#i do want to finish this though i hate leaving projects on hold

[theunconcernedembalmer]

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 4.5 // Part 5 // Part 6 //

i haven't forgotten about this series just yet hopefully i'll finish it by this year. anyway this is titled "joseph is dramatic for about 20 minutes"

[choerrypuffs]

red velvet hearts.

pairing: bad boy!donghyuck x baker!reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

synopsis: you patch up a boy with a bloody nose and bruised knuckles, only to find out that he has quite the sweet tooth.

author’s note: why do i keep injuring hyuck in all my fics lmao??? anyways i tried to write his character a bit differently than i usually do to challenge myself so please let me know how you guys like it! also remember, ladies: this is fiction. you cannot fix him <3

warning(s): brief description of injuries, mentions of violence, maximum amounts of cringe and melodrama

playlist: all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine ― heart eyes by coin ― close to you by gracie abrams ― sidelines by phoebe bridgers ― the alchemy by taylor swift

RECIPE 1. TIRAMISU

“This is not what I meant when I said you need your back blown out.” 

“Not funny. I almost died,” you grumble as you wrap the back brace around your torso. You hate the immediate relief you feel from the support it provides, no longer able to tell yourself that it’s really not as bad as it seems―which only makes you angrier. 

“Throwing your back out while lifting a giant bag of flour and nearly getting crushed to death by said flour is genuinely the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Yeri, your best friend (derogatory), snorts as she shakes her head. “I wish you had cameras in the storage room because I want to see that shit so bad.”

“Thank you for the brace. You can get the hell out now.” You roll your eyes. 

“So, what are you going to do now? Aren’t you swamped with orders?” Yeri asks, ignoring you completely. 

You have no clue what you’re going to do now. It isn’t just orders you have to worry about fulfilling; it’s also the freshly baked pastries that you have to sell every morning. After a year of blood, sweat, and tears, the bakery that you built from the ground up is finally starting to gain some stable business. So, of course, you chose now of all times to try to lift a bag of flour over your shoulder like you were Dwayne The Rock Johnson. 

“I think I’ll have to hire some temporary help,” you answer begrudgingly. 

“You could sound less like someone is holding you at gunpoint,” Yeri snorts, “Come on. It had to happen sooner or later anyway.” 

“I was handling things just fine on my own.”

“Were you, though?” Yeri raises an eyebrow, gesturing to your current state. 

You fear you walked right into that one. “Shut up and help me make some posters.” 

The two of you eventually manage to whip up some haphazard “Help Wanted” posters, the letters written in glitter pen and Yeri’s clumsy bubble text. You tried your best to fill in the empty gaps on the construction paper by placing Pompompurin stickers that you normally give to customers’ kids all over it. The posters look like a nine-year-old girl’s school project gone wrong, but you hope it’s charming enough to catch some attention. 

By the time you and Yeri finish hanging up all the posters, the sun is already starting to set, and all you want to do is go home and put a heating pad on your back. After saying bye to Yeri, you start making your way back to the bakery to lock up. Once you arrive, you notice a figure dressed in black slumped over in front of the door. You can see their shoulders rise up and down as they take in labored breaths, leaning against the glass door for support. 

Every rational fiber in your being screams at you to not approach the stranger alone, but it’s not like you can just leave this person at the front of your place of business. Cautiously taking a step forward, you squat down to eye level with the stranger, wincing slightly from back pain. Through the sweaty and matted mess of his brown fringe, you can see that the stranger is a young man around your age. However, his face is absolutely battered: bloody (and almost certainly broken) nose, split lip, black eye swollen shut, and a jagged cut on his cheek. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t show it, keeping his head hung down.

Gingerly placing a hand on his arm, you give him a small shake. “Excuse me? Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

His brows furrow, and he opens an eye (the only one he’s probably able to open) with a wince before lifting a finger and putting it against his lips. You notice that his knuckles are completely scraped raw. 

“Not so loud. I’m okay,” he answers. 

“You don’t look―” 

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles with a guttural growl that slowly drawls into a sputtering gurgle before dying out all together―leaving a long silence to hang between the two of you.

After another beat, he gives you a sheepish smile. “You got anything to eat?” 

You stare at him for a moment; his face is flushed, pink all the way down to his neck. 

And like a stupid horror movie character who opens the door to a room that clearly screams danger, you nod. 

.

.

.

Fortunately, he―Donghyuck, as he introduced himself―ends up not being a crazy ax murderer. 

Unfortunately, you find yourself awkwardly sitting in your closed bakery with a virtual stranger, fiddling with a first aid kit while watching him absolutely devour a piece of leftover tiramisu that you had in your fridge. If the situation wasn’t so insane, you might actually think it was pretty funny. For someone who looks the way he does, this current picture of Donghyuck absolutely doesn’t suit him―bruised chipmunk cheeks stuffed with ladyfingers and cocoa powder stuck on his split lip. 

When he’s finished, Donghyuck looks over at you with a mesmerized expression on his face, as if you just fed him ambrosia. There’s a softness to his face that you didn’t think could exist underneath all that grime and dried blood. 

“That was…delicious,” he breathes. 

“Thanks,” you snort, pushing a glass of water towards him. Unsurprisingly, he chugs it in the blink of an eye. “I still think you should get those injuries checked out, though.” 

“Nah, I’ll rub a little spit in them and it’ll be fine,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t be gross,” you sigh, scooting your chair closer to him as you set the first aid kit on the table. “Now, come here.” 

Donghyuck reluctantly dips his head, and you carefully cup his jaw for support, disinfecting and applying ointment on the cuts and scrapes on his face. You also clean up the dried blood near his nostrils and on his bottom lip, and he doesn’t flinch even when you accidentally brush tender areas like his broken nose or the gash on his mouth. Instead, he stays perfectly still, leaned back in the chair with his forearms resting on his thighs and fingers nonchalantly laced together. 

He keeps his gaze trained on something past your shoulder, and you also try your best to focus, but it’s hard to keep yourself from staring―especially when his demeanor has changed so much. He’s so calm and quiet in such a cold, ruthless manner, as if he’s physically steeling himself from pain―like he’s done this a million times before. Occasionally, you feel his eyes swipe across your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention, and it occurs to you how close the two of you are. Suddenly, you’re acutely aware of the heat of his skin against your palm and fingertips, and you rip your hand away from his jaw. 

Clearing your throat, you move onto his hands, dabbing his raw knuckles with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol before placing large band-aids on them. Despite your best efforts, it’s hard not to notice how slim his long fingers are or how surprisingly clean his nail beds are for someone who’s covered in blood. You keep your head completely bent, fighting the urge of looking up and possibly meeting his eyes. 

“There, all done,” you announce a little too loudly. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, “for the cake and for this. For helping me.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t do much,” you blurt, still avoiding eye contact as you clean up the table. However, you notice in your peripheral that his gaze follows your movements, almost hesitantly, before he asks: 

“So, you’re hiring?” 

You click the first-aid kit shut, blinking a few times before turning back to him. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an answer.

“I―yeah. How did you know that?” you ask, puzzled by such a random question. 

Donghyuck points at a poster that you didn’t even know you left here, sitting on the table right behind you. You realize that he was probably looking at it while you were patching him up. 

“That poster that says ‘help wanted.’ With the Pompompurin stickers. I’m actually in between jobs right now, so if you would have me―”

“You know Pompompurin?” you interrupt him. It’s not that important and should not stand out to you as much as it does. Yet, you can’t help but grin at the fact that someone like him knows about a tubby Golden Retriever character with a name that sounds like a mashup of the English language’s most adorable onomatopeias. 

Donghyuck trails off, stiffening as if you just found out his deepest, darkest secret. He opens his mouth slightly, trying to speak but unable to formulate a response―an excuse, rather. Instead, he just lets out an airy cough, putting a hand over his mouth and turning away from you in an attempt to obscure his face. Despite his best efforts, he can’t hide his glowing red ears and the way his earlier coldness melts away.

“I―yeah,” he responds, words slightly muffled by his hand. 

You struggle to maintain your composure as you gnaw on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. Fighting a smile in your voice, you finally say: 

“The pay won’t be that much, but you’ll get a bunch of free desserts at the end of the day. Are you okay with that?” 

It takes him a moment to process that you’re offering him the job, and you watch his eyes light up and a warm smile overtake his face. There’s still a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, clashing with the purple bruising and swelling of his injuries. 

“I’d love nothing more.”

Suddenly, it occurs to you that Donghyuck somewhat reminds you of a tiramisu. 

He may look a bit rugged and grimey, bitter like coffee, but in actuality, underneath it all, he’s soft and fluffy (but not too sweet) like a mascarpone filling. 

RECIPE 2. BLUEBERRY PIE

“Are you out of your mind?”

You cringe away from your phone, hurriedly turning the volume down. “Damn, you don’t have to scream like that.” 

“You should be the one screaming,” Yeri hollers. “I better not come over one day and find your body stuffed in the freezer or something.”

“I thought you wanted me to hire someone!” 

“Not some random dude off the side of the street who was covered in injuries and doesn’t even have any baking experience,” Yeri hisses. 

“I don’t need him to bake. I just have him working the front counter and doing all the heavy lifting when I get my ingredient shipments,” you protest. “Did you think I would really just hand over all my orders to some random dude and go party it up in Cancún or something?” 

Yeri is silent for several seconds before asking, “He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“What?”

“So you did know what I meant when I said you needed your back blown out.” You can hear the smugness in her voice. 

“Yeri,” you say tiredly, “please be serious.”

“I am serious. You’re the one being unserious,” she retorts. “Yesterday, you acted like you would rather sacrifice your firstborn child before hiring a part-timer, and now look at you. Dickmatized.” 

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“So, when do I get to meet him―”

You quickly hit the button to end the call and shove your phone into your pocket, letting out an exasperated sigh. You definitely won’t be hearing the end of that for a while. Your face feels warm for some reason, and you decide that you need a coffee break. After you finish making it, you pour yourself and Donghyuck a cup. 

You peek your head out from the curtain that separates the kitchen and the front counter to see if Donghyuck is busy. He’s politely chatting with an elderly woman, and your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he takes out the entire tray of egg tarts in the glass display and wraps it up for her. The woman happily hands him a wad of bills and waves him goodbye. After putting the cash in the register, Donghyuck turns around and catches you in the middle of gawking. 

“Oh, Y/N. I was actually just about to head back there. We’re out of egg tarts for the display,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Uh, yeah, I can see that,” you whisper loudly, “Was that Mrs. Kim? Why the hell did she order a dozen egg tarts? That woman can barely finish a single cookie.” 

Donghyuck blinks, clearly confused, whispering back, “She asked for my recommendation, so I said egg tarts since no one had bought any yet, and she said she would take all of them.” 

You pause, things finally clicking. Grinning knowingly, you say, “You know, having you work the front is doing wonders for sales.” 

“I don’t understand.” He furrows his brows. 

You laugh, handing him his cup of coffee. “I’m talking about your face card, Donghyuck. You’re too handsome, so you’re flustering the customers.” 

“Are we not whispering anymore?” he asks awkwardly. “Besides, that’s not true. Look at the state of my face right now.” 

His injuries have faded significantly, but the bruising and cuts are still there. You want to tell him that superficial wounds can’t mask the warmth in his caramel-brown eyes, the fullness of his cheeks and the sharp jawline, and the air of mystery that enshrouds him and draws people in. 

But you don’t. 

“Well, for someone who’s only been working here for two weeks, you’re doing superb. Injuries or not.” 

And it’s true. You’ve always preferred to work alone because you’re the only one who understands how you want things done. You naturally assumed it would be a hassle and a waste of time to try to explain to someone else when you could just do it yourself, but Donghyuck never seems to need an explanation. In fact, he knows before even you. 

He gets to the bakery three hours before you, cleans and preps all the equipment you need for the day, unloads the ingredient shipments, and is already manning the front counter by the time you arrive like it was no big deal at all. He also seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t be, even though you downplayed your back injury. He’s somehow always there―moving all the stuff you keep on the top shelf to somewhere within your reach even though you insisted that the rickety wooden step stool you use is perfectly safe, cleaning up a glass beaker that you accidentally shattered, taking out the trash during his breaks, checking in on you when you skip lunch. He even turned down his first paycheck, saying it’s repayment for patching him up and feeding him. 

Donghyuck is so perfect that sometimes you wonder if you’re being set up, like maybe he’s secretly embezzling money from the cash register―which would be a more viable theory if he didn’t drive an Audi to work everyday. 

“Thanks for the compliment. And the coffee,” Donghyuck says, snapping you out of your thoughts. He gingerly takes a sip and makes a strangled noise, a mixture being choking and retching, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Are you okay? Was it too hot?” you ask worriedly. 

“No, it’s just…really bitter,” he mumbles, words muffled in his hand. 

“Oh,” you blink, “Sorry. I drink black coffee, so I forgot to ask if you wanted creamer and sugar. Come on, there’s some in the back.” 

The two of you head to the kitchen, and you watch him dump an exorbitant amount of creamer and sugar in his coffee, the dark roast swirling into something more akin to milk tea.

“You know, there might be some chocolate milk in the fridge if you’d rather that,” you tease. 

His head shoots up, those doe eyes lighting up. “Really?” 

“No,” you trail off awkwardly, “Sorry, I'm just messing with you.” 

It’s a bit adorable that you can visibly see him being disappointed in there not being chocolate milk before growing embarrassed, looking down at his cup. He turns away from you, but you can see the flush on the back of his neck. 

“You really have a sweet tooth, huh?” you laugh. 

“Pretty lame, right?” 

“Why would that be lame? You’re talking to someone who owns a bakery, in case you forgot.” 

Donghyuck smiles at you, and it’s sugary sweet like buttercream frosting. He looks at you like you just said the most wonderful thing in the world; in fact, he always makes you feel like that, no matter what you say or do. “I guess you’re right.” 

“What’s your favorite dessert?” you blurt, needing a distraction urgently. 

He pauses briefly. “I don’t think I have one.”

That actually surprises you. “You don’t? Even though you love sweets so much?” 

He laughs, the sound harsh and rough, and it almost makes you flinch. “I’ve never really had an opportunity to have many until now.” 

There’s clearly weight behind his words, but you know you’re not in a position to ask any further. A selfish part of you wants to be important enough to him that you are in a position to know more, but you’re all too aware about him very purposefully keeping you at arm’s length. 

“Well, you have plenty of time to find out,” you quickly continue, pretending not to notice. “Actually, I’m going to a blueberry farm tomorrow because I’m thinking about adding blueberry pie to the menu. When I get back, I’ll bake one for you, and you can be the first to taste test it!” 

“You’re going by yourself?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. Who else would I go with?” 

“Me. I’ll go with you,” he replies immediately. 

“But it’s, like, a forty-five-minute bus ride to the farm. Plus, coming with me to get ingredients isn’t part of your job description anyway,” you explain. 

“I can’t come with you on my own free time?” he asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’m worried about you overexerting yourself with that back injury. A bumpy bus ride definitely isn’t going to help, so I’ll drive us there.” 

“You’re going to drive that fancy ass car to a farm? You do realize it’s going to be dirt roads, right?” You cross your arms. 

“I think I’ll live. Besides, what makes you think this is the only fancy ass car I own?” He gives you an amused smile. 

“You’re joking, right?” You stare at him. 

He hesitates for a moment. “Yes.” 

“That doesn’t sound―”

“What time are we leaving tomorrow morning?” 

“...Seven.”

.

.

.

Unsurprisingly, Donghyuck picks you up right on time, not a minute too early or late. As the universe would have it, it rained the night prior―meaning all the dirt roads are now rivers of mud. You wince every time you heard a splat of mud hit Donghyuck’s pristine white car, but he seems to pay no mind to it. The two of you arrive at the farm within twenty minutes (he found a shortcut), and because you came so early, you get the entire farm to yourselves. The staff arms both of you with a large wicker basket each before setting you loose onto the massive property. 

“Okay, make sure to pick the fat ones. The small ones are super tart, so avoid those,” you instruct Donghyuck. “We’re going to fill these baskets to the brim and get our money’s worth.” 

“You got it, Captain.” He salutes. 

You give him a determined nod and a thumbs up before turning to your respective side and beginning to pick the blueberries. The two of you work without much fanfare or conversation, and it’s a silence that lingers between you comfortably. It reassures you to hear the sound of the bushes rustling from Donghyuck working; his companionship alone relaxes you. 

Eventually, when the sun starts peeking through and the weather grows warmer, both of you decide to take a break. You find a spot in the shade before sitting down, pulling out snacks and bottles of water from a backpack Donghyuck brought along. 

“I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, trying to hide a smile. “Close your eyes.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but does so anyway. You fish out a handful of unripe blueberries wrapped in a handkerchief from your pocket and feed some to him. His reaction is nearly instant the moment he starts chewing them; you watch as his face puckers up from how sour they are and his entire body shrivels into itself, a shudder running through him. He’s polite enough to not spit them out, but you’re not polite enough to resist pointing and laughing at him. Throwing your head back, you laugh so hard that your stomach starts to hurt. 

“Oh my God, your face!” 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans, taking a big gulp of his water. “I should’ve known you had sinister intentions from the start.” 

“I didn’t think you’d react like that,” you finally manage to say after catching your breath. “You really can’t handle anything except for sweet stuff.” 

“Are you having fun bullying me?” He rolls his eyes. 

“So much fun,” you say in a sing-song voice. 

Donghyuck tries to continue feigning annoyance, but he can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in his chest. His eyes always soften when he looks at you, and his gaze is intimate like a lover’s―gentle, tender, unwavering, and vulnerable. But his warmth is always fleeting, and he only allows you glimpses of it through the unmoving walls that he’s erected around himself. 

You wish he wouldn’t indulge you so, terrified you’ll try to cross the line he’s drawn between the two of you. 

“What are you thinking about?” Donghyuck asks, trying to read your expression

“About the delicious pie I’m about to make when we get back,” you smile. 

“I see,” he responds, though it’s clear he isn’t convinced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“You better be. This is how I’m paying you back for driving me here,” you nod. 

“Instead of that, pay me back by telling me what your favorite dessert is,” he suddenly says. “I do still want the pie, though.” 

“That was random,” you snort. “Why do you want to know my favorite dessert?”

“Because you asked me, but you never told me yours.” 

You suppose he has a point, but you find it ironic that he wants to know more about you when he refuses to offer you even a modicum of information about himself. Despite this, you tell him anyway because you are obviously the fool here. 

“If you must know, it’s red velvet cake,” you sigh. 

“Why?” 

You don’t answer at first, carefully thinking about if you’re ready to be vulnerable in front of him―still a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who loves sweets. A virtual stranger who is a bit of a messy eater. A virtual stranger who knows Pompompurin. A virtual stranger who worries about you even when he’s not on the clock. A virtual stranger who gently tells you to be careful whenever you try to do something dangerous, whispering, “I’ll do it instead.” A virtual stranger who allows his luxury car to be caked in mud for you. 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life,” you finally say. “I baked it for my mom’s birthday, and I think I ended up being more excited than her.” 

Donghyuck stays quiet, gauging your reaction. 

“I was in college, studying to be a doctor like everyone else in my family. So, like a dumb young person who thought that dreams were more important than money, I dropped out of college and went to culinary school. My parents told me I was ruining mine and their lives, disowned me, yada-yada―a bunch of depressing stuff, you know. Eventually, I graduated, took out a huge loan, and opened up my own bakery. Worked a bunch of part-time jobs until my business could stand on its own. Now here I am. Still in debt, though,” you laugh awkwardly. “But I’m not doing too shabby. I was able to hire you, so at least I have a little cash to spare.” 

He still doesn’t say anything, so you find yourself starting to ramble. You’re really not sure what possessed you to trauma dump on him like that. 

“You know, a lot of people talk shit about red velvet cake because they say the only thing that makes it special is the red food coloring,” you hurriedly explain, “but that’s not true. The cream cheese frosting is super important too. Also, I always say love is the most important ingredient of all. As a baker, you’re kind of baring your heart to the customer, and isn’t it kind of cute that red velvet cake is red like a heart? Okay, please say something now or else I think I’m going to projectile vomit.” 

Donghyuck reaches over and brushes a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. His fingers brush over your temple, which makes you sharply suck in a breath. You almost lean into his touch, but you catch yourself. His hand slightly lingers on the side of your neck, like he wants to bring your face closer, but he eventually pulls away. 

He searches your face, and you’re not sure what he’s looking for―if anything. Rather, perhaps he’s not searching. Perhaps he’s committing your features to his memory, as if the way you look right now is something he wants to remember forever. 

“You’ve worked hard, Y/N,” he says softly, voice slightly hoarse. “This is long overdue, but congratulations. You achieved your dream, and don’t let anyone ever discount that. Not even yourself.” 

You wonder how long you’ve waited to hear that. You’re not even sure you knew you needed to hear that. But when Donghyuck says it, it hits you just how long and hard you’ve worked all on your own without a single break. Throughout the years, you’ve really only ever heard, “I’m sorry that happened.” When was the last time someone congratulated you? When was the last time you congratulated yourself? 

You surge forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his shoulder. Donghyuck cradles you against him, one hand wound tightly around your waist while the other is tangled in your hair. You can feel his chest rise up and down as he holds you. He smells like lavender soap and a bit earthy from being outside, and the warmth of his skin against your cheek makes you want to close your eyes and fall asleep in his arms. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“No, thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. 

You’re not sure why he’s thanking you instead, but what you are sure of is that you’re crossing the line, taking a step towards him and wondering if he’ll meet you halfway. 

.

.

.

“Tada!” you announce cheerfully, setting down the freshly baked blueberry pie onto the table. 

Donghyuck claps excitedly. “Holy shit, it looks amazing.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out the right portions for the filling, so let me know if you think there’s too much or little,” you tell him as you hand him a slice. 

Without even answering you, he stabs his fork into the pie and almost eats the entire slice in one bite, seemingly unbothered by the steam still rising from it. 

“Be careful. You’re going to burn your tastebuds off. I’m not letting you eat it for shits and giggles, you know. This is for research purposes.” You cross your arms. 

“It’s perfect, Y/N. I’m serious,” Donghyuck says after swallowing. “The filling isn’t too sweet, and the crust is airy and light.” 

“Well, alright, Gordon Ramsay. I think we’re going to be adding a new menu item then,” you smile. “Think you can get Mrs. Kim to buy a dozen of these?”

“I don’t think she’ll need much convincing with how good these taste.” 

“You’re so easy,” you tease. “All I need to do is feed you. Anyways, I’m going to clean up here, but you should head home. It’s getting late, and you wake up way earlier than me.” 

“I’ll help,” he insists. 

“Go,” you order, pointing at the door. “I can handle it.” 

He looks conflicted but eventually relents when you threaten to physically kick him out. Before he leaves, he turns back to you and says, “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Why do you keep thanking me?” you laugh. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“What? A blueberry pie?”

Donghyuck pauses, a slight wonder in his expression, as if he’s realizing his answer for the first time as well.

“Peace.” 

And you think maybe this is a step forward for him too. 

RECIPE 3. CREAM PUFF

It’s quite surreal how easily and naturally you and Donghyuck fall into a routine together. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, two weeks becomes two months. You’ve learned the little things about him, like how he always swipes some icing before you can fill up the piping bag or that he’s not a coffee drinker at all (more of a hot cocoa person) or that he purses his lips when a dessert he’s testing tastes off (no matter how hard he tries to hide it) or that he involuntarily sticks his arm out in front of you when he wants to stop you from doing something you shouldn’t. 

You also notice that he sometimes comes into work with injuries. They’re not nearly as bad as the first time you met him, but it’s hard to ignore a bruised cheek or bloodied knuckles. He always has a reason for them, whether it’s tripping down the stairs or accidentally falling down and scraping his hands on the concrete. You can tell by the way he laughs it off that he doesn’t plan on telling you the truth, so you laugh with him. The two of you, having taken only a step towards one another, find yourselves completely immobile now. 

He always does this: envelops you like a cloud but disappears the moment you reach out for him. 

You’re honestly not sure why he’s still here. Your injury has long healed, and he clearly doesn’t need the abysmal pay you’re giving him. He feels like he’ll slip away at any moment, fleeting like a warm spring breeze, and you suppose time flies by when you know it’s limited. Despite knowing that, you can’t help but desperately want him to stay. 

“I think it’s cute how hard he’s working,” Yeri randomly says one day as she eyes Donghyuck prepare orders in the front. He’s in the middle of a lunchtime rush, so he doesn’t even notice the two of you watching him like weirdos.

“Well, that’s what I’m paying him to do,” you reply, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, I think the money is the least of his worries here,” she hums, taking a sip of her coffee. 

She has a point, but you’re pretty sure she’s implying something else as well. Just as you go to ask her what exactly she means, you hear a loud clatter. Flinching, you turn your attention back to Donghyuck and realize that he’s dropped a tray on the floor. However, the tray is the last thing on your mind when you see the expression on his face. It’s a mixture of horror, anger, and almost sadness―like he’s finally come face-to-face with whatever he’s been running from. It makes your blood run cold. 

Donghyuck is looking at a boy around his age; the boy has dark hair, a mole under his eye, and a grim expression. More importantly, he’s covered in injuries too. 

“Who is that?” Yeri whispers. “Why does Donghyuck look like he’s seen a ghost?” 

Maybe because he has, you want to tell her. 

Donghyuck grabs the boy's arm, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and mumbles something to him. When he turns around and meets your eyes, he looks pained and fearful as if you witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“Is it okay if I take my break early today?” he asks calmly, though the tremor in his voice gives him away. 

You nod hesitantly, unable to force yourself to speak. You watch him as he drags the boy out; when he passes you, you can tell how tightly his body is wound right now. His jaw is clenched, a muscle spasming as he tries to control himself, and every step he takes seems labored. He’s running on pure adrenaline right now, like he’s physically steeling himself. 

However, you don’t think he’s ever appeared so incredibly alone before. As you watch his back disappear further and further from your view, you’re unsure if he’ll ever return, and you never imagined how terrifying that would be. 

.

.

.

The cream puffs aren’t rising.

You’re crouched in front of the oven, watching the dough remain flat and lifeless. You should’ve known better than to attempt to make cream puffs on such a shitty day, especially when pastries like these are so sensitive to the environment and atmosphere. Even though you know you should probably just scrap them and try again, you wait for just a little longer, hoping that maybe if you wish hard enough that they’ll magically start to rise. 

But then again you suppose that no matter how hard you try, no matter how careful you are, no matter how perfect the batter is, no matter how much time you spend time piping them, no matter how much you want them to rise, they won’t. 

You decide that Donghyuck isn’t like a tiramisu at all; he’s sensitive and delicate and elusive and frustrating like a cream puff. 

“Y/N, they’re burning.” 

Losing your balance and nearly falling over, you gasp loudly. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Donghyuck walk into the kitchen, nor did you smell the undeniable scent of something being burnt to a crisp. 

“Oh, fu―!” you curse, hurriedly opening the oven and casually suffocating both you and Donghyuck with a hot plume of air. Sputtering, you look around and grab a random rag from the sink before reaching for the cream puffs. 

“Wait, stop!” Donghyuck stops you with an outstretched arm, his hand pressed to your side. “Let me do it.” 

He gently takes the rag from your hand and removes the tray of charred cream puffs from the oven, dumping them into the trash before putting the tray in the sink and running some water on it―just how you like it. 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turns back to you and asks, “Are you okay? It’s not like you to make a mistake like that. You didn’t get burned anywhere, did you?” 

When you don’t answer immediately, Donghyuck rushes forward and grabs your hands, carefully examining your fingers and arms. “Wait, are you hurt? Where? Tell me where you got burned. We have to cool it down with some lukewarm water. And don’t just say you’re fine. Burns are not a joke, Y/N―why are you looking at me like that?” 

His hands are calloused and rough, and you can still see scabs from where he tore his knuckles, yet he touches you like you’re the delicate one. He’s covered in fresh and old wounds, yet he looks so panicked at the thought of you having a scratch. 

“Shut up,” you whisper furiously, ripping your hands away from him. “From now on, don’t ask me another question. It’s my turn to ask you questions.” 

He blinks, a bit stunned by your reaction, but it’s clear he knows what you’re about to say. He goes to reach for you again but decides against it. “Okay.” 

“Who was that guy?” you demand. “Why are you always covered in injuries? Why did you lie to me? Who are you?” 

“He’s an old friend,” Donghyuck starts quietly. 

“Do you treat all your friends like that?” 

“When I don’t want to see them.” 

You wait for him to continue.

“Before I met you, he and I and a few of our other friends worked…odd jobs for cash,” he explains, and he looks like he’s choking on every word. “The jobs usually entailed us hurting people and also getting hurt. I did a lot of shit I wasn’t proud of. At the time, I didn’t really care. It was just nice to feel something, whether it was the adrenaline rush from doing the punching or the pain from being punched. I got a bunch of money, bought a bunch of expensive stuff, but none of it mattered. Eventually, I just felt nothing again. I didn’t even have the energy to loathe myself anymore. So, I took one last job, got the shit kicked out of me, and then I left. That’s when you found me―”

He inhales, and his eyes flicker towards you. He gazes at you so longingly, as if you were impossibly out of his reach, that you can’t help but involuntarily take a step towards him. 

But he steps back. 

“I thought that working here would make me feel like a human being again, but I didn’t realize how much I would―” He pauses again. “I thought working here would be a nice reset for me, but I naively thought that I could completely leave my past behind. My friends eventually found me, and I guess I care about those reckless assholes more than I thought because they managed to convince me to take on a few more jobs with them. That’s why I’ve been coming to work with injuries. But I’m done. I cut them off for good when they walked into this bakery. I don’t want…I don’t want our past to tarnish this place. I want to keep this place a beautiful, warm, and pure safe haven that you worked so hard for it to be. That’s why I lied to you, Y/N. I’m a coward to the bone, and I was envious of you. I was ashamed to admit it to you. You, who had the courage to chase after your dream. You, who had the kindness to help a good-for-nothing asshole like me. I only want you to have happy memories from now on, and I am not one of them.” 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask softly. 

“I probably should,” he answers shakily. 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“Just…one reason.” 

“When you say it like that, it makes it sound like the reason is me.” 

Donghyuck laughs bitterly, and his eyes drag across your face like every movement hurts him.

“You know it’s you. It’s always been you.” 

When you reach for his hand, he turns away like just the warmth from your body heat burns him. So instead, you take a step back. 

“I won’t ask you to stay, Donghyuck, I won’t chase you. I’m going to wait right here, and it’s up to you if you're going to meet me halfway.” 

RECIPE 4. RED VELVET CAKE

When your alarm clock goes off the next morning, you seriously consider just not showing up to work. It’s not like you can be fired for being a no-show when you’re your own boss, after all. 

And it’s not like you have any employees who will be expecting you. 

You’ll just apologize to Mrs. Kim and your other regulars later. You’re allowed to have a day where you just rot in bed and feel sorry for yourself. 

However, no matter how much you tell yourself that, you find yourself crawling out of bed and getting ready anyway. You can’t seem to brutally crush that small glimmer of hope that Donghyuck might still be there, no matter how hard you try. When you see yourself in the mirror, you recoil in horror. Your eyes are almost swollen shut from the amount of crying you did last night, and your face is sallow and lifeless. 

So much for putting on a brave face, you think wryly to yourself. You tried so hard to look tough, when in reality, you bawled your eyes out and even considered praying to God for Donghyuck to stay. It’s a humiliating and humbling reality check. 

“Stand up right now,” you sharply tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just some guy. Get it together.” 

You do your best to clean up your appearance and make the trek over to the bakery. It takes another internal pep talk before you can make your way to the door. After you finally walk up, you see that the lights inside are off. Your stomach sinks, and your eyes start to burn. Even though you’re holding the handle, you can’t bring yourself to open the door. It’s an outcome that you expected, yet you wonder why it hurts so badly. 

“You liar,” you mumble to yourself, “You said you only wanted me to have happy memories.” 

Once you make your way inside, you numbly head towards the kitchen, trying to remember what exactly you have to do today. Oh right, now that he’s not here, you also have to make sure all the ingredients are prepped first. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you do a double-take. 

The whole place looks like it’s been completely ransacked: used pans and utensils piled up in the sink, two opened boxes of cake mix, containers of ingredients without lids on on the tables, random lumps of flour and egg shells strewn about― 

And right in front of the oven is Donghyuck, flour in his hair and frosting on his nose. He’s holding a cake stand with…you think it’s supposed to be a cake on it? The shape is mangled and haphazardly cut, but it has echoes of a heart. The frosting is a hot mess, as if a bird with diarrhea shat all over the cake. The batter is clearly underbaked and makes the cake look gooey in a bad way. 

“Um, I promise I’ll clean all of this up in a second, but I wanted to surprise you,” Donghyuck starts awkwardly. “It’s not perfect, but I tried making a red velvet cake for you.” 

You stare at him, still not sure how to react. 

“You once said that baking is like baring your heart to the customer and that love is the most important ingredient of all,” he laughs softly to himself. “I think love is the only ingredient I managed to get right, but I’m baring my heart to you now, Y/N. I’m sorry I hid everything and lied to you, but I’m in love with you. Hopelessly so. All my life, I’ve chased a feeling, not knowing what it was. But now I do. I don’t think I knew how to feel until I met you. I never once thought I would ever have a purpose in my life, but you make me want to be a normal, proper member of society. Your dream is my dream. I want to wake up at 5AM and sell egg tarts with you for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.” 

Donghyuck sets the cake down on a table in front of you, and you notice that his fingers are dyed red from the food coloring. It almost reminds you of when you first met him, except his injuries have been replaced with red food coloring, flour, and cream cheese frosting. 

“This cake is terrible,” you smile, “how did you butcher it that badly when you used cake mix?” 

You watch him blush all the way down to his neck, as he sheepishly looks away. “Don’t make fun of me. I really tried my best. I stayed up watching tutorials―” 

Leaning across the table, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. He tastes like frosting, hot cocoa, and your prayers being answered. The way he kisses you back is bruising, dizzying and knocking any coherent thought out of your head, his hands finding your hips and anchoring you to him. He kisses you like you’re the sweetest and most wonderful thing he’s ever tasted.

When you finally pull away, it takes you a moment to regain feeling in your legs. Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against yours once again as the two of you try to catch your breath. 

“I think I’m going to have to fire you, though,” you whisper. “You know, with me being your boss and all. The power dynamic is too weird.” 

He hums, pausing for thought. “Then how about I become your business partner?” 

“What?”

Donghyuck reaches into his pocket and fishes out his wallet, pulling out a shiny and fancy-looking credit card. He hands it to you without much fanfare. 

“I have a lot of money, you know. So I’m going to invest in your business. Use it as you’d like,” he casually announces.

You stare at him, your jaw hanging wide open. He never tried to hide from you that he was rich, but he never told you that he was rich rich. 

“Well, damn! Why didn’t you show me this earlier? I would have forgiven you a lot sooner,” you tease, slapping him on the arm. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I’m quite the gold-digger, you know.”

“When I told you to use it as you’d like, I meant me as well,” Donghyuck replies, shrugging.

“You’re insane.” You hope he can’t tell how much your face is burning up. 

“I guess I am,” he laughs, and you don’t think he’s ever looked so free. You want to tell him that you hope he only has happy memories from now on too. You want to tell him that you’ll rewrite all of his scars with sugary and fluffy desserts so that they won’t ever hurt again. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel it too.

Peace. 

EXTRA

“So, have you figured out what your favorite dessert is?” 

Donghyuck stirs slightly, groaning, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He slips his hand under your shirt (well, technically it’s his shirt) and rests it on your bare hip bone. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” 

“Because I’m curious.” 

“If I answer, will you let me rest?”

“Depends on how good your answer is.” 

“Blueberry pie. That’s my answer.” 

You smile against the crook of his neck. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the dessert that made me realize I want to do this for the rest of my life.” 

[7ndipity]

Take Care Of You

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, you come down with the flu. Luckily, you have Yoongi to look after you, even if you think you don’t deserve it.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of illness, swearing, teeny bit suggestive and silly at the end, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

It was still dark as you woke up shivering, your whole body aching as you rolled over, seeking out the warmth of your boyfriend. After less than two minutes though, he tried to shift out of your hold, making you whine.

“Babe, I’m melting,” He complained sleepily, trying to squirm away. “Why are you so warm?”

You only groaned weakly in response.

Yoongi’s eyes cracked open at the small, pained sound, looking down at you with sudden concern. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“I don’t-”, a sudden fit of coughing seized you, shaking your whole body.

“Ah, shit.” He clicked the light on, making you wince at the sudden brightness, sitting up to get a better look at you. Your face was pale and covered with a faint sheen of sweat, your whole frame shaking violently from shivering, despite the heat rolling off of you.

“I told you you’ve been working too hard.” He sighed, feeling your forehead. “Stay here, I’m gonna go get you some medicine.”

He disappeared through the house as you curled further in on yourself, trying to ignore the pounding in your head.

You knew he was right, though you hated that he had to be proven right in this way. You’d been pushing yourself harder than usual the past few days, trying to keep up with the usual demands at work, as well trying to get ahead on a few projects in the hope that you and Yoongi could take some time off together.

He had expressed several times that he’d been worried about you, but you’d kept brushing him off, saying that you were fine, your usual response whenever he voiced those types of concerns. He had enough on his plate, oftentimes stretching himself thinner than you had this week, and you didn’t want to add the burden of looking after you to the list.

He returned with a couple pills and some water, encouraging you gently to sit up before he handed them to you.

You took the meds with a slight wince, feeling the soreness in your throat, before trying to pass the glass back to him, but he shook his head, nudging it back towards your lips.

“Drink, you need to pay extra attention to hydration if you’re sick.” He said matter-of-factly.

“You sound like Web Md.” You tried to tease him, but your voice came out too weak and cracked.

“Drink.” He said again sternly, though his eyes stayed soft.

You relented, nodding before slowly finishing the glass.

“I’m sorry.” You croaked.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just sleep, okay?” He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He helped you get settled back under the covers before returning to his side of the bed, keeping a watchful eye over you until you managed to drift back to sleep.

You don’t know how long you were asleep for, but when you opened your eyes again, it was light out, Yoongi’s side of the bed empty. You assumed he’d left for the studio, leaving you to get what rest you could, though you tried to ignore the faint pang of sadness in your chest at the thought.

Slowly, you sat up, stretching out your stiff limbs. You could tell your fever had broken, or at least lessened, you were only faintly aching now, though the dull pounding in your head was still very much present.

You decided to make the trek to the kitchen for some tea and more meds, looking for an extra sweater or hoodie to pull on for warmth before shuffling down the hall.

“What are you doing up?” You jumped slightly at the sound of Yoongi’s voice, turning to see him standing in the doorway, carrying a tray of food and tea.

“What are you doing here?” You asked in surprise.

He smirked. “I really hope you’re not so sick that you forgot I live here.”

“I mean why are you still here? Why aren’t you at the studio?” You asked.

“I told them I couldn’t come in today.” He answered, setting the tray on the bedside table.

“Why not?” You asked, confused.

“Because you’re sick,” He said as if it was obvious. “I’m not leaving to fend for yourself.”

“I’m fine-” Your argument was choked off by another fit of coughing. Yoongi quickly moved to steady you as you wobbled slightly, your legs not supporting you nearly as much as you’d hoped.

“You’re not fine.” He said softly once you’d quieted. “Please, just let me take care of you?”

Reluctantly, you nodded, letting him help you back to the bed, tucking the blanket in around your

legs before settling the tray on your lap.

“How are you feeling?” He asked gently, handing you a cup of tea. You blinked, surprised that

he’d remembered the right herbal blend you liked for times like this.

You glanced up at him, noticing that he was watching you, waiting patiently for your response.

“My head hurts.” You admitted quietly.

“These should help.” He said, opening a bottle and handing you a couple pills. “Anything else?”

You shook your head. “Not really, I just feel kinda shitty.”

“A shower might help with that.” He said, chuckling at your choice of words, happy that you still sounded like yourself. “Will you be okay on your own or do you want me to help?”

“I’ll be okay on my own.” You said softly, staring at him curiously.

“Okay. You should eat something first, though.” He said, sliding a bowl of soup over in front of you. “Then, if you want, I can set you up on the couch and we can watch one of your shows?”

When you didn’t answer, he looked up, catching the way you were staring at him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You shook your head. “You’re just being really nice.” You said.

He tilted his head. “I’m always nice to you.”

“But all this-” You bit your lip. “You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“What are you talking about?” He said softly. “This is nothing, I’m just looking after you the way you deserve.”

You didn’t feel like it, you felt like you were getting in his way, keeping him away from his own work and responsibilities.

“Nuh-uh, I know that look.” He caught your chin with his fingers, turning your eyes back up to his, looking at you seriously. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, it isn’t true. You deserve to be taken care of, you hear me?”

When you didn’t answer, he sighed, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n, I love you, I want to take care of you. I actually like getting to take care of you, when you let me, that is.” He added, making you crack a tiny grin. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Good, now c’mere.” He said, trying to pull you into a kiss, but you pressed a hand against his chest.

“What if you get sick?” You asked.

“I don’t give a shit. And even if I do, then you can take care of me, that’s how relationships work.” He said stubbornly, leaning in again.

You let him connect your lips for just a second before pulling away again.

“Yoongi?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” You said.

“You’re welcome.” He replied. “Now, eat your soup before it gets cold, and then you can take your shower, unless maybe now you want me to help you with it?” He raised a brow at you.

“Stop trying to flirt with me, I’m sick!” You laughed.

“Who’s trying? I’m succeeding, you blushed!” He defended, pointing to your flushed cheeks.

“I did not, I have a fever!”

“Uh-huh, sure. Whatever you say, Babe.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[joshym]

Muse

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), a smidge of sir kink, some spanking, a lot of fluff because i can't help myself, Jake draws a naked portrait of you (let me know if i've missed anything)

a/n: special thanks to this lovely anon for this brilliant idea. this was way too much fun to write.

this was inspired heavily by that scene from the Titanic. (you know the one.)

as always, thank you to my favorite editor/motivator, @jakeyt.

i hope you enjoy. ♡

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

His frustration is palpable, evident in the nearly incessant huffing emanating from behind the closed door of his studio.

It's moments like these that leave you feeling utterly helpless. There’s nothing you can do, no inspiration you can provide that will pull him from his artist’s block.  

He's been holed up in there for hours, since the early dawn, lost in the depths of his imagination, sketching away. You know better than to intrude; he's never been keen on sharing his work until it's finished.

In fact, he's never once allowed you a glimpse into his creative process. "It's the strange doodlings of a mind overrun with ideas. It's not to be seen until it's in its final form," he's reminded you countless times when your curiosity gets the better of you.

Still yet, you're consumed by the desire to witness his beautiful mind in action, crafting masterpieces in real-time, each stroke flowing from his soul through his tireless hand on his Somerset velvet sheets.

But, like any artist, he’s his own worst critic. He’s never truly satisfied with anything he creates, though you are left utterly speechless after each piece he finishes. His mind is a beautifully profound chasm of endless wonder, manifested through his artistry.

You hate when he has these moments of doubt, these instances when he questions whether he’s truly capable of such greatness. 

And you especially despise days like today, when he spends the better part of it feeling as though he has a mental brick wall in the way of his ingenuity, hindering his hand from bringing to life what his mind so desperately longs to conceive. 

Commissioned pieces, like his project today, always hold the most weight for him— from the need to earn a living, to his persistent worry that his art might not meet the expectations of the client. 

It’s not that he doesn’t love doing them, or that he’ll ever stop taking them; quite the contrary, they’re his favorite pieces to work on. They provide him with an added pressure that elicits some of his best work. 

But, reaching that point can be rather strenuous for him. It can at times take days, weeks before he discovers the creative impulsion he needs. 

And right now, he’s in that very rut, awaiting the surge of inspiration that will reignite his dulled spirit.

There truly is nothing you can do when he’s lost like this, and any effort you’ve attempted in the past has always proved useless. 

The one thing you can do, however, is prepare him some dinner.

He’s hardly left his studio today, and you know he’s not eaten much, if anything at all. Perhaps a morsel of sustenance will ignite the dormant embers of his mind. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

After a quiet tap to the door, he invites you in with a serene voice. 

He looks tired, but lovely as ever. The golden hour has officially set in the sky, and the opened curtains on the windows have allowed for a warm hue to encompass his studio, enveloping him in its delicate lume.

“That smells absolutely divine,” he remarks as you enter his studio, his plate and yours delicately balanced in your hands. 

“I figured a little homemade pasta would do you some good,” you tell him while you pad across the floor to his work station.

With a sly disposition and a playful glint in your eye, you aim to steal a glance of his day-long project, but alas, you’ve been caught. Your sweet Jake misses nothing.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, flipping the page over as he takes your hand, planting a tender kiss over your knuckles. "You know the rules."

“I know, I know.” Your response holds a bit of remorse. You know better, but can’t begin to help the relentless desire to see his mind at work. 

Setting his dinner on the desk he’s working from, you move yourself across the small office to the green chaise lounge that sits across from him, silently seeking his permission with your gentle glances. The smile in his eyes tells you that he’s more than happy to be graced with your company for the time being. 

After taking a bite of the spinach tortellini you prepared, he unbuttons his white striped shirt, removing it from his shoulders and stretching his arms high above his head as though he’s ridding himself of the weight of his frustrations.

You can’t help your glare, watching him do something so normal yet so intriguing all at once. 

His skin is velvety smooth, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, his chestnut wavy locks sitting atop his broad shoulders. You’re in awe each time you look at him; the sheer magnitude of his beauty never fails to steal your breath away.

And his necklace, his most cherished piece of jewelry that he wears each and every day. The precious coin, a relic salvaged from a centuries-old shipwreck that hangs against his chest.

The way it sits on his bare skin is nothing short of elating, sexy. It’s a wonderful addition to his already captivating aura. 

He’s flawless. Everything about him.

Once he catches your gaze, he responds with a sly wink, eliciting a blush that paints your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

Then, a thought begins to swirl around your mind for a brief moment. One that you’re shocked you’ve not conjured until now. 

The vision of the pendant against his bare skin sets your own imagination alight. 

“I’ve got an idea,” you propose, your voice soft and sultry, trying to pique his interest even just a little, something that may help the rusted wheels of his mind turn at full capacity once again.

While his focus remains on his work, his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and you catch the hint of a grin daring to curl in the corners of his mouth.

“And what might that be, my dear?” he asks with an unknowing, devilish smirk. 

As you get up, he hastily flips the page back over to hide his work from you once again.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you move behind him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “I won’t peek.”

You glide your fingers along his skin, feeling the subtle rise of each goosebump in the wake of your gentle touch.

He hums inquisitively as you delicately take hold of the clasp of his necklace in between your index and thumb, undoing it in one fluid motion before slowly slipping it from around his neck. 

“Be right back,” you say as you head towards the door. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, a myriad of questions splayed across his features.

With light steps, you make your way down the wooden floors of the hall towards your shared bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door is your sapphire hued satin robe, adorned with a delicate lace detailing along the hem—the one Jake has always fawned over. 

The satin drapes coolly against your skin as you slip it on, wearing nothing underneath, save for the weight of Jake’s necklace resting against your chest that you hide beneath the fabric. 

You run your fingers through your hair, adding a subtle tousled look, before applying a light blush to your lips and cheeks to impart a bit of natural color to your complexion.

And with that, you're poised and ready.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

As you turn the corner to face his studio, you see a very weary version of your Jake. His head sits in the palms of his hands, his leg bounces up and down at a rapid rate—a clear sign of the mental battle he’s waging. 

This is as good a time as any for your little idea, and you’re hoping that it’ll be the very thing he needs to find some much needed initiative to keep going. 

“Hi, baby,” you venture, leaning your body alluringly against the frame of the door. 

As he looks up, a familiar twinkle dances in his eyes—a sight you've longed for all day long. It's a glimmer that tells you he's rather fond of the vision before him.

“And what exactly is your idea?” he inquires softly, slowly standing from his chair. But you stop him, motioning for him to stay just where he is as you saunter towards the chaise you were seated on just moments ago. 

“My idea,” you begin, making a very slow, deliberate attempt to untie the sash holding your robe together at the waist. “...is for you to draw me.” 

As if your thought has affected him physically, his posture immediately straightens, and his once tired eyes hold a renewed sense of life as they watch you intently. 

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.” 

Your robe suddenly falls to the floor, revealing your fully nude figure that was hidden beneath. 

“Oh…” he utters, his tongue wetting his lower lip before tucking it between his teeth. “You can’t do this to me, baby. I can’t look at you like this an–”

“Consider it a commission,” you interrupt, tracing your fingers lightly up and down the skin of your torso. “And when you’re finished, if it’s to my liking, you’ll receive a full payment.”

With a raised eyebrow, his gaze sweeps up and down your form, while his index finger lightly grazes his chin.

“You’re quickly becoming my favorite client,” he quips, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from his forehead, tousling the front of his hair in the process. “Consider it done, ma’am,” he continues with a confirming nod of his head. 

You lay yourself down on the forest green velvet cushions, positioning yourself sensually across the chaise. Your body is turned slightly to the side, your leg gracefully crossed over the other, an elegant display of your curved silhouette. 

The warm glow that is so beautifully cast upon Jake, is now cast upon you, the aura laying over your nude body like a golden blanket of light. 

“Is this okay?” you ask him, draping your arm over the back of the chaise, making sure the coin sits meticulously atop your chest before your other arm falls to rest against your body. 

He simply grins while nodding his head, his eyes drinking you in, a mix of surprise and desire evident within his expression.

“Yeah, that um…that’ll do just fine,” he tells you, the slight crack in his voice eliciting a smile from you, a break in his professional facade. 

With a deep breath, he takes his prized Faber Castell 9000, carefully sharpening the tip just a bit before putting it against a blank sheet. 

And then, as the true artist you know him to be, he begins without a hint of hesitancy. The gentle sound of the lead scratching away at the paper fills the quiet room— a sound you’ve come to cherish, a sound that signifies his craft is steadily blossoming to life.

He seems charmingly nervous, his hand gently brushing against his nose every so often between a series of strokes from his pencil, clearing his throat more than usual. His eyes flint to you, then back to the paper, then back to you, a succession of his adoration and determination, ensuring that the likeness captured in his art closely mirrors your essence. 

You try to keep your face composed, a seductive allure about your features. But as you watch him, immersed in his passion, the way he’s studying you so intently, it becomes nearly impossible to suppress the beginnings of a smile upon your lips. 

But despite your efforts, he takes note of the curve adorning your flushed lips, mirroring it with his own. “Relax your face for me, beautiful.” The soft rasp in his tone is enough to send a blush throughout your whole body. 

Breathing in your nose and exhaling through parted lips, you’re able to reclaim your composure enough to steady your expression. 

Every moment you share with him is a brushstroke of beauty, but something about this one stands out. The intimacy of it all, how he must diligently study every inch of your form to convey your image through his art, the intensity behind his focused gaze…your heart is racing in your chest, despite your relaxed demeanor. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

With the sun almost hidden behind the early moon, he completes the final stroke.

He lays his pencil down, gently blowing on the paper to remove any stray lead before he picks it up, examining it closely while he walks it over to you. 

As he holds it out before you, allowing you to at last see his craft come to life, you’re left entirely awestruck. 

“Oh, Jake.” The sight before you leaves you nearly breathless. It exceeds every expectation, beyond the boundaries of your imagination. It’s a portrayal of you, but not just that— it’s how he sees you.

It’s the first time you’re witnessing yourself through his eyes, and in that, you feel a profound sense of beauty within yourself that you’ve never known. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, a slight tremor present in his voice. 

“It’s…incredible, Jake.” 

Propping yourself up a bit, you carefully take the drawing from his hands, poring over his vast attention to the detail in your face, your body. 

Specifically your breasts, how perfectly he depicted their round curve above your rib cage, encapsulating the fullness and allure of them. 

You’re entranced by the way he drew the contour of your hips, how he captured the dip in them that you’ve always looked at with disdain, yet in his portrayal, you’re able to see the beauty in what you’ve considered a flaw.

He encapsulated everything, even the faint freckle beneath the curve of your left breast, and the mole under your belly button. He managed to immortalize all the intricate nuances that you typically overlook.

“Is this what I really look like?”

“Yes, but,” he takes the drawing from you, placing it on the mahogany table beside the chaise lounge. He helps you lay back down, gently caressing your face that he’s just conveyed through his artistry as he props himself above you. “The essence of your beauty defies any depiction.”

Then, his lips envelope yours in a kiss so fervent, so ardent, as though he’s waited hours to finally have you within his grasp. 

His hand moves with a swift grace to your breast, fingers toying with your perked bud. This erotic moment with him has you already so flustered, so sensitive to every touch of his hands. 

He breaks his lips from yours, only to land them down the column of your heaving chest.

“You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to look at you like this, to look at these,” he mumbles against the tingling skin, hands kneading the flesh of your breasts. “And fight the urge to come place my lips on every inch of this beautiful fucking body.”

And just as he said, he bestows tender yet hungry kisses down the length of your torso, maneuvering his body down the chaise lounge until he kneels before you. He nestles his face perfectly between your thighs, his warm breath tantalizing your wet center from his dangerously close proximity. 

“I certainly hope you don’t let all of your clients pay you like this,” you mutter, breathless and yearning for his mouth. 

“Only the ones that tickle my fancy,” he says, his words adorned with a playful wink before he delves into you. 

He laps away at your pulsing cunt, like he’s been starved for your taste this entire evening. The lewd, lascivious sounds he’s emitting from between your legs only serve to heighten your need for him, causing your back to instinctively arch away from the plush cushions. 

And when his lips envelop your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around it inside his warm mouth, your body trembles and shudders. A rush of warmth encompasses you, starting from the depths of your core, the pit of your stomach, spreading to every inch of your being. 

You surrender to the intoxicating bliss, your breath catching in your throat while your heart pounds in a crescendoing rhythm.  

He guides you through it, gently holding your hips in place while the movement of his tongue slows in perfect time as with the ebb of your climax.

“Oh, that was so beautiful, my love.” He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh before he stands, removing the belt from his patchwork jeans. “Turn over for me, baby.”

“Yes, sir,” you quietly utter as you obey his demand, knowing good and damn well what that specific name does to him. 

Just as he commanded, you turn your body over to your stomach, placing your elbows against the arm of the chaise, your back arched as much as you can so that your ass is sticking up just right for him.

“Love when my sweet girl calls me that,” he purrs before his belt hits the floor, his jeans and underwear quickly in tow and freeing his impossibly hard cock. 

“So, what’s the verdict, my love?” You feel the cushion sink in behind you as he settles himself between your legs, his right hand caressing your hip while the other teases your soaked cunt with the tip of his cock, leaking with precum. “Was my work to your liking?”

You giggle breathlessly, poking your ass out even further as an offering to him for his hard work. “Yes, I believe you’ve earned your reward.” 

He steadily begins nudging his cock into you, going slow at first, allowing you to fully adjust to him. 

Inch by thick inch, he fills you completely to the hilt, your breath catching in heavy gasps that are robbed from your lungs as he buries himself deeply within you. 

Your nails claw at the velvet armrest as his thrusts quicken in their pace, your upper body nearly going limp as you’re no longer able to easily hold yourself up.  

His hands hold a firm grip at your lower waist, pulling you into his cock rhythmically, yet becoming more and more disordered as he’s beginning to lose himself to the pleasure. 

You cry out a slew of obscenities mixed with his name, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.

Without question he complies, landing an open palm against your ass cheek. “So good for me baby,” he hums, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he drives into you just the way you need. “So fucking good for me.” 

With one more vigorous thrust of his hips, you feel that familiar rush throughout your whole body as your cunt throbs and pulses incessantly around his cock.

“Fuck, I feel you, baby. Pretty little cunt squeezing me so tight.” You feel the twitching of his cock inside of you, an indication that he's on the very brink of his own release. 

“Cum inside me, sir. Please…need you to fill me.” Your voice is faltered, your body still reeling from your second climax. 

“Jesus,” he groans, moaning exasperatedly as your words have him spilling within you, filling you with his warmth just as you requested. 

He stays buried inside of you as he catches his breath, feeling his release slowly trickling down your thighs as you struggle to fill your own lungs. 

You have to fight the urge to protest when he begins pulling himself away from you, not yet ready for the empty feeling he leaves you with. 

You practically collapse against the cushion, your body exhausted in the most enthralling way, the kind of exhaustion that only immense amounts of pleasure can bring forth. 

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, kneeling himself before you as he softly caresses your flushed cheek. 

You kiss the pad of his thumb as it crosses over your mouth, summoning the strength to lift yourself up enough to steal one from his lips. “I hope it worked,” you say, gently cupping his face in your hand. 

“You hope what worked, my love?” He asks, leaning into your soft touch. 

“I was hoping this would help inspire you.” You reach for the drawing, savoring its beauty once more. “I was hoping I could help inspire you, pull you out of your moment of doubt.” 

“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.” 

His tender smile warms your very soul as he leans in for a deeper kiss, imbued with all the love you could ever want for.

“You’re my perfect muse,” he utters against your lips, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

a/n: suffice to say, this inspired the hell out of me when i've lacked inspiration/motivation lately. thank you, anon.

if you have any juicy ideas, feel free to send them my way. ♡

love you guys.

taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!)

@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @highway-tuna @way-to-go-lad @reesetrippingthelight @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicstardust-gvf @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardust-jake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick @citylight-delight @electricgoldtendercare @musicspeaks @hollyco @gvfpal @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @hernameis-heaven @mackalah @gvfmarge

Masterlist

[goldenshrikecomic]

FAQ

Please read these before sending asks! It's also good to check the tags listed on the pinned post to see if it's already answered. Where can I read GS? On Comicfury or DeviantArt. Two pages ahead on both Patreon and Ko-fi.

Who works on this comic? Only me, ratt/doeprince. You can call me either, I usually refer to myself as doeprince when it's more official, otherwise ratt or some secret third thing. I'm an amateur artist and I draw these comics for fun without much ambition to gain greatness. I want to make enough money to be able to keep working on more comics, and buy trinkets.

How can I support what you do? Why thank you for asking! All my income comes from making comics, so the support on either Patreon or Ko-fi is literally making my comic endeavours possible.

Do you have other projects? I work on some secondary comics. Jet and Harley and Honey are currently updating, Corpse is finished. You can find my other art on doe-prince.

How long will Golden Shrike be? I don't know how many pages. I hope it's less than 1000.

What programs do you use? SAI for lineart, CSP for coloring and bubbles, PS for text and backgrounds. Hoooow do you draw the antlers from different perspectives? I've made 3D models for each recurring antlered character.

Is GS going to have physical merch? Will it be printed? Consider this a no, but I won't say never.

Does GS have a map, official wiki or dub or something like that? No. There's a fan wiki out there full of inaccurate information so take everything in there with tons of grains of salt. There's no map. The dub on YT is separate from me, I've had no hand in it.

Can I make a fan character? Can they interact with yours? You can absolutely make a fan character! I just ask you not to make them interact with mine, at least not in any kind of heavy way. It's a slippery slope and I've seen people treat my characters very rudely to make them suit their needs.

Can I make fanart/writing? Yes! All sfw and well-meaning works are welcome. Just tag me so I can see them! Why are the borders black and sometimes white? White borders means it's a flashback.

Deer don't do that!!!!! Or birds!! Or plants! The moon shouldn't be that shape right now. Everything in GS is fictional for this very reason. I shall not be shackled by the chains of realism when there's entire new worlds in my fingertips. I aim to make things believeable in its context, not realistic. Are other animals sentient, can they talk? Sure they are and can, but not outside their own species. A frog can't hold a conversation with a deer, but a deer and antelope could possibly make it work. There's exceptions though.

How old are main characters? They're fawns right? No they are not, they'd all be in their early 20s if they were humans.

What does sire mean? It keeps popping up in different contexts. You can liken this term to 'father', as in your dad but also something like a priest. The priest isn't your dad but "father forgive me for I've sinned". So sire is a) respected stag, b) very formal way to address your father. Dame is the female counterpart. Why are the does so small compared to stags.... are you a freak... do you just hate women..... Listen when I started GS I had been dwelling in a place where monster deer characters had insane size differences and it became some kind of norm to me and of course it found its way into my comic. Now I just have to keep drawing those tiny women to keep up the consistency. I've created bigger ladies nowadays because I too think it's a little silly now.

Please please will this character ever get a mate? Will this pairing be canon? Will you please make this pairing canon? I won't spoil any pairings, I think it'd be the most boring thing to do to my own work! I'll only confirm the ones already established in the comic.

Is this a speck of ember? Is it snow? What is that floating thing, is it relevant to the plot? IT'S JUST MY DUST BRUSH LEAVE ME ALONE.

[valentinetypewriter]

Knife happy Medjacks

Masterlist

Word count: 723

The maze runner (platonic/unspecified) x Gn reader

I got this idea from this deleted scene

Jeff has to wrangle in Clint and Y/n, who after dealing with builders all day, start to agree that maybe amputation is the way to go

Today had been a particularly rough day for Clint, Jeff and I, the builders had started a new project today and with that brought many of those said builders into the Medjack hut with various injuries. Ranging from cuts, scrapes, bruises and the occasional broken bone. They may have been incredibly strong but the builders didn't seem all too bright sometimes.

We had just sent off one of the builders who managed to break his finger with a hammer when Clint decided to speak up “you know, maybe we really should start amputating them” I put away some supplies before looking over at him. “Well I mean it would certainly start teaching them to be more careful” he let out a quick laugh “it would also make our job a lot easier when they're building” the two of us laughed with each other before Jeff stepped in. “Ok no, we are not amputating them” I let out a sad groan “aww come on Jeff, don't you think they deserve it” Clint was quick to back me up “Y/n’s got a point, plus their stupidity is starting to get on my nerves”.

Jeff seemed to almost consider what we were saying before instantly shaking those thoughts away “NO! Besides, how would we explain amputation just for some cuts and bruises?” Jeff simply rolled his eyes at us as he went back to sorting our supplies. Me and Clint looked over at each other, nodding and silently mouthing agreement's.

Organising all the new equipment took a lot longer than any of us would have liked, it wasn't easy when we had stupid teenage boys coming in every five minutes because they couldn't seem to distinguish nails from their own hands. We had just finished taking care of two guys, who had somehow managed to slice up their arms, working into lunch. The random influx of boys coming in was something that the three of us struggled to keep up with sometimes. The three of us sat around the hut all very exhausted. I sat myself down on a chair in the corner of the room, Clint was sitting on a stool with his head resting against his folded arms on the table next to him, it seemed like he was asleep. Jeff on the other hand had made himself comfortable on one of our operating tables.

“We should probably get some lunch before the others devour everything” Jeff said with a sigh, he seemed to hate his own idea of getting up. I groaned as I stood up from my seat, dragging myself over to Clint, shaking him gently “hey wake up buddy, we need to get some food” Clint rubbed his eyes before slowly pushing himself up from his seat. Though before any of us could even move a step, the doors were pushed open. Clint instantly flopping back into his chair, a tired and annoyed whine coming from him. I grabbed the Gigli saw off the tray of equipment, turning towards the door “what do you want?”

The two boys stopped in the doorway “woah put the bloody saw down, we only brought you some food” the three of us instantly perked up at Newts words. “Yeah we thought we'd bring you some food since you've been taking care of my guys all day” Gally sat down two trays of food on the table Jeff was sitting on while Newt handed the one he was holding to Jeff, who instantly started eating, though I couldn't blame him. I pick up one of the trays and handed it over to Clint before dragging a chair over to the table to start eating myself “well thank you boys, that's really sweet of you” Newt smiled at me as Gally ruffled my hair “don't mention it, figured you guys would need some rest, besides we're done for the day, to many broken hands” Gally shook his head and I wasn't quite sure if it was out of annoyances or disappointment.

“Well Gally and I will leave you three to rest, and don't worry we'll bring you some dinner too” Newt smiled at us before making his way out the door, quickly followed by Gally. A few moments of silence passed as we all ate before Clint spoke up “I still reckon we should start amputating”

[pablitogavii]

hiii <333 hope you’re doing great today !! Can you do a jealous gavi story. i looooveee the way you write those. where the reader has this male friend who’s doesn’t like gavi:)))

Jealous boy

You were working on your final project for a world history class with one of your best friends from uni. Jake was in the same class as you and ever since you were paired up in the beginning you remained really good friends.

Everything would have been fine if your boyfriend Pablo wasn't giving him the hard time whenever he would see him. Pablo was usually a very humble boy, being polite and good with everyone but around Jake he turns into a real asshole sometimes.

"Amor! I'm back preciosa! Do you want to go out and.." Pablo rushed in pausing when he saw you and Jake on the floor working on the poster diligently.

"You again!?" Pablo said and you rolled your eyes knowing it will be uncomfortable once again. Couldn't he just be nice to your friend for once!?

"Yeah, me again!" Jake answered just as angrily and you got up pulling Pablo to the bedroom with an excuse of having to 'talk to him about something'.

"Alright, amor..the first few nights I though whatever he's nice and you study together..when it turned into weeks he was starting to piss me of..but now I wonder whose girl are you even!?" Pablo was angry clenching his jawline and you couldn't believe he was freaking out over such stupid thing. Didn't he know you were head over heels in love with him!?

"I'm your girl..please stop making a scene Pablo! Jake is just my friend and we are partners for this project..working with him determined my grade!" you say raising your hands up in surrender and he groans rolling his eyes in process.

"Working with him determines your relationship too!" Pablo said and you shook your head in disbelief that he was really this angry over a guy you could care less about.

"Don't tell me you're jealous of Jake!? He is not even my type..besides I am all yours Pablito and you know that!" you say about to reach out to him but he pulls away still agitated which was starting to turn you on..jealous Pablo was a whole level of hot.

"You're spending sixteen hours together! First at school and then your little study dates in out apartment! And with me you barely spend a few hours in the morning and at night in bed!" Pablo was clearly not letting this go and it was driving you insane now too.

"Dates!? We are finishing a final project together Pablo! And after that we won't even have that class together! I am not the only busy one too. Your trainings last all day" you say and he was done with this conversation grabbing his jacket despite you protesting and asking him to stay.

"Call me when he leaves!" he said slamming the door and you sigh wishing he would just act reasonable and not like a jealous boy right now. You went back to finish the project and give Pablo some space to cool down.

Jake left when you were done and you tried calling Pablo but he wouldn't pick up. You were starting to get very worried when it was time for bed and he was still not home.

"Amor, please come home ❤️" you texted him while laying in bed feeling awful about the whole fight and really missing him holding you like always..it felt so empty without him.

After another twenty minutes, the front door opened and you jumped up sitting in bed and waiting for Pablo to come into the bedroom. When he did, you smile but he didn't return it making you know he is still mad..at least he was home.

He changed and laid besides you going on his phone which you hated but decided not to disturb him just staring at his handsome face longingly..you wanted cuddles..and kisses..all from him.

You couldn't handle the silence any more getting up and grabbing your blanket which caught his attention.

"Where are you going amor?" he said and you were glad he was still using the same nickname at lease. You turned around with sad eyes.

"I can't sleep like this..having you angry at me..and so close. I will go to the guest room" you say about to get up but he reached his hand and grabbed yours making you sit down.

"Bueno. Let's talk about it ?" he said and you smiled weakly nodding and turning around to face him.

"You were right..I was jealous of Jake but not because I don't trust you..just because I am selfish like that, I don't like sharing someone I love with anyone" Pablo said and you listened carefully understanding him completely. You would acted the same if he had another girl in his life..hell sometimes it happens when he gives Aurora so much attention. Guess, you were both very jealous people.

"You're not sharing me Pablito..if you stayed I would have sat on your lap while finishing that project..you would be always the focus of my attention because tu eres mi amor" you say moving closer carefully and he smiled finally opening his arms and asking you to come closer.

"Cercate preciosa" he said and that was it as you were already in his arms cuddling into his warm chest enjoying the familiar feeling of him besides you.

"Don't ever think about leaving this bed again nena! I'm not joking!" he said and you smiled looking up at his darkened eyes and smirking facial expressions.

"Hm..maybe you need to pin me to it then Pablito?" you smirk too and he nods kissing your lips while getting on top of you..well you know where this goes ;))

[autisticlancemcclain]

For all that Keith easily sees the strength in others, he struggles to accept just how much value he holds. He’s not like Lance, of course — Lance sees the good in every person he meets because as much as he hates to admit it, he’s gullible. But Keith looks at every person he meets and easily identifies their strength. Sometimes it’s with fondness, sometimes with wariness, but he is completely certain that everyone in the universe has a value to them.

He, however, struggles to see how he is valued by others.

It’s not that he thinks he’s useless. He knows he isn’t. He knows he’s skilled. But Lance has always observed Keith in any way he could, and that didn’t stop when they got married. Lance knows his husband can’t quite understand why he is loved as much as he is. He’s happy to explain why he values everyone else, from earnestly explaining to Allura that she’s the spirit of Voltron and fondly telling Lance to leave the math to Pidge — he loves metaphors, that husband of Lance’s, because heaven forbid he just says what he wants to say — but vehemently denies that he might be held in just as high regard.

But Lance knows. Quietly, proved over and over again through the years, he knows that Keith is who people turn to when they need someone. Keith is reliable, he’s dependable, he’s strong — a little tactless, sure, but when you’re scared and vulnerable and you don’t know what to do or who to rely on? You turn to Keith. Lance did it himself, years and years ago, when there were five lions and six paladins and he didn’t know where to go from there. The war may be behind them, but that didn’t stop their team from needing their leader.

1. Pidge

Lance really starts to clue in when Keith’s phone goes off, late at night, when they’re cuddling and watching a movie (but mostly cuddling).

“Sorry,” Keith mutters sheepishly. Lance just rolls his eyes fondly and digs around for the remote to pause the movie (he is not going to have Keith talk over Legally Blonde. That’s a sin). Remote search or no, though, Lance refuses to move even one inch away from his own personal space heater, so he feels it when said personal space heater tenses up.

Here we go.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just — don’t hang up. I’m coming, okay?”

Keith puts his hand over the base of his phone, looking at Lance urgently.

“It’s Pidge.”

“Is she okay? Does she need Voltron?”

“Not all of us,” he says, hushed. “She’s just — she messed around in the wrong server and got herself arrested in the Delrn quadrant. She needs someone to go get her.”

Lance exhales, shoulders slumping. That’s not — that’s not good, obviously, but after years of Pidge needs help meaning Pidge is being ambushed by dozens of armed soldiers, it’s a lot less scary.

“You need my help?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, you stay here. I’ve got it. It shouldn’t take too long. Don’t wait up though, okay?”

He presses a kiss to Lance’s cheek before untangling himself from the blankets, walking over to the front door and sliding on his boots.

“I’m coming now, Pidge, okay? Keep on, I’ll transfer your line to my ship in a minute.”

“Text me when she’s safe,” Lance calls as Keith unlocks the door.

“Will do.” He shoots a rueful smile in Lance’s direction. “Sorry for ditching movie night.”

Lance shakes his head fondly, waving him away. “Go, Oh Mighty Black Paladin. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Keith grins at him one more time before he ducks into the garage, locking the door behind him. Lance sighs, turning off the T.V. and folding the blanket, heading over to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. He won’t be able to sleep until he knows Pidge is home safe, anyway. (And, he’ll be honest, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll be able to sleep without Keith’s constant snores.)

By the time Keith gets home, Lance has finished three (3) coffees and has sewn the lining of the current project he’s working on. It’s something like 4 in the morning, but Lance stopped looking at the clock a couple hours ago.

“I thought I told you not to wait up,” Keith says, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Lance’s lips.

“Mm,” Lance mumbles, grabbing Keith’s shirt and keeping him right where he is (pressed close close closely to Lance, where Lance has selfishly and unashamedly decided he belongs). “Can’t sleep without you. I’ve unfortunately fallen victim to your conditioning, Pavlov.”

Keith snorts, kissing him one last time before fully scooping him up in his arms.

Lance, whipped as he is, does not protest.

“I think you’re maybe just in love with me,” he says, smirking.

Lance pretends to think about it. “I dunno. There’s this really hot guy, maybe you’ve heard of him. Leader of Voltron? Ex-Blade? He’s got this dreamy mullet. I kind of have a thing for him.”

Keith rolls his eyes, fully throwing him on the bed and crawling in after him, ignoring Lance’s indignant yelp.

“He sounds like a dork,” he says drily.

Lance grins. “He is.”

“Whatever, you butthead. Get over here so we can sleep.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Lance flops into Keith’s open arms, snaking his arms around his husband’s waist and tangling their legs together. He holds him closely, head over his heart, listening to it beat.

“Pidge okay?” he asks softly.

Keith hums, running his hands through Lance’s hair. “Yeah. Pretending to be less shaken up than she is. She got cocky and got caught and it freaked her out, so she started running her mouth. You know her.”

Lance laughs quietly. Sounds like Pidge.

“But it wasn’t that big of a deal. I went to the station and talked them out of pressing charges for spying. She’s banned from the quadrant for life, but nothing else. Dunno why she called me to help. Coran probably would have been more helpful.”

Privately, Lance thinks he knows exactly why Pidge called Keith. Why, when she was scared and alone and knew she had fucked up, she immediately called the one person who would drop everything to make sure she’s okay. Who has done it for her before and will do it again. Who respects her as a grown woman, now, who doesn’t need his guidance, but who will never stop providing his support.

“Bet she thought the big bad Black Paladin would win her some intimidation points,” he says instead, because he knows his husband isn’t yet ready to hear it.

They’ll get there.

2. Hunk

It’s not that Keith gets these calls often. Hell, definitely no more than once every five or six months. Few and far between, really. Staggered enough that the pattern might skip most people’s notice.

But Lance knows better.

So when Keith’s phone rings — and of course it actually rings, because Keith is the only person Lance knows who never, ever turns his ringer off, because even though he might not realise it he is constantly ready to help and would never put himself in a position where he can’t — in the middle of their mortgage meeting with the bank, Lance ducks his head to hide his smile.

He figured that might happen.

“Fuck,” Keith mutters, digging around in his pocket. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

The bank teller — a very serious-looking woman in her late sixties — does not look amused. She mutters something about professionalism.

Lance does her a favour and does not point out that Keith is one of five reasons that Earth is not currently a pile of space dust, and she should perhaps provide some lenience.

“Keith?” comes a nervous, teary voice from Keith’s phone (the bank teller’s office is real small, and there’s no room for privacy).

“Yeah, Hunk. You okay?”

“Um, sorry to bother you. You’re probably busy. But, uh. My car broke down? I tried fixing it myself but I don’t have the parts I need, and triple A says they can’t send a tow because of all the snow, and I��m wearing a coat but I don’t really want to be here for hours so —“

“Hunk,” Keith interrupts, “breathe, buddy.”

Hunk does, deep and noisy enough to be heard through the phone.

(Lance thinks back to the first time he can remember that Hunk’s anxiety made itself known around Keith. He remembers seeing Keith, eighteen and still bitter and unsure but desperate to be part of a family, with wide panicked eyes and stuttering advice about ‘not worrying about it’, trying to calm Hunk down to no avail. It’s certainly something, he’s thinks, that Keith can now calm Hunk effortlessly through the phone.)

“I’m leaving now to come pick you up. We’ll come back later to get your car, yeah?”

“I don’t want to put you out —“

“Hunk,” Keith says firmly, “chill out. Or, er, don’t, I guess, since that’s the problem. Um, stay in your car so you’ll stay warm. I’ll be there soon. Okay?”

“…Okay.”

Keith hangs up, and looks apologetically at Lance.

“I’m sorry, babe, I know this is important —”

Lance squeezes his hand. “Go. I got this.”

Keith quickly gets up from the stuffy chair, presses a kiss to Lance’s temple, and rushes out without a word.

The bank teller sniffs. “High demand, your husband. Can’t even make time for one appointment. That doesn’t inspire confidence, you know.”

“Family emergency, ma’am,” Lance says with great amusement. “Besides, we’re nearly finished. I’ll make sure to relay everything you say to him when he gets home.”

Lance decides to walk home after the meeting, since Keith has their car. It’s nice. Despite the mishap, the meeting had gone rather smoothly, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t get approved for their mortgage within the week. That’ll keep things going nicely. Lance will miss their quiet little apartment, but he’s excited for what they’re going to build together next.

Besides, he thinks, when Keith gets home several hours later with a sheepish Hunk in tow, it’ll be nice to have a couple guest bedrooms.

He’s sure they’ll need them.

3. Romelle

The ring of the doorbell makes them both panic.

“Is that the social worker?”

“She’s not supposed to be here for another hour,” Lance hisses, three steps away from freaking out. Keith is not far behind him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Can we ignore it?”

“No, we can’t ignore it! It’s a home visit! We need to be home!”

“Fuck! Okay! I’m gonna answer the door, fix your hair!”

Lance does, frantically trying to pat it down so it doesn’t look like he’s been nervously running his hands through it for four hours (he has) or that he just had sex (he hasn’t). (Well. Not since this morning.)

“Here, let me —” Lance practically melts at Keith’s touch, his gentle hands through the knots in Lance’s un-straightened hair, even though it’s certainly not a new sensation.

But he always appreciates Keith’s hands on him.

“We’ll be okay,” Keith says, dropping a kiss on Lance’s forehead before stepping away. “I mean, if we fail we can just be assholes and pull the saviours-of-the-universe card, right?”

Lance flicks him on the forehead, unable to fight back a smile. “We’re supposed to be responsible now, Mullet.”

Keith grins, curling one hand in Lance’s and one around the doorknob. “Whatever you say, Kogane. You ready?”

Lance nods, squeezing Keith’s hand.

They’ve got this.

“Hi,” says someone who is decidedly not the social worker, looking at them nervously from their front door.

Keith and Lance blink at her, and then each other, shocked.

Well. At least this is better than Mrs. Kreft coming early, at least.

“Romelle? What are you doing here?”

The Altean’s face crumples, and she throws herself at Keith.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life,” she wails.

Lance sighs fondly, shaking his head.

He should have known.

“I’ll call Mrs. Kreft,” Lance says as Keith guides the sobbing woman to their couch. Keith nods gratefully, then turns his attention back to Romelle, so Lance heads to the kitchen to give them some privacy.

He quickly dials the social worker’s number, resting his hip on the counter and fiddling with a random pen he found.

“Lance! I’m about to leave for your place now. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he reassures. “Keith’s sister popped by unexpectedly, though. She’ll probably stay for a couple weeks. I was wondering if you could maybe do one of our character evaluations at the same time as the home visit? Two birds with one stone, you know.”

If there’s one thing Lance is good at, it’s rolling with the punches. He’ll handle this.

“You caught me at a good time, then,” Mrs. Kreft says jovially. “I’ll get the right paperwork. Is Keith’s sister prepared for the interview process? She’s not really meant to rehearse or anything — she’s supposed to provide an honest and timely assessment of your caregiving abilities — but it would be best if she knew it was coming.”

“I’ll make sure to brief her. Thank you, Mrs. Kreft. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Lance. I’m rooting for you two. I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”

“Alright, thanks. Bye.”

Keith walks in to the kitchen just as she hangs up.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Lance says, reaching over to rest his hand on the side of Keith’s neck. He rubs his thumb over the tense muscles there, tracing over his clenched jaw and pursed lips. “I handled it, baby. She’s going to do a character interview with Romelle at the same time, so this worked out.”

Keith sighs in relief, tilting forward to rest his head on Lance’s shoulder. Lance shifts so he’s comfortable, running his hands through Keith’s hair.

“Oh, thank God.”

Lance hums. “Told you it would be fine.”

“I know. It’s just — I feel like every time we try and do something for our future, something happens and you end up picking up my mess on your own. We’re about to — we’re trying to be parents, Lance. I want us to be on equal grounds.”

“Hey.” Lance tugs gently on his husband’s hair. “Look at me.”

Keith does, looking down at him with a furrowed brow and frustrated pout. Lance reaches up to smooth the line between his eyebrows.

“Do you think I walked into this unprepared?” he asks sternly. “I know you, sweetheart. I knew exactly what I signed up for when I agreed to be your right hand. Do you think that stopped when the war was won? Do you think I didn’t know that were were going to be doing this leading schtick our whole lives? I knew who you were when I married you, baby. This is not a surprise. You’re not leaving me to clean up after you. We’re a team, cielo. And sometimes a team means I stay home and hold the fort while you’re picking up our dumbass friends from a holding cell, or calling the social worker as you make sure everything’s okay. Okay?”

Keith exhales, pressing his forehead to Lance’s.

“Okay. Thank you, Lance. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Lance presses a quick kiss to his lips before stepping away, grabbing a box of tissues and filling up a glass of water. “Okay, Samurai. Fill me in. What’s up with Romelle?”

“She’s worried she’s got no future. She’s been kind of drifting around between New Altea and the Rebels and the Blades, doesn’t feel like she fits in anywhere.”

“So she’s going through the emo Keith phase,” Lance teases.

Keith scowls. “Whatever. Technically.”

“She came to the right place, then. Your earnestly awkward life-coach ass will have her fixed up in no time.”

“You’re mean to me,” Keith says, pouting.

Lance laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Mhm, and you’d be lost without me. Let’s go make sure you’re sister is okay.”

Intermission

To Lance’s relief, there are no interruptions on the most important day of their lives — the day everything they’ve been slowly working for comes together. The day their family grows to four — two kids, siblings, lives uprooted by the war — there are no interruptions. No one calls, no one shows up unexpectedly, no one needs their help.

It’s just them, terrified and elated at the front door, meeting Mason and Keevah for the first time.

Keith is the first to react. He squeezes Lance’s hands three times in quick succession then lets go, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor, eye-level with Mason. He looks at Keith warily, untrusting.

It makes Lance’s heart ache, for this little boy who had the worst thing that could ever happen to a kid happen to him while the entire planet was falling apart, who has learned to be jaded and icy to every adult he’s met, who only barely remembers what it’s like to live in a loving home.

“Hi,” Mason says eventually.

Keith smiles slightly. “I’m Keith. My husband’s name is Lance.” Lance waves. Mason glances at him, but does not wave back. “We have a room prepared for you and your sister.”

Mason blinks, surprised. “Me and Keevah?”

Lance smiles, finally losing the battle with his tears. (He’s doing everything he can to keep the smile on his face, keep himself from openly sobbing. He keeps imagining himself in Mason’s position, losing his parents before he could talk properly and suddenly desperate to stay with your infant sister. It’s heartbreaking. He already aches for this kid, and he barely knows him.)

(Yet.)

“Yes,” he says, voice cracking. “We figured that would make the transition easier.”

Mason hesitates a moment. Lance can see the emotions warring on his face — to trust, or not to trust — and he can hear Keith’s breathing shift, slightly, like he’s remembering feeling those exact same emotions himself, years and years ago, stepping into Shiro’s apartment for the first time and wondering if it’s worth it to hope.

“Okay,” Mason says eventually. He tugs on Keevah’s hand, wrapped tightly around her big brother’s finger, other thumb in her mouth as she stares at Keith and Lance with blatant curiosity. “Let’s go, Keevah. It’s late. Time for bed.”

Lance moves to guide them to their new room, but Keith stands, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“It’s the first door on your left,” he tells them. Mason nods once and walks off, superhero suitcase rolling behind him. (They hadn’t known if Mason liked superheroes, or Keevah, but Keith had been adamant that they buy a set of luggage before signing all the paperwork, quietly confiding that the worst thing about moving to a new home growing up was packing all your shit in a garbage bag, like that was all it was worth. Lance was quick to agree.)

“They’ll need time to adjust,” Keith murmurs. “I always hated the fosters that were too overbearing.”

Lance sniffles, nodding. “Good point.”

Keith’s smile is soft as he reaches over to brush the tears from Lance’s cheeks, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Everything will work out,” he murmurs. “Promise.”

The surety of his husband’s voice makes him smile. Keith’s strength is unwavering.

“I know. I trust you.”

4. Allura

By the time the fourth call comes, half a year later, Keith is starting to catch on. He’s in the middle of shoving their last duffel bag into the trunk when his phone rings, and his sigh is so heavy that Lance can hear it from the driver’s seat. He hides a smile in his hand.

Keith’s phone is connected to the car’s bluetooth, so Lance turns down the volume — high enough that he can hear, but low enough that Mason and Keevah, who are playing patty cake in the back seat, can’t.

“Allura? Everything okay?” Despite his exasperation, his voice is calm.

For a whole fifteen seconds the other end is silent, long enough that Lance would almost think that the Queen of New Altea had simply butt dialed them were it not for the faintest sounds of heavy, stressed breathing. Then Allura blurts out: “I can’t do this anymore.”

There’s another moment of silence as Keith processes that.

“Do what?” he asks hesitantly. He slides into the passenger seat, buckling up and flashing a small smile at Lance. Lance shoots him a thumbs up in acknowledgment, glancing in the rearview to make sure the kids are buckled too, before peeling out of the driveway, setting route for his parent’s house.

“Do this!” Allura cries, tears audible in her voice. “I’m — I’m quiznaking everything up! I can’t — I’m not fit to be a leader, Keith! I’m not you, I’m not Shiro, and I’m certainly not my father, and I am going to lead my entire people and our planet into a flaming pile of Weblum dung! I am the worst queen to ever be coronated! I’m a mistake!” She sobs, so loud the audio crackles with it. Lance exchanges a worried look with his husband.

He’s never heard Allura so upset — not even when they were facing the end of the universe and none of them had a hail mary to fall back on.

“You’re not a mistake, Allura.” Keith’s voice is quiet, but firm, full of undeniable conviction. He leaves absolutely no room for doubt. “Don’t insult my friend that way.”

Allura chokes on another sob over the phone. For a while there are no words, just the sound of her cries, long enough that Lance feels his own heart start to hurt and chin start to tremble. He hates hearing his friends — his family — suffering.

“I don’t know what to do,” Allura chokes out. “I’m not — every choice I make is the wrong one.”

Keith reaches over and plucks one of Lance’s hands off the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s done it, staring thoughtfully at his phone, like he needed to borrow Lance’s strength for a minute. He hates hearing any of them in pain, too.

Lance squeezes tightly, happy to lend it.

“What happened?”

It’s hard to make out everything she’s saying, intergalactic calls already so staticky on top of her emotions making her accent thicker than usual, but the gist is pretty obvious. Allura has been queen for half a decade, now, a little more — the honeymoon phase, so to speak, is starting to wear off. No longer are all her people just relieved to be out from Lotor’s tyranny — like with any nation, tension has arisen, and Allura is struggling to handle it all on her own. She can’t please everybody, and it’s beyond disheartening to have so many people, who were once completely happy with her and her leadership, frustrated with her.

Keith lets her vent until she finally stops for a moment to breathe. He takes a moment to gather himself, frowning deeply.

“I don’t understand why all of this is resting on your shoulders,” he says carefully.

There’s a pause.

“…Pardon?”

“You seem to be the only one putting out every single fire that’s popping up,” Keith repeats. “Where’s Coran? Or the rest of your council?”

This time the pause is much longer.

Guiltier.

“I don’t want to burden them.”

Keith sighs, but it’s not disappointed. It’s exasperated. Concerned, more than anything. Despite himself, Lance smiles; it’s the exact same sigh Lance would often heave when Keith was trying to do everything by himself, in his earliest Black Paladin days. It’s beyond a little amusing to hear it from the other end.

“Allura, that is their job. They are paid to take some of that burden from you, dude. Quite a lot of it, in fact.”

“Still,” Allura says stubbornly. “It’s not — I’m the queen. ‘Heavy is the head that wears the crown’, as you humans say.”

Keith’s indigo eyes brighten. Lance groans, barely resisting the urge to slam his head on the steering wheel — he recognises that look. That’s his husband’s I just thought of an applicable metaphor look.

Keith gleefully ignores him, bolstering right on.

“And what happens if the head is too heavy, ‘Llura?”

Lance groans louder, so Allura can hear this time. It startles a laugh out of her, which brings a smile to Lance’s face and a scowl to Keith’s.

“…You topple right over,” Allura admits begrudgingly.

Keith nods, inordinately pleased with himself. “Exactly.”

“You’re infuriating,” Allura informs him. She blows her nose. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Well, good thing that doesn’t happen often,” Lance chimes in, because the opportunity was right there and the whole point of marriage is that he has the opportunity to mock Keith until they both finally bite it.

Allura laughs as Keith glares at him. Lance smiles primly.

“I cannot believe you two,” Keith mutters to himself. Lance kisses the tips of his fingers with an exaggerated mwah noise and presses the fingers to Keith’s forehead. Much to his own chagrin, no doubt, the action makes his lips twitch up into a smile.

“Thank you, Keith,” Allura says. “You too, Lance. I — appreciate it. And you.”

The softness bleeds back into Keith’s expression. Sap. “Of course, Allura. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He’s quiet for a moment after she hangs up, contemplative.

“Isn’t it strange that she called me for — for leadership advice?” he questions finally, turning to face Lance. “I mean, I stumbled through every day as leader. Shiro was more of a natural. Hell, you’re better with pep talks, Mr. The Black Lion Chose You And I Trust It’s Judgement.”

The set up is there. Lance could spell it out for him now, gently explain what he’s observed over the years, what he knows to be true — Keith, even though he refuses to admit it or even let himself notice, is the cornerstone of their family, the one who grew up with so much change so constantly that he learned to find steadiness in himself.

But that’s a longer conversation. That’s a quiet conversation, for when Lance can give his husband his full attention, when they can face each other and be honest and work through the inevitable pain of Keith accepting that as truth. Not when Lance is driving, and their kids are in the back, very obviously listening in at this point.

“Oh, come on, Fearless Leader,” Lance teases. “She knew she needed a nice, cheesy metaphor to set her head on straight, isn’t it obvious?”

Keith scoffs, smacking him on the bicep. “Jerk.”

Lance gasps loudly, clutching the bicep dramatically.

“Mason! Keevah! Did you see what your evil, evil daddy did to me?! To your beloved Papa! Oh, how I am wounded! Betrayed! By the love of my life, my dearest husband, the man to whom I have pledged my heart —”

The kids giggle, Keith rolling his eyes so hard it has to hurt him.

Lance smiles to himself. Now’s not the right time, but they’ll get there — soon.

5. Sylvio

The truth finally starts to cement itself in Keith’s head by the fifth phone call.

Lance groans as his husband’s ringtone drags him from his sleep, glaring at the man who sleeps peacefully right through it. He smacks him with a pillow, waking him with a startled “Wha—?” and then hands him his phone.

“Hello?” Keith asks groggily, sitting up — dragging Lance, who was laying on his chest, up with him, much to his chagrin — and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

There’s a beat of silence, then a timid: “Tio Keith?”

Both of them shoot up in alarm. Lance hasn’t heard his nephew sound so close to tears since he was much younger.

“It’s three in the morning, kiddo,” Keith says, looking at Lance as if to ask what’s going on?. Lance shrugs, gesturing at the phone — find out!

“I fucked up,” Sylvio says in a small voice, and then he bursts into tears. Keith leaps out of bed immediately, frantically looking for some pants. Lance grabs them and tosses them to him, watching in concern.

“Woah — Sylvio — slow down, I can’t —”

But Sylvio keeps rambling, in a mix of Spanish and English so muddled that even Lance has no idea what he’s saying.

“Just please come get me,” he cries, the first clear words in minutes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, kiddo. Where are you?”

Sylvio rattles off an address, and Keith nods. “I’m coming, okay? Keep your phone on you.”

Sylvio says something in affirmation, then keeps crying, muttering to himself. Keith covers the phone with one hand, he other tugging on some socks. He looks at Lance in panic.

“Why is he calling me?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You should go,” Keith says nervously. “He’s your nephew, you —”

“He’s your nephew too,” Lance interrupts quietly. “You know that. Plus, he called you, cielo. You’re the one he needs right now.”

Keith doesn’t look any more reassured. In fact he looks more desperate and confused by the second. “Maybe we should both go.”

Lance is already shaking his head before he finishes his sentence. “Keevah’s sick, baby. One of us has to stay home in case she gets worse, or throws up.” He slides off the bed, padding over to Keith and cupping his face gently. “Go, Keith. Bring him back, we’ll talk to him then, okay? I’ll wait up. Luis and Lisa aren’t far from here, it won’t take you more than twenty minutes both ways.”

“Right.” Keith takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, most of the panic is gone, replaced with the same determination he always has when things get a little dicey and hopeless. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Lance’s lips. Lance holds him there for a moment, trying to press a little bit more of his love into it than usual.

“I’ll be here.”

+1. Keith

A little less than an hour later, Lance hears their car pull into the driveway. He tugs his robe around him tightly, hurrying to open the door.

“Hey,” Keith says, kissing him quickly and then moving to let Sylvio come through. His face is creased in worry. Sylvio walks in after, silently, shoulders hunched and eyes puffy, face streaked with tears. Lance closes and locks the door behind him, reaching up to hug his nephew tightly.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Sylvio sniffles, face crumpling. He leans into Lance’s embrace, face to his neck, and Lance feels his face get wet with tears again. “Hi, Tio.” His voice cracks.

Lance guides them both to the living room, setting them down on the couch.

“I’ll grab some tea,” Keith murmurs.

Lance hums at him, leaning back onto the cushions and stroking Sylvio’s hair as he cries. Keith is back shortly, setting three mugs on the coffee table and sitting on Sylvio’s other side, arm over the back of the couch. He’s silent for a while, waiting for the kid’s cries to peter out.

“What happened?” he asks, once Sylvio has finally calmed down a bit.

“Dad and I have been fighting a lot,” he says quietly. Lance winces. He’s heard from Lisa and Luis, of course, but he would have figured it out even if he hadn’t — Sylvio has called Luis ‘Papa’ every day of his life, since he was a little boy. He’s only called Luis ‘Dad’ when he’s furious, when he’s deliberately trying to hurt Luis, when both of them can barely stand to be in the same room as each other.

Lance rubs his shoulder. “What happened?”

Sylvio’s chin trembles, and another tear drips down his cheek. “He never — no one I bring home is ever good enough. Nadia can bring home whomever she wants and it’s never a problem, but when I do it, suddenly he has a million faults and he’s bad for me or too old for me or just a shitbag.” He makes a noise of frustration. “He treats me like a baby, like I’m incapable of of making a fucking decision for myself.”

As subtly as he can, Lance exchanges a look with Keith. This is not the first time this situation has been brought up, by more than one person. Sylvio calls Lance to complain about his parents on a semi-regular basis, and both Luis and Lisa have confided in him on more than one occasion.

The problem is, Sylvio is…kind of in the wrong, here.

Privately, when they try and make light of the situation, they joke that Sylvio has the Lance taste — that is, garbage. Before Keith, Lance was very good at falling for people who were either really bad for him, bad in general, didn’t like him, or treated him like shit. A good portion of that came from his own insecurity and cripplingly low self-esteem, and Sylvio is no exception.

Every guy he has brought home has been, to Luis’ credit, not good enough. Once it was someone who made fun of Sylvio every other sentence, once it was a guy who was three times his age, once someone who was clearly using Sylvio as a rebound… Luis saw it, but he was incapable of handling it in any way other than outright banning Sylvio from seeing whomever the loser of the month was, which went about as well as you would think.

It’s been an ongoing problem.

“I’m sorry you guys are fighting,” Lance says, because it’s truly not his place to try and parent Sylvio. He’s tried to guide both his brother and his nephew into the right direction, but neither listen. “I’m glad you called us first, though. That was the safest thing for you to do.”

Sylvio bites his lip. Keith shakes his head slightly.

Lance’s face drops. “Oh, Sylvio…”

His nephew’s face crumples. “I thought the party would be a good distraction,” he whispers. “I didn’t think — he’s supposed to love me, why did he —” Sylvio interrupts himself with a sob. Lance holds him tightly again. He’s not sure exactly what happened, and he won’t know until he can ask, but he can make a pretty good assumption.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it out.”

Sylvio cries on his shoulder for a while longer, long past when he runs out of tears, just dry-sobbing until his whole body shakes and his eyes must be burning. Lance holds him through it, and Keith keeps a steady hand on his back.

“Daddy?” comes a small voice, at least a half hour later. All three of them crane their necks towards the sound, seeing Keevah, eyes watery, standing in the low light of the kitchen with her stuffed lion clutched in her hand. “I threw up.”

Keith gets up immediately. “Oh, c’mere, sweetie.” He scoops her up, her head resting on his shoulder, then turns toward Lance. “I’ll put her back to bed, you get Sylvio to bed?”

Lance nods, and Keith heads back to her and Mason’s bedroom. Lance stands, gently pulling his nephew to his feet, guiding him to the guest room.

Once he’s got the bed turned down and Sylvio in some of Keith’s old pj’s, he tucks him into bed like he’s nine instead of nineteen, kissing him gently on the forehead.

“I’ll call your parents to let them know you’re safe, okay?” Sylvio nods, half asleep. “Sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

By the time Lance hits the lights, he’s out. Lance watches him for a moment, smiling sadly.

He’ll figure it out. Lance did, when he was nineteen, even though it sucked.

He pads over to his and Keith’s bedroom, exhausted, but knowing that he won’t be sleeping for a while. Keith is already there, pulling off his vomit-stained shirt — poor Keevah — and pulling on a fresh one.

“She okay?” Lance murmurs, crawling under the covers and into Keith’s open arms. Keith nods, tightening his hold and pressing a kiss to Lance’s hair.

“Yeah. Fell asleep halfway through her bath.”

“Poor thing.”

Keith is silent for a while, fingertips tracing circles on Lance’s lower back, but he’s nowhere near falling asleep. He’s tense as a live wire, and Lance can feel his heart pound where their chests are pressed together.

“I don’t understand,” he says eventually. His voice is so quiet Lance can barely hear him.

Lance doesn’t need him to specify. “I do.”

The mindless shapes Keith is tracing shift to something more deliberate, tapping, seeking comfort rather than mindless fidgeting.

“…Explain it to me?”

Lance shifts slightly, so he’s still in Keith’s hold but there’s a bit of space between them, so he can look Keith in the face.

“People trust you, Keith. There’s nothing to explain.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Keith’s neck, the hollow of his throat — not to instigate anything, but to touch, to press his lips somewhere vulnerable and say I am watching out for you. “You are so deliberate, my love. So devoted. Everyone knows it, even if they don’t realise it outright.”

Keith’s breathing is laboured. “I’m not what they think I am,” he says, voice wrecked. Lance presses another kiss right on his adam’s apple, to his trachea, to the underside of his jaw, to his chin.

“You are more than you think you are.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” Lance kisses right under his ear, and he tastes salt, from where a tear finally escaped and trailed down his cheekbone. “I’m a mess, Lance. Nothing about me is stable. Why do they rely on me?”

“I rely on you.”

“That’s different. We’re — you’re my husband. We rely on each other.”

Lance pauses for a second, gathering his thoughts, considering his angle. How can he explain the fundamental truth about Keith Kogane that is so obvious to everyone who knows him? That is the clearest part of him?

“When Pidge wanted to run from Voltron and find her family, who convinced her to stay?”

Keith is silent.

“When Shiro had flashbacks of his year of torture and couldn’t tell reality from nightmare, who sat with him until he could breath again?”

Keith’s chin trembles.

“When the Blades were out of ideas and out of luck, who changed everything?”

His breathing gets heavier. “Lance —”

Lance ignores him, barrelling on. “When Hunk’s panic attacks got so bad he was convinced he was having a heart attack, who squeezed his hand until he could breath again?”

Keith sobs. “Lance, that’s not —”

Lance reaches up to gently wipe the tears, staring at his husband until he finally looks back, until indigo meets brown and he knows that Keith is finally getting it.

“Who,” he asks quietly, determined, “was it that I came to, when there were five lions and six paladins? Who stepped down for me?”

Keith laughs wetly. “I gave you the worst pep talk in the world,” he protests, but Lance can finally hear the acceptance in his voice. He smiles.

“And yet.”

“And yet,” Keith agrees. He ducks down and kisses Lance soundly, hands cupping his face, lips moving like he’s trying to fuse himself to Lance.

“Thank you. For knowing and watching and waiting for me.”

“Always,” Lance murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “Always, my star.”

[protagsbf]

hi can i request

coworker x reader hc:the reader who is good at a lot of things so their only flaws that they are very clumsy and shy.

head over heels for you! (literally..)

coworker x gn!reader, normal au : hcs + scenario

— suddenly getting thrown into a completely new workplace, you can't help but stress. luckily, your new coworker's here to help you out of your shell!

an: first request yayyyyy!! school starts next month BUT I PROMISE TO STAY LOCKED IN POOKIES also thank you for the request anon (´◡`) also im basing this off my case of shyness because idk i can!! AND YES GUYS YOU CAN CLAIM EMOJIS FOR YOURSELVES HEHEHEHE

picture this: you, the person who'd trip over their shoelaces, misplace at least half of their things, and practically break into a cold sweat when a stranger talks to you, go a job at a major corporation!

you honestly don't even understand how you made it past the interview (or how you got one in the first place...) but now you're here, sitting at a cubicle with a stack of paperwork that needs to be done.

but with your exceptional performance from your past jobs, you at least got put in a cubicle near the breakroom, which is where you'd hide yourself away during breaks so no one would come up and talk to you. it wasn't that you hated everyone in the workplace or anything, you just didn't know how to strike up a conversation without making you look like a complete idiot.

though one day, you found yourself stuck on a piece of a paperwork for a project. it needed a signature from a superior, whoever that may be.

now, were you going to walk up to someone, tap their shoulder, and ask who you need to ask to sign the papers? of course not. no way in HELL you're doing all that.

and that's why you're here now, wandering the hallway as people brush your shoulders with no clue of where you're going or who you need to see. soon, you found yourself nervously standing in front of an office, ' ████ executive' engraved on a metal plate on the door. surely this guy's signature would be enough, right?

after a quiet knock to their door and a somewhat loud "come in!" came from the inside, you hesitantly opened the door, walking into the office. you were met with a man sitting at his desk, pushing a burnt cigarette into the ash tray on his desk. he had blond hair and wore a green suit, nothing you hadn't really seen in an office like this.

to break the awkward silence in the room, you tried to small talk with him for a bit, and damn did he talk a lot. wanting to get out of the interaction as soon as possible, you mentioned the papers and walked closer to hold them out to him. he waved his hand dismissively, telling you to just leave it there. you nodded, putting the documents down before turning to leave.

yet, just as everything was going well, you tripped on seemingly nothing and fell face first onto the carpet. you groaned quietly in pain, quickly getting up. shit, shit, shit, you probably looked so stupid in front of that guy! before he could say anything, you practically dashed out of his office.

a few days went by, and you couldn't help but constantly think back to how you tripped on your way out of an executive's office, praying he'd forget.

though... turns out you weren't so lucky.

you tapped your foot repeatedly against the breakroom's carpeted floor, waiting for the coffee machine to finish. as much as you wanted to forget it, your brain seemed to enjoy tormenting you as it never let you forget that vivid moment of you tripping in front of possibly one of your superior's faces, then running away before anything else could happen. he probably thought you were some sort of weirdo! who even does that?! what if he—

"ah, there you are! took me long enough to figure out which department you were from."

a shiver was sent down your spine as footsteps approached, that voice being all too familiar. you then felt a hand pat your shoulder from behind.

"so, you're the one who handed me those papers, right?"

"yeah..?"

"so, this is your guys breakroom, huh? it doesn't even have a television? no wonder people who work here are so depressed.." the blond commented, looking around the room.

you had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. was this guy actually being serious? wait— why was he even here??

"by the way, how's that forehead of yours? you took quite the fall the last time i saw you!" he laughed, leaning against the wall as you took your mug of coffee from the machine. what were you supposed to say? i mean, your forehead was fine, at the very least.

"oh, uhm.. it's okay. thank you for the concern."

"hah, good to know! if it were anyone else, an incident like that would've scared anyone into never showing their face again!" he suddenly ruffled your hair, catching you by surprise. "y'know, i've heard people talk about you a lot. you sound pretty good for a newbie, despite you not being one for words. i'm looking forward to working with you!" that statement couldn't help but make you smile for a little.

you and him talked for a little longer before he made his leave, patting you on the back and saying he'll catch you later. even if he had been the one doing most of the talking, he still managed to make you feel all light and bubbly. like all your worries had been lifted off your shoulders in those few moments the two of you exchanged words.

maybe working in this company wouldn't be so bad.

ever since then, he'd often drop by the breakroom to chat with you. he even invited you for smoke breaks with him! (even if you don't smoke, he'd drag you with him anyway.)

when you asked him how he has so much free time to spend with you, he'd always find a way to dismiss the matter.

he'd also often help you when talking to others when he could. needed to send a request to another department? he'll send it for you. have a meeting you really don't want to attend? you're suddenly not required to attend anymore.

your tendencies of clumsiness never seemed to end, yet he found it endearing regardless. he'd often offer to carry your stuff and even replace the things you break. no matter how much you tell him he should stop or he doesn't have to, he still does it, he was just so persistent, maybe even a little stubborn. even when he'd take you out (as a friendly gesture to a coworker, as he says), he'd always offer to be the one to talk to the employees and cashiers of the stores and cafés.

no matter how much you fell, he'd always be there to catch you.

soo....... this ended up WAY longer than i expected. oops. i mean its still KINDA short but shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... anyways, i really hope i did your request justice!!!!!!! its kinda sloppy considering i wrote this in a day or two butttttt i feel like i pooped out as much as i could for this and i really wanted to post it already auduiaodsohsahosdo IM GONNA GO WORK ON THE OTHER ASKS NOW ILY GUYS BYEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! ^^

[heartsoji]

BABY

synopsis: nagi wants your attention, but you're working on some pain-in-the-ass school project.

warning(s): light swearing but nothing really

notes: i tried to do like the lazy nagi speaking i always see ('s instead of 'its,' jus' instead of just) but i think i kind of failed

used prompts from here! (12, 14, 20)

nagi was fed up.

you had been working on some sort of school assignment for how long? days? weeks? months? maybe years.. all nagi knows is that you've been doing it for way too long.

“sad…i have a blanket with all this extra room and no one to share it with.” he droned, hoping you would drop whatever useless school thing you were working on and just come cuddle with him instead, but alas, that was not the case.

"i'll be done soon enough, sei."

'sei.' the nickname would make any outsider think that you loved and cared for him, which you clearly didnt, seeing as you decided that that so-called 'important project for school' was more important than your wonderful boyfriend.

"how much longer?"

"maybe an hour or so,"

an hour? mhm, mhm, no. nagi didnt know if you just suddenly hated his guts, but personally, he wasn't putting up with whatever elaborate scheme to annoy him and deprive him of love and affection you had going on. although it was a pain to get out of his bed, (your bed, actually) he slid out from under the covers and sauntered over to your seated back.

he groaned as he leaned over ("'ts such a pain to bed over to your height," he says) to wrap his arms around your neck, inhaling your scent happily. you giggled and hugged him back, affectionately nuzzling his arm.

"someones feeling clingy." you quipped, smiling.

"ah, that's mean." he pouted, still tightening his hold on you further.

he sighed. "come back to bed. please?"

you looked into his beautiful, grey eyes. those pleading orbs were reaching into your heart and tugging on the strings. he gave you his best puppy eyes and the cutest pout that made your heart so happy.

"no."

dun dun DUUUUUN. nagi's jaw dropped in shock at your coldness. (actually, it was more of a slight part of the lips but thats as much as you're gonna get) where did this newfound heartlessness come from? did you suddenly hate him? why were you being so cruel?

"..please?"

"no."

"pleeease?"

"no."

"..."

"...?"

"pleeeaaaaaase?"

"sei, it wont be long until im done! i have to finish this, though."

maybe he should just let you be. you were working so diligently to work on your studies and he was just being a burden to your academic success. it wouldnt be much longer, so he should just go back to..

"SEI! PUT ME DOWN!"

"no way. your precious boyfriend who you love very much 's right here and he's not waiting any longer."

nagi gently placed you on the mattress (lowkey threw you) and immediately crawled underneath the covers beside you, immediately pressing his cheek to your chest.

"seeeeeei... i need to finish my project,"

"mm-mm. you've been working on it for way too long.. 'ts such a hassle being by myself.."

you sighed, wrapping your arms around him. "alright, but only for half an hour."

he didnt say anything, but he'd knew he'd have you staying longer than that.

he smiled warmly into your chest. "your hugs are nice..."

you giggled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "you're so sweet,"

"mm.. 'ts no need to say. i know." he smiled lazily before adding a quick, "'ts ok though. i dont mind jus' hearing you say it.."

you rolled your eyes but still held him lovingly. soon enough, however, his half an hour was up.

"sorry, sei, but i need to get back to work now." you said, pulling yourself out of bed.

he groaned. "why can't we stay here forever?"

you chuckled. "because i have work to do."

"but 'm right here.. y're really gonna leave me all by myself?" nagi pouted, trying to coax you into coming back.

"yeah." you grinned, chuckling at his pout growing wider. "im gonna get back to work now, ok?"

"no."

his long arms circled around your waist quickly before he pulled you back into bed, smushing your head into his beautifully wonderfully toned chest, enveloping you in his ginormous frame. (overgrown mf) "gotta have you with me.. work on it later.."

"nagi! i gotta get back to-"

chomp.

"WHAT THE HELL?! DID YOU JUST BITE ME?!" you screamed, rubbing the cheek he nibbled on.

he held you tighter, smushing his cheek against the top of your head. "dont call me by my last name.. 's rude."

you sighed. "you big baby."

"yeah. your baby."

you rolled your eyes but snuggled up to him regardless.

"yeah. i guess so."

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 💗

[beachy--head]

A few people asked for a part two of this drabble, and picturing these two being absolutely clueless was too funny to pass up. So here is Jackson, courting April, Boston style.

(also, happy birthday @japril12!!)

___

It may surprise people, but Jackson Avery has never really courted a woman. In the past, he just smiled and offered someone a drink, and that was generally the only move needed. Sure, he’s gone on dates, and knows the basics (he was raised by Catherine Avery, after all). He’s not socially inept, and is usually good at working a room or feigning an interest in what another person is saying. 

All of it is useful for his new position at the foundation, but it doesn’t prevent the fact that here he is, 40 years old and clueless about what exactly he’s supposed to do or how to win over someone. And not anyone. Someone who deserves to be courted, someone who holds all the power over him, someone who takes his breath away when she so much as smiles at him, someone who would have every right to laugh at him and slam the door in his face. The pressure is crushing, because he knows that this is it and that he cannot mess this up. This time it has to work, because April Kepner is forgiving, but he’s pretty sure he’s running out of second chances.

He could ask around him for advice, but his circle of trusted friends is limited, and he’s positive he doesn’t want to have to face Ben’s knowing smile or Richard’s vague life lessons that would be immediately reported to his mother. No, he has to handle things himself, and flowers seem like a good place to start. April likes flowers, right? Flowers can say a lot of things, and April likes taking care of them and having them in her house and her office, and he’s pretty sure she would get the hint, because you don’t get flowers from anyone. Yep, flowers it is. 

___

Jackson is acting weird.

First with the flower deliveries. Every week or so, a bouquet greets April when she enters her office at the Foundation. The card reads “J. Avery”, but the combination of wild flowers would be enough to know who the culprit was. She’s sure there’s a rational explanation, though. He probably wants to show he’s grateful she uprooted her life to move to Boston. Or he maybe wants to congratulate her for her work at the foundation (she’s not one to boast, but she’s pretty happy with the outreach program she’s just finished setting up and that has been her main goal since she’s started working here). Yeah, he’s just being a thoughtful co-parent and a good boss, and she doesn’t have to read anything in these fancy floral arrangements.

It gets weirder when he hands her one day a gift certificate for a fancy spa in the city.

“Is it something you give every employee who has finished a big project?”

“No?”

“Is it a gift from your mother you’re trying to get rid of because you hate getting a massage?”

“No!”

“Then why are you giving me this?”

“Because you’ve worked hard on the program, and you deserve to unwind and stay for way too long in one of these sauna rooms.”

“Way too long? Coming from someone who cannot stay even two minutes inside one, that’s–”

“I just don’t get why you would voluntarily stay in a 150 degrees room and sweat with other people!”

“Sweat wi… Seriously?”

They keep bantering for the next thirty minutes, and she tried to hide it, but she’s still grinning hours after he leaves her office.

She has to ask questions, though, when he hands her two plane tickets from Columbus to Boston (she's very careful to avoid touching his hand when she takes the tickets, because she doesn't get butterflies when their skins come into contact. She doesn't. Absolutely not).

“What…?”

“It’s for your parents. You mentioned you couldn’t go to Moline next month because of all your big meetings and that you missed them, so I figured they would maybe like to visit you and Boston, and see Harriet, and...” He trails off when he sees her expression, and it takes her a few seconds to stop staring at him and shake her head.

“Jackson, you don’t have to do this. I don’t know if it’s because you feel guilty for asking me to leave Seattle, or–”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

He almost looks insulted, and she's lost.

“Then what is all this?” She gestures towards the tickets, and then to a freshly delivered bouquet (yesterday’s order, sunflowers and irises), and she swears she can hear him take a deep breath, the way he does when he’s nervous about something.

“That’s– I– Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“What?”

[summerlycoris]

Is It Really A Birthday Party If You Wake Up In A Hospital Bed?

Chapter 1- And I Lay Under The Smoke And The Falling Debris.

Cassie's learning the hard way- nearly dying in an elevator after being betrayed by her bestie doesn't make for a great thirteenth birthday.

So that's a wash- but Cassie's a forward thinker. She wants her fourteenth birthday to be great- with carrot cake, her dad back, and friends who don't try to kill her.

Shouldn't be too hard, right? All she has to do is make some new friends…

… And maybe figure out what happened with that All Staff Meeting her Dad had talked about before he went missing…

This may be harder than she thinks. Can she really pull this off? Or will that monster in the basement finally finish her off?

Join Cassie as she tries to answer these questions, and more! But most importantly…

Is it really a birthday party if you wake up in a hospital bed?

For a moment, she was floating. But only for a moment. Then she slammed into the roof of the elevator as it careened back down.

Time slowed down to a crawl, but her thoughts only sped up. She must've dropped her Faz-Wrench- It couldn't help her now. She couldn't find her Roxy-Talkie either. The monster's arm was just out of reach.

She wanted something to cling to.

Anything.

Everything was so confusing.

She wanted Roxy to be here. Gregory to be here. Someone to hold her hand. Whisk her away. Mom Dad please-

She'd spent all night falling, and she couldn't stand it. Maybe this was just a bad dream that she'd start awake from, safe in her bed.

I hate heights. I hate heights. I hate heigh-

Those were the last thoughts she could remember.

When she came to, she saw the damage done to the floor first, because her face was lying against it. The boards were sticking up slightly at breaks, or bent weirdly through the middle. She could feel some of them poking into her body. Her head hurt. Even worse than when Monty had tackled her into the sewerage pipe.

She breathed in dust, still hanging in the air as she looked up. Her eyes were blurry, but she could still see. The door was partially opened, the bars looked like they'd been wrenched apart.

She could hear something shuffling nearby. There was a faint creaking and groaning of metal from above her. She couldn't see her Faz-Wrench, V.A.N.N.I mask, or Roxy-Talkie anywhere. Or that monster's arm.

There was a grate sitting on the floor that hadn't been there earlier, though.

…

How long had she been out for?

Everything hurt way too much. Her left arm was stuck underneath her. When she tried to pull it out, it just hurt. A sharp, throbbing pain. She couldn't help but groan.

Her back hurt when she tried to get up. It was a duller pain though. Manageable? But she couldn't get up properly. She tried rolling off her belly, so she could push herself into sitting using her right arm. Her head spun just attempting to roll- so she put paid to that idea.

She couldn't feel anything weird in her legs. So they should be okay? But she couldn't move them. Oh, so they're broken. That makes more sense. She thought.

She lay her head back against the floor, taking some time to breath, and hopefully get her head to stop spinning. This was a really bad time for her vertigo to play up.

If she wanted to get out of this, she needed every advantage she could get.

To get out of here…

Could she even get out of here?

She could hear a faint shuffling noise nearby.

This elevator was… broken now. There was another one that she'd taken down from Roxy Racers. But she'd run away from it when the monster chased her, she thought.

…

Yeah. That one had a metal floor. She could remember because she'd spent too much time staring down at her shoes, crying over Roxy. There were two elevators. This broken one. And the one she'd have to get to to leave.

… Get to it how? She couldn't even roll over? Her legs were broken? Her head was still spinning?

She whimpered, the realization crashing into her. She wasn't getting out of this. Gregory may not have killed her with the fall, but she was still going to die.

It'd just take longer.

She could feel tears prickling at her eyes. Nobody could find her here. Nobody would even think to look here. No one knew where she was. She didn't have a phone- didn't even have her Roxy-Talkie anymore.

She had tried so hard, and this was where it would end? She sobbed, and her heart ached.

The shuffling noises got closer, and she could hear servos whirring. She stopped. That thing… it could still be here. What if it had heard her? She shut her eyes, and tried to play dead.

That noise got closer and closer. She was so tempted to look. Maybe dying to it would be better? Would it kill her quickly? Why was she still trying so hard to live?

"Cassie, are you in here?" She heard a small voice whispering. Roxy's voice. She'd never heard Roxy whisper before.

She squinted her right eye open, and looked out the wrecked door.

And there she was. Cassie couldn't even believe it. It really was her. She looked different though. She was missing most of her left arm, from the elbow down, and seemed to be crawling. Her head was hanging loosely from her neck. She saw Roxy's whole body twitch, and some sparks fly at her neck.

The tears she'd been holding back streamed down, and she sobbed out "Roxy- Roxy I'm so sorry-" her voice was creaky from the dust. She started to cough.

"Cassie, it's okay. You're okay. It's gone now, it can't hurt you any more. I'll get you out of here." Roxy's ears flicked around on her head, trying to pinpoint exactly where to go.

Cassie tried to push herself up with her right arm, and scramble towards her. She at least got her head and chest off the floor, and off her left arm. Her back protested from this movement. She couldn't go anywhere. "Roxy, I think I broke my legs- I can't move."

"That's okay. That's okay." Roxy tried to reassure her as she clambered over, gently as to not knock the loose boards up too much.

When Roxy reached her, Cassie tried to tap her with her left arm. It screamed at her to stop. She couldn't stop. I'm here, I'm here. You found me. Her hand ran over what was left of Roxy's hair- the green forelock, dangling loosely from her head. It felt more like plastic than hair. But it also felt like a lifeline. And Roxy could feel where she was now, too.

Roxy got closer, and kneeled up onto her legs, so she could use her arm. Her legs were damaged in places, and Roxy seemed to be off balance. But she braced herself with her busted arm, and used the right one to wrap around Cassie's chest. "We need to get out of here now. Can I move you? It may hurt."

She nodded, before realizing that was useless. "Yes, please." The creaking from up above reached a crescendo, as Roxy pulled Cassie up against her stomach. Cassie whimpered as her back stung. But she needed to be brave. She could be brave for a bit longer, now that Roxy was here.

Roxy held her firmly against her chest with her right arm crossing over Cassie's back. What was left of Roxy's left arm holding Cassie's head against her chest. Cassie could see the broken wires in her neck by looking up, and could see where that monster had further damaged Roxy's casing. Cassie had to be careful of Roxy's damaged head, hanging loosely just beside her own. She couldn't afford to take a wire to the eye. She clung to Roxys left shoulder with her only good arm.

Roxy stood up and quickly walked out of the elevator, leaning against the bars of the door as she crawled back through the hole.

"Did you open the door before, Roxy?"

"... No. But I think it has left now. What did it do to you?"

Roxy turned around to face the elevator, even if her head was dangling. Even though she was blind.

Cassie had seen the roof of the elevator buckling as they'd left it. Had seen some broken cords and cables next to the elevator. The walls at the back and sides of the elevator were buckled and bent in the fall, almost looking like the crinkly part of an accordion. But way less intended. The beams that should have held everything steady were snapped or bent. It looked like it was going to collapse.

And then it did collapse. Cassie gasped at the noise. Roxy took some frantic steps backwards, nearly tripping over.

"Oh my!"

"Roxy-"

Roxy managed to catch herself and stay upright, before turning around and getting away. The dust that had just been hanging in the elevator before was now everywhere. Cassie held her breath until they were clear of the cloud.

Roxy slumped forwards against the doorframe leading back towards the tunnels. She knelt down, and placed Cassie so she was sitting up against some nearby crates.

She breathed heavily, and made the mistake of looking down at her legs.

…

She looked away quickly, back up to Roxy. It just made her queasy.

"... What did it do to you?" Roxy asked again.

"It? Umm, it chased me through the tunnels… I got away though, I got into the elevator and I got away-" Cassie stalled.

She didn't want to think about a lot of things right now. Like heights. Like what the monster would've done to her if it had caught her. Her right ankle twisted strangely inwards. The cuts on her left leg. The fact her left leg just looked wrong. That her legs should be hurting. Her back-

But most of all she didn't want to think about that.

‘...But we can't let it follow you. I'm sorry.’

I was getting away until Gregory-

Her face felt warm and ashamed, and she started crying again. Maybe she'd just cry forever.

"The elevator fell. I fell. Gregory-" she couldn't continue though the sobs. She couldn't see properly through her tears.

And then Roxy was there. Holding her tight. Hugging her, and running her hand through Cassie's hair soothingly. For being pressed against broken metal and plastic, it was… comforting. They stayed like that for a while, until Cassie was calm enough to explain.

"He dropped the elevator. H-he couldn't risk that thing following me. That's what he'd said…"

Roxy's ears twitched. "That kid again, when I find him…" She growled, then shook her head and refocused. "Don't worry about him right now. You said that you thought your legs were broken earlier. Is there anything else?"

"My left arm really hurts. I think it's busted too? And my back hurts. It's not too bad, though. I think I landed badly?"

Roxy was silent for a moment, and Cassie got to thinking- how were they gonna get out of here?

"... Roxy, there's another elevator that leads back to Roxy Racers. That's how I got here. If we can get back to it, we can leave."

Roxy hummed. "I can do that. But I can't keep carrying you. Not safely. My balance is… off. If I fell forward I'd crush you. But I also can't leave you here to get help, anything could happen…" She trailed off, back to thinking. "Cassie, do you see any rope anywhere?"

She looked around. All she saw was the hallway, the door next to them, and the remains of the elevator. Except- wait. There was rope. Rope netting that was skirting the wall of the hallway just besides her.

"Yes! Just over there- err, to your left, along the wall. There's a long net stuck to it. Why?"

Roxy walked around her and the boxes, feeling her way over to the netting. "If I can't carry you in my arms, I could tie you to my back instead. That could work… you could even help tell me where to go."

Hope filled Cassie's chest. She could get out of here- and even get to help her favorite animatronic at the same time?

Maybe this birthday was still salvageable.

She agreed, and they set to work. Or rather, Roxy set to cutting the netting loose from the wall. Luckily, she still had one set of decently sharp claws. She cut a long length of netting, then pulled it back over to where Cassie sat, laying it on the ground.

"We could also use this to help splint your legs. Though, we may have to splint them against each other- I'm not sure if there's anything we can use here."

"There could be something in the crates? There's some behind me, and some against the other wall, closer to the elevator." Cassie was already taking her role seriously. Roxy went to go check, prying the lids off the crates behind her and feeling around inside the boxes. She rummaged through there for a long while, before speaking up again.

"Doesn't seem to be anything useful, just old party supplies? Everything feels like cardboard…"

Cassie looked over at the crates further away. They were half covered by a tarp, but she could see that they were typical kinds of crates. They had diagonal cleating on the sides for added support. She looked over her shoulder at the crates behind her- they were the same!

"The crates are made of wood. And the cleating shouldn't be too hard to remove. Could the cleats work as a splint?"

Roxy put the lid back on to the crate she was at, and started testing the cleating on its side. "This could work. I need three pieces…"

"Three?"

"Two for your legs" She ripped off one of the cleats, and moved onto the other side. "And one for your arm. Im not sure what to do about your back, though." She ripped off more pieces of cleating. "They taught us basic first aid, how to manage cuts and bruises, even apply splints. But not what to do for suspected spinal injuries. Maybe I should send a formal request for more training, when we get out of here."

Cassie didn't want to think about what that implied. So she didn't, instead focusing on what Roxy was doing.

Roxy got all the pieces together, cut some lengths of rope out of the net, then asked Cassie a question- "I'll need help to do this. I'll need your hand to help tie the ropes properly. And I'll need you to look at what I'm doing, to let me know if things go wrong. Can you do that for me?"

Cassie didn't want to do that. Just glimpsing her legs a few minutes ago had made her feel queasy. But what choice did she have?

I just need to be brave for a little bit longer.

She agreed. And Roxy handed her one end of the rope, before lining up the splint against her left forearm. She held Cassie's arm gently, but it still hurt. Cassie bit her lip as she wrapped the rope around her arm and the splint. When both the splint and forearm were stable against each other, Roxy let go, and grabbed the other end of the rope, feeling along the floor for it. They worked together to tie it up.

And then needed to repeat that for her legs. Which, on one hand, were easier. Cassie didn't need to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain. But it was also harder. She didn't have much in her stomach- lunch was so long ago- but it was threatening to make a reappearance as Roxy helped straighten her ankle. It just looked wrong.

After that one, they moved onto her left leg. But didn't know where exactly that one had broken, only that she had some nasty looking cuts in her calf and thigh. So while her right leg only needed the ankle and shin splinted, she got her whole left leg laid out straight, and splinted. She was sure it'd feel uncomfortable later.

After finishing with her legs, Roxy and Cassie worked to tie what was left of the netting under Cassie's arms and around her upper back. Then, Roxy put her arms one at a time through the squares of the net. It's almost like she is putting on a button up shirt. Except the shirt is made of rope netting, and there are no buttons. Cassie giggled a little at the thought.

"When we get out of here, I'll make you a proper shirt. One that looks super cool." She whispered, clinging to Roxy's shoulder. She was so, so, tired. It was way past her bedtime. Definitely past midnight. Maybe even past two am. Mum never lets me stay up this late- even on new years eve! She'll definitely be home by now.

"Okay?" Roxy tilted her head in confusion. But it didn't look right because her head lolled forwards, as she walked on her hand and feet. Cassie guessed it was for better balance. She couldn't help but laugh at this situation. Everything just seems a little funnier when you're exhausted.

Roxy slowly continued following the tunnel back towards the monster's… Lair? Prison? It seemed to take eternity for them to get to the first fork in the road. And it seemed to take forever for Cassie to decide which way to go. "I… I think we go right here? Wait, no… He said to go right on the way here… Umm, we go left now?"

"We'll try left first. If it leads us to a dead end, we can just try again after."

So they went, continuing their slow trek back. And Cassie nearly dozed off several times. Despite having metal and plastic pressing into her belly. Despite having rope rubbing up into her shoulder blades. Despite the pain in her arm and back. She was only twelve, after all.

Wait, no. Thirteen now. I'll need to get used to saying that.

"Roxy- Roxy, did you know I'm thirteen now?"

Roxy laughed lightly. "Yes, that's why I wished you a happy birthday earlier. Did you forget?"

"Nuh- uh. Didn't forget it. I was just… distracted earlier."

Distracted running away from Chica, and Monty, and Freddy, and little Music Men. Distracted by a liar lying to me. Distracted because I shut you down. Because I let you down. Because I betrayed you, and he betrayed me-

"Roxy, how did you know I was down here anyway? I shut you down…"

"Shut me down? You rebooted me."

"But I saw you go limp-"

"I should clarify" it felt so weird to hear 'clarify' come out of Roxy's mouth- err, voice box. "You shut down security. But then I could reboot without it draining my resources, back into safe mode."

Cassie nodded, pretending like she understood how that worked. She wished she could ask her dad.

"And how did I find you? I could hear you crying. That led me down the elevator shaft, then to you."

Cassie could feel her eyes get watery. How haven't I run out of tears yet?

She sniffled out "Thank you, thank you sooo much." Into Roxy's back.

"Don't worry about it, kid. I'd do anything for my number one-twice." Roxy couldn't exactly grin- being pretty much all endo now. But she sounded like she was grinning.

That's why Roxy's my favorite.

A gust of cold wind rattled down the tunnel, causing Cassie to shiver. It was so noisy, too. She remembered the weird noises from earlier, and how the door had been torn ajar.

The monster had tried (and succeeded?) At getting into the elevator while she was unconscious. That's terrifying… another shiver ran up her back. This time it was not caused by the cold.

Maybe it just wanted its arm back? Maybe it thought I was already dead?

She shook her head, these thoughts were getting her nowhere.

"It's pretty late- four forty-five by my internal clock. When did you last get any sleep?" Roxy kept walking forward on her three limbs, going over a bumpy part, but trying her best to be gentle with it.

"Umm, a long time ago? I woke up at six yesterday…"

Roxy hummed. "Did you want to take a nap for a while? It seems to be a straight path for now. I should be able to handle this bit."

"No, not yet. Roxy, do you think it's gonna come… back for me? I think I really made it mad earlier."

"It- oh, that one." Roxy stopped walking, and craned her ears around. "I think it found a way out already. If it was still here, I'd be able to hear it. And I doubt it'll come back- it'd be scared of having a second round against me!" Roxy joked.

Cassie laughed at that. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to fight you either…"

"How would you have made it mad, though?" Roxy asked, after a bit. She'd resumed walking, following the tunnel.

"It thought it was Gregory. And I told it that it wasn't him. Probably made it embarrassed."

Roxy laughed. "Maybe so, but I don't think it'll come back just because you embarrassed it. It might never want to see this place again, it was trapped down in that room before?"

"Yeah… until I let it out." I'm the biggest, most foolish girl in the world right now. "I really messed up, huh? I knew something was wrong, but I kept going anyway." Her eyes started to water again. "I just wanted to see him again…"

"Cassie… it's not your fault. Things like that, they like to mess with people and trick them. I've been tricked before too- if they can trick me, that means they can trick anyone."

Cassie waited for Roxy to tell her how she was tricked, but Roxy changed the subject instead.

"You know what the best thing to do is? When someone treats you like dirt?"

"No… What?"

"You keep trying, and you never give up! Then, when you win, you can rub it in their face! 'You tried to tear me down- well look where I am now!' "

That made Cassie feel a little better. Roxy didn't really get why she was upset, but it was nice to hear her attempts to comfort her.

"I'm gonna get you out of here. Then, you can show them up- both Gregory and that thing!"

"...Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Cassie grinned, and felt determination flow through her. Because they wanted me dead- getting out alive would be enough.

They kept going for a while, down the cold, drafty tunnel. Cassie yawned loudly, and slumped down further into Roxy's back. Today- well yesterday and today- had been such a rollercoaster for her. She was fighting just to stay awake.

Roxy laughed. "Get some sleep, Cassie. I'll wake you if I get lost."

She couldn't fight her heavy eyelids for any longer. So she did just that, curling up as best she could against Roxy's back. The slight swaying of movement rocking her to sleep.

________

Cassie didn't know how long she'd been asleep, just that Roxy had woken her up near the toppled forklift.

She groaned and tried to wipe the sleep from her eyes. "Whu- what time is it?"

"From my internal clock, it is about seven thirty a.m."

"Wow… Mom's gonna kill me when I get home. Do you think I'll miss the school bus?"

"... Cassie, it's still summer break? Are you okay?"

"Umm, yeah. Just tired." Exhausted was probably a better word. She felt like she had less sleep than she did before that nap. "I'm awake though. You need help?"

Cassie looked around. They were near the lair where that monster had been trapped. She could see the upturned forklift next to them. It still had power- though, luckily, the engine had turned off. There was only the faint smell of gasoline filling the space. Though, it must've still had battery. Because the brake lights were still on, shining a dim light to the ceiling. Even if the headlights hadn't been buried in the rubble when the monster threw it down, they'd probably have broken on impact with the wall. She could vaguely see the room where the monster had been stuck, using the scattered faint red light. But there was a problem- it was up higher than the tunnel. She'd had to jump down into the tunnel earlier that morning from the room. Now they'd need to climb back up into that room.

And it was at least six feet off the ground.

"I just… I don't know where to go now. I don't have an internal map of this place. Is this a dead end? I swear I went the right way…" Roxy asked, feeling against the wall underneath the hole with her hand.

"No, there's a hole up in the wall, but it's pretty high up. It's just above you. If you stand up, you should be able to reach it."

Roxy stood up, and felt along with her hand until she felt the wall give way into a hole. The hole was tall- but Roxy was nearly as tall as it. If she'd had eyes, and a head that wasn't lolled forward, she would've been able to see inside the room. But she didn't have eyes. And while she would've been tall enough to see into the room, she was not tall enough to climb back through. At least, not without injuring Cassie further. They both realized this around the same time.

"There has to be another way. We're so close!"

"You can leave me here, if you want. I'll be okay."

Roxy shook her head. "No, there's no way I'm leaving you behind. Not like this."

Cassie sighed. Am I gonna drag Roxy down with me? She can't have endless power… The chill swept through her again. She shivered, and looked around. Maybe Roxy was right, and there was something that could help them.

There was rubble, from when the forklift had broken through the brick wall. But most of it was just… Well, bricks. Some pieces were bigger, but none were both big enough, and stable enough to stand on. The only really solid thing in this tunnel was the forklift.

Hey, wait…

"Maybe the forklift can help? It's to your left, and it's kinda stuck in the rubble. It landed on its bonnet earlier. If it was laying on its side, in front of the wall, could it become a stepping stone?"

"... That could work. Hang on."

Cassie gripped onto Roxy's shoulder pad tighter, as Roxy turned towards the fork lift. She went over, grabbing onto the chassis and testing it for any give. It wriggled a bit when pressure was applied.

Roxy braced herself, and secured her hand a bit higher on the frame, before trying to pull it towards herself. Cassie whimpered, worried it would fall too quickly and crush them. Roxy had already gotten stuck under a forklift earlier that morning- what if it happened again?

These worries turned out to be baseless- it never moved enough to become a crush hazard. And it was clear to Cassie that this was really pissing off Roxy. She started grunting with exertion, and putting her whole body weight into trying to move it. She tried pushing it backwards, then pulling it towards herself, trying to lever its tynes out of the ground. But it just wasn't working. It was stuck too fast. The sudden movements running pain through Cassie's arm and back, with the way Roxy was jolting back and forth. Cassie didn't worry about that though- she could hear Roxy's servos straining, and see the way the loose wires near her neck sparked.

"Roxy- Roxy! Just stop, please- You're going to hurt yourself!" She begged.

And she did stop. Roxy leant against the chassis, still gripping it with her hand. She panted as she stood there, the effects of that effort catching up to her.

Cassie changed her grip, from shoulder pad, to shoulder itself, and laid her head down against Roxy's back. It was the closest she could get to giving her a hug.

"I'm gonna… waste all my battery trying to move this… stupid, useless hunk of metal!" Roxy yelled in frustration, slamming her fist into the paneling of the forklift. Cassie flinched at the sound of metal meeting metal.

A few seconds passed. But it felt like eternity. Roxy eventually stopped panting, and backed away from the stuck fork lift.

"I'm sorry that I scared you just then. I just… I can't lose again. I have to protect you, but I can't even get you to safety like this." The disappointment in her voice was palpable.

"It's okay, it's okay…" Cassie tried to sooth her. "You tried, I'm just glad you didn't get crushed again."

They stayed there in silence for a minute, brain and CPUs wracking for a solution.

"If you went without me, you could get Eclipse for help. They're back in the daycare, but they're in pretty good shape, and they can fly."

"Wait- Eclipse is back? I haven't seen them in years… if I could get closer to the raceway, I could probably send a distress signal to them."

"I'll be fine down here- you said it yourself earlier- it probably never wants to see this place again. It won't be back."

"... But it's my job to protect you. You're a kid, and you need help. I already failed you once- I can't do it twice."

"Wait, you didn't fail me- You saved my life? I don't understand…"

Roxy tensed up. "I lost. To that thing. And it chased you, and he hurt you. I couldn't even do anything. Not anything that mattered."

"But that wasn't your fault! If anyone failed me- it's Gregory! You tried to save me. You still are saving me."

Roxy didn't give any indication that she'd even heard her. Cassie didn't know what to say. But she needed to say something.

"...When we get out of here, I'll fix you. I'll get Andy to help- I'll get Dad to help, too…" if I ever find him. "then you won't have to worry about losing again."

She felt Roxy relax a bit under her- maybe that was the right thing to say?

"...Are you sure? About being okay here, I mean."

"I've gone through a lot worse things than waiting tonight- err, today."

Roxy sighed. She got down, as low as she could get to the ground, trying to smooth out a spot with her hand. Then she started taking off the netting. "Make sure to hold on. I'll be able to grab you- you won't fall- but not until my arms are free."

Cassie agreed.

Slowly, and as gently as she could, Roxy put her down on the ground. It wasn't great- she was laying on rubble, and the netting from before. It was uncomfortable. But she'd be okay.

Roxy hovered over her, and ran her fingers through Cassie's hair. "... I'll be back soon, okay? I'll get Eclipse, and we'll get you home again. Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay." She lied. Cassie wanted to be greedy. She wanted to hold Roxy's hand, and never let go. She wanted Roxy to keep running her hand through her hair. She didn't want to be left here alone.

But I have to be brave, for just a little longer. "I'll see you soon."

Roxy drew back, and her hand left Cassie's hair. "I'll see you soon, Cassie." She went back to the wall, looking like she was measuring with her hand how high up the hole was. Cassie wondered how she'd get up there. She was answered quickly- Roxy took a few paces backwards, crouched, then took a flying leap. Straight at the hole.

She nearly nailed the landing- despite not being able to see it. She got most of the way through, and only needed to scramble her legs against the wall to completely get through, knocking a few bricks loose.

Then she was gone. And Cassie was alone again. In a cold, dark tunnel, just laying down. At least this time I'm not stuck on my belly, I guess.

Nothing much happened from there. All Cassie could do was think. Wonder what Eclipse would say when they saw her again. Or what Mom would do when she saw just how many bones Cassie had broken in one sitting.

She'd need to go back to school- would they send her back in a wheelchair? She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Her classmates would probably pick on her for it. But she could probably do some cool tricks in it, as well. And if she was lucky, she could even get a red one, or a purple one. That'd match her outfits well. Even a green one would be okay- as long as it isn't dark green. I don't want to look like I'm dressed for Christmas!

She wished she hadn't gone through the water earlier. Well, she wished she hadn't bothered coming down here at all… but she really regretted going through that water. Her clothes had gotten soaked when Monty pushed her into the sewers, then from when she missed a step while trying to avoid Monty near the log ride. Then soaked again when wading through the weird, underground lake. Despite being hours later, her clothes were still damp and sticking to her.

It hadn't been as annoying earlier, because she'd had better things to worry about. But now, stuck in a drafty tunnel, it was really difficult to deal with. No matter what, she just couldn't get warm. She couldn't stop shivering.

She had no idea what time it was now. Or how long Roxy had been gone for. Cassie just wanted to go home already. Go to bed with her plushie collection, and forget that this had ever happened to her.

But what if Roxy couldn't find Eclipse? Wasn't there a broken set of stairs Cassie had to jump down earlier? If Roxy had problems finding the hole in the wall, would she really be able to get back to the raceway without help? What if she powered down halfway?

Cassie tried not to think about it. She really tried. But there was nothing happening here, and thoughts of home could only go so far in distracting her. She could hear her breaths speed up, and she felt faint. I need to stop panicking. I'm okay, I'm okay…

But even after grounding herself (literally, by grabbing at the loose ground beneath her.) She still felt breathless.

She was so tired.

Just so tired.

After a while, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

~~~~~~~~

Authors note- God I love Ruin, for all the same reasons I love Sister Locations story- concise, clear storytelling. But the elevator ending cliffhanger… that stuck with me. So, using the powers of autism and frantic obsession for… well, not good, but for something at least, I'm writing a story of how Cassie gets out of this mess.

I needed to start with the usual sort of after-elevator-ending chapter though, to set up things for the future. I hope it was interesting, even though it was long.

For anyone worried Gregory cut the cord in this- he didn't. But Cassie doesn't know that. And there will be drama, trust me.

Also- no I'm not including anything from help wanted 2 onwards (unless it already vibes with what I'm doing.) Because. I started writing this monstrosity on *checks date* the 22rd of august. To change it to include anything major from hw2 would be to. Gut 100k words and practically start over I reckon.

[kueble]

Your Electric Touch Could Fill This Ghost Town Up With Life

My back hurt and I don't have a Soap to massage me, so I projected on Ghost.

Teen. Warnings: none. 2,200 words.

Ghost/Soap

---

Soap will never admit it, but he always has eyes out for Ghost. He catches sight of him as soon as he stalks into the mess hall, boots heavy as he stomps over to the food line. Soap keeps his focus on Gaz, but he’s no longer hanging on his every word, too distracted by watching Ghost make his way through the line and perks up in his seat just in time to wave him over. Only Ghost just shakes his head and leaves the room quickly. There is an odd stiffness to his movements, and Soap can tell something is wrong.

“No LT tonight I guess,” Soap mumbles, and Gaz just looks at him sympathetically.

“I know you’ve got your own thing going on with Ghost, but maybe let him have his space tonight. He’s in rare form today,” Gaz warns him, which only serves to pique his curiosity.

“How so?”

“He’s been a right bastard all day. Glared at everyone in the gym, even though he normally doesn’t workout until after dinner when he can have the space to himself. He snapped at me so much that I just fucked off and let him stew in his anger. Apparently he was so tough on the rookies that Price had to tell him to calm down, which I’ve never seen before. He’s in a mood for sure,” Gaz explains with a grimace.

“I think I might have an idea of what’s bothering him,” Soap offers, but Gaz just shakes his head at him.

“Don’t poke the bear, dude,” he warns.

“Maybe,” Soap mumbles before going back to his dinner. He can tell Gaz knows he won’t leave Ghost alone, and they finish their meals in silence. Still, he can’t leave Ghost in this state if there’s anything he can do to help. Hopefully his friend will let him.

—

Ghost opens the door as soon as he knocks, almost as if he’d been waiting for him. Or he heard him fidgeting in the hallway while trying to decide if this was actually a good idea. His arms are crossed over his ridiculously large chest, and Soap swallows thickly before holding up two bottles of lotion.

“I have unscented or a peppermint that might help your muscles more. So let me in and I’ll see if I can help?” he asks, not bothering to beat around the bush. Either Ghost will let him in or tell him to fuck off, so better just jump right into it.

“Huh?” Ghost asks, head tilted as he stares at him like he’s insane, which he might be. He waves the two bottles of lotion at him and does his best to act like he has a fucking clue what he’s doing.

“Rumor has it that you’ve been more of an asshole than normal today, and any idiot can see it’s because you’re in pain. That last mission really fucked up your back and shoulders, didn’t it?” he asks, surprised when Ghost hums in agreement and ushers him inside.

“No one else mentioned it,” he points out quietly.

“Yeah, because you’re terrifying,” Soap says with a snort. “Lucky for you, that’s just my type. So are you going to let me help you out? I’ve got a little PT training from my old footie days.”

“Thought your type was anything that moves,” Ghost jokes, but then he adds a soft, “what’s your plan here?”

“I don’t have to get too invasive, but even a short massage should be able to help loosen up your muscles. Hate to see you in pain when I know I can help,” he says. Ghost nods sharply, so he continues, “alright then. Shirt off and face-down on the bed. Keep the mask on, but I may push the fabric up a bit to reach your neck. We’ll see how tense you are.”

“I can handle that,” Ghost agrees, and Soap grins at the unspoken trust. He’s never seen anyone outside of medical touch Ghost’s bare skin, and he understands what a big deal it is. He waits for Ghost to lay down on the bed and then kneels next to him. It’s a tight fit, but he doesn’t want to push his luck too much tonight.

“Unscented or mint?”

“Unscented,” Ghost tells him, and he tosses the other bottle aside before pumping some of the lotion into his palm. He rubs his hands together to spread it around before laying them on Ghost’s shoulders. He tenses up and takes a noticeable breath before settling back down.

“Tell me if I use too much pressure or I need to stop, yeah?” he asks, and Ghost grunts in agreement.

As soon as he lays his hands on Ghost’s skin, he jumps and Soap finds himself cooing in an effort to calm him down. He grins to himself at how ridiculous it is to treat his LT like a frightened animal, but his voice is apparently soothing enough to settle him down. Ghost sinks further into the bed and doesn’t jump again when Soap starts running his hands up and down his back, just warming up the area. Clearly he’s still anxious about this.

“Not gonna work if you can’t relax. I got you,” Soap murmurs as he rubs circles over his shoulder blades.

“Usually I at least get dinner before I’m shirtless,” Ghost mumbles, but there’s a hint of uncertainty clinging to his words. Soap can see him clearly now, not just stolen glances in the gym or while patching him up out in the field. His pale skin is littered with scars, some fresh and pink and others an ancient silver. Thankfully there aren’t a ton of newer ones, and Soap chooses to take it as proof their teamwork is better than what Ghost has had in the past. He beams with pride, even though Ghost is still face-down on the bed.

“Your next bourbon is on me for giving me the pleasure of seeing ya like this,” he says with a chuckle, and the mood in the room feels a hell of a lot lighter. They fall into an easy silence as Soap starts to massage him properly.

Ghost’s muscles are unbelievably tight beneath his hands, and Soap maps out a strategy, deciding to work on his shoulders first and then make his way down to his lower back. He steadfastly ignores the siren’s call of those perfect dimples at the base of his spine and does his best to keep things professional.

Because above all, Ghost is his friend and he’s clearly in pain. No matter what feelings he may hold for him, Soap wants to provide a little relief. He’s not some horny teenager who can’t keep himself in check at the first touch of skin on skin. He focuses on his task, digging his fingers into the tense muscles and adding enough pressure to work out the knots.

At some point he straddles Ghost without thinking about it, just moving into a better position to lean into him. It’s routine, his hands moving from one area to the next as he works. Soap stops every few moments to grab more lotion, not wanting to hurt Ghost more than necessary. He knows he’s found a knot every time Ghost grunts lowly and leans away from his touch. It must hurt, but there’s no way to relieve the pain without digging into it. He slowly makes his way down Ghost’s back, hopefully leaving comfort in his wake.

By the time he gets to Ghost’s lower back, Soap is practically in a trance. Sure, he barely manages to contain his bouncy personality and energy on a normal day, but he can fall into sharp focus when he needs to. Whether it be behind the scope of a sniper rifle or massaging the man he’s head over heels for, he flirts with insanity when he works through a problem.

Ghost is practically purring when Soap digs his thumbs into the knots at the base of his spine, pressing just hard enough to feel them loosen beneath his hands. His fingers and wrists are starting to ache, but Ghost lets out a happy sigh, and he can’t help being proud of the job he’s done. There’s no doubt Ghost will be in a much better mood tomorrow, and no one on base will know they have Soap to thank for it.

Ghost looks so relaxed, like he’s about to melt into the mattress, and the moment is so soft and warm that Soap leans down without thinking. He presses a gentle kiss right between Ghost’s shoulder blades. It’s just a soft, barely there brush of lips, but they both freeze as soon as it happens. Soap jumps up, already climbing off of Ghost’s body and flailing as he tries to get out of the bed.

But then there’s strong arms wrapped around his waist and he’s pulled back onto the bed. He closes his eyes, fully expecting to be punched for his mistake, but instead Ghost shifts closer to him, sliding Soap into his lap. When he opens his eyes, Ghost is staring at him so intensely that he nearly looks away. It’s like he can see into his soul, and Soap shivers under the heavy gaze.

“I didn’t mean to,” Soap mumbles. “It just happened.”

“Do you want it to happen again?” Ghost asks softly, and Soap can hear an unusual shyness in his tone. That makes him decide that fuck it, this may be his chance, and he’s talking before he realizes it.

“Maybe on your lips this time, Ghost, if you’ll let me,” he whispers, his heart hammering in his chest so hard he worries Ghost might feel it. Months of circling around each other, waiting and hoping that Ghost feels the same, and it’s all come down to this.

“Simon,” he tells Soap. “Call me Simon when we’re like this, Johnny.”

“Simon,” Johnny says, putting all the secret love he’s been harboring for months into the word.

And then Simon reaches down and yanks the balaclava off, his face exposed for the first time since Las Almas. Johnny sighs happily, taking in the beautiful sight in front of him. Simon’s blonde curls are a mess, flatten from being trapped under the mask all day. His smile is breathtaking, though, framed by scars and freckles, and Johnny could look at him forever. His fingers itch to draw him, but the urge to touch is even greater.

“You’re right bonnie,” he murmurs before reaching up and cradling Simon’s face in his hands. He brushes a thumb across a patch of freckles, grinning when Simon leans into his hand. “Gonna kiss you now,” he warns, and Simon just nods at him, his brown eyes impossibly wide as Johnny leans in and captures his mouth in a chaste kiss.

At first they’re both tentative, keeping things light and sweet, but then Simon licks at the seam of his lips and Johnny lets out a broken whine before opening up for him. It’s better than he imagined it would be, Simon's tongue sliding into his mouth and tracing his teeth. He chases it with his own, sighing as they fall into a desperate kiss.

Simon’s fingers dig into his hips, and he moans into the kiss, his hips grinding down on their own accord. Sparks fly up his spine, and he lets out a broken moan. Simon swallows it down as their mouths slide together so sweetly. He nips at Simon’s bottom lip, tugging gently before soothing it with his tongue.

Then Simon pulls back, panting slightly as he rests their foreheads together. Johnny whines at the loss, but Simon just tips his head down and presses his mouth to his temple in a lingering kiss. It’s such a stark contrast to the last few minutes that Johnny is confused at first. Simon kissed him like he wanted to devour him, and then…nothing?”

It must show on his face, because Simon frowns before leaning in and nuzzling him, rubbing their cheeks together. His nose - crooked from being broken so often - traces Johnny’s jawline and he melts into it. Simon kisses him on the corner of the mouth before leaning back a little and offering a nervous smile.

“Let’s not rush this. I just…I wanna take my time. Do things right by you,” Simon murmurs, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. Johnny can’t help brushing his thumb across those sharp cheekbones, grinning wide as he blushes harder.

“Gonna romance me, love?” he asks softly.

“Maybe.”

“Sounds perfect,” Johnny murmurs, unable to help himself from darting in and kissing him quickly. “Does this plan include sleepovers? Because I promise to behave if you’ll let me stay.”

“Somehow I doubt that, but I find myself unable to let you go,” Simon says with a smirk.

They make quick work of getting ready for bed, and soon they’re tucked under the covers and grinning at each other. Johnny can hardly contain his happiness, still shocked that he’s here, laying in Simon’s bed in a borrowed pair of sweats. He has no clue how he’s going to sleep, because the adrenaline seems like it’s pulsing in his veins, but then Simon pulls him closer, guiding his head towards his chest, and Johnny falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat beneath his cheek.

[enoughyi]

#20: With Teeth

Ship: Imelda x Poppy

Rating: M (for suggestive language)

Tags: @espressoristretto-patronum @celestial--sapphic @theladyofshalott1989 @infernalrusalka @thriftstorebabayaga @phinik

Poppy protested, "I need to finish the report!"

"I don't have a spare minute!" Poppy insisted, in a regretful whisper.

It has become insultingly common, Poppy's job that is, Imelda thought.

"I am not as blunt as birdie so leave it or take it; but the bitch that is your boss hasn't credited your job for nearly as much as it deserves. I know a full bull of beasts. Ugh. But she hasn't. Has. Not. Ever, Poppy. She has been stealing your from us—from me, Pops, and tomorrow you'll enter the office and—" Imelda stopped, abruptly.

Last time Poppy checked in with the research group, her contribution was mercilessly stomped to bits by a single person, her supervisor, but the entire crew couldn't move forward without it. The supervisor didn't attribute an alleged failure to anything or anyone; it is as though she simply hated Poppy and made it her goal to stall the workflow for however long it would take the rest of the crew to grow a dislike for Poppy's presence.

Poppy was stoic enough to take the insult at work but at home her misery, palpalable, breathed heavily into four arms of her wives as she cried for the rest of evening and refused either food or potion. She was given advices.

Yet, she was set to perfect the bit, regardless.

"And?" Poppy asked, quietly; her quil pen still in her pale, veined hand.

Imelda couldn't force herself to look her in the eyes. She wasn't ready to meet her desperation face to face again. So she stared at a point in between her brows.

"For all I care, she shat on your work before, she will do it again, am I not correct?" Imelda said. Poppy hesitatntly relaxed the grip she had on the pen. "You spent weeks working on… beasts and their fucks."

"The migratory patterns of the midland browns."

"Yes, and your bitch wants you to go sideways!"

"But we've yet to gain full understanding what consequences poaching caused after DMLE was done with the area."

"Is it your job to evaluate it, asses it, whatever that it is you are set to do, though?"

"Only tangentially but it's important! Julia and you just…" Poppy suddenly cut what eye contact she thought they had. "You don't understand."

Imelda approached her desk, silently, and chanced a sit. Poppy didn't object. "For all you should care, Pops, you can wrap the browns up and present her as evidence for where did the dragons."

Poppy's eyes twitched. She was keeping the smile's tug at her lips. But her voice gave it away, "Salamanders."

"Who cares, I mean you do, obviously, but for the reat of the public — might I dare say 'me' — they're lizards. Probably, the cute little ones." Poppy wasn't looking at anywhere on her desk at that moment. Her gaze was stuck at the adjacent wall; her eyes traced the drape of a Julia's tailoring project left here for Merlin knows why.

Imelda crawled her fingers close to Poppy's pen, and touched the tip of her index.

Poppy averted her gaze, and met Imelda's. Pearly, round tears rolled at the corners of both of her eyes.

She knew that tangent wasn't necessary, that no one would appreciate her meddling with someone else's job—or beamured her commitment to the bit so painstakingly dear, she would be paid the same yet do the double without a chance for raise under such supervision that will stomp her efforts to the ground time and time again. Her passion will burn down; first for the beast, then for the home, because the deathly crawlers of workplace resentment would like to pick up, hold up and strangle down everything dear to her, just so she will not only leave the job, but a will to live. Likely an overstatement, Imelda thought. Yet, she met embodiments of vindictiveness. She just hoped, desperately so, whoever was in charge of the crew had just been stuck wearing a pair of evertwisted knickers.

"Imelda!"

"What, I said that aloud?"

"Yes!" Poppy snorted. "Your assessment of her temper is quite on spot, however."

"Her troubles then, not yours. Arse off the chair, let's untwist yours."

Dull look of Poppy's face slowly ornamented itself with reds and pinks of her ears and cheeks. What other that bitch boss of hers took away from her well-being was quiality bedtime, tubtime, walltime.

Desktime.

Time committing to her marital vows.

Time, simply.

"I— Not now," Poppy said, and Imelda's heart dropped on the stomach as she stood up. That bitch of hers… "I'd been sitting here for hours. I'm not warming your hands. Excuse me."

"Ah. Oh. But then?" Imelda whined like she was pleading a parent to buy her sweets.

Poppy grinned, weakly, "I like it more when you tug with teeth."

[savorypink]

since we're all into the pregnant bling idea, i can't stop imagining bling with high libido wanting to fuck and al being like "but love, i don't wanna hurt the baby 😔"

is it too much to ask for a blurb? 🥺

you sway gently back and forth in the wooden rocking chair of your soon-to-be nursery, humming a lullaby to yourself. alex had painted the walls an adorable baby pink, a project you begged him to be a part of, but he insisted that you rest, though he did allow you to add the flower decals to the wall. a monkey could do that; you wish you could help with the heavy lifting. you watch as alex sits on the floor, his head flickering between the instruction manual and pieces of what will be your baby’s crib, mumbling expletives to himself.

you’d hate to rip away his focus, but he shouldn’t look this good right now. you know your husband is hot, but your hormones work hard to remind you tenfold. watching his strong arms flex as he screws a bolt into place makes you feel like a horny teenager, a hot wetness slithering in your panties. you massage your round belly as you ponder; maybe he could use a break.

“you can finish it tomorrow, al. c’mon, i wanna cuddle.”

he doesn’t look away from the manual, “it’s fine, love. i’ll be with you in a minute. promise.”

you’re glad he can’t see you roll your eyes. cuddling was a no; you’ll have to come on a little stronger.

“i want attention.”

alex sets down the screwdriver, finally turning to you and awaiting your subsequent demand, almost like a puppy. you want to give him head pats.

“c’mere,” you put on your best pouty face, holding your hand out to him.

he stands up and walks towards you, taking your hand tenderly, angling it so the diamond of your ring sparkles under the soft light of the nursery.

“i want you, al.”

alex kisses your hand, his facial hair tickling your knuckles, “i can’t. i don’t wanna hurt the baby, bling.”

he sounds as if he just let you down, your heart both melting and breaking. his carefulness with you and the baby is adorable, but you’re not as fragile as he thinks you are. you wouldn’t be asking for him if you didn’t know the risks. he fiddles with the ring on your finger, unable to look you in the eye.

“it won’t hurt her,” you chuckle. “i looked it up. she’ll be fine. promise.”

alex still doesn’t budge, afraid to tell you no again. before your heart crumbles completely, your brain hatches an idea.

“could you just…kiss it?”

any touch will do, as long as it’s from him, but something as small as a kiss could get him comfortable with pleasing your new body. alex looks confused momentarily, then kisses your ring finger before sinking to his knees.

“whatever you want.”

you pull up your nightgown, exposing the wet spot in your panties. he pulls them off you slowly, gently lifting your ankle to take you out of the lacy material, leaving it on the plush rug underneath you. when alex leans in, you feel the warm air from his nostrils against your core. you clench at the contact, another wave of wetness soaking your core. he presses a soft, small kiss on your clit, effectively sending delightful shockwaves through your core but leaving you needy.

“again.”

he does it again, this time letting his lips linger on the sensitive bud a little longer. you can still feel the warmth of his lips when he pulls away; it only makes you hungrier. you unhook the silk straps of your nightgown to allow your breasts to breathe, massaging your hard nipples with your fingertips.

“lick.”

alex grabs hold of both of your thighs before licking a long, wet stripe up your core. he does it again before you ask him, most likely catching on to your plan. he knows what to do, so he doesn’t stop, licking moist, drawn-out stripes along your core. you moan as you pinch your nipples, the bumps of his tongue working their wonders on you, bucking your hips for more contact. he applies more pressure whenever he makes his way up, your clit’s sensitivity becoming fragile, any touch capable of tipping you over the edge.

“i missed this,” he pauses between licks, a throaty groan leaving his lips. “almost forgot how good you tasted.”

you attempt to let out a laugh, only to moan again, his mouth now suckling at clit. your hips stutter between pulling away and going back for more, his needy mouth sucking at the bud relentlessly, the blocks of your orgasm beginning to tumble. your needy cunt clenches around nothing as you come, calling out his name as his mouth still moves, blissfully overwhelming.

“mm…no more, please.” you pant.

alex detaches his mouth from you, his lips shiny with your wetness. he licks away the excess slick on his lips, savoring every last drop of you on his tongue. he puts your panties in the pocket of his sweatpants, getting up to help you stand, holding out both of his hands for you. you rise slowly from the chair, pecking his lips once you’re stood up straight.

“dilf.”

alex leads you out of the nursery, his hand on the small of your back. “stop calling me that.”

[acewritesfics]

A Work of Art | Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: No

Warnings: A swear or two.

Word Count: 791

Stranger Things Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Stay still!” Y/N groans as Eddie starts to fidget once more. She was working on a project for art class and her loving metal head boyfriend offered himself to be her model. It had been a joke to begin with but Y/N convinced him to let her paint him.  

“How much longer?” He groans. 

“Not much, I promise.” She says leaning around her canvas to give him a reassuring smile. She’d been working on this painting for almost three weeks and she was finally on to the finishing touches. This painting was for a huge chunk of her final grade.  

Another 30 minutes go by and as her eyes scan her painting, she feels as though she is finally done and is extremely happy that it turned out how she imagined it would. She was confident that it was good enough to pass her grade. Getting up from behind her easel, she moves around to where Eddie is standing and hugs him in gratitude. 

“I really owe you one,” she says moving back enough to look at him. His arms are encircled around her waist as he stares lovingly into her Y/E/C eyes with his deep doe brown eyes. 

“I can think of ways you can make it up to me,” he smirks and presses his lips to hers. She smiles against his lips as she returns his kiss and pouts a little when he pulls away before it gets too heated. “And to start, m'lady, you can show me that painting.” 

“You want to see it?” She asks now a little unsure of it. Eddie was always so encouraging and supportive when it came to her artwork. Her creativity and her passion for it is one of the things that attracted him to her.  

“Of course I do!” He grins. He always loves to see her finished projects. 

“It might not be what you’re expecting,” she tells him, a tinge of red spreading across her cheeks. She pulls him over to her easel and looks down at her feet while he takes in the painting. 

She was right about it not being what he was expecting. For him it far exceeded all his expectations. Taking in the figure that was him, holding a sword and wearing a cloak, a small crown on his head as it looks as if he’s slaying some kind of monster in some sort of fire dystopia world. 

“This is fucking awesome!” He says in awe and amazement. He always knew his lady was talented but she always continues to stun him with her artwork. 

“You like it?” She asks bringing her gaze back to him, seeing him stare at the painting in awe. 

His eyes meet hers once again, his smile reaching from ear to ear. “I love it, baby. It’s truly a work of art.” 

She smiles in relief. As long as Eddie loves it, and her teacher likes it enough to pass her, that’s all that matters to her. 

“Can I keep it?” He asks he pulls her over to her bed. He kicks his shoes off and lays down leaving room for her to lay beside him. 

“You want to keep it?” She asks laying beside him, resting her head on his chest as they both looked back at the painting again. 

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to,” he says as he runs his fingers through her hair, instantly relaxing him. 

“You can have it,” she tells him, “once the teachers finished with it.” 

“Is that how you see me?” He asks her after a silence had fallen over them. 

She lifts her head and moves so she can see him and nods her head yes. 

“How and why?” He questions her. “I’m the town freak and outside of D&D, I’m not a hero.” 

“You’re not a freak, Eddie Munson. You just don’t conform to what society wants you to be. You’re different but that doesn’t mean you’re a freak,” She tells him. She hates it when he puts himself down and doesn’t see how amazing he actually is. “You’re a hero to those kids you have in Hellfire Club, you gave them a place where they feel like they can fit in to, you’ve given them something to look forward to, something they’ll never forget. And you’re also my hero. You saved me from those dingus kids in middle school who wanted to make my life a living hell.” 

“Good times,” he jokes, a small but genuine smile on his lips. 

“I love you, so fucking much, Eddie Munson,” she says returning his smile with one of her own. 

“I love you too, princess,” he says, pulling her down on top of him and into deep and passionate kiss.