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autisticlancemcclain · 9 months

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Keith clenches the flower crown in his hand, breathing heavy. The delicate petals of the not-daises crumple and crush in his fists, blue pollen smearing on the leather of his gloves. Half of the crown sits perfect, intact, unblemished and unbroken. The other half is miserable and unfixable, destroyed by something bigger than itself. He stares at it, hard, at what it is and what it represents, until his eyes sting from the dryness and begin to blur.

“Lance, I —” His voice comes out raspy, crinkled as the flowers. He swallows. “I’m never really going to — to love you. You know that, right?”

Lance’s quiet humming never stops, never hesitates. He continues to carefully poke the not-daisies onto their stem-string, building another crown, a new one, just as beautiful. “I know.”

Keith frowns. “You…know?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why do you…” He glances down at the crushed flowers again. Suddenly he wants to straighten them, desperately, fix their bleeding creases, their crumpled pieces. He tries, a little. He takes a broad petal from the biggest of the delicate flowers and smooths it against his thumb, again and again, trying to fix the brokenness. The crease disappears, but the petal lays flat against his skin; translucent, soaked with its own oils, bending to the shape of the pad of his thumb. It droops when he peels it off, worse than before. He feels something gentle touch on his head, a barely-there weight around the crown of his skull, and he smells something floral, aside from the flowers, like shampoo. Lance settles again beside him, second flower crown gone from his hands, now searching for a long enough not-daisy stem to start a new one. There’s a lump in Keith’s throat.

“Then why do this? Why —” He sweeps his hand out, broadly, gesturing the the not-daisy field before them, gesturing to the picnic blanket and the basket of food, gesturing to the castle in the distance, to the room they’ve shared more often than not lately, to their lions, to them, to them, to them. “Why do you hang out —” his voice cracks on the term, the blasé-ness of it, the fib, the hiding from the truth, the softer word to replace the truth — “with me like this? Why do you spend so much of your time with me? Alone? Why do we do what we —” He stops for a moment, finding himself short of breath suddenly, more feeling than the situation calls for crashing down on him at once, crushing his windpipe, making it hard for him to breathe, harder to speak. “Why do you stay with me like this, if you know?”

“Well, because I love you.”

He does not hesitate to say it. He does not swallow harshly as if the words are acid in his throat, as if they are too heavy to be spoken aloud. He says it easily, steadily, wondrously, as if it’s painless. As if Keith had said it first, and he’s simply responding. As if it’s something he says often. As if the words were not hard to find, were already heavy on his tongue, as if it was easier to say them then to lock them behind his teeth, choke them down. Maybe they are, for him.

Lance picks his head up from where it was hunched over the not-daisies, tying off the chain and lifting it, resting the crown gently on his own head. Coronating himself, with soft flowers, with the strength of a thousand men. He flicks his gaze to Keith, then, brown eyes wide and soft and glassy, slightly, shimmering in the orange sunlight, dark despite it, heavy and light alike. His expression is open, earnest. “Isn’t that reason enough?”

Keith doesn’t understand him. He knows Lance, knows how things eat at him, how small rejections build and build from the centre of his chest down his spine and wrap around each of his nerves, lighting him up inside. He’s seen how the doubt shapes his words, reshapes his sentences, clouds his thoughts. He’s seen how Lance pulls away from people before they can pull away from him. He’s seen the same ache in the Blue-turned-Red Paladin that he has, the same black hole in his own chest; the pain of the one left behind.

How is it so easy, then, for him, to say — it?

Keith holds his gaze, heart pounding, breathing short and shallow, as long as he can, as long as he can bear. He is the one to look away, in the end, and Lance soon after, looking for yet another long-stemmed daisy. It is only then that Keith realises that his second crown is crushed, too, in his other hand, stained with oil.

“Reason enough,” he echoes.

Lance hums affirmatively, absentmindedly lifting his legs and placing them on top of Keith’s, casual. Keith can’t tell if the move is deliberate or not, if Lance is genuinely oblivious to the intent of Keith’s sentiment or if he’s choosing to ignore it.

Either way it doesn’t matter. Lance slowly works his way through a good chunk of the flowers surrounding them, cheekily ordering Keith around the field, instructing him on what flowers to pick, how many, how often. Lance claims he just doesn’t want to move, but Keith is sure he just likes bossing him around. He organizes them in small piles by size as Keith gathers them, favouring the wider and fluffier ones, working with his tongue out in concentration as he carefully makes one, two, three, four, five more crowns than the two he’s already made, not including the two Keith destroyed. (Those were carefully scooped up from where Keith had discarded them, placed gently in the bottom of the picnic basket. Lance hadn’t said anything nor had he made any particular face, except that there was determination in his eyes as he held the crumpled flowers, defiance, almost, as he lovingly placed them among their used dishware and leftovers.)

Once he finishes the last knot — one crown for each team member, plus one to hang on Shiro’s doorknob — he swings his legs off Keith’s lap, sighing as he gets to his feet. Keith sees a sliver of brown skin as he stretches, a flash of his hip as his shirt lifts with his raised hands. It is the same temptation it always is, although it makes Keith more nauseous than usual.

“C’mon, you lump,” Lance says, holding out a hand. “I call dibs on not carrying anything back to the castle.”

Keith stares at his offered hand for a moment. He gets the same feeling in his belly that he used to get before walking into his final exams. Like he is being tested, like he is unprepared, like he is going to fail.

He stands on his own, quickly busying himself with gathering up their blanket and basket.

He follows just behind Lance as they walk through the field, back to the castle. They take their time — no one else will be back yet — and Lance stops every three seconds to coo at a beetle, take a picture of a plant, draw a heart in the dirt. Keith finds himself smiling without permission, struggling to school his face when he realises.

Keith has never met someone who is so unapologetically himself. He knows Lance has struggles, knows he doubts himself more than anyone on the team, probably. But so much of him is just a blatant adoration for the world around him; an obsession with the stars, an affinity for speed, an ataraxia in water, a blatant delight for any critter. He loves so much so often he bleeds with it. Keith has no idea how he survives, how he protects himself. It terrifies him. How is he supposed to protect Lance if Lance refuses to wear any armour? If he flays himself open and trusts everything and anyone? It’s as if he hasn’t yet learned to be wary, even though he has been hurt. Keith cannot fathom how he’s like this, how he’s survived like this.

Later, that night, he lies awake and counts Lance’s breaths as he thinks.

This wasn’t meant to last.

He doesn’t mean that they’re doomed to fail. They are, probably, the same way most things are (his mouth twitches on reflex as he hears Lance calling him emo in his head), but he hadn’t meant to start anything, with Lance. He doesn’t think Lance meant to start with him, either. He certainly never anticipated Lance, head pillowed on Keith’s chest, drool gathering on his ribcage, leg flopped over his and hand twitching in his face and hair. He never anticipated hearing his name muttered in Lance’s sleep, or watching him shoot up from a nightmare, wide-eyed and terrified, only to relax immediately back into sleep when he sees that it’s Keith who’s holding him. He never anticipated his own hands combing through Lance’s hair, his squeezing of Lance’s feet in between his thighs to keep them warm, his boots at the end of the bed, gloves on the nightstand. He never anticipated the way the smell of Lance’s shampoo would help him breathe again when he shoots straight up in terror and forgets where he is. He never anticipated the softness, the quiet smiles, the feel of his nails on his back, the press of his lips to his neck, the taste of his sweat on his skin, the breathiness of his hitched throat in his ear.

It started with a fight.

Of course it did, really. Why they were alone in the training room, Keith cannot recall, and why they turned to sparring with each other rather than staying at separate corners of the room he is at a loss. (Well, he does know. He knows he watched the litheness of Lance’s body as he bent and and contorted it and felt the swoop of his belly at his smug grin every time he landed a shot. He knows he watched sweat bead up on his forehead and drip down his face, burning a trail down his long neck. He knows he watched Lance bend over to set up shots, stretch, anything. He knows all that. But he thought he had restraint.)

He knows at one point they were snarling at each other, arguing over who had cost them a match with the gladiator, and then he knows that Lance had brazenly challenged him to a fight, and Keith had laughed in his face. He knows that they lunged at each other. He knows that he intended to give it to the smug asshole who had refused to leave him the fuck alone for even one fucking second since they got stuck in space. He knows he had Lance pinned to the ground, because Lance may insist that they’re neck and neck but Keith sure as shit had the upper hand in hand to hand.

What he doesn’t know is who kissed who. He doesn’t know who bit whose lip or who gasped or who shoved whose hand under whose shirt. He doesn’t know. He knows it escalated, he knows he felt fucking drunk on the taste of Lance’s skin, knows he felt like devouring every sound that came from that smart fucking mouth. He knows they didn’t even bother moving from the training mat on the floor.

He does know that he was the one who knocked on Lance’s door first, the next day. But when they fell into bed again Lance was the one who was prepped and ready, who opened the door within half a second and yanked him in by the collar, smirking.

Lance shifts slightly, muttering something as he turns his head. Keith freezes, barely daring to breathe lest he wake him up, waiting until after Lance has settled again, after he’s gone heavy on Keith’s chest.

In the beginning he’d convinced himself it was physical. Lance is objectively fucking hot, anyone with eyes can see that, and it’s not like Keith has any other fucking options here. But tonight, after everyone had split off after dinner and they’d landed in Keith’s room, again (is it really even Keith’s room, anymore? Lance’s hand is keyed to the lock. His products line the bathroom counter. His clothes are intermixed among Keith’s. He can’t remember the last time either of them had been in Lance’s room, let alone Lance by himself), as they always do. They’d gotten ready for bed without even talking, slipping in pyjamas and brushing teeth and running through a ninety four step skincare routine. They’d laid next to each other on the bed, Keith working through a random novel he found in the library and Lance breezing through some kind of math game on his tablet, before Lance had sighed some time before midnight, kissed him gently on the mouth, whispered “I don’t feel like doing anything tonight,” and then flopped on top of Keith’s person, wiggling until he was comfortable, passing out as soon as he was.

Keith’s hand curls around the curve of Lance’s shoulder.

Physical, physical, physical, he chants to himself. You have ruined every single person you have ever loved.

Lance groans slightly again, clicking his jaw.

“Keith,” he murmurs, accent heavy in his sleep. His lips twitch up in a smile.

Keith’s stomach turns.

———

based on this post

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girlboypersonthingy · 2 months

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omg i love your blog sm!! it’s been a while since ive been in the fandom and i didn’t think anyone wrote for vld anymore, ahhhh but i love the way you write!! you’re so so talented!! how do you think a love triangle sitch with keith and lance would play out? i love the both but UGHHHH THE DRAMA I LOVE IT😩😩

Oh my god thank you so much! I’m so flattered asfdafh 🥰🥹 I know the fandom is dead to most but not to all. I’m still here and voltron will always live on in my heart ❤️‍🔥 BRO THIS PROMPT??? PLZ ITS SO GOOD AAHHH ENJOY!

❤️Love Triangle💙

Okay first of all, these two would try to win you over IN COMPLETELY OPPOSITE WAYS.

Lance is, of course, over the top and very romantic and kind of cliche but so considerate and thoughtful and sweet.

Keith will be more nonchalant and mysterious, trying to use his skills and talents to impress you. He’s the type to slowly win you over by being very genuine and honest.

It started when Lance threw a pick up line your way and not only was the line terrible…but you actually laughed at it. It brought some pink to your cheeks as well. They both noticed that.

Lance was very smug about the fact that he made you giggle and blush.

Keith was a little annoyed at first, thinking Lance was just being his usual obnoxious self. So Keith just kept trying to make moves on you in his own way.

One day, Lance walked into the training room to see you and Keith sitting beside each other on the floor, breathing heavily as if you’d just decided to take a break. He couldn’t really hear what Keith was saying but you looked very focused, very into the conversation and you two were sitting just a little bit too close for his liking.

Lance didn’t like the eyes you were making at the red paladin

But Keith sure did. He was so excited to be sitting so close to you.

Then it’s like the spider man meme of them pointing at each other like 😧👉🏻 👈🏻😮

“Wait! You like (Y/N)? No no no, you can’t! I like (Y/N)!”

“Well I liked them first!”

“No! No! Dibs!”

“Really? Dibs?” *eye roll*

For the next week, they’re both acting like goofballs around you.

It’s kind of hilarious and very entertaining for you because…you notice that they start adopting each other’s ways of flirting and dropping hints. They do a little swap.

It’s like they think the other person has a better chance with you so they try to switch it up and copy each other. Lance thinks Keith’s ‘mysterious bad boy’ persona is something you’re into. Keith thinks you find happiness in all the silly, goofy things Lance does. So they both try to switch it up in hopes of making you fall for them. Does that make sense?

Imagine Keith trying to use a pick up line on you and failing miserably. He’s probably sweating through his shirt and his mouth is dry bc he’s so close to you, he can smell your shampoo. He’d end up stuttering and then getting really pissed at himself for looking dumb in front of you. May go back to his room and pout if he felt things didn’t go well.

Now imagine Lance trying to be all soft spoken and mysterious, trying to act cool. Lance trying not to talk too much is the equivalent of him holding his breath. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks character and says some dumb, cheesy shit that has you rolling your eyes. He awkwardly shuffles away to his room and also pouts bc he feels like he’s just loud and annoying.

The boys got into a yelling match about it once. The pot just boiled over and all you could do was watch.

That was their very shitty, joint confession of their feelings for you- them screaming about who likes you more, who liked you first, who you’re more compatible with, ect ect blah blah blah

All right in front of you

And all the while, the whole team is so confused

Cue Allura and Hunk stepping in between them because both their faces are turning red from anger and jealousy.

Everyone just looks at Shiro like 👀

Shiro, the dad of the group: 🙄😤 “fine…”

Shiro sits them both down for a long chat and by the end of it, the boys have come to terms with the fact that they both like you and not only is it your choice who you’d want to be with, but there’s a lot of other things to be worried about rn. They shouldn’t, and they won’t, pressure you.

Buuttttt…they do keep up some of the same things they like to do with you.

Keith still trains with you often (and he really enjoys helping you with your stance/posture bc he gets to be touchy✨)

Lance still invites you into his room to play video games (and he always seems out of breath when you sit so close to him, your arm touching his)

They try their best to control their temper around you and they try not to be around when you’re with the other person. They don’t need to see you being all close and personal with someone who isn’t them. :,(

The boys just continue to be their normal selves with you. They figure you should get to know them, the real them, before you make any decisions.

Yes, they both like you.

Yes. They’re both very competitive and very jealous.

But they respect each other and they respect you.

And we are in the middle of an intergalactic war right now, this is not a real priority.

They’ll give you some time and a pace to think about it.

Now comment on this post and tell me who you’d choose 😈 I love them both so so much but Lance is my soulmate for sure

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #voltron x reader #voltron x you #vld #keith x reader #vld keith #keith vld #lance x reader #lance mcclain x reader #lance vld #voltron lance #vld lance #lance voltron #keith voltron #voltron keith #lance mcclain #keith kogane #keith kogane x reader

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libraryofloveletters · 11 months

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Written In The Photos - Social Media Series

decided to take a little break from writing (I will still be writing after this, don’t worry!) but I didn’t want to leave you guys without content so I present the Written In The Photos series. each driver/player has a song and their post is inspired by said song :) I hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed making it <3 // special thank you to my bestie @themandaloriansdiaries for all her help with song choices and all the cracked out convos we had to put it together.

Carlos Sainz Jr - Smooth Operator by Sade

late nights, jet leg and messed up sleep schedules lead to words spoken which would normally be kept to themselves.

Jack Grealish - Hot Girl Summer by Meg Thee Stallion

party after party, Jack seems to be spotted with the same girl over and over again.

Lewis Hamilton - Loveeeeeee Song by Rihanna and Future

he’s sick and tired of seeing you in private, he wants the world to know you’re his.

Sergio Ramos - Way 2 Sexy by Drake

working for a footballer isn’t easy, it’s even harder when everyone thinks you’re dating. ( footballer x pr manager)

Max Verstappen - Can We Still Friends by Tyler, The Creator

even the best of the friends can have falling outs, especially when you’re on opposites side of the track. (teammate/rival!reader)

Andy Robertson - I’m Still In Love With You by Sean Paul ft. Sasha and Jeremy Harding

so many years apart and you’re still in love with the same guy you’ve always been in love with.

Lance Stroll - Stuck With You by Ariana Grande

every relationship goes sour, except for the one you had with a certain brown eyed boy.

Pato O’Ward - Sunday Candy by Nico Segal

snapshots of love and life with the love of your life.

Jude Bellingham - P Power by Gunna ft Drake

young and in love, you two find yourselves making headlines more often than not.

Sebastian Vettel - Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado and Timberland

can’t keep his hands off you and can’t keep the flirty comments away. (redbull seb)

Kylian Mbappe - Hotel Room Service by Pitbull

secrets unravel when you’re caught together in spain.

Jenson Button - Money by Cardi B

diamonds are a girl’s best friend after all (sugar daddy!jenson)

Ruben Dias - Golden Hour by JVKE

you supported him through it all, it only made sense you were the one there in the end.

George Russell - London Boy by Taylor Swift

grey weather is a bit of a downer, unless you have someone by your side.

Bukayo Saka - Star Boy by The Weeknd

proud, proud, proud; you showed everyone just how proud you really were.

Mick Schumacher - Dark Red by Steve Lacy

he only has eyes for one girl and it’s the one girl he wasn’t supposed to be looking at. (vettel!reader)

Neymar Jr - Tití Me Preguntó by Bad Bunny

he promised to change, you were stupid enough to believe him but people never really change do they?

Lando Norris - Young, Dumb and Broke by Khalid

regret makes people do crazy things.

John Stones - I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston

your husband winning the treble calls for celebration and you two finally get the night out you deserve.

Esteban Ocon - Sure Thing by Miguel

attached at the hip; the sunshine to his rain. you were everything to him.

Erling Haaland - Sunday Mornings by Maroon 5

sunday mornings were a bit of a tradition for you, everyone notices when the pattern changes.

Pierre Gasly - Creepin’ by The Weeknd

loyalty runs both ways, until it doesn’t anymore but nothing ever really changes, does it?

Virgil Van Dijk - Let ‘Em Know by Bryson Tiller

some things never change, no matter how much you try.

Fernando Alonso - I’m Still Standing by Elton John

looking up and looking down, it never felt so right.

Jordan Henderson - If I Ain’t Got You by Alicia Keys

with your 10th anniversary around the corner, you both get a bit in your feels.

Charles Leclerc - A Sunday Kind Of Love by Etta James

races, weddings and races again; sundays hold a special place in his heart.

Trent Alexander Arnold - One Kiss by Dua Lipa

all it took was one kiss and the floodgates were opened.

Daniel Ricciardo - Woo by Rihanna

monaco is good to those who are good to it, especially those who win. every winner deserves a prize worthy of a king.

Christian Pulisic - Unforgettable by French Montana and Swae Lee

the star player and the ex girlfriend of his closest teammate are spotted together; you’re too unforgettable.

Kostas Tsimikas - Boyfriend by Ariana Grande and Social House

you were his until you weren't, but then you were again. the two of you tangled in the sheets and in a web of confusion; were you or were you not?

#written in the photos social media series #f1 instagram au #f1 social media au #football instagram au #football social media au

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xstarkillerx · 2 months

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you think lance and his pretty cheerleading gf have a little chastity agreement? she’s in a small town, she goes to church, she knows the values of virginity. but somehow he convinces her she’s still a virgin if he fucks her ass

I've been thinking about this all day with a fucking out in my stomach because GOD YOU JIST KNOW WHAT'LL DRIVE ME CRAZY.

Listen, I think Lance has a unique relationship with pain. He's been pushed by his coach to play on an injury for what might be years now, the doctors talk about the heaps of scar tissue they had to remove from his knee when he finally went to the hospital, he is extremely extremely familiar with ignoring his own pain and smiling through it. Why I bring this up is... Anal. The discomfort, the way his little girlfriend whines and whimpers and squirms while he sticks his fingers in her ass to stretch her out. Not only is he familiar with pain, I think he has a fascination with the euphoria that comes from the intersection of pain and pleasure.

I think he Lance has a nasty habit of shoving his cock in just a little too fast, tells her it's because he can't help it she just feels too good but the truth is he loves the way it makes her squeak, loves the way her pretty face twists up when he dies it. It hurts? He knows all about hurt, keep pushing and it'll feel good, baby I promise. Sometimes she gets fed up with his shit and smacks his arms and chest just to try to express a glimmer of how much it pisses her off when he does that. Never too hard though, never as hard as she'd like and never close enough to that stupid pretty face of his because, god forbid they start a fight over it and there goes her ticket out of town.

Don't even get me started on the chastity bit like UGHH a whole other layer!!!!! Him being this perfect golden boy in town, shows his face at church every Sunday after the big Friday night games. Kid's a celebrity, and he's out here convincing his girlfriend to let him slather his cock up with baby oil and shove it in her asshole in the back of his truck, raw too might I add, because if he can't get her up the duff how bad can it really be? She's still a virgin, never had a set of fingers shoved up that pussy, she's pure as the snow. And meanwhile she's desperate to get out of this town, and so hungry for love, for connection, security, she lets him. It ain't all bad though, lance loves eating her pussy, loves her pretty big ol tits, and grabbing her ass in front of people letting them know she's spoken for. 🥴

Thanks for indulging me Indybug let's look at his pretty face

#donnie does 👑#lance harbor #varsity blues

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aceofsages · 4 months

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Heyy! Could you do something where Enid was being ignored by someone and she starts crying, but Wednesday comforts her? Thanksss!

find on ao3

When Enid lands in San Francisco for winter break, she has to give herself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror. Her hair is still dyed, her nails are chipped, her face is—well. She ruffles her hair, trying to make it fall in a way that would make the scratches less obvious.

Point is there are a hundred and one points Mom will probably immediately grab to nag her with.

So, all she has to do is make sure she doesn’t get a chance.

“Okay,” she says, staring herself down. “Okay, you can do this, it’s easy, it’s easy. All you have to do is—”

The door opens, a woman walks in and Enid immediately starts looking into her purse, waiting for her to leave. Enid takes her phone out, a message from her dad that reads, Here at the arrival gate!

The woman leaves, giving her a look. Enid smiles at her awkwardly. God, what a bitch.

She turns back to the mirror, her eyes immediately falling to the scratches and fuck, if she can’t look herself in the eye—

“All you have to do is tell her.” She makes a face and winces at the pain that lances up her cheek. “Yeah, just tell her. Fuck.”

She hugs Dad tight when she gets to the gate, who moves a hand through her hair fondly. He doesn’t comment on her wounds, though his eyes do burn silver for a moment. She doesn’t know if she’s relieved or angry at him for not asking.

(He’s never asked, never spoken up. Enid pretends every time it doesn’t hurt.)

Turns out, there is something worse than not wolfing out: wolfing out wrong.

At the end of it all, Mom spits out, “If you want to live you’ll be gone by morning.” Her eyes are golden and her claws are out. Her brothers are watching her with horror, Adam standing protectively in front of the twins. It hurts in a way Enid doesn’t think she’ll ever recover from. “No child of mine is a lycanthrope!”

Just before she flees, she sees her Dad’s fearful face. She thinks it’s one that’ll never leave her.

----

Legend has it that the very first infected were Blood-Wolves. Bitten by Lycanthropes, a type of shapeshifting hound demon, blood-wolves were a by-product of wolf blood mixing with demon venom. They are said to have been used in the war against Cattails by the Lycanthropes. After the war, when a truce had been reached, they were cast onto the Material Plane as part of the concession made by the hound demons.

They intermingled with humans, who welcomed them into their midst, unaware and unheeding of the danger they presented. They never shifted during a full moon. Most of their children, however, did. Those who didn’t—

Well. Their first transformation at blood moon was an eye-opener. They tore apart houses with their bare hands, sank their fangs into babies and feasted on the flesh of their own species. At the end of their spree of destruction, they were decried as made of witch blood and dead moon, to be hunted to their own extinction. The last known blood-wolf descendant died in 1709, killed by Manon Rose, who later went on to create the ritual that would prevent blood-wolves from ever evolving again. Not much more is known about them other than their origins and their actions.

Nevermore’s library feels a little too silent, all of a sudden. Enid closes the book. Yoko looks up from hers. “You found it?”

“Yeah.”

“Not good, huh?”

“Nope,” Enid says, and bursts into tears. Fuck, fuck, she needs to stop doing this. She presses her palms to her eyes. Fuck. She’s not—she’s not a blood-wolf. Distantly, she feels Yoko hug her. None of it makes any sense. She’s not suddenly having the urge to eat babies or whatever. In fact, if anything, she’s even more controlled of her senses now. She remembers her transformation vividly, remembers Wednesday vividly, remembers fighting the Hyde and worrying and worrying and worrying if she was okay, if she was safe, if she was alive. All that mattered then was to eliminate at least one threat to Wednesday, the biggest threat to all of them and not once did she feel like, oh, where are the babies?

Fuck.

She sniffs once, twice, and waves Yoko off, “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

Yoko raises her eyebrows and drawls, “And I’m a normie. Listen, let’s search for answers tomorrow, okay? You’ve been here two nights in a row.”

Enid starts to refuse but Yoko continues, “Do you really want Wednesday to search for you again?”

Enid rolls her eyes and gets up, as if the memory of it doesn’t send a shot of warmth through her. She always likes it when Wednesday shows that she cares. A little too much at times, bordering on not-platonic, but Enid’s not ready to look at what that means, yet.

When she enters her dorm, she’s greeted with the sight of Wednesday on her typewriter. She stops when Enid enters and turns to her to say, “Good, you’re here. I was just about to send Thing after you.”

“Let him rest, I just did his nails today.”

Wednesday rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t encourage his vanity.”

“And you shouldn’t threaten him so much. It gives him wrinkles.”

Thing taps on the table. All my wrinkles are because of her. Wednesday rolls her eyes again but lets it go. “Did you find anything?” she asks instead.

Enid sucks in a breath and walks towards her, irrationally aware of when she crosses their duct tape line once was. She extends the book out to her, and Wednesday takes and cracks it open. Enid plops down on her bed with a sigh, her hair fanning out behind her. Wednesday’s sheets are so soft. Maybe she should ask for it as a Christmas present.

She blinks tears out of her eyes.

“Well, this just turned interesting.”

“What?” Enid says, sitting up. Wednesday hasn’t looked up from the book. Thing sits on her shoulder.

“If I remember correctly, she married Maximus Addams. It is said that most Addamses thought that she’d end up killing Maximus.”

“Did she?”

“Oh yes, but Maximus took her with him. They loved each other a lot.”

“If you love someone, why would you kill them?”

“You’ll find, Enid, that most Addams’ love follows a similar vein.”

Like you and Tyler, Enid thinks suddenly, and sits up. “I’m going to shower.”

Wednesday waves her off, engrossed in the book.

----

She hadn’t expected the behavior to continue—to spread like it has around the pseudo packs in Nevermore Stupid of her, really. She’s a gossip queen, she of all people should know how rumors were easy to spread and easier to believe. They’ve taken to ignoring her, going out of their way to show her that they’re ignoring her. People she was good friends with, people she helped, now look at her with disdain or step away from her as if she’s a plague. Some outright bully her. In the following week she finds herself crying so much that she’s perpetually dehydrated, and hating herself so damn much for being such an easy crier.

It’s the middle of the week when the incident happens. Morgan Todd, a fucking jerk, turns up in the quad with boils all over his face and hacking up blood at an alarming rate. He’d sneered in Enid’s face on Monday, gone so far as to pull wolfsbane on her. It was a weaker strain, admittedly, but it served to make them all realise that Enid was really fucking sensitive to it. She’d had to spend the night in the Med Bay, and Enid now knows who’s responsible for this. She’d known as soon as it happened and she’s so fucking angry—

She confronts Wednesday at night.

“Why did you do that?” she asks immediately.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do!” Her throat feels tight again. She runs a hand through her hair, pulls. A tear or two slip out. “I can’t—Wednesday, I really really can’t do this. I told you not to retaliate.”

“Enid,” Wednesday says, weirdly careful. She steps towards her, hands extended. “Enid, it’s alright.”

“It’s not! Don’t you understand what you’ve just done?! You’ve given them a reason now! They’ll think I did it, they’ll think that—”

“Enid, no one will think anything because Morgan knows exactly who did that to him.”

She stops short. “What?”

Wednesday takes her hands and holds them tight. Her hands are deathly cold. “I couldn’t not do it. He had to learn—they all had to.”

“Learn what?” Enid asks, dazed.

Wednesday blinks and the action throws Enid off-kilter. She suddenly looks hesitant, almost, but her grip on Enid’s hands is sure. “That they can’t get away with it. Not unharmed.”

There’s a sudden clarity that’s rising in Enid, a sudden surety that that was not what Wednesday had wanted to say.

“Because you’ll come for them.”

“Because I’d raise hell for you.”

Enid swallows. She feels like they’re on the brink of something. Falling, maybe. “Why?” she asks, hushed.

“I told you, didn’t I? The mark you’ve left on me is indelible, Enid Sinclair.”

Enid steps closer. Wednesday’s eyes don’t have pupils. She’s never been close enough to notice, before. “Why?” she asks again.

Wednesday closes her eyes. “Because I didn’t know I was cold until you warmed me.”

Enid kisses her.

It’s a short kiss, a simple press of their lips. Their hands are still linked. When they separate, Wednesday chases her back and kisses her again, barely letting her suck in a breath. It’s still simple; achingly sweet and tender in a way she’s never thought to associate with Wednesday. She likes it.

She likes it a lot.

She wants to do this forever.

“Come to the Manor with me,” Wednesday says. Enid doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing. “Let me help you figure it out.”

“Okay,” Enid says. “Yes.”

Wednesday kisses her again, like she can’t help herself. “Good.”

#wenclair fic #wenclair prompt #wenclair #prompt me to write #sage gets a q #wednesday x enid #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #hurt/comfort #cross posted on ao3 #my writing

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the-mocha-pokepuff · 2 years

Text

When You Send Out A Holocaster Message About You Going To Destroy The World And Your Husband Shows Up To Your Secret Hideout With A Wooden Spoon

#not a oneshot #not a hc #Lance Has Spoken #Perfectworldshipping #pokémon #Pokémon X #Pokémon Y #PokémonXAndY #Pokemon X #Pokemon Y #Pokemon X And Y #Professor Sycamore #Augustine Sycamore #Lysandre #Lysandre Fleur-De-Lis #Pokemon #My Post

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soaringthroughthegalaxy · 4 months

Note

Hi. I'm also here to help with the operation brain cleanse. 😂 How about some angst with Crosshair x f! reader with the prompt: “It’s hard to get used to…” “what is?” “Being someone that someone cares for…” Everyone is in Pabu and Cross is trying to get over everything he's been through. Reader tries to help him, but he pushes her away. Feeling terrible about his actions, he goes to talk to her.

Hello lovely! Thank you for this, I've been enjoying writing Cross recently 🥰

To Be Cared For

After successfully rescuing Crosshair, Tech, and Omega from Mount Tantiss, you settle down with the Batch on Pabu to live out the rest of your lives. But it’s not an easy transition for the sharpshooter after everything he’s been through.

Pairing: Crosshair x F!reader (could be taken as platonic or romantic)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: angst, whump, care and comfort, Cross struggles with feelings but he’s trying, reader is understanding, soft!Cross, hopeful ending.

The water laps against the dock, the calm waves contrasting to the roaring ones Crosshair had grown used to on Kamino. Everything on Pabu is far more peaceful than anything he’s ever experienced. It’s a little unnerving, as is how his brothers have adapted so quickly to civilian life.

Guilt churns in his gut, uncomfortable and insistent. It wasn’t so easy for him – he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been the Empire’s lapdog, that he hadn’t pulled the trigger on innocent civilians and chased his family halfway across the galaxy in an attempt to get them to join him. It didn’t matter that his chip had still been in, that he’d been surprised to learn – when coming to in the small clinic on the island – that he’d been rescued from Tantiss and subsequently de-chipped.

He’d still done terrible things.

And yet you kept trying to convince him it was okay.

Crosshair scowls, and this time it’s not just from the blazing sunshine that would be crippling his eyes if it weren’t for your thoughtfulness. He lifts a hand, pushing the dark sunglasses you’d gifted him back up his nose.

You didn’t deserve how he’d spoken to you an hour ago. How he’d snapped and pushed you away.

You were only trying to help.

Pushing up onto his feet, Crosshair sighs. He owes you an apology; while he loathes giving them, he’ll make an exception for you.

He’ll always make an exception for you.

With the sun high in the sky, he sticks to the shadows where possible, offering tight but polite smiles to other island residents that he passes. They’d been apprehensive of him at first, giving him a wide berth, gossiping about him. But you’d worked your charm on them all, squashed the gossip, and insisted he was a good man.

So much for that. Crosshair’s jaw clenches as he remembers the pain that had lanced your features as he spat hurtful words at you earlier. He wasn’t angry at you but at himself, and instead of examining that more closely, he’d lashed out.

The walk back to the house you’d all been gifted by the Mayor felt longer than usual, but he knew it was only because he dreaded what he’d find. Maker above, if Wrecker found out how mean he’d been. Kriff, if Hunter found out…

They were all protective of you. Rightfully so. You’d been with them since their first outing into the field, liaising with Command and procuring anything they needed. You were so good to them and had become family somewhere along the way. He knows his brothers love you dearly. He loves you dearly.

As usual, the front door is unlocked – such a tight-knit community means petty crime is a thing of the past – and Crosshair steps inside. Shoes left at the door, he pries his sunglasses off, placing them on the small table nearby and giving his eyes a moment to adjust. His vision has been less than stellar lately, lights blinding him more than usual. It’s concerning, but he doesn’t want to dwell on it. It’s not like they need a sharpshooter on this peaceful little island anyway.

Noise from the kitchen gives him a direction, and his feet carry him towards it. Standing by the counter, you’re wielding a knife, carving a huge slice from the cake you baked last night. Crosshair lingers at the door, steeling himself.

“I know you’re there.” You comment, sliding the slice of cake onto a plate. Although your boys were silent, years at their side had helped you develop a sixth sense for when they were close by.

Your voice doesn’t carry any anger, just a calm acknowledgement of his presence. Crosshair takes a deep breath and steps into the kitchen, brows drawn down, eyes focused on you as you set the knife down and turn to face him.

“Hey.” You say, not at all surprised to see Crosshair in the room. The tension is palpable. “We need to talk.” You cut to the chase.

Crosshair nods, running a hand through the fuzz on his head, his hair starting to grow back. “Yeah, we do.” An uncomfortable feeling settles in his gut, but he pushes it aside. He didn’t like talking at the best times, but there was no escaping this. You deserved an apology, and he’d give it to you.

You motion for him to sit at the kitchen table, and he does so silently, moving aside the crayons and drawings Omega had been working on earlier that morning. As you join him, the air is heavy with unspoken words, pushing the cake plate towards him. It’s a peace offering, a simple gesture with more weight than words.

“I’m sorry.” Crosshair starts, his gaze fixed on the cake in front of him. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.” He states. “You don’t deserve any of that. I know you’re trying to help. I’m just…” He lets out a low huff, eyes flitting up from the cake to find your face. “Just too stubborn.” He finishes the thought.

You lean back in your chair, studying him for a moment. Apologies were new to him, and you knew they took a lot out of him. It meant the galaxy to you that he acknowledged he was in the wrong and was taking steps to fix it. “I appreciate the apology, thank you.” You tell him sincerely. “I’m used to your stubbornness, though, Cross. I’ve spent years with you. But I also know you’re going through a lot.” You continue, leaning in to rest your elbows on the table. “But you’re not alone. We’re here for each other.” You remind him gently, understanding that it’s hard for him to accept after everything.

Guilt shines in his eyes for a moment, tinged with disbelief before he resigns himself with a sigh. “I keep thinking about all the things I did. The people I hurt. I can’t just forget it.”

You reach across the table, sliding your hand over his. “You don’t have to forget, Cross. But you can choose to be better. We all can.”

He nods, appreciating the simplicity of your wisdom. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders feels a little lighter. Over the years, you’d slowly become his port of call when something bothered him, and sometimes, he didn’t even need to say anything for you to understand.

“I talked to Tech.” You continue, drawing your hand back. “He said your vision has been bothering you. Have you been to the clinic about it?”

Crosshair makes a mental note to chew out his twin. The whole point of him speaking to Tech had been not to bother you. “No. It’s nothing.” He plays it off with a shrug.

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Cross, your health is important.” You insist, slipping into the no-nonsense tone you know makes the boys prickle and pay attention.

It’s the least of his concerns right now, but he knows if he doesn’t do something about it, you won’t let it go. Conceding, he nods. “Fine. I’ll get it checked out.”

A small smile graces your lips. “Good. I’ll go with you.” You state, aware of his issues around clinics and medbays. All your boys hated them, hated the memories that surfaced whenever they went near them. You were more than willing to bring back some comfort and support.

Crosshair wants to protest and tell you not to worry, that he’ll be okay on his own, but the words die in his throat. Instead, gratitude curls through him. Head dipping, his gaze lands on the table. “It’s hard to get used to…” He murmurs.

“What is?” You ask, pushing a fork across the table to encourage him to eat. His appetite still wasn’t back, and he needed to regain a few extra pounds.

Fingers curling around the offered fork, those hawkish eyes of his flit up to meet your gaze. “Being someone that someone cares for.”

You pause, absorbing his words as your heart breaks. True, after everything that had happened, you could understand why he would feel that way, but it was so far from the truth. “Cross, you’ve always been someone worth caring for.”

He takes a tentative bite of the cake, the sweetness a balm to the bitter taste of regret in his mouth. The silence between you isn’t awkward; it’s a comfortable understanding, a shared acknowledgement of your struggles. “Mhm.” He replies quietly, focusing instead on the food.

“We all have our demons, Cross. The difference is that we’re facing them together again. You don’t have to carry the weight of what happened alone.” You remind him. He’d shared snippets of what had happened during his time with the Empire, and his nightmares that you’d eased him through had given you a little more information, but he hadn’t given any of you the whole story yet. There was no pressure, though. Crosshair had constantly reminded you of an abandoned tooka – needing a silent and steady presence before opening up.

His eyes meet yours, an unreadable mix of emotions in them. “I don’t know how you can forgive me so easily.”

You reach across the table, reassuringly squeezing his free hand again. “Because I know you. I know the man you are beyond the orders you were forced to follow. We all make mistakes; it’s how we grow from them that matters.”

Crosshair’s gaze softens, and he nods in understanding. He doesn’t feel like he deserves forgiveness – from you or his siblings – but he wants to work towards it.

“You’ve always been someone worth caring for, Cross. Don’t ever doubt that.” You tell him firmly, giving his hand another squeeze. Tentatively, he turns his hand, locking his fingers with your own, the fork and cake forgotten for now. For months, he’d gone without physical contact, without kind touches and care. It felt surreal to have that again.

He holds your gaze for a moment. The weight of the past still lingers, but there’s a shared understanding that healing takes time. The guilt hasn’t completely dissipated, but the acceptance from you, the willingness to face his demons together, is a balm to his wounded soul.

“I think we could all use a fresh start here, Cross.” You muse, eyes shifting to glance out the window towards the vast ocean expanse. “We can build something new together.” For you, civilian life would be easy – you’d had years of practice before the war broke out – but you could put those skills to good use and help your boys heal and flourish.

Crosshair gives a slight nod, appreciating the sentiment. It’s a lot to take in, the idea of a fresh start after everything that transpired, but he’s willing to try. He takes another bite of the cake, savouring the sweetness. While the journey ahead is uncertain, marked by the shadows of the past, the warmth of support from you and his siblings offers a glimmer of hope - redemption and a fresh start are finally within reach.

Tag list: @clonethirstingisreal @starrylothcat @cw80831 @dreamie411 @issa-me-bry-blog @leftealeaf

#Soarings Ask Box #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #tbb x reader #tbb x you #bad batch x reader #bad batch x you #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #crosshair bad batch #bad batch crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair #ct 9904

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 6 months

Text

Everybody Hurts

Chapter 10

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.

18+ Only for eventual smut

Next chapter: 11/01

Word Count: 6.5K

Masterlist

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

“Got any big plans this weekend?” queried Leslie as the two of you headed out of the school on Friday afternoon.

You had stayed behind for about a half an hour to finish up your lesson plans, really not wanting to have to do them over the weekend again. The whole Lance and Charlie situation had eaten up most of your planning time the whole week and you were not looking forward to that meeting on Monday. You’d spoken with Principal Washington that morning and he was going to sit in to ensure the meeting stayed civil. That at least gave you just a bit of comfort.

“No. No big plans,” you answered, holding open the door for Leslie, stepping out into the warm sunshine. You may have let your kids have an extra ten minutes of recess today because it was just too beautiful not to and you needed that extra ten minutes. This was the time of year when you relished every ounce of perfect weather, your body breathing a sigh of relief that dark, gloomy days of winter were behind you for now. “I am thinking of grabbing Chinese tonight and maybe renting a couple of movies. If the weather stays like this, I’ll probably work in my garden some more. Maybe I’ll even get to the hardware store and start the work to give my front porch a fresh coat of paint.”

The thought cheered you and you needed something to cheer you up after the debacle that roller skating had become. By the time you came back off the rink, Eddie was gone. Dustin told you he said he’d had enough of skating and taken off. You had allowed yourself to feel guilty for only a brief moment before you remembered it wasn’t your fault.

If he was insistent on being so miserable all the time then that was on him. You had allowed him to occupy too much of your brain space for too long. You were done worrying about what he thought of you, done trying to get him to be your friend, hell to just be okay with you existing in the same space as him. You didn’t have to get along with Eddie Munson to spend time with the rest of the group. You would just avoid each other. He didn’t have to speak to you. You would have plenty of other people to converse with, far more enjoyable people.

“Really? You’re planning to work on your weekend off? Girl, I have no plans other than relaxing. This week has been hell.”

“That it has,” you grumbled. “But when else am I going to get anything done around my house? Besides, keeping busy keeps my mind off things. It’s therapeutic for me to work with my hands.”

“Well, you know what they say. Idle hands are the devil’s playground. Oh my god. Speaking of the devil…holy shit, what is Eddie Munson doing here?”

Leslie’s words took a minute to register in your brain. Eddie? This could not be happening. Not just as you were convincing yourself to stop obsessing over the man. The last thing you needed was him showing up and sending you straight down the rabbit hole again. You’d promised yourself that you were going to stay away from him, to keep as much distance between you as you could. That was going to be hard to do if he kept showing up at your work. You’d taken enough of his shit and you were done with it.

You glanced over to find him just as he’d been the other day, leaning back against the side of his van, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, looking like he belonged there. Looking like he hadn’t been an absolute dick to you last night. Like this was just a normal occurrence, him showing up at your work, waiting for you to come out. Absolutely not. You were not going to do this again.

“I’ll see you Monday,” you blurted to Leslie, quickly hurrying over to the bike rack, your shoes tapping across the pavement, trying to get out of there before he had a chance to notice you. If you could just get on your bike, pedal out of the parking lot, maybe he would think he’d missed you and just leave.

“Uh…okay, see you Monday,” Leslie replied in confusion, narrowing her eyes toward Eddie’s form as she made her way to her car, her steps clicking just a little quicker as if she were frightened.

The sight of your coworker rushing away like Eddie was the bogeyman caused your hackles to rise before you reminded yourself that you weren't caring about him anymore. It wasn’t your battle to fight. It wasn’t your business what anyone in this town thought of him. He’d made it very clear what he thought of you.

You pulled your bike out and were just hopping on when a hand caught your arm. Your eyes shot up even though you already knew who it was, the knowledge sending your body into panic mode as your shoulders and chest tightened. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You fought to control your breathing and maintain calm but the very presence of him was like a tsunami of stress and tension, your entire body reacting to him.

“Hey, what are you doing? Didn’t you see me standing over there?” Eddie inquired, his look one of curiosity and confusion.

“Yeah, I did,” you snapped simply, grabbing onto your handlebars, placing one foot on the pedal, ready to take off. How could he look at you like nothing happened? How could he stand here like he was surprised that you were trying to get away, that you were ignoring him? Why was he even here? Was he really that dense or did he just not see anything wrong with his actions?

“Whoa, hey.” A forced laugh rose from his chest, fake and grating, letting you know that he was not that dense. He knew exactly why you didn’t want to talk to him, his eyes wide and anxious. “You’re not just gonna take off, are you?”

Your teeth gritted with tension, your hands gripping the handlebars painfully, feeling as if you were a rubber band that had been pulled so tight it was about to snap. He’d stretched you to your limit and your control was fraying. You were going to lose your shit all over him in this parking lot if he didn’t walk away.

“Why in the hell are you here?” you managed, inhaling through your nose, your eyes focused ahead of you, scared that if you looked at him you would start screaming. As teachers came strolling out of the building, eager for two days of freedom, you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t have all of your co-workers thinking you were some kind of lunatic. That gossip would spread through the school like wildfire. Hell, it would probably spread through the town before the weekend was out. The new teacher in Hawkins was completely certifiable. Nobody would want you to teach their children after that.

“I thought we could go to the junkyard to look at parts for the car,” he explained, as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world, and it only infuriated you more how casual he could be after being so vicious last night. “Remember? I called you on Wednesday and told you about it.”

This seemed to be the routine the two of you were setting up. He’d be a total asshole and then he’d show up and want to talk to you like nothing had happened, like you were friends. Just brush it all under the rug and move along until it inevitably happened again. Because it would. Of that you had no doubt. It was only a matter of time before he decided something about you pissed him off. It was an incessant merry-go-round of moodiness where you always wound up in the same place and you were done with it. You were beyond ready to get off this ride.

“You have got to be shitting me,” you growled harshly. “Just…no. No.”

“What do you mean no?” he scoffed with a snort, his head tossing back, sending those dark waves swaying.

“I mean no, Eddie. N-O. It’s a fairly simple word, only two letters. Did you somehow miss all that shit I said to you last night?” you demanded.

“What? You mean after I fell? That was just…it was nothing. Look, we were both just annoyed and we got grouchy. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I forgive you, okay?”

“You forgive me? You forgive me!” you screamed, not even caring who heard you anymore. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re the asshole and you’re forgiving me? It is a big deal! It’s a big fucking deal, okay? You are absolutely the most annoying human being I have ever met and that is saying something because I was married to an absolute jerk. I’m done! I’m beyond done with your bullshit.”

Eddie’s arms folded over his chest, his stance widening as if he were preparing to challenge you. His tongue ran along the corner of his mouth, “Then how are you going to get your car fixed, Prom Queen? If you don’t go with me then I don’t have the parts. If I don’t have the parts, you don’t have a ride.”

“Have somebody else work on it. Hell, I’ll have it towed to a shop a couple towns over and pay for the damn labor. I don’t care as long as it means I don’t have to spend one more goddamn minute of my life with your miserable ass!”

A loud snort sent waves of anger racing under your skin, “Good luck with that, princess. You take it anywhere else and you won’t be able to afford to get it fixed. They’ll take advantage of you the minute they see the pretty teacher in the tight sweater walk in. Enjoy walking to work once winter hits, sweetheart because you won’t have wheels.”

“I did it this past winter and I can do it again if I have to,” you stated, refusing to back down. The last thing you needed after the mess your divorce had been was to dive into another complicated situation. He might be beautiful. He might be sexy. Hell, he might be the most attractive man you’d ever laid eyes on but the stress that came along with him was not worth it.

“Suit yourself. I was doing you a favor,” he huffed, stepping back, holding his arms out wide. “You think you’d be a little more appreciative when someone offers you free labor. Guess you are the little stuck up bitch I thought you were from the moment I saw you at the lake.”

“Fuck you,” you hissed. “You have no idea who I am. You’ve never even bothered to find out.”

Your feet slammed down on the pedals, flying away from him as fast as you could so he couldn’t see the tears that were already blurring your vision.

___________________________________________________________

You sat on the floor of your living room, cartons of the Chinese food you’d grabbed sitting on the coffee table in front of you. You spooned out some rice and then some almond boneless chicken onto your plate. Grabbing an egg roll, you took a large bite, wishing for the familiar comfort food to fill the gaping void within you. The sweet and savory combination filled your mouth but it brought no joy. You could not shake the feeling of dismay and agitation you felt after your confrontation with Eddie this afternoon.

You’d tried to let it go. You came home and did a load of laundry, cleaned the house from top to bottom, all the things you usually put off because you were bone tired by Friday afternoon. But today you’d needed to be busy, your body tense with unsettled energy. None of it had helped, not even the three mile bike ride round trip to pick up the food had stopped your brain from going round and round, picking apart every single moment of your encounter.

Eddie obviously had baggage. Hell, it sounded like he had an entire luggage set, possibly a U-haul’s worth that he was dragging behind him everywhere he went. It sounded as if the man had been through some of the most awful shit imaginable and you felt for him, you really did, but it wasn’t your job to save him. And it didn’t excuse him treating you like garbage. You couldn’t even manage to be his friend. What in the world had Steve been thinking, throwing around the word love? Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.

You took a deep swig of the extra large glass of wine you’d poured yourself, wishing you could just make him go away but you couldn’t. Your brain insisted on keeping him in the forefront. What was it about him that wouldn’t let you rest? That had you in some kind of chokehold? No, it wasn’t your job to save him but you found that you really wished you could even though he was so rude to you. You wanted to be the one. You wanted to see those eyes melt, that smile that lit up his whole face, and you wanted it to be for you. Shit, you were even more messed up than you’d thought, pining for some guy who was clearly not interested.

You picked up the movies you’d grabbed from Family Video before you stopped at the Chinese place. You’d grabbed The Craft, Scream, and Romeo and Juliet. Romeo and Juliet was out for now. You couldn’t stomach the thought of a romance right now. It had seemed like a good idea at the time because even though it was a romance, it was tragic but tragic was the definition of your life currently. Even with the two of them dying in the end, you did not feel up for gushy words and goo-goo eyes.

Gushy words and goo-goo eyes were not in your near future and that was okay. Alone seemed okay. Alone was probably what you needed right now anyway. Sure, you and Cam had been split up for a year but the ink on the divorce papers was barely dry. Getting into any relationship right now was a horrible idea, something you shouldn’t even be considering. Maybe you would just embrace the inevitable turn your life was going to take, go down to the shelter, adopt a handful of cats, and become the crazy single lady you were destined to become anyway.

A knock at the door startled you. You jumped as your wine sloshed over the side of your glass.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, grabbing a paper towel, mopping at the front of your shirt. Damn. At least you’d gone with the white instead of the red tonight or your shirt would be a goner.

Sighing, you tossed the paper towel down onto the coffee table and made your way to the door, annoyed with whoever decided to interrupt your quiet evening to sulk. You weren't in the mood to be good company for anyone. Pulling open the door, your eyes went wide, an audible squeak releasing from your lips when you found Eddie standing on your front porch, a brown paper bag in his hands.

He clearly mistook your surprise for annoyance because he stepped back, holding the bag up in front of him as if it were a white flag of surrender. You could not wrap your brain around Eddie Munson, the guy who’d just a few hours ago called you a stuck up bitch, standing on your porch. What in the hell was he doing here? Had he not gotten the message? What was with this guy?

“Look, I know I was a dick and if you don’t want to talk to me, then fine. I get it. You’d have every right to but I…” His spare hand ran over his face as he groaned. “I can be a total asshole sometimes. Okay? I know that and I don’t mean to be. I just get so damn mad sometimes. It’s…forget it. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I didn’t know if you’d eaten or anything and Max said you liked the BLT at the diner so I brought you one.”

You stared at him silently, your eyes going down to the bag and then back up to his face, your brain racing to catch up to the words coming out of his mouth, trying to make sense of what was happening right now.

“You brought me food?”

“Yeah…I mean, you do eat, right?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his face, looking at you as if he were talking to a bomb that could go off at any moment.

“Obviously I eat. Is this your idea of an apology?”

“Well, yeah,” shrugged Eddie. “I was a jerk and I’m trying to make up for it.”

“Have you ever considered just saying you’re sorry? I find that works really well. You know, actually admitting that you feel bad because you were wrong?” you demanded, your confidence returning as your anger returned, remembering the nasty words spat from his mouth in the school parking lot.

“Oh come on. I bought you food. Doesn’t that count?”

“Not really,” you insisted, folding your arms, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe. You turned your head, gesturing to your coffee table covered in cartons. “Besides, I already have Chinese food so I’m all set for dinner but thanks.”

You grabbed the door, moving to close it, done with this conversation. This guy was insufferable. He couldn’t even manage a real apology. Before you fully closed it, his hand shot out, pushing back, resisting.

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m sorry, alright?” he groaned, those brown eyes beseeching you to accept it, to not make this worse for him than it already was. “I’m sorry I was a dick. I shouldn’t have called you a bitch.”

“Damn. That looked so painful for you,” you teased with a smirk, impressed but also unable to help yourself from torturing him just a bit.

“It really was so please don’t make me do it again,” Eddie pleaded but the muscles in his face relaxed, his mouth cracking into a smile that was like a beam of light breaking through a suffocating darkness. “Anyway, I’ll just leave this with you.” He held the bag out in front of him. “Maybe you can have it for lunch tomorrow or something. Sorry about bringing you food you didn’t need.”

“Wow. Two sorries from you in a matter of a few minutes. I’m impressed.” You glanced back at your coffee table, the ridiculous amount of food you’d ordered just like you always did when you got Chinese.

You were suddenly overcome with the desire to not spend the night alone wallowing. You didn’t just want to not be alone, you specifically wanted Eddie to stay. It was so stupid. You knew it was stupid but suddenly you found you couldn’t bear the thought of him just walking away even if you might be playing with fire when his mood shifted once again. Maybe you were setting yourself up for pain but you found yourself willing to get burned if it meant spending time with him.

You cleared your throat, filled with uncertainty at the prospect of being rejected by him, your words wavering as you spoke, “Actually, I ordered way too much food. I am never going to be able to eat all that. You’re welcome to share with me. I mean, if you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

Eddie suddenly looked like a deer in headlights, his expression twisting into surprise. His eyebrows raised, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, clearly stunned by your offer and you instantly wished you could take it back. You just wanted to reach out and pull the words back into your mouth. Of course he didn’t want to join you. He was probably just trying to make nice for the sake of the group, trying to make sure he didn’t get told off by his friends again for being a jerk to you. That didn’t mean he wanted to willingly spend time with you.

“You know what? Forget it,” you backtracked, shaking your head, a forced laugh that was both awkward and far too loud bursting from you. “You probably grabbed something at the diner, right? I’m sure you don’t want to spend your Friday night hanging…”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupted, nodding. His lips pursed together in a pout that had your knees wobbling. “Yeah, I would, actually. I love Chinese. I didn’t get anything at the diner. I was kind of in a rush because I didn’t really want to bring you cold food. Cold food doesn’t seem like a great apology. I mean, no one wants to eat cold fries. I mean, I have eaten cold fries because you’ll eat anything when you’re stoned, you know? Jesus Christ.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Shutting up now. Anyway, yeah…I mean, if you’re not taking the offer back then yeah, I would like to share your Chinese food.”

“Okay. I mean, no, I’m not taking my offer back,” you laughed, stepping back and waving your arm toward the living room. “Come on in.”

Eddie stepped inside, his eyes moving around the small space as he walked, roaming over the kitchen that was in such need of a complete renovation and the living room, the photographs you had displayed on the walls. He stopped, examining a picture of you with your parents and your sister from when you went to Yellowstone National Park when you were nine.

“This you?” he questioned with a wry smile, his finger pointing at you in your brown bell bottoms and a garishly bright orange tunic with yellow flowers.

“Yeah, that’s me. My mom was really into seventies fashion if you couldn’t tell from all of our outfits. Pictures of me from two until about eleven all have highly questionable fashion choices.”

Eddie chuckled, “You don’t want to see my pictures then. In fourth grade my Uncle got me a denim jacket and pants for pictures with a plaid collared shirt. It’s…unfortunate.” He made his way down the line, pausing and tapping on a picture from six years ago, you at twenty-four, rocking ripped jeans, a flannel, and dark make-up. “Damn. Teach is looking all badass.”

“Nirvana concert in Chicago,” you told him with a quiet laugh. “My best friend…well, my ex best friend and I went. That was 1990, I think. We had the most amazing few days. The concert was epic, something I will never forget but we also did all the touristy crap in Chicago. We saw the Bean, ate deep dish pizza, and hit up Old Navy Pier. We went out dancing and drinking and stumbled back to the hotel at three in the morning. We used to do shit like that all the time. She was my concert partner, my adventure buddy. At least she used to be.”

“Is she the one that…?” he trailed off as if he couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words, surprising you with his tact when so many other times he hadn’t cared if what he’d said bothered you.

You shrugged, “Yep. My best friend since sophomore year. I didn’t think anything could ever change our friendship but walking in on her bouncing on top of your husband kind of changes things.”

“Damn. That’s really messed up. Like, the lowest of the low. What kind of friend does that shit?”

“They claimed it just kind of happened and they never meant for it to. Then once I figured out it wasn’t a one time thing, they said they never wanted to hurt me but they just hadn’t been able to deny their feelings for each other. Usual cheater bullshit speak.”

“So, they weren’t just fucking?”

“Oh no,” you snorted, gesturing for him to follow you to the food. You sat down on the floor and Eddie followed suit, his knee brushing against yours, the tiny contact creating a ripple effect through your entire body that quickly turned into a tidal wave of desire. “She’s living with him in my house. Well, I guess it’s not my house anymore. Nothing is mine anymore. He got the house, all the furniture, my car, the dog…Cam made sure he took absolutely everything he could before he was officially done with me like he was the one who had something to be spiteful about.”

“Jesus. Sounds like a real asshole. Your dog, too?” Eddie’s eyes melted, just the way you’d hoped for them to, sweet ooey gooey brown that seeped right into your soul, warming it, coating it in a sticky barrier that was keeping the bad things away.

“Yep. My sweet Marley is now with Cam and Cassie.”

“Didn’t you fight him?”

You watched as Eddie grabbed an egg roll and took a bite, those full lips wrapping around the crispy dough. Jesus, his lips were perfect, like two plush pillows you wanted to sink into. He chewed, his eyebrows lifting, reminding you that he was waiting for an answer. You straightened up, leaning back against the couch.

“Oh, uh…well, I tried. I fought him for months but I’m a teacher and he’s a real estate agent. He sells big money homes, like six figure homes. I couldn’t afford the kind of lawyer that he could afford. It just kept going on and on, meeting after meeting. Every single time we’d come together and I would make a demand, he would counter it. I just got so tired of fighting. I got sick of having to deal with him all the time. Seeing him was…painful and awful and nasty. We could not be in the same room without saying the most hateful things. I just wanted it over, you know? I felt like I was stuck…just standing in one spot, like someone hit the pause button on my life and I wanted to fast forward to the part where it got good again. Hell, where anything happened again. So, I just signed the papers and let him have everything. That’s why I don’t have a car. I barely had anything when I moved. Once I made a down payment on this place, there wasn’t much left over. I had to save for a while. Hence walking to work in the freezing cold.”

“What an asshole,” Eddie said again, brushing his hands together, crumbs flying off and onto the table and floor. “Shit. Sorry about that.” He began to wipe his hand across the table, attempting to collect them.

You laughed, “It’s fine. I’ll just wipe it down and vacuum later. Don’t worry about it.”

“So, you caught them and then you left and they just shacked up together? And then after he was the dick who blew up your marriage, he left you with nothing?”

“Pretty much. Except they didn’t start shacking up together until a couple of months ago. They tried to claim that when I caught them it was the first time but I knew better. Turned out they’d been sleeping together behind my back for a year. I found some charges that didn’t make a whole lot of sense.” Your lips pressed together and you looked down at your hands. “Pretty stupid to not realize your husband and best friend are screwing around, huh?”

Then his fingers were on your chin, lifting it, forcing you to look into those eyes and your heart was going to propel forcefully from your chest and spill messily all over him. It was the most casual touch and yet the most intimate. It was causing emotions to stir within you that you would rather push back down but it was futile. No matter how many times you told yourself to forget this man, to not let him affect you, your body and your heart had other ideas.

His adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat as he swallowed, his eyes flicking down to your lips so quickly that you wondered if you’d just imagined it. You could have because you wanted it badly, wanted him to kiss you, wanted him to replace every touch, every thought of Cam. To record over it the way you used to record over your VHS tapes. Erase the bad, wipe it from existence as if it had never happened, new footage of something better, something good.

“You’re not stupid. That ex of yours is the one who’s stupid,” Eddie stated, his thumb coasting just under your bottom lip. You had to fight the urge to wrap your lips around it and pull it into your mouth. What in the hell was happening to you? “That ex best friend of yours is stupid. They both did something horrible and they lost you. That’s got to be the dumbest thing they could have ever done.”

Your breath caught in your throat, feeling as if you were on the edge of your seat. Was something about to happen? Adrenaline and anticipation coursed through you as Eddie’s face tilted down toward yours. His eyes moved to your mouth and this time you were certain it did because it wasn’t a fleeting glance. They lingered.

“Eddie…” you breathed, terrified to move, terrified of what was about to happen while also being terrified of what would happen if it did.

Those earth-toned eyes moved back up to yours, widening slightly as if just realizing what he was doing. He released your chin, clearing his throat as he leaned back. Your heart fell when he scooted just the slightest bit further away from you. He grabbed onto a carton of food, spooning some onto a plate.

“Anyway, yeah, what total assholes,” he muttered, shaking his head, his gaze now completely focused on his plate.

What in the hell was it about you that stopped him? The way he’d been looking at you, it sure seemed like he was interested but if he was then why did he stop himself? You hadn’t stopped him. You didn’t think you’d given any indication that you didn’t want it. You were certain you wouldn’t have been able to stop him even if you wanted to. Your body wanted this. Did he just get caught up in the moment and then remember it was you? The girl he only tolerated for his friends sake? Maybe he wasn’t into you like that.

“Umm…well, I picked up some movies and I was going to watch one while I ate if you wanted to watch with me,” you offered, attempting to salvage some of your bruised pride after his obvious reconsideration of kissing you.

“Sure, what did you get?” he asked, still purposefully not looking at you, only making the knot in your stomach twist that much worse. Definitely not interested. Jesus, you were an idiot.

“Romeo and Juliet, The Craft, and Scream.”

“Oh! Scream, definitely. I meant to get to the theater to see that but I never did.”

“Yeah, me neither. Kind of unheard of for a horror movie to make it out of the theater without me seeing it,” you commented, rising from the couch to pop the VHS into the player before sitting back down.

You immediately started focusing on your food but that knot in your stomach was making it hard to actually want to eat anything anymore so you gave up. Placing your hands on the couch, you pushed yourself up and onto it, wanting some more space between you and Eddie. A barrier between what you wanted and what he clearly did not, a safe space where the two wouldn’t meet, where you wouldn’t humiliate yourself.

“You like horror movies?” he inquired, following you up and onto the couch but about as far as he could be from you, sitting all the way in the opposite corner, only cementing your belief that he wasn’t interested in more than just hanging out.

“Oh yeah. I love them. I don’t know if there’s a horror movie out there that I haven’t seen. Cassie loved them too so she always went with me. That’s probably why I haven’t seen it yet. Cam couldn’t stand being scared. Her and I always did all the spooky stuff together, movies, haunted houses, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds like Cam’s a bit of a pussy on top of being an asshole,” snorted Eddie with a roll of his eyes. “So, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“My favorite? Well…I am pretty partial to the original Halloween,” you answered. “You can’t do much better than the actual bogeyman, the embodiment of true evil. Some of the sequels not so much though.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. That third one was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen.”

“Season of the Witch? Yeah, could have done without that one. The entire plotline did not make any sense at all. Michael Myers wasn’t even in it. Like, what was the point? Honestly, if it wouldn’t have been called Halloween, I might have felt differently. It wasn’t an awful movie but it wasn’t at all what I expected. I know they said it was supposed to be an original movie, different movies all based on Halloween and Carpenter didn’t plan on continuing Michael Myers but how could you not? What about you?”

“Nightmare on Elm Street,” Eddie stated without hesitation. “Nothing beats Freddy Krueger. The man can kill you in your dreams. There’s no escaping his claw glove. That’s a real monster, man, one that can get you anywhere without even having to really touch you… can get you even in your own mind…”

He paused, his body stilling, eyes glazing over with that haunted look again as if he was witnessing some horror within his mind that you couldn’t see. Instinctually you reached out, placing your hand on his arm and he jumped, coming back to reality. He looked down at where your skin touched and pulled his arm back from you quickly, his spine straightening.

“Sorry. Uh…yeah, so anyway, I was thinking if you didn’t have plans tomorrow we could go to the junkyard and look for those parts for your car. It shouldn’t take too long. I won’t take up your whole Saturday but then I can start getting to work on it for you, possibly even have you behind the wheel within a couple weeks.”

“Oh…” You tried to calm the excitement that bubbled up within you at the thought of spending a day with Eddie, reminding yourself that it wasn’t what you hoped it to be. Hanging out together didn’t mean to him what it meant to you. You were going to have to get the hell over this one-sided attraction.

“I mean, we can do it another time if you’re busy. You got big plans with Harrington or something?” he questioned, looking at you from under those ridiculously long lashes, those full lips pressed together.

“Steve? Why would I have plans with Steve?” you asked, flabbergasted by the sudden question. What was it with him and Steve? Why did he keep asking you questions about him?

His tongue teased at the corner of his mouth, something you noticed was fairly common for him, like a nervous habit. Just like playing with his rings and as if he knew what you were thinking, there he went, twirling one of the chunky pieces of jewelry around his finger. He shrugged one shoulder.

“I don’t know. It kind of seems like maybe you two have a thing?”

“A thing?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you two seem like maybe you like each other or something.”

“Me and Steve?” you laughed. The irony of it was just too funny. If he only knew how wrong he was. You’d probably be better off if you were into Steve but no, your brain couldn’t possibly make the smart decision. That would be too easy. “Where did you get that idea?”

Eddie’s fingers grabbed onto a chunk of hair, bringing it over his mouth. “Well…you guys looked pretty cozy at the bonfire and on the couch at Nancy and Jonathan’s. You were chatting all close at the roller rink the other night. I mean, to the casual observer, it would appear maybe you two were a thing. He is your type, isn’t he?”

“And what exactly do you think my type is?” you challenged, folding your arms over your chest as you stared him down.

“Oh no. I’m not going there. I will not be sticking my foot in my big mouth again,” chuckled Eddie, shaking his head. “No way. Anything I say is just going to piss you off.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s always getting pissed at me.”

“Am not,” he scoffed, blowing a raspberry at you.

You gasped, lifting one of the throw pillows and whacking him in the stomach. He threw his head back, that laugh that was like the most beautiful song rumbling out of him and you couldn’t help the pleasure you felt at knowing you’d caused it. It brought you more elation than you cared to admit that you could bring joy to this man who was so damn serious and surly all the time.

“Bullshit! You run hot and cold constantly. One minute I think maybe you like me and then the next it’s like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me.”

“Not true. I do like you.” Eddie’s eyebrows suddenly shot up his forehead and he began tripping over his words, appearing flustered. “I mean, like you’re cool, you know.” He shrugged. “You’re fun…to hang out with, like friends. We’re friends, right?”

“I don’t know. Are we?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

“Yeah.” He nodded, eyes rolling up to the ceiling and then back to you with a sigh. “I think we are. I mean, we’ve just had dinner together and we’re watching a movie. And not because we’re hanging with the group. We’re just hanging out, me and you. That’s friends stuff, right? That’s what friends do.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning back against the armrest, pulling your knees into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your legs, propping your chin on top as you considered him. “Yeah, that’s what friends do.”

A pang of disappointment sounded in your chest at your own words. You couldn’t deny that you’d hoped he felt something more between you, that the brief hope you’d had that he thought about you differently was true. But he clearly didn’t so you tried to push those feelings away, focusing on the positive. At least he considered you a friend. After all, wasn’t that what you’d been trying for from the beginning? Just to be friends with him, just to get along?

“But I am free tomorrow to look for parts,” you said, bringing them back to the original question he’d asked.

“Cool,” he said simply, a small smile on his face, the two of you turning your heads to the television as the previews finished and the movie began.

Chapter 11

Taglist

@tlclick73 @bebe07011 @eddiesguitarskills @witchwolflea @nailbatanddungeon @emilyslutface @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @corrodedcoffincumslut @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @katethetank

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klance-dreams · 1 year

Text

Whatever you do, don’t imagine Keith purposefully making Lance blush whenever they see each other in the halls of the castle ship...

Don’t think of Keith dripping wet from the pool, or with his shirt off after training or in his tight BOM suit smirking and winking at Lance... 😏

Also definitely don’t think of Keith, older, taller, bigger — (after coming back from the space whale) — all sleep ruffled with his hair up. Only sweatpants on and answering the door when Lance knocks. Fondly saying, “Lance?” in that deeper, gravely voice he gets after sleeping ...

And don’t think about the way Keith might lean against the doorframe, taller than Lance now, lean and fit and wow have his eyes always been that pretty?

The smirk he’d get when Lance just stands there, forgetting what he was going to ask Keith in the first place

Keith looking down at Lance through his lashes and murmering, “wanna come in?” stepping back — grinning when he sees Lance gulp and nod, following Keith back into his room like he’s in a trance.

(Was it always like this? Eyes so magnetic... Was Keith always this bold?)

And lance still hasn’t spoken but that’s okay because Keith is taking his hand - not nervous about the contact because he missed Lance for those two years. He figured some important things out. Realized the importance of taking a chance while you had it...drawing Lance into a hug and Lance thinks, he doesn’t care what he came for because this is what he needed - this was what the two of them had been dancing around since that first day...

Whatever you do, don’t think of Keith tracing his eyes and hands up Lances arms, shoulders, neck — to his cheek, tracing Lances cheekbones with his thumb — noticing how he still looks the same. Still has the same freckles, eyes like the ocean and a blush Keith had always liked teasing out of him. Two years for Keith and Lance is just as pretty, as strong, just as much a force of nature as the last time they’d seen each other.

Don’t think about Lance leaning into it, closing his eyes and thinking finally as time turns to syrup and they finally, finally meet in the middle - lips finding each other, bodies fitting like puzzle pieces, finally at rest.

Whatever you do, don’t think about them falling asleep in each others arms, warm and feeling safe and hopeful for the first time in a long time. 😌💕

//moving over twitter threads and this version of keith makes my knees weak, lance is so toast 🥵 (original thread here)

#klance #klance dreams #my writing #transferring my twitter threads #klance drabbles #lance mcclain #keith kogane #vld #keith #lance #twitter threads

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

Keith stares.

Constantly.

He always has. Even at the Garrison, Lance can remember him just staring. Endlessly. Like he was looking right through you, or like he was staring straight into your soul. Sometimes both at once. He’d never spoken one word to Lance before they went to space, but Lance remembers that stare with complete clarity. (Probably because he was on the other end of it more than he’s willing to admit, with all his attempts to get Keith’s attention.)

The staring doesn’t stop when they get to space. It doesn’t stop when they accept their roles as teammates, when Keith finally starts participating in their (totally justified!) rivalry, when they begrudgingly decide that maybe they can peel back on the arguing, a little. When they realise how well they work together. When they start working together on purpose, and some of those stares come with a small smile, a quirk of the lips, really, that brightens indigo eyes and shows the tiniest peek of crooked incisors. (When tragedy strikes, and the stare is blank. After tragedy, when the stare only gets blanker, and they don’t talk about what happens next but when Lance comes into his room after days of no response, sits with him quietly, brushes the tangles out of his hair and reminds him there are still reasons for him to get up. When they really become a team, just the two of them, red and black and the leader and his right hand.)

When the stares only gets softer and softer, and when Lance is the subject of them more and more frequently.

“What?” Lance snaps one day, frustrated and embarrassed and tired of being the only one that Keith looks at so closely. “What are you even looking at? You’re always staring at me, man, like you’re trying to fuckin’ read my soul, or something. It’s weird.”

Lance feels bad as soon as he says it. It’s defensive and mean and he tenses, preparing for Keith’s upcoming scowl, the argument.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead Keith smiles. Not one of his quick ones, a barely-there quirk of the lips, but a real grin, wide enough to make his eyes squint and face brighten. The fondness bleeds from him; Lance couldn’t miss it if he was the densest person alive.

Slowly, like he’s given Lance time to back away, he reaches foreword and tucks Lance’s hair behind his ears, even though it’s too short for that and doesn’t do anything, even though it’s clearly all about the gesture, an excuse to touch Lance gently.

Lance’s breath stutters on his inhale. Keith doesn’t pull away, resting his hand on the side of Lance’s cheek, not quite cupping it but not quite not cupping it, either.

“God, I’m so lucky,” Keith murmurs, almost too quiet for Lance to hear. (But no. Not impossible. Keith could’ve said it at one decibel and Lance would have strained himself to injury trying to hear it.)

“What?” Lance asks hoarsely, well aware his face is flaming.

Keith only smiles wider. “How could I not stare at you?” he asks, like Lance isn’t losing his whole mind.

Lance clears his throat. Then again, and again. And a fourth and fifth time for good measure because what the fuck.

“Keith, what — what’s going on —”

“I am so lucky,” Keith repeats, firmer this time. He has the same stupid look on his face, like he cannot help but he besotted with Lance, somehow. He opens his mouth again and Lance knows that if he has to hear whatever mushy thing Keith has cooked up then he is going to melt into a puddle of flaming goo. Lance shoots out and slaps his hand over Keith’s mouth.

“Stop speaking,” he orders, face flaming. “Explain what the hell has gotten into you.”

“Those are opposite instructions,” Keith says, muffled, because he is a jerk. His eyes are sparkling in amusement.

“I am going to whoop your ass, Kogane.”

“Fine, fine.” He pulls Lance’s hand off his face and then links it in his, holding them in his lap. He rubs his thumb over Lance’s knuckles as he speaks. “You remember the mall food court? Two days ago?”

Lance tilts his head. “Yeah?” He doesn’t know what the hell that has to do with anything. They had a supply run a couple days ago, loading up on cleaning mods and food supplies and million other things, and he and Keith had stopped for lunch at the food court slash restaurant.

“You, uh, you remember that waiter?”

Lance frowns, trying to picture a waiter. All he can really remember is how Keith had laughed so hard at one of his jokes that soda had spewed out of his nose. He feels bad, but he can’t picture their waiter at all.

“No?”

Keith scowls. It’s such a stark difference from his sappy look before that it’s startling. “That weirdo, stuck up shithead who wouldn’t leave you alone. He called you pretty boy three separate times.”

Vaguely, Lance remembers some light flirting as the waiter set down the cheque. He can’t even picture the guy’s face.

“I mean, not really. I get called pretty boy a lot.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke, but it makes Keith laugh. He looks relieved, like he’s been worrying about Lance and the waiter.

Like he’d been jealous.

The sappy look is back on his face. “Just made me think, is all.”

Lance’s throat is dry again. The air is charged, and Keith is staring again, eyes tracing every inch of Lance’s face.

Something is going to change tonight. He can feel it.

“Think about what?”

He’s leaned closer without realising. Keith smiles, noticing, and his hand comes back up to Lance’s cheek. This time he cups it blatantly, running the edge of a calloused thumb over Lance’s cheekbones.

“How lucky I am,” he murmurs, repeating his sentiment from earlier, “that we’ve got such a pretty boy on our team. On my team.”

Lance face flames. His first instinct is to deny it, vehemently, to ask Keith what the hell his deal is. Something ugly rears in his head, something hurt — how dare Keith make fun of him like that. How dare he mess with Lance about something he’s sensitive about.

But there’s not an ounce of meanness on Keith’s face. He’s looking at Lance in a way that can only be reverent, like Lance is the only person on the castle, the only person ever.

He remembers all of a sudden that Keith is the most honest person he knows. Keith, who can’t lie if he tries, who’s emotions are written all over his face all the time, who’s easy to rile up because he wears his heart on his sleeve, who puts every ounce of effort he has into everything he does. Who fights this war even though it’s hard for him because he loves everyone so much.

Lance blinks, and is more surprised than he should be to find his face wet. Keith’s face creases a little in concern, and he gently wipes the tears from Lance’s cheek.

“What’s wrong?”

Lance laughs wetly, more incredulous than anything.

“Mullet, if you don’t kiss me right this fucking second —”

Keith laughs. He doesn’t hesitate a second more, leaning in and pressing his lips to Lance’s, gently at first, then like he can’t get enough.

His eyes are closed, as he kisses.

Lance almost misses the staring.

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lewdo · 2 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/slutforpringles/744247137602289664/im-all-for-calling-out-f1s-misogyny-and-often

link

this is the question that lance, valterri and nico were asked. and over the past weeks there has been a lot of other stuff that is being widely discussed with f1 ie. ben sulayem being investigated for his interference within racing matters, jos wanting max to leave red bull (which yes does stem from the horner misconduct but let’s not kid ourselves that that’s the reason jos would want max to leave rb). so as much as i think their answers to the question was lacking i don’t think these three can be painted with the same brush as daniel or perez as they haven’t spoken directly about horner nor were they asked about it.

this is what perez said when asked if horner had his backing:

“Yes, he does, and I think not only my support but, the full team is fully behind him… I don’t know what’s going on. At the end of the day, I’m a racing driver and that’s what I’m here to do. I don’t get into politics, I drive the car as quickly as I can, as fast as I can. I prepare the very best I can.”

daniel when asked about what’s going on at red bull/horner:

“there’s a lot of noise and distractions. for them to be able to focus on business on track is a big strength of theirs. hopefully these things start to slowly go away and they can just focus on being a race team” and “Do I feel for him through all of this? Yes, I've known Christian for a long time. He's always been great with me.”

so when directly asked about horner both perez and daniel have both given their full backing of horner as being the one who should continue to lead red bull. and that is why people are more outraged towards them.

#ask #anon

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girlboypersonthingy · 3 months

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hi!! i love ur writing sm :D

do u think u could do a pidge x reader where reader is english/history smart and pidge is math/science smart, so they became academic rivals (but they always secretly respected and even admired eachother), never saw eachother after pidge left for the garrison and THEN somehow find themselves together again on the castle ship. (maybe reader helped keith save shiro or sumthing like that?)

kinda a classic academic rivals to lovers thing

i daydream diff scenarios with her too often lol

sorry if i didn’t leave a lot of room for imagination :( but i’d love to see ur take on it if possible!!

THIS IS SO ADORABLE YOUVE GOT TO B KIDDIN ME RN 🥹💚💚💚 I love my little Pigeon girl, they are my fav Paladin by far. Also sorry, I bounce between she/her and they/them for Pidge. Idk it’s a habit…also LEE PLZ FORGIVE ME FOR TAKING NEARLY A YEAR TO GET TO THIS 🥹

Academic Rivals to Lovers w/ Pidge

So it all started when Pidge and you were both new to the garrison. You both kept hearing about this super smart person that was new to school and, in typically cocky fashion, you both assumed everyone was talking about you, as in yourself. But then…Lance started teasing Pidge about how there’s another new crazy intelligent kid and telling her she has competition now.

Immediately upon hearing this, Pidge takes it upon herself to figure out who you are, what your deal is and if she should consider you friend…or foe

The first time you two meet, it’s a bit awkward. It’s sort of like…both your friend groups helped yall finally meet and get to talking. They figured you guys could keep up with each other in convo, both being so smart and well spoken. As your friends all stood around, obviously clueless as to what yall were talking about, your friendly banter quickly escalated to you and Pidge very loudly debating which is more interesting and essential to the evolution of human life and knowledge, English and history OR math and science.

Pidge is probably now yelling something like “HOW ELSE IS HUMANITY GONNA EVOLVE?! SCIENCE AND MATH ARE ESSENTIAL FOR NEW DISCOVERIES AND FUTURE GROWTH AND FINDING OUT WHATS BEYOND EARTH AND-“

And you’re now trying to yell over her “YEAH OKAY OKAY AND HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF !!! HOW WILL HUMANITY EVOLVE UNLESS WE KNOW ABOUT ALL THE HISTORY OF HUMANS AND MISTAKES WEVE MADE AND-“

Everyone else around yall: 🤔😥🫠

From that point on, it became a competition, it was all about who could finish their test first, who could finish their book first, who got the higher grade on their essay or quiz.

Then, Pidge started trying to one up you by learning even more about YOUR fav subjects just to rub it in your face that she’s smarter and better than you in EVERYTHING AND EVERYWAY. (Not really, she’s actually just trying to impress you but also playfully tease you about it)

And guess what…you do the same. Y’all are basically like Keith and Lance with that love hate, frenemies type relationship.

And secretly…yall are pining so hard for each other, not so much annoyed at how smart the other is…but more infatuated with learning more about what the other is really into. You complimented each other well. You had a lot in common while also being total opposites in some aspects.

Pidge finds herself in bed at 2am one night with a book she saw you reading once. It looked fairly interesting and she wanted to see what the hype was about. As she read more and more, she began daydreaming about you as her eyes scanned over page after page, her mind focused solely on you as the words she read seemed blurry, not sticking in her brain…you were taking up too much space in there atm.

You found yourself trying to read about and learn how to code and work on tech. You found yourself totally lost and out of your element. It kinda made you smile…thinking about how she was already a science and tech wiz and now she was really getting into history and English thanks to you. Maybe…she was smarter and…maybe it’s all very important.

Before you could gather the nerve and swallow your pride and go apologize to her for treating her less than kind and being an annoying snob…

Shit hit the fan…

You helped Keith save Shiro, ended up in space in what felt like the blink of an eye and suddenly, you and pidge were attached at the hip.

It was like the severity of the situation and Pidge’s fierce determination completely erased your guys’ past together. Now, it was time to band together for the sake of everyone and everything. For the sake of her family.

You and Pidge began spending A TON of time together, often helping each other with tasks, codes, anything the others needed help with. Y’all were the puzzle solvers, the hackers, the ones Lance and Keith came to when they didn’t understand something, the cutie little nerd duo 🥹

With each time you two hung out, you found yourselves both relaxing more, joking and laughing more around each other, bonding more.

Pidge began coming to you all the time to show you new inventions or test out weird stuff on you. You were kinda flattered she always came to you first.

You began often running to Pidge after every book you’d read from the library in the castle. You’d be all excited about something new you just learned about Altean history, zooming through the halls with a huge smile as you look for your girl.

You bust into the room like “HEEYYYYY! OH MY GODDDD GUESS WHAT!!! Soooo, I just found out-“

Cue you rambling for at least 20 minutes while Pidge just smiles and nods along (occasionally she watches your lips move as you talk, only for a couple seconds before she looks back into your eyes)

As time went on, you found yourself becoming increasingly protective over Pidge, especially when out in battle. You…just like her and don’t wanna see your friend hurt or scared.

The first time she ever got hurt, or even got close to getting caught by the galra, she came back to the castle to see you waiting for them in the lion’s hangar, tears streaming down your face. You thought she would be in worse shape and even tho she looked perfectly fine, you were still distraught.

Y’all never really touched besides playful nudges and when you’d ruffle her messy hair but that day…yeah, you hugged her hard that day….

She was a little confused. No one else was this concerned for her so…why were you so freaked out? She was fine, actually more calm than you were atm.

You were so comforted and lowkey entranced by her soft embrace that you didn’t even notice Pidge was now on their knees, bringing you gently down into the same position, as you squeeze each other tighter down on the floor.

“Geez, (Y/N)…you alright?” she mumbles as she pulls back to look at you, worry present on her face.

“I’m sorry, I just…you’re like my best friend. I don’t know if I can do this without you. You…you need to be more careful!”

She was…frozen…watching your lip quiver.

You called her your best friend. The ‘best’ part really made her stomach drop. She was glad you two were closer now and not in a constant academic battle…and it’s not that she doesn’t consider you her best friend, she just…didn’t know you thought so highly of her.

Your friendship and relationship are a slow burn.

For months upon months, y’all just hang out, stay friends, bond over space tech and space history, occasionally cuddle, once in a while you’ll hold hands. Oh shoot, are yall falling asleep in the same bed? Whoa, wait…she’s started hugging you every single day. OMG SHES SO CLOSE TO YOUR FACE AS SHE LOOKS OVER INTO THE BOOK YOU’RE READING AND D A M N YOU REALLY WANNS KISS HER FRECKLED CHEEK RN, WOULD THAT BE WEIRD???

It’s a slow burn…until it isn’t anymore.

You’re the one to confess to her and Pidge is looking at you like 🫤 “oh uhm…I thought we…already kind of established that we…like each other more than friends…?”

You feel kind of dumb but excited nonetheless!!! SHE LIKES YOU BACK!!!!

The rest of the team is even like “Wait, yall hold hands and sleep in the same bed most nights. You’re not dating yet??? Hello?”

And from then on, you guys are absolutely love sick besties together. Not so much love sick in a physical touchy sense but just very emotionally supportive and kind and sweet to each other.

🥹🥹🥹

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #voltron x reader #voltron x you #vld #vld pidge #pidge vld #pidge voltron #voltron pidge #pidge gunderson #katie holt

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ms0milk · 1 year

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𝟑 | 𝐓𝐨 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions."

cw the terrible roadtrip™ part 2/2, bkg does not get better (in fact it feels worse). classic everyone-has-to-bathe-in-the-river scene, a touch of pining. depictions of suspense/panic, the first earnest attempt on your life 3.8k

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Days pass more peacefully than not as the journey progresses. This is the farthest you’ve ever been from the castle and with every unfamiliar step you’re more and more thankful you aren’t permitted a seat in the carriage. Delicate, blue, quilted, or otherwise, carriage rides are stifling and remind you too much of blood.

The prince seems to hate carriages as much as you do because since the morning of the second day, he’s taken it upon himself to climb from the carriage window as it bumps and jitters along the road and hoist his body onto the small flat roof where he lays for hours sending up pale fireworks. He doesn’t speak or grumble or punch up there. There’s no bitching, as Aizawa would say and so no one tries very hard to stop him. There are no fiery tantrums when your little caravan has to stop for Mina’s fourth bathroom break of the afternoon, or when Sero has to hold Denki out the window to stave off motion sickness. The prince just runs sparks through his hands paying little, if any, attention to his friends or chaperones.

Your hips are numb now and well-worn, so there’s not much else to focus on except for His Highness idling on the carriage in front of you. He refused to change into the riding clothes provided, so his white furs and long red cape are the only vestiges of home for miles and they ground you in pride. His royal jewelry, red and gold, catch the light distractingly. Laying still and quiet like this, a stranger could be forgiven for thinking the fair prince was actually docile.

Images of a younger, wider-eyed royal pitter patter through your memory for a second, which you try to dislodge with a subtle shake of your head. Your earrings stir delicately against your face and you’re reminded of home again.

On the carriage ahead the prince raises his arm now to the sky and flickers of white and purple jump between his thick scarred fingers. His hands are heavy. They’re worn from a childhood full of trial and error in honing his parent’s magic. The spark he balances on his skin grows from an ember to a star so he rolls onto his knees to feed it with both hands. In seconds, it puckers and sputters between his palms in a new vibrancy, and green smoke winds up like lace across his cheeks.

It’s beautiful. You want to tell the destructive prince that his magic “is so beautiful.”

“Of course you’d think that,” he clears his throat with the words without even looking your way and it becomes suddenly obvious that you’ve spoken– all you dreamed of saying– out loud.

You readjust stiffly on your horse, “Highness I–”

“You’d be dazzled if I took a dump on the carriage.” His voice is thunder, and it’s more and more apparent to you that your prince must be dying of boredom.

“What’re you here for?”

“Her Majesty sent me. For protection.”

He doesn’t quite look at you as much as he glances in your general direction. That red cape of his twists across his chest in the breeze while he lingers on the outline of your horse. “What could you protect me from huh? The fucking bugs?” Thunder and lightning now, “You gonna lance the mosquitoes before they land a fatal blow?”

“It’s a halberd, Highness. And yes, if you’d like me to I can keep the bugs away.”

He makes strikingly angry eye contact with you just once, just a blink from carriage to saddle, and it’s obvious you’ve said something wrong. Wordplay isn’t your strength. Whit and whim don’t flow like water for you the way they do the queen, but she often pulls you into meetings or seeks you out on post with quandaries because your honesty entertains her. You think– you hope. You hope the prince is like her in that sense, but he only sucks his teeth and turns away from you.

Hours pass, then a day, then two, and you’re so far from the comfort of familiar autumnal forests that you start to lose track of yourself.

“I’m starving!” Denki whines, and you realize you are too. Kirishima and the prince are all too excited to dive into the trees for a chance to stretch and hunt, so much so that they’re already out of earshot by the time you’ve stepped out of your saddle. Aizawa assures you they’ll be fine and in just a few hours the entire camp is shrieking over ghost stories and roast turkey.

“I’m exhausted!” Sero yawns and kicks the largest burning log to bring down the brightness of the fire. It takes sudden darkness to realize that you’re exhausted too. In the morning you pick apart fresh fish a la Kirishima and Mina jumps at the opportunity for a bath. “I stink!” she laments, and you realize so do you. So at Aizawa’s instruction the caravan sets up camp beside the river and everyone but you races to dive into the icy cold for as long as they can stand. Even the prince seems eager for a break and starts unclasping his earrings on his way down through the trees.

The water is just over the flat ridge where Shinsou and his mentor park the carriage. While the three of you untack horses and otherwise set up camp for the evening, Aizawa continuously fiddles with his long hair muttering, “It really is time for a bath.” He calls your name, and Shinsou’s, and you look briefly up from where you’re unbuckling your saddle’s makeshift scabbard and tying your halberd to your back.

“You two join the others– go wash. I’ll finish camp.” And you can’t help but think Master Aizawa is much softer than he lets on.

Maybe he’s feeling festive at the thought of today being the last full day of travel. He hasn’t told the rest of your western company yet, but Takoba and the sea are only a few miles beyond the break of the forest, which is only a few miles away from where you’re standing now. “The city gates close at sundown, so it’s just as well that you all have a swim and we rest here tonight.”

You’re not too keen on bathing with everyone, but at the very least you are your prince’s keeper.

One more day to Takoba Castle, you chant in your head and imagine just what the city might look like. You’ve studied all the kingdoms on the continent of course, suffering through years of Jeanist’s compulsatory tutelage, but all you really know about Takoba is its royal lineage and basic strategic positioning; it’s a castle on the sea.

At the river, a party is well-underway where Mina has a horribly bashful Kirishima boxed in on a rock between her bare thighs, squealing “You reek little huntsman!” while she washes his back.

Denki and Sero manage a bit more modesty in the deep water of the bend, and Shinsou wades down near the bank with his tunic already up and coming over his head. The sun’s still warm this time of year, warm enough to bathe outside, but the wind is ready for winter. Every time a breeze slips through the trees a collective howl goes up from your wet company scattered along the riverbed. You stand guard next to the beaten path by the bank and watch the group splash happily.

“Get in Bakugou!”

The prince is the only one still dry, only a few steps away from you, taking his time removing his jewelry. He sets it all on one of the large sun rocks and then unlaces his vest with nimble fingers. Those same fingers thumb open the buckle of his belt with a flick, and his boots go next, then his– oh– he’s closer than you realize and he throws his bundled cape into your chest before turning, and growling, to his friends.

“fuckin’ coming, leave me be.”

The water ripples around his bare ankles. A few more steps and he’s already ducking his ash blond head underwater.

“C’mon sweaty, I know you’re the worst outta the bunch of us!”

“I said fuck off!”

It’s funny the way the prince interacts with his friends. It’s no different than you’ve ever known him, but while you fiddle with his cape and watch the scene ahead, you think about the fact that you only really ever see him alone. He and Kirishima are brothers, family sure, and you see him interact with his actual family members all the time but you’ve never really thought about the prince having friends. All these people who choose to love him. All you know about him you’ve heard from the queen, or seen through a crack in the library doors when the two of you are supposed to be sleeping.

His back tenses with the cold air and cold water so you can see the muscles clearly there while he smooths down wet hair, or when he flexes palm over bicep in a stretch after coming up for air. His shoulders shift like sculptures and they’re sharp, unlike sweet Kirishima whose whole body is strong but soft. Bakugou grew like jagged lighting. He was only just a scrawny boy, and now the milky gold of his thighs ripples with fat muscle like a jungle cat. His waist, dramatic, his boxy hands always itching to be fists. You’d laugh if you were less focused, at just how angry Bakugou still looks even when his back is turned.

“Y/n!” Denki has his hands cupped around his mouth, “You too!”

You too what? The prince’s cape spills from your arms when you’re, a bit overwhelmingly, brought back to reality and you hurry to scoop the bundle back up before it can touch the ground. Now the lot of them are hollering at you, “it’s not that cold,” and, “yes it is!” and, “I’ll wash your back!”

You’re still doubled over when you shout back, “I’ll wash later!” half to the dirt, and, “I must remain at my post.” So you can’t be blamed for your surprise at the prince’s advancing glare when you stand back up again.

He’s already clean and completely out of the water and moving toward you quickly enough that your instinct is to draw your halberd from your back. So much so that you hesitate to make any other movements. His shaggy blond hair lays wet and pushed straight back away from his face in a style Jeanist always says, “looks quite handsome” (and then will lament about for the rest of the day when it inevitably dries straight up in every direction) and for as many seconds as it takes for him to reach you, you think that Jeanist is right.

“Oi!”

What happened to him you wonder, to make him so abrasive?

“C’mon you creep, stand at fucking attention.”

Prince Bakugou snatches his cape back from your still-processing hands as you look up, up, up from his dripping chest to his clenched neck and stop decidedly on those glassy red eyes to avoid having to look anywhere lower. He really does resemble his parents so much it’s almost confusing to hear such a bitter voice barking out orders to you. Behind him in the river, Kirishima and Mina watch with worry.

The prince holds your stare this time, no bristling or darting. He pins the cape like a cloak across his body and jerks his head closer to yours– your– your bad habit takes over and the only thing you can do is look at him.

“You’ve been nothin but eyes this whole fucking trip– got any idea who you’re staring at?”

Of course you do. Unmarred skin, long light eyelashes, a sweet caramel musk– what is he saying? He’s picking a fight. Look away, look away. Your eyes go wide for one more single second, one more second inches away from hot red hatred, and you drop your head.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness.”

Though he’s already done, gone and shouldering past you, back up the bank to collect his finery from the rocks. He bathes quickly.

You’re not particularly quick to wash in the evening. Your companions return to the camp without much more fuss about your joining them after the prince leaves and the mood dampens. Mina doesn’t shriek or holler or dance her way warm again. The boys don’t have stories to tell. The prince soaks up the last few sun rays reading a book atop the carriage and all is quiet.

You carry on with evening tasks, although brushing your horse’s soft white mane is much more enticing right now than approaching the carriage for day’s-end checks. Dinner supplies are assembled from the last few ration items. Laundry is a desperate state of affairs and it’s palpable just how excited everyone is to arrive at Takoba in the morning even if they aren’t bursting at the seams to tell you about it.

Aizawa is the only one that doesn’t seem to be acting much differently considering he’s always too exhausted for much of a personality.

He’s spent the afternoon mending a tear in his saddle and trying unsuccessfully to keep his long hair tied away from his face so when he leaves his project to speak with you across camp, the lack of frustration in his voice is a kind surprise.

“Go on.” His words are gentle, “They’re safe with me and the sun will set soon.” He gestures towards the edge of the ridge and the river beyond it, which at this point seems more cold than its worth. But glancing back at the camp, Kirishima and Shinsou building a fire, Denki peeling apples– the general silence– is less appealing than even pneumonia. You dip your head in thanks.

You’re careful not to wet your hair when you sink into the miserable water, and risk getting sick while on duty. Your survival instincts scream to you that wet hair is the least of your concerns considering the shock of cold that is the river without sunlight. Now you realize why the prince made such quick work of washing himself. Mina is inhuman to have swam for so long. With your riding clothes laid out on the shore you slip into the silty water up to your knees, then to your bare hips, until you’re squatting as deep as you can manage right below the ribs.

The sun is long set behind trees and so you wash in the dark, naked and cold as you’ve ever been in your life, in the autumnal river below camp. The light of Kirishima’s fire crests over the lip of the ridge and carries soft voices along with its glow. Some good nights, and a laugh. Probably the redhead’s. His voice is soft and commanding, but the faint chatter and whispers you hear from the others are distant and otherworldly and you feel all the more naked when you eye Jeanist’s halberd quite out of reach on the shore. Quiet voices don’t sound like ghosts in the castle, only in the woods.

You bring the water with cupped hands to new skin stiffening, and miss soap. And miss beds and Jeanist, and the queen. She has so much hope for your future with her son and it’s unbearably ironic that the first mission you’re responsible for is the one where he’s realized he hates you. You try to picture Takoba again, having never seen the sea.

Instead of thinking about the prince you think of seashell spires sticking out of the sand. Fifty stories and filled with castle staff dressed all in seafoam lace. What else looks like the sea? Pearls dotting the city walls that Aizawa said were so close– and soft glass for the sentinel’s swords instead of steel. The eastern queen and her children must bathe like mermaids in warm sea water; rivers and streams are always cold and running but the sea is so big, it must be warm. It must be still. Now you’re thinking of baths. And of home and bread, and the library and the prince who hates you–

There’s a crunch from the brush.

You’re leagues faster than quick in pulling yourself ashore silently and slinging your tunic over your wet chest.

“This horrible fucking forest–” What was first a faint sound becomes a voice and it’s clearly the prince grumbling, “–Takoba’s such a shitshow.” As counterintuitive as it seems, his growl is a comfort that keeps you from reaching any farther for your weapon. Kirishima’s comes next,

“You’re just cranky.”

You close your eyes in relief once you’re positive the only thing you hear is the two of them. They’re wandering around the ridge, not close enough for you to see them from where you’re pulling on your pants, but close enough to follow the conversation. You carefully hook your earrings back into your ears when you’ve settled enough to collect your belongings and continue to listen.

It’s very rude to raise your voice in the woods, so the prince stops short of howling in his anger, “They’re gonna dress me up like a dumbfuck puppet! I hate–”

“Katsuki, it’s just some earrings, they’re not–”

“– those fucking seagulls are gonna eat this up! First they find me new jewelry, then I need new boots, then my cloak is too worn– I’ll kill them.”

“I’ve never heard anyone complain as much as you do about getting new clothes.”

There’s a rustle and you swear it’s coming from the opposite direction of camp. Then the sound of stifled sputtering anger, accompanying laughter, and their conversation continues above. With Jeanist’s halberd secured on your back, you lace up your shoes.

“You shoulda beat me to Takoba, old man.”

You startle but don’t scream when the new voice announces itself so clearly. Instead you rally your polearm to attention and crouch with your back to the steep rocky ridge. Don’t announce yourself. Your job isn’t honor, it’s guerrilla warfare.

“Not even a hello?”

“Be careful Ei, the brambles–”

“No hug for your favorite student?”

“Kats wait, ow!”

“No love for an alum?”

The Prince and the Champion’s voices are just far away enough that they compete with the new one for your attention. You have to be able to hear if they’re safe. You have to make it back to camp. A hum rolls over the babble of the water now. The voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere. Beside you and across the river all at once. There’s no sound of splashing or of twigs snapping. It’s a ghost moving closer and farther from you through the breeze.

“Should I give you a head start?”

The husky drawl mingles with the prince barking distantly from above and sends a chill through your heels into the Earth. Like someone whispering directly in one ear and a cold breeze blowing out the other. Bakugou is too far to hear any warning calls you might shout to him. Without that incentive, shouting would only reveal your identity and give away your position; you have to get back up to camp. There’s a moment of silence and then a disturbance in the tree branches hanging above the river.

“You’re not Aizawa.”

Above and unseen, the boys give up on their search.

“We’ll find your earrings, Katsuki, don’t worry. Tomorrow, when the sun comes up.”

“Where the fuck are they?”

“Probably dropped ‘em when you threw your clothes at Y/n like some unkempt woodland creature.”

The prince stifles a laugh so that his friend doesn’t get encouraged, but Kirishima, never one to rely on social cues, dives in.

“If I may–”

“You may not,” Bakugou bites. He hikes his cape a bit higher to feign chill and turns back toward center camp, resigning himself to play dress-up once they reach Takoba. Kirishima trails him through the underbrush back to the clearing. It’s peaceful at camp among friends before you erupt onto the scene.

Shinsou shoos a firefly from Denki’s sleeping cheek, and the outline of a bundled Master Aizawa rises and falls with deep breath beside the carriage. Next to Sero, Mina is tucked under a blanket on her bedroll, lulling herself to sleep watching the dance of the small fire. Wide empty eyes. Prince Bakugou has his cape wrapped tightly around broad shoulders while he hums and haws some complaint in Kirishima’s direction. He fingers his empty earlobes while he talks.

When you burst through the branches of the willow tree, the group abandons all decorum at your, “Highness!”

The prince jerks around to face you with a hand on his sword and Shinsou is similarly armed in seconds behind him. The travelers jolt up with adrenaline and much farther away, in a dark part of camp, Aizawa has already drawn his bow. His eyes train on the shadows through the trees.

“Wers and mers, Y/n! What in th–” Kirishima startles and accidentally bats the irons above the fire with the kettle he’s using to boil water. The metal thrum rings over the clearing and resets the silence as you back up against the prince. He’s still looking around over your head.

“There’s a man in the trees, Highness, he’s looking for Aizawa. Please return to the carr–”

“I’m in just the mood for a bandit.”

“Highness now is not–”

The whistle of something moving too fast sings through the trees and you reach across your body without the privilege of planning your actions.

Your back presses into the prince’s chest and you draw his sword from his hip with only enough time to let out a ferocious grunt and slice the air in an arc in front of you.

An apple connects with the swing of the sword, from wherever in the distant dark woods it was thrown, and erupts wet across your face and thighs as you cleave it down the middle. Making sure to keep the prince directly between your shoulders, the halves fly limply to either side of your bodies and the clearing is quiet again.

The prince’s breath is hot so close to the back of your neck and Kirishima’s features look sharper in the firelight now. Mina has barely moved from her bedroll, “I don’t understand. Y/n what–”

It’s coming.

“Kiri!” You try to shout warnings just in time for the apple halves to burst into white-hot flame on the ground, and then the prince jerks his arms in front of you. A little ways below your dragontooth, Bakugou’s palm is pressed flat against your ribcage like a shield and just a hair’s breadth from it, his other hand has caught an arrow in its fist. An arrow that, in a blink, erupts into a ball of bright blue fire.

“Aizawa!”

“Aizawa?”

The first voice is Shinsou’s and it’s full of worry. The second is the ghost’s and he’s smiling. You can hear it.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @cherrykamado @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @eirlysian @lunrai @cherripunch26 @km7474 @arayoflia @annoyingleftpinky @noomaisdone @cr33pycrawlerr @iced-chai-tea-latte @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tragicallygray

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#that white white caucasian hand in the banner is NOT yours #(unless you would like it to be)#it's meant to be the queen's #do not fret poc readers #i would never do you so dirty #FINALLY the plot begins #i cant wait for next week's chapter😈#bakugou x reader #a hymn to black water #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #mha fantasy au #bnha fantasy au #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo

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