#//Only on the first day will he actually knock it back (& predictably hate it) rather than give it away

[dutybcrne]

You can typically tell if Kaeya is taking a trip out of Mondstadt versus simply taking leave from work based on how restless Diluc is.

[lqvesoph]

Is it over now - LN4

lando norris x fem!reader

summary: your situationship with lando ended 10 months ago… or did it? based on taylor swift’s "is it over now"

warnings: toxic behavior, cheating, smut, p in v, dirty talk, handjob, fingering, edging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise (with slight degradation)

a/n: you have no idea how long it took me to finish this and idk the word count but its long and filthy. Also this gif does things to me… just the way he looked that day🤌🏻 the curls the beard the cheekbones

masterlist | taglist

You knew he was gone. He left exactly 113 minutes ago. His flight had taken off 44 minutes ago. Angrily you turned around in your bed, kicking off the blanket and staring at the blank spot next to you where only three hours ago, Lando’s curly head had laid.

Since then you slept with each other. Again. And had a terrible screaming match. Again.

You knew it was for the better to let him go, you were toxic, your relationship, if you can call it that, had been from the very start two years ago when you drunkenly slept with each other after a celebration party.

Since then it’s been one hell of a ride. Neither of you were very good at the whole relationship and communication thing, so naturally your relationship was based on an endless circle of being somehow happy, until one of you screwed up, you fought, left and ended up in each others bed minimum three days later.

Some might say this behavior exhausts but for the two of you it was what made things exciting and addicting.

His touch, his lips, his body, HE was addictive.

But since the last time you broke up, things had changed. Lando had gotten a new girlfriend, something that made you mad as hell.

He knocked on your door last night, storming in and pinning you to the wall before violently attacking your lips with his.

But that wasn’t what made you mad, this was a rather regular occurrence any time one of you got a new partner. What made you mad was that when he woke up the next morning he didn’t stay like he usually would. He jumped out of bed, calling the previous night a 'mistake' and something that 'shouldn’t have happened'. On top of that he blamed you.

Naturally that resulted in your neighbors, once again, hearing a thirty minute screaming match which ended in you kicking Lando out of your door with the words "Don‘t ever call me or knock on my door again, especially not when you realize she can’t give you what you want!!" "I promise I won’t!!" "Oh you are a lying traitor!!".

You hated that even though he was gone for good now, he still wouldn’t leave your mind.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Fast forward to almost 10 months later. Mason, your very nice colleague picked you up from your office. You met on one of your threehundreds of awkward blind dates your friend had arranged, finding out that you actually worked for the same company. However that didn’t make the date any less awkward, because you mostly talked about work. But at least you kind of found a good friend now. You haven’t spoken to Lando since that night. To be perfectly honest, you didn’t think he actually wouldn’t come back.

"Hey, ready for that coffee?", he smiled.

You grabbed your bag and joined Mason. Together you walked to the cafe you‘ve been going to ever since the first time. You noticed he was a bit nervous for some reason, but you didn’t dare ask why, deep down you didn’t care but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself of anyone.

"Two latte‘s to go, please", Mason placed your order. While you waited you pulled out your phone to check some new messages from your friends.

"Lando Norris spotted with yet another model", Mason read the most recent headline when he opened twitter. "Can you believe that guy, huh?", he huffed.

"I bet she’s got blue eyes", you huffed and shook your head when Mason showed you a picture of the blonde girl with blue eyes who basically looked like your clone. "Predictable." "What?", Mason asked confused. "Oh nothing, I happen to know all his girls literally look the same", you fake smiled but thankfully Mason didn’t notice. For some reason he didn’t know about Lando and you when you met and you were rather happy about keeping it that way.

Sure Lando and you never paraded each other around on Instagram, you never actually were together long enough to feel comfortable with announcing your situationship, but you have been spotted together multiple times in the paddock or at parties.

Mason didn’t need to know about the boy who still kept you up some nights.

Your coffees were placed in front of you, making you look up and hesitate for a second. "Here you go", the waiter smiled and for a few seconds you saw Lando in front of you.

The dark brown curls, the green eyes and lord that smile, it reminded you of him.

"Thanks", Mason replied on your part and grabbed the coffees. "You good?", he asked. You simply nodded, still a little in your thoughts.

"Okay good because I’ve been wanting to ask you something", he said, glancing to you. "Hmm?"

"We‘ve been going on these take out coffee dates for almost 10 months now, and I remember how beautiful our first one was, the blind date. So I’ve been wondering, would you like to be my girlfriend?", Mason asked, glancing down at you to catch your reaction.

You looked at him with a blank face and simply nodded. "Uh-hmm", you muttered, your mind still some place elsewhere, more specifically at one of yours and Lando‘s good nights, with his head between your thighs.

"That’s great!", Mason called happily and brought you into a hug.

"Uh-hmm."

"I think we should go out tonight and celebrate this!", Mason spoke excitedly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Mason told you to invite a few friends as he did the same so you decided to ask your two best friends to come. And same as you, they were never one to turn down an invitation to a night out.

"So, you’ve been acting a little weird ever since we’ve been here", Mia pointed out, taking a sip from her drink. "Mason asked me to be his girlfriend", you dryly replied, making Mia almost spit out her drink again and Laura shockingly turn her head towards you.

"What?!!", they called in unison. You nodded, taking another sip of your drink. "Well, did you say yes?", Laura pressed, both hers and Mia’s eyes staring you down intensely.

"Uh-hmm", you gave the same answer as to Mason a few hours prior. "That’s- uh great", Mia stuttered over her words for a bit. Her and Laura look each other before Mia looked away.

"Fine, if you won’t say it I will. Finally!!! I’m so damn happy you finally completely moved on from Lando and found someone who treats you better than that piece of junk", Laura started rambling and just in that moment your eyes locked with the devil Laura has been talking and you’ve been thinking about.

No fucking hell. That couldn’t be true.

How can it happen that after 10 months of not running into Lando once while clubbing, toady was the day where it happened?

"We both weren’t great in that relationship", you muttered, slightly defending Lando without even meaning to, your eyes still locked with his.

An arm wrapping around your waist pulled you out of the staring contest. "Hey babe", Mason whispered in your ear and placed a sweet kiss to your temple. You internally cringed at the nickname and the rotting sweet gesture.

Laura’s eyes sparkled at the sight of you, while Mia caught your annoyed looking gaze. She was always the one who understood you and Lando the most out of all of your friends. Maybe because she was such a sweet and genuine human that she believed both of you could change for each other or probably she simply understood how attached you grew to each other that no matter what, that bond wouldn’t break.

And judging from the fact how Lando and you captivated each other just moments ago, that bond also didn’t break in the last 10 months apart.

"We’ll go take a smoke, you wanna come?", Laura asked but you shook your head. Ever since the whole thing with Lando started you never touched a cigarette again. He didn’t like it, it was unhealthy and being with someone who doesn’t smoke made you smoke less as well, until you stopped completely.

"You should really enjoy life a little again", Laura replied, knowing your reasons to quit smoking.

"Maybe I’ve just come to the realization that I don’t need to poison my lungs to enjoy life", you simply answered, rolled your eyes and turned away.

"Can you get me something to drink?", you asked Mason who was still gently rubbing your waist, actually only wanting to bring some distance between the two of you. "Uh yeah sure, what do you want?", he asked. "Just bring me anything", you replied, stepping out of his embrace as a sign for him to get going.

He nodded and turned around but not before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You cringed internally.

"Y/n?", his voice suddenly spoke behind you, making your whole body freeze. Lando’s hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you in, something he did quite often when you were 'together'. "What are you doing here?", he whispered and you immediately felt your legs weakening. You had no idea why your body immediately reacted to him and you hated yourself for it.

Lando only smirked when he noticed you wobbling a little and gripped your waist tighter. "Missed me?", he muttered, placing a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder, making your eyes flutter and your body lean back into his.

"300 days later and you still react to my touch like that", he smirked.

"He really can’t give it to you properly, I can see that from the way he was holding you", Lando snorted, making fun of Mason and you didn’t feel the slightest need to defend your boyfriend because you knew Lando was right.

"You shouldn’t", you warned Lando before hearing someone clear their throat behind you.

Lando dropped his hand from your waist and his gaze darkened when he saw Mason standing behind you

Said boy pulled you into a possessive hug.

"Hey, babe", he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple before handing you your drink.

You sniffed before realizing it was Vodka Coke. A smirk made its way on Lando’s face when he saw your drink and your reaction. You knew he knew that you hated Coke.

"And you are?", Mason let his eyes wander to the curly headed boy in front of you. "Lando", he muttered, ignoring Mason who held out a hand for him to shake. "Okayyy", Mason whispered. "You wanna dance?", he then turned to you. You simply nodded and accepted his hand that led you into the crowd of people.

Mason pulled you in, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Isn’t that the guy with all of those girls?", he asked, leaning closer to your ear so you’d understand his words over to loud music.

"Lando Norris, yes", you nodded, interwinding your fingers behind Mason’s head. "Do you know each other?"

Flashbacks of Lando and you floated your mind. Driving along the French Riviera in his McLaren, the occasional stop to get in a quickie, or the sneaking away from his engineers to meet in his drivers room. And finally, him peacefully sleeping next to you on that one damned night, his curls a mess on his head, his torso bare with a few red marks on his back from your activities before and his beautiful eyes shut.

"No", you simply replied before placing your lips on Mason’s to get him to stop asking questions.

Mason more than happily gave in, letting his hand wander down to your ass, gently rubbing it. You kissed him harder, wanting him to be a little bit rougher as well, to firmly grab you and not just delicately touch you.

But instead he backed off.

"Woah, what’s gotten into you today? This is totally not like you!", he stated with a confused smile, which made you even angrier. Of course this was like you, he just didn’t know you well enough.

"I’ll be in the restroom for a second", you rolled your eyes before leaving him standing alone in the middle of the dance floor.

You pushed open the heavy door to the women’s restroom, being thankful that no one was there before putting your hands on the marble counter and leaving your head hanging.

Until the locking of the main door made your head shoot up. And to be perfectly honest, you half expect him to follow you in here.

"What happened to your newest toy?", Lando smirked, leaning against the now closed door. You rolled your eyes and didn’t reply.

Lando pushed himself off the door and walked closer to you until he stood directly behind you, looking at you through the mirror. "Don’t roll your eyes at me, baby", he warned.

"Now tell me what happened to that guy? Realized he couldn’t give you want you want?", Lando smirked, quoting your words from the night you last saw each other. You shook your head, not wanting to give into him.

"Come on baby, I saw your face. You didn’t like the gentle touches in the middle of a club dance floor, admit it!", he dared you.

"'Newest toy', what do you think of me? That I slept around with everyone that was in a 1 mile radius of me?", you ignored his words and stared at him through the mirror.

"Did you think I didn’t see you? There were flashing lights", you huffed. "Maybe I wanted you to see me and please baby, don’t play all innocent", he whispered, still standing behind you but coming dangerously close now.

"At least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight unlike you!!", you called.

"Oh baby, don’t you think I‘ve heard the rumors? About your hips…", Lando stepped forward and let his hands trailed over your hips, "and thighs…", he let them wander further down to your thighs, gently rubbing the exposed skin. You let out a sigh at the familiar feeling and closed your eyes in pleasure, "and those whispered sighs", he smirked and quickly turned you around before lifting you up on the bathroom counter.

"Exactly rumors", you breathed, before he smashed his lips on yours.

Lando’s hands immediately grabbed your legs, opening them so he could stand between them. Then they went to your waist to pull you in closer.

Lando groaned at the feeling of you finally back in his arms.

His hands kept scanning over your body, squeezing your boobs which made you throw your head back and let out a deep moan.

"Been waiting to get my hands on you again for so long, baby," he breathed heavily, speaking into your skin as his fingers fumbled open the top of your blouse. His lips trailed over your exposed chest and stopped just under your collarbone, sucking the fragile skin between his lips.

"You’re saying you missed me?", you teased, trying hard to push the words out before another moan interrupted you. Lando grinned and ripped open the buttons of the white silk blouse, allowing your tits to spill out.

Lando swore he could come from that sight alone. "You're so gorgeous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, before looking back into your eyes.

His lips attacked yours again while his large hand worked your bra covered boobs.

Your eyes fluttered, feeling that all too familiar ache in your core while the large size of his palm against you, made you think of those thick, veiny fingers between your thighs.

Your hips pressed against his, feeling his hard cock against you, making you smirk.

Lando's eyes darkened as you ground yourself against him, faster, harder. His one hand tightening around your waist and his head falling forward on your shoulder.

"Admit it, darling", you whispered into his ear. You could tell me was holding back a moan, his restraint hanging by a thread, and every move you made threatened to break that thread.

You wanted to make him snap, an evil smirk brightening on your face as you moved your hips faster.

While he closed his eyes, you took the opportunity to fiddle with the metal belt around his hips, opening it along with the button and zipper of his jeans.

"Can’t wait, can you, you desperate little whore", Lando smirked, watching you push down his jeans and slide your hands inside his boxers to grab his cock.

Lando's head fell back with a groan as you started pumping his hard cock.

"Missed your hands, darling", he groaned, holding on to your waist tighter when you trailed your finger over his swollen tip before pulling your hand back, tracing them down his abdomen.

"Please, Lan", you begged, knowing your whispered words would make him weak. But he’s been playing this game just as long as you were.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your skirt, quickly stroking up to your clothed core. A heavy moan escaped your mouth.

Lando caressed the inside of your thighs while his lips traced down your neck, leaving a few marks here and there.

His finger pushed your laced thong to the side before lightly gracing your pussy, making your hips buckle into his hands. "Lan-", you moaned. An evil smirk spread on his face. "Now who’s desperate?", Lando whispered, repeating the action twice, pulling away way too quickly.

"I hate you", you breathed, throwing your head back before grabbing his wrist and holding it in place.

Lando shook his head but finally gave in and dipped the tip of his finger inside you. Your grip on his wrist tightening. "M-more", you slightly pleaded, trying your best not to sound too desperate but failing miserably.

"I’ve missed watching you react to me like this, still the very same as the first day", he said, pushing a second finger inside you to stretch you out. A high pitched moan left your throat and your hand let go of his wrist to grip the edge of the marble counter.

His lips were still traveling along your half exposed upper body, one hand pulling down your left bra cup, making your boob spill out before he took your nipple between his lips.

"Lando- I-", you moaned loudly, thanking heaven that he locked the door when he came in and gripping the counter tighter, your knuckles almost turning white.

He pulled his fingers out of you, making you whine at the feeling of emptiness, before you felt his hand trying to get your thong off. You lifted your hips a little to help him, watching as he pushed your underwear in the back pocket of his trousers.

"You should see yourself, darling", Lando smirked mockingly, his fingers being welcomed by her glistening pussy as he traced them along your slit.

"So desperate for me", he cooed, watching your eyes close and a frown forming on your forehead as you moaned.

"It’s funny how eager you are for everything I give you, baby", he chuckled humorless. "You won't call for months and now you want my cock inside of you?"

You whimpered at his words, all while he slowly inserted his finger inside you again.

"Lando- oh my- please", you continued whimpering and pleading, making Lando smirk. "What is it, baby? You're gonna have to tell me exactly what you want, you know how this works", he cooed into your ear.

He was teasing and you knew that, you have experienced it multiple times before. You didn’t want to give into him but damn his long thick fingers and how they felt inside you. You mind already playing images of him fucking you till you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

"C’mon", Lando demanded firmly. "You've always been mouthy with me, even earlier, so why are you being quiet now, huh?"

"Lan- lando please, more", you whined, while moving your hips on his finger to get some sort of relief. "I just need more, please", you begged slightly, your eyes closed and not wanting to look at the winning smirk on Lando’s face.

"But you already have a boyfriend, mylady", Lando reminded you with an evil grin. You shook your head, the mess of your hair whipping around. "N-no", you tried to deny as he added a second finger.

"Just wanna cum, please- fuck!", you muttered as Lando curled his fingers inside you.

Lando, completely ignoring you, continued with his question. "What more could you possibly want?"

"I want your cock- so bad, just fill me up- fuck, Lando- fuck me, please- I-", you begged, your eyes tired but glistening in desperation and lust. "Jus’ wanna- want you to fuck me hard and fill- uhh- I wanna be full with you please, please Lando", at this point you didn’t even care anymore that you sounded like a desperate slut.

You’ve gone 10 months without seeing Lando in person, of course you had your fair share of fucks but you couldn’t pretend that any of them came even close to pleasuring you the way Lando was able to.

"Such a needy girl", he tsked before wiping you tears away, that you didn’t even notice had started falling down your cheeks. You clenched around Lando’s fingers, loving the way his voice sounded in your ear.

"Oh you want to cum?", Lando looked at you with a devious smile. "Do you think you deserve that?" Before you could reply, you felt his lips pressing against yours, his tongue gliding between your lips without being met with a lot of resistance.

He hummed in satisfaction, tasting the alcohol from the drink you previously had on your mouth before he pulled away, only to let his tongue trail from your lips, over your neck and down to your chest as he sucked on your skin, leaving a dark purple mark on your breast. You were too far gone to realize anything until the sudden bite of Lando's teeth on your nipple shocked you out of your daydream.

"I asked you a question, baby", Lando hummed, licking over your hardened nipple. You blinked down at him, seeing a little blurry. "W-what?"

His grin was wickedly evil as he looked up at you. "Aw, poor baby's already going cock dumb and I haven't even fucked you yet." Your cheeks heated but didn’t give you time to reply before slamming his cock inside you.

You gasped loudly, grabbing the back of his neck for leverage and letting out a strangled cry as Lando continued to fuck into you at high speed.

There was truly no one who could fill you up like he did.

The sound of his hips clashing against yours and both of your strangled moans were the only thing left to hear in the restroom. You felt your pussy clench around Lando’s cock, making him moan into your shoulder. He moved his fingers from rubbing the side of your waist to your clit, touching the already sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing it as you cried out.

"God! Fuckin- hell- ohh!"

"I think God is the last person to help you right now, darling", Lando chuckled but got interrupted by a moan as your walls clenched around him again. You felt yourself nearing your orgasm with every rock of his hips.

"Fuck, baby you’re so tight", he moaned. "You have no idea how much I missed this tight fucking hole, perfectly clenching around my cock like this- ohh", Lando spoke in a light whisper, rubbing eight figures on your clit.

Your legs shook as you felt your orgasm approaching, your walls tightening. "Fuck, Lando, I- shit, I- I’m cumming!", you let out a breathy moan once more before clenching one last time. Your vision going blurry while your pussy kept throbbing around his cock.

"Lando, please I need-", you winced at the oversensitivity when he kept pounding into you. "Time", you breathed through a moan, gripping the back of his neck tighter as you felt another orgasm approaching. All while Lando never stopped fucking into you even when you came for a second time in a row.

The overstimulation leaving you as a sobbing mess. "Lan- lando, it’s too much! I- I can’t- fuck! 'm cumming, Lando-", you cried, tears streaming down your face, you head falling forward on his chest, not having the ability to keep it upright anymore.

"Yeah? You’re cumming again?", Lando mocked you, rocking his hips a bit slower.

"But I missed you so much, haven’t you missed me?"

"I- missed you- fuck! So much- so fucking much", you cried, your walls repeatedly clenched around his cock.

"Fuck! Lando!", you called pathetically when he started to pick up his pace again and relentlessly started hammering inside you, chasing his own orgasm.

You couldn’t do anything apart from moan, cry and clench around him, feeling another orgasm approaching as well.

"Shit- I’m so close", Lando groaned as a whisper, pulling you closer to him and placing his lips on yours. "I’m cumming- baby- I’m-", he whispered against your lips. Your body already going limp against his as you felt him filling you up with his cum.

A deep and breathy moan left his lips as he slowed down his pace. You felt the sticky liquid dropping out of you and running down the inner side of your leg.

Lando whipped it up with his finger and held it in front of your mouth. Without hesitation you took his finger inside your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and closing your eyes at the taste of his cum on your lips.

Lando gently rocked his hips again, making you whine. "Not again, Lando- please I- I need a minute", you winced, feeling way too overstimulated after cumming so many times in a row.

"Shh, baby it’s okay, just tryna fuck my cum back into you, to make sure it stays there until I can go back inside you again", he reassured you, before slowly pulling out, making you gasp and wince at the feeling of emptiness.

Exhausted you placed your head on his chest and closed your eyes while he held your waist.

"So did you find something greater in all those models’ beds?", you said with a dumbfound smirk forming on your lips, your mind still hazy while trailing your fingers over his bare chest. You felt his chest vibrating as he laughed and shook his head with a smirk. "Oh baby, I think you know exactly that nothing compares to you!"

You chuckled and lifted your head as he reached over to the paper towels and started cleaning your inner leg up a little. "What do we do now?", you asked, a hint of insecurity in your voice, as the reality of your situation came crushing down on you. "Well, I for damn hope you won’t go back to that milk boy", Lando chuckled, reaching for his belt to close his trousers again after tucking his cock away.

You stayed silent, your blouse still halfway open, your body too tired to move. Lando looked into your eyes before reaching to cover you up again. "You wanna come to mine?", he asked while closing the last button of your blouse.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Getting out of the club without Mason seeing you turned out easier than expected, however something you didn’t expect were people hanging around in front of the monegasque nightclub.

As soon as you opened the door, you already heard yours and Lando’s name being called and saw at least ten phones recording you.

Well, now Mason knows anyway, you thought while Lando grabbed your hand tighter and pulled you to his car quickly. Both of you waved a few times while passing the fans but stayed silent for the short walk. Lando opened the door for you before jogging around to get to the drivers side.

You snuggled into the seat of his familiar car, that wore his familiar scent and when Lando started up the car, he put his familiar hand on your thigh. You took a deep breath, you might be toxic but how damn good does this familiarity feel? It might just cancel the bad parts out.

Lando’s fingers drew circles on your thigh and he smirked when he noticed you opening your legs a little bit wider, an invitation to move his fingers up further.

His hand scooted up, pushing the material of your tight miniskirt away and gently tracing along your inner thighs.

"Baby careful or you’ll ruin the seat", he whispered sarcastically. He didn’t give a damn if you actually did and you knew that because this wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

"Lando-", you quietly whimpered when you felt his fingers come dangerously close to your core, still feeling the sensitivity of the multiple orgasms he had given you merely twenty minutes ago, but backed off just before touching you. "Shhh, baby", he spoke, keeping his eyes on the road while entering the tip of his finger.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you sunk down the seat a little. Without having to see, you knew Lando was smiling.

He pushed his finger further inside and immediately followed up with a second one. You quietly moaned at the pleasure.

"Already so fucking wet for me, baby", he spoke. "My good girl", he purred moving his finger faster inside you.

You moaned at his words and the way his fingers stretched you, making you see stars. "L-lando-", you whispered but got interrupted by another moan when he scissored his fingers. Your eyes shot open and you grabbed his arm tighter, your fingers most likely leaving marks on his skin.

You started moving your hips up to meet his fingers, chasing your own release in the passenger seat of Lando’s sports car.

But Lando suddenly slowed down and almost pulled his fingers out of you completely leaving you empty and whining. "L-lando - plea - ahh- please, baby", you couldn’t form proper sentences while his fingers traced your clit.

"Shh, no baby, you’re not coming until we’re home", he gently whispered, making you furrow your brows. He slid both fingers back inside you and picked his pace up again, making you gasp before an idea came to your head.

You let go of his arm and reached over the middle console and started palming the slight bulge in his trousers.

Now it was his turn to let out a surprised gasp. "You are playing a dangerous game, baby", he muttered, gripping the steering wheel tighter. You simply giggled and squeezed his clothed cock through his pants.

Lando twisted his fingers inside you, making you stop your movements and close your eyes. You hectically tried opening up his belt and trousers before sliding your hand inside his boxers, stroking over his tip that was already leaking pre cum.

"Baby-, I’m driving remember", he rasped, his finger still moving inside you but your main focus now laid on his cock in your hands. "It’s not like this is the first time", you breathed and started pumping his cock.

You could see how much he was fighting to close his eyes, which made a sadistic smirk form on your lips.

Because you were too focused on him, you didn’t see that you were already in front of Lando’s apartment.

He slid his fingers out of you and pushed your hands off him as well. "Let’s go!", he sternly said, getting out of the car and walking towards the entrance of his apartment building already, his trousers still opened.

You smirked and left the car as well, hurrying behind him. As soon as you got to the elevator, Lando reached for your hips and smashed his lips on yours again.

His hands moved to your ass and squeezed it playfully.

When you heard the familiar bling of his apartment elevator, he didn’t even look. Lando just moved you backwards out of the elevator, still kissing you. You fumbled his key out of the back pocket of his jeans and opened the door as soon as you got there.

Lando grinned and pushed you against the door to open it up completely before attacking your lips once again, kicking the door shut with his foot.

"Where you wanna go?", he muttered between kisses and moans. "Here is fine", you said breathlessly and pointed to the couch. Lando smirked, remembering what had happened on this couch, remembering catching you making out with a random dude after one of your fights.

"Was it over when he unbottoned your blouse?", Lando smirked, opening your blouse button for button, before pushing it off your body.

You smirked when you realized where he was getting at. But two could play that game, you had also caught him with a random girl on his exact couch.

"Was it over when she laid down on your couch?", you replied with the same smirk, only standing in your lace underwear and walking backwards to sit down on his couch.

Lando moved closer in only his trousers. He placed his strong arms on either side of your head and leaned down so his lips were almost touching yours.

"Was it ever really over?"

taglist

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[m30wk1ttycat]

wish you were sober

pairing: newt x masc!med-jack!reader

tw: alcohol consumption, blood, mentions of newt's attempt, cussing

summary: during a bonfire, newt manages to land himself a nosebleed and a minor injury on his arm. while he gets tended to by the person he's been trying to hate since forever, he confesses, only that he's too drunk to actually process his own words.

yes, this is the enemies to lovers (sorta??) fic i've been working on. it's kinda short, i'm so sorry y'all!!

what all the gladers were aware of was the tension between you and newt. the glares he'd send you (or your patient) as he watched you tend to someone, his little remarks about you, how he'd constantly visit the med-jack hut just to talk to you or bother you in some way - none of it went unnoticed, as much as newt hoped it would/did. he hated you, he really did - it was just that he didn't hate you at all, and could never bring himself to feel any hate for the person who saved him that one day when he attempted to end it all.

like on most bonfire nights, you stayed in the med-jack hut, nose buried in some medical books that were barely used by anyone other than you.

gally would instigate brawls with any poor glader that stepped too close to the circle where the group of his builders was cheering him on, which is what made you stay here in the first place, waiting - or, rather expecting - to see one of the unfortunate boys limping their way to the homestead, where the med-jacks worked.

as you predicted, you heard a quiet knock at the makeshift door. looking up from your book, you saw the second-in-command standing in the doorway, a shaky hand over his bleeding nose.

"um, hey," he muttered, his voice sounding a lot softer than it usually did when he talked to you, "minho said i should come see you?"

you got up from your chair, setting the book down. great.

"what happened?" you asked, helping him sit down, while you looked through the shelves and cupboards to find the tissues. the perfectionist in you was annoyed at the fact that jeff and clint never allowed you to rearrange where certain items were. if they did, you'd be thankful, because where the hell were those damn tissues?

"ah.. well, you see," he paused, not knowing how to explain to you that his drunk ass thought it'd be a good idea to fight gally, much less be the one who even challenged him - which was never a good idea.

paper tissue in your hand, you make your way back to him.

"newt," you called, "can you-"

he looked up at you with eyes so glassy, you were convinced that he'd burst into tears at any moment. he almost looked like a toddler getting scolded.

"m'sorry!!"

sighing, you moved his hand away from his nose to try and stop the bleeding.

"don't be, i'm sure it wasn't your fault." you sounded so sure, so sure that it wasn't his fault. and, honestly, he let himself believe that, too.

"lean forwards a bit?" he nodded, doing as you requested. "now, pinch your nose here," you put the tissue in his hand, then guided his hand to the middle part of his nose.

"can you tell me what happened?" you tried again, your voice more gentle this time.

"i fought with gally?" he said in a way, almost as if questioning all of the decisions that he's made in his life so far. the decisions he remembers, anyway.

you hummed in acknowledgement, trying to keep up the small talk to distract him from the fact that you were attempting to clean the scrapes on his arm.

"yeah?"

"yeah.. i- i mean, i don't know why i did it, i just.. i did?" he slurred, watching his feet dangle above the ground with knitted eyebrows.

"did he challenge you?" you asked, wrapping up bandages around his bicep. he flinched when he finally noticed you tending to his upper arm.

he gulped, giving you a quick glance. "uh, no.."

you finished wrapping his minor injury, sitting down beside him.

"are you mad at me?"

"of course not. i could never be mad at you," you confessed, giving him a small smile that made him smile, too.

you liked seeing him smile. the only thing ruining it was that he was intoxicated, and wouldn't remember a thing from tonight. you could only imagine the look on his face he'd have when he woke up the next morning with a horrible hangover, along with the bandages around his left arm, and a few bruises littering his body.

"how long do i have to hold my nose, again?" he inquired.

"five minutes, maybe ten," you answered, placing your hands on the makeshift cot you two were sat on.

he nodded. once again, you both went silent. the only difference was that newt was watching you, while your eyes remained on the ground. some of the floor boards were split in half, you noticed. not that you liked admitting it - or thinking about it -, but the entire homestead wasn't exactly maintained properly. you'd complain to gally if you could, but you knew how he got when someone criticized his builds. he was the reason that the glade even had buildings to begin with, so you'd just have to deal with it until the runners eventually found a way out of the maze.

".. hey?"

yout tore your gaze away from the broken wooden boards when you heard him softly call out. "yeah?"

"did i ever tell you about this one glader?"

"there's a lot of gladers in here," you pointed out.

"right.. um, i mean y/n. did i ever tell you about him?" he murmured.

holding back a laugh, you shook your head. "n- no.."

"no?" he repeated what you just said, too drunk to process that he was talking to you about you.

"no," you confirmed.

"well," he started, "he's got this really cool scar on their nose. s'cute. so, so cute. just makes 'em look even more beautiful."

"really?" you asked, covering your mouth. it was hard not to burst out into a fit of giggles when he looked so oblivious, and so happy to talk about this 'one glader' who just so happened to be you.

he nodded before continuing. "oh, and hissmile. i like his smile. i like seeing him smile," he babbled. "makes those dimples pop, and it just.. just makes my mind go all fuzzy, and my heart beat like crazy."

"makes your heart beat like crazy? maybe you should get that checked out," you jokingly suggested.

"naww," he giggled. "s'nothin' serious. i think. i wouldn't know, i'm not a med-jack like y/n is. y/n's so smart.."

feeling your cheeks heat up at the compliment coming from newt - the same newt who you were convinced hated your guts ever since you helped him recover from his broken leg -, you felt flattered, hearing him speak so sweetly of you.

"you're also smart, though," you told him.

he gave you a small shrug. "i don't know, i do stupid stuff sometimes."

"everyone does, newt," you assured him, patting his shoulder.

"but i do think you should get some rest, yeah?"

reluctantly, he agreed and flopped onto the cot, laying on his back. closing his eyes, the corners of his mouth turned up, which made you smile, too. "what're you thinking about?"

"i don't even know. just.. mostly y/n," he murmured, turning to lay on his side. "can you wake me up at, about, um, eight?"

"of course," you promised.

"thank you. g'night."

"night, newt."

[theroastedwretch]

Between the Lines- Ep. 4

Warnings- PG-13 due to Swearing and Explicit Language, Mature Themes, possible Violent References

Index Ep. 3

The quick succession of Dan’s revelations the night before, the kidnapper’s threats, Dan’s accident, and Jake reverting back into his more calculating side after I thought we’d started moving past that all piled on top of my brain’s sluggish resistance to starting the day made the morning rather bleak.

I agreed not to send the video, even though something in my gut told me it was wrong. I was the one of the two of us that predicted people better, as unbelievable as it was. But the facade seemed to crack for a second as he pleaded, and I reminded myself again that it was not about me as my jealousy spiked at the memory of the initials on the bracelet.

I was quickly proven right, of course, when the kidnapper sent it to Cleo once he realized I wasn’t going to send it, and I knew I’d lost a little bit of the trust they’d had in me when they found out that I’d gotten it already, and it wasn’t my first.

The first one hadn’t mattered, it was just pointed at me. But this one had been more personal to them, and I could see the cracks in the group growing because of it.

Lilly, especially, seemed angry, and I knew nothing about her to be able to predict what she’d do. At least Dan wasn’t here to make me look even worse.

Too soon, MC, too soon.

Still, once the adrenaline faded and my phone quieted, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at my shaking hands. The threat may have been empty, just meant to scare me, but it worked. We could rationalize it all we wanted, logic our way through it, but the truth is that none of that would really be enough to stop the cold fingers of fear crawling their way up my stomach through to my chest and making it hard to breathe.

This was all a show for me, and I hated every second of it. 

But no one would forgive me for turning it off, either. Especially me. ___

Richy’s story about the dare house, and sudden attempts to connect with me, only compounded the unsettling feeling I’d been dealing with since the call.

First of all, Duskwood was weird. Maybe I was just sheltered but I didn’t start to do stupid shit like wandering through woods and knocking on random doors until I was like sixteen, not eleven. At that age, the worst I got was playing Bloody Mary or Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board.

But their stuff seemed actually dangerous. Were there no homeless people or drug addicts in Duskwood who might take up residence in that house and be none too pleased to be subjected to kids getting their danger fix by making noise every night?

Maybe I was overthinking it, but Duskwood seemed to have more than its fair share of legends and monsters, and it seemed like they were coming to life.

Especially once the same Raven from Hannah’s phone ended up on Richy’s door.

I couldn’t blame Lilly for her fear. In some ways, she made the most sense of the bunch. As mad as her accusations made me, I knew I’d be just as angry. From her perspective, I was a total stranger that only got pulled in because of a message that Thomas got, but it seemed like no one else saw because it vanished.

Then, for seemingly no reason, I stuck around, charmed some of her friends, ignored threats to their safety, got them riled up and digging into fairy tales, and somehow had a picture that her sister took.

Yeah, I looked almost as shady as Thomas and Dan had acted over the stupid key.

Still, it hurt to hear, and to be reminded of just how tentative my place in the group really was, even after all the time and energy I’d put into them. Jessy’s defense soothed me a bit, but I still found myself wrapping my arms around my chest and staring at my phone sadly as I got to hear what people really thought of me. And I didn’t even get a vote.

Middle school all over again. 

So when Jake intervened in the vote, I was torn. On one hand, strong-arming them into keeping me around, threatening them, and revealing that we were spying on them was not the way to gain their trust back. 

On the other hand… It was pretty hot.  ___

My more reasonable, less hormone driven reaction to Jake’s video was confirmed nearly immediately, when Jessy freaked out about him reading our conversation. And there wasn’t much I could do to reassure her without lying, since he definitely was reading most of the time (and maybe sometimes it was part of our weird flirting ritual? No way I’d tell her that though), and she had every right to be freaked out by it. Like a normal person.

I couldn’t be surprised when she dropped our chat, and told myself not to take it personally. Still. If she changed her vote, I would be out no matter how Dan voted. And I knew how Dan was going to vote. Other than when he was drunk, he’d made it clear the whole time that I was a pest to him.

I wondered if the vote was just over the group chat, or the group as a whole. If Lilly managed to evict me, would I lose Jessy, who I’d come to adore? I didn’t feel as close to Cleo, but we had started getting closer recently and I enjoyed our conversations too. I didn’t fool myself into thinking her vote was much more than a combination of wanting her friend back and the same false bravado that had led to her dismissal of the video, though.

I tried to reflect on what the vote so far had revealed rather than letting myself worry about the result. Lilly and Jessy were obvious— both were guided by emotions. Lilly was terrified, and Jessy was loyal.

Thomas had surprised me a bit. He’d been so pushy towards me at first, wanting me to stay. But thinking back, ever since we’d found the body he’d had little to do with me, even once discovering that it wasn’t Hannah. I guess the lack of results made me less relevant to him.

Richy. Well. On one hand, he was definitely a people pleaser. He knew Jessy and I were close, and I can’t imagine she’d be pleased with him if he tried to vote me out. But Lilly would be mad if he didn’t. So instead  of making things worse for someone, he made things better for no one.

But really, it was his reason that was interesting. Even before Jake had intervened, Richy mentioned my connection to him. And he’d brought it up with the picture of the Raven earlier. But then, he’d considered it a bad thing, and now it was good?

How did he even know for sure that I was working with Jake? The picture might have been a one-off, and Jessy was the only one I’d discussed him with to any length, and even then it was mainly to say I liked him.

Nothing more would be decided until Dan joined us, so I tried to put the vote out of my mind to discuss the bracelet with Jake.

His theory about Thomas was interesting, but I wasn’t sure it fit his personality. I hadn’t seen him as a man of action much, though I guess Breaking and Entering with an illegally made key could certainly be called an action. 

He was up to something, that was for sure. But if he took Hannah, then would the body they actually found just be unrelated? Were there two bodies in the forest but only one had been found? 

I had wondered why the police would tell him that the body wasn’t Hannah’s. Maybe they didn’t, and he just knew it couldn’t be based on the body’s location?

I didn’t mention this to Jake (and totally not because I was still worried about the J being for his name), but the theory about the initials didn’t sit right either. I didn’t have much engraved jewelry, but the pieces I did have were engraved with my initials, not who gave them to me.

My parents’ wedding rings had been engaged, but it was both of their initials to symbolize their love. But custom jewelry was usually customized for the wearer, not the giver. Right?

I was starting to get frustrated with the number of clues that were refusing to fit together in any way. So even though I was still kind of ticked about his refusal to vote, I let myself relax and joke with Richy about the mark.

His humor was pleasantly irreverent at times, and I wondered a bit what was below that. He didn’t strike me as the sort who joked about serious things to be an ass like Dan, and he didn’t seem just clueless. It was the sort of laughter designed to make others relax, and cope with whatever he was feeling.

For me, mine had started as a way to handle my depression, finding light where it seemed impossible. It worked well to deflect, too. Keep people from seeing if you were really upset, or about to break. Richy Roger, what are you feeling?

His point about being watched gave me goosebumps. The Man Without a Face had already proven he had eyes on Cleo, and now Richy? 

I didn’t see much of note in his conversation with Phil, though. It didn’t strike me as much more than normal warnings to back off from a man who didn’t like being pushed.

Not for the first time, I appreciated Jake’s constant monitoring of my phone when my thoughts were interrupted by the kidnapper’s night call, strangely even more threatening without words. 

Jake was clearly bothered by it too, since for the first time he didn’t rush to label it a good thing, or an empty threat. I found myself cracking jokes to reassure him, and felt a little warm when he laughed. 

His discomfort was explained further when he gave me the name of Hannah’s doctor. Right. The depression thing, he clearly still struggled with the idea.

When he asked me to find the password, I was glad to be able to help with something. Just to take some pressure off him and definitely not because I wanted him to praise me. Nope.

The password the doctor used made me roll my eyes. At least use an exclamation point! But also, I needed to change all of my passwords. All of them. Even if I used an exclamation point, that was too easy.

Dan’s return started my anxiety up all over again, since I’d already decided how that was going to end. But hopefully between spy mode, and whatever I could glean from Jessy if she was willing to work with me still, I’d be able to figure something out. 

It was good that he was awake, though— I hadn’t expected him to recover quite that quickly. I might not be close to him, but I didn’t want him to die. Hopefully he learned something about drunk driving. I wouldn’t get into it with him, that wasn’t my place, but I was definitely more mad at him than his friends seemed to be for his reckless endangerment. He could do what he wanted to himself, but what would have happened if someone else got hurt?

I wondered if there would be charges.

When Lilly brought up the vote, I quickly forgot my anger and tensed up, waiting. 

His breezy support of me left me wide-eyed and confused. Lilly, too, seemed caught off guard, and I remembered he’d been the one she asked to come over with her when she’d found out about the body. Since he’d asked out Jessy not long after, I didn’t let myself think too much about it. But were they close?

I wondered if things would have been easier if he’d just voted me out. I knew from experience that adding betrayal to an already hurting mind could end very poorly. Her abrupt departure sounded like a slammed door in my mind. ___

The psychologist’s recording that Jake found was a lot to take in, and I found myself replaying it several times to digest before saying anything.

It was clear he didn’t believe her, despite his protests, and while her kidnapping made that infuriating in hindsight… she’d been followed before? 

I hadn’t heard of depression manifesting with hallucinations, but who knew if that was her only diagnosis? Didn’t I know about comorbidity better than most, after all, with the ADHD and Borderline Personality? There were so many things that weren’t treated with meds, just therapy and coping mechanisms, so without her full records, we’d probably never know. The fear in her voice was real, no matter if her stalker was or not. 

I tried to imagine the stress, the frustration, of telling someone about a terrifying experience and having them smile and nod, humoring you. No wonder she wouldn’t have told her friends. 

Sadness overwhelmed me, and I hoped her doctor felt guilty now. With privacy laws what they were, would he be able to tell the police about her stalker? I knew he’d have to tell if it were someone else in danger from her, but what about when she’s the victim? 

Like so many of our clues lately, this really only made more questions than it answered. The guilt she felt was clearly immense, but why? What could she have done? As a child, even? Something so bad that she’d bury it for years and apparently catch the ire of a vigilante hiding behind the mask of a legend?

When Jake asked me that same thing, he sounded so sad and vulnerable that my heart broke for him. I didn’t know how they knew each other, or what he felt for her, but it was clear that this investigation was hurting him. I wanted to tell him everything was okay, but he’d never believe me, and he didn’t seem like one who appreciated empty reassurances. 

I was trying to cheer him up a bit with my teasing, and his sudden confession caught me off guard. I stared at my phone in shock, he’d never been this open with me, ever. Hearing that he thought about me even when I wasn’t pestering him felt better than anything I’d had in a long time. But the crash, as always, came soon after and the whiplash made me tremble. 

When he logged off, fury temporarily flooded the sadness and made me want to scream. How dare he? How dare he tell me all of these things, reject me, and then just run away and hide? What the hell was I supposed to do with that? Was I meant to just soldier on, helping him find his friend and quietly fuck off after it was over? 

Was that what they all expected of me? 

I locked my phone more violently than was probably necessary, but I couldn’t stand to look at it for a minute longer. 

It felt wrong in my hand, so I chucked it onto the couch. The device bounced harmlessly from the cushion to the carpet and I found myself almost regretting it didn’t break.

I stared at the wall for too long before crawling into bed on my side and wrapping my arms around my knees. I thought I’d cry, I wanted to even, but no tears came.

Once, when I was a kid, I lost my footing in the ocean while I was at the beach with my parents. I remember it as having happened in slow-motion stages, with first the wave smacking me in the face hard enough that it stung. Next came the part where my feet slipped out from under me, it made me dizzy and disoriented and made it so I didn’t even notice that without my legs keeping me anchored, I was being pushed and pulled along into the deeper water where the bottom would be out of reach even if I found a way to right myself.

By the time I was able to brace myself enough to open my eyes in the salty water, I couldn’t find which way was up anymore. I was weightless, lost. It was almost peaceful other than the knowledge that my air was running out and that peace would soon give way to the need to take in lungfuls of water in search of air. Even that young, I knew it would hurt. But as I hung there, suspended in the dark, there was nothing.

This time, the water was Hannah and her life and her secrets. Her friend group I’d slipped into like I was holding her place for her. And as I closed my eyes to block out the world, I wondered if someone would save me again, or if I’d be forever drifting through someone else’s story. ____

When the morning came, I could barely bring myself to get out of bed. My mouth was dry, and I must have cried at some point because I could feel the slightly tight residue of tear tracks on my cheeks, and the pounding headache from dehydration. I could have gotten up to deal with it— should have even. But instead I rolled back over and forced myself to drift off again. ___

“You are alive, right?”

Annie’s voice at the doorway startled me awake. She either hadn’t knocked or it hadn’t woken me, but it took a second to process her standing there. The whole time we’d lived together, we’d had a firm policy around our bedrooms being sacred, and if the door was closed, it meant we didn’t want to be bothered. Period. She must be really worried.

“For now,” I groaned, rolling away from her. 

“Have you come out at all? Your door’s been closed since before I even went out last night.”

Without my glasses or phone, I couldn’t see the clock, and I’d invested in heavy blackout curtains and hung them close to the window to keep any light out. “What time is it?” 

“Seven.” 

Jesus, it was Sunday, why was she bothering me? Neither of us were religious, and she normally stayed out till two or three. Sure she functioned on less sleep that I did, but that was ridiculous.

“Go away, I can’t wake up before ten on the weekends.” I waved my hand at her to try to shoo her away, covering my face with my pillow.

“PM, honey.” Her voice was soft in a way I’d never heard it before, and I jolted with surprise. 

“I slept for an entire day?” I guess that could explain why I felt like I’d been hit by a truck, and one filled with salt at that. I had no real sleep rhythm, and if I didn’t set an alarm I could easily sleep for 12 hours or more at a time. But 24 was a new record. Probably not one I should brag about, though.

“I guess so. What’s going on?” She came into my room and sat at the edge of my bed uncomfortably. For all of our teasing and provoking, we weren’t actually that close. We’d never had an actual serious conversation that wasn’t about apartment ground rules. 

Maybe that’s why her question broke the dam. 

I started sobbing, wrapping my arms around myself like I was afraid I’d come apart if something didn’t hold me together. She looked startled at first, blinking in surprise, but then started rubbing my back and murmuring to me.

I didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask again, just letting me cry it out. I’m not sure how my body had any fluids to make tears by that point, but it managed, and even found some snot to make it a good, ugly cry. 

When I started quieting, Annie brought me some tea and toast, filling up my water bottle for me. She coaxed me into eating most of the toast, though the tea was cold by the time I finished. The water I gulped down greedily, and felt slightly more human when I collapsed back onto the bed. Even that little bit had me exhausted.

“Do you want to talk?” 

I shook my head without lifting it from the pillow. To feel a little less ungrateful, I muttered a small “sorry” even though I wasn’t sure which part I was apologizing for.

She seemed to understand what I didn’t because she pointed to my phone that she’d brought and plugged in at some point when I wasn’t looking. “If you change your mind or need anything,” she said simply, then turned the light back out and closed my door.

I called off the next day, wanting to let myself nope for a little longer. I felt so pathetic, losing it like this over a guy, but deep down I knew that it was only the tip of the iceberg. 

This had been building for weeks now, maybe even since the first message from Thomas. And the message I got from Richy the second I went online reminded me that it wasn’t over yet. ___

I watched the newest call from the MWAF numbly, not even sure why I’d bothered to pick up. I knew the only reason I wasn’t afraid was the dissociation, but couldn’t bring myself to care. It had been a while since I’d detached this fully, and it felt good not to feel, so I leaned in.

I didn’t bother to tell Jake about the call. He’d see it, or he wouldn’t. He’d care or he wouldn’t. It really didn’t matter.

Even Lilly’s video took me several views to care about. And there wasn’t anger, fear, or shock. Just a general sense of annoyance.

Fucking great.

NEXT

[slothgiirl]

the medic (keith x reader)

17k. something weird’s going on with keith, like alien weird. as the team medic, you’re concerned.

“So he is avoiding me,” you muse aloud, grabbing one of the pink alien food biscuits that were Hank’s latest experiment. Though it had been hours since Voltron had taken out the Galra Empire’s presence on this Balmera, you’d only just seen the last of your patients. Altean medical equipment did wonders.

After a battle, you were hardly surprised to find Hank in the kitchen, grounding himself as he cooked. You were surprised to run into Keith.

“Yeah,” Hank nods, “Probably trying to avoid another dental exam.”

You flush bright red, “His teeth fell out! Sorry for being concerned.” Between you and Lance, you’d managed to get a look at Keith. A fist fight with some alien species that was cooperating with the Galra had not gone Keith’s way, knocking out two of his teeth.

Shiro, predictably, had waved it off and accepted Keith’s insane explanation that his teeth would grow back on their own without question: given his hand waving of the red paladin’s eyes glowing slightly in the dark, more than any human’s should (human eyes didn’t glow at all!). Hindsight was twenty twenty.

The yellow paladin shrugs as he mixes orange noodle-esque things in a bowl.

Team Voltron was full of strong personalities. Add in Lotor and his friends dropping in, there was always something going on.

Hank just wanted to unwind from spending the past few hours destroying heavy duty mining equipment without hurting the planet. “So how are the biscuits?”

You chew on one, still bothered by Keith. Maybe Hank was right and he was trying to hide something from your keen gaze. You hoped not. Knowing the red paladin, and after two years in space, you certainly did, he’d rather suffer in silence until there was no other option than get medical attention. Back on earth with needles and scalpels, you understood, but in the Castle of Lions…

“Kind of like a rice cracker,” you tell Hank helpfully. “In a good got snacks at H-Mart way, not the sad quaker oats rice snacks.”

“Oh H-Mart,” Hunk smiles, “they don’t have those in space. They do have salt though. Found that at the last market we went to.”

“As long as alien food doesn’t poison us,” you comment. It was lucky that hadn’t happened. It was alien food. But not one negative reaction which either made humans some of the most hardy species or you were just lucky.

“Yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing what’s edible and not. I know Pidge said there’s some books, but my Altean is pretty bad.”

“Languages are hard.”

“Wish there was a space version of google translate.”

“Hunk-”

“Yeah.”

“That’s genius!” You look at the yellow paladin, wondering how a universe with speech translators never thought to do the same for written language.

“I know,” Hunk smiles while popping another tray into the oven.

—————

Lance finishes painting your toenails. It was a rare day when there were no space battles or rebel meetings. “Pidge,” the blue paladin whines, “let me paint your-”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“It’s supposed to be team bonding night,” Lance counters.

“Lance,” Allaura frowns from where she’s sitting with Shiro, “the castle’s night cycle has not started.”

“Well we can change it,” he counters, “there’s no up or down in space. OR day or night.”

“You can paint my nails,” Hunk offers. “Won’t last long though between the cooking and the vents I’ve been cleaning. This is a 10,000 year old castle. No offence,” he glances at Allura.

“No offence at all. The battles have taken their toll and I’m sure Coran appreciates the help. He is only one man.” She lets out a sigh. The only other remaining Altean was a bittersweet subject for her.

Hunk kicks off his shoes. “My pleasure. Literally. This Castle is so cool. The artificial gravity alone!”

You watch the paint dry on your toes. Only your big toes had actual drawings on them, strange alien creatures you’d all encountered over your time in space. The others were clear with green and blue swirls. “You’re a good artist Lance.”

The blue paladin winks, “I’m a regular old Michaelangelo.”

You laugh, “of course you are.”

“And I’m not just good with a brush,” he wiggles his eyebrows, more boyish flirting than anything serious.

You roll your eyes.

Pidge throws a cushion at Lance. “Oh please like you’ve got past the first date!”

“I have! Vivian Tran from Calculus.”

“Can you focus on my nails,” Hunk asks, but Lance is busy waving the thin brush in hand as he argues with Pidge.

“And Atticus from Cantonese.”

“Didn’t you drop that class,” Hank asks.

“Well, the hindi teacher was way nicer and didn’t hate me. I was good at drawing the characters though.”

“Can you speak hindi,” you ask, having taken French for your language fulfillment.

“Eh-” Lance shrugs.

“Can you flirt in Hindi is the real question,” you ask with a grin.

“He can’t even flirt in English,” Pidge points out scathingly.

“Hey!”

“My nails Lance,” Hunk grumbles.

“Right. Right,” Lance focuses back on his task, going with a yellow that matches Shay. “What language did you take Shiro?”

“English.”

“How many dialects does Earth have,” Allura asks.

“A lot,” Shiro tells the alien princess. “The Garrison pushes being multilingual in its program. Most cadets were already bilingual to start with, generally covering major languages.”

“Ah.”

“Got bored of the training room,” Pidge asks Keith as he walks in, flopping down on an empty sofa.

“It timed out.”

“Sure,” Lance immediately starts, a dog with a bone, “not like you couldn’t beat it or anything.”  

“You can’t even get past level 9!” Keith growls back, sitting up with a jolt, skin still slick from sweat and his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

Lance gets up, puffing out his chest. Oh boy, here they go again. The rivalry thing they had going on got old fast to everyone around them. While it did push them to be better paladins, it was annoying to hear. “Oh like you’re any better.”

Hunk takes the brush from Lance, finishing off his last toe on his own.

“I am,” Keith bites back, a growl still audible from his chest.

“Only because you cheat!”

“It’s not cheating!”

“How is it not-” Lance stops, furrows his brow, then grins. “You got a little something there.” And like a thirteen year old, Lance points and laughs.

Keith frowns, his hand coming up to his cheek.

Sure enough, Lance was right. Keith had a couple of angry red blemishes on his cheek.

“You have adult acne,” Lance giggles, immature as ever. He was always able to find an angle to everything. It was what made him such an excellent strategist.

“It’s not adult acne!” Keith scowls, scratching at the blemishes.

“Its been three years,” Lance retorts smugly.

You frown. “No. It’s been like two.” You look over at Pidge to confirm, “Right?” You were like ninety percent sure you were twenty.

“Two and a half,” Pidge answers.

“Ha! You’re twenty! Adult-”

“I don’t have adult acne!”

They’d fought over more meaningless things before.

If it was two and a half years, maybe you were twenty one? You frown. How old would you be before you ever saw your family again?

Stashing that depressing thought away, you focus on Keith and the red marks on his cheek like a line coming down to his jaw. “It could be a rash,” you utter thoughtfully. Pidge and you had already encountered a very itchy plant before. “Or space ringworm-ring line?”

For the first time in days, Keith looks at you, meeting your gaze. “It’s not a rash!”

You lift your hands up, “okay. Okay. Geez.” When it came to Keith, you didn’t push too hard. He was too stubborn for it to work.

Lance, however, “hey, it’s okay Keith-buddy, just use toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste makes it worse,” Hunk counters. “Not great for your skin either.”

“It always worked for me,” Lance counters. “Or a clay skin mask.”

“Clay? You mean that green mud,” Keith clarifies.

“It’s clay!”

“Clay would work,” you agree with Lance. “Hey it could be like a spa day!”

“I could go for a spa,” Hunk nods.

Pidge shakes her head, “right. I’m going to try and see if I can get a signal back home.”

Shiro looks over at you, “do you really think it could be something serious?”

You shrug. “No clue.”

Keith huffs, “Just drop it,” he states dramatically, headed for the door. He was over being the center of attention.

“So face masks?”

You nod, “want to try it Allura?”

“I would love to try the clay mask,” she smiles brightly.

——————

Te-Osh’s rebels had sent for Voltron, less fighting than rebuilding.

While you were no paladin, you had spent the majority of the day helping Allura take stock and synthesizing medicine, everything from serums to numbing gels. Just your luck the machine had overheated and given out on the last batch. It was a pretty large machine.

You stick your head inside, waving off the smoke. With your nails, you pry open the hutch and take stock. You were no Pidge or Hunk, still unsure how the thing even worked, but it was clear it needed a new regulator and starter. “Plenty of those lying around,” you utter, scrunching your face at the awful burnt hair smell. Your finger finds the ventilator button on your wrist controls, and there-the smell gets sucked out of the room.

“Is this a bad time,” Keith asks behind you.

Startled, you bang your head on the mental. “Keith,” flushing hotly when you look back and realize you were ass up in front of him.

He doesn’t even notice, grimacing, hand rubbing his nose bridge.

“What’s wrong?” You hurry to wash your hands.

Keith sits down at one of the medbay tables. “My skull feels like it’s being cracked open,” he explains flatly.

You look him over closely, standing right in front of him. “Where exactly,” you ask, frowning when you notice the blemishes had grown to a full blown rash, hot angry skin peeling and cracking like twin marks down his cheeks. You should have pressed. What if it was a parasite? Keith was half galra.

It was easily forgotten given how human he looked. Sure, the signs were there: his unhuman night vision, more strength than he should have, good ears and nose, nails that had torn through metal, but it all faded into the background.

“Does it itch,” you ask, raising your hand, fingertips hovering over the marks on his cheeks.

“Yes,” Keith nods, averting his eyes from your gaze, “mostly it’s hot. And my sinuses…all the way down to my neck. Hurt.”

“Hm,” you turn, reaching for the medical scanner. There was no way you could ever go back to being a medical officer at the galaxy garrison. Earth’s technology was ancient in comparison. “Hold still.”

“Alright,” he says seriously. Keith holds his breath.

You look up at him, in his violet eyes, and smile before laughing. “Keith!”

“You said to hold still,” he points out sincerely, before the corners of his lips turn up. Keith was an expressive guy, his smile lit up his entire being, a lightness in his eyes that made you smile wider.

“Let’s try this again,” you giggle, clicking the scanner and aiming right at his rash first. “Pew.”

He rolls his eyes, snorting. “You too?”

“Mine’s the only right one,” you wink, then look over the reading.

“Not even close.” He scratches at his cheek listlessly.

Whatever reason he had for avoiding you had worked itself out. You’d missed his company.

“Oh yeah,” you challenge, “then what’s the sound?” The readings came up clear. Keith was in perfect health. So not a parasite…space allergies? Those wouldn’t come up on the scanner.

“What is it,” Keith asks, noticing your pensive expression.

“How’s your sense of smell? Stuffy nose?”

He looks up, then takes a deep breath, “now that you mention it…I can’t smell your soap anymore.”

“What?” This was news to you. “You can smell my soap?”

“And whatever planet we’ve been on,” Keith fidgets, blushing as he ducks his head, bangs falling over his eyes, “the soil. It’s all different. But I can’t right now.”

That was worrying. But if the scanner said nothing was wrong…you had to wait and see. It might clear up on its own. You’d give it a day or two.

“Nothing came up on the scanner,” you tell him, “so it should go away on its own. It might just be allergic to something out here.”  

He nods, accepting your diagnosis.

“Let me get the medicine.”

“Mhm.”

You pass him a tube of gel and add that to the list of medication you need to synthesize once you fix the machine. Then grab a weekly supply of pain tabs. “Here.”

Keith pops one in immediately.

“Let me know if it doesn’t clear up in two days,” you tell him.

“Worried?”

“Eh, I can always set Lance on you again,” you snort. Shiro was a pushover when it came to Keith. He was no help.

Keith laughs, looking a little more himself. “I could take him.”

“You could,” you agree, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

He tilts his head, smiling. “Coming? Shay got food for us.”

“I’ve got to fix this machine first.”

“Need help?”

“Might ask Hunk or Coran,” you admit.

“I could-”

“No,” you cut him off, placing your hand on his shoulder, “go eat and rest. That’s an order.”

Keith leans into you. “Are you going to write me a doctor’s note too,” he asks, his delivery always so earnest you had to do a double take to figure out if he was joking or not.

“If I have too,” you stick your nose in the air. “I’ll even send one to Zarkon.”

Keith laughs easily. “Why didn’t Lotor think of that.”

You snort. “I’m going to check your lymph nodes,” you tell him, taking a step towards him again. “That okay?”

Keith tilts his head back, “Go for it.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, “who are you and what did you do with Keith Kogane.” You brush his hair out of his face.

“What?”

“Remember when you broke your arm,” you point out, gently pressing your fingers over the side of his throat, feeling the swelled bean shaped lymph nodes under his ears, behind his jaw. “And said nothing for like a week?” It had been your first year at the Galaxy Garrison.

“It was only a sprain,” Keith grumbles.

“Still!” You laugh, “I’m glad you asked for help.” Because this was still Keith and you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him.

“Mm,” he closes his eyes as you trail your fingers lower, making sure it wasn’t too bad.

The fact they were inflamed at all worried you. You had no clue what was the space equivalent of antihistamines.

Keith’s breath tickles your shoulder, deepening and evening out like he’d finally relaxed. That was most of your patients once you gave them answers and they knew they’d be getting care and treatment. You liked helping people.

You pull your fingers back, ever the consummate professional. It was like the ghost of your garrison advisor was hovering over your shoulder. “They’re not too swollen if you can still eat. Can you still chew?”

“Hm?”

Keith opens his eyes. His expression is glazed and feverish.

“Keith,” you utter, worried.

“Yeah?” His gaze is heavy as it meets yours.

Your skin warms up because he wouldn’t stop looking at you like that.

“Any jaw pain,” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. You bring your hand up to his forehead. He was warm.

Keith leans into your touch, “no.”

“Good.” You bite your lip. Could it be some weird galra thing? Wouldn’t it have come up? You feel your own forehead. He was for sure warmer.

You were going to have to corner Coran about it.

Keith lets his eyes fall shut again and honest to god purrs, leaning into you.

Add cornering Lotor to your list.

You don’t pull away, figuring it was harmless. Lance, Hunk, and Allura were more prone to random hugs. You were more than happy to indulge Keith as well. He already wasn’t feeling well.

You wrap your arms around the red paladin’s shoulders, hugging him, “I’m looking forward to a break from Coran’s post mission food goo once I get done with the machine.”

“Mm.”

He was completely out of it.

His breath tickles your cheek.

“Though I’m not sure there’ll be any left if I don’t go there? Maybe I should grab a plate and then come back here,” you ramble. Keith had never sought you out for comfort. It was touching that he trusted you now. You’d been friends with the others before, with Keith and Shiro and the Alteans, you had skipped right over friendship and gone right to family.

“Oh.”

You look behind you.

Te-Osh takes a step back, “forgive my intrusion. I was unaware-”

Keith snaps out of whatever was going on with him. Bolting off the exam table. “It’s fine. We’re done here.” He hunches his shoulders and beelines for the door.

You frown, still processing.

“I can come back,” Te-Osh tells you, glancing between you and the door Keith had just escaped through.

You shrug. “No. I’ve got time. What do you need?”

“If you’re sure?”

Nodding, you smile, “yeah, what can I help you with?”

———————

“Here is where we will focus the blunt of the attack on. Keith, Lance, engage the fighters. Hunk,” Shiro explains, “you’ll be with me taking out the communications towers. We want to keep the damage to the minimum. The resistance leaders want the factory intact. Pidge-”

Pidge waves the Black Paladin off, “I’ve got the code written.”

“It really does come in handy,” Lance observes, “all those vents are Pidge size.”

The green paladin grumbles, “easy for you to say when you’re not the one crawling around in there. It’s not your knees getting banging up.”

“Well the galra are all like nine feet tall,” Hunk points out, “the vents probably aren’t that small from their perspective.”

Lance unsubtly glances over at Keith.

His rash had cleared up, but not before spreading. In its place were two purple slash marks running from his cheek to jaw, galra markings. No one had pressed…yet.

You were just glad it wasn’t some weird space parasite.

Her brother ruffles her hair, “Pidge sized! A micro pidge,” Matt jokes to himself.

She smacks his hand away, “five feet is a perfectly reasonable size.’

“She could still have a growth spurt,” you add, though it was highly unlikely.

“No,” Matt’s eyes go comically wide as he hugs his sister, “not my hobbit,” relishing in her embarrassment.

“Matt!”

“In summation,” Allura calls you all back to attention, “the paladins will take out Galra forces and Pidge will open the weapons factory up to Vexuin rebels to take over. I will be manning the Castle to ensure no fighters target the work camps and coordinating communications with the rebels.” She turns to look at you, “Matt and you will take down the sentries, freeing the people from the work camps.”

“No!”

Everyone looks over at Keith. The horror on his face is easy to read.

What had brought this on?

Shiro clears his throat.

Keith ducks his head, letting his bangs obscure his features.

“Why not,” Pidge asks grumpily, time was running out. You were all just ironing out the details, “your plans suck.”

“Pidge,” Shiro chastises.

The green paladin was right.

Keith fought the same way you played video games, caring about nothing but reducing the enemies stats to zero. He’d gotten great at teamwork, but he was hardly a strategist.

“Keith,” Allura asks, “do you have any legitimate reasons why Matt should go on his own?” And when she phrased it like that…

The red paladin crosses his arms over his shoulders.

Pidge taps her foot on the floor.

“Okay then,” Shiro takes over, “let’s get to our lions.”

“Coms. Come in earthlings!,” Coran chimes in over the system, “remember this planet’s atmosphere is toxic to breath, too much sulfur in the air, not to mention the heat will give you all a taste of the slipperies. And worse! So keep those space suits on Vol-”

“-Tron,” Lance grins back, having taken a liking to having a kooky space alien uncle.

You lock your helmet in place as Matt pilots the pod towards the work camps. They were just as grim as the first time you’d seen them. It was the same all over in many of the Empire’s work planets. They were at the bottom of the totem pole. There were some planets where the native species and Galra coexisted more or less peacefully, this was not one of them.

“So what’s up with Keith,” Matt asks you.

You shrug. “No clue. I keep waiting for Lotor or one of the Blades to drop in so I can corner them but he’s a picture of perfect health so I’m not worried.”

“But the,” he takes a hand off the wheel, motioning to his face.

You frown, arching a brow. You’d never looked at Allura quite the same after the way she had treated Keith upon learning about his heritage. It’s not like he’d been a completely different person, she’d known him for over a year.

Matt might be Pidge’s brother, but you weren’t about to let anyone get away with giving someone you loved shit. Especially not Keith who would just silently take it.

It made your chest ache, thinking about how sweet he looked when he smiled. He didn’t deserve any of it.

“What about it?” You stare back at him cooly.

Matt focuses back on landing the pod just beyond the sentires line of sight. “Nothing. Pidge figured it was nothing, didn’t even seem curious. I figured you might know, you two are pretty close.” He glances over at you meaningfully.

“We’ve known eachother since the garrison,” though you hadn’t really been friends. Keith had been kind of a loner. You’d tried to include him, having shared a couple classes with him here and there, but he’d never taken you up on any offer.

“Right.” He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Glad to hear it’s all good. I caught the sneazles while in the work camp,” Matt makes a face.

You laugh.

“It was horrible! But also like an episode of spongebob somehow?”

“Space is weird.” You had way bigger problems and had seen stranger things by now. For fucks sake, you were saving dragon looking aliens from the Galra right now. This planet was like a silent hill game!

Thick fog obscured the rocky landscape. Even from within your suit you could smell the stench of rotten eggs. Yet this was home to the Vexuin.

Shiro gives the signal.

You take the safety off the taser gun Pidge had built for you. Anything pilfered off the Galra was too large for your small stature, just a hair shorter than Keith. The gun packed a punch, with enough voltage to take out the robots.

Matt and you get to work.

“Almost got it,” Matt mutters as you take aim and shoot.

Stupid damn biolocks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you tell him, dodging a shot from another sentry before frying it with your own weapon. One shot, one sentry. You needed to take them down before they got close. The robots were durable and strong. You knew better than to think you could go hand to hand with one, you were a medic not a fighter.

“I am, I am,” Matt insists. “Ah there,” he grabs a taser flash bomb out of his pocket and tosses inside the sentry outpost.

You shoot again, trying to keep your hands steady. It was easy when it was just programmed machines. Nothing to feel bad about.

Matt and you rush inside, stepping over more fried sentries. You take position at the entrance, gunning down anything that makes its way towards the two of you.

“You in,” you ask him.

“Patience my young apprentice,” Matt says, laughing at his own joke, “it’ll take a moment for my worm to work its way through the software and give me complete control.”

The ground shakes as the main part of the battle takes place outside, at a monsterous factory that’s gray, chimney shooting out smoke. You can only see hints of lions shooting and Galra fighter ships lighting up the sky.

The sulfuric fog coats everything.

You taste rotten eggs on your breath.

Inside your suit, sweat runs down your back.

“Okay,” Matt chimes into the coms, “I’ve hacked the camps. Ready to open the gates.”

The rolling low grutal voices of the Vexuin rebel leaders fill your coms, “Good.”

“Go ahead Matt,” Allura gives the order, “Voltron?”

Pidge answers, “dropping in, should override their” static, “ticks.” Then an explosion reverberates in your ear where the communications device is.

“Pidge,” Keith yells out.

“Keith cover Lance,” Shiro grunts out, blasts audible from here. “Pidge?”

Nothing.

Matt’s face goes ghostly white.

“Pidge, come in Pidge?” Allura asks. “Paladins? Are you able to reach Pidge?”

“Negative,” Shiro replies, “Hunk, take the main gate! Time to land.”

“On it.”

“Guys,” Lance yells, “the shield’s down. Pidge hacked them.”

“Keith,” Shiro yells, “wait!”

“Fine.”

You decide to hope for the best. There was nothing you could do for any of the paladins all the way from here. “Turn it off,” you tell Matt.

He steals himself. “Right.”

The lights of the compound go out. Sentries power down where they stand, puppets with their strings cut. Locks disengage, and for the first time in decades, the Vexuin are free to leave the barracks free from Galra supervision.

You and Matt go out to meet them.

“I could get used to this,”  Pidge calls out as everyone meets on the planet’s surface. Rebels come in from the forest slowly, making sure this is for real, before sniffing the air and calling out to their loved ones lingering around the liberated camp complex.  Their vision worked in the infrared, all the better to see on this planet. You’d need at least three showers to get the smell out of your hair.

Keith carries Pidge, careful not to jolt the youngest member of Voltron. She holds a leg stiffly, a sprain or fracture.

Matt rushes to his sister, “Katie!”

She waves him off, “I’m fine.” Then snaps her fingers, “Down.”

There’s a small smile on Keith’s mouth as he places her down on the ground gently.

Lance comes up behind Keith, ruffling his hair, and being every bit himself as he comments with a smirk, “good boy.”

The shorter paladin smacks Lance’s hand away, but it’s too late, Lance is already smothering Keith in a hug that turns into a competition, like always with those two. Keith shoves at Lance’s face while Lance tightens his grip on Keith.

Shiro clears his throat, “paladins.”

“A dobesh in the pod,” you ask Pidge as Matt gets his turn to fuss over her.

“Yeah. Landed right as an explosion went off,” Pidge frowns. “Not my best moment, but my program still did it’s job and,” she pats her bayard, “I took them out.”

“Can’t be that bad if you can stand,” you agree. Nothing serious but you’d be keeping an eye on her all the same. The faster she got into the pod and took weight off her injury the better. You didn’t want to exacerbate the sprain.

“The jet pack helped,” Pidge points out.

“Lucky you,” you grin.

Shiro and Allura are consummate professionals as they go over the last of the logistics with the Vexuin, “It would be wise to stay until your people have situated themselves in case the Galra Empire retaliates,” Allura states, ending her sentiment in a question, “but it is ultimately up to you.”

The Vexuin chatter among themselves for a moment before one speaks up, “we would not turn down Voltron’s help. A few quintants should be enough time.”

“Then we will make ourselves of service to you,” Shiro nods. “Please, let us know anything we can help with.”

A red scaled one smiles, showing off her many sharp and jagged teeth, “our people long to see the camp destroyed.”

Hunk offers, “I could help rig a controlled explosion.”

“Very good.”

“The system inside the weapons factory is down,” Pidge tells them, “but I can reprogram it to keep the Galra out so that you can decide what to do with the place.”

“Oh no you don’t,” you cut in, “Matt can take care of that. You’re going in a pod first.”

“Pod person,” Matt mutters under his breath with a snort.

“Then let us get to work,” Allura dismisses everyone.

Pidge tries to take a step, and almost falls over.

You grab her.

Her face goes crimson from the pain.

The adrenalin must have been keeping the bulk of the pain away.

Keith picks her up.

It’s not until you’ve loaded Pidge in for three vargas that you pull off your helmet, savoring the crisp clean air of the Castleship.

“I can still smell the sulfur,” you comment, wrinkling your nose.

Keith shakes his hair out.

You look at him thoughtfully, “must be worse for you though.”

“Why,” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Because your nose,” you point out, then frown, “your sinuses did clear up yeah?” He never said anything about it so you figured they had and he could smell fine again, but you weren’t sure.

“Oh. Yeah. They did.”

You smile fondly, “very convincing Keith,” you tell him, reaching out to him. He lets you run your fingers right under his ears, behind his jaw. Everything was in order.

A knot of anxiety dissolves in your chest.

“Well,” he asks, “satisfied?”

“Mhm.” You look at the purple markings on his skin.

Keith’s breath hitches. His gaze is trained on you, watching carefully.

“So if not rotten eggs,” you ask, slowly bringing your fingertips over the marks on the sides of his face, giving him every opportunity to pull away, “what do you smell?” You couldn’t help it. It was that scientific curiosity. Everyone at the garrison had ended up there because they were nerdy in some way: devoting themselves to some STEM field while other kids were watching cartoons. You’d had a stutter as a kid, self conscious about it too, so instead of trying to make friends you read your textbooks under your desk, racing ahead.

Keith’s eyes meet yours. There’s a level of vulnerability in his gaze that worms its way into your chest and all of a sudden you’re incredibly aware of how close you two are, the lack of space between your bodies, your fingers caressing his skin.

You look away, focusing on the marks. They were purple, which was obvious. His skin itself had grown purple, perfectly delineated.

“Like wet soil,” Keith explains finally, “when they just added fertilizer.” You wince, remembering the smell of the horticulture center wafting through the garrison’s campus during the spring. “And garlic.”

“I like garlic. I’d kill for some,” you tell him, sounding very much like Hank. You hadn’t expected to be homesick for food. “Best food they served at the cafeteria.”

“That’s not saying much,” Keith mutters, amused.

You chuckle, pulling your hands away from his face.

He leans forward, asking for physical comfort in a very Keith way: unsubtle and wordlessly, putting the onus on you to get the hint.

Pidge must have freaked him out more than he was willing to discuss.

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging Keith. “Pidge’ll be fine.” Sure, she was younger and short, but she was more than capable of handling herself. “I’m more concerned about how she left the other guys,” you comment lightly resting your chin on Keith’s shoulder.

His shoulders shake as he laughs easily. “They asked to surrender to her personally.”

“That’s Pidge all right.” You glance over at the pod. She’d be back on her feet in no time.

Keith’s breath against your skin feels nice. Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself blushing and pulling away, thoughts racing as you realize just how much you liked this boy. You pull away, unsure what to do and suddenly finding it too awkward to be around him at all.

The start of a whine escapes his throat before he smothers it, looking away, as he lets his bangs fall over his eyes, effectively hiding his easy to read features.

“Let’s go help the others,” you say, fumbling to grab a med kit and click your helmet back in place, your face too warm and it must be obvious. You didn’t want to make things weird. You didn’t. But-

“I’m going to stay here until Pidge wakes up,” Keith tells you.

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. “That’s a great idea. It’s always confusing as hell to get out of the pods.” It was akin to waking up from a midday nap: completely confused and exhausted instead of rested.

Your skills would be more useful with the Vexuim than fussing over Pidge at the moment. And having something to do would keep your mind off Keith.

—————

“You know,” Lance comments, sliding up to you as you watch Lotor strut away from you after another failed attempt to talk to him. “If we bottled up whatever galra repellant you have going on, we could defeat Zarkon with perfume.”

You look over at Lance, trying to suppress a smile. “What would you call it?”

“Starlight.”

“That’s-that’s actually pretty great,” you tell Lance.

“I know,” he grins. Then the latino boy sobers up, “trying to find out what’s going on with mullet?”

You nod. “I even tried to corner Acxa,” you admit. For an eight foot tall purple alien, boy could she make herself scarce.

Lance’s eyes widened in delight, “like could and should peg me Acxa?”

You groan. “Lance, sometimes it’s okay to keep things to yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” he laughs, “the ship’s not that big…”

“It’s designed for six thousand people.” You’d learned that fun tidbit while practicing your Altean with Pidge.

“Like for real!”

“Yeah.”

“Ay dios mio,” Lance utters, “you’re screwed.”

You finally hit the motherlode.

Lotor and his generals are in a stately room that reminds you of the socratic lecture halls at the garrison, sofa arranged in a half circle, with Shiro and Allura. The former Prince had shown up for a reason beyond making a nuisance of himself. Allura looks at her wits end with him, as he smiles like a douche, her eye twitching.

She invites you in without hesitation, “take a seat next to me,” and effectively uses you as a human shield against Lotor.

Literally since you and Shiro were the only humans here.

“Everything has been thoroughly discussed,” Lotor comments dryly, snubbing you once more. Normally, you wouldn’t have cared but you were trying to get information out of the man. “Unless either of you have further questions?”

Shiro hums, rubbing his chin, “I know saddling you with a rebel ship or two will slow you down but I don’t see another way around it. A display of size on their part will go a long way to show it is an alliance and not the Galra Empire hy another name.”

Allura nods, a small smile on her lips as she looks over at Shiro, “The black paladin is right. It will be a steep hill to climb to show that you are not the Galra Empire. Their fears would be alleviated with the presence of the rebel alliance.”

Zethrid sucks in a sharp breath, “So that’s it then. We will always be scorned and merely tolerated.”

“Time,” Shiro sighs with a look of gentle understanding at the muscular woman, “they need time. You can’t erase 10,000 years of history. It is hard to extend trust after being imprisoned and enslaved.”

“The alliance has started coordinating with you and the Blade directly have they not,” Allura asks stiltedly. It was by the necessity of time that they had stopped going through Voltron first. Lotor might be too smug for his own good, but his team was effective at sabotaging warships and infiltrating Galra ranks to liberate prisons and cities, enough to turn the tide for the rebels.

Her feelings towards Lotor and the Blade were still tinged with suspicion, her treatment of them lukewarm at best.

Still, Lotor brushed it off and continued to help. “Well then, Princess, Shiro, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Shiro nods.

They shake hands.

You stand up, ready to corner Lotor.

“But first a word Shiro, it is a private matter.”

“Yeah, sure,” Shiro leads Lotor away.

Your eye twitches.

That snake!

Zethrid and Narti walk purposefully away as Allura pushes in her chair, ignoring the last two of Lotor’s team. “Princess,” Acxa, tries. “Until next time.” She nods at you, “stay safe.”

Allura gives the woman a strained smile, hooking her arm with yours. Human shield.

“You too,” you tell her. She doesn’t wait, already halfway out the door. You sigh.

Ezor giggles, by far the friendliest and easiest to get along with of Lotor’s team. “Stashing food and water will cut down the embarrassment by half.”

“What?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “I guess Lotor was right. Darn it! Now I owe him one hundred GAC.”

“Wait-”

But she scurries off.

“Ugh,” you kick the wall, tired of everyone being weird. The usual frustration with being caught up in a space war was just the salt on the wound.

Your toe throbs, “fuck,” you hiss.

“They are rather tiring to deal with,” Allura agrees, reading the situation wrong, “but it hardly calls for assaulting the Castle.”

“Sorry,” you flush red with embarrassment. “I just had a question for Lotor and he seems intent on never being in the same room as me.”

“Ah-,” Allura smiles easily, “Lance did mention that you were in possession of a Galra repellent.” The twinkle in her eyes lets you know she was in on the joke.

“Come, let us work our frustrations out with some introspection.” Which was just Altean for weird breathing exercises that supposedly helped you do alchemy. She had managed to rope you into practicing with her before.

“Anything to spare the wall,” you joke.

——————

You walk back from the library. It was a cozy room, especially when you dimmed the lights. The Castle was always so bright, designed with the Alteans sight needs in mind.

Sometimes you just needed some time away from everyone. You loved them, but spending years with the same people while floating through space…you had no clue how Shiro had managed it.

Getting a walk around the ship was also nice. It was easy to forget how big the Castle was when you mainly stayed on the same three floors. Just a couple months ago Coran had rediscovered the greenhouse. The plants were a little piece of Altea, and had quickly become one of Allura’s favorite spots.

The windows were wide portholes. It unnerved you still, looking out and not recognizing any star, any constellations.

A lump of homesickness lodges itself in your throat. It had been over two years, your siblings would have grown so much in that time. You certainly had. The last vestiges of childhood had gone from your face.

Acne cleared up even without Lance’s ten step routine.

You walk across the bridge, trying not to look down. The viewing platform was clear glass in space, you could lay on it. It freaked you out a little.

It was the only constantly dark place in the castle.

You still yelp when you spot Keith, his eyes luminous violet like a glow in the dark t-shirt. That should have tipped all of you off, but alien was not the first thing that came to mind when you previously believed aliens had never visited earth.

He whimpers, curling up further.

“Keith,” you gulp, focusing on him and not the glass separating you from the void of space. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up at you miserably, blinking sluggishly. “I have the worst migraine.”

“And you’re down here instead of getting painkillers?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s not as bad, quiet. Dark.”

You sit down next to him. “I can go get you something,” you offer, your cheeks warming up and it was ridiculous how you can’t even manage to act normal around him anymore.

“Coran already gave me a dose.”

“Oh.” You were hurt. You were supposed to be the medic. That was your role on Team Voltron.

You hug your knees to your chest, and look down at space. It was darker than the photographs back on earth. Not so purple and blue.

You weren’t Matt who was just as good as Pidge with technology or Allura who was the leader and a princess to boot, you’d just planned on having a late dinner with Hunk once he got over the motion sickness before Lance roped you into following Pidge. You weren’t a paladin.

Keith shuts his eyes. “You were with Allura. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother.” You swallow thickly, letting silence fall over you both.

You listen to Keith breathing, looking around the darkness of space for any familiar stars. You knew the space around Shay’s Balmerra, and Arus was at least a little familiar. But the universe was so vast and wide.

There were planets you’d only ever been to once, each with a different night sky. Some of them never even had a night, with multiple suns staving off a night cycle.

“Do you think Allura minds?”

“Mind what,” you ask.

Keith clenches his jaw, rubbing his temples. “That I look more Galra.”

Allura has always been harder on the Galra. For her, it had been such a short time since Zarkon had destroyed her world and her people. You didn’t agree, but you could understand where she was coming from, the pain still there as she continuously wore Altean mourning pink.

You look over at him, the outline of his body against the glass. “I think your marks look cool.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do,” you whisper gently, considerate of his migraine. Those were the worst. “They frame your face. You look nice,” you finish lamely, looking away. You look nice. Lance might say stupid things but at least he tried.

“What if I looked even more Galra?”

“Like completely purple and tall?” You couldn’t really wrap your head around it. It also seemed incredibly unlikely. Could his phenotype change so drastically? On earth the answer was no, but who knows how the Galra work. It was fascinating to see such a wide range of traits in one species.

He was also half human.

You worried if his body would even tolerate such a drastic change.

“Yes,” he says, not waiting for you as he rants in agitation, “the rebels hate the Blade and Allura doesn’t trust them at all and that’s not even mentioning Lotor.”

“That’s not true. Te-Osh likes Acza and Ezor. Lotor’s kind of annoying if we’re being honest, and I’m sure his being Zarkon’s son makes it a little hard to believe he’s on our side,” you try to reason. “And don’t write off the Galra who have changed sides or were in the camps right alongside other aliens.”

Keith says nothing in response, mouth a thin line as he thinks.

You wonder how long it’s been bugging him.

You want to reach out and hug him, but he isn’t Hunk. You’re not sure he’d want to if he’s not initiating the contact. So you don’t.

“Everyone knows how the last Galra paladin worked out.” A low growl in the back of his throat is enough to clue you in to how distressing this was for him.

Your heart hurts. “And everyone knows you’re not Zarkon,” you state evenly back. “We already know you’re Galra.”

Keith snorts humorlessly. You can’t see his eyes; they’re hidden by his bangs.

“The glowing eyes are not exactly subtle dude,” you point out, “not to mention your hair does the poof thing guinea pigs do when they’re eating, but not when you’re eating, more like when you get annoyed.”

“I-what!” His eyes go comically wide as he sits up. His dark hair does the thing, making him look like a character from those old Japanese kids movies.

You giggle, “you’re doing it.”

Keith tries to look at his reflection in the glass.

You blush, grateful that it’s too dark to see, and then realize that wasn’t true for him, so you look away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Yeah. I’m the medic, it’s my job to know these things. Like how Pidge has two webbed digits on her foot and Lance is allergic to flax seeds and bees.”

“That…makes sense.” Then he smiles, “still didn’t put two and two together.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Reason number three thousand Iverson had it out for him back at the harrison. “And if anyone has a problem with you I’ll kick their ass.”

“You?” Keith snorts. “You wouldn’t even flip me during self defense.”

“You remember that?” You run a hand over your face, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” you always took forever to practice on your partner. And your weak arms didn’t help.

“That’s what the mats were for.”

“Still!”

Keith laughs at your expense.

You smile, taking delight in watching him smile and laugh and you wish it could always be like this and the war would just end.

Then you sober up. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

He doesn’t answer you right away.

“Keith-” you reach out, voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay, giant purple space cat or not, right?”

He takes your hand, squeezing it firmly. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good,” you utter, but tears bead up in your eyes anyway. It was terrifying watching someone go through something unknown that you couldn’t help them through for all your medical training. You knew how to set bones and run a pod…not whatever this was.

You trusted Keith.

He knew himself better than anyone. After all, he’d been right about his teeth growing back.

“You really are worried,” he whispers in disbelief.

“Duh.”

“I can smell it on you,” then he seems to realize what he said, and pulls away, ducking his head. Like he hadn’t meant to say so much.

“Really?” Learning about anything alien biology was pretty cool, you had to admit. Allura had once described colours that you couldn’t perceive. It was a fun talk. And then she’d made you meditate for alchemy stuff or so she claimed. It might have just been payback. “Is that new?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits, still drawn into himself. “Can we not-I already feel like enough of a freak already without,” he waves aggressively at himself.

You bite your lip, nodding. You wanted to say something, to get it through his head how you saw him, incredibly kind and fiercely loyal (to the point of taking on Zarkon by himself) and an endearing smile you never got tired of seeing.

You liked him.

The universe was lucky to have him as a paladin.

But you don’t know how to say it in a way he’d accept. And he asked you to drop it, so you do. “Right, I’ll just go then.” He’d been here first, and the glass made you nervous.

Could it withstand a hit from a galra battleship?

Keith opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but he just nods, then winces, “Argh,” he groans as he curls up on his side, covering his ears with his hands.

You rush to his side, kneeling next to him, “Keith,” you utter softly, not wanting to make it worse.

His eyes are pressed close and for all your medical know-how, you’re at a loss.

So you running your fingers through his hair soothingly and wait for the pain to pass.

He shifts, laying his head in your lap as he whimpers.

You can’t stand to watch him and do nothing. You press your com, pinging Shiro and Coran. This was beyond you. He’d trust Shiro with whatever was going on and he’d gone to Coran. You respected that even if it did sting.

Your pride meant little so long as Keith felt comfortable and sought help.

“Shh, shh,” you whisper gently.

Sweat beads on his brow.

Whines escape his throat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, clenching his teeth.

He’s warm to your touch and that rouses another bout of worries. At this temperature it’s a fever, but he didn’t have the symptoms, the flushed cheeks and chills.

Keith curls up further, muscles stiff.

You’re helpless.

After what feels like ages, Shiro and Coran finally appear.

“Number four, Number five,” Coran claps his hands.

You hold out your hand, motioning them to shut the fuck up as Keith winces at the sound.

His hair is damp near his ears.

“Keith,” Shiro utters much more gently, kneeling down on his other side, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He raises his head, blinking groggily at Shiro, trying to concentrate through the pain, “Shiro,” he reaches for his brother who easily pulls him against his chest. Keith buries his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck.

You sit back, trying to get out of the way. Your hands are wet.

You look down and realize it’s blood. His ears-

Oh god.

“Number five,” Coran says gently, helping you up, “I’ll take great care of our Paladin. Why don’t you go get cleaned up.”

You don’t get any sleep that night.

——————

You were always struck with cognitive dissonance walking around colonized planets like Rahiri where the natives and Galra lived side by side. This was not a planet ravaged by the empire. The flora-like aliens in all shades of green with rootish limbs and leaves and petals for hair had assimilated into the Empire, achieving citizenship over generations. 10,000 years deca-phoebs was a long time. That was a huge source of tension in the Alliance, what to do with the world who neither wanted or wished to leave the Empire.

It was also a source of dark humor that no one spared the four of you a second glance despite two paladins of Voltron walking around.

Hunk holds Shay’s hand in front of you as they point and awe and drag their feet on the way to the space port.

“You could always stay with,” Hunk says hopefully, “we could just drop you off. Personal taxi service.”

Shay smiles back kindly, “that would be wonderful but I have been away from home for too long. I am, as you say, a homebody.”

“Aw, yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I feel that. I like the ground. And dirt. Piloting is overrated.”

“Don’t let yellow here you say that,” Keith comments so dry, you think he’s serious for a second. Allura and Pidge had gone shopping for supplies. That was an advantage of a planet that had not seen war.

Hunk glances back, clearly having forgotten we had tagged along in case anything went down. “Yeah well, she’d like a small moon. Or an asteroid. There’s colonies on those.”

“Very true,” Shay laughs. “I think my balmerra is also like a moon. A beautiful creature. We have learned how to ask for crystals so we do not need to cut them.”

“That’s impressive. Did the books from Allura help,” Hunk asks.

As much as you liked getting to stretch your legs, seeing a different planet where the threat was not imminent, you didn’t like being a third wheel, or fourth wheel if you went according to Coran’s favorite numbering pattern. That inch difference between you and Keith mocked you.

You glance over at the red paladin.

His gaze kept flickering back and forth, around the street. The occasional loud noise of crates being unloaded made him jump.

“You good,” you ask Keith, cracking a joke so he’d know you weren’t judging him. “You see la llorona or Davy Jones?”

“Hm?”

“You know…a famous ghost? Do they have ghosts in space?”

Keith snorts, cottoning on. “They don’t even have ghosts on earth.”

You pull a face, “well that’s no fun. Seriously, you okay? Or have we been made?”

He shakes his head, glancing around again just to be sure. “So much for Zarkon’s finest.”

You laugh, following Hank and Shay into the space port. Shuttles were departing pretty consistently. Everything was in orderly fashion. You especially liked how no one was shooting at you.

“It takes some getting used to.”

“What does?” You watch as Keith shakes his head, making his hair fall back from his face.

Shay and Hunk go to the ticket counter, but you decide to find somewhere off to the side, wanting to give them privacy.

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes at Keith, “you suck.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, looking anywhere but at you. “Lotor explained it to me and Shiro…what’s happening.”

“Oh.” You swallow, looking at Hunk and Shay hugging and saying their goodbyes yet again. They’d said them last night at dinner, this morning in the pod, and again when you’d split from Allura and Pidge. It was cute. They were adorable.

“Sorry.”

“Hm,” you glance over at Keith, not sure why he would be sorry about anything. He was the one getting screwed over by half of his heritage.

“You’re hurt.”

“You can smell that too,” you ask him, holding his deep gaze. There was an intense commitment to everything Keith did; it was reflected in the depth of his violet gaze. He didn’t do things in halves.

“Now I can.” He looks at his shoes, red dusting his cheeks. The red didn’t tinge the purple marks on his skin.

“So this is all,” you’re not sure how to put it, “nothing to worry about?”

“He said it was normal. But because I’m half there’s no way to know what to expect.” He looks away as he says it, stiff as he glances around.

The anxiety that had settled into your jaw since you’d had to wash his blood off your hands eases up. “Giant purple space cat,” you joke, nudging his side.

“Oh fuck no,” Keith grumbles. Even that furrowed expression that crossed his chiselled features made you feel all giddy inside.

Bad timing.

“I’m not hurt I-I just wish you trusted me,” you finally admit. It was silly. You felt selfish, so you tack on, “You know I’m here for you if you need me. We all are. I know Shiro’s your brother, but we’re your friends.”

“I know,” he sighs wistfully, “I do trust you…it’s just-it’s been hard. I don’t know how to feel about any of it and I’m not used to it either.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, “I’m being silly, making this about me. As long as you know I’m here for you…I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything…” you cringe internally at yourself. The galaxy garrison had been made up of nerds, so it followed everyone was a character. It hadn’t helped anyone’s social skills.

You wish you could just go, I worry about you because I love you instead of stumbling through word vomit.

“Come on,” Keith brings you out of your thoughts, grabbing your hand and pushing through the crowd of people coming and going to different boarding gates, “I think Hunk’s going to need some comfort food.”

You glance around, finding Hunk’s form making it’s way to you both. He was wiping his eyes, bittersweet smile, making no move to really hide that he was crying.

“Let’s get back to Allura yeah,” he tells you both.

“Or,” you go with Keith’s idea, “we can get something to eat. Allura gave us a good hour or so.”

“Varga,” Keith supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

Hunk nods, “that sounds nice. It’s just,” he looks back at the departing shuttle, “it’s hard. It’s war and you never know when your going to see each other again but it’s not like she can just drop everything and I wouldn’t ask her too, if anything I’d like to retire there. Nice and quiet. Maybe open a restaurant…”

“Vrepit Sal two,” Keith offers.

“Could make it a chain,” you add with a smile. Hunk, like you, was not such a gung ho pilot. You had landed the flight simulation without crashing exactly once, for your final emergency protocol exam.

“Thanks guys,” Hunk grins, “but I think I’ll bring some earth out here. Give these people a taste of traditional earthlign cuisine.”

“So your menu’s going to be as long as Cheesecake Factory’s,” you ask with a silly grin.

“Maybe not that long. A burger, ramen, scratch that, pizza instead of a burger.” Hunk rubs his chin thoughtfully sniffing the air and following his nose to a food stand. You trusted him for food. He had a knack for combining goo and exotically colored food that screamed fake and poisonous into pretty great meals.

Keith was still holding your hand, not as a loose afterthought: every now and then he’d rub his thumb against the back of your hand and it sent a thrill down your spine.

You don’t pull away, wanting to savor the feel of his skin against yours even if it wasn’t that deep. You’d hugged and napped with everyone at least once, grabbing each other’s hands in the confusing crowded hovels of swamp malls (actual swamp malls and not places Coran thought of as a swamp mall).

You nab a table outside the stand.

Everything was in Galra which none of you could read. “Damn,” you mutter looking over.

Hunk glances at Keith without subtlety.

You were starting to think only Allura and Shiro could do subtly.

Keith raises a brow.

“Nothing,” Hunk looks down at his screen.

“Point and hope for the best it is,” you shrug.

“I love a good surprise,” Hunk nods, then looks down at his hands, “we’ll see each other again right? Shay…they’re pretty safe. And well…yellow’s got thick armour.” He sighs, resting his cheek against his fist, elbows on the table.

“Shay’s a badass,” you confort Hunk, “she figured out how to communicate with the Balmera and through the Balmera. She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty freaking amazing,” Hunk blushes.

You order from an alien that somewhat resembles Ezor, all cotton candy color, and twiddle your thumbs, enjoying the rare moment of rest and relaxation.

“I could get used to this,” Hunk comments, savoring the strange dish he’d been served.

“Get a travel food show,” you tease, “I’d watch it.”

“It could be like this all the time,” Keith muses hopefully, “aren’t planets like this proof we could all get along.” He bites into the glowing blue lotus root shaped meal, and blinks widely.

“What,” you ask, looking over at him.

Keith grabs a napkin and spits out his food. “I think I just lost another tooth.”

“You think,” Hunk raises a brow, “how could you not notice a missing tooth?”

“Smile,” you nudge Keith sitting next to you.

He rolls his eyes, before fake smiling which was always so undeniably forced when he did it. You laugh, nodding, “yup, missing tooth.”

Keith frowns for a second, before continuing to eat.

“Oh,” Hunk utters, before he kicks your leg lightly.

You look up, meeting the yellow paladin’s searching gaze.

He looks at you with a knowing smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, the tip of your nose burning hotly, you look down, shoving a questionable sticky black slice into your mouth. It was easy to chew despite the sticky-ness, the flavor starchy and nutty.

There was no way this wouldn’t get back to everyone else in the Castle. No way.

They were all so nosy.

Oh fuck.

——————

“It sure is hot in here,” Lance says with a challenging smirk at Keith.

You roll your eyes.

Lance stretches, resting his arms against the back of the sofa, his hand tapping annoyingly against your shoulder.

Keith is unmoved. Or more accurately, Keith’s mouth twists as he tries hard to ignore Lance’s latest attempts to get him to remove his hat, a lime green thing that clashed perfectly as was his fashion sense, or lack of any fashion sense.

Pidge smacks her head, then peaks curiously at Keith: at Keith’s hat.

You flick Lance’s cheek. “Hey hot shot, don’t hug me when you’ve set the thermostat to ninety degrees.”

“Ninety five actually,” he winks, hugging you towards him. Ugh, you couldn’t do it. You’d already done away with your afghan coat, tied your lavender flannel around your waist, what more could you do. You didn’t have shorts in space. The skirts stored in the castle were breezy, but made you feel at risk of tripping over the hem with each step.

“Hm,” Keith voices, taking a seat, “reminds me of home.”

Hunk snorts, “really thought that through,” he tells Lance.

Lance is undeterred. “Could go higher.”

“I don’t think your cow would like that very much,” you point out.

The blue paladin sulks, looking down at you, “you’re just saying that because you like-”

You jab your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What ever happened to do no harm?”

“Technically,” you tell Lance, “I never graduated.”

“She’s got you there,” Pidge smirks from beside Keith. She was taking apart yet another radio. The signal had yet to reach earth.

“Thank you Pidge.”

She shrugs, “It’s true.” Then turns on Keith, “The hat, explain.”

He looks like he wishes he could merge with the sofa at that, slumping in his seat.

You decide to step in, “I’m going to turn the thermo down.”

Lance is quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back onto the sofa, “come on, relax. Like mullet said, it’s homey.”

You throw him a dirty look.

“Keith?” Pidge side-eyes her fellow paladin. He’s sat up, gripping the sofa cushion so tightly he’s ripping hole into the ten thousand year upholstery.

“You okay there buddy,” Hunk asks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Keith sucks in a breath, and with deliberate motion, pulls the hat from his head.

Oh.

Your eyes widen.

OH.

His ears had changed.

They weren’t nearly as alien as Allura’s, but no one would mistake their shape for human. Keith’s ears tapered up and out, portrudding, but it was more than just a pointed tip, the entire shape of his ears had transformed, resembling a butterfly’s wing. It was still human in color, but…

Hunk breaks the stunned silence first, “so are you going to like to end up purple?”

Keith ducks his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

No one else gets the chance to further interrogate Keith, or hear his own thoughts, because Allura calls everyone up to the bridge.

Lotor hailed the Castle of Lions. Everyone stands around the bridge while Shiro and Allura take the lead as usual. They might as well be twins given how well they got on, communicating differing ideas without undermining the other.

“There are nine warships in the system,” Lotor acknowledges, “I would be much indebted if you would do me the favor of sending Voltron for the aerial battle.”

“The Empire’s presence is still in its early stages,” Acza explains, “but their terraforming development for the planet will cause the destruction of the Talpidae living there.”

“Then we have no choice,” Allura clenches her fist, never one to sit back while there was something she could do about it, “we will provide air support. Sent me the coordinates so that I may Teleduv there.”

Lance is still obviously eyeing Keith’s latest development. It was readily visible, and you were fighting the urge to do the same.

But you weren’t also trying to flick his ears.

Keith growls lowly.

Lance sniggers.

Pidge offers Lance a piece of paper to make paper balls with.

Hunk sighs long sufferingly, having resigned himself to the more childish side of his two friends. They were terrors. Put Pidge and Lance together, and they were gremlins out of a horror movie made for elementary school teachers.

You slip your hand into Keith’s, squeezing reassuringly. It would take some getting used to like anytime someone got a new haircut, but you would. Like his atrocious boots, they’d become an endearing part of him.

Keith squeezes your hand back.

Shiro nods, agreeing with Allura, “have the Talpidae been contacted.”

“Very much so,” Ezor chimes in, “they’re funny little people. And their sensory-”

“The point Ezor,” Lotor sighs, rubbing his nose bridge.

“They sent for help to the rebels. We were closest to their system,” Exor elaborates with a shrug, “they do not have the background to fight head on, and will evacuate most of their people into bunkers, but they have been digging under the new construction and weakening the structural integrity of the Galra outposts.”

“Very well,” Shiro accepts, “Princess Allura and our chief medic will meet with the Talpidae as a show of goodwill.”

“Our only medic,” Hunk points out.

Keith growls, his hand squeezing yours hard.

You all look over at him.

“Red Paladin,” Allura says, trying to look as professional as possible in front of her least favorite of Voltron’s allies, “is something the matter.” She shares a look with Shiro, but otherwise looks unsurprised at Keith’s less than human ears.

Or maybe she’d make a great poker played.

“Can’t you meet with the Talpidae after the battle,” Keith utters harshly.

“They may need immediate tactical support,” Allura reasons, “we should be there in person to provide it.”

“It’ll be fine Keith,” Shiro adds.

Their words do little to calm Keith down. His dark silky hair puffs up. His grip on your hand tightens and you feel miffed. You’d been on the ground working triage before. You might not be a fighter or pilot but you could look after yourself.

You pull your hand out of his. “I really don’t see what the problem is,” you tell Keith pointedly.

“I’ll watch Allura’s back and she’ll have mine.”

Allura nods. “Our chief medic is correct-”

His ears twitch, “You’re not exactly a fighter.”

Shiro covers his face with a hand.

Your brows furrow. You’re livid. “So! I won’t be fighting. We’ll be in the bunkers with the Talpidae. It’ll be safe so it doesn’t even matter.”

“If it’s perfectly safe then you don’t need to be there,” Keith’s voice breaks, a whine escaping his chest but you don’t care, done with the conversation.

“Yikes,” is Ezor’s quiet whisper.

You’re not a paladin so you don’t care, you just stalk off the bridge ready to go scream into your pillow in frustration. Or better yet, go for a swim and scream underwater.

“Wait-” Keith follows you.

You ignore him.

“I just-,” he keeps trying as you stalk down the stairs, deciding your room was better after all if only because you could lock Keith out.

“Listen-,” he whines.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean what,” you round on him, hands on your hips, pissed off and maybe some of its was from being stuck on this stupid ship all the damn time but like eighty percent was earned. You might not be taking on a squad of Galra soldiers, but you could take one on if it came to it.

Keith at least has the decency to look miserable, sad chirrups in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground.

“Well?” You tap your foot on the ground.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he finally manages. “Especially if you don’t need to be there.”

“But I do,” you counter, “There’ll be people running into those bunkers having escaped soldiers and sentries and the faster they get treated the better chance they have.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Keith repeats himself. “You-you can hold your own.” He looks up at you through his bangs, still hunched in on himself.

“Obviously.” There’s no heat, the anger having deflated already. It was just white hot ache in your chest, hurt at the idea that Keith thought you would get in the way, that you had nothing of value to add to the Alliance and Voltron.

You bite your lip.

Don’t cry, you think to yourself.

You were being dumb.

He was just being plain stupid.

“I mean it,” Keith repeats, “I’m sorry. I was just looking for an excuse to make sure you were safe.”

“Right, because Allura can handle herself but I can’t.” Your voice cracks.

“No,” Keith says in a rush, “it’s not the same.”

“Because I can’t fight?”

“That’s not,” Keith runs a hand through his hair, “It’s me okay. I’m-I’ve always jumped into things without thinking, but I decided to go for it, like breaking Shiro out but now I’m doing things before I even notice and it’s all these stupid Galra instincts!”

You swallow.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you once more. “I didn’t mean to and I’m sorry. No one thinks you can’t handle yourself. That’s why Shiro paired you up with Allura, because he knows you’re capable of watching her back.”

Your smile is fragile as you look over at him, “yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith holds your gaze, looking as skittish as a stray dog. Another whine escapes his throat.

What the heck.

You hug him, “you’re such a dumbass.” You understood why he’d worry. This was war. Pidge was on a two man campaign with Shiro to get Matt to stay on the Castle, both scared witless that Matt might die on a mission with the rebels. Ulaz had died so everyone could get away.

You’d had patients in the last decaphoebs you could do nothing but ease their pain. You’d had patients that you couldn’t even administer anything for the pain because of how torn apart they were: guts spilling out, charred people shapes that you were surprised to still find breathing.

The images would never leave you as long as you lived.

“I’m sorry.” Keith buries his head in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin sent shivers down your spine.

You hug him tightly, aware that every battle could be your last: the last time you saw him. “You’ve said that already,” you tease, memorizing the smell of him, stale sweat and something cloying that you had wanted to bottle up from the moment you’d met him and had never found on anyone else. As embarrassing as it was to admit to anyone other than yourself, Keith smelled good. Really good.

Most people smelled like nothing at all.

He stiffens.

“But it’s nice to hear again.”

Keith smothers a laugh.

You kiss his hair. Boys were so dumb.

He purrs.

You smile goofily, warmth building under your skin, and toes curling up in your shoes. You should say something. Right?

At some point?

Or maybe it shouldn’t be said under the looming threat of an upcoming battle.

Fuck.

You can’t decide, so you say nothing at all.

——————

Bombs still pelt the surface.

Your teeth chatter as the ground shakes even deep underground. Even more soil falls onto you. Your spacesuit was more oche than white at this point as you carry an injured Talpidae in your arms. It’s arm had been completely blown off. Sluggish blue blood oozed out.

Allura was last, tailing the group.

You reach the bunker.

The sentries had followed some of the feeling Talpidae into the tunnels, but they’d been sorted out.

The people here were strange, russet in fur colouring, with no discernable eye, just strange pink flagella protruding from their nose and large claws for digging. They stood at about Pidge’s height.

The bunker seals and you get to work.

Tourniquet here, pain patch there. There were so many of them banged up.

The fight continued on the surface.

The paladins had to form Voltron.

You and Allura work as a team, she takes the bruises and broken bones with no immediate risk of death. You triage the worst of the Talpidae, giving away your precious stash of painkillers to those you can’t save and are not in for a quick death, a Talpidae lies twitching, it’s nose blown off but alive. Another holds it’s hand, but shakes their head when they look at you. They weren’t going to make it.

Training kicks in and you focus on saving those you can.

Your hands stain blue from the blood.

Allura works alongside you.

You cauterize a Talpidae named Soedob’s hand, the claws on their right limb were gone, but most of it was spared.

“You smell Galra,” Soedob utters, blinking out of the pain induced haze as the painkiller kicked in.

You half hear, half don’t, so focused on the task at hand. It was easier to not stop until you were finished and could curl up and sleep and not think about blood and war and Zarkon.

“We have Galra allies,” Allura answers diplomatically, leaving the issue of the half Galra paladin alone.

It irked you.

“No, not them,” Soedob notes. “Those had a different aura.”

“Smell,” you guess, finishing off. You hoped the fighting ended soon. You supply was not unlimited. The castle had better facilities.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Our primary sense is sight,” Allura explains, giving you a long look.

You shrug. You hadn’t even seen any of Lotor and his team. There hadn’t been time. It had all been relayed over coms, over video.

“Another then?”

You swallow thickly, flushing with embarrassment because you both spent time around Keith but Soedob was only smelling him on you and it’s not like you had been doing anything intimate…well, it had felt intimate, hugging Keith, but it wasn’t anything like when cadets snuck into each others dorm room, shoving a sock on the door handle in the universal symbol of don’t bother us. “The red paladin is part Galra.” Mercifully, your voice doesn’t shake from the embarrassment, but you can’t look at Allura.

“Ah,” Soedob nods, neither outraged nor pleased.

Then there’s no more time, you have more Talpidaes waiting for medical aid. You give their own healers some of your supplies, freeing up Allura to find the clan leaders.

You can feel Allura’s questioning glance on you.

——————

“Team meeting in the mess hall,” Shiro calls over the coms system.

“Mess hall,” Pidge rolls her eyes, “it’s the dining room.”

You snort.

“I like to think of it as the dining room too,” Hunk offers. “I mean there’s only eight of us. It’s sort of like being home again.”

“Mess hall makes me think of the garrison,” you admit, falling into step besides them. “and the food.”

“Ugh,” Pidge groans. “That was the worst. Matt wasn’t kidding.”

“It does make the space packs easier to digest,” you muse, “maybe that was the point.” It took the garrison two years to get to Mars. It was funny, once you’d thought that was a long way from home.

“I liked the cheese garlic bread,” Hunk allows.

“Food goo,” Pidge grins, “or the garrison space food?”

“Food goo.” Hunk doesn’t even have to think.

“Food goo,” you agree. “Though not Coran’s paladin special.”

“You don’t even eat that,” Hunk huffs, half outraged half amused, “you’re always like well I’m not a paladin so…”

You laugh. “Seeing it is more than enough.”

The rest of the ship’s inhabitants are already there waiting for you. Lance is trying to teach Coran how to play slide, moving very slow as he claps their hands together.

Shiro and Allura are in easy conversation. Her mice scamper around her feet.

Keith looks absolutely miserable next to Shiro, folding himself into the smallest possible size, trying to disappear. It was hard to reconcile the Keith that was quiet with the Red Paladin that shot first and asked questions later.

You smile at him, excited to see him, but also figuring he could use some reassurance, whatever it was going through his head. Keith meets your gaze and the corners of his mouth turn up, before he ducks away.

You know better than to take it personally.

It was Keith.

Your toes curl inside your shoes and you bite back your smile, suddenly aware of how much you might be revealing and not wanting Lance of all people to start a meeting by commenting on it. For him, it might be all fun and games, but you weren’t sure what to do with these newfound warm and fuzzy feelings. You sure as fuck didn’t want to be called out on it.

You weren’t sure what to do about liking Keith so your current plan of action was: nothing.

“Thank you everyone for being here,” Shiro claps his hands together, his leader impression defaulted at awkward dad. He thought he always had to be on. Despite being the most trained out of us, he’d only just started his career during the Kerberos mission.

You wonder if he’d picked up his leadership style partly from Pidge’s dad.

“Where else would we be,” Pidge shrugs, never one to miss a shot.

“All the same,” the older man smiles.

“Yeah, no problem my dude, bro,” Lance flashes finger guns at Shiro.

You snort, taking a seat between him and Hunk.

“But seriously, what’s up,” Lance leans forward. “Or is this some lowkey way to keep us on our toes,” he winks at Allura who smiles indulgently.

“I await the news alongside you paladins,” Allura answers, hands resting in her lap. She looks over at Shiro.

The whole room turns to look at Shiro.

He had called the meeting.

Meetings tended to be informational in nature: updates about the expansive war, rebels hailing Voltron for intervention, the Blade passing on the rare bit of information, and the always popular distress signals. But Shiro and Allura both looked too calm for that.

Keith goes rigid, a spring wound up too tight.

Hm.

You wondered if the elephant in the room would finally be addressed.

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly the way a parent dropping their child off for their first day of school would, “go ahead Keith.”

The red paladin focuses his gaze on Shiro, his expression more sour than it’s been in a long time.

The past few years had done a lot to get him to open up to everyone on board, but right now, he looks exactly like the stubborn closed off cadet he had been back on Earth.

His ears twitch slightly. He manages to look even more taunt, and you wonder if he’s going to wave this off. Then, he lets out a breath.

His body is stiff, but Keith no longer pulls away from Shiro. He looks down at his hands pensively, nails cut to the quick. “Right.”

You can feel the nervous energy of the rest of the room, leaning in, waiting to see what Keith wants to say.

“Mhm, go on,” Lance says, chin in hand.

Hunk elbows him in the side.

“Hey!” Lance is about to start in on Hunk.

“Guys,” you snap, shoving Lance’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” Lance zips his mouth and throws away the key, “shutting up.”

“Looks like that didn’t work,” Pidge snarks.

“Paladins,” Allura’s clear commanding voice rings out. When everyone shuts up again, she nods at Keith, “you may continue.”

He looks up at everyone through his bangs, “I’m going through Galra settling.”

Hunk looks over at Allura, who was far more familiar with all this alien mumble jumble than anyone else.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder.

“And that is,” you prompt gently, before Keith hastily decided that was all he needed to say and left.

He meets your waiting gaze. Under the ship’s bright rooms, his eyes were obviously violet, heavy on the purple. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he isn’t sure he wants to go through with saying any of this and you wonder if he must be thinking of how weird things were between everyone when he learned of the alien part of his heritage.

Your mouth quirks up into a smile.

You were more than willing to stuff someone into a cryopod if they bothered Keith. He may be part of Voltron, tasked with defending the universe, but you’d make sure there was someone to defend him.

An embarrassing rush of heat bubbles under your skin. You look away, nervous.

“Shiro,” Keith asks.

Shiro nods, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s shoulder. “Galra settling is when Galra,” he looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about as he said it. Aliens were weird. “When Galra reach a certain age their appearance locks in.” Even Shiro looks a little puzzled. He was a pilot, not a biologist. You knew organisms back on earth who could manipulate their genotypes, generally sex changes with the right environmental conditions, but you weren’t sure there was anything comparable to whatever this was. “The Galra are apparently very adaptable in individuals. That’s why there’s such a range of them.”

Huh.

That explained the fur, range of tails, more reptilian looking once, and the eyes.

You wanted a Galra biology course, a full semester long one. What exactly caused such a plasticity in their phenotype? Did the trait have to be encoded in their genotype to appear or was there something freakier, Allura’s space magic, going on?

“-because he’s half human and we don’t go through anything like this it’s more painful than it would be. Lotor said the chameleonic abilities of Alteans helped him when he went through this,” Shiro finishes without a satisfying or thorough explanation.

At least Keith wasn’t dying.

Thank god.

Thank whatever freaky Altean magic existed in the universe.

“So,” Lance starts, “it’s Galra puberty.”

In a split second Keith loses any self consciousness about the situation, “it’s not Galra puberty!” His hair puffs up and you have to fight the urge to laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“There’s…” Shiro glances at Keith, before Lance and Keith could really get into it, “there’s more.”

Keith looks mullish, but ultimately gives Shiro the go ahead.

“Part of these..changes,” the black paladin explains, “have brought out some Galra instincts.” Clearly he was having as much trouble grappling with what this meant as Keith was. Your body suddenly deciding to change was no fun when you had no context for it. “Among them, the need to scent family…”

Pidge tilts her head, “is this like the most convoluted and emotionally constipated way of asking for a hug,” she asks Keith.

Keith smiles wryly, “pretty much.”

“Oh come here dude,” Hunk grins, engulfing Keith and Shiro in a hug.

“Ah number four,” Coran points up in the air, “I am now just recalling the galra that lived on Altea having explained this once, of course it didn’t occur to me because of the apparent dominance of your human genes.”

“So they’re actually co-dominant,” you muse as Lance drags Pidge along for a “group hug!”

“No.no,” Pidge makes a half-hearted effort to wiggle out, being a younger sibling herself, was used to being subjected to affection. She smiles even as she struggles.

“It would seem so,” Coran nods, “though not every gene.”

“Just these.” You wonder if there’s a space equivalent of the human genome project.

“Lance,” Keith yelps, “that’s my foot.”

“Buddy, I am not feeling the love here.”

“Is it working,” Hunk asks, peering at Keith, “are you going to turn purple now?”

“No one turns purple from hugs,” Keith replies, annoyed but makes no move to pull away.

“Thank you for trusting us with this Keith,” Allura smiles, her eyes crinkling.

“Get in on this too Princess,” Shiro motions over, before catching your gaze, “you too. Don’t think you can get out of this. You’re part of Voltron too.”

You snort, and join the group hug.

Pidge’s elbow is a bony thorn in your side and there’s the slight hum from Shiro’s prosthetic, but it’s a good mix of warmth and intimacy with the people you were closest to in the entire universe. Allura’s shoulder presses into you back and it’s sort of ballooned to ridiculous proportions, Keith somewhere in the center of it all, his hair barely visible to you.

“Add cuddling Keith to the chore wheel,” Pidge proposes.

Keith groans.

“How about we let Keith decide,” Shiro proposes.

You snort, knowing him too well. “Are you willing to take that risk? Died-from lack of hugs.”

Lance laughs.

Shiro looks convinced by your stellar argument.

“I’m not that bad,” Keith grumbles.

“You’re a terrible hugger,” Lance argues back. “You’re all stiff, like you’re enduring one of Iverson’s paradox sims. Not as bad as my abuelo but still.”

Keith lunges for Lance.

Someone topples over.

Everyone falls.

You laugh, smothered by limps and someone’s hair in your mouth…maybe Hunk’s? You don’t move, worried about kicking someone’s head.

From somewhere, Keith does that low rumbling chest noise that reminds you of a cat purring happily.

No one makes fun of him for it.

——————

“You should comb your hair before we take the pod down,” you tell Keith. You’d spent your free time before this alliance dinner scrolling through a datapad, trying to learn names, where they hailed from, species, things that may prove useful.

Half a varga ago, Keith had found you balled up on a sofa, and sat next to you, his way of asking for physical comfort. You’d obliged him readily, throwing an arm over his shoulders and spooning him as you both laid on the sofa. He was already in the paladin uniforms that Allura had dug out once the alliance became a reality instead of a loose string of rebel groups fighting the Galra empire.

You’re both short and slight, fitting together perfectly.

You squash any feelings you have, this wasn’t about you, it was about him. You’d done it a thousand times with Hunk or Lance, fallen asleep listening to Allura, why should Keith be any different? (You know why.)

He’s reading the screen with you.

“I doubt they’d notice,” he remarks as you scroll to a particularly vivid color alien race with sensory appendages sprouting from their heads.

“You have a point desert bum,” you tease, “I’d rather be a bum by a beach town. All surfer bro.”

“Can you even surf,” he asks flatly.

“No. Learned how to swim at the garrison,” you admit. “But tanning by the water has to be more appealing than roasting under the Texas sun.”

“I like the desert.”

“I know.” You were pretty sure everyone just liked their homes.

“It’s quiet,” he admits, “and watching how the sunlight transforms the landscape…”

“It’s too big and wide,” you admit, thinking of space. Flat land that went on forever…empty dark space that went on forever.

“Good for driving,” Keith smirks.

You laugh. Or course that’s where his mind went. “Sure, but it all looks the same, everywhere you turn.” It was disorienting. To be fair, you were a city girl. Your background noise was cars honking and people yelling even at four in the morning. The garrison had been a big adjustment.

“It’s really not. You just have to look.”

“I’ll trust my gps,” you counter, “not my sense of direction. I’d probably end up one of those cautionary tales about mirages and deserts.”

“You can’t really get a good signal,” Keith replies lazily, his body slack against yours, “out there. It’s best to mark a trail with chalk if you don’t know the area.”

“But you do, know it I mean?”

“Out past the Garrison? Mhm. All of it. We used to go hiking…before,” he trails off.

You press your lips to his hair lightly, before shifting, “my arms asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” You sit up, “it’s nice. I used to put my sister to sleep this one year she had nightmares almost every night.”

“You miss her,” Keith states, sitting up, looking at you with his intense expression. Having someone focused one hundred percent on you was a new experience. He wasn’t thinking of a thousand other things, just you.

“I do. I miss everyone, but,” you shrug, “I’ll see them again. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me.” You smile fondly at Keith. “I’m going to change before we have to go to dinner.”

“I’d take fighting Zarkon anyday,” Keith mutters, cringing at the upcoming show of diplomacy. There was so much smiling and hand shaking. It was exhausting to be that extroverted with a roomful of strangers.

Even Lance zonked out after these things.

“Knock on wood,” you laugh.

_____________

Treaties have been signed. A wrecked Galra fleet floats in space above the planet your on today, but today’s battle is won.

One of Lotor’s General’s is here, Acza. She’s wary, and surprised at the warm reception she’d received. She might be Galra, but she’d been crucial in taking down the Galra base’s shields. Biolocks, Zarkon should really rethink those.

You sip at your thick drink, warm and flavored like cinnamon oatmeal, that chases off the chill of the night. The idea had been to sleep, your hands still ached from all the sutures and stitches you’d woven, but Allura refused to hear it, dragging you along. There would be time for sleep on the Castle, she’d claimed, joyous to have helped another besieged planet.

“My congratulations,” a Blade utters from behind their glowing mask.

You jump, not having known there was even a Blade here. They were allies, yet their anonymity that made them so useful in information gathering, created a gap between you. You had no way of knowing who this person was. Their suit obscuring any details, the mask a rank.

You couldn’t even see their eyes.

“For what,” you ask, puzzled. You hadn’t fought. Your skills made you most useful after the battle, trying to save lives and patch up wounds. It was important and emotional draining work, but you hardly won battles.

Because of the mask, you can’t get a read on their reaction. Blades. Spies. Maybe if you could see their eyes…

They nod, and walk off without explanation.

You watch them go, still confused until they disappear among the bodies loitering around, celebrating liberation.

It was a feat to disappear when you were eight feet tall.

First the Galra had avoided you like the plague, the black plague, now they were being cryptic as fuck.

You lean your head down, trying to sniff your armpits without making it too obvious. Was it the blood? Or the space bleach? That tended to linger.

You didn’t smell that bad. Certainly like bleach and rubbing alcohol…

You take another sip of your drink, looking around for a place to sit. You’d been on your feet for too long. You wanted to sleep.

Someone would find you.

You wander around. Smiling when someone notices you, and thanks you and you hurry to get away before they ask you a hundred questions. There were only eight humans in space. Well, seven and a half. You stood out.

They wanted Voltron, but you would do.

“There’s space here,” Acxa calls out.

“Thanks,” you plop down next to her, sagging into the seat. Oh, yeah, you were so freaking tired.

“Of course. You look dead.”

“Yeah,” you look around the rebel camp, “I’ve no clue how they have the energy.”

“It’s like that everywhere. This is their home,” Acza offers, “people fight hard for their homes.”

You nod, before looking over at the alien woman, “not avoiding me anymore then?”

She shrugs, not disputing the allegation. “No need anymore, now that you and Keith sorted yourselves out.” She’s so blunt about it. “Galra are so sensitive when settling. We didn’t want to cause any incidents.”

“Is this about the scenting?” You still hadn’t had time to read through the information you’d gotten your grubby little hands on.

She nods.

You put your drink down on the mossy ground. “Yeah, Keith explained it. Well, Shiro did, really. Lance is over the moon about having an excuse to bother Keith.” Now you really all were a family. You’d named it outloud.

Acxa’s brows furrow, “Lance?”

“I think he just misses his family a lot,” you offer. “We all do and while we’re family too, it’d be nice to see our family back on earth too.”

She frowns. “Keith and you are not,” she asks slowly.

“Me and Keith,” you flush, ducking away from her. “No-I, no. We’re not.” You should’ve gone back to the Castle the moment Allura turned her back. She would’ve never known.

Acxa’s frown becomes tinged with anger and worry, her hand grabs your wrist. “Galra have more than one type of scenting, between families, and between partners.”

“Oh.”

You try to connect the dots but your brain gets stuck between ideas. Scenting. Keith. You. You and Keith. It was right there but-

“Keith isn’t marking you as family,” she explains slowly, “he’s marking you as his partner.” Acxa waits until her words sink in before adding, “to do so without letting the other know…” She makes it clear what a social taboo that is.

But you’re one step behind her.

Did Keith like you?

You think back to all the times you’d been with him in the past few vargas, trying to pinpoint any hint: he’d smiled at you but he was happier now in general so it could be a coincidence…

“If you need,” Acxa offers, “I will help clarify the situation.” It’s an awfully kind gesture.

“No,” you say in a rush. “no. It’s-I think I need to go talk to Keith.” He’d known what he was doing…you could draw a thousand conclusions but nothing would be better than confronting him about it.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you stand up, glancing around. During parties, Keith tended to find a quiet corner out of the way. He’d opened up, but he was still more of an introvert.

You find Keith lying stretched out in the shadow of a makeshift building, looking up at the stars. It’s his eyes that give him away, reflecting the light enough to be inhuman, nocturnal vision.

“We need to talk,” you wrap your arms around your body. You weren’t angry, just confused. Didn’t he know he could just come talk to you about it by now?  

Keith looks up, startled, then stands. “Alright.” He sounds resigned, a man sentenced to detention for a month which was janitorial duties at the garrison. It kept even the most smartass cadets humble.

You look around.

No one was really here. You could hear the music and people a bit further into the heart of the camp. Here was good enough.

“I talked to Acxa,” you start, “she said-” you look down at the trampled vegetation underfoot. It was embarrassing to your human preconceptions to even think, let alone say, which was why you were pretty sure Keith didn’t mean any harm. Scenting meant nothing on earth, where he’d grown up. “She said you’ve been scenting me, which like I know but not that way?” You look up at him as realization sets in and he ducks his head, looking away. “Is it true?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I-,” he takes a deep breath before ranting, the agitation and months of buried emotions flooding out, “I hate this. I hate that I can hear the conversation outside and smell which direction  Shiro’s in and how much my eyes hurt on the Castle from how bright it is but I don’t-I can’t say anything because I’m already enough of a freak. Before I was just the weird kid but now I’m just a fucking alien freak! There’s always so much going on and I don’t even know what’s next!”

You wait, wondering if there was more.

It was a lot of changes.

You couldn’t understand, there was nothing in your life comparable to your biology deciding to be a little more Galra after twenty years.

“And I tried not to-,” he admits, meeting your waiting gaze, “I tried to leave everyone alone so you wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, forcing himself to continue with an obvious disgust at himself, “you wouldn’t smell like me or whatever Lotor explained but I couldn’t-it was driving me crazy like this itch, this buzzing under my skull and seeing you guys with others-I thought I was going crazy until Lotor explained. And then when Lance would ruffle my hair or you would check that I wasn’t about to fall over and die and-,” he waves his hands in the air, “I would just zone out.”

“Oh,” you utter, recalling past events with a newfound understanding. Keith had been reaching out, all instinct even when he was trying not to be a bother. It broke your heart, how he always came from the perspective that he was an inconvenience.

“I did know,” he says in a small voice. “That-you…but I don’t know if it’s me or this, or all these things happening to me.”

Your expression wobbles. You bite your lower lip, trying to get a handle on it. How silly to worry about a crush when Keith was going through it.

“I like you, but I don’t know if I like you or if it’s just these stupid Galra instincts messing with my head.” Keith deflates, drawing into himself. “Everything

s…it’s been a lot.”

“I get it,” you utter, “maybe not the situation but I’m not mad. Though Acxa was ready to kick your ass and she totally could,” you try teasing.

But Keith flinches, looking away guiltily.

“I’m joking. I-I get why. It makes sense. It’s a lot to get used to.” You swallow, not sure what to do about anything either.

“Its a huge offence,” Keith utters, “that’s why she was pissed. Made worse because you can’t even tell…I-I couldn’t think straight and I…it took the edge off.”

“Scenting me?”

He nods.

You take a step towards him.

“I-,” Keith’s eyes meet yours, his attention entirely captivated by you. It sends a thrill down your spine. You’d seen how he could be when laser focused: on piloting, on training. “I know they say it’s wrong but you and Lance do stuff like that all the time. And I thought…I figured I could figure out how much of what I’m feeling is me and how much of it are these new instincts.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I-you’re right, it’s whatever to me. Like, a Blade congratulated me earlier which was weird but fuck them you know? I can ‘smile and nod’,” you smile as fakely as possible to show what you mean, “through it so long as you’re okay.” He’d bled in your lap.

Keith looks a little unsteady, unsure what to do with your lack of anger. “You don’t-”

“So is it like galra marriage then?” You were curious as to what exactly the Blades were going to gossip about you and Keith.

He makes a choked sound. “Sort of. They bond. It can be broken but that generally means someone killed the other.”

“Let me guess,” you reply, “Zarkon fucked even that up.”

Keith nods.

“That guy’s the worst.” Your voice is light.

Keith snorts, smiling for a split second. “I won’t anymore. I’ll-”

“Keith,” your voice cracks as you out your hand on his arm to keep him from rubbing off, “if its really causing you all this additional confusion in too of everything…you can…” the words were too intimate to say, too charged with a sensuality that he clearly was figuring out. You were willing to wait. For him.

He was conflicted enough without you dumping your feelings on him.

“You don’t-”

You raise your hand, caressing the side of his face with the back of your hand, ghosting over the purple mark on his cheek, “I don’t mind.” Sure, you had a crush on him, you could admit that much, but more simply, you loved him.

This was a small ask.

Your gaze flickers to the tips of his ears.

You had washed his blood off your hands.

“Besides, shit’s hard enough. My arm falling asleep is a small price to pay if I can help you.”

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

You laugh, “come here.”

It finally sinks in that you weren’t just talking bs. You meant it, as you hug Keith, wrapping your arms around his middle. He smelled good in spite of the battle he’d been through earlier.

Without really thinking, you breathe in the scent of him.

Keith hugs you back, cuddling you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You yawn. “want to sneak back into the castle?”

“Only if you tell Allura you’re the one who wanted to leave,” he deadpans dazedly.

You laugh.

——————

“Come,” Allura motions as you stand from one of the Castle’s weapons systems, “we must meet with the rebel leadership on planet.”

The planet was a farming camp.

The slaves were overworked and underfed and they had still revolted when they learned Voltron was near. Now, they were free.

“Princess,” Coran calls out, “it appears that number four is heading back to the ship.”

A pained expression crosses Allura’s broad features, her full mouth frowning, before she decides to pick her battles for the day. “I am sure Keith has a good reason for his actions.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

You don’t want to go down there either.

This entire last week had been spent synthesizing medicine and treating thousands of people made harder by the range of species. The garrison better give you that medical degree immediately.

“I’ll go check on him,” you say automatically, “he might need me to prep a pod.”

“Fantastic idea number five,” Coran believes your excuse.

“Let us know if anything happens,” Allura says, giving you a long look, before heading for the exit.

The central Galra soldiers had been taken out, but small bands of fighters were still fighting to their last breath. It’s why Voltron has remained on the planet.

The lions had roamed the landscape answering calls for aid and hunting down the last of Zarkon’s forces here.

You meet Keith in the red lion’s hanger.

He’s popping his helmet off, running a hand through his flattened hair. “I thought you were headed out with Allura?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was, but I wanted to check on you first.” That was a normal thing to do for your friends. There was no reason to overthink things.

“I’m fine.”

He sets the helmet aside, working on undoing the armor off. There was dirt and dust but thankfully no blood to speak of, his or otherwise.

“Then I’ll see you there,” you ask.

Keith looks over, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, his smile slight when he replies, “I’m not heading there.” Blunt. Concise.

“It is depressing,” you admit. There was so much resource allocation and need planet-wide.

He raises a brow. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Keith?” Now you’re wondering what the real problem was. “What is it?”

“Does it matter. I don’t need to be there. Shiro and Allura can handle it.” He looks away, suddenly very interested in the wall. Unlike the rest of the ship, the red lion’s hanger was dim, in a permanent night cycle.

Pidge’s work.

“I think the people would like all of Voltron present.” Then you make a face, “oh god, I sound just like Allura don’t I?”

Keith laughs, “just a bit. As long as you don’t make us all meditate…”

“It’s so boring. I fall asleep.” You smile softly, “Seriously, go down for a moment. Then you can hide out here.”

“I-I’d rather not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Four out of five is is fine.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” you agree.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad.”

“Keith-” you start, knowing he already felt hyper aware of how his appearance had changed. Before, it hadn’t really ever come up outside of the team. No one would tell and if Keith wasn’t vocal about it…now everyone in the entire universe probably knew.

There were rebel Galra, mostly in prisons and work camps. Feelings varied.

“That’s not true,” you say, not sure if it was true, “you helped free them.” You shift your weight onto your other foot, “there’s a few assholes everywhere.”

He gives you a long look. “The Galra enslaved all these people.”

“Pfft,” you wave off, “you look like one sixteenth Galra. And-”

“They stare.”

“Because you’re a paladin,” you reason. “Pidge is also cranky about the attention.”

Keith sighs.

The paladin armor lies in a discarded pile.

You step forward to him, “anyone would be lucky to have you as a pilot. And Voltron sort of lucked out when the red lion chose you.”

Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks.

In for a penny, in for a pound, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, ghosting over his skin, “face marks and all.” You can’t meet his gaze when you pull away, blushing fiercely.

Why did you do that!

God, you were so dumb-

He cups your cheeks and brushes his lips over yours.

Oh! Oh.

“Is-is this okay-,” Keith starts asking.

You feel giddy, smiling before kissing him. Yeah, it was okay.

[titan-fodder]

Deflowered Part One

m.list || next

Rating: E (explicit)

Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader

Count: 9.2k

Warnings: first time, oral (M and F receiving), squirting, intercourse, general insecurities, aftercare, sneaking around, mention of throwing up (food-related), alcohol, underage drinking, zeke owns everyone at smash bros

A/N: repost repost repost. this baby has been up on ao3 for a year and a half now, and i’m just bringing it all back here. happy to answer questions, but please don’t bombard me. we all know zeke is hot, and we all hate it. 

!Important!: this fic started out as an OC fic, and because I have not edited it, this chapter features a white-coded reader (mentions of turning red and what not). After this chapter, that goes away, but I figured a heads-up for this one would be nice. I’ll edit it out one day.

Zeke frowns at the light knock that sounds on his door, eyes flicking away from the TV screen as he grunts out a short, “Yeah,” expecting to see his brother step into his room. Hopefully, Eren just needs a break from his friends and isn’t here to tell him that someone is sick off beer and pizza or slammed their head into the fireplace.

“Uh, Zeke?”

Except, that’s not Eren’s voice.

Instead, you stand in his doorway, shifting from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around your torso, chewing on your bottom lip. You look nervous, but then again, you always have seemed a bit skittish.

Still, it’s troubling, and Zeke straightens up from where he’s sitting on his bed. “Something wrong?”

You shake your head, tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “No, I just… Can I talk to you about something?”

Odd.

Zeke is hesitant, mostly because he doesn’t know much about you despite you hanging out with Eren as often as you do. You’re a senior. Your brother is Marco. You can form complete sentences. That’s about all that’s worth knowing.

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He lowers the volume on the TV, puts the remote down on his nightstand and gives you his full attention.

Walking a little further into the bedroom, you close the door behind yourself then lean against it. Zeke tilts his head to the side as he tries to predict what you could possibly need from him at midnight while all your friends are downstairs having a good time with alcohol and videogames and whatever else they’ve gotten into.

“Okay, so, um, this is kind of…” You swallow hard and run fingers through your hair. Even from where he’s sitting, Zeke can see that you’re trembling. Something has you spooked.

Brows furrowing, Zeke leans forward over his knees and asks seriously, “Did something happen downstairs?” If something did, it’s his house, therefore his responsibility.

“What?” You frown back at him. “No, no, everything is fine. Everyone’s having a great time.”

Then what could you possibly want?

“Alright, I’m just gonna…” you breathe in and out deeply, then plaster a crooked smile on your delicate face that only proves your apprehension further. “I need advice.”

Zeke has to look up slightly to keep eye contact, and he nods to urge you forward. It’s strange, you coming to him for anything, really because your conversations are nearly non-existent and when they do take place, it’s usually about school or Eren, though you did have a rather pleasant chat about classic American literature once not too long ago.

Zeke has a feeling you’re not in his room to talk books, though, and as you stumble through your words, he watches you closely, picking up on any and all signs of discomfort.

Eyes are wide—“So, feel free to, like, kick me out of your house or whatever if this makes you uncomfortable—” flush creeping up from under your top, painting your neck and cheeks a darker shade—“I just didn’t really know who else to go to—” hands tremble as you wring your fingers.

You’re terrified. It’s actually kind of cute, and Zeke can’t help the way his mouth pulls up on one side.

“Just say it,” he tells you, tries to keep from sounding irritated because he’s not—curious more than anything at this point—but it still comes out as more of a demand than an invitation.

You regard him timidly, nod to yourself, then clear your throat and begin in a voice slightly more confident. “There’s a guy I like—” Oh, god—“And he’s in college, and I’m pretty sure he likes me, but I know that he’s gonna want to do things like—”

“Have sex,” Zeke supplies, no doubt setting your face on fire.

You’re a little breathless when you say, “Yeah,” but don’t flinch, stand your ground.

So, you’ve come for tips. He’s got to admit, you’ve got balls. This has the potential to be an exceedingly awkward conversation, and there’s always the chance Zeke could just tell you to leave. You’re risking a lot coming up here to ask for his help, mostly your own pride, but you don’t need to worry about that.

He has to wonder, though, “Why me?”

Shrugging narrow shoulders, you leave your place on the door and sit on the very corner of his mattress. “Don’t really have anyone else to go to. The girls are even more hopeless than me, and the guys would never shut up. Plus, Marco would probably faint if he found out. You, though... I figure you probably have some, uh, experience under your belt.”

Zeke smirks. Not the only thing I have under my belt.

“So, what, you need pointers?”

“Uhh,” your own smile is less forced now but still self-conscious.

Zeke doesn’t give you time to answer the rest of the way, just dives straight in. “Are you a virgin?” He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, but there’s always the possibility of you just having really bad past experiences and wanting to get help to fix it, make it better for this new guy.

“Yeah,” you answer without hesitation.

“So, what do you need from me? You know how it all works, right?” He snickers, and you roll your eyes.

“Yes, I know how it all works.”

“You just want to know how to make it feel good then,” he states, and it could just be his mind playing tricks on him, but Zeke is pretty sure your eyes darken as he says this.

He’d be lying if he said this wasn’t stroking his ego—without really knowing anything about him, you’ve just assumed he has enough experience and/or knowledge to be an authority on this subject, on sex, that he knows enough to help you, and you want him to help you. It’s cute. More than cute actually because it’s not like Zeke hasn’t noticed you before; Eren has a few different female friends, and while none of the teenage girls are trolls, you’re probably the most attractive.

Gaze traveling from your face, Zeke follows the lines of your figure down, down down—over your torso, to your thighs, clad in a pair of tight denim shorts that barely cover more than underwear does (and why the fuck are you even wearing those, it’s November). No reason to complain, though, so much smooth skin on display—welcoming—and Zeke can feel himself stirring in his own jeans.

“How old are you?” He asks, quickly formulating a plan. “I know you’re a senior, but—”

“I turned nineteen in August,” you tell him. “Some stuff happened and... Anyway. Nineteen.”

“Well, in that case,” Zeke pins you with a dark stare, keeps his voice low when he asks, “Would you like a demonstration?”

Your lips part, and Zeke actually watches as your pupils dilate. He’s almost positive if he were to look close enough, he’d be able to see the racing pulse in your neck.

You don’t answer straight away, but you also don’t rear back or start swearing at him which means you’re considering it. Zeke tries to keep his face impassive as he waits, just holds eye contact, watches the gears turn in your head as you have what Zeke assumes is an internal moral debate. There is a lot for you to consider—not only is he one of your good friends’ older brothers, but he is considerably older at twenty-seven. And what will happen if someone finds out? Zeke couldn’t give two fucks, only truly being worried about the legality of it, but your friends would probably look at you differently if they ever put the pieces together.

“All you have to say is no,” he assures you because, even though the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it, if you don’t, that’s it. Case closed.

“No, I—” you finally look down at your lap, and Zeke can see that the tips of your ears are also flushed red. “If you don’t mind, that would be,” you swallow thickly, “That would be helpful.”

It takes some effort to keep his grin from turning completely salacious, but in truth, at hearing you agree, Zeke is all at once ready—to fuck, to teach, to show you just how good sex can feel, how good he can make you feel. Oh, he is going to wreck you.

“You’re sure?” You nod, pouty lips tugging into a shy little grin. “Okay.”

Zeke stands then, grabs the remote to switch the TV to a music channel as he locks his bedroom door. Eren rarely bothers him when his friends are over, but just to be on the safe side.

“What’ve you done so far?” He asks.

“In terms of sex?”

“Mhm.”

You shift before moving up a little more on the mattress. “I’ve given head a few times. And I—I mean, I touch myself fairly regularly.”

Cock twitching, Zeke groans internally. That is a lovely thought. He pads back over, gestures for you to slide even further up, and you do without protest. At least you don’t mind being told what to do, it seems.

“Has anyone gone down on you before?” His voice is calm even as he joins you on the mattress, wastes no time in stripping his shirt off and grins when your eyes widen.

“N-no. No one has,” you utter, and Zeke is pretty sure your mouth is watering. “Wow, I didn’t realize…”

“Hm?”

Snickering, you shake your head, reach for the hem of your own shirt. “Didn’t know you were hiding a body like that under all the flannels you wear.”

All he offers is a shrug and a thanks, not wanting to sound cocky or beam at the praise. He looks good, and he knows it. The expression of awe on your face is better than any other flattery, anyway.

It changes to one of insecurity, however, when you rid yourself of your top, nervous eyes flicking to Zeke then away again a few times at rapid-fire speed. You have no reason to be worried, but he can remember what it was like to be your age, always concerned with what other people thought, what other people saw. It’s enough to give anyone a complex. You shiver when Zeke traces fingers down your side, and just to ease any anxiety, he tells you, “You’re beautiful,” which isn’t really his style, but you need the affirmation.

The effect is instantaneous. Your expression changes again, from insecurity to determination, and Zeke feels your dainty hands on his waist, urging him closer. He obliges, curving over you and dipping to catch your lips with his. There’s still some trepidation, but you seem comfortable with kissing—why wouldn’t you be?—and even open your mouth slightly, allowing Zeke to lick into it. Not too much tongue, not like the boys you’ve probably been with, just enough to tease.

You let out a tiny noise when he pushes you gently back against the pillows at the top of the bed, uses the same hand to follow the elastic of your bra to its clasp. Breaking away just enough to speak, Zeke’s words are husky, “I’ll ask again, are you—”

“I’m sure,” you nod against him, arch enough to give his hand some room as he twists the dark material expertly, and when it falls away and loosens, Zeke can feel your exhale against his lips.

Slipping the scanty article off over your arms, you do your best not to go back to looking unsure and self-conscious—Zeke can see the effort—but it’s there in your large eyes, in your tense jaw, even as you lay back.

Sitting on his heels, Zeke finds himself temporarily dumbstruck, looks at the mostly naked body before him with absolute reverence as he finds that you are a work of fucking art. Skin like satin under his hands, dotted with constellations of stray freckles. A scar here, a birthmark there. Supple, soft, responsive. You have goosebumps before Zeke even starts paying attention to your breasts, perfect cups with darker nipples that elicit the most beautiful breathy moan when he softly catches one between two fingers. He rolls the hardened bud gently, not applying too much pressure as he leans down and drags his lips down your neck, stopping to nip and kiss, all the while hoping for another one of those little noises. He is rewarded when he sucks at a small patch of flesh right at the junction of your neck and shoulder, pinches just a little harder so that your whimper turns into a whine. Zeke leaves a bruise, partially to have the satisfaction of knowing it's there tomorrow, but also just because his brain is getting a little foggy.

Sliding down your squirming body, Zeke swirls his tongue around the other neglected bud, pulls away to blow lightly on it and smirks when you shudder. He sucks at the flesh, teases with light grazes of his teeth until you’re practically undulating beneath him.

“You doing okay?” He breathes, and you just nod quickly. “Stop me if you get uncomfortable,” Zeke reminds you as he begins to work at your shorts. He unbuttons them easily, and you lift your hips so that he can tug them down. “Panties too?”

“Might as well.”

You’re shaking again, but Zeke knows it’s because of anticipation now rather than fear, chuckles low in his throat when you give another full body shudder. Tossing your little shorts on the floor, he moves to kiss you again, fingers trailing down over your neck, your chest, dipping into your naval, then, light as a feather, he traces over the skin between your hips, smooth and untouched.

Zeke pauses to situate himself better by your side, makes sure he has a good vantage point to watch your face as his hand dips down further. At first, he just teases your lips, soft and sensitive judging by the way your hips jerk. He can actually feel heat radiating from your core, and you spread your legs a little further, a silent way of asking for more, for him to touch you where you want him to.

Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, and it looks like you’re trying to murmur something as your lips move.

Zeke is aching in the confines of his jeans, hard and dripping precum into his boxers, but that can wait. It’s going to wait. Angling his mouth down to speak into your ear, he questions in a sultry tone, “Are you ready to play?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He hums in his throat before licking the shell of your ear. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

“I—” your legs open wider, and Zeke pinches your puffy little lips together, tugs gently so that you let out another whimper. “My… Please.” You’re blushing again, and Zeke can easily guess that you’re uncomfortable vocalizing what you want. Or maybe you just don’t like being vulgar. Whatever the case, you’ll have to learn eventually.

“Do you want to feel me in your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, ple—”

“Say it, then. Ask for it.”

Your eyes open again to meet his, pupils blown so wide, they almost completely take over colored irises as you murmur, “Please touch my pussy. Please pla—play with me.”

Zeke groans, low and throaty. All these please’s are getting to him, so polite, and desperate, and submissive. Fuck, you’re such a sub. He is about to have too much fun with this.

Pressing his forehead to yours, Zeke opens his mouth at the same time you do, one finger slipping between your folds and immediately being met with—

“God dammit, you’re wet,” he states, teasing around your hole and gathering fluid on the pad of his finger before moving up to rub your clit.

“Oh, fuck,” you swear, bucking at the contact. Zeke is careful not to rub too hard or too fast, doesn’t want to overstimulate (yet). No, all he wants is to turn you into a writhing mess, shaking limbs, begging for more.

He kisses you again, though you can barely focus on his lips, your own parting with silent pleas. Zeke stops momentarily, and you open heavy eyes just in time to see him bring his finger to his mouth and suck your juices from it. It’s pleasant, sweeter than most girls he’s been with, but still natural.

“Are you comfortable with me going down on you?” He figures he’ll ask, just to be on the safe side. You nod mutely, gaze following him as he moves to grab a pillow from behind you, commands, “Up,” and places it beneath your hips before getting comfortable between your legs.

The first swipe of his tongue is slow and deliberate, all the way from your entrance to your clit, and Zeke can feel your thighs tense. He does this a few more times, flicks over the bundle of nerves, then shoulders your legs apart further, spreads your lips, and gets started.

You tremble and moan and gasp around Zeke, eventually tangle fingers in his hair as he plunges his tongue inside of you.

“Oh my god oh my god.”

He licks and sucks at soft tissue, teases your clit again as he reaches up and, “I’m going to add a finger.”

“God, yes, please.”

Zeke chuckles, circles your entrance for a moment before slowly sliding said finger in digit by digit. He usually isn’t so big on communicating with partners—not that he can’t do it or hates to, it’s just never really been necessary. But here you are, inexperienced, and trusting, and pleading with him. Telling you exactly what he’s going to do to you is actually fun.

You’re tight, but your own lubrication makes it easy to slide inside. He gives a few slow pumps before picking up the pace and sucking on your clit again, and Zeke can actually feel your muscles relax around him. You’re starting to make a mess, dripping down onto his sheets, and he wonders just how wet he can get you. Will you drip? Will you leak? Will you squirt?

“Ready for a second?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He speaks without really thinking.

You moan when he retracts his hand, repeat and correct yourself, “Yes, please.” What a natural.

Smiling, Zeke pushes back in with two fingers, watches as your face twists for just a moment as you get used to the intrusion. If no one else has touched you like this then that probably means, “Is this the most you’ve had in your little pussy?”

“Mm, yes.”

“Oh, baby,” setting another rhythm, Zeke trails kisses over to your thigh. “I’m gonna take my time stretching you, then.”

Something that sounds suspiciously like a snicker makes its way out of you, broken up by gasps, and Zeke glances up at your face to find you smiling. “Why, are you—ohh—are you big?”

There is a dull throb in his cock as it somehow grows impossibly harder. He isn’t one to brag, as he’s not in fucking high school anymore (and it was tacky then too), but, “I’m not small.” And he’s not.

“Mm—okay, just keep—” Zeke crooks his fingers, easily hits your g-spot, and watches as your eyes shoot open. “Holy god, keep doing that please.”

Zeke laughs quietly but does as you ask, bending back down to make use of his mouth again. He adds one more finger after a little while, working you open thoroughly, nice and slow as you writhe, eventually grinding yourself down on him.

“Now, I have a very important question for you,” he starts, slowing his motions a bit and gaining your attention. You peer down at him with hazy eyes, cheeks flushed, bottom lip red from biting down on it so hard. “Do you want to come on my fingers or on my cock?”

“I—..." your throat bobs, hands dropping from Zeke’s hair back to the sheets. “I—...” You can’t even form a coherent thought, knees bent, feet planted on the mattress as you rock back and forth, fucking yourself on his fingers, and Jesus Christ, if you don’t make a decision, he’s going to have to make one for you.

Zeke massages that spot inside you, and the noises your wet pussy is making are completely obscene, seem to echo in his room. He thinks, probably with the right stimulation—

"I'll take your inability to speak as an answer," he says, more to himself than to you. With his other hand, Zeke reaches up and begins to very quickly rub your clit, a ruthless back and forth that has you biting your cheek to keep from screaming, though a shrill squeak still escapes followed by an extremely worried, "Shit, wait, it feels like I'm gonna—" but Zeke doesn't pay it any mind, too distracted by the sudden gush of fluid from your body, his ministrations—almost slapping at this point—sending droplets spraying over the bed and even his face.

"Oh my God," Your voice is panicked, and you look at Zeke's now dripping form with wide eyes. "I am so sorry. Fuck, I can't believe I just—

"Squirted," Zeke chuckles, taking off his glasses to set them on the far side of the bed. He levels a very amused gaze at you, all cocked eyebrows and satisfied smirk, "Just like I was hoping you would."

You are an almost alarming shade, but your chest is still heaving like you ran a marathon.

"But, it felt like I was peeing," you frown.

Shrugging his shoulders, Zeke takes a casual tone when he says, "I mean, if you want to get into technicalities, you sort of were, but it's different. You've really never heard of it before?"

You shake your head, watch as he uses one hand to grab his formerly discarded shirt to wipe himself off. "Female ejaculation is the scientific term, I believe. When your g-spot is stimulated the right way—" he wriggles his fingers which are still inside you, pulling a groan from your throat—" the skene glands produce a sort of fluid that mixes with urine in your bladder. You feel the need to pee and voila: ejaculation."

You let your head fall back against pillows, blink up at the ceiling, and tug your lower lip between your teeth. Zeke can tell you’re still heavily contemplating this revelation, probably stuck somewhere between mortification and enlightenment. He sighs through his nose, finally pulls his fingers out of your now sopping hole, then crawls up over her body to look straight into your doll-like eyes.

"I promise you have nothing to worry about," he reassures you. "Most guys find it hot. I certainly do." You somehow manage to blush even more, but Zeke can see the corners of your lips turn up. "It's a whole category on porn sites. In fact, you, my dear, could probably make some pretty decent money showing off." He tweaks one of your nipples, and the way your back arches and your mouth drops open only proves his point. "You are very fun to look at."

Hazy orbs finally seem to focus on Zeke, first on his face then traveling lower, and he figures it's the endorphins that make you say, "So are you."

He smirks, lowers himself enough to place a teasing kiss on your lips, dark and swollen, then murmurs against them, "Shall we continue?"

You nod immediately, thread fingers through his hair and utter a soft, "Yes, please," and Zeke can only respond with a groan before sliding off you to quickly rid himself of his jeans. He can feel your heavy gaze on him, following his hands as he shoves his pants down and steps out of them. Zeke chances one glance up at you before tugging off his boxers, tries not to let it go to his head when your eyes grow at the sight of his cock—above average in length and with a girth that has earned him quite a bit of praise over the years. A substantial amount of precum has already coated the tip, making the flushed head glisten.

"Like what you see?" He only halfway jokes.

You look like you’re about to start drooling, but you’re surprisingly casual when you challenge, "Should I?" Which, okay, fair point considering you’ve never actually taken a dick in your pussy before.

"How about you suck me off for a sec and figure it out yourself?"

Eyes darken until they're almost black and then you’re wrapping your dainty fingers around Zeke's wrist and pulling him back down on the bed. You move quickly to lie between his legs, and he wonders if you’re running off adrenaline or genuinely want to do this. It doesn't matter anymore as Zeke's cock is suddenly engulfed in your very warm, very wet mouth. You dive down first, spreading as much saliva as you can, then move back up to suckle at his head. Zeke lets out a low, throaty groan, hands very quickly finding the back of your head, just sitting there rather than guiding, but he does mumble a few praises that seem to encourage you—"That's it, baby, just like that… Fuck, good girl. Good girl." That last bit has you moaning around his length, the vibrations so intense they seem to tickle his spine, and that thought crosses Zeke's mind again: such a sub.

You have clearly done this before, and even though you had admitted to it earlier, Zeke still wasn't expecting you to be as skilled as you are. You start a nice rhythm, bobbing on the first couple inches of his cock and using your hands to reach further. Your tongue swipes the underside, stimulation to his frenulum making Zeke release a short, "Hah," as he jerks, and then—and then—you take as much as you can. Zeke feels the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat, and you manage to run your tongue back and forth at the root in a truly depraved way, big eyes opening to peer up at him, and Zeke actually has to push you off because both his gut and his balls begin to tighten, and there is no way he's going to come without actually fucking you.

Your lips are even more swollen than before. Your cheeks are rosy. And there is a line of spit dripping down your chin that you quickly wipe away with the back of your hand.

"Holy fuck," Zeke huffs. It's the only warning you get before he's tugging you back up and twisting your bodies so he's on top again.

You grin smugly, mutter a quiet, "I at least know how to do that."

"Damn right, you do."

Zeke has had many a blowjob in his time, and that one is easily in his top five, boosted even higher by that look you had given him—glistening eyes with a mouth full of cock—and holy shit, Zeke might be a ruined man. He gives himself away, shoving his face into your neck to bite and suck and mumble, "God dammit, I can't wait to fuck you," as if he's been wanting to for years, when really, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind until tonight, not explicitly at least.

"Do it then," you all but whine, scratching nails down his back, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to bring Zeke to his senses temporarily so that he can rummage through his nightstand and grab the bottle of lube he keeps inside. He fishes around for a condom as well, not particularly keen on using them, and it really will be a shame to be even a little desensitized with you, but Zeke knows it's the safest bet, would sort of ruin things if he ended up getting you pregnant.

He rolls the latex on over his cock before popping the cap on the lube, and you look at him, slightly confused, probably thinking something along the lines of do we really need that, and he answers the unasked question with hooded eyes, "Just to be on the safe side," lathers his fingers and rubs your soaking pussy with them, really just adding to the mess. "I want to make sure this is good for you."

He slicks himself up next, brow furrowing with just a few pumps, then carefully lines himself up with your entrance. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes," you assure, legs spreading even further, and that's really the only confirmation Zeke needs before he pushes into you.

His cockhead breeches that first ring of muscle, making you both moan, and Zeke typically isn't all that vocal, but fuck, you feel so good already, so, so good.

Still, he waits for you to adjust some before sliding in further, keeps an eye on your face which begins to pinch the more he gives you, so he stops again. You breathe sharply, clutch the sheets, then begin to wriggle your hips some in an attempt to get used to being this full even though Zeke isn't even halfway in yet.

"Okay," you shudder, "Keep going."

And he does, moving slowly, reveling in the sounds you’re releasing, in the way your body is already arching, the way your pussy stretches and makes room for his cock. When he's finally as far in as he can be without punching a fucking hole in your cervix, you let out a throaty, "Ugh," followed by, "I've never been…"

"This full?" Zeke supplies with an already fuck-drunk grin. You nod, swivel your hips again, and Zeke leans forward to mouth just under your ear. "Just wait."

His pace is slow at first, still letting you get used to him, knows the intrusion is foreign in your virgin pussy—fuck, you’re a virgin, and that's never been a thing for Zeke, but thinking about it now brings back that heat in his gut.

Once you start moving with him, meeting his thrusts as best you can, Zeke speeds up, fucking into you harder so that you hiss out a long, "Yesss."

It's good, so fucking good. You’re still tight but absolutely drenched, enough that Zeke actually slips out a couple times, but it takes no effort to slide right back into your heat. Cloudy eyes roll into the back of your head at the same time you grab his shoulders, nails biting into flesh and spurning Zeke on, and you’re still moving against him, harder and harder, and he has to wonder, "Do you wanna ride me, baby?"

You don’t hesitate save for your already heavy limbs weighing you down, but you maneuver so that Zeke can lie on his back and you can straddle him. He holds his dick, rubs his head against your folds and once again sending droplets flying. You bite your lip and lower yourself, and Zeke thinks this is good. She'll be able to set the pace this way, but he grips your hips without even thinking and begins moving you up and down on his length, not even giving you a chance.

You moan, though, lean forward to kiss Zeke roughly, bite his lower lip then start riding him, bouncing on his dick as if you’ve done this before, then have the audacity to blink up at him innocently and slur, "Like this?"

"Yeah, just like that," he nods, tries not to focus on the lewd noises your bodies are making, the undeniable squelch of your pussy sucking his cock into it because if he thinks too hard, if he focuses, Zeke will absolutely blow his load right here and now. "Like, that, fuck, so good. You're being so good for me…"

Zeke has very quickly discovered your praise kink as you mewl and move faster, harder, faster, harder, then seat yourself completely and rock. Zeke can see exactly when you realize it's the perfect way for his dick to massage your g-spot because your eyes get wide again and lock with his like you’re scared.

But still, you rock, and Zeke reaches forward and uses his thumb to rub tight circles around your clit, commands, "Come on, baby, come on. Squirt all over me again. I know you can."

You surge back and forth like your life depends on it, fingers gripping his shoulders tight enough to hurt, then you whimper and release, and Zeke can feel your juices pour over his pelvis, soaking him and the bedding beneath, and yeah, you really could make a fucking career out of this because it is—you are—intoxicating.

The messiness of it all is what ends up sending Zeke over the edge, and he pounds up into you as he climaxes, lifting your trembling body up and down as he milks himself dry inside of you. His mouth hangs open in a silent scream, and when he finally stops moving you, you fall forward onto his chest, both of you trying to catch your breath. Zeke rubs circles on your lower back, just around two dimples, and it must tickle a little because you squirm halfheartedly, causing both of you to let out quiet whines.

Pulse beginning to slow, Zeke can feel his eyes growing heavy. He can't fall asleep, though, has to ignore that urge because—"I'm not done with you just yet."

"Hm?" You don’t look up at him, but he can feel the flutter of your eyelashes, as if you’re blinking at the wall.

"I said I'm not done." Zeke taps you, a silent request for you to move, and you lean to the side to fall on the mattress. You look… Well, you look like you just got fucked. Standing on weak legs, Zeke paces over to the trash can in the corner of his room to dispose of the condom, tying it off and dropping it in, then goes back to bed. You watch him with half-closed eyes. Your chest is still dark with the sex flush, nipples perky, and you spread your legs without a second thought as Zeke settles between them. He can feel you watching him but only until he starts going down on you again.

"Oh, fuck, whyy…?"

He flicks your clit with his tongue over and over, making you buck your hips, an almost perfect counter rhythm to his efforts.

"Because," he stops to suck a patch of skin just under the junction of your pelvis and thigh. "I still wanna give you a real orgasm."

"But—mm…"

He chuckles through his nose before lavishing more attention on that little bundle of nerves, engorged and beautiful, and you let out an adorable little, "Ohh," when Zeke rubs over it with his chin, his beard supplying a new sort of stimulation. "Nn, Zeke, fuck." Slightly taken aback at how much he likes his name falling from your mouth, Zeke makes it his goal to hear it again.

He laps at your dripping folds, sucks, barely grazes your clit with his teeth, and when you start to undulate beneath him, Zeke pins your hips to the bed with two large hands. It makes you whimper, but with one peek, thumbs spreading you open, Zeke can see the way your pussy blossoms, like it's ready to be fucked again. Unfortunately, unlike you, Zeke has a refractory period, so he'll just have to work with what he's got.

Shoving his tongue as far inside as he can, Zeke earns another moan of his own name, licks and slurps, then returns to your clit and focuses on nothing else until you’re gripping his hair and tensing all over. Your toes curl where your feet are planted on the bed, and Zeke glances up just in time to see your mouth form that perfect O shape. He pushes two fingers into you at exactly the right time, your muscles contracting all around them, and god damn, he wishes it was his cock. Another time.

You ride out your orgasm, much different from your squirting, and when it's over after several seconds, you go mostly limp on the bed, unable to control the way your legs shake. Zeke smirks at his handiwork, pulls his fingers out and brushes over your sensitive clit one last time, causing you to jerk and glare playfully.

"Hm," he lets out a dark chuckle, moves up to curl over you and catches you in a slow but messy kiss. "Consider yourself deflowered."

Shaky hands find the shaggy hair at the back of Zeke's head, and you take a deep breath in before murmuring a quiet, "Thank you." Your voice is low, like you’re sharing secrets.

"My pleasure," he says honestly then stops and frowns. "Though, I've gotta say, I don't usually come that quickly." It wasn't like it was a quickshot or anything, but Zeke can last hours if he really needs to. Maybe this time was different because you had already squirted (twice), or maybe it's because…

Peering down at you, the small smile on your swollen lips, your hair a mess on Zeke's pillows, your soft body still spread out for the taking. Your nipples are just begging to be played with again, and even though he can't see it, your pussy, fuck, that pussy—it’s beautiful, pink and puffy now, and Christ, you get so fucking wet. You made a mess of both Zeke and his bed, and he fucking loved every second of it. Having to change his sheets is a small price to pay for witnessing, being a part of, that.

Yeah, that's probably why he came as fast as he did.

"Honestly, I probably wouldn't have been able to handle it for much longer," you laugh airily.

"Why, was it hurting?" Zeke is suddenly uncharacteristically worried.

"No, no," you shake your head. "You're just a lot. I'm not used to taking anything, um, that size.”

Zeke smirks, is curious as he presses his luck and utters a husky, "But you took it so well." He kisses the side of your neck. "You were so good." The other side. "So good for me, baby." Your lips.

Your hands on either side of his face, you kiss him fiercely, even arch off the bed to get closer, and Zeke slides a hand under your back to help, pressing damp skin together.

Zeke huffs against you, a voice in the back of his head quiet but firm—not a good idea. Time to send her on her way—but you’re both stoned off post-orgasmic bliss, so he ignores it, just keeps tangling his tongue with yours.

"Mm," you hum, push him lightly. "I need to rinse off. I'm getting sticky," you snicker.

Rolling to the side, Zeke scrubs a hand down his face, remembers he is also not the cleanest, then sits up when something hits him.

"We need to find a reason as to why you'd be showering in the first place." He's not particularly worried by it, but the fact stands. If you were to just go back downstairs with your friends with wet hair, it would be suspicious, almost as suspicious as going down there smelling like sex.

You seem unperturbed, shrug your shoulders and say, "So, I got sick. Pizza and tequila don't mix well for me."

Zeke wrinkles his nose. "Fuck, they don't mix well for anyone."

"Okay, so uh," you sit up and stretch, and Zeke's eyes are drawn to your body once again. It would look so good covered in more bruises. Bite marks. "I have a bag downstairs with leggings in it, which I need because—" you motion to your thighs, skin purple in places from Zeke's sucking, and even though they're more on the inside, they're dark enough to draw attention.

"Well, if your shorts weren't so damn short…" he grumbles, earning an eye roll. "Let me wash my face and I'll go and grab your stuff."

Another blush tinges your cheeks, no doubt remembering the mess you made (how could you not when you’re sitting in it), and Zeke laughs lowly.

There's a bathroom just across the hall, and Zeke checks to make sure no one else is upstairs before ushering you into it quickly, both of you basically prancing entirely naked. He shuts the door, starts the shower and rinses his body off in record time, then steps out for you to get in.

"I'll be right back," he promises, tugging on sweats and nothing else.

You lift an eyebrow, look surprisingly casual as you run fingers through your now wet hair, your form on full display for Zeke to admire. "You going downstairs like that?"

"My house. Why not?"

"I mean…"

"If anyone asks, I'll just tell him you got vomit on me," he says with a sideways grin, already prepared for your offended, "Hey!"

Zeke reaches under the spray to slap your ass, winks, then leaves. He gallops down the stairs, hears the ruckus from the den and walks in to find Eren and his friends (Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Marco, and Mina) crowded around the TV, a few open pizza boxes littering the coffee table and half full drinks too close to the edge for Zeke's liking.

Marco and Jean are the only ones with game controllers, Smash Bros lit up on the screen, and Jean whines like the little bitch he is, "How the fuck do you get better at this fucking game the drunker you get?"

Marco cackles before using Little Mac to annihilate King Dedede and blow him off the screen.

"God dammit," the smaller kid pouts, then passes his controller to a grabby-handing Mina.

Eren is the first to notice Zeke's sudden appearance, glances up at him with wide green eyes. "What's up? Fuck, are we being too loud?"

"Nah, I haven't heard shit," Zeke says honestly. He has been, after all, a little distracted. "Uh," looking to Marco, Zeke tells him, "Your sister got sick upstairs. Said she has a bag down here."

Marco immediately pauses the new match, on his feet in a second. "Is she okay? Like, how sick are we talking?"

"She said the pizza and tequila didn't mix well," Zeke says, taking on a face of disgust, and just like his big brother, Eren snorts, "Pizza and tequila don't mix well with anyone."

"She should be fine, though. She's up there showering now, sort of, uh," Zeke scratches the back of his head, smirks internally, "She sort of made a mess."

"Damn, she's probably ready to kill herself," Marco muses. "She hates throwing up."

He walks over to the pile of bags by the door and pulls a backpack from the top, then slings it over his shoulder. "Upstairs bathroom, you said?"

Zeke nods but still tells him, "I can drop it off right outside. I imagine she wants to be left alone."

Marco pauses, seems to think things over, but Jean cuts into his thoughts with an obnoxious, "Come on, bro, you've got a tournament to win!"

"Yeah," Mina cheers. "Big bro Zeke can handle your sister!" Oh, can he. The petite girl looks to Zeke with a face-splitting smile, like he is the big brother, and he wonders when that happened.

"Okay, okay," Marco hands the bag over, and Zeke nods in a respectful manner.

Back upstairs, Zeke goes to his room, pulls a hoodie from his closet, then paces across the hall to the bathroom. The small room is filled with steam, tile slippery under his feet, and with the door locked, Zeke slips out if his sweats and steps under the spray.

You squint at him to keep soap from getting in your eyes, shyly ask, "What are you doing?"

"I told you I'd be back. Still have one more thing to do."

You shake your head, confess, "I can't do anything else. I'm just now gaining feeling back in my legs."

Zeke snorts, bends to rest his forehead on your shoulder, then wraps his arms around your waist. "Nothing like that. I'm talking about aftercare."

"What-er-care?"

He kisses your collarbone, straightens back up, then wipes wet hair from your face. "It's bigger in BDSM, but I figure you could benefit from it right now." And, it's true. Not only did you just have a fairly intense sexual experience, it was your first time having real intercourse with someone, someone you don’t know well, at that. Even if you seem okay now, Zeke knows that you’ll be questioning yourself sooner rather than later, and he doesn't want to cause any more damage than he potentially already has.

He tells you all of this and more, and you look confused by it, "Seems a bit, uh, intimate," before turning and relaxing against Zeke's chest.

Right next to your ear, he smirks, "Baby, I had my face buried in your pussy, like, five minutes ago. You squirted on me twice. Doesn't get much more intimate than that."

"Okay, true."

You bathe, and Zeke helps you with your hair, runs a loofah as well as his fingers down your body and kisses here and there. He tries not to worry—he's never been all that interested in being so doting with previous partners—but he chalks it up to the modicum of guilt he feels at being the one you shared this important experience with. Yeah, virginity is just a concept, but it sure is a rampant one. Plus, you only knocked on his door looking for advice, right? Just some tips and tricks—learn your own body, use lube, tell your partner if they're hurting you, etc. —but then… you had seemed almost eager when Zeke had offered to show you firsthand. Had you… Is that how you had wanted it to go all along?

He doesn't ruminate on it for long, decides to ask you point blank, "Did you really only come upstairs to ask advice, or were you hoping it would turn into me fucking you?"

Your eyes grow, skin turning dark for reasons other than the scalding water, but Zeke is impressed when you seem to answer in an honest way. "I guess maybe a bit of both?" He cocks his head to the side, hands still on your hips. "I really did want guidance, or whatever, but a little part of me, yeah, kinda hoped maybe it would happen. I wasn't so bold as to assume it would, though."

"You seem more like the hands-on type of learner," Zeke jokes, and you bury your face just under his shoulder, laugh against it.

You get out not long after, and Zeke does his best to dry your hair before passing you your bag and his hoodie.

"What's this for?"

"You have a couple hickeys on your neck that your t-shirt isn't gonna cover up," he brushes his finger gently over one of them. "This way you can at least pull the hood up.

"Okay, I will look crazy if I do that."

"No, you'll look like you don't feel well and want to be comfortable." He flicks a nipple causing you to squeak and bat his hand away. "Plus, it's cold down there, and you have wet hair."

"Fine, fine," you concede, tug your leggings on without any panties (dear god) then slip into Zeke's hoodie, also bare underneath. Zeke's groan is too quiet to pick up on, but knowing you’re naked under his clothes…

He pulls the hood up over your head, grins at how absolutely dwarfed you look, and gives you one last kiss—deep and longer than necessary—then points to the door.

You grab your bag and step out only to peek back in with a not-so-hidden smile as you say, "Thanks. For everything."

"Yeah," Zeke pulls his pants back on. "Any time. Now go down there and look sick."

You do just as you’re told, and Zeke's mind gets stuck on a loop of good girl, good girl, good girl, for a while as he busies himself in his own room. He cleans his glasses, changes his sheets (after staring at them for a solid minute), and turns Netflix back on to not pay attention to. Alone again, he's able to hear everyone downstairs, shouts and laughs, and at one point a tell-tale "chug, chug, chug". He lasts an hour before he ventures down with the excuse of wanting pizza.

The scene has changed only slightly—less boxes, more drinks, and a couple of swaying kids. Mikasa is playing Marco now, the freckled boy spinning in a tight circle from too much alcohol, but there's a lopsided grin on his face as he K.O.s Ryu, Mikasa swearing under her breath. "Fuckin' unbeatable."

Zeke grabs a cold piece of pizza from the box closest to Eren, takes a bite, then holds his hand out for Mikasa's controller. His brother lets out a deep, "Ooh, shit," and Zeke smirks, tries not to look at you huddled in the corner of the couch, legs up against your chest, swimming in his hoodie.

Toggling around the character screen, Zeke chooses Ganon, then looks to Marco. "Ready?"

"Hell yeah."

Marco is actually pretty fucking good, Zeke has to admit as he takes more damage than he probably ever has in Smash Bros, but in the end, it is Little Mac who gets blown off the map, making the room erupt in a chorus of cheers and curses.

"What the fuck, how did you do that?" Jean shouts, up on his feet. "You beat Marco. He's the champion."

Zeke glances sideways at him. "I've got a few more years experience, kiddo," thrusts the controller into Jean’s hand and follows up, "Plus, he is pretty fucked up."

"That I am!" Marco lifts a cup of God knows what. "Play me again when I'm sober!"

"You'd definitely lose then," Jean jabs, squawks when his friend tugs him down on the couch almost on top of him.

"Don't be rude, Jean," he slurs. "Just get better at Smash."

Jean wriggles until he's sitting beside Marco and not on top of him, and Zeke actually does look at you now, raising an eyebrow in question because Eren hasn't mentioned two of his best friends dating each other, but that was definitely more than just friendly play, and if anyone would know about it, it'd probably be you.

Chin resting on your knees, you just shrug your shoulders, your eyes the only thing Zeke can actually see of your face, but they are shining brightly, and Zeke grabs his pizza and stalks over to you just as a new match begins on screen.

"How're you feeling?" He questions, mostly a joke but laced with real curiosity.

Faking like a champ, you wrinkle your nose and grumble, "I'll be better if you get that pizza away from me."

Zeke takes a big bite, smiles around it, and tries not to look too pleased. It's a little surreal, standing in this room of his brother's friends, all of them having a good time, worry-free, completely oblivious to what took place upstairs. Zeke can hardly believe it himself, knows you’re probably trying to wrap your head around it too.

"Yo, Zeke," he looks up at Eren calling his name. "Play me."

"Fine, but give me the classic controller. I don't like playing on the remotes."

Eren grumbles something that sounds a lot like "old man" but still syncs the classic and hands it over. It really is easier, reminiscent of the old GameCube controllers Zeke truly believes to be the best design, not that anyone is asking him.

Playing the video game gives him a reason to sit down at least, and he plops down next to you in the corner, quietly snorts when you bury your face in your knees, then starts destroying Eren on screen.

It's not that the kids are bad (actually Armin and Mina are pretty hopeless, but the others are decent), it's just that Zeke has spent a lot of time playing Super Smash Bros. First the original on Nintendo 64, then Melee on GameCube, then Brawl on the Wii, and now Ultimate on the Switch. He taught Eren to play pretty much as soon as he could hold a controller, probably gave the kid a complex from never letting him win, and spent hours in high school hunched in front of the screen during the off season of baseball.

"You're a fucking animal, Zeke," Marco states, looks around the room and swings a hand out, "Are you guys fucking seeing this?"

"Been seeing it my whole god damn life," Eren grunts, thinks he might have Ganon cornered in the shitty alcove under Hyrule Castle then curses loudly when Zeke blasts Eren's Cloud Strife off the stage. "Fuck. Alright, who's next?"

"My sister’s actually pretty decent," Marco pipes up, twists to look at you and asks, "Will the screen make you dizzy?"

You just hold out a hand for the controller and remain curled over your legs, eyes peeking over your knees as Zeke navigates to the character screen and you quickly pick Dark Samus. A girl after his heart.

"Nice," he whispers, nods, then gets to the different stage options and tells you, "You pick."

"Kongo Jungle it is…"

Donkey Kong music starts. Zeke leans forward and truly considers going easy on you until you fucking shoot him, and that idea goes out the window. You hold your own for a while, thumbs pressing down on the buttons furiously, though otherwise you seem impassive. You aren’t quite as good as your brother, but catch Marco on an off day, and you’d probably beat him.

Zeke wins this match, of course, but you look unimpressed when you hand the controller to Jean, like you were expecting to lose anyway.

"Good try," he tells you smugly, and he's surprised to feel a light nudge to his thigh, a subtle kick that makes him chuckle.

The little shin-dig winds down in the early morning hours, Zeke retreating back upstairs when the kids start cleaning up and passing the fuck out. You stay in your corner, lean into the couch cushions and pull the strings of Zeke's hoodie so that your eyes are covered. It's cute. You’re cute. Alarmingly cute.

His room still faintly smells like sex, but Zeke doesn't mind, just collapses on his bed and stares up at his ceiling with a pout.

The night did not go as expected. Not even a little bit. Eren's friends were supposed to stay downstairs and make a mess and drink themselves stupid because Zeke always lets them as long as they don't leave the house, and while all of that did happen, the curve ball of Zeke getting his dick wet was thrown in there, and now… Now he doesn't know. He doesn't know anything except his desire to go back, pluck you from the couch, and bring you back to his room.

That's not supposed to happen.

[princess-fuckrosa]

Hi. I hope you don't hate sk8 adam. If you one of the unique and awesome people whole love/like Adam can you perhaps wrote a SMUT of him? I'm sad that i can't find and SMUT about him cause everyone hating on him. You can write anything tho i don't have any particular request.

Thank you and sorry for the bad English. English is not my first language

Ahw, don't worry Anon, this blog is a safe place for loving on anyone!

And well, let's be completely honest, everyone who hates on this moron, is actually right about it, the latest episode left me a 3 minute complete silence as I tried to recover from what he did to our dear Cherry.......

But, to be fair, I have a soft spot for all the motherfuckers like Adam, so all of you who love the Matador of Love, don't be afraid to send in your requests, I adore him too! 💖

And don't worry about your English anon, it's perfectly fine! Send me a request anytime I'm open! ❤

*EDIT: Yesterday I forgot to include some stuff, so I added them~

HEAVY smut under the cut, general TW for the innocent vanillas~

Ainosuke Shindo (Adam) SMUT headcanons

We already have some clues about how the Matador of Love would be like in a relationship, and let me tell you, and I don't think it's a surprise but...

It's not nice. At all.

or it depends on what you call nice I think haha

Ainosuke definitely has a big turn on for tears and fear.

He's a sadist, and I don't think he would be completely against being on the other end of the line, but he would be the top dom most of the time.

He's into both physical and mental abuse, but before we completely bookmark him under the 'heartless psycho' category, he won't do anything non-consensual.

I imagine he would search for his 'Eve' in this way too, and if someone wouldn't willingly submit to him, they are just not the right ones.

So unless you let him do whatever he wants, he wouldn't take you seriously. He might have a one night stand, as he does sometimes, but to be his Eve, that's not enough.

He would expect you to be 100% submissive towards him, but only in the bedroom, and not on the casual side. He would love the contrast between the two: you being bold and confident during the day, but a sobbing, needy mess at night - perfect.

Master/Pet play is a big kink for him.

At first, he would give you a taste - he wouldn't be half as rough as he usually is, but would make you cry during the act, just to show off his style a little

"Do you still want to be my pet?", he asked, his index finger lifting up your head to make your teary eyes meet his seemingly empty, red ones. If you managed to whimper out a yes, his fingers would brush your lips as he leans a little closer. "I'm gonna abuse you, y/n."

You saying yes to him again would make his blood boil in excitement again.

He would absolutely cherish the idea of having a s/o as a pet, someone who would adore and worship him, and he could play with them as much as he would like to. Wouldn't go as far as caging (well, if you really insist, he wouldn't be against it either), but would give you a collar with "Adam" written on the tag.

Ainosuke is the kind that would be gentle and caressing at the start, and as the play session goes he would get more rough and vicious.

He does a lot of foreplay. It's mostly anything that implies that he is in control, and usually it starts rather innocently.

He walks over to you, caressing your cheeks with a brief smile, giving you soft kisses on your neck, hands traveling on your body with gentle touches...

...only until you get completely relaxed. He would lean back a little, his fingers tracing your lips, and for the first time in the last few minutes, he would smile at you.

And the fun begins.

You quickly learn that specific smile, the innocent, kind one that only appears on his lips when he came up with something truly dirty and terrific.

Would totally manhandle and take advantage of you. Grabbing you by the hair or your collar to get you to the bedroom, but sometimes when he feels like it, he could be able to just pick you up in bridal style and carry you to his bed - which is gigantic, by the way.

With Ainosuke, expect a lot of messy blowjobs. He would let you start and show your appreciation for the first few minutes. But after that, he would cup your cheeks, tug into your hair and face fuck you with vigorous speed. Plus points if you wear any makeup, he would ruin it, and almost get off only on the sight of seeing you crying off your eyeshadow. It would be hard to stop him after he starts, and wouldn't really care about your discomfort, the only thing he would avoid is making you vomit, he doesn't like that

He would call you the dirtiest, filthiest names ever, but would praise you and call you sweet, loving names just as much, especially during said face fucks.  

He is not THAT into bondage, Ainosuke prefers using his hand and body only to get you under full control, but if he is in the right mood, he would totally tie you up and abuse the hell out of you.

Doesn't matter if you are a female or a male, he would absolutely torture your nipples. Flicking them roughly, pinching them, tugging on them so hard that your back arches, slapping and biting them.

Getting to the main act with Ainosuke takes a long time, he would make sure to make you come one way or another, at least once.

Sometimes, when he is in a more affectionate mood, or you earned a reward, he would overstimulate you until you're so dizzy and disoriented that you don't even remember your own name, because you screamed his name so many times during your climaxes. He would leave you no rest, once you get your first one, he wouldn't stop, aiming for the next one, and the next one, and the next one...

Finally, when he gets between your legs with his crotch, you're so wet or lubricated that it wouldn't be much of a struggle to slam into you without a warning.

Through the whole foreplay, he is just so aloof and cold, or somewhat loving yet collected, but now that he is in you - he would completely switch into an animalistic, rough beast. Grabbing and bending you, completely getting lost in your moans, whimpers, and screams.

Would enjoy a lot of poses, his favorites are mating press, spreader, v, all variations of doggy, and basically everything where he is in full control over you.

But when he gets close, he would prefer to switch into missionary, leaving no space between your bodies, looking into your eyes as he reaches his high.

Depending on his mood, he would be either very affectionate with aftercare, or just completely ignorant of it, leaving you in the room alone as he goes to clean up himself and return to his day.

If there's no risk of knocking you up, he would usually release his seed into you, as a way of marking you as his, but would love to just cum anywhere on your body for the same reason.

That being said, he is not an abusing asshole all the time. From time to time, he would be more gentle, focusing more on holding your body like it was the most precious thing in the world, keeping it close to him, shower it with kisses, lovebites, and loving gropes.

He would sense your mood often, and if you feel down for some reason, he would cuddle you, placing you into his lap and wrapping his arm around you, and he would offer you some distraction from your problems. If you accept it, he would pay attention to your needs. Sure, if you just want his usual self, he will order you around and give you a rough treatment.

But if you need lovemaking, how would the Matador of Love turn you down? It's just something he won't really go for on a regular basis, so savor these moments every time, but don't be afraid to mention it when you need it, he's bossy and narcissistic but up for negotiations.

The latter is rather rare, he would usually just cuddle up with your messy, hot body for a few minutes before helping with the cleaning up.

Either way, sex is hardly ever predictable with him, he would be able to surprise you every time even after a long, long time of being together.

[cow-smells]

Party Favors (Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz / reader)

Request:  Can I have one for a Hawk smut where he’s having a little pool party and  the reader is usually always wearing modest/baggy clothing but she wore  a pretty sexy bikini to the party and everybody is shocked cuz she is  hiding a super nice body under all those clothing. Hawk gets a boner  seeing her and has to go inside the house to fix his problem and the  reader goes inside the house and catches him and offers him some help  and he’s shocked because she seems innocent. Basically a version of that  fast time at ridgemont high bikini scene lol  (for: @le-fashionmwah )​  

A/N: there’s been an influx of requests for Hawk smut so I really hope this hits the spot lol. felt really dirty writing this even tho its probs not that bad?? idk. lemme know. also, for some reason i only looked up that scene/movie halfway in to writing this, so i hope this is somewhat what you visioned

Words: 1582

Warnings: nsfw :)

Read on AO3

It had been a couple of months since your family moved to California, and you were loving it.

You befriended the Cobra Kais as soon as you started school and they had invited you to a pool party today at Sam's house.

You were a little bit reluctant to go at first, preferring to keep your weekends to yourself, reading a good book all curled up in one of the over sized hoodies you usually wore; that was, until Hawk came along.

    “Come on,” he whined to you a couple of days earlier. “Miguel's going to be all up in Sam's ass and I'll be bored as hell. You gotta come keep me company.”

You hated to admit it, but you were putty in his hands. You were nursing an ever growing crush on Hawk from the moment you first layed eyes on him; so naturally, you were easily convinced. You were desperate to make a move on him, but you were still new and friendless other then the Cobra Kais; you feared making a wrong move and losing them all.

    That is how you came to find yourself in Sam's back yard, trying to recognize familiar faces. You arrived with Miguel who as per Hawks prediction quickly abandoned you to chase after Sam, leaving you to fend for yourself. You scanned the yard filled with your peers; you couldn't recognize anyone – at least, not by name. Taking your phone out of your hoodie, you tried calling Hawk to no avail. He didn't pick up.

Assuming he wasn't answering because he was driving over (you didn't want to think he might have decided to pass on the party after convincing you to come), you decided to do the only thing there was left to do at a pool party – go for a swim.

    You took a deep breath and took hold of your over sized hoodie, pulling it up and off of you, leaving you in nothing but the new bikini you got just for this (and maybe, just maybe, for Hawk too).

    You didn't notice the many pairs of eyes that were suddenly focused on you.

Embracing the carefree air of the party, you jumped in to the deep end of the pool, letting your body sink for a moment before propelling yourself up to breathe. The cold water woke up your senses, letting you forget about your previous shyness if only a little. You swam to the edge of the pool and pushed yourself up to sit on the ledge.

    “You're the new girl,” a voice suddenly asked. Looking aside, it was a boy you recognized from English class. He allowed himself to take a seat by you. “sit behind me in English, right?”

    “Yeah,” you smile, happy to have been noticed. You two go on with your small talk for a little while until an extremely recognizable figure walked out the house.

    “Hawk!” you called, more eager than you probably should have. You excused yourself from the boy who acted as a pleasant distraction, rising to your feet and making your way over to him, your bikini dripping heavily.

    It took Hawk a heavy moment until he responded, his jaw slightly slacked as you came to stand in front of him.

    “Hi,” he finally said, feeling his mouth dry. Hawk had to train his eyes intensely on yours, lest they venture downwards.

    “Took you long enough,” you tease, nudging his arm playfully. “oh, sorry,” you apologize at seeing the spot you touched become dark with moisture. “I'm wet.”

    Yes, you are, Hawk thought to himself.

A slight gust of wind hits you, and you cross your arms under your chest, trying to preserve your heat.

    Hawk looks aside bashfully, heart pounding at your now even-further pronounced breasts. “I, um,” he mutters, “forgot my bike running. I'll be right back.”

Without a second glance to you, Hawk leaves in a rush.

You see him through a window and to your surprise, he doesn't leave the house. He detours to a bathroom.

You felt confused and slightly offended – what was the rush to leave you like that, after you greeted him so publicly too? Was he... embarrassed to be seen with you?

The negative thoughts began plaguing your mind; there was only one way to settle this, you decided. With that, you entered the house to confront him.

    You're two steps in to the living room when Moon gets an eyeful of you. “Damn, Y/n!” she surveys your scantily clad body with a grin. “You were hiding that under all those layers? Good for you, girl,” she winks. Your quest to Hawk continues with reddened cheeks and a little grin.

    You reach the bathroom you saw Hawk enter and knock, calling his name.

    “What?” Hawk replies, his voice strained and perhaps agitated.

    “I'm coming in,” you declare boldly, turning the door handle and prying it open.

    “No, don't -” Hawk begins, but it's too late. You're already in.

Hawk's face is red, his shirt is tousled – which brings your eyes down to his unbuttoned jeans, and a prominent bulge coming from them.

    Your eyes widen as you realize what you just walked in to. “Oh.”

Hawk looks just about ready to bury himself alive. “Would you get out already?”

You space out for a moment as your brain runs through the course of events. He walked in, saw you, left with a boner.

    Huh.

    “I can leave,” you finally reply. “or,” his eyes lighten in confusion. “I can help you out.”

    “Help – help me out?” Hawk stutters and he scolds himself for acting so timidly, like Eli rather than Hawk. He needed to regain control of the situation.

You shut the bathroom door, making sure to lock it. Walking up close to him, Hawk looks down at you, trying so hard to regain his composure. You sink down to your knees.

    He nearly protests, cowers away, asks what you're doing. But then he doesn't. He's Hawk, and Hawk doesn't back away when the girl he's infatuated with is eye-level with his dick. He stays put. He takes control.

Your hand goes to caress his hardness over his clothes. Hawk one-ups you and pushes his jeans and boxers down, revealing himself to you completely. His hand weaves through your hair, letting him see your expression better.

He's worried, for a moment, that he might have taken things too far, read you incorrectly. A thought that's quick to leave his mind once your tongue is on his tip.

    He thinks his heart might actually beat out of his chest. He would have never, not in his wildest dreams, be able to imagine this scenario happening in real life. Although he wanted you for a while now, he didn't think you returned his feelings. Besides that, you were usually modest, you clothing hiding your body under it and you never flirting with anyone. He'd never peg you for the type to go down on him in a bathroom during a party with half your school year just out the door.

    Hawk groans as you slide your tongue from his tip to his balls, cupping them in your hand. It's nearly overwhelming to him when you spit in your hand and begin to pump his shaft.

Hawks grip on your hair tightens; you take him in your mouth. Hawk can't help the throaty moan that leaves him as you take him as deeply as you can, hollowing your cheeks as you pull away.

His free hand comes behind your head and his fingers find the strings holding up your bikini, which he allows himself to pull on until they sever and the top of your bikini comes loose.

    Finally taking control, Hawk uses his grip on your hair to guide you on and off his dick, making you take him deeply enough you have to relax your throat to accommodate him.

    “You're such a good girl for me,” Hawk groans as he gazes down at you with his dick in your warm mouth. “you take me so well.”

Your heart swells at the compliment, at the clear pleasure you're bringing him.

    Hawks moans rise in volume and his hips rut gently forward while he holds your head in place. Without warning a gust of warm liquid pools in your mouth. Hawk pulls out and before you can think to move he cums, white strands painting your lips and cheeks before dripping down to your bare breasts.

You swallow what made it to your mouth and look at Hawk towering above you. He looked absolutely spent... and content.

Hawk helped you to your feet, this time allowing himself to stare at you to his hearts content. He helped you clean off your face before taking it in his hands and kissing you deeply. You couldn't believe you had managed to do all that before sharing your first kiss.

Breaking apart, Hawk lets his hands skim down your body, his thumbs flicking your nipples playfully before taking hold of your bikini strings and tying them back up behind your neck, leaving your breasts still covered with his cum underneath the fabric.

He finished tying the knot, kissing you once more. “You're my girl now.”

There's a question there, beneath the deceleration, so you nod. Feeling bolder than before, Hawk holds your hand as he leads you back to the pool.

[miss-smutty]

Forbidden

Chapter 3

A/N- Evey couple of chapters you will get Professor Hemsworth's POV and this is the first one 🥵 I really wanted to write his story and hear his thoughts too.

Summary- He can't get her out of his mind, the girl in the coffee shop. Will fate bring them together again?

Word count- 2.9K

Pairing- Prof!Hems X Reader

Warnings- Age gap (OC is 20) student/professor relationship, swearing, dirty talk

18+ Only!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 5th Sept 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires @monet-belle @help2700 @presidentpotts

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chris Pov

My Apartment was silent as usual, empty like always when I arrived home from work, throwing my coat and bag on to the sofa and slumping down next to them.

I couldn't stand the silence, it taunted me and brought back memories I'd rather not remember. I'd thought about getting a roommate but still hadn't gotten around to posting out an ad, the idea made me nervous. Although I hated being alone, living with a stranger would be even worse. I turned on the TV to fill the expanse of the large empty room that I'd work so hard for but ultimately meant absolutely nothing to me.

My mind began to wander back to this morning and the chance meeting with the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. She'd taken my breath away and made me so nervous that I'd used some cheesy chat up line. I'd known at the time it would come back to haunt me tonight, no wonder she ran out of there as soon as she could. Thats why I hesitated, my hand brushed against the small of her back when I was about to ask her for her number and it took away my sensibility. I leaned in like I was about to kiss her, thank god I stopped myself though, how ridiculous would that have been?

I'd spoke to her for no more than ten minutes but somehow felt like I'd known her all my life. Asking for her number wouldn't have been the most unusual thing but she was in such a rush and I didn't want to make her late. There's absolutely nothing more I hate than tardiness.

I still couldn't get her off of my mind, she was beautiful, long dark hair that flowed down her back and the most piercing green eyes I'd ever seen. I couldn't stop looking into them, framed by dark eyelashes that made the emerald green pop even more. It's been a long time since I'd met a woman that made me feel as nervous as she did. The only thing is, she was young, much younger than me and I'd be fooling myself to think I'd actually stand a chance with her. Even if by some miracle I did, she deserved more than what I could give her, I was a mess, even after all this time I was still living in the past.

**********

I woke up feeling like a teenage boy again, a tent of my erection in the cotton sheets sprawled across my middle. I'd dreamt about the girl all night and honestly nothing about it was innocent. I rubbed at my eyes and stretched my muscles before finally getting out of bed, I had my first Junior Comms class to teach today and of course, I couldn't be late.

To say I was dreading today would be an understatement, I'd made a deal with the Dean to teach the Comms class because none of the other professors were willing and I was desperate for a job. I was hoping that if I exceeded expectations during my first semester I would finally get to teach psychology like I'd planned in the first place. Of course that meant being on my best behaviour and a lot of arse kissing, which I would do, albeit reluctantly.

The air was crisp this morning as I set off walking towards the university, luckily for me I didn't live to far away from the campus and the walk would help distract my thoughts because God knows they needed distracting. They always did.

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the halls, looking up at the architecture of the building and realising my idea to walk obviously hadn't worked. I'd barely paid attention the entire time and it was only muscle memory that had gotten me to my required destination.

I held onto the door handle of the lecture hall and took a deep breath before stepping in, the room erupting into wolf whistles was not what I expected but admittedly better than what I was thinking. I scanned the room and my students, rolling my eyes at the girls lining the front row, their eager faces taking me in. 

The class was full of typical students, the usual cliques you see at every educational institution. The jocks and cheerleaders, the nerds and oh fuck. The air was almost knocked from my lungs when I spotted her sat at the back of class. The girl I'd been talking to in the coffee shop yesterday, the girl that had been on my mind and in my dreams ever since. She was here, right in front of me which meant she was my student and younger than I'd actually thought. Fuck.

Even though she was now out of bounds I couldn't take my goddamn eyes off of her, the way her wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders. I could feel my cock tingling when my eyes fell to her low cut top and that unreal cleavage. I pulled my eyes away from her so as not to draw attention and focused on preparing for the lesson, leaving the students to whisper for a while longer while I recovered my composure.

Like a magnet, my eyes unwillingly kept finding their way back to her and she looked uncomfortable, squirming in her seat. I was making her uncomfortable and I still couldn't stop myself, I frowned as I subtly watched her cheeks blush and realised she's probably embarrassed because she'd been flirting with her Professor. Of course she'd be embarrassed, I was so much older than her but was it wrong that I didn't feel one ounce of awkwardness at the fact I had been flirting with a student?

All I could think about as I watched her tits bounce as she moved In her seat, was burying my face in her cleavage and I knew I had to look away before my dick reacted. The last thing I needed in a class full of students was to be walking around with a fucking erection.

I could stand there and watch her all day but certain students had stopped talking and they were waiting for me to speak and I'd almost forgotten why I was here In the first place. I really needed to get my head in the game, being infatuated with a student would definitely not get me the promotion I was looking for.

I pushed my hands in my tight pockets, hoping to stretch the fabric a little so my semi-hard dick wasn't so apparent, then my eyes were drawn to her again and she was talking to Jake. That pissed me off and I could feel my jaw tensing as I cleared my throat rather forcibly, hoping to get the attention of the whole class at the same time as distracting her from the rather friendly conversation she was having with another guy. A guy her age at that.

"Now I've got your attention, we're going to use our first session to get to know each other a little better. You'll be doing quite a lot of speeches so it's best if you feel comfortable with one another. I'll start by introducing myself." I looked at her again, gulping hard when I saw her with the end of her pen in her mouth and the way her lips wrapped around it. Fuck. "So, I'm Professor Hemsworth and I'm originally from Melbourne in Australia." I looked to her and she smiled, remembering what we spoke about yesterday.

A student started with the typical Australian stereotypes although I'm actually surprised no one told me to throw another shrimp on the Barbie. I laughed along anyway, I'd been expecting it, it's literally the first thing anyone who isn't Australian says when they first meet me. So when I told him it wasn't very original I meant it, I'd heard it a thousand times before and I'll hear it a thousand times again.

I told the class a little about myself before informing them they would do the same, it didn't go down well, the room filled with groans. I looked to her and she looked downright terrified, I sympathized for her, it wasn't easy speaking in front of a room full of people but was the best way to break the ice.

"Claire Abbott." I called, watching the blonde at the front stand, nervously. She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger as she smiled at me, I knew what she was doing. I quickly glanced at the girl from the coffee shop as she rolled her eyes at the blonde at the front, I smirked back at her, amused at her tolerance for predictable girls.

"I erm… I don't know what to say?" The blonde said, looking at me questioningly.

"Just anything about yourself that we might find interesting, the first thing that comes to mind."

"Well I own four horses and I'm the cheer captain." I had to stop myself from laughing when she rolled her eyes again but the smile soon disappeared when I saw Jake lean over to speak to her and the way she laughed at him made my blood boil. I was seething, not because they were speaking instead of listening but because she was speaking to him instead of me.

"You two at the back, we'll wait for you shall we?" I called them out, my voice more stern than I expected. I was pissed off that Jake would easily be able to get to know her and I couldn't. She stared at me, her eyes wide, she was surprised I'd called them out in front of everyone which made me even more pissed off because that probably blew my chances even more. What the hell am I thinking? What chances, I need to remember I'm her fucking Professor.

She sat silently through the rest of the class, I still couldn't keep my eyes off of her and thankfully neither could she. She looked flustered and I liked it, I liked that I could make her feel that way without even touching her. She was so goddamn hot I could hardly concentrate on what the other students were saying.

When I glanced down at the sheet of names in front of me and saw Jake's name my jaw clenched.

"Jake Hudson." I couldn't help narrowing my eyes as he stood up, I just knew he'd say something cocky and I was so fucking jealous of him right now. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath, I needed to keep my cool, especially in a room full of students and her. If she knew what I was really like she wouldn't look at me the way she did.

"Hi, I'm Jake." I bit onto the inside of my gum, that bit of pain keeping me grounded. "I'm also from Australia." He gave me that fucking cocky half arsed smile I'd been waiting for and the adrenaline shot through me. I was thankful no one noticed apart from maybe the one person in here I didn't want to notice. She was watching me carefully. I had to loosen my tie a little as he continued to speak, I was burning up with rage.

I'm glad class was almost over, I needed a stiff drink and I needed it now. I looked at my sheet of names again and there were only a couple left, I wondered which one was hers. I needed to know her name. Fuck. I needed to know everything about her.

"Jessica Watson." She stood up. Fuck, Jessica, it was a cute name and fit her perfectly. I was mesmerized with her and the way she spoke as she tucked her long hair behind her ears. "These last couple of days have been pretty eventful for me." She looked right at me, what was she going to say? "I'm living the life of a romance novels heroine and I'm excited to see what the next couple of days bring." Oh fuck. Was she talking about meeting me? Or Jake? I like to think by the way she studied me as she spoke, she was talking about me. This was wrong, so wrong but why did it feel so right? I forgot there was anybody else in the room, my cock twinging as I pictured myself fucking her on this desk. I needed to stop thinking like this, it's unprofessional and completely immoral. I shook my head and turned back to the class.

"I hope we all feel a bit more comfortable with each other now, some of you shared some pretty revealing things." I looked at Jessica. "Some of you, not so much." Then raised my eyebrows at a group of guys in the middle of class that had used thier time to inform everyone about the party at their frat house this weekend. "I'll have a schedule for you all next time I see you, anybody that has any questions can see me after class, everyone else is free to leave." I looked at her one last time, hoping she'd use this opportunity to come and speak to me.

I sighed when I sat back at my desk and a group of girls took their opportunity, I wasn't in the mood for it but answered their questions anyway. I didn't take my eyes from Jessica, especially when Jake started speaking to her again. The girls in front of me were taking up my time, trying to flirt with me instead of asking relevant questions and I was over it.

"Do you actually have any questions about the course ladies? I have other things to be getting on with if not." I was a little short with them without actually meaning to be. I just wanted them out of my goddamn way so I could see what was going on with Jessica and Jake.

The girls finally left, more like stormed off but I couldn't care less right now. She was still sat at her desk which means she waited until I was alone which has got to be a good sign. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence driving me insane so I cleared my throat and she blinked like I'd woken her from a daydream. What was she thinking about?

She packed up her things into her bag slowly, I could tell she was buying herself time but I felt relaxed now we were alone, in fact I felt excited which was completely ridiculous. I felt like a damn teenager.

"Did you need to talk Miss Watson?" I was amused and I needed to break the ice before the silence got the better of me. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest.

"I erm…" She walked towards me, down the stairs, looking at her feet. She was unsteady and looked nervous as hell, was she going to tell me to back off? "I wanted to apologise, I had no idea you were a Professor." She stood at the bottom of the stairs, I was glad she wasn't too close. I don't know if I'd be able to control myself around her and lord knows I had to. The atmosphere was tense, neither of us really knowing what to say or do, all I could think about was ripping off her clothes.

"There's no need to apologise Miss Watson, I also had no idea you were a student but I was hoping to bump into you again. Funny how things work out isn't it?" I cocked my eyebrow at her, testing her, seeing how she would react to my comment. Something changed and she didn't look quite so nervous anymore.

"I think fate can be rather cruel Professor Hemsworth." The way she called me Professor stirred something deep inside me, a hunger I didn't know I had and when she moved closer to me I began to feel nervous.

"Oh really? Why is that Miss Watson?" She was so close now, I could smell her sweet scent of coconut shampoo. I wanted to touch her badly, I didn't though. I didn't dare because I knew if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself and I must restrain, she's my student after all. It's wrong. It's forbidden.

I still couldn't stop myself from flirting, like an uncontrollable impulse and as soon as I opened my mouth to try and be professional I would just go right ahead and flirt. She was so outrageously attractive but the kind of attractive where she didn't know it and didn't flaunt it, which I found even more endearing.

"I was hoping to bump into you again too, only now the thought of what could've happened will have to remain a fantasy." My restraint was really being tested now, she was teasing me, egging me on and the fact she'd also been fantasising about me made it extra difficult to resist. I had to loosen my tie again, I needed my fingers to be busy so I didn't touch her. I had an internal conflict going on inside my mind and it was like torture, if this was day one of class how the hell was I meant to survive the whole semester?

"I better get to my next class, we can't have anyone thinking I'm your favourite now can we?" Fuck sake. I ground my teeth together, I was glad she was leaving, I couldn't take the tension any longer but at the same time I knew, with distance the desire would only intensify. She turned to leave and I couldn't stop myself watching her hips sway as she walked, her ass was so round and bouncy, it hypnotised me and that's when I knew I was in deep trouble.

[katnissmellarkkk]

how about Katniss’s birthday before the Quell — do we hear much about that? if anything? if not, what about Peeta taking a timeout from his trainer persona to bring her something like a cake? 🥺

I’m always a little insecure when I do post prompts because I don’t know if it’s exactly like the prompt but I actually think it’s like 99 percent close? Which is like, amazing for me because I always twist prompts a little 🤏🏻 and I don’t think I did here! Anyways! I finally wrote this soooo. Well actually I wrote most of it a while back but I finished it and cleaned it up. But anyways, yay! I hope you and everyone else who blesses me by reading enjoy this! It’s short — at least for me. I don’t know the exact word count but … probably too long for a drabble but a short oneshot. Okay anyways, if I keep talking the AN’s going to be longer than the oneshot.

Since the morning after the Quell was announced, I’ve done my best to not cry again about my given fate. Going back into the arena a second time—this time with all experienced killers, who have been friends for decades, no less—was daunting, but one morning of weeping is about all I could afford.

Not that I truly had time to wallow in my own misery. Peeta had me and Haymitch on a tight regimen. Every day he pushes us further, every day he orders us to cut the breaks between circuits shorter, to keep on running, to not lose our momentum, to hit the target again and again and again. And again.

It’s even gotten to the point, as of late, that Peeta’s mother, the witch herself, has forbidden our usage of her precious flour sacks as weights, claiming she still needs the ingredients to keep the bakery running and we’ve already wasted enough.

Her son is rather put out with her — to put it lightly — but for perhaps the first time ever, I’m grateful to the sour woman. Last year, when I cited Peeta’s ability to toss a sack of flour over his shoulder, I didn’t recognize what a true feat it really was. Even after two weeks of attempting to lift the stupid, heavy objects, it still took all of my strength to even get the stupid things off the ground.

Haymitch and me so much as shared a conspicuous smirk when told we no longer have to endure that particular activity.

Of course, Peeta still insists on heavy lifting to gain muscle, trying to find a substitute for the flour sacks in way of buckets filled with gigantic rocks and overfilled water jugs. This doesn’t seem to be of much strain to him or Haymitch — and therefore, not of much help to their training — but I can visibly see the difference in my arms day to day. Having never done much lifting in the past, since it’s hardly necessary for hunting or trapping, it’s particularly fascinating to me, watching my biceps grow larger as Peeta’s insistent training plan marches on.

But Peeta still feels the need to push himself further. Perhaps even more so than me — or our now very sober mentor — he feels the urge to always put additional strain on himself, more and more with every day that passes on by.

And as of today, his dissatisfaction with the lack of heavy weights available for his training finally reached a head when he casually pitched the idea of using me as a weight.

At first, I thought he was kidding. For a solid minute, I just stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

It was only after I glanced at Haymitch’s uncharacteristically earnest face that I realized there was no joke in the matter. I debated refusing for a moment before I sighed, resigning myself to becoming a human leverage.

It took over an hour of Peeta lifting me over his head, of being swung up in his arms, being whirled over his shoulder or seesawed up and down, for me to realize this was actually a nice break for me from the rigorous training. By the day’s end, I’m perfectly content to let my fake fiancé bench press me, throw me up like the sack of flour he covets so badly and whatever else he deems necessary.

It was only later on the walk home, right after Peeta said he needed to stop by the bakery to see his father, that Haymitch predicted the true reason for my day of leisure.

“I suppose that was the boy’s birthday present to you.”

My head whips upwards towards him, shocked. No one has mentioned the date at all as of late. The acknowledgement of the sparse time left until the games is weighing heavy on us all. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “Because I do,” is all he says finally, as he turns in the direction of his own house now. Just as he reaches his door though, he murmurs, “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” before heading inside.

Ever since the announcement that I’m doomed to be reaped again, my mother and Prim have done just about everything to make things seem okay around the house. Beyond that even. They’ve dedicated themselves to always appearing cheerful, to always having dinner ready for me, to always having a remedy for healing my achy muscles or advice for putting on more weight.

But if they’re usually chipper, tonight they’re downright ecstatic when I cross the threshold. And the reason is all too obvious.

This is likely going to be the last birthday we spend together. And not just of mine, but any of ours.

It strikes me unexpectedly that I’ll never see my own sister grow up, I’ll never see her into adulthood, I’ll never be able to watch her become the talented healer, the wise beyond her years young woman, the nurturing mother she’s doubtlessly destined to be.

And I almost get choked up at the thought. My resolve to not break down into tears like the morning after the president’s announcement nearly crumbles. But I hold it together somehow. By some inexplicable strength deep inside, I hold myself together.

My mother did her best to recreate the lamb stew dish from the Capitol I loved the best and I practically lick my plate. Not just to make her feel good but because all this training has exponentially increased my appetite.

Prim tells me all about school and Lady and a funny man she healed this afternoon, who had a proclivity for telling jokes while she stitched his bleeding arm.

She’s just getting into a pretty fabric she saw in town today when a loud knock interrupts us. My mother glances at me meaningfully, as if urging me to go get the door.

I shoot her a puzzled look, as I’m the least personable member of this family and surely, no one is here to visit me.

“Go on,” she says though, nodding towards the entryway. “Go see who’s there.”

I stand from the table and hesitantly humor her, unsure the entire walk there what could be awaiting me on the other side.

The answer dawns on me as the most obvious thing in the world, as soon as I turn the knob.

And see Peeta standing on my porch. He’s still in the same white shirt he wore earlier, still damp with sweat from the heat outside and the added exertion of lifting my body weight countless times.

But that’s not all I notice. Right off the bat I see that he’s holding something delicate in his hands. I blink once before recognizing what it is.

A birthday cake.

A birthday cake that has been meticulously frosted into a deep pine green. My favorite color, as he knows.

I realize after a moment that my name is cursively splayed across the top in white icing.

“Peeta,” I open my mouth to say something, to say just about anything, but much to my dismay, nothing comes out and I’m stuck fumbling like an idiot in the doorway.

He gives me a tight smile though and it’s the first smile he’s really showed me in weeks, and as he gently pushes the cake into my hands, it strikes me just how much I’ve missed the sight. “Happy birthday, Katniss,” he whispers, his baby blues lingering on my face only for one beat before he quickly turns to make an escape.

Before I can think it through, I’m calling after him. “Peeta, wait!”

Very slowly, he swivels around to face me. “Yeah?”

I freeze, dumbfounded. I don’t actually know what I wish to say now that I have his attention. That I miss him even though I don’t know how I really feel for him? That I plan to trade my life for his in only a few weeks time and all his work and effort to prepare me for the games is useless because it’s him I intend to come back home? That I hate his trainer persona so much and I wish he’d go back to just being my friend again?

That I really miss it when he acted like friend?

Instead all that comes out is a choked invite. “Come in,” I urge, and the plea in my tone is palpable. “Please come in and share this with us.”

He thinks about the proposition for a long moment, leaving me still standing there like an idiot, holding a cake too big to fit in my hands. Finally though, he graciously relents to my request. “Okay,” he murmurs and I swear I see something akin to excitement in his eyes.

And I wonder in the back of my mind how many nights Peeta spends alone, eating these delicious desserts by himself in his too grand dining room.? I wonder if, deep down, he secretly wanted to join me and my family for cake? If he misses our attempt at friendship too?

He generously takes the cake back into his hold, having the advantage of strength over me. Lifting bread-trays and flour sacks all his life made him reasonably strong before our first games. The current training regimen him and I — and Haymitch too — are currently doing has made him remarkably strong.

“Thank you,” I whisper again as he brushes past me in the doorway, as he enters my home and heads in direction of the dining room where Prim will doubtlessly be overjoyed at the sight of the sweet treat.

“You’re welcome, Katniss,” he says again, and flashes me one more smile. This time it’s less shy and with teeth. “Happy birthday.”

Yes, I think to myself as I shut the door behind us. Happy seventeenth birthday to me.

[farfromharry]

Birthday Girl | Dad!Mob!Tom Fic

Summary: you just wanted to spend your birthday with your boyfriend, but when that isn’t possible he has a lot of making up to do.

Word count - 3,277

Warnings - violence, language

a/n - i don’t really like this but oh well🥰

Tom always started his days early, one of the downsides to not being able to predict what would happen in your ever so dangerous job. You hoped that today of all days would be different. Surely he’d let you wake up next to him on your birthday, cuddled into his chest, or at least wake you up before he left, even just to give you a quick kiss and a happy birthday.

You didn’t get any of that. When you finally opened your eyes just before 9, you were met with a lonely bed, Tom’s side being exceptionally cold, meaning he’d be gone for a while.

You rolled over so you didn’t have to keep looking at his empty side of the bed, now noticing the small gift on your nightstand.

Tom was a very traditional man, he liked to give you love notes and letters every so often, rather than sending a text with it all in, he felt like it meant he was trying harder.

You reached over and picked up the piece of paper, unfolding it to see Tom’s messy handwriting scribbled all over the paper.

Sorry I couldn’t be there baby,

be home by 2, ask Harry for a lighter.

Happy birthday my love x

Tom

You sighed, smiling at the thought he put in, even if it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. Your eyes landed on the cupcake sitting on the side with a single candle sticking out of it.

Not yet feeling like getting out of bed, you picked up your phone, sending Harry a simple text asking if he’d bring you a lighter to light your candle. While you waited, you replied to a few birthday messages from friends and family before heading to Tom’s contact to send him a thank you text.

Thank you for the cupcake and the letter x

You weren’t expecting a reply. Tom was notorious for forgetting or being too busy to text people back, so you’d learnt to simply not expect too much.

There was a gentle knock on your bedroom door a few minutes later, Harry entering with a certain awake little boy on his hip. Theo grinned when he saw his mummy, his chubby little hands reaching for you as soon as his uncle stepped through the door.

“Hi bubba,” you cooed, unable to stop your voice changing pitch into a so called baby voice.

Harry didn’t hold back his laugh as he let you take the boy from his arms, watching as you placed kisses all over his face until he was babbling with baby laughter.

Harry held up the lighter, letting you see that he was about to light the candle for you. You sat up more against the headboard of your bed, not caring that Harry was seeing you in your lazy pyjamas. You shifted Theo so he was sitting better in your lap, moving your legs into a criss cross position so Harry could sit down.

“Happy birthday, Y/N.” He held the cupcake up for you to blow out the candle, letting out a little cheer when the flame went out.

“Thank you.” You took the cupcake from him, taking out the candle and placing it on your side. You took part of the icing on your finger, holding it to your son’s mouth so he could try a little bit. You knew he wouldn’t be able to take a piece of the actual cupcake, but you felt bad for not sharing.

“Do you want some?” you asked Harry, receiving a headshake in response.

“I’ve been instructed to take you and this little man,” Harry teasingly tickled just under Theo’s chin, the boy trying to wiggle away from the touch. “to breakfast, seeing as Tom can’t.”

At the mention of Tom you felt your mood decrease, trying not to show your disappointment to Harry, even though the male had already guessed you’d be quite upset, even maybe angry with his older brother.

“What’s he doing?” you asked, obviously referring to your boyfriend. Harry shrugged, flashing you a sympathetic smile.

“I have no idea, you know how Tom is.” You nodded, plastering on a fake smile. “Anyway, go get dressed and then we can go.”

Harry left pretty much straight after that, but not before he gave you a hug and placed a brotherly kiss on your head, very loudly announcing that he was ready when you were.

You very strategically laid Theo in the middle of the bed, watching him carefully with every move you made, just so he wouldn’t fall off of your bed. As soon as you were dressed in some warm winter clothes you moved on to attempting to get your baby boy ready, knowing it was already going to be a challenge.

“Your turn.”

In almost no time you were ready to go, most of the time taken being spent on getting the little boy into his clothes for the day. He wasn’t exactly a fan of the process of putting on numerous amounts of clothing. However, it was cold in London and you didn’t want your 10 month old baby to freeze.

Harry hadn’t told you where he was taking you, not at home, or on the car ride there. It was only when you stopped in the car park that you realised you didn’t even recognise it.

“Where are we?” you asked, moving out of the car to start unbuckling Theo from his car seat.

“Tom suggested it actually.” You knew that probably meant he had connections inside, but you couldn’t blame the place, because who wouldn’t be scared of a dangerous mob boss who could shut you down in a heartbeat. On your way inside you tried to lighten the mood, well, your mood rather than Harrys.

“This place is fancy, are you spoiling me Holland?” He chuckled, giving his name to the host who then led you to your table. They generously set out a highchair for Theo to sit in, so the boy wouldn’t have to stay in your lap the entire time.

Part of you was worried that he’d cry at some point, annoying all the, what looked like, stuck up middle aged women in the restaurant. Harry tried to reassure you it was fine, your boy was an angel and you knew the only sounds you’d hear from him were his adorable baby babbles.

“Did Tom really not tell you what he was doing today?” Harry rolled his eyes. He thought you’d want to forget about Tom for at least an hour just so you could enjoy your birthday breakfast with your friend, but apparently not.

“No, he said good morning, fed Theo and then left.” He was being completely honest, because Harry was a horrible liar and you’d know if he wasn’t telling the truth. All he knew was that his older brother had some dirty work to do and would be back home around 2 that afternoon, in time for the small party you were throwing with your friends and family.

Harry ordered a bottle of champagne, your eyebrows raising as you glanced at the time on your phone screen.

“It’s 11am.” He shrugged his shoulders, a small grin on his face as he amused Theo.

“It’s your birthday, live a little.”

It didn’t take long until you were feeling slightly tipsy. Being practically a single mum due to the ridiculous hours that Tom worked, meant you never got the chance to go drinking with your friends, or drinking at all. So even the littlest bit of alcohol was enough to have you giggling more than normal.

Theo noticed your unusually bubbly energy that he hadn’t seen since he was a few months old, his hands reaching for you with a smile.

You gently kissed the backs of his tiny hands, smiling as you did so. Harry was glad you were enjoying yourself, feeling a little bit like he’d accomplished something because he hadn’t seen you like this since Theo was born.

Harry was first to notice the people heading over to your table with a cake in hand, confusion setting in deep. He nudged you so you turned your head, your eyebrows furrowing into the same expression Harry held.

“We didn’t order that,” Harry stated, looking at the cake in confusion. The chef waved his hand, calling nonsense.

“Mr Holland requested we bring it out, for the birthday girl,” he explained. You looked at Harry with a raised brow, silently asking if this was his doing. When he shook his head it pretty much confirmed what you thought on your way in, Tom has connections here.

“I didn’t-“ he started.

You cut him off, flashing him a tight lipped smile. “I think he means Tom.”

You gratefully accepted the cake, thanking the older gentleman greatly. You and Harry came to a silent agreement that you’d both eat it there, taking your cutlery of choice and taking a first bite.

“I hate that this is really good.” He could sense your annoyance from where he was sitting. He was partly failing at the task he’d been given by Tom, keep you occupied and happy for the morning. Although you were occupied, you were definitely not happy.

“It’s a sweet gesture,” he tried to defend his older brother. You scoffed, beginning to grow really annoyed with Tom’s actions.

“Yeah, he’s doing everything but actually being here.”

»»——⍟——««

The ringtone of Tom’s phone came blaring out right as he yelled the threat at the man, his eyes rolling as he let it ring.

Tom had been at this for too long and he was beginning to get bored. He wanted answers, simple. He wanted to know who made the threat and where they were, and he was making it his mission to find out.

He had Harrison making calls every time the pathetic excuse of a man in front of him blurted out a name in the midst of pain. But each one led to a dead end that only infuriated the mobster more.

“Just tell me who it was,” he finished his demand with another strong hit to the man’s face. He looked back at Tom with a bloody smile, his eyes catching sight of something behind the male.

“Pretty family you’ve got there.”

Tom didn’t even have to look to know he was referencing the picture on his desk. The one where you were holding a giggling 4 month old Theo while on a picnic with Tom, kissing the little boy’s cheek.

“Don’t even look at them,” Tom hissed. His threat was followed up by another hit that caused the man to groan. Tom shook his fist, noticing the marks starting to appear on his knuckles.

His phone rang again, interrupting the hundredth threat Tom was about to make. He rolled his eyes, motioning for his best friend to answer it for him.

The mobster got back to the task at hand, letting the phone call drift to the back of his mind while it was the least of his concerns. He was getting ridiculously frustrated with the man in front of him, not having planned on this taking most of his day.

“Just give me the right name!” he demanded, his voice level growing louder and louder with each word.

“Tom,” Harrison muttered, placing the phone back on the grand desk. He looked over his shoulder at his right hand man with no trace of amusement in his face, silently telling him that now was not the time.

“You’re late,” he simply stated. His eyes widened when he caught on to what he was saying, looking at the clock to see it was 2:10, 10 minutes after he said he’d be home.

“I haven’t even got her gift,” he rambled, looking at Harrison in distress.

“You go, I'll sort this out, catch up with you later.” Tom nodded, thanking him.

“Fuck, i’m late,” he cursed to himself under his breath, grabbing his stuff together and ignoring the pleads of the man on the floor in the middle of the room. He halted and motioned for Harrison to grab him. “Keep him somewhere until I get back, and don’t let him die.”

With that he left his office, rushing out of the building to his car with the intent of making it to you as soon as possible. He truly had wanted to spend the entire day spoiling you, but business called and when a poorly executed threat came in, threatening his family moreso, someone had to be dealt with.

Tom would’ve arrived quicker if he hadn’t had to make a quick stop first. He’d taken your present to get resized because he knew it wasn’t going to fit, and the only time he could pick it up was today.

»»——⍟——««

Tom made it home just before 3, being met with his angry mother standing right by the front door. Now Tom wasn’t scared of much, he couldn’t be in his line of work, but an angry mum definitely scared him to death.

“You’re late,” she seethed, slapping his arm with whatever it was she was holding. Tom sighed and retreated further into the house like a puppy that had just been scolded, taking his gun from his holster and making sure to lock it in his safe.

“That poor girl is up there thinking you aren’t coming.”

That made his heart ache, a frown growing spreading on his thin lips. His mum tried to tell him to leave you be, to let you get ready with your friends in peace while he helped set things up.

“Where’s Theo?” She pointed him to the kitchen, where Tom found his youngest brother cradling a cranky baby boy. Theo was crying, ignoring Paddy’s attempts to get him to quieten down.

“Here, let me take him,” he offered, relieving his youngest brother of the agitated baby. Tom held his son to his chest, patting his back and quietly cooing in his ear.

His cries quietened down after a little while, happy to be in the arms of his dad. Tom swayed with him, pressing kisses onto his head until his baby was bubbling with laughter.

“Yeah, are you okay now?” He lifted him up in the air, slowly lowering him to blow raspberries on his clothed belly. The boy squealed loudly, reaching for his dad as though he wanted to do it again.

Through the excitement, Tom hadn’t noticed you standing in the doorway with a small smile.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of your boyfriend being silly with your baby boy. You didn’t really get to witness moments like this as of late, so seeing Tom smile like that with your bub was something to cherish.

“Come on, we’re bringing out the cake.” In his defense, Paddy didn’t know you were upset with his brother, so pulling the both of you into the kitchen and placing you next to each other was honestly an innocent gesture.

You were still slightly annoyed with Tom. The fact that he’d put his work before your special day really hurt your feelings, but you weren’t going to cause a scene in front of everyone, so you very stiffly leaned into his embrace, forcing a smile on your face.

Tom rubbed your shoulders, muttering a quiet apology in your ear as he kissed your head.

“Happy birthday to you,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands out of embarrassment. You always hated getting sang to on your birthday, you never knew what to do in the moment, choosing instead to cringe at your awkward stance as you looked around at your friends, more specifically Sam who was holding your birthday cake.

Once they’d finished singing, you blew out the numerous candles, making a wish in your head. Theo placed one of his baby kisses on your cheek, Tom following his son’s actions with one on the top of your head.

You made sure to thank everyone, letting them make their way to various parts of the house where the ‘real party’ was set to begin. Seeing as Tom had been the one to set this up, there were of course more mobsters, along with their wives, that he was doing business with.

He’d left to go and mingle with said mobsters, once again talking about business, business that could wait for another day.

Nikki found you and Theo sitting in the kitchen alone, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

“Why don’t you let me take him, go get a drink, have a break,” she offered. You thanked her, allowing her to take the little boy into her arms. She thankfully headed towards his uncles, who were far away from any of the awfully dangerous men in the room.

Your eyes roamed around the area, noticing that there wasn’t particularly anyone you wanted to talk to right now. You grabbed yourself a glass of champagne, the same one that you’d had at breakfast with Harry, and headed out to the patio.

You didn’t happen to be alone for too long, your boyfriend finding his way out to you when he couldn’t find you anywhere in the house.

“What are you doing out here?” You didn’t have to even look to know that voice belonged to Tom. The man strolling over to you in his fancy, expensive suit.

His hand slid around your waist, pressing his front to your back so there was no space between you. You leaned your head back, resting it on his chest with a sigh as you looked over the luxurious gardens of Tom’s mansion.

“Just wanted some air.” You weren’t exactly lying. You felt like everything inside was just becoming too much and then seeing Tom working just topped it off.

He sighed, sensing you weren’t in a particularly great mood right now. He pressed a few lingering kisses to your temple, trailing his hands to your arms where he rubs them up and down your skin.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there this morning,” he whispered, placing a kiss just behind your ear. You just hummed, not exactly paying attention to what he had to say. He sensed that, letting out a soft sigh.

“Can I at least give you my present before you completely shut me out?” You rolled your eyes at his choice of words, mumbling an ‘I guess.’ You heard a little bit of shuffling behind you.

“Y/N.”

You turned your head over your shoulder, seeing Tom down on one knee on the floor. It felt like your heart had stopped beating and you were too occupied with the dopey smile on his face to even notice everyone watching from inside.

“I know you’re a little bit mad at me right now.” You giggled, willing away the tears that were tempted to fall down your cheeks. “But you know I love you, and I’m so grateful for you giving me the best thing in my life.”

He didn’t need to say much else, no more than those 4 words.

“Will you marry me?” When he opened the ring box you noticed the fresh bruises littering his knuckles, making a mental note to go at him about those later. But for now, you just nodded, unable to speak without letting out a sob.

He slid the ring onto your finger, placing a soft kiss to the back of your hand before he stood up. You wrapped your arms around his torso, burying your head in his neck so you could cry without everyone seeing. He chuckled, his hands threading in your hair, kissing your forehead.

“Happy birthday, darling.”

“The best birthday.”

tom holland taglist - @seutarose @lmaotshollandd @photoshopart15 @hopelessly-harry @bvttercupbby @call-me-baby-gir1 @fallinfortom @strawberrytom @siriuslyslyslytherin @musicalkeys-blog @itstaskeen @icyhollands @tpwk-grande @zspideyy @chrisosterfield @givebuckyhisplumsnow @lowkey-holland @hollandcrush @wizkiddx @sannie-san-shine @sonnydoesrandomshit @hopeless-romantic-baby @dummiesshort @itsbieberxholland @lillucyandthejets @piscesparker @mymilliefrommarketing @spideyspeaches @kujokura @l0velyevans @jess-holland23 @holland-parkers

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

hi can i please request one where levi's s/o is sort of like him in personality but just melts whenever theres a baby. like she'll see a baby in town and will go from silent and moody to the heart eyes emoji but a person, or she'll babysit her neice or nephew or cousin and will be just so loving and bubbly? like its obvious that she wants to be a mum but she never brings it up because she doesnt think he wants kids and eventually they get pregnant + his reaction? sorry if this is too much (1/2)

ΑΝΟΟΟΟΝ IM BLUSHING THANK YOU SO MUCH. I really loved this request and it inspired me so I pushed before others because I had to get it out of my system. I hope you like this. It's super duper long also👉👈

Warnings: uhh pregnancy, mentions of anxiety

Tags: fluff, domestic Levi, pregnancy, modern au

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Baby Fever

Your heartbeat grew louder with each passing second as Mike abused the door with one too many knocks. You didn't know if you could talk, or breath or do anything other than vomiting though this time from the anxiety building at the pits of your stomach and not due to your very recent event of morning sickness.

"Are you alright in there?"

You choke on your own voice as you try to huff a single response. It's not really up to your judgement of you're alright or not but rather in the small white object's that rests between the thumbs and pointer fingers of each of your hands. You contemplate if there's a way to not raise any more suspicion to the blond male, you're at his house for all that matters. Nanaba called you to take care of their their twins and you happily complied to your half sister's pleas because Mike had a very important job interview. Life had taken a toll on him lately, they couldn't afford a babysitter and he was just recently fired due to his company having to cut down expenses thanks to the pandemic. Amidst this pandemonium he had to find a way to provide for his family and help Nanaba with at least a short monthly salary. So babysitting your beloved niece and nephew wasn't much of a problem. Not until now.

At first it hadn't bothered you that your period was late, you had accepted the pcos lifestyle the hard way ever since you first got it. You would track down your period in hopes you could ever predict when it would come again but it always seemed to surprise you. Sometimes it would come in a months notice only to take four months to do a full circle. At twenty three, this was the most positive outturn as a resolution to your problem. Levi was pushing you to eat healthy and exercise to get a better grip of your situation, even though you knew it was in vain. And thus, overall it didn't bother you that you hadn't had your period still, fatigue and breast inflammation were also common problems due to hormonal abnormalities so you chose not to pay any attention to those early signs either.

What had driven you to urge Levi to drop you off to the drugstore next to Nanaba's house though was that you've been having symptoms of morning sickness for almost a week now, that you had tried to push aside for Levi not to notice. He would quarantine you on your on your own and go stay with Erwin and Hange had he any suspicion of you being down with the stomach flu. The stomach flu though didn't feel like that and you knew, you had been through it one too many times, this was something different and yet you cursed at yourself for overthinking it. You had bought the pregnancy test as something that was supposed to turn out negative, as a positive resolution that you weren't pregnant and that you should quest for whatever it was that was making your stomach turn and twist every morning.

Upon finally opening the door in an attempt not to delay Mike who wanted to attend his interview, the blond male inspected your form with a harsh gaze. "You shouldn't push yourself if you're sick. We could call my mother to watch over Eli and Blaire."

"No." You pushed it off. "I'm fine Mike, it's probably that weird mushroom soup I ate yesterday, Levi insisted on not buying it but I didn't listen."

"I see." Mike said scrunching his nose at the process. Sometimes you hated that he knew you so well that he could even smell you lying, but he was Nanaba's childhood friend before her mother married your father and had you; you had practically grown up with the blond duo so for all you knew, even if he was certainly aware that you were lying he didn't push things further. He simply placed a hand on your shoulder, the brother like nature of his touch as assuring as one can be. "If you need anything call me, I'll answer as soon as possible, drink lots of water and don't wear yourself down."

You bore your eyes into his and nodded simply. Mike greeted the twins with reluctance and let out a sigh before fixing his suit perfectly on his shoulders. The small kids smiled bubbly in return and waved at their father enthusiastically. As soon as the door closed and their father got out of sight both children jumped on you with loud giggles. The act alone was enough to curl your lips into an upward position.

By noon you had fed and lulled the kids to sleep, earning some significant time to sink into the crevices of the feathery soft sofa before Nanaba came back from her shift. As tiring as Eli and Blaire were you enjoyed their teeny company. You didn't mind their lack of ability to form full understandable sentences yet, you loved how they didn't even try to spare a second thought on what they bubbled on about and you did your best to provoke them to speak correctly. They would open their arms for you, their tiny palms signaling you to take them into long affectionate hugs as they called a baby spoken version of your nickname and you would melt at it every single time. Everyone knew you much you loved the chubby cheeked sweethearts, as much as it contrasted with your usual demeanor. There was something that truly made you feel like the best version of yourself when you were around them.

Babies seemed to be a hot topic in your group of friends for a couple of months now, ever since you started helping Nanaba in the house before Mike got fired. Levi seemed very unbothered by the subject in a way that saddened you almost; sure, you might have talked about it in the past, being that he was a little older than you and he might have understood that you longed to be a mother one day, but that was as far as that one conversation had gone. He still had that bored, stoic gaze that slipped off of yours when you would encounter a baby in the street, whereas you would basically make heart eyes and weird grimaces to any infant he would just click his tongue and avert his gaze away, to any other direction as if he disapproved off your fondness.

That memory alone left you hollowing inside as you recalled of the two very much pink lines on the screen of the test this morning. Naturally you would check with a doctor before jumping to conclusions, there still was a chance that the test was at fault and you wanted to bet on simply that. If the case was that you were actually pregnant though things were more complicated than you wanted them to be. For instance you were still in University, for your last year at that, but you had excessive amounts of studying to get your hands on your degree and Levi was cornered and ready to be squished by his job for being a vice president, which was unfair as he worked for Erwin. You understood the situation though as Erwin was struggling to keep the company going especially through these rough rough times. There was also the fact that you were terrified of Levi asking you to put the baby down, with pcos wearing your system down you were panicking that you wouldn't have a chance to conceive a baby later on. What if this was your only chance? You've always longed to be a mother so it didn't matter that it came to you this early right?

The sound of the front door clicking open shook you off your thoughts immediately. For better or for worse it was Nanaba that had finally returned, eager to strip herself of her clothes and face mask and run to the bathroom. She offered you small greeting to which you only nodded, your tired mind ordering your eyes to find comfort at small shapes in the ceiling. You didn't know how long your sister took in the bathroom, but judging by the lack of giggling coming from the babies' room you supposed it wasn't for long.

"You want to wait for Levi to come pick you up or should I give you a ride home when Mike's back? He should be home soon!" She spoke as she poured water in a red metallic boiler.

"I'll just walk. I need some air."

Nanaba emitted a soft hum in response "Are you alright? You seem off."

"Oh no." You brushed her off "I was just thinking about what I should wear at Erwin and Hange's anniversary dinner next week, and what gift to buy Levi now that his birthday is coming."

"Good, I see, just don't stress alright?"

___

The way home was longer than you had initially remembered, whether it was for your inability to walk with a steady pace or mostly because it was already getting dark and cold. You wondered if Levi would be getting home by now as you neared the apartment complex the two of you resided in. By the looks of your illuminated window he was already home as expected of him this certain hour. It probably was one of those days when he didn't have a strict deadline to attend to, which, under normal circumstances, only meant more cuddles and kisses for you. Yet, tonight was different.

"Hey Levs" Your voice lingered in his brain the moment you stepped inside.

"Hey brat, welcome home." The kiss you left on his cheek as you hurriedly headed to the bathroom was different, off almost, and he picked up on it immediately. "Did Nanaba drop you off? I had asked Mike to come by tonight, he said he'd bring some tea leaves he bought for me."

He leaned at the frame of the door as he watched you wash every crevice of your face thoroughly, paying enough attention to the insides of your outer nasal cavity. He was pretty meticulous about hygiene and especially at times like these with a hole pandemic going on he wasn't taking any chances, you knew, plus you were kind of disgusted of germs lately yourself, you thought you finally understood where he was coming from. He took a few steps ahead, away from your body in search of a clean face towel to hand out to you when you were done. You have it to him, even if he seemed cold as stone that domestic lifestyle was mesmerizing to you.

"Thanks baby, you're the best." You half smiled.

"You good?"

At this point you wondered if you seriously we're so easy to read. You supposed you were off, but you were always off and unresponsive to many things so what exactly was it about today that made everyone know you had a conflict in your mind.

"Yeah I'm just tired, I walked here."

Levi clicked his tongue at that "Nanaba's home is very far away from here, have a shower and I'll rub your legs and feet." With eyes that never left yours Levi watched as your face lit up a little more, he gave you a tiny of a smile on return.

"You prooomise Levs?" You knew teasing with him could only lead to one thing, yet you did it shamelessly.

"Tch, of course, hurry up, I'm making pancakes with eggs and bacon."

Normally at the very sound of this particular food your eyes would water and your mouth would drool but the unresponsive nature of your expression only sent a new wave of worry through Levi's chest. As much as he had wanted to convince himself you were just tired, he couldn't, not after this reaction to your favorite snack. He decided not to push you into saying anything you didn't want to though. Maybe it was that enormous amount of notes you had to memorize for your next exams in addition to your fatigue and any hormonal altercations.

"Yeah" you trailed off "babe, about that, can we have cocktail shrimp? And maybe fried rice and fries? Pretty pretty please?"

Ah, there it was. Although it was a rare occasion for you not to be in the mood of his infamous pancakes, you could still have a few different cravings from time to time. Levi let out a sigh of relief as he proceeded your order trying to figure of where he should order from, last night's mushroom soup had messed your stomach up, that he knew, but you seemed to be fine now so in theory that should be enough to prevent him from whining out his concerns.

As he closed the door to the bathroom he hummed his favorite tune to himself, softly enough as not to disturb you with your bath. He picked up his phone from the kitchen table with ease before collapsing on the couch, there was a limit to what his body could take and he had surpassed that by far these past few months. Endless deadlines that took turns one after another and extra hours at the office had been killing him, mentally and physically, making him a little more grumpy than usual. In great addition his back ached, his fingers were sore and his mind felt like canned alphabet soup every single night. Perhaps, seeing him in this state was taking a toll on you as well; you were always so protective over him, almost like a mother to her child, despite being younger, and he if he had to, he'd admit he enjoyed it a little too much than he should have.

When you came out of the bathroom he gazed over you briefly, you were sitting before the end of the dresser, standing in front of the full body mirror, examining your form. He seemed to be puzzled by your demeanor once again. Normally, or up until yesterday, you would have immediately shot out to where he was seated at to plough into his arms with wet hair, only to slightly irritate him for getting him wet, not that he didn't enjoy to smell your fresh scent anyway, but it was a game of routine for you by now. It was almost as if you were seeking to be scolded at for not rushing to dry your hair. He always wanted you as healthy as ever.

You couldn't shake off your head how soft Levi's chest is. There probably wasn't a reason as to why he's sleeping shirtless tonight, your apartment was very warm, given that it was the start of December already, but you didn't complain. The feeling of creamy, milky soft skin, perfectly excused by any coarse hair was slowly putting you to sleep. You loved how Levi was so soft everywhere you touched, it was so unlike what the world perceived of him, maybe your baby's skin was going to be as smooth and perfect as his and not as dry and oily as yours. Of course the baby's skin was going to be soft, ugh and those little arms and legs, you couldn't lie to your self, deep down you were just a tad excited to have a baby, if it meant that it would look like Levi you wouldn't want to give up on it for the world.

"Levi, does Kenny keep baby pictures of you?"

"What?" The onyx haired male raised a brow at your inquiry but didn't give you enough time to repeat yourself before he answered. "My mother had so many pictures of me so I guess that it's natural that he has some and well there probably are a few pictures from after my mother's death, I'm not that sure."

In response, he only earned a hum.

"Tch, can I lay on your chest? I want you to play with my hair." His eyes pleaded with you in the darkness. Of course you could never say no to such thing, you loved it even more when he was the one sleeping on you. Another sentence left his lips, this time with a yawn as he shifted himself on you, cooing like a small child. "I'll call Kenny tomorrow, sleep now I know you need it."

____

Under any other circumstance you would have loved seeing everyone's dumbfounded faces stating at you as if they had seen the dead rise from their graves. You had to pinch your arms to remind yourself this was indeed serious and you shouldn't let out a single chuckle.

"Please tell me you're joking" Nanaba pleaded, placing her hand on yours in disbelief.

"I'm going to screeeeeam! Shorty can't even hold it in, ghaaaa!"

"Hange he will hear you through the restroom."

Hange blinked her eyes rapidly at the sound of that. "You haven't told him?" She immediately seemed to lose her enthusiasm, something you hadn't intended to happen, especially at such a night, but you knew you didn't have a say in other people's emotions.

"Hange he never seemed too fond of the idea, why would I complicated things for him?"

Mike's eyes widened in disbelief. There was no way in hell he was having this. You were practically his little sister, seeing you so tormented as you were in the moment when you spoke those words ravaged his last nerve, causing anger to clench his hands into fists. He watched as you took a small bite of your food giving the rest to Eli who was comfortably sitting on your lap, tapping his little hands on the rim of your plate. Other than the fact you broke out such news to him, Nanaba Hange and Erwin and had expressed your fears on informing your significant other, you seemed quite bubbly. Children really did bring out such a soft side of you, he knew that was for sure.

"Hange" you spoke, unphased as ever "Levi's coming please stop screaming at me, i love you but it's only making me dizzy."

It felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes were burning holes through his whole body, his head, and everywhere around his personal space bubble. Levi could feel his pulse tense just a tad, Hange's unnerving gaze and her crippling smile were fixated especially on him, making his nose itchy. There was something very different in the atmosphere around him; Nanaba wasn't eating anymore, she was more fixated on her daughter than anyone else, Erwin was nervously staring between him and you and you and Mike were trying to clean Eli's hands from the food he had just touched. When the scenery wasn't something irregular, none of you dared look eachother in the eyes, beat it that Hange was staring only at him.

"Oi, what the fuck is wrong-"

"Levi, shorty! Does Eli look like he's enjoying himself in (y/n)'s arms?" Hange turned her sweetened gaze on you, making you choke on your words, you shot her an atrociously strict glare. "Remember when Nanaba gave birth? What do you think about babies? Maybe you think they smell a lot? But what about ackerbabies?"

"Way to be discreet Han, thank you!" Your lips puckered in anger as you brought your arms to cross under your chest.

"Wait what's going on shitty glasses?"

"Yada Yada shorty, you're not getting a word from me, my lips are sealed" Hange spoke and shut her eyes to emphasize the significance of her words.

You sighed in a pathetic attempt to relieve some tention of your chest. A tight knot had formed due to anxiety, fog had clouded over your brain and you were feeling so faint and exhausted that you just wanted to get it over with. You didn't mind standing there like a fish out of water after breaking the news to him, the tention in the air was in fact what was making you suffocate in your seat. With wobbly hands you pushed Eli off your lap, not caring about the moan of disagreement he made and you shot up from your seat, announcing you had to take some fresh air. Levi had to stop Nanaba mid tracks to be able to come after you, fast enough to be there when you got out.

Naturally, you stood seated at a bench that neared the restaurant. Your hands were covering your face scratching softly through your hair, probably in attempts to calm your self down. He approached you without any second thought, this time determined to know what was it with you. Your behavior these past week had been unnerving and overly concerning to say the least. Carefully he sat himself down next to you, his right arm come around your frame comfortingly while the left one came to caress underneath your cheek.

"You should probably talk to me."

Your voice came muffled from between your palms as you still hadn't dared to look him in the eye. "Levi, I'm, I'm so sorry it's just... I'm very anxious."

"I think I figured that, brat." His voice was so soothing, it felt as if he was speaking to you in the comfort of your private room, not on a bench outside a semi fancy restaurant

"You know when Hange talked about ackerbabies she uhm, she might have had a particular baby in mind."

Levi blinked erratically for a single second before his mouth, unable to compel to his brain's orders, formed the shape of an oh. Of course, in the moment it was hard to click with any other even but he attributed that to his lack of knowledge over the situation. Had he any clue or suspicion that you could be pregnant he would have been able to realise that it wasn't that your stress had been messing with your stomach every morning and that your extreme fatigue couldn't possible align with the erratically swift rhythm of your palms. Of course, of course it wasn't a thermometer that you had disposed of in the toilet, he wanted to slap himself for being so naive as to believe that. He was strict with recycling rules, you wouldn't have just straight up there s thermometer in the trash. Fuck now's not the time to think about recycling.

With the soft, chaste kiss at the top of your hair you finally decided to turn your gaze to him. Watery eyes met with an adoring grey gaze, a gaze you've never seen at this extreme before. "I love you, you know." Another kiss meant your head got to lift a little more, just to get closer to him. "I don't say it often but you don't have to worry, I'll try to tell our kid more often."

Your eyes shimmered with adoration at his words, despite the cold weather you couldn't bring yourself to feel not even a little tingle, Levi was keeping you so warm with his words. "Really? You want this?"

"Tch why wouldn't I, you thought I'd ever let you go and leave me lonely? I've always thought you knew we're sharing the same future."

Your lips attacked his in fiery passion. It was a natural reaction to his words, an ice melting kiss, a promise for the future. There were many reasons as to why you lived Levi but maybe the fact that you would have a little stoic faced baby running around your feet made you love him a little bit more.

[chrisevansluv]

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:

The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist

The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.

By Adam Sachs,

Photographs by Norman Jean Roy

May 2012 Issue

"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.

"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"

We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.

On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.

"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.

Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"

But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.

"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"

Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.

To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.

Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:

Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'

Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.

Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.

Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:

Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?

Chris: Nothing wrong with that.

Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Chris: Looooong time.

Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?

Chris: No names, Ma!

Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.

Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.

Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.

We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.

East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.

"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."

Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.

Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.

From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.

It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.

What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"

By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."

Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.

"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"

Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.

Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"

One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."

What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."

There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."

Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."

"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."

"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.

"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."

My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"

At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"

I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"

Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."

East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.

"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."

I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."

Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."

The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"

And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."

We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."

Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."

I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."

He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"

Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?

"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"

If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!

[blu-joons]

DAD BTOB A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Lee Changsub

A ⇴ AFFECTION

More than anything else Changsub loves to get cuddly with you and close the distance between the two of you as much as possible. Your bump just gives him that extra bit of encouragement that he needs to reach out and pull you close.

B ⇴ BUMP 

Changsub makes sure to do plenty of research about pregnancy so he knows how he can make himself useful to you. One of the areas he specialises is definitely your bump. Changsub makes sure to do plenty of research on techniques that he can use to help out with your bump to try and ease your pain and make you as comfortable as he can for most of the time.

C ⇴ CRAVINGS 

One of the things he loves about your pregnancy the most is your cravings as it gives him the perfect excuse to snack, never wanting you to eat alone especially late at night. How diet isn’t quite as restricted whilst your pregnant as a result of Changsub’s frequent sympathy snacking whenever you’re craving something.

D ⇴ DUE DATE

Neither of you thought about your due date throughout almost the entirety of your pregnancy, however that changed the week before. Suddenly as you began to tell people that you were at thirty nine weeks, the reality sunk in for the two of you that your due date really was right around the corner and wasn’t just something that the two of you could shrug off as something far away for any longer.

E ⇴ EMOTIONS

Changsub is well known to be a lover of kids, with kids loving him too, and so having one of his own very much felt like a dream come true for him. He couldn’t wait to enjoy all of the moments of children that he usually missed out on when they weren’t his. Nappies, sick, Changsub didn’t mind at all, he was more than ready to throw himself into just about anything and finally enjoy the chance to call himself a father.

F ⇴ FAMILY 

The two of you decided to keep your news private for as long as possible after finding out you were pregnant, enjoying the bubble of just the two of you and your families being the only ones that knew. Changsub was nervous of what the reaction would be, but once you eventually started to show properly the two of you were left with no other choice but to pop your bubble and let the rest of the world know too.

G ⇴ GENDER 

Both of you agreed that you would wait to find out the gender of your baby until the end and tease yourself over the nine months with guesses and feelings. Although you both predicted that your baby would be a boy, neither of you would know whether that prediction was true or not until the very end.

H ⇴ HEARTBEAT 

Hearing the beat of your baby’s heart was quite the reality check for Changsub, the first moment when it really began to sink in for him that you were pregnant and that an actual human life was about to enter the world and rely on him. You could tell by his wide eyes as he listened that it was a new feeling for him as the reality hit him like a tonne of bricks.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU” 

Although Changsub didn’t tell you that he loved you too much, whenever he did it always came from the bottom of his heart. He didn’t want to overuse the words and make them lose meaning and so he hoped that rather than saying it, more often his actions proved to you that he loved you by always taking the best care of you.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY 

He absolutely refused to ever let anything or anyone succeed in making him jealous whilst you were pregnant, Changsub was in far too big of a bubble of excitement and anticipation to let anyone try and pop it. Of course there were people that liked to push his buttons, but he was happy and optimistic and no comment from someone else was ever going to stop him from being excited about what was to come for you both.

K ⇴ KICKS 

You would always be able to definitely tell when your baby had kicked as you’d hear soft giggles coming from Changsub in excitement whenever he managed to catch a kick. His eyes would always look back at you in a buzz when you nodded back at him to let him know that it was definitely a kick that he had felt.

L ⇴ LABOUR 

Having done plenty of research on labour too and the sorts of things that he could to help you out, Changsub tried to be the perfect partner that you needed by your side in labour. Although it was intense and scary for him, the one bit of information he always remembered was to make sure that he put you first, and that was what he did. Whatever you needed from him he would do, space, a hug, or just a few words of encouragement, he was there.

M ⇴ MORNING SICKNESS 

He would always take a moment to compose himself before walking into the bathroom when he heard you throwing up in the mornings so you couldn’t see how grossed out he was. After a deep breath behind the door he was able to walk in with a smile and not leave you feeling anymore scared than you already were.

N ⇴ NURSERY 

Even though decorating wasn’t exactly a strength of his, Changsub was more than happy to give it a try, especially when you suggested that you tried to do some stuff, the last thing that he wanted was for you to hurt yourself.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Changsub was obsessed with your eyes, he could tell a lot about you from the way that you looked at him, whether that be that you needed a hug or an ear to listen to your frustrations around, he would always tell what you were feeling.

P ⇴ POST BIRTH 

The last thing that Changsub wanted to be after you gave birth was an overbearing partner, however that didn’t stop him from being very cautious for the first few days after you gave birth, making sure that you didn’t push yourself too quickly or try and run before you could walk.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS 

He was always checking in with you to see how you were, even if he was out at work Changsub would ring you when he found a short break in his day to make sure that there was nothing you needed and check that nothing serious had happened whilst you were alone.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS 

Your pregnancy gave Changsub the perfect excuse to finally try and improve how photography skills so that he could snap plenty of photos of you and your bump. Photos weren’t a strong point of his, but with plenty of practice he soon found himself being able to find good angles and lighting to create photos you’d look back on in years to come.

S ⇴ SCANS 

Changsub loved to show off your scan photos to anyone who would listen to him talk about them. Everyone knew how excited he was to become a dad and so they’d always be more than happy to entertain Changsub and take a look at the scan photo whilst simply just admiring the excitement in his voice.

T ⇴ TEST 

The two of you were left in complete surprise when your pregnancy test came back as positive, it took a good week or two for the news that you were expecting to really sink in for you both.

U ⇴ ULTRASOUND 

He would always make sure that he was at your appointments, even if it meant adjusting his schedule and upsetting people, you were the priority.

V ⇴ VISITS 

Almost as soon as you were home, the other members were knocking at your front door without invitation, desperate to meet your baby and offer the two of you plenty of help so that you could get some rest for a while.

W ⇴ WAITING 

Changsub was pretty patient in waiting, although he was excited he also absolutely loved going through everything that came with pregnancy rather than just your baby’s arrival.

X ⇴ XXXX

Whenever he kissed against your neck Changsub would turn incredibly shy and usually bury himself into the crook of your neck. With his hands on your bump too it was always a reminder when he kissed you of just how lucky he was.

Y ⇴ YOU 

You were his teammate, the two of you were beyond ready to become parents together.

Z ⇴ ZZZ 

Most mornings Changsub would encourage to lay in for as long as possible so that you could rest. He hated getting up anyway, and so caring for you and your bump was the perfect excuse for him to stay in bed a little longer too.

---

Masterlist

[slashbitch2]

Wavelength

slight nsfw warning ;)

Eve had always felt that she stood out from those around her. That in every situation, in every group and at every point in her life, she was walking round on an entirely different wavelength. Although, living this way wasn't as direly lonely as it sounded, rather she learnt to appreciate the few and far apart moments with company. When someone would, for just a split second, understand her.

The first person to ever make her feel this way, and regrettably the only for a very long time, was Ted. He'd swept her off her feet and into a less isolated world, a concept so unfamiliar at the time that she'd allowed herself be dragged out to sea. Then there was Brandon, who she was told would change her whole world. And he did, for a while.

Brandon was her life preserver until his priorities changed; until Mother's day cards became Valentines day cards, movie nights were exchanged for house parties and homework for alcohol. But Eve wasn't the kind of mom to act as though this behaviour was unwarranted and abhorrent, so she let him wedge the door shut and clear his search history. She could cope with a little more distance.

Then along came Ted's affair, their crumbling marriage and eventual divorce. Before she knew it, she was drowning.

The all too familiar feeling of solitude reappeared, completely devastating for her when Brandon left for college. However, this time she swore that she wouldn't let it overwhelm her, and did everything possible to prevent herself from sinking. Which initially started with a class at a community college, and ended with her lying in the arms of both her colleague Amanda, and classmate Julian. And yet, after they'd hurriedly packed up their things and left, she felt no better.

Brandon was sitting on the porch when she found him later. His back was turned to her, but the hunched up posture and awkward shuffling said more than enough. In that moment, Eve reverted back to her old way of thinking. She came to the conclusion that she'd failed as a mother, that her mistake was unforgivable despite the years of morose behaviour and selfish demeanour Brandon had subjected her to.

For retribution, she removed Julian's number from her contacts, predicting that he wouldn't be able cope with remaining friends. He too immature, still in that irrational sulky stage of adolescence. Next, she specified to Amanda that what happened was a one time thing, though she was already way ahead of Eve, chatting casually like nothing had taken place that weekend. Her easy-going reaction was a nice break from the prevailing tension with Brandon, which she then mentioned to her friend.

She tried to casually bring the subject up in the same manner that she imagined Amanda would if the roles were reversed, acting like the issue was nothing to do with her.

"As much as I hate to use such an outdated phrase," Her friend said. "boys will be boys. "

Eve chuckled, though the general concern weighing down on her shoulders meant it came out as more of a scoff. "You can say that again."

There's a brief lull in conversation as Eve disinterestedly taps away at her phone while Amanda sips thoughtfully at her coffee. The silence is only invoked by an awareness of social standards, since there's much Eve wants to talk to her friend about, but feels would be inappropriate in public.

Eventually, Amanda's the one to break the silence. "Are you still looking for someone to fill in for Sarah?"

Eve's attention flickered back to the woman sitting opposite. "I am." She replied hesitantly, knowing that she ought to have posted the job advertisement weeks ago, but had forgotten.

"I know someone who'd be good." Amanda was sliding her phone across the table before Eve got the chance to respond.

The screen displayed what she could only assume was a job application, though the font was too small to actually read. Squinting, she picked up the device to try and glean some information about the potential applicant.

Amanda continued as Eve scrolled. "She hasn't worked with seniors before, but has managerial experience."

"Are you sure she'd want this job?" Eve asked apprehensively as she set the phone down. "Seems a little over-qualified to me."

"Yeah, she's serious about it." Amanda's expression grew more determined. "Y/N just moved here. Mentioned she was looking for a more lowkey kind of job."

Eve remained doubtful.

"She's travelled a lot. Had a lot of different jobs." Amanda took another sip of her drink. "But she said she wants to settle down somewhere. Get a job that'll take her to retirement- which was an exaggeration, but you get the gist."

"Well." Eve sighed. "You can't get much closer to retirement than working at a nursing home."

"Exactly. So can I pass on her contact details then?"

"Sure." She shrugged. Assuming that her friend's recommendation was genuinely helpful, then she would be saved from suffering through the tedious interview process, which was worth taking a risk for.

---

As Eve sat at her desk, the world around her faded into obscurity. Without Sarah as the assistant manager, she'd been suffocating under piles of neglected paperwork, only now forcing her way through it. The main thought motivating her was that you were due to arrive any minute, for what she'd described as a first informal interview. The idea of conducting anything more formal this late into the evening was unappealing. So, based on the unusual circumstance by which you'd applied, and the strange time slot reserved, the interview would be more casual.

Finding that her eyes were starting to strain, she granted herself a quick break to look round the office. Eventually she settled on looking out the window, content watching the world pass by. The day had been unexpectedly hot, and some of that humidity still lingered, but judging by the gentle breeze filtering in through a crack in the window, the evening must've started to cool. A soft pink colour filled the sky, darkening to orange where the sun had just set over the horizon. From the other direction, a deep blue had begun to filter into view, the only indication that night was approaching.

When her gaze drifted back to the room, she realised that the pink light was cast around the room, bathing every surface in a delicate glow. How the simple beauty of the evening had previously escaped her attention was a mystery. One that prompted Eve to take a break to admire it.

The break was short-lived, however, as a sharp knock at the door quickly stole her attention away.

"Come in." She called out but found her voice hoarse from disuse. She frantically cleared her throat as the guest entered.

Eve looked up at you and smiled politely, then down at her desk, then did a double take. Although she hadn't given enough thought to form any preconceived image of what you might look like, she certainly hadn't expected someone quite so attractive.

As soon as the label crossed her mind, she was already berating herself for it. You'd barely entered the room and were here for business, she couldn't let herself think of you in that way. It was wrong. Both professionally and morally.

"Evening." Your voice was deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn't distinguish.

Eve tried her best to smile amiably, though she was sure the emotion wasn't reflected in her eyes. Instead she scanned your body from top to bottom, lingering on your neck, and then your hands. The action was automatic. An unintentional response to her attraction- and there it was again. She'd allowed herself to get distracted barely ten seconds later.

"Hi." Eve was too quiet, her tone lacking the necessary command. She swallowed. "Please, take a seat." And smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Thank you."

She watched you stiffly slide into the seat, effortlessly demanding the attention of the entire room. Although Eve had known you for less than a minute, she'd already decided that there was something hypnotic about the way you moved. From the slight twitch in the corner of your lips, to the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Every movement, regardless of it being barely perceptible, had her mesmerized, however she was mostly fixated on your hands. How they couldn't quite settle in your lap, rather were wrung about anxiously until abruptly stilling.

Your hands falling limp dragged Eve back into reality as it dawned on her that she'd been staring for a little longer than appropriate. She literally had to shake herself out of the senseless state and clear her throat once more before she was ready to continue.

"It's nice to meet you." Jolted into reality, she outstretched her hand, which you eagerly met. Your grip was firm, matched with a confident yet humble smile that looked well practiced.

"And you."

Eve already understood how you'd succeeded at accumulating such an impressive employment history, as every second of the interview so far, you'd acted perfectly. Like you'd written the book on 'How to Handle Job Interviews.'

"Just call me Eve." Separating from the handshake, she dismissively waved her hand, unable to hold the eye contact for any longer. There was an inquisitive manner to the way you were watching her, as though you were trying to ascertain the most information possible from appearance alone. Being exposed to your scrutinising glare caused Eve to shift in her seat, though not from discomfort or uneasiness, rather from inadmissible lust.

As the interview progressed, her eyes continued to occasionally stray toward your hands. Despite how hard she was trying to stay focused, she kept catching herself unintentionally imagining how they'd look gripping her waist, pushing apart her thighs. And if she blocked out this particular fantasy, then her attention would shift to your neck, and how she'd love to bite down on the supple skin presented to her.

She'd hoped that her fling with Amanda and Julian would've suppressed her incorrigible longing for pleasure, yet still found her thighs pressing together as her imagination overpowered reason. All the scandalous scenarios flashing through her mind only grew more vivid, more frequent. An incessant stream of borderline pornographic images, which worsened her guilt as she struggled to focus on what you were saying.

The cool breeze from earlier seemed to have vanished, replaced by unbearable humidity. She could feel herself sweating bucket loads, and only flushed more upon realising that she must've looked a mess; with stray hairs framing her face, an inability to sit still and a layer of perspiration covering her entire body. You'd probably noticed by now.

"God it's been hot recently." You commented, playing with the neckline of your shirt.

Had Eve not been observing you so closely, she would've guessed this was general small-talk. But judging on how you'd acted so far, this was a strategically placed act of mercy, a way of excusing her, no doubt, dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah." Eve chuckled, twirling a strand of hair round her finger. "We could move outside." She suggested, then quickly added. "If you wanted to, that is." Her desperation to please you came as a surprise. The roles should've been reversed. You should've been trying to impress her.

Eve had undeniably lost all authority in the situation, which simply excited her further.

---

When Eve laughed, she scrunched up her face and closed her eyes, which was inconvenient even at the best of times. Right now, however, she'd never despised the quirk quite so much.

As inconsequential as the current circumstances would look to any passer-by, she wanted to commit every detail to memory. From the lingering pink hue of dusk, to the way you threw your head back as you laughed. In fact, she wanted to memorise everything about you. Since leaving behind her stuffy office, conversation had flown easily between the two of you, the matter of employment seemingly dropped in place of getting to know one another. You'd indisputably gotten the job. Eve knew it. You knew it. So both were happy to indulge in a lighter tone of conversation.

The topic had turned to worst first date experiences, so she had very few to share with you, though that didn't stop her from enjoying listening to your little anecdotes.

"What about you?" Taking a calming breath after an outburst of laughter, you paused to ask her the dreaded question.

In comparison to your story, her worst date was relatively tame. "Well." She scratched at the corner of her eye, considering whether she could exaggerate in some way. "I went on a date recently that I had to walk out of."

"Really?" You folded your arms, leaning back against the brick wall. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess it just didn't feel right." She shook her head, hoping to deter any more questioning.

"Fair enough. Sometimes you just know- right?"

Eve drew her eyes away from being locked on the ground, finally summoning the resolve to look directly back at you. She bit her lip, compelling herself to nod.

There was something about you that was pure ecstasy to her. While looking at you, she could feel herself falling deeper into the hypnotic state she'd been in earlier, unable to tear her eyes away and unwilling to try. In spite of the normality of the situation, it felt meaningful. Eve didn't feel so alone, so out of place. Which made no sense to her as she'd known you for barely over an hour.

"What did you do after?" Your voice was somehow deeper, eyes lidded and posture relaxed. "After the date." You clarified.

The inquiry was personal, even without context that could be inferred. Eve hummed, delaying her response long enough to consider how much she was willing to divulge. "I-" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed to confess. "I went swimming."

"Swimming?" Your eyebrows shot up, amused by the many connotations of her vagueness. "Where?"

Eve scuffed the heel of her shoe against the concrete ground, shamefully incapable of returning the eye contact. "Here." She admitted quietly, grinning as if in disbelief that she'd actually done it.

"Wow. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." You took a deep breath, rendered speechless for a second. "So, you have access to the pool?"

Eve shifted restlessly, hesitant to pursue the topic any further. She knew where this was going, and that she shouldn't endorse this type of behaviour. But the heat wasn't helping, and neither was her overactive imagination. She was supposed to be responsible, but then again, so were you.

Inevitably the possibilities of what could be overpowered her better judgement. "Yes." She reached into her pocket, producing the coveted key ring and hanging it on her pointer finger.

Upon glancing up, she discovered you were watching her intently, indisputable lust reflected in your eyes. Eve found herself in one of those rare moments where she felt understood, on the same wavelength as someone else. The logical part of her brain argued that you were basically a stranger. That if she followed through on your shared idea, then your hiring and subsequent job experience would be forever tainted. But the possibilities were too tempting to ignore.

So when you asked. "Want to go swimming?"

She couldn't refuse.

---

You'd held her hand as she'd lead, the reasoning being that most the facility was shrouded in darkness. Though Eve liked the weight of your hand in hers, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on until reaching the pool. Only then did you separate, crouching down to check the temperature. You beamed with childlike joy as you waved your hand around in the water, skimming the surface then diving deeper down.

Eve grinned. Your pure happiness was infectious, the effect it had on her similar to being drunk. She was intoxicated from exhilaration. She would've been content watching you relish in the feeling of water running through your fingers for eternity, though to her dismay, you soon grew bored. And then to her surprise, you unabashedly began to strip. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of your back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and to the revealed skin as you tugged your trousers down.

She had to stop herself from stumbling back as the strange reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Instead, she reacted by comically clutching at her heart, clawing the fabric of her own shirt.

You turned to the side, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. "You coming?"

She chewed on her lip, pondering the two words in greater detail. This was you asking for consent, giving a final warning. You were both aware that this was an incredibly outlandish idea, an extremely irresponsible one that should've discouraged Eve. Yet it had the opposite effect.

Before she could overthink the consequences, her shaking hands were clumsily unbuttoning her blouse. At the unspoken confirmation, you smirked back at her, then without warning, threw yourself into the pool. The splash echoed round the room, proceeded by carefree laughter as you resurfaced and began leisurely swimming away from her. While you were busy, Eve took the chance to continue undressing without interference.

Her insecurities didn't emerge until it was too late, resolved moments later as she dove into the pool. The water was colder than she'd anticipated, but her burning desire dulled the intensity. Breaking through the water's surface, she inhaled deeply, grateful for the supply of oxygen. However, her breath was soon stolen from her as she noticed you were treading water directly in front.

Somehow, you looked even more beautiful now. With the wave's reflections dancing across your skin, your hair drenched and dripping. She wanted to chase after the droplets with her tongue, despite knowing she'd likely be met with the bitter taste of chlorine. But what really flustered Eve was the way you were staring at her; the hunger in your eyes that hinted at your intentions.

Your stillness was teasing her, the water practically stagnant around you both. Eve was becoming increasingly irritated, the heat between her legs only growing. So it didn't take long for her to snap. She lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of you, though her hands couldn't quite clutch onto your slippery skin. She stumbled to the left, floundering around until you grabbed hold of her.

Upon securing her grip, she froze, due to both the sensation of your body pressed up against hers, and her embarrassment. She couldn't bare to look up, to face her awkward failure. After a beat of silence, she heard you laugh lightly. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant or mocking, but she insisted on keeping her eyes locked on the wall. That was, until your lips gently brushed against her ear.

"Were you trying to kiss me or drown me?"

She snorted, the tension leaving her body, then turned to rest her forehead on your shoulder. "The former. Definitely."

You laughed again. This time Eve joined in, happy to ignore what'd just occurred.

"Want to try that again, then?" You kissed just behind her ear, causing a shiver to suffuse across Eve's body. She waited a minute, expecting more before realising you intended for her to make the next move.

She glanced up at your face, fixating on your lips. You were so close. All she had to do was lean forward ever so slightly. One final glance to your lidded eyes confirmed you wanted the same- all she had to do was close the distance.

Taking a shaky breath, Eve shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb softly stroking your skin. There was no rush; you both wanted the same thing and were eager to revel in the experience. So, when her lips finally grazed against yours, there was no deep sigh or sudden change in pace, rather a blooming warmth in her chest. She was floating, both literally and metaphorically in a sea affection.

She kissed you again, this time with more conviction. Then fell backwards, her feet now comfortably resting on the bottom of the pool, her back hitting the wall as your grip on her waist tightened. You dragged a hand across her chest, causing her to gasp. Your touch was scolding compared to the cool water. A perfect balance between lustful heat and a mind-numbing, all-encompassing chill.

She raised her arms, flinging them around you and exhaling as her impatience reappeared. Though thankfully, you didn't make her wait long. Soon enough, your mouth had latched onto her neck, leaving messy kisses from behind her ear, to down by her shoulders. The feeling was pure bliss, encouraging her to lean into you and press your bodies closer together.

She didn't need to say anything. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Like you had her body memorised: every caress was perfectly placed, each touch just what she needed. It didn't take long for Eve to reach her pleasure, although she did spend a while in a dazed state of satisfaction, simply drifting in your arms. Eventually, she regained awareness to feel you tenderly nibbling on her lower lip, and eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

Motivated by the sudden fervour, she switched the positions, pushing you up to the wall.

"Get on the ledge." Eve murmured against your lips. She looped her arms under your thighs, ready to lift once you'd agreed.

Surprised by her abrupt confidence, you quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless.

With you sat before her, she knew the evening was only just beginning, and judging by your breathless expression you felt exactly the same. This was one of those rare moments where Eve felt completely understood.

[dannys-phantoms]

Two Rings on her Finger

Everlasting Trio (Sam X Danny X Tucker) fic wherein Sam remembers how she got her promise rings. Also available here on ao3.

The first ring on her finger was thin and black, with a row of three small, understated purple gems. Danny had never specified what kind they were, so she was almost certain they were just glass. It didn’t matter to her, not in the slightest – she’d had enough money thrown at her already to last a lifetime, and it had never meant as much to her as this ring did.

He’d given her it right after they graduated Casper High. She’d still been looking at the sky, a stupid grin on her face (that totally messed with her goth girl image) watching the graduation caps tangle in the air and fall down. She’d followed her own along with her eyes until it crashed back into her arms, to see Danny kneeling down on one knee in front of her.

It wasn’t a proposal or anything like that, but the ring was a promise that just because high school had ended didn’t mean they had to. Tucker had noticed before she had, and was screaming through the two hands over his mouth, eyes wider than ever and feet tapping gleefully on the floor, like a crow tempting up worms. She was nodding her head yes before Danny even had to ask anything, then she pulled him up by the front of his gown and kissed him in a way that she’d have rathered her parents hadn’t seen.

She got Danny a ring to match a few days later, not one too much like her own but instead a band of white-gold, one blue diamond inlaid in it that matched the icy cool of his eyes and, she insisted, wasn’t too girly at all. It was from a thrift store, rather than a real jewellers; found and paid for with love rather than riches. Her mother had just rolled her eyes when she found out, but her next visit to the Fenton’s had found her in a bone crushing hug with not only Jack and Maddie, but Jazz too. They’d always been more like her family than the Manson’s, and this was just one step closer to making it official.

Not much changed after that, not really. They had mountains of work to do between job applications and ghost hunting, the former of which found her, Danny and Tucker sprawled on one of their bedroom floors and the latter meaning they were chasing each other through the streets, bad guys on all sides. There wasn’t much time for a proper date, not really, until a few months later when she and Danny had decided to finally try that new pop-up vegan restaurant before it was gone for good.

She let Danny order, because she already knew she’d love everything on the menu, and she liked to see him confused about something normal for a change. He ordered her a meat-free bolognaise and wound up with something spicy and chickpea-based for himself, which she could tell he was surprised to actually enjoy.

He’d entwined their ankles under the table, sending a ripple of goosepimples up her shin, but even so her mind began to wander. She was thinking about Tucker, at home on his own, and what he would make of this place. He’d probably be hating how good this ‘fake food’ actually was, and using all of his willpower not to admit it. Danny had a faraway look in his eye too. She knew they were both feeling the same. That’s why, after they’d paid and thanked the staff, they’d guiltily made their way over to the Foley residence to play a few rounds of Doomed. Tucker’s face lit up when he was talking about video games, and despite how much she rolled her eyes and snarked back at him when the things he was saying were so, so wrong, it was the first time all day when she’d truly felt comfortable enough to relax.

Danny’s unnatural chill seeped through her left side and Tucker’s burning fire warmed up her right, and wedged between the two she felt the perfect temperature. When the sun went down and the computer had entered rest mode, they stayed where they were, laying on each others limbs in a clump on the floor. Her boyfriend was whispering constellations in her ear, and their best friend was running his hands through their hair, until eventually it was morning and they realised they’d all fallen asleep.

Sam’s second ring came a few months later, when the facts had become just too obvious to run from any further. There was no relationship, no living or loving, without Tucker there. He was the light to her darkness, the jokes and laughter to Danny’s doom and gloom. The three of them would walk down the street all hand in hand, crossing over if someone was coming the other way rather than breaking apart to make room. Time apart from Tucker felt like being locked out of her own house, knowing that the keys were just inside the porch but stuck anyway in the biting wind.

She told Danny first, fully prepared for him to say the relationship was over. He’d sat on her bed, teeth worrying his lip, as she wore down her carpet walking circles in her room, even more nervous than she’d been before her first ever slam poetry recital. She couldn’t bear the thought of Danny being hurt, but she hated to think of hurting Tucker either, so she just had to come out and say it.

“I think I’m a little bit in love with Tuck.”

Danny blinked twice, three times, as though he’d just discovered the meaning of life written in the pattern of the carpet. “Huh. You know what? Me too.”

They cuddled in close, laughing at how they could have possibly been so stupid not to have seen it. He kissed each of her knuckles one by one, and when she asked what it all meant for them, he had a simple answer. They’d have to ask Tucker.

Predictably, Tuck was a mess. Yes, maybe they should have waited until morning before knocking on his front door, and yes, maybe they could have confessed to him with a little more grace, but standing in the Foley’s kitchen at 2am seemed like as good a time and place as any.

Her hands were shaking, but so were Danny’s, and knowing they were both scared made it easier to speak.

“Tucker, when me and Danny are together, we...”

Danny squeezed her hand. “We miss you, Tuck.”

“Oh,” Tucker said, scratching the back of his head, dressed in robot-print pyjamas but still looking naked without his hat. “Well, you know where I am.”

Sam sighed. “That’s not the point.”

She cupped his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his cheek, the skin burning up beneath her touch.

Tucker glanced between his friends, his mouth opening and closing as he considered what to say, until Danny stepped forward and kissed him too.

The tips of Tucker’s ears were red and Danny’s knees were shaking, and Sam quickly grabbed the back of his pants when they became intangible and started to fall down. She could tell he’d been wanting to do this for a long time, and so had Tucker, who was pulling him back in for a proper kiss on the lips.

“As I was saying,” Sam smiled, “we’ve missed you, Tuck.”

After another few minutes of talking it out, and a heck of a lot more kissing, Tucker ran up the stairs and came back down with two silver-looking springs.

“They’re from my ruined PDA’s,” he explained, and Sam pulled one onto her finger above the ring from Danny.

It was perfect. Danny followed suit, and now they both had two rings, from the ones they loved the most, but Tucker had none. They each grabbed one of his hands and kissed a cheek, like a Tucker sandwich.

As soon as the shops opened again they would go out and find him something, but it was still the middle of the night and they were practically swaying on their feet.

If Angela Foley was surprised to find her son and his two best friends all piled into the same single bed the next morning, she never let on.