#i. do not know enough about p1 and p2 to be using all these butterflies but FUCK IT WE BALL.

[theminecraftbee]

okay so. hear me out. but. au concept--

joel is one of many people affected by a Vanishing. its a phenomenon sweeping the country--people simply not showing up for work, school, life one day, as though they've vanished from the face of the earth. it's almost possible to mistake for normal missing persons cases, if it weren't for the way a few of the higher-profile Vanishings have happened to people who shouldn't have been able to vanish at all, let alone in a way that wouldn't be noticed until too late. look at joel's hometown. the people monitoring the dam were supposed to be redundant, and yet--

anyway. not like he cares or anything, except for the fact this stupid disaster or whatever has left him without anywhere to live or anyone to live with, and he still has a year of high school left, so he can't just do whatever he wants. luckily there's this school in a town called new hermiton that agreed to give him a scholarship to finish his education in the name of recovery and solidarity or whatever, and it's kind of a shwankier school than he'd normally go for, but it's free and, more importantly, they're willing to pay for his lodging, and he can't really turn that down. and it's not like he has a choice but to upend his entire life now. so packing what few of his belongings survived into a bag and getting on a train and moving across the country to a new school it is, he guesses.

(he's been having nightmares that inexplicably feature swarms of blue butterflies. last time he checked, lakes don't have butterflies in them. although maybe it's a metaphor or something, on account of the butterflies saying stupid stuff about how people who are remembered can't disappear, and even a false world cannot be erased if it's watched over, and how fate depends on him holding people in his heart. thanks for saying the same stupid shitty platitudes his social worker told him, just more cryptically, butterflies. real cool.)

new hermiton, it turns out, is a small city. while new hermiton academy is a newer school, much of the city is older. he's moved into a nice enough flat in an older apartment building. he has another cryptic butterfly dream. he thinks he remembers someone trying to urgently warn him of something, but it's all... shaky. that morning, he goes to the school for the first time. he's greeted by a fellow transfer student, skizzleman, although apparently he already knows some of the other folks in town, and transferred here so he could stay with them. but it's at least someone else in a similar enough situation to joel, especially since joel can just tell by the way people are looking at him that skizz didn't have much of a choice but to be here, either, and best friends with impulse or not, he's on his own too.

so. a friend. maybe this school won't be that bad, even if joel keeps having nightmares, and even if the weather here is weirdly cold for july, and even if his new homeroom professor keeps on looking at him really weirdly. (aren't professors supposed to be better about stupid rumors anyway? what's that mr. hills's deal?)

and then, two days later, he waves skizz off at the end of the school day, and gets skizz's friend, impulse, at his door, desperate to hear that skizz had just come to stay the night in joel's shitty lonely apartment, because otherwise it looks like--come on man. joel's already having a shit time. the universe deciding to go after his one existing friend too? he promises impulse to help investigate that night, in the vain hope that Skizz isn't one of the Vanished. joel gets a splitting migraine trying to follow their path back, though, and they have to stop for the night.

skizz is reported missing the next morning. joel resigns himself to cutting himself off from the people around him, as per usual. then, strangely, mr. hills corners him as he goes home.

"you'll need this," he says, and shoves what feels like a cheap butterfly knife into joel's hands. "uh, remember, trust your heart! you'll know how to use it."

"what," joel says. "hold on. you're supposed to be a teacher. why are you giving me this. i know for a fact my file says i have like, ptsd or whatever, which is stupid, but you definitely aren't supposed to be giving me a knife, you weirdo?"

"you'll know how to use it," joe hills says again. "goodbye! believe in yourself!"

mr. hills sprints behind a building before he has to explain anything else. joel is left standing on the sidewalk holding a knife, staring after him.

so. that's weird as hell. joel shivers in the cold and continues on his way home. the butterfly knife feels heavy in his pockets. he should probably report that guy to his social worker or something, but actually talking to his social worker feels like conceding defeat. joel can take care of himself. he can prove he can take care of himself. just watch him. step one: go out to get ramen because he forgot to buy any food for his apartment.

he sees impulse putting up signs as he eats. impulse looks miserable. joel thinks about how skizz, just in the short time he'd known him, had sort of unintentionally given away that he felt isolated after his mother Vanished. that impulse was a great friend, but impulse didn't understand what it was like. he never really SAID as much, but--

it's not fair to impulse, for that to be the last thing impulse remembered of what was apparently a friend since childhood. and joel doesn't care about any of these guys, but he can still pay his check and go out and help impulse go looking. he's no good at comforting people and doesn't know this guy, but joel had been alone too, sitting on the roof and crying, when the helicopters came.

except when they go back to the path by the school, joel's head starts to hurt again.

he looks up and there's a butterfly.

"hey, impulse, are butterflies common here?" he asks, a little desperately.

"i mean, not really, why?" impulse says.

"uh," joel says, and gestures. the two of them stare as the strange yellow butterfly circles in place.

"okay, so that is kind of weird," impulse admits.

"right?" joel says. "the only way it would be weirder is if it were blue." impulse gives him a look. joel does not explain.

it starts to fly away.

"we should follow it," impulse says, his voice getting a little dull. "yeah. we should follow it."

"what? no! no we should not follow the haunted butterfly, are you nuts?" joel says, but it's a bit too late. (maybe this is what the knife is for: stabbing impulse. it would be an effective method of stopping him!) he chases impulse down, down to the river, where yellow butterflies are swarming. impulse, as though possessed, simply steps into the swarm and falls through them to the water.

joel's, uh, freaking out more than a little bit? he'll admit he's freaking out. he dives forward to try to grab him, only to realize that he doesn't see impulse anywhere.

a single blue butterfly lands on joel's shoulder. "do you hold his heart next to yours?"

"i'm going insane," joel says.

"no heart is meant to be completely alone. do you hold his next to yours?"

"this isn't happening," joel says. "this is like a stupid manga or something. it's not happening."

"there is still time to save them; you must hold your heart strong, or the consequences will be dire. i believe in you."

the butterfly vanishes.

"fuck it," joel says. "if i drown then it's nothing people haven't expected of me anyway."

he steps through the swarm of butterflies.

that night, he drags both impulse and skizz out of the river. they're all freezing cold. shadows and strange, yellowy liquid still cling to all of their skin. also, joel stabbed himself, which like, glad to know that's what the knife was for, apparently, and the scar is warm and comforting. he can feel his--persona, and don't ask him how he knows that--shifting under his skin, under the mark on his hand. it said its name is pygmalion; it says it is a piece of joel's soul.

this is all patently insane. but skizz and impulse are alive and NOT eaten by shadow monsters, so even if they're both a little unconscious, joel takes that as a win.

they lie on the ground outside the river. someone stumbles across them. "well give me some teeth and call me an alligator. you got out on your own," breathes a fellow student clutching a dagger. joel thinks he's in the class across the hall. also--

"what are you talking about," joel wheezes.

"you found it on your own. you can find them?" the student says. his eyes are wide. something in joel's soul recognizes something in the student's. something in joel's BRAIN puts two and two together and realizes why mr. hills gave him a knife.

"no. no, go away, i don't want to be involved in this," joel says.

"well, don't you think it's too late for that?" the student says, and joel passes out. he's pretty sure the butterflies have to be laughing at him. in fact, as though to mock him further, after passing out, he doesn't even get to avoid it forever, because he wakes up in a glowing blue boat. there is a man with white-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blue outfit leaning over him, poking him.

joel takes no responsibility for punching him. he'd do it again, too, as the long-nosed man sitting next to the unmanned steering wheel welcomes him to the velvet room.

(this, joel realizes later, all rather sets the tone for what the next year of his life is about to become.)

#hermitcraft #joel smallishbeans #smallishsona au #THAT'S RIGHT BABY ITS THE PERSONA AU I WAS WAFFLING ABOUT #because i'm playing p3re right now this is pretty p3 inspired but also expect elements of p4 (my fav) and p5 #i. do not know enough about p1 and p2 to be using all these butterflies but FUCK IT WE BALL. #a bee fic #KIND OF I GUESS I'LL PUT THIS THERE. #anyway the idea is that this au is half a crack au and half DEEPLY SINCERE #because the JOKE is that joel hates every minute of being a persona protagonist #but the OTHER bit is that joel is genuinely an extremely loyal guy who would do VERY WELL as a persona protagonist #you just have to drag him there kicking and screaming #(sort of in a very. p3-esque way)

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Goodbye - Epilogue (Captain Syverson)

MASTERLIST         P1          P2          P3          P4          P5   

A/N: I happy cried writing this. I apologize for it’s delay but sincerely hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy! 

If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or want to be tagged; please let know!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF, language, a hint of smut, more fluffy domestic goodness, reference to PTSD

***********************************

An arid summer’s eve laid upon them yet a welcoming, cool brisk dispersed through the night’s mellow sky. It was one of those magical July nights, a night that didn’t cause you to swelter miserably. At least not as fast as usual. Y/N gazed up at the array of luminescent stars glistening down on her sighing contently. She eyed the big dipper with ease thinking back to every astrological book she’d homed over the three decades.

Her hand grazed her bulging belly soaking in the last days before her son’s arrival. She leaned her head against the cool cushion contemplating the peaceful the evening. Soon her thoughts drifted to her husband, Sy putting their two miracles, Luna and Oliver to bed. Her eldest, Oliver was the definition of a blessing in disguise. Now her baby was five and the celebration of Luna’s third birthday long past. Where did the time go…every mother greatest fear.

Briefly, Y/N closed her eyes listening to the music laced in the wind. Soon they would be outnumbered, something both of them were slowly coming to terms with. Sy cherished the swell of her belly and the fullness of her breasts secretly wishing for as many kids as humanly possible. 

Y/N, on the other hand figured three was plenty but Sy was a tricky one, a handsomely tricky man who worshipped the ground she walked on. A different man from their initially rocky start. Granted, looking back on the beginning of their relationship left a small twinge in her chest, he’d tried his damndest to make it up to her every day since leaving that hospital.

Sy had gone through hell and back clawing his way from death’s vicious grip. Rehabilitation had kicked his ass but he persevered gradually gaining strength after every tedious therapy session. Needless to say, the last couple years weren’t always roses and butterflies. Oh no, there were times when Sy admitted defeat, yelled in unbridled anger, and genuinely resented the cards he’d been dealt.

But it brought them here together, in this moment, forever thankful of their ever-growing family. And for that she would be infinitely indebted for the rest of her days. Thankfully after two intensive years of non-stop motivation and assistance, the only sign of his accident was a minor limp Y/N found absolutely loveable.

Cicadas pierced the silence as lightning bugs alit to life. Sy’s heavy steps protruded along the wood stripped floors making his way towards his magnificent wife. The swivel of the sliding door popped Y/N’s serene daze. A thunderous voice echoed; “Baby?”

Y/N hummed sensing him approach from behind. His meaty hands met the crook of her neck massaging her swollen shoulders. An uncontrollable exhale escaped her.

“Hey good lookin’.”

His lips brushed against her moisturized skin grazing her collarbone before roaming towards the corner of her lip. Taking his own cue, Sy continued his trail of hot kisses down her chest wavering towards her plump breasts. She moaned in pure bliss.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to send me into labor.”

Sy stopped, a chuckle reverberating from his chest; “Ain’t that a good thing?” His Texas twang was the equivalence of freshly churned butter, a noise so familiar her heart still soared to cloud nine.

Choosing to ignore his sass, Y/N found herself staring upwards at the stars and many constellations. Sy’s large frame settled into the chair beckoning her towards the setta lounge chair. Y/N nodded unwilling to deny her handsome husband a minute longer sliding into his lap. His heat immediately emitted to her core warming every bit of exposed skin.

“I see you made it out in one piece?”

Sy’s massive arms engulfed Y/N’s changing body perching his chin atop her shoulder.

“Hardly! If I have to read Uni the Unicorn one more damn time I might have to be committed.”

Y/N jokingly slapped his shoulder; “Oh c’mon. You love seeing Luna’s beaming smile or else you wouldn’t give in to her every night.”

“Sure, she’s cute now but wait til she’s datin.”

“Nope, nope. She’s still gonna be my sweetie.”

Sy considered his wife’s words coming to a conclusion that she was shamelessly right. His girls had him tightly wound around their fingers. He wasn’t your average fool, no he was now a family man fool. If someone told him this is where his life path would’ve led him, he’d have blatantly laughed in their face but now he saw no other future than the one right in front of him. The numerous doctors and therapists saved his life but Y/N truly revived him from the perverse melancholy of PTSD.

The woman who hung the moon, balanced his universe, the woman who miraculously gave life to two healthy children, and the woman he once stupidly shoved aside. That was in the past and for the first time in his life, Sy looked forward to the future, their future.

Together they sat tangled as one listening to nature’s melody. After leaving the city, they’d purchased ten acres ready to rear their children outside of hectic city living.

“Baby, have I told you I love you today? Because if not shame on me.”

“Only bout a million times but who’s counting.”

His arms draped around her waist tenderly rubbing her jutting stomach.

“God, you are so fucking sexy like this.”

“Like what? Bloated and gassy?”

Her sarcasm was undeniable.

“No, horny and swollen with my child.”

“Man, you really know how to get my hormones raging….”

“Seriously babe, I love seeing pregnant. It’s incredibly hot. Bigger boobs, higher sex drive, these curves, I mean who would complain?”

“Ha ha. Well, that makes one of us because I feel like a whale.”

Syverson didn’t miss a beat; “But a very sexy whale.”

“Kids go down easy?”

“If by easy you mean fifteen minutes of reading with light back rubbing, and a fight over that squirrel night light, then yes, they went down easy.”

“Thank you for the peace and quiet. Sincerely.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

“Any more thought on what to name bubba here?”

Y/N caressed her belly protectively searching for catchy names.

“What about… Henry?”

Sure enough, Y/N nodded liking the ring of it; “Henry Syverson. Sounds pretty awesome if I do say so myself.”

He held her jaw lightly guiding her to face him admiring the sparkle in her eyes.

“Well cowgirl, I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I can’t believe we’re about to be outnumbered.”

Her pulse accelerated at the terrifying notion alone but Sy remained calm, cool, and collected.

“Y/N, we’ve got this. You and me, together. We’ve mastered two already, what’s one more?”

Her newfound nerves evaporated. Y/N squirmed trying to stretch her sleepy bones. A sensational moan flowed from his lips. So, Y/N repeated her previous movement wiggling her hips for full effect.

“Darlin, that feels fucking fantastic.”

“Mmm, yeah?

Taking charge Y/N kissed him sliding her tongue along his lower lip. With every passing second the intensity skyrocketed; Y/N passionately kissed him. Syverson devoured her like a man starved deepening the connection. Breathy pants circulated around the air. Before Sy could enunciate another vowel, his zipper was down and Y/N palming his hardening dick. He was damn glad he married a minx. His head back launched against the cushion at the sensation coursing through his veins. Y/N made quick work unbuttoning his pant clasp tugging the offensive material below his knees.

Sy’s fingers danced over her hips clutching at the sheer nightie. Silently taking his cue, Y/N raised to her knees giving him full access. Sy didn’t hesitate ripping the material watching her round breasts shimmer underneath the moonlight.

“God baby. You are gorgeous.”

“And to think you almost passed all this up.”

His laugh was hesitant thinking back on his former idiotic actions. Y/N allowed him a couple seconds of consolation before snapping him out of his self-hatred inner monologue. Her hand gripped his chin forcing his gaze; “Don’t do that, honey. Our past is what saved us. You are the only man for me.”  

He plunged two fingers into her soaked pussy jolting her system. Her hips moved as Y/N fucked herself atop him. Sy watched on in awe basking in marvel.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I gotta be inside you. Now.” Choking out the final word Sy knew he wouldn’t last long at this rate. He teased her clit rubbing his bulging tip teasingly along her most sensitive part. Y/N slid down his thick cock relishing in his fullness.

Every push and pull succumbed to a harder thrust. Sy held on for dear life losing himself in her sweet essence. Fireworks sparked beneath her lids as Sy pulsated within her velvety walls. Underneath the stars, two lovers made love uninterrupted for as long as the darkness lingered. Two mind- blowing orgasms later, two lovers remained intertwined and imperfectly in love.

--------------

“Mommy! Dada!”

Little feet pattered down the hallway nearing with every step. Y/N’s lids were sleep heavy enveloped by muscular arms.

“The rascals are awake and on the prowl.”

“Too awake. It’s Sunday! The day definition of rest.”

“Not when you have kids, hon.”

“Quick! Kiss me before the barge in.”

Sy leaned closer admiring his wife’s morning beauty sealing the deal. Milliseconds later their bedroom door burst open as two little people climbed the chest located at the foot of the bed. Grinning smiles in tow, Oliver and Luna snuggled towards their drowsy parents. Oliver landing atop Sy’s bare chest and Luna snuggled Y/N’s welcoming bosom.

“Mama! You pretty.”

Y/N grinned at her beautiful baby girl wondering just where the little baby she gave birth to went. Her heart ached wanting to memorize every last detail.

Sy’s booming bravado could awaken an entire hotel spinning her kids into endless giggles.  

“Good morning my cubs!”

“Daddy, we’re not cubs!”

“To me you are.”

Y/N shot him a glare; Sy joined in breaking into a fit of laughter; “Who’s hungry?!”

“Me!”

“Me, me, daddy!”

Jumping up and down, they were ready to greet the day bushy-eyed and energetic. Momma was in serious need of a strong cup of peppermint tea.

“But first lemme kiss baby Hen.”

Too distracted by husband caressing her loving belly, Y/N sighed at the newly created nickname.

“Hen, huh?”

His magnetic eyes travelled to hers; “You like?”

“So much. But let’s address the real elephant in the room… What’s for breakfast?”

Oliver continued jumping as Luna squirmed in Sy’s strong arms.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Y/N feigned coyly suppressing her glee; “Hmm, I’m thinkin…...WAFFLES!!”

“My favvvvorite!!”  

Shuffles of tiny feet waddled echoing down the hallway. Sy placed a loving kiss on her forehead; “Take your time sweetheart. I’ll watch the monsters.”

“You’re a godsend.”

“Only for my girl.”

Heavy footsteps followed suit. As much as Y/N treasured the last few months of pregnancy. With that being said she was more than ready to greet her bundle of joy. Out of nowhere a pain shot through her spine down to her pelvis knocking the wind from Y/N.

“Ouch...” She rubbed her stomach; “Hungry little man?”

Again, another kick radiated her body. Y/N ventured forward heading towards the loud noise coming from the kitchen.

Splash. Glancing down, Y/N noticed a puddle between her legs staring wide-eyed; “Shit, shit, shit!”

A dull ache riveted feeling overwhelming pressure on her uterus. Warm liquid dripped down her inner thighs. This could only mean one thing; show time.

“Sy!”

No response.

“Syverson! Get your cute butt up here! NOW.”

Sy magically appeared out of breath, concern written all over his face; “What? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

With her contraction temporarily paused her brain was able to formulate words; “I uh, believe my water just broke.”

“Holy shit.”

“Language, damnit!”

Sy threw her a stern spirited look; “Hi, Pot. I’m Kettle.”

“Hush it and make yourself useful. Suitcase is in the hall closet by the front door. I’m gonna grab my slippers. Meet you in a jiffy.”

An arm reached for Y/N; “Ah, ah. Not so fast. I moved them two days ago. I had this weird feeling buggin me and well, ya.”

Taking a deep hearty breath, Y/N collected her impulsive thoughts; “Okay, let’s’ get the littles buckled and do this, baby.”

“One sec.”

Locked in his hug, Sy wanted to remember every detail of Y/N, just like this, in the home they built and the family they were blessed with. Words were no longer necessary. But just as quickly, another wave of contractions hit Y/N sending her hurling over.

“Okay, moment over. Let’s get the show on the road.”

And just like that the once too painful burdens Syverson lugged with him the past years vanished never questioning his luck and life again eternally grateful to the woman who simply said I do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:  @thedeadhearted @giveusbackourbucky @henry-cavill-obsessed  @onlyhenrys @omgkatinka @thereisa8ella @threeminutesoflife @homewreckingwreck @gemini0410 @maan14@bluegalaxyprime @sofiebstar @whyyykitkat @encounterthepast  @readermia @ly-canthropewrites @scorpionchild81 @henrythickcavill @snowbellexx @stephartrave @agniavateira  @cap-barnes @henryfanfics101  @mary-ann84 @westcoast-nightowl @poledancingdinos  @justaboringadult @peakygroupie  @nalathefirefly @vikingsbifrost @bloodyinspiredfuck @moderapoppins @cooldiva1234 @icedcoffeeismythang @titty-teetee @summersong69 @kaatelyyynn @missursulacalmet @michelehansel @iloveyouyen @shyshu @star017 @raynosaurus-rex @radkesgirl83 @starrynite7114  @wheretheriversrunintothesea @i-love-scott-mccall  @darkbooksarwin @ellieseymour70 @designerwriterchic @studywithrosie01 @dangerouslovefanfic @lebguardians @crazybutconfidentaf @hen-cavill  @cavill-sass @oh-for-fic-sake @icedbottles @buckysgoldenheart @brexrif @gryffindorwriter @laketaj24 @foxyjwls007 @lawsofthejungle @henrycavillfanpage @kaboogie21 @fangirl199812 @gothicninibalor @qualitynightkoala @strictlybuckybarnes @toomanyfandomsshreya @hersilencescreams-blog @viking-raider @sesamepancakes  @madbaddic7ed @fuckoffbard @funfickgirl22 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @hoeforhenry @henrycavills-babe @abschaffer2 @loving-this @one-of-those-fanfiction-blogs @lovelycavills @beck07990 @bokillylovesloki @michelehansel @lharrietg

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x y/n #captain syverson x y/n #my writing #goodbye #henry cavill fluff #cpt sy #syverson #bernie sanders #netflix #captain sy #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill drabble

[taesbetch]

To Own A Hybrid P.7

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff (eventual smut) Hybrid!AU Cat!AU

Summary: The hybrid world was one y/n never really involved herself in; however, after certain events, she is tossed into a world of uncertainty in the company of a particularly rude hybrid.

Word Count: 2.6K +

A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short but its kinda just an introduction to the next chapter coming up and the shit that's about to unfold, I mean what who said that...:)

WARNING: Mentions of abuse, emotional torment, and prostitution

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

“do you need to pee?”

You stopped your wriggling as Jungkook’s raspy voice blessed your ears.

Your eyes were still stinging from the sudden light, but you were determined to start the day early.

“no, but we’ve got stuff to do and people to see” you answered as you continued your wriggling.

Jungkook hissed before rolling over and pulling you on top of him.

“just stay here for a minute” he mumbled as he wrapped his other arm around you and parted his legs so yours could fit in-between them.

You let out an estranged noise before resting your head on his chest enjoying the comfortable silence; Jungkook’s extra warmth quickly spread through your body as Jungkook slowly ran his hand up and down your back.

You took in the feeling of his firm body underneath yours before closing your eyes and letting the sound of his heart beat relax you. the gentle touch of his hand running up and down your back sent shivers down you-

*ring ring*

your eyes shot open before both you and Jungkook groaned in frustration.

The phone was gripped so tightly in your hand as you pressed the accept button, the urge to just let it ring and ignore it was so strong.

“Namjoon?” you asked grungily, your body half of a needy Jungkook.

As you detached yourself and sat up in order to talk to him properly Jungkook whimpered and tried in vain to grab at you again.

“hey! sorry but did you have plans today?” Namjoon asked nervously.

“just a few…but why?” you asked curiously.

“I was wondering if you and Jungkook would like to come around- ya know for the hybrids, like for them too bond and…all that stuff” Namjoon stated in a rush.

It took you a minute to process before you understood what he was saying.

Ignoring Jungkook’s shouts of protest you agreed to Namjoons’ proposal before ending the call.

Slowly, you turned to your now angered hybrid before shooting him an apologetic grin.

“I’m not going” he stated coldly before grabbing the sheets and chucking it over his head.

You groaned before throwing your body over his too start the pleading and begging.

“kookie! I can’t say no to Namjoon! And taehyung and Yoongi are sweet, you’ll like them eventually! Come on, please! Try? For me?” you pleaded as you managed to pull the covers off him enough to see his face.

He stared at you for a second as you pouted you lips and continued silently pleading.

“an hour. Max” he grunted before rolling his eyes and pulling the covers back over his head.

You squealed in joy before having a brief fight for the blanket to be removed again so you could plant a kiss on his forehead.

---

“you made it!” Namjoon rejoiced as he opened the door.

“we weren’t sure if we were supposed to bring anything” you stated as the two of you made your way through the familiar space.

“that’s okay! I just figured it would be good for Jungkook to be around other hybrids, ya know, keep him…hybrid..ee” Namjoon stumbled trying to find the right words.

You and Jungkook looked at each in confusion before projecting the feeling onto Namjoon. Almost on cue, your body was attacked with warmth and love.

You let out a shout of surprise before returning the hug to the overjoyed hybrid.

“y/n! I missed you so much! Come see my collection of butterflies!” he chirped excitedly causing you to laugh at his incredible energy.

Jungkook’s obvious objection to this whole visit was weighing on your shoulders as you tried to enjoy the company of your friend and his hybrids; You gave him a small nudge with you elbow as taehyung pleaded him to follow.

“y/n, I’d actually like to talk to you about something” Namjoon whispered before tilting his head in the direction of his hybrid haters fighting room…or his office, that would be a better name for it.

“what’s up?” you whispered as followed him inside.

“it’s about the S.T.M we think we’ve found the home base. We just need Mr. So’s laptop” he stated strongly as you both sat down. Startled by the attack of information you quickly tried to process what he was saying.

You panicked for a moment before remembering that you still had Mr. So’s laptop…and jimin’s information and evidence of him helping Mr.So is most probably still on said Laptop.

“did I not give it to you?” you asked slowly as your eyes narrowed.

Namjoons mouth gaped in confusion as his eyes narrowed back at you.

“I don’t think you did?” he questioned. You nodded your head before clearing your throat awkwardly “well I’ll just check when I get home” you answered.

“anyway, so you think you’ve found the Homebase?” you asked curiously as you started swaying in your chair.

“not just the Homebase, the leader as well” Namjoon said seriously as he typed away on his computer.

“what the fuck” you blurted out as a picture of a beautiful woman popped up on your screen. She was thick and have curves to slay the gods, her hair was as dark as night and her cheek bones were strong and carved.

“yep. That’s her…we don’t know her name though, just have a face” he sighed sadly.

“do you know others? Like who else is she working with?” you asked as he flicked through computer files.

“we have put together a list of suspects from big companies such as apple and Samsung who we think might be in on it…but there are so many of them..it’s hard to tell. We managed to get pieces of information from Mr. So. Shes apparently competitive, is an only child so she isn’t fond of sharing and is thirsty for money…so…not much information” Namjoon stated.

“but…I don’t get it. What do they get out of this?” you asked softly as you stared at all the cases involving hybrid harm.

“the hybrid industry is straight cash. It’s disgusting but it sells” he explained as he turned towards you.

“Namjoon…how the hell did you even get into this?” you asked curiously.

His eyes bored into yours sending you a signal that it’s a very long story, one you probably don’t want to get into.

He shrugged nonchalantly before turning his head back to his computer “you really don’t want to know” he whispered before printing off a picture of the ring leader and handing it to you.

“Namjoon…come on please?” you pleaded gently trying not to force him into telling you his story but asking enough so he knows you’re interested in it.

“er..okay, but promise you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. not even my hybrids know this” he whispered as he pulled his chair closer to yours.

Your eyes peaked with interest as he took several deep breaths.

“my…mother was half hybrid” he stated.

You almost screamed a ‘no fucking way’ in his face as the words he had stated were something no human would usually hear.

Half hybrids were not common. Not common at all. The genetics of a human mixed in with a hybrid wouldn’t work as a hybrid is already half human, therefore the human side would almost always. It’s said ‘almost always’ because there are rare cases of hybrids being born from a human and a hybrid; but the child would either be fully hybrid of fully human. Never half hybrid.

“I watched her battle for hybrid rights for years. She became a symbol of hope for those who had none…and she became a target for those who revelled in hatred and death” he explained calmly.

“now she’s gone…and it’s my turn” he continued a fire of determination burning in his eyes.

“ya know, when you sat at the back of the library even after you had graduated I never thought this was what your future would be like” you admitted with a small smile on your face.

Namjoon laughed whole-heartedly before placing his hand on your head.

“and when you stumbled into our office with a box full of stickers I didn’t expect this to be your future either” he retorted making you smile widely.

“hey, those stickers were useful okay!” you defended as he removed his hand from your head.

“I’m proud of you, Jungkook seems to have opened up to you rather quickly” he stated as his dimple revealed itself.

“I think were a lot a like me and him. Obviously very different. But still alike” you shrugged.

“I guess people are just more likely to open up to people who remind them of themselves” Namjoon said thoughtlessly.

You nodded along in agreement as your train of thoughts wondered elsewhere…

People are more likely to open up to people who remind them of themselves

“should we go check on the hybrids?”

“mmm probably”

-----

Jungkook wanted to die. He just didn’t want to be alive anymore.

Taehyung had Jungkook sitting right against the arm of a couch as he showed him all sorts of butterflies in jars.

Yoongi watched in joy as jungkook’s face twitched with annoyance.

“I call this one smoochi- Y/n!” taehyung called as you and Namjoon entered the frame.

Jungkook jumped up with the speed of a god at the sound of you name leaving taehyung lips.

A look a relief and anger crossed his face as he started walking towards you.

“oh, wait you cant leave just yet! I made lunch!” Namjoon chirped excitedly.

“you, made lunch?” you asked in utter shock, ignoring jungkook’s tugging at your shirt.

“what is that supposed to mean?” He asked offended as jungkook’s tugging got more aggressive.

“it sounds great…but we really have to go” you said apologetically.

A sound of relief released from Jungkook before he started dragging you to the door with no hesitation.

“wait! Please don’t go just yet!” Namjoon pleaded as taehyung passed him the tray of lasagne he had just made.

“look!” he said proudly as he showcased the beautifully cooked lasagne.

You let out a whine before gathering all the pleading you could into a single look towards Jungkook.

His eyes were cold and even though the smell of the lasagne was clearly getting to him.

--

“I can’t believe we stayed for lasagne”

You sighed in pure happiness as the taste of homemade food floated around your mouth.

“so, you and Namjoon found the leader of S.T.M?” Jungkook asked as you decided to take a short cut under the bridge instead of through the highway.

“yer! Hang on I have a picture of her somewhere” you said as your hand slipped into your pocket and you silently thanked god that no one ever takes this route.

As the car exited the bridge and back into sunlight a sudden shout from Jungkook caused you to stop it abruptly.

“what the fuck!” you shouted as Jungkook exited the car angrily.

“Jungkook!” you called as you joined him outside.

“That’s her! Kim soojung! That’s the bitch I was telling you about!” Jungkook yelled. Worry and panic swirling in his eyes.

Your eyes widened with shock before your body was filled with more fuel to bring the bitch down.

“Jungkook! This means you can get justice! It’s like killing to birds with one stone!” you chirped

“no! Y/n you don’t understand! She’s a phycho bitch!” he yelled frustratingly as the wind picked up with his temper.

“That’s why we need to bring her down Jungkook, if she’s doing what she did too you-“you started but he cut in, not letting you finish your sentence.

“don’t start with that bullshit! You suddenly start hanging out with that cocky shit and suddenly your Orpah!” he yelled angrily.

“Don’t talk about Namjoon like that! And no! I don’t think I’m Orpah I just think that if I can help I should! What’s wrong with that!” you yelled back, starting to get angry too.

“JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN FOR ONCE! YOU. WILL. DIE! SHES NOT AFRAID OF ANYTHING OR ANYONE! GOD! CAN’T YOU GET THROUGH YOUR THICK HEAD!” he shouted before ripping up the picture and taking off quickly through the weeds towards the pathway along the lake.

“jung-ugh!” you shouted before taking off running after him.

“YOU CAN RUN BUT ILL JUST KEEP RUNNING AFTER YOU!” you shouted as the distance between the two of you grew. Jungkook turned around in shock as he watched you catch up to him.

The calmness of the lake and warm gleam of the sun was a perfect contrast to the current situation you were in.

“what are you doing?” he asked, his breathing fine as if he didn’t just sprint kilometres.

“what the fuck…does it look…like, Jesus, that was a lot” you huffed as you tried to calm your racing heart and ragged breathing.

“you…chased me?” he asked is surprise as he watched you carefully a hint of worry that you might drop dead.

“what did you expect me to do?! Watch you run off into the distance dramatically and wait for you to come home by yourself because you need time? Bullshit. This isn’t a movie” you explained harshly.

“well, what the fuck do you want me to say?!” he blurted in frustration.

“talk to me! What’s the problem?!” you asked, annoyance and tiredness dripping from your voice.

“I just…I finally have someone. You’re annoying and you’re loud and you think your funny but you’re actually just not-“ He started.

“wow thanks”

“but…I don’t know, your mine. I don’t know how to explain it but its just nice. I like waiting for you to come home, I like it when we just watch movies or when you wake me up because you need to fucking pee. Don’t ruin this for me y/n! I have someone who actually cares about me…and if you’re not here, then there’s no one! I have no one without you!” he exclaimed.

Standing opposite him you watched as tears rushed down his face, the light from the sun making them sparkle with life and emotion. His eyes were filled with so many unsaid words and such vulnerability that your knees shook at the mere sight.  

“jungkook..” you whispered as you approached him slowly.

As you got closer jungkooks arms hesitantly reached out to grab you, his bottom lip quivering from the need of contact.

“Im not going anywhere” you whispered gently as you wrapped your arms around his torso and laid your head against his chest.

Almost instantly Jungkook wrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer to his body “y/n, she’s pure evil…please, promise me you won’t go near her” he pleaded as he buried his head into your neck.

You whined as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder.

“please”

“fine…I won’t” you sighed.

Jungkook hummed in content as he held you even tighter.

“aww you’re such a softie” you teased as you brought you hand towards his ears, giving them a good scratch.

“shut u-uhhh- shut up” he struggled as he purred in delight.

“ I guess we really are kinda sort not really alike” you chuckled as you pulled away from him.

You gasped before playfully slapping jungkook’s arm “OH MY GOD!” you shouted as your mind was processing its current mind blow.

“people open up to people who are like themselves, people trust people who are like themselves, people work with people who remind them of.them.selves” you stated excitedly.

“that’s it! That’s how Namjoon has to narrow down his list! Jungkook! We can help and still be not involved but really involved at the same time!” you chirped excitedly.

Jungkook looked at you with complete confusion.

“Namjoon said he was only able to get information about what she’s kinda like and…with you, he could get even more information. Then he just has to compare each personality of those he suspects and boom! There’s his main suspects” you explained excitedly.

“okay…okay that one we can do…but we’ll be very far from the actual thing when it goes down. Very very very very far! Okay?” Jungkook stated.

“yes, very far, now come on! We got shit to do and thoughts to spill!” you exclaimed grabbing his hand and skipping your way back to the car.

ANOTHER A/N: I just want to thank everyone for all the sweet messages and comments on these chapters!!! it makes me feel so loved and it makes me so happy that you guys are enjoying this as much as i enjoy writing it. sometimes it gets hard to continue writing cause im a self counsious betch and thinks no one will read my mess that i call a fanfiction so honestly, thank you xx 

#jungkook bts #bts #bangtan sonyeondan #hybrid au #bts hybrid au #jungkook hybrid au #Jungkook Series #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #kpop hybrid au #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #jungkook hybrid #jungkook cat #park jimin #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #min yoongi #hoesok #seokjin #bangtansstories #bangtan fanfic #jungkook smut

[panda-noosh]

Bad At Love {FINAL}{Photographer!Keith x Prodigy!Reader}

Words: 5629

 Summary: Keith Kogane was known for being the good-boy-gone-bad. You were known for being the emotionless prodigy that only ever showed up to school to stop her foster parents from getting arrested. Whenever you two are put together on a school project after briefly meeting during detention, you find your world tipping upside down as you realise that there’s more to life than science and logic.

 Pairing: Photographer!Keith x Prodigy!Reader

 Notes: p1 – p2 – p3 – p4 – p5 – p6 ; WHAT A FUCKING JOURNEY WOW. As always, this story would literally be nothing if it wasn’t for you guys and all the support you showed; I’m so, so thankful for all of it and I honestly don’t know how to express that in a way that is satisfying for both me and you, so I’ll just put it simply – thank you so much. You shaped this story in ways that only I as the writer will understand. Your comments after every update pushed me to keep going whenever I was in the deepest of writing slumps. So thank you so much. I hope the ending did the story justice. Aticus x

Chapter 7

  If Ann-Marie was confused about the fact that you had brought Keith home with you today, she didn’t bring it up. In fact, she seemed to almost want to keep her distance as you pushed open the front door, leading Keith by the hand up the staircase, dodging the kitchen as much as you could.

   Keith was still worked up, you could tell. His eyes were puffy, jacket pulled up around his cheeks in an attempt to hide the redness that the tears had scribbled into his skin. His hand gripped yours too tightly, but you didn’t pull away. You squeezed back, looking over your shoulder at him every now and then and giving him the warmest smile you could muster up at a time like this.

   The school day had been a drag. You and Keith only had two classes together, meaning Keith was left to fend for himself for the rest of the day. He was shaking. During the two classes you two had together, he fidgeted non-stop with his pens and pencils, could barely look up at the board, had his hood pulled on over his head and had barely given you a glance as you took your seat.

   You didn’t take it personally. At the end of the day, he had jogged up behind you, took your hand in his and the two of you had walked to his pick-up truck with you telling him the currently underdeveloped plan that you were hoping to use for the time-being. Until you had something better to go along with.

   As hard as it was for you to admit, you didn’t know what to do – didn’t know what you were doing. All you knew was that you would not let Keith hurt any more. Not whenever you had every chance to stop it, to put a smile back on his face, to let him live a life of freedom that he had been robbed of by a man who was meant to love him unconditionally.

    You led Keith into your bedroom and quietly shut the door behind you. Neither of you spoke. Words weren’t needed, because all had been said. In the library, you had told Keith all you needed to say to him; he would be okay. You would make sure of it.

   Keith takes a seat on the edge of your unmade bed, taking a quick glance around the small room you had been sleeping in for months. Clothes litter the floor, books tossed left right and centre, your wardrobe door open to reveal a number of Korean lettering from your studies of the language that you were now fluent in. You watch him from the doorway, arms folded over your chest, wondering what was going on inside his mind. Did he think all of this was a good idea? Was he scared?

   You can only assume that he is; anybody would be. He had told you in the car park that he hadn’t told his father that he was staying with you, meaning his dad would no doubt be ripping his hair out trying to figure out where his son was. You had told Keith to turn his phone off just in case his dad decided to text him; Keith had done just that.

    He looks up at you after inspecting the room, eyes glistening with a fresh batch of tears which hadn’t budged since this morning. “I’m very tired.”

    You smile lightly and point towards the set-up of pillows behind him. “Sleep.”

   Keith hesitates for a moment. You walk towards him, pull yourself up onto the bed behind him and gently wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging at his jacket. Keith seems startled as you begin to peel the material off of him, revealing only a plain black t-shirt underneath. You toss the jacket off to the side of the room.

    “I’ll get you some of Patrick’s pyjama bottoms if you like.”

   A blush fires Keith’s cheeks as he shakes his head. “N-No. It’s okay. I can sleep in jeans.”

   You nod before clambering off the side of the bed. Keith watches you as you do so, barely a flicker of emotion in his eyes and the look on his face crushes you. You were used to seeing him angsty, moping around with his hair in his face – that was his brand. That was how he chose to show himself to the school, but you had enough faith in your friendship to believe that that changed when he was around you. He smiled more when he was with you. He made jokes. He was the old, sarcastic Keith that had been ditched – and now you knew the reason why.

   Seeing him back to square one made your heart ache, but you fought it off. Time would heal him.

    “Where are you gonna sleep?” Keith asks, making you stop dead at the door.

   You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “I’ll explain everything to Ann-Marie and Patrick and then I’ll sleep on the sofa. You need to get your rest in.”

   Keith frowns. “Come sleep with me.”

  You go to reply, half-ready to go into further detail about your plans to sleep on the coach, half-ready to argue with him if he objected, but your words fall short once you register what it was he had actually said.

   You narrow your eyes, tilt your head to the side as if you had misunderstood; you were sure you had. How else could you possible explain what it was you had just heard?

    “What?”

   Keith reaches out, eyes drooping from exhaustion, arm barely held upright with the lack of strength his body was granting him today. Hesitantly, you step forward and let him place a hand on your hip, and it is then that he tugs you down onto the bed beside him, an arm still wrapped around your waist as he shuffles back and leans into the pillows, letting out a sigh of contempt as soon as he does so.

    “Let’s just nap together,” he says. He says it so calmly and it makes your chest burn with something you can’t quite pinpoint. You don’t know what it is.

   You swallow thickly and nod, trying not to show off the flustered blush which is heating up your cheeks in this moment. Keith lets his eyes close, removing his hand to allow you to shuffle up the bed beside him, pushing your legs into the quilt and leaning back against the pillows. Like a reflex, Keith’s arm juts out, just at the nape of your neck, and you don’t pull away. You aren’t sure if you want to or not, the comfort that suddenly seizes you being enough to make you want to stay in this position, no matter how weird it may seem to the outside world.

   Keith sighs, shimmies down a little further before he rolls onto his side and drapes his arm across his stomach, drifting off to sleep almost immediately. It takes you a moment to do the same, eyes trained on Keith’s sleeping figure; he seems peaceful now compared to how he had been all day. His hands are still as they rest on your skin, his eyes closed, his breathing finally settling in his chest and slowing down to a pace which doesn’t scream of panic.

   You smile lightly to yourself before allowing your own eyes to close, your own breathing to pace, your own bones to relax into his grip. Despite the butterflies attacking your insides, sleep overtakes you a lot sooner than usual.

    “Y/N-ah. Y/N. It’s time to wake up, babe. You’ve been asleep since you got home.”

   You grunt, eyes peeling open to welcome the unwanted sunlight which streams in through your cracked open curtains. Your bones ache from the position you had fallen asleep in the previous night, though as soon as your mind is clear from grogginess, you sit bolt upright, remembering exactly how you had fallen asleep.

   Ann-Marie stands over you, a playful smirk on her face as her attention darts between you and Keith, who still lay asleep beside you. His arm falls from your stomach into your lap as you bolt upright, his other hand sliding down the pillow; he doesn’t move.

   “You got something you want to tell me?” Ann-Marie questions.

   You shake your hands in front of your face. “Would you sh? He’s tired. He had a long day yesterday.”

    Ann-Marie chuckles, folds her arms over her chest. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

   “Please let him lie in today. I’ll explain everything to you as soon as I get up, alright?”

   “The school will be asking questions, Y/N.”

   “Let them ask. You’ll understand once I explain it all.”

   Ann-Marie seems unsure. Her eyes dart back to Keith, catching a glimpse of the vulnerable position the usually-protected boy is in right now; curled up with his knees pulled into his lower stomach, head resting on his outstretched arms that had once held you to sleep. He grunts in his sleep every now and then, licking his lips and shifting with a sigh leaving his mouth.

    Your foster mother inhales deeply and shoots you a warning glance. “Just this once. Patrick won’t be happy to know I’ve let you two sleep in and not him.”

   “He’ll have to deal with it, won’t he? Now, sh. You’re voice is too loud.”

   Ann-Marie rolls her eyes before leaving your room. The silence which follows is a tense one, one filled with a weird understanding of just what it is you are doing, of what exactly happened the previous night, of what you felt when his arms wrapped around your body and pulled you close as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You look down at his sleeping form, the way his black hair dips into his eyes and the way his biceps protrude from beneath his black shirt – it all seems a little bit surreal. As if you’re going to wake up and Keith is still stuck in an abusive home with his father, and you’re still getting shifted between foster families and neither of you know what to do with the emotions which seem to be overflowing nowadays.

   You reach out and brush your fingers across Keith’s forehead, shifting his hair out of his closed eyes. His eyelashes flutter at the movement, mouth opening to release a groan of exhaustion that is eventually replaced with a fluttery sigh.

   He stretches his body out like a cat on concrete, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he does so. You watch him in amusement as he nearly tips off the edge of the bed, catching himself on the bedside table.

    “What time is it?” he asks. His voice is groggy, out of use.

   “I have no idea,” you reply. “But I got us the day off school, so you can thank me later.”

    Keith’s eyes dart open wide, turning to look at you with his jaw slightly open. His smile has faded, and his hair has fallen back into his eyes but you simply chuckle at his expression. “You did? How did you manage that?”

    You open your mouth to reply. Keith raises a hand, stopping you.

   “High IQ. I forgot.”

   You grin, clambering off the bed. Your bones crack as they stretch out for the first time in what must have been over ten hours – your nap had certainly gone a lot longer than you had thought it would have. You don’t entirely mind, because for the first time in months, you felt genuinely energized. Whether that was due to the amount of sleep you got, or whether it was due to who you had woken up beside was a completely different matter.

   “You know, I’m going to have to turn my phone back on eventually,” Keith says, suddenly. The mood shifts immediately. You clench the edge of your wardrobe, biting your tongue. “I’m also going to have to leave the house and get my stuff at some point. I’m going to have to face him, Y/N.”

    “Not on your own you don’t.”

   “You’re not going with me,” he says. You turn around, eyebrow raised. “He’s dangerous. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

    “Well I don’t want you going back into that house on your own. Not after finding out what happened there.”

   Keith’s lower lip wobbles. He pushes his palms into his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them before he lets them drop heavily into his lap. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless in my entire life. Nobody was meant to find out about what happened to me. All the hassle that is-“

   “I already told you, Keith. You’re not going to do be doing it alone.”

   “That’s the thing, though!” Keith stands up, falters a little bit, catches himself on the wall behind him. “I feel bad dragging you into all of this. It should have been my problem to deal with, not anybody else’s.”

   “That’s ridiculous. Don’t you think for one minute that I find any of this bothersome. You’re my best friend.”

   Keith’s face falls, barely noticeable if it weren’t for the way his chin dimple disappears for just a moment. He tries to disguise the way his face had fallen by putting on what he clearly hopes to be a happy expression, though to you it seems more forced than anything else.

    His voice is quiet when he speaks, barely above a whisper, sounding on the brink of sadness. “Well then, who am I to argue with that?”

   You smile back at him, unsure of where the sudden tension had stemmed from. It was going to be a long day – an emotionally draining day for everybody involved, but looking at Keith now made you realise that it would all be worth it eventually. You two would pull through at the end, Keith with his justice clenched tightly in his fist and you with a happy best friend, a settled conscience.

   It would all be okay. You just had to keep telling yourself that there was going to be light at the end of the tunnel, and you were closer to it than you thought.

    Keith’s body presses tightly against yours as the two of you make a show of piling onto the sofa in front of a confused looking Ann-Marie. She’s pulled her thick hair into a bandana by now, sweat glistening off her forehead from the work she had been doing around the house whilst waiting for you and Keith to finally come downstairs and tell her what was going on; Keith had had a panic attack from what you could tell. Your extensive knowledge on the subject had prepared you well enough that you were able to calm him down with soothing instructions for him to breathe, but the aftermath of it had taken a while to come down from. Keith was ready for another nap, but his overexerted heart was beating too fast in his chest to even think about calming down.

   You had sat with him for the bouts of an hour before he finally said he was ready to go and see her, and now here you two were.

   He does a good job of hiding his anxiety when he’s actually in the situation. Though his hands are clasped tightly in his lap and he can’t keep his eyes still, you’re proud of him for even being here in the first place.

   “You two both look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ann-Marie comments, before she gasps, eyes widening. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

   You splutter. “What? Ann-Marie, no. Just listen, please.”

   “I’m nervous. I’ve never had to deal with this kind of thing when it came to you; you never brought anybody home.”

   You choose not to reply to that particular comment, not wanting to drag it on further than necessary. “Keith and I have something to tell you that is quite – uh – distressing.” Keith stiffens at the side of you. You reach over, take his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers. “You work for the government, right? Helping children and stuff?”

   Ann-Marie nods.

   “What do you do whenever a child is getting physically abused by their parent?”

   That is all it takes. Ann-Marie’s expression falls from it’s usual peppy grin and crescent eyes, replaced by a frown and a tight grip on the towel she is holding. Her eyes dart to Keith, who now has his head ducked into his lap in an attempt to look anywhere but the pitied eyes of Ann-Marie.

   You squeeze his hand a little tighter, telling him it’s okay and that there’s absolutely nothing for him to be ashamed of. He barely responds, his fingers even seeming to go slack in your own.

   Ann-Marie leans forward and places a hand on Keith’s lap. “Is it you, darling?”

   Keith’s bottom lip quivers as he nods.

   “The black eye?”

   Keith nods again. Your chest tightens, wanting to take away any and every piece of pain he is feeling right now but being unable to do so. The words were out there now, spoken to a professional, to somebody who could do something, and yet none of it felt like enough because Keith still wasn’t smiling.

   “I need you to tell me the details of the abuse, honey. I need to know everything; who did it, their motives, how long it’s been happening, what they do to you. Answering these questions will be the only way we can get you the help you need.”

  Keith looks up, eyes tear-glazed. He looks so innocent, so fragile. You feel like you’re holding him together with your hand in his, that if you let go he’ll fall apart and be unable to be put back together again.

   “I don’t want to – I don’t want to talk about it.”

    “Keith,” you begin, leaning forward. His eyes meet yours and he doesn’t budge them; it’s just you two in the room all of a sudden, the furniture and Ann-Marie melting away until it’s only the two of you gazing into each others eyes. “You have to do this if you want justice. We can take breaks between the descriptions if that’s what will help. Take it one step at a time, alright?”

    He lets out a shaky breath that sounds close enough to a pant that you’re almost sure he is going to have another panic attack at any moment. You squeeze his hand a little bit, watching as he looks down at your intertwined fingers, takes a deep breath and looks back up at Ann-Marie.

   “It’s my dad,” he says. His voice cracks. You lean back in your seat, biting on your lip to stop your own tears from falling; you aren’t even sure why you want to cry. You were the moral support, the background character who had just kickstarted the heroes journey.

   Ann-Marie nods. You watch her has she scrambles for a note and pen, two materials she carried around with her everywhere she went due to her unnecessary need to write down every little weird quirk you do so she can send the stats back to the foster system.

   “Your dad,” she hums, scribbling the words down quickly. “And how long has the abuse been going on for?”

   “He’s been neglectful and mentally abusive since my mum died; I was three. But it didn’t start getting physical until I was fourteen.”

   “Neglectful and mentally abusive? Can you go into details about what kind of stuff he did that made him neglectful and mentally abusive?”

   Keith swallows, shooting you a desperate glance which you respond to by smiling. He turns back to Ann-Marie, voice shaking. “I was cooking my own meals at the age of three because he never knew how to do it. His dinner consisted of alcohol and whatever microwaveable shit he could find – he never thought to buy me anything like that, though, so I had to learn how to cook so I could live. Whenever I cried or got upset, he’d lock me in my room until I calmed down. He did it after my mum died because he didn’t want to deal with his grieving, infant son.”

   Ann-Marie’s jaw sets, but she keeps her professional look on and nods along to everything Keith is saying, trying to keep the look of anger off of her face. You had lived with her long enough to spot it from a mile away.

    “And what about the physical abuse? What about that black eye?”

   “Shoved me into an open cupboard because I dropped my camera down the stairs.”

   “Did the camera break?”

   “Would that make what he did any better?”

   Ann-Marie quickly shakes her head, waving her hands in front of her face as a way to dismiss of the suddenly awkward atmosphere. You squeeze Keith’s fingers, trying to calm him down but he’s suddenly ripping his hand out of yours and folding his arms over his chest, heavy pants escaping him.

    Here we go.

   “Have you told anybody except Y/N about the abuse?”

   “No. He would have hung me up by my feet if I’d have even thought about it.”

   “Does he have a history with alcohol or drug abuse?”

   “History? The old man’s still drowning his sorrows every night.”

   “So that could be a reason he loses his temper so easily?”

   Keith scoffs, shaking his head. There’s a smile on his face, but it holds nothing but scorn, nothing but sadness and anger and frustration all balled into one. It’s a look you had never seen him wear, and it frightens you a little bit to say the least.

   He leans forward, places his arms on his thighs to keep himself from tipping forward completely. You’re almost certain that would be something he does at this moment, despite being completely sober. He doesn’t look to be in the right mindset at all.

   “My dad has never lost his temper a day in his life,” Keith says, voice low and oozing with a new-found hatred. “My dad lost his wife, and that made him lose his mind. He’s never had a fucking temper to lose-“

   “Keith-“

   He jerks upright, swings an arm over the back of the sofa so he can look at you fully. “You know the worst thing he ever did to me? He made me believe that I couldn’t have friends, people I loved. That was why I dropped all of my old friends back in second year – I truly believed they would all find out about the abuse, about how weak I was and they would leave me, think of me as a joke. I pushed them away before they could do it to me, and it’s all because that excuse of a father got himself so deep in my head that I couldn’t even think for myself, couldn’t even weigh out the possibilities to see just how much bullshit he was really talking. It takes a lot of power for somebody to be able to do that, you know.”

   Ann-Marie purses her lips. You can barely look up. The words are drilled into your skull, the severity of Keith’s situation settling in your brain in a way it hadn’t before. It terrifies you that the man you had spent almost every day with for the past few months had been going through such terrible things, hated himself in such awful ways, and you had no idea. The one person you truly, truly cared about was suffering and you hadn’t even picked up on the signs.

   Being a genius made you believe that everything would be so clear to you. No secrets could get past you – surely not with your intelligence, your look on the world. It was impossible.

   At least, you thought. You had hoped. But Keith Kogane had, once again, proved you wrong.

   “I’m surprised you’ve stuck around,” Keith says, keeping his eyes trained on the side of your head. You clench your fingers in the fabric of your jeans, unable to meet his gaze in fear of breaking down completely. “You can’t even look at me now. I knew it wouldn’t be long.”

  “You’re being ri-“

   “Ridiculous?” Keith scoffs. You’re shocked to feel him shift, pushing himself up off the sofa and snatching his coat off of the back of it. “You know what, this was a waste of time. We’ll just let him rot in the knowledge that somebody official knows about how scummy he is – we don’t have to take legal action. Too much effort anyway.” He swings his coat over his shoulder, makes a quick escape to the door. Ann-Marie yells after him, but you stay silent, watching him go. It burns your chest to see him so mad, to see him walking away from the help you had offered because of his own fears, but even you have to admit you don’t blame him. That was how the human brain worked – for some people, anger was the released emotion whenever they got overly stressed.

    Ann-Marie groans when she hears the front door slamming shut. “Go after him.”

   “Maybe we should leave him to cool down for a little-“

   “Y/N, for crying out loud, you are in love with that boy and by the looks of things, you’re the only person who’s been there for him these past few months. Go after him.”

   Your eyes widen but you don’t give yourself a chance to deny anything she had just said, because all of it was true. The sternness in her voice has you grabbing your coat and marching out the front door long before you can talk yourself out of it with scientific probability on how the situation will turn out. For once, you’ve managed to silence that part of your brain, and maybe it was because it’s Keith you’re chasing after; you don’t have time to think. You don’t have time to be careful and wary and smart because it’s him that’s on the line.

   Keith isn’t in sight when you open the door. You look both ways down the street, seeing his pick-up truck still parked in the driveway which gives you a swell of hope that perhaps he plans on coming back to spend the night; he has nowhere else to go unless he wants to go crawling back to his father.

    You choose the left side and start running down the pavement towards the park the two of you had first hung out in. The memory seems so long ago now, and yet you still find yourself drawn to the park like it had tied you to it somehow.

    His red jacket comes into view, and the earth seems to become a little duller at the sight before you. He’s sat on the same park bench the two of you had sat on before, his head ducked into his hands, his shoulders shaking with a ferocity you had never seen before. His sobs are loud, crying out for help but passers-by simply walk past, giving him only a small glance before ushering their kids off in hurried frenzies and averting their gaze, pretending they hadn’t seen anything.

    You walk straight towards him, sit down at the side of him and pull him into your chest.

    No words need to be exchanged. Keith breaks down, wrapping his arms around your waist and burrowing his head in your collar bone, spittle flying out of his mouth at the violent sobbing, tears streaking your shirt, his entire body quivering in your grip. You bite down on your lip, close your eyes, tilt your head into the crook of his neck as you loosely run your fingers through his black hair.

    “Fuck,” Keith hisses. “I thought this would be easy. I’m getting help, and I just lose my shit like that.”

   You shake your head, holding him tighter. “It’s okay. It’s a natural human response.”

   “Nothing about me is natural.”

   “Don’t say that. Not to me. You mean the fucking world to me, Keith Kogane, and I will not sit back and watch you hate yourself because of what somebody else did. You are going to be fine. I promised it once and I’ll promise it a thousand times.”

    “Promises don’t mean shit.”

   And then the words are uncontrolled, and you don’t know what it is you’re even saying anymore as you pull away, cup his face in your small hands. “I promised myself that I would change for you and become a normal person. You said I didn’t have to, so I dropped it. But I’ve changed naturally since getting to know you. I feel things now, Keith. I feel happy, and sa,d and angry, and jealous, and my heart gets all fluttery whenever you smile at me. I see your name pop up on my phone and my face just starts to smile against my will. Remember that time you promised to integrate me into society some more? You kept that promise and you didn’t even mean to.”

   Keith blinks. “What are you saying?”

   “I’m saying that you’re the toughest, most nicest son of a bitch I have ever had the honour of mingling with, and whenever I say I will help you through this, I mean it.”

   He shakes his head. “Please say it. Please say the three words.”

   “I love you.”

   “Oh, thank God.”

   In seconds, Keith has grabbed your hands off of his face and is pulling you towards him by your wrists. Your eyes fly open in surprise once your lips meet his, a clash of dried skin, the flavour of salty tears that drip between your mingling mouths, but you have never felt anything like it before. Your heart beat has never picked up so fast without warning, your hands never moving so quick as they did to get out of Keith’s grip and wind around his shoulders. Keith’s own hands find purchase on your face, his fingertips barely caressing your jaw, but it’s just enough that he is able to control your movements, guide your untrained lips to they work with his in perfect harmony.

   He groans whenever your hands tug at the back of his hair, a reflex which startles you. You didn’t realise you had it in you, or that it would be pleasurable in any way for him, and yet judging by the way his grip tightens slightly on your jaw and he shuffles impossibly closer to you, he had enjoyed it.

    “I love you too,” he mumbles against your lips. You go to pull away, wanting to hear him say it without the added obstacle of your mouth, but he pulls you back and you happily oblige. “I’ve loved you from the moment we went to the park together, remember?”

    “How could I forget?”

   “You’re panting.” Keith pulls away finally, leaning his forehead against yours. You watch as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, lets his eyes flutter closed before he’s opening them again and staring so deep into you that it makes your spine quiver. “Did I actually get Y/N L/N flustered?”

    You pull away fully, swiping your thumb over your bottom lip. “I meant what I said, Keith. Are we gonna go back to the house to finish off the interview, or do you want to put this all behind us?”

   Keith’s face falls again, fresh tears brewing in his eyes. You feel your heart shake, feeling awful for bringing the mood down again but you can’t sit around and dance around the topic at hand just because you and Keith had kissed.

   He sighs and nods. “Fine. I’ll go back.”

    By the end of the interview, Keith had had two panic attacks and hadn’t stopped crying. Ann-Marie had closed it early, claiming she had enough information to go to the police before she left you to handle Keith’s sobbing state.

   You held him close to you and rocked back and forth gently. “You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

   He nods against your collar bone, gripping your wrist as if he’s afraid he’ll float away if he lets go. “I’m going to be okay, aren’t I? I don’t have to go home.”

   “You can stay here as long as you like whilst Ann-Marie contacts your uncle.”

   “I don’t wanna go with my uncle. I want to stay with you.”

   You smile warmly, snuggling your head into Keith’s hair. He pulls you closer at the action, wanting to feel your skin on his, wanting to feel your body slot perfectly against his own. “You won’t be moving away. As far as I know, the man was kind enough to move here so you won’t have to change schools during your final year. We’ll still see each other.”

   “Not as often as we would if I were to just stay here.”

   “Not even I’m going to be staying here for much longer, Keith. We’ll still be together.”

    Keith goes silent for only a few moments after that, peppering sweet, lazy kisses along your jawline as he finally settles down from the sobs he had just fought through. He plays with your fingers absentmindedly, and yet the action alone is enough to make your heart flutter.

    “Thank you,” he says, at last.

   “For what?”

   “Don’t act dumb, Miss IQ of 160. You know full well what for.”

   You smile. “It was my pleasure, Mr Brooding Photography Student.”

   “I’m so happy I met you. Who would have thought I’d have fallen in love with a child prodigy with the most annoying personality on this planet?”

    “And who would have thought that I’d have fallen in love at all.”

#voltron #voltron fic #voltron fanfic #voltron scenario #voltron imagine #voltron headcanon #Bad At Love #keith kogane x reader #keith voltron x reader #voltron self insert #keith kogane #keith voltron #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #lance mcclain #lance voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #hunk garret x reader #hunk voltron

[fangirlfromdownunder]

Hi, may I have a matchup (any gender) please&ty (for Miraculous Ladybug & YOI). Female INFP/ISFP/HSP (highly sensitive), Aquarius&ambivert/more introvert, depression & OCD. Hufflepuff&Pukwudgie. Wears mask of happiness/human chameleon personality. More talkative/easily excitable if interested in something/comfortable with some1&more quirky,witty,playful,eccentric,sarcastic&blunt at times, banters back & forth & just be livelier. Doesn’t believe in love at 1st sight, prefer friends 1st. P1

Trust issues, tongue tied easy, curious, daydreamer, loyal, caring, & gets bored easy. An observer, stubborn, tends2 bottle feelings up which can end w/ a short temper. Open minded, compassionate/empathetic, good listener, trusts animals more than people, easily embarrassed&tends2 overthink/worry too much. Family is important, oblivious towards romance/flirting towards me. I want us to be able to accept each other for who we are/be honest w/ 1 another and a bookworm. P2

I had to grow up quicker mentally when younger (so didn’t really get to experience being a child that much), keeps opinions to self since I got yelled at when younger ‘cause of opinions. Can be childish at times when comfortable w/ some1. Habit of apologizing even if not my fault/says “I’m fine” even if I’m not. Final part. I tried my best to shorten what I could so there wouldn’t be so many parts being sent, I hope this is alright.

~~~~~~

Hiya! What you’ve sent in is quite alright. I’ve tried to incorporate what I can into the headcanons. I hope you enjoy them.

Your miraculous ladybug match up is Felix! Okay so I know this is kinda a weird decision and he’s not normally apart of any of the fandom but I actually really enjoy him as Aidan’s older brother, which changes his characteristics a bit making him less typical moody anime guy. Maybe I’ll make a post about my headcanons for him if he ever existed…

And your Yuri on Ice match up is Phichit! A constant optimist he really loves talking to you all the time. He’s also pretty good at noticing how you feel so he’s very understanding.

——–

Felix:

Okay so this boy takes a long time to be attracted to someone, he’s not a flirt, he’s not particularly interested in dating unless he has strong feelings for someone, and he’s definitely not gonna force you into a relationship because he’s not too interested if the other person isn’t

Once the two of you are close he’ll open up to you about his family and the situation with his father. He hope’s you’ll be comfortable enough to open up to him about your past

I hope you like Adrien because he’s gonna be around a lot, the only person other than you that he trusts

He’s pretty good at seeing through masks considering his father wears one every day. So he will call you out if the two of you are alone, he wants you to open up to him

If you’re on medication for depression he’s most likely going to check that you’re taking it, sending you a text every day to remind you. It’s not a controlling thing, more so a ‘I don’t want anything bad to happen to you’ thing

There may be a few arguments along the way considering both of you are stubbornness and have a short fuse, but they say the couples that argue have a stronger bond. And he’s always open to talking it through, despite being extremely stubborn

Felix has a cat. It’s white, fluffy, and very fat. It likes you better than him. Felix feels betrayed

Do you wanna judge people with him? Not in a particularly cruel way, just for fun. His favourite target is Chloe, have you seen her lipstick it doesn’t really suit her (at least in my opinion)

He might get annoyed with your apologising and tell you to stop, but this stems from him wanting you to be more comfortable with yourself and your choices

Phichit:

Precious boy is super supportive of everything you want to do. He’s super friendly so the two of you probably started as friends and it just took off from here

Pichit is a Taurus. Taurus and Aquarius relationships are interesting since they’re often hard to keep. They’re normally the type of relationship where the two involved fall in love with each other over and over but never truly come to understand one another. But with enough effort, they can work out and be a very electrifying pair

Phichit shares your curiosity but is far more extroverted about it, seeking out things very clearly so that people can help him. This makes you the perfect duo for exploring new places and ideas, as you can look at things from an online and book perspective and he can look at them from the perspective of being a social butterfly

He’s done a lot of research about OCD when you told him about it. He wants to make sure he knows what it is so if you ever need help he’s there. He’s very understanding of whatever conditions you may have

Phichit really encourages you to speak your mind, there’s nothing wrong with an opinion after all, unless it’s hateful. As long as you’re willing to listen to others and be understanding.

Catches onto when you’re bottling things up and pretending to be happy really quickly. He’s very sensitive to people’s emotions, it’s part of what makes him and Yuri such good friends. If he feels like you’re being too hard on yourself or things are getting too much he’ll pull you aside to talk it all out

#match up #Miraculous Landbug #felix #felix agreste #yoi #Yuri on ice #phichit chulanont #phichit

[lizzyisameme]

20 love poems & a song of desperation, p2 | the poetry sentence meme

This sentence meme sources from Pablo Neruda’s Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada.

This is part two of three, using poems 10-19 (excluding 14, which is featured in p1). I’m not listing the translator because I’m sourcing from several places and changing things up according to my own understanding/preference.  Though these poems are known for their sensuality and eroticism or w/e, this particular part doesn’t have much of either.

As usual, feel free to make changes as needed in wording/phrasing/pronouns, etc.  Change physical descriptors as needed!   —LIZZY

We have lost even this dusk.

No one saw us this evening, hand in hand while the blue night dropped onto the world.

I have seen from my window the feast of the western sun in the faraway hills.

Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin between my hands.

I remembered you with my soul clenched, with that sadness of mine which you already know.

Then where were you? Between what people? Saying what words?

Why is it that the whole of love hits me when I feel sad and I feel you distant?

Always, always, you distance yourself in the evenings, towards where the dusk runs.

Girl who arrived from far away—brought from far away—sometimes your glance flashes out beneath the sky. 

Rumbling, stormy, cyclone of fury, you cross above my heart without stopping.

You are made of everything.

Your chest is enough for my heart, and my wings for your freedom.

What was sleeping above your soul will rise out of my mouth to heaven.

In you is the illusion of each day.

You arrive like dew on petals.

You pierce the horizon with your absence.

I've said before that you sing in the wind like the pines and the masts. Like them you are tall and reserved. And sad all of a sudden, like a voyage.

You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices.

Sometimes birds that had been sleeping in your soul fly and migrate.

I have gone marking the blank atlas of your body with crosses of fire.

My mouth scuttled across: a spider, trying to hide. In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.

I’ve stories to tell on the brink of dawn, sad and sweet doll, so that you wouldn’t be sad. A swan, a tree, something far away and happy. The season of grapes, the ripe and fruitful season.

Between lips and voice, something is dying. Something with bird’s wings, of anguish and oblivion.

I like it when you're silent because it's like you're gone and you hear me from afar and my voice doesn't touch you.

It looks as though your eyes have flown away and that a kiss would seal your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul, you emerge from everything, full of my soul. 

Dreamtime butterfly, you resemble my soul and you resemble every word that hints at gloom.

I like it when you’re silent and you seem as if you’re distant, and you whimper soft, a cooing butterfly.

Let me quiet myself at last in this silence of yours.

You are like the night, still and constellated.

Your silence is starlike, so distant and so simple.

Just one word, one smile of yours will do.

I’m happy, so happy that it’s not true.

You are far away---farther than anyone. 

Who calls? What silence populated with echoes?

Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.

I love you still among these cold things.

I love what I do not have. You are so distant.

The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. And as I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name.

Brown and nimble girl, the sun that forms the fruits, that ripens the wheat and coils the seaweed, has made your joyful body, your luminous eyes, and your mouth that has the smile of water. 

A black yearning sun is braided into the strands of your black mane when you stretch your arms. 

Girl, tawny and lithe, there is nothing about you that draws me in. 

Everything about you bears me farther away, as though you were noon. You are the frenzied youth of the bee, the drunkenness of the wave, the power of the wheat-ear.

I love your joyful body, your slender and flowing voice. Dark butterfly, sweet and definitive like the wheat-field and the sun, the poppy and the water.

#ask meme #askbox meme #sentence meme #rp meme #ask box meme #poetrysentencememe #poetry**

[panda-noosh]

Action!{FINAL}{Lance x YouTuber!Reader}

Words: 8264

   Summary: Being a YouTube guru is hard enough without the added stress of living with Lance McClain, the man who insists on bombarding into every YouTube video you try to film. His viewers love him, and so do you.

  Pairing: Lance McClain x Youtuber!Reader

  Notes: p1 – p2 – p3 – p4 – p5 – p6 ; well here it is guys - the final! i really just wana say a massive thank you to everyone who has read this series and sent me feedback. the outpour of positive messages that this message brought was overwhelming and i don’t think i’ve ever felt so proud of my own writing before. that’s all on you guys. you guys made me feel like my writing was actually doing something, and that is an indescribable feeling. i love you all, and i hope you can look back on this series one day and smile. i know i will. thank you for reading and enduring all this angst with me x

 The thing about Lance McClain, you had noticed over the course of three years, was that he spoke whenever he was trying to avoid a topic.

   He spoke whenever he was nervous, whenever there was something lingering in his brain that he didn't exactly want to indulge on.

   A part of you wanted to believe it was just the fact that he was pumped up on all sorts of pain-numbing medication, but the other part of you knew the real reason as to why he hadn't shut his mouth in the past ten minutes – you had walked in the room, and he quite frankly didn't know what else to do.

   His parents were seated at his bed side, Francesca listening on in mild confusion as Lance babbles on about how he's scared he's going to feel 'phantom pain' where the blood once pumped through his system and now it wasn't. Averall had to constantly remind him that the blood had been replaced, and you didn't feel pain in your blood anyway.

   But Lance wasn't having it. Or rather, he didn't want an excuse to be quiet.

   You leaned against the door frame, arms folded over your chest as you listen on to him talking. You don't want to feel bad for him in this moment, but his clearly flustered state is enough to make you feel just a little bit at fault – he was already under enough stress and, no matter how badly he had hurt you, you didn't want to cause him even more unnecessary disturbance.

    “Lance, honey, I think it's time for you to be quiet,” Francesca sighs, patting her sons hand gently. “Your father and I need to go and see about your discharge papers, but until then -” She looks up, gives you a warm smile. “Y/N can help you pack up your hospital bag, yeah?”

   You nod your head without hesitance, the task seeming so easy. You had helped him pack on multiple occasions – he was a pilot in training. There was always some place he needed to go to, some place overseas that he needed to be at. This was an everyday thing for you.

   You move out of the way of the door and allow Lance's parents to exit the room, leaving you and Lance alone at last.

   For a single second the air is clear. The air is normal, unmoving. For a single second, it's just you and Lance and old times sake. No hurt. No memories. No regrets to place a wall between you two.

   It's shattered as soon as Lance starts to talk again.

   “Do you wanna see my surgery scars? I think they're pretty cool, but my parents don't want to look at them. They think they're gross. I, personally, think they're natural. Like – Like a sign I survived or something cheesy like that. Do you wanna see?”

   You narrow your eyes, hauling his empty hospital bag onto the bed at his feet to begin packing away his essentials. “I think I'm good.”

   Lance frowns. “Fine. I'll just let you dismiss the evidence of my life. I'll look at them happily on my own. I don't even need anybodies support. I've got myself. That's all I need.”

   You nod. “Okay.”

   “And maybe, like, two churros to keep me busy. I've never liked not having something to chew on. It's like a tic of mine.”

   “I know.”

   “Remember that bag full of sunflower seeds we kept on the mantle piece after we watched Holes? We thought the sheriff's habit was so cool, even though sunflower seeds tasted like baking flour and vinegar.”

   You remember. You simply nod in response, keeping yourself busy by folding his clothes up and trying not to make eye contact with him. The idea of looking into his eyes and seeing that mild case of panic he always had on whenever he was in one of his nervous states was almost too much for you to bare. You had seen him wear said expression before, but never around you. He never needed to wear it around you. Whenever you two had anything to talk about, it was the easiest thing in the world to just sit down and talk things through.

   Not this time, apparently. Apparently this time was different.

   “The nurse told me you stayed by my bedside the whole time.”   Lance's words startle you a little bit. You were hoping he hadn't been informed of the situation – you were hoping he hadn't heard you say the things you had said to him the other day, right before he woke up. You didn't want to give him hope that things could go back to normal, because even you weren't so sure of such a thing. But the words you had spoken were the truth, whether you wanted to believe it or not. If he had died, you would have been in ruins.

   At least he knew that.

   You purse your lips as you throw his alcohol-stained shirt into the sports bag his parents had hauled down from his hotel room the day before. “Right.”

    Lance nods, eyes watching your hands work at his clothes. You can tell he is itching to help by the way he hesitantly reaches forward every now and then, before pulling his hand back.

   “That was sweet of you,” he says. “You didn't have to.”

   “I know. I wanted to.”

   “I find that very hard to believe,” Lance chuckles. He takes one look at your deadpan face and the humour in his voice wears off immediately, half-startled by your lack of response to something that would usually have you at least cracking a smile. “You don't have to feel guilty for the collision. I know you well enough to know that you feel guilty about it.”

   You shrug loosely. There was no point in denying it, because he was right. He did know you well enough to know that. He had seen you in these kind of states before, completely paralysed by your own guilt against something that you couldn't have helped.

   But the thing with this situation was, you could have helped. And that thought plays like a broken record in your mind as you work at packing up Lance's clothes for him.

   Lance sighs, leaning his head back against the freshly-fluffed pillows. “It was my own stupid fault and we both know it. My body can’t handle more than a few bottles of beer. Any more than that and-”

    “And you’re stepping out in front of moving vehicles.”

   Lance nods slowly, looking at you now. You can feel his gaze burning the side of your head as you work, a soft smile forming itself on his features that he clearly tries to hide with the back of his IV-littered hand. He doesn’t want to push his luck. He doesn’t want to think you’re making jokes with him to ease the tension.

    Maybe you were mad at him. He didn’t know that and he certainly didn’t want to assume anything less.

    “You know,” he continues, pushing himself with a grunt of pain that the medication had yet to chase away, “my parents work full time at the high school. The doctors won’t let them take me back to their house with them, which means I’m gonna have to go back to the apartment in San Fran.”

    He pauses, waiting for you to catch on to what he is saying. You know what he’s insinuating, but you don’t speak up. You keep your eyes glued onto the pair of trousers you are currently folding.

    He nibbles on his bottom lip before continuing. “I know I’m probably overstepping my boundaries by asking you this, but I just - I kind of need help getting places, and the doctors won’t let me leave if I don’t have a guardian who can take care of me whilst this heals up. If it can’t be my parents, I would - uh - I would love it - appreciate it - if that person could be you.”

    There it is.

    You feel the butterflies bubbling back in your stomach, the idea of being back in your apartment with Lance with some sense of normalcy to it making you more happy than you would like to admit. Because he had hurt you, badly, and things would never just go back to normal like you hoped, but this could be a start.

    A start you weren’t even sure you wanted.

    But you had to put your grudges aside for now. He was right. You could either be the decent person you always claimed to be and help him out just this once, or you could leave him to rot in this hospital until his leg healed.

    Lance was lucky you were raised right.

    You nod your head, finally looking up from the folding of clothes you had been so engulfed in. “I’ll go back to the apartment with you.”

    Lance’s shoulders visibly relax, a hesitant smile gracing his lips and making his pale face look slightly brighter than it had done over the past few days. You smile back just as hesitantly, unsure of what this all means, of how you should feel, if this is right.

    It’s just to help him out until he gets better. That’s what you had to remind yourself. It was just temporary, and the reason behind your agreeing was based firmly on your own morals. Nothing more.

    No strings attached.

    “Jesus Christ, Lance, you need to help me out here!” you grunt.

    One of Lance’s arms were strung over your shoulders whilst you held him up, guiding him up the long set of stairs that took you to the apartment you had been avoiding for nearly ten days now.

    Your other hand held his crutches, meaning you had nothing to lean on to keep yourself balanced bar Lance’s body, and that wasn’t much use. One of his feet was wrapped up in bandages and he could put hardly any weight on it, and besides that, he had surgery scars to heal up from, meaning he shouldn’t have even been standing up right now.

    “I can’t put weight on anything,” Lance hisses. “The fact that I’m even standing up right now is, quite frankly, a miracle.”

    “With the way you’re tugging me right now, it’s a miracle that I’m still standing as well.”

    You groan as you finally throw you and Lance forward, reaching the red door that led into your apartment. You quickly fish the key out of your pocket, place it in the door and unlock it, watching as it slides open to reveal the cold, abandoned room you had lived in for three years.

    It had only been left alone for four days whilst you and Lance were in LA, and yet it still seemed completely foreign to you when you stepped inside. Nothing major had changed - the sofa had a few extra pizza boxes lying on top of it, but that was the extent of it. The TV needed dusted, and as you stepped in you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose up at the lack of Febreze that had been sprayed around.

    Nothing major and yet it felt like a new place to you. You felt as if you had never been in here before.

    You grunt as you let Lance drop onto the sofa, him immediately letting out a sigh of relief when his body hits the pillows. You make a show of stretching your limbs out, popping your neck in the way that always made Lance squirm out of discomfort.

    Even now he looks up at you and shakes his head at the action, but he clearly doesn’t think scolding you is a good idea.

    You are unsure of what to do from this moment onwards - do you sit next to him? Does he need his meds? Does he want the TV on?

    You purse your lips, awkwardly hovering over the back of the sofa as Lance fiddles with the pillows in an attempt to get himself comfortable. His face twitches in pain at almost every movement he makes, and you’re half tempted to question whether him being released from the hospital was a good idea.

    “My mum used to sing Spanish lullabies to me whenever I got sick,” Lance says, suddenly.

    You inhale deeply, shocked at the sudden conversation starter. You try to make yourself look like you hadn’t been standing over him for the past two minutes.

     “I don’t know any Spanish lullabies,” you tell him. “And I can’t sing.”

    “I wasn’t asking you to sing for me,” he scoffs. “I was just telling you a fun fact about my childhood. I thought that was one you didn’t know.”

    You shrug. “I knew that one. You bring it up every time anything goes wrong with your health.”

    “Which isn’t often enough for that fact to be put in your long-term memory,” he replies. “I have a very strong immune system, and my bones aren’t exactly easily breakable.”

    You raise your brow. “Yeah. That’s why you currently have a broken ankle and can barely stand up without assistance.”

    “Cut me some slack! My bones may be strong,but certainly not strong enough to fend off a car coming at me at 70mph.”

    You roll your eyes, spinning on your heel to face the conjoined kitchen. “I’m gonna go make us some food. The drive from LA has me hungry. Do you want anything?”

    “Something I can drink through a straw, please. I don’t feel like chewing.”

    You nod as if his words were the most natural thing in the world, as if your heart wasn’t moving at one thousand miles per minute, as if everything right now didn’t seem completely twisted and scripted.

    As you make soup over the stove, watching Lance from the counter as he keeps his eyes glued on the now-turned-on television, you can’t help but realise just how weird this entire thing was. A little over a week ago, you would have cursed the person who forced you and Lance into a room together. One car crash later and here you were; making him soup as he rewatched Friends for what you knew was the hundredth time in his lifetime.

    It didn’t necessarily feel wrong as much as it felt fake. There was an underlying topic that you two were avoiding, gently pulling it out of the conversation as if you were playing Jenga with conversation starters. Trying to work your way around inevitable collapse, getting rid of all of the things that could trigger said conversation.

    Everything was peaceful now, but you didn’t know how long it would last for. How long you could keep up this charade of oh, everything’s fine!

    Lance was good at putting on a front, but you knew him well enough to know that he felt the same way. The way his eyes shifted to the ground whenever he was at risk of making eye contact with you, or the way he narrowly avoided the topic of Shiro whenever the two of you were discussing how Emma, Samuel and he had gotten home. He had only asked about Emma and Samuel, even though he knew full well Shiro was accompanying you also.

     You hated to admit it, but you had barely thought about Shiro outside of the incident. Any time his name popped up in your head, all you could think about was the look on Lance’s face whenever he saw Shiro’s arm around your waist, the horror and the anger and the misplaced betrayal that immediately slapped itself onto his drunken features.

    You felt bad about that. He had treated you with nothing but kindness and all you could think about was the man who had ripped your heart from your chest. And now, said man was sitting in front of you with a broken leg, a fractured collar bone and a skull that still had mild swelling in it.

    Oh, what a day.

  “Y/N!”

    You pluck your earphones out of your ear, cautiously looking over at the closed door that currently separated you and the patient you had been forced to care for.

    “Y/N! Y/N, are you sleeping? I can’t stand up to come and wake you up, so if you could just stop that, that would be great!”

    You roll your eyes, throwing the earphones down onto your laptop, where your face is popped up on the editing program you were currently using. After making Lance and yourself some soup and watching yours get cold whilst Lance slurped his up in seconds, you had excused yourself from the living room to go and do something useful with your time. Despite your exhaustion from having driven a 6 hour drive from LA to San Fransisco, you didn’t trust Lance enough on his own to fall asleep, so you instead decided to edit your recent video.

    But it seemed as though Lance had other ideas for your evening.

    You trot downstairs grudgingly, barely popping your head around the living room door. “What is it?”

    Lance perks up at the sght of your face. “Oh, you’re not sleeping. Great. I was just - uh - I was just wondering if you would help me get to my room? I feel lonely in the living room on my own, and I wanna sleep on my bed.”

    You raise a brow. “Why can’t you just sleep on the sofa and save us both the bother?”

    “Sleeping on the sofa is a bother. What if we get robbed during the night? I can’t run, and I’m the first person they’ll see.”

    You shake your head slightly, fighting off the urge to roll your eyes. Same old Lance.

    You say no more before you make your way over to him, looping one of his arms around your shoulders and hauling him into your side. He hisses out in pain, letting out a chorus of “Ah, ah, ah’s” as he bounces slightly, trying to find a position against you that would stop the pain from going through his body.

    His body which is pressed to yours very closely.

    You bite at your bottom lip, shoving all thoughts out of your head. He was ill. He was hardly leaning on you for anything more than medical reasons. The fact that he can’t even stand upright is most likely a big part of it.

   And even know you know this fact is truth, your heart still picks up at the way his arm tightens slightly over your shoulders as he tries to find a good position to hobble in. A blush still creeps up onto your cheeks whenever he instinctively winds his fingers through yours in an attempt to keep him upright even better.

    You still lose your mind whenever his breath tickles your neck.

    “Fuck,“ he hisses now, his hopping coming to a halt as he finally gets comfortable against you. “Sorry. Did I hurt you there?”

    You go to speak, but your mouth opens and no words come out. His fingers are still wound with yours, and you aren’t letting go, but neither is he and you can no longer think past the warm feeling spreading up your arm and the way his hand fits so closely with yours and how familiar it all feels even though it shouldn’t.

    So instead, you opt for simply nodding before leading him up the stairs in silence, trying your hardest to hide your blush behind your hair, trying to make it seem like this was just exactly what it should have been - an innocent, morally charged exchange. You were helping him out because he was ill. He couldn’t do this on his own, and that was all there was to it.

    You arrive at his room and you inwardly cringe at the sight of it - he clearly hadn’t been sleeping in his room during your time away, because your side of the bed is still a crumpled mess from the last time you had gotten out of his sheets. It seems like ages ago.

    Lance clearly notices the crumpled sheets as well, as a blush begins to take form on his cheeks and his fingers tighten around your own. You inhale deeply, shake your head to nothingness as you set him down in the centre of the pillows, trying not to make it seem like you still thought of the right side as your side. He could have the whole bed to himself if he wanted.

    “There,” you say, cracking your knuckles dramatically. Lance scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully at the over-exaggerated action. “If you need anything, call me. I’ll be just down the hall.”

    I want to be beside you, but we both know that can’t happen.

   You wince as the thought strikes you, too quick for you to dismiss it before it grows into something more.

    Lance nods at you, giving you one last lazy smile before you turn to leave. Half you wants to leave. Half of you wants to stay, curl up in Lance’s arms like you had grown so used to those three months you had done so.

     “Oh, Y/N, wait.”

    You pause in your tracks, hand hovering over the door handle.

    “Hm?”

   Lance pushes himself up, turning to face you fully now. “I never thanked you for the soup you made me. It was nice. Thank you.”

    How such a simple comment can make your knees feel weak is beyond you, and you silently curse your low tolerance levels when it comes to Lance McClain.

   You hide your suddenly woozy state by smiling softly, whispering “No problem,” and exiting the room.

    As soon as the door closes behind you, you catch your breath. You need to. The day had been so simple, so easy and usually, chill days like this took nothing out of you. But today, something had affected you and it was making you feel a thousand emotions at once.

    Nostalgia? Regret? Confusion?

    Everything. Even happiness, though you didn’t want to admit that to yourself right now. You wanted to keep yourself under the illusion that you were just here for moral reasons, to keep yourself from feeling guilty. You were helping out somebody in need.

    But the happiness was unavoidable. Happiness whenever Lance smiled at you. Happiness at the fact that he was sitting on the sofa, smiling, laughing along to the television, alive. He was alive. He was thriving again, and sure, he was in pain and he wasn’t as active as he used to be, but he was happy and he was trying to make you happy even though he knew he had messed up and you would be a fool not to see such a thing.

    You close your eyes and lean your head back against his bedroom door, hoping and praying that he doesn’t hear the slight bang that comes from the contact. Even though your heartbeat speeds up at the risk, you don’t move. You simply keep your ground, inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying everything and anything to keep yourself from crumbling all over again.

   “Okay, but if I had an adult colouring book, I wouldn’t be complaining so much about now having an adult colouring book.”

     You squeeze your eyes closed, your laptop balanced on your knees in the way you found so uncomfortable. You hadn’t realised that looking after Lance meant having to sit with him in the living room all day, listening to him complain about not having an adult colouring book.

    “I’m not going to the shop and buying you an adult colouring book. Those are expensive, and the Adpocolypse has been cutting me short lately.”

    Lance groans, throwing his head back. He sat on the sofa across from you, the TV playing in the background though he didn’t seem to be paying it any attention. His eyes were fixed on your working form, watching as you sat hunched over your laptop, putting the finishing touches on the video you were making.

    “I already offered to pay for it, for gods sake! All you need to do is go down the street to Barnes & Noble and pick one up for me.”

    “Why can’t you just have a normal colouring book?”

    “Because I am an 19 year old adult who needs an adult colouring book.This isn’t a game of pick and choose, Y/N. I can’t just pick up a Mandala colouring book and be on my merry way. That’s basically fraud.”

    You bite down on your bottom lip. You had to constantly remind yourself that he was ill. He was hyped up on pain medication, and that was why he was being such a pain.

    “Maybe later, Lance,” you say. “I’ve gotta get this video up tonight or else there will be questions.”

    Lance sighs, slumping back against the sofa again. His arms hang loosely over the back of it, though you had warned him time and time again that that would do nothing good for his sore back. He had ignored you, claiming he was tough enough to put up with it.

    He watches you now - you can feel his stare. You knew he had always taken an interest in the way you worked off camera. How you could take your happy, make-up obsessed persona and suddenly replace them with this work-savvy tec person who knew everything there was to know about editing videos and the process behind it all. After working with editing videos for nearly half of your life, you had picked up a thing or two and editing had become just as simple and thoughtless as breathing.

    Lance had always found that cool. How you could watch a YouTube video on how to edit and suddenly you were being filled with stock-piles of information. A little bit of practice and a weekly upload schedule had you becoming a professional even before you had met Lance.

     The topic of your YouTube channel was one you hadn’t brought up until now, either, and you knew it had caused some tension. Though you didn’t want to dwell on it too much, it was quite difficult to dismiss. The way Lance suddenly got quiet, the way he pulled his bottom lip into his teeth and chewed awkwardly, watching you now as if waiting to see you bash him in a video for what he had done.

    But no. It was a simple make up tutorial. You had gone another week on your YouTube channel, totally ignoring the rumours which had been circulating the internet from the moment Lance’s interview had surfaced. You were hoping they would blow over eventually. Until then, a smokey eye tutorial would have to suffice.

    Lance speaks up suddenly. “I watched your LA vlog that you put up a few days ago.”

    Your eyes snap up, mouth forming a line as you do so. “Right. What did you think of it?”

    He shuffles awkwardly in his position on the sofa, finally pulling his hands into his lap and intertwining his fingers together. “I was a little shocked that you still put it up after - after what happened with me. Surprised you had found the time to edit it.”

    “I had a lot of time on my hands whilst I was waiting for you to wake up. The waiting room has surprisingly good WiFi.”

    Lance winces, your tone of voice so monotone, so free of emotion. You had planned it that way. You didn’t want him to think that you dwelled on him too much over the past few days, even though you had. Keeping your voice low and monotone would wipe out all hope he may have of you rekindling anything with him - you hoped.

    No you don’t.

    “Well, it was a good video. I enjoyed it. The art looked - nice.” He shifts his eyes up hesitantly, meeting yours for a moment. “You and Shiro looked like you were having a good time.”

    There it was. The name that he had been avoiding since he had woken up four days ago. The name which had seemed almost a taboo topic had just fell from his mouth and had opened up an entire can of worms.

    The tension was undeniable, because you went silent as soon as he mentioned Shiro. Your eyes darted back to your computer screen, your demeanour completely changing as you try your hardest to fight off the conversation which is now inevitable.

    Lance leans forward a little bit, hisses in pain and decides against it. “You were laughing a lot with him. Going through the rooms of the museum and stuff. You looked happy.”

    “I was having a good time,” you grunt. You don’t want to talk about this any longer, because you no longer have the choice to just get up and leave. You have to stay and take care of him, which is your invisible handcuff to this room.

    He didn’t need to make it any more awkward.

    “I’m glad,” he replies. “But it’s just - I don’t mean to bring this up now and make things awkward between us, but since we have nothing else to talk about, I might as well. It made me think about all the good times we used to have together and how we used to break the rules like that. We used to laugh about it, remember? Just like how you were laughing with Shiro.”

    You bite down harder on your lip, suppressing the urge to throw your laptop to the side and walk off. What were you even supposed to say to that? Were you supposed to apologise for doing things with Shiro that you once did with Lance? Were you supposed to feel the stabbing guilt that you were currently feeling?

    “Lance,” you breath out, clicking mercilessly at the screen on your laptop - anything to distract yourself. The more distracted you are from Lance’s prying eyes, the easier the words will come. “I was having a good night out with my friends. It was Emma’s special day, and I wanted to enjoy myself. You’re selfish if you think I can’t have a laugh just because my best friend pulled the rug out from underneath me a few days prior.”

    Lance’s eyes widen and you hear him take a breath. He clearly hadn’t expected you to bring that situation up. He had clearly hoped that he could take a dig at you and your friends and get away from his own wrong-doings scotch free.

    “Hey, hey, you know that’s not what I meant,” he says frantically. “I was just commenting on it. It was playing on my mind so I said it.” He winces as he folds his arms over his chest. “No need to get mad.”

    You grit your teeth, hands clenching the fabric you had balled up in your hand in an attempt to ease the anger swarming through you. It was weird how you could go from questioning your anger towards him to suddenly realising why you felt it all in the first place.

     You’re not yelling because you don’t want to ruin the happiness between you two. You still care.

    “You know what, Lance?” you nearly exclaim, cutting the thoughts off before you can stop yourself.

    You were going to prove yourself wrong. You didn’t want to be friends with Lance any more. You could yell at him. You could get mad if he gave you a reason to be.

    Lance looks up at you, arms still folded over his chest, waiting for you to explode.

    One look at his face and you feel like melting all over again. You can feel your anger disappearing and you grapple for it as quickly as you can, pretending the butterflies in your stomach weren’t there.

    “You - You have no right to form an opinion on my social life any more,” you say, silently cursing yourself for stuttering. “You messed up. That’s not my problem. You’re not my problem any more. You’re lucky I’m actually staying here right now, because me of all people has every right to walk out and leave you if I wanted to.”

    Lance blinks.

    “Don’t act - God - don’t act stupid! You’re clearly annoyed about me and Shiro getting closer even though you have no right to be.”

    “I’m not mad,” Lance insists, and it seems as if his nervous persona had melted away. His eyes are burning directly into yours as the two of you argue, him moving around as dramatically as his injuries will let him. “I was just commenting on the video you put up! Excuse me for trying to start a fucking conversation!”

    “You really must think I’m stupid,” you scoff. “Or soft. Or something like that. Thinking I would just never replace you after what you did. You don’t orchestrate my life like that, Lance! You hurt me, and you’re surprised whenever I’m finally getting my life back on track-”

    “My God, Y/N, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” he exclaims. “You know I would never do anything bad to you without a good enough reason-”

     “I was hoping not even a good reason would be enough for you to hurt me. I thought our friendship was strong enough for that.”

    Lance grits his teeth, his hands tugging at his hair even though the action clearly pains him. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for complimenting your stupid little vlog. Sorry for being interested in your day-to-day life.” He grunts and folds his arms back over his chest. “Plus, I’m not jealous of you and Shiro. I could never be jealous of that stupid-haircut-looking cunt.”

    Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, anger souring through you. “Are you serious, Lance McClain?”

     He had pulled the final straw. You set your laptop to the side, standing up after slamming the lid closed. Lance follows your movements, but his eyes don’t meet yours. They click on every other part of your body that he can find - legs, arms, stomach. Anywhere that aren’t your eyes, because even as you glare down at him now, you know he’s repeating the words he has just spoken in his head and realising just how petty and angry he had sounded in his moment of weakness.

    “You cannot insult Shiro. You just can’t,” you seethe. “He’s a better man than you will ever be, because he knows how to treat people who show him kindness.”

    “I’m sorry,” Lance mutters.

    “No. I don’t wanna hear it,” you say, waving his apology off. “I’m going to my room. If you need help off the sofa, call me, but I don’t wanna be associated with you outside of that.”

    You start towards the hallway, hands balled up at your sides, nails digging into the flesh on your palm so harshly you’re almost certain there will be blood when you uncurl them. Everything in you screams to stay, but you know it’s just the remaining remnants of friendship you had with him - remnants which you hope will disappear after tonight.

    “Y/N, please wait,” Lance calls after you, suddenly sounding exhausted. “Y/N, please! Let me explain myself!”

    “Go to hell, Lance!”

    Your door slams closed, blocking his voice out for good.

     The night brings no sleep for you.

    Your bed feels cold and unfamiliar. Your body rejects it, feeling each and every spring you had missed shove itself into your spine, making you twist and turn in an uncomfortable attempt to escape it.

    Usually Lance’s arms around be wrapped tight around you, protecting you from the protruding springs which were currently jabbing into your back due to how old your mattress was. Contrary to popular belief, being a YouTuber didn’t rack up a large wad of money. You needed to use things for as long as possible, meaning your mattress hadn’t seen a replacement since you moved in here.

    That was your excuse. It was old. That was why you couldn’t sleep, even though you had only been out of it for a little over a week.

    You knew the real reason, buried deep within the back of your head - the part that was blocked by the fuming anger you had towards Lance, the disbelief at the audacity he had shown today.

     He shouldn’t have said the things he did. He shouldn’t have insulted Shiro just because he was mad at you.

    But in the same breath, maybe you shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions whenever he was talking about the vlog you had posted. Maybe he was genuinely just curious - anybody would be. He wanted to know if he had been replaced and, in the moment, that had annoyed you. You had forgot to realise that Lance wasn’t a bad guy. He was a good guy who had done something bad to you - that didn’t mean every single word that fell out of his mouth was a sinister attack on you and your friends.

    You sigh and bury your head in your pillow. 4am was soon to be rolling around and you had a multitude of videos to film tomorrow, as well as taking care of the big child you had left gob smacked a few hours prior. How you were going to handle the day in all it’s awkwardness was beyond you, but you were going to have to make it work.

    You weren’t going to take back what you had said. It was one step closer to you illiminating him from your life completely, and maybe that was what you needed.

    Not particularly what you wanted, but you couldn’t have it all.

    It was around 4:30am whenever you heard it.

    It was quiet in the house for the most part, meaning the sudden crash and grunt of “Oh, fuck,” wasn’t difficult to miss. It had you bolting upright almost immediately - any excuse to get out of the confines of your sheets, in which you didn’t want to be trapped in any longer.

    You were out of your bedroom in seconds, marching down the hall to Lance’s room. You threw open his door and wasn’t surprised to see him lying face-down on the carpeted floor, a globe laying broken at the side of him and his sheets tangled in his legs.

    He looks up at you when you enter, groans before lowering his head back onto the carpet.

    You don’t speak as you march over to him, kicking the broken globe out of the way and untangling the sheets from his legs, being careful of his ankle cast. He doesn’t speak either. It’s an unspoken exchange, a confirmation that you were serious about what you had said earlier in your fit of rage.

    You haul Lance to his feet with a struggle and set him back on his bed. That was all. That was all you were needed for, and you quickly turn to leave, but his voice stops you.

    Of course it does.

    “Please call me stupid.”

    You pause in your tracks, narrowing your eyes. You could have easily turned and left, continue on being mad at him, but you stay exactly where you are, waiting for him to continue.

    “Do it like you used to,” he continues. “Don’t block me out.”

    You grit your teeth, lowering you head. You don’t want to give in. He had done this too many times, against his own knowledge but that wasn’t important.

    Your fingers close around the door knob, ready to leave. Ready to continue on with the charade until he gets better and you can leave for good, but Lance has other plans.

    He jolts his body forward, yelling in pain as he tries to make his way over to you, but his broken and fractured and bruised body doesn’t let him get very far. His hand has barely closed on your arm before he’s tumbling to the floor, yelling in pain.

    You gasp, whirling around at the sudden movement which was the last thing you had expected him to do.

    “Lance!” you exclaim, grabbing onto his arms. He closes his eyes in pain, his mouth in a box shape as small hisses of pain escape his lips. His fingers crawl up your arms as you go to grab for his shoulders, a signal for you to wait a minute as he catches his breath.

    You look down at him, worry coating your expression. He became overwhelmed with pain almost every time he tried to stand up, but you hadn’t seen him like this. His eyes are screwed shut, deep breaths leaving his mouth alongside little whimpers of pain that claw at your heart and make you want to pull him into a hug.

    Instead, you keep your hands on his shoulders until he’s ready to move again.

    “The things I put myself through for you,” he grunts, eyes still closed, breathing still shallow. “Is this enough for you to hear me out? Because I won’t move until you’ve spoken to me.”

    You blink rapidly, heart still racing. “Are you-”

    “I don’t care if you’re dating Shiro,” he says, eyes finally opening but his fingers tighten on your arms, stopping you from moving him any further. “I’m happy if you’re happy, but I don’t want you leaving this friendship - what we had - without knowing how - how I feel and why I did what I did.”

    Your mouth is running dry and your hands are shaking and no words come out of your mouth. Nothing is clicking right now. All you can see, all you can hear is Lance.

     He takes your silence as a reason to continue. “I didn’t get paid to do that interview.” You gawk. “I was walking on the street one night whenever you were back at the apartment, and some guy recognised me from the video we did together. He came up to me and was saying all this stuff - all this crazy, weird stuff about how he had hacked into one of your old phones from when you were a teenager and found all these texts between you and your mum. Right when she was beginning to get sick. He said - He told me he wanted a tell-all interview or else he would release the texts and I panicked. I freaked out and I said I’d do it, because I know how private you are about your mother’s condition. I didn’t want him to put you through that, and I thought me ‘exposing’ you would hurt a little less than him leaking those texts to the world.”

     Your chest burns. Your eyes burn, tears falling down your cheeks without you even realising it. At the mention of your mother - a lady who had been diagnosed with MS whenever you were young - the tears fall even quicker.

    You had never spoken publicly about your mothers condition. Keeping it silent was a lot easier than explaining to everyone why she had limited time left on earth, or why none of her treatment was working. Pretending that everything was okay was a lot easier than explaining why it wasn’t.

    That was why you hadn’t brought up anything about Lance in your recent videos. Explaining to people why was a whole lot more difficult than ignoring the situation completely.

    Hearing that Lance hadn’t been getting paid, that he had done the interview to protect you and your mother, made your heartbeat pick up with a thing you wanted to say was hope. Hope that this could all work out. Hope that this wasn’t the end of you and Lance.

    Lance reaches up with his shaky arms and wipes the tears off of your cheeks. You simply stare down at him, mouth open in shock, frozen.

    He nods gently. “I know. I’m sorry. I tried to distance myself from you afterwards because I knew that when the interview released, you’d want nothing to do with me anyway. And I was right, and I don’t blame you. I wasn’t even going to say anything because I want you to go on without me if it makes you happier, but I - I can’t live with the fact that you hate me, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever hate me. If I can’t love you in the way I want to, I at least want to be friends. But I can’t have you out of my life forever. I wasn’t wired to function without my best friend.”

    A stab in the gut would have hurt less.

    You close your eyes, finally letting go of Lance’s shoulders and letting yourself fall back against his bed frame. Once your back has hit the frame, you tug your legs up to your chest, rest your chin on your knees and let the tears fall freely, soft sobs racking your body.

    Lance does his best to sit up as quickly as he possibly can, hissing in pain in the process, but he eventually manages to move himself to the side of you, where he finally wraps his long arm over your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

    “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I can call Shiro if you want. Get him to come over. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t-”

     “Thank you.” The words sound scratchy against your throat, burning as they arise to the surface. Two words you never thought you would be saying to Lance again.

    Lance tenses at the side of you. “For what?”

    “For protecting me and my mother that way,” you reply. “You - You risked our friendship to protect my family. That was a brave move.”

    “I still jeopardized our relationship-”

    You shake your head, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in your throat. It doesn’t budge, and your words come out even groggier than before. “No, you didn’t Lance. I was mad before because I thought you had used me for the money and the publicity, but now I know the truth. I know why you did it.”

    “Y/N, please don’t feel pressured-”

    “I’m not dating Shiro,” you say. You look up as you say it, watching in mild amusement as Lance’s face goes from stiff to completely placid, eyes widening and mouth falling open.

    His eyes meet yours and he immediately closes his mouth, coughing awkwardly into his hand. “Oh, you aren’t?”

    You shake your head. “No, I’m not. Wanna know why?”

    “There’s a reason?”

    “It’s because I’m in love with my best friend. Head over heels in love. Completely smitten.”

    Lance smiles, biting his lip at the same time, clearly trying to hide the overjoyed expression making it’s way onto his face.

    You let your knees fall away from your chest so you can look at him dead in the eye this time. He looks at you, eyes still wide, hands hesitantly reaching out to grab your own but you pull away from his grip, opting to wrap your arms over his shoulders instead.

    “I fell for the man who protected my family from media outcry. I fell for the man who used to lock me in the bathroom when I was being moody so I could calm down. I fell for the man who never fails to race me up the stairs, even though there’s only three steps to walk up.” You smile down at him now, eyes glistening with both tears and lust. “I fell for the stupid idiot who got hit by a car because he was mad at Takashi Shirogane.”

     Lance raises a brow now, hands instinctively coming to your waist as you hover over him. “You’re being awfully vague. I think I need more hints.”

     You roll your eyes. “What I’m saying is, I love you, Lance McClain. Being away from you was the hardest task I’ve ever had to endure, and I don’t wanna do it again. Not in a million years.”

     He grins. He grins widely and brightly, happily staring up at you as he does so. “You won’t have to be away from me ever again.”

    With those words spoken, you seal the deal with a kiss. Long and drawn out and needed, but not needy. It’s soft and gentle, though the way Lance’s hands tighten on your waist and the way you pull him impossibly closer make up for the distance you two had had from one another for the past ten days.

    You’d missed this. Feeling happy. Feeling happy with Lance. Feeling like the world could no longer drag you down because you finally had your anchor back with you, even if you knew things would be mildly complicated from here on out.

    You would have to deal with Samuel and Emma, who no doubt would have a lot to say about you going back to an ex. You would have to deal with Shiro - you weren’t sure what Shiro felt about you. If he felt anything. If he really did like you in that way. You just knew you would deal with it all eventually - but for now, you were with Lance.

    Finally, you were back with Lance.

#voltron #voltron headcanons #voltron scenarios #voltron series #voltron fics #lance mcclain #lance voltron #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #hunk garrett #hunk voltron #lance mcclain x reader #lance x reader #lance voltron x reader #Action!

[panda-noosh]

Action!{P3}{Lance x YouTuber!Reader}{AU}

Words: 5493

   Summary: Being a YouTube guru is hard enough without the added stress of living with Lance McClain, the man who insists on bombarding into every YouTube video you try to film. His viewers love him, and so do you.

   Pairing: Lance x YouTuber!Reader

   Notes: p1 – p2 - p4 - p5 - p6 - p7 ; this part is ANGSTY YAYYYYY

   As evening settled upon you, the air began to get crisper. The usually warm weather of California was beginning to leak away, leaving only the breeze which pelted at your legs and your bare arms, making you crave the feel of a jacket around your shoulders.

    Usually, you would have been sprinting home in weather like this. You wanted nothing more than to curl up next to Lance with a good movie being ignored in the background as you and him fought for more quilt, or more pop corn, or played stupid games of 20 questions, even though the two of you already knew every little thing about one another.

   Usually that would be the case.

   But now you found yourself approaching the small block of apartments you and Lance lived in, and you couldn't bring yourself to enter. The apartment key felt heavy in your jeans pocket and the idea of speaking to Lance after the incident last night and the awkwardness of this morning was enough to make you take a seat on the run-down wall just outside the building.

   The cold showed no mercy, but you didn't care. Neither did your feelings, or the heavy weight on your chest as you looked down at your hands. You played with your fingers, trying your hardest to get the feeling back in them but it was no use. And you didn't care. You just wanted to wollow in your self-pity for a little while longer before you were due to talk to Lance again.

   You knew he was home. One glance at the top window of the complex told you that much – he was home, no doubt waiting for you to walk in the door with that usual smile on your face. You weren't sure if you could muster one up at this moment. Not right now. Not with the lingering thoughts left to spiral in your brain.

    You inhale deeply in an attempt to get your mind out of the gutter. Everything Emma had said had to have been false. Lance had been your best friend for three years – he couldn't have faked that for that long. He couldn't have pretended to love your YouTube channel for three years without even a single clue pointing towards the idea of him disliking your job.

   The door behind you opened suddenly, and you savoured the moment of warmth which came from the open door. It made you shiver, and before you could properly bask in the feeling of comfortable warmth, an arm was swinging over your shoulders, hauling a scarf to cover your neck.

   You look up, startled, but the worried feeling melts away whenever your eyes meet Lance's. He's smiling a big grin, one you're all too familiar with, and holding a flask of a hot beverage in his hand which he gently sets on the graffitied wall beside you before hauling himself up onto it.

   You shift slightly, giving him more room but his hand shoots out and grabs yours before you can move much further, making you freeze in your position and gaze down at his nimble fingers warped through yours. They always did fit so perfectly.

   “How was your day out?” Lance asks, and you can hear the strain in his voice, the need for this conversation to not be awkward, not be filled with unnecessary tension.

   You exhale through your nose, lifting your eyes to look out at the passing pedestrians on the street. Teenagers shuffling home from late-night practice, mothers fumbling with cold children, people hobbling out of taxi's.

    “Good,” you reply. “Samuel's getting his last surgery done in a few weeks, and Emma's opening up for the recent art exhibit down in LA.”

   Lance nods slowly. “They're doing well for themselves.”

   “Mm. I have talented friends.”

   That feels like the end of it. It feels like that's as far as you can drag out the conversation without bringing up yesterday, or this morning, or how you hadn't slept beside Lance the night before. There was nothing left to say – nothing but the truth.

   And you wanted so desperately to just ask him. Just make him tell you the truth of whether or not he supported your job, but the words don't form in your brain because it seems like such a stupid question. He had been supporting your job for the past three years. The real question to ask was why now? Why had he become so reluctant with the idea of being on camera now? What had changed?

   You got together.

   But that couldn't have been it, either. Lance wasn't like this. He wouldn't have confessed to you if he was embarrassed to be in a relationship with you.

    You feel the brink of a headache bubbling at your skull, making you wince. You want to go inside now, but you don't move off the wall.

    “We should talk, I think.” Lance's voice comes out strained now, as if he'd finally given up on trying to push past the topic.

   You swallow thickly. “I overreacted.”

   “I don't think you did,” he replies, turning to look at you. You keep your head locked on the passers-by on the street, not wanting to meet his eyes just yet. “I think you had every right to feel paranoid for the way I acted.”

   “You don't have to show yourself in my videos, Lance,” you say. “I should respect your decision to stay out of them if that's what you want.”

   Lance purses his lips and you feel his eyes tracing over the side of your face, intaking every detail he can as his thumb brushes lazily over your numb knuckles. “You're too nice to me sometimes. I honestly don't understand how you put up with me for so long.”

   You smile lightly. “It wasn't easy.”

   “But you're glad you did it, right?”

   You finally turn to look at him, eyes trailing over his face before meeting his own. The dim light of the evening makes his features seem paler than they usually are, his tanned skin disappearing into paleness as the coldness nips at the flesh. Despite the scarf he had bundled around his neck, there is no stopping the chattering of his teeth or the way his nose is lit up red or the way his eyes water due to the wind blowing in them.

   You want to kiss him. With everything in you, you want to lean forward and press your lips to his and share the warmth of his body with yourself, but you don't move forward. All you do is smile lightly, nodding your head to the sound of the ice cream truck whizzing past.

    Lance smiles back at you, and it's soft and calming and it makes your heartbeat pick up in a way you would never understand.

    “Let's not keep fighting,” Lance says, finally. “I don't like it when we fight. The bed was cold last night.”

   You scoff. “Sorry about that. My electric blanket was on, so I was fine.”

   “Hey!” Lance shoves your shoulder with his own, making an eruption of laughter burst from the two of you. “Listen, though. If you want to vlog, you can. I don't mind. I know that that's a big part of your-”   “Oh my God, is that Y/N L/N?”

   Your eyes widen at the sound of your name echoing from the other side of the street. Butterflies merge into your stomach as you notice the group of uniformed girls squealing and jumping up and down, waving hecticly at you as they wait for the traffic to die down so they can eventually run towards you.

   Lance pulls his hand away immediately, leaving your palm feeling cold and desolate. You look down at your lap, catching a glimpse of the way Lance roughly shoves his hands into his pockets, and you can't help but feel the knot in your heart pulling even tighter – he's not embarrassed. It was a reflex.

   You hollow out your cheeks and look up at the group of girls, forcing a smile on your face as you make yourself wave at them with your now-free-hand.

    “I'll leave you to it, then,” you barely hear Lance mutter before he's hopping off the wall and exiting back into the apartment building. Just like that, his apology falls flat. Just like that, every bit of self-comforting that you had done suddenly goes down the drain as Emma's words echo in your head and the realisation that maybe,  just maybe, she was telling the truth hits you like a ton of bricks.

    “Y/N-ah!”

   You hear Lance stampeding down the hallway towards your filming room and immediately you take a break from applying your concealer, gaze turning towards the door before he's even opened it.

   He bombards through the wooden door, holding up two pairs of jeans, three shirts and a jacket, all bundled up into one mesh of fabric so tight that you can barely tell what item of clothing is which.

    “Oh good, you're awake,” Lance says upon meeting your gaze. He steps further into the room and slams the clothes on your desk, knocking your mirror to the left. “What clothes should I wear for the staff party tonight?”

   You raise your brow, looking up at him in confusion. “Staff party?”

   He pulls his lips into a line, looking down at you as if you had three heads. “Don't tell me you forgot. I've been talking about this for weeks now, Y/N.”

   You stay silent for a moment, only exaggerating your confusion that much more.

   Lance groans, rolling his eyes. “You're so lucky you keep me grounded. But the staff party! The one that Mrs Leech was organising for all the trainee pilots? I'm finally getting my license!”

    “Oh!” you exclaim. “That staff party!”

   “You still have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?”

   You bite down on your lip to hide your smile, but Lance picks up on it. He rolls his eyes once again, opting for flicking your forehead as a form of punishment for your short attention span which had cost you plenty of conversations before in the past.

   Lance settles down beside your desk on his knees, stifling through the clothing options. “I have no idea what you're going to wear, so I don't know if we're gonna be matching or not, but this is what I have so far-”

   You stutter, shooting forward at the words he just spoke. “Excuse me?”

   He looks up at you. “Mm. You're going as my date, you idiot. You'd know that if you weren't so bad at paying attention.”

   “But I have videos to film today!” you protest. “And I don't know anybody from your work. I'll literally be glued at your hip all day.”

    “All night,” Lance corrects. “And maybe that won't be such a bad thing. You'll make me look like I have my nerves under control.”

   “Don't act like you won't be off your head drunk by the hour.”

   Lance sticks his tongue out at you, making a small laugh bubble up from your throat. It was nice when you two could be like this – playful with each other, not caring about the world for a little while. All day your anxieties had been eating away at you, but in this moment, they all seem mildly stupid. They all seem overexaggerated, because Lance was showing affection and he was being the boyfriend he had always promised he would be.

   He didn't seem the slightest bit embarrassed.

   It's these thoughts that calm you down enough to help Lance pick out an outfit. These thoughts that calm you down enough that you eventually agree to going to this party with him.

   Perhaps meeting the people Lance worked with wouldn't be such a bad thing. You had heard so many good things about Bad Billy and Frank from IT, but it had never dawned on you that you had never actually met them in person. Maybe it was time.

    Your outfit was simple, just like Lance had instructed. There was going to be nothing formal about this ceremony, though an attempt at looking nice was appreciated.

   You had pulled on a loose fitting black button-up shirt along with a pair of jeans of your own – one of the few pairs you owned that didn't have rips in the knees that you played off to be pre-ripped. You put on your fanciest pair of gold-buckled, black shoes and headed out the door with Lance.

    The academy wasn't anything you hadn't seen before. A large, white building that was always too overly-lit, planes littering the back of it with the front doors open 24/7. You had dropped Lance off at this very location multiple times before, watched him on his first day of training as he leaped through the open doors and was immediately met with a triumph of cheers from the elder men who were waiting for him at the door.

   And now here he was, taller and broader and more muscular with a hell of a lot more experience than what he had when he first joined. Today was the first day of him being a genuine pilot, and you couldn't help but smile up at him as he leads you through the doors and into the ceremony hall.

   The hall, for the first time in forever, had been dimmed down, only lit up by a handful of torches which line the concrete walls. Circular tables had been set out for everybody attending, candles placed upon them with menus already opened, ready for anybody to read as soon as they sat down.

   For such a 'non-formal' event, they sure did clean up well for it.

   “God, I can smell the sweat on myself already,” Lance whispers to you as you walk through the doors.

   “Just calm down,” you whisper back. “These people aren't strangers to you, okay? They're your friends.”

   “But what if they suddenly decide that I'm not worth it?” Lance asks, and you frown in reply, looking up at him. “Like, what if they go to hand me my certificate and they realise that hiring me is all a big mistake? I'm young. I still have a lot to learn-”

   “The older pilots still have a lot to learn,” you assure, tugging on his arm which you have looped your own through. “They'll go to their graves with a lot to learn, babe. You'll pick things up as you work. That's how this kind of thing goes.”     Lance hollows out his cheeks, using his free hand to dab at his forehead which is glistening with a thin layer of nervous sweats. You smile lightly despite him not being able to see you, resting your head on his arm for only a moment before a skinny, ginger haired man is jumping his way over to the pair of you, laughing a high pitched laugh.

   The mans moustache is pooled with sweat, though you have to admit that, for an elder, he has kept himself looking decent for his age. He must be in his late-40's, early 50's, but the aura he gives off makes him seem nothing short of Lance and your own age.

   “Lancey Lance!” the ginger exclaims. “We were waiting for you, so we were! Big man Lance! Man of the night! Knight in shining armour! The one, the only-”

��  “Hey, Coran,” Lance chuckles nervously, slipping his arm out of yours to give Coran a hug. “The place looks nice. You cleaned it up well!”

   Coran nods, smiling at his own work as Lance and him pull away from each other. “Yes well, this is what happens when you're a genius like myself.” You fight back the urge to laugh, instead opting to trail your eyes over the scenery in an attempt to distract yourself. “And who is this pretty lady you have on your arm, huh? I didn't know you were getting some, Lance. Have you even been through sex-ed class yet?”

   Your eyes pop open, a blush attacking your cheeks. Lance stumbles over his own words for a moment, shooting his eyes down to look at you in panic before clicking back to Coran's.

   “This is Y/N. My room mate.”

   “Oh, Y/N!” Coran exclaims, and you swear he has not used his inside-voice once during this entire conversation. “I've heard of you. Congratulations on reaching two million – two million subsides? Substitutes? What is it you got?”

   You bite down on your lip. “Um, subscribers, sir. And thank you. I appreciate it.”

   “How does that whole YouTube thing work, anyway?” Coran continues. You can feel Lance awkwardly shifting at the side of you, messing with his fingers as if praying the conversation will end so you and him can go back to being the cute, normal couple he so craved for you to be.

   But Coran is too invested in the conversation at hand, and before long the older man has wrapped an arm around your shoulders and is leading you and Lance through the crowd whilst jittering away about your unusual job.

   “Do you have to get up early to do it?”

   “It's usually based off of my schedule, but I prefer to get everything done in the morning, so I guess so.” A lie. You just didn't want to make yourself out to sound lazy.

   Coran hums. “And how do you get paid? Because from what I read, your net worth is pretty high.”

   “Coran!” Lance exclaims. “You can't just talk about her net worth whilst she's-”

   “I think it was around 3 million,” Coran continues, ignoring Lance's pleading voice behind him. “I don't understand why, though. Do you not just put make up on for a living?”

   You open your mouth to reply, but Lance doesn't allow you to. In seconds, Lance's arm is looped through yours, yanking you out of Coran's grip and dragging you away from him, waving his goodbyes without a second glance sent behind him.

    He's fuming. His breathing is coming out in warm, ragged breaths and his grip is tight on the jacket you have pulled over yourself, his footsteps heavy as he tries to fight through the crowd as quick as possible.

    Why he was getting so worked up, you didn't know. Net worth and how you made your money were common questions asked by almost every interviewer you had ever sat in front of, and Lance never seemed bothered by such a topic before.

    Although, the words Coran had uttered just before Lance had dragged you away had not gone unnoticed. Do you not just put make up on for a living?

   Ouch.

   But you were used to it. Those were the comments that were expected whenever you sat in front of a camera and showed people how to apply make up. Those were the comments you skimmed through on a daily basis.

   “Lance, please slow down,” you call after him, stumbling over your boots as he continues to plow through the crowd in an attempt to get to your designated table. “Please, Lance, come on! The night's only just started and you haven't even introduced me to any of your friends yet. Where's Frank from IT? I want to see him.”

    “I'm hungry,” Lance grunts, his voice barely audible over the music playing above you. “Let's just eat.”

   You don't ask any more questions. You don't see how you can; not with him in this state. This state of pure anger – pure anger which is radiating off of him in waves you had never seen before. Your mouth is screwed shut as Lance finally reaches the table you two were told to sit at, pulls out a chair and slumps down.

   Despite claiming he was hungry, he makes no attempt to look at the menu. Instead, he sinks further into his seat, leans his head on the palm of his hand and stays silent. His lips are pulled into a pout, eyes sharply darting around the room, glaring at anybody and everybody he can see. Women dressed up in fancy attire shuffle away from him, clearly turned off by the way he seems so frustrated in this moment.

   You don't know what to do. It was so uncommon for Lance to act like this, so uncommon for such small matters to bother him. You had never had to deal with him in this state, because he never got put in this state in the first place.

   You look at him for a little bit longer before you pick up the menu, looking through the dishes they had provided. What you expected – greasy things. Burgers, hot dogs, chips, fish fingers, chicken nuggets. What pilots ate around here. It was the type of food Lance always claimed he had to eat during lunch, and he never seemed bothered by it.

   You decided to order a burger and chips. The waiter walked away without Lance's order, due to Lance simply grunting in response to him asking him what he wanted.

   You lean back in your chair hesitantly, keeping your gaze on Lance. “People are dancing.”

   Lance looks towards the dance floor for a single moment, shrugs and slumps further down in his seat.

   You press your fingers into the arm rest, fighting off the urge to completely explode. Three days of this and you were done. Three days of him having these random mood swings – acting like you were his world for one second before completely going off on you and every other little thing the next. Things had been so perfect for nearly three months – what was happening now?

   You inhale deeply. “Maybe we should go and dance whilst we wait for food.”

   “I'd rather save my energy for the walk onto the stage,” he replies.

   You grit your teeth. Yelling at him won't do either of you any favours, and you wanted to at least find out what was wrong before you went off on one. There had to be something beneath the surface that was making him act this way. Nobodies personality changed this much in the space of three days.

   “Okay,” you say. “Well, what do you wanna do until the ceremony starts? You didn't order anything to eat, so you have all the freedom in the-”

   “I just wanna sit!” he barks, taking you by surprise.

   You felt your heart contract at the volume of his voice. Heads whipped around to look at the two of you in confusion, and you felt time physically slow down. People's eyes widened, because it was Lance yelling and Lance McClain never yelled. People were whispering to each other, wondering what it was that could possibly have set him off.

   You were sure you could have melted away in embarrassment then and there, but you kept yourself firm. You stood your ground. You pulled your shoulders back and kept your gaze firm on Lance, ignoring the whispering individuals around you.

    This was about you and Lance, and that was all.

   “You know, if you think Coran's comments bothered me, you're wrong,” you say. “I'm used to people asking about that kind of stuff. You know I am. There's – There's no need to get so protective over such a little thing, okay? I'm fine.”

   Lance barely moves. Simply stares up at the stage with his cheek still pressed into his palm. He looked so dead right now, so upset and it makes your heartbeat falter.

   You try again, this time reaching over and placing a hand on his knee. “Lance, please don't be like this. You were so happy about being here earlier on. Don't let something so simple ruin your big night.”

   Lance closes his eyes slowly, intaking a deep breath. He shifts suddenly, lifting his head off of his palm as he bounces your hand off of his knee. You pull away hesitantly, watching the way he bites the inside of his cheek before he speaks – a sure sign that what he is about to say isn't going to be anything welcoming.

    “You really shouldn't be so lenient with me,” he mumbles, so low you're sure you heard him wrong. You raise your brow, leaning forward in curiosity.

   “What?”

   “Me, Y/N,” he says sharply. “You shouldn't be so lenient with me. As in, you shouldn't put up with my shit any more. I just – You need to hate me.”

   You blank, completely frozen with confusion for a moment. You were no longer certain what way the conversation was headed – why had he brought that up like it meant nothing? Why was he suddenly being so vague?

   “I don't understand,” you say, shaking your head. “What are you talking about? I thought it was Coran that was pissing you off.”

   “Coran only made me realise some stuff,” Lance mumbles. “I did something bad, Y/N, and I didn't mean to but I did it any way because I – I was being selfish. I've been so hostile these past few days because I don't want you to associate me with your fanbase after – after what I did.”

   His voice is shaking, and your hands are trembling and the confusion is pulling at your chest so tightly that you nearly cave in and double over with the feeling of it.

   “What did you do?” you ask.

   Lance purses his lips, looking up at the stage now. “I don't wanna lose you, Y/N. I really don't. But you don't – After what I did, you don't deserve someone like me, and I've been trying to distance myself from you and the whole YouTube thing, but it's not working out the way I was hoping.”

   “Hoping? Distancing yourself? Lance, I don't even know what you're saying right now! What could you have possibly done that was so bad that you have to push me away?”

   Lance shakes his head again, and you don't believe your eyes when he begins to rise up from his seat, every intention to leave you stranded at this god damn table.

   You reach up, snatching his hand in your own, feeling the coldness of his palm for the last time before he tugs out of your grip and stuffs his hands in his blazer pocket.

   “You'll understand soon. You won't even want me around whenever you find out.”

   You blink back tears which are rapidly building to the surface. “You're scaring me.”

   “I'm sorry. I thought I could have this last night with you, but Coran was talking about your YouTube and I just feel so guilty. I wanted you to see me succeed for the last time before you left me, but-”

   You stand up sharply. “Lance, I'm not going to leave you! I don't even know why you're doing this!”

   Lance shakes his head again, a movement that seems to be his defence mechanism at this point. “Just – You can go home if you want. I've gotta go.”

   And before you can even ask a single question more, Lance is stumbling away from you, walking towards the exit on the far side of the room.

   The first tear falls.

   You pull your hood on over your head as you walk through the rain that California had sprung upon you. It was a rare sight to see, though you weren't surprised to see it. The coldness which had been plaguing your usually warm home-state had been a sure sign that the weather was finally beginning to realise that it was, indeed, the middle of October.

   Nonetheless, you make no attempt to head back to your apartment, instead opting for ducking inside of a nearby coffee shop.

   Nothing had been right after Lance left the ceremony. You had felt too weak to walk home by yourself, your knees wobbling with the emotion – meaning you had to sit and eat on your own, listen to the speaker call out Lance's name for his license, only to realise that Lancey Lance, the guest of honour, had fled the scene completely.

    You were forced to retrieve his licence for him, an honour which was a one-time thing for him, destroyed by whatever paranoid circle his head had looped him in.

   Because, truth was, you were terrified. Terrified of your home-life, terrified of your relationship, terrified of your friendship. You were terrified of what was to happen to Lance, because he hadn't come home last night.

   He must have stayed at Pidge's, or Keith's or maybe even Coran's – you didn't know. All you knew was that you had stumbled into your apartment, too late to form sentences, to see it completely bare. Lance really had abandoned you, and the reason for doing so was still unknown to you.

    The coffee shop provided a comforting warmth to you as you ordered your coffee and sat down at the far table, right beside a window. You hoped to get some editing done – anything to get Lance off your mind – but the tension in your shoulders and the constant feeling of wanting to burst into tears wasn't leaving you alone today. The left-over alcohol that you had downed at the ceremony was also still buzzing at your veins, leaving behind the unseizing need to jump around. You put all of your nervous energy into tapping at the coffee cup in your hand, staring out at the rain which was beginning to batter against the pavement.

    Your phone went off suddenly, signalling a new message. Almost immediately your mind zoned to Lance – besides, he was the one person who texted you constantly throughout the day; mini updates on how work was going, or a simple selfie of him in his work uniform, or a question asking how your day was going. He was who you were used to seeing pop up on your phone all the time.

   It wasn't exactly disappointment you felt whenever you saw Samuel's name flicking upon your phone screen instead, but you certainly felt your heart churn.

    Samuel: i'll hang him up by his balls, I swear to god.

   Samuel: have you seen this yet? call me. {attachment}.

    You raise a brow at nothingness, not hesitating to click on the attachment. You weren't expecting it to be anything bad, but as soon as the headline snapped out at you, you felt like screaming. You felt like hurling your coffee cup across the shop and screaming at the top of your lungs because no, this can't be right. This has to be fake. He wouldn't do this. Not for any amount of money. Not for any amount of publicity.

   The headline bounced out at you in big, bold letters along with a picture of Lance looking friendly with a man, arms wrapped around each other and big, cheesy grins plastered on their faces.

    The headline read: LANCE MCCLAIN SPILLS ALL ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMOUS YOUTUBER Y/N L/N! IS ALL REALLY PERFECT IN PARADISE?

    Your breathing turns ragged, hands bundling within the fabric of your jeans. You try to control yourself. You try to calm yourself down, but there's no amount of reality that you can grasp onto in this moment that will keep the tears from streaming down you face, a feeling of utter betrayal settling in your stomach because he had really done it. He had done the one thing that he promised never to do; he was using your relationship for the money.

   He had accepted your feelings, kissed you, led you on for months. Was the money really his only intention? Had this interview been planned since the LA event you had confessed at?

    God, the thoughts were too harsh. The thoughts were battering at the front of your skull, making the tears slip ten times faster. People looked at you in confusion, some in pity. This young girl sitting alone in a coffee shop, sobbing her heart out over a boy. A boy who she saw her life unfolding with. A boy who she thought would never leave her side, because that was what he had said. He had told you on numerous occasions that I'll always be your best friend! or I'll never leave you!

   And now this.

    You dialled Samuels number quickly, pulling the phone to your ear, wanting to hear him tell you that it was a lie, that the attachment was a prank and that everything Lance had told you over the past few months had been truth.

    But the words which slip past Samuel's lips go against everything you want to believe.

   Because upon hearing your sobs, your friend can only say, “Oh, sweetie.”

#voltron #voltron fanfics #voltron headcanons #voltron scenarios #voltron fics #action! #lance x reader #lance x youtuber!reader #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #hunk garrett #hunk voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #lance mcclain #lance voltron #coran voltron

[panda-noosh]

Action!{P2}{Lance x YouTuber!Reader}{AU}

Words: 4300

   Summary: Being a YouTube guru is hard enough without the added stress of living with Lance McClain,  the man who insists on bombarding into every YouTube video you try to film. His viewers love him, and so do you.

   Pairing: Lance x YouTuber!Reader

   Note: p1 - p3 - p4 - p5 - p6 - p7 ; 

   “Are you still editing that video?”

   Lance's arms swung around the back of the wooden chair you had been propped up in for the past three hours, his hands draping over your shoulders as he bends down and leans his head in the crook of your neck. You can feel his eyes trailing over your lit up computer screen at the hours worth of work you had been dealing with nearly all day.

   You hollow out your cheeks, barely energized enough to answer. Every fibre of your concentration had been put into making this video absolutely perfect – it was your two million subscriber special. The video contents in itself was nothing spectacular – you talking to the camera with the glistening sight of tears bubbling in your eyes as you thank your viewers – all two million of them – for changing your life completely.

   Despite the video being easy going, the editing had been seen as a complete nightmare. You had to make so many cuts to the original product, embarrassed by the amount of times you had to duck your head into your hands and shake your head in disbelief. Your viewers didn't want to see that kind of stuff. They wanted to see you talking, your thankfulness towards them that you struggled to put into words throughout the entire thing.

   “How long is the video going to be?” Lance asks whenever you don't reply to his previous question. “Is it another make up tutorial?”

   You shake your head, leaning back in the wooden seat and placing your head against Lance's stomach, inhaling the scent of cologne and wind he had coming off of his pilot suit which he had yet to change out of from his day at training.

   “It's not going to be very long by the looks of things,” you explain. “And nope. It's just me talking. I didn't know what else to do for it.”

   Lance scoffs. “I'm sure that massive list of video ideas in your phone begs to differ.”

   “I needed to do something special,” you grumble. “I just don't feel like this is the right video. I want to do something big for it, but – I dunno. I'll upload this when I'm done editing-”

   “You're gonna be done editing now,” Lance insists, and before you can stop him, he's closed the lid on your laptop, making the room go dark. You squeal, lurching out of his grip and scrambling for the MacBook, only for Lance to scoop it up in his arms and raise it higher above his head – so high that you can't reach it.

   “Lance McClain, give me that back! I need to finish the video!”

  Lance rolls his eyes, tossing the laptop onto the bed behind him. “You're gonna burn yourself out. You need rest.”

   “I'll rest once the video is uploading.”

   “Your viewers won't mind waiting one more day for a video. It's not even your upload day today.”

   You pout, knowing he's right. This was often a problem you faced with yourself – you got worked up over your work schedule. Everything had to be done perfectly, but in record time, or else you wouldn't be pleased with your level of productivity. You overworked yourself to the point where your head would start to hurt and nothing but the job in front of you was worth worrying about.

   Lance pouts back at you, folding his arms over his chest. “Now, how about I order us some take out and we sit on the couch and watch old movies? I'm exhausted.”

   You nod your head in agreement, still pouting. Lance chuckles, leaning in and giving your pouting lips a soft peck.

   “Stop huffing with me,” he whispers, pulling away only a few centimetres. “You like me too much to be huffing with me.”

   He gives you one last award winning smile before walking out of the room to go and order the take out he had promised you. He leaves the room, but his aura and his affect on you stays with you as you stare at the laptop he had tossed onto the bed so carelessly.

    The butterflies jump around in your stomach so freely and so naturally that you can't help but let the smile appear on your face at the feel of them. Before, the idea of Lance giving you this feeling would have terrified you. Now it was welcomed. Now it was one of the only things that stopped you from working yourself into the ground.

   After you and Lance had made things official, things became quiet on your YouTube channel when it came to him. You didn't think too much of it. Pretending to be nothing more than friends would have been increasingly difficult for him, so he simply didn't show up in your videos as often as he used to.

    You didn't know whether going public was a good idea or not. You wanted to. Hell, you wanted to flaunt Lance around as your boyfriend as much as you could, but it was Lance's life that you had to think about. Whilst you had already made the decision to put your entire life out there for people to see, he still had that choice and you refused to selfishly make it for him.

    So that left you where you were now – pretending that Lance was still just your room mate. Pretending that you two were just friends.

   Maybe one day he would open up to the idea. Until then, you were willing to give him his moment.

    “I hate black and white movies.”

   “You're too young.”

   “We're the same age.”

   Lance shoots you a glare as the olden day, black and white movie plays on the TV in front of you, looking grainy as the old disk clashes with the new technology you had put it inside of. It wasn't made for a flat screen TV. They didn't have those when this film was being played.

   You roll your eyes at his stern glare, snuggling closer to his chest nonetheless. The buttons on his silk pyjama top are enough to keep you occupied throughout the entire film, your nimble fingers messing with them as Lance endulges himself in watching it. His mouth is open a little bit as the characters play out over-dramatic fights that would get anyone fired if they decided to act like that in the modern Hollywood. His fingers play with the hem of your short sleeve as his arm is draped over your shoulder, keeping you firm under his arm.

    It was nights like these that you learned to truly appreciate the years of friendship Lance had given you before you two had decided to become a couple. Back then, you would have done anything for Lance to just hurry up and ask you out. Back then, the idea of a friendship being stronger than a relationship was beyond you, and so you thought it would have been simple for him to simply ask you out and work from there. A new beginning with barely anything to keep it upright.

   But now, as you lay against his chest, playing with shirt and his arm draped over you, those years of friendship seem almost vital. Because you know full well you would never be comfortable sitting like this with somebody you knew for only a few months. You would never open yourself up to somebody like you had opened yourself up to Lance, and it was all down to those years of platonic pining you had kept for one another.

   You inhale deeply, snuggling your nose into the fabric of his pyjama top. His fingers twitch slightly at your movements, and it is then that he shifts his fingers from your shoulders and begins to mess with the ends of your hair, which lay frizzed up and unbrushed against your back now.

   “Why are you so uncomfortable looking?” Lance asks. You look up at him, one hand gripping his top whilst the other lays idly against the sofa.

   “I'm perfectly comfortable,” you reply, and you're not lying.

   Lance raises a brow nonetheless, bouncing his chest a little bit as a way to tease you. Your head bounces with the movement before clumsily falling back into his chest, an action which makes him grunt himself.

   You giggle, sitting upright in his grip. He groans, throwing his head back as he tries to pull you back into him, but your hands dart out to stop him.

   “You ruined my comfort!” you exclaim, shoving his arm roughly.

   His eyes widen, a playful smile tweaking his lips. “You were laying on me! I was uncomfortable!”

   “You could have just said,” you hiss, slumping down against the cushion across from him. “And by the way, your taste in movies sucks.”

   Lance's eyes widen even further, his playful grin falling into a deathly frown that has you giggling uncontrollably. “You take that back.”

    “I won't.”

   “Yes, you will.”

   “It's the truth! Don't hate on me just because you can't handle the-”

   Lance doesn't let you finish before he's dived towards you, hands finding their way under your pyjama top so he can attack the bare skin underneath. You squeal, arching your back in an attempt to get out of his grip as his fingers make work of tickling your burning skin. Every inch of you that he touches burns, lights up with a passion you had never felt with anybody else.

   You want to remember moments like these. Perhaps its the creator in you that wants to document everything, but something in you just screams at you to document this moment in the only way you have ever known how to. In the way you had been doing for six years now.

   Your hands darts out, shaking at the way Lance makes your body move and wriggle, and grabs at the vlogging camera on the coffee table. Lance doesn't see it at first, head buried in your neck in an attempt to keep you still so he can continue to torture you with tickles.

  You click it on and press 'record,' the camera making it's usual 'PING' noise, and it is then that Lance freezes, his hands coming to a halt on your warm skin.

   You gasp in an attempt to catch your breath, the camera hovering between you and Lance as you breathlessly tell him to, “Say hi to the vlog channel!”

   But his frown says otherwise. You look up at him, confusion taking over. He's always been so lively in front of your vlog camera. He's always been a person to appear in your vlogs, and every time he shows his face, you know he's going to put on some kind of show. He loves appearing in them.

   Or so you originally thought.

   But today, something is clearly different, as he grumbles incoherent words and places his hands over the lens, pushing the camera out of his face. You watch on in confusion, quick to put the camera down as Lance clambers up off the sofa, snatching the polystyrene container that contained his Chinese food off of the coffee table and entering the dark kitchen.

   You don't really believe it at first. Was he okay? Did you do something wrong? He was so happy only moments before, but it seemed like the presence of the camera had turned him in a way you had never seen before.

   “Lance?” you call out into the dark kitchen. Lance switches the kitchen light on at the sound of your voice, showing off his frustrated features that had changed so much from the happy, grinning and teasing smile he was showing you only moments before.

   You place the camera back onto the coffee table and clamber up off the sofa, standing in the centre of the living room awkwardly. It was very rare that you and Lance ever fought, so you had close to no idea how to react. He was always the one who wanted to find some way to fix things, but now he seemed like he was genuinely angry at you, and you had no idea why.

   “A-Are you okay?” you ask, messing with your fingers.

   Lance pulls his bottom lip into his teeth, nibbling on the skin. “I don't wanna be on the vlog.”

   You nod hesitantly. “That's alright. You don't have to get mad. I won't-”

   “No, Y/N, I'm not mad,” he huffs out, running his hands through his hair. “It's just – I don't – People can't see us like this.”

   You swear he can your heartbeat. It's too loud. It's pumping in your chest at one thousand miles an hour and you don't know how to slow it down. “Like this? What does that mean?” You struggle to keep the rage out of your voice, his simple words cutting so deep into your chest that you're sure it will physically leave a bruise there.

    “Like this. As a couple,” he replies, dropping the ball immediately. Your hands tighten in your pyjama shirt but you don't say anything. Your throat has gone dry and you're struggling to formulate any words that might sound plausible in this moment. “I don't need the public attention and you certainly don't need any more questions about me being asked. I want people to like your YouTube channel for you, and I – I don't wanna be involved in it.”

   All you can do is stare at him for a moment. Judging by the sound of his voice, you know he doesn't mean to hurt you, but the words cut into your heart and become mangled in your brain, rearranged to form sentences which haunt you and make you feel worthless.

   YouTube had been something Lance had supported you with from the moment you two met until now. Whilst other people had found the concept weird, you knew you had hit the bullseye with Lance whenever he had told you how cool he thought it was. That was one of the reasons you liked him so much – he wasn't weirded out by your job or your dreams or the crazy ideas your overactive brain always made up. He helped you out. He kept you sane.

   And now he was throwing that all away, telling you he didn't want to be associated with your channel. You don't understand why, but it makes you feel smaller. It makes you feel like how you felt all them years ago whenever you had first told your parents about your source of income – they had looked at you like you were some kind of disappointment, eyebrows raised and mouths open as if they were trying to figure it all out.

   “We just don't really understand that kind of thing, so if you could keep it out of our house, that would be helpful.” That was what they had told you, basically forcing you to leave the confines of the family home so you could continue on with your dream.

   People always had a way of making you feel like less of a hard worker just because your job consisted of you doing what you wanted. No, you didn't have to get up early and no, you didn't have some busy schedule and no, you didn't have to deal with rude customers every two seconds like other people did. But that didn't mean your job was any less difficult or any less daunting than your average job.

   Lance had always been the one to understand that, but now it seemed like things were changing.

   You swallow thickly, looking down at the ground in an attempt to fight back tears. Years of fighting back against people who said your job was too stupid to make a living off of, and yet here you were, suddenly feeling like everything you worked for was coming crashing down, all because of the man you thought would support you through it all.

    “That's fine,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “As I said, you don't need to get mad. I won't film you.”

    Lance sighs. You hear it loud and clear, the remnants of his previous frustration still evident within it. It was odd to hear Lance like that. It was even weirder to know that you were the reason behind it.

   “I'm sorry, okay?” Lance says. “I didn't mean to get mad. I just – I don't want our relationship to be flaunted on your channel for the whole world to see. You flaunt everything else on it, and I've seen the reactions people give. I don't want that for us.”

   “I understand, Lance. You don't need to explain.”

   Lance takes a step towards you, decides against it and settles for leaning against the counter. “Then why do you still sound mad?”

   “I'm not mad,” you grunt, looking up to meet his eyes. “I'm just tired. Long editing day. I'm going to bed.”

   It takes every fibre of your strength, but you manage to turn on your heel and leave the living room, jogging up the stairs to your room – your room.

   For the past few months, you had been sleeping in Lance's room beside him. You hadn't even sat on your bed since you and Lance confessed to each other, meaning the small room was extremely cold and the bed was unfamiliar and all you wanted was to wrap your arms around Lance and rest your head on his shoulder and hear his tired breaths as he fell into sleep, but your heart weighed you down with this sudden realisation that maybe, just maybe, your career bothered Lance more than you had originally thought.

    The sunshine of downtown wasn't enough to brighten up the shitty morning you had suffered through that day.

   Lance had gotten up early for work, and you two had barely said hello to each other whenever you went downstairs for breakfast. You had awkwardly sent him a smile, told him about your plans to go and see your friends this morning, and then waved him off. Not even a goodbye kiss, or a joke shared between the two of you like the mornings usually brought.

   You didn't want such a simple thing to effect you. So what if he didn't like your YouTube channel? So what if he didn't want to be featured on it? There were plenty of people who were camera shy-

   But that was the thing. Lance had proven time and time again that he was no where near camera shy. He enjoyed the attention being put on him – so what was changing now? What had your new-found romance and love for each other stolen from his confidence that suddenly made him wary of the camera?

   “Hello? Earth to Y/N. We're still here, you know!”

   Your eyes dart open, the warmth from the coffee you were holding suddenly spreading up your arm and burning your palm. You hiss, tugging your hand away from the cup and placing your hand face-down on the cold garden table you were sat around with two of your best friends, Emma and Samuel.

   “Sorry,” you say, looking up at Emma and smiling in an attempt to hide the pain scratching at your chest. Her dark skin glowed underneath the sunlight today, her yellow summer dress a perfect contrast to her dark complexion and the large bed of hair she had, perfectly styled into it's usual, perky Afro.

   Samuel sat to your left, his wheelchair replacing the summer chair that the table once occupied. You hadn't realised that your free hand was nervously squeezing the arm chair to his wheel chair, and he was glancing down at it in confusion.

   “What's gotten you so distracted today?” Emma asks, taking a sip of her slushie. “You seem a bit out of it.”

   “Me?” you play off. “No. I'm okay. Just tired. I was up all night editing a new video and-”

   “I told that Lance boy to make sure you get your sleep,” Samuel cuts you off, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “But I suppose he would much rather keep you up then get you sleeping, if you know what I mean.” Your best friend suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at you, making you nearly choke on the warm air around you.

   You shake your head quickly, waving your hands in front of your face to further dismiss the idea. “N-No! No, of course not! It's still only early days, you guys. Give us a chance to settle in.”

   “Settle in?” Emma barks, slapping her hand against the table. Samuel squeals at the volume of the action, turning to Emma with a glare in his eyes that she quickly pushes away by keeping her gaze locked on yours. “Sweetie, you've lived with the boy for nearly three years now. How much more time do you need to get settled in?”

   “We were living together as friends,” you say. “Not – like this.”

  “This? Why are you talking about your relationship like it's some kind of STD?”

   You wince, closing your eyes tightly and rubbing your thumbs into your eyelids, as if doing so will pause the conversation for a moment and give you a chance to settle your brain.

   “Give the girl a break,” Samuel sighs, sipping on his beverage. “It's kind of like me with my accident – I was perfectly fine living with Austin whenever my legs weren't completely useless, but it was a different situation all together after the accident. It was like we were starting fresh again.”

   You nod your head gently, letting your hands fall into your lap. “Exactly.”

   Emma rolls her soft brown eyes, a teasing smile playing at her lips as she leans across the table and takes your hand in hers. Her soft skin does wonders with making you calm down – the best friend thing, you knew. She knew how to calm you down and you knew how to calm her down.

    “I'm only messing with you, Shortcake,” she says. “But to be fair, I haven't seen him on your channel the past few months. Not since you came back from LA, anyway. What's up with that?”

   Samuel nods. “I would also like to know that.”

   You swallow thickly, the reminder of last night flooding back into your brain and making you shift uncomfortably. It wouldn't be a bad thing to get it off your chest, to tell them what had happened and let somebody else deal with a bit of the burden as well, but the words get caught in your throat. The truth gets caught in your throat, because as much as you want to scream and shout at the top of your lungs, ask the Lord why your best is never good enough, you can't seem to find the confidence.

   A part of you still believes it's your own fault for choosing this path anyway, knowing full well you would lose people in the process.

    “He just – He doesn't want to be seen on the channel,” you force out, looking back and forth between Emma and Samuel.

   Samuel is the first to show any kind of reaction. His eyebrow shoots up in concern, his grip tightening on the wheels of his wheelchair as if he was ready to leave then and there. It wasn't the reaction you were expecting, and it makes anxiety crawl into your throat.

    “He doesn't want to be seen on the channel?” he parrots and you nod in confirmation. He shares a quick glance with Emma before turning back to you. “But hasn't he already been seen on it before?”

   You nod gently. “Yes. But that was before we got together. Now he doesn't want to be seen on it-”

   “What?” Emma scoffs. “He doesn't want to be seen on it because – because you two are a couple?”

   Your eyes widen, urgency bubbling in the pit of your stomach. “What? No! I mean – kind of. Yes. But it sounds a lot worse than it really is. He's just shy of being in his first relationship, is all! I've got to understand that.”

   Samuel hums, clearly unconvinced as he takes a long, drawn out sip of his iced tea. “I don't know how I feel about that, Y/N. Seems to me like the boy is being a tad bit ungrateful.”

   “He's just worried, okay? We've gotta give him time.”

   “To settle in,” Emma says, nudging Samuel's paralysed foot with her converse shoe. “At least we know he's not using you for money.”

   You force a smile on your lips, nodding in mild agreement. “Yeah. At least we know that much.”

   “The boys a damn pilot,” Samuel hisses. “He doesn't need to use our Y/N for money.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, enough talking about relationships. That shit makes my head go funny. How about we talk about the fact that I'm getting new specs in a few weeks, and I look incredible in them.”

   The conversation drones out in your head. Emma and Samuel gush over the new glasses Samuel will soon be wearing, passing around iPhone pictures of him in Specsavers, but you can only concentrate on the echo of the truth which was buzzing around you now.

    You would talk to Lance about it. You would have to, you knew. It was the adult thing to do instead of gossiping about your problems with your friends.

   It would be sorted out, and you would be okay. You and Lance would be okay.

#Action! #voltron #voltron headcanons #voltron imagines #voltron scenarios #voltron fics #voltron au #voltron fanfics #lance x reader #lance x youtuber!reader #lance mcclain #lance voltron #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #hunk garrett #hunk voltron