#How to Not Stick Your Head in the Mouth of a Lion or Whatever That Thing is

[thatsbelievable]

[cwpiqwon]

loser in tin foil- kim minjeong

summary: princess minjeong gets saved by her loser in tin foil.

warnings: fluff, minjeong is mean, yn is a flirt, nicknames, mention of blood, yn kills a dragon,etc.

author's note: this is both a valentine's special and the fic I promised you all after the poll.

wc: 2k+

tags: @wintersgff

the last thing yn remembers was eating salty chips in her peppa pig pj set while watching some random romcom at 3 a.m. in the morning.

she doesn't remember finishing the movie or going to sleep and she certainly doesn't remember sleepwalking to what looks like a burnt down village and yet here she stood in her pj set with what seemed to be about a hundred people surrounding her.

she looked around nervously at the crowd of people who were bowing down to her, all while she stood there dumbfounded with crumbs of chips still sticking to her face.

“uhh…you may rise now?”

as soon as the words left her mouth the villagers were on their feet, looking

at her with their teary yet hopeful eyes.

still as confused as ever, yn tried finding reasons for whatever weird dream she was experiencing right now.

she wasn't sure what led to her dreaming such a weird scenario as usually her dreams were filled with talking bunnies dancing in tutus and cats in suits trying to dictate the world.

she was quickly brought back to her present reality when a hand reached out to touch her. she snapped her head to look at the man who seemed to be wearing funky clothes and a headpiece which looked like it was made of cardboard.

her confusion only increased when he touched her head and flinched before falling backwards. yn couldn't help but take offence due to his actions as a frown made it's way to her face.

she knew she hadn't washed her hair in a while but it couldn't be that greasy to make a grown man who looked like he was well over 60s flich so hard.

seeing her frown, the villagers crowding her fell to their knees again with their heads bowed and hands raised as if asking for apology.

getting irritated by the silence, yn decided to speak again but was cut off when the same old man who touched her head began wailing.

she stared at him with a disturbed look on her face as he screamed something about ‘the return of their savior’.

she continued staring at him wordlessly as he went on about how ‘the chosen one is here’ and ‘she'll bring the treasure back’.

at this point, yn was freaking out because everyone and their mom's were staring at her as if she just promised them to pay all their kids’ tuition fees.

her weariness only increased when all of a sudden the villagers started cheering and crying loudly.

a scream left her mouth as she was suddenly picked up by multiple people and was raised like simba in the lion king.

her heart kept pounding loudly as they carried her to what looked like a destroyed castle where even more people joined in and suddenly everyone was giving her hugs and kissing her knuckles.

as she was about to start crying out of fear an older woman who looked like a total milf approached her. unlike the others, this milf, sorry woman, was dressed in shiny clothes and had an actual tiara sitting on her head.

the woman cleared her throat to catch the crowd's attention and they immediately shut up and moved back to give the woman and yn some space.

“come, follow me. I'll provide you with all the answers you need”

her voice was velvety and yn could feel herself melting under her intense gaze.

“yes mommy, SORRY I MEANT MA’AM”

the lady just laughed before taking her hand and leading her to what seemed to be her personal chamber.

“yn, that's your name, am I right?”

all she could do was nod as the lady smiled softly with a hint of sympathy in her eyes.

“you don't know us, I'm aware, but you are our only hope. I'm taeyeon, the queen of kwangya. it used to be a beautiful nation but not long ago we were attacked and everything we valued was looted.”

the lady, taeyeon, sighed before she stood up and walked towards the large window overlooking her once beautiful nation which was now burnt to the ground.

“all our warriors died defending the nation and yet we couldn't win. tears were shed and countless prayers were made before the main priest of our nation suggested we pray together to our protector as a last shot.”

by now taeyeon was tearing up and yn had a terrible feeling about where this conversation was going but she let her continue.

“we all gathered at the centre of the only village in kwangya that wasn't completely destroyed in the attack and prayed together. we prayed to mother naevis for a miracle, we prayed for help, we prayed for a savior. the next thing we know, a figure was falling out of the sky, our savior. it's you yn. you're the chosen one”

yn sat there twiddling her thumbs awkwardly as taeyeon looked at her in desperation.

“only you can help us, please help us.”

“I don't know…listen, I understand where you're coming from and I sympathize with you, I really do but I simply am not made for this shit. I can't even kill mosquitoes! how will I be able to protect a whole nation?”

at this point taeyeon had tears running down her cheeks and yn could barely meet her eyes.

“yn please, i understand what I ask of you is very dangerous but you're our only chance at getting our nation back. you're my only chance at getting my daughter back. please yn, save us, save the princess. she's all I have”

“did you just say princess?? how old is she?”

“she's around your age, why?”

taeyeons's confusion turned into happiness as yn instantly agreed to help them.

“well that's splendid! but I must ask, what made you change your mind so abruptly?”

“I'm gay- wait no! I mean yeah but- uhh…I suddenly got a…calling? you know like a divine intervention or something? yeah!”

taeyeon narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the girl who was still busy stuttering some excuse out but brushed it off, not wanting to question the chosen one.

“well then, I'm glad that this divine intervention you speak of reached you. we are all counting on you, chosen one. you may take rest in my chambers for the night as I will be busy supervising some important matters. sleep well, chosen one, for you have a quest to conquer tomorrow”

with a slight bow, taeyeon swiftly left yn alone in her chamber all alone to get some rest before she leaves for her so called quest.

before long, the sun had appeared and the birds had started chirping. yn had no time to even wash her face before an armor was pulled over her peppa pig pjs and a sword was handed to her.

the armor made her feel anything but safe as it looked like it had been made out of tin foil. the breastplate was too tight and the boots were too loose.

time seemed to pass in a blur as one moment she was being dressed in her tin suit or armor as they called it, and the next, she was standing at the edge of the village, waving a goodbye to taeyeon and the other side characters.

a boy no older than 15, led the way to the heart of the forest where the princess was supposedly trapped.

yn simply followed the boy, humming and making jokes to lift the mood, which didn't really work as the boy still looked like he was about to piss his pants at any given moment.

it took the two almost an hour to reach their destination and before yn could even get a word out, they boy had already started running back towards the village.

she sighed as she glanced at the tower that stood bold in front of her. it looked like the typical villain’s hideout you'd read about in books.

not thinking much, yn simply stalked forward and entered the tower, just to be met with stacks of gold and no princess in sight.

she looked around for a bit and found a staircase which led to a room. not thinking of any consequences, she simply went up and tried prying the door open.

after multiple failed attempts, she finally got the door to unlock using a hairpin she somehow managed to find in her pocket.

“honey, I'm home!”

yn entered the room with no hesitation and just like she was told by taeyeon, there the beautiful princess was, sitting on a pile of gold. but there was someone or something else sitting beside her too.

“uhh…I think taeyeon forgot to mention there was a beast with the beauty too. no hard feelings, princess but I think it's my time to take a leave. you're pretty though, hit me up once you're out of this mess, yeah?”

before she could exit the same way she came through, a gold biscuit was thrown her way which she dodged.

“I'm not against being showered with gold AT ALL but there's a time and place bro! bad dragon!”

she rolled out of the way just fast enough to miss the fire which the dragon breathed out.

“dude it's wayy to hot, can't you spit out ice instead??”

instead of an answer, yn received a blow by the dragon's tail which ended up knocking her out.

minjeong sighed as she glanced at the knocked out girl lying by her feet. she could feel her frustration bubble up as she looked at the girl who was snoring away.

a solid slap on the head from minjeong is all it took for yn to shoot up. her eyes widened as the first thing she saw was her pretty face which looked red with anger.

“heyy senorita, wanna go on a date with me?”

instead of an answer yn got another whack on the head making her sit up, holding her now throbbing head.

“bratty much? well you're in luck today cuz that's just my type.”

“were you sent here to save me or flirt with me, you loser!”

yn whistled lowly as she heard the pretty girl’s voice for the first time.

“uhh both? can't a girl do both?”

minjeong just groaned in distaste before slumping back into the pile of gold she was sitting on.

“all the people in this world and yet my mom chose a loser in tin foil to save me. I must've been born with the worst luck on this planet”

“hey! I'm not a loser, I'm the chosen one! taeyeon told me your God maevin or whatever her name was, dropped me here to save you”

“HER NAME IS NAEVIS YOU IDIOT!”

“right, naevis. ohh Where's the dragon guy? haven't seen that bloke in a while.”

“shouldn't you be happy that he's not here? you would've died if he hadn't left”

“well I'm supposed to be killing him so can you like…call him or something?”

minjeong looked at the girl genuinely worried that she might have injured her brain while hitting her.

“are you…alright in the head?”

“yeah?”

her tone provided minjeong no conviction as she continued to ask the girl all sorts of questions to check the state of her brain till they both heard the sound of wings flapping outside the tower.

minjeong froze as she saw yn move to hide just beside the window. they made eye contact and yn signaled for her to keep looking at the dragon.

following her supposed savior’s instructions, minjeong turned to look at the dragon again just to see him looking around as if searching for someone.

out of the corner of her eyes minjeong could see yn motioning towards the other side of the room.

she quickly picked up the plan and ran to the other side, which led to the dragon following her but just before he reached her, yn jumped onto his neck with a war cry that sounded more like a squeal.

the dragon thrashed around as yn’s sword dug into his neck from behind and with a final cry he fell, taking the girl down with him.

yn, shaking from the adrenaline rush and soaked in blood, laid on the floor as minjeong ran towards her to check on her.

her breathing was unstable and yet the second minjeong touched her face, she brought one of her own hand up, covering the girl's pale hand with her bloody one.

“so do I get a kiss for saving you. princess?”

all minjeong could do was scoff as tears filled her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.

“you're such an idiot, why would you do that?”

even though her words sounded cruel, the tears in her eyes and her worried expression conveyed her true feelings.

yn gentry brushed her tears away, tainting her pale skin with her bloody hands in the process.

“shh you're alright now, princess. you're safe now. I'm here”

hearing those words leave her savior’s mouth, the dam finally broke for minjeong as she sobbed in yn's arms.

yn held her and rocked her gently till she fell asleep before falling asleep beside her.

they both woke up together the next morning, snuggled up to each other. minjeong being the first to get away from her.

she tried looking angrily at the girl but the redness of her cheeks betrayed her. yn simply smirked at the girl as she stretched.

“ready to head back home, princess?”

minjeong sighed before looking up at the girl, her eyes were filled with questions but all she did was nod her head.

“don't look at me that way, senorita, just say what's bothering you”

“not that I'm ungrateful or anything but I need to ask you something. I literally degraded you and you still took care of me and saved me, why?”

this made the armored girl go red. she tried to stutter out a response but all that came out were incoherent words.

“wait…don't tell me you're into getting degraded!”

“s-shut upp omg, I'm not! I'm just…a really good person!”

“weirdo! you're a weirdo”

“i literally saved your ass!”

the pair kept quarreling while making their way into the forest to reach the kingdom.

neither of them really knew the way but refused to admit it, secretly hoping the other knew so they wouldn't have to embarrass themselves.

after about 15 minutes of going back and forth, the two finally gave up and just kept walking silently before yn broke the silence again.

“hey isn't this like a classic tale where the knight in shining armour saves the princess and gets a kiss? well I haven't had my kiss yet so when are you planning to give me my reward?”

yn muttered cheekily, earning a glare and another whack from the blushing princess.

“you want a kiss? well, close your eyes.”

yn quickly closed her eyes, waiting eagerly for a kiss from the beauty whom she had just saved.

she could feel the princess coming closer until she felt a hot breath near her lips and a gasp left her mouth.

minjeong leaned in further till her lips were almost touching hers before she moved her head a bit towards her ear before whispering.

“in you dreams, my dear loser in tin foil”

[myzticbean]

Cat!Dad Series: You're My "Maine" Squeeze

Edit update: I LOVE that this came around full circle with the latest cat!boi cards 🤣😎🔥

Pairing: Qin Che | Sylus / MC (fem! reader) Tags: Super fluff, established relationship, cute cats, domestic bliss Can also read at A03

Previous posts in the Cat!Dad series:

Zayne: Quit kitten around - let's celebrate

Title: You’re My “Maine” Squeeze

Wrapping my arms around Sylus, I rest my hands against the motorcycle’s tank as it rockets down the dark street. I slip a hand under his leather jacket as we both lean into the tight corner, disappearing into the condo’s underground private entrance. The motorcycles that had been following us blew past, unaware we had already made our getaway. 

I laugh, a little giddy from the rush of adrenaline at the chase and successful escape (ahem, joyride), hugging his broad back and resting my helmet between his shoulder blades as he slows and parks the bike. 

“I told you it would be fun,” Sylus says calmly after he pulls off his helmet. I tug mine off as well, my bun squished to my head and tangled flyaway hairs sticking to my face, but I know I’m still grinning from ear to ear. 

“Another successful mission with my criminal mastermind partner,” I chuckle, shaking my hair out of the hair tie before throwing it back up into a ponytail. I swing my leg over and hop off the bike, and he stands as well, wrapping me in his arms in a quick hug. 

We wear matching black leather jackets, my curb stomping boots laced up over black jeans, and a custom thigh holster holding my (not-quite-legal) gun. I lean into his embrace, lifting my face to smile smugly at him.

“Admit it, I definitely helped you a lot this time.”

“You literally started a fight and got us thrown out -- of my own club,” he answers sardonically, tightening his grip around my shoulders and waist. But he can’t hide the lip twitch of amusement and the softness in his gaze as he stares down at me. 

“You needed to hire better help anyways,” I say airily, stepping out of his embrace and flicking a strand of my ponytail back over my shoulder saucily. “That they didn’t even recognize their boss…tut.”

“You do realize most people shouldn’t recognize me, otherwise it defeats the purpose of being the mysterious leader of an underground organization,” he responds dryly, locking the steering on his bike and grabbing the straps of our helmets in one hand. 

“That they didn’t even recognize your dark, dangerous, and sensual aura and let you do whatever you wanted is just a crime against nature,” I answer cheekily. I open my mouth to continue my teasing despite his grimace, when the hissing and howling of cats interrupts me.

As we neared the elevators, I saw a couple of cats brawling, two smaller dark colored tomcats wrestling a dirty, fluffy, absolute monster of a cat. Even while clearly outnumbered, it was holding its own and about to turn the tide of the fight when another cat appeared, intent on jumping into the fray. 

“Oh no,” I say, taking an unconscious step forward. I wasn’t sure how to intervene without getting scratched to holy hell when an empty can was suddenly thrown from behind, clattering as it pelted one of the dark cats on top. 

It screamed, not that it was actually hurt, but more in surprise as it backed off of the giant cat on the bottom. Without waiting, the big cat sprang to its feet, roaring like a tiny lion and racing forward aggressively. 

The tomcat didn’t bother waiting around to see if it could take the big cat on - it scrambled to its feet and raced away, the other cats following close behind. The bigger cat stopped, sitting on the ground in exhaustion, bloody scratch marks on its face, back and ears. 

“You poor thing,” I murmur, squatting down to try to get a closer look. It would probably be pretty skittish, especially if it has been a feral, unneutered male used to roaming the streets of the N109 zone and surviving. 

It turns to look at me at the sound of my voice, its tail flicking back and forth as it surveys me from where it sits on the cold concrete. “I wonder if he’ll let us take care of his wounds,” I say to Sylus who stands behind me, his hand propped casually on one hip as he looks between me and the cat.

“It’s a tom, probably not,” he answers.

“I tamed you,” I say a little tongue-and-cheek as I glance at him slyly over my shoulder. 

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “I might argue it was the other way around, kitten.”

“Here kitty, kitty,” I whisper, flicking my fingers at him. I moved to kneel down on one knee, not moving closer, but holding my hand out in case he wants to come over for a sniff.

The cat didn’t deign to move closer, but also doesn’t seem afraid or inclined to scamper away from us. He just peers at me with intent yellow eyes, his fluffy tail flipping back and forth as if to lure me in with the promise of touching it.

I can’t help myself -- I shuffle forward a little bit, my hand still outstretched, wanting to see if he’ll let me get close enough to at least take a better look at his scrapes. He’s certainly not afraid - his watchful eyes are flickering all around. 

“Look at this handsome boy,” I croon, voice pitched a little lower, trying to entice him to take a step towards me. I wish I had some food for him. 

Sylus just sighs behind me. 

“Ignore him, kitty,” I suggest, trying to stifle a giggle when I see the cat’s yellow eyes briefly dart behind me before locking back onto mine. “You are definitely the biggest, most handsome cat on the block. If you come juuuust a little closer, I want to make sure you haven’t been hurt.”

The cat yawns, his sharp teeth on full display before he licks his nose and gives me a blink. 

“That’s right, big guy. You know I won’t hurt you.” 

Sylus suddenly chuckles behind me. “Let’s do this a little quicker, shall we?” Without pausing, he activates his Evol, wrapping the cat in red and black swirls of color and lifting it into the air. It yowls in immediate displeasure, thrashing and kicking.

“Oh, don’t-” I try to say, before Sylus deposits it in my arms, though still wrapped up and held immobile by his power.

It freezes, looking up into my face, while I peer down at him. “It’s okay, kitty, I won’t hurt you,” I say soothingly. I resist the urge to pet it - it’s trapped and can’t escape, and my touch could do more harm than good. Instead I hold him close against me, cradling him gently in my arms as Sylus guides me towards our private elevator. 

We ascend to the penthouse as I’m trying to look over his wounds - with his thick hair, it doesn’t seem like he sustained too much damage, but I wouldn’t be sure until I could investigate more thoroughly. He is, however, extremely dirty and covered in fleas, which I can see crawling through the dirty fuzz. 

“He needs a bath,” I say, looking him over. “Do you think we should take him to a vet instead?”

Sylus scoffs quietly behind me as we enter our private floor. “I’ll make a call.” 

“My rich boyfriend is so strong and powerful,” I laugh, walking further into the condo and heading towards the bathroom. 

“Do we have any of that blue dish soap?” I call out as I settle the cat down in the shower. I need to grab a towel, and with Sylus’ Evol still activated, he won’t be able to move too much. I kick off my shoes and socks and grab a few fluffy dark towels from underneath the sink, whispering to the cat as I reach for one of the handheld shower heads. Since the shower is big enough for 10 people, the cat is safely outside of the spray as I test out the water and let it warm up.

“What a good boy you are,” I croon, kneeling down by the cat once the temperature has been adjusted, gently allowing the warm water to soak into his fur. The cat gives a grimace and gnashes his teeth, but otherwise doesn’t fight it. 

“Yes, you’re so smart, what a sweet kitty you are. You were definitely going to win. It was three-on-one, and look how strong and brave you were…” I ramble on and on as I soak him from the neck down, gently carding my fingers through his fur to try to get him completely wetted. 

Sylus walks in with a bottle of the dish soap, rolling his eyes a little at my running commentary. “I’m worried about you, sweetie,” he says lightly, squatting by the shower entrance and setting down the soap bottle. 

“Hush,” I say, fighting back a smile as I throw a mock-glare over my shoulder. “Squeeze me,” I say, holding out one palm.

“I wish,” he mutters before he obliges, squirting a heaping handful of soap.

I soap my palms together and get to work, thoroughly (but gently) cleaning up the poor, battered cat. His cuts and scrapes aren’t bad, but I’m careful to avoid getting too much soap in those areas to avoid any stinging. I keep speaking to the cat, voice low and calm, and he doesn’t otherwise flinch at being doused in water and soap.

“I wonder if he was someone’s pet?” I question thoughtfully. “He’s too well behaved for a feral cat.”

Sylus just hums but doesn’t say anything, his Evol still containing the cat though it’s obvious the animal isn’t fighting it. I make sure to wash off as much of the dirt and fleas as I can, rinsing and repeating one more time, and the amount of dirt pooling beneath the two of us turned the pale gray tile completely black. 

But as the cat emerges, clean and victorious, I’m astounded to see a pure white beauty in its majestic display. “He’s so handsome,” I gasp, gently drying him off with a soft towel. 

“I know, you’ve already mentioned it many times,” Sylus says dryly, but the humor glinting in his ruby-colored eyes is obvious. “I always knew you’d be a cat person.”

“You call me kitten often enough, I thought it was obvious,” I say, smiling playfully. 

It’s quiet again for a moment as I finish drying the cat off, before noting, “I don’t think he’s seriously hurt, but he had fleas and could use a check up.” 

As if waiting for my remark, the doorbell chimes, announcing a visitor. I look over at Sylus, who has climbed to his feet and casually strolls out of the bathroom. 

I reach out, cradling the cat in a new clean towel and exit the bathroom and into the living room where a man with a black kit is waiting for us. Without much expression and with almost no conversation, he takes the cat from my arms and begins his check up, and the cat -- who is still held by the black strands -- immediately begins to meow and scream non-stop.

“Oh, poor baby,” I whisper, clenching my hands but unable to help. I look on in concern, trying not to react as the impersonal vet quickly doctors the cat’s wounds and gives him a few shots. 

“He’ll be fine in a few days. I’ve given him his vaccinations, and a pill that will help kill off the remaining fleas.” 

“What kind of cat is he?” I ask, the cat looking even larger as the fur dries.

“I’d guess Maine Coon based on his size and features,” the vet says. “You can do a DNA test if you want to know for sure.”

“Will he get bigger or is he fully grown?”

The man lifted the cat’s lips, checking his teeth. “He’s a young cat, maybe still under a year old, so I would guess he’s still growing. Maine Coons can keep growing until they are around two years old.”

He gives me a few instructions on how to continue caring for the animal, and without much fanfare, leaves. 

“Let’s let him free now,” I murmur to Sylus after setting him down on the floor. Sylus releases his Evol, and the cat slowly stands, taking a few steps and sniffing the air. 

“He’s so cute,” I sigh, watching him tentatively explore his new surroundings. 

“He better not pee on anything until we can get him neutered,” Sylus mutters. “We’ll never get the smell out.”

I reach out, wrapping my arms around his waist and nuzzling into his chest. “You’re so wonderful,” I say, content and a little tired. The doorbell rings again, and I lift my head off his chest to look up at his face, puzzled. 

He motions for me to go, saying, “Get in the shower, I’ll get him settled. The twins brought some supplies.”

I smile in relief, giving him another squeeze, and silently beg for a kiss as I stand on my toes and lift my face. He cups my chin, brushing warm lips over mine in a chaste kiss. He gives me a second kiss on my forehead.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ll join you soon.”

More than a week has passed since we rescued the cat. I’ve had to travel to and from Linkon for work, but Sylus never asks if I am going to take the cat with me or drop it off at the shelter. Instead, the cat seems to settle into the plush penthouse as if he had never lived a life on the outside, his kingly attitude right at home in the dark, romantic surroundings. 

After arriving a little later than I expected, I put my overnight bag away in the bedroom before I grab one of the new cat toys lying about. It’s a stick with a feather dangling from a string, and I flick it around on the floor and up in the air, laughing aloud as the cat makes a daring leap trying to catch it. 

“You can do it, Junior,” I cheer as he stretches out his paws, dagger-like nails exposed. Mephisto caws angrily in the corner, pacing back and forth on his stand as he watches the playful cat. They’ve been sassing each other all week, with the kitty missing chunks of hair and Mephisto decidedly more ruffled looking with mechanical feathers lying twisted on the ground. 

The door opens and Sylus walks in just in time to hear me, raising his eyebrows as he comes towards me carrying a couple of shopping and garment bags. 

“Please don’t tell me that name means what I think it means?” he sighs.

I start giggling and the cat takes a flying leap, tackling me to the ground. I ooph out a rush of air, his heavy body colliding with mine as I clutch him to my belly and roll backwards. Sylus drops the bags into the couch and strides over, grabbing the cat by the scruff of the neck and tossing him (somewhat gently) onto the coffee table. He reaches down, helping me to my feet as I fight off a giddy laugh. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” I answer, a sly smile twisting my lips as I reach down to pat Junior on the top of his head, his large, fuzzy ears twisting to catch our voices. “He looks just like his daddy, after all…”

“I did not, in fact, sire a cat. But if my little kitten is so inclined to have her own litter, I could be persuaded.”

I burst out laughing, pushing at his shoulder (he didn’t budge). “I’m not ready for a baby right now. Baby making, however…”

His eyes glint in the light, strangely dark as he locks his gaze onto mine, tugging me closer and into a tight embrace. He leans down, nuzzling his face into my neck, arms wrapped around my waist. “Let’s go practice now,” he suggests, teeth nipping gently at my skin in blatant invitation. 

I sigh, languid from the pleasure that courses up my spine as he trails long fingers down my back in a slow caress. He kisses me tenderly, tongue tracing the seam of my mouth before I open to let him in, our tongues pressing against each other in unhurried exploration. We’ve kissed hundreds of times, but each press of his lips to mine brings a fresh wash of affection and excitement.

I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, falling deeper into his kiss, but a demanding howl from the coffee table shatters the moment. I look down, meeting the irritated eyes of the cat staring back at me. “Sorry, Junior. You shouldn’t be watching mommy and daddy like this.”

Sylus stifles a long exhale before he reaches down, adjusting himself, and steps away back towards the bags. I follow along with interest, trying to peek into the bags, but he covers it up. 

“You can open this one now,” he says, holding out a shopping bag. “I’ll show you the others later.”

I look with interest at the other handful of bags and garment bags, but don’t press. I’ve learned that any surprise from Sylus is well worth the wait. Instead, I tear open the bag and read the brand name on the box. “Evol CommuniCollar?” I question, looking up at him in surprise. “Aren’t these ridiculously expensive?”

He scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “Maybe if you’re not me.”

I roll my eyes. “You are such a snob sometimes.” I eagerly read the description. “It says here that it can translate everything your pet says into human language. This is so cool!”

I sit down and start fumbling to open the box, tearing off the flap corners in my haste to get it open. “Oops, I hope we don’t need to return this,” I say. He looks completely unconcerned as he settles on the couch next to me, as Junior perches politely on the coffee table near my knee, tail swishing back and forth. 

Reading the instructions, I open my phone and download the app as Sylus checks the battery charge on the collar. I fill in Junior’s information, noting his suggested breed and age in the settings. While Sylus isn’t watching, I set the AI voice to one of my favorite male celebrities that is (surprisingly) available in the list. 

Sylus gently adjusts it around the cat’s neck, making sure his fur isn’t being pulled or tangled, and gives him a single pat on the head.

Junior is still watching Sylus and gives a tiny meow, and the collar suddenly beeps, a deep, masculine AI-voice is clearly projecting from the collar. “Father.”

I gasp, practically swooning on the couch. “He knows you’re his dad,” I squeal, covering my mouth to hide the huge grin. Sylus looks taken aback, one eyebrow raised as he stares down at the cat that is still looking up at him. He obviously recognizes the voice when I see his sidelong glance at me. 

I hurriedly continue reading the instructions. “While animals may not experience the same family bonds, environmental stimulus, language or emotional capacity that humans do, they’ve been able to map the closest electrical triggers to feelings that we can understand.”

I laugh a little. “So I guess he knows you aren’t his birth father. Maybe you’re his step-dad.”

The kitty looks at me chuckling on the couch, attention flicking back and forth, and as he looks at me directly, he gives a single, long blink. “Wife.” The masculine voice is low and rumbly as he purrs a little.

My mouth drops open, and I don’t dare to look at Sylus. I’m trying desperately to stifle a cackle of mischievous delight, and I reach out to stroke my hand along his back. 

“No,” Sylus says, reaching out to catch my hand. “Don’t reward him for bad behavior.”

“How is he being bad?” I ask, choking on my laughter. I’m trying not to cry, eyes welling up as I gasp for breath.

“This collar is defective. Let’s throw it away,” he says resolutely, reaching out a hand to unclasp the collar from the cat before I bat his hand away.

“Don’t you dare. This is priceless.” I try to be stern, but my quivering lips and definitely giving it away.

He looks slightly irritated but does take his hands away and folds his arms across his chest. I turn back to the cat, giving him a little scritch behind one fluffy ear, and he closes his eyes, rumbling in pleasure. 

“Feels good. It’s itchy,” the cat collar says in its low, dulcet tones. “Wife. Wife.” The purrs get a little louder when I switch to the other ear.

“No, I’m your mom,” I correct, and the collar gives another little beep with tiny rumbling noises as if to translate what I said.

“No, not mother. Wife,” the cat collar responds, and the cat blinks up at me again, holding eye contact. 

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter when I see Sylus stiffen up beside me. “No, I’m your mother. And this is your dad,” I say, pointing to Sylus. “I’m his wife.”

I pretend I don’t see Sylus whip his head around to look at me. I’m trying to make a point to a cat, and this is the easiest way to get it across. How would a cat understand human dating behavior? 

The cat looks obviously disgruntled as the collar makes more translation noises. His tail lashes angrily back and forth, and he turns his head away from me, obviously not agreeing to my words. 

I lean forward, giving him a little kiss on his forehead, ignoring his mew of unhappiness. “I love you so much, my handsome little guy. You’re the bestest boy, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, I’m the best cat. Better than the bird,” the collar agrees, and the cat turns to nuzzle his head into my chin.

I pepper little kisses all over his cute little cat face. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry. I’d like dinner, please. I want the fish one. The wet food, not the crunch food.” 

“Oh, you like the tuna more than the chicken? You should really eat the kibble too, it’s better for your teeth if you can eat some crunchy food,” I say, and we walk into the kitchen, chatting together. 

Sylus leans back against the couch cushions, sighing as scrubs one hand over his face before climbing to his feet and going to store away the bags.

Junior and I chatter back and forth, his sentences slowly becoming longer and more in-depth the more the collar was used. 

He finally finishes his food and I ask to gently wipe his face and whiskers with a clean towel, and he happily obliges, purring loudly as I clean him up. We walk together back into the living room, where Sylus has once more taken a seat on the couch, the fireplace crackling and the low throb of classical music coming from the record player. 

“Father,” Junior murmurs, leaping onto the couch and then clambering into Sylus’ lap (uninvited, but also undeterred). I smile, nestling into his side as he raises an arm and pulls me in closer. 

“Father, play with me. Play with me,” the cat begs, raising one paw and tapping it against Sylus’ chest. 

I try to bite back a smile, shifting away slightly so I can quickly snap a photo. Sylus resigns himself, reaching down to flick one furry ear before he tugs gently at a whisker. The cat grows ever more exasperated as he tries to bat away Sylus’ hand, who snaps his fingers and conjures up a handful of black feathers dusting along Junior’s head and back. 

“You wanted to play, and now you’re mad?” Sylus asks, listening to the cat muttering profanities (with the help of the collar) and hiding a small smile. 

Finally the cat huffs and flops down, and the feathers immediately disappear. We both look down at the large cat stretching himself along the length of Sylus’ thighs, Junior’s head resting closer to his stomach. I reach out, giving him a scritch as I nuzzle into Sylus’ broad shoulder.

Sylus presses a tender kiss to my forehead as he sweeps one long-fingered hand down the back of the cat in a soothing, absent-minded stroke. He drops his head, feathering kisses across the bridge of my nose and cheeks, before pressing a deeper, sweeter kiss to my lips. 

“So about that litter of kittens you mentioned…” I pull away to whisper into his ear as Junior finally settles and little snores start to emerge. 

Activating his Evol, he carries that cat over to his bed, settling him into the cushions lightly while he stands and hefts me over his shoulder. “Practice makes perfect, sweetie,” he purrs, striding into the bedroom and shutting the door while I try to muffle my giggles.

Junior licks his lips, snuggling deeper into his bed and drifting off into an even deeper, satisfied sleep.

Cat image source

[twist-shout-and-shells]

So, here's a little peek at that odydio fic I've been talking about here. Is this anything? I'm kind of uncertain about the characterisation.

Content warning: blood, nsfw

Context: year three, after a battle

Sthenelus lets him in with a suspicious glare. The ox skin that serves as door to Diomedes’ tent falls closed behind him, trapping him in the stifled room. The whole place rinks of post–battle rush.

“What do you want?” Diomedes asks without looking at him. 

Odysseus stops in his tracks. He’s seen Diomedes naked before. He’s seen Diomedes covered in blood before. Both at the same time—that’s new.

“I…” He clears his throat. “Someone mentioned you got hurt. I just wanted to…”

To see how you were. To make sure you’re alright. 

He could brush it off as a cordiality between commanders if they didn’t have a past—short as it is. But as he stands there, faced with Diomedes’ temperate indifference and his marble-sculptured, blood-soaked back side, he realises it looks a bit too much as if he cares.

“I’m not. It was just a scratch,” Diomedes says, shrugging one shoulder to show off a shallow, diagonal cut. A stray arrow, probably. 

The rest of the blood is obviously not his. The Argive scrubs at his chest with a wet rag, accomplishing little. There’s dried blood on his thighs, his arms, even on his face, sticking to his stubble, which is longer than he usually allows it to grow. 

Diomedes wrings out the rag and dampens it again. The water on the basin is stained pink.

Odysseus, like a suicidal lamb walking straight into the mouth of a hungry lion, steps close to him. Diomedes’ turns with a frown, and he deftly takes the cloth from the Argive’s fingers.

“You missed a spot,” he drawls, eyes fixed on Diomedes’, and rubs the cloth down his chest. 

He wants to clean him up with his tongue, press his face to his pulse point, and smell the number of casualties on him, feel the strong beating of his heart against his skin.

Diomedes watches him. His coal eyes darken when Odysseus’ hand travels to his back, leaving his skin damp on its wake, and then lower.

“Tired of keeping yourself company, Laertiades?” He asks, giving him that snarl-like smirk of his.

He brushes his nose to Diomedes’ dagger-sharp collarbone.

“Leave my father out of this.” 

Before he can dip his hand between Diomedes’ thighs, the Argive seizes his wrist.

“We tried this, Odysseus. It didn’t work.”

He turns his best smirk up to Diomedes, the one that usually makes people tremble in anticipation of whatever disastrously clever schemes he has in mind. Diomedes meets it with a stern eyebrow.

“Well…” His free hand cradles the nape of Diomedes’ neck, fingers brushing his blond-soaked curls. “I hear mistakes are better the second time you make them.”

Diomedes shakes his head slightly, moving Odysseus’ hand to his thigh to rub at the blood on it. Odysseus pictures what happened by the shape of the stain—a Trojan soldier on Diomedes’ arms, a knife to his stomach, his guts spilling out and soaking through Diomedes’ tunic where his pterygia didn’t cover it.

“I’m not your wife,” the Argive says, more softly than the last time, but by no means sweetly. “I won’t be nice to you.”

“That’s good.” He drops the rag. “‘Cause I don’t need you to be nice to me.”

Diomedes pulls him in by the waist. Their mouths clash like two beasts in the wild—untamed and hungry and far too keen on devouring each other. Diomedes tastes like dried sweat and rusted copper. His skin is a furnace under Odysseus’ hand, and his grip on Odysseus’ waist is bruising.

There’s a rather fine bed in the tent, but they end up on the leather hides on the floor beside Odysseus’ ruined tunic. 

For a moment, he thinks Diomedes will have his way with him, and it makes him dizzy with want as his blood flows south too fast. But the Argive straddles his hips, and Odysseus holds onto his thighs and stares up at him—glorious and wild and covered in the blood of the innocents they travelled all this way to slaughter over someone else’s wife. If Diomedes wanted to strangle him to death right now, he wouldn’t be opposed. At least he’d be free of the war. 

Diomedes’ teeth graze his neck. He bucks his hips up, desperate for friction, and moans when those canines dig into his skin. It’s harsh, and it’s mean, and Odysseus tilts his head to the side to give him more room to bite and lick and suck to his heart’s desire.

There’s an utter lack of control in it all that he’s never seen in the young man before. Diomedes is their most experienced commander, and while he is a terrifying sight on the plains, he fights with god-like discipline, with the confidence of someone who has trained his whole life to yield a sword and throw a spear. Like a perfectly contained flame. 

As he pins Odysseus’ shoulders to the floor of his tent and rides his hips until pink rivulets of sweat roll down his back, it’s like a torch dropped onto an endless, dry field. It spreads, and it spreads, and it spreads, and all Odysseus can do is let the flames lap him up. He holds onto Diomedes’ waist and lets him take what he wants from him. 

For once in his life, Odysseus has no clever words to say. Diomedes grunts out his pleasure, framed above him by the dim light of the tent like a divine vision. There’s blood on Odysseus' skin, blood that doesn’t belong to either of them. They’re not hurt, not yet. An arrow scrape to Diomedes’ shoulder is nothing compared to how much they could hurt each other.

[gullemec]

Return to the Lion's Den

Golden Ruin - Chapter Nine

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: Breaking your exile, you and Hughie devise a plan to return to New York and reunite with the Boys.

Warnings: Mild talk of torture, nothing crazy this chapter but things will be heating up after this!

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 5k

A/N: Things will be kicking back up a notch after this chapter as we return to the belly of the beast and get back to the violence we all know and love <3 thanks for sticking with this story, I appreciate it <3

The sun’s first rays filter weakly through the treetops, casting fractured light and pale shadows across the small, cluttered living room. 

Inside, you pace the creaky wooden floor, your steps frantic but soft, the sound almost rhythmic in the silence. Your mind won’t stop running in circles, the image of your father striding into Vought Tower replaying over and over like a broken film reel.

The thought of sleep had been laughable. You’d spent the night staring at the phone as it lay on your bedside table, joining your two photos like some bizarre, stitched together family portrait. You willed it to provide more, like rereading those same three texts again might offer some clarity, or prove that the whole thing had been a mistake.

The creak of a door opening pulls you from your trance. Hughie shuffles into the main room, his hair a mess, his face slack with sleep. He yawns, rubbing at his eyes as he takes in the sight of you, disheveled, dark circles under your eyes, the tension radiating from every inch of your body.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. He gestures vaguely toward the floor. “Did you, uh, pace all night? Because I definitely didn’t get a great sleep with all the stomping.”

You stop mid stride, realizing for the first time just how loud you must have been. Turning to face him, you offer a halfhearted smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He waves it off but doesn’t look away, his brow knitting with worry. “You alright?” he asks, moving toward the kitchen. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

You might have.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You want to tell him. You need to tell him. But how do you even begin to explain something like this? The silence stretches as he pulls out the coffee pot, his movements slow and distracted, like he’s already bracing himself for whatever’s coming next.

Finally, the words spill out, unbidden and jagged. “I think my dad’s alive.”

The clattering of the coffee scoop against the counter is the only sound for a moment. Hughie freezes, his back still to you, before turning slowly, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. “What?”

“I think he’s alive,” you repeat, stepping closer. The words feel surreal even as you say them, your voice trembling under the weight of them. “I… I know how it sounds, but — ”

He cuts you off with a raised hand, his brow furrowing deeper. “Hold on. What are you talking about? Your dad? I was there, I saw the explosion. He’s dead He’s been dead.”

You shake your head, the rush of thoughts making it impossible to form a coherent explanation. “I know. I know what you saw. I know what I saw…or what I thought I saw. But last night, I-I climbed the cliff.”

Hughie’s face hardens instantly, his eyes narrowing. “The one I told you not to climb?”

You wince at his tone but push forward. “Yes. I climbed it, and I got a signal on my phone.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course you did,” he mutters, frustration lacing his voice. “What happened? Did you call someone? Text someone? You know how dangerous that is!”

“I didn’t call anyone!” you cut in, pulling the phone from your pocket. You hold it out like it will absolve you of your guilt. “But I got these.”

Hughie stares at the phone in your hand but doesn’t take it. His expression shifts from frustration to wariness as his eyes flick to your face. “These? What do you mean?”

You power the phone back up, using the last dregs of battery life to show Hughie the texts.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Adam?” His tone is incredulous, like he’s about to check your forehead for signs of fever delirium. “Who the hell is Adam?”

Your face flushes with embarrassment as you realize you had never shared this brief time in your life with anyone in the Boys.

“I… dated him. For, like, two seconds. I broke things off right before the explosion. He works for Vought now.” 

There’s a pause, heavy and uncomfortable. Hughie exhales sharply through his nose and nods, his expression tight. “Ah. Well, that would explain Butcher’s behavior around that time.”

You both exchange uncomfortable glances, recalling the last time you and Butcher went a little crazy in each other’s absence.

“Whatever. Just, look at this.” You shove the phone into Hughie’s hands, watching as he scrolls through the messages. His expression shifts with each passing moment. Annoyance softens into confusion, confusion hardens into disbelief, and by the time he reaches the photo, his jaw tightens.

“That’s…” His voice falters as his gaze flicks up to yours, searching your face. “That looks like your dad. But it can’t be, right? I mean… are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you say firmly, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield. “It’s him. I’d know him anywhere.”

Hughie shakes his head, handing the phone back to you like it’s a ticking time bomb. “Okay, hold on. Let’s just… think this through. Your ex who works for Vought sent you this. Why? What if he’s just messing with you? What if he’s full of shit?”

You clench your fists around the phone, anxiety bubbling up to your throat. “No. He wouldn’t lie about this, Hughie. Why would he? He doesn’t even know where I am. And if my dad’s alive — ”

“If,” Hughie interjects sharply. “If. That’s a big ‘if.’ You’re talking about something massive here. What if it’s a trick? What if Vought planted this photo to fuck with you?”

You glare at him, frustration burning behind your eyes. “Why would they even do that? They don’t know I’m here, Hughie! And why now? Why after all this time?”

Hughie exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair as his frustration spills out. “I don’t know! But we can’t just… trust this guy. We’re supposed to be laying low, remember? You scaling cliffs and chasing signals isn’t exactly flying under the radar!”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” The words burst from you. Your voice cracks under the weight of your emotions. “Hughie, if he’s alive, if he’s in Vought Tower, I need to know why. With everything that happened in Russia…” Your voice drops, barely above a whisper. “There’s no way this is all a coincidence.”

Hughie stares at you like you’ve just announced the most ridiculous plan in the world. “I’m sorry, but I don’t get it. Why? Why would you even want to do this?” His voice is sharper than usual, tinged with disbelief. “Your dad — he wasn’t exactly Father of the Year, was he? The guy treated you like crap.”

You flinch at his words, though they’re not wrong. Still, you look away, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “I know what he was like, Hughie. Believe me, I know better than anyone.”

“Then why?” Hughie presses, his tone softening but still laced with confusion. “Why risk your life for him? After everything he’s done to you, after all the ways he hurt you, why go chasing after some maybe, some photo that could be fake?”

You take a shaky breath, trying to put the knot of emotions in your chest into words. “Because he’s all I have left.”

Hughie blinks, caught off guard by the rawness in your voice.

You glance down at your hands, your voice low and unsteady. “He wasn’t a good dad. I know that. He was cruel, controlling… manipulative. I spent years trying to escape the shadow he cast over my life.”

You pause, swallowing hard as your fingers tighten into fists. “But in the end, he saved me. When he got injected with V2… it was like he knew what was coming. He wouldn’t let go of Monica. He held her there, and he told me to run.” Your voice falters, the memory still raw. “Even though it killed him. Or at least… I thought it did.”

Hughie shifts uncomfortably, his face softening with sympathy but still lined with skepticism.

“He’s my father, Hughie. And for all the bad… he’s still my family. The only family I have left.” You swallow hard, glancing up to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what this means, or why it’s happening now, but I can’t just ignore it. I keep thinking about everything else that’s been happening… The bombings, Soldier Boy coming back, Butcher disappearing. What if it’s all connected? What if my dad’s tied up in this somehow?”

Hughie stares at you for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the right words. Finally, his shoulders sag, and his gaze softens. “Look, I get it. I do. But what are you even going to do? March into Vought Tower and ask them to hand him over? You can’t do this alone.”

“I’m not asking to do it alone!” Your voice cracks with frustration, but you push on. “But if it were Annie— or your dad —you wouldn’t sit here either.”

Hughie stares at you, his chest heaving as he tries to process your words. Finally, he looks down, shaking his head. “This is insane.”

“I know,” you whisper.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken fears.

Finally, Hughie sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. But if you’re doing this, you’re not doing it alone. I’ll help.”

“What?”

“I’ll help,” he repeats firmly. “Because you’re going to do this with or without me, and I’m not letting you get yourself killed.”

Relief washes over you, mingling with guilt. “Hughie, you don’t have to…”

“Yeah, I do,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Now sit down. If we’re doing this, we’re gonna need a plan.”

~~~

You sit at the small dining table, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Despite the emptiness outside, you keep your voices low, as though Mallory might materialize out of the walls.

“Mallory’s gonna kill us,” Hughie mutters, leaning back in his chair. “Like, actually kill us.”

“She’s not going to find out,” you reply, though the lack of conviction in your voice betrays you.

Hughie snorts, giving you a pointed look. “You’ve met Mallory, right?”

Ignoring him, you press on, laying out the plan that’s been forming in your head ever since Adam’s messages appeared on your phone.

“We’ll hitchhike,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “Get into town, find a car to steal, and — ”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hughie cuts in, blinking at you like you’ve lost it. “Hitchhike? Steal a car? Are you insane?”

You glare at him. “Seriously? We’ve done worse for the Boys, Hughie. Are you suggesting we walk there? I don’t care if I have to steal a dozen cars. I’m getting to New York.”

Hughie rubs his face with both hands, letting out a sharp exhale. He stares at the cracked plaster wall, as though hoping it’ll offer a solution. Finally, he mutters, almost too quietly to hear, “We don’t need to hitchhike.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s… a car,” he admits reluctantly, his words dripping with reluctance. “Mallory left one for us. Down the road. For emergencies.”

You freeze, your mind catching up to his words. “You’ve known about a car this whole time?”

“She told me not to tell you!” Hughie defends, throwing his hands up. “Mallory said you’d try to use it to bail, and guess what? Here we are! She wasn’t wrong!”

“Hughie!” you snap, standing from your chair so fast it scrapes against the floor.

Hughie stands too, though he shrinks slightly under your glare. “What was I supposed to do? I was trying to follow orders for once! And don’t act like you’re some saint. You scaled a cliff to get a signal on your phone! When Mallory finds out, she’s gonna kill both of us!”

Your mouth opens for a retort, but no words come. Frustrated, you cross your arms and turn away, staring at the table instead of him.

Hughie softens his tone. “Look,” he says quietly. “I get why you’re pissed. But I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you doing something stupid and getting hurt. You’re not exactly thinking straight right now.”

“Don’t patronize me,” you mutter, though the heat has mostly left your voice.

“I’m not,” he insists. “But you’re running on adrenaline and — what is it people get when they’re pregnant? Baby hormones or something?”

You snort, despite yourself, and glance back at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Probably not,” he admits, his lips twitching into a grin. “But I do know we can’t mess this up. I know there’s nothing I can say to convince you not to go. But we’re doing it smart. No hitchhiking, no stealing. We take the car, and we don’t leave any trace. No more surprises, okay?”

You hesitate, searching his face, before finally nodding. “Fine. No more surprises.”

“Good,” he says, exhaling deeply, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “But if Mallory finds out…”

“She won’t,” you cut in quickly, your voice firm. “We’ll be gone before she even notices.”

Hughie doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Alright. I’ll grab the keys.”

As he heads toward the cabinet where Mallory stashed them, you turn toward the window. The world outside feels heavier now, pressing in around you. Guilt, fear, and determination swirl around you like storm clouds.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?

~~~

When the clock strikes midnight, you’re ready.

Your room is dark, illuminated only by the moonlight spilling through the thin lace curtains. You step inside, your footsteps careful, the creak of the old floorboards underfoot uncomfortably loud in the silence. You head toward the small dresser, stuffing a change of clothes and a few essentials into the worn canvas bag you arrived with.

Your gaze drifts to the nightstand, and your breath catches. The photo of you and your mother sits there, its worn edges curled slightly, a testament to what it’s survived and how often it’s been handled. Next to it lies the ultrasound photo, its crisp lines stark and new by comparison. You pause, the weight of them both settling heavily on your chest.

Your mother’s soft face, warm smile, a window into a simpler time. Her eyes creased, arms wrapped around you, your anchor, your foundation, the one who taught you what family really meant. She gave you the values you’ve tried, and often failed, to uphold. The thought sends a painful jab deep in your heart.

Your fingers hover over the ultrasound photo, delicate, afraid to smudge it. That small, shadowy shape, so tiny, so full of everything that is still to come. Your future. Your hope. A new life growing inside you, pulling you forward, forcing you to be better. For them.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your fingers brushing over the photos. “Mom,” you whisper, voice breaking softly in the stillness. “Thank you. For everything you gave me. For showing me what it means to fight for the people you love.” Your hand trembles as you set the photo down, the ache of her absence cutting sharper than ever.

Then your eyes fall to the ultrasound, and resolve builds in your chest. “And you,” you murmur, your voice growing steadier. “You’re the reason I’m doing this. You deserve a world worth growing up in, a world where you don’t have to be afraid of people like Homelander or live in the shadows of people like Vought.” You run a thumb over the image, feeling a flicker of strength you hadn’t realized you’d lost.

With a deep breath, you slide the photos into your pocket, their weight grounding you, reminding you of  where you’ve been, where you’re going. You glance around the room, taking it in one last time, the small comforts, the illusion of safety you’ve built here. Yet again, you’re leaving behind a sanctuary, trading it for uncertainty and danger.

Standing, you shoulder your bag and take one last wistful look at the nightstand, at the room, at the life you’re leaving behind. “I’ll make this right,” you whisper. Then you turn and walk out the door, the quiet resolve of your promise echoing in your chest.

~~~

You and Hughie bundle up tightly against the biting winter cold, trudging side by side through the woods toward the spot where Mallory had stashed the getaway car. The snow crunches underfoot, the trees standing like silent sentinels around you. Eventually, you spot it, a dirty, unremarkable sedan pulled off the road onto a wide shoulder. Its untouched state after months of sitting there shows how desolate this place really is.

As Hughie sweeps snow off the windshield with his sleeve, you lean against the car and run a mental calculation, piecing together the makeshift calendar you’d kept and the midwife’s measurements. Twenty weeks. You’re twenty weeks pregnant. Which means you’ve been hiding out here with Hughie for a little over two months. The realization nearly makes you laugh. Two months felt like an eternity in isolation, where every day bled into the next, weighed down by monotony and despair.

Your hand drifts to your stomach, brushing against the swell that’s no longer possible to hide beneath thick sweaters and jackets. The thought fills you with both fear and excitement. You’re halfway there.

Hughie slides into the driver’s seat, glancing up at you. “You getting in, or were you planning to freeze to death out there?”

You shoot him a halfhearted glare but climb into the passenger seat, your breath fogging the air as he turns the key. The car rumbles to life, sputtering before settling into a low, gravelly hum. The sound is strangely jarring after weeks of near silence in the woods.

As Hughie pulls onto the road, the towering pines blur past, their dark shapes streaked with snow. You feel the coil of anxiety tightening, winding tighter with each passing mile. You have no idea what’s waiting for you on the other side of this journey, but you silently pray, to anyone, anything, that the people you love are safe.

Hughie glances at you as the car picks up speed. “Alright,” he says, breaking the silence. “Run me through this plan again.”

You draw in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to focus. “We get to Vought Tower and head straight to Research & Design. That’s where Adam works. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s him.”

“And what happens when we find him?” Hughie asks.

“We corner him,” you reply firmly. “Get him to tell us everything he knows. What he saw, what he’s been working on, and why he sent that photo.”

Hughie glances over, skeptical. “You think he’s just going to spill everything because you asked nicely?”

You smirk, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Adam’s… soft. Always has been. A little flattery, a little pressure, and he’ll cave. Trust me, I know how to handle him.”

Hughie raises his eyebrows but doesn’t argue, his gaze shifting back to the road.

From there, though, the plan gets murky. You chew your lip, your mind spinning through countless possibilities, none of them reassuring. Vought Tower is a fortress, crawling with Supes, security, and surveillance. If Adam can’t, or won’t, help, you’re not sure what you’ll do next.

You and Hughie trade off driving shifts as the hours stretch on, though it doesn’t escape you that he’s quietly taking the bulk of the load, letting you nap in the front seat. You’d call him out on it if you weren’t so bone deep tired from, well, growing another human being.

The car pulls into a gas station just outside Boston as the first streaks of dawn cut across the sky, painting it in soft streaks of pink and gold. There’s something funny about the juxtaposition of a giant, neon gas station sign against the backdrop of nature’s beauty.

You rub at your eyes, the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin, and push the door open. The crisp morning air bites at your cheeks, a stark contrast to the stale warmth of the car.

“I need to pee,” you mumble, stretching your legs as you climb out. Hughie waves you off, already unscrewing the gas cap and fumbling for the pump.

You push open the gas station door, a bell jingling overhead as a burst of warm air greets you. The clerk doesn’t even glance up, more interested in the small TV perched in the corner behind the counter. You head toward the restroom at the back, but the sound of a familiar voice stops you in your tracks.

“…a tragedy that could have been avoided, had we acted sooner.”

Your stomach drops. You turn toward the counter, eyes narrowing at the screen. Homelander’s smug, too perfect face fills the frame, standing against a backdrop of American flags and Vought logos. 

Your stomach drops as you read the ticker tape running along the bottom of the screen.

BREAKING: MEMBERS OF TERRORIST CELL ARRESTED IN CONNECTION WITH RUSSIAN BOMBING ATTACKS

Your breath catches. The camera pans out to reveal Homelander standing behind a podium, flanked by Ashley Barrett and a line of Vought security personnel dressed like they’re in the secret service. He’s dressed impeccably, his patriotic cape draped over one shoulder, but his expression is twisted into a mask of performative grief. Like he feels so disconnected from real human emotions that he can’t even pretend well.

“It is with a heavy heart that I address you today,” Homelander says, his voice tinged with faux sincerity. “For months, the world has watched in horror as innocent lives have been lost in Russia, victims of a cowardly series of terrorist bombings targeting scientific research facilities. Facilities dedicated to advancing humanity’s understanding of genetic medicine, of creating cures for diseases that have plagued us for generations.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle.

You can’t breathe. You step closer, standing frozen in the aisle, your fists clenching at your sides.

Homelander continues, his eyes scanning the room like a benevolent dictator addressing his loyal subjects. “We now know that these attacks were not the work of rogue agents abroad, but a coordinated effort orchestrated by a dangerous domestic group…The Boys’” He spits the name like venom.

The image cuts to a photo of MM and Frenchie, both handcuffed and being marched into Vought Tower. MM looks pissed, his jaw set in a hard line, but Frenchie’s expression is empty, his head bowed. They both look like they’ve been hurt.

Your vision swims, stomach lurching. MM and Frenchie… Captured. Maybe worse.

Homelander’s voice pulls your attention back to the screen. “The individuals taken into custody have acted as ringleaders of this violent campaign, working alongside known criminals to destabilize not only Russia but the global scientific community. Their actions have jeopardized the safety of millions, spreading fear and destruction.”

Your chest tightens. The lab attacks… were they Homelander’s doing this whole time, meant to be pinned on the Boys? Had the mission been a trap? What did that mean for Butcher, for Soldier Boy?

“And let me be clear,” Homelander says, his voice dropping, every word sharp and deliberate. “Vought will not rest until every single member of this so-called team is brought to justice. These terrorists think they can undermine the safety and security of our great country, but they are gravely mistaken. I will personally ensure that they answer for their crimes. Because that’s what heroes do.”

Then, he smiles, that dead-eyed, painfully wide grimace.

The camera pans over the small crowd gathered for the press conference. Reporters scribble furiously, the audience of civilians looking on in awe, a smattering of clapping growing into a roar.

You’re shaking now, a cocktail of rage and despair coursing through you. This isn’t just a press conference. It’s a declaration of war.

Your mind races. MM and Frenchie, two of the most solid, dependable people you know, are in Vought’s custody. You wonder what they’re going through right now.

Torture? Interrogation? Worse? 

The image of MM’s stoic face flashes again in your memory, his shoulders square despite the terror he must have felt. You can practically hear his voice in your head, calm and resolute, telling you to focus, to keep moving.

But how can you? They’ve been your family. And now, Homelander is painting them as monsters on live television, twisting the narrative in a way that only Vought can.

Your stomach churns, your hands curling into fists. You want to scream, to grab the clerk’s remote and smash it through the screen, but you can’t. You have to stay calm, to think.

You hurry out of the aisle and shove open the restroom door. The cold, flickering fluorescent light doesn’t do much to calm your nerves, but it gives you a moment to collect yourself. Your hands grip the edge of the sink as you stare at your reflection, your heart pounding in your chest.

You hear Hughie’s voice in your head. We stick to the plan. We find Adam. We get answers. But that’s easier said than done now, knowing the team is falling apart piece by piece.

When you step back out, Hughie is leaning against the car, shivering in the cold. “What took you so —” He stops mid-sentence, his face falling as he takes in your expression.

“They got MM and Frenchie,” you say, your voice tight.

“What?” His eyes widen in disbelief.

“Homelander. He’s on TV right now. Calling them terrorists. Saying they’re responsible for the lab bombings in Russia.” You’re shaking again, filled with barely concealed rage.

“Jesus Christ,” Hughie mutters, running a hand through his hair. “How the hell did they get them?”

“I don’t know. But if they’ve got MM and Frenchie, then we’re next,” you snap.

“Or… shit, or Annie.” Hughie looks around nervously, as if expecting Vought agents to burst out of the trees. “We’ve gotta move. Now.”

You nod, climbing into the passenger seat as Hughie jumps into the driver’s side. The car roars to life, and you can’t help but glance back toward the gas station, your mind still reeling. MM and Frenchie were fighters, they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

But they’re not invincible. And neither are you.

~~~

The city’s skyline grows more familiar with each passing mile, Vought Tower looming larger as you and Hughie approach midtown Manhattan. Its glass and steel gleam in the early morning light, an omnipresent reminder of everything you’re fighting against. You find yourself gripping the edge of your seat, your pulse quickening despite your attempts to stay calm.

Hughie glances at you from the driver’s seat, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “There it is,” he mutters, his voice tight.

“There it is,” you echo, unable to tear your eyes away from the monolithic structure.

The car slows to a crawl as Hughie pulls into a nearby parking garage, tucking the car away like you’re trying to delay the inevitable. Once parked, neither of you makes a move to get out. Instead, you both sit in the silence, the weight of what’s ahead pressing down on you.

“This feels… surreal,” Hughie finally says, leaning back in his seat. His eyes remain fixed on the dashboard, like looking at the tower itself might be too much.

“You remember our first mission together?” you ask softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Sneaking into my dad’s laboratory, posing as interns.”

He snorts, glancing at you. “God, that feels like forever ago.”

“It does,” you agree, letting yourself remember. “You were so nervous. I thought for sure you’d blow our cover.”

“Hey,” Hughie protests, though there’s no real heat in it. “You weren’t exactly smooth either. I distinctly remember you almost knocking over a cart full of lab equipment.”

You laugh despite the tension knotting your stomach. “Yeah, well, we pulled it off. Somehow.”

“Somehow,” he echoes, his gaze growing distant. “But this… is different. It’s not just about spying or planting bugs. It’s... bigger.”

You nod, the gravity of his words sinking in. “It is. But we’ve come a long way since then, Hughie. We’re not the same people we were back then.”

He turns to you, his expression serious. “Are you sure about this? I mean, really sure? If you want to turn back, I’ll understand.”

You meet his gaze, your voice steady. “Are you? Sure about this, I mean?”

Hughie hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. “No. But I’m not backing out.”

“Then neither am I,” you say firmly.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment longer before Hughie exhales sharply, reaching for the hood of his sweatshirt. “Well, then. Let’s do this.”

You mirror his action, pulling the hood up over your head and tucking your hair away. The two of you exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between you.

“Into the lion’s den,” Hughie mutters as you step out of the car.

“Into the lion’s den,” you repeat, the words a strange mix of dread and determination.

The city hums around you as you make your way toward the tower, its shadow swallowing you whole as you cross the street. You walk side by side, trying to look casual, just two people in hoodies blending into the crowd. But every step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what you’re about to do bearing down on you.

You walk side by side, two people with everything to lose.

As the glass doors of Vought Tower slide open, you force yourself to keep walking, your heart thundering in your chest. The bright, polished lobby stretches out before you, bustling with employees and visitors who have no idea who you are or why you’re here.

You exchange another glance with Hughie, your nerves mirrored in his wide eyes. Still, neither of you falters. Together, you stride forward, two people with everything to lose, plunging deeper into the belly of the beast.

Taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @buckybarnesbestgirl

[universaln0b0dy]

A dozen Roses. (Some Twist housewardens) x reader)

《Characters》 Riddle, Vil, Azul, Leona and Malleus

《Summary》: You and him had a fight. For whatever reason and the other would only be forgiven if they would be brought a dozen Roses, handpicked. Though it was only said out of anger the next week they hold said roses.

《Note》: established relationship. Also some parts will be cringe and sappy!

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle and you had fought about something stupid and he felt horrible. He was annoyed at the fact that you had again broken rule and even came late to the five last dates. You slightly snarky: "Well calm down it's not that bad." You had muttered had thrown him over the edge. The fight became even bigger ending with you yelling:

"MAYBE IF YOU GOT THAT STICK OUT OF YOU A-- YOU WOULD BE A GOOD PERSON!" Before you had slapped your hand over your mouth. He could see it in your eyes, you were so terribly sorry, but he was so angry at you.

"GET OUT AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT COMING BACK WITHOUT A PROPER APOLOGY WITH A DOZEN HAND PICKED ROSES!" He had yelled the out watching your face go from shocked to... sad. Tears were in your eyes and you had run out of the room, leaving Riddle with an incredible guilt.

He was feeling incredibly horrible for the whole week, collaring students left and right while nervously fidgeting. He was scared of the fact he might had lost you forever, simply because he wasn't able to control his anger.

You had also felt terrible. Crowley had been giving you more work than usual, causing you to neglect your boyfriend and on top of that you even managed to dump all of your anger on him. You felt so bad and the fact you saw collared Heartslabyul students everywhere made it seem like Riddle was still incredibly angry.

You think about what to do for 5 days, before you remember what he had said right before you left and an idea forms in your head...

Riddle sighs, it's been a whole week since you talked to him and he was truly anxious. His anger and snapping on the other students being the only thing keeping him from going insane.

Until you hold a bouquet of exactly a dozen roses in front of him, your hands covered in small cuts from the thorns. You head hung to the side.

You bite your lip slowly chewing on it before you look at Riddle. "I apologise for letting my anger out on you. I was really behaving like a prick that day..." before you can say anything else Riddle does something very out of character for himself. He hugs you, starting to sob slightly.

You were really taken aback by this. You thought he would slap the roses out of your hand out of anger but maybe he was just as scared of having ruined the relationship as you were....

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona felt like the shittiest person alive and that was rare, like really rare. But your tear stained face after he and you had a fight about his lazy behaviour something moved in him. You said that you didn't want to see him again unless he would be willing to bring you a dozen handpicked roses.

He sighed, it had already been almost a week and you hadn't talked to him and for the first time in his life, he actually took his time to reflect on his actions, unlike his usual demeanor of just sleeping his problems and insecurities away.

He sighs sitting up, realising he wasn't able to sleep. He walked around, before noticing a rose bush with the most prettiest red roses in the world. He remembered that you only wanted to see him again if he brought you a dozen of them. How hard could that be? It's just a few Roses!

You on the other hand were the spending the whole week thinking about how you might have managed to break whatever relationship you had with Leona, spending your time chewing on your nails.

Were you to harsh on the lion? You didn't know. Maybe you shouldn't have said all those things, what if he decided your relationship wasn't worth it and would break up with you if you tried talking to him?

You drowned in guilt in doubt, nothing not even the help of your friends being able to cheer you up.

This goes that way for the whole week, until Leona stands in front of you holding a bouquet of exactly a dozen roses in his hands, wich look slightly pricked. You look at the bouquet in confusion.

"Leona? Why-" He shushes you with a slight smile. "You said I shouldn't show my face unless I would be willing to also do stuff for you, like picking a dozen roses." He looks at you sighing.

"I am really sorry herbivore, your right i should maybe show a bit more care for our relationship." This time you shush him by giving him a quick kiss on the lips and softly prying the flowers from his grip, careful not to prick your hand on the thorns before you look at him.

"We can work together to make sure that you get more active!" You giggle slightly and Leona softly wraps his tail around your waist. "And we work on your confidence, don't think I didn't notice!" He says nuzzling his cheek on yours.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul feared he scared you away. You had been trying to get his attention of as late and he was nothing but cold to you. Maybe this was the reason you snapped and he had the nerve to snap back at you. Maybe that caused you to finally yell what you had thought of him this whole time. "WELL YOU ARE JUST AN INSECURE OCTOPUS!" And he was so hurt he yelled that you should get out.

Anxiously walking around Azul looked around fumbling with his hat. He hadn't seen you for a week and he wanted nothing more to than to crawl into his octo pot and cry. But he had a facade to keep up, at least for now.

Maybe you had told him the truth about what you thought about him, that you only thought ov him as a insecure person. He didn't like that, it was like an arrow pierced right through his heart, the worst kind of betrayal always came from those close to you.

You on the other hand really hated yourself over this, you were just so angry at the fact he had refused to spend time with you for the last three weeks, cancelling dates last minute or just ignoring you when you asked why he didn't tell you earlier.

But what you said that day was really unacceptable. Even if you were just trying to let the anger gloss over the fact that you were scared that he maybe had gotten bored of you and didn't want to tell you.

You sigh letting your head hang low, you were really an asshole. Maybe you complaining was justified but picking on his insecurities was a no go and a good enough reason to break up with someone.

You pass a pretty rose Bush with nasty lot of thorns, but the Rose's were such a pretty shade you just needed to try something......

"I am really sorry Azul. I was very frustrated that day and let my anger out on you, that was wrong and unacceptable. I apologise for the things I have said, because they're not true! You aren't just an insecure octopus. You are a wonderful person, with a pretty smile, beautiful eyes and a personality that makes it impossible to resist you!"

Azul looks at you his glasses slightly crooked and foggy, almost as if he didn't want anyone to see just how moved he was by what you said. He spent all of his time thinking of if he had been to harsh and if he should make the first step, but it looks like you beat him to it.

"Its alright I forgive you. I should have also thought about about what you needed instead of simply neglecting you. I am sorry, how about we go on a date this week and I promise I won cancel it, I'll even sign it on a contract!

Vil Schoenheit:

Who would have thought that Vil would ever get so riled up about a fight! The way you had looked at him in sheer disappointment as he had pointed out that your clothes didn't look good, or your hair was messy. You had tried to give thought into your appearance just for Vil, but what had he done for you?

Vil sighed remembering just how often hs had turned out dates simply because he wanted to keep your relationship a secret for the sake of his reputation. You had understood and after you made it official together you accepted to look more up to what Vil said you should.

Rook comes back holding the flowers he had been told to deliver and Vil perks up. "Monsior/Mademoiselle trickster has said that they will only accept a dozen of hand picked roses, handpicked by you as an apology." Vil scoffed but at the same time he understood.

Vil decides that if a dozen of handpicked roses is what you wanted, you would get them. He walks outside of this dorm, with a strange determination on his face, that caused Epel to hide away in fear.

You on the over hand try your best to not run over to Vil and ask how he was doing. Rook should of course have delivered the massage to Vil already. You have the feeling you should talk to him, but you are tired of doing everything in this relationship.

After a week you think that he has officially given up on you and you feel like crying. Did Vil really didn't care? You scream into your pillow until you hear a loud knock. Wiping her puffy eyes you walk down the stairs and open the door, only to be greeted by a bouquet of a dozen roses.

"Hey my love..." he mutters holding the roses out to you and you feel incredibly touched. "I know I haven't been the best boyfriend I could have been and I feel incredibly sorry about that. I do love you and I am sorry I haven't been able to show you that probably, please let me make it up to you!" He asks and you swear you see a small tear in his eyes.

"Of course Vil!" You yell loudly hugging him. Vil sighed relieved burying his head in the crock of your neck and you can't help but giggle.

Malleus Draconia:

Oh dear, what had you done! You had forgotten to invite him to a small party, it was no big deal but the dragon fae was incredibly angry at you and told you that you shouldn't talk to him unless you bring him a proper apology.

You sighed asking Lilia what would be a proper apology and surprised he lifts both of his eyebrows. He didn't expect you to actually want to apologise, not like many people did that, but it warmed his heart to see you try. Enough to make sure you would stay hidden from Sebek.

Now with a new mission you decide that it's time for you to apologise properly though it would take some time to pick all the roses you needed.

A whole week passes and Malleus mood drops lower each day. It has no probably landed at the earth's core. Maybe it was because his significant other had forgotten to invite him to a party, or that they took this long to apologise, but the most significant reason might be that he felt like you would leave him.

You decide that you have now picked enough roses, exactly a dozen beautiful grand roses all hand picked just for him. Your hands had small bruises all over them but you really didn't care, you really wanted to apologise.

You enter the Diasomnia dorm, wich is surrounded by a green thunder storm. Carefully you walk after Lillia, who leads you to Malleus.

Malleus sees you entering with the roses and his mood immediately lifts up. You hold the roses up to him with a grand smile before you hand him an invitation.

"I really wanted to apologise for not having invited to the party, so I thought it was only appropriate for me to celebrate a party with you!" You exclaim holding the Rose's towards Malleus.

The dragon stands up and carefully takes the roses before taking the invitation with a grand smile.

"I accept child of man."

(Here take the fluff! Also request are open^^)

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Lance has no idea how powerful he truly is.

Seriously. Completely oblivious. He’s convinced that he’s the only one on the team who’s not powerful — and Keith knows this because those are the words Lance said with his own mouth. He’s so convinced that power is Shiro’s strength, Pidge’s intelligence, Hunk’s wit and compassion, Allura’s regality, and Coran’s wisdom. He’s even completely sure that Keith has power in his speed and initiative.

Somehow, though, the heart of Voltron does not know how he holds everyone in the palm of his hand. He does not see the picture of terror he makes; jaw clenched, brown eyes flashing with determination, back straight and shoulders set, demonic spider at his side, telepathic mice gathered on his head, poisonous, sentient vine wrapped around him — and the spirts of two lions, red and blue, growling in tandem behind him as he swears that no harm will come to the beast by Voltron’s hand.

Lance did not see the fear in the dignitary’s face. He did not notice his team staring at him with wide eyes, leaning far away from him and his own army. He did not see the pure, concentrated power rippling from him in waves.

If Keith’s being totally, completely honest, it’s kind of hot.

But it’s also a pain in the ass. As much as Lance’s greatest strength is in convincing people to listen to him, when he sets stubborn eyes on a task, the Universe herself cannot sway him. Keith has a snowball’s chance in hell of managing either.

“Just try,” Shiro pleads. “Please. Attempt to convince him that, as much as it sucks, killing the damn beast is the easiest way to secure this alliance and move on.”

“Shiro, your braincells are spilling out your ears like loose marbles if you think that I can convince him to even listen to the words I will attempt to say.”

“Holy idiom, there, cowboy,” Pidge teases, and Keith breaks away from the intense stare-down with his brother to stick his tongue out and shoot her the finger.

“That’s a normal idiom. Sorry that you grew up in Michigan where the most interesting insult you ever hear is someone saying please with a little more passive aggression than usual.”

“…Alright. Point to Keith.”

“Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

“Paladins!” Allura snaps, ignoring Hunk’s smartass comment that she is also, actually, a paladin, and as such is included in such snappish remarks and thus has lost a good chunk of ethos. “Focus! Stars, it’s like I have to do everything around here. Keith. Put your big boy pants on.”

Shiro chokes with laughter, desperately trying to pretend it’s really a cough, but it fools no one.

God, those two need to stop hanging out together. Shiro is dragging Allura down to his level. Poor woman.

“Talk to Lance,” she continues. “He only really listens to you.”

Keith looks at her incredulously. “Listens to me — have I missed something? I asked Lance to lead a briefing yesterday and he asked me what deity died and made me king of the jungle. He doesn’t listen to a goddamn word I say.”

Allura raises an eyebrow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Lead the briefing yesterday?”

Keith deflates. Because, well. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“So you’re just being a pussy, then,” she summarizes – why does Pidge insist on teaching her modern slang and why does she like it so much – and this time Shiro doesn’t even pretend he’s coughing. Hunk and Pidge also lose their shit.

“I resent that,” Keith says haughtily, denying nothing.

“Yeah. Okay. Off you go. Convince him to at least attempt to hear us out.”

Keith sighs, but does as asked, making his way to his and Lance’s rooms. He decides to take a minute and gather his thoughts — see, he’s learning, look at how not-impulsive he’s being — and heads to his room first.

When he gets there, he spends a few meditating beside his bed — he’d rather stick a hot iron through his eye than admit it, but Shiro and Black may be a little, teensy, itty-bitty bit correct about taking time to gather up thoughts and reflect or whatever.

Just as he’s about to get up and knock on Lance’s door, he hears Coran’s heeled boots click down the hallway.

Oh, fuck yes. If Coran talks to Lance, he might actually listen without argument! Lance has no issue following Coran’s instructions!

…On the other hand, Coran’s just as much of a — and Keith says this with all the fondness in his heart, believe him, if he didn’t find it so damn endearing he would not be spending his nights imagining what will happen when he finally grows enough of a pair to ask Lance on a date — tree-hugger as Lance is. He won’t be happy about the beast killing either.

But, hey. Coran’s a wise guy. It’s probably fine.

Just in case, though, he gets up as quietly as he can — he knows Lance’s goddamn bat ears will hear him if his fucking heart beats too loudly — and leans against the door to hear their conversation.

“Lance, dear, I was just coming to find you,” Coran says.

So far, so good. If Coran was already trying to find Lance, it was probably to try and gently convince him that saving the beast might not be the best option, right?

Keith heart sinks a little as a new thought worms into his brain: maybe, Lance isn’t just being stubborn, and he’s actually upset. Maybe Coran is going to make sure Lance is feeling okay, like a good person.

…Yeah. That’s more likely. Keith kind of feels like a jackass.

He startles out of his thoughts as Coran’s voice, notably louder than before, speaks again.

“Well, if you’re really feeling so much better, would you mind helping me recalibrate the fabricator?”

“Absolutely,” Lance says, and he does sound remarkably happier than he did when he stomped out of the bridge.

Huh. Maybe Lance convinced himself…?

As he thinks it, he knows it’s not true. But it might not be best to bring it up now, then. He’s only just gotten into a good mood, it will probably be better to bring it up over dinner, or something, when the good mood has enough time to settle properly.

Keith nods to himself. Yeah. That’s totally not an excuse because he doesn’t want Lance to look at him in complete betrayal again when Keith attempts to convince him that saving the beast is not an option, or anything.

Right.

Totally.

———

part three

[hyperbolicreverie]

❄️ share a WIP snippet? 👀

Gladly! This one is from the post-Dressrosa WIP I mentioned in my last post. Here are two snippets:

Zoro’s eye goes wide as his arm dips under Kikoku’s unexpected weight, and Law almost congratulates himself on startling the generally stoic man. He knows from experience that swords like those Zoro favors are much lighter, and while Kikoku is by no means the heaviest longsword out there, there’s still definite heft to her. “How the hell are you swinging around something this heavy with those stick arms of yours, Torao?” And good feelings gone. Bastard. Law very much wants to protest that a history of severe illness that directly affected his musculoskeletal structure as well as being in possession of a devil fruit that consumes a stupid amount of energy that might otherwise go to his body are perfectly legitimate reasons to not have passed whatever arbitrary strength expectations are rattling around inside the other swordsman’s green head. That there were several reasons why different people develop muscle at varied speeds and levels of effectiveness. A hissed “I do not have ‘stick arms,’” is what comes out of his mouth instead, because being around the Straw Hats makes him dumb. “Yeah, you do,” Zoro says absently, but he’s not really paying attention to Law or any embarrassing outbursts he may have just indulged in, focusing instead on Kikoku and acting much like a kid in a candy store. Law guesses he hasn’t had a lot of experience with longer blades. Well, aside from the one that put the scar on his chest. That one was pretty big. “Does she bite?” Zoro asks suddenly, as Law starts walking off. “Kitetsu bites.” “Kikoku? No, she doesn’t bite,” Law says, turning back briefly. Zoro just nods, still giving the lion’s share of his attention to assessing the nodachi in his lap. If anyone were to ask him later, Law will deny the admittedly shit-eating grin that steals over his face. “She might scream at you, though. Hope you weren’t planning on going back to sleep.” He more feels than sees Zoro’s head snap up behind him as he continues to walk away, ignoring the shout of “What do you mean, scream? Oi, Torao!” that comes from behind him. It’s fun being on the other side of the Straw Hat stress equation, he decides. He should do this more often.

and

Law takes a deep breath. His fault for alluding too much, perhaps, but Luffy’s got the bit between his teeth now and quite frankly, Law is far too tired to deal with the full and complete spectrum of Straw Hat’s stubbornness. “My full name is Trafalgar D. Water Law.” He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Recognition, maybe, of something shared. Complete obliviousness, perhaps. With Luffy, it was impossible to predict. An advantage in battle, certainly, but not when you were trying to have a conversation with him. What he gets is the most put-upon sigh he’s ever heard come out of the man’s mouth, and a look that actually appears to be somewhat annoyed. “Torao,” Luffy says, almost plaintively. “Your name did not have to get any more complicated.” Well. Now Law’s just offended. “It’s not complicated,” he protests. “Your name is almost as long, and you don’t seem to have any trouble shouting the entire thing from the rooftops anytime someone asks who you are.” “Yeah, but—” Luffy says, as if it were obvious. “My name is my name. Of course I know how to to say it, Torao. It would be really weird if I couldn’t.” He squints suspiciously at Law. “Besides, it’s all easy sounds. Half of yours sounds like you’re gargling on rocks.” He shrugs. “Torao is easier. Saves time.”

[kiiwiigii]

The Red-Eyed Boy - Outtake

pt. One | Two | Three

Alec x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wedding preparation shenanigans.

Warnings:

None

Word Count: 517

A/N: For those who enjoy the banter between the characters in my stories. This was originally supposed to be in part iii, but I took it out. Would have explained how the sash ended up in the readers bag though... *whistles innocently*

"I swear to God, if I get stuck with a pin-" 

"Calm down, Y/N." Rosalie snapped at me. "You think I would purposely stick you?" 

"Purposely? No. Well, maybe. It is you we're talking about here." 

"I'm a vampire-" 

"Of which I am well aware, Rosie." 

"Did you just-" 

We went on for a few more minutes while Emmet and Jasper watched in amusement, eyes going back and forth as if watching a particularly intense tennis match. Rosalie was, surprisingly, humoring me. I was having a harder day than usual, and I'm sure everyone was picking up on it. 

"Stop biting your nails." Rosalie said softly, taking my hand away from my mouth. "You might draw blood and I don't think that'd be a great idea in a house full of vampires, do you?" 

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Thank you, Rosie." 

Her soft look turned into a glare. 

"Careful short stack." Emmet grinned. "Keep it up and Rose may just feed you to a mountain lion and then eat it." 

I couldn't help myself, I started laughing loudly, to the point that I eventually had to hold my sides because they hurt. I laughed even harder when I watched Jasper hand over a wad of cash to Emmet, mumbling something about finding Edward. 

"You guys took bets? You- You guys are horrible." 

I felt like I couldn't breathe for a minute. 

I finally began to calm down as Alice entered the room with a strip of cloth, holding it up to my dress and tying it around my waist. She suddenly paused mid-task, a glazed-over look in her eyes. A vision? She finally blinked it away with a smile. 

"Are we all done?" She asked before spinning her pointer finger in a circle. "Turn, Y/N. Let me see." 

I did so obediently, and she nodded her head in approval. 

"Much better. Alright, let's get this off and you're free to go." 

I raised my eyebrows and eyed her suspiciously. "Just like that. I'm allowed to go home?" 

"Hm? Oh, yes." She shooed Emmet off distractedly, untying the sash and helping me remove the gown without sticking myself. 

Rosalie took it from her and then began to help me slip my sundress back on. 

"Is everything ok?" I asked her quietly. "Was it a good vision?" 

"Most definitely. Everything will go off without a hitch." 

I smiled despite my disappointment. Still no Alec. 

"Wait." She paused again. "Bella's staying here tonight. Isn't Charlie going out for a boy's night? Will you be okay by yourself?" 

"Of course, I'll be fine. I plan on binging the Jurassic Park movies and stuffing my face full of popcorn." 

And pretending that Alec and I weren't fighting. Or whatever you would call this. 

"Don't forget your bag, Y/N." Alice handed me my messenger bag. I went to open it to double-check that everything was in there before Alice's hand stopped me. "No worries, I've already made sure that everything's in there." 

I eyed her suspiciously, but in the end, I was too tired to bother. I really just wanted to get home. 

{Masterlist}

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[cheese-ducks]

TWRP ORIGINS SIDE STORY

Remember when I said last chapter that Sung overhead a conversation between Phobos and Meouch?

This is that conversation

Papers and screens were scattered across Phobos's bed. He'd been researching sign language ever since that night at the 'club fair', and he'd gotten pretty good. He had the basics down but he still had a long way to go.

"Practicin' that hand code thing?" 

He was startled to see Commander Meouch there. Usually he was playing the bass, drinking or both simultaneously. Phobos grabbed his notepad, showing him the initial pamphlet he'd been given. 

Yes I am. Who knows, this might help me become a better guitar player.

Meouch leafed through it, examining each picture. 

"Y'know this might help with your overall dexterity but in terms of playing it won't do much. Just stick to practicin'."

He paused, almost physically recoiling from what he'd just said.

"I mean, fuckin do whatever you want. I don't give a shit." 

He rolled his eyes as he tossed the pamphlet back.

Phobos scooted closer and tugged on his sleeve. 

Why do you do that?

"Do what?" He growled.

Say something really smart and then bail from it?

Meouch sighed, he'd hoped he wouldn't notice. Every now and again he would tease Phobos by correcting him on something and immediately follow it up with a general insult. He always made sure to say the insult louder. Messing with his head was all it was supposed to be, he didn't think Phobos actually cared. His eyes darted around the room as Phobos moved closer. Meouch was probably safe, the only people who would hear this couldn't talk. 

"Can you keep a secret?"

Phobos shook his head and snickered quietly. He was quite oblivious when it came to secrets. Meouch glared at him as if to say 'Really?'. 

He was also oblivious when it came to social cues most times. To make up for it he quickly wrote; But for you, of course.

"Ok so, it was a really long time ago but I too was" 

Meouch took a deep breath in, preparing himself.

"A nerd!" He whispered. 

'Too?' Phobos thought. Meouch, taking Phobos's confused expression as a request to explain further, continued his story.

"When I was a cub, I had these huge sunglasses, wore dorky flannels, and I was totally obsessed with jazz music." 

His voice was noticably softer than usual. The growl was nearly gone, he sounded grounded, real. 

"It's great music, it makes you a better player, it's inventive, it stretches boundaries, but it's so damn easy to make fun of. It can be up it's own ass so much further than anything else, y'know?" 

There was also an accent that Phobos couldn't place. Did he always have an accent? It was a nice surprise.

"I'm not even one of those stuck up jazz types or anything! I'm also a huge synthesizer nerd. People can be like oh it's just overly aggressive distorted synthesizers, but my fuckin nerd brain goes that's a sine wave with a sine wave sub and then a square wave..."

Phobos could listen to him for hours. As a relative novice to music as a whole it was enthralling hearing him speak so knowledgeably. It didn't matter how much he actually understood. He wanted to chime in with his own musical knowledge so badly, but anything he could have said, the lion probably already knew. He couldn't interrupt Meouch for anything. Both because he was still entranced by him and he was vaguely terrified. 

"My old crew thought the funkiness came naturally, but once I opened my fuckin mouth about the nerd shit I never heard the end of it. But when those dickheads hit me around I learned to hit em back even harder." 

Phobos knew what he meant. Music was as much a learned skill as anything. He was fascinated by all of it.

"So I toughened up, started keeping the nerdy shit to myself, and I was never made fun of again." He reached for something in one of his vest pockets. "And I still like these things but I never wear them."

He revealed a pair of darkly tinted aviators. Upon seeing them Phobos discreetly scribbled into his notepad. Before he had the chance to look up Meouch ripped out the page.

I bet you'd look great in those glasses

His hearty laugh made Phobos's face scrunch up in anger. More like a mixture of anger and relief.

"Trust me, pal. I would not." 

Phobos couldn't let that blatant invasion of privacy go unpunished. In an instant he snatched the aviators from Meouch's claws and forced them onto his face. 

"The fuck are you doing, Phobos?" He snarled. 

Phobos couldn't help but laugh, a real genuine laugh. Meouch was getting this angry over sunglasses? Pathetic. 

"Oh you think this is funny, do ya?" The lion taunted. "Your laugh is more dorky than I thought it would be, your lordship." 

He pushed Phobos as he walked out of the room.

"And now the reveal." 

After a while Meouch slinked back into the room, wearing a dark blue flannel overshirt and the giant aviator sunglasses. The flannel hung loose on his body, the absence of his bulky vest made Phobos notice just how slim Meouch was. The stark contrast of the top and bottom halves of his attire was almost funny. The top half looked approachable, cool, fun even. That sentiment was only made stronger by Meouch leaning against the doorframe, lifting the aviators and winking at Phobos. Without taking his eyes off of him he wrote a response.

You look amazing

"Oh, stop. I can't go out in public like this." Meouch brushed off the compliment in an instant. Phobos couldn't have been serious, could he?

Well, why not? This is the real you, right? 

He could've sworn he saw the lion's face go flush while reading.

You're smart, strong, absolutely infuriating. Who wouldn't want to see that?

Meouch chuckled and tossed the notepad back. 

"You know I've never met anyone like you, Phobos."

Me either. 

But about you

[yingren]

When was the last time a cigarette was loosely held between slender digits? Was there even a first time? That sort of memory eludes him, perhaps lost to time among other things he deemed insignificant. Jing Yuan is certain it will come to haunt him eventually, moments sealed within a puff of smoke appearing before him, and he will wonder -- will a wave of his hand disperse it? Or will it stubbornly cling to his reality?

For now, it mattered little. The wide sleeve of his hanfu slips down to reveal his wrist as the former General plucks the cigarette from the Stellaron Hunter's mouth. "You do realise this is not healthy at all for your lungs, right?" He chides in place of a greeting, taking a puff of the cigarette himself; the scolding is only to retain a semblance of an old dynamic between them despite how much the centuries separate them. Jing Yuan gingerly leans against the railing beside Ren, holding up the stick as if inspecting it. He doesn't get the appeal. He doubts he ever will. The only appeal was that it was connected to the man his arm brushed against, whom he shared many moments with that he could never eradicate. No matter how beneficial for him it may have been. | hehehehhehhee you can do whatever you want in terms of setting from here on out, go wild

smoke fills his lungs and the quiet air between them, a dense, tangible presence that etches the moment into something memorable. ren exhales slowly as the cigarette is taken from his fingers, making no move to stop the action. jing yuan, now the former general of the luofu, is free to do as he pleases, at least for now. ren has no intention of stirring up an argument over something so trivial, even if it’s far from the first time someone has nagged him about this particular habit. the usual admonitions echo in his mind, an ironic and ultimately futile sentiment, considering that such vices leave no permanent mark on him.

for a brief moment, his head turns, his gaze lingering on jing yuan’s silver hair, its strands framing his face like the proud mane of a lion. a quiet impulse overtakes him as his hand reaches out, gently tucking a few errant strands back into place.

“ you do realize it won’t make a difference ? ” a question that needs no answer, nor does the hunter wait for one. his gaze has already shifted elsewhere, seeking something to anchor his wandering focus. a distant sound draws his attention, muffled and indistinct, filtering up from the buildings below. this old, rundown planet serves as a temporary stop for the stellaron hunters, and naturally, the ranger is here as well. not only here, but somehow, he’s managed to track ren down amidst the labyrinth of rooftops looming over the weary city. the drop beyond the railing stretches at least twenty stories down, a sheer fall to the ground, yet neither of them hesitates to lean against it as if it were nothing. ren inches closer, just enough to close the gap between them. one small step, and his arm brushes jing yuan’s, settling comfortably shoulder to shoulder.

“ where are you headed next ? ”

[oraculate]

The thing is, Lijae has to believe Jiyul about the forest because Jiyul believes everything she says right back. That’s how these things work. That’s how the concept of truth is created. “See anything weird?” The bland innocuity of this particular patch of forest is edging on funny, given the suspicion around it. “Use your x-ray vision,” he nudges his thumb between her eyes and smiles, too many teeth for the setting.  @conntingency ILLICIT

lijae is no stranger to funerals, to the wailing, to the smell of the fresh cooked food. she is not a stranger to the heavy ache of loss in the air, the tangible grief of it all. and yet, it never feels any less horrible than the first time. part and parcel of a shaman's granddaughter is involvement in certain rites and rituals, and funerals are oft among them, although this one is more christian in it's bearing and as a result, lijae is able to make only a brief appearance, customarily, before she can fade back into the forest and it's eerie comforts.

this is a relief, the chance to vanish. no one would begrudge her this - it isn't as if they want her around either. as a child, her fascination with the wilderness was endearing, quirky, even expected. any adventurous, imaginative child would love the expanse of the woods. and, as shamans, the ko family lived up on a hill near its edges as one might expect, drawn to the mysticism of the mountains and wilds. with age and with tragedy, however, her fascinations with the hallowed canopies had become about as appealing as her drunken ramblings or hollow eyed stares. jiyul had never begrudged her the fascination, however, in the time of their acquaintance, perhaps because he was simply pleased to have someone to tramp down the fallen leaves along side him, crunching over sticks and through the mud. "they'll find whatever they want to find. a nice tidy answer to wrap up the death of an old lady with a trumped up sense of importance in a backwoods town. lijae had little interest in political affairs and contrivances. with eighty percent of the country's population in the capital, fights over a cursed patch of land in the middle of nowhere, grandstanding on a level of wealth that would get them laughed out of the city - it was all so endlessly stupid she could hardly stand it. an elbow to her side winds her briefly, a cough from shriveled lungs, coated in tar. "magpie's too lucky. better be what, one of those deer that sounds like a person. y'ever heard there's like, mountain lions in america that sound like people screaming. spooky right?" it's a ramble, she's always rambling, can't keep her mouth shut or her eyes closed.

lets her thoughts run away with her without filter, because the more time she spends examining herself the more the visions bubble out, fall over her like a shadow, blot out the mundanity of normal life and paint it over with horrors. jiyul isn't much better, a walking amalgamation of intrusive thoughts. here it comes now- she knows the shape of the words before he says them. "just like jeongbin. probably exactly the same," she drawls, "of course, it's an old woman and there's a body and it's probably natural causes but, you know. totally the same." she pats him on the head condescendingly, but fondly, in the way her mother often had when she was young; absently tousling up her hair and offering a 'that's a nice story, dear' to her errant ramblings born of unwanted premonitions.

closer to the scene she pulls out her phone, snapping a few pictures over the edges of yellow tape, nose crinkling. she can't turn these things on and off, her visions. even something that blandly useful is denied her, and she is given only intrusive and startling apparitions without warning, overwhelming her senses and ultimately leading to the loss of her driver's license, recently, something she is still bitter about after an ill-timed vision sent her reeling into a tree. "i see the culprit actually," she intones drily, holding her fingers up in a sort of camera-squared shape, focused on the other's profile. "average height, dark hair, beaky nose, scrawny, wearing an ugly shirt." it doesn't take long for him to retaliate and she barks out a half-hoarse laugh in reply, scooting closer to the edge of the scene as she does. "maybe it was jeongho, he gives me snake vibes lately." she doesn't mention the blood she sees dripping from his hands, these days, viscous and dark - lifeblood, heartblood, spilling thick. rubbing a hand beneath her eye, she drags at the thin skin, purple-blue with chronic exhaustion. "gimme a cigarette," she adds, holding out a small hand, chipped nail polish and ruined cuticles, the edges of her thumbs raw from a familiar nervous habit.

[flashyfucker]

Can we talk about breeding kink Sid?? like how he would continue to fuck you after he came to make sure it stuck? then he would push it back in with his fingers when i’m started to escape your cunt. all sticky and hot with his cum but you don’t seem to care

we can absolutely talk about breeding kink sid. smut below the cutttt

i imagine you'd be on the couch on a rare day off you share (maybe coming off a hard loss of sid's, getting his existential feelings going. he's thinking about what really matters to him. and kinda thinking about teaching a little one to skate.), and he's been quiet until, out of the blue, he's like "we could have a baby. we could definitely have a baby, right now.".

and you're a little taken aback, because it's always been on the horizon but both your careers have come first since forever, so you're a bit like "i thought you wanted to time it for the offseason?" and he scoffs like you’ve said something ridiculous, says “you’re always talking about how you don’t want our child to be a lion-zodiac-whatever-sign. so let’s just do it.”.

and you’re laughing, correcting him, but he crawls over to you on his knees and guides your hand to his sweats where he’s hot, already half hard, asking “do you wanna do it? ‘cause i’m tired of waiting. just wanna have a baby with you. wanna put a baby in you.”

it only takes a smiley nod of your head, your overexcited thoughts buzzing, for him to pull your hips out from underneath you and yank your shorts off, run his fingertips along your slit, over your panties, wetness already threatening to soak through. he pushes a hand beneath your underwear and presses one finger inside, smiling at the way your mouth drops in a sigh, asking “you ready to feel me, here?” another finger, “you’re gonna be stuffed so full... g’na knock you up.”

and god, does he fill you up. hard grip on your legs to hold you open when he comes, flooding deep and searing hot up against your tender little cervix in time with your own orgasm, your needy cunt seizing around him. the hard lines of his taut body strain against your hands as you grasp his arms, his muscles shaking as he fucks a few more thorough strokes into you, groaning lowly something about “makin’ sure it sticks.” that makes your head spin.

he pulls out slowly, smiling a little, eyes trained on your sensitive cunt, how his load gushes out as your body clenches, missing the feel of his thick cock. without thought, his hands wander, chasing the flow of his cum, scooping it up and positioning himself obscenely between your thighs so he can watch as he fucks your hole with his messy, creamy fingers, thumbing over your hard little clit until you orgasm once more, really making sure it sticks.

[slothgiirl]

the spy part 1(keith x reader)

8k. explicit content. while on medical leave reader meets the red paladin of voltron during the war against Zarkon.

The corridors are well lit. It’s like being in a brand new hospital, this ship in the rebel fleet. 

People hustle around, landing, taking off in smaller ships to distant planets. Your hand goes to your arm. The medic had given you a movement’s leave, so you were resting for now on this ever moving ship. 

Outside the widows, you spy an assortment of ships, each one’s origins clear from the design. So many planets, so many peoples banding together against Zarkon. You’d win the war. 

It was what you kept telling yourself. 

You would. 

It was just a matter of time.

You round the corner, stretching your arm across your chest, a simple form of physical therapy in deep space. You hadn’t seen earth since being deployed. The galaxy garrison seemed like a dream from another life. You had been on track for the chemistry department, long term missions to mars to analyze soil and dust, not this, not a war. You take a breath. 

And spot the Red Paladin. 

He’s one of the most recognizable people in the universe, and his grungy hair and distinctive outfit does him no favors. You’d never seen him before, not in the flesh. Sure. Voltron had saved your ass a handful of times. You wouldn’t have survived the assault on Arrakis if Voltron hadn’t rammed the shield. Trapped. Piloting a fighter craft that was closer to a mosquito irritating the Galra then pushing them back.

But you hardly knew him.

He’s gripping the railing tightly, trying to camouflage into the wall as an alien with crystalline blue skin and hair like saturated indigo leans into him. 

The line of his shoulders is taut, brittle. 

You don’t even think. 

“There you are,” you force yourself to be synthetically cheerful as you smile easily at the paladin, who you realize quickly you don’t know his name but you know what he is and that must be an awful feeling, being so recognizable without being known. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” you lied, elbowing the blue alien out of the way. You could never tell much from a single glance at themis species despite their largely humanoid appearance. 

You put your hand on his arm loosely, “come on, we’re late enough and you know how annoyed the others get.” Good, that seemed convincing enough. 

The red paladin’s eyes go wide, his mouth a grimace and it’s then that you notice the feverish flush to his skin. 

But he doesn’t pull away or argue. 

You ignore the alien and decide small talk was the way to go until you put some distance, “I’m kind of hurt you didn’t come visit me while I was healing,” you stick close to the truth, “but since it only took an hour? a varga? for me to heal I won’t hold it against you.” He’s too warm.

Maybe the space flu?

Was that even a thing?

You weren't sure. 

Mostly, you snuck into work camps and blew up strategic targets using whatever you could get your hands on to make a bomb. The chemistry came in handy. 

He sways as he walks, looking like your roommate at the garrison after a few too many hits after an exam. “Do I know you?”

You flush, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just,” you look back, but the alien’s been left a couple turns back, “you looked uncomfortable.” You take a step back, letting go of him. “Are you okay?” 

His expression furrows, mouth a pinched line as he goes from suspicious to annoyed, takes a u-turn back to suspicious as he studies you, before relaxing. “Yeah. yeah. . .who are you?”

You introduce yourself, taking on the meaningless garrison designation at the end, “technically second year member, though I’ve been with the runners mostly.” No designation more than a number. 

“You do look human,” he replies simply, moving to get a look at your ears, “not many of those out here.”

“And yet somehow the sentries always look the other way,” you muse, “not very bright. I’m almost convinced the Empire’s in it’s failing bureaucracy days.” 

He winces, before deadpanning, “eh, I don’t know how useful a lion is against the DMV.” 

You laugh. 

He takes slow deliberate breaths, steadying himself, “I’m Keith.”

“Seriously though, do you need to see a medic?” He looked in serious need of a tylenol. The ships were usually crisp, you wore a jacket most of the time to stave off the permanent chill. 

Keith shakes his head, chewing his lip before meeting your gaze with an intense concentration in his violet eyes, as if he was gauging how much titrant he could add before hitting the endpoint and if half a drop was worth the risk. “I’m just. . .going through something.”

“Anyone I can call for you?” You weren't about to abandon him here. Sure, he was a paladin and could probably look after himself. But you couldn’t in good conscience walk away. 

He swallows, looking down for a moment and you are startled to find how much you miss his attention boring into you with the loveliest eyes you’d ever seen. 

“No,” Keith replies mulishly as he jerks away from you. “I’m fine.”

Which was a total lie. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling well but you weren’t about to get on his case. You were sure he had people for that. He wasn’t some random soldier in arms with you that you watched out for and hoped not to have to watch die. 

You swallow the bitter thought away, crossing your arms over your chest.

Leaning back against the hall, you watch evenly as Keith stumbles, catching himself on the wall. His mouth is a drawn line of determination. 

You didn’t understand why. 

There was aid here. It wasn’t the same as crawling through cramped mining tunnels and swallowing back pain forcing yourself to work through it until the mission was accomplished. 

“Do you need help,” you ask.

“No.” He leans a hand against the wall.

You raise a brow, wondering if he would pass out for whatever weird space flu he had clearly caught and you could only hope it was nothing like the infections that ran rampant in the work camps, or if he would give in and accept your offer of help. The former seemed more likely. 

You don’t ditch him though, focusing your attention on the porthole to the stars. 

There was no rush: no reason to help him by force. People didn’t learn if you babied them you’d caught on quick back on earth during your tutoring hours. You had to let them fall and smash their face in sometimes. 

So you stay, watching the stars.

Keith makes no move to take another step. 

It still got you, looking out into the vastness of space and realizing this really was your life now, you were out here, further than you’d ever dreamed. Everywhere you looked, novel stars, distant planets teaming with life. You could have done without the war, but it was what it was. 

“And here I thought Mars would be the furthest I’d go,” you comment more to yourself than Keith. 

The red paladin makes a small sound of acknowledgement. 

“Earth’s, or was, at the beginning of our space age. People had barely begun to live on the research bases on Mars,” you watch him out of the corner of your eye in case he really does pass out, “so no Star Trek for me but now I’m here.” 

“There’s a war going on.”

You turn over to look at him, sort of annoyed because yeah you got that, spent enough time in the trenches without a fancy lion spaceship, but the bubbling annoyance dissipates when you see the upturned corners of his mouth. Keith was teasing you. 

Shifting your weight, you add, “yeah well, instead of being a footnote in a Mars base’s history I’ll be a footnote in this war instead.” Gallows humor. You needed a lot of that when regularly infiltrating camps and posing as a slave, as a prisoner, the bottom of the barrel that wouldn’t get a second glance from the Galra soldiers. 

He frowns. “I don't think anyone’s just a footnote.”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.” Keith looks away.

You feel bad. “It’s probably better not to be so cynical,” you muse, “but it’s like the vice president thing, no one remembers them unless the president gets assassinated.” God you couldn’t help how dark your humor could veer even when trying to be positive. 

He looks over at you, head tilted, considering. Despite being standoffish, Keith was easy to read unlike the slick space pirates you’d encountered. 

You meet his gaze head on. 

“I might need some help,” he allows. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth. “If you’re sure,” you utter, regarding him carefully and unable to keep the teasing from your voice. You shouldn’t. You barely knew him and what little you’d learned made it clear he wouldn’t take well to your teasing. 

War made quick brothers out of everyone. 

But Keith held himself afar.

A questioning glance danced in his uniquely violet eyes as he tried to get a read on you. “I am.” 

You nod, stepping besides him and wrapping an arm around his waist. You were always caught by surprise by how heavy a grown adult could be. And depending on the alien. . .

He takes a step, still holding himself afar from you, barely resting any weight on you. His muscles were stiff under your touch, back rigid that matched the uncomfortable look on his chiselled features. 

You follow his lead. 

At Keith’s sedate pace, it would take quite a while before you dropped him off where you needed to go. Being personable was part of being a leader or it’d lead to mutiny. Not that you had ever gotten that far. The Galaxy Garrison had slapped the graduation badge on your uniform and sent you into space. 

You scrabble for familiar territory, earth and the garrison. The Black Paladin was a Garrison member returned from the grave. Rumor had it all the paladins were garrison deserters. 

Veronica McCain did share a familiar resemblance with the blue paladin. It was probably true. 

“I attended the Garrison campus at Guiana,” you offer. “I was hoping for Texas or Florida to be closer to home, but I didn’t test into pilot or engineer.” 

Keith makes a sound in the back of his throat. 

Even through the fabric of his uniform, he felt warm. How anybody could be warm in such cold halls was anybody’s guess. A permanent chill had sunk its way into your bones. You missed the humid heat of Guiana. 

“It was nice though. The jungle was pretty close and it was always hot,” you tell him. “I thought I wouldn’t miss the humidity, step outside and it was like having just showered but I do. These ships have to be at 15 C.” 

“Texas is hot too.” Keith utters quietly. 

“Isn’t the desert cold at night though,” you ask, already knowing the answer. It had been basic earth science. 

“Yeah. It is.” There’s longing in his voice. You wish he’d say more just to hear him speak. 

Warmth spreads, an embarrassing tell, through your cheeks. 

“I did miss the snow while there,” you continue, “it didn’t snow much up in Vancouver but it was never as hot as Guiana, and the rain was warm!” You had never gotten over that. The rain would spot and start throughout the day but the sun would keep on shining. 

“What were you,” Keith asks bluntly.

“Chemisist, more the physical and inorganic type,” you admit, “it was fun doing wet labs.” That had gotten you hooked back in regular school. “Then got shunted to command track after a few too many volunteering opportunities. Guess the lesson there’s to not try too hard.”

That gets a laugh out of him. 

“You,” you ask him as he shifts more of his weight onto you, finally accepting the help he asked for. Stubborn guy. 

“Pilot.”

You look over at him, his wild hair brushing against your cheek and the simple action shouldn’t excite you but it does. He was hot with sharp features offset by a certain enthralling earnestness but he could run a comb through his hair.

Keith didn’t seem the pilot type: arrogant, loud, generally strong personalities. 

“You any good,” you ask though you’ve heard about Voltron so he has to be pretty fucking good to be part of them. How did Voltron choose its pilots?

He smirks easily, close to a smile at the mere mention of piloting and you knew that moment he loved it: didn’t matter if he was good at it or not. You swallow hard as anticipation buzzes under your skin for no good reason. 

Get your head out of the gutter, you tell yourself. 

“I’m a pretty good pilot,” Keith answers, somehow managing to sound like he’s stating a fact instead of bragging. 

“Just pretty good?” You smile at him, letting him know you were only joking around as you both round another corner, finally making it to the transient quarters. People were always dropping in and out of mobile spaceports like these. 

He snorts. “Better than most.” Keith shrugs, smiling over at you. 

“Don’t be modest on my account,” you utter, looking away, not sure what to do about the growing heat in your body that had nothing to do with temperature controls. 

“It’s true,” he says simply. 

Honesty was a hard thing to come by. You were finding more and more reasons to like the red paladin as you reach his current room. No special treatment here. 

Or maybe it was politics and optics, making sure everyone knew Voltron was of the people and not aiming to replace Zarkon as rulers of the universe. 

Keith places a hand against the door, putting space between you both.

You swallow, glancing away, feeling some of the tension ease. 

“You sure you don’t want me to send a medic,” you ask him, looking over at his striking eyes. The heat under your skin is a live wire: you curl your toes in your shoes. People usually didn’t affect you this much. Even the smell of him was so distinct, drawing you in. 

It was an unprecedented reaction. 

He must feel it too. 

Keith studies you with an enraptured fascination shining in his wide eyes, mouth parted on the verge of answering. Both your bodies sway towards each other like branches in the wind: sunflowers orienting towards the sun. 

You shift your weight from one foot to another. 

It relieves enough tension for you to shift away. 

“No. No medic,” Keith finally answers. 

“Right then.” But you don’t make a move to leave. 

He says nothing. 

The silence is broken by the hum of the ship's engines under your feet. People move about and you can hear their footsteps echoing on the metal floors. 

Supposedly quintessence powered ships smelled like ozone. 

This one was powered by crystals and some Olkari engine. You wouldn't know the specifics, they were beyond you. And not your job. 

You look back at him, ready to leave. The space between you could so easily tilt to awkward and you weren’t sure what you were doing or why you found yourself so entranced by Keith. You barely knew him. You didn’t want to be one of the soldiers with a photograph in your pocket and a farflung hope that you’d-

He’s looking at you, cautious, movements slow and deliberate as if he’s caught between thinking and simply doing. 

Then Keith’s demeanour becomes determined: deciding to take the leap without looking down. He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you.

For a second you’re baffled, trying to figure out how you got to point B when this wasn’t a bar and you had no agenda, before you shrug and kiss him back. Keith was undeniably attractive. He was even a bit taller than you which was compelling, you were on the tall side for a girl. 

It’s not some unsolvable thought experiment, you kiss him back.

And a current of static electricity runs through your core. Heat pools after only just a kiss that steals your breath away. 

You can’t get enough, his hands warm against your skin, igniting a delicious sensation in your very core. You want more. You kiss him harder, your mouth against his, sucking on his bottom lip. 

Your hands clutch at the fabric of his shift.

Keith kisses you back, matching your frenzied energy, his mouth parting against yours and pulling you flush against his chest. 

It does nothing to dissolve the tension, the charged energy between you spikes. Like a fire fed by wood it grew. 

It was a heady feeling, his hands caressing your cheeks as Keith kissed you with a vigor you thought only existed in soapy dramas. Heat pools in your belly like a sinking stone: you liked his intensity. 

Keith pulls away, catching his breath, resting his forehead against yours. 

Some of the muddled list clears from your head, now completely in the gutter as you press Keith against the door to his room.��

Oh. . .were you really doing this?

Keith looks a fuckable mess, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. Still, he hesitates. 

You can feel the question linger in the air, can feel it in the featherlight touch of his hands ghosting over your cheeks as he makes to pull away, to let you go if you want to turn back now. But you don’t.

You want to run your hands through his hair. You’re practically burning up wondering how Keith would look splayed on the bed between your thighs. . .how he would feel. 

Would he be just as intense in bed as he fucked you? 

“You feel it too,” he asks quietly.

You furrow your brows, thrown. There were a lot of intense emotions coursing through you all narrowed down to feeling horny as a teenager back on earth. Masturbation only went so far. 

You swallow, trying to rack your brain cells together and say something. Yeah. It was a bit. . .much. Space much. But that didn’t make any sense. You hadn’t taken any drinks from strangers. 

The connection was too strong to discount the possibility of space weirdness affecting both of you. 

“Yeah,” you reply, sounding more whiny than you’d like to. The apex of your thighs throbbed with want. Anticipation had built up and he was right there; Keith

s breath fanned over you, his forehead against yours like a touchpoint. 

Your fingers were still curled into the fabric of his shirt. 

In the hall. 

Where anyone could see. 

“So what now,” you ask, “medic?”

Keith snorts, “No. I just-do you want to come inside?”

You smirk. Everyone knew what that meant. There were so many variations with the same outcome. 

“Yeah. Okay.” You put a pin in any alien space nonsense and slip inside Keith’s assigned quarters for however long Voltron was here for.

The lights are off. You don’t bother to study the room when Keith crushes his mouth against yours. You stumble around in the dark, feeling emboldened now that he’d voiced an invitation, he wanted this as much as you did, and run your hands up his chest. He was lean and lithe. Keith leans into your touch, a shiver running down his spine when you run your fingers through his hair and run your tongue over his bottom lip. 

Keith moans, the sound scratchy from the back of his throat excites you. 

It was thrilling to know you could elicit such a response from someone. You liked feeling hot and sexy. And from a guy like Keith who you were vibing with. . .

He finds the jagged hem of your cut tank top, which had doubled as a bandage, and slides his hands under your shirt. His fingers are calloused, skin hot against yours and there was always something so carnal about skin on skin touch. Keith clutches at your sides and leads you backwards. 

You trust that he knows the layout.

Your mind has boiled down to simple desires. 

“Keith,” you mumble against his mouth as he guides your hips against his and you feel his cock beneath the fabric. It goes straight to your ego: straight to your pussy. 

More heat. It’s unbearable how much your body throbs and you moan against him, against his lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling.

“Mhm,” he asks, just as overcome with lust as you were. Keith tilts his head up, and you kiss his jaw, kiss the side of his throat, nipping at the flesh and enjoying the breathy moans he makes as your knees hit the bed. 

You want more. 

You move your hands to his shoulders, “let's get this off,” you utter softly, pushing at his jacket. 

“Okay,” he replies, crowding you against his bed until you have no choice but to sit down. Keith discards his jacket, and pulls his shirt over his head. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It’s dark. You can’t see him well. You still react like a charged electron. 

“Now you,” Keith states simply, not exactly a command. It was nice, the lack of mind games and subterfuge. 

You scoot up further on the bed, shrugging your bomber jacket off. 

He’s watching. 

Awkwardness creeps up on you. There was no sexy way to take off a sports bra. 

You pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. Then you peel off your sports bra. The elastic worked too well. 

Keith’s sitting up on his knees.

“You’re beautiful,” he states.

“Come here,” you utter, inviting him closer. 

He complies readily, cupping your cheek and kissing your mouth eagerly, closer to a lover than a random encounter. 

You grab his other hand, guiding him up to your chest, to your breast. Keith runs his thumb over your nipple, gooseflesh rises on your skin. He trails bruising kisses down your throat. 

Your breath catches in your throat. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you, savoring the feel of his chest against yours. 

“Fuck,” you groan as Keith bites down hard at the crook of your neck, harder than you’d expected. 

He stills. “I’m-I,” making to pull away.

“No,” you reach for him, tilting his head up as you move to straddle his waist, “it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.”

“I won’t do it again,” he stammers out. 

“I didn't say I didn't like it.” You push him down against the bed, topping him. “Just warn a girl.”

Keith wraps his hands around your hips, tugging at the waistband of your trousers. “These are kind of in the way.”

Laughing, you reply, “could say the same to you.” Your hands pop the button of his jeans. 

It’s a fumble to pull your trousers down. Neither of you care, eager to get on with it. He shoves his jeans down his legs along with his boxers. 

You straddle Keith, completely naked and lean down to capture his lips against yours. His cock twitches against your thigh and your toes curl up. His tongue runs over your top lip, you part your mouth, letting him in. 

You cup his cheeks between your hands, your hips rolling against his. 

He thrusts feverishly against you. His fingers dig into your bare hips, skin against skin. 

“Come here,” Keith utters hoarsely, “I wanna fuck you.” 

“Think I’d rather ride you,” you reply back breathlessly.

“You can do that after,” he whines, a rumble emanating from his chest but your head is too fucked up to make sense of it. 

You sit up, hands on his chest. “That’s presumptuous of you.” 

Keith grins, wrapping his hands around your wrists, and rolls you over so he’s on top. “Is it,” he asks rhetorically as his hand reaches between your thighs, ghosting over the wetness of your pussy, “when you’re this wet?”

You moan, canting your hips, cashing the feel of his hand, wanting relief. It was a mounting pressure in your belly, a forest fire under your skin and you needed Keith. “Okay. yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes when Keith bent his head and licked a stripe from your nipple to your collarbone. You whimper, lost in the sensation. 

“Tell me what you want,” Keith asks. 

“Fuck me. Please fuck me,” you utter, you hands clutchinf at his shoulders, bringing him flush agaisnt you. 

Keith aquieses. 

You bend your knees, spreading your legs as he positions his cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Keith mutters as he pushes into you. 

Fuck indeed. You moan his name without thought, closing your eyes and laying your head back against the bed. His cock fills you up, sliding into your pussy with ease given how turned on you were. 

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he stretches you out. 

“God, yes,” you utter dazed. 

Keith moves his hips. You roll your hips up to meet him. He nips at your collarbone as he thrusts into you with favour. 

As promised he fucks you.

Keith captures your mouth in a kiss that catches the moans you make as he reaches between you and runs his thumb over your clit. His pace, the way he was kissing you madly. . .the heat that had been building since you’d met him comes crashing down. 

You come. 

Leaving you boneless. 

“Keith,” you whimper.

“Sh,” he tells you, kissing the shell of your ear, “let me make you feel good.”

“You..sort of already did,” you utter completely fucked out. 

“Turn over.” Keith says even as he’s already helping you move, his arms supporting your weight. He presses his lips on the back of your neck, as he grabs a pillow and sets it under you. 

You bring up your knees, laying on your legs, “thought I was going to go next,” you tease, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair. 

He stills, “if you. . .”

“No. No,” you shrug, “I did ask you to fuck me.”

Keith runs his hands over your shoulders, sliding down your sides. He squeezes your ass with his hands. 

“Best two out of three,” you offer, half joking half serious because while you were still blissed out from having just orgasmed, you could already feel your pussy clench with anticipation. Seriously, the effect he had on you-

You can feel his smile against your skin, “If you think you can handle it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” you reply, arching your back into him, titling your head back, and pulling his hair so you could kiss him. It was sloppy, and the angle was awkward, but none of it mattered when Keith stroked your pussy with his fingers, dipping into your wet folds. 

Already stimulated, you shudder with pleasure. 

Your tongue strokes his in an open mouthed kiss. He tastes as good as he smells, Keith filling up your senses like an incense stick wafting through a room. 

He wraps an arm around your chest, his hand caressing your breast, pulling you against his chest, both of you melding together. Keith thrusts his cock into you again. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, hand fisting the sheets of his bed, moaning into his mouth. 

It was a combination of his cock in you, his thumb rolling your nipple in his hand, that set you aflame. 

You couldn’t get enough, your hips jerking back, up to meet his. Keith fucks you against the bed. 

He palms your breast in his hand, pulling you up to him, keeping you close as he plants a kiss at the juncture of your ear and jaw, on the side of your neck whilst nipping the skin and you moan, his cock hitting just the right spot as he slams into you. 

First he grows comfortable, pulling almost entirely out before thrusting hard as he finds a pace that leaves you both a mess. 

“Right there, right there,” you utter. 

“Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He punctuates his words with a roll of his hips, his fingers draw a circle around your clit without giving you the satisfaction you desperately seek, already building up to another climax. 

You nod jerkily. “So fucking good Keith. Your cock feels so fucking good,” you manage to reply.

He speeds up, faster, deeper, at your words. The bedframe, bolted down into the floor, creaks. 

“Just like that.” You moan wantonly. “Right there.”

He responds to your words, pulling out to the head of his cock, teasing your entrance just so before slamming back in.

You shut your eyes and whimper, over sensitive to your very marrow. It was too much. Keith was trailing kisses down your spine, his breath warm, his cock twitching inside your filling every inch of your pussy up. 

With a shudder, you come, stars behind your eyelids and short circuiting. You never knew sex could be this amazing. Not in real life. 

You got what people meant about the right partner. 

The right sexual energy to match. 

You collapse, a puppet with its strings cut. Keith’s hand across your chest is the only thing keeping you from melding into the mattress like a blob. His hips thrust against your ass mindlessly, chasing his own climax.

With another couple of thrusts, his hips snapping against you, Keith moans your name and comes undone behind you. 

He comes inside you, hot and sticky.

His hand grasps the back of your neck, holding you in place as he comes inside you. It’s unexpectedly hot. You didn’t know you could like this in bed. 

You didn’t know how much you liked an obstinate expression with wide eyes until you met Keith. He had the type of soulful eyes you could drown in. 

He had drawn out something in you that you hadn’t even been aware of. 

Your thoughts center on him as he finishes inside you. 

“You take my dick so good,” he says with a surprising amount of softness for what amounts to a one night stand and a pang strikes your chest, wishing you had met him under better circumstances where there might be-

Keith gets off you, slumping next to you on the bed. 

There’s a thrum of satisfaction running through you as you look at his face in profile. The insane idea that you might just stay and cuddle plants itself. 

That was impossible.

It was time to cut and run.

Sure, he’d fucked you. But he was also still half a stranger. No matter how jumbled your thoughts were, you refused to give into the pull he had on you. 

You wanted to lay there with him. 

Keith blinks slowly, looking as blissed out as you feel, reaching out a hand towards you, but stopping himself halfway. 

You feel a little disappointed, but say nothing. It was just a one off thing you remind yourself, no matter how you felt. 

Now that you can think a little more clearly, though the sensation remains like a lump in your throat that starts there no matter how much you swallow, you glance around the dark room. Only the barest red lights on the floor illuminate enough to cast shadows. 

Keith’s own eyes reflect the light like a cat. Just a glimmer of traffic sign yellow. 

But you’re too tired to think, so you file it away in your head under the nebulous details you’ve learned about the red paladin.  

You blink, grimancing as Keith’s come runs down your thigh onto the sheets. At least they weren’t yours. 

He closes his eyes. 

“I’d say sorry about the mess,” you break the easy silence lulling you into staying there, “but it's your fault,” you tease way too familiarly. 

Keith sounds embarrassed when he utters, “sorry about that. I can get carried away.”

You smile softly, tracing over his shadowed form with your eyes but resisting the urge to reach out. That part was over. “It was good.”

“You did mention.” 

So he could joke. 

You giggle in the darkness that envelopes the room. You were good at being friendly and taking charge but you understood the hesitancy to open up to people you just met. 

Keith’s chest makes a rumbling sound akin to a cheetah purring. 

You try and hold onto the thought, sure it means something, but the sound draws you in and you lose the battle against yourself, curling up into his side. 

He takes this as the permission it is, and tangles his limbs with yours. 

A thrum of warmth surges where Keith’s skin touches you and you’re not sure if its his running warm or if it's all in your head or-

your eyes drift closed. 

He’s purring.

You know Keith would be embarrassed if you pointed it out. 

So you say nothing. 

Everything seemed so intangible anyhow. The world had been turned down a notch. The post orgasm glow remained unrivalled. 

Even a hit from a bong didn’t measure up. 

Your first time had been a real embarrassment (you hadn’t managed to get the boy’s cock in you), this was just a weird quirk of his, and it was soothing. 

You close your eyes. 

Keith’s breathing is deep and steady, you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but don’t feel pressured to check. 

It was nice, not scurrying off, not being more than a little drunk. War was exhausting. Earth had only been in it for less than three years. No wonder some aliens were in such shit moods. 

You exhale. 

There’s no way to mark the passage of time. 

The bed shifts under you. Keith runs the back of his hand gently over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter open.

“So would this be round two or three,” you ask lightly.

Keith smiles lightly, “you did say…”

“I did,” you laugh easily, blushing, the flush creeping from your cheeks to the tips of your ears. 

You swing a leg over his waist, straddling him, but not without feeling the start of a soreness in your legs. It doesn’t deter you. 

Keith lays back, watching you through his lashes as you sit up. He looks lovely. 

You lean down and kiss his mouth, reaching for his cock with your hands. He was already half hard when you wrap your hand around his shaft. 

His breath hitches in his throat as you move your hand. It’s been a moment since you’d jerk anyone, but it’s not rocket science. You press kisses down his throat, moving your hand firmly up and down his length until he’s completely hard. You nip at his collarbone, marking him the way he’d left bruising kiss all over you. 

His cock twitches in your hand, Keith’s hips thrusting up into you. 

Anticipation builds in your belly, but you want to set the pace, stay in charge. So you still your movements.

Keith whines under you, his hands holding your waist.

“Be a good boy for me,” you tell him. “Can you do that?”

“Mm.”

“Use your words.”

“Yeah,” he manages hoarsely, “I can be good.”

You smile, lining him up against your entrance. You shift your hips, teasing his cock against your wet folds, closing your eyes as you moan at the feeling. 

Keith thrusts up, trying to get more friction.

You still wanting to drag it out. Though your thighs ached and your pussy throbbed and you wondering if you should just-

You rub his cockhead against your pussy, “oooOH,” you moan. Your nails scratch his chest lightly, trying to steady yourself. Your heart raced, back arching down to him.

“Come here,” Keith groans, his fingers trailing up, asking for more, his hand on the small of your back. 

You give in, sinking down onto his cock. 

He moans your name, shutting his eyes. 

It’s pornographic, the way Keith rises up to meet you, hips bucking against yours, the expanse of his pale throat. 

You roll your hips slowly, fucking yourself on his cock. At this angle, the way he filled you- 

“Fuck,” Keith moans, “you feel so good.”

“I could say the same,” you reply, sliding against his hips, picking up speed. You hold yourself up, hand on his chest.

You suck in a breath as his cock thrusts into you. Static filled your head as you chased your pleasure, grinding against him. You tilt your head back, moaning his name, everything but Keith becoming background noise. 

He palms your breast.

Your breath hitches when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Ah,” you sigh. 

Your stomach was taunt. 

He doesn’t go further. You sort of wish he would. You trusted Keith not to hurt you. . .too badly. 

The idea excites you, as he wraps his hand around your throat. 

You match him, curling your fingers in his hair and pulling hard, “look at me,” you try and order but your voice is a whine. You’re too hot and heavy to think. 

His cock twitches inside you, filling you up and fuck it felt good to be streched out. 

Keith’s thumb strokes the side of your throat, his grip firm. “Do you like this,” he asks, his gaze heavy on you. He was entirely concentrated on you. It was like being worshipped. 

It sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you got rougher,” you admit, finding it easy to trust him.

He looks away. 

You falter. Had you read things wrong? 

Keith bucks his hips up against you and you let the thought go, sinking onto his cock and groaning, “Keith…” 

It was easy to let go when it felt this good. His hand around your throat, fingers digging into your hips, you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. Not that anyone would be able to tell from over your uniform. 

A shudder runs down your spine, you squirm on his cock mindlessly, thinking about bruises in the shape of his hands, about the marks on your neck you could already feel blooming on your skin. Heat surges in your chest, something primal as your thoughts linger there. 

You nails run down his chest, leaving shallow scratches as you try and get a better hold, desperately grinding against Keith, down on the bed, his cock ramming into you. “Fuck,” you think, “fuck. . .Keith. . .”

You can’t stand it. 

The pressure in your stomach, the heat scorching your pussy, the sound of Keith’s whines and moans, your name tumbling out of his mouth like a hymn that raised your heart beat, blood pounding in your ears. 

Keith squeezes your neck, your throat bobs under his fingers and fuck-

You come. 

Your legs tremble, unable to support you any longer as you collapse, a quivering mess on Keith. His hands move down to grip your thighs, pulling you down flush against him, down to the hilt of his cock as he comes, moaning erotically. 

The thread of heat doesn’t dissipate entirely as you rest on his chest, boneless and sticky with sweat, but it relaxes and you breath the scent of him in instead of pulling away entirely. 

Keith strokes a hand down your spine, an afterthought, “that was. . .” 

“Yeah.” You’re exhausted. 

You close your eyes, listening to the inhuman rumble of Keith’s chest as it rises and falls with every breath you take. 

You end up slipping out. The halls are in the light cycle, but no one bothers you as you walk. 

Getting up the next morning is hell. 

Your legs are sore, and that’s not even mentioning how much your pussy hurts when you take a step. You take a dose of painkillers still remaining from your injury and check your messages. 

Nothing from earth. 

That was expected. 

The meager universal communications were taken up by the war effort. You still sent your family messages, even if it was just one way. It was a way to keep in touch. It felt like watching starlight and knowing it was millions of years old, a form of time travel. 

You shower. 

Keith’s come was a mess on the inside of your thighs and the thought is not as gross as it should be, your skin warming up, zapped by static. You run your fingers over your clit and fuck yourself in the shower thinking of the red paladin and his come.

You get out, brushing your hair out, not looking in the mirror at the purple hickies spread out like a constellation on your chest, and realize how weird you were being. 

Come was gross. 

You hated swallowing so you never did. The tentative relationships at the garrison had been short, you had all been teenagers, and now anything that happened was a one off thing sometimes involving aliens. 

You swallow, gripping the counter of your sink. You were horny again. 

No. 

Not going there. 

No space weirdness this morning. 

Because you’re on leave for the space equivalent of 6 or 5 days, you don’t have much to do. You get food. It had taken getting used to, and figuring out which brightly colored pastel goo thing was good, but there was a variety. You still had no clue what was plants or animals up in space. 

The more liberated planets, the more supplies trickled in. Pirates loved to take a cut. 

You eat as soldiers stop by to refuel, fill up on supplies. Despite the stress, you missed being out on the front. Being out of the action sucked. 

Sitting around on a spaceship was boring. 

It wasn’t like they had shops or movie theaters. Walking around too much ended up with you being in the way. 

You clench your jaw, feeling feverish. 

And you had just been getting better. . .

You shove the thought away. 

You end up watching space TV: reality TV shows like Galra Ninja Warrior and nature docu series on plants, some you’ve been on, before finally sliding your hand under the waistband of your trousers and rubbing your clit. 

It takes the edge off, but the heat’s still there, pressed up in the pit of your stomach, cheeks flushes and you sigh, unsatisfied as you click to something other than the marine biomes of Kmeolsuahr. For aliens larger than a schoolbus, they were peaceful creatures. Since they were filter feeders, agriculture had never developed a hold on their planet, but water generators were plentiful. 

Yet another show starring Galra. It was the most common type of show in the Empire. Hijacking communications had given this traveling spaceship TV. You were glad for it now. 

You curl up, the communicator snug around your wrist translating everything instantaneously. It was the part in the soap where there has to be a duel for honor. What a load of crap. 

The two Galra circle each other, close ups of their face like a mexican stand-off. Through TV you got to know the Glara in the empire as more than just soldiers. Spending time in the camps taught you that even Galra citizens could be arrested for treasonous statements against Zarkon. 

They make growling alien sounds, something between a jaguar and a sound not found on earth, an underlying clicking that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. 

You connect the dots. 

The glowing eyes, the purrs and rumbles, and whatever weird alien thing was going on: the red paladin was part Galra. 

Only that made no sense. 

He was from Earth. 

First contact had been what, when the paladins had disappeared? When the Kerberos mission had been abducted, and boy had that made fringe conspiracy theorists happy. . .how could he be part Galra? 

Was it even your problem?

Surely this would go away. . .

You were leaving in a little over five days. 

You curl up and watch TV until you fall asleep, determined to enjoy the rest while it lasted and your weren’t trudging through waist deep mud. 

“Read through the debrief,” a commander with a nebulous rank above you asks. In your line of work, so much was redacted. Information gathering was a fancy way of saying spy. It was why you worked so closely with the rebels. 

You don’t even blink at the slight pale easter egg yellow alien, ears that resembled hair, long and droopy like a rabbit: there were four of them. You’d met stranger. “Yeah. Long mission.”

You were not looking forward to being on a planet with an inhospitable surface. A sun close enough that set the surface on fire with it’s rays, no thanks. 

Still, it was your assignment. 

“It is vital.”

They always said that. 

It seemed to be extracting some key players. Who they were remained unknown until you had to know. It was a lot of flying blind to keep information from leaking to the wrong ears. Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz. 

“I’ll treat it that way,” you nod, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. It would be fun flying a hijacked Galra fighter ship. The planet was pretty deep in Empire controlled space. 

“And,” the alien looks you up and down like a Garrison RA finding a stain on your uniform during morning inspection, “get rid of that scent.”

“What,�� you ask plainly, “scent.”

The alien raises a hairless muscle over its eye. The gesture is human enough. “Voltron has docked here.” 

It was subterfuge. Both of you were in the same line of work, you could do this dance in your sleep. “As far as I know, yes.” You are careful to keep your expression neutral, feeling stupid for not having used negating get. It wasn’t even rationed, but used pretty widely. There were many aliens who relied primarily on scent, and those whose sense of smell was far sharper than yours. 

“Mm.”

You hold their gaze. 

You weren’t one to waver.

“Any further questions?”

“None.”

“Good.”

You walk blithely back to your room, intending to shower, again, and probably take care of the warmth in your gut. The heat was like an uncomfortable itch under your skin that stubbornly remained no matter how much you ignored it. 

How was it even possible that Keith was any part alien let alone Galra? You were pretty sure the entire planet would have known if the Galra arrived on the planet. 

It was intriguing. 

Your mind drew up the details you knew, trying to make them fit. It was half mental exercise, half the urge to actually get to the bottom of this. Keith didn’t look half Glara like Prince Lotor and his gang of misfits. . .quarter, one sixteenth. . .

Occam's Razor. 

The mystery occupied your mind as you made it back to your quarters. 

Keith is pacing outside your door. 

How did he even know where your quarters were?

“Did you sniff your way here,” you ask, genuinely curious. Maybe the traits might not be apparent. . .just how Galra was the red paladin. You were reminded again how little you actually knew him. 

Understanding fills his eyes; he knew you knew. Keith looks over at you for a second before ducking his head dejectedly, a straw dog expecting to be run off. 

Your heart ached. 

How a paladin of Voltron could be so self conscious despite going toe to toe with the Empire on a daily basis. . .you didn’t know. They were only flesh and blood after all. 

You take pity on him, “so is this going to be a thing,” the corners of your mouth lift into a small smile. You were still a little sore. You wouldn’t mind going another few rounds. . .

But you needed to clear some things up first. 

Just how much of this between you was space Galra funkiness? 

Keith snorts, looking up, meeting your searching gaze. His shoulders were still tense, unsure that you weren’t about to tell him to shove off. Not the loner type entirely by choice then, his innate awkwardness must have made it hard to connect. 

It wasn’t a problem you’d ever had, rushing into everything headfirst, taking charge. 

“Not like there’s a lot of humans to choose from up here,” he says self-deprecatingly. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m down for some alien funkiness,” you answer evenly, taking a step towards him. He inhales sharply, looking away again, this time in thought. 

The lines of his face increase, clearly uncomfortable, frowning. 

“I can’t usually,” Keith admits in a tense voice, “smell this well. . .though I can smell better than Shiro.”

“Shiro?”

“The black paladin,” he explains, surprised he has to explain at all. 

You answer his unvoiced question, “everyone tends to focus on the color of the lion rather than the pilot inside.”

“Oh. That’s dumb.” He looks a little relieved at the anonymity that grants. 

“Is it just me then,” you ask, getting to the bottom of things. 

He nods, meeting your gaze. “I don’t know why but I can’t stop thinking of fucking you,” he says without ceremony. 

You find yourself blushing. The connection went both ways, the very alien connection. “Don’t hate me but I think we should go to the medic.” 

Keith frowns. “Or we could just fuck.”

“That horny,” you tease, raising a brow, “or was I just that good?”

Keith cusps a hand against your cheek, his thumb running over your lips. 

Your mouth parts, the tip of your tongue grazing his thumb. 

“So you don’t want to fuck,” Keith asks, a playful smirk on his lips. 

You swallow, the urge to say yes right there as his touch on you entranced you, sending desire cascading through your body down to your toes. “This isn’t just alien weirdness is it?” You wanted it to be more. 

“No,” he shakes his head, his breath mingling with yours. “That’s-I’m not that impulsive.”

“Good,” you mutter, pressing your body against his, and opening the door to your room.

[absurdthirst]

Heyyyyy!

As someone that's very appreciative of weed, I was wondering what it'd be like to get stoned with the Pedro boys?

🖤🖤🖤

Getting Stoned With Them:

Javier: Uhhhhhh, do you remember who he works for? That’s NOT going to happen. He’ll get shitfaced drunk with you, but he doesn’t even need to be around you when you do it. They drug test him at the fucking DRUG ENFORCEMENT AGENCY after all. 

Ezra: Getting high with Ezra is an experience. He mellows out and there is an even slower drawl to his voice. Talking about the meaning of life and how small you are in the grand scheme of the universe. Bits bars are consumed with uncharacteristic enthusiasm and Kevva, he starts talking about the foods he’s craving. Things he hasn’t eaten since he was a boy, rich and decadent. After he’s philosophical for a bit, he moves on to being handsy. Despite, or maybe because he is normally encased in a sealed suit, he wants to touch, to feel you. High sex with Ezra is out of this world, pun intended. He will pleasure you for hours, or maybe minutes but it seems like hours. 

Mando: No. The only way you are getting high with this tin can man is if he accidentally eats or inhales something laced. Mando is not in the habit of taking things that will make him lose control of his faculties. However, if he accidentally gets high???? This man is like a human teddy bear, uncharacteristically cuddly and talkative. Lord this man runs his mouth when he’s high. Mostly cute shit, but he can also get a little dark with some of his stories. Wants to plant his Beskar covered head right in your lap or curl around you while he does. 

Frankie: Relaxed and giggly. This is probably the most relaxed you’ve ever seen this man, even when he’s sleeping. Everything is funny and he’s laughed more than he has in months. The anxiety, the depression, the fucking weight on his shoulders feels lesser and he can just be free. There is some nasty ass Taco Bell in your future for sure and he MIGHT have eaten all the kids fruit snacks. Maybe. Possibly. 

Tovar: More sarcastic if that’s possible. More talkative and those barbs are on point. HANDSY. Lord his hands are all over you. He doesn’t know what he wants to do more, eat or fuck. Maybe he will just eat you. 😏 Or maybe he will gorge himself on food then spend the rest of the night fucking you. Gets the best nights sleep of his life. 

Agent Whiskey: Not going to happen. NEVER. And to be honest, if he knows you smoke weed, he’s out. He has too much baggage with drugs and as a result, has no tolerance for any kind of drug use. Even the wacky weed.

Max Phillips: Sorry sug, vamps can’t get high. HOWEVER...he can taste it in your blood. So you smoke up baby, Max will order you whatever munchies you want. Especially if he can taste you afterwards. 

Marcus Pike: Another one that won’t do it. He’s a Fed, baby. However, he won’t judge you for partaking. He knows that there’s bullshit bureaucratic reasons why they haven’t just federally legalized weed. It’s not like he never tried in when he was younger. This man will go and get you the food you are craving and just smile and laugh at you while you are stoned. Talking to you because it’s just so cute how you are when you are relaxed. 

Dave: Nope. Not because he disapproves of weed, but he doesn’t like to be out of it. He didn’t even like when he was having surgery and had to be put under sedation. This man is the definition of ‘I need to be in control at all times’ and weed will just cloud his instincts. He will however sit with you. But he does not inhale. 

Oberyn: ANGRY. Like yeah. He was fine for a bit, then someone mentioned a Lannister. Then it was fucking game on. This man will rant about those fucking golden lions and how they killed his sister and her babies. He’s not physically violent, but passionate, hatred seething from his pores. He needs to stick to wine to be honest. Leave the weed alone. Although, if someone hadn’t mentioned Tywin, you were definitely gonna fuck, so hate them for that. 

Max Lord: Honestly, it’s a fucking miracle to watch this showboating, pretentious man let loose. Not be putting on a show or trying to protect an image of who he wants to be. His natural accent is more noticeable and he starts rambling on about what he wants to do and WHY he wants to do it. Soaks up affection like a sea sponge and becomes a needy little ball of love. Will cry. 

Marcus Moreno: Wants to stock the kitchen will all kinds of his favorite goodies and just mellow the fuck out. Missy is out of the house, he’s not on Heroics call and he can just fucking get stoned and relax with you. He used to do this with his late wife and after her death he stopped. Will end up draped across your body snoring after a few amazing hours of just talking about nothing or giggling over past missions. It’s what he needed and to be honest, he’s looking forward to it happening again. 

Zach Wellison: If ever someone would need to get stoned it’s this man. That chip on his shoulder is gone, he’s not acting like you are doing him a favor by feeding him. He actually opens up a little faster. Deep shit too. What’s going on in his head and how he ended up on the streets. Also an affectionate little ball of cuteness. He’s giggled more between hits than he probably has in years. You learn about the man he is beyond his misfortune and it’s great to see. 

MasterList

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[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Church (Choi San) Rated

Pairing: Choi San × Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, College AU, Friends to Enemies(?), Enemies to Lovers (?)

Summary: He used to be her best friend until he abandoned not only his childhood beliefs, but her in the process. One night, he decides to show her a glimpse of what she's been missing out on. Inspired by Chase Atlantic's Church .

Word Count: 6.3+K

Warnings: Mentions of religious beliefs, brazen college parties, allusions to alcohol/nicotine intake, body insecurity (reader has small breasts), oral (female receiving), fingering, nipple play, body worship/praise, slight cumplay, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (always use protection), slight corruption kink, inexperienced reader, experienced San. (Probably forgot something)

Taglist: @little-precious-baby @yunhoiseyecandy @yunhofingers @galaxteez @brie02 @deja-vux @a-soft-hornytiny @multidreams-and-desires @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @nanamarkie

╬╬═════════════╬╬

The infamous rebel let out a pernicious snicker when he saw the serene and usually proper former acquaintance walk in his direction.

"Are my eyes deceiving me or is that really the pastor's prissy little daughter out past her bedtime in a college party?" He found the situation much too amusing that he just had to point it out.

"I have a name you know." The female he was referring to halted in her steps to turn her head and give him an unkind and unfriendly look.

"You have several, actually. There's goody two shoes, priss, prude, prig-"

"Oh shut the fuck up Choi San." She scoffed as she began walking away from him, already feeling annoyed by his presence.

The man trailed after her, his face donning a shocked expression as he flailed his arms around in a dramatic way.

"Guys it's happening! The apocalypse is really here if L/N Y/N has not only attended a wild party full of debauchery, but her mouth has actually uttered out cursed words!" He shouted out, the other attendants either joining in laughing at her or ignoring him in favor of the bottles or sticks in their fingers.

"I'm surprised you even know what that word means." She turned to look at him with a mocking smile, arms crossed over her chest.

"Please, I know a lot more than you have ever pretended to know." He clicked his tongue, elbow coming up to rest on the wall next to him.

"Is that why you turnt corrupt and abandoned everything you believe in?" She couldn't help but spat back at him.

"Hey at least I was honest and didn't hide it like you people who lead double lives. Preaching one thing but living the total opposite. You're all nothing but a bunch of hypocrites." The venom in his voice was unmistakable, nose scrunching up in disgust as he remembered gross sins he had more often than not had witnessed from people who claimed to be pure and holy.

"I do not lead a double life." She remarked.

"Oh really? Then why the hell are you here in a college party? Full of alcohol, drugs and walking STDs? Riddle me that princess." His foot tapped against the floor, patiently awaiting an answer from her.

Y/N swallowed the non existent lump in her throat and turned her gaze to the floor in embarrassment.

"I just wanted to see what it was like. Just once." She admitted begrudgingly, the man in front of her chuckling lowly.

"Well you sure are going to have a lot to confess on Sunday to your dad. Silly girl, walking into the lion's pit like this." He jeered at her.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. Just because I came here doesn't mean I've done anything morally wrong." She counteracted his words to which he only snorted.

"Yet."

Tired of his overly obnoxious attitude, Y/N spun on her heel to get away from him, but she spun so carelessly and fast that she ended up bumping into another classmate who unfortunately was holding a full cup of beer that ended up being doused all over her white blouse.

"Oops! Sorry, my bad." He excused himself, looking completely unapologetic about the situation.

Meanwhile Y/N looked absolutely horrified as she took in the drenched state of her shirt that now had the stench of alcohol on it. The fact San was bursting out in giggles only served to make her even more mad.

"Now tell me how do you plan on explaining that to dear old-"

"Can it San or I swear I'll gauge your eyes out." She threatened him as she stormed out the building, not caring that she bumped into a few figures on her way out.

Feeling just a bit of empathy for his old friend, San sighed softly before following after her. Upon catching up to her, he took hold of her wrist and started dragging her in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Get your filthy hands off me! I will not hesitate to scream!" She tried tugging her arm away.

"Calm down I'm not planning on kidnapping or anything like that sweetheart. I'm taking you back to my car."

She let out a dry laugh at that.

"But that's not kidnapping?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I have a spare shirt in the backseat that you can change into. Unless you wanna go home smelling like PBR." He looked back to see the mess one more time, lips curling up into a smirk.

Against her better judgment, she allowed him to take her all the way where his car was parked, standing there quietly as San rummaged through the backseat before taking out a clean plain white tshirt and held it out to her.

"Here. Put it on."

She looked at him with a face that asked if he was stupid.

"Well what?" He asked.

"Oh yes..I'm totally going to strip in a middle of the street and let anyone passing by see." She rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh for fuck's sake, there's nobody here, nobody is going to see and frankly I don't think anyone cares about seeing your non existent boobs." He scorned at her as he gestured to her chest.

"Ok rude and uncalled for." She felt slightly hurt by his comment, having always been somewhat insecure about the size of her chest.

"Don't look." She warned him.

"Not like I want to." He jeered at her as he turned away to not only give her privacy, but to also serve as a lookout for anyone that might accidentally show up and see the scene. He could hear her behind him tearing off her clothes and then slipping it back on.

"Ok there. I'm done." Y/N announced as she stuffed the soiled shirt into her bag.

"Not even a thank you?" San pouted slightly, to which Y/N gave a feigned smile.

"Thanks."

With that said and done, she brushed past him and started walking away, absolutely done with the night.

"Careful not to get caught sneaking back inside your house." She heard San say from behind.

"For your information I'm not living with them anymore. I moved into the dorms 2 months ago." She stated in a matter of factly, a proud look on her face.

"Well in that case....want to ride back with me?" He offered.

"Yeah no, I'd rather take my chances at being kidnapped and then butchered up. Besides, I wouldn't want to cut your wild night short." She declined the offer.

"Stop being so negative Nancy and accept my generosity. Geez."

Running over to her, he quickly snatched her up and threw her over his shoulder, ignoring her shocked exclaims and protests.

"Now this is really kidnapping!" She declared.

"Yeah I know, now shut up before I duct tape that bratty mouth of yours." San grinned mischievously as he tossed her into the backseat and shut the door before striding over to get on the driver's seat.

"Oh come on. Stop looking at me like I'm a criminal. Just because I indulge in a few sins every now and then, doesn't make me into a bad person." He stated when he saw the dirty look she gave him.

"Whatever." She muttered as she locked in her seatbelt.

San opted for just driving back to the dorms and get Y/N tucked in her bed since it was clear to him she needed it.

╬╬═════════════╬╬

"You're lucky my roommate is on vacation, otherwise I would have left your ass back there." Y/N spewed out as she threw her keys onto her dresser.

"Thanks Y/N, I always said you were the nicest and most giving person in the planet." San complimented her as he felt he should given she was letting him stay the night in her dorm after a little tiny incident with his keys dropping inside one of the manholes surrounding the university. And the administration office wouldn't be open til the morning, meaning he was screwed unless his roommate showed up to let him in, but that was a definite no since San knew Seonghwa would definitely end up in someone else's bed and come back til the next day, hickeys plastered all over his neck and chest.

"No, you always said I was the most stuck up-"

San shushed her by pressing a hand over her mouth.

"You dwell so much on the present image of me you drew up in your head that you completely erased the friend you had all those years ago." He slid his hand off her mouth, shoulders slumping down as he turned away from her to crouch on the floor.

"That friend doesn't exist anymore, that is if he even existed in the first place. If I recall, my friend wasn't into parties, booze, vaping, tattoos, piercings and fucking around with every whore in the school."

San didn't say anything as he heard her ramble, he just let her talk away as she started pulling out spare blankets and pillows for him to use.

"My Sannie was sweet, cute, adorable, always ready to lend people help and respectful to others." She reminisced with a sad look. Pulling her expression straight, she laid out the blankets and started arranging them neatly on the floor.

"I still am."

San's voice was so quiet that she barely registered that he even opened his mouth in the first place, but she heard him.

"Maybe if you weren't so puffed up with pride and didn't cut me off after I cut ties with the church, you'd see that I'm still the way I was. You think I changed completely because of ink and metal on my body? Because I wanted to try certain substances and yes, satisfy some perfectly normal and humane needs?"

Y/N averted her gaze from him and continued the task she was in. San let out a despondent scoff.

"Of course you do. And yet didn't I just demonstrate to you back there that I haven't changed? Giving you my shirt, giving you a ride, yeah I know, it's not much and no big deal, but wasn't those the types of things I'd do even back then?"

Y/N's tongue poked against her cheek as she knew she couldn't deny that was San said was absolutely true. He did nothing different back at the party as he used to do years ago. Helping old ladies with grocery bags, giving away some of his clothes to less fortunate kids, he was always known as being such a giving and kind person.....

No wonder so many were devastated when it was announced he had resigned as a member of the church. Y/N herself was hurt and even indignated by his decision. And after that she adamantly refused to see him or talk to him, and of course San respected her decision and avoided contacting her so as to not make her uncomfortable. He understood that their friendship was broken and he wasn't going to overstep boundaries just to try and fix it when the other party didn't want it. So he just decided to live his life as he thought was right without his conscience bothering him. And he was much happier now, he felt free, something that he had never felt before. Perhaps he was so chained down by formality, discipline, strict regulations and even fear that he didn't realize that he was miserable all that time until his eyes were fully open and he found he didn't like what he saw, especially after seeing the dark and ugly side of what was supposed to be a safe and pure sanctuary. He was let down severely and he suffered in the process. But now that was behind him and he had no regrets......

Except Y/N. He truly missed her and her company. As he laid on the makeshift bed on the floor, he found himself unable to sleep as he recalled all those fond times spent with her. The trips to the lake, hiking, first day of school, their first accident after he had gotten his driver's license. He let out an involuntary smile at that memory. Unbeknownst to him, the girl on her bed was equally reminiscing on the old days filled with her best friend. She had been so alone ever since she distanced herself from him, the world now feeling empty and cold without him. Shifting around in her bed, she whined into her pillow as she desperate tried to sleep.

"What's the worst thing you've ever done?" Her question startled San momentarily.

"Are you that sleep deprived that you're suddenly asking me to confess my worst sins?" He chuckled amusedly.

"Maybe it'll help me get actual sleep, I don't know. And.... I'm just curious." She clutched one of her plushies and started messing around with it.

"Curiosity killed the cat and I don't think your virgin mind will be able to handle my confession." He asserted confidently.

"I'm not a virgin, but oh well. Just tell me, what's the worst?" Her casual response made San flip out. He sat upright and kneeled at the front of her bed with an incredulous look.

"What do you mean you're not a virgin? When did you-?" He was so flabbergasted he wouldn't even finish his sentence.

Rolling over to where he was, Y/N smirked at him.

"Uh uh. I asked you a question first and you have to answer it before I can answer any you want."

Knowing he had no alternative, San placed his chin on the top of her mattress.

"Had a threesome with 2 of our professors." He laughed when he saw how shocked Y/N looked.

"What?! No way!" She refused to believe him.

"It's true. I won't tell you who they were since you won't be able to look at them the same way if I did...... I'll just dish this: they both got really huge tits and it's a shame they're married." He admitted with a smug expression.

"I can't believe you." She fanned her face which she was sure was now a deep crimson color.

"Ok now your turn. When did this happen? Who was it with?"

Y/N didn't even mind that San got up and crawled into her bed to lay down next to her. His face was rested on his hands as he looked at her with intense inquisitiveness. Knowing she'd have to talk about it sooner or later, she thought it would be best if San was the one to know since he would never tell anyone else and he'd understand since he was tainted as well.

"Remember when that group of missionaries came to stay over at our city for a while back in high school?"

San nodded, vividly remembering everything. Y/N blushed and smiled shyly.

"Do you remember that there was a family with a son our age? Chase?"

San widened his eyes and flopped over on his back as his hands came to hide his face.

"Oh dear lord, please don't tell me it was that Canadian boy." He groaned in pain.

"Yeah....yeah it was."

San couldn't stop cringing at the thought of his friend doing such a thing.

"How even did that happen?" He was so lost.

"I don't know! It just did ok? It happened while we were out in that camping trip. Somewhere there, we were left alone and we started talking about everything and nothing til it spiraled into talking about sex and us being virgins decided to see what was the big deal....." She bit her lower lip as the memory flashed in her mind. Looking over at San, she knew he was judging her as she expected. A tiny snort escaped his lips.

"That must have been the worst 45 seconds of your life." He joked, earning him a slap on his chest by Y/N's hand.

"It was not 45 seconds!............. it was 2 minutes."

San only laughed harder at that, nearly crying from how funny it was to him. He composed himself though when he saw how embarrassed Y/N looked about it. Feeling bad for laughing at her expense, he cleared his throat and patted her head.

"It's ok. First times are always awkward and uncomfortable. The problem was you weren't prepared and you were both inexperienced. He just didn't know how to please you."

Y/N couldn't help herself as she asked:

"And I suppose you can?"

Flipping onto his stomach, San cupped her chin with his hand and ran his thumb across her lower lip.

"Don't tread on dangerous territory little angel lest you want an evil demon to corrupt you." He warned her, and although he wouldn't actually follow through on it, he did want to tease her a little. But he wasn't expecting for Y/N to play along to his teasing, only she was not joking at all as she brought her face closer to his.

"Maybe I want you to corrupt me, show me what I've been missing out on." She brushed her lips against his, tongue daring to poke out and press on his slit briefly, leaving him stunned.

"You have no idea what you're asking for princess." San mused as he held himself back from touching her.

"I know what I'm asking for Choi San and what I'm asking for....is you." She responded with confidence.

Escaping from underneath the blanket that covered her, Y/N reclined back on the mattress, her head laying on her soft pillow as she gestured for San to come over to her, which he promptly did. Parting her legs so he could fit his body between them, he smirked softly down at her eagerness, fingers brushing against the soft skin on her thighs.

"You're serious about this?" He wanted to make sure it wouldn't be something she'd regret.

"I already messed up once, what's one more time gonna do?" She pulled him down against her, not caring when he lost balance and accidentally crushed her under him with his muscular body.

"Besides...." Wanting to further entice him, Y/N brushed her lips against his ear.

"Look at me and tell me you don't want to fuck me. That you don't want to stuff that hard cock of yours into my tight and inexperienced pussy. Bet you're itching to tear into me until I'm crying under you. Don't you want that?"

San let out a moan at hearing such filthy and depraved talk from her. It only fueled his appetite and hunger for indulging in carnal desires.

"Yes... I want that.... I want you."

Closing space between them, San molded his lips over hers, encasing them in a sloppy and wet kiss. Y/N could faintly make out the leftover scent of alcohol and nicotine as she let him taste her mouth, but she didn't mind or felt grossed out by it. She just kept her lips parted and allowed him to move his tongue freely inside her. Cupping her cheeks, San continued to roll his tongue over hers, massaging it gently with both deep yet gentle strokes. When he pulled away, he made sure to tuck her bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it towards him as Y/N let out a moan that was like music to his ears. Pausing briefly, their lips were barely touching as they breathed in each other's air. San was the first one to break into a smile, the one that had Y/N melting since it displayed his dimples to the fullest.

"Never thought I'd hear that sound come out of your pretty mouth." He teased her.

"S-shut up." She frowned, hand reaching up to smack his chest.

"It's not a bad thing. I like it. Now let's see if I can make sure you keep them up."

Stuffing his face into her neck, San ghosted his lips across her skin, tongue subtly poking out solely to hear her breath hitch slightly. Dipping his tongue into her collarbone, his lips opened up so they could firmly latch and spread wet kisses across her neck. Y/N gasped when she felt teeth sink down, head tilting back to give San more room which he took advantage of. Focusing on particular spots that he knew she was sensitive in, he sucked her skin into his mouth. Each time he pulled away, he reveled when he saw the finished mark that was now painted on her skin.

"I would love to see your parent's reaction to my love bites." He brushed a fingers across the newest spot he just embedded in her body, hand then reaching up to suddenly clasp around her neck. Y/N shuddered when his grip got tighter, her oxygen intake getting cut and making her feel hazy, but it was nonetheless enjoyable. Snaking a hand under her shirt, or more like his shirt, San swiped his tongue over his bottom lip as he started to pull the material up.

"How about I make some matching ones all across your pretty chest?"

Before he could lift the shirt any further, Y/N's hand clasped around his wrist, preventing him from moving any further.

"Don't." She begged him.

San retracted his hands away from her, fearing he made her uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry." He immediately apologized and began to move away from her, but Y/N's hands raked against his thighs to keep him in place.

"No, it's not you. It's just..... if we're going to do this, can I keep the shirt on? I don't...." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she admitted an insecurity of hers.

"I don't like my chest. My boobs are too small, it's unflattering and I'd rather you not see them." She slowly opened her eyes to see his reaction. San had a sad look on his face, bottom lip poking out as his fingers came up to brush against her cheek. Remembering what he had previously said back in the parking loyal, he felt terrible for saying that ill intended joke about her body. He probably hurt her and he didn't realize it.

"Y/N don't say that. Your chest size doesn't matter. You're beautiful the way you are and I bet underneath that layer is clothing there is the cutest and most adorable set of boobs in the world." She let out an involuntary giggle at his words, letting him run his hand down her clothed sternum.

"But if that's what you want, I'll respect it. Either way, my tshirt looks amazing on you." He acknowledged rather cockily.

Shifting further back, San took hold of the top of her shorts, making sure to look at her.

"Are you ok with these coming off?"

Y/N resisted the temptation to slap the top of his head.

"If you don't take them off, how are you going to fuck me genius?" She retorted.

"You'd be surprised at what I've learned." He uttered, mostly to himself than at her.

Like an expert, he practically tore her shorts down her legs, panties falling to the floor along with them. Y/N let out a soft squeal when he took hold of her thighs and brought her down so his face was at eye level with her most intimate part. San took a few seconds to admire her bare mound, lips parted and threatening to start drooling all over her thighs. Pressing both thumbs against each one is her lips, San pried her folds open, staring intently as he now clearly saw all of her.

"Oh fuck. I'm gonna need to prep you real good. I can tell you're going to be really tight."

She wanted to ask him what he meant by prep, but her words got caught in her throat when she felt his tongue delve into her core. She had never felt someone's mouth anywhere near her folds and she regretted not having experienced it before. Her eyes shut tight as she marveled at the sensation of San's tongue lapping at her bud, his lips making sure to enclose all around the flesh surrounding it before giving it gentle suckles. Shaky breaths blew out from her mouth, her legs wanting to close themselves around San's head but his firm grip on her thighs kept it from happening. He kept her knees pinned to the bed as his mouth continued to ravish at her taste, sloppily consuming her heat fervently. Her mind was so occupied in what he was doing that she didn't register the hand that slowly crept away from her thigh until she felt something poke at her entrance.

"Oh-" She gasped, opening her eyes to see what was going on.

"Relax princess. It's just my finger.....for now." He momentarily pulled off her heat to let her know what was happening before diving back in to continue his task of eating her out.

His finger inside her felt a little weird at first, sliding in slowly before pulling out only to plunge itself back into her. During one of those times where she expected him to slide back in, she was surprised when she felt herself being stretched out as San curled a second finger inside her. Keeping them lodged there, he began scissoring them alternatively so he could further spread her walls apart. During one of those movements, his fingertips brushed along her hood, making her hips slightly jolt up into San's face, who smiled against her folds as he now knew exactly where to angle his hips for later. Using this new knowledge, that was probably unbeknownst to Y/N, he slipped his fingers deeper into her, knuckles deep as he moved his tips rhythmically on the the spot he found. Y/N's mouth fell wide open into an 'O' as whiny gasps and airy moans poured out of it. San's mouth latched to her clit and his fingers working deep in her hole was producing a stirring in the lower pit of her stomach that she couldn't quite make out. But it felt good, especially since it continued to grow more and more, almost as if it was a cord about to snap.

"San- wait. I feel, I feel-" She couldn't finish her sentence as her body trembled slightly, a flood of overwhelming pleasure washing over her that was prolonged by San drinking up the juices that spilled forth out of her body. He didn't pull away until he made sure to swallow every drop she had to give.

"Aren't you grossed out?" She asked him, always having wondered about that.

"Nope. I love licking girl's pussies, especially if they're as sweet as yours." He affirmed while pulling his shirt off his body.

Y/N turned her flustered face away from him, keeping her gaze locked on the wall to her right, which was decorated with several polaroids of her with her family, friends and members of her church, some of them even had San in them, back when they were inseparable. Before she could become nostalgic, a strong set of hands clutched her chin and teared her gaze away from the pictures, forcing her to stare at the now naked man in front of her.

"Forget about that for now. Right now I want your full attention on me and what we're about to do. After we're done, that image of a good girl you have will gone." His words seemed to almost taunt her.

Although she tried not to look, Y/N's eyes fell in between San's legs, filled with astonishment when she glimpsed for the very first time at her former friend's member, fully erect and leaking at the tip as it awaited to be hugged by her warm walls.

"Like it? Maybe later I'll let you play with it." San giggled when her eyes shot up at him in surprise.

Placing himself to hover above her, he hummed lowly as he slowly stuffed himself inside her, working her open until he was fully nestled inside her warmth. Although she felt a light burn scraping against her inner walls, it wasn't unpleasant or painful like her first time. She could tell San knew exactly what he was doing as he began rolling his hips. Perfectly recalling exactly where to aim at, he made sure to angle his thrusts accordingly so each time he pushed back in, he'd hit her pleasure spot.

"Oh God-" Y/N exclaimed when he continued to brushed against the hood of her core.

"Really think it's a good idea to call out the good lord's name when I'm balls deep inside your pussy?" He asked with a malicious smirk plastered across his face.

"No baby. Tonight your only lord is me."

Pinning her wrists above her head, San continued pushing his cock deeper into her. The harsh pounding of his hips against hers was becoming louder, their bodies starting to get heated and producing sweat. Y/N couldn't do anything but whimper and wrap her legs around San's waist, keeping him firmly locked to her body. She closed her eyes once more as she felt the same familiar feeling from before start piling up, only it felt more intense and stronger probably due to the fact that she was getting railed to her bed by her ex best friend, whom she still cared about deeply. She was definitely not planning on making up with him this way, but holy hell, she couldn't deny that he was making her feel so many emotions at once. Pleasure, lust, satisfaction, happiness, euphoria, love? Perhaps that last one was definitely a stretch, but she blamed her confused thoughts on how well his cock was abusing her hole. She felt unable to focus on anything except him.

"Clenching so hard around me babygirl. Are you gonna cum all over my cock?"

Slipping one hand in between their bodies, San pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing it back and forth so it would serve as an extra push to tip her over the edge. Y/N splayed her hands on San's lower back, nails raking against his skin, causing him to hiss.

"Fuck- am I seriously making you feel that good babygirl?" He knew for a fact he was feeling absolutely amazing, her tight warmth gripping along his shaft, making it hard for him to hold back much longer.

"Mmm yeah." She shamelessly moaned.

"Am I better than your first?" Although he already knew the answer, he still wanted to feed his ego and hear her say it.

"So much better! It feels so fucking good." She inhaled sharply when that she began to feel the sensation from before. With even louder cries from before, her body shook underneath San's, blood rushing to her head as an even greater orgasm coursed through her body. She was left speechless, a full on panting mess even after San had pulled out of her after helping her ride out her high.

"Oh geez. Shit." San's voice rasped out as he jerked himself off, his cum painting her thighs white, not stopping until he had finished coating them with everything he had to give.

Looking down at the mess, Y/N couldn't suppress a tiny giggle, one of her hands clasping over her mouth while the other picked up some of his cum and spread it between her fingers.

"Having fun there?" San grinned, finding her fascinated gaze to be completely adorable to him.

"Yeah.." She said as sat up to get a better look at the cum around her thighs.

"Well I was going to clean it off you, but seeing as you're so entertained by it, I'll just leave you with it."

Not forgetting that he was merely a guest, San slid himself off her bed and plopped his tired body onto the blankets on the floor. Closing his eyes, he was thinking he would finally be able to sleep, but he found his plans thwarted when he felt a pair of hands graze across his chest. Looking up, he found Y/N straddling his lap, biting down on her lower lip as she grinded her wet folds along his softened dick which was now becoming hard again thanks to her.

"What in the world are you doing you crazy girl?" He sucked in a breath, not expecting her to suddenly pounce on him.

"I wanna try that again." She pleaded, grinding her hips harder on him.

"Oh my- did I accidentally turn you into a nymphomaniac?" She chuckled at his joke and although he groaned as if he was frustrated, he obliged to her wishes and sat up.

Clasping her waist with his hands, he lifted her up and guided her so she could easily sink herself down on his length. Not letting go, he slowly rolled his hips up, burying himself deep in her body once more. Since they were both still riled up from their previous session, it didn't take long for both of them to start spewing out a clutter of moans and grunts as they once again get lost in a mist of lust that clouded their minds. San drunk up every expression on Y/N's face. Every twitch of her facial muscles, every shuddering breath she exhaled, each time her eyelids shut close, he marveled at seeing her enjoy the experience. He loved seeing her indulge in such an intimate practice with him, more so given how special she was to him, one of the most important people in his life aside from his family. Looking down at her torso, his fingers brushed along the hem of her shirt.

"Please...." His urging caught her attention.

"Please let me see all of you. I want to admire every inch of you and your beautiful body. I promise I won't laugh or judge. I just want to worship you."

Y/N hesitated briefly, still afraid to let him see what was hidden under the shirt.

"It's ok if you don't want to. I won't force you." He shot a kind smile at her as he focused back on making sure to drive his cock up into her.

Feeling safe and knowing she could trust her lifelong friend whom she thought of as a soulmate at one point, Y/N reached for the bottom of her shirt and peeled it off her body. Coming face to face with her bare chest, San groaned in ecstasy as he slid his hands up her body.

"Just as I predicted, you have very cute breasts."

Pulling her chest to his face, he opened his mouth and took one of her nipples in it, swirling his tongue around it before sucking on it. Y/N's fingers raked themselves through his hair, harshly tugging them when she felt his teeth sink themselves into her flesh.

"Aren't they too small?" She inquired.

Letting go of her breast with an audible pop, San cupped her chin.

"No baby, they're absolutely perfect. They're gorgeous, just like every other part of your body. You're gorgeous, absolutely stunning and holy fuck, you're driving me insane honestly." He confessed, his mouth diving into her other breast so it wouldn't feel left out from being tenderly kissed and sucked on.

His words sunk deep in Y/N's heart. He really did found her beautiful, attractive and it spurred something in her. Feeling a newfound passion, Y/N unconsciously began taking over their movements. Pushing against his thrusts, she began to set her own pace, rutting herself on top of his dick. San of course took notice and was happy about it.

"Oh wanna take over now baby? Well go ahead."

Laying back down on the floor, his eyes stared up at her with lust.

"Fuck yourself on me darling."

Encouraged by him, Y/N began bouncing herself on his cock. Finding an angle that she liked, she sunk down on his length over and over, her head thrown back as she used his body to push her down another spiral of immense pleasure. San just relaxed and admired the way she lost herself and gave into her deepest desires. He loved the way she rode his cock, and he loved feeling her walls tighten once more around his shaft.

"Oh shit- Sannie." She cried out his name as she quivered on top of him, her juices spilling out onto his cock once more.

Knowing fully well she was probably aching between her thighs, San gripped her hips and helped her ride out her climax so the feeling she was going through wouldn't go away just yet. He made sure to be gentle, easing her up and down his cock with absolute tenderness. Once he knew she was satisfied, he pulled her of him and set her down on the floor before sitting up above her body. Just like before, he took hold of his cock and began pumping his cum out of his body, plastering it all across her inner thighs and even splattering some on her stomach. Looking up, Y/N had the same giggly expression as before.

"Does my cum really make you burst into a fit of giggles?" He questioned her.

"I can't help it. It's just... I don't know. Maybe it's the fact it's so dirty and wrong, and then to have you spread it all over my body." She explained, which made San chuckle.

"Maybe I should baptize your thighs with my cum more often." Although he was joking, Y/N was more than willing to take him up on that offer.

"Will you?" She looked up at him with puppy eyes.

San studied her for a moment, before a wicked idea popped in his brain.

"How about you let me baptize and stain that pretty face of yours?"

Getting a hint of what he meant, Y/N got up on her knees while San stood up right in front of her, cock in hand as he brought it up to her lips.

"I hope you weren't planning on going to morning services tomorrow because I'm going to keep you up til morning until your knees hurt."