

Can't believe that it took me nearly two years to just do 10 covers for the books. Will be posting more Goosebumps in the future, along with other stuff.

Read more to know my personal opinions and critiques on my fanart for each book:

Welcome to Dead House: I wanted to make the house look alive like Monster House, so I gave it more human characteristics (ie: the people in the windows to form eyes, or the finger-like branches.) Also paid homage to a horror film by styling it after The Amityville Horror house.

The Benson children themselves look a bit depressed, that's because the first book is actually more scarier than the rest of the series, so they're a bit angsty.

Stay Out of the Basement: This one killed a lot of my green markers lol. I tried to make Dr. Brewer as menacing as possible while still showing that he is a father with the photos, There were going to be more plants reaching out, but I decided that the leaves hidden on him would be enough.

Though I have to admit my disappointment with the lighting. It still looks a bit too bright, and not dark enough. That's just my own critique.

Monster Blood: Honestly, pretty mixed about this one. While I'm proud of the bubbling ooze that looks like a skull, which is outlined by one of my colored pens. I'm not proud that everything else is so muted with brown. Almost all of Jacobus' works are vibrant and saturated, so it being dull in colors feels like a disservice to him.

Also, Andy's last name was made up by me, she apparently just doesn't have one. It's inspired by Stephen King. Btw, hope you love banana and strawberry dyed hair, you'll see more of it soon in future batches.

Say Cheese and Die!: One of my favorite books, and of course it gets the best fanart imo. The screaming skeleton form of Greg Banks with red bg in the polaroid, contrasting with the dark background is just super cool, coolest shit I've ever done. Though I might be biased, I really like skeletons. Like Curly.

I actually made concept art for a Say Cheese and Die! graphic novel, which includes drawings of the photos and Spidey! Let me know if you're curious.

The Curse of The Mummy's Tomb: Not much to this one honestly. Just a mummy casually busting down a wall filled with hieroglyphics. Though I will say, I was experimenting with shading with purple and blues like Jacobus. As you can see, didn't stick for long.

This is also the book that I discovered that if the protag doesn't have a last name, then there is an official one either in the Presents novels, the mobile app, comics or other.

Let's Get Invisible!: This was pretty tricky to draw. Drawing someone turning invisible maybe easy in Photoshop or Procreate, but this was traditional art. Sure Jacobus did it with airbrushes, but I all had were pens and markers. But I somehow managed to pull it off, which is insane that I even managed that in the first place.

Night of the Living Dummy: Ah, the infamous Pamela Vorhees book, where the main antagonist isn't the mascot, but instead some other puppet lol. I've seen a lot of fanart of Slappy, but never of Mr. Wood. So I wanted to do justice for Wood while still showcasing Slappy. While I am proud for how it mostly turned out, there are two things that bother me. 1. This is the night sky that is black, the rest are either blue or purple. 2. I forgot to add the lines that make the jaw on Mr. Wood, whoops.

Aside from that, I hope guys like that Misfits poster in the background and Kris's cool hair cut. The green was inspired by the comic adaption not 2015 Jacksepticeye.

The Girl Who Cried Monster: Please forgive me for the small thumbnail, I wasn't using a ruler at the time. The design for Mr. Mortman wasn't much of a challenge. I loosely based it off of the French rendition of the cover and gave him a large leech-like mouth.

In my headcannon, the teeth spin like a garbage disposal, making easy work of the turtles.

Welcome to Camp Nightmare: Another one of my favorites, and I think I did a decent enough job, too. The lighting is perfect, the clouds look alien enough, and you can just barely see the screaming campers inside the tent. I do have one issue though, and that is the size of the monster, Sabre. In the original sketch I did, he was supposed to blend in like a bush, but instead he looks like Sasquatch Sr. Oh well.

While they did give Billy a last name in the Presents books, I had to make up one for Dawn. Just based it off Gwen Stacy lol. Also, hope you enjoy the little bonus pictures down below.

The Ghost Next Door: The original Jacobus art was perfectly vague enough to keep the twist there but not spoil anything. Of course to do the same thing, but with a twist of my own. The "ghost" shadow that you see in the street is the Dark Figure that follows Hannah around or when Danny is near. I wanted it to look like it was constantly on fire, since SPOILERS: someone in the book does die in a fire.

Another headcannon is that the Dark Figure isn't actually a ghost or whatever, but instead the embodiment of Misery.

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psychoticfemmm · 2 months ago

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waves and whispers

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and violet. The salty breeze swept through your hair as you walked barefoot along the shore, the cool water lapping gently at your feet. The beach was quiet, save for the rhythm of the waves and the distant cry of seagulls. It felt like you had the whole world to yourself.

Well, almost.

You could feel Rafe’s presence beside you—warm, familiar, and undeniably close. He had been quiet for a while now, just walking at your pace, hands stuffed into his pockets as he stole glances your way when he thought you weren’t looking.

“What?” you asked, laughing softly, catching him in the act.

Rafe grinned, the kind of smile that made your stomach do flips. “Nothing,” he teased, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you replied, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. The two of you had spent the entire day together—swimming, joking around, and lounging under the sun. But now, as the day faded into night, something about the air felt different. Charged.

“Come here,” Rafe suddenly said, his voice quieter now.

Before you could question him, he took your hand gently in his, pulling you just a little closer. The world around you seemed to blur—the golden sky, the whispering waves, the fading sun—and all you could focus on was him. His blue eyes held you there, soft yet intense, like he was trying to memorize every detail about you.

“Rafe,” you whispered, your heart racing.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, his hand came up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers grazing your skin and sending chills down your spine. You felt the heat of him, so close now, and your breath hitched as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he murmured, so low you barely caught it.

And then he kissed you.

It was soft at first, his lips capturing yours gently, like he was savoring the moment. But as you leaned into him, your arms wrapping around his neck, the kiss deepened. Rafe’s hands settled on your waist, pulling you flush against him as the waves crashed softly at your feet. The whole world melted away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, fleeting moment.

“What the hell?!”

The voice cut through the moment like a knife, and you froze, pulling back from Rafe with wide eyes. You knew that voice.

JJ.

Your older brother stood a few yards away, his expression a mixture of disbelief, anger, and… yeah, mostly anger. His blonde hair was windblown, his hands clenched into fists as he took a step forward.

“JJ—” you started, your cheeks burning.

JJ pointed a finger at Rafe, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Him? You’re kissing Rafe Cameron?”

Rafe tensed beside you, his jaw clenching. “Back off, Maybank,” he muttered, trying to stay calm, but you could feel the tension radiating from him.

JJ let out a bitter laugh, completely ignoring Rafe’s words. “Oh, I’m sorry—am I interrupting your little romantic moment?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but his eyes were locked on you now, disappointment flashing through them. “What are you doing with him? Of all people, Y/N?”

“JJ, it’s not what it looks like,” you stammered, though even you knew how ridiculous that sounded. It was exactly what it looked like.

JJ scoffed, shaking his head. “Not what it looks like? I just saw you two practically swallowing each other’s faces!”

You groaned, embarrassed beyond belief. Rafe, however, stepped forward, his voice steady but low. “You don’t need to talk to her like that, Maybank.”

JJ turned his glare on Rafe, squaring his shoulders. “And you don’t need to be anywhere near her.”

“JJ, stop!” you said sharply, stepping between the two of them before things could escalate. “You don’t get to decide who I spend my time with.”

JJ’s expression faltered just slightly, his anger giving way to something softer—protectiveness. “I’m your brother, Y/N. It’s my job to look out for you. And this guy?” He shot another glare at Rafe. “He’s bad news.”

Rafe let out a humorless laugh behind you. “Classic.”

“Rafe,” you muttered, giving him a warning look before turning back to your brother. “You don’t have to like him, JJ, but you do have to trust me.”

JJ stared at you for a long moment, torn between his instincts and his trust in you. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like this. At all. But fine. I trust you. Not him.”

He shot one last glare at Rafe before turning on his heel. “You’re lucky she’s here to stop me,” he muttered as he walked off down the beach.

The tension hung heavy in the air as JJ’s figure disappeared in the distance, leaving just you and Rafe once more. You let out a shaky breath, turning to face him.

“Well,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “that went great.”

Rafe smirked, shaking his head as he tucked his hands back into his pockets. “You really think that’s the worst reaction I’ll get? I’m just getting started with the Maybank family drama, aren’t I?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You have no idea.”

Rafe grinned, pulling you close again. “Worth it,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

And somehow, despite the chaos that had just unfolded, you couldn’t help but agree.

#drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank x sister!reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader #outer banks #tumblr #blog #tumblog

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sun-kissy · 6 months ago

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crystals | r.b.

regulus black x whimsical!reader

“Baby,” Regulus’ voice comes out two parts affection and one part exasperation as he feels your knees pressing down into the bed on either side of him. You hum distractedly in response, mind wandering to places he knows he can never follow.

He cracks his eyes open, a small smile involuntarily making its way onto his face at the sight of you. You’re as pretty as you always are, so pretty he wonders if you’re actually a dryad of some sort. You certainly look the part, with daisies braided into your hair and miniature toadstool earrings.

He watches as you outstretch your fingers to fiddle with the chain on his neck, your eyebrows bunched in concentration. Your tongue juts out of your lip adorably as you bite down on it, and he resists the urge to kiss you senseless.

The chain Regulus was wearing was nothing more than a thick black string, but it was knotted around various small crystals, courtesy of your hobby of collecting them. When he had first asked you out with a ring, you had shyly given him this string with a single crystal hanging from it – a rose quartz. “For my unconditional love,” you had mumbled, blushing so hard he thought you mirrored a rose. But the pink that coated your cheeks was a lovelier shade than any flower he had laid his eyes on.

From then on, you would knot new crystals onto the string whenever you found them. Regulus was pretty sure some of them had to have been rocks or pebbles, but he loved you too much not to indulge you.

“Mon chéri,” he tries again, amusement seeping into his tone. “It’s 5 in the morning.”

“So?” you ask distractedly, your fingers still tugging and pulling his necklace from side to side. “5AM is when the crystals are most active, you know. This is when they pull the most power from the core of the earth,” you explain matter-of-factly, so dedicated to your task that you don’t notice his smile widening.

You sway forward slightly, unable to balance on the balls of your knees. Regulus silently wraps his palms around your hips, tugging downward until you’re comfortably seated on his stomach.

That was when he noticed you had odd-shaped stones in one of your hands, sunlight reflecting off of them to give a pale blue glow. “What are those?”

You perk up at his question, abandoning your task of trying to tie the stones onto the string. Your head tilts upwards to give him a sunny smile. “They’re aquamarine crystals, obviously.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his smile softening. It doesn’t matter how many times you do this, it’s always just as endearing to him. The way you smile fondly at him – like he’s silly for not knowing.

“Yeah,” you beam. “I found these in the stream nearby, the one next to the big daisy field with all the horsies.”

“You walked into the water again, then?”

It’s too laden with fondness to sound accusatory, but you turn slightly sheepish anyway, nodding. Your hands find their way back to his necklace, and this time you manage to loop the string around a crystal successfully. Your face lights up, obviously pleased with your work.

He huffs out a laugh, leaning forward to run his hands down your long skirt. As expected, he finds it damp and sticky. “You’ll have to take a bath, mon amour.”

“In the stream?”

“No,” he mutters, trying but failing to conceal his amused grin. He presses his elbows into the mattress, hoisting himself upwards to press an amorous kiss to your forehead. He can’t help himself, the blush on your cheeks and the shy smile too much for his heart to handle. “In the shower, baby.”

“Oh,” you reply as a way of answer, and Regulus can’t help but chuckle at the slight disappointment in your voice. “Maybe I can shower in the water tomorrow, then? With all the ducks. These ducks are nice; they eat the bread I throw at them. You can come too if you’d like.”

“Maybe,” he replies indulgently, with absolutely no intention of letting you bathe with the ducks instead of with him — but he was never one to deny you anything you asked for.

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decay-1 · 4 months ago

Note

GIGGLES i fear i've fallen under the james sunderland curse how did this happen... sighs wistfully. you ever see a guy and just want to pet and brush back some of his hair out of his eyes? i think he might just melt if his s/o did that without much warning. the casual physical affection... <3

Hi its like 3am but time is a construct so here u go babe

Words: 867

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James’ lips moved as he spoke—probably about work, or maybe something to do with your shared house—but you wouldn’t know. You’d been too focused on admiring his handsome features, the ones you’d never get tired of, to really hear a word he was saying. His words were coming in one ear and going straight out the other, drowned out by the quiet joy of just… looking at him.

You’d always found it amusing how much he talked with his hands. Each gesture made a smile tug at your lips, just one more thing about him you adored. How he hadn’t noticed you weren’t paying attention by now was a mystery, but you weren’t complaining. It just gave you more time to daydream about him, something you still loved doing even after all these years together. Every day with him brought a new spark of excitement, no matter how long you’d been by his side.

Your gaze drifted over his nose, and you found yourself remembering how you’d trace its outline at night, lulling him to sleep with gentle fingers. Then, your eyes dropped to his lips—soft, but just a bit flaky from the cold. They had a taste you were sure you’d never find in anyone else. You let your gaze trace the line of his jaw, the one you’d grab out of nowhere sometimes just to pull him in for a short, sweet kiss, leaving him flustered and stammering as he was caught off guard every time.

But then, your attention fell on his eyes.

Oh, his eyes. You’d never get over them.

That pale shade of blue could send your heart racing with a single look, a blue so deep it reminded you of the ocean, the ones you fell in love with all those years ago. Every time his eyes locked with yours, it brought you back to the day you met, and to the moment you knew you were in love. You could feel electricity shoot through your veins, your heart beating faster, skipping like it might just burst from all the affection.

Without realizing it, you grinned with a love-sick expression, your eyes half-lidded as you rested your chin on your hand. You nodded absently at whatever James was saying, even though you hadn’t heard a word in the last few minutes.

Then, your gaze wandered to the blond streaks in his hair, soft strands that always seemed to fall into his face and cover those beautiful eyes you adored so much. It was then that James finally seemed to realize you weren’t paying attention. He raised an eyebrow and pressed his lips together, giving you a look of mock-disappointment. His mouth moved again, probably calling you out for zoning out.

But you still didn’t hear him.

Instead, you frowned a little and tilted your head, watching as more of those golden strands fell into his face. Without thinking, you reached up toward him. James followed the movement of your hand with his eyes, looking a little confused but not objecting. He never did.

Gently, you brushed the soft strands out of his eyes, smiling to yourself. But even as you did, you didn’t move your hand right away. You just stayed there for a moment, gazing into his eyes now that nothing was in the way, taking in his face with a small, contented smile.

“There,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Your nose almost touched his as your hand dropped back to your lap.

James’ eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as the blush started to creep up his neck. He blinked a few times, trying to process what just happened. The warmth of your touch lingered on his forehead, sending little shocks of electricity through him, and before he knew it, his entire face was burning. It was such a simple gesture, but from you? It was enough to completely short-circuit his brain.

He stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind scrambling to come up with something to say. “W-What… what was that for?” he stammered after a few failed attempts, his voice a little shaky.

But you didn’t answer, still lost in the warmth of the moment.

Flustered, he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, but all it did was make more hair fall into his face. You burst into laughter, your protest coming out between giggles, “Hey!”

He snorted at your reaction, shaking his head with a soft chuckle of his own. He couldn’t help it—he loved that laugh of yours. He looked back at you, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other, grinning like fools, your eyes filled with the kind of love that never really fades. The kind that only grows stronger.

Sure, James would probably ruin the moment by saying something awkwardly cheesy in the next few seconds—that was just part of who he was—but that was another thing you loved about him. For now, you were happy to sit in the quiet comfort of his presence, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you both.

#silent hill james sunderland #silent hill james #james sunderland x reader #silent hill #silent hill x reader

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himbodruid · 5 days ago

Text

Painting Lessons

Rafayel x Reader

I don’t even know what keywords to use for this one lmao

INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI

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“I don’t think I understand, Rafayel,” you say, tilting your head at the canvas in front of you. You sat in the cushioned nook beneath the giant bay windows that made up his studio, an easel in front of you and various supplies scattered around you. Rafayel sat next to you with his own canvas, guiding you along his creative process. While the painting in front of him flowed whimsically, yours looked…strained and forced. The subject matter was the same, and technically speaking it wasn’t the worst thing you’d painted under his tutelage. But something about it was still off.

“Your brain is thinking too logically,” he said over your shoulder, having leaned in to inspect the canvas.

“I’m a hunter, of course my brain is logical,” you say, scrunching your nose. Rafayel chuckled.

“Yes, yes, Miss Bodyguard, we’re all aware of your mental prowess. But when you’re painting, you have to feel the picture, not think it.”

“I feel it!” Your pout was met with another chuckle. Rafayel then moved behind you, sitting so that his legs rested on either side of yours. It was a far more intimate position than you were used to with him, and you felt yourself flush. As much of a terrible flirt as he was, you knew you shouldn’t read into how he wrapped a steadying arm around your waist, or how he took your hand in his and guided your paintbrush with deft strokes. His hand engulfed yours, his cool touch a stark contrast to the blushing heat radiating off you.

“You need to let the paint guide you, not the other way around. Stop thinking and worrying too much about getting to the end result, instead let yourself revel in the journey. Because that’s what painting is- a journey.”

You fought back the shudder that threatened to overtake you at the warmth of his voice directly in your ear. The light and airy quality of it as he talked about his passion. The breathy undertones as the warmth of your body sunk into his. He released your hand and pulled his back, resting it on your knee. You sat deathly still in front of him, and you had to resist the urge to lean back into him when he pulled away.

“There, see?” He reached over to his abandoned spot and grabbed his paint pallet. “Now take a little bit of this tangerine colour.”

“Wait, what?” You question, looking back at the colours of the Koi fish circling in a dusk-darkened pond. The hues ranged from deep reds, to purples, to varying shades of blue. You were convinced that a bright splash of colour would end up ruining it.

“Just trust me,” he chuckled. “Having a bright contrasting colour will help to draw the eye and guide the viewer around the painting. Don’t add a lot, just the barest outline on the fish.”

You skeptically did what he suggested, and were pleasantly surprised when the tiniest bit helped to pop the fish right off the canvas. Once done, you did lean back to look at it. It still wasn’t anywhere near his level, but it wasn’t awful either. You turned and flashed a grin at him. In doing so, you found him watching you with a painful tenderness in his eyes. A soft smile danced on his face and…wait, was he leaning into you?

A ringing phone was definitely a stereotypical mood-breaker. You huffed an awkward laugh, slumping in disappointment. But when you tried to turn your head away, Rafayel crooked a finger under your chin and pulled your face back to his. The kiss was unhurried, testing whatever feeling, whatever tension, that had been growing for the last hour that he’d caged you against him. Any and all thoughts on the painting lesson vanished from your head, and only he remained. He slanted his lips over yours, taking the kiss further when you didn’t pull away from him. His hand trailed your jaw, curling around to cradle the back of your head, with the pad of his thumb brushing along your cheek. You could feel his heart thundering in his chest through your back, and your heart raced alongside his.

Distracted by him, by his touch, your hand fumbled the paintbrush and it slipped from your grasp. That fiery tangerine colour streaked across his black trousers, thoroughly ruining them. You jerked with a gasp, covering your mouth in horror as the pair of you watched the offending brush roll to the floor.

“Shit, Raf, I am so sorry. I’ll pay for dry cleaning!”

He didn’t reply, just continued to hold you back against him. Hot breath moved the waterfall of hair that barely separated him from you, and it tickled your neck. You were very aware of his lips just a hair's breadth away from meeting your flesh. You subconsciously tilted your head away from his, granting him access to your neck. Those elegant fingers of his rose to brush your hair aside so that he could kiss below your ear, the slope of your neck, your shoulder. Wherever his mouth roamed, your skin heated until you were almost sure you had a full body blush.

“What if,” he murmured between kisses, “I wanted you to pay another way?”

You inhaled sharply when he scraped his teeth against your flesh. With a hand gripping his thigh, you leaned back into his soft bite. It was just enough to sting, but not enough to be painful, and the sensation shot straight to your core. It must have had the same effect on him, as you were certain you could feel him growing hard against your lower back.

And fuck, the sounds he made. The tiniest of whimpered moans that you could barely hear as his hands roamed your body. Those hands that pulled your off-the-shoulder shirt from the waistband of your jeans, that slid up your sides under your shirt. Hands that rested against your ribs, just below your chest in a pseudo innocent touch that seared through you.

You reached your hand up to brush a strand of hair back into place on his forehead and his eyes opened. Those beautiful, deep cerulean depths with flecks of fuschia locked onto you as you turned your head back to him. His lips crashed against yours again, tongue darting against your lower lip to coax you open. The moan he let loose when you did was like a jolt to your core. His right hand engulfed your left breast, his arm wrapped around you and pulled you against him. His unoccupied hand drifted down your abdomen, easily flicking open the button on your jeans and sinking beneath the hem. Your gasp was swallowed by him when those deft fingers of his touched you, testing the slickness of your folds. He groaned into you, finding you wet and wanting.

And then he ripped himself from you, and suddenly you were flat on your back with him on hands and knees over you. His face was flushed and his breathing was ragged, eyes searching yours. Your head tilted and you touched his lower lip softly with a finger. Then trailed that finger down his chin, across his jaw. His breath turned to short gasps as your fingers continued to drift featherlight touches down his neck, his collarbone, and finally the little bit of his chest that peeked between the open edges of his shirt.

He snatched your wrist and brought it to his face. He nuzzled your skin with his nose, an act reminisce of a time he went insane over a silly little perfume. You couldn’t miss how his eyes were darkened with desire, his gaze flicking to yours.

“Cutie,” he groaned, kissing your wrist. “I don’t think i can hold back any longer.”

Grasping the back of his neck, you pulled him down atop you and crashed your lips against his. He moaned into your mouth, setting his weight on you. He pressed you into the cushions beneath you, his knee wedging between yours. You could feel him through the fabric that separated you, hard and heavy. Slipping your hand between your bodies, you cupped his length through his trousers. With a whimpering gasp of a moan, his hips jerked forward. He buried his face against your neck, his breathy moans interrupted by his lips caressing your skin.

“Rafayel,” you breathed, rubbing your legs against his as you hitched them up to wrap around his waist. “I need you.”

It took great effort for him to tear himself away from you. But his blush grew deeper when you sat up, removed your shirt and lay beneath him in just the lacy bra you’d concealed with that plain white tee. It wasn’t intentional, wearing that kind of titillating bra, but you were glad you did when his eyes raked down your body. His shaky hands fumbled with the waistband of your jeans, and you helped him slide the denim down your legs.

And then you lay bare beneath him, running your hands up and down his body after unbuttoning his shirt. Breathy sighs escaped him, turning into those whimpering moans when you unzipped his trousers and freed his cock from its constraint. Your hand wrapped around him, pumping him while you watched his reactions. He clenched his eyes closed, biting his lip to try and halt the noises that threatened to escape. Try as he might, though, the guttural sounds still fell from him with every forward press of his hips. Until finally he wrenched your hand away, pinning it by your head and positioned himself so his cock lay heavy against your pelvis.

“Keep doing that, cutie, and I can’t be held responsible for the mess,” he groaned into your ear. Despite the sun pouring down from the windows, and the heat building between your bodies, Rafayel’s touch was still cool and made you shiver when his hand made its way to your breasts. His lips laid a blazing trail of kisses down your neck, nipping your collarbone, against each breast as his face slipped between them.

His mouth latched onto those mounds, eyes watching you as his tongue lathed first one nipple, then the other. All the while, he trailed that hand down your body until you could feel those elegant fingers dipping into your slick folds. He curled them into you and you couldn’t help the gasped moan that escaped you. He continued until you gripped his arm forcefully to keep him from drawing you over the edge- much like he did when he removed your touch from him. His groan turned into a breathy chuckle and he removed his fingers.

“So wet for me already?” His eyes locked onto your face when he brought those fingers to his face and- fuck the moan he let loose when he tasted you.

He rolled his hips back, aligning himself against your entrance. Your heart thundered in anticipation, you squirmed beneath him and still he wouldn’t push himself into you. Though his eyes were half-lidded by desire, the smirk on his face told you he delighted in teasing you. But the blush spread across his cheeks, from ear to ear, showed that he wasn’t entirely unaffected.

You shifted your hips, pulling him forward with your legs at the same time. The barest of penetration sent a shudder through him and his hips jerked forward. Sheathed on you in one full motion, he dropped his head to your chest with the deepest, most guttural sound you’d ever heard from him.

He trembled with the effort to remain still, mistaking your gasp for that of one of pain. You hadn’t expected him to fill you so wonderfully, the length and girth of him was…fuck, it was like he was made for you. He crashed his lips against yours, pressing forward so impossibly deep. Your moan was devoured by him as he pistoned in and out, grinding against you on every full thrust. Pleasured sounds erupted from him, his voice rising to join yours in a duet of ecstasy. Your arms folded around his shoulders, fingers gripping hard into the loose fabric of his shirt and no doubt leaving wrinkles in their wake.

“How do you feel so good?” He whimpered against your neck before pulling away. He lifted himself onto an elbow, just enough so he could watch your body’s reaction to him. The way your tits bounced with each thrust, the gasping moan when he struck that sweet spot deep inside, the way your hands clenched into his shoulders. Every detail was absorbed by those oceanic depths that made up his eyes, half-lidded by desire.

“Mmmh, every time I slam my cock into you,” he said, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust, “I love seeing your body ripple like freshly disturbed water on a calm lake.”

“Rafayel,” you whimpered to him, his words driving straight to your core until you felt something building there. His body dipped and curved, making each of his thrusts seem like a twisting dance, with his voice ringing out into the wide open space around you. He leaned into you, each stroke of his cock accentuated by a moan that you swallowed alongside his tongue.

Soft words murmured into your ear when he buried his face into your neck, and it took a moment for you to dig yourself up from the haze and realize they weren’t english. You recognized the cadence as Lemurian from the few times he spoke his mother tongue around you, and the sound of those words sent a thrill shuddering through you, despite not knowing their meaning.

“R-Rafa..yel,” you breathed, his name broken by a gasp as he tilted your hips by wrapping an arm around your lower back.

“Yes,” he purred into your ear, the pace of his thrusts increasing.

“I’m- I,” you stammered out, not able to form a coherent thought through the building pleasure.

“Yes,” he moaned, his breathing growing erratic as he carried you both to that brink. His hand cradled your head against his chest while all you could do was cling to him with trembling limbs.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-“ he breathed, his sentence cut off by a loud, guttural moan that was ripped from him. You dipped over the edge immediately behind him, the pulsing throb of his cock a mirror to the flutter of your walls wrapped around him. His body, his hips, his breath all trembling, jerking as the climax steamrolled through him. You slumped back into the cushions beneath you, firmly clenching your legs around his trim waist so he wouldn’t dare leave you.

But he didn’t. Instead he let his full weight rest on you, and you reveled in the warmth you shared while basked in bright afternoon sunlight. He pulled back just enough so his eyes could roam your face. He brushed a stray strand of hair away, smiling at you so tenderly that it bordered on painful. He huffed a light, airy chuckle before resting his forehead against yours. With eyes closed, he took a moment to stabilize his breathing before kissing you softly.

“Beautiful,” he murmured to you. He laid in your embrace, absorbing warmth from you and the sun, and you welcomed his weight atop you.

The moment came to an end far too quickly. With one last peck of a kiss, he untangled himself from you and stretched. Your eyes drank him in, gliding over the lithe muscle of his physique before finding him…somehow still hard. You cleared your throat, having caught yourself staring, and sought to cover yourself.

“Not a chance,” he chuckled, yanking your shirt from your hand and tossing it aside. Before you could complain, he scooped you into his arms bridal style and carried you through the villa. His stride didn’t miss a single step until he deposited you in front of the large clawfoot bathtub that sat below windows that overlooked the sea.

While the tub filled, he went to work stripping out of the clothes he still wore. And he kept his eyes locked on you as he did. First the wrinkled shirt struck the tile floor, and then the trousers that were now stained with more than just paint. You almost hated how alluring you found his little tease of a show.

When the bath was done, he helped you into the steaming water and climbed in behind you. Now caged against him in a similar position that started this whole tryst, you relaxed fully into him

“Rafayel?”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier when we…earlier you said something that sounded like Lemurian. What was it?” His arms wrapped around you and you felt him kiss the top of your head.

“Something along the lines of ‘drown in the ocean with me’,” he said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality.

“How poetic,” you sigh contentedly.

Comfortable silence spread between you as he washed you, first your body and then your hair. Your heart stuttered at the care and attention he showered you with while in that bath. And that pulse soon made its way downward as those skilled fingers of his sunk into you and stroked you through another release.

And still he didn’t stop there. After drying your hair for you and carrying you to his bed, he made sure that his name was the only thing on your mind- the only thing you shouted to the vaulted ceilings of his bedroom. He also made his pleasure known by raising his voice with yours.

You were certain anyone standing on the street outside the villa would know exactly what was happening.

****

Later That Night

“What?” Rafayel’s groggy voice was impatient as he held his phone to his ear.

“Don’t hang up!” Thomas’s voice was the last thing he wanted to hear at that moment, and Rafayel grumbled.

“I’m hanging up,” Rafayel threatened, pulling the phone away from his ear to do just that. He glanced at your sleeping form, glad the phone hadn’t woken you like it had him. Granted, he’d worn you out so thoroughly that he would be surprised if you even woke before noon.

“I know you’re…preoccupied, but all I’m asking is that you don’t forget about the event the night after tomorrow.”

“Yeah, fine, fiiine- wait, what do you mean preoccupied? How would you know?”

Rafayel swore he could hear Thomas blush over the phone in the loaded silence that filled his question.

Thomas cleared his throat. “When you refused to answer the phone earlier, I stopped by the villa and…realized that you were…rather busy.”

“Definitely busy,” Rafayel chuckled, ending the call without so much as a goodbye to Thomas.

After all, he had somewhere he needed to be. Rafayel crawled back in bed beside you, giving the back of your neck a lingering kiss and gathering you up against him.

Sleep overtook him more quickly than he’d ever experienced during the night.

#lads fic #lads smut #lads rafayel #l&ds x you #l&ds rafayel #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel smut #rafayel x you #rafayel fic #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #lads x reader #lads

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m0reighn4 · 1 month ago

Text

SPOILERS FOR BLUE LOCK SEASON 2

Aight just imagine: After the u20 Japan match, Rin is brooding in the locker room. His towel is draped over his hung head, creating a barrier between him and the outside world.

'Why not me? Was I not good enough? Did you not train hard enough? What does Isagi have that I don't?'

His thoughts spiral in his head, leading him to feel a strange blend of resentment and disappointment. Both in himself, for failing to score the final goal, and his brother, for choosing nor nor acknowledge him.

However, the door to the locker room opens and a pair of footsteps follow. They stop and a pair of cleats are found in his narrow line of sight. Rin chooses to ignore this faceless person. That is until this person's hand finds itself at his face, tilting it up by the chin.

The dark haired boy lets out a low groan of disapproval as his eyes raise to meet the individual's. He meets the caring gaze of his lover and his eyes soften by a thin margin.

You crouch down before him with that serene smile you always throw his way. And being the tsundere he is, Rin scrunches his face to feign irritation. "What do you want? I'm busy," he spits out.

Having already been used to his grumpy attitude, you can only huff out a chuckle. You cup his jaw in your hand. In one, quick, precise movement, you press a loving kiss to his cheek.

Rin's eyes widen as the first touch of your lips barely registers in his brain. His eyebrows furrow and you can almost see the loading circle on his forehead. But you don't let him recover. The next peck is placed on the bridge of his nose. Next is his other cheek and finally, a lingering kiss on his lips.

By now, Rin's face is flared, cheeks a deep shade of red. Widened, teal eyes stare you down as he attempts to wrap his head around the sudden affection. "What—"

He's interrupted by you, wrapping your arms around him and drawing him closer. As if on instinct, his arms loop around your waist with the same goal in mind.

"You were amazing out there, Rin. I'm so proud of you."

Your praise comes out as a soft whisper. And Rin can't help the way his eyes light up. His hold on you tightens as he buries his face into your shoulder.

He chooses to bury his resentment for his brother. He chooses to set his blazing hatred for the striker, Isagi Yoichi, who got the acknowledgement he'd always been working hard to obtain. He chooses to swallow down his disappointment in himself for not being even the slightest bit better.

Listen, I love— and I mean LOVE— Sae Itoshi, but what he did to my baby was just mean. Like, I know that it was for Rin at the end of the day. To push him further. But like bro 😭. You saw that look in his eyes. He was looking at you, all boba eyed, eyes sparkling. How did he sleep at night?😭😭

Instead, he chooses to close his eyes and rest in the warmth of your embrace. He chooses to find solace in your comforting scent and gentle tone of voice. He chooses to listen to you. As you and your approval are yet another goal he is always to achieve.

#m0reighn4 #blue~yuara #fluff #fanfic #bllk #blue lock #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #comfort #reverse comfort

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 2 years ago

Note

Ethan is trying to do work and the reader distracts him which turns into more. Just Ethan being flustered and trying to focus while reader teases him. 🤗

I've done a version of this with Mindy

Warnings: nudity, teasing

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Did you see my green highlighter?’’

‘’No. I have a blue one, here.’’ You fished it from your pencil case, but Ethan didn’t take it.

‘’I can’t use blue.’’

‘’I have pink, yellow and orange if you prefer—’’

‘’No. That’s not what I meant. I have a color code. Green is for the things I understand, blue is for what I don’t understand and the glittery gel pen is for underlining things that I think are gonna be in the exams.’’

Fondness filled your stomach. He was so precious and nerdy at the same time. You reached across the bed to grab the collar of Ethan's henley and kissed him sweetly.

‘’Eh…what was that for?’’ Ethan asked, a little dumbfounded. ‘’I love your kisses, it’s just that we really need to study—’’

‘’You are such a nerd.’’ You kissed him again, lingering your lips on his. ‘’But I love you.’’

Ethan’s cheeks flushed the cutest shade of pink. ‘’I love you too.’’

You went back to studying, reading pages of textbooks until your eyes burned. Why was there so much to read in econ? Maybe you should switch majors?

‘’Have you read the chapter about taxation?’’ Ethan asked, a pen in one hand and a highlighter in the other. ‘’My mind is literally going to explode from the amount of information.’’ His eyes were fixated on his textbook, concentrated on what he was reading.

A breath of air left your lips. ‘’I have not. Sorry.’’ You ran a hand through your hair, flicking through pages with your other. ‘’I’m like…two chapters behind.’’

Ethan snapped his head up. ‘’Two?! What have you been doing all this time? Mrs. Coleman is gonna question us about these chapters next lesson.’’

He was right, but you had been studying for over three hours and nothing was sticking to your brain anymore. Your learning batteries were full for today. Maybe you’ll bring your textbook to your shift at the campus library tomorrow. Thursday afternoons are always quiet.

Before you, Ethan had returned to his reading, pen cap between his teeth while he was underlining long paragraphs. Sometimes, you wished he wasn’t so serious during study dates. School was important, but it doesn’t mean you can’t take a few makeout breaks.

You tried getting back to reading, but the words were not sticking. So you threw a paperclip at Ethan. It hit his chest and you grinned amusedly.

‘’Hey! Stop throwing shit at me,’’ he scolded, throwing it back at you.

‘’Let’s take a break.’’

Ethan shook his head. ‘’Can’t. I have another chapter to read and then I’m meeting with a study group.’’ He checked the time on his phone, making sure he wouldn’t be late.

A study group? You thought you were going out for late dinner at the café right outside campus. They have this new breakfast all day menu and you couldn’t wait to have waffles for dinner.

You pouted in disappointment. Guess there won’t be any waffles tonight…

‘’Can we at least cuddle before you go?’’ you asked, impatient to wrap your whole body around Ethan like a koala and kiss his face while he holds you back with his strong arms.

Your question was left pending and you were tempted to chuck a pillow at the curly haired nerd before you — but you didn’t. Instead, you took advantage of focused attention and removed your shirt and bra without him noticing. You felt a shiver up your spine when the cool air of Ethan's dorm hit your warm skin, causing your nipples to peak.

Ethan was addicted to your tits. Maybe he’ll put down his textbooks for a few minutes.

‘’This part is really important. Do you think we should make flashca—’’ Ethan cut himself and you heard him make a little noise, his bambi eyes falling on your breasts exposed right before him. The pen he was holding fell from his grasp and you smirked.

You felt the weight of Ethan’s eyes on you, all the information he just read suddenly swept away. ‘’What is it you were saying?’’ You let your hand crawl up his jeans-covered thighs and a swallow bobbed its way over his adam's apple when you almost reached his crotch. ‘’Cat’s got your tongue, love?’’

Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but your hand was getting higher and higher. A whimper slipped from his lip when you reached your desired spot, feeling him growing stiff beneath your palm. It’s so good to tease him.

He reached for your breasts, his palms enclosed over them, kneading into them as his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

You sighed in pleasure, grazing your fingers along Ethan’s jaw. ‘’How many chapter do you have left again?’’

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn @bt.oliana

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x you #ethan landry imagine #scream 6 imagines #scream 6

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coeurify · 1 year ago

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actually on my knees begging for a girl next door blurb with Ellie

like imagine moving into the house next to her’s and her being all grumbly and closed off because she cannot physically face the reader because she’s just a loser lesbian and OMG THE UNKNOWN PINING SUJDJSNSNDB

I NEED HER I CANT-

WHERE IS THE LOVE FOR LOSER GND!ELLIE ⁉️

giggles.. cause like.. yea.

if we r talking modern!ellie, oh god would it be the most cliche shit ever (plz tell me if u want jackson!ellie version cause i’d be happy to do that too. or jus more of this concept) [not edited]

⋆˚✿˖° im talking, ellie looking out from her window in her old house, eyes narrowing as a moving truck pulled into the pretty blue house next door. the neighborhood had been recently taken over by young families, which ellie hated— cause why was she being interrupted in her ‘laying in her bed while blasting music and complaining to herself’ alone time by a bunch of kids screaming outside? either way. she expected another one of these cases.

⋆˚✿˖° but then you popped out, trying to handle three boxes all on your own, cheek pressed against the cardboard as you yelled something ellie couldn’t hear to whoever else was in moving truck. you had glanced over at ellie’s house, maybe even up at her window. and maybe ellie was just dramatic, but she flipped away from that window and face down onto her bed so quickly she was pretty sure it was a new record. because fuck you were pretty.

⋆˚✿˖° and it only got worse later, when el was pulling her hair down from its bun, glancing the sun pressing below the clouds. her fingers moved to close the curtains of her window, and there you were, standing at the window directly across from hers. like— shit straight from a taylor swift music video or something.

⋆˚✿˖° and you, almost as awkward as her, let your hands fall down from their place above your head. you had been putting up shades, but once you caught the gaze of your messy haired neighbor, you smiled at her. fuck, you smiled and waved and ellie just turned away and shut her curtains. you know, like the master at social interactions she was.

⋆˚✿˖° a twin frown painted both your lips at the interaction that night, and at the same time you both huffed out, “god, why’d i do that?”

⋆˚✿˖° nothing really got better from there. not when your family forced you over to ellie’s house with a plate of cookies, your sweet smile the first sight ellie had seen that day as she turned the doorknob to shoo away some girl scout selling something. “we don’t need— oh— oh hi.”

⋆˚✿˖° you looked so fucking pretty. ellie was sure it was fake. maybe she was still in bed dreaming. maybe this was about to turn into one of those really weird s- never mind. you were talking now, and not asking to borrow sugar, so definitely real. “hi! uh— I just, we— i mean, my family, we just wanted to introduce ourselves. and give a gift i guess,” you glance to the plate of wrapped up treats and chuckle lightly. because really, cookies?

⋆˚✿˖° ellie was about red as the shirt she was wearing, stammering a thank you as joel creeped behind her at the door. “you the new neighbors kid?” joel had asked, making ellie clam right up. she backed away from the door, like— just side shuffled out of your view with an awkward wave.

⋆˚✿˖° your eyes followed her, fighting back the odd sense of disappointment that you were no longer staring at the freckled and flushed face of your new neighbor. “uh, yea—yes sir.” you eventually spoke again, offering your grin to joel instead.

⋆˚✿˖° one time joel was doing yard work the same time your family was outside working on the garden. you were fanning your sweating cheek with your hand, the warmth from the sun along with carrying in and out heavy tools was not exactly ideal, and you only felt more heated when ellie came outside the door at the exact moment joel ended up making conversation with your mother.

⋆˚✿˖° “your girl in college?” you could hear him ask, but it was lightly muffled, your attention instead on watching as ellie struggled to bend over and tie her converse against the wall. what an odd way to do it. she was balancing some sort of notebook between arm.. maybe pencils too? did she draw? or maybe write? why couldn’t you stop wondering about it?

⋆˚✿˖° your mom answered joel’s question with some version of the story she always does, gushing about how you were doing so well in school, how she was so proud of you. you didn’t tune back in until joel was speaking again, “ah yea, my — well, ellie, she’s in school too. physics major. but she’s got this thing for astronomy too. kid’s always talking about double majoring.”

⋆˚✿˖° god, she was cute and smart? and her name was ellie? you swore the sun got even hotter at the thought of her talking to you about quantum something-or-other, just nodding along. god you could see it now. a hand in that pretty auburn hair.. mumbling ‘mhm.. whatever you say ellie.’

⋆˚✿˖° then you saw her trip down the stairs on her porch as she looked over. full on hand on the side of the stairs to keep her from eating shit on the rocks there. you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, stifling a giggle as you wave her way. only to be given a tight lipped smile as she quickly moved away to her car. god. what an odd girl.

⋆˚✿˖° ellie simply lost it the moment she sat in her car, groaning loudly as she slammed her sketch book on her face. “stupid fucking shoes!” she muttered, as if it was the shoes fault for tripping, and not the way she had been intently staring at your face from across the yard. definitely not.

⋆˚✿˖° but really she couldn’t help it, you looked so good, you were wearing shorts, and ellie was happily taking in the sight of skin before that evil fucking creaky porch board got her tumbling down. fuck. she couldn’t ever talk to you again. not ever. she let her head fall to the steering wheel as she went through a million and one ways to simply become invisible and escape any way of running into you. maybe she should become nocturnal.

⋆˚✿˖° but when she let her head fall to the steering wheel, it honked. like a loud, drawn out honk that had you, joel, and your mother’s head turning to the direction of the sound.

⋆˚✿˖° ellie screeched, and you pressed fingers to your lips to contain another smile. you were pretty sure living here was going to be kind of great.

#not my writing comeback.. urm #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff

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fluorynn · 1 year ago

Text

〴 🔗 — ᴀ ᴛɪɴʏ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ’ᴅ ʏᴀ ꜱᴀʏ?

〴 ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢꜱ : recom!miles quaritch ✘ fem!reader

〴 ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ : 4.3k

〴 ɢᴇɴʀᴇ / ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : SMUT, no plot, Quaritch got a breeding kink, masturbation with an audience, teasing, vaginal sex, mentions of oral sex, choking? ( Quaritch receiving it, I am FERAL when it comes to those dog tags of his—) unprotected sex, squirting, creampie, explicit language

〴 ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ : @cafekitsune !!!

〴 a/n : Well… this is unexplainable, lol. One of my first times writing smut for Quaritch — for any big blue alien, lol🥲 Imma admit, I didn’t see him in this way at the beginning but the more I watched the movie, the more I realized he had no right being this FINE😭 anyways, im getting this out the way so I can continue with Neteyam’s series !!! Enjoy !!! <33

“Darlin’, jus’ move yer hand f’me. C’mon—”

The rather swollen lower lip of Quaritch’s lolled once more between his teeth. The corners of his mouth had elevated into a smirk. One that brought a prominent twinkle to his gold hues, one that clashed with the silver around his neck, dog tags dangling across his chiseled pecs down to the planes of his stomach. Of course, the breathing mask was also dangling his neck, but it seemed to be long forgotten by the recom with every breath he stole from you.

Constricting was the word to describe his lengthy abdomen, for the way he restrained himself with his entire abnormal strength from plunging forward into your tiny entrance, and the assistance of the small facility’s dim lights and perspiration coating his azure tones sent another jolt down to your stomach.

“M-Miles, baby, it’s not gonna go in—”

A ‘tsk’ hissed from between his teeth, lips puckering in that feigning disappointing manner, and a deep exhale emerged from you. The pink flesh of your walls fluttered around the imperceptible even though Quaritch’s plump, softly glowing tip stroked at your entrance, your small hands applying the slightest of pressure to his lower stomach.

His head couldn’t help but tilt in wonder while a dimple showed between his brows. Really, he could just ignore your commentary, ignore the way the small length of your fingers pushed at his lower stomach in order to keep him from moving forward and use his much stronger force. But how could he ignore that cute panic striking your eyes? He couldn’t be that harsh with you.

So instead, the large expanse of his thumb reached to gently push your jaw up to look at him. “ ‘T’s always the same thing with you, cupcake. Sayin’ it won’t go in, and yet ev’ry time, it does.”

Another lustful glaze of honey spiraled over his irises, making their shade darker, sponging those now dilating pupils of his as he glanced down your bare body and disheveled attire. His stupidly large hands and sharp canines had torn it to pieces, until your breasts were liberated and your weeping hole clenched from the cool air.

Your round eyes couldn’t evict from analyzing every tiny detail of his breathtaking face; at the way those lines upon his forehead wrinkled with his stifled grunts, how his brow quirked as his golden gaze devoured your every curve, at how his smiling mouth was moistened with your essence and was a reminder to how mere seconds ago, that feline-like tongue of his was between your legs, deliriously assaulting your clit, that Cheshire Cat smile sprawled across his face as he looked up at your crumbled expression.

The luminous freckles across his cheeks and flat nose were shining even more with his sweat and your slick, and the ones trailing down the lean length of his body glittered and entranced you.

His features were sinister, lips curling over his teeth while the rest remained hard. “I won’t repeat myself, cupcake; move. Your. Hand.” His honed incisors found their spot below your jawline, finding the faint puncture they’d left minutes ago and enhanced the mark once more as they sank in.

That was when your jaw went slack, lips shaping a pretty ‘O’ while the smallness of your palms pressed over the nape of his damp neck, fingers winding over the curve of his head.

Quaritch inundated every one of your senses; his scent wavered your atmosphere, his ridiculously long frame lumbering and hiding your petite one from any other’s vision, the coolness of his dog tags grazing the sensitive flesh of your breasts and equally as biting as the way his canines did.

Heat liquified through your entire body, walls elongating beyond constructing capacity the second your cunt consumed him entirely. “F-fuck—”

Quaritch thrusted forward, half of his widthful cock disappearing between your legs, and the tiny bed below created a screeching creak from the act. A dribble of sweat shun between his brows as he grunted a low cuss word, teeth grinding together at the way your little cunt tightened around him.

“ almos’ ‘ere, doll, almos’ ‘ere.” he crooned, thumb rising to stroke the damp locks over your temple, eliciting a muffled whimper from your throat.

Inhaling another sharp breath, glowing orbs peered into yours and with a small bob of your head, the other half of his shaft soon followed until his pelvis hovered over yours. All 10 plus inches stretching you out. Those eyes of his were blown out now as he stared down, being met with a subtle, so very subtle curve shadowing the flesh of your upper stomach — not only his eyes were abroad but so was that smirk of his as his hand went over the expanse of your belly, the outer shape of his cock, calloused fingertips grazing over the swollen flesh.

“Well, wouldja look at that beauty…ain’t it, darlin’?”

Ever so lightly he pushed down, and when he did, whine after whine flew up your lungs. He didn’t dare to move though, not until you gave him the green signal that he could, giving you time to modify and gain control of your inhales and exhales.

Quaritch was no better though, not while he stroked the bulge within your lower abdomen, not while you tried pulling him even closer, sputtering out a low chuckle and jittered breath before raising his mask to take another deep and long inhale. “ ‘N here ya thought it wouldn’t go in—”

He was cut off by the way your dainty hand winded around the loose silver drooping across his chest, wrapping it tightly around each length of your fingers until inches away from the base of his throat. His eyes widened at the sight of yours; round, devoured with lust. “Fuck me, Quaritch.”

His rasped chuckle pulsated through your insides, and a low groan erupted past his mouth when you squeezed around him as the octave of his mocking laughter picked within the deepest parts of you. “Patience, darlin’. Don’t wanna ruin little you if ya don’t give both of us a minute—”

His voice faded amongst the thick air, words caught in his throat with every twist and wind his dog tags made, clinking faintly against the other as your knuckles were practically burying against the blue flesh of his throat, nearly leaving no passage for air to transmit through.

“Ruin me.”

“Well ain’t ya a pretty brat—”

You huffed, hands releasing his necklace and pushed him away. This caused Quaritch to stumble and lose his balance, knees digging into the delicate mattress and hoisting himself up as you slid away from him, tight cunt releasing him with a wet pop that made the both of you moan out loud. He was about to protest as to why you moved, why you turned away from him but all he could do was let his eyes follow the way you got on your knees, follow the way the pretty arch of your back descended down to the curve of your ass; so round, so fucking eye capturing and mouth watering that he has to restrain himself from craning forward to take a sharp bite.

You felt him watching, felt the way those amber irises flickered into specks that soon flowed through you, gathering and igniting down your body and between your thighs as they rubbed together to add friction to the burn. Reaching next to the bedside, you had to prop yourself on your forearms in order to grab what you desired, leaving your whole ass up in the air and in perfect display for the avatar.

Ears chirped high, tail lashing in anticipation the more you arched, abdomen pressed into the white sheets. His palm had slithered down his stomach, fingers wrapping themselves around his cock and tightening at the base when your adorable fingers reached back and parted the globes of your ass, parting them so fucking prettily until both your holes were calling out to him.

“Ruin me, Quaritch.”

“I’ll be damned…” Lithe and swift was his movement as he rose up, and even on his knees his large body still lurched over you when he scooted closer, not caring for the bed’s possible break and the sound of his palm meeting your ass blocked out the creaking.

“Whatever occurred to ‘won’t go in’, huh?” He taunted you, yet you had felt him align himself once more, tip kissing your awaiting hole. He couldn’t help but slip in just an inch for the way you were drenched. Slick were your puffy lips, cascading down the inner angles of your thighs. Quaritch thought a little teasing never hurt anyone, so he was quick to slide out as soon as he slid in.

Desperate little thing you were, squirming and winding your hips back for his touch, the inhuman blaze of his body mingling with yours. You couldn’t help but whine at the way his fat tip did nothing more than graze along your pussy lips, teasing right over your clit.

It hurt , it ached terribly, the sexual frustration that consumed you. “Miles,” you muttered, the call of his name ending with a whine when a single digit of his — not enough to occupy the space of his cock but lengthy enough to stretch you completely out — swirled in, the pad rubbing over your adhesive, soft walls. “Somethin’ wrong, doll?”

His arrogant voice would’ve conflicted you if it weren’t for the way his accent thickened. He took pleasure in this, smug in the way your walls became one with his thick finger, watching the way you fell apart for him; wearily moaning, pussy drooling with no shame. Not a proper fuck yet and here you were, small silhouette disintegrating amongst his touch.

The very touch of his within you that soon turned into two fingers, slow at sliding in and out with the assistance of his dick.

“Quaritch. Enough with the games.”

Nothing but another chuckle huffed out, amused at the way you moved, already scheming and toy with your pretty pussy for as long as he wanted, and you caught onto this. Screw his damn schemes.

His mouth pursed in distaste at the way you perched forward and away from his shining tip. But all he could do was roll his broad shoulder back as he tried peering at what it was that you were doing, with his throbbing cock in his hold.

His head slightly inclined to the side as he watched something come into your hold. “Whacha got there, sweetheart?”

You disregarded his question and turned over, back beautifully curling against the bedsheets and legs bent to the air, parting as far as they would allow you to. Quaritch’s nose sharply inhaled, throat being greeted with every droplet of drool collecting in his mouth at the sight of you; the pillar of your throat exposing the blemished flesh there ( thanks to his truly), head tossed back with your face tilted to the ceiling yet eyes hidden beneath closed lids. The room’s small scale of space only lets the sounds of your breathing enter its atmosphere.

Until the hum of the vibrating device in your hands was featured. Quaritch’s attention was punctured to it, allured to the way you slowly brought it lower with each second.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were ya—”

Oh but he wasn’t. And you would. Quaritch — knelt on your bed that nearly met its breaking point — was disposed of all for a cruddy toy that’s mushed up against your clit.

“S-shit— oh!”

The merciless celerity muggled the liquid pouring from your cunt, seeping through every direction and Quaritch watched in awe at the way it all came into little crystalline spheres, trickling down and pooling into an entire puddle within the disheveled sheets.

This is what you wanted from him, what you needed from him; to give you the immense pleasure this silly toy was providing for you. Yet you had to admit it was enjoyable, the way Quaritch’s sharp gaze stayed fixated on your abused clit, a twitch of his eye giving you the satisfaction that he desired to be the one making you feel this good. He desired to be the one you crumbled apart for; the one that precious pussy got demolished to. But he knew forbearance was never an easy task for you, or better yet he should know this. You weren’t in it for his foolish games at the moment.

“Desperate little thing ya are, eh?”

A coherent rejoin spewed from your lips, no sense to your words whatsoever and this made him grin widely. The bed screeched once more, this time with Quaritch’s back flat against the wall but not before bringing the delicacy of his queue over his shoulder while one of his long arms extended out and lifted your body with lithe, placing you over his upper leg, and you could feel the hardness of his cock, pushing and rubbing against the length of your spine.

Your thighs were dangerously apart from one another thanks to the firm stretch of his large thigh, repelling you from pulling away from him as the pressure of the quivers into your pulsing bud augmented when his palm, forceful and large, enveloped your much smaller one and applied pressure there.

“M-Miles, baby, w-wai—”

His chuckle reverberated within your flesh, adding onto your helpless attempt to moan out a plea. “Nah, darlin’. If ye’re that desperate for it, lemme help ya out then.”

The pressure accelerating working your lower belly was beyond ferocious, and Quaritch knew this rather quickly. He knew this for the way his ears flitted at the sound of your jumbled heartbeat and pitch of your slurs, the way his free hand engulfed your entire hip as he tugged you closer, the way he picked up the intoxicating scent of you increasing, the way he had pushed you forward and plunged one, then two thick fingers deep into your cunt and you squeezed deliciously around them, pushing you close to the edge and into the pools of ecstasy.

The adaptedness of his finger pads covered and smoothed perfectly over the mushy parts of your walls. “ ‘Atta girl, that’s it—” His gravel-like voice grazed into your breathless and sharp exhales.

“I-I’m—Miles—”

An ignition flared in Quaritch’s core, with you so fucking pressed up against him, at the knowledge of you near in becoming undone all over his hand, just for him. The more his fingers thrusted in while the flat of his palm pushed the toy deeper, the more cum oozed out; sticky and translucent lot cohereting against his blue skin and a wide smirk morphed his features, waiting to get a taste.

“Ya near, cupcake?” You chin pushed into your chest, jaw quivering as the words whined out: “Uh-huh, I-I’m close—”

“Gonna make a bigger mess f’me?”

“Y-yes—” Quaritch withdrew his hand from applying pressure and led yours — still clutching the vibrator to your pulsing clit — just right above your lower belly, right near your pelvis area. This emitted an increase of the drizzle that was already scurrying around his fingers and absorbed into the bedsheets and his outstretched leg, until its splotching sounds had clashed with the octaves of your moans.

His hand was unrelenting though, still spurting in with the same merciless force he owned despite you already reaching your peak. “Q-Quaritch, oh my— shit!”

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear, the pink of his nose nuzzling over the soft skin behind. “Let it out, c’mon, let it all out f’r me.”

The immense ecstasy you had felt slowly eased, bringing you down to Pandora’s surface. The pace of his fingers settled for a slow, sensual one and they jittered slightly within you when your damp cheek fell over his flexing forearm. “That was nice,” you breathed out, peering back at him with that lovely grin of yours that he too returned.

He pulled his digits out, groaning lowly at the squelching sound your cunt created when he did. Though they were quick to latch onto the flesh of your thighs, lifting you in the air until you were pressed down against and facing him. Those supple lips of yours parted in astonishment at the way his damn dick tumescences, cushioned tip shining with the opalescent glow of his precum, sprinkled with the twinkle of his star like freckles. It was unfair how pretty it was, how pretty his entire existence was. And Quaritch knew this, his mind had grown into this form, and he knew the way it affected you by the way he grinned with pride when your lower lip protruded.

“You’d be doing us a pleasure in givin’ us a turn, sweetheart.” With a tap of his tip on your tummy, both of your hands reached behind to support your weight on his thighs as you lifted yourself up for it to bury itself in you without any trouble, your cum functioning as lubricant as you settled down halfway down.

Your whimpered “yes” was all he needed to proceed, and the length of fingers wounded over your hip, practically splaying across your back while his thumb pressed below your belly button as he slowly pushed you much further down, watching as his cock awaited filled you, twitching to deeply fill your womb with his cum.

He didn’t mind the idea, he was actually curious to see a Tiny Miles Quaritch or… what would be a good way to name the girl? — if the little plum came out blue and chubby or the peach came out neutral and gorgeous like their mama, running around, wanting to test the waters in getting you round and swollen while carrying his inhuman DNA more than one time. The thought made him spasm as he stretched you out with his entire length, until you were flushed against his pelvis.

“Oh hell,” he gritted out, watching the way your eyes peered down at his constricting torso. “Perfectly tight as always…”

Vehement he was when it came to sex, and every time, with every touch and utter, you mollified for him. Clearly, this time was no different; the feel of Quaritch tumescending in you, his dick embedded within your stomach, all the reason to bring you close once again. “M-miles, oh my god—”

“Permission to move, doll?” The frantic bobs of your head gave him the opportunity to refresh some manners in that pretty head of yours. Teeth, deadly and predatorial, excavated into the interstice where the graceful line of your neck ranged and became shoulder. He didn’t release until the tang of iron became one with his taste buds, the rough surface of his tongue wasting no time in lapping the trickle of scarlet leaving your abused skin.

A hiss whispered from your lungs, and he soon managed to sweetly stroke his wet muscle over the pain he had caused until it was nothing but pleasure. The corner of your mouth hoisted when the flexible extension of his tail coiled around your thigh, wisps of dark hair skimming across your inner thigh.

“How cute…”

“Those ain’t the words I’m waiting for, doll face.” He growled out, and you reached out to very lightly tug on his queue. “Dammit, Quaritch!—”

“ ‘Dammit, Quaritch’ ain’t the statement I was lookin’ for, now I—”

His sentence didn’t finish its near end for your palms had reached behind and planted themselves on his thighs, hips giving a slow roll before lifting your body up until the thick tip of it remained slightly in and slammed back down with a throaty moan.

His back pushed against the wall, putting the mask over his flat nose and mouth once more, and you could see the way his sly grin grew behind the fog his sharp breaths created in the mask before letting it dangle once more across his chest, bracing himself for the next of your moves.

One turned into two, two into three surprisingly hard claps your ass gave with his cock nuzzled tightly and further within your womb with each bounce, each stretch. “F-fuck, Miles, fuck me, please!” You beseeched, you whined, not caring anymore to contain yourself.

Quaritch huffed out a chuckle, a single large hand reaching over to encase both your tiny wrists, practically your forearms in the curl of his fingers and mushed them against your breasts, and his back pushed off from the wall so his other arm could curl around your entire midsection. You had no other option but to surrender full control over to the colonel without a single complaint or shift of movement, leaving it all to him.

“As you please, cupcake,” are the last words uttered before he lifted your body off his cock, only to ram you down with much more verve. He continued until the choir of huffs, moans and whimpers featured with skin plastered and slammed against one another recapitulated within the small room, the most probable outcome being that the other recom avatars and scientists could hear what was going on.

A pearlescent circlet scintillated at the base of Quaritch’s dick, disseminating over the blue tones of his shaft with every rise and fall your pussy gave him. “F-fuck, Miles, fuck, Miles….” was dragged from your hoarse throat, revealing the pretty column of it with the head tilt you gave until an ache came upon your shoulders.

“Damn, darlin’,” his voice gruffed out, vocal cords tight and visible around the muscles of his neck as every single fiber of his body tightened as well as he contained the orgasm his lower belly implored to fully release past his aching tip.

Taking advantage of the hold he had around your wrists, he tugged you forward until you sprawled over his abdomen, the pads of his thumbs rubbing soft circles over your chin and lower lip. “Y’keep squeezing around me like this, pretty thing, don’t know if I can hol’ it—”

“ ‘m sorry, M-Miles, c-can’t help it—”

Trembling, overwhelmed, and close you were to be ruined once more atop of Quaritch. Your thighs and his tail was coated with sweat and your cum that splotched with every pull down and every snap his hips gave. “D-don’t think I can keep it in, don’t think I can keep myself from cummin’ in ya—”

He had slightly pushed you back and brought your sore arms over your head, tears pearling your waterline and lashes as you both peered down between your legs; how his pretty dick disappeared and half of it would reappear once again with the slight protuberance of your belly, the thick and glowing veins accentuating his striped shaft curling inside of you in the most exhilarating and immoral way.

“N-no, please cum in me— d-don’t pull out, d-don’t hold it—”

Quaritch’s brows had pinched together, an affliction being the cause of their shape as his remorseless thrusts had settled for a slower pace, though the force did not go unrelented, and though it brought a scorching pain to settle deep within your bones and muscles, you didn’t regret it whatsoever.

“Words like that are dangerous now. Y’really want me to fill ya up, doll, with the possibility of you gettin’ pregnant?” He brought your forearms back over your chest, pressing them further in as the arm currently around you pulled away, his palm being splayed out and pushing against the small of your back until your body shaped a lovely arch; and he grinned at the fact that you let him bend you to his will.

Uncoordinated syllables spewed from your tongue, unknown to anyone else besides Quaritch for he’s seen you in this state more times than he could ever count. “Hm hmm, get me pregnant, M-Miles—”

Lax colored eyes gained another coating of color as his grin outstretched his entire face. “Hm, really?” His back hunched off the wall until his mouth hovered over your tilted down chin, palm applying more pressure to the lower column of your spine, swirling you over his dick as your whines increased in pitch. “Want a blue fleshed baby in ya? A babe that carries my genes?”

A long groan followed down the length of his throat at the narrow clench your walls gave him from his words, and you could feel every spasm his dick created in your stomach. You could feel the ooze pooling within you, knowing his restraints had been broken as Quaritch’s dick already exuded.

“A pretty baby that looks like their mama?” He grunted out, almost as if the thought excited and pained him all at once, to see a little one portraying the exactness of your lovely features.

“ Do it, Colonel. Fill me up.”

All Quaritch needed was your verbal assent, and with that, not even a second later, the coiling band within his lower stomach finally snapped, emptying his entire load in your pussy, giving into your words. Thick and boiling it was, your cunt, your own flowing with it. The increasing pressure of it became too much, pushing your own release afterwards, hybridizing with Quaritch’s cum as it seeped down his cock, still throbbing from the aftershocks within you.

His tight grip relinquished into a soft one around your arms, soon releasing them as he very carefully, very gently brought you to his front until your chin found its spot over his heaving chest, cock still buried deep inside of you, making sure that none of his seed went without purpose.

It was an entire different story when it came to aftercare, how sweet, how soft he was with you; his large palm cradling the curve of your head close while his fingers managed to reach and stroke the damp tendrils of hair pasted to your temples and cheeks, his tail setting for a protective, gentle curl around your leg, his mouth softly falling over your forehead, your cheek, your neck, shoulder, with hushed praises meeting your perspired flesh as well.

You exhaled serenely as you melted into his touch, Quaritch’s other palm flush over the small of your back while his thumb stretched to stroke your belly. Silence lumbered over the two of you, savoring in the feeling and moment until Quaritch’s rasped, accented voice had to cut in.

“A tiny Quaritch now, what’d ya say?”

“Absolutely not naming him Tiny Quaritch.”

“Nickname should be T.Q.”

#avatar the way of water #avatar james cameron #miles Quaritch x reader #recom!Quaritch x reader #Quaritch x reader smut #𝐍¥𝐑𝐑’𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐍 !*ೃ༄#recom!miles quaritch #miles quaritch #recom!quaritch x Fem!reader smut #miles Quaritch avatar #atwow quaritch #¡¡ ŋყཞཞ !! 🪼🪼

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

Text

To Those Who Wait 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn't resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

“Busy?” Vivica hums with doubt. “Again.”

“Sorry, Vic, I just... can’t,” you roll your eyes at your reflection. No, the eye liner is too much. You think mascara’s fine.

“What’s going on?” Her voice rises from your phone as it rests amid the mess of your bathroom counter. “Ever since your birthday, you’ve been kind of a bitch.”

She isn’t wrong. You twist the wand of the mascara and pop it from the tube. You sigh.

“I know, I’m sorry. Better reason for you all to go without me,” you say. “I don’t want to bring you down.”

“Hm, fine,” she lets her disappointment through. “But you’re getting coffee with me soon. I’m worried.”

You nod and brush through your lashes. “I’ll let you know what I’m free.”

You sniff as she tuts noisily. “Fine, I’ll wait.”

“Go, have fun,” you insist. “Text you later.”

“Right, sure.”

You tap the red button and the call ends. You slide the wand into place and twist the mascara shut. You fighting a losing battle here. You drop the tube and throw your head back, heaving out a breath.

You don’t even know why you’re doing this. It’s a joke. A date? You’ll just be letting down one more person. You hate to waste Curtis’ time. Hence, why you haven’t told anyone about it. You don’t need them to know about another fuck up.

The phone buzzes. You roll your eyes and press your fingerprint to the screen to unlock. You expect another long lecture typed out by Vivica, instead, it’s Curtis. Is he already here? No, you’re not ready. You bend to read his message.

‘Hey, if you got em, wear sneakers or hiking boots.’

You squint. Huh? Is he taking you on a hike? Wow. Well, you suppose you deserve that kind of effort. Besides, you’re really not in the mood for a crowded restaurant where you have to pretend to know the appetizer sharing etiquette.

‘I can dig some out’ you type back.

You step back and sift through your sparse make up. You pick out a shade of lip gloss closest to your natural hue. Is it really necessary? Why are you even trying? You know how this ends. You pop your lips and snap the cap into place.

Maybe he’s a murderer. Somehow, that doesn’t scare you. Even as the pieces seem to fall into place. He’s taking you out alone. Somewhere he’s kept a surprise, and he told you to bring sporty shoes. You expect you might be running from an axe in the woods soon enough. Not such a dire end considering.

You shake off the absurd thought. You don’t want to look like you went overboard. Curtis has been so casual about all of this. Yeah, casual. Just put on something simple.

The black jeans could easily be mistaken for nicer pants. The turtleneck isn’t too much either. Blue cotton with little white daisies. You’ll put a cardigan over it and pull on your hiking boots. Wow, a dream come true. A date in Sorel avant garde.

Your nerves begin to go wild. You don’t know why. It’s not a real date, it’s a courtesy. He asked so you might as well just go. You grab your phone and wait on the couch, a youtube video babbling unheard from the television.

Your phone vibrates. You sit up. It’s Curtis.

‘Here. I think.’

‘I’ll come down’. You type back.

You get up and hurry around. You grab your crossbody bag and your keys. You shoulder out the door and lock it behind you. Your phone buzzes once more.

‘Right by the door.’

You come out and look around, searching the cars parked along the curb. Your attention is drawn back to the motorcycle between an SUV and Honda Accord. You approach Curtis as he hugs a second helmet under his arm.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers the helmet.

You take it as you process the full picture. The matte black tank, the leather saddle bags in the same shade as his jacket and gloves, the steel gray exhaust and thick tires. You nod.

“Not at all.”

“I shoulda warned you,” he says.

“I’ve been on one before,” you assure him as you pull on the helmet and loop the strap under your chin.

“Oh?”

“I know, I don’t look like the type. I’m not.” You flip the visor down.

“Ah, well, whoever he was, hope he didn’t spoil the ride completely,” he says, “get on.”

He turns and straddles the bike, kick back the stand. You hesitate then reach for his arm. You climb up behind him and swing your leg over. You wince as you land on the seat. Ouch, you’re still a bit sore down there.

“Gonna have to hang on tight,” he pats his side.

“Sure, uh... right.”

You hook your arms around him. This is an easy gag for a man. Get a woman nice and close under the fear she might become road kill. Slick.

“You ready?” He rolls the bike towards the street.

“Ready,” you assure him.

He starts the motor and revs. He angles around and speeds off down the road. You pull yourself closer as the wind tunnels around you. The smell of leather fills your nose as you close your eyes. It’s not awful, is it?

When you look again, you’re head towards the town line. You watch the trees grow thicker as he steers along the country roads. That paranoia rises again. It would be just your luck. Look what happened the other night.

You lift your head and peek over his shoulder. He rides up to a farm and comes a halt. He plants his feet in the dirt and kills the engine. A thrum lingers in your muscles as the roar of the bike dulls your hearing.

“We’re here,” he proclaims.

You take his cue. You get off first and he parks the bike with a kick of the stand. You wiggle the helmet off and look up at the farmhouse and the barn further back. Your brows pinch together curiously.

“It’s not that lame, I promise.” He takes your helmet and hangs it with his on the handle bar. “Friend of mine owns the place. He let me have it for the night.”

��Mhm, good friend.”

“Yeah, he can be,” he removes the saddlebags from the back of the bike and waves you on. “That way, just around the back.”

You nod and turn away. You stride up along the side of the house. It’s an old-fashioned place. Faded wood and peeling paint. You pause before you can pass it completely. You look back at him as he nearly runs into you.

“Everything alright?” He asks.

You look him in his stormy gray eyes, “you’re not going to kill me, right?”

He snorts and his cheek dimples. “I can’t guarantee no blood but that’s far from the plan.”

You frown. What a strange answer.

You shrug and turn back to your path. You come out around the back of the house, sown fields in the early stages of growth behind a large board painted with circles. A ply wood target. A picnic table across from it with a clutter over one half. You cross your arms as you near.

“Hatchet throwing,” he puts the saddle bags on the table. “Thought it would be fun. Something a little less... crowded.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head like a squawking crow.

He lifts one of the axes and holds it up. “Good stress relief.”

“Mm,” you reach for one, less confident in your grasp.

He turns to the target and extends his arm towards it. “You wanna keep a light but sturdy grip,” he says. “You don’t want it to catch.”

He bends his arm back and swings it ahead again, letting the hatchet fly with easy. You flinch as it thunks into the target, just off-center. Your lips slant.

“You got a lot of experience?”

“Well, I started with darts at the bar but didn’t like all the drunks. There’s a place you can pay to do this in town but it’s pricey and loud,” he says. “So... I put this together.”

“Yeah, probably not worth the money.” The words hang in the air, a question whether you mean the activity or yourself.

“Go ahead.”

“Uh, oh,” push your bag behind you and look at the target. “I...” You raise your arm, try to line up your aim, then drop it down. “I can’t.”

“You want a few tips?”

“Think I need them.”

“Alright, no problem. It’s no biggy. Worst that happens, it lands in the dirt.” He comes close and lightly guides you by your shoulders, standing you perpendicular to the target. “Alright, bring it up.”

You raise your arm and he helps you line up. He gets even closer and nudges your feet with his scuffed boots to get you in position. “That’s it, just like that.”

You grip the axe tighter and your eyes widen. Those words hit you like the blade, slicing deep. The body on top of yours, his rasping cooes, and his cruel thrusts. You blink away the vision of Hugh and shudder.

“Here,” Curtis touches your hand, “loosen up. Pull back. Yeah, you got it.” He steps back, “when you’re ready, let it fly.”

He stands away from you and watches. You bite down and stare at the target. All your frustration and fear bubbles in your chest. You narrow your eyes and take a breath. You fling the hatchet without restraint. The thunk in the wood is deafening.

Curtis whistles, “wow, good shot.”

You turn straight to examine the board. Your shot is opposite of his, right on the line with the bullseye.

“Lucky,” you say.

“I dunno, you seem like a natural,” he crosses the ground and pulls out the hatches. “Wanna toss a few more? Build up an appetite?”

“Uh, sure,” you agree. “It is kind of fun.”

“I think so. Even more when you have company,” he approaches and offers the hatchet. “I packed a picnic so we won’t have to chew on seeds.”

You glance at the sprouting fields. You laugh. It was a little fun.

“Got one,” he spins the hatchet in his hand. “You go first. Since you won first round.”

“What? No I didn’t.”

“You were closer so... that’s a win. Champ.”

“Alright, no need for the sarcasm,” you shake your head.

“I’m a sore loser,” he winks. “So, take it easy on me and I might lighten up.”

🎯

The rumble of the engine stays with you as you climb off the bike. Curtis cuts the engine and flips down the stand. He takes off his helmet as you descend back to earth. Literally. Somehow in those last three hours or so, he kept the world from invading your mind.

“That was nice,” he says. “I think.”

You hold the helmet in your hands, a good way to keep them still. You look down and crack a smile. He hangs his on the bike.

“Another one huh?” He says and you pop your head up. “Got another smile.”

You blush and shake your head, “I don’t know. I guess.”

“You had fun?” He asks.

“I did,” you contend and hand over the helmet. “Thanks. For everything.”

“No, thank you.” He holds the helmet at his side and stares at you. The streetlights cast ominous shadows over him. He shifts so his sole scrapes the ground. “I hope maybe we can do it again.”

“Er...” you’re struck by the suggestion. Again? Like a second date. That can’t be real. Not after everything. Oh bitter irony. “Sure, Curtis. I think next time I could let you win.”

“Yeah, next time,” he rasps. He leans in and you realise what’s happening. He’s going to kiss you. Oh.

“Ugh, oh,” you trip on nothing and hop up on the curb. “Oops, sorry, it’s so dark out here.”

He recoils and clears his throat, “yeah, uh, you want me to walk you to the door?”

“Uh, no, no,” you put your palms up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Alright,” he says despondently. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“I’ll text,” he mutters.

“I’ll answer.”

You spin and cringe at your building. You suck. You're a dork. Ew. Ew. Ew.

You march up the walk and don’t stop until you’re inside. You blew it. So close but so far. Just like you expected. Well, then you can be that disappointed.

You retreat to your apartment and slam your phone down. You won’t think about it. He has to drive home and he won’t text tonight anyway. You just hate a date. A date!

Was it really real? After everything? You think so.

You sink onto the couch. You hold your chin and pick your lip. Just another day and you’d be in la la land. This would be heaven. One more day and you may have let him kiss you. Before you were used up and tarnished.

Ugh. Why couldn’t you have just let it happen? Because those things don’t happen to you. Romance isn’t for you. It’s for other people. And people lie. Even Curtis. Maybe he won’t text after all.

You lean back and turn on the television in resignation. You put on an early 00s sitcom with a sadly departed main star. That’s how life is. When it’s good, it goes wrong, or it’s just over. When it’s bad, that’s when it seems eternal.

You cross your legs then think better of that. Even with all the lube, there’s a lot of damage done. Nothing serious, just sensitive. It was your first time. You don’t imagine it gets better.

Your phone buzzes at the end of episode two. You nearly jump off the sofa. Don’t be stupid.

You get up, patiently, and get your phone. You sit down again before you unlock it. The message that comes up isn’t from Curtis. Or Vivica. Or Mila. Or Jerrod.

It’s from WhatsApp. You only ever used that for...

‘You lookin’ for another weekend fling?’

You stare at Hugh’s message. You deleted the conversation but you recognise the number. The two checkmarks turn green to show you’ve read the message. God dammit.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re mortified. You crash back to earth with startling speed. You can’t undo that. Worse, you don’t think you’ll ever get past it.

You clear all your apps and put your phone on do not disturb.

You stretch out on the couch and focus on the TV. Not really. It just glares in your vision as you stare through it. As you can hear nothing but a distant whistle. You stay like that, fractured, until your consciousness slowly falls away.

You’re back in the hotel room. Alone one minute then pinned to the bed. The ceilings tear open as Hugh fucks you. You’re gushing around him, the smell of blood fills the air with iron. You meld with the blankets, shrouded in them, then suddenly thunder roars through the space.

Curtis rides in on his motorcycle. How? A hatchet flies and hit the headboard, glancing by your cheek. You look past Hugh’s writhing body, completely oblivious of the other’s man disgusted glares.

“Slut.”

The word wakes you. You jolt up and hold your head dizzily. The windows are glazed over with the soft tones of morning. You groan and turn your legs over the edge of the couch.

You get up to make your coffee. The dark roast brew and the aroma eases your nerves. You grab you phone out of habit and sit down. You have another message. You put the phone down.

You go back to the kitchen and fill a mug. You drink in silence. You take the cup into the bathroom and shower before you finish the dregs. As you sit to pee, you wince. It’s been a week. It’s still painful but you’re sure it’s all in your head. After all, your pride hurts worse than anything else.

You rinse your cup, pick up your phone, and determine to delete the message. As the chat opens, you’re stopped by the image there. You nearly drop it. Instead, you lean on the counter is gasp.

‘Thot I was ur 1st' the message reads beneath the photo of you and Curtis in the yellow cascade of the streetlight.

The checkmark fills and three bubbles pop up. Fuck. The next text comes quickly.

‘How would ur bf feel about u fucking strangers?’

‘Not my bf. Leave me alone.’ Your thumbs tap furiously and you hit send.

He sends a laughing emoji and the dots appear again. ‘I got a discount. Just 4 u.’

‘No thx. Not interested’

‘Didn’t ask don’t care but think I know who would’

You huff and hang your head back. You don’t get it. Why is he doing this? He got his fee and you got what you paid for.

‘No. Pls don’t message again.’

You bring down the menu and delete the conversation and block the sender. It isn’t until after that that you realise. He took that picture outside your building. He knows where you live. How?

The police? Would they do anything? Would they believe you? You just deleted the evidence.

He’s bluffing right. He just wanted more money. You’re not stupid. Come on. You are a wallet to him, nothing more. You’re not naive enough to think he enjoyed it any more than you did. It’s business to him. He did his job and he got a pretty penny. If you could get that much for a few hours, you’d be hustling too.

It’s just a poor attempt at blackmail. A hail mary for any extra pay check. Too bad for him, you don’t have that type of money. You already splurge on regret.

You’ll keep an eye over your shoulder but you really doubt it’s anything more than greed. He must have a dozen clients. Hm... that thought doesn't make feel you better. You don’t know that you’ll ever really feel good again. Did you ever before?

📱

“I know it’s cliche but I told you, I’m not exactly the creative type,” you settle in at the table and look through the cafe window.

“I told you, I trust your judgment. And can’t go wrong with coffee,” Curtis says.

“Guess not, but I’ve had some shitty coffee in my day.”

His cheek dimples and he tilts his head in agreement, “me too. I’m not some coffee snob but some of the water they serve around town.”

“You’re talking about Smokey’s, right? They serve ash-flavoured piss. Oh, sorry, I...” you give a sheepish smile. “I got carried away.”

“You’re right though,” he snorts.

“Ha, thanks. Mila disagrees. She keeps trying to convert me.”

“Sounds like Jensen but with those acid energy drinks. I told him, he’s going to have a heart attack.”

“Ew, those things are worse. It’s like someone made mountain dew worse.”

He chuckles. That doesn’t happen often. “Wow, I should bring you in as backup. Then he might actually listen.”

The barista comes with your drinks and you thank her. You ordered a tea latte, not your usual fare. Curtis eyes it as he cradles his cup of dark roast between his large hands.

“I’m not much of a tea person but that looks interesting.”

“London Fog. Just very foamy Earl Gray,” you explain.

“Ah,” he nods thoughtfully. Your bag vibrates and you elbow it back on your hip. Not right now, Mila. “Not to be socially awkward but you like horror movies?”

“I like them but they still scare me,” you say.

“Really? Something actually scares you?”

“What do you mean?” You scoff.

He stares at you. “Do you really not know?”

“Know... what?”

“You’re terrifyingly hard to read,” he says. “You’re so lock and key that it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking. Easy to assume you want to scoop my guts out with a plastic spoon.”

“I’m not much for slashers, I’m more into psychological scares,” you counter then catch yourself. You smile. “Sorry. I’m not... you know, I can be a bitch but I’m not really one.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know, I just don’t know how else to say... if I look at you like a rabid dog, I swear, I’m just thinking.”

“Yeah, Jensen says I have RBF too.”

“RBF?” You wonder.

“Resting Bitch Face, although he started calling it Raging Curt Face.”

You laugh. He does too. The last bit of ice melts away.

“I’m on a roll today,” he says. “So I may as well ask, wanna come over and watch scary movies?”

🍿

The mood is set. The curtains are drawn to darken the room and the television glows as the only source of light in the space. Not much of a beacon as the images on the screen remain in shadow as the grinding soundtrack drones from the speakers.

You sit on the couch, enthralled by the manic horror of the character’s shallow breaths.

You jerk as something brushes over your shoulder. You quickly still yourself as you realise what it is. Curtis stretches his arm over your shoulders.

“Scared yet?” He asks.

You giggle, “only a little.”

He stays close and you don’t push him away. It’s such a weird feeling. To have someone in your space but you don’t mind it. To be honest, it’s comforting.

You stare at the screen as the tension builds. As a loud noise frightens you, you jolt and lean into Curtis. He curls his arm snug around you. Then the next startling twist comes and you turn your face into his shoulder.

“You didn’t say you were a baby,” he teases.

“Oh, hush,” you speak into his shirt.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he grits and brings his hand up under your chin. “I’ll protect you from the boogeyman.”

You glower up at him and he sighs, “don’t look at me like that.”

“How can you tell how I’m looking at you?”

“I can feel it,” his thumb rubs your chin and he leans closer.

You swallow as he keeps coming. You don’t stop him. You’re stuck. Your body won’t answer the screaming in your head. He presses his lips to yours and you let out a soft noise. He presses his mouth against yours for a moment then pulls away.

He’s quiet as you puff you, your heart racing. “Was that okay?”

You cough, “uh, yeah... sorry, I... I’m surprised.”

“Can I do it again?” He asks.

You quiver and nod, “sure.”

He kisses you again. This time his tongue traces the crease of your lips. You open to him, unsure what you’re supposed to do. He delves within as he cradles your head and squeezes you closer.

A warmth creeps up your body. Cozy at first. Intoxicating either. But it keeps burning. Hotter and hotter as his hand slithers down your back. His groan triggers a tickle in your brain and nearly bite down.

You touch Curtis’ chest and urge him away. He reluctantly parts and slackens his hold on you. You stand up without a word.

“Everything alright?” He asks.

“I need your bathroom. Sorry.”

You hurry away, staggering through the dark, and close the bathroom door behind you. You flip the light on and stomp to the tub, sitting on the porcelain as you drop your head into your hands. What the fuck? What is wrong with you?

That wasn’t bad. It was great. You were getting somewhere. You were having a normal experience. It’s like you just can’t let yourself win.

You smack your cheek, then your other. You do it a few more times before you sit up straight. God! What a disaster. What a stupid woman you are. You can’t even blame anyone but yourself. You did this to yourself.

You ran away from Curtis. You came in here to mope. And you hired Hugh.

No, don’t-- that’s not relevant. You’re forgetting that. It didn’t happen. You’re trying to move on. You can move on. Curtis doesn’t have to be your penance; he can be your antidote.

There’s a knock at the door. You stare at the wood.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Curtis asks.

“Yep.” You call back.

“I’m sorry if... if that was too much. If I went too fast,” he says.

You huff and stand. You drag your feet to the door. You make yourself open it and face him. He turned the lights on. You ruined the night.

“I think maybe I should just go. I’m sorry I spoiled the movie,” you say. He doesn’t move.

“What? I paused it. It’s fine. We can finish it.”

“No, Curtis, I’m just... I keep... aren’t you tired of me yet?”

He shakes his head, “no, are you tired of me?”

You clamp your lips and pop them in exasperation. “No.” That makes this harder. Because you aren’t tired of him. Because you do like him.

“So why are you running away?”

He grips the door frame. He’s a big man. He doesn’t have to let you leave but you know if you say you want to go, he will. For a moment, his size reminds you of another person. One who didn’t listen. One who didn’t hear your 'stop'.

“This is really embarrassing but I’m just going to be honest otherwise you’ll just think I'm insane,” you throw your hands up. “I’ve never, uh, never... had... someone before. You know? Never been on any dates, er, until you.”

He nods and his expression stays the same, “alright.”

“So yeah...”

He narrows his eyes, “is that it?”

You stare at him. “Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“I don’t care about that. I care about us, you know? About right now. So then or whenever, it’s not important. But right now I can be patient. I can take it slow.” He drops his hand from the frame. “We can just watch the movie. That’s it.”

You look down and slump, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he gently touches your arm. “I don’t want you to be sorry because you did nothing wrong. Thank you for telling me.”

You don’t say anything else. You’re too mortified to muster more than a grumble. You reach for the light switch but he stands as a wall between you and escape.

“One more thing though,” he says, “I’m not just someone. I'm your boyfriend.”

You falter and clasp your hands in front of your stomach, “boyfriend?”

He smiles, “I can wait for my girl. That’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

He offers his hand and you consider it as your lips curve without a thought. You accept the offer and latch onto his large hand.

“Guess I’ll find out,” you say.”

#curtis everett #dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #curtis everett x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #dark!ransom drysdale #knives out #to those who wait #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #snowpiercer

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (2)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: kissing, angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, bullying, chauvinism, mention of injury ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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She had always felt that she lacked something – mostly when she looked in the mirror and saw instead of beautiful white hair her dark curls falling over her shoulders, which she hated with all her heart. Her eyes also had no shade of the gods, no shade of the Targaryens − her brothers laughed that her facial expressions made her look like a hamster.

She once tried, in an act of desperation, to cut her hair completely, hoping that what would grow back would be in a different shade; fortunately one of her mother's servants who brought her afternoon meal snatched the scissors out of her hand, horrified, and told her mother all about it.

That evening the future queen explained to her that there was also a Baratheon line running in Targaryen blood through her grandparents, that her cousin, Princess Rhaenys, also had dark hair.

This explanation reassured her a little, but she still felt that the gods had deprived them of something, robbing them of the looks that would prove who they were.

Fortunately, they had dragons.

Her dragoness, Larax, had beautiful silver-blue scales and shimmered wonderfully in the sunlight. She was still small and was just learning to breathe fire on command, but she was doing well and was her pride.

She visited her when she sought comfort.

She watched from the sidelines the only person among them who did not have a dragon of his own, namely her uncle, Aemond, only two years older than her. She could see that although he kept up appearances under a stony face, his suffering and disappointment was far greater than hers caused by the colour of her hair.

A Targaryen with a dragon was still a Targaryen.

But what was a Targaryen without it?

When Jace bragged to her about what they had done together with Aegon and Luke, that they had given him a pig with a wings as a joke, she said they were cruel.

She couldn't believe they thought it was funny.

At first she just wanted to see how he was doing, so knowing that he spent his days alone among the books she decided to visit him.

However, it turned out that his aloof nature was due to his caution and insecurity, his readiness to defend himself, although she had never intended to attack him. When he realised that her presence had no undertone he relaxed, even allowing her to exchange opinions with himself.

"I would like to be like Rhaenys in the future." She said softly, thinking dreamily that she was described as a woman of beauty, wisdom and dignity, able to solve many things with her shrewdness, wits, care and compassion.

She heard him snort under his breath, looking at her in disbelief, as if she had said something silly.

"Rhaenys? What's interesting about her? Visenya could fight with a sword and she rode the largest dragon still alive in this world. If I had a choice, I would marry her." He said lowly, as usual pretending to be older than he was. There was pathos in his posture and in his voice – he sat upright, comfortably sprawled in his chair, creating a semblance of confidence.

She raised an eyebrow at his words, unable to hide a smile of amusement. She saw the expression of displeasure on his face, as he clearly thought she was mocking him.

"Aegon the Conqueror thought otherwise. Out of ten nights, nine he spent with Rhaenys." She said with a wince and saw that he pressed his lips together, rolling his eyes, impatient with her remark, and shrugged his shoulders, returning to his reading.

She was really fond of him.

As a very young girl, she had given a lot of her thoughts to her future husband, knowing that as the daughter of a princess she would have her tasks, one of which would be to strengthen their lineage through marriage.

The thought that she would have to marry some boring old man by whose side she would die of despair, and with whom she would have to have many children, kept her awake at night; she wished her husband was someone closer to her in age, someone who shared her values and passions.

She wondered if it wouldn't have been better if her parents had married her to Jace − she knew him and, as his sister, loved him, so it would certainly have been easier − but on the other hand, something rejected her at the thought, she felt some kind of discomfort when she imagined their future children.

This was what she was contemplating when her mother walked into her chamber, wanting to ask her her opinion on the King's decision.

She and Aemond were betrothed.

"You may refuse, my love." Said Rhaenyra, kneeling beside her on the stone floor, taking her hands in her own, fearing apparently that this information would frighten her.

For some reason, however, she was pleased.

Although she did not have beautiful white hair, her future husband did.

She ran out of her chamber, rushing into the library like a storm, the pale face of her uncle expressing shock and fear as she approached him.

"Is it true?" She asked in a trembling voice and saw that he swallowed hard as he nodded, looking at her with wide open eyes.

She covered her face with her hand, a happy giggle escaping from her lips, her heart pounding like mad.

"I'm so happy."

To her relief, it looked as if her uncle himself had no great objections to the king's decision. He began to speak to her more, introducing her to his world, even explaining what he did during his trainings, apparently recognising that as his wife she should know what his life consisted of.

She absorbed everything he said, feeling her heart flutter with joy when he was by her side.

Though she knew it was unacceptable, she dared to ask him to let her kiss him, and after he experienced the taste of her lips, he wanted her to do it more often, though he never said it out loud.

Their kisses were innocent, short, warm and wet, on the forehead, cheek or lips. Every time she pulled away from him he smiled lazily, embarrassed – she knew he liked the feeling.

They both felt so mature then.

At his request she snuck into his chamber at night − they would lie then for hours holding hands, discussing about their future, about their children.

"When I become a rider of one of the dragons living in the caves beyond the sea, we will fly to Essos, to see the temples of Old Valyria." He said with confidence and calmness, stroking her hair in a soft, slow motion that her eyelids closed from; she loved it when he did that.

He had never tried to touch her naked body, put his hand under her nightgown or do anything else that Aegon had proudly told her about, but which she did not comprehend.

She furrowed her brow at his words, worried.

"Dragons in caves?" She asked quietly, and he nodded, swallowing loudly; she knew this topic was incredibly important to him, and he hoped to gain her support on the matter.

"Yes. Once I have a dragon, everything will be as it was meant to be. We will marry in the tradition of Old Valyria, beget our heirs, and then explore the world." He said with assurance, as if he had already planned and thought it all out carefully.

She felt warm in her heart at the thought that he had included her in everything about his life, that he saw her at his side as his companion and wife.

And then it happened.

Laena's death, her funeral and the great tragedy that followed.

That night she was roused from her sleep by the shouting of guards running down the corridor – she heard their words that the prince was injured, that he needed to be taken to the maester immediately, that there had been a fight.

With a pounding heart she put on her robe over her nightgown and ran after them semi-conscious, relieved to see her brothers, all bruised but without any wounds.

She then looked at the chair and screamed, covering her mouth, wanting to somehow silence how loud the sound was − she felt someone embrace her, her mother pulled her close, stroking her head.

"He called us bastards, mother, and he stole Vhagar!" Luke whined.

Alicent shouted to Viserys that she demanded justice for her son, but the King shook his head, looking at her uncle.

His wound was all swollen and red, a scar running across his entire left cheek, his gaze directed straight at her, dulled surely by the poppy milk to ease his pain after his eye had been taken out.

She was unable to say anything, her whole body was shaking.

"Who told you such a disgusting lie?" The King asked him, and only then did he look away from her, staring at him; she could see that he hesitated for a moment, his gaze shifting.

"Aegon."

Her mother wouldn't let her approach him despite her despair − she lied that she would be able to speak to him later, but it never happened.

They never spoke a word to each other again.

She wrote to him a letter in desperation, crying over it, having to pause several times, not knowing how she would convey to him what she was feeling, her childish mind unable to properly put into words what she was experiencing.

My dearest Prince,

know that my heart is torn by despair and disbelief. I pray for you and your health every day. I hope that as soon as you feel better we can meet. I am sending you books that I thought might interest you.

Your Rhaenys

She wrote this, not comprehending that the last thing on his mind now that he had lost his eye was to read, that he had torn up her letter as soon as he had read it, a lack of response from him made her feel even worse.

She felt he was blaming her and didn't know what to do, how to apologise to him so he would forgive her.

It turned out that there was no way she could do this, and the letters she sent to him in the months that followed were not met with a response.

The guards, on his mother's orders, would not allow anyone from their family to enter his chamber, guarded by Criston Cole himself, who, looking at her indifferently, informed her each time that the prince was unwell, needed to rest and would not receive visitors.

In addition to what had happened, she was heartbroken by what Luke had found out, what Jace had known for months, and what had been shouted in their faces that night.

They were bastards.

She felt even more defiant than ever before.

She had felt little when they moved to Dragonstone, when her mother had married her uncle, whom she had clearly loved forever, when Baela and Rhaena had joined their family.

They were sweet, kind and wise, taking her on long walks among the seaside cliffs, however, she was unable to bond with them.

Although officially their betrothal was never called off, it was clear that the King's resolve was no longer in force, the Queen suggested that any of Lord Baratheon's daughters would be a better candidate for her son, and this marriage would strengthen the royal army.

Instead, her mother thought that she, on the other hand, should marry one of her cousins of House Arryn, to secure their influence in the North and seal Eyrie's support for her cause once she was to become queen.

She was unable to find herself in this new reality, experiencing fulfilment and joy only during her solitary flights on her Larax, over the sea and high between the clouds.

To her surprise, her greatest support in her suffering turned out to be Daemon.

He saw her silent agony, he saw her emptiness, he saw her grief and he was able to reason with her, unlike her mother.

His mischievous, mocking nature reminded her in some ways of her uncle – as they walked for hours along the shore without any purpose and conversed, she felt she had regained at least part of her old life.

She liked him because he didn't treat her like a child, because he spoke to her about serious matters and didn't hide anything from her.

"Viserys is weak. He always has been. Your mother is making his mistakes, trying to hide Jace and Luke under her dress. She's trying to protect them from the inevitable." He said more to himself than to her, walking at her side with his hands entwined behind his back, looking off into the distance, his eyebrows arched in disapproval as they always did when he was frustrated.

She sighed heavily, agreeing with him in spirit, knowing what he meant.

Her mother was trying to protect them at all costs, her beloved boys, though the tension between Dragonstone and the Red Keep was greater than ever.

Something hung in the air and everyone felt it.

"And that bastard, that fucking traitor Hightower sits on the Iron Throne in his name and rules the kingdom, just as he always dreamed of doing." He hissed through clenched teeth, rage and disappointment beating from him, from which she felt her heart squeeze.

It shocked her how direct he was.

He was like a living, burning fire.

"When there's no cat, the mice scamper. Or maybe a better term would be rats." She said dryly, and he laughed out loud, glancing at her, his lips curving into a grin, a kind of contentment and pride in his eyes.

"You're like quiet water on the outside, but there's a great storm brewing inside you. I have heard that your would-be husband has become a fearsome warrior despite the lack of one eye. I fear that once you meet, heaven and earth will shake." He said with amusement and she swallowed loudly at his words, knowing he was mocking her.

"I have no grudge against him. Only he can have one towards me." She said lowly, pressing her lips together, feeling a tightness in her throat, thinking about how she had cried enough nights because of this event.

She felt him looking at her intently, a light summer breeze and the sound of the sea all around them, grey, gloomy clouds above them.

"You still haven't come to terms with it." He stated more than asked, and she swallowed loudly, feeling tears under her eyelids, shaking her head, unable to get anything else out.

"Sometimes it's better to rip your heart out than to let yourself be humiliated, to lose your dignity. Do you understand?" He asked, stopping, looking at her expectantly, with a kind of determination from which she felt discomfort in her stomach.

She stared at him with wide eyes, trying to behave as she should, trying not to break, but she burst into sobs as he pulled her close and embraced her, letting her pour out the grief that had been flowing inside her for years, which she didn't want to share with her mother or anyone else.

"– gods – I still love him –" She whined out breathing hard, clasping her hands on his thick tunic, his hand stroking her back comfortingly.

"The boy you loved no longer exists." He said lowly and she felt her heart stop.

A cold shiver went through her body, a wave of disappointment and the realisation that he was right.

When Vaemond Velaryon challenged Luke's right to inherit Driftmark it turned out, to her horror, that they had to appear in the Red Keep to discuss the matter before the King himself. Her mother wanted them all to travel there, as a whole family meant to support her younger brother.

She didn't have the strength for this reunion – she hadn't slept or eaten, thinking about flying on Larax at night and just running away.

But where to?

She thought in moments like this about how her uncle had said he would take her to Essos one day, to the kingdom of their ancestors, and she burst out sobbing again, hiding her face in her hands, listening to the sound of the rain falling outside her window.

The journey to King's Landing had been long and tiring for her − she landed on Larax alongside her foster sisters and brothers, her hair tied up in a long braid, a leather travelling attire on her body, more comfortable and giving her more freedom of movement.

They arrived in the Red Keep using the royal carriages; when she stepped outside she was struck by how smaller and tighter everything seemed to her.

She felt tense and looked uncertainly around, fearing she would see him somewhere, but that did not happen.

They were greeted by one of her grandfather's lords, the Queen not honouring them with her presence; they were informed where they would be sleeping and she shuddered when she heard she would be spending the night in her old chamber, feeling the cold sweat on the back of her neck.

Walking through the corridors of the fortress she was hit by memories from everywhere and even though this was her home, she had never felt so foreign before.

She changed with the help of servants into a more appropriate attire – her two-tone gown had bare shoulders, her long to the ground, wide sleeves were red, and the material wrapping tightly around her breasts and hips was navy blue – the colours of the Targaryens and Arryns, her expression that she supported her mother.

She wondered if she should go outside or if it would be better to stay in the chamber, but in the end she decided that she would not be a coward, that she would not allow herself to be intimidated in her own home.

Therefore, she moved alone through the familiar corridors of the Red Keep, skirting the entrance to the library, feeling her heart beating wildly.

She heard the sound of blades crossing, saw, standing in the cloisters, crowds of people surrounding a pair of warriors apparently practising hand-to-hand combat, heard applause and sounds of admiration, recognised the faces of her brothers among them.

And then she saw him, first his white hair and then his eye patch − she felt her whole body freeze, her throat squeezed so tightly that she felt like she was going to suffocate.

He was so tall that she could see his silhouette perfectly, she couldn't believe how much the man could have changed over the years.

She saw that he had said something to Luke and Jace, the sight of their horror made him grin broadly, but it was a frightening smile, a sneer that didn't reach his healthy eye, his gaze cold, amused.

It seemed to her that she saw more animal than human traits in him, his way of moving, his gait was defiant, agile.

He looked like a predator prowling around his prey.

She thought with pain that he was terrifying.

Their attention was distracted by the sound of trumpets; the gates leading into the courtyard opened and Vaemond Velaryon appeared in it, walking at the head of his retinue. She swallowed loudly as she saw his chin raised high, as if he was sure of victory in his cause even though his brother was still alive.

She saw her uncle turn towards her and walk up to one of the servants, reaching out to him impatiently, wanting him to hand him another shield and then their gazes met.

She saw the surprise and disbelief in his healthy eye; he froze and although he took what he wanted he did not turn to face Criston.

Even from a distance she could see his nostrils moving restlessly with each of his deep breaths, as if he was trying to calm himself, his jaw clenched tightly.

She didn't know why, despite the fact that he frightened her so much, despite the fact that he never answered any of her letters, she felt like throwing herself into his arms and crying, simply to say that she missed him, that she prayed every day that she would see him again.

However, before she had time to do anything under the influence of emotion he turned and nodded at Criston, immediately attacking him with his sword which swished loudly in the air, as if he wanted to take it out on him for what he had just seen.

She decided to return to her chamber, and it was only behind the door that she burst into sobs, realising what had terrified and torn her heart the most.

Daemon was right.

The boy she loved no longer exists.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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blanceyblance · 1 month ago

Text

A study on Lance's underrated role on the team.

Or, "Yes, there was a Space Mom"

Some time ago, I made a post saying that, the closest thing to a "Space Mom" the paladins ever had was actually Lance and I wanted to make a post elaborating more on why I thought so.

Now this is not me saying that we have to put this Team in neat nuclear family boxes, even Shiro, the one who the fandom collectively agrees to call "Space Dad" doesnt fit perfectly the Team Dad trope, but what I mean is that, this role is one that most of the time it appears naturally in any group of friends/people.

So, lets start with seeing how TVTropes describes what is a Team Mom:

"In an ensemble show, especially of the fighting kind, there needs to be someone to hold this Ragtag Bunch of Misfits together before they kill each other or wander off into the woods like so many Player Characters."

"The Team Mom basically acts as the mother figure for everyone else in the group, regardless of age or family relations."

"Although the role itself is traditionally female, the overprotective dad or older brother can qualify for Team Mom"

"They are by definition never the loner, and will in fact tend to be the one who pulls them into the cast's orbit as a Sixth Ranger. If anyone can break through and bring about a Heel–Face Turn or Cooldown Hug, it's them"

"if any of their surrogate children or siblings are threatened, they can snap into angry Mama Bear mode and kick some ass"

Basically, this role is less about gender and age and more about how the character threats the rest of their peers.

It is hard to imagine resident flirty goofball Lance as fitting in a role like this since, usually, characters that are referred to as the "Team Mom", seem a bit more responsible and mature.

And, admittedly, it is a role that he has to grow into a bit, but even in the first episode he already had some shades of this:

Covering for Pidge and taking the brunt of Iverson's anger, running to aid someone who had fallen from one of the pods (before knowing it was a pretty girl) and protecting Coran from a explosion.

Overall through the show, Lance actually ends up being very caring and protective towards his teammates.

I was unsure on how I wanted to do this analysis since, there is actually quite a lot I want to talk about, so I decided to highlight how Lance acts with every member of the team from this angle.

Keith

The Lion Switch and Keith stepping to pilot Black is what, for a lot of fans, kickstarts Lance's arc of becoming a more mature individual and team player.

But even as early as s1, we do have moments of Lance keeping Keith grounded, like when he stops him from being reckless and hurting the balmera.

In season 3, when Keith is dealing with the loss of Shiro, everyone present decides to turn to Lance to handle it, Lance doesnt even notice what they are doing and instead goes to talk to Keith.

It is interesting that, even Coran and Allura (the adult and the diplomat) also look at him to handle the situation. And it's not a case of just looking at the next person in line, since Pidge is very clearly looking in his direction.

They eventually join to talk to Keith too but not before Lance makes the first approach.

And even when it was clear he really wanted to be chosen, Lance still quickly went to support Black's choice and thus, Keith's new position.

Like Allura tells us later, this is what makes Red, the literal right hand lion to call for Lance.

"You value a strong team"

Because thats what makes Lance really shine. His utter love and care for his team.

Even when he was clearly disappointed about not being chosen he decides to forget his own hurt to instead show to his unsure teammate.

And support he did.

After Keith goes to follow Lotor and makes the team enter a difficult situation while Allura is struggling with Blue, it's Lance the one who manages to make him stop and return.

Keith returns with Lance and shows he is regretful of his actions, one would think that Lance would take this chance to scold his "rival" but instead, he just acknowledges that Keith did mess up but now they are going to fix it. Showing Keith he is not alone in this.

After this incident Lance keeps being very vocally supportive of Keith (when he agrees with his orders).

And will usually follow his orders to a T. For example in "The Journey Within" Keith made a system for the team to sound off every certain period of time, and when Keith stops seeing a point to it, Lance keeps going and the team follows his lead.

It is also interesting to mention, these moments of Lance speaking softly to Keith when he is freaking out.

Another example would be when they get captured and Keith calls the name of his teammates, Lance being the first name he calls and the first to answer.

This ended up being quite long and the 10 pic limit doesnt help either so I will be splitting this in parts.

Keith and Allura's section is, unsurprisingly, quite long but I managed to gather a little evidence to talk about Lance's relationship with all the team.

Hope you guys enjoyed this first part

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #voltron meta #vld meta #vld lance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #vld keith #unsure if tag this as klance since i'm trying to be unbiased #and i know some dont have the best opinion of tvtropes #so lets say this is just “Lance was actually a very supportive and nurturing team member and i want to talk about it” post

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