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aleskie · 3 months ago

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hii!! hope you’re having a week day, i was wondering if you could write max verstappen angst after 2021 baku dnf?

HIIIII ANON! I actually don't remember what the lore with baku 2021 was ajnskskj so i hope you like this general DNF comfort fic instead MWAH

WHY DOES SHE GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME | Max Verstappen x Reader

SUMMARY: Max is a winner. But when it comes crashing down, you've got him.

Warnings: None. Hurt with comfort!

He doesn’t say anything when he comes back home — just closes the door a little harsher than usual and heads straight to the terrace after making himself a gin and tonic. He needs to calm down. You know that. You don’t follow him right away. You give him space.

Max was a champion. He won. That’s what he did, what he was born to do, what he was trained to become. Losing took a toll on him — whether it was a DNF or finishing out of the points. It never felt good. But there were things to learn from it, things to improve on. Both on his end as a driver and with the constructor’s team for the car. He could live with that.

But having a car malfunction? Not finishing the race? And when you were in second place? That hurt. That really hurt.

The sun is sinking lower, casting long shadows across the terrace as he sips his drink. The ice clinks softly against the glass. It’s calming, a familiar ritual — but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw stays tight. There’s a lot on his mind. What he could’ve done better. Where he’d be in the championship if he’d won. The what-ifs, the could-have-beens.

You watch him from the doorway for a moment before stepping outside. You don’t say anything. You just sit beside him, quiet and steady, while the sky turns gold and the weight of disappointment settles with the evening breeze.

“I hate myself,” he says, taking another sip from his drink. His words are slurred just enough to tell you he’s a little tipsy — no surprise, considering the drink he poured earlier was mostly gin with just the barest splash of tonic. “I’m a fucking loser. I lost.”

“Don’t say that,” you reply softly, keeping your voice gentle. “The car malfunctioned. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Was it not?” He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh and takes another swig. “I can drive bad cars. I’ve done it before. I’ve pushed them to their limits and I made it work—I made it win. But I couldn’t drive this one? Couldn’t win in it? Fucking pathetic.”

You want to reach for his hand, but you don’t. Not yet. You know that right now, he’s fighting a battle in his own head — one you can’t quite pull him out of. So you stay close, your voice steady even when his isn’t.

“You’re not pathetic,” you say quietly. “You’re one of the best drivers in the world. Four championships, Maxie—that’s nothing to scoff at.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he mutters, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The sunset’s almost gone now, the sky bleeding into deeper shades of blue and orange. “Feels like I’m just…wasting everyone’s time. Wasting my time. Wasting yours.”

The ice clinks again as he lifts the glass, and for a second, you wish the drink would run out. But you know the problem isn’t the gin. It’s everything that’s come before it — the pressure, the expectation, the disappointment.

“You’re not wasting anything—especially not my time or my energy,” you say. “You had a bad day. That’s all it was.”

He shakes his head. “It’s never just one day. It’s every day that comes after it, every chance that slips away. And I—” His voice breaks, just for a second, before he swallows it down with the rest of his drink. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

That’s when you reach for his hand. And this time, he lets you.

“That’s fine too.” You plant a kiss on the back of his hand. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“But I do.” He pulls his hand away and runs it through his hair. “I have to prove it. To the team. To the fans. To dad. To you—”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s worse than you expected. His eyes are red-rimmed, his face drawn tight with exhaustion and frustration and something deeper—something you don’t know how to fix.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. His voice is so quiet, but the weight of those words hangs heavy between you. “You think you’d still love me if I stopped winning? If I stopped trying?”

“But you aren’t not trying,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “You try your best with everything you do. And that’s one of the reasons I love you.”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching like he’s holding back something that’s threatening to break free. “No. You love the champion. You love the winner. And that’s not who I am right now. This…this isn’t who you signed up for.”

“Don’t tell me who I love,” you snap, your voice trembling. “And don’t treat this relationship like it’s some kind of contract. I didn’t sign up for anything. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you. Even now—when you’re hurting, when you’re in pain. I still love you.”

For a second, he just stares at you, and you can see the war happening behind his eyes—the fight between believing you and the doubts that have been eating away at him for weeks. Maybe months.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough for you,” he whispers finally, his voice breaking. “And I want to be. God, I want to be perfect for you. But I…I can’t.”

Your chest aches. That helpless, hollow kind of ache that comes when you want so badly to fix something — someone — and you know you can’t. All you can do is hold his hand tighter, like maybe that will stop him from slipping away completely.

“You are,” you say softly. “You’re perfect. Just like this.”

He closes his eyes, but a tear escapes anyway, sliding down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. “It’s been a tough season,” he murmurs. “The car is fucked. And I—I don’t know how to keep you if I can’t even keep this seat. And I don’t even know who I am without the wins.”

“You’re a four-time world champion,” you remind him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re dragging a seventh-place car to third place. That’s more than enough. You are doing so much—more than anyone should have to.”

You guide his head to rest on your shoulder, feeling the way his breath stutters against your skin. “You can rest for now,” you whisper. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

For the first time that night, his body eases—just a little—against yours. The tension doesn’t vanish, not completely, but you feel the slightest shift, the way his weight leans into you like he’s finally allowing himself to stop holding it all together. And you hold him like you’re trying to keep him from falling apart—like if you hold him tight enough, maybe you can take some of that hurt away.

His breath slows, but every now and then it still catches, like there’s something inside him he can’t quite let go of. You press your lips to his hair, soft and reassuring, and whisper, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, voice rough and low.

“You do,” you insist. “And I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his fingers tighten around yours. And for now, that’s enough.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fic #max verstappen #mv1 #mv33 #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #formula one #f1 x reader #✩ allie's writing ✩

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prettybugsinbandages · 3 months ago

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Blot!reader pt. 2

Part 2 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

Steps echoed softly against the snow as you made your way toward Mr. S's Mystery Shop, the sound somehow muted, swallowed by the heavy quiet of the world around you. It felt oddly distant, as if the entire universe had drawn its breath and left you alone with the sound of your footsteps. The fog clouding your thoughts lifted slightly as Grim darted around your legs, animatedly recounting how he and Yuuken had gotten into trouble earlier that day. His enthusiasm was contagious, pulling a chuckle from you despite yourself—a rare flicker of light in the usual gray haze.

The shop door slid open, a warm breeze rushing out to greet you like an old friend. The chill melted from your bones as you stepped inside, the scent of old wood and something faintly spicy filling the air. You followed Grim down the narrow aisles, your eyes wandering across the haphazard stacks of oddities and trinkets. The faint hum of a space heater buzzed in the background, blending with the soft thuds of items being restocked.

Your gaze landed on Grim busy packing away cans of tuna into his own basket. The extra weight of the thaumarks in your pocket served as a gentle reminder of Crowley's recent miscalculation of Ramshackle's weekly allowance. The headmage likely thought himself generous—he wasn't. So none of you bothered to correct his mistake.

A little extra was hardly a sin, and in your eyes, it was long overdue.

Leaving Grim to his own devices—his attention firmly locked on a staff member restocking the vending machine and occasionally eyeing the tuna cans with restrained interest—you made your way to the produce section. Your dormmates had sent you out with a list, and you were determined to fulfill their requests without incident. On your way back, a treat caught your eye. The packaging was flashy, almost comically obnoxious yet charming. The picture on the front was practically begging to be tasted, and you decided it was well-deserved after... well, everything

The sound of beeping filled the store, blending with the hum of quiet conversations and footsteps. At the till, you placed your basket on the counter and waited while the cashier scanned your items. Stifling a yawn into your sleeve, you reminded yourself that dinner would be soon. Briefly wondering if you'd make it back in time. A light brush against your neck jolted you from your thoughts. A hand reached past your shoulder, casually turning one of your items over.

"Ahh.. You got the last, huh? These are so popular on social media these days. Enjoy it for me, 'kay?"

The voice behind you was playful, with a hint of mock disappointment, quickly replaced by cheerful teasing. The arm withdrew just as you turned to find none other than Cater Diamond standing behind you, his signature easy-going smile already in place.

Your lips twitched, an instinct to respond stirring but words failed you. Instead, you gave a polite nod and returned to what you were doing, keeping your attention on the cashier. Cater didn't seem to mind; his light banter shifted toward Grim, who chuckled along with him, occasionally adding his own commentary.

As much as you had once longed for moments like this—to be seen, spoken to, acknowledged, the confidence you'd briefly held earlier had crumbled.

The sun was already setting by the time you left the shop, casting the sky in shades of muted blue and grey. Though the snow had stopped for the day, the cold lingered, biting at your fingertips even through your coat. You buried your hands deep in your hoodie pockets, the weight of the grocery bags straining against your arms.

"Come on, little star. You wanted to shine, didn't you? Why hide now? You're making a waste of me."

The Blot's voice echoed in your head, silken and sweet with a bitter edge. The ring on your finger grew uncomfortably warm, almost burning against your skin—a searing reminder of your contract. Your pulse quickens as guilt crashed over you in relentless waves, tangling with rising panic. You had made a promise to yourself—a cruel, unflinching vow to get your revenge. To make them feel what you had felt. To become so important that losing you would destroy them. And yet here you were, frozen in place, paralyzed at the thought of receiving exactly what you'd wanted for so long: acknowledgement.

Worse still, you found yourself too afraid to even wield the power you had traded so much to obtain, recalling how you foolishly agreed to the Blot's honeyed words that night without asking more. Then again, your time had been running out like an hourglass with a hole in it.

Grim's tug at your pant leg pulled you from your trainwreck of a mind, the words spoken softly by the blot still resonating within your mind, unable to be pushed aside and filling you with some irritation. Blinking, you tried to reorient yourself, offering him a half-formed reassuring response—until a familiar figure caught your attention near the store's exit. Cater.

"Cater.. right?" you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity.

His bright green eyes met yours, lighting up with recognition. "Yeah! And you're... uh..." He trailed off, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish laugh, threading his fingers through his orange hair. "One of the Ramshackle prefects, right? You're so hard to get ahold of." His laugh was easygoing, but something about it hinted at familiarity, like he'd been trying to speak to you for some time now. Your jaw tightened at the thought.

You knew who he was, of course. Cater Diamond—the social butterfly, the NRC blog king, the guy who talked to nearly everyone or updates on his fast-paces student-run blog. One of the many who treated you like a nameless voice in the crowd, a background character at best. But something in his words made hope flicker faintly in your chest, a dangerous ember waiting to catch fire. Had he really been trying to reach out all along? Were you just that hard to approach..? Doubt creeped in momentarily before you brushed it off. He's lying.

The doubts clung to you like oil on fabric and your smile almost faltered. Almost. You caught it in time, replacing hesitation with a soft chuckle as you offered your name.

"You said these treats are popular online, right?" you asked, gesturing toward the flashy package. "Why? Some influencer?"

His eyes lit up, and you knew you'd hit the right note. As the two of you walked toward Ramshackle together, Cater launched into a detailed explanation about the trending treat—some influencer's viral snack review had sent demand soaring. You listened, nodding at just the right moments, letting him fill the space with his cheerful energy.

Eight minutes and fifteen seconds. The longest conversation you'd had with anyone outside of Grim or the Yuus since... well, since home.

At the front gate to Ramshackle, you paused and opened a pack of treats. Splitting it nearly in half, you handed one portion to Cater. "Sam's restocking in a whole week. You wouldn't want to miss out on the trend, right?"

For just a moment your usual resolve wavered. You knew what you intended to do—make them all regret forgetting you, bring everything crashing down—but right now... right now, you just wanted to feel a little less lonely.

Cater grinned, his eyes crinkling with the motion. "Our little secret, yeah? Guess that makes us snack buddies now. Next time, my treat—you can totes hold me to that!"

His words sparked a fleeting warmth, a rare feeling of belonging. You nodded, unable to summon a proper response.

Just for a bit... this was okay.

You tighten your grip on the bags as the warmth from the interaction fades, the stinging cold of the winter air nipping at your flesh once again.

It had been a few months since it all began—the Blot, the deal, and your decision to tear everything down. Returning to Ramshackle after parting with some friends, you shut your bedroom door behind you, the warped hinges protesting with a grating scrape against the frame. Your thoughts swirled from the events of the day, seeming vague and hazy even though it happened only a few hours ago.

"I've missed you." A voice crooned from behind—smooth and sweet, yet laced with something razor-sharp. If you could assign an item to a voice, it'd be a sugar cube.

"I was gone for two hours." you replied, setting your bag down and beginning the slow unwinding from your day. You never really knew if the Blot lived in the ring on your finger—whispering its thoughts directly into your mind—or if it was free to roam as its own entity. Tonight, it was lounging on your bed, propped up on one elbow in a mockery of comfort, the picture of lazy contentment. Despite being a humanoid figure of pure shadow, it radiated an unmistakable fondness. If shadows could smile, you knew it was smiling at you now.

"Two hours too long," it purred, with a hint of petulance bleeding into its honeyed tone.

As you sat at your desk, the Blot drifted close, leaning over your figure until both your reflections appeared in the small mirror. Its fingers, dark and lithe, combed slowly through your hair—gentle, almost reverent. Or was it mocking possessiveness?

"Do you think they'd miss you if you left for longer?" it mused softly. "Or would you slip their minds again, like you always used to?"

The question struck a nerve. You averted your gaze from its reflection, unwilling to entertain the thought as your jaw unconsciously clenched, deciding to test the waters, you shot back a reply a little too sharp for your liking. "Are you jealous?"

You turned to try and catch a gleam of its reaction, anything to give you a better understanding of the enigmatic being you've tied yourself to.

"Of them? Never." it whispered, shadowy lithe fingers tracing along your jaw, gently tilting your head back to meet its gaze in the mirror once again. "They don't know you like I do."

A chill crawled down your spine as its grip lingered a moment too long. Silence stretched between you, heavy with words left unsaid—words only the Blot seemed to know.

"How was your day, my little adventurer?" it murmured, its voice dropping to something low and intimate, almost conspiratorial. The way it spoke made it seem as though its words were meant for your ears alone, a secret shared just between the two of you.

You didn't respond immediately, focusing on your homework instead before offhandedly responding. "You're talkative today."

The air shifted subtly, the Blot retreating to your bed once more. It flopped onto your sheets like a restless cat, rolling and twisting the fabric with a peculiar energy, almost playful in its antics. For a creature so powerful, it had a strange, childlike quality in moments like these—unsettling, yet somehow familiar the way it could switch from suave and seductive to childish and pesky.

"Perhaps I'm feeling nostalgic." It mused after a pause. Was that vulnerability bleeding through, or just another calculated lure to pull you in deeper?

"Ask me something," it offered, voice as smooth as silk, "I'll humor you with an answer—a gift for all you've done, my dove."

You hesitated. There were so many questions but one had tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. "What are you?"

"You already know the answer." It interrupted, its voice dripping with mirth. It almost seemed to avoid the question, a moment of lost composure that piqued your interest.

Your disappointment must've shown—your eyes narrowed, brows furrowing and lips pursing just slightly into a pout or protest—as the Blot paused, considering you. Finally, it relented, leaning closer with a softer tone.

"Another. Ask me another. I'll give you more because it's you."

Time stretched as you considered your options once again—more carefully this time to pull back as many layers as you can grasp to reveal just a bit more. The Blot was clearly fond of you for one reason or another, but why?

You asked, your voice steady but curious. "What were you?"

The question hung in the air like a heavy cloth, wet and suffocating. For a moment, the Blot stilled. Then it smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of its shadowy mouth.

"You're so curious," it purred, voice dropping to a velvet murmur. "I love that about you."

Before you could react, it was there, face-to-face with you again, close enough that the air seemed to hum with its presence. Its tone grew lower, softer, yet charged with something deeper. The air had grown heavier. When it spoke, its voice was softer, yet somehow deeper and filled with something ancient and still thrumming with life. "Once... I was something like you. Real. Tangible. Alive."

"Wh-"

"We'd get along. At least I like to think we would" Its voice gained a firmer edge, almost wistful, yet underlined with certainty. "No... I know we would. I've seen what it's like to be forgotten." The Blot sounded firm as if it had substance behind such an egregious claim.

You recoiled slightly at the sureness of its tone as the tension thickened, words caught in your throat as you searched for a response. But the Blot spoke again, its voice growing almost tender.

"Yes. That's how I'd explain it. But it's all in the past. And now... here we are. Together."

Its fingers laced with yours, dark and cold yet strangely warm at the same time. Its thumb gently traced the rim of the ring on your finger—the physical reminder of your contract.

For a moment, it almost felt like an embrace—warm in its own strange way—before the Blot retreated at the sound of a firm knock at your door.

"Human! Come downstairs! We're watching films and consuming takeout!" Sebek's voice rang out, loud and commanding as always. You blinked, suddenly remembering your prior engagements for the evening.

On the other side of the door, Sebek continued his monologue. "Unless you fear the horror genre?" His tone wavered between challenge and care before taking a haughty turn and somehow louder. "Shall I request a film more suited to your frail constitution? I shall do it only to protect you from disgrace!"

His rapid footsteps retreated down the hall, leaving you in a strange quiet once again. Your gaze lingered on the Blot, still stretched lazily across your bed, its head tilted in quiet amusement.

With a sigh, you stood and made your way to the door, half relieved and half-annoyed.

The TV blared whatever movie had been chosen for the night, a tradition at Ramshackle where native members of Twisted Wonderland picked their favorite media to share with the prefects. It had become a cherished cultural exchange, a chance for everyone to gush about their favorite things—though you and the others never had anything to contribute.

Not that any of you wanted to. Any mention of home dampened the mood. The others missed it—their world, their families—while you had long stopped thinking of returning. You're never going home. It's too beautiful in your memories, untouched by everything you had become. Setting foot there would be like introducing flame to the wings of a butterfly.

You sat beside him, finding solace and comfort in each other's quiet presence. There was no need to speak, no need to acknowledge it aloud. He was your own guest for tonight's movie, something you never thought you'd have based on your previous reputation, or lack thereof. And yet, despite everything, you still couldn't forgive him for the way he once ignored you. You couldn't even recall how long ago that time was. It should have been easy to let go, to forget the loneliness, but the ache of it still lingered, a phantom pain of being unseen, unheard, unnoticed.

Everything felt so stagnant back then, so suffocating. In moments like these you couldn't help but be appreciative of the Blot's assistance, even as you both resented yourself and the entity in your bedroom for what it had cost you—even worse, knowing you had willingly accepted the deal. The truth, that claustrophobic reality, felt like a noose around your neck, dragging you deeper with every breath. Without the deal, you would have remained nothing—forgotten, buried in the snow, your name lost to time, your face unrecognizable by all. And when the thaw came, they could have found your body, decayed and nameless. A casualty.

A chill ran down your spine at the thought, the memory of that night creeping back, sharp and biting like frost against your skin. Jack, seated nearby, must have noticed. Without a word, the beastman draped his large, fluffy tail over your lap, a quiet attempt to offer warmth without interrupting the film.

The movie came to an end without you fully understanding the plot, the storyline lost to your distracted mind as you reflected on the whole evening. The lamps flickered back on as everyone began cleaning up, and there was an awkward, unspoken feeling hanging over everyone. The sort of quiet tension that lingered at the end of a gathering—was this goodbye? Was this the end, do they go home? The moment felt too brief.

But how many tomorrows are left?

Everyone knew that the Prefects of Ramshackle didn't belong here no matter how defined of a shape carved into everyone's hearts that only they could fill, they all knew that the Yuus would return home someday, often lamenting about their own world. Whenever the topic came up, you'd catch a fleeting glance from your friends. You'd never mentioned home—not since you'd given up on the idea. But you knew he was silently asking:

Do you plan to stay?

The boys scurried around cleaning up their messes, but their efforts were clumsy, adding new minor messes to clean—small, unnoticed attempts to stretch the moment just a little longer. They didn't want it to end yet. For now, neither did you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud sneeze from Epel—one that would certainly earn him a lecture from Vil. You turn to see what he'd done, spotting a vase tipped over the kitchen counter, water and flowers spilling across the surface. They had been a gift, though the reasoning behind them had been flimsy at best. Not that you cared much. They weren't even your favorites, and flowers never lasted long anyway.

Wilting. Drying. Rotting.

Much like people.

You were slightly startled by the dark thoughts, pushing them away as Yuuken passed Epel a tissue before grabbing a rag to mop the mess before it seeped into the floorboards. Ramshackle already had enough mold; any more would be cruel.

"Did you catch a cold? I told you not to sit out in the rain too late trying to win that bet." Yuuken's tone was exasperated but laced with concern. Yuuka, less patient, flicked Epel's forehead in reprimand.

The mention of illness must have triggered Ortho's health and safety protocols, as he immediately zipped over, offering a full-body scan to check Epel's vitals.

"Uwah? Me next! Scan me!" Ace butted in with a cheeky grin—an obvious attempt to dodge dish duty. You shot him a knowing look but he only grinned wider, brushing it off and receiving his scan.

What started as a routine checkup quickly turned into a competition to see who was the healthiest, with everyone eagerly comparing stats. In the end, it came down to Jack and Sebek, though Jack narrowly took the win. Even Ortho seemed baffled by the results, staring at his screen in genuine confusion.

"I cannot understand how Sebek Zigvolt functions with such high exposure to Lilia Vanrouge's cooking..." he murmured, tilting his head.

Laughter rippled through the group as Sebek loudly protested, but the amusement died down as Ortho turned to you. Unlike the others, you hadn't joined in on their little contest, preferring to avoid the inevitable teasing about your ranking. But now, Ortho's bright yellow eyes scanned you from head to toe, and for a brief moment, his expression flickered with something strange—confusion?

"That's odd," he muttered. "You don't have any health complications, but... your body temperature is significantly lower than normal. By a lot. Please wait a moment while I check something."

Yuuta shot you a concerned glance, setting down a broken shard of the vase and rinsing his hand before reaching out to touch your forehead, only to immediately recoil.

"Woah. You're freezing..! Like wax."

Ortho scrolled through his holographic screens with increasing confusion, while the others hesitated before brushing against you, testing Yuuta's claim. You hadn't noticed before, but now that you thought about it—your skin was cold. Not just cool, but room temperature. Maybe a degree or two above it.

Ace snickered. "Maybe you really are a corpse, prefect. Don't worry; I'll cry over your grave for a good hour so you feel loved." He received a punch in the arm from Deuce for that, assuring you they'd visit every day and cry tons if you died.

The joke sent a sharp chill down your spine. For a split second, you were back there—lying in the snow, the cold sinking into your bones, the world growing quieter and quieter. The Blot ring on your finger felt soft and warm like an embrace in that moment as you pushed the memory down. You didn't even want to think about Ace and Deuce's reassurance about your death, not daring to recall how they wouldn't have even noticed a few months prior.

Ortho, unimpressed with Ace's comment, gave him a firm shove out of the way before running another scan. As he worked, Yuu barked orders at the others to finish cleaning up their messes, leaving you to sit on the couch under Ortho's scrutiny.

"It's strange..." he said, flicking through his screens and mumbling your full name a few times to search for you. "I have a database of nearly the entire student body in my records, but I had to create a new profile for you."

Something in your chest twisted.

That sick feeling, the one that always crept in whenever you felt especially neglected, clawed its way to the surface. This was a punch to the gut, a reminder that even a machine designed to remember, hadn't even noticed you enough to have you in his system.

How cruel.

You forced a laugh, pushing past the bitter taste in your mouth. "So, what do you think? Am I a corpse after all?"

Ortho paused, then, as if to make up for the oversight, carefully selected your favorite color for your new profile, even marking the tab as favorite with a cute icon.

"I apologize. I don't know," he admitted. "But I'll ask Big Brother. Maybe it's something I haven't thought about yet."

Ortho had left earlier than the others after being called back by Idia for something, but a sense of foreboding lingered in the air. You couldn't shake the feeling of being caught—caught in a way that was difficult to explain. Who else, other than the Shroud brothers, would have the highest chance of recognizing what you'd done?

Then again, the Blot taking a form and making a deal wasn't something that had ever been seen throughout Twisted Wonderland's history. Perhaps you were safe.

But the uncertainty gnawed at you, that creeping feeling that something—someone—might figure it out. The longer the silence stretched, the more unexplainable guilt festered.

Part three

was the second part weird?

I hope not hah

I have more plans to write more for this if it's still requested, and I'd like to apologize for taking two weeks to write this short thing. I got very sick, then very behind in schoolwork and then procrastinated for far too long.

My lovely little taglist: @tachibubu @shirp-collector-of-fixations @goatsmilksblog @iris-arcadia ( @tipsyon-tea - You mentioned wanting to read whatever happened next but never directly asked to tag. pls tell me if you'd like to be removed from this)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #blot!reader #blot x reader #twst fanfic #twst yuu #twst grim #cater diamond #sebek zigvolt #deuce spade #ace trappola #jack howl #epel felmier #bug writing

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oceantornadoo · 4 months 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????)

masterlist | next

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 · 4 months 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 · 5 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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decay-1 · 8 months ago

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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

—————————————

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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sunskisser · 9 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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handlemehyuck · 3 months ago

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・❥・ suggestive

thinking about a serene scene: coming home after a long day to find boyfriend jaemin not only in your apartment but in your kitchen, making your favorite dish, looking sexy as hell in front of the stove with a towel over his shoulder, and the slightest furrow between his brows, reflecting concentration. the music is loud, spilling from the kitchen, through the hallway and into your living room. you admire him from the entryway, peeking around the corner and hoping you’ll give him a little scare because the giggles it would bubble up in you are so needed after the day you had.

two more songs play and end, and you’re starting to deflate. you almost step out fully, exposing your pencil skirt, untucked blouse and a look of disappointment, but— “did you really think i wouldn’t hear you come in? swear i was going to play along, but i miss you. come over here, angel. long day, huh?” the texts jaemin received during your lunch break worried him, sent him right to the grocery store.

you shuffle across the tile and press yourself into his side. a strong arm loops around your waist, giving you a little squeeze. you moan against his torso, pulling an amused laugh from your boyfriend. “oh yeah? anything else you want to say?” you shake your head and he coos. “change into something cozy, angel. i should be done by then. hungry?” you pull away, nod and melt beneath his gaze, exhaling slowly through your nose as he kisses you. jaemin sets the cooking utensil down and turns to face you completely. his thumb caresses your cheek; your fingers find his hair—soft and free from product residue. he’s cornered you beside the fridge, and you’d let him do whatever he wanted to in this moment if it meant clearing your head and reconnecting with the man you’re completely in love with. you miss him when he’s not around. sometimes you leave for work wearing his cologne instead of your perfume. you don’t doubt he knows this love is all consuming. he proves it, dropping kisses all of your face like little promises to love you forever.

“i’m too tired to go change.” you lay your head on his shoulder and tighten your grip around his neck.

“hmm, i guess there’s only one option then…” and he scoops you up, running through the apartment and into your bedroom. “jaemin!” you squeal as he tosses you onto the plush mattress and moves to hover above you, but you’re needy for his body’s weight. “wait here, princess. let me turn the burner off.” he looks down and admires the silk of your blouse, the undone buttons exposing your chest’s swell, the softness of your top’s shade—he loves it when you wear baby blue. “undress and decide if you want me to help you change into something comfier or unravel that knot of stress instead.” his teeth barely graze your collarbone before he’s pulling away. jaemin gives your hip a pat and disappears through the doorway.

for a moment, all you can do is stare at the ceiling and smile. in minutes, jaemin turns your day around, and all the sticky feelings you should’ve left at your cubicle float away, losing their weight and irritation. all you can think about is the man in your kitchen. the man who’s about to come back and find you ready for one of two very different situations, but regardless of your choice, he’ll be ecstatic either way.

#jaemin blurbs #jaemin imagines #jaemin fluff #jaemin reactions #jaemin scenarios #jaemin comfort #jaemin x reader #jaemin x you #nct blurbs #nct imagines

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himbodruid · 4 months ago

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Painting Lessons

Rafayel x Reader

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

INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

“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 · 5 months ago

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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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walkingnearfoxes · 2 months ago

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The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader) - Chapter 8

2.4k words. NSFW. Warnings for the smut finally smutting. She/Her Teacher Reader.

There are a dozen teachers who would kill for this job. You’re just not sure that you’re one of them.

The lesson you gave Ryan that day would not have won you any awards.

Homelander flaunted his acting abilities by being perfectly normal. He listened intently to the lesson, answered Ryan's controversial questions, and chuckled at the parts of American history he found comical. The Battle of Paoli tickled him. Compared to how he usually engaged with your lessons, he was more relaxed than usual. He leaned back in his chair with his hands folded on his lap; the nods he occasionally gave, as if watching his evil plans come to fruition, made your chest clench.

You were a mess. Any other day, you can answer Ryan's factual questions without blinking an eye. You had his textbook memorized to a near clinical degree. Now, you hesitated after his ponderings and didn't land much banter. Your face flushed five shades of red when you called Benjamin Franklin a president. Ryan was polite enough not to comment, but Homelander could fit a whole family of canaries in his shit-eating grin.

Mercifully, the lesson ended earlier than usual so Ryan could work on an essay. You expected to sit and wait for him to finish - but as always, Homelander had other plans.

"Alright, Ryan. You've got 30 minutes to finish that paper. No cheating." He says, pointing at him with a wink. The supe stands up and stretches his arms to his sides before settling them on his hips. He still has his gloves off. "Teach and I have a meeting downstairs."

You look over at him suspiciously. "We do?"

He looks at you from the corner of his gleaming blue eyes. "We do. I would've mentioned it earlier, but we got a bit sidetracked. Remember?"

Damn him.

Ryan looks up from his paper, concern on his creased forehead. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no! Not at all," Homelander assures him with an easy laugh. He steps between you and Ryan’s seats to give his son a reassuring shoulder pat. "Just some things to discuss with your next unit coming up. Don't worry. She's not going anywhere."

Ryan smiles in relief while you swear you hear a cell door slamming shut.

Homelander turns and holds out a hand to you. When you automatically take it, his fingers quickly enclosing yours, his grin widens. "Leave your stuff here," His voice is gentle enough to disguise the command as a gentle offering. "It shouldn't take too long."

He lifts you like you're made of parchment, using just enough strength so you nearly stumble into him. He keeps up an innocent smile. You adjust yourself and look up at him for a long moment before turning to Ryan. Your expression instinctively softens. "You're only using Chapter 7, remember? I'll know if you try using others."

He nods confidently and returns his pencil to a scurrying scratch across the paper. "Yep. Got it."

If Homelander is concerned about your academic threat to his son, he doesn't show it. He ruffles Ryan's hair and guides you out of the penthouse with his hand still holding yours. As the door to the penthouse closes, his hold tightens. You wonder if he is about to pounce on you. Instead, he walks you to the elevator - and you loathe yourself for feeling disappointed.

You kissed him to get him to shut the hell up, you remind yourself. That fucked up little brain of his wants - needs - affection, and the only way to pivot him away from his rage was to give it to him. That was why you kissed him. That was why your body was so tightly wound as you waited beside him for the elevator - your hand, somehow, still in his grasp.

"So..." Homelander breaks the silence as the elevator numbers crawl up to find you both. "President Franklin, huh?"

You instinctively growl in annoyance. "Shut up."

He wheezes, and the sound gives you enough time to remember he can split you like soaked paper. You choke on an apology. "Shit. I mean-"

“I’ve killed people for less than that, you know.”

Jesus. “I didn’t-”

"Relax." He snickers and squeezes your hand. "Common mistake, right? Now he won't fuck that up himself in the future."

The elevator door opens, and he pulls you inside. You two are the only inhabitants for this ride. Homelander takes his merry time pressing the button to the floor for this apparent meeting. When the elevator starts to move, he finally lets go of your hand. You instinctively fold your arms across your chest. "So...what is this meeting about?"

He looks at you, but you are staring at the elevator buttons. He scoffs. "Take a guess. What could Vought possibly be worried about with you and me?"

You pretend to take a moment to think about it. "This weekend?"

"Yahtzee.” He pauses. The only sound is the painfully slow ding of passing levels. “Now, this meeting is with Ashley. You’ve met the basketcase. She’ll want to spin it one of two ways. The two of us never interact in public again, let this slide away, or we use it to our advantage."

That gets you to look at him. "Our advantage?"

He smirks like the two of you are in on a scheme. "I gain points for dating a little normie, and you get all the benefits of dating me."

Dating. The word sounds so absurd that you bite your lip to stifle a bewildered laugh. You have no words to describe the increasingly concerning dynamic between you and the most powerful man on the planet, but dating is certainly not one of them. You turn your body to face him fully, though it does little to fend off the feeling of being attacked from all fronts. "What benefits?"

You’re aware he may have been infuriated by your snark on another day. Today, he just tilts his head impishly. "Oh, the fame, the power, the money…but that's not where your brain is, right? Your little noggin is still thinking about that kiss."

You scoff and unconsciously take a step back. "Please."

Homelander follows you with a tut of disapproval. "Don’t lie. I hate liars.” He stops just an inch from you, and your back presses to the elevator wall. “You’re lying to the both of us, pumpkin. We're the same, you and me. We want more. We deserve more."

You tilt your chin up to keep your eyes locked on his. "We are nothing alike, and I only kissed you to shut you up.”

Without breaking eye contact with you, he reaches for the elevator buttons. He presses the emergency button, and the room stumps to a halt. You stumble, and he takes the opportunity to rest a hand on your hip to stabilize you. His free hand reaches up to gently pry your arms apart and to your sides. You don’t have time to speak before his chest pushes lightly against yours. "Your body tells me a different story…” He leans over to growl directly into your ear. “Your pulse was elevated that whole lesson. Your eyes were dilated any time you looked at me. And right now?” His voice lowers to a dangerous growl. “You are soaking wet."

Your heart is pounding in your ears as you push at his chest. Nothing. You snarl. "Get off of me."

He shakes his head as he pulls back to look at you. He pouts in annoyance. "Why do you torture yourself? Enjoy this. You have no idea how good I can make you feel."

The frustrating heat clogs your thoughts, and the words come out of you before you can think them over. "Please. I don't think an asshole like you even knows where the clit is."

You swear his entire face flutters. His silence drags, and you can’t decide if fear or excitement makes your body pound. Finally, he replies. "You know, Maeve said something awfully similar to me back in the day. And boy oh boy did I prove her wrong. Over and over again."

This time, when he kisses you, there’s no slowness. His mouth molds against yours with a possessiveness that makes your legs quiver. Your back hits the wall firmly, and the wanton moan out of your mouth shocks you in its primality. He keeps one hand in your hair, angling your head to kiss you how he wants, while the other keeps its grip on your waist. He holds you tight, squeezes you, and you whimper against his mouth. His responding smirk against your mouth is devious.

“Real sensitive for someone who talks such a big game,” He breathes against your lips. He gives you another peck before his lips move to brush along your jaw. It barely feels like kisses; it’s almost like he’s tasting you, relishing your soft skin against his mouth.

You squirm, but it’s you pushing against a brick wall. He chuckles against your skin at the attempt, and you huff. “You’re cheating.”

“Cheating?” He repeats, his grin wide as it finds the top of your neck. “These are my God-given talents.”

“God had nothing to do with you,” You murmur. In reply, his sharp incisors bite hard at your neck. It’s an absolute shock to your system, a thrum pounding from your heart and settling between your legs. You whine loudly, your hands suddenly finding purchase in his hair as he sucks over the bite. He purrs at the contact and sucks slowly, fondly, at his created spot. You manage to find your voice. “Are you…are you leaving a fucking hickey?”

“Like you didn’t almost come just now,” He murmurs without leaving your skin. He gives another harsh bite and soothing suck directly beneath his first attack, his hands easily keeping you still as you squirm like a fish on a line. It won’t be a subtle mark you’ll have to carry around Vought Tower, and it’s a thought that makes your body clench helplessly.

Somewhere during his assault on your neck, he’s undone the button to your jeans. He moves his hand so slowly from your hip that you don’t notice its descent into your pants until he moans. It’s the first time he’s felt the soft skin of your stomach under his palm. He sounds just as - if not more - excited than you. He slowly presses his hands down until he’s pressing against your underwear, and your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. “Fuck.”

“Should cover your mouth,” He mutters as his long fingers sneak shamelessly beneath your underwear. “But these sounds are so cute.”

You want so badly to give him a clever comeback, but any witty retort disappears as the pads of his fingers press your clit. He moves them in an agonizingly slow circle. Your mouth opens in a soundless cry just in time for him to pull away from your neck and admire your face.

“Oh, would you look at that?” He chuckles as his fingers continue swirling in that torturous circle. “Found the clit.”

It’s unfair. You’re trapped against him, and he can toy with your clit at his own pace. Even worse, he knows how to play with you. He knows when to speed up when your body craves it, but never too hard or fast. He builds you up slowly to something that leaves your hips spasming fruitlessly against his hold. Not once does he look away from your face. He doesn’t even blink as he slides a single finger inside of you, his lips gently parted in awe. It takes him all of five strokes to find the spot inside you that has your eyes falling shut and rolling back. His free hand immediately cups your jaw.

“No, no…” He growls. “Open those pretty eyes. You’re gonna be looking at me when you come.”

He emphasizes his point by adding a second finger, and the stretch makes you obey. You blink your eyes open as he curls those damned fingers over and over again, his thumb working at your clit. Your body is on fire as you wrap one hand around his wrist at your jaw. Your nails digging into his skin would hurt anyone else, but not him. Not Homelander. You don’t even realize you’re speaking until the word comes out. “Please…”

Homelander’s eyes widen in delight. “Please? Oh, so sweet…” His fingers crook deeper, leaving no escape from the pounding inside you. “Go ahead and come.”

A few more of those perfect strokes, and you release. You swear it’s as if thunder booms from your core, and your cunt clenches tightly around his fingers. He groans your name like a prayer but doesn’t slow down; he keeps going. You’re reawakened by a raw oversensitivity you’ve never known before. You whimper as you squeeze his wrist. “T-too…too much…”

He smirks and gives a rough thrust of his fingers. He relishes in your cry. “You better get used to that,” He taunts but finally relents. He slowly pulls his fingers away, letting out another debauched moan. “So fucking tight…”

You watch in a daze as he puts his fingers in his mouth. He closes his eyes, and the moan he lets out makes your pussy pound for something more. He relishes in your taste for as long as he can and then finally looks down at you. Now, he looks just about as dazed as you feel. His voice is a rumbling sin. “And that’s nothing, teach. I can give so much more.”

You have no words. Homelander doesn’t seem to mind. He takes his time rebuttoning your pants, adjusting your shirt, and brushing a hand through your hair. He tilts his head as he looks you over for a moment, and with a quiet hum of approval, he turns and presses the emergency button again. With a jolt, the elevator returns to its slow descent. He steps away from you with a disappointed sigh. You realize that this hasn’t satisfied either one of you. It was a silent craving for more.

The thought and the jolt of the elevator wake you up, and you finally speak. “We…” You cringe at how broken your voice sounds; how loud have you been screaming? Did anyone hear you? “...We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Homelander is back to holding his hands behind him, perfectly poised as he watches the numbers drop. “Why not?”

You shake your head as you desperately search for some sort of logic over the persistent throb between your legs. “It…it’s wrong.”

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, sweetheart…you should know by now the laws of right and wrong don’t apply to me.”

#homelander #the boys #my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the slow burn got burnt

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coeurify · 2 years ago

Note

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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nyrrwrites · 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.”

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