#keith has anxiety

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

They’re not careless.

But they’re not careful, either.

They’ve never bothered discussing whether or not they’re trying to be discreet. It was always just the natural way they went about things. Their friends already have so much to worry about, so much to reckon with. It’s a waste of their limited time to sit them down and announce to them that they’re — what, sleeping together?

This is what Keith tells himself.

He sees the hurt in Lance’s eyes, when he flinches away from his touch. He knows it’s worse still because he is an instigator, because he is so fucking incapable of keeping his hands to himself. His palm will find the small of Lance’s back like a magnet to steel, his shoulder will soften itself so Lance can rest his head. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, half the time, doesn’t notice the way he seeks out Lance’s hand or crowds too close to him until he catches someone’s eye, watching them, and springs apart, flings Lance’s away from him like he’s been burned.

I love you.

Isn’t that reason enough?

In the morning Keith wakes up sweltering. In the back of his mind, as it always does, burns the skin-crawling feeling of being watched. There’s no one in the bedroom and he knows it, but shame runs down his spine anyway. Suddenly the blankets twisting his and Lance’s legs together are binding, and the press of their sweat-slick skin tigger is revolting, sticky. The nausea that churns lowly in his belly at all times bubbles infinitely more aggressively than usual, and Keith knows if he doesn’t extract himself immediately he’ll explode; chunks of him will hit the walls and his blood will paint the tile floor. He inches under his skin, bile coats the back of his throat, heart pounding so fast it’s a him.

A low, quiet quiet groaning noise startled the hell out of him. He looks over and Lance is shifting, sliding his arms out from under the pillow and turning slightly, so he’s facing Keith instead of the wall, hands curled into his chest and under his chin.

There’s a pillow crease steamed across his cheek, and his face is smushed by the pillow, forcing his lips to pucker.

Keith smiles.

The roaring in his head quiets somewhat. Without thinking he reaches out his hand, fingertips tracing the creased skin of Lance’s cheek so lightly he hardly touches with anything more than his callouses. His skin is warm to the touch, but not overly so.

Keith lets out a long, hard breath. His heart rate slows. He traces the pucker of Lance’s lip, feeling the curve of his cupid’s bow, noting the tiny scars from where Lance picks the skin when he’s bored or nervous.

Slowly, as if a string is pulling them together, Keith leans down. Somewhere between his pillow and Lance’s his eyes close, and the press of their lips is that much softer.

It should be gross. They both have morning breath, and minutes ago the thought of their bare skin touching made Keith want to throw up, but now the press of Lance’s chapped lips to his is addicting and calming and electrifying.

“Mmf.”

Lance stirs, groggy and half awake, but it’s — this is not the first time he’s woken to Keith’s closeness.

It takes him a few seconds to boot up, for his brain to catch up with the way his hands are already sliding up the back of Keith’s neck, tangling in his hair. Keith knows he’s awake when he feels the flutter of Lance’s absurdly long eyelashes against his cheekbones, when his mouth stretches into a grin too wide to kiss properly.

“Hi,” he mumbles happily. He keeps one hand on the base of Keith’s skull, letting the other one slide coyly down the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his chest, the line of hair under his navel, resting cheekily on the top of his waistband. Every brush of his fingers washes away the burn shame still lingering. “You’re touchy this morning.”

Keith hums. He presses his lips to the corner of Lance’s mouth, to his cheek, to his jaw, down his neck. His stubble must be too light on Lance’s skin because he laughs, airy, smacking his palm on Keith’s scapula. Keith snickers, rubbing his cheek harder along his neck just to make him shriek, revelling in the way Lance wraps his legs around his hips to try and flip him but can’t, the way he shoves and pinches but lets up the second Keith starts to suck a bruise on his collarbone.

He’s so easy.

“Keith,” Lance whines, but it’s breathy and Keith wants to swallow to sound. “Keith, we’re disgusting. Your breath stinks and if I don’t shower I’m going to hurt somebody. Probably you. Do you want me to hurt you?”

Keith reaches up, pressing Lance’s fingers deeper into the flesh of his shoulder, and lets his silence speak for him.

Lance snorts, and Keith knows he has him because he melts visibly. “You dog.”

The hand in Keith’s hair starts to move, combing through the tangled strands, scratching gently at his scalp. Keith doesn’t let up, but he softens in kind, letting his lips on Lance’s skin morph into something softer, more chaste.

“We can screw in the shower?” he offers, voice hopeful. “That’s a good compromise.”

It is a good compromise, but Keith is feeling bold (i love you isn’t that reason enough it’s physical you have ruined everyone you ever loved it’s physical it’s physical it’s physical), so he sets out to guarantee Lance will bend.

He pulls away from Lance’s neck, just slightly, and looks up from under his lashes, widening his eyes just so.

And watched with great pleasure as Lance crumbles.

He shoves Keith’s face away, red-cheeked and huffy, throwing off the covers and stomping to the ensuite. He grumbles all the way there, much of it too low for Keith to hear but much more of it loud and pointed and intentional (Keith knows what zorra means, thanks.)

“I want to actually shower,” Lance says sternly, water droplets flicking off his wagging finger and landing on Keith’s nose.

Keith nods sagely. “We will.”

“In decent time, Akira.”

“Of course.”

“I have stuff to do today.”

“Me too.”

“Minimal shenanigans.”

“Minute.”

The shower lasts well over an hour.

“Wipe the smirk off your face,” Lance demands, but his lips are twitching, too,

Keith grabs him by the waist and dips him, laughing, kissing him soundly and wholly and he wonders what the fuck is his problem. He wonders why he has to be so goddamn resistant to things, why he works himself up so bad, why any of that shit matters. Why can’t he have this? Why can’t he have — one good thing, the one; why can’t he have Lance’s gun-calloused palms on his cheeks and smile pressed to his and deep dark brown eyes warm and pretty and happy and pointed at him? Why can’t he have that? Why can’t things be good and simple, why can’t this be something he can fall into?

I love you.

Isn’t that reason enough?

He’s not careless. He can’t afford to be.

But he’s — loosened. His guard is down. They get dressed and ready for the day and Keith follows Lance out their door and he’s laughing, and his hand is curled around the curve of his waist, and they smell of the same shampoo.

“Does it amuse you to make me late for things, you jackass — oh! Hunk!”

Keith inhales sharp and short. He yanks his hand away like it hurts to keep it there for a second longer, stumbling backwards.

“Hey, guys.”

Something tight and painful coils in his stomach, and his blood turns to lead. Hunk’s expression is carefully, carefully pleasant; soft, even, as he returns Lance’s hug and greeting.

But the pinprick at the back of his neck is back. The shame, hot, crawls down his spine, blooms heavy in the hollow of his chest.

“I’m gonna go — train,” he chokes out, hyperaware of the bruise on Lance’s neck, of the cobweb in the corner of his room, the braid in Keith’s hair; hyperaware of Hunk’s eye on them.

“Aw,” Lance pouts. “You sure?”

Keith can’t manage a verbal response. His throat has closed, aching, dry, desolate. He barely manages a nod.

“We’ll see you at dinner?” Hunk asks, only there’s no request in his voice, and Keith doesn’t miss how his body has curved, slightly; just barely nudging Lance behind him, as if he is to be protected, as if he is to be protected from Keith.

I love you.

You have ruined everything you have ever loved.

Isn’t that reason enough?

Physical, physical, physical.

Keith turns and flees.

[owen-not-carvour]

pete spankoffski is to scrags as max jagerman is to keith swanson

[fanvoidkeith]

i don't care what y'all are gonna say, i'm gonna kill (corrupted) nightmare sans. he offended me personally by giving me bad dreams, and instead of blaming my brain for being an asshole, i'm blaming him. come and fight me, bitch, i have a spike bat with your name on it >:(

[aro-paladin-pidge]

I feel like most of my problems with the characters of Lance and Hunk is that Lance got a lot of a little, and Hunk got a little of a lot.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 16

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 16

Word Count: 4260

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: The angst arrives in full force! How about that!? Come on, you had to be expecting that! Also, I'm thinking about two chapters left (well, one and the epilogue), so we're almost at the end! PS: This song fits the chapter like a glove! *chef's kiss*

|Masterlist| | |Chapter 15| | |Chapter 17|

The night is almost over. Just a few more dances before the guests send the newlyweds off to their honeymoon, and then you and Law can escape back into the safety of your room. Just one hour, tops. What could go wrong in an hour?

Even more so now that you’ve finally confessed the three words that have been bothering you for a while. And they were reciprocated.

You’re adamant about not letting go of Law’s hand for the rest of the night. A feeling of dread still coils in the pit of your stomach, and you don’t know exactly why, but you’re not about to let fate play a prank on you.

Except, fate’s got nothing on Donquixote Doflamingo. 

“Nephew, I need you. It’s urgent.” Law groans, his hand tightening around yours, since this is clearly Doffy's last opportunity to feed some lie to Law and try to break you two apart. You’re honestly tired of it all. 

“Tomorrow, Uncle. I’m tired.”

“Now.” Doflamingo’s tone leaves no room for discussion, and Law clenches his jaw. Underneath it all, Law still respects his uncle. You’re not quite sure why he still respects the man, he’s despicable, but you suspect it’s because he instilled in Law a deep-seated sense of family ties and loyalty. And Law won’t break free of his morals. 

“Go. I have to freshen up anyway.” You whisper with a smile. You’ve confessed. He knows how you feel. Nothing will come between the two of you. 

Law smiles at you, and with a last squeeze of your hand, he lets you go. 

-*-

You purposefully take a while longer in the bathroom, fixing your makeup, your hair, and your dress. Unnecessary moves, really, since you’re about to leave to go to bed soon, and you’re actually craving that massage Law mentioned earlier. 

That and… well, you’re craving Law. Period.

You exit the bathroom with a silly smile still plastered on your lips and almost bump into a chest. “Oh, forgive me, I–... Ichiji.” 

Obviously.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He begins.

“Cut the crap.” You don’t even let him say anything else, already pushing past him to return to the reception tent, but he halts you, a hand on your upper arm, and you seethe. “What did I tell you about touching me?”

He lets go of you immediately, taking a step back and sighing while passing a hand over his coiffed hair. “Right, sorry.”

Sorry? 

You look behind you and around, trying to notice if something feels out of place. You might have entered a portal to some sort of alternate universe when you were in the bathroom because there’s no way in hell Ichiji would ever apologise to you.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Doll. For… well…” He sighs again, steps forward, and then back again. “For cheating, for treating you like crap, for taking you for granted… I… well, I know now it’s too late, but seeing you happy with someone else made me realise what I lost and how I was the only one to blame.”

No, seriously, there has to have been a portal back there. Something, anything. This is not happening. 

Your heart constricts in your chest. You lost count of how many times you dreamed about Ichiji asking for your forgiveness, to truly repent for what he put you through. But it happening here, in a place you'd never thought you'd meet him, and completely out of the blue? 

What's his game? 

“I don't think you need my forgiveness to move on. I know I don't need your apologies.” A heavy sigh parts your lips. “Not when you're delivering them far too late.”

You make another motion to pass through him, but he moves in front of you and whispers your name in a desperate plea. “I do need your forgiveness. I need closure.” 

What? You cock your eyebrow, your lips twisting down in a frown. “After all you've put me through for–...” You wave your hands in the air. “I’m not even going to count the years we spent together. Just today is enough! After all the theatrics and the taunting, you expect me to believe you just want closure?”

The way he slumps his shoulders and downcasts his eyes reminds you of the first times you argued, back in the beginning of the relationship, when you actually believed his apologies, and your heart constricts some more at all the memories. 

“Yes, Doll. Just closure. I'm about to leave the party, and I know we won't meet again, unless it's by chance, and I don't want us to part on bad terms.” He takes a tentative step your way. “Just say you'll forgive me, please.”

You want him out of your sight, out of your mind, and completely out of your heart. You know you don't love him anymore, but you still hold memories and feelings of nostalgia, and when he's looking at you with puppy-dog eyes, you can't help but soften up a little bit. He does seem sorry. 

“Fine, Ichiji, fine. We can part ways on lighter terms. I don't completely forgive you for what you took from me or for how you made me feel, but I won't resent you for it anymore.”

He actually smiles at you. Not that conceited, smug smirk, but a genuine smile. 

“That's all I ask for, Doll.”

“Good. Goodbye.”

“Wait, please.” Is that pain in his voice? Is he really sorry and repentant for everything? You don’t say anything, but you don’t move either, just waiting for what he wants to say. “Can I get one last hug?”

The face you make must have been something special to look at because he grimaces and chuckles softly, his hand passing through his hair again. 

“A harmless hug? Please? It’s just for–...”

“Closure, right?” Should you? He’s actually sounding human for once in all the time you’ve known him, and he does seem sorry. It’s just a hug goodbye. What harm can it bring? “Fine. Make it quick.”

With a sigh, you let him bend down to envelop you in his arms, but then you actually smile. You don’t feel anything. No rage, no pain, no hurt, no longing… it’s just a void. You know there used to be something there, but now you’re free.

It’s a wonderful feeling, actually. 

Until Ichiji’s hands cup your face, and he tilts your head to the side, doing the same to his and leaning in further, his lips inches away from yours. His taller frame engulfs you, and the lights are very dim near the bathroom. It almost looks as if you’re sharing a kiss. 

“Wha–...”

“I still win, Doll.”

A cold shiver runs down your spine as he shows you the same smug smile he always did, his canines almost glistening with glee. You’re frozen in place. What does he mean? 

And then he parts, leaving you open-mouthed, chest heaving, and cheeks flushed from trying to grasp what is going on. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust to two figures looming at the entrance of the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. 

Doflamingo and… oh, no.

“Law?”

Doffy is bent down, one arm around Law’s shoulders, his lips moving fast as he mouths words into Law’s ears. You can almost bet he’s spewing lies and deceptions about you, twisting everything to make Law doubt you. You know he has trouble trusting people, it would be so easy to make him doubt.

But what breaks you is Law’s expression. His usually stoic face bears the signs of hurt, and he’s clenching his fists by his sides, jaw ticking, trying to contain his emotions and failing at it. 

“Law!” You try again, taking a step forward and see Doffy still speaking into Law’s ear. Lies, all lies, for sure. Law’s gaze falls on Ichiji and then back at you, and you realise that this was orchestrated. It has to have been orchestrated. 

Ichiji holding you as if he were kissing you, Doffy bringing Law by the bathroom? It was their ultimate move.

“It’s not what you think, Law.” You take another step forward, and you can almost hear the shards of Law’s flimsy trust being broken and shattered into pieces. 

He shakes his head and takes a step back, hand flying over his head to tousle his hair. “I… I need some air.” Turning on his heel, he leaves you in a hurry, and you stifle a sob. 

No, no, no.

You need to reach him, to speak with him and let him know what happened. That nothing actually happened! He can’t possibly think you would betray him like this. Turning your wobbly steps into strides, you try to follow Law’s retreating figure into the crowd, despair tugging at your insides, tears already threatening to fall.

And then you’re stopped by a strong hand on your arm. “Where do you think you’re going, princesa?” 

An actual growl leaves your lips. “Let go, Doflamingo. I need to speak with Law.” Your tug does nothing to loosen his grip, and you seethe. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He tuts, his fiery eyes boring deep into yours. “You won’t speak to my nephew. Not now, nor ever again. You’ll leave him alone to live his life and disappear.”

Shaking your head, you try again, but his grip is too strong. “He needs to listen to me! He’s going to be heartbroken. It’s not what he thinks.”

“He’ll be fine. He has a family that loves him.” Doffy’s words sound melodic, but the melody is one of doom, not hope. 

“Only Cora loves him, clearly.” Your scoff comes accompanied by stubborn tears you’re trying to keep enclosed. “All I’ve ever wanted from Law was love, all I have to give to him is love. Why do you want to take that away? Do you hate him that much?”

Doflamingo straightens his shoulders, and now he seems impossibly high. “On the contrary, cariño. I love him dearly. And it’s because I love him that I need him to learn this lesson. I thought he had already learned it the hard way, but he didn’t. Romantic love only brings weakness. It doesn’t do him any kindness, and he needs to let that go. He needs to be strong and in control, not a fool in love.”

Finally, your harsh tug makes him release you, but his imposing figure is still blocking the way. You stamp your feet, much like a small child, and grit your teeth, anger making your eyes blaze red. “You think that makes him stronger? Is that why you push the people that love him away?”

He shakes his head, those annoying tuts leaving his lips as he gives you a condescending look. “Not at all. Only those that do not.”

“Then you are a damned fool.” He growls at your disrespect, and you couldn’t care less. He lost any small ounce of respect you might’ve still held for him when he pulled this stunt. “Because if you hadn’t interfered, I would still be by Law’s side, and I love him!”

Doffy’s laugh comes in small waves, his eyes shining with amusement as he sizes you up with his fiery gaze. “An admirable sentiment, mi querida, though I doubt it to be true.” You open your mouth, ready to be disrespectful again, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an all-too-familiar device: your tablet. 

With a flick of his finger, he opens it to the spreadsheet you now know by heart: all of Law’s likes and dislikes, every useful thing for your fake relationship, every piece of information you and Law gathered to make sure you were prepared for this event. 

You can’t help the stutter that leaves your lips, nor the red flushing your cheeks. “Law… he.. Law knew about that.” Why does your voice sound so small? Is it because you were caught?

“I’m sure.” His demeanour contradicts his words. And then he hands you the tablet, a frown finally overtaking his mocking smile, and you almost shrink at how his aura suddenly feels very threatening. “You’re done here. You will never speak to my nephew again.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Doflamingo can’t win this, not after what you and Law went through. Not after realising he’s the love of your life. 

“You can’t do that.” Your voice comes out as a mere trembling whisper. “You can’t pull strings and control Law’s life as if he’s a puppet and you’re his puppeteer! He has a say in his own life!” You try to take a step forward, but he doesn’t budge. “I’ll tell him what happened, and he’ll realise I never meant to hurt him. Just let me through!”

“You’re done.”

“Law has a right to make his own choices. You don’t own him!” The pesky tears start to stain your cheeks, you feel impotent and useless. 

“Not choices that will end up destroying him.”

“The ones you are making for him might do just that.” Your voice finally breaks, and a ragged sob leaves your lips with the weight and the helplessness of it all. “He is not your pawn! You can’t manipulate him like this! Please… please! Let me speak to him! You’ll truly destroy him with this…”

Law placed his trust in you. After what he’s been through with Monet, you know it must not have been easy to let himself love and be loved. And Doflamingo manipulated you both to an extent that will come with dire consequences. Law will be broken, and so will you.

“I will face whatever consequences come from my actions with Law. He might be hurt for a while, but he will emerge stronger. He has done it once.”

“But at what cost?” You whisper, too drained to fight back. With a shaky inhale, you straighten your shoulders as your hands grip the tablet for some sort of grounding. “I’ll speak to him later, then. You can’t keep us apart. You will not ruin what we have.”

Pushing past him, you take one full step before Doflamingo’s words freeze you in place. 

“I would rethink that if I were you, querida.” Something in his voice halts your breathing as you look over your shoulder and find him grinning. “Your father is still recovering from surgery, right? Some businesses collapse pretty quickly when something like this happens… no one would look twice.”

What?

“Is that a threat?” Doffy certainly has the power to ruin your father’s horse business. 

Waving his hands in the air in a dismissive manner, his smirk returns to his lips, more menacing this time. “Oh no, no. I don’t make threats… they’re too amateurish.” His laugh fills your ears, and the same shiver as before courses through your veins. “It’s more of a prediction.”

Gathering strength and bravado you do not have, you square your shoulders and lift your chin. “My father is strong, and he has my help. We’ll manage.” Turning your face forward, you will your feet to move again.

“How brave. So what about Law’s clinic?” Your breath stops so suddenly that you almost think you have a collapsed lung. He can’t be serious. “I won’t be cryptic, cariño, here’s the deal: if you speak to Law again, I’ll make sure his clinic tanks. And you know how much he loves that little place, with his friends and helping people.” He tsks and waves his hand dismissively. “I would much rather he dedicated himself to the company, so perhaps you would be doing me a favour. Law, on the other hand? Now that would devastate him.”

“Please, don’t…” You don’t know what else to do. Doflamingo is too powerful, too influential. He will destroy Law either way and claim to be helping him while doing it. You feel trapped, what can you do? “Please don’t do that to him.”

“I don’t want to. I do love him. But that depends on you.” Doflamingo sets one hand on your shoulder to turn you back to face him. “There’s a car waiting for you outside with all your belongings. You will leave the party immediately with Ichiji, as it will help sell the ruse.” 

Your legs start to wobble as breath begins to catch in your throat again. Powerless. Completely stripped of any will. That’s how you’re feeling. 

“You will not speak with Law today, nor ever. Not even when you both go back to your boring little lives. He’ll think you abandoned him, which suits me, really. No one needs a gold digger.”

“I’m not–...”

“I don’t care!” Doflamingo leans in, and his breath fans your face. He’s as angry as you’ve ever seen anyone, and you can almost see the veins pulsating dangerously in his neck. “You’re a distraction and a liability. Law doesn’t need any of that.”

“Everybody needs love…” Is this your last hail Mary? Because it’s not a very strong one.

“Not the Donquixote family.” He steps back and motions Ichiji forward. “Leave. Don’t speak to Law. It’s simple, I’m sure you can follow that, princesa.” He chuckles again while fixing his tie and suit. “Or else…” 

The words he leaves unsaid are a weight on your soul. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can barely exist. All you know is that Law is somewhere, hurting, thinking you betrayed his trust.

And the fact that you will leave without any explanation will only cement that feeling. 

You thought you’d been heartbroken before - exhibit A is currently walking by your side, leading you away from the party with a hand on your back that you’re too tired to swat away - but you’ve never been hurt like this.

This pain is visceral. It burns, it blisters, it festers, and it destroys. 

You’re not actually sure you’ll ever recover from this. 

-*-

Law was taken away from you by Doflamingo yet again, and as his uncle drones on about business and about the imminent merger, all Law can think about is you in his arms and the peace you bring him.

“Are you listening to me, Law?”

“No, Uncle, I’m not. It’s late, and I’m tired.” He yawns for effect and shrugs. “I’m going to bed.” But before he can retreat, Doflamingo sighs and slings his hand over Law’s shoulder.

“Fine, Law. But first, I’ve made some assumptions during this weekend, and I need you to tell me if I’m right or wrong.” Law sighs and nods. Agreeing with Doffy is the fastest way to get rid of him. He starts leading Law back into the party, and Law follows without giving it much thought. 

“I know you and the little princesa were not a couple before this weekend. I’m actually doubting that you are a couple at this moment… and my assumption is: you told her you didn’t want to come to my daughter’s wedding without a date because I tend to introduce you to a lot of respectable young ladies you don’t relate to. So, to avoid that, she offered to come as your date. Am I right?”

Law already knew Doffy had discovered that bit of your ruse, so he doesn’t act surprised, he acts resigned. 

“Almost. I was the one who asked her.” Law grins. “The ladies you introduce me to are not respectable. Half of the ones I met proposed to do very salacious things to me in very public places.”

Doffy grins back at him, and Law sighs while shaking his head. 

“You got that half-right, Doffy. Are you happy?”

“Not in the least. You see, Law, what I think is that the young lady realised the family you belonged to and decided to take advantage of that fact by seducing you. Is that a correct assumption?”

“Frankly, Uncle, I’m growing tired of that subject. We have already proved to you that we care about each other deeply. And even if we didn’t, we don’t have to prove anything to you anymore. This is my choice, and you will not interfere in it.”

Doffy tilts his head and nods, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as he leads Law to the bathroom. 

“Fair enough. But… Nephew… do you truly believe she cares that much about you? Do you think she loves you?” A small chuckle escapes his lips. “I thought you were done with being naive…”

Law grits his teeth while his heart clenches in his chest. Doflamingo’s words always have a way of penetrating his skull and making him doubt everything. “She loves me. I know that.” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but then again, Doffy had no reason to attack him. 

“I hope, for your sake, that you are right.” Doffy brings one hand to his chest and bows his head slightly. “I would hate to see you blindsided. Again.” His emphasis on the word ‘again’ brings hurtful memories of Monet back to Law’s mind, and he grunts. 

“We’re fine, Doffy. Thank you for your concern.” Law is about to turn and leave, but Doffy holds him by the shoulder and directs his gaze towards the dimly lit hallway of the bathroom. 

“Oh… would you look at that, then…”

Law instantly freezes, his brain showing him tricks. It has to be tricks. There’s no way that’s you wrapped in Ichiji’s arms. Law can only see the back of Ichiji’s hulking frame, but that’s your dress he sees peeking from the side, those are your hands holding his waist.

And now he’s cupping your cheeks, leaning… no.

A kiss?

Law shakes his head, denial, frustration, and… betrayal. That’s the word echoing in his head incessantly. Where once were your ‘I love you’s’ now stood that shadow of a word. Betrayal, betrayal, betrayal…

“You see, Law,” Doffy leans against Law’s ear, his venomous tongue spewing hurtful words. Words that ring true, too close to Law’s heart. Too at home with his pain. “She’s no different from Monet, really… they both traded you, broke your trust.”

Law’s throat is dry, and he feels little sweat beads trickling down his sideburns. The nails digging into the flesh of his hand cut little crescent indents, trying to ground him, trying to pull him back from the pitfall of despair he’s about to be sucked into. 

“Love hurts, Nephew. Love tears and destroys. You can only trust your family or you should trust only yourself.”

Doffy keeps talking, but Ichiji breaks from you, and there’s a mix of confusion and distress on your face as your eyes meet Law’s. And then there’s panic as you whisper his name.

This can’t be happening. You wouldn’t do this to him. Not you.

“Law!” 

Your plea is clear, but he can’t think straight. It’s too much, it’s too painful. 

“Don't believe her lies, Law. You know what you saw.” Doffy murmurs. 

“I… I need some air.” Law’s voice comes out as a mere whisper as he turns and disappears. The air suddenly feels rare, his chest too tight. 

There’s not enough room in the world to harbour the size of this betrayal. It’s too much. 

-*-

The coolness of the outside air does nothing to soothe him. It still feels stifling, and the control is slipping away from his fingers. Running his hand through his hair in a desperate gesture only brings him more heartache. 

Why?

Law keeps thinking about your pain and grief when you spoke about Ichiji. How could you return to the man who hurt you so? 

Maybe you didn’t.

No. Law knows what he saw. You were in Ichiji’s arms.

But he didn’t see a kiss.

There was no mistaking it. He held your face and–... and what? Could he have forced you? Were you held against your will? Law tries hard to unscramble his jumbled memories, but the pain in his chest is so heavy that he barely knows where to start.

He didn’t see a kiss. Of that, he’s certain. Could he be overthinking it? What if it was nothing, or if he forced you? And instead of helping you or hearing your words, Law panicked? Hadn’t he promised you not to listen to Doffy’s words? 

Yet that was exactly what he did. 

Fuck.

Did he get this all wrong? Law sighs and inhales deeply three times, trying to calm his ragged breaths and his uneven heart. He knows you. You wouldn’t do that to him, let alone with a man who hurt you so deeply.

There has to be an explanation for what happened, and he’s ready to listen to it.

Turning around, Law returns to the party, hoping you’re still somewhere near so he can speak with you and listen to what you have to say, to what really happened, to the truth.

He’s expecting to find you frantically looking for him, and his heart is already constricting from the anxiety you must be feeling. He should’ve just stayed a while longer. You would have explained, and neither he nor you would have had to panic. 

But what he wasn’t expecting was to see you leaving the party. He wasn’t expecting to see Ichiji’s hand resting against your lower back, silently guiding you through the remaining guests. He wasn’t expecting to see you walking out with him.

Willingly. 

So it was the truth.

Law’s heart breaks completely, the full extent of your betrayal settling in, expanding, and commandeering all of his love for you. Doflamingo was right. It pains him to admit this, but he was.

You’re a liar, and Law was foolish enough to trust you.

Tag List:@rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @rainbow2312 @alexturnersgirl

|Chapter 17|

[jumbojazzcats93]

Should've been a Cowboy - Soap

Summary - Cowboy Johnny has a penchant for keeping a woman on her toes.

Tags/Warnings - Should've been a Cowboy by Toby Keith, MDNI 18+, smut, cussing, drinking, biting, anxiety, religious values, old fashioned mindsets, part 1 of ????

@glossysoap @lordlydragon @grizzersmamma @ivymarquis @gremlingottoosilly @quietlyignoringyou @violet-phantoms @ghastlybirdie Banners by @/saradika-graphics

A woman living alone in the prairie was a risk. Bandits or crude cowboys could come along whenever they wanted and wreak havoc on your little homestead. By the grace of God, it never happened, but the threat was always there.

Your livestock guardian dogs would alert if any uninvited guests appeared, but the nights were always relatively uneventful. Stray coyotes came to test the worth of your dogs, but you'd never been given instance to doubt their abilities. It's why you jumped sky high, 2 steps out onto your front porch when you went out for your morning chores on the farm. A large body laid limp in your rocking chair; boots still on and hat drawn down over his eyes. Your 2, apparently worthless, dogs were laying next to the man's feet, sheepishly wagging at the sight of you.

You snatched the towel from your belt and began whipping at him with it. "Johnny MacTavish! How dare you sleep on my porch!" Johnny flings himself from the chair, stumbling to the ground. Your towel finds him over and over, "Stop, Lass! Please, I'm sorry!" His hand finally grabs a hold of the towel, "I didn't wanna wake ya up last night!" You stare at him on the ground as you both held tightly onto the towel... before releasing it and letting him fall back. Hands on your hips, you looked down at him, "You scared me!" He slowly sat up with a sheepish smile and you sighed, fighting against your own smile with pursed lips. "Come on inside and get cleaned up, then." Snatching your towel back from him and turning to the door, you glanced back at him still sprawled on your porch as you headed back inside.

One bath later and you're cleaning up your kitchen while Johnny's sat at your dining table scarfing down the fresh breakfast you'd made him. You'd zoned out; staring out the window at the extra horse that now grazed in your pasture. "I missed you, dearie." Warm breath whispered against your neck, jolting you out of your daze. His strong arms slid around your waist in a soothing effort. "It's been so long... what were you doing?", you questioned. Johnny squeezes his arms and presses his face into the crook of your neck, "Well... I won't taint your lovely mind with such gritty tales." You hummed absently. "Dont fret, bonnie girl... You know I always come back."

That he did... but he would never stay long.

Coming into the parlour room at the end of the day felt odd. Seeing Johnny fast asleep in one of your arm chairs makes you wonder, again, what he had been doing all this time. Normally, he'd never be away longer than a month, but this time you'd been alone for almost 8 months. At first, you'd wait on the porch some nights. By the end of the second month, some nights became every night, and by the end of the fourth month you'd given up on the idea of him coming back. You're not really sure if the things he did were legal, if he had other women. He never went into detail about his exploits, but you always knew it was safer not knowing.

You sit on the arm chair opposite to him with a cup of strong cider. A new and nasty little habit you'd had to hide from the other ladies in your congregation when they came to visit. They'd been wanting so badly for you to marry and had no idea why you'd been so disinterested in all the suitors that had come from town. Your eyes focuse in on Johnny. Watching him sleep put you at ease for the time being. He never wanted anything from you, but that was half the problem. Other men saw something material to gain when they approached you. Your farm and all your property were a great asset after all. Johnny was straightforward. He wanted nothing, but your attention when he was here.

When was the key word. People in town would be scandalized to know of his irregular presence in your home.

Before you knew it your cup was dry. Sighing and briefly clenching the cup in your hands, you stood from your seat. "Johnny...", you called out gently to his sleeping mass. He made no move to wake as you slowly approached. The firelight lit his tan skin in such a complementary way that you let out an appreciative sigh. Shirt slightly unbuttoned, legs spread wide, his body slumped into the chair with his head lolled to the side. "Johnny.", you called louder. A lack of response made you come closer until you stood between his legs. Reaching out, you ran a hand up his chest to his neck where you brushed your thumb across his cheek. His head shifted to rest against your hand and he peeked one eye open. "Coming onto a man while he sleeps is rather uncouth now, dearie." An uncontrollable smile broke out on your face in response.

His hand grabbed yours and slid it to his lips for a kiss while his other hand grabbed the waistline of your skirt to pull you closer. Tired eyes held yours as another kiss was placed against your palm. Your knee rested on the cushion between his thighs; a deep inhale and his eyes fluttering shut were the only indication he had felt your knee pressing against the crotch of his pants. "Come to bed?", you whispered. After a pregnant pause, he dramatically slumps back into the seat, "Carry me." You scoff a laugh and pull yourself free from him. He grabs at you like a phantom. You're just barely out of his immediate reach.

"If you're not upstairs by the time I'm out of my day wear, you'll be locked out for the night." An empty threat that you know he knows, but he gives a dramatic start anyways. "You wouldn't dare.", he counters dramatically. You back up slowly as he rises, both of you wearing playful grins. By the time he's chasing you up the steps, the brightness of his smile has left your relentless worries in the shadows.

The boards of the second floor groan under your hurried and careless steps. Johnny has you cornered in the upstairs hallway within seconds. His eyes are alight with something wild and his canines glint in the candle light as he grins from ear to ear. Your heart is hammering in excitement within your chest. You reach out a hand to touch his chest as he draws nearer. Your fingers brush against his exposed skin as your back thumps against the wall. Eyes meet and he looks feral. You can only imagine what you look like to him with your skin flushed from drink, hair sitting loose after your playful chase. His eyes shift to your hair as he reaches for a loose lock and gently twirls it around his finger, murmuring, "You should know better than to play games with me when I've been away for so long, lass." Johnny slides his finger down your throat, following it with his gaze. You lick your lips and his eyes lock onto the movement.

"You've been rather cold to me all day." He muses and looks up to meet your eyes. "I did miss you.", he reaffirms.

It's almost jarring to be reminded of your unease and uncertainty in this state. The questions about where he'd been and who he'd been with. Were there other women like you? Did he really think of you when he was gone? Why had he been away so long this time?

A warm hand runs firmly from the top of your breast up to your neck until two hands are tilting your head up and your eyes are focusing back in on Johnny. "Don't think about it so much."

"I thought you'd gone home to Scotland... and I'd never see you again."

Your words are quiet. He sighs deep with his thumb brushing your cheek affectionatly as he leans in and kisses you. It's avoidant of him, but it's nothing new... so you let it go. Give in to him knowing it'll just drive him away if you don't.

You let him pick you up and carry you into your bedroom. As he lays you down on your bed, your skirt slides up your legs drawing his attention. Johnny falls to his knees in front of you; taking your leg and throwing it over his shoulder, he laves wet kisses along your inner thigh. Upon reaching the softest part, he bites down making you gasp out. The bite is hard enough to know that the mark left behind will bruise before the night is over. Johnny pulls your underwear down and your heart races. It's another thing the ladies of your congregation would be scandalized by; premarital sex. It was even worse that you had no defined relationship with Johnny. You'd been personally, religiously, and if anyone found out, socially ruined for any other man.

Your arm flew up to cover your face and Johnny chuckled at your embarrassment. His fingers graze your cunt before slowly pressing in. Your face pressing deeper into your arm. It wasn't like you'd never laid with Johnny before, but 8 months was a long time and you'd forgotten the intensity of it all. Suddenly, his fingers are pulling out of you and his tongue licks a fat stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit causing you to jolt forward a bit and squeal. "Eeeaasy, lass." Johnny shushes you as he stands up, undoing his jeans. You watch wide eyed as he pulls his cock out. He reaches out, dragging his fingers along your slit to collect your juices and uses it to wet his cock. "Take a deep breath for me, dearie." A smirk creeps onto his face, "I'm sure you've been waiting for me like a proper little lady."

The feeling when he slides his cock into you is electrifying and it has you letting out a soft, shakey moan. He starts with shallow, gentle thrusts. Taking your legs and wrapping them around his hips, he props one knee on the bed. His hands slide up your thighs until he's gripping your hips. When you look back up at his face, he's watching you. The way you look at him must spark something because he suddenly grabs your thighs and presses them right up to your chest. While it's something he's done before, it's been so long that the sensation is just too overwhelming. You moan loudly, struggling in his hold a bit as he starts to lose that gracious bit of gentleness he'd afforded you. His thrusts are an even pace, but their hard; striking your gspot everytime. In this position you know you won't last very long. You're clenching tightly on his cock, an absolute moaning mess as he fucks you.

Johnny lets go of your thighs and leans forward onto his hands. Still thrusting into you, he reaches one hand to your face, brushing his thumb over your lips. You moan and he slides his fingers into your mouth. The ones previously inside your cunt. You're holding his stare while you suck on his fingers. His mouth hangs open, panting and his shaggy Mohawk sticks to his forehead with sweat. In a defiant move you bite down. Not enough to hurt, but enough to elicit a reaction. His hips buck erratically when you do causing you to moan his name and let his fingers go. His hand is instantly on your jaw forcing you to look at him. "What a brave little lass you are, biting me." His chuckle and aggressive tone strike through your body and make your pussy clench. "Ahh... yeah, love, I knew you liked it a little rough." He reaches his free hand down as he speaks and slaps your clit. "Just took a little while for you to show it."

Your orgasm is building up the more he teases you, all you can do is nod and moan eagerly in agreement, praying he doesn't stop. You grab onto his forearms and look down to watch his cock as he fucks it into you. The way your body reacts must be so familiar to him at this point because he slows down and grinds into you, still playing with your clit as he feels you reach the start of your orgasm. Your pussy spasms wildly as you cum. Your head falls back and your stomach clenches while your loud moans fill the house. Johnny's groaning is drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears as you relax. He's fucking you through your orgasm to desperately reach his own and it doesn't take long. With a whispered, "Fuck." His thrusts become frantic, his panting gets louder until he quickly pulls out and grabs your hand; guiding you to jerk him off. His hand squeezes and guides yours until he's cumming all over your stomach and cunt with a loud moan. His hips buck involuntarily as he overstimulates himself.

Your gentle puffs mix with his heavy pants. You watch his body jolt as you let go of his cock and use your clean hand to reach out to his face. Your hand slides from his cheek to the back of his neck. He's leaning down before you even have to pull him. Leaning up and meeting him in the middle, you share a final heated kiss.

[mystic-writings]

closing time | robin buckley

PAIRING — robin buckley x fem!reader

SUMMARY — robin has a crush on you. what happens when you're locked in keith's office after the store closes?

WARNINGS — fluff, banter, love confessions, mentions of panic/anxiety & season three

WORD COUNT — 2,353

NOTES — something short and sweet for my beloved robin!! i hope y'all enjoy and don't forget to leave feedback please! also, this was very loosely inspired by sparks fly by taylor swift

masterlist | navigation

Robin Buckley was utterly, helplessly, in love. 

There was no denying it anymore; Robin was completely in love with you. She would light up every time you walked into class; her heart stopped every time you smiled at her, and spluttered back to life when you’d say her name. Her mind ran away from her every time you shared a shift at the video store, full of daydreams of what you and her would even do if you dated, only to be shut down by the brutal fear of rejection. 

 But you didn’t know that.

As far as Robin Buckley was aware, you only thought of her as your anxious, rambling friend who, more often than not, spent her shifts making fun of your co-worker Steve and his almost inexplicable lack of game. 

Most of the time that she was around you, Robin was forced to ‘act normal’, as if she’d ever done that before. It usually resulted in useless rambles about something weird she’d read about, like gingivitis or how most of the backdrop scenes from Star Wars were actually just still paintings. But you usually seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, and that took some of the uncomfortable anxiety away. And sometimes, you’d even laugh. A genuine one, too, and it would make Robin’s day.

Tonight was a lot like that. It was Friday, and the typical customer buzz around the store was enough to keep you, Robin, and Steve occupied for a while. But by 9pm, the clientele died out, and the three of you were behind the counter playing a round of Crazy 8s. 

“Hah!” Robin said, slamming her palm to the pile of cards. She pulled it back to reveal an 8 of clubs, a proud smile on her face. “Suck it, Steve! Last card,” she huffed, leaning on the counter as you and Steve stared expectantly at her. “Oh, right. And it’s hearts now.”

Steve huffed, glancing at his cards before taking one from the pick-up pile. “Dick move, Buckley.”

“Dick face, Harrington.”

“What does that even mean?” You asked, looking at yours before placing a 3 on the pile. 

Robin just shrugged, her lips forming a smirk as she placed her final card down. “I win!” 

“Alright, I’m out,” Steve huffed, tossing his cards on the pile. You couldn’t help the overwhelming amount of clubs he had, causing you to stifle a giggle. “See you losers tomorrow.” 

“Good luck with that, Steve, ‘cause I won’t be here.” You mentioned, scooping the cards into your hands. “Mom’s taking me to Indianapolis for some family thing. Had to cancel my morning shift, which means…” 

Steve, who had been retrieving his jacket and car keys from under the counter, turned back with what you could only describe as a look of horror painted on his face. “No,” 

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’.

“No! You can’t do this to me, Y/n!” 

“I already did, Steve.” You began shuffling the cards. 

“But Keith always smells like eggs in the mornings! And he hates me,” Steve whined. “I can’t believe you.” 

“Sorry,” you shrugged half-heartedly. “Can’t un-cancel my shift now, Keith’ll be pissed if I call him this late.” 

Robin scoffed, arms folded across her chest as she watched you shuffle the cards intently. “No, he won’t. He’s practically in love with you.” 

You shuddered at the thought. “Ew, gross. Please never say those words to me again, Robin. I beg of you. I think I’ll die, or… contract something if I think about it for more than 30 seconds.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ve gotta get outta here,” Steve said, spinning his keys on his finger. “See you weirdos later.” 

You and Robin shouted farewells as he exited the store, the bell ringing, signifying his departure. Glancing up at Robin from your focus on the deck of cards, you asked, “Another round?” 

The girl nodded, a shaky exhale leaving her lips. You were closing together, and while it wasn’t uncommon, time alone with you was something Robin treasured. And the way you looked up at her through your eyelashes… Robin was going to be combating the butterflies in her stomach all night, it seemed. 

The next hour seemed to fly by with no issues. 

No customers came by after Steve left, so you and Robin played cards and watched a movie on the big TV hanging from the ceiling until your watch beeped, signalling 10pm — closing time. 

The pair of you worked in tandem, one of you counting the cash and working out what the deposit would be while the other made sure that everything looked nice and that the return carts were empty — of course they were, Steve had done them long before he left. 

Disaster struck when you went into Keith’s office to finish closing for the night. 

The analog clock on Keith’s desk read 10:18pm when you passed it, Robin just behind you. All that was left was to write up the deposit in an email and send it to the regional inbox. It was a delicate procedure, to say the least, but with Robin reading everything out to you as you typed it up made things a lot easier. 

“You got that?” Robin asked, hopping off the desk beside you. 

You glanced at her, fingers typing away. “Yeah, Robin, I think I can remember how many five dollar bills were put in the deposit envelope.”

Robin snorted beside you, the already-open safe door creaking as she pulled it. Slipping the envelope inside, along with the deposit slip, she shut the door with a loud clang, causing you to flinch slightly. 

“And…” you pressed a few final buttons on the keyboard, the computer trilling as the email finished sending. “We’re off! Let’s shut this place down and get the hell out of here.”

“As if I’d actually want to stay,” Robin grimaced as you powered down the computer. “This place smells like…” Robin sniffed the air, her face scrunching further. “Cheetos and B.O.” 

You giggled, pushing the chair into the desk. “Gross,” 

Robin made her way to the office door, a giddy smile on her face. “What? I’m right! It’s like Keith doesn’t know what air freshener is. Or a shower.”

She pulled on the door, her smile falling as she twisted the knob. 

“What? Robin, what is it?” 

“I— I don’t know,” Robin twisted the doorknob again, pulling the door toward her, to no avail. She twisted again, frantically, panic setting into her gut. “I think it’s locked!” 

“No,” you nearly gasped. “It can’t be locked!” 

“Okay, well, I’m turning the doorknob and it’s not moving, so…!” Robin said, voice shaking as she turned to look back at you. 

“Let me try, Robin. Maybe it’s just stuck.” You suggested. Robin relented, stepping to the side as you grasped the cool metal. You twisted and pulled, your movements growing frustrated and frantic as you realised that the door wasn’t stuck — you were, in fact, locked in. “Damn it!” You exclaimed, kicking the door. “I can’t believe this,” 

Robin’s hands flew to her hair, grasping at her scalp as she tried to calm herself down. She watched you begin to pace, chewing on your thumbnail, thinking of something, anything you could do to get yourselves out of this office. 

You were suddenly beginning to feel cramped, like the walls were closing in on you. But you took a breath, eyes scanning the room, landing on the phone conveniently placed on Keith’s desk. “Ha!” 

Robin watched you rush to the other side of the desk, picking up the receiver and beginning to dial a number. “Are you calling the police?”

“The police?” You scrunched up your nose, holding the receiver to your ear. “No, that’s stupid. I’m calling Steve.” 

“Calling the police when we’re locked in a room with no way out is stupid?” Robin scoffed, taking up your previous state of pacing. 

The phone rang in your ear as you sat down on the chair. “Of course it is, Robin. Steve has a set of keys, and there’s pretty much a guarantee that no one’s going to answer a Friday night call. They’re all out busting parties and pulling over drunk drivers. They’re gonna put us on the back burner. But Steve won’t. Besides, he’s not doing anything tonight, his date cancelled on him this morning.” 

Robin barely acknowledged your words, mind running wild with the thoughts running through her head. Steve would help, of course he would. Ever since Starcourt, he knew how much Robin hated being stuck somewhere with no way to get out. She just hoped he’d get here quickly. Being stuck in a room with no real way out was one thing, but being stuck in a room with the girl you’re practically in love with was something entirely different. 

“Steve!” You practically shouted with joy.

“Jesus,” Steve groaned. “Tone it down, please! What’s up?”

You huffed, leaning back in Keith’s chair. “Look, Robin and I locked ourselves in the office, somehow, and we need you to come by with your keys and let us out.” Steve sighed on the other line. “Pretty please? I’ll buy you Burger King on Sunday.” 

“Fine. But I’m taking my sweet time getting there. I’m on the other side of town, if you even care to know.” 

“I know where you live, Steve.” You rolled your eyes. “Just hurry up. I think Robin’s losing her mind in here.”

“When is she not losing her mind?” 

“Steve,” you warned, sighing a farewell as he hung up on you. “Okay, he’ll be here soon. I think.” 

“God,” Robin groaned, palms pressed to her forehead. “My mom’s gonna kill me. My cousins are coming into town for the week and I’m supposed to clean tomorrow and instead I’m stuck here, in a room that smells like death, where I’ll probably actually die! Of, like, dehydration or starvation or something meanwhile my cousin Evan is happily sitting on my mom’s couch eating cookies or something!” 

“Starvation?” You asked yourself as you stood from the chair. “Robin, it’ll be fine. Steve’s on his way,” 

The girl barely acknowledged you, still pacing, arms flying around as she spoke. “And, by the way, starvation? A really painful way to die! It hurts, Y/n, a lot. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve read, but who am I to judge! I mean, I’ve never starved to death before! Not until now, at least!” 

You sighed, stepping in Robin’s path, making sure to grab her shoulders firmly, eyes locked onto hers. “Robin,” you said, eyebrows raised as the girl fell silent. “Steve should be here anytime soon. We won’t starve to death. All we have to do is wait out the half an hour before he gets here, max. We’ll be fine.” 

Robin’s eyebrows cinched before she shook her head. “But what if something bad happens, Y/n? Then what are we gonna do? We’ll die! And I can’t die! I haven’t seen Evan since I was 9! He lives in Pennsylvania! Hershey, Pennsylvania! Do you have any idea how far that is?”

“It’s, like, an 8 hour drive, Robin,” you said, voice quiet. Your eyes stayed locked on hers, watching the anxiety swim through her green irises. It was like you could see the gears turning, clicking and grinding to form more anxious thoughts for her to spew out in a breathless panic. 

“Not to mention the smell in here! It’s horrible! I mean, seriously, could Keith not afford a fan, or-or some sort of air freshener! And the windows! They’re so small, and they barely open, and—” 

Robin’s words ceased when you pulled her forward, crashing your lips onto hers. Her muscles tensed for a moment, eyes wide, until she realised you were kissing her. You were kissing her. Robin barely had the time to kiss you back, to place her hands gingerly on your waist before you were pulling back, sucking in air. 

“What was that for?” Robin asked, voice squeaking. 

You only smiled. “I really needed you to stop talking.” You joked, a hesitant hand reaching up to brush some of Robin’s hair from her face. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that for, like, 6 months.” 

“Oh,” Robin said, nodding briefly before she smiled, cheeks burning red. “Can you do it again?” 

You smiled wide, nodding ecstatically before placing your hands on Robin’s neck, pulling her closer so that you could kiss her again. 

It was slower this time, a test of the waters as you both melted into one another’s touch. A delicate kiss, one that said a lot more than either of you could find the words for. Robin’s fingers dug into the flesh of your waist, her mind barely comprehending what was happening right now. 

The rest of the world seemed to fall away at that moment, so much so that neither of you paid attention to the soundscape around you, failing to hear the sound of keys jingling in the lock — the door to the office squealing as it opened, and the subsequent screams of Steve Harrington. 

“What the hell, guys!” Steve screamed, covering his eyes as you and Robin jumped away from one another, lips swollen and cheeks burning. “I leave you by yourselves for an hour and a half and you’ve got your tongues down each other’s throats!” 

“Thanks, Steve,” you said, sheepish as you took Robin’s hand, leading her past his gobsmacked form. 

“You owe me a hell of a lot more than just Burger King for making me see that.” 

“Sure thing!” You called out as you and Robin slung your bags over your shoulders.

“Thank you, dingus!” Robin shouted over her shoulder, smiling wide at Steve, following you out of the store.

You huffed a laugh and smiled at Robin, swinging your hands as you grabbed your keys from your pocket. “Want a ride home?”

“Sure,” Robin smiled, relishing the feeling of your hand in hers. She made sure to keep it there during the entire drive to her house, and as often as she could after that, too.

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

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[lovebugism]

hi angel! I have a little fictober request … can I pls get holding hands for the first time from the prompt list with steve harrington and shy!reader? maybe they’re in a busy place and steve doesn’t want to lose r so he grabs her hand, not realising how ridiculously flustered she gets <3333

ty for requesting angel :D this can be read as a part two to this fic!

summary: steve takes you to a mall in the city in a desperate attempt to spend time with you, fending off freaks, douchebags, and your anxious tendencies alike (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers cw for mentions of anxiety, 3.5k)

fictober leftovers (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Steve idles between the X-rated horror and thriller sections for several long minutes until he works up the courage to talk to you. You’re a pretty little thing behind the counter, hand in your palm as you scribble into the journal Keith threatened to confiscate from you earlier that morning.

He’s never been this nervous to talk to you. Things are different now. Post-first date, and Steve’s still toeing that wretched line between friends and something more. The puppy love is so painfully mutual, but it’s equally hard to navigate. He can’t come on too strong — not with someone as soft as you — but he’s still got some King Steve left in him. He’s still learning how to be gentle.

With sweaty hands, he walks up to the counter and tries to be subtle about the whole thing. Stealthy, like a ninja. He leans on his folded-up arms and blurts before he means to, “So you’re, like, totally coming tomorrow, right?”

You lift your chin and blink at him with wide eyes. You hadn’t heard him come over, too busy doodling a bunch of nothingness in your notebook. Your stomach whirls at the sight of him. It takes you a moment too long to answer.

“Coming… where?”

“To the mall,” he reminds, then corrects himself with a shrug. “The one in the city— not the shithole we have here.”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t— I don’t know,” you stammer. Steve invited you earlier that week, and you promised to think about it. You did. And you want so desperately to go, but your brain’s too mean, and it just won’t let you.

The disappointment that flashes on his face is fleeting, but you don’t miss it. The hurt softens his features in an unbearable way. It makes your chest ache.

“C’mon,” Steve presses in a gentle lilt. He leans closer to you, eyes twinkling and lips curling. “It could be fun, you know? I mean, everyone’s gonna be there.”

He’s trying his best to persuade you. He has no idea that that’s exactly what’s keeping you from going. Crowds are always stress-inducing, even those of the familiar kind.

“Everyone as in…?”

“Robin, obviously. Dustin, too,” Steve answers, counting on his fingers as he goes. “Max is coming, but Lucas has a basketball thing, so he can’t. And the rest of the little shits are in California, so that’s definitely a plus.”

It’s a dumb joke, but it makes you laugh anyway — a quiet giggle of a thing that makes him grin.

“Uh… Eddie’s coming, too, I think— but don’t let that dissuade you, alright? I promise I’ll protect you from that freak. You don’t have to worry about him.”

You smile because you know he’s joking. You’ve met Eddie a couple times now. He’s always been really sweet to you. Him and Steve just have a strange complex that forces them to be assholes to each other.

“And also, I’m gonna be there. Obviously. So…” he trails off with a wavering smile. So if you don’t wanna come for them, maybe you can come for me, is what he’s really trying to tell you.

“I don’t know,” you repeat, quieter now as you shrink into yourself. You try and fail to meet Steve’s honeyed gaze. “I just feel like I’ll make everything all weird.”

His bushy brows pinch, almost in offense that you’d think you’re anything less than totally perfect. “Why would you think that?”

“‘Cause… I don’t know,” you murmur in a quiet sigh. You don’t want to lie to him, but telling the truth feels so much harder. “They don’t really know me, you know? And I feel like… like I’ll just ruin everything if I’m there…”

It takes Steve a couple of seconds to answer you. He doesn’t know how you could say something that — like you don’t light up every room you’re in. “Well, that’s… that’s just not true,” he argues with a shrug. “They like you. They love you, actually— they just wanna get to know you. And the only way they’re gonna get to know you is if you come hang out every once in a while.”

Your heart flutters. You want to believe him. It’s hard for you to comprehend that anyone could care so much about your presence, so you just nod and don’t say anything further. 

Steve is quick to comfort you, almost like he can read your mind. “But if you think it’s gonna be too much, you could always just stick with me. I’ll fend off the freaks for you, no problem.”

His cinnamon eyes glimmer with honey. He looks at you far too fondly to say no.

—————

There’s six of you crammed into Steve’s 733i. It’s already a tight fit, but it’s more suffocating when it’s full of a million different conversations. Almost all of them are pointed your way. Steve tries to bat everyone off of you, but it’s hard to yell at everyone and drive at the same time.

You’re being a pretty good sport about it despite how anxiously helpless you feel. 

You wring your clammy hands in your lap and try to regulate your bated breaths, nodding to whatever Max is telling you. It’s hard to hear her because Eddie’s talking to you, too. You’re too scared he’ll think you’re mean if you stop him.

You watch Robin reach for the radio, complaining about all the yelling as she turns up the volume. The cheesy pop song is all you can hear. The conversations around you become a monotone buzzing. You feel like you could just about explode.

“Jesus, you guys are acting like you’ve never seen another person before,” Steve shouts over it all, the only definite thing you can understand. “Let her breathe before she thinks we’re all a bunch of lunatics, alright?”

He’s met with a bunch of muffled complaints, but the noise quietens nonetheless.

Steve glances at you in the rearview, a quick check to make sure you’re still okay. You catch him doing it and try your best to give him a smile. It looks more like a wince.

“Well, it’s your fault for finally bringing someone cool around,” Max argues with all her practiced teenaged ambiguity. “I have to spend all day surrounded by freaks— at least now there’s someone halfway normal to talk to.”

“I’m normal!” Steve insists, face twisted in offense.

“You’re a jock.”

“Hey. C’mon, Red,” Eddie scolds, so obviously playful. “Let’s not go throwing the j-word around—”

The brunette boy huffs. “Thank you!”

“—Jock would imply that Steve’s still cool,” the wild-haired boy continues. “Which he isn’t.”

Poorly hidden laughter fills the small car. Steve nods and mutters beneath it all, “Yeah. Okay. Thanks for the clarification, Munson.”

He glances at you again and finds you cracking a halfway sincere smile. He shoots you a light-hearted glare. “Don’t laugh! You’re just encouraging him!”

“Sorry,” you apologize, hiding your giggle behind your fist. “’M sorry.”

Steve smiles at you, silently tells you he doesn’t really mean it. He’d let Musnon make fun of him all day if he thought it meant he’d get to hear you laugh like that again.

—————

You take your first good breath in an hour when you step out of the car. 

Steve shuts it off and gravitates towards you on instinct. His honey eyes are wide as they dart across your flustered features. You see his hands reach towards you, to grab your elbows maybe, but he decides against it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, quicker than you mean to. “I’m good.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I really tried to—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a sweet, still quiet smile. “It’s still okay.”

He sighs heavy, like a deep breath of relief. “Okay. Good,” he hums, almost to himself, nodding with a pink grin you could stare at all day. He would’ve let you, but neither of you get the chance. 

Your friends start messing around, and the chaos melts into the buzzing crowd surrounding you, and you realize the two of you aren’t the only people on earth. Bummer.

You gather around the large map at the entrance of the bustling mall. “Where should we go first?” Dustin chirps from the front of the crowd. His eyes are as wide as his smile. “Game Player? Sam Goody? Oh, look— they have a RadioShack! I’ve been looking for a new supercomm. It’s on the other side of the  building, though, but we can just work our way around, I guess—”

“Jesus, Dusty-Bun,” Robin interjects with a gritty laugh. She stands on the outside of the group, arms crossed over her chest, effortlessly too cool for it all. “Take a breath, buddy.”

“Don’t call me that!” the boy gripes over his right shoulder.

Steve shrugs. “Go wherever you want to. I don’t care.”

Dustin looks to his left, shooting the older boy a glare. “Aren’t you supposed to be the babysitter?”

“You’re fourteen!”

“Well, what if I get kidnapped?”

“No one’s kidnapping you, alright? Trust me,” Steve jokes, only smiling when he sees you trying to hide yours. He puts his hands on his waist and cocks his hip to the side. “They’ll send you right back where you came from. You have nothing to worry about.”

Dustin squints. “Rude.”

“We’ll just meet back at the food court in, like, two hours. And if you don’t get yourself killed, you’ll be fine,” Steve reasons with a nonchalant shrug and a jutted-out lip.

“Oh. Wow. Thanks, Steve. What would I ever do without you?”

He rolls his cinnamon eyes at the boy’s monotone. “Alright, smartass.”

When the rest of the group dissipates, he leans over to nudge your shoulder. It knocks you from your stupor — so deep in your own head you were practically drowning. You blink at him with wide, glassy eyes. “Hm?”

“Do you wanna go anywhere?” he asks with a wavering smile. His laugh is equally forced. “You’re kinda staring a hole into the map there…”

“Oh. No. I was just…” you trail off with a shake of your head. You’re not entirely sure what to tell him, how to make him understand your easily overstimulated mind. “I was just distracted. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. No big deal.”

“Where did everyone else go?” you wonder with a furrow to your brow, noticing the lack of familiar chaos around you.

“Eddie and Dustin went to some movie store, and I think Robin and Max are on the hunt for cassettes.”

“Okay...” you nod with a tremble in your voice. 

You’re still not totally used to being alone with Steve. Your friends are usually good distractions. They fill your awkward silences with something funnier and talk loud when you get too quiet. When they’re not around it’s just… awkward silences and quiet air. 

You get too in your own head, so eager to impress the pretty boy beside you, that you end up putting your foot in your mouth.

Steve doesn’t seem nearly as apprehensive. Instead, he’s beaming at the fact that he’s finally got you alone. He doesn’t have to worry about quieting Dustin when he gets too loud or shoving Eddie away when he forgets what personal space is. It’s quieter with just the two of you — warmer, cozier, easier.

“Wanna go down to the food court?” he wonders, honey eyes sparkling when he looks your way. “I know you haven’t eaten anything yet, so…”

Your eyes narrow, accusing and playful. “How would you know that?”

“Uh, ‘cause I know you,” the boy scoffs like it’s obvious. “I basically have to force you to eat every morning.”

“That’s not true!”

“It so is!” Steve giggles and it’s heaven to your ears, the exact sound of honey. “That’s why I hate not opening with you. ‘Cause if I’m not around to force you to eat the other half of my Poptart, I’m just, like, worrying if you’re withering away or not.”

Your face burns hot. Your heart swells with a similar warmth that borders on painful. You didn’t think he cared so much about you — or that he ever thought about you outside of work or the occasional hangout.

“Fine,” you concede with your arms crossed over your chest, trying not to seem as flustered as you feel. “Let’s go to the food court.”

Steve grins. He follows you in stride when you start to head that way. “Cool. We can go get one of those disgustingly good burgers or something.”

“For breakfast?” you wonder with a light-hearted laugh.

“Yeah! Like, one of those crazy huge ones, you know? The patties are, like, the size of your fist— make a fist.”

You do. You ball your fingers and hold them up between you. Steve holds onto your wrist for further inspection, fingers long and warm and soft. You swallow.

“Bigger than your fist,” he corrects with a laugh. The sweet sound is drowned out by the swell of yelling teenagers. They talk so loudly and over one another that their conversations become a meaningless drones.

Two in particular shove at one another, laughing loud like it’s fun. One of them almost barrels into you — long blonde hair, tight shirt, tighter jeans, and cologne so potent it stings your nose. He just narrowly misses you, mostly because Steve’s there to yank you out of the way.

The boy’s gentle grip on you tightens. He pulls you close until you’re stumbling into his side. With a strong arm wrapped around you, he shouts at the roughhousing teens — “Watch where you’re going, assholes!”

The scrawny boys walk on ahead of you. They seem apologetic, halfway scared at first. When they realize Steve’s not rushing to beat their asses, they chuckle about the whole thing and keep punching each other.

You’re still frozen in shock — not so much of fear anymore, but of how tightly Steve’s holding onto you. It’s an embrace of the firmer kind, a touch so solid you feel immediately safer inside it. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close before. The teenage girl in your heart starts to spin.

“You okay?” Steve asks when the anger ebbs.

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing tightly and forcing an awkward laugh. “You don’t have to keep asking me that, you know?”

He nods rapidly, then notices how close he’s holding you. Fearful that he’s made you uncomfortable, he uncurls his arm from around you and takes a small step back. “No, I know! I just wanna— I just wanna make sure, you know? ‘Cause I know you don’t like… all this.”

He waves his hands vaguely out beside him.

You’re immediately cold without him holding you. You wrap your arms around yourself to compensate for the lack of him. 

“Yeah, but… It’s not the rest of the world’s fault that I’m scared of everything,” you say with another forced laugh, shifting your weight on your feet. If you could melt into your oversized sweater, you would. “It’s mine. So I can deal with it. I have to deal with it.”

Steve nods, slower this time and with a silent sense of understanding. He steps closer to you and shrugs. “I think the least I can do is make it a little easier on you… And I feel like I’ve been doing the exact opposite of that all day.”

“That’s not true,” you argue with the shake of your head.

His chocolate eyes widen. You’re rarely so assertive. “No?”

“No,” you answer, softer this time as you grow sheepish all over again. Your unsure gaze darts from your dirty sneakers to his twinkling eyes until it makes you dizzy. “You’re actually making it more bearable for me, so…”

“Oh. Okay. Good,” he nods with a smile, breathless because his chest is swelling with pride. He knows the world can be a little much for someone as soft as you. It’s good to know that he’s the exception to all that. 

He gets lost in the way you look at him for a moment too long. He clears his throat and stammers, “Uh, do you still wanna go get food?” he asks, pointing off beside him. “We can find somewhere quiet to eat so we don’t have to deal with teenage douchebags the entire time.”

Your heart lurches into your throat. It’s practically your love language — spending time alone in a quiet space, with no overt need for conversation or people to fill the void. 

You nod, trying and failing to hide the beam on your face. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

—————

The quiet place in question is a photo booth on the halfway vacant, furthest end of the mall. Closed curtains, small spaces, and entwined breaths. It smells like his deep cologne, your perfume, and a freshly cooked meal. It’s too easy to forget that there’s a whole world outside of here.

You sit twisted on the bench, facing Steve with your burger trays in front of you. You pluck salty fries from the plate with a trembling hand, distantly fearful that you’re not supposed to be eating here. You think being so close to Steve is worth the risk.

“Is this the day you were expecting to have?” Steve asks with a lopsided grin. He takes a big bite of his burger right after and gets mustard on the corner of his mouth.

“No,” you answer, giggling as he swipes the stain away with his tongue. “But not because it’s bad.”

“Hm?” he hums to egg you on. He’s got too much of a mouthful for anything else.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, equally nonverbal as you chew on a handful of fry crumbs. You swipe your palms together to dispel the grains of salt. “I’m having more fun than I thought I would, actually.”

Steve scoffs in disbelief. “Spending time with me? Alone in a photo booth? That’s a good time to you?”

His tone makes you self-conscious. You feel a little shameful, like a child, because you don’t need much to be entertained. You get all warm with embarrassment, too. Being alone with Steve has always felt like climbing mountains — something short of an adrenaline rush that makes you think you could conquer the world. Maybe you’re too small in comparison to do the same for him.

“Yeah,” you shrug in an inaudible murmur. “I don’t know— I just… I like spending time with you, you know? I don’t really care what we’re doing.”

Steve’s chest swells. From a girl who too often keeps to herself, inherently nervous and incessantly frightened of being a burden, it’s more of a proclamation of love than he ever thought he’d get from you.

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he confesses with a crooked pink grin, internally praying his cheeks aren’t as red hot as they feel.

He holds his half-eaten burger out towards you. You knock yours with his, clinking them together like champagne glasses. He takes another too big bite. You go to do the same but get a whiff of the sleeve of your sweater before you can. 

“God, I smell like a teenage boy,” you groan, only half-playful. The nose-burning musk from the kid from before has seemingly stuck itself onto you. Like fruit and sage and wood and vanilla, every scent ever made combined.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you definitely smell like bodyspray,” Steve affirms, scruffy cheeks jutted out from the burger in his mouth.

“I think I’ve been tainted,” you giggle, a quieter sound compared to his boyish laughter. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.”

You’re saying it to be nice, but you watch him get all shy about it when you take a bite of your sandwich. He shifts on the bench, like he suddenly can’t get comfortable. When he rubs his palms on his thighs, you can’t tell if it’s because of the salty fries or because they’re clammy.

“Yeah— I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to grab you like that,” he stammers with an apologetic twinkle in his eye and a gaze that can’t quite meet yours. “Just so you know. I was just trying to—”

“Save me?” you interject.

Steve smiles when he sees how softly you’re looking at him. He shrugs. “Well, I was gonna say ‘pull you from the line of fire,’ but sure.”

“It’s okay,” you repeat for perhaps the thousandth time that day. “I didn’t mind. It felt nice, actually— you have really warm hands.”

“That’s ‘cause yours are always ice cold.”

“Well, maybe that’s because you’re not holding them,” you blurt before you mean to. 

You freeze mid-bite, eyes wide in distant horror as your blood runs cold. In a desperate attempt to break away from the awkwardness you caused, you muster a trembling smile. “I’m kidding,” you murmur, halfway hidden behind your burger.

You weren’t.

Steve knows this, too, so he smiles. 

He’d been thinking about it all day, in truth — how he was gonna get to hold your hand without having to stick his foot in his mouth to ask you. Turns out, a series of unfortunate events and an impromptu date in a photo booth was all it took. And he’s grateful. For all of it.

“No, you weren’t,” he teases, fingers as warm as his smile when he wraps them around yours. He holds gently onto your hand — even though it makes eating a little harder, even though your fingers are cold, even though you tremble.

[shatterinseconds]

“You’re a mess, darling.” Lance smiles up at him, a big toothy smile that Keith has always loved to see especially when directed towards him, even if he refuses to show it.

“That should be my line to you.” Keith chuckles through the worry lodged inside his throat. The little light that spills into the cave does a good job of disguising the terrible state Lance is currently in. Keith sits on his heels beside Lance laying flat on the rocky ground. He works quietly to staunch the bleeding on Lance’s right side.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Lance winces when Keith presses too hard. “Nah, you’d never use pet names, and I–I always look flawless.”

Keith hums his response, rifling through their emergency pack for medical supplies. He peels off the sterile packaging and slaps the thick bandage over the ugly wound. It’s not his best work but Lance is stable for now.

“Keith, I need to tell—”

“Hey, you’re going to be okay.” Keith snaps his head up, immediately interrupting Lance’s train of thought and doesn’t feel bad about it. To soothe him, he brushes the hair plastered to Lance’s forehead. Blood crusts parts of his hair from a head wound from earlier in the battle, but the main problem is the nasty stab wound from a jagged pipe the Galra soldier improvised with when Lance had shot the Galra’s blaster hand and Keith was too far to stop it all from happening. “It’s not a fatal injury. The team’s arriving soon.”

Those two facts are the only things that have stopped Keith’s mind from running into a free fall of worry and anxiety. The injury will leave a scar but Lance will be alive to bear it, and in the end, that is the most important part.

Lance nods, a little more clear headed though his eyes squeeze closed when he shifts his body. “No, I know,” he replies, starting to become breathless though his pulse has not weakened. “I still… I still need to say it.”

“What if I don’t want you to say it now? What if I’d rather hear you say it once you’re all healed and healthy and able to annoy the shit out of me?”

“Why’re you so certain you know what I’m going to say?” Lance turns his head to properly glare at Keith. Irritation pinches his mouth. “I could be confessing that my favorite color has been orange this entire time. I’ve been fooling you all.”

Keith shakes his head as he allows his hand to fall from Lance’s warm forehead and traces down to his jawline, wiping off some of the dirt sticking to his sweaty skin. “‘Cause I know you and I know myself, and I’ve a feeling our secrets are not so different from one another’s.”

“Someone’s feeling confident,” Lance scoffs when he turns away to stare more at the cave ceiling. A smirk slides onto his face and Keith, probably with the help of latent Galra genes, is able to see that as clear as day. “Maybe I shouldn’t say it at all if you already know.”

“Mm, don’t be stubborn.” He checks Lance’s pulse for the nth time; his fingers linger against his neck, pleased by the sure sign of life.

“That’s your best quality not mine,” Lance mutters and Keith snorts before trying to appease him. He is injured after all. Keith should probably stop trying to have so much fun at his expense. But it's also the only way he’s going to get through this with his sanity intact and not think about Lance injured and future injuries that might not be so survivable. Keith leans over him to make sure Lance doesn’t miss a single thing he’s about to say.

“If you promise not to forget this moment, you can tell me the minute you step out of the healing pod, alright?”

Suddenly, Lance sits up, biting his lower lip against a yelp of pain, and Keith tries to push him back to the ground, but Lance shoves off his help. He glares at Keith, dark eyes shining in the dark, as he says, “I never forget anything when it comes to you.”

That admission stuns Keith for a moment, immediately recalling another similar situation of injury and confessions, and he starts to grin, one of the sardonic variety. “Good, I’m glad we’ve discovered what a big liar you are.” 

Lance still has the strength to roll his eyes. “I’m gonna say it and you better be ready, Mullet. There’ll be no take backs. All honest truth.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

[dualityvn]

a bit of a sensitive topic Keith but do you think there may be a chance you have bpd ... the reaction towards rejection is quite strong and it may be a symptom off it you would need therapy for i just noticed through the posts

this is no way suppose to be a negative comment thing i care about you deeply and like to see you happy as much as possible and although the stigma behind the issue it is just like anxiety or depression in the end .

also i tried to make it keith fan but it wouldn't let me i love both of you equally and like ive always wanted someone to say to me

you are loved people do care and what ever you going through no matter what you do im sticking around to make sure your ok and no matter wht you say about me i wont mind in the end because other people have called me way worse than what you or Tennebris ever will and im just hoping i wont upset you i dont want to upset anyone especially not you

also keith no matter what you look like your adorable , you both are but especially the cute florist

It's okay to have headcanons related to Keith, but his canon version wasn't written with that intention. If this is because of the previous event with him, he reacted with such hostility because of the way he felt one MC treated him (like a doll to be played with).

He has such a strong reaction because of his past of repeated abandonment mixed with the fact that he knows he's in a game and nothing more than a fictional character in your eyes. Plus, he's been messed with many times before on the blog and each time, his reaction gets worse.

He does not hate or get angry at the general MC if they reject him, though. He will get sad and desperate if they threaten to leave while in a relationship, but that's mainly due to trauma and not bpd.

[maybe-moonchild]

CH4 𓆣 James Potter x Slytherin Reader summary: the first match of the season arrives and you receive the last name 'POTTER'. wc: 6.3k ⋆｡ ﾟ ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ

The first Saturday in November arrived and you were so nervous that you couldn’t eat breakfast. 

You’d barely been able to sleep either, having arrived at the dining hall earlier than necessary. Every nervous drum of your fingers against the table did nothing to calm your nerves. Absentmindedly pushing your eggs around your plate did nothing for your appetite to return.

Lance was in the same boat like usual, always a bundle of anxieties before each game. He was the picture of overthinking. His leg bounced before you finally nudged it with your knee. When you quit, Keith quit without a second thought. He’d been the Slytherin seeker, having spent the past five years going head to head with Lance to go after the snitch. 

“This is weird, huh?” Keith sighed as he slipped into the seat across from you. The two of you shared a grimace while Lance barely hummed in response. “I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t playing on game day.”

“First game. Fifth year,” Lance droned. “You had detention.”

Pausing from reaching over our friend, Keith considered that before shrugging. That checked out, you hadn’t won that game which had been a massive disappointment for your house. 

“Sounds like you’ll be catching a lot more snitches this year,” he teased and dropped eggs on his plate.

Lance mumbled something in Spanish. The only thing you could make out was something like ‘bite me’.

You nudged Lance's plate in his direction to get his attention. “Stop freaking out. They have a new Slytherin seeker. How good can they be?”

The Gryffindor shot you a flat look, “You’re  literally freaking out too.”

“So?” You scowled. “Different reasons.”

Keith tossed a breakfast potato at both of your heads to divert the tension. It was a weird morning and the last thing anyone needed was more weight hanging over the results of the match. 

“You,” he pointed at Lance, “Stop spiraling. I helped with tryouts last year, unless our house has been harboring a secret quidditch star, you're fine. They were all awful.”

Your smug look vanished when it was your turn to be pointed at. “You, also stop spiraling. If Gryffindor loses, Kaston never even needs to know you were involved. There. Now pass me the bacon.”

It didn’t take long for Remus and Peter to join you, soon followed by the other star players, Sirius and James. You were holding it together but every second that ticked closer to the start of the game just made the dam of panic harder to contain. 

“I’ll make sure to send a bludger directly into Kastons face,” Sirius winked as he slipped between Remus and Lance.

“Focus on the plays Black.”

James chuckled as he squeezed to sit beside you, nearly spilling Peter’s orange juice to make room. "Now, now, Padfoot," he said with a grin. "We want to win this match fair and square. No need to stoop to Kaston's level."

The atmosphere at the Gryffindor table was buzzing with excitement and anticipation. The first game of the season was always a big deal, and this one especially so, with the tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin running high this year.

Somehow, the act of Remus elbowing Sirius in the side looked incidental. “Don’t get disqualified in the first game of the season. You already know how thin of ice you're on already with McGonagall.”

“Watch it you tosser,” he muttered around a mouthful of breakfast. 

“Oh my god, please don’t get disqualified,” you groaned, covering your face in your hands. Someone clapped you on the shoulder but you didn’t bother to look up. “Why am I so nervous? I never got this nervous the past six years and I’m not even playing.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to catch the snitch in the first five seconds since I’m no longer up against Keith,” Lance joked, grinning at the bored looking Slytherin at his side, donned in his jersey. Keith always got Lance’s good sweaters considering he hoarded most of them the entire year. 

You were content enough to watch the game in the red and gold scarf, paired with the matching mittens. 

James tried to give you a reassuring smile, hoping to ease your worries. When you still hadn’t looked up, he sighed and lifted your head with one hand. "We'll do fine," he said, his tone comforting, yet determined. "We have practiced our asses off, and we know all of Kaston's tricks."

He knew this game was important to you. To him it was maybe even more personal than just... house pride.

“Now shush and eat something so you don’t make yourself sick. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

You held his gaze, glowering under his cheerful watch. James just leaned over you, his arm grazing yours as he dropped your favorite muffin on your plate. Letting him win, you picked up your muffin in defeat in the hopes that his good luck would continue and translate to the score.

“If I wasn’t so desperate for you to win,  I’d hope your karma comes in the form of a quaffle to the head,” you grumbled back,voice lacking any real bite.

“Here, I’ll hand feed you. Hand me your fork.”

“Taking it back. I hope you win and get a quaffle to the head.”

Eventually the players needed to head down to the locker rooms to get ready to warm up. The groups said their goodbyes, exchanging words of encouragement before splitting up. 

You joined the players, no one batting much of an eye that you were hanging around after you’d been doing it the past two months. 

“Kastons aim is better when he has the chance to be still. Odds are, if he’s not stopped, he’ll hit the bludger at the closest player, specifically to his left,” I rambled, going over what I could for the hundredth time in the past few days. “Simmons is faster when going up and to the right. When going to goal, aim down and left. Oh! And-”

James listened to you intently, his expression focused as he tied his shoes and pulled on his jersey. He knew how important this information was for the upcoming game, but at some point, what was done was done. There was no more drilling and studying that could be done besides applying everything he knew. 

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced over at you, "I got it, I got it," he assured you, a hint of playful teasing in his tone. "I've got it down, don't worry."

He stood up and stretched, turning to face you fully. At some point over the past two months, his physical touch no longer felt foreign, his hands coming to grasp your shoulders until you relaxed. 

James smiled at you, eyebrow cocked as he waited for you to crack. It only took a few seconds before you folded, finding it impossible to do anything but bite down on your lip in semblance of remaining stoic. But James knew he had you when he grinned proudly. 

It was hard not to believe in him when he looked so damn sure of himself. 

Despite how obnoxious you’d always found him, you actually enjoyed spending the past few weeks scheming and strategizing. 

And as much as you hated Elias Kaston- which you did vehemently with a white hot passion- if he hadn’t ran you off the Slytherin quidditch team… well, you wouldn’t be standing there, face inches from James’s very pretty one. 

You liked being there. 

Seemingly satisfied that you were no longer about to fly off the handle, he stepped back to continue getting ready for the match. The match you had to believe he was going to successfully lead his team to win.

“I know. I know that. You’re… you’re great.” When you realized what you’d said, your eyes widened and you stuttered to correct yourself. “At quidditch. You’re great at quidditch and you’ll be fine.”

Damn it, the damage was already done. James couldn't help but grin as you corrected yourself, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. 

"What was that? You think I'm great? Sorry, did I hear that right? You did use the word great, yeah?" 

At the realization you’d just made his ego swell before your eyes, you hang your head in defeat. 

“Oh, I'm never going to hear the end of this,” you groaned under your breath, arms folding over your chest as you leaned back against the locker. 

Sirius grinned as he passed, “Oh you are certainly not.” You scowled when he clapped you on the shoulder. The two boys exchanged nods, Sirius first as if giving his friend the okay to do something. You were a bit too distracted taking a breath to calm your nerves that were threatening to bubble up again. 

Most of the team had either already slipped oJames reached for his bag, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out the extra jersey. He held it up, presenting it to you as he stood up from the bench.

"Here," he offered, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "You better wear this and cheer extra loud for me. A good luck charm for us." 

out of the locker room and onto the pitch, the space growing quieter but the sound rising as students filled the stands. That was your cue to find the rest of the group and take your seat. 

James took a breath and reached for his bag, rummaging around for a moment. "Here," he offered, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. You barely managed to catch it as you held it up, inspecting it with furrowed brows.

It was his spare jersey. The shirt was the exact same as yours had once been, aside from the red and gold material and the name POTTER stitched on the back. You’d barely registered what it was before looking up to see James already back towards the door.

"You better wear this and cheer extra loud for me. A good luck charm for us." 

“Why?” you blurted out. All you received in response was a shrug, cheeky grin and a wink before he was gone, the curtains of the tent flapping closed behind him. That was it; he was gone and it was just you and his jersey remaining in the locker room. 

That was totally on purpose. 

You scoffed, mouth falling open in disbelief. “That asshole.”

For a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but stare at. The material was familiar in your hands, making you frown as you studied it like it would make everything make sense. 

If you put it on, you were accepting something. You just didn’t know what that was. That was what scared you. Putting on this jersey wasn’t the same as throwing on one of Lance’s generic sweaters in support of the Gryffindors.

You wouldn’t just be supporting their house; you would be supporting James Potter specifically. You would be broadcasting that support right on your back. 

Not wearing it… well, it would be rude not  to wear it…

You were quick to strip off Lance’s scarf and toss it into his locker, slipping James’s jersey over your head. Maybe if you somehow did it fast enough, it wouldn’t have happened by your own doing. Like magic. 

Finding Peter, Remus and Keith in the sea of red took longer than you anticipated. It was a struggle to track their faces through the giddy students nearly bouncing in their seats. You pushed through to join them, ignoring their shared and knowing looks as you took your seat.

You had maybe three, whole seconds of peace. 

Keith grinned, his smirk widening as he studied the jersey you were wearing. "What's this? Trying to show some Gryffindor pride?" He teased playfully, bumping your shoulder with his own.

“Shut it.” You didn’t even turn in his direction, focusing up at the players warming up around the pitch. 

“Just saying.”

“You also ‘just said’ that there was something particularly softer about Lance’s sweaters-” your mumble was cut off by a playful swat of your head but you didn’t miss the pink flooding Keith's cheeks. 

“He doesn’t use magic to wash his clothes, they are softer.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You waved a dismissive hand in his direction, your eyes narrowing in Kastons direction when you saw him flying around. “I get it. I’m a real cheerleader.”

Remus, who was sitting on your other side, raised an eyebrow. While he said nothing, you knew he had something to say. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself and pretended to be very interested in the players above your heads. 

“Well, we are happy to have you in the stands with us today,” Peter said warmly as he leaned forward, flashing you a smile that you returned wholeheartedly. 

Watching the place you had once been spent all of your free time hurt, but not as badly as you’d anticipated it to. There was a flash of a moment that your eyes stung, throat constricting around the fact that your time playing quidditch had come to an end. As quickly as it came, it was gone; because it was okay. 

You’d get over it, you really would. That was clear now. 

You also had more fun with quidditch the past two months than you had the past six years. No one had undermined your abilities or ideas, your efforts were appreciated, taken into play. It just felt right. While you were a good player, maybe you were a better coach when you had a receptive team. 

James hovered in the center, running over your notes and information in his head as he accounted for all of the Slytherin players. His teammates worked on practice drills, warming up and exuding tenacity. 

The sight of you wearing his jersey caused a wide grin to spread across his face, and he fought hard to keep his focus on warming up and not swooning. The knowledge that you were proudly donning his jersey to watch him play had his heart racing with adrenaline.

Sirius' laughter rang out from where he was circling, slowing to a stop beside James. "You know, you’re  probably going to be insufferable after the game," he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement.

James couldn't help himself. He smirked up at Sirius, his eyes gleaming with a fire that couldn't be contained. "Oh, absolutely, Pads. I'll be riding this high for weeks. No, months. I'll ride this high for months."

A wry smile tugged at Sirius’s lips. "Months, eh?" He asked, arching an eyebrow playfully. "Are you sure it'll be months and not years?"

"Probably," James agreed with a nod, his cocky grin widening. He glanced down, his gaze resting on your form once again. Your eyes darted around the players, making it clear you were running plays through your own head like James was doing himself. Occasionally, you’d lean over and murmur something to Keith, directing him towards a Slytherin player with a nod of your head. 

James could get used to his name stretched across your back and he wasn’t even scared of that thought anymore. 

Gryffindor played with a ferocity and focus they had never played with before. Their plays were clean, flight patterns direct and intentional as the Slytherins struggled to catch up. They didn’t even know what hit them. Every move they made was calculated, as if they knew exactly what would happen next. Which they kinda did, thanks to you. 

James was unstoppable, relentless as he flew around the pitch, scoring goal after goal

Kaston's frustration was evident on his face and in his flying, his anger growing and making his bludger hits erratic. He lost control on where he was sending them and they rarely met their mark. 

You cheered. You cheered with every goal, cupping your hands around your mouth to yell with the crowd. The energy was electric and you were not disappointed at the experience. 

You couldn’t place the exact Kaston figured it out. At some point he had, likely when he saw you repping ‘Potter’ on your back and realized that all of Slytherin’s tactics had spread to their rival team. Which was why Sirius had to block three bludgers that Kaston had tried to hit into the stands, another attempt to take your head off and you weren’t even playing. 

No one seemed to notice that it was intentional aside from you and your friends around you. The game had become ruthless and fierce, with every score against Kaston sending a wave of pride and excitement through the crowd. The tension was palpable, the atmosphere charged with the intensity that was building between the players.

You were on the edge of your metaphorical seat when Lance and the new Slytherin seeker caught sight of the snitch. Given the score, 130 to 40, you expected the fight to catch the snitch would be more intense given it normally was between Keith and Lance. 

But no, Lance left him in the dust; easily weaving through the game in pursuit. 

And then, the moment you had all been waiting for – Lance finally caught it. The crowd went wild, cheering and screaming as the Gryffindor team surged forward, celebrating their victory. Your section erupted in celebration, the energy infectious as they all stood to cheer and yell in celebration.

You nearly lost your footing when Remus, Keith and Peter slung their arms over your shoulders, their whoops and hollers making you laugh. 

He had done it- well the entire team worked for the win- but James was the one that delivered his promise. He led his team to victory, kept his end of the deal to humiliate Kaston and his team after what they had done. They swarmed their captain, clapping for themselves and their performance. 

James, grinning brightly on his broom, shoving his dark hair off of his forehead and clapping his team on the back, had never looked more like the sun. 

There was a collective wince from the crowd when Kaston slammed right into James on their descent. You gasped as the force of the impact sent both boys tumbling to the ground. It didn’t stop there as Kaston and James grappled in the grass, their limbs twisting in a dangerous dance as both fought to regain control.

Your eyes were wide, completely taken aback at the blatant violence from your old teammate. Remus didn’t miss a beat, shoving at your shoulder to get you to move. 

“Go. Go. Go,” Remus urged and you moved, pushing Keith forward who complied. The four of you shoved through the crowd and down down the stands, all of the students starting to cheer or boo depending on their hoped outcome of the fight. 

By the time you got down there, fists were flying. 

Everyone was yelling as you jogged over, both teams adding fuel to the fire as they circled the altercation. Sirius was not attempting to hold James back, instead chest to chest with Alder as they shoved at each other. Lance was shouting to calm the two of them down but no one seemed to be listening. 

You slowed to a stop, hands flying to cover your mouth at the sight of James; his usual happy go lucky demeanor something else entirely. He was nearly unrecognizable, grappling on his back before managing to get the upper hand. 

Keith intervened first, like always, to run and step between Lance and Alder. Remus was moving forward in an instant, focusing on yanking Sirius back to keep the violence from spreading. You just stood there, unable to move. It wasn’t like you could really help at this moment.

Kaston's eyes were filled with fury as threw James off of him and onto the grass. "You think you've won," he spat, his voice laced with anger. "You think she's won this game for you. But you've got another thing coming."

"You think you can get away with that?" James shouted, his voice echoing across the field. "You'll pay for last year you Git!”

He moved fast, launching himself at the Slytherin captain with a violent intensity. A sickening crack echoed through the silence as his fist connected with Kastons’ jaw, sending him stumbling backwards with a pained cry. Your hands flew to cover your mouth in shock, unable to move from your spot beside a wide eyed Peter. 

Kaston roared in pain and anger, launching himself into the fight with a feral growl. He pounced forward, landing a hard punch of his own into James’s nose with a satisfying crack.

"You think you're above me, Potter," he growled, hatred seeping into every word. "But you're just a lucky prat with a pretty face. And she-“

James stumbled back from the intensity of the hit, his teeth gritted as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Anger flared through him like wildfire, his vision tinted red as he launched himself at Kaston once more. 

"Shut. Up," James growled, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps of air. His nostrils flared as he wiped his bloody nose on his forearm, his expression filled with rage. "Don't you dare mention her," he snarled. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you, you filthy rat?"

Sirius and Remus were trying to separate the two, but they weren't having much luck. Sirius pulled at James, trying his best to pry him off of Kaston. "James, snap out of it!" As Dumbledore and McGonagall, followed by Slughorn, crossed the field in a concerned hurry, you were at least thankful that no one was swinging anymore. 

Lance helped keep James at bay with the others. You were hardly surprised that Keith was trying to keep Kaston back, only because he didn’t have to be gentle with the asshole. 

Tension seemed to be dying down, the fire in their eyes starting to diminish as their flared nostrils turned to panted breaths. You were stunned and maybe you shouldn't have been considering Kaston tended to speak with violence. 

Kaston managed to make note of you, his eyes finding your place in the crowd. 

“Enjoy the mudblood, blood-traitor.” His sneer revealed his red tinged teeth before he spit near your feet. 

You sucked in a breath, stiffening at the word like it had delivered a blow to your own face. It set James off again, the boys stopping him mid lunge from landing another blow. 

"You don't get to speak to her like that," James seethed, his voice low and dangerous. He felt a fire surging through him, his teeth gritted, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

But Remus held him back firmly, his eyes dark with anger. "Prongs, enough," he said, his voice low but stern. "You need to calm down."

“What on Earth- Potter! Mr. Kaston,” McGonagall shrieked, her voice cutting through the chaos. All of the spectators in the crowd barely quieted themselves but the players on the field were happy to fall still. “Enough! Both of you, to your locker rooms now!”

James’s shoulders heaved up and down but, without tearing his eyes away from Kaston, he let his friends tug at him until his feet moved. 

From the pursed lips and set stance of your professor, she clearly was livid, containing her emotions until she unleashed them later. Most likely that rage would be directed at Kaston because he had thrown the first punch and called you something no one should ever be called. 

“Both of you will report to my office immediately after you are presentable.”

It seemed Slughorn was in agreement as he curtly nodded, looking flabbergasted at the behavior of the new quidditch captain he’d picked for the Slytherin house. As if on cue, he caught your eye. Slughorn frowned and you looked towards the ground. It wasn’t like things couldn’t be pieced together now; why you’d turned down his offer to resume your position as captain for a second year after being so successful. 

If you could lift your head up, then you would've seen the matching frowns on Dumbledore’s and McGonagall’s faces, the two of them likely putting together the same events. 

The two groups retreated as they were told. Despite spending the past hour standing out in the November chill, you were hot all over. You watched James’s back, watched his head turn and he caught your eye. Instantly, the fire in his eyes seemed to dim immediately at the sight of your distress. 

James’s blood still boiled with anger and anger consumed him, but he forced himself to look away. He didn't want to see the look on your face – he didn't want to see the disappointment or disgust. He couldn't bear it.

And then he was gone, successfully shoved through the curtains of the Gryffindor locker room by Remus. 

“What the hell just happened?” you breathed out, eyes trained on the spot he had just disappeared. Only Peter remained at your side, the other boys having followed James to follow McGonagall orders. 

"Bloody hell," Peter muttered under his breath. "James went mad. I’ve never seen him so angry before."

Now that the show was over, the students' excitement began to settle, their interest no longer obtained as they trickled out of the stands. You glanced at the professors speaking in hushed tones as they huddled together. As soon as you made eye contact with McGonagall, it was clear that you were a part of their conversation. 

So you nudged Peter and nodded towards the exit. “Come on. Let’s head back and wait for them.”

It was almost an hour before Lance and Keith spilled into the Gryffindor dorm room, sans one James Potter. You and Peter had opted to sit on the beds in quiet- well you were quiet- quiet and appreciative of Peter filling the silence in an attempt to brighten the mood. 

They informed you that after James’s cool down, he’d gone off to have a stern talking to with McGonagall before being sent to the infirmary. It was clear by your fidgeting that you were dying to go there to see him.

You weren’t sure whether you wanted to hit him yourself or-

Oh. 

Oh.

Clearly you must’ve been more shaken up than you had thought if… kissing him… had been… instinctual…

That was weird.

Waiting around became too much after two minutes but no one seemed surprised when you shoved off the bed and out of the room. You had to remind yourself not to run through the halls, especially when the occasional student passing by glanced in your direction. The need to see him, see that he was okay and why he didn’t stop fighting him and ask him why you felt so overwhelmingly concerned for his stupid well being- you just needed to see him. 

You might've over compensated with your enthusiasm, shoving open the infirmary door a bit harder than you intended. You almost stumbled into the room, catching yourself before actually tripping. When you looked up, there were three pairs of eyes already on you. 

James sat up straighter immediately, his eyes wide in anticipation of your presence. His jersey had been exchanged for a dark colored sweater and jeans. That served as a reminder that you were still clad in his own jersey, the sleeves rolled up so you didn’t drown in its size. All traces of blood had been wiped from his face, his perfectly messy hair indicative that he’d showered before Madam Pomfrey cared for his injuries. 

There was little evidence of the fight at all. Aside from the faint bruises on his cheek, jaw, and nose that were already healing. You still were impressed with the magic of healing in the wizarding world.  

“Hi,” you said lamely.

Sirius had to look down in an effort to not laugh, receiving a subtle kick from Remus to shut up. 

James couldn't help but feel a tinge of anxiety as you took in his injuries, feeling self-conscious as your eyes studied his face. He still was unable to look away as he tried to guess what was running through your mind.

Perhaps you were disappointed or even disgusted at his behavior. 

“Hi,” James returned just as breathlessly. 

The boys exchanged a look before getting to their feet. If your presence wasn’t enough of a sign to leave you alone, then the long stare the two of you shared only solidified that their presence was unnecessary. Their movement in your peripheral finally made you look away and clear your throat. 

“Hey.” You greeted them again as you approached the bed just to break the quiet. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Look who it is!” Sirius called out, a beaming grin crossing his face at the sight of you. "The mastermind behind our win!”

From across the room, Remus raised an eyebrow and glanced at James, giving him a knowing look. He missed it entirely since he was too busy staring at you. Sirius' eyes twinkled with mirth as he greeted you with a mock salute to break the ice.

You shook your head, “No. That was all you guys. Congratulations. You played really well, cleanest game in a while.”

“Cleanest game I’d seen. Well, up until Kaston got his blood all over the field-”

“Padfoot, out. Now.” Remus just groaned silently, ensuring you and James that they would see you later as he pulled a pouting Sirius out of the infirmary. 

For the past hour, you hadn’t been able to get your brain to shut off. Memories had been playing on a loop, plaguing your mind with images of James’s head snapping back or the glob of blood tinged spit landing in the grass at your feet. 

But now, standing there in front of him, you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. 

You expelled all of the air from your cheeks just so there was sound before dropping down on the edge of the bed. A sudden urge to reach out and touch him shot through your nerves, insisting that you brush the hair from his forehead, to trace his split lip with your fingertip. Purple ebbed along his knuckles, matching the purple on the bridge of his nose under the frames of his glasses. 

“I think this was proof enough that you truly are the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.”

His shoulders sagged in relief, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, despite the pain that still coursed through him. He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes shining with warmth. You did the same, peeking up at him from your lashes to confirm some of the tension had broken. 

Your quiet voices carried along the stone, the empty infirmary lacking any audience. Kaston must’ve been recovering separately to prevent any more altercation. 

"What can I say," he shrugged, an easy grin spreading across his face, "if I'm going to get myself into trouble, I at least want to make it memorable."

“Oh, I’m aware.” You leaned over him to pick the half melted ice pack up from the table, tossing it between your hands absentmindedly. “How much detention did you get?”

"Oh, you know me, just a week's worth. Got an earful of it from Minnie.” He reached over and snatched the ice pack from your hands and placed it back on his shoulder, wincing at the cold. “Just her usual ‘hitting is wrong even if deserved’ and ‘leaning more on your back leg will land a harder hit’.”

There was more damage hidden under his sweater, the sling on the end table was evidence of that. You grimaced at the sight, guilt tugging the smile on your face into a frown. He’d really gotten hurt at the end of the match, hitting and getting hit in front of the entire school. 

You looked down and sighed, “Sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. That was… oh god… that was bad and you shouldn’t be sitting here like this.”

James shook his head instantly, looking somber as he scooted down the bed to sit next to you. 

“Hey, don’t apologize. I wanted to hit him, and he deserves it, honestly. He’s a prick. I should’ve done it before."

His hip brushed your lower back as he settled closer. your breath would’ve caught in your throat but you were too distracted by him reaching out to touch your chin. You let him nudge your head in his direction, reluctantly meeting his eye, unable to look away. 

“Can’t say I’m not jealous,” you snorted softly. “I’ve been itching to hit him since first year.”

Not trusting yourself, you kept your hands clasped together in your lap, attempting to suppress the urge to touch him back.

"Jealous? No need to be. I'd be happy to lend you my services any time. Just say the word, and I'll hold him down so you can land a hit or two.”

And then he smiled. 

Your stomach did that thing, a flipping sensation that you always associated with nose diving on your broom. Pulling up at the last second kept you from smashing every bone in your body. The risk only made the thrill more intense the longer you could go before giving in. 

Right then, you were well aware that you were horribly and irrevocably fucked.

James' hand didn’t fall away when you looked down at the comforter. He only secured the home of his touch on your face, cupping your jaw with the faintest of touches. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” you said after a long second, voice softening unsurely under his stare. 

"For what? The fight or the win?" he asked, ducking his head to try and meet your eye. James got quieter as he found it harder to bite down his smile. "For being so great?" 

You rolled your eyes but the flat look you tried to give him was far too fond to do any damage. All it did was make you aware of how close the two of you were. 

“All three. It was great,” I breathed out, leaning into his hand as we sat side by side on the edge of the infirmary bed. “It was really great.”

"Not as great as seeing you in my jersey." His hand on your cheek grew firmer as he allowed himself to feel the warmth of your skin against his fingertips.

Your head was beginning to spin, thoughts tangled in a dizzying mess of questions and desires. But amid the chaos, one thing remained clear: you enjoyed being with him, more than you ever had thought possible.

James Potter had an ego the size of a lake, but a heart to match.

James’s leg dangled off the edge of the infirm bed, the toe on his hightop grazing your own. The other was tucked under him, adding more contact between his shin and your thigh. The two of you had spent the past two months bumping elbows, his chest brushing against your back when he’d lean from behind you to read something over your shoulder. 

At the beginning of the year, his touch made you tense, you’d hold your breath until the moment passed. Along the way, it stopped feeling like your heart was thrown off the top of the astronomy tower as you formed a routine together. 

This was different. This was intentional. 

You wondered if he could feel how hot your face was under his palm. It was almost embarrassing, how you felt like one of the first year girls that would giggle with their friends as he ran past. It would’ve been embarrassing if it didn’t feel so good. So you leaned your head into his hand.

“You make no sense. It’s like, anytime I think I have you figured out, I realize I have you all wrong, again.”

With a cocky grin, he leaned in towards you, his face mere inches from yours. "Ah, but that's what makes me interesting, isn’t it?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Keeps you on your toes, keeps you guessing. I'm a complete mystery. I don't even understand myself sometimes." 

You scoffed and he leaned a bit closer, the warmth of his breath now brushing against your cheek. "But isn't that what makes me so fascinating?”

“I still think the most fascinating thing about you is how you manage to get your massive head in the air with your broom,” you murmured.

“Oh, you thought my head was big before? Just wait until you see how big it is after I do this.”

James closed the distance, his mouth finding yours with ease. His thumb slid under your chin to tilt your head back, allowing him to lean further over you. 

You’d had your fair share of kisses over the past few years, but none had ever felt like this. This was like drinking liquid luck until you got sick. You gripped his collar, pulling yourself closer and he was happy to wrap an arm around your waist to tug you closer. 

Every sense was heightened, the touch of his mouth sending your mind spiraling. Everything faded away, the world narrowing down to the feeling of his tongue swiping your bottom lip, the slight weight of his hand resting against the side of your neck, the sound of your own uneven breaths.

This was what it must have been like to taste the sun. It was like laying under an open window and basking in the early morning light on the first day of summer. Tangling your hands in his hair was like growing roots into the earth as it orbited around the sun.

You were burning alive and nothing had ever felt better. 

The two of you pulled back after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, your breathing ragged and eyes wide. You searched his face for any sign of dislike and were ecstatic when you couldn’t even imagine what that would like on his face. 

Not when the two of you were breaking into smiles. 

If you had thought James Potter glowed before, now he was blinding.

“Yeah,” he drew out and brushed your hair behind your ear. “I’m about to be insufferable now that I’ve finally done that.”

quid pro quo master list here

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Neither of you are getting it.”

Twin sighs come from his laptop speakers. Lance lifts his head up from where he’s smushed it into his pillow to glare at his two best friends who apparently hate him, for some reason.

“I mean, there’s not much to get,” Pidge says. “You’re a big dumb gay loser and this predicament effects you emotionally.” She looks at Hunk as if to ask, right?, and Hunk, who is a traitor of the worst kind, shrugs in agreement.

“I don’t even get what you’re worried about, man. You have consistently been the one to get him the best gifts for years. None of us even try to beat you.”

“That’s the point!” Lance shrieks. “You’re not listening! I had ideas every other year, Hunk! This year I have nothing!” He taps his head aggressively. “There is not one thing in here! Nada!”

Pidge snickers. “Well, that’s not new.”

“Can it, Pidgeon.”

Hunk holds his hands up placatingly before the two of them can really start to go at it. “Alright, alright. Pidge, have mercy on him. He’s suffering. Lance —” he falters. “Dude, you walked into that one. Sorry.”

Lance will concede to that point. He kind of set his own trap. But still, he’s having a crisis, Pidge as his best friend should be going easy on him, so he sticks his tongue out at her.

“I just — ugh.” He takes a moment to fluff his pillows back up before falling backwards on them and throwing a hand over his face. This is a ridiculous thing to be so bothered by, and he knows it, but he is. Bothered by it, that is. He hasn’t been this lost since the first year they were in space.

“Lance,” Hunk says gently, startling him. “It’s August, dude. Keith’s birthday is two months away. You really, truly, do not need to be stressing about it.”

Lance’s eyes trace the long-faded glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. His gazes unfocuses on the red-orange star that represents Pollux, which has always been his favourite.

“This will be the first time I’ve seen him in months,” Lance says quietly. “I want him —” he swallows. The dryness of his throat makes his voice scratchy. “I want to be perfect.”

It. He had meant to say, I want it to be perfect. Because that’s what he wants — he wants Keith to get here safely and actually be able to stay this time and nothing to go wrong and him to celebrate his birthday surrounded by his loved ones, his friends and family. And — Lance. Wants to be there. Also.

He swallows again. It’s harder this time.

“He’s going to love anything you give him,” Pidge says, uncharacteristically soft. “You know he’s just going to be glad to see you upright and in one piece.”

Lance winces and the strained quality of her voice, the sudden darkness in Hunk’s expression. He knows he’s the cause of it.

It was hard on the team, his death.

He knows it was. That’s why he never talks about it. (They were never supposed to even know about it. When Lance’s soul was yanked back into his body and Allura gasped in relief and hugged him to her chest and sobbed out, I thought I was too late, Lance clamped his mouth shut and kept it that way. When he had rare moments on their long trip home where the adrenaline began to fade and he felt his heart begin to slow, he picked fights. He ran sims. He made stupid decisions. He kept his body distracted and his mind wound so tightly around Red’s that there was no chance for it to slip, to remember what had happened to him, to fade back into that dark and silent place. He kept his mouth shut and kept his quintessence dragged up to the highest level he could bring it.

And when they defeated Sendak, and they had to sacrifice their lions or sacrifice their friend, Lance’s hands shook and he made the obvious choice. And he doesn’t know what happened, when the adrenaline finally faded and the one thing keeping him tethered to their plane disappeared, but he knows when his soul was yanked back into his body, permanently this time, his friends wouldn’t answer his questions or let him out of their sight and all of them had the same haunted look to their eyes. He has never had the strength to ask. But he has been careful with himself, since. He covers his Altean marks — a testament of how much Allura gave of herself to keep him alive — and keeps his feet planted on Earth and out of danger and knows that he owes it to them to keep himself safe.)

“Well, anything I could give him would be better than what you got him last year,” Lance says loudly, beating back the oppressive silence that has fallen over them. It works — Pidge scowls at him, remembering the plant she had got him that had turned out to be highly toxic to any Galra. Hunk snickers at the memory of the bright blue hives that had covered Keith’s skin for weeks.

“How was I to know?” Pidge cries. Hunk and Lance’s increasing laughter only seems to make her angrier “He — ugh! It doesn’t matter, anyway, because you handmade him a leather sheath for his knife so he wasn’t looking at what I was giving him anyway! Shut up! Ugh!”

“It’s true,” Hunk agrees, chuckling. “We should make you gift stuff last. It’s not fair and makes everyone else look bad. He couldn’t take his eyes off that sheath, last year. He still wears it every day.”

Pidge mutters something in her hand that sounds suspiciously like “he couldn’t take his eyes off of someone,” so Lance ignores her in favour of whining again.

“Yeah, well, there’s no point this year because I’ve got nothing. I started making that sheath in June. I started making his jacket from two years ago in March. But this year I didn’t have any ideas and now I don’t have the time, even if I do come up with something. ” He sighs, defeated. “It sucks. I’ve hardly seen him outside of a computer screen and I’m only going to see him less, and I can’t even give him something to remember me by.”

“You’re talking like you’re never going to see him again,” Pidge points out. “There would be way less pressure if you just — saw him more, dude.”

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, right. Lemme just pack up and run off to space with him. Boom, all problems solved.”

He blinks.

He sits up so fast he very nearly brains himself on his bed frame.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. He looks over at his friends, who are smiling widely. His heart pounds.

Holy shit.

“I gotta go,” he shouts, scrambling to grab his laptop.

“Goodbye, Lance,” Hunk says, rolling his eyes fondly.

Pidge makes a crude gesture at him because she’s the worst. “Bye, gay pining loser!”

He slams the laptop lid shut and holds it tightly to his chest. Everything, finally, starts to click into place — Lance smiles; small at first, but quickly his mouth spreads so wide his cheeks ache, and his eyes practically squish shut.

He knows what to do.

———

On the morning of October 23rd, he is stressing.

“You’re embarrassing,” calls Allura, from where she‘s been lazing on the couch and eating pineapples for the last three days.

“I regret asking for your help,” Lance grunts, struggling to lift a sack of flour. He side eyes her. “Especially because you’re supposed to be helping, Miss Superstrength.”

Allura snorts, shoving another chunk of pineapple in her mouth. “I am helping. If I wasn’t here you would have talked yourself out of this several times over. You’re welcome!”

“Ugh,” Lance says, because she’s right and he knows it. “I’m not letting you lick the spoon.”

“What? Hey!”

He does let her lick the spoon. Because he has no discipline. But to her eternal credit she does actually help, too, and in more ways than just picking him up and physically shaking him out of his many freak outs, and he has a lot of them.

He’s been planning this for weeks. There are so many aspects, so many moving parts, that it’s just — stressful. Trying to put together a party that balances all the people who want to come together and celebrate Keith’s 25th with every single time constraint and restoration effort and even Keith’s own discomfort with too much fanfare is…a lot. Plus all the actual stuff that goes into hosting people at a party — Lance absolutely would not be able to do any of this without Allura’s help. She is, after all, his best friend, even though she drives him crazy and always has, in more ways than one.

At eleven thirty, when all the (tasteful, despite what his siblings had insisted was too boring) decorations have been set up and most of the food has been prepared, Allura clasps her palms to his cheeks and says, “Lance, breathe.”

Lance looks at her with wide eyes and says, “I’m cancelling everything.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I can’t do this. What was I thinking? This is — cringe. Ridiculous.” His chest shakes on an inhale. “What was I thinking, ‘Llura?”

She hums thoughtfully. Her thumbs trace his cheekbones, wiping away the makeup that covers his Altean marks, making Lance twitch but not move.

“You were thinking,” she says quietly, “about how long it has been since everyone has been on the same planet.”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

“And how much we have all missed each other.

His shaking hands come up to grip her wrists, breath shuddering as he exhales.

“Yes.”

“And. Maybe. How much you miss Keith.” She pulls her hands away from his face and wraps them around his hands. “How much you miss the stars, even.”

“I’m scared,” he admits.

She squeezes his hands. “When has that stopped you?”

———

It’s three thirty and there’s still no sign of Keith.

Shiro and the rest of the Atlas crew, including Hunk and Veronica, arrived arrived sometime around one. The Holts came in right on their heels. Kolivan, Krolia, and a few other Blades Keith has kept up with over the years showed up a few hours ago. Lance’s family has been here the whole time, and Coran and Romelle came with Allura. Everyone that Lance had invited to come is here.

Except the one person Lance actually wants to come.

“Lance,” Shiro greets, somehow sensing his anxiety like the guru goody goody he is and popping up next to him.

Lance smiles anyway. He’s missed him too much to do anything else — he hasn’t seen anyone on the Atlas since their last restock, ten weeks ago.

“Hey, Shiro.”

“You freaking out?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’d be shocked if you weren’t, you walking Xanax advertisement.”

That startles a laugh out of Lance, and he shoves him, grateful for the distraction. Shiro grins wide and throws an arm around him, guiding him away from the front door — where he’s been biting his nails and staring at the sky in anxious hope for the last twenty minutes — and back to the rest of the party, ducking under flailing limbs and the random football that someone has brought out for some reason (Marco, probably).

“He’s gonna come, you know. He’s been excited about it since you invited him. I have received no less than nine hundred and twenty-two texts about it. It’s all very sweet and embarrassing. He’s coming, Lance.”

Lance huffs. “Unless he’s dead or maimed somewhere. I did some quick stat evals and there’s at 37% chance he was attacked on the flight to Earth and is bleeding out as we speak.”

Shiro stops them. He blinks at Lance several times. He sighs.

“You actually need to see a psychiatrist. Genuinely.”

“Nah.”

Shiro flicks him on the forehead, but the fond smile stays affixed to his face. Soon Lance finds himself relaxing, tucked under Shiro’s arm. He’s probably right — he usually is. Keith is chronically late, just as a person. Lance even told him the party started at ten just to make it more likely that he’d show up before everyone left. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be places — he just struggles with the concept of time passing, and also gets distracted a lot. (There are a lot of people who need Keith’s help, after all, and he’s a bleeding heart if Lance has ever known one. All humans are wired to respond to calls for help, but Keith seems almost attuned to them. If Lance thinks about his crooked smile and kind eyes for too long he gets physically nauseous.)

As Lance’s watch ticks its way to four o’clock, a light streaks across the sky, and before Lance knows what he’s doing he ducks under Shiro’s arm and starts running. He flings open the back gate and slides down the sandy hills, barely managing not to trip on rocks and pits in the sand where children have dug little pools. He doesn’t bother to slow as the aircraft makes its fiery descent, confident the pilot will not hit him, and by the time he makes it across the beach his bare feet burn and he’s stepped on a sharp shell and lost his jacket somewhere near the house. But it doesn’t matter, because the craft lands and seconds later the door flings open and Keith comes sprinting out, still clad in armour, hair long and thick and braided back, and he runs at Lance at full speed and they collide at the top of a sand dune and Lance leaps into his arms and Keith loses his balance and they go tumbling down, laughing, Keith’s hand on his waist and Lance’s fingers clutching tightly at his shoulders.

“You made it!” Lance shouts, smile wider than he ever thought capable.

Keith laughs again, full-bodied and relieved, crooked incisors on full display and long neck pulled back as his head rests on the ground.

“I know! I’m late, I’m sorry, I lost track of time and —”

“You always lose track of time,” Lance says warmly. He traces a strand of hair that has loosened from Keith’s braid, brushing it off his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. He stays where he is, half-pinning Keith into the sand, knees on either side of him, re-memorizing the curve of his grin and the indigo of his eyes and the scars on his face and the softness of his gaze. Suddenly his chest aches, painful in the best possible way, and his stomach pits and swirls and butterflies flutter wildly in his abdomen. Heat zaps up his veins and sparks through his arteries. The slowly setting mid-autumn sun casts golden light on Keith’s face and Lance is reminded, again, how breathtaking things are outside of Earth.

“Happy birthday,” he breathes, choking on the words.

Keith’s eyes crinkle. His hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb pressing gently on the gold Altean marks. They curve perfectly around the shape of his fingerprint.

“I missed you, Bluebell.”

Someone huffs. “Yeah, and he nearly killed us trying to get here. Some kind of leader you are, Captain.”

Keith flushes, gently pushing Lance up so he can get up and glare at Ezor properly. “We were fine!”

“We crossed nine hundred million lightyears in two days!”

“I took a shortcut!”

“Through weblum mating grounds!”

Lance punches his friend in the shoulder. Keith pouts at him, wounded.

“You flew through weblum mating grounds?!”

“It was fine!” Keith defends. “It wasn’t even an issue!”

Acxa scoffs incredulously. “We were chased by fourteen weblums at once, Kogane.”

“But did you die?”

All three of Keith’s crew roll their eyes. Keith crosses his arms smugly. Lance loves him so fiercely that it hurts.

“Keith!”

With what Lance can only call divine instinct, he has enough forethought to throw himself out of the way before a five foot nothing blur throws herself at Keith’s person and sends them both crashing to the ground, significantly more painfully that Keith and Lance’s whole thing. Keith groans loudly, but Pidge doesn’t even give him half a second to complain, dragging him back upright and hugging him properly. Keith, softie that he is, hugs her back immediately, smiling into her hair.

“Hey, Pidge.”

“Happy birthday, loser! Birthday beats!”

She, immediately, starts to let him have it, impervious to Keith’s yelps. He attempts to squirm away, but Zethrid, lover of violence and also loud supporter of Pidge in general, firmly clamps onto his shoulder to allow Pidge to assault him in peace.

“That was twenty-six!” he says in outrage when she finishes.

She smiles pleasantly. “You were late.”

Hunk, thankfully, chooses that moment to jog over, carrying an ice pack because he’s an angel and also a genius.

“Figured Pidge would come in fists swinging,” he jokes, leaning down to hug Keith tightly. “Happy birthday, man. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Keith protests, but he looks like he agrees.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the party to flock over, despite the fact that it would be much easier for everyone to just wait for Keith to walk over to them. Lance isn’t surprised — it’s not like he could wait, after all. When Keith is around, people gather. Such is the way of the world.

He smiles at the crowd of Keith’s loved ones, and especially at the bewilderment on his face. It’s been years, but Lance knows that he still gets surprised when he’s reminded how big his family has gotten. It’s nice to see that reminder written all over his face. He edges out of the smattering of people and starts to head back to the house, figuring he might as well start setting up the table to get dinner started now that Keith’s here. Most of it is already cooked and keeping warm in the oven, but he figured it would be best to wait until everyone was ready to —

“Hey, Lance, wait up.”

He startles when a hand wraps its way around his wrist, relaxing when he recognises the calloused fingers and leather-covered palm. Keith jogs over the rest of the way now that he has Lance stopped, falling into step next to him.

“What’re you doing?” Lance asks, looking at him urgently. “Go say hi to everyone!”

Keith shrugs. “I’ll get there.” He flashes another smile at Lance and it’s crooked and familiar and Lance is weak in the knees. “I started an argument about human versus Altean time measuring systems. Everyone is now picking sides. They won’t notice I’m gone for the next ten minutes at least. I’m all yours, Sharpshooter.”

Lance resists the urge to bury himself in the sand and die of mortification. There’s actually no physical reason for Keith to look the way that he does. It’s — too much. The smouldering eyes and sturdy shoulders are one thing, but with the whole — grin and hair and wide hands and fucking — everything else; it’s too much. It’s a lot. Keith should maybe — wear a mask, or something. Or a hood. Or be more of a klutz, just so he’s humbled slightly.

“Oh,” Lance croaks, trying desperately not to focus on the way Keith’s hand is still holding onto Lance. “That’s — cool.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Blue, Red, if your spirits are still kicking around somewhere, send help, he prays at the heavens.

Apparently they are, because the heavens do indeed provide.

The air in front of the sparks and warps, flashing blue so bright Lance had to squeeze his eyes shut. He hears a loud bark, and opens his eyes again just in time to catch the ball of fur and floof that throws himself into his arms.

“Kosmo!” he cries, pulling away from Keith in his haste to hug the space-wolf tightly. Kosmo yips in delight, covering Lance’s face in dog slobber as he wiggles around in excitement. “Oh, buddy, I was wondering where you were! Mwah! Mwah mwah mwah!”

“He saw the crowd on the descent and got nervous,” Keith explains, scratching Kosmo’s fur fondly. “He was hiding in the back, huh, buddy?”

“Like father like son,” Lance teases. He adjusts the big dog into his arms so he’s half on his shoulders, panting right next to his ear and giving him gross slobbery kisses every three seconds.

“I do not hide from crowds,” Keith huffs. “And he can walk, Lance. Don’t baby him. He’s always spoiled after he hangs out with you.”

“You do so. And of course I spoil the little baby!” Lance coos, scratching under his chin. Kosmo howls in excitement, tail thumping hard against Lance’s hip. “Who’s the bestest boy? Who is my favourite in the whole big universe? It’s you! Yes, Kosmo-baby, it’s you! Good boy!”

“He’s not your favourite,” Keith grumps.

“Yes he is! Oh, yes he is!”

He coos over Kosmo for the whole walk back to the house, only setting him down when they make their way to the kitchen. Keith grabs the dog gently under the ear when he finally stands on his own, bending down to look him straight in the eyes.

“Kosmo,” he says quietly, angling himself slightly away from Lance, “remember what we Talked About.” He stares at the wolf for several moments. “You know. About the — thing.”

Amazingly, the dog seems to bark in understand. Keith nods in satisfaction, patting him on the head. “Good. Go do.” With a poof Kosmo disappears again, leaving just the two of them in the kitchen.

Lance pouts. “Aw. I wanted to spend more time with him. I haven’t seen him in months.”

Keith looks affronted. “You haven’t seen me in months!”

Lance turns away to hide his smile, busying himself with the food. “Eh.” He waves an oven-mitt-clad hand dismissively. “I text you all the time.

“You’re a bully,” Keith pouts. “You’re being mean to me on my birthday.”

“At the party I put together for you, dweeb. Don’t you pout at me.”

In response, Keith inserts himself into Lance with the guise of helping him plate and pouts harder.

“Bully,” he emphasizes.

Lance flicks him on the nose. Keith catches his hand and holds it hostage between two of his, rubbing his thumb along the bump of Lance’s wrist. Lance considers screaming.

“Help or get out of my kitchen,” he manages instead.

Smirking, Keith does, loading garlic knots onto a plate and stealing several, thinking he’s slick. He’s not — Lance notices, but it’s Keith’s birthday and Lance also ate like six already, so he lets it slide.

They have everything ready to go in under five minutes, loading up as much as they can carry and heading outside to set it all out. Everyone else is back by the time they get there, and Hunk and Shiro scramble to come help set up. Very quickly the party is in full swing, people eating and laughing and wishing Keith a thousand happy birthdays. Keith has always claimed to hate attention and crowds, but he’s — glowing, really. His smile doesn’t leave his face. Maybe it’s that he’s older and maybe it’s that he knows everyone. But more likely it’s the easy confidence that’s grown in him over the years, sprouting from the knowledge that he is good and he is kind and he is loved, and trusting everyone who assures him this is true. Lance remembers when he hunched his shoulders and scowled at anyone who looked at him too long. Now he smiles when someone calls his name.

There’s no rhyme or reason to the party. Lance had attempted to plan it, but given up quickly — he knows his people. They’ll flutter around something until inspiration hits and they’ll flutter around something else. The only constant has been food and loading Kosmo up with affection.

As the sun begins its journey below the horizon, someone — Adam — forces Keith into a random lawnchair and says, “Open your gifts, gremlin.”

Immediately, everyone else clambers to grab their gifts and gather around, ignoring Keith’s protests of “I’m twenty-five goddamn years old, I don’t need gifts, you people waste your time and money —” and arguing over who goes first.

Adam goes first. Obviously.

Despite Keith’s grumbling, he’s very obviously touched. He gets a range of things, from a fancy knife from his mother (again) to a framed photo from Shiro, with he and Adam grinning widely at a camera as a young Keith snores in Shiro’s lap. Keith starts bawling some time around gift number three and never really stops. Lance tries to hand him tissues, but after he uses up an entire box decides to let him be a big emotional dork in piece.

“Is this a crystal from the first Balmera we ever visited,” Keith sobs.

Hunk smiles, amused. “It is.”

He makes his way over to Keith’s lawn chair and hugs him tightly for several minutes, muttering something and pressing dozens of kisses into his hair. Keith holds him tightly. Lance himself cries on several occasions, but he’s not alone.

“I just love everyone so much,” Keith blubbers.

“Here we go,” teases Allura, but she’s the one to shoo everyone out of his space to give him a break. “Take a few minutes, darling. Gather yourself. Let me know when you’re up for company again.”

Keith nods at her gratefully. Kosmo makes his way onto Keith’s lap and plants himself there, curling up and laying his head on Keith’s knees. Lance sits on the lawn chair next to Keith, offering him a glass of water that he accepts gratefully.

“I do this every year,” Keith laments, attempting to dry his eyes.

Lance pats him delicately on the hand. “Don’t worry. It’s charming.”

Keith sniffles. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.”

Lance is the only one who hasn’t given Keith his present. Well, and Allura, technically, since she’s part of it. Part of him wants to do it now, get it over with. He even finds the words for it, but then Pidge hollers something about cake, and Keith, who has the biggest sweet tooth in the entire universe, brightens, looking at Lance hopefully, and Lance swallows it down.

“Go sit at the table,” Lance orders. “I’m doing candles and you’re blowing them out.”

“That’s babyish,” Keith protests stubbornly.

“No candles, no cake.”

“Ugh.”

Keith gets up and goes to sit at the table, Kosmo pattering after him.

Smiling to himself, cheeks redder than he would like, Lance ducks back into the kitchen, digging around the cupboards for the candles he bought the other day and carefully pulling the cake out of the fridge.

It’s chocolate-chocolate-chocolate-chocolate. Quadruple chocolate. It’s chocolate cake with chocolate custard and chocolate frosting covered in chocolate decorations. What it is is sugar on a platter, and Keith will devour it. Lance spent more hours than he’s willing to admit on making it. If anyone questions him even a little he is going to die on the spot.

He carefully sticks twenty six candles — one for wishing — on the top of the cake, lighting twenty-five of them. Everyone is already sat down by the time he walks back outside, and the second Coran sees them he starts singing loudly, and everyone else is quick to join in. As much as Keith tries to roll his eyes about the truly startling amount of flame on his cake, nothing he can do can hide the obvious excitement that lights up his face upon sight of the chocolate monstrosity. He takes a deep breath and blows out the candles when the song ends, extinguishing all but one. Immediatey, a ripple of teasing snickers and ooooooou’s fill the air.

“One candle left! You’re gonna get a boyfriend this year!” Pidge shouts, looking directly at Lance.

Both Keith and Lance flush up to their foreheads.

“Cut the cake!” Allura shouts, because she is a true ally and Lance loves her.

Grateful for the distraction, Lance does, nudging Keith out of the way when he tries.

“If you cut the cake then you can’t get the first slice, dorkbrain. Sit down. Let me.”

He does let Lance cut the cake, which makes Lance feel touched for some reason. God, Shiro is right. He needs a psychiatrist. He hates it when Shiro is right.

He’s very smug to receive dozens of compliments on his cake, highest of all from Keith, who scarfs down his first piece in literal seconds (thirty seven, to be exact). He has several more. There will be no leftovers.

But Lance knew that.

It doesn’t take long for people to start milling about again; finishing their dessert and picking at the various fruit trays and chatting and watching the last rays of sun disappear. Lance twitches nervously, stealing glances at Keith, until Allura walks up to him, pinches him on the shoulder, and says, “Get your quiznak together.”

And Lance grumbles, “Yeesh, woman. Alright,” and forces himself to walk over to Keith, who is spinning some hugely exaggerated story to Nadia and Sylvio.

“Children,” Lance says when Keith finally takes a breath, “Tío Lance has to talk to Keith about boring adult things. Go harass your Tío Marco, it will be fun.”

“Quieres tiempo a solas con tu nooooooovioooooo,” the twins singsong in unison, and then run away cackling. Lance flushes bright red and considers pelting strawberries at them like the little shits deserve.

“What was that?” Keith asks, bewildered.

“Probable cause,” Lance mutters darkly.

Keith snorts. “Please don’t murder your niblings.”

“That’ll be my gift to you. Not committing homicide on your birthday.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, not really.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “You mean…” He gestures vaguely at everything. “This isn’t already my gift?”

Lance shrugs.

“Lance, come on! This is more than enough. It must have taken you weeks to prepare.” He shakes his head, looking at Lance with soft, kind eyes. “You always do so much for me.”

Lance shudders, weak under Keith’s gaze.

“I like to.” He pauses. “I miss you. Always. It — fills the time, to do things for you.”

Keith reaches up and brushes some sand from Lance’s hair. He lingers, after, tracing his fingers along the shell of his ear, resting his hand against Lance’s neck. Lance closes his eyes, leaning into it, letting himself have this affection he’s craved like nothing else for months.

“I miss you, too. Constantly. Sometimes you’re all I think about, up there.” He sighs, and Lance can hear the tired, enticing smile on his face. “Wish you were watching my back again, Sharpshooter. No one else does it quite like you.”

Lance forces his eyes open again, although he can’t bring himself to meet Keith’s eyes. He traces the crooked line of his nose, instead, the tilt of his thick brows.

“You going back tonight?”

“Nah, I’ll stay a couple days. I’ve got nothing pressing for another week.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him, chants the Allura that lives in his head.

Give me a goddamn second, he snaps back at it.

“Uh, Allura and I have been. Working. On a project.”

Keith tilts his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s here a lot. Obviously.” He gestures to his Altean marks, which he has just remembered are uncovered. He’s fine — all systems are running and he is a-okay. But his situation was a little different than Shiro’s. A little more Frankenstein. Lance depends on quintessence heavier than anyone else — he’s probably fine to make his own and live his life, but…he’s always struggled with depression. And Allura worries. So she wormholes to Earth regularly to hang out and make sure he’s not too low.

They have a lot of time to scheme, the Blue Paladins of Voltron.

“Obviously,” Keith agrees. Unlike everyone else, he doesn’t avoid looking at his marks; doesn’t wince when he’s reminded of them. The only change in his eyes is a look of determination, a renewed intensity in which he watches Lance. It’s a little bit intoxicating.

“I love Earth,” Lance says quietly. “It will always be my home. I will always want to come back here. I want to die here.” He finally meets Keith’s eyes. “But.”

Keith’s eyes are wide. The hand still resting on the curve of Lance’s neck twitches, slightly.

“But?” he asks, breathless.

“I’ve been helping her organize plans for a castleship. A little smaller than the old one, but — you know. Similar. It’s something to do. I’ll feel better knowing you guys are together, up there, fighting as a team together. There’s the Atlas, but it’s not the same. It’s not Voltron.”

“Oh.” Some of the excitement dims from Keith’s expression, although he takes great care to keep the smile firmly on his face. “That’s great, Lance. I miss the castle too. It’ll be a little more stable, and missions will —”

“And I’m coming with you,” Lance blurts.

Keith freezes.

“To space. Permanently. Um, mostly. I still want to come back to Earth and see my mom and everybody but you know. I miss everybody. I’m lonely. And being a farmer is actually super duper boring. No offense to farmers, but I want to shoot shit again. I even miss training, which is crazy, because I hate training —”

“Lance,” Keith says, and Lance says “Yeah?” and then he’s being pulled forward and Keith’s other hand comes to rest on his hip and he is being kissed.

“Oh,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut and words fading from his brain. His hands slide into Keith’s hair without his conscious thought, and he tilts his head and lets Keith devour him as the butterflies storm in his stomach and kisses Keith back like he will get all the breath he needs from Keith’s lungs. His head spins and his knees go weak and Keith smells like pine and sandalwood and his lips are chapped and his hands are calloused and it’s the most wonderfully strange mix of foreign and familiar, bexause Lance knows all these things, but he has never known them in this way.

“Finally!” someone shouts, and soon there are wolf whistles and catcalls and Keith’s smile is pressed against his and Lance can feel the press of his crooked incisors against his bottom lip and he could live off the sensation.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, half-drowned out by the noise of their teasing friends.

“Exactly as I wished it to be,” Keith whispers back, and then kisses him again and again and again.

[scummy-writes]

Between a Stag and Wolf

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Keith/Reader, Keith/Reader/Licht (not poly)

Words: 3503

Tags: Threesomes, Thigh Fucking, PIV, Anal, Spitroasting (Vaginal/Mouth), Double Penetration, Blowjobs, Aphrodisiacs, Established Relationship (Keith/Reader), Reader has she/her pronouns, Reader has vagina

For @portrait-ninja! Thank you so much for the support!

Out of all the ways it could have started, the wildest night of your life began with a simple shattering of glass.

And, well, a guilty looking Licht.

He had been perusing Keith’s apothecary, the shelves stretched along the walls, lined with bottles and jars all labeled in various neat handwriting… And a few with messier scrawls. Licht went to inspect one closer, its color an intriguing hue, and in the process knocked over a neighboring bottle with a deadpan ‘Oops’ slipping out. He immediately bent to start picking up the bigger shards, ignoring how the fine dust of the mixture coated his fingertips. 

Keith didn’t mind- anything in here could be recreated with ease, but the bottle in question belonged to Yule, containing one of her various experiments. Keith froze when he recognized the handwriting, face paling at the mess of glass and powder spilled across the floor.

Who would have thought that such an innocent looking concoction would have landed you pressed between your half-clothed lover and another, both eager for your undivided attention.

.

The buttons on your blouse were scattered across the tile, the cool air hitting your heated skin briefly before Keith’s mouth descended onto your neck, collar, and chest. Each greedy action of your lover brought forth his familiar husky murmurs asking for forgiveness, yet his hands explored what he had uncovered eagerly, groaning softly between your pillowy breasts.

Through the hazy pleasure rumbling inside you, rational thought still managed to barely bleed through, mingling in short bursts. Embarrassment fizzled along your skin at being exposed in the apothecary, the open space and wide windows giving your anxiety an excuse to rear its ugly head again as Keith made quick work of tearing your bra in two, more breathy promises escaping his lips. Yet your body burned with excitement, aching, as you watched Keith run his heated tongue over the swell of one breast. That alone caused your thighs to clench at just the feel of his mouth exploring you; marking you through nibbles and suckling at just the right pressure to turn you on further.

A shameful whine left you, and hearing your reckless noises had your impulses catching up to you, a fight within yourself wanting to push Keith away to try and keep some decency.

But strong arms locked yours behind your back, a vice grip to keep you on display for both of the men you were  here with.

“Hey, he’s not the only one feeling like this, you know.”

The words were harmless, if needy. But Licht’s voice by your ear only served to worsen your arousal, the heat of his breath ghosting the shell of your ear, the sound of his small groan echoing in your mind.

His grip on your arms hadn’t relented for a moment, holding you in place as Keith continued to try and temporarily satiate his thirst between watching both of your reactions. It was enough for Licht to keep his hips firmly pressed against your ass, his shaking breaths making your head spin as he ground his erection slowly. Almost as if teasing himself as he stared at the markings your boyfriend left across your breasts.

“Are you only going to let him have you tonight? I can make you feel good too…”

You could feel your cunt clench in anticipation, a shameful thought regarding how his girth was more than you had imagined. And that thought delved into further deviancy, needing your inner walls to feel every ridge and vein of his cock - or Keith’s- fast.

So amidst Licht panting, rubbing his clothed length against you with more urgency, you pushed your hips back, trying to angle yourself in some way for your neglected pussy to be touched.

With that movement and a strangled moan by your ear, Licht’s hands covered your breasts, giving you a loving squeeze. As he luxuriated on the softness in his grasp and the way you leaned harder against him as he teased your nipples, Keith's voice finally went above a murmur.

“Who do you want first?”

A decision? Now? With your mind so foggy with incoherent neediness? It was difficult to look at Keith, his eyes scorching with a lust familiar only to you, but Licht was also still rutting against your ass…

With your indecision, Keith took your chin in his gentle grasp, making you meet his gaze before closing the gap between the two of you with a kiss.

“You can choose him first, if that’s what you want.”

“Are you sure?”

Keith’s eyes flicked behind you for just a moment, “It’ll be a good way to prepare you for me.”

“I’ll do more than that,” Licht huffed, annoyance laced in his tone as he hiked your skirt up. The motion made you stagger with the unexpected haste, and in turn Licht guided you to brace against the nearest counter, working on your remaining clothes the second your hands had a decent hold.

The only time he paused was when your underwear was swiftly pulled down, exposing your warmth to the air. A chill went through you as it made you aware of just how excited you had become from all of this stimulation. Your arousal was coating your pussy and inner thighs to an almost embarrassing degree.

Looking over your shoulder, you witnessed Licht’s mouth slightly agape as he stared at the sight.

“Are you just going to stare?”

That was enough to snap him out of his daze. Licht’s hands went to his belt, and you turned back, taking in a deep breath. It felt odd letting another man have access to you like this, but Keith was fine with it. In fact, you could feel his eyes trail along your body, watching as Licht pressed against you, a small moan leaving the two of you at the tantalizing contact.

The idea of your lover watching so intently, assessing how another man pleased you. It added another layer of thrilling depravity to the situation.

Your arousal was enough lubricant for Licht. His cock was now nestled between your thighs impatiently. The head of his dick slid between your eager folds, but kept pressing on, nudging against your clit. At that tease of friction, you groaned, and that seemed to be enough for Licht to continue thrusting between your plush thighs.

Biting down on your lip, a long sigh of relief fell out as your clit got some of the attention it was pleading for. Even if Licht’s movements were a bit uncoordinated out of lust, it was easy to remedy by rolling your hips against his rhythm.

His grip had moved to your bare hips, but his mouth hadn’t left your ear. Each puff of air as he quietly groaned sent a shiver through you, and as he murmured, “Tell me you want me inside of you.”

“W-what?”

Annoyed, he nipped at your ear.

“Don’t you want to feel me? Aren’t you excited too?”

“Yes, but- mmph.”

All thoughts were interrupted as Licht pulled back enough to rub his tip against your entrance, applying enough pressure to just tease at the relief he could give. A taste of his girth, already promising to fill your needy cunt. You felt yourself clench in anticipation.

“Then say it.”

The words were humiliating to say to a man other than Keith, but you trudged on, giving into the heat burning inside of you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you admitted your need. Yet Licht still didn’t move.

“That’s it? You only want me that much?”

Frustrated, you pushed your hips back, successfully connecting the two of you in one movement. Surprised, Licht’s voice came out unbidden, a strangled groan tickling your ear. But the shock didn’t last for long. Seeing, and feeling your need for him drove Licht to immediately start a quick pace, thrusting into you recklessly.

It wasn’t the same as Keith. Licht’s pumps into you were desperate and needy, but god did his cock manage to hit deep enough for your toes to curl. You were thankful he couldn’t see your face, knowing with certainty that it was shamefully lewd.

However, when you did lift your head, your eyes trailed up the body before you. You could feel your heart thump as you met Keith’s heady gaze, fiery golden eyes staring back.

Carefully, he reached to grasp your chin, rubbing your bottom lip with his thumb at an agonizingly slow speed. In comparison to Licht’s thrusts, the touch felt gentle, as if he was worried of overwhelming you - yet he didn’t falter as Licht drove into you harder, with a newfound determination to wreck you in front of your lover, causing your voice to leak out uncontrollably, a whine following your heated pants.

“You look so beautiful right now.”

His face is a mixture of emotions.. Enamored, needy, and worried. Worried that you’ll be exhausted all too easily with such hungry men crowding you, begging for relief. Though the former emotion seems to overpower the others, as his hands reach for his belt.

Such a sight shouldn’t be a surprise to you by now, but Keith’s boldness was always a rarity to gaze upon. Normally shy hands that would rather hide such a blatant display of his arousal instead unzipped his pants in front of you, letting you watch uninterrupted as he pulled his briefs down far enough for his heavy cock to bob out. It was so close to your mouth, the flushed tip glistening with precum that had slowly built up as he watched you be pounded into by another man.

“We haven’t done this much, but… I really need you right now,” he muttered, brow drawn in concern, “I’ll be as careful as I can.”

Your sweet, sweet Keith. You tried to offer a confident smile, but Licht was trying to steal your attention, the pads of his fingers rubbing quick circles against your clit. 

“Y-you won’t break me,” you attempted to assure him, between quiet gasps.

There was only a brief pause before Keith seemed to relent against his inner struggle. He nudged his cock against your lips, shivering when you placed a soft kiss on the tip. Seeing that, you felt a streak of newfound deviancy - Keith was normally too polite to even suggest a blowjob, yet due to his inhibitions slowly fading thanks to the aphrodisiac, you were able to run your tongue down the side of his length, watching Keith’s brows knit together. He was clearly struggling, trying his best not to be too demanding.

But sucking at his frenulum? Pressing soft, wet kisses that turned clumsy due to Licht’s pounding rocking your body? In moments, you finally got what you craved - your boyfriend grasping your chin, thumbing your mouth open before gracing you with the head of his cock.

You had to adjust to take him in. Regardless of how slowly he inched in, it was evident to the both of you that there wasn’t a way to comfortably take him.

But due to this situation, and  Licht drawing out muffled groans from you, and Keith having edged himself watching you be pleased by another man, Keith seemed to meet his climax earlier than either of you expected. His salty cum coated the back of your tongue, and on impulse you tried to pull your head back. However, Keith tangled his fingers in your hair, keeping you in place as he came in your mouth.

It was such an odd sensation, tasting your lover’s seed just as the man behind you dug his nails into your skin, cumming with a slew of unheard words that left his lips. He buried himself to the hilt, making sure your cunt took every drop he had to offer before his grip relented.

It’s then that you’re thankful for the surface below you, letting you rest against it to catch your breath the moment both men pull out from you. Keith, with breathless words of love, and Licht, with a quiet thanks in his own way.

And while you do so, you can hear Keith pull himself away for the moment, circling around the counter to where Licht was just moments before. There’s a moment of silence, and you can only surmise that he’s enjoying the view of Licht’s cum oozing out and your cunt already clenching for more.

Keith’s fingers carefully explore your dripping folds, teasingly swiping over your swollen, sensitive clit before moving onto your entrance. His middle finger circles it before easing inside.

“He did a good job getting you prepared for me…” he murmured, using his other hand to stroke his cock. In tandem, he rubbed his finger against your inner walls, giving your pussy something to clench. “Didn’t fill you up quite as much though.”

“Play nice,” you chuckled. It was rare that Keith acted like his rougher self, and you found yourself wanting to draw it out more, “You still have a chance to add onto that.”

At your teasing, Keith pulled his finger back. Before you could apologize, however, a warmth rubbed between your pussy lips, stopping right at your entrance. He seems to pause there, only to lean over you, his broad chest against your back as he presses a chaste kiss to your temple. A reminder that you’re more than just a release for him.

You’re temporarily subdued from the brief sweetness, until Keith's foot nudged your legs further apart, making ample room for him.

It’s then that your hands grasp the edge of the table, mouth open as the head of Keith’s cock slowly pushes inside of you. The two of you had never been able to immediately go a second round, so having been well satisfied by Licht beforehand, the way Keith’s cock stretches you out with it’s girth teases overstimulation, and you struggle to even try to keep your voice down.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Keith mutters, a pleased sigh on his lips, “I know we just did this last night, but I can’t get enough of you. Especially not now…”

His words are drowned out by your own gasps, his cock pushing deeper and deeper, until he drags it out and snaps his hips - making you cry out.

Unlike before, there isn’t any hesitance in the way he handles you. His hands are on your hips in an instant, keeping you steady as he sets the pace he wants. The only way you know it’s still your Keith is from the apologies he murmurs between sighs of relief, promising to lavish your sore body later on tonight.

It’s easy to get roped into following your lover’s whims, even when he collects some of the fluids between the two of you, using it as a makeshift lubricant to start to tease your asshole with his thumb as he continues to pound into you. He doesn't rush, just slowly massages the tight ring, until his thumb can push in with ease.

Momentarily, you hope to get a lower dose of this drug to experiment with Keith in private, as he seems to express his desires much more easily. He's never brought up doing such a thing, and admittedly neither had you. Yet here he was, bringing forth another new pleasure for you, stretching you out with careful ease.

Between those thoughts, your attention is stolen away by Licht - or more aptly, his erection coming into your view.

“Just a little more,” his voice is desperate as he presses the tip against your swollen lips. You barely get to voice your assent before he’s thumbing your bottom lip, opening your mouth and slipping his cock in.

While still impressive in size, it’s much easier to take than Keith’s. The softness of his flushed head, the vein along his shaft that rubs against your tongue as he pushes more of his length into your mouth, until your nose is nearly buried in his curls is another stark difference from your lover’s - along with the taste of your mixed pleasure still tainting his cock.

He’s mindful as he can be, but even with one orgasm under his belt, he’s still eager to feel more. In his excitement, he thrusts a little too impatiently and makes you gag - a groan echoing between the three of you.

“She squeezed so tightly - do that again.”

Licht grumbled something about the command, but didn’t argue. Instead, he refrained from thrusting as hard as before, but still pushed his cock further and further down your throat, making your eyes water as you struggled to take him in such a way. 

It was an odd back and forth. Keith, pounding into you in such a way where it was easy to bring forth cries of pleasure, groaning each time Licht made you gag and your body tense at the sensation. And Licht, moaning with the vibration around his cock, causing him to thrust again.

“Just-Just like that, she’s clamping so much.”

And with this, Keith slips his thumb out of your ass, coaxing the ring of nerves to let one finger in, then two much more carefully. 

Bundled with the unknown sensitivity in such a place, your breathing restricted by Licht's cock, and the thickness of Keith's length… soon, your pussy tightened again, clamping down hard as another orgasm was pulled out of you.

The vibrations from your muffled cries cause Licht to pull out completely with a grunt, panting and still throbbing with need. It would be easy for him to stroke himself to completion, however he pauses as he catches his breath and watches as Keith mercilessly fucks you through your climax.

“Keith. Don't you think she'd feel good if we were both inside of her?”

.

Ever the gentleman, Keith had a firm grip under your knees, resting you against him as he held you spread open for Licht’s cock to slip into your pussy. It’s a very tight, fulfilling sensation - being stretched in two holes at once, two men holding you up between them as they use you like a well loved toy. It’s easy to see how into it Keith is, despite never wanting to admit such a thing outside of these circumstances. And Licht? Through the blurry tears, you can see his mouth agape, thrusting out of sync with Keith. The moment that he pulled back halfway, Keith would plunge his dick as far into your ass as he could manage. Then there was a brief, wonderful feeling when both, mid thrust, would fill you up at once.

That made your eyes water. This was bringing you so close to your third orgasm, with double the intensity of the others. Earlier, your thoughts were sluggish but still lucid to some degree. In comparison to now, it seemed laughable with how much of a struggle you considered that to be, because all that's in your mind is how full you are. The sweat clinging to your skin, Keith and Licht's bodies pressed so tightly against you. Your ears were swarmed by the noises of their grunts and praises, the smell of their colognes mingling…

Keith was the one to slow his thrusts, causing that sensation of both being fully inside of you at once to linger, tipping into overwhelming.

“Just a bit longer…” 

“I-I can’t!” You admitted, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as your peak came rushing, “i-it’s too much.”

“Which of us?” Licht panted, doing his best to push harder into you.

“Both! Both of you feel too- ah!”

Trailing off into a squeal, you felt your pleasure bloom, your body shaking with the waves it sent crashing over your nerves. You weren’t sure what spilled out of your mouth as you cried out - but you were aware of the gushes of warmth left inside of you.

Moving after that felt impossible, even after the two of them eased themselves out of you. Your head still spun with the overstimulation, trying to find your thoughts buried underneath the exhaustion. Luckily, you didn't have to struggle to regain strength in your legs. Keith and Licht helped you to your feet, and Keith was quick to pull you close for stability.

Muscles aching, you were so happy to have something to lean all of your weight against. Firm muscles, a familiar scent, the loving way he held onto you and stroked your hair… It seemed that the effects of the aphrodisiac were subsiding as your breath came easier, body fizzling with just the afterglow of your pleasure, not crying out for more.

With softness, Keith pressed a kiss against your temple, setting a hum of love through you. You smiled and leaned into the kisses left on your cheek, corner of your mouth… your jaw… neck… You squirmed as Licht’s lips joined in, suckling on the other side of your neck. Soon, Licht’s kisses began to nip, while Keith’s hand started veering towards your breast, an echo of earlier arousal seeping back into your bones.

“I’m so sorry, darling… I don’t think we’re quite finished yet.”

As said before, this is a fanfic for @portrait-ninja. She requested what to be included, as well as reviewed it to make sure it was to her liking. I do not want to hear any critisms, as this was completely written for her.

Hoo! This one tested my ability on writin threesomes. My main practice is when I get commissioned for them, and I feel like it tests my ability in a good way! I'm not used to writing Licht at all, and I'm very happy I was able to do so well enough for her liking. Wouldn't this be a fun aphrodisiac idea? hahahaa

Thank you for reading!

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[munsonsreputation]

everything in between

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [6.2K]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, difficulties dealing with drunk-ness (steve), brief talk about anxiety, all around fluff

summary: you and steve are both new to this relationship thing, unsure if this will finally be the one — but it's already clear to everybody else that you two are perfect for each other and everything in between. based off "in between" by gracie abrams.

It’s everything new and fresh, yet frightening between you and Steve.

The way that you both had found yourselves here without knowing if what was happening was right for either of you. If the decision to finally act upon feelings was going to be the end of broken hearts and tearful nights and replace them with mended tapestries and starry eyes.

For the both of you, it seems scary, giving love another chance after the horrible paths that you two had previously been on, but it seems like everyone else already knows that you’re both walking hand in hand on Lover’s Lane.

Something hopeful connecting you two together and bringing you both where you needed to be — becoming everything in between.

Robin likes to tease Steve in the beginning stages of your relationship. Poking fun at him for the way he has always been irrevocably whipped and enamored by you even before he had finally asked you out.

He tries to play it cool like his persona, but deep down she knows it’s all just an act and he puts up so that it doesn’t seem like he’s moving too fast.

Her feet rest comfortably in his lap as they pass around the popcorn bowl, enjoying the new tape they had smuggled from Family Video. Not that they cared, since Keith never noticed. The couch seems a lot bigger without the rest of their friends there to hog it, but Steve still doesn’t mind the less than pedicured toes in his lap because it’s his best friend.

There’s a ring that comes from the house phone which is mounted to the wall on the other side of the room catching her attention quicker than the feeling of her legs getting pushed off his thighs as he rushes to answer it.

“Hey!”

It’s sick, honestly down right repulsive by the way he never lets the phone ring for more than a second or two when he knows it you on the other line. And she knows, he knows that it’s you calling because he just feels it in his bones — even when it could be one of the kids prank calling at this late hour; he knows that it’s you.

“Hi Stevie!”

She can practically hear you bubbling on the other side of the receiver and she swears Steve smiles a little harder just at the sound of your voice.

She doesn’t hear you ask how movie night is going, too busy with stuffing her mouth with popcorn entertained with the way Steve is leaning against the wall and acting like a total school girl over the fact that you called.

He only makes eye contact with her for a split second before he’s wiping the smile off his face to the best of his ability seeing the way his best friend is smirking like an idiot over the way he’s acting.

“Y-yeah, it’s great! Just some boring movie about spaceships and aliens — Oh, yeah, Robin’s just eating all the popcorn right now. She doesn’t mind.”

Steve shakes his head, not wanting to hang up the phone so soon. If he could, he’d talk to you for the whole night and he’s pretty sure Robin wouldn’t mind at all because it’d be way more entertaining than the forgotten movie on the tv.

“Tell her I said hi and I can’t wait to see her tomorrow!” You say enthusiastically and Steve does everything but groan, knowing that this will probably lead to some sort of teasing that from Robin’s end.

He pulled the phone away from his ear, holding it out in the air towards Robin as he speaks, “She says hi and she can’t wait til tomorrow.”

She chews, a smile still splaying on her face as she swallows and licks the crumbs off her lips before shouting out loud enough for you to hear.

“Hiya sunshine! Miss you bunches, but not more than your lover boooyyy!” She singsongs with a cackle erupting as soon as Steve snatches the phone back to his ear.

Your own laughter overlaps Robin’s, and it silences the embarrassment that Steve’s feeling because the last thing he wants is for you to think that he’s moving too fast. But for you, he’s moving at the right speed, the speed that has you throwing your hands in the air with butterflies filling your stomach in all the right ways.

“Ignore her. She’s trying to be funny.” Steve tries to quip, yet you’re still giggling, and it’s the kind that makes his cheeks heat up because he knows you’re blushing and smiling like a maniac.

He wishes he were there to see it for himself, the way you’d try to hide your face behind your hands because of how hard you were smiling and how he’d have to plead for you to put them down just so he could catch a glimpse and save that mental picture in his head forever.

Your voice is laced with sweetness as your giggles die down and only a second or two of silence comes before you speak.

“Don’t leave Robs hanging and go watch your movie…I’ll call in the morning, lover boy.”

He sure as hell doesn’t let the first ring even finish before he picks up the next morning and Robin is quite pleased because it doesn’t wake her up.

Steve’s house always seems to be the gathering place for get together’s, mostly because his parents are always gone and partly because the amount of room there is to roam around. And while there isn’t always alcohol at the functions because of the presence of the sneaky kids, when there is Nancy can always smell the anxiety in the air.

For her she knows that a piece of Steve is still mortified from the Halloween party a few years back which ended with spiked punch spilt all over her, a dramatic drunken argument, and the end of her and Steve.

She lives with that regret wishing she had been sober so she could’ve at least let him down easy and even after she had apologized she still knows that it haunts him, especially because she can see his face fall when she brings him a very intoxicated you.

“Woah, woah, hey,”

She guides you into his arms, watching the way he’s already grabbing at your shoulders and lifting your chin up with his thumb and forefinger. She sticks around, not knowing if she’ll need to help if you fall backwards in his living room. You definitely seem and look wasted, droopy eyes staring into Steve’s as you try your best to stand up straight.

“She might have had too many drinks.” Nance winces, looking back at the kitchen where empty solo cups are scattered over the kitchen table.

Steve breathes in, nodding his head and working your arm over his shoulders to keep you upright, “thanks, I’m gonna bring her to the bathroom to clean up.”

She nods, nibbling back a comment about how he shouldn’t bring you to the same upstairs bathroom that he had brought her in. It would be too much for him to handle this kind of situation again in the same place where she had broken his heart, but she knows you aren’t going to do that to him.

He proceeds, doing most of the holding up and walking, guiding you slowly up the stairs and down the hall to his bathroom where all your stuff is stored in your very a drawer he had cleared out just for you.

“Let’s sit, yeah?” Steve mutters quietly, closing the toilet lid and sitting you down on it.

He’s unsure of what to do, seeing as though you haven’t even spoken a word since Nancy brought you to him. Yet he knows you can hear him. The way your sluggish eyes stay on his let him know that you’re still aware that he’s here with you, he just doesn’t know what you’re thinking.

What is about to come out of your mouth when you finally begin speaking?

If it’ll be something that’s going to tear his heart apart and begin to make his eyes prickle. If he’ll have to beg you to not walk out because you’re not thinking straight. If this was all his love was ever going to amount to and end like this.

“S-staring,” You hiccup, your shoulders jerking

He furrows his brows, kneeling on the floor and squeezing your knee lovingly.

“Huh? What was that?”

You swallow back another hiccup, rubbing your fingers over your eyes, smudging your mascara, unknowingly.

“I said y-you’re staring.”

Steve watches when you pull your hands away, black pigment covering your finger tips though you don’t seem to notice or feel the slight sting of the product getting in your eyes.

Despite it all, a smile tugs up at the corner of your lips as you reach forward and wrap your arms around Steve’s neck, wanting to be close to his touch. You’re slouching into him, resting your forehead against his as he does his best to not laugh at the mess around your eyes.

“I was staring because you look like you had a lot to drink,” he says, smoothing your stay hairs behind your ear and cupping your cheek.

You close your eyes blissfully, taking him with you as you lean back slightly and reel in the feeling of his gentle touch.

“I think I had three…no four! cups of gin and tonic.” You mention, not bothering to open your eyes to catch his bemused look.

“Hmm, I believe it, sweetheart. Why don’t we take off your makeup then get you some water and a snack downstairs before bed?” He proposed met with your eyes opening and your head nodding.

He guides you towards the sink as you do your best to keep yourself upright against the counter as he swipes the damp makeup wipe over your face paying extra attention to the delicate skin around your eyes as he tries to get most of the mascara smudge off.

He knows which bottle is your face wash because he’s watched you do it a million times over at your place and he picked up a bottle to stay at his for when you spent the night. It’s like muscle memory for him even if this is the first time he’s doing it for you and he hopes it isn’t the last because it’s calming him down in a weird way.

What he had thought was going to be an explosive fight in his bathroom all over again was just you smiling and humming as his fingers glided over your face, happy that it was him taking care of you. Apparently you seem to enjoy it just as much, giggling as he smears the moisturizer over your face and rubbing it into your skin.

The task alone seems to wake you up enough that you’re beaming and talking a lot more than before.

“My face feels so soft!” You grin, tapping your palms on either side of your cheeks while Steve guides you back down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

Chuckling, Steve hoists you up on the countertops as he rummages through the dishes, finding a clean glass and filling it up with some ice and water.

“Really? You think I did a good job?” He urges as he carefully places the cusp between your lips and tilts it enough for you to sip slowly.

When you push your head forward, he knows you had enough, drawing it away and setting it on the counter. Both of his palms rest on either side, caging you in as your gaze is fixated on his face.

“The best job, ever…kisses?” You ask, playfully puckering your lips towards him.

He knows you mean, “can I kiss you for doing a good job” but he still gets it, flashing you a tender smile.

“Yeah, sure, why not,” He snickers, leaning closer as you hold his face in your hands and smile, “kisses, baby.”

A giddy smile plays on your lips as his lips touch yours. For you it feels just as special as the other’s kisses you two share even if your brain is half buzzing from the alcohol. But for Steve, it’s a wave of relief, one that washes away the cold and empty feeling from the past. All he wants to do is savor the sweetness of your lips and hands, keeping him grounded here with you.

“You’re gonna get me drunk.” Steve jokes against your lips and you giggle, pressing your lips harder against his to shut him up for a moment.

“Is that even possible?” You ask finally pulling away and running your thumbs over his cheekbones.

He shrugs, leaning into your touch, “Maybe, but I don’t mind.”

You grin, pressing one last kiss to his lips before pointing to the bag of Lay’s that sits unopen.

“Can I have some chips?” you request

“Sure, you can have the whole bag if you want,” He replies, reaching for it and tearing it open.

Steve’s more than happy to oblige, feeding you and offering you occasional sips of water while you both stay in the kitchen totally forgetting about the party around you.

It’s an endearing sight that Nancy can’t help but smile at from her place on the couch. She’s fulfilled with her own love that she shares with Jonathan, the boy who’s resting his head on her shoulder, tracing shapes on the scar in the palm of her hand.

But she’s especially fulfilled with the fact that she and Steve are on better terms now, one where they can be happy for each other now that they’ve found their person. She watches the way both of your faces light up with laugher and smiles even if you’re still a little tipsy. Steve doesn’t look at unease at all. If anything, he’s at peace knowing it’s you and this time, it’s different.

His home has seen plenty of ups and downs, tears and heartbreak, but love had found its way back in and new memories were replacing bad ones. It had been a long time coming and enough waiting around.

She knows you two found each other — the ones who will always care about each other and will always be there for one another.

Steve isn’t sure if you are just trying to be nice or if you genuinely don’t mind that the kids tag along to the places you two go. He knows it’s the latter, but still likes to question it.

The movie at the park seemed like a great idea, at first. It was something different rather than just going to the theaters or watching it on his couch, and to top it all off it was a showing of your favorite movie, “Can’t Buy Me Love.”

But it was a great idea before the kids begged to tag along, promising that they wouldn’t talk during the movie and would even bring their own blankets and money for snacks. Steve tried to oppose the idea, giving the reasoning that it was a date which meant two people: him and you.

But you had shaken him off, telling them that you wouldn’t mind if they wanted to come along and if anything the more the merrier.

And who was Steve to argue?

For once, the kids were really on their best behavior, paying attention to the movie and passing their snacks and drinks around while they watched, but that was before their sugar rush caused them to crash, bringing fatigue to their eyes.

“Poor things,” you pout at the sight of the children sprawled out a few feet in front of you and Steve.

He snorts, seeing their jumbled limbs stretching over each other. You both tried to convince them to space out across the grassy area, but they insisted on being squished together like sardines in order to get to the snacks easily.

“S’okay, they probably needed the nap.”

He rubs your arm, keeping you warm against the chilly night breeze as you settle the back of your head against his shoulder, wrapping your arms across yourself.

“They’re gonna miss the best part.” You say wistfully, slumping into him.

“Honey, you practically spoiled it on the car ride here. I don’t think they’ll miss much.” He badgers as you turned your face into his chest and stifle your giggle there.

Your laugh is infectious, like music to his ears that he’d much rather listen to compared to the static-y audio that plays over the low quality speakers. There’s a kiss he lays on the crown of your head as you turn your sights back to the sleeping teens, hoping they’re not too uncomfortable with the lack of pillows and a comfy mattress on their backs.

“Remember how you said I have a soft spot for these twerps?” You mention serenely.

He hums, resting his chin on the top of your head, “yeah, what about it?”

“You’re right, but I just can’t help it. They’re adorable and I’d let them crash all our dates if you’d let me.”

Steve jokingly scorns, swinging his head against your, “Oh, don’t start, they’d never leave us alone.”

You roll your eyes half heartedly, turning your attention back to the movie. Meanwhile, Steve’s focus is still all on you, wrapping his arms over the front of your body and nuzzling his face between your shoulder blade to give the space beneath your ear a kiss.

“I’m so lucky to have you…even those little shit heads are lucky to have you.” Steve admits out of nowhere.

He can’t resist telling you how much he appreciates you even with a cheesy movie and his annoying children a few feet away. To him, you’re his world no matter what’s in front of him. You maneuver your head enough to look up at him as you swat his chest playfully, trying to brush off his compliment that has you blushing.

“No I mean it,” he insists, leaving another sweet kiss on your skin before cradling your face in his warm hands.

“You’re so beautiful and kind. You don’t ever get annoyed at the kids for crashing our dates. You don’t get annoyed at me for getting annoyed at them.”

You hide your cheek in your shoulder, wrapping your fingers over his wrists where he still holds you.

“Yeah, well, you’re not too bad yourself.” You nudge him with your elbow.

“Yeah?” He smirks with a curious glint in his words as you nod, “care to share?”

“Believe it or not, you’re so patient. I’ve never seen a guy handle teenage kids as effortlessly as you do. You’re so hardworking and even when you’re tired you give me all your time in the world. You’re generous and—”

He can’t resist interrupting mostly because if you keep talking he’s sure he’s going to permanently etch the world’s biggest smile on his face forever.

“Alright, alright, I get it, babe. I’m like the whole package and the best boyfriend ever.��� He gloats jokingly, pulling your face closer to his in order to connect to your lips.

“Yeah you dork, you really are.” You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him deeper into you.

The movie is now long forgotten by you and Steve, too infatuated and caught up in each other to care about the corny love story that plays. You know that yours is better than any movie out there even your favorite one — you and Steve top them all.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the kids hear every single word you and Steve had uttered to each other thinking that they were asleep. For them, they know every word is true, the two of you always bragging about how special the other half is when they aren’t around — the fact that you two say it without reservation when you think no ones around to hear makes it clearer that you two are meant to be.

By the time the movie is over, you’re softly shaking the kids awake and Steve’s folding up the blankets.

“It’s already over?” Lucas yawns stretching his arms up dramatically.

“We missed it?” El says disappointedly going the extra mile by rubbing the ‘sleep’ out of her eyes.

You hum sympathetically, nodding your head, “You guys dozed off, but you didn’t miss much. Ronald and Cindy live happily ever after in the end.”

“Just like every other cheese rom-com.” Dustin sighs standing up and brushing the grass off his clothing.

Max rolls her eyes, lending out a hand toward El and helping her up, “that’s the whole point of rom-coms, idiot. They’re supposed to be cheesy and have some stereotypical trope. It’s more entertaining than realistic.”

You smirk, picking out a shard of grass from her red hair, “You’re right, because real romance is totally different. More special, you know.”

The kids don’t miss the way you look back at Steve and hold your hand out for him to take as you all begin walking towards the parking lot ready to load into Steve’s car and commence a night full of drop offs.

“Oh trust us, we know.” Will hailed out with a knowing smile.

They watch as Steve presses a kiss to your cheek, opening the passenger door and letting you in before everyone else.

“Ugh, they make me so sick,” muttered Mike with feigned annoyance, secretly happy that he got to sit in the trunk far away from you and Steve’s sappiness.

As far as everyone else was concerned, the movie in the park was a hit. It was totally worth it seeing the best love story play out — they just didn’t know they were the exclusive viewers.

Joyce and Hopper finally tied the knot in a very small and intimate ceremony in their backyard. Steve had brought you around for the first time, though Hop and Joyce were pretty much familiar with you already, hearing so many good things from Steve.

He appreciated how they instantly welcomed you in, hugging you and thanking you for the small gift you had brought along to celebrate their special day. The two of you sat on the picnic benches, hands held underneath the table as you watched the pair share their first dance as husband and wife.

Half-way through, you had leaned into him, resting your cheek on his shoulder, and he promptly leaned into you, cushioning you snugly as you watched with adoring eyes.

“They look so in love.” You spoke faintly, looking up at him through your lashes with a grin on your face.

He glances down at you, pecking at your lips and nodding, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hop dance.”

You pursed your lips, shaking your head as you held back your laughter, “I guess love really does its thing.”

“It does.” He smiles, kissing your temple as the music dies down to something more upbeat and alive.

“C’mon, people, get up here and dance!” Joyce whistles, gesturing everyone over though everybody seems to hesitate for a moment.

But not Steve.

“Wanna dance?” He smirks, squeezing your hand as you lift your head.

You nod, looking up at him while he stands holding his hand out for you, which you gladly take without a second thought.

“I should warn you, your toes might get stepped on. I’m not the greatest at dancing.” He confesses kissing your head as you giggle and shake your head.

“I won’t mind, long as you’re the one carrying me off the dance floor by the end of it.” You say giving his hand a squeeze.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He promises.

The two of you seamlessly sway back and forth, your arms draped over his neck and his wrapped tightly around your waist. You guys don’t seem to notice or care that you’re the only other couple on the dance floor — too much in your own world.

There are whispers and smiles that you and Steve share as you both loosen up to the music. His hand guiding you into a spin that makes you giggle and fall back into his chest, looking up at him dizzily.

While the dance floor isn’t anything special, just freshly trimmed grass underneath your foot, it feels like holy ground. A scared, special, one of the kind place that the both of you feel so safe in that it doesn’t matter if everyone else is watching.

“How long until you think they’ll get married?” Hop asks his wife, leading her to the picnic tables to catch a quick break.

She snickers, pinching his arm fondly, “Won’t be surprised if they ask the officiant to stay a little longer.”

They’ve got a front row view to a sight that reminds them of their own love. The younger versions of themselves that wished they had gotten together soon, but they’re more than happy for the both of you, clapping and cheering as Steve dips you low and presses a kiss to your lips.

You two can feel the fireworks, their plans to extinguish never dare to exist. It’s just you and Steve, the holy ground beneath you, and the sparks flying.

Hangouts don’t feel the same when you’re not there, for Steve especially it feels like a missing piece that he’s thinking and worrying about even if you’re just working a night shift. He knows he’ll get to see you bright and early the next morning — will probably even call out of work just so he can be your human pillow while you caught up on sleep.

He tries not to think so hard about it, focusing on Eddie’s high score that he’s trying to beat on the Nintendo while Dustin breathes down his neck and the others watch the television screen.

“Mom! Phoneeeeeee!” Mike yells as the landline begins to ring.

It nearly throws Steve off and by this point he feels like he should just give up because he doesn’t stand a chance beating Eddie’s score. Yet he still tries to focus, thumbs nudging the joysticks and tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, almost drawing blood by how hard he’s trying.

The basement door swing open, Mrs. Wheeler covering the receiver with her palm as she speaks loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Steve, it’s your girlfriend.”

Only then does the controller drop from his hands like it doesn’t matter. His legs spring up, quickly looking up the stairs to give Karen a smile before she nods and closes the door.

“Dude, you almost had it!”

Dustin groans tugging at his curly roots, realizing he now owed Mike and Lucas $20 for the stupid bet. Eddie slaps the top of his head gingerly, urging them to be quiet as they all zero in on Steve picking up the phone.

“Baby?” He says hurriedly with a confused glint to his voice.

He can hear your sniffles and a small cough leaving your mouth on the other end. Worry and anxiety fill his veins on instance. Something is telling him that there’s something wrong, and he’s proven right when you finally reply weakly.

“H-hey, how’s game night?” You try your best to keep it together, to not let him know you’re holding back tears.

His foot comes tapping on the ground and his body begins to shake not knowing what’s going on.

“Y-you’re crying? What’s the matter, sweetheart? Did something happen? Where are you?”

Steve’s spitting out questions faster than you can answer and the others who are listening can only grow more concerned knowing that the Steve their seeing on the phone isn’t his sappy lovey self.

You swallow, sniffling again, “I’m okay, babe. I—I just needed to hear your voice.”

His heart aches hearing the obvious sadness in your voice that you’re trying to mask, but all it does is cause more worry. You’ve cried to Steve a hand full of times and each time it still breaks his heart, but it hurts even more that you’re far away and he’s not able to see you face to face.

“You’re scaring me. I’m gonna come there and get you.” He offers immediately, patting his pockets checking if he has his car keys which he doesn’t have.

“No, no, it’s fine, I called because I quit…I quit my job.” You explain with a heavy sigh.

There’s silence for only a quick moment, a breath of relief coming from Steve knowing that you aren’t in danger, but he’s prompt to offer to come and get you again.

“Oh…baby, I-I’m sorry. Did you want me to come there and pick you up? Eddie could drive your car back home and we’ll take my car together?”

He’s speaking gently, peering over his shoulder at Eddie who is already nodding and standing up ready to go wherever you are, knowing that Steve needs to know you’re safe.

You take a shaky breath, collecting yourself before speaking, “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine to drive…it’s just that I needed to hear your voice before I got into the car. Just a long night, I’m sorry for worrying yo—”

Steve shakes his head, waving his hand over towards Eddie, telling him that it’s okay and he can sit back down before mouthing a “thank you” before turning back to the call.

“Hey, no stop, don’t apologize. I’m right here okay? Not gonna hang up until you’re ready. I’ll be waiting for you as soon as you’re ready to hang up okay?”

You don’t try to hide it anymore, letting your sniffles and sobs loose. Every second that passes by is tugging on his heart strings wanting to do nothing more than to rush wherever you are, but he knows you’re going to be fine, you just need some more time with him.

“O—okay, just had a really long night. I was trying to just get through my shift but, I…I just couldn’t do it.”

You sound pissed off at yourself, irritated that you couldn’t make it through the night shift. But he knew it was for good reason if it made you up and quit — he didn’t blame you and he was far from mad.

“And that’s perfectly fine, sweetheart. Whatever it is, we’re gonna figure it out alright? We can look through the newspaper for job offerings and I can take you to drop off resumes. It’s all gonna be okay, ok?”

“Okay,” you whisper faintly, swiping away at your tears and nose.

He knows it’s important that you calm down before you get behind the wheel. If you don’t, he’ll drive down there himself, not wanting to risk you driving when you’re feeling like this.

“I’m right here with you, baby. Deep breath, in and out. That’s good, babe.” He guides you through it, hearing your shaky breaths slowly easing.

Steve doesn’t have to turn his head to know the worry etched on his friends’ faces is apparent. They’re anxiously waiting, wondering what’s going on, only being able to hear parts of it through Steve’s tender words that he offers you.

They know they all have a habit of teasing him and poking fun at the way he’s whipped over you, but this is a different side of him that they rarely get to witness. The vulnerable side that only comes out when he’s with you even with the distance that’s keeping you both apart.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon, alright, baby? Drive safely.” He speaks, nodding his head to himself before he places the receiver back on the stand and turns to face his friends.

“Is she okay?” Eddie asks worriedly as Steve nods and brushes a hand through his hair.

“She had a tough night and quit. She’s heading her now.” Steve reveals and everyone nods before Robin stands up and pats him on the back.

“C’mon, let’s go wait for her upstairs.”

The gang had migrated from the basement to the living room, awaiting your arrival. They had tried to do everything to reassure Steve, to get him to sit down and wait patiently, but they weren’t surprised that he didn’t budge and instead kept his place by the window, watching the driveway.

Everyone has their eyes on the clock, watching the minutes pass by and glancing every so often when headlights pass the street, thinking that it’s you.

The worried expression doesn’t leave his face until he finally sees two headlights turn into the driveway.

“She’s here,” Steve says under his breath, not wasting a moment to dash out the front door, slamming it behind him.

He’s at the driver’s side before you can even put the car into park. His fingers wrap around the door, pulling it open as you don’t hesitate to get out and wrap your arms around him, hiding your teary face in his neck as you melt into his embrace.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” He says quietly, keeping one of his hands on the back of your head while the other rubs comforting circles on your back.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and he can feel the tears springing from your eyes, trailing across his skin. The feeling burns him in every kind of way that tears his heart apart slowly. How he wishes he can take the weight of what you’re feeling off your shoulders and instead he can carry it for you. But all he can do right now is hold you, brush his hard over your head and pull you as close as he can get you, and whisper words of comfort, hoping it will take the pain away.

“I—I really needed you. I just kept thinking of how badly I wanted to run into your arms when I walked out of there. They made me feel so stupid and useless and I—”

He shushes you smoothly, shaking his head and tearing you away from his neck so you can see him.

“Screw them, baby. We can write a complaint or something because you don’t deserve to get treated like that, alright?” His voice is firm full of determination not showing you how angry he is at your boss or co-workers for letting this escalate.

Your palms come up to your eyes, rubbing them as your voice breaks. “I know, but I just feel so d-dumb—”

He shakes his head, tugging gently at your wrists to stop you from hiding, “Hey stop, don’t say that. You don’t know how much you mean to me and how much I hate when I hear you say those things about yourself.”

You sniffle, smiling at him apologetically, “Sorry, I know…I—I’m just happy to be here with you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you called and I’m happier to know you’re okay. I was scared shitless.” He grimaces, grazing his sights over every inch of your tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you say softly, “I was just planning on showing up here, but I guess everything was just building and building and when I finally quit and walked out of there I felt like I was going to collapse and I just needed you.”

His heart swells with love and admiration, for a minute it replaces the worry and anguish. It’s stupid because he shouldn’t be smiling as wide as he is right now with tears prickling his eyes in the best way possible.

You’ve never held back on telling him how much you cared and appreciated him for being the best boyfriend in the world…but to be needed is a whole different level that he’s new to. One that mends his heart of all the traumas and has him holding your face in his hands while he blinks the tears down his cheeks as you watch.

You’re confused, brows pinching together as you swipe your thumbs across his cheeks and wonder what he’s thinking and smiling about. It’s only when he speaks that you understand what’s happening.

“I love you, you know that?” His voice quivers, teeters on the edge of fear and letting go.

Your jaw trembles, new tears falling down your cheeks, this time in a happy way that has you forgetting about the horrible shift you had just endured.

None of that matters when you’re standing in the arms of the man who’s telling you that he loves you.

You’re laughing through the tears, feelings the comfort and safety in his embrace, “Y-yeah?” you ask stupidly, as if he could ever change his mind.

He nods, laughing weakly,“Yeah…like a lot. I love you so much and I’m always gonna be here…not gonna go anywhere. Right here whenever you need me.”

“I love you too, Stevie.” You cooed, standing up on your tiptoes and kissing him with every ounce of your being.

Your lips move in synchronicity, the familiarity of each other never building contempt, instead making you both stronger. It’s a feeling that will never get old and that neither of you would get tired of experiencing. Even at your worse, you know it’ll always be okay as long as you have him to keep you tethered.

Time freezes for everyone, not just you and Steve — your friends watching in the window and smiling at the scene before them.

They’ve always known that you and him were in love since the moment you two said hello. It’s just that now, it feels a lot nicer being able to witness the moment you two finally realize it. The love you share and everything in between.

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: i hope you guys like this little something something i wrote based off "in between" by gracie abrams. i absolutely love this song and it's so underrated (ITS UNREALEASED KINDA LOL). anyways, let me know what you think!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @scoopshxrrington @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[nerdy-nook]

Favorite nuerodivergant headcannons for Voltron LD?

Ooo I like this one! I’m going to do neurodivergent headcanons as well as mental health headcanons because I don’t think all of the characters are neurodivergent. Ok let’s start!

Voltron Paladins:

Shiro: He canonically has PTSD, although the show stopped focusing on it after season 2. So I’m going to keep that. He definitely has panic attacks (as we have seen) but has a good control on his triggers. He has to, to keep himself and his team safe in battle.

Keith: BPD and autism you cannot change my mind. You can’t tell me that after all the shit that poor kid went through in his childhood that he doesn’t have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). He checks a lot off the boxes. The sudden mood changes, aggression, abandonment issues, and feelings of worthlessness or inadequacy. As for the autism he mainly experiences sensory issues surrounding sounds and touch. We all know about his social skills. He also has insomnia.

Hunk: I think Hunk has GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). He’s had it since he was in elementary school. It mainly consists of catastrophizing and physical symptoms. His heart races, and he sweats a lot.

Lance: He has combined ADHD. A classic case as a kid: SUPER hyperactive, couldn’t sit still, and couldn’t focus. His processing speed is a lot slower making it harder for him to learn in an average school environment. This made him self conscious growing up, thinking he was stupid. It’s something he still struggles with.

Pidge: Best girl disease! Jk. She has ADHD, autism, and is also a fellow insomniac. This girl will hyperfixate and work herself for hours. The team comes to do routine checks on her when she’s researching to make sure she rests. She isn’t really hyperactive but does have a hard time staying still. Catch her rotating clockwise as she types away on her laptop.

MFE Pilots (this is self indulgent):

James: With his strong sense of justice I can see him having a little bit of the ‘tism. I used to headcanon him as having BPD as well but now I’m more leaning towards Bipolar II. This goes a long with some other headcanons I have for him, I’ll make a hc sheet for him soon.

Ina: She has autism. She was diagnosed at 3 years old. Her parents were tipped off by the fact that she was selectively mute when she was younger.

Nadia: Also has ADHD She mainly struggles with her impulsivity issues. She has a really hardy time keeping organized. Did someone say organized chaos? Her rooms always a little bit of a mess but she knows where everything is. Once she sets something down she can never find it.

Ryan: I literally can’t think of anything for him, he’s just a neurotypical guy. Nothing wrong with that.

Thanks for the ask BTW!!

[mistkisbiggestfan]

heyyyy i just wanted t ask if you could post a part two to white lion i have reread it so many times its totally ok if you are taking a break to work on mental health or would prefer writting stuff you choose this just a silly little request (sorry i there is spelling mistakes my english isnt that good)

Pidge / Reader | White Lion - Complete rewrite - Part I

Rewrite of the fic I still have up on this blog!!

A/n: I'm back?? I think?

Words: 1221

With insomnia nothing’s real, you learn that early on, everything’s far enough to be impossible to reach. Stuck inside an endless loop, a sort of unbreakable cycle. Back then; you were not ready for failure of any kind.

As a White Paladin of Voltron your sole mission was to protect other paladins and people around you. That’s all the White Paladin was, a glorified version of a healing pod, and you hated it. Everyone neglected you, not as a friend of course, but as a valuable fighter and defender of the universe. A medic was what you were made out to be, a brute by nature and a pacifist by force, all you could do was save, even if you tried to charge into battle you were quickly pushed off – back to the sidelines. Allura told you before; each Lion has a unique bond to a specific, and only one, Paladin. Sealed by fate, with no choice, you stayed.

The only one treating you fairly was your lover, Pidge. Both young prodigies, top students of Garrison, with a heart of gold and a particularly sharp and witty comebacks. Made for each other it seemed. They actually appreciated the help they got from you during and out of battle, that was, to your dismay, cut short. As war with Galra raged on, everyone forgot about any other struggles disregarding the threat across the universe.

Soon, Pidge began to share the view about you with other paladins, bit by bit, you realized that now, not a single soul believed in you being anything else but support — You were young, skillful in this specific subject, and rather weak at first glance, but you were more than that, more than what they made you out to be.

Often, on different restless nights, you were left wondering certain things. ‘Am I just a waste to them? Keith already said that, do others agree with him? What does Pidge think?’ All loose questions tied neatly with a string of paranoia and a hint of anxiety building up.  And like that, the overthinking pursued. No one even noticed you staying out of conversations, blindly following orders, no one noticed because it was making everything so much easier. Hunk asked you at times; “Hey Y/N.. you seem quiet lately, everything alright?” But just a few words were enough to shoo him away. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m the White Paladin, remember?” You often said, but you never voiced the rest of this sentence you grew to mutter each day: “The one who is supposed to help.” And Hunk, begrudgingly, let go.

Keith outright believed you were too young and just a nuisance on the battlefield; you suspected he had something against you because you caught onto him and his feelings regarding Lance, as he, himself, wasn’t yet able to face those feelings. The thought that someone knew made him defensive. At least Lance was oblivious enough for this to not be too much of an awkward situation, from what all others knew, besides you it seemed, Lance and Keith hated each other. Or, at very least, strongly disliked each other's presence. At first, before you became a nuisance, your insomnia induced night walks roaming the Castle grounds were often guided by different team members, Shiro eased your mind by comforting, Hunk baked with you, Coran told stories of the White Paladins before you — not many, but still. Allura didn’t have to say a word, as you treasured her camaraderie dearly. Lance made a habit of beauty sleepovers, and even Keith offered you a sparring match from time to time, even though he still argued with others he disliked you greatly. At times like these, you often resided with Pidge. They had a bad habit of staying way up into the night to focus on their work, not from their insomnia, but from a severe case of workaholism.

You liked to walk into their room quietly, your own feet dragging you to their room as you hadn’t even registered. You walked all the way there, sitting down beside them as they worked away on their laptop. Without a word, passing out from exhaustion next to them, feeling safe enough to let go, even if it was only for an hour or two. Waking up tired, but not overwhelmingly lonely and disoriented, as their hand around yours grounded you like an anchor. But what times often do is change. Comfort made you weak enough to believe it’ll last forever, but with a heavy heart you realized — nothing does. Your life hit a rocky path, if it can still do that after getting dragged against your will into an intergalactic war with all hopes resting on you and other bunch of dysfunctional young adults, your insomnia got worse, getting pushed off to the sidelines too.

You were a Paladin, and with an actual bond with a Lion no less, so why were you stuck organizing missions with Allura as Coran talked your ear off? Was it stupid you were jealous of each successful mission, as they came back in glee and the thrill of winning yet another battle? Maybe. Did you still feel through it like an overwhelming blade stuck inside that twisted each time you realized you were just a backup plan? Yes. All you wanted was to prove yourself, you could be useful, really. But each time Shiro said that you’re enough, you felt as if the words hitting your ears were hollow. No one assisted your nightly walks anymore. Pidge was busy. Way more busy than you had ever seen them, there was no comfort in the galaxy you could give them for them to stop their work for even a second. Realizing that leaving them alone was the best thing you could give them, you did just that, and to your small heartbreak, you received no words addressing the fact, no complaints either. Getting as desperate as walking into the training room, in case Keith was staying up late too, you often were met with nothing. Sometimes, Keith was there, but most times your ears were met with sharp yet tired words; “You shouldn’t train this late, a medic shouldn't be half-dead each day.” And with a roll of your eyes, you often walked out.

Sometimes, you stood there a second longer, savoring the meeting, and letting the hatred built up as your mind was screaming: “I’m not just a medic! I’m a Paladin just like you!”. But in the end, you sat in that cold, and now, lonely, room of yours.

Your eyes scanning over the same wall you always faced. Tired gaze raking through the metal, dissecting it into pieces, logic you couldn’t grasp. At times like this, moments before shutting off from complete exhaustion, even you had no idea how to comprehend the drive that was pushing you at such times.

Maybe tomorrow, it’ll all make sense. Maybe tomorrow won’t be just a copy of today, which was just a copy of yesterday.

At least, tomorrow, you’ll finally go on a mission, after this whole time, which felt like eternity and a second, all too far to understand and grasp. With that thought, you had no idea what came next, as your exhausted body hit the bed.

You passed out.

Again.