#foam lance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norrisainz33 · 5 days ago

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golden || ls18

☆ summary: lance and his long term partner and actress, y/n, attend the golden globes

☆ pairing: lance stroll x actress!reader

☆ fc & warnings: zendaya & none

☆ a/n: shorter one bc i was inspired by zendaya and the big ring she was wearing last night hehe also lance has been moving me lately

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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user1: tuning in for you only

user2: i can’t wait to see what you wear!!! you are going to shine like always

lance_stroll: my beautiful gorgeous girl

ynuser: my sweet precious boy

lance_stroll: hoping on the plane now! should be there in a few hours.

ynuser: wonderful! thank you for coming all the way out to la baby - i know things are busy for you these days

lance_stroll: you are always my first priority y/n/n and this is a big deal ❤️

ynuser: i am so lucky to call you mine lancey

lance_stroll: i’m the lucky one 😘

yourbff: i’m so excited for you my love

ynuser: and i’m so excited to see you soon 🫶🏻

user22: people died!!! (me i’m people)

chloestroll: yayyyy!!! you’re my favorite superstar!!

ynuser: chloe 🥹

user3: MOTHER!!!

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user2: the prettiest princess to ever princess

user8: when i show up to a who loves y/n most contest and ur there 🙄

astonmartinf1: make sure you send us all the pictures possible. can’t have our man stepping out without posting about it 😮‍💨

lance_stroll: don’t worry admin - you’ll get them before anyone else does!

user87: just casually showing up with bouquets and dior… oh to be a wag 😭

ynuser: reunited and it feels so good ❤️

lance_stroll: nothing beats being with you darling 🤍

user12: happy for you (i’m single and jealous)!

chloestroll: give my girl a hug for me

lance_stroll: you got it 😘

user9: your commitment to be at every event of hers is truly the sweetest thing

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yourbff: girl call me wtf

yourbff: DONT LEAVE ME ON READ IK YOURE JUSY GETTING YOUR HAIR DONE RN YOU CAN CALL ME

ynuser: CALLING NOW CHILLLLL

yourbff: OMG BESTIE IM SCREAING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS

ynuser: 😂😂😂😂 i can hear you all the way from la

yourbff: this is one of the best days of my life fr

ynuser: s a m e girl

estebanocon: mon ami what happened?

ynuser: lance will call you shortly my dear friend ❤️

lance_stroll: 🤭

ynuser: eeeeeeek i love you

lance_stroll: i love you to the moon and back

flavy.barla: cryptic? but also give your little puppy a kiss from me mon ange 😘

ynuser: are you and estie together? if so, expect a call sooooooonnn!!!! also puppy says they miss you

flavy.barla: omg yes we are together!

flavy.barla: y/n/n! i’m still crying im so excited for you two you have no idea

chloestroll: HEHEHEHEH

ynuser: sisssyyyyyyyyy

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user2: GORGEOUS????

user18: is it just me or are you showing off that ring in like a …… it’s more than just an accessory way

yourbff: how is it that everything looks perfect on you?

ynuser: stop ittttt 😭

flavy.barla: stunning, beautiful, perfect! not a single note

ynuser: thank you flavy 🫶🏻

f1gossip: now y/n/n…. is that what we think it is?

lance_stroll: genuinely speechless. how does one get so beautiful?

ynuser: lots and lots of makeup

lance_stroll: oh stop! its natural

user19: foaming at the mouth

madelyncline: begging you to style me. i wanna be like you when i grow up 😩

ynuser: your wish is my command 🙌🏻

user34: you never miss

user21: s2g that’s an engagement ring

mclarenf1: nice color dress 🤭

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f1gossip: actress, y/n y/l/n, attended the golden globes last tonight with long term partner and our very own, Lance Stroll, sporting a rather large diamond ring on her left hand. when asked by a reporter if the ring on her finger was an engagement ring, all she did was give a coy smile and a shrug before changing the subject. looks like wedding bells are ringing for one of our favorite duos!!

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user2: first of all - y/n is radiant. second of all - i’m so glad these 2 are end game i love them

user6: how lance bagged this baddie will forever be beyond me

user28: he’s a good man savannah

user12: happy for them (i’m crying my eyes out)

user44: a little commotion for the dress my god

user33: all i can think abt is how it’s papaya

user9: now that is a ROCK! making my partner take notes

user4: my shot is with y/n is now GONE

user22: what do i have to do to get myself a billionaire to give me the biggest ring i’ve ever seen in my whole life

user35: no fr asking for a friend

user11: no lance!!!! that’s MY girl!!!

user9: i’d put a ring on that too if i was him

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lance_stroll: had the best evening with the most beautiful girl to have ever graced a red carpet. thanks for having me goldenglobes and thanks to hugoboss for the magnificent suit.

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user18: we got a lance post before gta6

user22: missed him dearly

astonmartinf1: that’s our driver 🤩

user34: that old money hotness is real

fernandoalo_oficial: looking good!

ynuser: magnificent suit indeed 😍

lance_stroll: maybe i should wear them more often

ynuser: yes please 😩

user3: don’t think i didn’t notice the big ring on y/n’s hand. care to explain lance?

chloestroll: two of my most favorite people 🥹

user24: seething with jealousy

estebanocon: cleaned up real nice mon ami

lance_stroll: merci esteban 🤍

user28: i am down so catastrophically bad. i cant decide which one of you i want more

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ynuser: it’s all in the details

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landonorris: cool papaya dress

ynuser: it’s orange mate

landonorris: close enough! thanks for being a fan 🧡

user99: this is all but confirmation honestly

sabrinacarpenter: i think i might be in love with you

ynuser: well thank god the feelings are mutual 😭

user12: there’s not a single red carpet where you don’t devour

lance_stroll: you have one new really good detail

ynuser: i do yeah! someone special picked it out for me

lance_stroll: well they certainly did a good job

ynuser: the best job some might say!

mclarenf1: currently fangirling! don’t mind us

astonmartinf1: back!!! back i said!!! 🤺

user13: the squeal i just let out

flavy.barla: reject me so i can move on already 😭

ynuser: i have no interest in rejecting you!!! lets run away tg instead

estebanocon: only if lance and i can run away together without you then

flavy.barla: fine by me!

lance_stroll: wow 🙄

user88: my 2 favorite people just got engaged no one speak to me

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated 🤍

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

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escespace · 4 months ago

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Merlin and Arthur in the part 3 of this:

Arthur hasn't let anyone treat his wound. It's not serious but he can't bandage it on his own either and, as always, the risk of infection (in an era where even minimal hygiene did not exist) is present.

Not that it matters because he basically feels nothing. He doesn't feel the voices of his knights moving around him as they tie up the rebel knights (remember we agreed to call them haters); he does not feel the damp earthen floor on which he is lying; he does not feel Leon hovering around him waiting for the right moment to pounce on him and bandage him like a spoiled child. And, above all, he doesn't feel as if his chest is compressing as if it wants to fold in on itself like a disposable scroll.

Isn't that on that scroll where all of his story is written? Oh, that story that includes Merlin, the Merlin he thought he knew better than anyone else, to whom he has told things he hasn't told anyone else, the one whom he believed that would be there for him even when no one else was. Was this his Merlin? His Merlin had no magic, his Merlin would know him and remember him...

But this Merlin has been in the farthest corner of the room since he tried to get close to Arthur and Arthur drove him away by attacking him with his sword. He was not the only one, really in his frustration and pain Arthur did not want anyone near him so he kept them all a sword's length away.

Only Lancelot has come close to Merlin. They have been whispering or, rather, Lance has been whispering to him while Merlin has limited himself to a couple of nods or grimaces that seem to be a language that only Lance knows

Before, he would have thought it was a language he knew too. Merlin is always expressive and his opinions, even if they don't come out through his lips, are expressed in his features. Now he doesn't know how to read him because probably never could before.

Hours pass, Leon finally manages to bandage Arthur when he became too apathetic to continue threatening with his sword.

They began to question the haters when they woke up, none of them spoke. While the fear of the Camelot crown was evident, it seemed that there was something they were more afraid of. That is until one of them, the one who had completed the most violently during the fight and who since they had awakened had been the most contemptuous, began to vociferate, spitting on the tomb of the already dead magical people or cursing those who remain alive.

He spat and thrashed around to such an extent that the knights of the round table had to stop trying to hold him back because he broke Elyan's nose. To the point that perhaps they saw some foam at the mouth like a rabid animal.

They understood something among the fanatical babbling he was throwing out.These haters served someone with power apparently and in return this person with power helps them go unnoticed in their rounds of clandestine executions. His tirade also included a lot of "monsters," "corruption," "abomination," "injustice," "imbalance," and other words that Arthur would never admit he had heard from his own father's mouth. (Nor would he admit that in a brief flash of thought it occurred to him that his father probably sounded just like that nutcase)

Merlin, at the end of his patience, ends up slamming his palms against the table, everyone's attention on him and it's as if they were seeing him for the first time. Squared shoulders, deadly gaze, even showing some teeth when speaking. It's like watching the biggest animal walk into the room without even having to make a move.

«Monsters you call us. Imbalance you scream and point your dirty finger at our abilities. But it's us those who heal the ancestors who have not yet understood which plants helped or how to treat conditions" and with that his eyes lit up and Elyan's nose was healed as well as the scratches from the previous fight In all of them except Arthur.

«And you, those born among silks and banquets, are the only ones with the right to learn to defend yourself»

«Say again, who is what »

Gwaine takes the initiative to gag the haters and the rest prepare to approach to plan their next move when Arthur interrupts the silence again

«After all that magic has done to Camelot, what it has done to me! You cannot deny that magic is, in fact, a power that disadvantages, takes from the defenseless, corrupts! Merlin, How could you learn magic after all?»

«You said it, prince, magic is a power, but it is not the only power and it is not what corrupts. Is magic what increases the tax to the point of not allowing the people to survive the winter? Is it magic that decides when to start a war that devastates the lands and innocent lives? Or is the one who wields with impunity the sword that has murdered so many people without trial, just because of false accusations? »

«Power is holding something above the heads of others, put them at a disadvantage, and decide what to do with it. Not many do anything good with it. Magic doesn't corrupt, the power it gives you maybe does, but the power has more than just one way. You have power, and Your lords and knights... Tell me, Arthur Pendragon, are these not your knights? Have they not exercised their power in a corrupt way?»

«That's not... We're not... I asked a question! How did you fall so low to learn magic?! »

«If you think I learned magic, then maybe we were never as close as you've been leading me to believe until now»

Continuation

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giuseppe-yuki · 5 months ago

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joyride

lance stroll x fennec fox shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 2.1k

warnings: one suggestive comment, a bit of profanity

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: lance makes a accidental purchase (ft. k-mag + laura)

picture credits from pinterest :)

after a tiring day, it was nice to decompress on you and your boyfriend’s xl california king memory foam mattress. covered with silk sheets and pillow covers with a thread count in the thousands, lance always made sure you both had the most comfortable, luxurious lifestyle. that’s what you liked about lance. he was always so kind and considerate, looking out for others.

but, he wasn’t being kind right now. as you idly scrolled through your phone, splayed out on the bed, lance was next to you, eyes glancing up and down as he browsed through an online shop on his phone. you frown as you watch him continue to click through on the website. as his girlfriend, you deserved his utmost attention, right?

you sit up, and crawl towards him, wrapping your arms around his midriff and burying your head into his chest. he spares you glance and a pat on the head before continuing his shopping.

“lanceyyyy!” you trill, voice a little muffled from your position, “what are you even doing? shopping for the latest clive christian or creed cologne?”

he laughs, and you feel his chest vibrate underneath you. “no,” he laughs, “i still have the five bottles you bought me that random saturday a month ago!”

oh yeah, you think. he borrowed the expensive cologne from his friend just once, but you got hooked onto the nice scent and decided to buy him several bottles just because. as one of the youngest ceos ever of your own company, it was nice using your almost-bursting bank account to treat your boyfriend once in a while.

“okay… then what are you buying that possibly is taking you twenty hours?” you ask, pouting at him.

he looks at you on his chest, underneath his raised hands holding the phone. “well…” he hesitates a bit before continuing, “you know how chloe is having a baby with scotty?”

you nod, adjusting yourself on the bed.

“i’m going shopping for the baby!” he exclaims, flashing you a smile. “i’m buying him the latest toys that i just know he’ll love.”

“lance,” you say slowly, “you do realize that the baby is literally still inside of chloe, right? he’s not going to be born for a long while.”

“yeah, yeah,” your boyfriend says, waving a hand dismissively. “i know, but i want to get a head start and get better presents than everyone else.”

you roll your eyes. “mhm, sure, baby.” but, you get a little curious. tilting your head, you ask, “what are you buying though?”

lance puts his finger in front of his mouth in a “shushing” motion. “it’s a secret,” he whispers.

you sit up, reaching for his phone. “what? why can’t i see?” you protest.

“nope!” he declares, snatching his phone away from you.

you groan, and turn away from lance in annoyance. “fine, then!” you sulk.

pulling out your phone, you go back to scrolling mindlessly, back towards your boyfriend, while said boyfriend happily adds another item to his cart.

as you scroll through tiktok, you notice the time. it was around four am, which was pretty damn late considering that you had media day tomorrow. you almost turn around to let lance know but remember that you are mad at him. sparing him a quick glance (he was still clicking around another expensive online toy shop, you bet), you turn back to your phone. that’s when you notice lando’s girlfriend’s profile lit up with a green circle on the corner.

you shoot her a quick text,

hey, what r u doing up? i saw your online bubble on tiktok like two seconds ago, lmao! u do know we have media day tomorrow right?

it isn’t long before she sends a message back.

i was gonna go to bed early but lando was streaming and forgot about the time.. you know i can’t sleep when he's yelling at the top of his lungs. anyways, what are you doing up at this godforsaken hour???

you snicker to yourself. oh yeah, you definitely know what she means. both of you guys gossiped about how loud they were playing their little pvp games, whether it be COD or fortnite. they say some of the weirdest things too, like ‘he’s coming! he’s coming!” like, okay, calm down there buddy.

before you respond to lando’s girlfriend, lance lets out a shout. “i’m done!” he sing-songs. he sets down his phone on his nightstand and smiles out you sweetly, like he hadn’t just spend a million years ignoring you for shopping for his nephew who wasn’t even born yet. still mad, you glare at him, and get back to typing a response.

yeah girl, i get you. lance always starts raging at his monitor when he plays his video games 🙄 no but i was up because my bf was literally online shopping till like five minutes ago! like, what are you buying that is so important it needs to be bought now?? its almost four am, istg we are going to be so sleepy in the paddock tomorrow!

she replies swiftly,

omg, maybe he’s buying you that limited edition birkin you told me you were eyeing a couple of days ago! but yeah, we should get to bed. goodnight!

her profile shows her going offline then, so you shut off your phone as well.

lying back onto the impossibly soft pillow, and tucking yourself under the covers, you look towards the white painted ceiling of your apartment. “so what did you order, lancey?” you ask.

next to you, your boyfriend turns onto his side, hand propped underneath his head, smirking. “you’ll see tomorrow, baby.”

you wake up the next morning to the doorbell echoing through the whole apartment. lance is sprawled next to you, hair messy and mouth slightly open, snoring. his legs are tangled with yours, and the sun shining in through the windows makes the outline of him glow like a sleeping angel. god, you loved him. leaning over, you pepper kisses all over his face to wake him up. almost instantly, he awakens and starts laughing, trying to push you away and block you with a pillow. when you finally stop, he blinks sleepily at you with a smile on his face.

“well, that’s one way to wake me up,” he says.

you are about to reach forward to kiss him again, when you realize the poor deliveryman that was probably still outside has been waiting for the last five minutes.

after getting into your paddock-ready fit, (you had consulted with zhou’s girlfriend beforehand to find the best outfit to wear) while lance talked to the deliveryman, you head towards your apartment’s living room to start breakfast.

you were surprised to see not one, not two, but at least twenty boxes in all shapes and sizes practically flowing out of your living room.

“what the fuck did you buy, lance??” you exclaim. you spot pictures on the side of many of the boxes depicting their contents. “an indoor slide playset, trampoline, lego death star???” you cry in disbelief, pointing to each of the boxes. “baby, chloe’s child is negative one years old! he’s not even born!”

“well, i’m just being prepared!” defends lance.

you raise an eyebrow.

“the death star is for me though,” he says sheepishly.

“alright,” you say, sighing. “i guess you get a head start on being the favorite uncle, although i’m sure daniel will be one of your biggest competitors in that field.”

laughing from lance’s cry of outrage to your statement, you turn towards the kitchen to start breakfast when you find two identical boxes blocking your way. on both of them an identical smiling child in an aston martin electric mini car.

you whip back towards lance, who is giddily running around opening all the other boxes.

“lancey,” you say slowly, “did you buy two mini aston martins?”

your boyfriend turns around, looking at you next to the unmistakable two boxes containing the luxury mini-cars. “erm.. it appears so! i guess i accidentally pressed the buy button too many times,” he states embarrassedly.

you are about to tell him off for his silly mistake when you come up with a genius idea. “hey! actually, can i take one of them for a test drive in the paddock? i can safety test it for your sister’s baby!”

lance looks at you, confused. “huh? you’re too big for the car, though!”

you gasp dramatically, jokingly putting a hand on your chest. “lance!” you say insulted. “did you forget i can shift into a fennec fox? also, did you just call me big?”

laughing internally at lance’s stunned expression, and panicked stutters, you decide to add more fuel to the fire. “that’s funny for you to say, when you’re not so big yourself!” you say haughtily, hinting at something else.

all it takes for you is one look at lance’s distressed face for you to burst out laughing aloud.

it didn’t take much for lance to forgive you for the joke- just a big homemade breakfast with plenty of pancakes, bacon, and fried eggs that his athletic trainer would have a heart attack looking at, plus a few kisses on the cheek. after breakfast, lance happily loaded the mini aston martin into the back of his actual aston martin for you.

that’s how you found yourself racing through the paddock at the fraction of a speed that lance usually did on the circut. it felt fast to you though, wind coursing through your prominent fox ears and your fluffy fur. of course, you caught the attention of many fans throughout the paddock; it wasn’t common to see a fennec fox driving a pink mini aston martin being chased down by lance stroll himself.

you use your paws to control the steering wheel as you race past fans in colored merch and even a few stunned drivers. you keep in control of the vehicle until you reach the haas motorhome.

your hand slips accidentally off the slippery steering wheel, so you accidentally drive the toy car straight into the first person that walks out of the motorhome- kevin magnussen.

the collision wasn’t too forceful, but it was enough for kevin to drop the coffee he was holding onto the ground.

“what the hell?” he shouts, clutching his shin.

behind you, lance sprints toward kevin, apologizing profusely.

before kevin can start to ask questions about why lance's fennec fox was driving a mini aston martin in the paddock, lance snatches you out the vehicle with one arm, leaving your legs dangling in the air, and somehow lifts the entire mini car with his other hand. without another word to kevin, he dashes away.

he doesn’t stop running until he arrives at his drivers room, passing fernando who gives him a weird look. lance shoves both you and the car into narrow doorway of the room before shutting the door behind him firmly.

“omg, that was so embarrassing. we are not doing that again,” he mumbles, leaning on the now-closed door and covering his face with his hands.

you quickly shift back into your human form. “what??” you complain. “that was kind of fun, though!”

he cuts you off with a glare.

the next time you handle the vehicle, it is in the haas motorhome.

along with a bottle of expensive champagne, you approach kevin timidly.

“hey kevin,” you say shyly, “um, here is some champagne. i’m really sorry for almost running you over with my aston martin.”

kevin looks at you, scratching his head. “oh! it’s okay. it didn’t hurt that much, it was just a bruise.” he gracefully accepts the bottle from you. he’s about to turn away when he spots a flash of familiar pink behind your legs. furrowing his eyebrows, he questions you, “why did you bring that wretched vehicle within my vicinity again?”

“oh yeah!” you say with a smile. “since lance is prohibiting me from driving it ever again, i was wondering if laura and agnes would like it!”

as if summoning them, the girls in question appear behind k-mag.

you watch as their eyes grow wide with want. “omg pappa, yes, we want it!” they chime in unison.

“the next toy shipment arrives tomorrow!” lance says happily, scrolling on his phone.

you roll your eyes as you both walk hand in hand through the crowded paddock the next day. lance was starting to get an unhealthy addiction to buying toys for his sister’s baby.

“alright,” you remark flippantly. “as long as you didn’t buy anything too extreme.”

lance’s response to your statement is cut short by a yell that sounds remarkably like kevin’s.

you both turn towards the sound just in time to see laura magnussen back up, then drive the pink aston martin straight into her father’s shin again.

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary

@mbappebby @madkohi @rakshatos @heartsforleclerc @papaya-twinks

#f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 imagine #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #ls18 x reader #📝

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alohaasaloevera · 1 year ago

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THIS SHITE KILLS ME INSIDE OUT /pos

“Fuck you,” Lance whispers. Bile rises up the back of his throat, threatening to make a mess of the cockpit, and he quickly chokes the burning down. “Fuck you. Fuck…” He yanks his hands back from the controls to grip at his abdomen, stomach lurching dangerously at the sight of the lit display screens.

“It worked,” Allura's voice slides through the comms on his helmet. Lance hates the weary relief in her voice, hates that as reluctant as it is, her relief is reasonable - valid. He hates that the thing she's relieved about is that they can still form Voltron without Keith.

Still, the cabin hums with energy. Red light, instead of blue, glints off the surface of everything around him, tainting the metal of the dash and floor a shade reminiscent of the all-too-recent memory of blood, and for a second, it’s everywhere. Blood. On lips, soaked in hair, coated over hands. His skin itches everywhere it touched. Everything about this is wrong wrong wrong. “Why?” Lance breathes out at the lion, strangled and betrayed. Her acceptance of him stings like a slap to the face. It's bitter confirmation that Keith really is gone. “You can't just replace him.” Lance's fingers claw at the collar of his chest plate in a feeble attempt to clear his airway of the knot building in his throat. He can't be Keith’s replacement. He can't. He can't do this. Goddammit he can't breathe.

“Lance,” Shiro calls through the speakers, “you hanging in there?” His voice is steady, controlled, but carefully so. It's an unnatural kind of even - one that tips Lance off that his display of calmness is chosen, not felt.

Lance attempts to swallow, but his throat is too tight, and his tongue gets stuck pressing hard into the roof of his mouth. Keith was Shiro's little brother. They were the closest out of anyone on the team. Memories flash like still-frames through Lance's mind: of Shiro's arm around Keith's shoulders at a rally as Keith wears an affectionately annoyed look, comfortable with him in a way he never was with anyone else; Keith sprinting down the hall of the castleship's sleeping quarters, howling in wild laughter as Shiro bears down on him with shaving cream on his nose and the promise of vengeance in his eyes; Keith holding tightly around Shiro's sides, face buried in his chest, the moment Shiro comes down from a flashback; Shiro tugging a blanket over Keith's sleeping form conked out on the common room couch after a particularly grueling day of sparring. They loved one another, and Lance saw a piece of Shiro die with Keith the moment he stumbled into the medbay with his brother's lifeless form clutched to his chest. He's holding it together for the team's sake. Barely. The castleship's metal walls don't mute the screams that echo in the dead of night. Lance can't make this any harder for him.

Lance clicks his mic on and opens his mouth. For a second, nothing comes out. The dashboard lights blink idly before him, evidence of the ticks of silence passing in his hesitation. He forces a shaky breath, then makes another attempt.

“Yeah.”

He can't manage much else.

Dead Keith/Red Paladin Lance AU (Part 1/?)

Keith is killed by a triple agent Blade member, and Lance has to take his place as the red paladin. Lance does not want to take over Keith’s lion as that means accepting that he is dead. Later, Lance discovers that Keith’s consciousness was absorbed into and became a part of Red, and Keith helps Lance learn how to pilot her and heal. Sprinkle in Lance figuring his feelings out only after Keith is already dead, being able to talk to him in Red/see him in the astral plane but not touch, and god fuckkk I have a whole lot of feelings about this AU/fic.

It’s mostly Lance having to to deal with a lot of grief and regret about literally everything. Very introspective, Lance-centered - figuring out his role to play in the grand scheme of things, and how home, love, team, wants, and duty all fit into it. Bittersweet resolution as S8 ends with the lions no longer working, and saying goodbye to them means finally getting closure and really, truly saying goodbye to Keith.

#lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #voltron #vld #fanart #fanfic #BANGER AU #WHAT #ROLLING ON THE FLOOR #MOUTH FOAMING #TEARS ROLLING DIWN MY CHEEK #LITERALLY A FAUCET #MY EYES #THEY ARE BEING PURGED OF HYDRATION

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softshuji · 1 year ago

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𝟎𝟔:𝟏𝟏𝐀𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Smile for me

Summary: Rindou knows he's not getting any younger, but old insecurities are hard to fight- luckily for him, you're there to kiss them better. Link for masterlist here!

cw: afab!reader, talks of insecurities, pet names (kitten, princess), Ran being a stellar big brother, Rindou getting embarrassed easily and being a simp lol, some brief kissing and mentions of sex (nothing explicit), he's literally so cute and sexy I can't stand it. Reblogs appreciated!

Rindou is perturbed.

He’s used to waking an hour before you, 7AM with the sun still making a haphazard climb over the windowsill, all the weak and watery light he watches fall over the crest of your sloping shoulder from behind, his cheek pressed to your hair. He hopes you don’t notice, the alarm of his phone buzzing and snoozed, five minutes he thinks he can spare to spend here, you unaware of how his arms tighten around you, the shaky breath that comes from his dry lips and all the love he never mentions that he wishes was easier to talk about to you.

You stir, slide a hand along his muscled forearm, the slight frown of your scrunched eyebrows loosening, a breath blown between parted lips and you settle again into sleep as Rindou untangles your legs from under the warm covers.

He hates it, this moment right here. It’s a visceral lump that sits in his throat when he pulls the covers back over you, slides your hair to the side to kiss just under your ear, your cheek, a finger that comes up to touch at you, a stray eyelash he pretends he’s lifting, because it’s easier when you can’t see.

‘Mhm Rin,’ you murmur and stir, turning over to reach to where he should be, the indent of him in the memory foam where you hope your hand can feel the smooth muscle of him, soft hair and warm breath, the ridges of his shoulders where your arms want to come around.

He watches you, bashfully, hiding a smile and embarrassed somehow, this many years later, knowing all there is to know about you, the wounds you’ve cleaned that even Ran hasn’t seen, the fights and arguments that led to the two of you walking out, coming back, kissing and apologies you’d never doubted were just there, days that started out tense and ended with the two of you with your foreheads pressed together.

He hates shutting the door on you like that, sprawled on your stomach, holding the duvet close to your chest, your face turned towards the sun that slips in through the slat in the window, a gentle breeze that pushes the curtains inwards, the peace he is leaving behind that he’s never sure he’ll live to see again.

When he pads to the bathroom, unceremoniously in fact, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, the tufts of his hair sticking up one side, tired eyes lined with shadows that drag down his skin, it is knowing that fact, that it could be the last time, that he’s not lucky enough to maintain what he loves and needs so much in any way that doesn’t mean pain.

He does need you, and he’d spent so long denying that fact, the cold and dark nights made warmer by drinks and drugs and parties that never really meant anything outside of those singular moments in time, when his mind is just so far away from the bottle or the glass or lines on the flat tables.

You like this routine of his though. Coffee made for you that sits in the pot till you wake, despite his absence, warm towels pulled from the dryer, leftover dishes washed and dried, the diligence he hopes is able to communicate what he can’t, a kiss left lingering on your lips, a “see you later kitten” that never feels sufficient enough when he leaves and his car backs out of the driveway. He stops every morning before driving off, a last look at the house, at the window where the blinds sway in the breeze, a secret pang in his heart when he remembers he’s left his heart in your palm.

But something else is on his mind right now and it bothers him with a lance of sharp pain when he sees the crease along his cheek that he swears is a little too new for his liking.

He runs a finger along his cheek, along his chin, golden honeyed skin that stretches taut when he frowns at his reflection in the mirror, a minor razor graze nicking along his jaw and the hard slam of his heart cracking along his ribs when the mark along his cheek doesn’t fade.

‘Huh?’ he says, leaning forward, towards the mirror that fogs with his breath, a hand braced on the porcelain sink, the purpling strands of his hair pulled back by a baby blue headband. Yours, obviously. He’s long since lost the stubbornness of being insecure and uptight about these things, the fabricated fragilities that became too tiring to have when he realised it made you happy to break down those barriers he was so determined to keep. That being said, Rindou knows he’s not as young as he used to be, that the days and weeks of life have caught up to him, whether he’ll admit it or not. It’s been years since you met and the days and weeks of new love have long gone, leaving a soft and peaceful security in your wake.

His finger trails along the crease, a curve like an eyelash along his cheek, cupped around his mouth, the wisp of shorter hairs kissing at his cheekbones as he frowns, confusion and uncertainty slipping over his skin.

He avoids covering it up despite this, the ample tubes and pots of various skincare that neatly line your medicine cabinet stay untouched, but he gingerly touches his cheek, lets a finger trail along the crease even still, wondering if you’ll notice when you kiss him goodbye, sitting up in bed now, the pastel lilac duvet slipping off your shoulders. When the sun brushes against your skin, he halts at the door, the telltale marks and bites left on your neck and chest that leave a thick and dizzying desire in his throat.

He is quiet when he meets Ran an hour later, a sullen type of silence that even Sanzu cannot coax from him, all pointed glances and chewing lips and half hidden behind his hair, as if Ran cannot sense the uncertain and tenuous scowling that he hates he’s still doing this many years later.

Ran slides his chair along, feet propped up on the table, a glass of something dark held between two fingers, deliberate glances from the side of the viridescent violet of his eyes now falling on his Brother who sits back with his arms tightly folded over his chest.

‘So….’ he starts, and leans back in his seat, an eye trained on the way Rindou shuffles further into the leather, haunches and hackles rising on instinct, the turn of his eyes fixed on the mahogany table. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?’

Rindou stiffens, turns his cheek away, the flash of his eyes burning luminous as he sinks into the chair and really, it’s silly, he knows this and he hates that he cycles so often around to this behaviour, with Ran, with you, the same vulnerability that’s too terrifying to show despite all you have seen together, as if he is any less just because he feels.

Ran sighs, blows a forceful gust of minty breath between his lips and raises an eyebrow in deliberation. ‘Maybe I can help, whatever it is,’ he says. ‘Did you have a fight or something?’

Rindou churns the words, grinds them between his teeth, soft whispers that take effort, that take the force of him chewing them out from the lump in his throat, all the insecurity that he loathes, that has him stiffening under his Brother’s weighted stare. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘So? What was it then?’

‘Nothing, just forget it.’

‘Not going to happen Little Brother.’ And Ran grabs the arm of Rindou’s chair, pulls while his foot hooks under the leg, Rindou moving closer despite his ambivalence, and Ran almost chuckles when he audibly hears him scowl, tut under his breath in defiance, feet planted on the floor and dragging across the plush carpet.

He softens a fraction here, a soft and gentle squeeze of his heart, the lump in his throat that seems to scrape against his thoughts when he realises the resistance is so futile because it’s always been like this, Ran pulling him along, coaxing the words from him in a way he’s never given gratitude for before despite how much he cares.

He has a memory, a vague flash of an image behind his eyes, the two of them running, huddled together, Ran coaxing Rindou to show him the cuts and bruises from his overzealous moments during fights, a soft and subdued “you’re such an idiot” that was always laced with affection, a plaster and bandage that Ran was always so quick to have on hand for his little Brother, food that he never ate so Rindou always had more.

‘You’re going to laugh,’ he says and hates it, weak and shamed as the sun climbs over the buildings, the whir of the heating that permeates the otherwise silent room, a raucous laugh from Sanzu that resonates through the gap in the door.

‘Yeah you’re right I am.’

‘See, I knew it-’

‘I’m kidding!’ A beat and Ran turns his chair, stretches his long legs under the table, sitting upright now and turning entirely towards his Brother who blows a wisp of wisp of hair from his forehead. ‘I’m not going to laugh.’

A beat, again, Rindou sharing a glance, a narrowing of his eyes through the individual strands of his hair, conflicted thoughts and fears bouncing around in his head before he uncrosses his arms and flexes his lithe fingers on the arms of the chair.

‘Well?’ Ran says and slides the glass along the table, a faint and chiming click as it meets the decanter.

Rindou knows of course. With Ran, it’s always been a lot harder to tell than it has with him. Ran hides many things well and there’s the assumption that he’s so high above, so far removed, impossibly perfect in all things, that there can never be anything wrong with a man like him who has so much and wants for so little.

But Rindou’s the only one who has been there during those moments between. Gels and creams that Ran diligently applies, as if he can make himself something more than human, nights spent with the three of you sharing confessions by the fireside that the others have no knowledge of, moments in which Ran is not a Haitani, neither of them are, moments in which they are just brothers setting aside their burdens for the promise of light.

He looks at him now, tired eyes that still shine with mirth and exuberance despite himself, despite how exhausted he is and pretends not to be, the weight of all he has seen and shouldered for the both of them, the rock he has carried so that Rindou can stretch his hands a little further, be a little more, worry a little less and his heart fills with something that tastes like gratitude, this many years later when the two of them have grown out of petty jealousies and hurts that never mean anything.

‘Well- it’s just- it’s this okay?’ And Rindou turns, towards the floor to ceiling window, the weak and watery sunlight now dancing over his skin, a hand moving to pull back his hair as he glowers still, chewing haphazardly on his lip in anxiety. He lifts his other hand, touches at the crease in his cheek and points, as if accusatory, at the sharp indent of the skin, a little removed from the dimple in his cheek he’s still so embarrassed by.

Ran frowns, shuffles forward in his chair, eyes narrowing and searching, a slight shake of his head that has his earring tinkling, his rings catching the light as he rests his chin in his palm. ‘I don’t understand, what are you referring to here?’

‘What- what do you mean?’ Rindou points again, a finger zeroing in on the sharp crease, the curve towards his mouth he’s spent the last hour trying to hide behind his permanent scowl. ‘It’s this- this stupid wrinkle right here, I don’t understand how it got here.’

Ran pauses, the light slipping across his eyes, a slow and calculated smirk spreading across his lips as he reaches for the decanter again, deliberate movements that mirror the rise and fall of his eyebrows over the glass. ‘Oh…I think I understand now.’

And he takes a sip, eyes lifting from the glass to Rindou now settling back into a scowl, arms folded again, the crease hidden behind the wisps of hair falling over his forehead.

‘So what is it?’ he asks and purses his lips.

Ran smiles, genuinely, casts a glance towards the window where the sun makes a steady climb over the buildings, a swath of shadow that looms bright over the floor, the sparkle of buttery sunlight falling on his skin as he arches, catlike on the chair and leans back with his eyes closed. ‘Ask your wife when you get home. She’ll know.’

‘What does my Wife have to do with it?’

‘Just ask her, she’ll tell you.’

Rindou slows, as he usually does when you’re mentioned. Erratic heartbeat calmed by the thought of you, a soft and tentative quirk of his mouth that comes unbidden at the image of you, at the mention, at the concept and he finds he can’t help it, that it’s impossible for his body not to betray him like this. So he worries less for a time, touches it tentatively throughout the day, a self conscious glance at the mirror every so often, at his phone screen before it illuminates with the picture of you, his thumb catching on the screen before it fades to black once again. Ran sees, and Ran knows and it’s less subtle when he pats Rindou’s back at the end of the day, a ‘drive safe’ that he leaves pressed to his Brother’s jacket like a charm, and all the worry of being his only family, of knowing he’d die for him at a moment’s notice.

When he returns, a tired and subdued “I’m home Princess” that you hear over the sound of the splash of water slipping down into the bubbly froth of your soak, your chest flutters, as it usually does when you meet the sultry cadence of his voice every day. You wonder if it will ever not be like that, if you’ll ever not feel a better, newer version of yourself with him, a caterpillar shaking off its chrysalis, if there will ever come a point where his hands do not feel safe and strong and perfect on you.

‘I’m in the bathroom Rin,’ you say as he comes around the corner, his jacket held over one arm, sock-clad feet in a matching pair of fur slippers. You’d say it was cute but you know he did it for you anyway. There’s little he doesn’t and you feel spoiled sometimes, unworthy, undeserving, when you find he’s constantly stepping out, stepping in for you, things he does that he never asks for payment for.

‘The water’s still warm, come in baby.’ You lift your arms, and he flushes despite himself, when the water makes a beeline for the dip in your breasts where the bubbles rest, wet skin that’s shiny and luminous under the low lighting, a candle that has the shadow of your cleavage splashed on the wall.

‘You don’t mind?’ And he shrugs his shirt off, his back flexing as he tosses it- and his pants- into the laundry basket, the black swirl of ink swallowing the light, and you press your thighs together on instinct, at the heated flush that crawls along your spine every time.

It’s rather unceremonious when he sits in front of you, his back to your chest, breasts pressing against his shoulder blades, a drawn out sigh spilling past his lips when he leans into you, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, light scratches against his scalp, lips ghosting over the swell of his muscled shoulder. And you don’t mind at all, the weight of him against your body, the need for support that he’ll never ask for, the give and take that has you drawing out his fatigue with your kisses pressed to his skin.

‘How was your day?’ You lather shampoo in your hands, fingers wrinkly from being submerged for so long, and run them through his hair, down to the tips, a gentle massage of his scalp that has him biting back a groan as he settles against your chest.

‘It was okay, the usual.’ He keeps it clipped, firm, enough, because he likes hearing you more, the soft and sweet lilt of your voice he keeps close to his chest, in his heart for safekeeping, tucked away behind the guns and blood, the countless deaths he’s seen and caused.

‘Just okay?’

‘Just okay.’ A beat, a long and pregnant pause. And then- ‘Actually…’

‘Yeah?’ You pause, your hands braced on the showerhead, warm water slipping over the soft and bronzed swell of his shoulders. ‘Close your eyes- I need to rinse.’

His eyes flutter shut, a warm sigh, a flush on his skin that isn’t just the water. He lifts his hands, massages your thighs splayed on either side of him, calloused fingers inching dangerously close to that patch of sensitive skin and it feels…nice to be touched like that for the both of you. He thinks of how easy it is to be taken care of by you, how the need is never shameful, never something he feels guilty for wanting, how he’s taken care of and loved so perfectly and maybe it has changed him in some way, down to the fibre of his bones, a lighter, softer version of him that he reserves just for you.

‘Mhm, yeah, Ran wanted me to ask you something- said you’d know the answer,’ he says, over the splash of water, bubbles receding now to where they cling at the sides of the tub.

‘Go on.’

There is water splashing over his eyes and he lifts his hands momentarily to push his bangs back, his forehead glistening with soap, the suds clinging to the soft and inviting swell of his shoulders and you resist the urge to kiss- to bite- to sink your lips against the toned muscle.

'Mhm, you know…lots of things don't you princess?' he says, a hand now splayed across your thigh on the right side again, thumb grazing the soft inside, shiny skin now covered with a wet and tantalising sheen.

You suck in a breath, your hand juddering, stuttering against the roots on his scalp, a soft massage and rake of your nails along the fine wet hairs. 'Y-Yeah? I know some things baby, what is it you need exactly?' And his thoughts are far away, long and lithe fingers grazing the back of your thighs as he lifts them to squeeze at, the imprint of his hands leaving a rosy red on your skin and you shudder, your arms brushing his as you run your hands through his hair and squeeze the ends.

And then he turns his head, a hand braced over the lip of the bathtub, wet hair now splayed across his shoulder and points to his cheek, where the offending crease now curls at the side of his mouth. ‘Can you tell me what this is? It’s been bothering me all day, and Ran said I should ask you and that you’d know and I hate seeing it and-’

‘Rindou.’

‘Yeah?’

You soften, a hand moving from the water to cup his cheek, water slipping down your forearm, off the crook of your elbow where the soap suds gather and cling before dropping with a plink. He sinks, unbidden against your palm, eyelashes kissing at his cheek from where you run your thumb across his cheekbone, eyes flitting and fluttering closed as a soft sigh spills past his reddened lips.

‘You are very cute, do you know that?’ you say and your fingers drift to the back of his neck, a light trail of soft touches, the water-roughened pads of your fingers skimming across his neck, the spill of ink on the dip of his throat, Adam's apple sliding and shifting under your touch and he makes a choked sound, something between a gasp and a cough, clearing his throat in a way that does little to hide the creeping embarrassment in his chest.

‘If- if you’re just going to make fun I’m going to-’

‘Shhhh,’ you say, a slight lean forward that has your nose bumping his, a slight pull of your hand to bring him closer, your breath now ghosting over the soft cupid’s bow of his shell pink lips, glistening and pearly under the light. ‘I’m not making fun of you, but you really are quite special aren’t you? I’m so lucky to have you.’

He swallows, presses a chaste peck to your lips that he knows will lead to more, as if often does, and his hand comes to hold your chin, fingers that grip your jaw just right, your hair falling over his knuckles and clinging, as you do, to the fibre of him. He wonders if the charged moments like this will ever feel less electric and he dreads that one day it might feel like a chore to kiss you like this, to hold you in his hands with the rough fingers grazing a line along your sensitive neck and it aches inside when he thinks of ever not having you, of ever not seeing you again.

‘I don’t understand what you mean, don’t you think it’s serious? It means I’m ageing doesn’t it? I’m getting old.’ He hates that there’s a waver in his voice then, a tremble that seems to reverberate with the lump in his throat, a horrible and terrifying insecurity that now lays itself bare before you.

You click your tongue, a soft smile that tugs at your lips and you stroke his cheek, thumb moving over the crease back and forth. ‘It’s a smile line silly. That’s why Ran wanted you to ask me. It’s what happens when you’re happy a lot.’

‘A smile line? I don’t understand, don’t most people hate them?’

‘Well I don’t. I’d rather you be happy, and to know you’re happy, makes me happy too. To know that you like your life with me, makes me feel very lucky.’

‘Oh. But it makes me look older doesn’t it?’

You tilt your head to the side, a slide of your hair against your skin, your chest now close enough to brush his, the goosebumps prickling across your arms. ‘No, it doesn’t. And y’know what Rin, so what if it did? You are all the more handsome and sexy and gorgeous to me, and that won’t change if you get older. I’m not getting any younger either.’

It grates on him that it hurts inside, that it makes sense. But it does, really does. When he thinks of how many smiles he fights watching you sleep, watching you dream, kisses pressed to your forehead, to your cheeks and the back of your hands where he grins when you flush and look away and the concept of running home to you hasn’t changed in all these years. He thinks, after this long, the excitement might have worn off if you’d been anyone else, if he’d been any less in love and any less willing.

‘But you’ll always be pretty to me,’ he says, matter of factly, and unaware of how the heat rises to your cheeks so overtly, as if it’s the simplest thing to believe, as if it’s an irrefutable fact. Because it is to him.

‘And you’ll always be the most handsome, sexy, beautiful man ever to me too.’ And damn him, for how your voice wobbles now, how the tears gather on your lashes so easily, pulled so freely, how it aches and stings your chest with so much love to see him so earnest, the flecked hue of his eyes where your reflection shimmers under the candlelight. You press a soft kiss to the crease and his eyes widen, an almost apprehensive stiff frown that bleeds into love when your lips touch his cheek again on the other side.

He pulls you first then, your chin still in his hand, a heated press of his lips to yours, slotting so softly, a perfect fit that has you eliciting a small gasp, and his tongue touches yours tentatively, shyly even, a bare and wispy brush that has you leaning further into him. And when you break, the thin line of saliva does too, a string that falls onto your chin.

It’s an hour later when the two of you are back in bed, glowing with the aftermath of sex and now huddled under the covers, you on his chest and him winding the ends of the duvet around his fingers. There is much talking in those moments, a little after, when he glows and giggles and laughs and pulls you close enough to feel the warmth of you on him, when time is everlasting and waiting in the palms of his hands, when the two of you are infinite.

You get a call from Ran a day later, a quick and quiet ‘thank you, for everything you do for him,’ and you bask in the unspoken love and understanding the three of you share, the golden thread that ties you all together. You know they’re long past it now, days of green and simmering jealousy that always permeated every sarcastic word. You know that’s part of growing up, and they have and it’s easier now, when they are old enough to appreciate each other and hold tighter to the memories they share.

Maybe you are right, Rindou thinks as he dresses for work in the morning, leaving the sleeping you in the warm confines of your soft and perfumed bed. Maybe it’s not so bad.

Does it bother him that he’s shrugged off this old version of himself for you? The old him that found fault often, that ran headfirst into cynicism because it’s what he knew, what he was used to, that was gruff and aggressive and awkward because it hurt to be anything otherwise. Does it bother him that you’ve changed him enough for it to be so visceral?

It should, and yet it doesn’t. He likes it in fact and maybe, just maybe, he finds himself not biting back the smile when he kisses you before setting off, a lingering press of his lips to yours, that tells you everything he can’t.

a/n: hi, this was actually a present for my dear @tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang (i am so sorry it came so late but I hope you like it anyways) between writing and trying to find a new job, it's been tough to find the time and motivation, but I enjoyed writing this, I kinda cried like a few times y'know, as you do lol. Enjoy everyone!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @deskaisers @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013

let me know if you'd like to be added!

#tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #haitani rindou #tokyo rev #rindou x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #rindou haitani

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unholyhelbig · 4 months ago

Note

More firecrest pls & thank u

Title: Firecrest (Part 5/7)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: More bad parenting, Needles, shootings (guns and mention of death), discrimination, Politics (vaguely), and horrible grammar because we all know I don't proofread.

[A/n: Woo, okay, have finally gotten my bearings on a chapter count. Two more to go folks and then all of my attention will be focused on Fright Night!]

The bourbon burned uncomfortably when you swallowed it down in two gulps. The warmth swirled in your stomach and instantly went to your head. It was a dizzy feeling, one that replaced the despair that had settled in your bones. The oaky taste was appealing enough for you to tap the edge of the glass to signal for another.

The Rusty Nail was the definition of ‘dive-bar’, with its smoke-yellowed walls and torn booth seats that frothed with foam. The bartender had a stained towel over his shoulder and replaced the beer that was in front of a man at the other end of the bar, wordlessly.

A box television that had to be from at least the early 90’s was mounted on the corner of the wall. The news played through the speakers with a cracking static. There was roadwork in the majority of Brooklyn, and coat drives taking place at every middle school in the district.

What caught your hazy attention was a photo of Lance. His smile was intoxicating to the general public, and the graph that populated next to him with winning numbers confirmed this fact. He was pulling ahead astonishingly, and even through your misery, you felt a swell of pride.

“Get a load of that guy,” The bartender hissed under his breath.

“Not a fan?”

You’d heard everything under the sun about your step-father, pointedly ignoring the negative opinions in favor for the man that cooked fantastic blueberry pancakes. His campaign relied on dissolving what remained of the Sokovia accords, and removing the restrictions that were put on Inhumans.

For you, it was easy. While a deep and dark fire brewed within you, you still looked relatively normal. Of course, you went through your teenage phases of turmoil, just like everyone else. But, there were people out there who weren’t so lucky; Inhumans that were plagued with spikes covering their entire bodies, translucent skin that displayed the entirety of their innerworkings, or the rocks that engulfed you once, never falling away at all.

Still, with the small Inhuman marking on the edge of your license, it took three times as long to get through airport security, and renting an apartment hadn’t even been a possibility without your mother co-signing. The world still feared Inhumans, just as they feared the changes that came along with them.

It had been changing for years, and Lance wanted to push things just a little further. You held out hope, but immense love for the man who had helped raised you. Though, not everyone felt the same way. A good portion of citizens opposed the man with the golden smile and kind eyes because of his stance on Inhumans.

“He’s pretty don’t get me wrong. But his stance on those… freaks? Those accords are the only thing keeping our streets safe.”

“Oh?”

“You disagree?”

You took a tentative sip of your drink. You were bone-tired and not much into political talk. It was the middle of the night, and you had just felt the adhesive of your ‘fake-dating-band-aid” get ripped from your skin. It left a stinging discomfort behind.

You shrugged “I don’t think they’re hurting anyone.”

The bartender narrowed his eyes and scoffed. He took your empty glass and didn’t offer to refill it. He probably thought you were drunk, and while you were a little tipsy at best, your position on what you were, what so many people around you hid, stayed the same. It worried you, the target that Lance had on his back because of this.

“What about that shooting?”

“The one committed by a human?

This silenced him, though he wore his frown on his sleeve. It had been so quick, blasted all over the news. A father of a teenager had walked into the pizza place where his son worked and opened fire. He’d found out earlier in the day, that his son was an Inhuman, exposed to the same chemicals you were. Three people died, including the shooter, but it was spun in a way that was unforgiveable.

You held you tongue, instead, throwing your money on the counter. You’d come here to get away from the chaos of your own mind. It had dulled the anxieties to an extent, but what was taken away was soon replaced with annoyance.

Your apartment was, of course, empty upon your return. Keys were set on the end table by the door and you flicked on the nearest light so you could avoid the furniture that you thought about moving every single day. It was lonely here. Cold in a way that went beyond a thermostat.

Sleeping was well out of the question, so you skimmed the bookshelf placed on the far side of the room and grabbed the piece of literature that was most appealing. You saw no point in keeping books that didn’t pull you in within the first hundred pages, but there was a staple few that you kept no matter what.

You’d picked up a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You thumbed through the pages, letting it fan the sharp sourness of old paper. The last time you’d read it, you only made it halfway through, and the makeshift bookmark that fell out landed on your lap.

You abandoned the book as quickly as you picked it up in favor for the page marker. It was an old, folded photo. As if pouring salt into the wound, it was one of the only known photos of you and Kate together. Her smile beamed at the camera, one arm around your shoulder and the other holding up the middle finger.

The two of you were standing on the docks at rented cabin that your families shared. Usually, you didn’t run into the Bishops, but one fateful year, your leisure time had aligned. Eleanor wanted to take a nice photo. You never knew if it was for the masses, or for her own pleasure, but Kate ruined every single shot with her shit-eating grin and obscene gestures.

It had been creased right down the middle, a sloppy split in the glossed parchment. A tear had dripped from your chin and landed on the edge, your throat suddenly tight. You didn’t bother wiping them away, or picking up the discarded copy of Pride and Prejudice when it hit the carpet with an undignified thump.

You were sobbing by the time you decided to fold the photo back up. That was as far as you had gotten, really. Slumped back in a worn loveseat and letting the tears that had been building all day well-up and soak your collar. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and your chest ached fiercely.

It angered you, that all of this was about Kate Bishop, of all people.

It should be Clint that brought on the wealth of emotions. And in a way, it was. It had always been. The archer had discarded you as a young child, and you supposed you should be thankful for that. You were privileged, especially compared to the poor boy in the pizza shop. But the scars still lingered horribly.

You landed softly, and most of that had been because of Kate. The anger and distress that came with the situation was always dampened by her stormy eyes and her pension for doing good. It rebelled against the Bishop protocol and after a long while, you realized she was different. Kinder. Clumsier. More dedicated.

She knew what she wanted, just as well as she knew what you needed. In moments of anger, she’d distract you with her innate ability to drive you crazy with competition. In panic, she had a softer touch that soothed you into extinguishing volatile flames.

Sleeping with her had been a bad idea. You knew if from the start, but preened at her deeper attention, at the way her hands felt against you, breath fanning warmly across your cheeks and then your chest. For her, you were a release. For you, she was everything.

You were in love, with Kate, mother fucking, Bishop.

It weighed your shoulders down, labored your breathing. But strangely, you felt no flames. The warmth that usually accompanied strong emotions such as these wasn’t there. For the first time, in a long time, you succumbed to sadness. Just sadness.

The cobalt of Kate’s dress illuminated the blue ringlets in her iris’s. They caught the light of the chandelier in the lobby. They were crystal, hanging low but secured tightly to the ceiling. Almost as tight as the dress that Kate wore.

You were clad in a tailored suit, loosely buttoned black fabric a lace corset that matched the cobalt of Kate’s cocktail dress. She’d sent you the color combination in a single word text. Blue. And you’d followed her instructions perfectly, matching her wavelength like always.

For extra measure, you put on a dainty stainless steel arrow necklace. It showed commitment, it was just short of showing your misery. Kate’s eyes canned from your toes to your own stare and you barely suppressed the shivers that came with her scrutiny.

She figured it would be better to face this on a united front and arrive together. She let out a quiet huff of indignance and folded her arm enough for you to loop your own through it. Her warmth, her comfort, no matter how scarce, was overwhelming and threatened to bring back the tears.

That wasn’t what tonight was about. Tonight was about having a united front, about being endlessly in love to make your parents uncomfortable. You weren’t quite sure what Kate was getting out of this and she wasn’t about to tell you either.

The elevator ride up was uncomfortable. She’d never been this quiet for this long before.

“Kate,”

“No.” She clenched her jaw, voice a low whisper despite it only being the two of you and the slowly climbing lift. “For once, y/n, don’t say a word.”

Your eyes met hers in the reflective paneling and you gave her a small nod. The silence had suddenly become heavier, deeper. Your hand curled up in your jacket pocket before you diverted your gaze. The only mercy was the elevator reaching the penthouse, a muffled ‘ding’ proceeding the doors sliding open to her foyer.

The archer had pulled her shoulders back and had a soft smile on her face. There was a sadness behind her eyes that anyone else would have to dig for, but you could see it from a mile away. She was hurting as much as you were but wasn’t going to show it.

You did just the same, working the tension from your features as the scent of lamb coated your lungs and made your stomach clench. You’d always hated the dish, but it was a staple of the Bishop family chef so you powered through it every time.

She smoothed her hand over your jacket sleeve as the two of you stepped out of the elevator. It almost scared you how perfectly she fit into this role. It was the flip of a switch. You were uncomfortable with the thought of it being in your favor. You couldn’t feel the love behind her gestures, because they were just that. Gestures.

“Ready?” She asked.

“Ready.” You replied.

The mechanical whir of the elevator had attracted the attention of those who had already arrived. You’d been in Kate’s house once or twice, enough to count on only one hand. But, you knew the layout fairly well. Her apartment was open concept, and this had a million intersecting walls and corridors.

The two of you passed the dining room and entered something you could only describe as a sitting room, maybe a study with the large oak bookshelves, dusty and untouched. The walls were a Spanish moss green and the hardwood covered by an oriental rug.

Eleanor wore a blood red dress, and Jack had a matching silk pocket square. Clint was the only one that stood out among all of you. He wore a nice dress shirt that was tucked into black pants, he looked cleanly pressed and perfect for a Bishop dinner party.

He held a glass of whiskey, and Jack was pouring one more. He gave you a beaming, and wholly innocent smile, his mustache lifting at the sides. “Miss Morse! Katie!”

You felt Kate stiffen next to you at the name, her jaw clenching. Instinctively, your hand covered hers, thumb ghosting over the scarring on her knuckles. Her shoulders seemed to lower, and that breath smelled of the familiar wintergreen.

“Darling,” Eleanor moved forward and placed phantom kisses against both of Kate’s cheeks before moving to do the same with you. “Let me get a good look at you both.”

“Mom, you’ve seen us before.”

“Not like this. It’s different. Before it was just rumors, and speculation. Annoying, isn’t it? But now, we can spin this anyway we want to.”

Kate gave her mother a tight smile. “We’re not a press opportunity”

“Not so easy to say when you’ve already been all the press can talk about.” She shrugged and took the glass from Jacks hand. “You know, at first, I thought this was horrible. But people seem to like you both.”

There was something on the tip of her tongue that wanted to escape. A God Know’s why or a couldn’t be me. But she said neither and an uncomfortable silence fell over you all. Kate subconsciously tightened her fingers against your arm once more, and the pressure was nearly soothing.

Your eyes met Clint’s across the room, and you got hit with the familiar feeling of your world tilting in a nauseating way. He offered up a small smile, the only one he could muster within these last few chaotic weeks.

He waved at Kate, not enthusiastically, a neutral and awkward expression of affection. Kate let out a long breath, retracting her arm and similarly placing her hand on the small of your back. She needed a grounding technique, just as much as you did.

Eleanor sensed the tension and announced that it was time for dinner. The scent of the lamb came rolling back in crashing waves. Upon entering the dining room, you were positive that the woman hadn’t cooked this meal herself.

A linin table cloth was punctuated with candles, bathing the room in a dull yellow light. There were different platters piled with dripping meat, and steaming mashed potatoes. Glasses of red wine rested next to the salads situated on gold plating.

Fire crackled within the large stone hearth that you’d never seen lit. It seemed almost directed, sitting in front of the warm, smoldering flames. Across from you was Eleanor and Jack, Clint right in between them. Jack seemed particularly fond of the man, similarly entrapped by his accomplishments as the rest of the world.

“Everyone, dig in” Eleanor prompted “No need to be so formal.”

“Right,” Kate cleared her throat, picking up fork and chasing a cherry tomato with the prongs. “How is everyone?”

You winced at the pathetic attempt at small talk, staring down at your own wilted greens. It was a valiant effort that was promptly ignored by everyone else at the table.

“Y/n, why don’t you tell us more about yourself?” Eleanor asked.

Kate gave you a look that intimately read as you don’t have to entertain her. “You know all about Y/n. We grew up together.”

“From fifth grade onward. I remember when your mom enrolled you. You kept deliberately ripping your uniform until she agreed to pants. Same thing happened with Katherine. But now that you and my daughter are involved, I’d like to know more.”

She took a sip of her wine, and your fingers brushed over the glass base of your own glass. But you didn’t pick it up. You’d decided last night, sometime between showering off the scum of the dive-bar and propping a window in your apartment to get some fresh air, that you needed a clear head for something like this.

You cleared your throat. “Well, uh, what would you like to know?”

“Where you grew up!” Jack cut in fantastically, talking around a mouth full of vegetation, waving his fork around like a madman “Your favorite color, if you have any pets!”

Your stare flicked to Clint, but he was staring down at his untouched food. He didn’t know the answer to any of these questions and the stinging bile that threatened to push past your lips was instantly swallowed back down in favor of your dignity.

“I moved around a lot as a kid, my mom traveled for work a lot so we were never in one place for too long. Amsterdam, Delhi, Perth. The best place though, was a small desert town in Arizona. There weren’t many people there and it could get to about a hundred degrees by the time the sun was at it’s highest point. But it was peaceful, and beautiful.”

Clint was watching you carefully now. He’d been there too. It was one of the last places you’d traveled together as a family. There was a small strip of old wooden structures that reminded you of the wild west, cutting through the orange of the desert. Murals were painted against the rocky structures, writhing snakes, swallowing the sun, and fire shimmering over it’s scales.

It was captivating during the day, but even better at night. It was the clearest you had ever seen the stars. Blankets of twinkling constellations and milky ways that you’d never seen before. Your neck started to ache from staring up at it for so long, and it was Clint who had laid a blanket in the bed of his truck and laid next to you to view them.

He’d taught you about the different formations, and of course, his favorite, the Sagittarius. An archer that sacrificed his own mortality for the sake of his sons. It seemed ironic now. But then, it had made you feel like the most important girl in the world.

“A dusty old desert town over the streets of Amsterdam?” Eleanor seemed to find amusement in this, piercing a slice of carrot with the prongs of her fork. It gave a satisfying snap. “Interesting.”

“It was peaceful” You shrugged, finally giving in and taking a warm sip of wine. “The last time we were together as a family.”

“Is that right?”

Eleanor was enjoying herself too much and Kate’s hand nervously went to the charm around her own neck. You hadn’t noticed it before, trying to be respectful. Trying not to let your eyes wander during an irreparable time.

She looked best in gold and knew that from a young age. The chain was dainty, and the pendant was a whisp of a flame. It made your mouth go dry and you wondered if it was a conscious decision, just like the one you had made to grab the only necklace with an arrow.

“I remember that place.” Clint spoke up for the first time. “It was called Chloride. Weird name for a town.”

You were too transfixed on Kate’s fingers running over the curvature of the necklace to care. Her cheeks took on a red tint in the glow of the candles. She removed her hand and found yours on top of the table. It was damp, but a solid force.

“You were afraid of scorpions in your shoes and made me and your mom check and double check them before you even thought of putting them on. You usually went barefoot, which was more dangerous than just wearing the shoes.”

“Is this your idea of an olive branch?”

The words left your mouth without thinking, and they were pumped with venom. You couldn’t help it. Your stomach was already rolling unsteadily and his words, though soaked with kindness, were far from merited. Kate’s mother sat back with an almost giddy look on her face. She’d been expecting this.

Kate tightened her grip inadvertently, and you could feel the small sting of her nails carving crescents into your palm. You wholly expected her gaze to be narrowed at you, but it was transfixed on Clint. There was a hardness there that she had harbored for you earlier in the week.

You let out a strangled breath and stared down at your salad. It wasn’t worth it. None of this felt worth it. In a strange way, you were absolutely defeated, and the wilted lettuce was much more interesting than satisfying Eleanor Bishop’s sick need for chaos.

“No. of course not.” His expression betrayed a sadness that pulled uncomfortably at your chest. “Just a memory, is all.”

“Do you know what I remember?”

Kate rumbled softly, a noise that was every bit the warning to you. Let it go. She worried incessantly about the fire under your fingertips. Possibly more than yourself in moments like these. But there was no itching beneath your skin. For once, it was just a storm of sorrow. Sweat was forming on your brow and Kate’s grip shifted to your wrist, finger pressed plainly to your pulse.

“The look in your eyes when you walked away. I was just a kid, but that was the first time I ever learned about betrayal. For months, Clint, months I would sit by the window and wait for you to come back. It didn’t matter where we were, what country, what city, I would wait. I was certain that you would find us and we could be a family again.”

He clenched his knife and fork on either side of his plate, his knuckles turning a sickly type of white that nearly echoed yellow, his whisper was broken. “I’m… sorry. I understand that you need someone to blame, kid.”

“Blame?” You let out a dry laugh, standing with enough force to push the chair back with a strangled screech. “You think this is about blame? That’s a simple emotion to work through. This is about which one of you was willing to stick around when things got hard, and which one of you ran to a new family.”

The silence was deafening. Eleanor lifted her wine glass and hid her vicious smirk behind the seductive red liquid. Jack had directed his tender stare to Kate, no-doubt deciding then and there to be a good stepfather for more than a few moments at a time.

You sucked in a heavy breath before shaking your head and leaving the room. It wasn’t difficult to navigate the Bishop penthouse, with it’s dark open-concept layout. You needed air. It was much too hot in the dining room and you’d begun to sweat through your layers of clothing.

The balcony connected to the family room lacked decoration. It was a stone ledge that caught the cold drafts of high winds, drying the sweat against your skin instantly. You swallowed enough frigid air to burn your throat, but the tears refused to come. You couldn’t cry anymore.

Your head hung over the edge of the balcony, a strange dizziness washing over you as you stared down at the passing traffic, hundreds of unblinking eyes that lit up the night. You wish you had the foresight to grab the glass of wine, or something stronger from Jacks secret stash.

The temperature had dropped significantly by the time you heard the sliding glass door open. You didn’t bother turning around. Not with the subtle evergreen scent. “Tell Eleanor I’m sorry for ruining dinner.”

“Ruining?” Kate chuckled softly. Warmth engulfed you as she draped a blanket over your shoulders. You grasped the frayed edges out of habit and tugged it closely around you. “She lives for the drama of it all. She expected this, I think you’ve actually made her year.”

She leaned against the balcony, letting her hands hang over the edge. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, pale and beautiful. The tell-tale anger that had been etched into her features earlier was surrendered. You caught the glint of her bracelet and nervously brought your own hand up to the cool arrow charm that rested against your collarbone.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it? Waiting for someone to apologize?”

The corner of your lips lifted into a smile. “Very subtle, Katie.”

“I’m giving you an opening here.”

You sighed heavily and turned just enough to get a better look at her. She always knocked the breath out of you in an almost cruel way. Her eyes held a tenderness that was unmatched. She was patient with you, just like she had always been.

“This entire time, I’ve been chasing after an apology from Clint., one that he’s too proud to give. It’s easy to be consumed by something like that, but that’s no excuse to hurt you in the process.” You swallowed heavily, trying to curb the dryness in your throat.

You couldn’t look at her. The mere sight of the curve of her jaw, the softness of her demeanor despite her deep seeded anger, would be too much. Kate effectively knocked you off your feet every single time she spared you a glance. If you were going to get this out in the open, you’d much rather stare at the traffic below.

“Katie, I can’t begin to describe how much you mean to me. We’ve always had this unspoken rivalry and for the longest time I couldn’t figure it out. Why couldn’t we both just be good at the same things without vying against one another?”

You let out a wounded sigh, fingers digging into the stone balcony. “I never understood why I wanted to beat you so badly, and I don’t know where along the way that changed. But I’ve realized recently that it was never about beating you. It was about making you proud.”

Her breath had caught, a subtle noise that you noticed due to proximity. Her hand was atop yours, much like it was at dinner, somehow warmer than your own. She didn’t say anything, and you didn’t lift your gaze to meet hers. Your cheeks were enflamed with blush that you could blame on the two sips of wine you had.

“Deep down, I’ve always known that I’ve been in love with you since that first kiss at archery camp. I don’t expect you to feel the same, but I was doing more damage hiding it from you than putting it out there. You have to understand, Katie, I never meant to hurt you the other day. I’m just so used to burying it down, to keeping my emotions stifled for the greater good, that I didn’t know what to say… how to say it.”

She was rendered speechless herself and you could feel your vision start to blur at the edges, the lights from lines of city traffic suddenly fuzzy. You were never a fan of heights, but the sudden sloppy confession was much more daunting than the prospect of falling thirty stories.

“Oh,” Kate rasped.

You clenched your eyes shut until you saw stars. She’d never been a girl of little words, and you felt your heart rate increase. It pounded listlessly, preparing for rejection that you knew typically followed her silence.

None of that came, however, instead was the slightest pinprick against the side of your neck. You would have figured it nothing more than a mosquito if the weather hadn’t taken an icy turn. But this was different, this alerted your senses in one fail swoop.

Your eyes snapped open and narrowed at Kate in time to register the emptying of the syringe she’d pushed past your skin. A sickly green liquid that already stung terribly as it started to pulse through your veins.

“A lovely sentiment, I’m sure.” She pouted in a mocking way, lilting her head to the side as she pulled the needle from the side of your neck. Your fingers pressed against the area to quell the foreign sensation.

You were suddenly incredibly dizzy, the pulsing of your vision matching with the frantic beating of your heart. You were losing strength quickly, clinging to the stone balcony for some type of solace. You fell all the same, collapsed at its corner with quick breaths of panic.

Kate was suddenly crouched in front of you. She lifted your chin until you could stare into her eyes. They were cold, emotionless. “Maybe one day, you’ll be able to tell her.”

Her thumb brushed lightly over your cheek. It was so familiar, yet incredibly foreign. Your thoughts were muddled, non-existent as the heavy sensation took over. She seemed to revel in your confusion, in the pain that she’d so easily inflicted.

Kate’s disconnected stare was the last thing you saw before darkness swallowed you whole in an odd type of comfort, the world ceased to flicker, like the edges of a flame.

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