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david3096 · 2 years

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Halloween Surprises

This work is also on https://archiveofourown.org/works/42767715

“Are you sure you want to go alone?" asks Eddie, trying to pretend that he doesn't really care that Buck and Christopher want to go out without him. The two of them stand in the driveway, getting ready to go to the mall.

“We're not actually going alone" Chris says with a smile "We're going with each other.”

“Really funny" Eddie says, trying to feign anger when he actually thinks it was a good joke.

“Wow, you definitely inherited your dad's humor" Buck comments, approaching Eddie. "We promise we'll be back soon, okay?" he says, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. And at that moment Eddie could swear that they are about to kiss, to tell each other all the love they share and promise each other a quiet night full of love. But he would need to confess his feelings for that to happen.

“What am I supposed to do while you two are gone?" he is surprised to hear himself ask that question out loud.

“I don't know" Buck replied.

“You could start playing Guardians of the Galaxy" Chris says with a half-smile. "Buck bought it for us last week.”

“And no one said anything to me?" he says in an fake offended tone.

“I forgot," Buck admits with a shrug.

“I didn't want you to keep the game for yourself" Chris says, "All of us know you're in love with Star-Lord.”

“What? Of course not!" Eddie says with a slight blush on his cheeks. He hates feeling exposed, plus he hasn't officially told anyone about his attraction to men, that he is exclusively attracted to men. And at least for the moment, not just any man, but the perfect blond in front of him.

“You definitely are" they both say as if it were the most common thing in the universe.

“Okay, maybe I'm a little bit in love with Star-Lord" he says, his face completely red "but that doesn't mean anything.”

“Dad, if you were my age, you'd have your room full of Peter Quill posters in all his version," Chris says mockingly, and he knows he's doing it to annoy him, but Eddie is more annoyed by the fact that it's true.

“Now I wonder, what kind of posters did you have in your room when you were a teenager?" Buck interjects.

“I won't say a thing.”

“Come on, it's not that serious!”

“Exactly" Chris says, "It's like the crush Buck has with D'Arcy Carden.”

“What? No!" says Buck, suddenly nervous.

“Buck, you've made us watch The Good Place four times this year.”

“It's a great show!”

“But your ears are red, you are blushing too, you're no better than me," Buck opens his mouth to answer but can't seem to think of anything.

“Buck also has a crush on Oscar Isaac” And if Buck couldn't say anything before, now he seems to have become mute. His face is totally red and he looks down.

“That's why we've seen Moon Knight three times" Eddie says in surprise, but the surprise soon becomes greater when he realizes what his son has just confessed.

“I told you that in confidence, Christopher Díaz" Buck says, trying to sound like the telenovelas they watch at Abuela’s house.

“So it's true" Eddie teases him.

“What can I say, I have a weakness for Latino men" Buck replies, even redder than before but trying to sound seductive, and Eddie feels like he's about to have a heart attack.

“Yes, you do" Chris mutters, and Eddie feels more nervous and confused. Does that mean what he thinks it means? “Can we go, Buck?

“Please, before you tell your dad about the other crush I have.”

“There's more?" Eddie jokes, but his heart makes him wish he is the other crush.

“We should go" says Buck, leaving the house with Chris, "We'll be back by dinner time" and with that they disappear from sight.

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The next two and a half hours are quite curious. Eddie listens to Christoper and starts playing Guardians of the Galaxy and although he feels a little uncomfortable at first because of how weird the Playstation 5 controls move, he soon starts to feel more comfortable and immersed in the game.

The story is quite entertaining, the gameplay is fun and being able to see and control Star-Lord makes him realize how much he likes a fictional character

He had never allowed himself to have feelings for a non-existent character, but the truth is that, although he is ashamed to admit it to other people, he doesn't feel as pathetic as he might have felt years ago.

Years when he couldn't even admit to being madly in love with Buck.

When he gets tired of playing, he decides to put on some music, tidy up the house, make his bed, wash the dishes, do everything he can to avoid feeling lonely.

He knows it's not the worst of feelings to have, but ever since he could admit to himself how he feels about Buck, he's felt strange about spending time away from him.

When he's done with everything, he has nothing left to do but sit back down on the couch and turn on the TV, there's nothing that interests him enough, so he keeps flipping channels.

Before he can think of another activity, the door of his house opens and his two favorite people in the world walk in. His son has a smile on his face, Buck also looks happy but a little tired from the two bags in his hands.

“Do you need help?" he says, standing up without waiting for an answer.

“Please" Eddie takes the two bags and carries them into the kitchen "I brought everything to make hamburgers" Buck tells him as they begin to take the ingredients out of the bags.

“How was your trip to the mall?" Eddie asks as he chops the lettuce and watches out of the corner of his eye as Buck takes the meat out of its packaging and turns on the stove.

“Very good, actually, we found everything we needed.”

“Are you going to tell me why you are going out so much to buy things?” Buck seems to freeze for a few seconds, as if his answer means something of life and death.

“It's a surprise!" Chris shouts from the living room. Buck laughs and Eddie joins in, sometimes they forget that his son is always listening.

“Can you at least tell me what kind of surprise it is?" he murmurs, making sure his son doesn't hear them.

“I'll just let you know that we're preparing Chris' Halloween costume, but it's a surprise" he says quietly with a smile and looking him in the eye.

“Unbelievable, Buck, I knew you wouldn’t resist if Dad asked" the boy's voice made them both jump.

“I'm sorry, Superman" Buck says, his face embarrassed.

“I knew it would happen" says the boy in a neutral tone, "I just hope you don't reveal everything to him. It's a surprise" he says, finally returning to the living room.

“Wow, he can be just as strict as you are" Buck jokes.

“I heard that!" Chris shouts to them from the living room, and they both laugh and start preparing dinner.

The days go by too fast and before Eddie can realize it, it's Halloween.

The three of them are sitting in the living room, having just finished eating pizza and watching an episode of Moon Knight. Chris and Eddie didn't miss every possible opportunity to tease Buck about the crush he has on Oscar Isaac and although at times Eddie felt jealous, it was a lot more fun than he expected.

Eddie mentally thanks Buck for convincing him to ask for the day off so they could both be with Chris on Halloween and although Bobby didn't make it as easy as they had hoped, it was definitely worth it.

Buck stayed over and made them waffles for breakfast, they played video games, went to the mall for ice cream and to buy some candy in case the ones they have at home weren't enough.

“So" Eddie begins, turning off the TV, and they both look him in the eye, "What's our trick-or-treating plan? But at that moment Buck and Christopher share a nervous look.

“About that" Buck says.

“Promise me you won’t get angry" Chris adds, and Eddie feels a little scared.

“You don't you want me to go trick-or-treating with you?" Eddie asks them, looking at the floor, not feeling emotionally prepared for such a rejection.

“No! Quite the contrary!" Buck says to him, perhaps a little too desperately.

“Disguise it a little, Buck” Chris mutters but Eddie decides to ignore the comment, it's not the kind of explanation he's looking for right now.

“So what's going on?”

“We're leaving now" Buck finally says.

“What? Why?”

“We should go get dressed up" Chris says happily, but Buck gives him a slightly uneasy look, as if to say, You said too much.

“Are you also dressing up for Halloween?" Eddie asks, puzzled. And by the look on his best friend's face, he knows that's what he wanted to keep Eddie from knowing, which doesn't bother him, it just makes him more confused and intrigued.

“Maybe" he says with a playful tone, "It's all a mystery.”

“Yes he will" Chris says with a mischievous laugh, "But it's a surprise.”

“Okay, I won't ask any more questions" Eddie gives up, "But..." Eddie knows it's a stupid question, but he can't help but ask, "Do you want me to go trick-or-treating with you?”

“Of course we do" Buck replied, slightly offended. “The surprise is for you” And at that moment Eddie feels a warmth in his stomach and in his cheeks,he actually feels kind of silly, he hadn't considered that part, he was too focused on the loneliness he would feel when the two of them went to Buck's apartment.

“Ok, I hope my surprise is worth being left alone again" he says, in a playful tone, but by the look they both give him, they both know he's telling the truth in a joking tone.

“See you later, Dad" Chris says, hugging him and then heading for the door.

“I promise you the surprise will be worth it" Buck says with a smile, "I'll see you in a few hours.”

“See you in a few hours.”

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After Christopher and Buck left, Eddie didn't quite know what to do with himself. He cleaned the house, rearranged his room, put on some laundry, set out the candy in case some kids came trick-or-treating early, and spent three minutes tempted to call Buck to see how the costumes were coming along, but he didn't do it.

And all that only spent 40 minutes of the maybe two hours he will be alone.

He doesn't quite know what to do with his time, so he decides to start watching one of The Simpsons Halloween specials.

He recalls when he confessed to Buck a few years ago that he had never seen an episode of the series. Buck's surprise and displeasure were more dramatic than he expected.

That Friday, and taking advantage of the fact that Christopher was going to a sleepover with Denny, Buck forced him to watch a marathon of his favorite episodes. That was a perfect night, they drank beer, laughed a lot and Eddie began to feel that he knew a little more about Buck, that he was closer to him.

Plus he realized that Evan Buckley knows the dialogue of all the Simpsons episodes by heart. Or at least of the ten they watched that day.

After finishing that chapter and wondering what he would do if he found out one day that he had an evil twin brother, he decides to start playing Guardians of the Galaxy again. And he'll never admit out loud that he's thrilled to not only control Peter Quill, but also to have found a special suit that leaves Star-Lord's awesome butt for no imagination.

Nor will he admit that he had to restart the game three times because he was too distracted.

To his surprise, the doorbell rings more times than he expected. The children thank him and smile as he hands them the chocolate bars Buck picked out, they were his favorites when he was a kid. And by the five that are missing from the bag, he knows they are still his favorites.

He starts imagining what costumes Christopher and Buck will wear. Maybe Chris will arrive as a teacher or a doctor? Or maybe Buck got him a fireman's outfit!

In Buck's case, he doesn't quite know what to imagine. But his brain is wicked enough to give him images of Buck the architect without a shirt, Buck the soccer player without a shirt, Buck the sexy scientist without a shirt and a white coat. And of Buck sexy fireman without a shirt.

He laughs at his own bad joke because he knows Buck is the most handsome and sexy firefighter he's ever seen in his life. But he's also the most special, thoughtful, funny and kind man he's ever met as well.

Sometimes he wishes he could tell him everything he feels, but his fear of ruin everything is always bigger.

The doorbell sounds again and Eddie finally decides to turn off the console, it seems there will no longer be a moment of peace to play quietly.

The doorbell rings three more times and Eddie hurries to grab the bowl of chocolate bars and open the door, not wanting his house to end up full of rotten eggs and toilet paper like his first year in Los Angeles.

“I am Groot" the boy tells him just as he opens the door and finds one of the best costumes he's ever seen. A quite realistic mask of Groot, the fabric of the costume looks like actual wood and even has some branches and leaves, he wonders if they are made of plastic. The boy is holding a Rocket plush in one of his hands and it is not until he pays attention to the hands and notices the crutches that also look like logs that he realizes that this boy is his son. “Do you like my costume dad?” Christopher asks him, before he can utter a word.

”Like it? I love it" he replies, just as excited, "It's perfect!”

“And you haven't seen your surprise yet" the boy says with a smile, and at that moment he realizes that Buck is nowhere to be seen.

“Where's Buck?" Eddie ask, investigating the surroundings but all he can see is his truck, Buck's Jeep out front and the kids already trick-or-treating.

“Now Buck!" the boy shouts in the direction of the Jeep, his son smiles and at that moment he can see Buck coming out from behind the Jeep.

“Oh my God" he says and without realizing it, he starts walking in Buck's direction, because now he's not only his best friend, he's also dressed in an exact replica of Star-Lord.

The gray T-shirt, the black pants, the cherry leather shirt, he can see a replica of the guns on his waist and in one of his hands he has a helmet almost identical to the one in the video game. He is dying to kiss him.

When he's close enough he doesn't know what to do, Buck looks down, he seems nervous. But after a few seconds, he turns his eyes directly to him and gives him one of his best smiles.

“Hi" Buck says in a tone a little lower than normal.

“Hi” He answers as best he can, he feels that his brain will stop working soon, he hears Chris's footsteps approaching.

“What do you say, Dad?," he asks in the most accusing tone possible, "Buck went to a lot of trouble to make his costume look perfect.”

“Your costume is perfect, too," Buck defends himself.

“Yes, but we spent more time looking for everything for your costume" confesses the boy, "You wanted to surprise dad.”

“I..." says Buck, his cheeks red.

“Well, he did it," Eddie replied a little more confidently, "I'm speechless.”

“Was it a good surprise?" Buck asks, raising his eyebrows a bit and running his hand through his hair, trying to arrange his hairstyle even more.

“The best one" he says, without a second's hesitation.

“Enough to earn two chocolates?" Chris tells him and Eddie can't help but laugh.

“Of course, you earned two chocolates” Eddie gives them the candy and Chris keeps it in Rocket, it's the moment Eddie realizes it's a backpack for all his candy, instead of the traditional pumpkin.

“Buck thought of everything," Chris tells him as if reading his thoughts.

“I realize now, he's excellent at these things.

“I always loved Halloween," says the blond with a smile.

“Dad," Chris says suddenly, with a curious seriousness, "Do you like Buck?" Eddie feels his heart race and can see how Buck looks at Christopher accusing him of betrayal "I mean, do you like his costume" the boy corrects himself, but by the laugh he lets out at the end, it seems that it was not a mistake.

“Which Buck? I only see Star-Lord," Eddie replies, relaxing a bit.

“Should we go trick-or-treating?" Buck asks them. Eddie goes back inside to drop off the candy and grab the house keys. Soon, they are running through the streets with Christopher guiding and hurrying them to get as much candy as possible.

Eddie feels strange, frustrated. Because he can't take his eyes off Buck, it's as if suddenly two of his fantasies are merging together.

Chris goes ahead to ring the doorbell of a house and they hang back, they haven't talked since they left.

“You didn't think of making me a costume too?" asks Eddie with that doubt suddenly in his mind.

“I thought about it" Buck admits, "But we wanted to give you a total surprise and dressing up together would have ruined it" he confesses.

“It sounds logical," he says with a smile, "You really look good today," he doesn't even know what it was that got hold of him to say it that way, in such a seductive way, or at least as close to that way as possible.

“Thank you," Buck looks down again and gives a half-smile, "I've never dressed up to surprise someone before.”

“Well, I'm glad this first time went well," Christopher returns with a big smile.

“They gave me three chocolates for my great costume!" he tells them and Eddie can't help but feel butterflies in his stomach, no one has ever bothered to make such a costume for his son before, but that's Buck. And that only makes him feel more in love with him.

And it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that he's disguised as Star-Lord.

“Congratulations, Superman" Buck tells him.

“I am Groot," says the boy jokingly, the three of them laugh and start walking to the next house.

“Congratulations, Groot" the blond corrects himself. Chris goes forward again, there is already a group of children waiting to receive candy, maybe it will take a little longer in this house.

“What were your options?”

“Huh?" Buck replies, making a confused face.”

“For my costume, you probably had options.”

“Of course not.”

“You are Buck.”

“Okay" he says "The first choice was a luchador.”

“Wow, that could be racist," Eddie jokes.

“I don't think there's anything racist about watching you walk around shirtless while trick-or-treating" he says in a tone that is truly seductive, and he feels his legs lose a little strength and his mind wanders elsewhere. Did Buck really just tell him he wanted to see him shirtless?

“I would never have agreed to that costume" he says finally, when he can't find the words to flirt with Buck.

“Chris said the same thing," Buck replied, "And I wont tell you my other option”

“Come on! It can't be worse than a luchador" Eddie tells him.

“Promise me you won't laugh.”

“I promise." He tries to make his voice sound as serious as possible.

“Moon Knight" Buck says and Eddie definitely senses that there is more than just a coincidence in his response.

But before Eddie can finish his sentence, two women approach them, one slightly trailing behind, but the other one walks right up to Buck. He tries to avoid feeling annoyed but it's almost impossible because that woman is dressed as Gamora.

“Hi, Peter Quill," says the woman in a seductive tone and at that moment Eddie really feels angry. Buck tries to move away but the woman comes closer.

“Can we help you?" Eddie says in a more threatening tone than he expected to come out.

“I'm talking to him," says the woman, angry. Buck seems to be in shock, he seems to be trying to say something but nothing comes out of his mouth. All he can do is move closer to Eddie and Eddie puts a hand on his shoulder.

The woman glares at Eddie's hand and places one of her hands on Buck's chest.

“Emily, we have to go," says the other woman who is dressed as a nurse, her face and voice seem embarrassed.

“Hayley, I'm busy," Emily says in the same angry tone. She returns her attention to Buck and starts to move her hand gently on his chest, "How about you leave your friend here and show me what you can do" Eddie feels the blood boiling in his head, he has never felt so angry to see someone flirting with Buck.

“Um... -That's the only thing that can come out of Buck's mouth, he seems to be trying to defend himself but he can't say a single word.

“Dads” Suddenly Chris' voice comes to them, he seems to be completely unaware of the situation that is happening and Eddie feels so angry that he didn't even have a chance to get excited about how he referred to them “They gave me some of your favorite cookies and several kids complimented me on my costume!” Chris' happiness disappears when he realizes the presence of Gamora with her hand on Buck's chest, "What's going on, Dads?" he says the last word with great emphasis.

“Nothing" says Buck finally pulling away from Emily and stepping to the other side of Eddie and taking Chris' hand.

“This woman was congratulating your dad on his costume" Eddie says, playing along with Chris, trying to sound as calm as possible but still sounding angry, "But she was just leaving, wasn't she?" He also sounds much more threatening than he'd like and can see Buck and Chris share a concerned look.

“I'm so sorry," Hayley says suddenly, reaching over and grabbing her friend by the shoulders "You have a beautiful family" she says, pulling Emily away who seems to be trying to process what just happened, "And your costumes are wonderful" she tells them as they both walk away.

“What just happened?" Buck asks nervously and looks at Eddie as if hoping he's not angry.

“A woman just flirted with you," Eddie says and hates to sound annoyed, but he can't help but feel that way. It's not the first time a woman has deliberately flirted with Buck, but it is the first time a woman has done so when Buck is dressed as Star-Lord, a costume he made just for him.

“And it looked like dad wanted to kill her," says Chris, in a mocking tone, "So I came as fast as I could....”

“Thanks, Chris," says Buck, still embarrassed, "I don't know what happened me, I just froze.”

“That woman was a little invasive," Eddie says, trying to hide his annoyance by looking at his feet.

“Wait" Buck says, approaching Eddie and putting his hand out just as Emily did with him "I'm sorry.”

“Why?" he asks confused.

“I don't know, I feel like I have to apologize to you" Buck admits, "I didn't mean for this to happen.”

“You don't have to apologize," he says, this time without a trace of anger in his voice "You actually look quite handsome," Buck smiles at him, his cheeks flushed again and Eddie is dying to kiss him one more time.

“You know" Chris interrupts them, "You should hold hands so that it doesn't happen again" he says with a slightly mischievous smile.

“What!?" says Buck, sounding scared.

“He's right," Eddie says, moving closer to Buck, "I don't want that to happen again" Eddie takes his hand and thinks about making a joke about how cold it is, but he prefers not to, seeing the surprised look on Buck's face, maybe it's not something he wants to do "Unless you're not comfortable..." he starts to let go of his hand a little.

“No!" says Buck, perhaps too quickly, grabbing Eddie's hand again.

“You don't feel comfortable or you don't want to let go of my dad's hand?" Chris says, this time with a totally mischievous smile.

“Mijo, this is not the time," Eddie scolds him, but Chris just laughs.

“Come on, I still need to get more candy!”

The next part of the night goes much more smoothly than the beginning. Chris is still trick-or-treating, he gets quite a few for his costume even his Rocket backpack is starting to look a bit too full.

Buck and Chris get compliments on their costumes and get some stares for holding hands, but Eddie decides not to worry about it and just enjoy the moment. Although a part of his mind reminds him that this could all be real if he had the guts to come clean about how he feels.

Then a funny thing happens. A boy dressed as Captain America asks Buck and Chris for a picture together. The boy is accompanied by his moms who politely greet them and take some pictures. Before leaving, the kid told Buck that he should be the real Star-Lord, Buck thanked him and with one of his charming laughs told him that he didn't know anything acting but he would like the fame.

All the way home Eddie began to realize that maybe he wasn't in love with Star-Lord. Well, maybe he just has a type of guy he falls in love with, because, Peter Quill is basically Buck in space.

How could he have been so blind not to notice? Although it took him too long to realize that what he felt for his best friend wasn't just friendship.

And if Buck wanted him to dress up as Moon Knight, could that mean...?

He pushes those thoughts out of his mind because they are about to get home. Eddie inspects carefully and is reassured to see that there are no rotten eggs or toilet paper decorating his house.

The three enter quietly, Chris hurries to sit on the couch and leaves Rocket's backpack on the coffee table, he starts pulling out all the candy to separate his favorites and leave the leftovers for Eddie and Buck.

“Did you like this year's Halloween?" Eddie asks.

“It was the best!" says his son, excited and very focused on all the sweets. Buck gives him a smile and leads him into the kitchen.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“You're asking me or Star-Lord?" Buck jokes, scratching the back of his neck.

“Today you are the same person," Eddie says with a smile and pulls two frozen lasagnas out of the refrigerator, "It won't be as special as your lasagna but...”

“It’s better than you try to indigest us with your cooking" Buck says and they can hear Chris laughing from the living room. "I can cook anything you guys want tomorrow" he says loud enough for Chris to hear, but the boy doesn't say anything back.

“How many candies do you think Chris got?" asks Eddie when the lasagnas are already in the oven and they are facing each other.

“Enough to have too much energy for six months" they both laugh and remain silent. Part of Eddie wants to talk about what happened with Emily but he doesn't want to make Buck feel guilty again. But he doesn't know how to start talking, so he uses the only solution he knows when it comes to Buck. “You want a beer?”

“Maybe later" Buck replies, and there goes his whole plan to try to relax and talk about what they haven't been able to talk about for years "I want to do this as less drunk as possible.”

“Do what?" asks Eddie.

“You know I dressed up as Star-Lord for you, right? Buck averts his gaze for a few seconds, but then seems to force himself to look at him again.

“Really?" Eddie replies in the most sarcastic tone possible, Buck gives him a coy smile "I know.”

“And do you know what it means?" Buck asks. And Eddie knows what he wants it to mean, but he doesn't know if he should confess his feelings and feel stupid when he gets rejected.

“Tell us what it means" Chris shouts from the living room.

“Christopher" Eddie shouts back, Buck's seriousness disappears for a few seconds, he tries to hold in his laughter "Go to your room!”

“When I finish separating the candy," the boy replies. They both look at each other and start laughing.

“I like you," Buck confesses in a whisper as if they were the easiest words to say, as if Eddie isn't fighting all his instincts not to tell him the same thing since they met.

“Do you like me as best friends" Eddie asks hesitantly, "or do you like me like me" he says, just as Christopher does to make sure of things.

“I like you like you" Buck says, his eyes on his feet and his hand scratching the back of his neck, "I didn't know how to tell you.”

“So you decided to dress up as Peter Quill?”

“Actually, that was Chris's idea.”

“Really?" asks Eddie, genuinely surprised.

“Remember three months ago when I took him to the zoo?”

“The day it was raining?”

“Yeah that day" Buck confirms, "I was waiting in the Jeep and after you helped him in and we said goodbye Chris said You like Dad it wasn't even a question," Buck tells him with surprise "Then he told me it was obvious you liked him too but I could not believe him" Eddie gives him a half smile, "Then he suggested I could dress up as Star-Lord and check it out by your reaction.”

“And you just accepted?" asks Eddie.

“Well, you made us watch both Guardians of the Galaxy movies 16 times this year and you kept talking about the comic book collection Chris and I got you for your birthday, it seemed logical." Eddie blushes, maybe he wasn't being as subtle as he thought he was.

“So" Eddie begins, "I like you," he says, trying to be as firm as possible, finally allowing himself to say those words.

“And I like you," Buck says with a smile. Neither of them seems to know quite what to do next, they look at each other for what could be an eternity, but it can't be more than three seconds.

“It's clear that you like each other," Christopher shouts from the living room, "I don't know how it took you so many years to admit it!

“Chris, go to your room," Eddie replies, not feeling angry, just a little exposed. His son doesn't answer anything, but they can hear the door to his room close. They both laugh softly. “I can't believe we're finally confessing that like each other in that way and Christopher heard the whole thing," Eddie says, still chuckling.

“Neither did I." Admits Buck "Although he´s been a great help, I was finally able to hold your hand.”

“Is that all you want to do?” Eddie approaches, this time the two of them are facing each other.“Or maybe Star-Lord wants to kiss me too? Eddie feels silly as the words come out of his mouth, but Buck seems excited, his eyes light up.

“He'd be a fool to say no." Buck moves in slowly, Eddie can smell his lotion even better, they are both nervous. Eddie feels like a teenager again who has never kissed before, and by the look on Buck's face he feels the same way.

Buck puts his hand on Eddie's cheek and kisses him. It is just as he expected, the brush of their lips is full of tenderness and passion. Eddie puts his hands on Buck's neck and Buck moves his hands to his waist.

He doesn't know how long they last like this, but they both feel hungry for each other.

The oven's bell startles them and they finally stop kissing. They look into each other's eyes and smile.

“You're a better kisser than I expected" Buck says, still not letting go.

“I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult" Eddie replies with a smile.

“I'm happy that my plan worked" says Christopher at the entrance to the kitchen.

“How long have you been there?" Buck says, embarrassed.

“Since Peter Quill wants to kiss me" He says trying to do the deep voice like Eddie and laughing afterwards.

“Don't make fun of your father" Buck says, laughing a little, too, "I thought it was cute”

“So when are you moving in, Buck?" Chris asks, and this time he doesn't seem to be joking.

“Wow, it's still too early for that" says Buck, scared, "I don't want your dad to feel rushed.”

“Buck, you practically live here," Chris says, "I don't think Dad feels rushed.”

“Will you two stop talking about me like I'm not here" Eddie says, "It's not time to talk about moving yet" they both look at him "But date night on Saturday?!

“Deal" says Buck.

“Are you at least boyfriends?" asks Chris and Eddie feels anxious, in his mind they are something more serious than boyfriends but he likes the title, but they haven't gotten to that part of their conversation yet.

“Of course we are" Buck says and all his anxiety disappears, "Don't you think?” Bucks looks at Eddie.

“Yeah, we're boyfriends now" he can't help but smile when he says it, "Now Chris go change for dinner.”

“But I want to use my costume on dinner" the boy protests.

“Okay, but at least take off your mask and go wash your hands.”

“Ok" says Chris a little more animated.

“You want me to take off my costume too?" Buck says when he's sure Chris is far away.

“No, I need you to keep wearing it while we kiss later" Eddie tells him with a smile.

“Maybe next year you could dress up as Moon Knight and fulfill my fantasy," Buck says in a low, seductive tone.

“Why would we have to wait until next year?" he replies and can see the surprise, excitement and mischief pass across Buck's face.

And Eddie, with a smile on his lips, kisses him once again.

#Buddie #buddie fic #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #911 fanfic

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93daes · 2 years

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After binging on all 12 eps, I feel so disappointed about how everything ended. The first half of the show was good, but after a while every obstacle had a very convenient solution and it got boring fast.

I’m also confused about the Great Aunt’s death, was it In Joo or someone else??? I couldn’t tell if it was suppose to look like In Joo killed her under the influence of the Blue Orchid or if someone else killed her and framed it on In Joo. I found it weird that they just accepted that it was the caretaker when I’m pretty sure Do Il saw him drive away when he was parked outside the house.

And In Hye distributing money that wasn’t hers didn’t make any sense. While it’s not fair that they suffered the way they did, it’s kind of ridiculous for them to be compensated for it. I’m glad they did, but it kind of paints the picture that they deserved it because they suffered. Which is kind of insulting to those who continue to suffer but don’t get rewarded because it’s kind of saying they probably haven’t suffered enough yet.

Also I found it hilarious when Sang A first introduces the Father Tree to In Hye and tells her it’s illegal to grow or import Blue Orchids because they’re endangered and poisonous, and what does In Hye do? She just nonchalantly sniffs one, indirectly ends up on the hospital, and continues to go back there for some odd reason. She talks about getting away from her sisters because they will lead her to her death, yet she has no problem dying in other ways.

I also had a hard time taking In Kyung seriously because her serious face just looked like she was about to blow her nose really hard lol. And that same face reminded me of an ex friend I had so it made it harder to watch her in the later half of the show.

I also saw some people comparing Sang A’s death to Do Ha’s (Big Mouth), I agree. Both of their deaths were lackluster and they were both mediocre villains that were just hyped up by the characters around them in my opinion. Sang A was only slightly better because of her theatrics. If they were suppose to be as evil and monstrous as they were made out to be, their deaths should’ve mirrored that. But I guess a mediocre death could also be a form of insult for them since they aimed to be as loud as possible only to die quietly.

Lastly, how are these girls not more mad at their mom??? She stole money from her youngest daughter to go see her lousy husband. She selfishly brought her daughters into this world when she wasn’t financially capable and had the audacity to talk about living for herself rather than her children. She was leaving them to fend for themselves.

#just dumping my thoughts #I should go find something else to watch now #Little Women #Netflix #mine

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 6 months

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Yellow City, chapter seventeen - a Malevolent AU

Parker finds his place, and it is more than he dared imagine.

More of Arthur's memory becomes real, and raises serious questions.

It's time to take a risk... and it's one the Keeper might not be willing to take.

Yellow City, chapter seventeen. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3

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It won’t be that simple, little one.

Arthur heard him.

And Arthur woke.

Arthur woke draped across Parker’s chest, while Hastur’s tentacles lay on them both like heavy blankets. He listened to Parker’s heart, strong and steady, and closed his eyes.

“Hey,” said Parker, low, and Arthur listened to the resonance of it.

“Hey,” Arthur said quietly.

Neither of them acknowledged the god in the room, watching them with rapt focus.

“So,” said Parker. “Like that, huh?”

After a moment, Arthur decided he’d meant last night. “Yes. More intense, though. He went light on you.”

“Fuck,” whispered Parker. “No wonder you’re bonkers.”

Arthur chuckled. “Nice.”

“Yeah. That’s me. Nice.” And slowly, carefully, as though afraid he would wilt Arthur like a flower, Parker placed his hand on Arthur’s head, dipping his fingertips into Arthur’s hair, against his scalp. “Pretty weird.”

“Very.”

“I dunno what to do with it. All this. Yet.”

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes, listening to Parker’s heart. “Honestly? Me, neither. I’m still working on it.”

“So nobody knows what’s going on. Great.” Parker’s fingertips found their way to the back of Arthur’s neck, rubbing a little.

Arthur made a low, pleased sound. “We’re making something new,” he murmured.

“Sure.”

“I mean it. New.”

“Seems like those ladies had this figured out a while ago.”

“What we have isn’t what they have. It’s different.”

Parker sighed and slid his fingers down the bumps of Arthur’s spine, soothing, slow. “I don’t trust it.”

“You think we’re going to change our mind about you?” Arthur said quietly.

Parker bared his teeth. “No. I think something’s going to go belly-up.”

It won’t be that simple—

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, unable to hold on to that strange, intrusive thought. “If it does, then we should take advantage now. I mean, isn’t it logical? If doom is coming, and nothing we do can stop it, why not enjoy our path to destruction instead of suffering before we must?”

Parker’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Don’t scoff. It’s pragmatic.”

“It’s wishful thinking.”

“It’s logical.”

“It’s fuckin’ fairy tales.”

“It’s what we need.” And Arthur pressed up on his hands, braced on either side of Parker’s chest, and looked down at him, solemn.

Sunlight filtered between them. Hastur withdrew his tentacles and hovered in the shadows, audience, not performer. Parker stared up, studying Arthur’s face. “Whatcha doing, Lester?”

“Convincing you.”

“You can do a better job at convincing me.”

Arthur swallowed, looking him up and down. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So what if I…” A little clumsily, Arthur lowered himself down again, and kissed Parker’s chest, sweet and slow.

Parker flipped him over.

“Hey,” said Arthur, bouncing on the mattress.

“You’re gonna convince me, all right,” said Parker. “Lie fucking still.”

“Really romantic, Parker,” Arthur teased.

“You know what you get with me. This is what,” Parker said, unblinking, and slid his hand down.

Arthur gasped and lifted his hips in obedience to that touch. “Wh-what do we…” Arthur forgot words. He arched up again, demanding this time.

“I wanna watch you,” said Parker, hands occupied, and he did—watched Arthur in the morning light, studied every hair catching gold from the suns, focused on the trembling of his eyelashes and the flush of his face—until Arthur cried out, taut as a wire, giving his pleasure as asked.

Parker watched Arthur’s skin where he’d reddened him, where he’d steered. “Yeah,” he said in a low voice like unpolished wood. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

Arthur panted, looking at him half-lidded. Then his gaze locked behind him instead.

Parker tried not to jump as Hastur picked him up. He knew this was coming, knew, had thought he was prepared—

Parker couldn't seem to slow his breath as Hastur turned him to face those shadows, where glints like fiery gold made their own light behind an unseen mask. Parker gripped the tentacle holding him.

“Poor little traitor,” rumbled the god of arts and madness and Arthur Lester. “Are you afraid?”

Yes. “No.”

To Parker’s shock, Hastur didn’t laugh at him. Enormous fingers traced his lips, big enough to crush his head, terrifyingly gentle. “A lie?”

“A fucking… I… sure. Yeah, I'm afraid, all right? Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Make this memorable,” said Hastur like a storm warning. “We will perform for Arthur.”

“Wha?” said Parker.

Arthur sat up. “If he's not ready—”

Parker twisted in that grip. “I'm ready! Fuck you!”

Hastur turned him back around. “You have done so. And I would now return the favor.”

Parker couldn't catch his breath. Afraid didn’t cover it. How could it be afraid when he wanted this so damn much? “Do it,” snarled Parker. “Just do it.”

“You are ready to be taken by me.”

Oh, fuck.

“Only if you’re sure,” said Arthur.

Yes? No? Now was the answer, and Parker nodded. His words had fled the coop, but maybe they weren't needed. He licked his lips.

“Say yes, little traitor,” Hastur bid, and it was not a command, and that made it so much more powerful.

He chose. "Yes," Parker said like a creaky door.

The sound Hastur made in response was layered and pulsating, like Parker was going to be eaten by a thousand bears. “Then at last, little traitor… it is my turn.”

Parker breathed fast and shallow, and clung—white-knuckled, unblinking—as Hastur slowly and deliberately lowered him into the roiling black sea of himself.

So there were some sounds coming from the temple. Asenath, being a grown-ass adult, ignored them.

She squatted atop the temple, fiddling with a small knife, waiting for her sisters to return.

There were times—just a few—when she missed smoking, but not for the nicotine. It was just nice to have something to do with her hands.

Jez flew up over the roof’s edge, her red curls tightly pulled back. “We found another one.”

“Shit.” Asenath missed stubbing cigarettes out, too. It made for a nice visual punctuation. She stood, sheathing her knife. “Show me.”

Together, they flew over Carcosa. Across fields of growing things for pleasure if not nutrition; past the Seering Pools, which granted banished gods glimpses of all that yet remained; through the thick and noisy trees belonging to smaller nature gods, their only remaining place of the verdant; around (far around) the slimed and pitted stone that Y’golonac called his own.

It was a different side of Carcosa this time, but the same trouble: something from Arthur Lester’s head had appeared while he dreamed.

She stared down at it from the wall. “What the fuck?”

Below sat an apartment that looked like it had been cut out of the human world with a pair of pinking shears.

Its windows, impossibly, showed Cloud City. Typical for that town, the view was a combination of huge windows and cramped spaces because the gods had wanted humans to walk around outside and be seen, not huddle in their homes like baby birds.

The city through those windows was gorgeous, stunning in curves and bronze, gleaming in spite of the constant cloud-cover.

The lights worked. It had no wires leading to any source of power, but by gum, those bulbs were burning.

“Okay,” said Asenath, and had nothing to follow it up with. “Okay.”

“Yeah, I don't know either,” said Jez. “It’s really close. Should we risk visiting?”

Asenath sighed heavily. “I don't know if I'm ready to risk us like that.”

“But we are already risked,” said Yulie, her blond head not even reaching Asenath’s shoulder.

“Just a little less than if we left the city's protection, don't you think?” Asenath said gently. “Let’s see if we can scry it.”

They could.

The small spark flew from Asenath’s head and down into the apartment, where it was her eyes, and her hands.

This place was exact. Down to the paths worn in the carpet, down to the contents of drawers. The notepad by the phone even had lines from the last note Arthur had written (which proved to be FUCK IT CALL ASENATH), which made her laugh.

“It’s incredible,” Jez murmured. “His power of recall…”

“He doesn't know he remembers it,” said Asenath, steering the view to the bathroom. There were even some shaved hairs near the drain. She shook her head.

“This is dangerous,” said Yulie.

“Maybe,” said Asenath.

“She’s right,” said Jez. “Can any of us really afford this risk? What the hell will happen next? What if he imagines the wall gone, or something?”

“He’s not imagining, though,” Asenath said, frowning. “He’s completely unaware it’s happening.”

“I think we have to take him down, Az,” said Yulie gently.

Asenath waved her hand, and the scrying mirror vanished in a puff of steam. “Nope.”

They both stared at her.

“Nope?” Jez finally said.

Asenath counted on her fingers. “One, we are assuming this is bad. We do that because everything’s been bad for a long time, but that doesn’t mean this is bad.”

“I suppose,” said Jez.

“Two,” said Asenath, “we’re all forgetting we’re not on Earth anymore. Sisters, this isn’t our job.”

Yulia stiffened. “We are chosen.”

“Yeah,” said Asenath. “And we did our jobs. This? Monitoring, taking out potential threats to the balance? That was our job on Earth. That isn’t our job here.”

“But—”

“Mother’s got it. We just… our opinions matter, but it’s not on our heads. Okay?” said Asenath.

They both considered. “Fine,” said Jez.

Yulia said nothing.

Asenath tapped her chin. “Ladies, I’m wondering.”

“Yes?” Jez prompted.

“I have a theory. Let’s go back to the temple. They’ve got to be finished by now.”

They were not.

Parker thought maybe they would never be. Maybe this was forever, this river-torrent-tide of pleasure just edging over the line into agony. He’d be okay with it, if this was forever.

This was—

He hadn’t realized. Hadn’t known why Arthur screamed. He got it now.

This wasn’t sex. This was penetration, but it wasn’t—

He made that sound again, a helpless sound, a prey sound, and clutched at whatever was nearest.

Nearest was Hastur. “You wish for more?” teased the voice thrumming in his head, rumbling in his bones, vibrating his soul like a godsdamned guitar string.

No, he’d explode, blow apart, fly into shreds like an unraveled sweater (and when he did maybe all the anger and wrongness would fall out of him like through holes in a bag), but if he didn’t get more, he’d die. “Yes!” Parker screamed, demanded, barely aware of anything except him.

Exposed, revealed, opened like a book, read and translated into a tongue he didn’t even speak though he recognized his own cadence. It felt terrible. It felt wonderful. Hastur was in his soul, just swimming around in the mess of him.

Maybe he wept. It didn’t matter. Parker’s heart was held open, gripped and ripped so its halves quivered, core revealed, and he didn’t want this to ever, ever end.

All things end, eventually. Parker could not give a flying fuck how much time had passed.

He lay, clean, folded together, feeling strange; he’d been seen, somehow, to the depths of him, in a way no one ever had (though the Defiler could have, and he’d never bothered), and it was…

He hadn’t been rejected?

That sounded so fucking stupid. So sixteen and unsure, so if I say the wrong thing they won’t kiss me back.

What the fuck, he thought to himself.

Yet he could not deny: his soul was warm, and calm, and still as placid water, as if Hastur had held him so tightly that he could no longer rage.

Hastur had seen it all and still wanted in on this, whatever that meant. Parker wasn’t sure what it meant. It was one thing to be in control, to hold them at arm’s length and be the one to wrench prey-sounds and desperation from their throat. It was another to be the one squeaking, begging and crying, pushed so far and just far enough that it was bliss and agony betwined.

Parker wasn’t sure he could do that again. He wasn’t sure he’d stay sane if he didn’t do that again. Oh, what the fuck, he stated to himself. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, you dick. Dicking idiot. That’s right. A dicking idiot.

That made no sense.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be trying to say words for a while.

Someone was, though. Arthur. Asenath?

Hastur was still here. Hastur was still holding him in the bed.

Parker felt irrational for a moment, absurd, because of course Hastur had to go deal with whatever was happening on his doorstep, but Parker wanted him to fucking stay.

“Demanding little thing,” Hastur rumbled as if quite pleased.

“Fuck you,” Parker mumbled.

“I think you need a little bit of time before we do that again.”

Saying fuck you on repeat probably was dumb, so he wouldn’t. He thought it, though.

“Hastur!” Arthur came at a quick jog, sounding up. “They’re trying to close Fripp Park!”

“What?” Hastur rose (taking Parker with him, so that was okay). “And what does that mean, little detective?”

Arthur stared for a moment. “I suppose it wouldn’t mean much to you with your background. Hastur, this is the only park on the west side of the city.”

“The west side,” said Hastur. “So the side closest to the bridge into the Wastes.”

“They need Fripp Park,” Arthur said. “We have to do something!”

Asenath came slowly up behind him. “Yeah. We do.”

Parker twisted enough to glare at her over the dark grip that his him. “Is it urgent?” he said in his best cop voice.

It did not come out in a cop voice. He’d gotten real hoarse in there somewhere.

She looked at him. She did not, to her credit, laugh.

Parker decided the whole city had probably heard him getting fucked anyway, and yeah, they should be jealous, so he sounded however he sounded. “Well?”

“Listen, the Lady can help stop this,” said Arthur. “Or more importantly, Tabby—her wife. She’s from that side of the city, no matter how well she’s doing now.”

Uh-oh. Parker peered up to see if he could spot any fear.

Hastur rumbled. “Is this case his idea or yours, witch?”

“He’s translating what I said,” Asenath explained with a significant look at the back of Arthur’s head. “Fripp Park was a place for the poorest in Cloud City, near the bridge into the Wastes. Losing it would have been a tragedy for folks who weren’t swimming in cash.”

Parker knew Fripp Park. He also could read between the lines. “It happened again. Outside the walls.”

“Yep. It did.”

He remembered the looks the other witches had given Arthur (who was climbing with help into Hastur’s arms, muttering about swingsets). “So?” challenged Parker. “Some dream shows up in the Dreamlands, and you’re losing it?”

“They don’t do that anymore, detective,” Asenath said. “And you know it.”

Hastur’s growl pulsed. “He’d been here for many years before that started. It has nothing to do with him.”

“It’s started after he was marked,” said Asenath.

Parker tried to wriggle to face her head on, but it was a losing proposition—he was held, and caressed, and it couldn’t be for his own sake because he was immune to all of that shit.

(He was.)

Parker scowled harder. “Marking ain’t that weird. There’s other marked here.”

“Yes,” said Asenath. “But none who haven’t died.”

What?

No. No? “That can’t be right,” said Parker.

Asensth sighed. “The humans who survived the Fire were harvested—and stolen.”

Parker looked up. “You said you marked people before. What happened to them?”

Hastur was quiet.

“It’s one of the reasons he gets his way here,” said Asenath. “As he was building the spell-base that would become expanded Carcosa, his humans defended the temple. Three died.”

“Defended the—wait, the fuck happened?” Parker demanded.

Instead of answering, Hastur dropped a bomb. “I had marked eight before him.”

Asenath stared. “He’s your ninth marking?”

“Yes,” said Hastur.

(And Hastur kept touching him, all over, soothing, and Parker had the weirdest idea that maybe it was for himself soothing, and maybe all those times Hastur kept touching Arthur weren’t just the possessive show Parker had thought, but some self-soothing thing.)

“Well, that probably made a difference,” said Asenath mildly, eyes wide.

Yeah, it probably did. “What exactly are you after here?”

“I was hoping to borrow Arthur briefly,” said Asenath.

“No,” said Hastur.

“I didn’t say for what,” Asenath said reasonably.

“Hastur,” said Arthur. “We can save the park.”

“How?” Hastur growled.

“That ninth marking might have knocked this hypothesis off its feet, but there’s only one other human in this entire place who is both marked and has not died.”

“The Lady has enough pull,” said Asenath, “but it’s not like she ever lived in the North Four.”

“The North Quarter,” said Parker grimly, who’d never liked that place, that whole area near the bridge into the Wastes. It wasn’t a place anybody chose to live.

“The park is all they’ve got,” Arthur said.

“Witch,” Hastur growled. “What do you want?”

“We need Tabby,” said Arthur.

Asensth nodded. “She’s not just marked. She hasn’t died. Neither of them have ever died.”

And Parker’s brain was in a weird place because it went, Oh, so there’s no reason to mark me, then, and he took that thought out back and shot it in the face. “So what’s that mean?”

Asenath exhaled. “So I’d like to test. I want to see if it happens if Tabby sleeps in Carcosa proper.”

Wow.

Parker stared. If it did, if that worked—

“She would need to be kept safe, stepping out here without that unnatural indwelling.” Hastur was so grim now (but his little touches didn’t stop, the constant movement of tentacles over Parker’s skin).

“Like you wouldn’t do that in a heartbeat,” Asenath said. “But yes. With the vote coming up, uh. Just.”

“You think someone might hurt her?” said Parker evenly.

“I think someone might get desperate enough to try. I mean. It wouldn’t go well, or anything, but still.”

In a flash, he got it. If Tabby’s dreams manifested too—however weakly—then it meant they could possibly bring stability to the Dreamlands with humans who were in the same position.

Would it work? How would it work? Would it mean abolishing the Contract system (which, while flawed, prevented outright kidnapping)? “I’m going with you,” Parker said.

Asenath eyed him. “Why?”

“To see the Lady. We were already… we were already talking about something.”

She eyed him.

“This works, Hastur wouldn’t have to shrink the city,” said Parker. “I gotta go with you.”

Hastur startled. “You read the map.”

“Yeah, I read your map,” said Parker, trying to make it sexy and challenging, but only achieving grumpy. So that didn’t work, but Parker peered at Asenath over the tentacles. “I gotta talk to the Keeper, anyway. We had… we were talking about something.”

“So you said,” Asenath allowed.

“I’m telling you, it’ll help.”

“I don’t see the harm,” Asenath said.

“I have not agreed to this,” Hastur warned, growl rising.

Arthur probably would’ve felt his way through that one with his fucky accurate (Lestering) magic powers, or whatever, but Parker wasn’t wired like that.

Fact: Hastur was content right now, at least to some extent.

Fact: Hastur was a possessive son of a bitch, and easily moved to jealousy over fucking nothing.

Fact: Hastur didn’t need a lot to reassure him. He just needed to be reassured.

Weird gods. Eternal. Brilliant. Big fucking babies. “Hey,” Parker said, looking up. “It’s okay. Nobody’s gonna get snatched, all right? I’ll watch out for Arthur, and he’s marked, anyway.”

“But you wish to place yourself out of my reach,” said Hastur.

Fact: Hastur was the biggest baby of them all. “Naw,” said Parker. “I’m just goin’ along to make sure this goes right. I’m fuckin’ yours. Okay? Partners. Or whatever. I chose you, asshole.”

Hastur’s growl quieted.

Arthur cupped the tentacle nearest his face and bent his lips to it. “It’ll be all right. The Lady won’t do anything untoward.”

Parker snorted. “‘Untoward?’ Really, Lester?”

Arthur gave Parker a dry look.

“‘Kay,” said Asenath. “Whoever’s coming, put on some clothes.” And she walked off to sit on the temple steps.

Whoever’s coming turned out to be all three of them.

“No,” said Hastur.

“We won’t be in danger,” Parker said, thinking of what it might have done to Hastur to lose eight marked.

“It’s the right thing, and you know it,” said Arthur firmly.

“No,” said Hastur, but with them double-teaming him (and boy, did that conjure some imagery), he could not hold out.

The compromise was accompanying them to and fro, and lavishing some gift upon the Keeper. Hastur chose a thin, gleaming chain that tinkled and glinted.

Asenath did a double take at Parker, who for once did not match Arthur. He’d been given a sort of dark outfit, its top open to his waist, slit down his thighs, open at his back. “Not twins today?”

Arthur was in a diaphanous smock and didn’t know it. “Twins?”

Asenath nodded in Parker’s direction. “New look.”

“Oh, yes,” said Arthur. “Hastur’s the flashy one. I’m more middle-of-the-road with lighter colors, and Hastur said Parker’s the shadow.”

“Quite the gamut you’re covering there,” said Asenath.

“We try,” said Arthur.

Asenath led away from Dagon’s pavilion. Together, they crossed the massive and empty Golden Square, its gold tiles gleaming, its singing trees lightly warming up for a new performance.

Carcosa was quiet; it was night time (a rare state of things), and the stars were what had been dreamed centuries ago, constellations clear as drawings, numerous moons that changed with every glance, and a smooth, beautiful rim of deep purple-blue around the horizon, as if the sun had set in every direction at once.

“Surprised you’re walking,” Arthur murmured.

Parker glared. “Shut the fuck up, Lester.”

Arthur laughed at him. “Something, though. Right?”

A beat while they walked. “Yeah. Something.”

“You made him really happy,” Arthur nearly whispered.

“Sure.”

“He’s wanted to for years.”

Parker looked at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Hm. I been thinking,” Parker murmured.

“About what?” said Arthur.

“Just wondering how much of your act is really crazy versus handling the big guy back there.”

Arthur was silent for a few steps. “Maybe it just worked out.”

“Uh-huh.”

Asenath stopped and pulled a doorknob out of nowhere. “Everyone on good behavior,” said Asenath and inserted the knob into nothing and turned.

Great, spiraling fractal patterns swept out from her hand, twisting into the unmistakable shape of a red-painted door, perhaps ten feet tall, singular.

The knob turned.

“You bitches better have thin mints,” said Tabby, blocking the impossible glimpse through thin air directly into the Scriptorium with her short, stocky frame. Just as quickly, though, her face split into a warm smile. “Asenath! Hey! And you brought my best friend!”

Sure.

Parker looked her over. Yeah. Tabby looked okay. She hadn’t been harmed by whatever the goddess was doing. That mattered more than it had before. Mattered that at least some of these gods gave a fuck.

Arthur smiled and doffed his imaginary hat. “Hello, Missus Keeper.”

“No, no, nope,” Tabby said. “Please, dude, call me Tabby. Everyone does, except the wife when she’s mad at me.” She let out a bark of a laugh.

“Tabby,” said Arthur, like he was practicing it. “Only if you’re sure. I mean, you’re married to her, so you’re technically royalty.”

Parker side-eyed him.

“You’re my bestie’s bestie, bud, I think we can skip formalities for me if nothing else.”

Parker side-eyed them both.

Asenath grinned. “Did Keeps do that apple pie?”

“Keeps got the apple pie figured out, yeah,” Tabby added. “She also got bored and made a few more; we’ve got strawberry, key lime. She also made one hell of a chocolate cake, too, but I think she’s just stress baking at this point.”

Asenath groaned. “I haven’t had key lime since that fucked-up ritual screwed the ocean routes. Damn. Lemme at it.” She stepped inside.

Tabby paused, looking past their shoulder at the god hovering just out of reach. "Uh. Is he coming?”

“No,” said Hastur, weighing it down with great solemnity. “I will give a gift when they are returned safely.”

Tabby’s eyebrows rose.

“It’ll be okay,” said Arthur. “We have important things to talk about tonight.” He gave Hastur a warm, intimate smile, and stepped inside.

“Come on, bestie,” said Tabby.

Bestie. Best friend. What in hell was her angle? “Sure,” Parker said, and followed.

“Return to me,” said Hastur softly as the door closed, and Parker heard it, and added it into the evidence drawer of puzzles he was slowly unraveling.

“Glad he’s staying out. Spares me an uncomfortable conversation with Keeps,” Tabby said, a sigh worming out of her; she rocked back on her heels, giving Parker a once over. “Look at you! Got your own color this time and everything!”

Parker blinked at her. “Uh. Yeah. I asked for it.” He paused. “He’s not so bad if you know what fuckin’ tail to pull.”

Tabby watched him for a long moment, appraising; a soft smile slipped across her face, the expression making her seem younger. "Good,” she said, and then promptly gave him a playful shove. “Anyway. Keeps is gonna be so excited to see you. She decided on tacos.”

Arthur perked up. “What are tacos?”

Tabby stared at him. “Oh, my gods,” she muttered. “She’s going to blow your fucking mind. Oh my gods. And she’s making fresh tortillas right now, too.” She whirled on her heel, combat boots planted. “Asenath! Fuck the dining room, we’re going to the kitchen! These bitches don’t know what tacos are!”

Whatever they had been expecting from the kitchen, this wasn’t it.

A wall lay between two of the coffin-bookcases, and at Tabby’s approach, a wooden door melted out of the wallpapered surface. In the dim light Parker could see a faint, gentle pattern of whorls and arcs in the green paper.

The space was the sort of kitchen found only in the possession of royalty, and it was busy. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, draped with black cloth, and in the center—

“Hi, babe!” Tabby trotted up to the figure draped in black in the center, wrapping her arm around the full, silk skirt, and the Keeper paused in the middle of kneading a mass of dough to embrace the girl fully.

Parker stared around. It was as different from his last visit as his experience had been from Arthur’s. Bright, cheerful, living— “He did it,” he whispered. “He changed her. Fuckin’ Lestered.”

“How good it is to see you again, Mister Yang,” the Keeper said, craning her head to look at him; a black veil flowed around her face and shoulders, obscuring her features. “To be perfectly fair, my current manifestation is at the request of my wife.”

Of course it was. “Looks good.”

“To find yourself and Mister Lester here is a pleasant surprise.” She stopped, then, head craning upward; a low, angry growl began to reverberate through the floor.

“He’s staying outside,” Tabby said, sighing, hopping onto a stool next to her. “It’s fair. You have his husband, after all.”

“Hastur will be all right. I’m sure he’ll also be all right when he is finally invited in,” Arthur said firmly, as though overlooking a breach of etiquette.

“It’s not personal,” Tabby said with a shrug. “We aren’t suuuper fond of men. You know?”

“Of course,” said Arthur, who clearly didn’t, but was trying his best to empathize.

Parker stayed on the job. “Okay. So what the fuck’s a taco?”

“A traditional Mexican foodstuff consisting of a small, hand-sized corn or wheat based tortilla—”

“Babe, they don’t know what any of that means,” Tabby interjected.

“—typically folded around a variety of fillings and eaten.”

“Good shit inside a shell.” Tabby sighed. “Knowledge god.”

“A few more moments, and they will be ready,” the Keeper said; her four arms resumed work on the dough she was kneading, flour crusting around her long fingers.

“A shell?” said Parker, picturing the kinds of shells creatures that crawled from the Lake or the ocean wore.

“We need a hammer?” said Arthur, picturing, apparently, the same thing.

“Shell as in—”

“It’s just what you call the wrapping. It’s made out of like—like a flatbread.” Tabby snorted. “Anyway. Y’all want a drink?”

Parker frowned. “Why didn’t you say bread?”

“Look how thin it is,” said Arthur, leaning right into the Outer God’s personal space, unafraid.

“Shit!” Parker yanked him back.

“I am perfectly safe to be around, Mister Yang,” the god said with a soft laugh. “I mean neither of you any harm.”

Easy to say, but gods were temperamental as fuck. “He didn’t mean nothing by it, anyway.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur murmured to him. “It’s okay.”

Parker scoffed. He wasn’t Hastur and didn’t need to be handled and—

“It really isn’t personal, she just super doesn’t trust male gods,” Tabby muttered to them. “A tortilla is a kind of bread. It’s meant to be thin—she’s got a press, see?”

As if on cue, the Keeper portioned off a small piece of dough, setting it on a circular pair of disks; an arm sprouted from the wall and smashed the dough flat between, and the Keeper tossed it onto a pan that sizzled once the dough hit it.

“I fucking love having a housewife,” Tabby said.

One of the Keeper’s arms gave her a playful swat on the swell of her rear.

“Anyway, y’all want a beer? I’m feeling a Corona with a wedge of lime myself,” Tabby said like this was normal.

“I could use a beer,” said Parker, who really fucking needed it.

Asenath sighed heavily. “So tell me this, ladies: do we do the hard thing now, or after dinner and then enjoy the meal to unwind?”

Tabby paused at the door of an icebox, a quartet of the strangest looking beers Parker had ever seen held in her fingers. “Uh, what?”

“Did you bring Parker and Arthur here to try and manipulate me?” the Keeper said, voice silken.

“Hey now, no getting spicy,” Tabby said; she grabbed a small, green, egg-shaped thing from a bowl on a counter and a paring knife. Effortlessly she cut the green egg in half, a pleasant sour smell filling the air as she made wedges out of it.

“I absolutely did,” said Asenath, who would not lie to this god.

That subsonic, floor rattling growl started up again.

Tabby slapped the countertop. “Keeper.”

The god stood, stock still, a frozen portrait; the only thing that indicated she was still there at all was that rattle of the bottles, which sent bubbles to the surface of the beer within.

Tabby stared her down. “We knew there’s something Asenath wanted to ask. We agreed to hear her out.”

“I will not be subject to such an—”

“They aren’t asking anything yet,” Tabby said, voice low. “Hear them out. We agreed.” Tabby hopped off the stool and strode right up to her god, and with no hesitation whatsoever ducked her head beneath the veil.

Arthur turned away, blushing.

Parker gawked.

Asenath waited.

The growl slowed, stopped. Tabby’s voice was a quiet murmur beneath the veil, and she reached upward, pulling the god’s face down to hers before emerging. “She’s good. We’re good.”

“Let's get this over with, shall we?” The Keeper turned back to the food, and let out a sigh. “I burnt the tortilla.”

“Next one,” Tabby said.

“Next one,” her god agreed.

Asenath took a deep breath. “So Arthur’s brain did it again. Bits of his past, showing up just outside the walls—whole and perfect and beautiful.”

Parker knew that word choice was intentional.

Tabby opened the bottles of beer with a hiss, dropped her strange fruit-wedge into one, and took a deep swig.

“How very interesting,” the Keeper said, trying and failing to sound disinterested. Instead she kneaded the remaining tortilla dough more aggressively.

“We wouldn’t expect less of Azathoth’s special little boy,” Tabby said, dry.

The Keeper choked down a laugh, hands flying to her hidden mouth, and gasped. “Tabby!”

Tabby winked at Parker and raised her beer.

What was that about?

Parker stared at them. He picked up the beer. Finer glasswork than he was used to; he eyed the wedge on the lip, then did as she’d done, squeezing and dropping it in.

“So,” Asenath said. “We want the Dreamlands working again, am I right?”

“I take it people are getting a bit stir crazy,” the Keeper said.

“We’d know a thing or two about that,” Tabby said, placing a beer in front of Arthur and Asenath both.

“Well, and the whole looming destruction thing,” Asenath said mildly.

The god sighed, tired, bone-weary. “Come out with it, Asenath.”

Parker sipped. Held out his bottle. Stared at it like he’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“Theory,” said Asenath, gesturing with her beer. “The Dreamlands suffer because there aren’t enough humans to control its completely imagination-fueled existence. With me so far?”

“I am aware, Asenath.” The Keeper’s head swiveled on her impossibly long neck, facing them as she moved over and began frying tortillas on the pan.

“Except Arthur is affecting them.” She sipped. “I’ve been trying to work out why. You know what I think?”

“What do you think?” Parker muttered, still staring at his beer.

“I think it’s because Arthur is marked—and he never died.”

Parker looked at her. “Why does that matter?”

“Because after we die, whatever we dream feeds the Dark World,” said Asenath.

Tabby sat up. “Oh, fuck.”

Parker looked down. Yeah, of course marking worked that way if you were alive. He had to get this idea out of his head because it wasn’t going to—

The Keeper went very, very still. “I see,” she said, voice soft.

“Just a theory,” Asenath said again. “But there’s one way to prove it.”

“And I suppose that theory involves the only other known human like him being entrusted into the care of them, gods known for cruelty and madness—”

Tabby leaned forward, eyes trained on her god-wife. “Keeps, take a breath. You’re reacting, not listening—”

There was something happening with the god’s form; the edges of her body blurred, flaked.

“Why would I assume otherwise? That which was precious to me was stolen and maimed and slaughtered before my very eyes, over and over again—”

Tabby leapt to her feet, beer abandoned, and ran. “This isn’t like that,” she soothed, wrapping her hands around the god’s thin waist. “That isn’t going to happen again. Come on, focus on me—”

“And it wasn’t enough! It wasn’t enough then, that they wrung every drop of magic out of my acolytes, they still screamed their demands at me until I killed every fool who tried. And now, after the Mother DARED to wrench my heart with Hastur’s little PET—”

“That’s not fucking fair to him!” Tabby yelled over the god’s rising voice.

“And even after I chose, at risk to MYSELF, at risk to MY PEOPLE to AID YOU, YOU WANT TO TAKE HER TOO?” The Keeper shrieked.

Parker didn’t know he was going to speak up before he did. “Nobody’s getting taken. Fuck’s sake.”

Arthur bit his lower lip. “Parker, they were taken.“

“Yeah,” said Parker. “So we’re Hastur’s. Right? I’m right. So he gets it, and you’re not alone in your grief, and it sucked. And he wouldn’t just let it happen again.”

Did he know he was right? Of course not. But he was pretty sure.

Things really were bad for everybody in the Fires of Y.

“I think she’s worried it might start the situation again,” said Asenath.

“Even with the books you made people into?” Parker blinked. “They’re that dumb?”

“You tell me,” said Asenath.

Parker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Fix: we take some books with us. Let those assholes hear the screams. That’ll make them think twice.”

“Or maybe we don’t do it at all,” said Arthur.

In a sudden, awful movement the Keeper collapsed into a pile of silk that Tabby immediately waded into. “Hey. It’s alright,” the girl soothed, plopping down in the center of it. “After everything we’ve been through? Knowing what you might do if I die? I think Hastur will trip over his own tentacles to make sure I get given back.”

Arms emerged from the silk, wrapping around the girl’s torso.

Asenath sighed. “Look, if it’s no, it’s no. It’s all right. It just means it’ll take longer. We’d do it, but none of us got here alive.” She wasn’t wrong. “If it’s no, it’s no. Okay? But all we need is for Tabby to sleep in Carcosa. That’s it. That’s all I’m asking.”

The hands trembled; Tabby pulled one to her chest, the red-stoned wedding band glimmering on the god’s finger. “Okay. I sleep over, and then I come right back. Right?”

“And if you do dream something that changes the Dreamlands?” There was a wobble to the god’s voice. “What then? What will you do when one night becomes two, becomes twenty, becomes your duty to aid Arthur—and what would that mean for other humans, if so? Assuming there are even ways to get humans into the Dreamlands still—”

“You’re still panicking,” Tabby murmured.

“What stops someone from playing matchmaker to mark enough humans with lesser gods to stabilize things? A marking must have two willing participants, but you and Arthur both are proof that informed consent is not necessary.” The Keeper let out a sob.

“I forgave you,” Tabby said, soft. “I know why you did it, Keeps. I forgive you, and I love you. But you’re talking in a lot of ‘what-ifs’, not in anything with proof.”

The pile of silk shuddered into the ground, fading slightly.

“She needs to hear why this will be safe,” Tabby said, looking hard at Parker.

“Okay. What stops the gods from doing all that now?” said Parker. “From entering Earth? From fucking over Contracts? There’s ways to rein them in, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation because I sure as fuck wouldn’t have been born.”

“He’s got you there,” Tabby said softly.

“The Mother did those things by forcing every god to agree,” said Aseneth softly. “One big contract they can’t break. I don’t know if even she could do that now.”

The hands clutched tighter.

“Look,” Tabby said. "Look at me.”

There was a shift, like Tabby was suddenly at the center of the universe, like the only thing that mattered was that girl.

“You don’t trust them,” Tabby said, soft. “I get that. I’m not asking you to trust them; they want that, they’re going to have to fucking earn it. I’m asking you to trust me.”

TRUST.

“Yeah. Trust, like I asked you to trust me when I said we should give Yang a chance. Trust, like I asked you to trust me when we first experimented with aetheric tethering.” She stroked the god’s hand, pressed a kiss to the ring there. “Can you do that?”

The god was silent for a long moment, and the world returned to its axis like a picture frame set delicately back upon a shelf. “I can do that,” the Keeper said, her voice soft.

Fuck, though Parker. Some of these gods really did love their people.

He wondered if Hastur had loved his eight more or less. He wondered how that loss affected him. “You really think there’d be a risk?”

“Maybe,” said Asenath.

Parker shifted. “So what if all eyes were elsewhere?”

They all looked at him.

“It is not an unwise choice of action,” the Keeper whispered.

Asenath handed Tabby a beer.

Tabby took it and drank half of it in one long gulp.

“If they were all distracted,” Parker said again, eyeing Asenath.

“If they were distracted,” the Keeper echoed. “Do you have a plan, Mister Yang?”

“Yeah. Let Arthur do a concert or something. Fucking everyone in the place would go watch.”

“I don’t… you know I don’t…”

“Yeah, you do,” said Parker. “And it’s fuckin’ mesmerizing.”

Arthur reddened. “But then I can’t be there to protect her.”

Yeah. Well. “No, but Hastur can hold attention, too. That guy could throw a party on the sun and still blind half the room. She can hide out in the temple with me and it’ll be fine.”

Tabby snorted. “Sounds like a girls’ night in lost Carcosa.”

“Dagon, too,” said Parker. “He owes us. He’ll help. Lots of people will be looking out for you.”

Tabby let out a soft laugh. “All right. Give us a minute, Parker. Please. It’s good for her; it’s helping her calm down.” She paused, then, running her fingers over the Keeper’s knuckles.

He just shrugged. “Mother at least having a good time watching all this?”

Asenath sighed. “Of all of them, the Mother is having even less fun than you two. Okay?”

“Are you worried?” said Arthur.

“Yes. Something died in her, or went to sleep, when everything happened. And it hasn’t come back.”

The Keeper was quiet for a long moment. “I should have talked to her,” she said, soft.

“Don’t blame yourself for that.” Tabby gave the Keeper’s hand a squeeze.

The god let out a rumble of discontent.

“I guess everyone’s going through the slog, huh?” Tabby said, giving the Keeper’s hand a tight squeeze. "I know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. The Mother seemed really, really great, when I met her. You know?”

“Worth serving from a fucking distance for a thousand years,” said Asenath so mildly, like that hadn’t been a long and arid hell.

“I do trust the Mother,” the Keeper said. “I do not trust the other gods. But… I will. I want to help. I will help.”

“They don’t know you can’t leave?” said Parker.

“There are those whom I would have enacted vengeance on if I could; Y’golonac among them.” It seemed impossible, but the god sounded tired.

“You sure you could?” said Parker quietly and with some concern. “I mean, it’s better in here now, but books can get mold.”

The laugh echoed from everywhere like a passing train in four dimensions. “Oh, Parker. He tried already, you know. Revenge, when I refused to give him my volumes of the Revelations of Gla’aki. Stuffed one of my acolytes full of silverfish—bookworms—”

“Yeah. I know that spell,” he said distant, not looking at anything, and missed how Arthur’s fist clenched, how Arthur’s jaw set.

“His marked still remains on my shelf. Pristine. I have killed far more powerful than he, and I would do it again.”

Parker nodded. “Arthur does a concert, nobody will be watching your door.”

Tabby was giving him a look. It was a look of someone investigating a crime scene, of analysis, of someone seeing something that they found deeply interesting.

“If necessary, I could open a door directly into Hastur’s bedroom,” the Keeper sighed. “It would be rude to do so without permission, but… I could.”

“He’d keep her safe,” said Arthur, with absolutely no doubt.

“I think he’d try to, yeah,” said Parker.

"I will need to think.” The Keeper was quiet for a moment. “One of my acolytes was one of Dagon’s kin.”

Oh.

"Maybe this is a way to open up some communication, then,” Tabby said.

“No.”

“Now you’re just being obstinate,” Tabby muttered—and paused. “Is something burning?”

“Yes.” The god sighed. “I burnt the fucking tortillas again.”

“We can make more,” Tabby said, patting the god’s hand. “Maybe… Maybe you can think about all of this, and after dinner you can give an answer to everyone. Yeah?”

“For you.”

Tabby walked them through the assembly process. The Keeper had prepared a lot of food, including chicken and something called ‘birria,’ laden with spices and glistening with juices. Shredded cabbage lay to the side, flanked with diced onion and some sort of green leaves that Parker found to taste distinctly soapy (“Sucks to be you!” said Tabby, who heaped a bunch onto her tortillas-and-meat). There was crumbly white cheese, a mishmash of onion and chopped, fresh tomatoes, more lime to squeeze over top.

Asenath shared tales of her wild youth—including an adventure in Mexico via Japan through a bizarre set of circumstances including Portugal and pirates. “They didn’t know I wasn’t a man, and for that situation, I’m glad,” said Asenath. “I mean, I could’ve just fucking cursed them, but you don’t really want to leave a trail of fucked-up people in your wake, you know?”

“Cursed them?” said Parker.

“Yes.”

“But that was before the Reclamation. How did you have that power?” Parker said. “Until then, gods weren’t in this world.”

“I sought her,” said Asenath, which was apparently the only answer.

“Those wacky, wacky gods,” Tabby said with a snort. “Hey, are you older than Keeps?”

“Yep,” said Asenath. “You should have heard the gossip when your wife showed up. Nobody knew what was going on. Nobody seemed to have birthed her. Just boop, there she was. Fuck, I was jealous—I couldn’t see her. A new Outer God, and I was on Earth.”

“Before the Fire,” whispered Arthur.

“Yeah. Nobody knew that was coming.” Asenath’s tone went dark. “Would’ve done something. Killed a bitch, at least.”

“Happened everywhere,” said Parker. “Might have burned, even if you had.”

“Correct,” the Keeper said, voice sudden and startling. “Every timeline, all at the same instant. By the time any of us knew about it, it was too late.”

“Jesus fuck, we just got done being grim,” Tabby sighed, taking a swig of her beer. “This is the saddest fucking taco night I’ve ever attended.”

“But with hope,” said Asenath.

Arthur looked up sharply. “That’s what it is.”

She blinked at him. “What’s what is, now?”

“You never gave up hope.”

“Oops, found me out. My secret weapon,” said Asenath.

“I think I like that,” said Arthur.

Asenath was quiet for a moment, studying her plate. “Hope is still the most powerful magic I know. It’s why the Mother finally answered me. It’s why I could go so many centuries without seeing her, before and after the Fire of Y, and hold on to my faith and my responsibilities. But it does come at a hefty cost.”

“It isn’t anything, though,” said Parker. “Fuck,” he added, because that hadn’t come out right.

“Maybe I made it something,” Asenath said. “Like you made your rage into a weapon. Like Arthur did his Arthur thing.”

“Lestering,” muttered Parker.

Arthur startled. “Lestering? What the hell?”

Asenath started giggling. “Yep. Your own branch of magic. I don’t know anyone else who could doff an imaginary hat and charm a depressed god.”

Arthur scowled. “It’s just basic respect.”

“Do you have any idea how rare it is for a god of my caliber to be treated like a person?” the Keeper said, voice misty. “That ‘just respect’ meant everything to us.”

“Think that’s exactly it,” Tabby said. “Dude, it could have gone so bad for you. But you showed us that people still gave a shit, enough to risk their own hides for it.”

Parker eyed Arthur sidelong, thoughtful as he made one more taco.

Arthur sighed. “It’s not that weird.”

“Neither is my hope, then,” said Asenath.”

“Nope,” said Parker. “You’re both fuckin’ weird.”

Asenath laughed.

“All of us are fuckin’ weirdos,” Tabby said, grinning. “That’s why this is working. You gotta be a little fucked in the head to save the world.”

“We don’t know it’s gonna do that,” said Parker.

“But you’re willing to try,” said Arthur.

Parker shrugged. “It isn’t hope. You fight or you lie down. Fuck lying down.”

“Well, great news,” Tabby said, raising her beer. “If it doesn’t work, it very shortly won’t be your problem anymore.”

“You just chided me on being grim,” the Keeper sighed.

“I’m not being grim! I’m right!”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” said the god, an arm unfolding from the floor to brush her fingers affectionately across Tabby’s cheek.

Tabby swatted the hand away. “You need some more limes, Parker? You seem to be bereft of ‘em over there.”

“I want a whole one,” he said. “For research.”

“Well, I want pie,” said Asenath.

“Did Hastur hurt any of your people?” Arthur said out of nowhere with his signature wild timing.

A hand unfolded, gently placing a bowlful of limes next to Parker’s plate. “Speaking of pie.” the Keeper murmured, and the floor lurched beneath them as the kitchen was pulled away, a wall rising like some organic thing between them. The hand retracted, and the Keeper sighed. “He did not, Arthur. I was angry with him for not interfering, in the beginning, but not for the last several hundred years. And I understand now that he lost his people, too, while preparing a home for all of his brethren. Perhaps we are not… completely at odds.”

The relief on Arthur’s face was almost painful. He looked down. “Good,” he murmured.

“Hastur is many things, but short-sighted is not among them.” The hands unfolded once again, placing several pastries at the end of the table; a warm apple pie, glistening red strawberry, a smooth and faintly green one with piped cream swirls, and a magnificently decorated chocolate cake. “Hastur is… I have never met him. But I have read his histories. I know what he has done in the past, Arthur. I know what he can do. And I know that he believes I am someone who can be bribed, which I do not appreciate.”

“We’re just man-hating lesbians,” Tabby said with a shrug, slicing a large portion of the presumably-key-lime pie onto plates. “Asenath, for you—Parker, for you. You want some, Arthur?”

“Yes, please,” said Arthur, still struggling with this, apparently.

“I have very, very good reasons not to trust the intentions of male gods,” the Keeper muttered darkly.

“Guess it adds up,” Parker muttered.

“What does?” said Asenath.

Parker shrugged, poking the pie with his fork, studying its texture. “The Defiler’s a god of rot and renewal, or supposed to be. Hastur’s fuckin’... art and madness, I guess?” And what the fuck Hastur saw in him was a whole other set of questions. “But what’s the flip side? What’s his ‘renewal?’”

“Release,” said Arthur.

Parker stared at him.

Arthur looked like he didn't know he’d spoken.

“Release,” said Parker.

“What?” said Arthur.

“He’s not wrong, though,” said Asenath. “It’s supposed to be complete emotional and mental freedom, what he does. Not that he’s always used it that way.”

Parker poked his pie. Frowned. “So.” He stopped.

Asenath glanced at Tabby. Tilted her head as if to say get a load of this guy.

“So,” said Parker and stopped again.

Arthur’s eyes were huge, fork in his mouth. “Parker, you gotta try this.”

Visibly distracted, scowling, Parker took a bite. He froze. His eyes went huge, too, and he raised the pie up to stare at it.

Tabby beamed, radiating pride. “My wife makes a mean key lime pie, huh?”

“Should I make another for them to take home?”

“That would be so nice of you,” Tabby said towards the ceiling.

“Fuck, I missed citrus,” Asenath moaned. “So what were you going to say?”

Parker stared at her for a moment like the taste of lime had driven all other knowledge from his head. “Uh. We all fucked up, is all I’m trying to say.”

“Huh?” said Arthur.

“Humans with the Fire of Y. The gods just picking and choosing which parts of their purpose to do. Sounds to me like if we’d been working together better, none of this shit would’ve happened.”

Asenath stared at him. “Huh.”

“Oh,” said Arthur, and resumed eating.

Tabby grinned at him. “Andddd there it is,” she said, gesturing to her fork. “Yang coming in again, pinning down the core of the issue.”

“Hastur had better appreciate what he has,” the Keeper said, warm.

Parker ignored that. “Humans are fuckin’ locked down. So are the gods. They hate that Contract system, but they accept it.”

“To some extent,” said Asenath. “As you’ve no doubt seen.”

“So part of reworking this thing means ensuring the gods’ll wanna do it the new way. ”

“Precisely, Mister Yang,” the Keeper said. Another hand emerged, setting down a bowl of that fluffy white whipped cream. “After Arthur left, Tabby and I had a long discussion.”

“Did you understand whatever the Mother did that let you hitchhike inside Tabby?” said Parker.

“Yes. I am a knowledge god, Parker; specifically the god of forgotten knowledge, of that which is lost. It is ironic, in a great many ways. But my purpose has been fulfilled in this past millenia or so.” The Keeper sighed, paused, and continued. “One of my chief duties is to remember, and to protect that which might be lost otherwise. All the ingredients in my kitchen were formed from Tabby’s memories, or reverse-engineered from them and whatever knowledge I could uncover. I have much, much more knowledge stored within these walls.”

“Stuff that would help people, sure,” Tabby said, solemn. “But also stuff that no one should ever know.”

“Including how the Mother helped channel away the aetheric power so it did not harm my wife.”

“It’s…” Tabby gestured, vaguely. “She sort of knew how to do it, but we didn’t have a way to actually channel all the extra power.”

Parker pointed his fork. “And you know how the Contract system works?”

“I have theories, based on what Tabby and I saw on our walk. I would need blueprints, more information; but even without, given some time and additional visits, yes.”

Parker looked at his plate. Glanced at the pie.

“What are you thinking?” said Arthur.

“Nothing. I… need time to find the words,” Parker muttered.

The Keeper’s hand extended and slid the pie over to Parker. “I rather enjoy your thought process, Parker. If you would like to speak through it, please do.”

“Not until I figure out how in fuck to say it,” he snapped.

“He thinks he’s bad at speaking,” said Arthur. “He’s not.”

“I am bad at speaking,” said Parker.

“And yet when you do speak, you have such interesting things to say,” the Keeper mused. “He told you that you were bad at speaking, didn’t he?”

What did that have to do with anything? “So what if he did?”

“I knew it.”

“Babe, I told you. We’re two peas in a pod, me and Yang.” Tabby snorted.

“How awful that such cruelty worked in our favor. I shudder to think of what you would have accomplished if he had listened to you.”

Parker was breathing through his nostrils. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Tabby gave him a look of mock horror. “You’re saying my wife is wrong? Them’s fightin’ words in the Scriptorium, buddy!”

“I’m going to have to open the Yanniek a few times,” the Keeper muttered. “I hate him so much.”

“You are in a spicy mood!” Tabby craned her head towards the ceiling.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to do here,” Parker said. “I don’t need fuckin’ convincing.”

“I am not trying to convince anyone. You have chosen your god, and I will respect that, even if I am jealous.”

He blinked several times. “That’s not what… I mean the smooth talk. The flattery. I don’t need it.”

“Tabby, kindly keep our guests amused; I need to throw a very small tantrum.”

Tabby choked on her beer.

Asneath patted her back.

Tabby coughed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Ah, fuck. Dude, she’s not flattering you. She likes you. I mean, if I wanted to get catty I’d accuse you of trying to insinuate she’s lying, which we both would find deeply offensive.”

A far off rumble sounded from the Scriptorium, accompanied by something that sounded like a crash.

Tabby burst into laughter.

“What the fuck?” said Parker.

Arthur laughed with her.

“She’s just being a baby,” Tabby said. “Can’t handle frustration too well yet. You gotta remember, Parks, in the grand scheme of things she’s technically younger than you.”

He stared at her. “I don’t…” Stopped. And decided this was not worth pursuing. “I’m saying to do what we talked about before, we’d need to change the Contract system. There’s got to be a way that we don’t sacrifice ourselves to do it. I get why it was set up that way. The Mother didn’t want us to take it for granted, or whatever. But there’s got to be a way to do that without… without…”

“Being poured out like holy wine,” Arthur murmured.

“Yeah. Not to mention this whole living-marked thing,” said Parker, which he would never be. “Can’t do that if everybody dies in order to get here.”

“I got here,” said Arthur.

“Yes, he broke my mirror. I mean, he did try, but he was too large, and it exploded. There are very few ways to bring humans here.”

“I couldn’t even tell you how I got to the Mother,” Tabby said with a shrug.

“Yeah. I didn’t ask you before. What was her name?” said Asenath.

“Huh? Oh, right. Fern,” Tabby said. “Question: when were y’all planning for this sleepover to happen?”

“Fern,” said Asenath, looking puzzled. “I’ll have to ask around. And, ah, well. If you’re willing, I want to talk to Hastur and Dagon, because I think Parker’s right—Arthur can draw attention, and Dagon could punch anything that decides to sneak away from the show. So. A couple days to set it all up?”

“I think that seems the best option,” the Keeper said, hands unfolding from the ceiling again.

Tabby smiled. “Feel better?”

“I do. If you are willing, Tabby… You have my consent.”

“I’m willing.” Tabby reached upward, blindly; one of the Keeper’s hands entwined with hers, and she brought it back down to her chest. "We got more to talk about. Parker had a thought, and I made a few connections off of it.”

“Oh, dear.”

“You’re not going to like it. But we’ve got time to discuss.” She paused. “It might end up being a staff meeting.”

The Keeper’s hand went very still.

“We have time.” Tabby patted the hand. “Trust me.”

The god let out a rumble that was distinctly unhappy.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” said Arthur. “Tacos are amazing. So was the pie.”

“Citrus,” Parker said. “That stuff’s incredible.”

Asenath sighed. “It really was until the shipping routes got all fucked.”

“I’ll send you home with some of those too,” said the Keeper.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Tabby said with a laugh.

Arthur stood. Started to put on a jacket that wasn’t there. Stopped. Looked at his hands. Visibly balanced for a moment right on the edge of sanity.

“Hey,” said Parker, standing close. “Come on. Gotta go. Say goodnight to the ladies.”

“Arthur,” the Keeper said, voice soft. “Are you really there?”

He nodded. “I don’t…” He closed his eyes. “I don’t like how it feels.”

“Remembering your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“I can imagine,” the god said, gentle. "Thank you for allowing yourself to remember.”

“Is it wrong? That it’s so much easier not remembering?” Arthur said in a small voice.

“Fuck,” whispered Parker.

“Not at all.” Her impossible hands reached, gently taking Arthur’s in her own. “I have grieved my people for more than eight hundred years. I still mourn them.” She sighed. "Tabby told me what you said, when you left. You were right, you know. And I wanted to thank you, for your kindness, if you would allow me.”

“What did I say?” Arthur said, eyes wide.

“That I need not feel guilt for being unable to prevent the Fires,” she said. “I still do. I don't know that I will ever shed that fully. I will always wish I had done something more. But even through your grief, you offered me comfort. That means a great deal to me.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Arthur said.

“Thank you, Arthur.” She squeezed his hands. “I hope the same realization for you; which is why I took great pains to recover this.” Another arm unfolded, holding a thin folder. “A great many humans have written about grief. One in particular stuck with me: ‘Grief is just love with nowhere to go.’ I hope this brings you memories of the good, and helps remind you what you are fighting for.”

Arthur took it. “What’s this?”

“When…” she paused, another pair of hands finding Tabby's. “A regret that I possess is I have no pictures of my acolytes. When I think of them, I struggle, sometimes, to remember them when they were whole and happy. When I recovered this photograph, I felt that you may like a memory of your wife and daughter, whole and perfect.” She let out a soft, gentle sigh. “You have a lovely smile, Arthur. I… I understand if you don't want it. If so, I will keep it safe if you ever wish to see it. But I hope that one day it might bring you peace.”

Arthur stared.

“The fuck is that?” Parker whispered. “When’d this happen?”

“Her father wanted…” Arthur stopped, staring.

The photo showed a family. Three people: Arthur, looking young, and a little mischievous, his smile crooked, his hair parted more neatly than it had ever been in any recent time. Next to him stood an equally naughty young woman; she had dark hair, laughing eyes, and had apparently been photographed in the middle of cracking up over something.

In Arthur’s arms was a baby.

Tiny. Big-eyed. Little fists clenched, she wore a dress that seemed to have swallowed her, and she was laughing at her mother. She couldn’t have been more than a year and a half old.

“Fuck,” said Parker again. “I don’t know nothing about this.”

“Her father…” Arthur sounded a thousand miles away. “He just wanted to be sure she was okay. He didn’t like her life; always worried. So we posed. So he’d think it was… she was… safe.”

“He doesn’t live in Cloud City,” said Parker. “Did he even get this?”

“We sent it by one of the couriers,” Arthur whispered. “Was supposed to get there within five years.”

Parker turned his glare on the Keeper. “How the fuck did you get this?”

“I have my ways.” Her voice was gentle. “Arthur, you had a copy of your own. The frame was ruined; I needed to remove it from the frame to restore it, but I can replace that, if you like.”

“You got this from Cloud City?” said Parker, louder. “How?”

Arthur was silent. Tears slid down his cheeks. He stared at the photo.

“I have my ways.”

Parker gave her a hard look, but dropped it. “You good?”

“I…” Arthur stopped.

“You wanna keep it?”

“Yes.”

“Probably should thank her,” Parker muttered because he knew damn well gods got fucky if they suspected ingratitude.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered. “I don’t have a response yet.”

“You don’t need to, Arthur. I felt it was…” She paused, like taking a breath; liquid dripped somewhere, around some hidden corner. “You looked happy.”

Arthur’s smile was so tiny, so raw. “I’d made her laugh. It was a dirty joke. I thought the photographer was going to hit me.”

Parker studied him.

Asenath did, too, chin in her hands. “Never met her. Wish I had.”

“You’d have liked her. Everybody liked her,” said Arthur. “They wouldn’t have shot her if they’d talked to her first. But they never even saw her.”

“The Salty Siren case. That was a bad one,” said Parker. And almost inaudibly, added, “First time I laid eyes on you.”

“She looks like someone who was easy to love. Perhaps, one day, you will tell me about her?”

Arthur took a slow breath. “On this one—just this one—we can relate. I didn’t kill her. But me not figuring it out quickly enough is why she died.”

Parker sighed. “You’d just have got shot up, too, if you had.”

Arthur looked at him. It was a quick, violent expression, as if he was going to punch next.

Parker looked back, unintimidated.

“One day, then. Today, Hastur is waiting for your return.” A group of arms emerged, carrying a pair of parchment-wrapped boxes and a bag of citrus fruits in yellows and oranges and greens.

Tabby frowned. “Okay, one’s key lime, but the other?”

“Lemon.”

Tabby blinked, pulling one of the hands entwined with hers to her lips. “For him, huh?” she said, eyes wet with sudden tears. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“I… I think I should try.”

Parker stared.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Arthur saluted with his nonexistent hat.

Parker snatched the photo. Arthur didn’t seem to notice.

“Parker?” The Keeper hesitated. “You are not beholden to me. I apologize for asking. But I am sure that you can help Hastur understand the significance of my gift, and that it means him no harm.” She took a breath. “Please.”

“He’ll know,” Parker said. “But I’ll make sure he double-knows.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay,” Tabby said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Get the fuck out of my house, all of you. I hate it here. You made me have an emotion, and I’m mad about it.”

Parker looked spooked.

“She’s sarcastic,” Asenath murmured. “Chill.”

“Next time, we’ll provide the food,” said Arthur.

“I would like that.”

“C’mon, bestie,” Tabby said, patting Parker on the back as she pulled ahead.

“I’m nobody’s best anything,” Parker said.

“Ppppbttt,” Tabby said. “Too late. I called dibs, and you’re my best friend now. Hey. When I sleep over, can I paint your nails?”

He really looked confused now. “Sure?”

“YES!” Tabby pumped her fist into the air. “That might actually distract me from how bad I’ll miss my wife. Knew I could count on you, bestie.”

Parker eyed her as if she’d produced a second head.

Arthur was smiling. “Hastur has to be going nuts. He doesn’t like being left out, you know? Real busybody. I think he’d have gone the PI route even if we hadn’t met.”

Parker rubbed his face. “Sure.”

“It probably hasn’t been that long. Just enough to make him squirm.” Tabby seemed to find her ideal spot and pulled out her doorknob, twisting it and opening the door once again in one fluid motion. “Take it easy, everyone. See you tomorrow, maybe.”

Hastur was at the door so fast that the breeze from his approach blasted their hair back.

“Fuck!” said Parker.

Tabby bristled. “Be careful, you dickhead! There’s pies in those boxes!”

Hastur didn’t dare reach through the door. He froze, at least a dozen limbs poised to grab. “A gift for your master,” he said, and thrust out the gift, the necklace-like chain.

Sound rose faintly from it, like voices.

Tabby took a deep, steadying breath. “Not my master,” she said, taut as a bowstring, pulling up her left hand. “She’s my wife.”

Hastur missed not a beat. “My apologies, oh chosen of a greater god, most beloved of the mystery herself. A gift for your wife.”

“Easy,” said Arthur, stepping through, and was immediately snatched up.

The chain waited, gleaming, in reach.

Parker looked at Tabby. “Pretend the pies are hostages in trade for whatever that is, and it’ll go easier.”

“Was that so hard?” said Arthur in response to whatever he thought he heard.

Tabby took another breath—and let it out, soft. “I’ve gotta try too,” she muttered. “The one on the bottom is a lemon pie. Top is key lime. Your partners liked it.” She held out the box, just past the threshold. “She figured you’d like lemon, since… Well. Yellow.”

A thousand golden eyes blinked at her from behind the mask. “A gift for me?”

“Look. You’re going to be working together. She’s not ready to talk to you yet, but… Gift, peace offering, whatever.” And Tabby took another breath, and stepped over the threshold.

Hastur drew back for a moment, then offered the chain again. “A rare gift,” he said, “which perhaps she has already, but I know of no other recordings. Each link is a song of a lost people. Few remember them. I do.”

“Generous,” Tabby said solemnly. “Freely given?”

“Yes.” Hastur plucked up the pies, then plucked up Parker.

“Then on her behalf, I accept,” Tabby said, holding out her hand. “Thank you.”

He draped the chain (so thin, but surprisingly heavy) on her arm. It was longer than she was tall, folded over many times.

“We are free to leave?” He said.

“I told you; she’s not ready to talk to you yet.” The girl shrugged, stepping back to the door; Asenath slipped out and Tabby gave her a warm, fond smile. “Bye, Asenath. Everyone rest up, big week coming up and all that.”

Asenath saluted. “Everybody rest. Night, kiddos.”

Her last words were quiet because Hastur was flying away.

Parker watched, but the pies seemed safe, one box per tentacle. “You okay?”

“You were gone forever,” Hastur informed them.

Parker looked at the photo. “She made him a present. You’d better do right by this.” He held it up.

Hastur plucked it away and studied it. “I know this photograph.”

“Yeah, he had a copy,” Parker said.

“Hey,” said Arthur. “When’s the next performance? I don’t remember.”

A beat. “Performance?” said Hastur.

“Let’s talk at home,” said Parker.

Hastur took the cue and flew them home, and the doors clanged shut behind them.

#malevolent fic #malevolent au #hastur/arthur/parker #tw:explicit #malevolent fanfiction #arthur lester #cloud city #yellow city

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not-a-pushover · 1 year

Text

Saint

Walking into school was a chore with baggy eyes and heavy legs. The bell chimed as I entered class.

Passing Aisha -a top 5 student whose made it her job to make fun of me-, Eclair -a football jerk whose too loud and dumb for his own sake-, Ryan and her friends who seemed to get obnoxiously loud with their laughing when I, and only when I passed by, into to the back corner of the room with a drag to my feet.

“Good morning everyone!!! I hope you’ve all had a great weekend, today were gonna be continuing our last lesson about pressure! Now turn to pages 112 now-”

Mr. Islam droned on and on for half an hour till he neared the end of the class, he stood up

“Because we’ve almost finished the material only halfway through semester I’m going to have you guys do a presentation and essay on a topic we’re done with”

He takes out a stack of papers and grins

“And you’re going to do them in pairs, after I call your names you come up take your topic paper with, well the topic, but also main points you have to add in the essay and presentation both. Other than these you can go wild, bring in a giant mirror, lens, hell, even a boiler if you want to.”

He shuffled the papers

“Now, Johnny and Aya, Daniel and Mara, Aisha and Hobie-”

He droned on and on, listing different names before getting to mine

“Valery and Micheal- “

Micheal? We don’ t have a Michael in this class. Do we? I’m not that friendly with everyone but I at least know them. I’m pretty sure… I think

I got up slowly, walking up to Mr. Islam’s’ dark oak desk alone

“Micheal you have to come up as well” the strict look he had on had quieted the class

Eclairs stood up and dread settled in bottom of my stomach, willing me not to jump out the third-floor window

“You’re Micheal??!?”

“Yup, the one and only Michael Éclair” he grinned

“Oh great, this is just great”

“Great.” Turning to get our topic and moving back to my seat

“So, you’re Valery” Eclair said sitting next to me

“Yup”

“You don’t seem too happy to be working with me.”

“No, I’m absolutely raving at the idea of working with you” the forced smile said otherwise

“Oh, that’s good” he nodded

“Yeah, so anyways can you do the PowerPoint presentation?”

“No, but I can do you” he lifted both eyebrows up and down. Repeatedly.

He has to be kidding. Seriously. This is gonna be a pain in the ass

I blanked him “seriously?”

He laughed “no not seriously,” his eyes glistened “unless you want to, then maybe”

“God no. fine can you write essays?”

“Nope” he was still smiling

“Okay fine you’ll just collect the information then.”

“What information” he furrowed his brows, was this guy serious?

“On the topic paper….”

“Oh, I can’t do that either”

“What? You don’t have internet access anywhere? Like not a single book on physics either”

“Nope” he was laying back in the chair

Ring-ring

“What’s that then?” glancing at his bright pocket

He takes out his phone. My face falls as he declines.

“Really, no access to the internet?”

Gasp “well would you look at that I do have access to the internet” he was smiling like an imbecile

“Yeah what a shocker.” I pursed my lips as he sheepishly smiles

Taking my phone out to take a photo of the paper before handing it to Jeremy

“Get the info from the points and I’ll write the essay and do the PowerPoint since you can’t”

“Nah, I’d rather do the PowerPoint, it’s more fun”

“You said you didn’t know how to”

“Oh really, well I lied” my face fell and eyebrows rose

“You wanted me to do the whole project then?”

“That was the plan until my sister called”

“Really?”

He shrugged his shoulder “Yeah I mean why wouldn’t I want the weird ugly lonely chick do our project alone?”

The bell rang

Grabbing my stuff with a shake to my head

“it normally takes someone 10 days to get sick of someone, you’ve managed to make it 5 minutes”

“Yeah whatever, see ya later glasses” he winked while walking back

Asshole.

It was lunchbreak. I haven’t been eating in the cafeteria for a while now, instead id eat in the art room, and we were allowed access if Mrs. Sarsi allowed it and she always allowed me.

Ma made my lunches sometimes, this is a sometime. A homemade burger, small salad and a yogurt cup.

Sigh.

Putting my lunch away I pulled out a paint set and a partially dried canvass.

Click.

The door opened and Ryan walked in laughing with Layla before we made eye contact

“She’s here” she nudged Ryan

I sucked in a breath before turning back to the canvas

“Hey there Val” Ryan’s eyes lit up with mirth. Her lips widened, canines practically shinning

I stopped, the brush an inch away from the canvas before sighing. Ryan and Layla walked short and careful steps

“Now that’s no way to act to a friend, now is it?”

I tilted my head to the side as I shot her a withering glare “what friend? you?”

My eyebrows rose whit a scoff. Turning my attention back to the canvas “You’re the last person I would call a friend.” I muttered

Ryan gasped “now that’s just heartless, how could you say such a thing?” her eyes glistening with tears

“What do you want Ryan?” I huffed out

“Weeelllllll, we have a project on like different languages and stuff and since you’re like fluent in a couple we thought you might help” her smile practically shining

My face fell “No.”

“Come on, it’s just a little help translating a couple things and native phrases and stuff, for old times’ sake” Layla pleaded

“For old times’ sake? Are you serious?” face twisting with anger “you really have the nerve to come to me for help after you decide to fuck me like that? Really?”

“Stop being dramatic no one fucked you over, we grew apart that’s all.” Layla said in an exasperated tone

“you don’t think leaving me on read, ignoring me and then telling everyone all of my shit, that I told you in private by the way, not only that but getting with my boyfriend too, all that isn’t fucking me over? That’s growing apart?” Valens looked bewildered, like Layla had grown 3 heads right in front of her

“You have to be another level of deluded to believe that.”

Layla’s’ lips thinned as her flashed with annoyance “none of that was on purpose and you know that.” She sounded irritated at the mention of her mistakes

“No but-” I stopped and raised my hands “You know what, never mind, you don’t even care.” I dropped my hands and opted to packing up the supplies instead of finishing.

They would never see through their shit not if it meant they had to realize how horrible they’ve been

“I knew you were a bitch” Ryan had already turned walked away by the time I spun around. Layla glanced at Ryan before turning back at me.

“Are you coming down to the clearing later?”

“Tanks lighting again.” Layla piped up

“Rosemary instead of hibiscus this time.” Ryan eyed me with uncertain look in her eyes

“It’s for- “

“I know who it’s for.” she looked me up and down with a shake to her head

I left the art room after that and decided to walk around the school building.

I’ve always had sensitive hearing and walking around I could hear all kinds of things, people taking, people murmuring, growling, flyers flailing, hissing, name calling -shortass, dumbass, glasses, smartass, a lot of asses pretty much- chewing, and everything else in between.

I could definitely feel a migraine forming.

Something grabbed my arm, tugging at it. Damp wood.

“Hey glasses” it was éclair “I’ve been calling you for a bit”

“Oh, okay”

“We have science together, you know physics biology che- “

“I know, we have that project together.” I narrowed my eyes at him, jaw slightly ticked “the one where you tried to get me to do all the work in.”

“Oh good, I thought you forgot” his smile soft and easy, completely ignoring the second thing I just said

“We just had class together how could I forget?”

“Look I can’t really talk much right now but, here’s my number, we can talk about what were gonna do for the essay and stuff”

He handed over a small piece of paper

“Okay...…” I took the paper with a wrinkle between my brows

“See ya later glasses” he shined his pearly whites just before he jogged off to meet with another guy at the end of the hallway

I sucked in a deep breath before braving through the rest of the day.

“And the homework is page 31, all exercises” students groaned and moaned about how unfair it was. Packing up my stuff I head to the door before-

“you’re good at math, right?” Stephanie blocked the door with a hand to the sill and a sickly-sweet smile

“yeah, I am…. is there a problem with that?”

“not at all” she bounded out of the room with a new found jump to her step. Huffing out a breath I could almost see the trouble she was brewing as clear as the ice forming on the windows opposite me.

My steps echoed through the pavement as I made a tur- the world tilted and swirled, my head ponded as my ears rang. Standing up I was left bleeding out of my nose with empty hands.

Someone just stole my fucking bag.

MY.

FUCKING.

BAG.

Looking around there wasn’t a single soul in sight, metaphorical and physically. Fuck. It would be just my luck that someone mugs me when my senses low balled this low in a place where the cameras are probably not even functioning. I would deal with this later now I’ll just drag myself to the bus stop

Walking into school was a chore with baggy eyes and heavy legs. The bell chimed as I entered class.

“Good morning everyone!!! I hope you’ve all had a great weekend, today were gonna be continuing our last lesson about pressure! Now turn to pages 112 now-”

Mr. Islam droned on and on for half an hour till he neared the end of the class, he stood up

“Because we’ve almost finished the material only halfway through semester I’m going to have you guys do a presentation and essay on a topic we’re done with”

He takes out a stack of papers and grins

He shuffled the papers

“Now, Johnny and Aya, Daniel and Mara, Aisha and Hobie-”

He droned on and on, listing different names before getting to mine

“Valery and Micheal- “

Micheal? We don’ t have a Michael in this class. Do we? I’m not that friendly with everyone but I at least know them. I’m pretty sure… I think

I got up slowly, walking up to Mr. Islam’s’ dark oak desk alone

“Micheal you have to come up as well” the strict look he had on had quieted the class

Eclairs stood up and dread settled in bottom of my stomach, willing me not to jump out the third-floor window

“You’re Micheal??!?”

“Yup, the one and only Michael Éclair” he grinned

“Oh great, this is just great”

“Great.” Turning to get our topic and moving back to my seat

“So, you’re Valery” Eclair said sitting next to me

“Yup”

“You don’t seem too happy to be working with me.”

“No, I’m absolutely raving at the idea of working with you” the forced smile said otherwise

“Oh, that’s good” he nodded

“Yeah, so anyways can you do the PowerPoint presentation?”

“No, but I can do you” he lifted both eyebrows up and down. Repeatedly.

He has to be kidding. Seriously. This is gonna be a pain in the ass

I blanked him “seriously?”

He laughed “no not seriously,” his eyes glistened “unless you want to, then maybe”

“God no. fine can you write essays?”

“Nope” he was still smiling

“Okay fine you’ll just collect the information then.”

“What information” he furrowed his brows, was this guy serious?

“On the topic paper….”

“Oh, I can’t do that either”

“What? You don’t have internet access anywhere? Like not a single book on physics either”

“Nope” he was laying back in the chair

Ring-ring

“What’s that then?” glancing at his bright pocket

He takes out his phone. My face falls as he declines.

“Really, no access to the internet?”

Gasp “well would you look at that I do have access to the internet” he was smiling like an imbecile

“Yeah what a shocker.” I pursed my lips as he sheepishly smiles

Taking my phone out to take a photo of the paper before handing it to Jeremy

“Get the info from the points and I’ll write the essay and do the PowerPoint since you can’t”

“Nah, I’d rather do the PowerPoint, it’s more fun”

“You said you didn’t know how to”

“Oh really, well I lied” my face fell and eyebrows rose

“You wanted me to do the whole project then?”

“That was the plan until my sister called”

“Really?”

He shrugged his shoulder “Yeah I mean why wouldn’t I want the weird ugly lonely chick do our project alone?”

The bell rang

Grabbing my stuff with a shake to my head

“it normally takes someone 10 days to get sick of someone, you’ve managed to make it 5 minutes”

“Yeah whatever, see ya later glasses” he winked while walking back

Asshole.

It was lunchbreak. I haven’t been eating in the cafeteria for a while now, instead id eat in the art room, and we were allowed access if Mrs. Sarsi allowed it and she always allowed me.

Ma made my lunches sometimes, this is a sometime. A homemade burger, small salad and a yogurt cup.

Sigh.

Putting my lunch away I pulled out a paint set and a partially dried canvass.

Click.

The door opened and Ryan walked in laughing with Layla before we made eye contact

“She’s here” she nudged Ryan

I sucked in a breath before turning back to the canvas

“Hey there Val” Ryan’s eyes lit up with mirth. Her lips widened, canines practically shinning

I stopped, the brush an inch away from the canvas before sighing. Ryan and Layla walked short and careful steps

“Now that’s no way to act to a friend, now is it?”

I tilted my head to the side as I shot her a withering glare “what friend? you?”

My eyebrows rose whit a scoff. Turning my attention back to the canvas “You’re the last person I would call a friend.” I muttered

Ryan gasped “now that’s just heartless, how could you say such a thing?” her eyes glistening with tears

“What do you want Ryan?” I huffed out

“Weeelllllll, we have a project on like different languages and stuff and since you’re like fluent in a couple we thought you might help” her smile practically shining

My face fell “No.”

“Come on, it’s just a little help translating a couple things and native phrases and stuff, for old times’ sake” Layla pleaded

“For old times’ sake? Are you serious?” face twisting with anger “you really have the nerve to come to me for help after you decide to fuck me like that? Really?”

“Stop being dramatic no one fucked you over, we grew apart that’s all.” Layla said in an exasperated tone

“You have to be another level of deluded to believe that.”

Layla’s’ lips thinned as her flashed with annoyance “none of that was on purpose and you know that.” She sounded irritated at the mention of her mistakes

“No but-” I stopped and raised my hands “You know what, never mind, you don’t even care.” I dropped my hands and opted to packing up the supplies instead of finishing.

They would never see through their shit not if it meant they had to realize how horrible they’ve been

“I knew you were a bitch” Ryan had already turned walked away by the time I spun around. Layla glanced at Ryan before turning back at me.

“Are you coming down to the clearing later?”

“Tanks lighting again.” Layla piped up

“Rosemary instead of hibiscus this time.” Ryan eyed me with uncertain look in her eyes

“It’s for- “

“I know who it’s for.” she looked me up and down with a shake to her head

I left the art room after that and decided to walk around the school building.

I could definitely feel a migraine forming.

Something grabbed my arm, tugging at it. Damp wood.

“Hey glasses” it was éclair “I’ve been calling you for a bit”

“Oh, okay”

“We have science together, you know physics biology che- “

“I know, we have that project together.” I narrowed my eyes at him, jaw slightly ticked “the one where you tried to get me to do all the work in.”

“Oh good, I thought you forgot” his smile soft and easy, completely ignoring the second thing I just said

“We just had class together how could I forget?”

“Look I can’t really talk much right now but, here’s my number, we can talk about what were gonna do for the essay and stuff”

He handed over a small piece of paper

“Okay...…” I took the paper with a wrinkle between my brows

“See ya later glasses” he shined his pearly whites just before he jogged off to meet with another guy at the end of the hallway

I sucked in a deep breath before braving through the rest of the day.

“And the homework is page 31, all exercises” students groaned and moaned about how unfair it was. Packing up my stuff I head to the door before-

“you’re good at math, right?” Stephanie blocked the door with a hand to the sill and a sickly-sweet smile

“yeah, I am…. is there a problem with that?”

My steps echoed through the pavement as I made a tur- the world tilted and swirled, my head ponded as my ears rang. Standing up I was left bleeding out of my nose with empty hands.

Someone just stole my fucking bag.

MY.

FUCKING.

BAG.

im still workshopping it. think i might change micheals name too

#wip stuff #creative writing

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absolutesort · 1 year

Text

FRANKIE & MILES — NIGHT THIRTY-SIX.

location : bedroom.

time : milkie talk abt where their heads are at post-recoupling.

featuring : miles / @heatwayve

miles o'sullivan

his speech for frankie had felt right in the moment, a sort of public admission that he was ready to be all in for her – at least, whatever that means in the context of the show. the recoupling had been a weird, out-of-body experience for him, something he’d seen before on tv, like a massive cultural phenomena at this point, but he’d never been part of it. felt so surreal to get that text, and he’d sort of just . . . blacked out and said things, not really feel like a person again until frankie was sat back at his side around the firepit. but now he’s not sure – after their fight, it might’ve been, like, too much? not enough? well, nothing he can do about it now. “hi,” voice soft and low as he turns to his side in their bed, arm snaking around her waist to pull her close to him. he’s got no problem with making it a long night in the bedroom, but he wouldn’t have minded being the ones to score the living room. but they might as well try this ‘talking’ thing out. “how’re you feeling? about tonight. you’re not pissed that eden foster didn’t choose you, are ya?” he asks, a bit of a smirk lifting the corners of his lips. "can do a great impression of an australian accent to make up for it." no, he can't.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

sliding into bed beside him, frankie turns to look over her shoulder in an emphasised bit, before clicking. “oh! that hi is to me?” just checking he’s not looking over her shoulder for charlene. “hi,” she says back, flinching with a cold little shiver when his hand meets her skin, but gripping his wrist and sliding it up her side anyway. tonight’s not a sexy pyjama night — she’s too exhausted to faff about with lacing and clipping herself into something just to take it off — instead she’s wearing his american footballer crop top, had stuffed it away under her pillow before the props team gathered up all the costumes, kept like a serial killer’s keepsake from their latest victim. her leg slides between both of his and hooks behind his knee, knotting their limbs together in an irish-american pretzel of body parts. eyes roll, smirk pinching in the left hand corner of her mouth as she bites back a grin. “i’m actually pissed she didn’t pick you. i was so excited to finally couple up with dante.” the statement is too laughable for him to take it at face value. frankie could probably scrawl everything she knew about that guy across her pinkie finger with a biro and still have empty space. “yeah? you been taking classes since the last time you tried? is there a love island improv group i don’t know about?” her finger slides over the dip of his cupid’s bow, tracing the outline of his mouth. “your speech was cute.” cute enough that thinking about it now has her cheeks heating up ; she’s thankful for the dark even if means his face is half in shadow. “bit intense, though. that bit where you said you’re all about me…? um... talk about lovebombing.” she tries to keep her face serious, but only manages a few seconds before she’s peeling into laughter, mouth finding his in the dark to stifle it. “i’m joking,” she clarifies between kisses, not wanting to allow any room for missed communication. “i liked it.”

miles o'sullivan

"yeah, i knew it. it's the accent, isn't it? i can't beat it," he sighs like he's defeated, leaning back on the pillow. but other than that, his hands don't leave her, legs getting tangled up with hers. he's pulling her on top of him a bit by the waist, trying to eliminate the space between them – despite the fact that sort of thing has proven to be terribly distracting any time the two of them attempt to have a serious conversation about anything. "yes, and?" he jokes, a kiss pressed to the tip of her finger as she traces the outline of his lips. "nah, can you imagine if we had an improv troupe? we're already insufferable, right? they'd literally cancel the program." he knows that she's joking about his speech, but his heart pitches at the sentiment. he'd gathered from their conversation on the gym that she was ready for it if he wanted to be full on, that it was what she actually wanted – for him to stop chatting to other girls. he doesn't hate the idea either, of course, when her lips find his in the dark, one arm snaking around her waist to hug her closer, the other on the back of her neck, deepening the kiss until he feels dizzy and breathless, glad that they're laying and not standing. "i know," he laughs, too, teeth nipping at her lower lip. "that you were joking. that you liked it . . . i'm only just picking up on that." his hand cups her cheek, thumb gently tracing at her skin, wanting to feel the way her smile pinches at her cheeks. "honestly, i fucking hate the idea of you like this with anyone else. and i don't think i could be like this with anyone else either."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“shut the fuck up. your accent is way sexier than his.” frankie assures him, low in her throat as her mouth travels up along his jaw, teeth pulling at the lobe of his ear. “i love it when you start talking about something and don’t stop. it’s hot. talk to me about the offside rule or something.” frankie’s more than happy to follow miles’ lead when he pulls her on top of him, swinging her leg over to straddle his hips, knees tucking in against his waist until their bodies are flush as sardines in a tin, her chin resting against his collarbone. “what colour do you wear when you play? i’ll have to get the kit. make a big foam hand to wave every time you’ve got possession of the ball, or like, a giant sign of amos diggory when he’s crying that’s my boy. but hopefully you won’t be dead.” she might be half-joking, but there’s the subtle reassurance there that she’s picturing this, the two of them, existing outside of the context they’ve become accustomed with, her van parked up in a field outside his family’s cottage, surrounded by sheep, despite the fact that she knows he lives in the city. as if ireland has cities. good for you, girl! fuck the british. “i don’t find you insufferable.” maybe together they are, with their constant displays of affection, but she can’t think of a reason why anyone would think of miles as anything short of charmingly likable. “and if you are, then i’d gladly suffer you.” his kiss nullifies everything else, the hand on the back of her neck drawing her closer, body melting into his with a groan, until they're tangled as a girl scout's reef knot. he’s so easy to get lost in, presence addictive enough that when she’s in his company, she forgets anything else, forgets even to eat, like he’s her latest hyperfixation only the novelty isn’t wearing off.

“no, totally. me too!” she’s shifting with the excitement of feeling understood, though the friction of it catches, a pang of heat tearing through her. “i think that’s why i got so fuckin’ defensive and angry about you talking to other people. because honestly, it’s not that big a deal. if it’s just talking.” or at least it shouldn’t feel like a big deal. but considering he’d been solely focused on frankie from the start, his sudden desire to try new things out felt like something was missing for them, like this wasn’t enough. “but the thought of you like this with someone else?” forehead pressed to his, her thumb rolls over the hollow of his throat as she swallows down something that tastes like bile. “i get goosebumps, not in a good way. like i’m already imagining the logistics of it, and i’m jealous of a relationship that doesn’t fuckin’ exist, which is crazy. i’m so fuckin’ selfish when it comes to you.”

miles o'sullivan

frankie always surprises him in little ways – like, maybe he should be finding her voice sexiest, or her lips on his neck, teeth on his earlobe. sure, that’s sexy on its own, but it’s the words that she says that get to him, and the fact that she’s brought up football in whatever attempt to try and seduce him. “see, you say that like you already know what it is,” he laughs, “and it’s really not all that interesting, you see it all the time. just means that we’ve got to keep ourselves in front of the last defender when we get the ball. free kick when the other guys fuck it up.” though his lips pull into a smirk when she swings her leg over to climb on top of him, his hands on her hips as his thumbs find the divots on the inside of her waist to trace the shape of her hipbone. “though you’re really not acting like you’re wanting me to do all that much talking, y’know? like, this,” he sighs, pressing his lips against hers in a kiss that’s intense, lingering, almost completely gets him off track from his point, “is very distracting.” his arms wrap around her, adjusting her weight on top of him as he kisses the top of her forehead affectionately. if he had to pinpoint it, his love language has probably always been physical touch, the guy to greet all his mates with a hug, swinging an arm around someone, reaching for a hand. when he likes someone, it’s tenfold, whether he’s grabbing them by the waist, lifting them up, kissing them everywhere, reaching out to smack their ass. it’s annoyed people he’s been with before, but frankie seems keenly in tune with his language, speaking it right back with every affectionate or antagonistic touch. any excuse for it. miles loves it. “ blue and black, ” he says, “ you’d look good in those. but don’t be fucking ridiculous, i’ll get whatever you want for you. ” he is also hopeful he won’t be dead, though the amount of sun he’s gotten from a couple weeks on love island is surely going to give him early skin cancer.

he could call the conversation here, honestly, get lost in the tangle of sheets with her for the night – it’s a conversation-ending kiss, really, though all of them are. frankie always kisses with everything in her, no holding back, almost like she’s got something to prove, and miles loves to rise to the challenge, no hesitation in his intensity, hands wandering without so much as a second thought. it just feels right when they’re together, though practically improbably, that this girl from america – from florida – who lives her life so transiently, always on the road or at sea, could be made of the same stuff as some guy who plays footie for a club in ireland. though it’s always painfully obvious and extremely exciting that neither of them have a plan. but this is a place that pushes things like plans and choices on you, and where the conversation gravitates in spite of them and who they are. “really?” he blinks, surprised at how easily frankie plays it off now after how upset she’d seemed in the gym. “okay, fine. yeah, it can just be talking. though i don’t want . . .” miles hesitates. what does ‘just talking’ mean? “like of course we’re gonna talk to people, it’s a small villa, but say some new bombshell comes in tomorrow, hits you up the same way eden did. is your answer different?” his brow furrows slightly, hips shifting against hers. miles has never been good at the what are we? of it all, tends to get tripped up and confused, especially when it’s like this – future unknown. doesn’t help that her forehead’s against his, frankie’s breath warm on his lips, hand on his throat, and he wants to be fucking selfish with her, too, and not in a way that pertains the ‘relationship’ word.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

fingers walk their way over his skin in little scissoring motions as he speaks, tip-toeing over his abdomen to trail the line of hair between stomach and waistband. truth be told, she does already know what the offside rule is. frankie’s got four brothers after all — four sports kits to peg out on the washing line on sundays, four sweaters used as goal posts in the clearing down by the junkyard, where the creek meets the marshland, and the little girl went missing the summer she turned fourteen — their own little five-a-side team, frankie alway demoted to goalie. but there’s something about his way of explaining things that makes even dull concepts seem fresh and exciting, and frankly she’d let him talk until the cows came home ( and the sheep… and the pigs… ) about anything and everything if it meant having him to herself like this. “yeah, no, you’re right, it’s boring as fuck, but when you talk about stuff i’m interested. i feel like you’re like that, too. like i could read you a bus timetable and you’d be like, yeah, babe, sure that’s good craic.” their interest in one another feels evenly-matched that way, the novelty of this new, precarious, vibrant thing still unsteady like a newborn chick in the palm of her hand. “shut up, i want you to talk!” frankie fires back, the irony of her juxtaposition lost on her as her hand smacks lightly against his chest in the same moment that he draws her in for another kiss, skin sliding over skin to tug herself closer, fingers rooting in the hair at the back of his scalp. “mm-hm, i would look good in blue and black. and i’d get your number on the back and everything.” it’s weird how she can picture this, despite living on the opposite side of the world, despite not even knowing the rules of european football, she can see herself, hands cupped around her mouth, hooting and hollering every miles has got possession of the ball, in a football kit with his name on.

it’s fucking rude of miles to ask her this shit when his hips are shifting against hers, body tightening like a coil, a soft sigh on her lips as she feels herself slipping. it’s like meeting her scott pilgrim nega-self, a sharp, zingy spoonful of her own medicine, always broaching the topic of conversations she’d rather avoid when a partner is horny enough to tell her what she wants to hear. still, she’s trying to communicate better, speak her truth rather than what she wishes were the truth, and if she comes on too strong, she’ll deal with the consequences. “i mean, no? no. even if it was like… alysha newman or olivier giroud. it’s probably not gonna change. for me, at least.” because the truth is, she can fantasize about connecting with a celebrity crush, but it probably wouldn’t match what she’s already got, so why bother missing out on what’s in front of her. whether miles is talking to other people or not, she wants her priority to be him, wants him to feel like he's her priority, too. fingers lock around his wrists, tug them up over his head, and pin them between the pillow and the headboard. “maybe i’d be nicer about it. tell them we can still talk and stuff, see if there’s a vibe, but right now i’m not looking to complicate crap. like, for me personally… i’ve already got way more than i came for.” hesitating, she struggles for the balance between directness and coming on too strong, when the whole premise they’d built this on was keeping things light. “i'm not saying let's close this shit off, i'm just not interested in window-shopping. i don’t expect you to feel the same. you’ve had less time.” shrugging, frankie reaches for the duvet, pulling it over her head on it’s journey to tug it over them. “do i look like E.T.?” frankie asks, a half-hearted attempt to steer them away from the subject of what this is and back to the comfortable realm of silliness. she stretches out her index finger to place it against his forehead. “i’ll… be… right… here…”

miles o'sullivan

he’s about to protest such a thing, that there’s no way he makes shit like that sound that fascinating to her – she’s just putting him on. but she turns it around on him (in a way that compliments herself, of course, characteristically frankie) in a way that he can’t really argue with. “you have a point,” he says this slowly, a smile working its way onto his face, “but i think part of the reason i like you is that you don’t talk about stuff like that, like if you were reading me a bus timetable you’d have some sort of commentary, some story about one of the places on a roster or some interesting bit you read somewhere. it’s not just about you reading the bus timetable.” he pauses, “not that i’d ever underestimate a well-planned schedule.” he kisses the top of her head lightly, arms wrapping around her as he squeezes her briefly, muscles taut. he loves how she’s a mess of limbs, all over the place like she’s held together with rubber bands, slingshotting around rooms and hallways and lawns. feels good to have her in one place, too. “i like when you say it like that, though. craic,” he replies, tone playful. it’s funny to think of them in a real-life scenario, feels like a fantasy or a daydream even still. miles thinks that keeps it fun, though, not being bogged down by future plans and all. “if you keep talking about yourself in my kit, we’re gonna have to cut this conversation short,” he admits, voice low and somewhat husky as he presses his lips to hers in a lingering kiss.

“not even? shut the fuck up. you’d better dump me for giroud, sexy bastard,” if he’s got to fight france’s top scorer of all time for frankie, does he even want to win? miles would respectfully take that L. “though that’s wicked cute of you to say,” he adds, kissing the tip of frankie’s nose. cute and frankie might seem like concepts incongruent to each other to some people, but to miles, they’re in tandem. and he’s absolutely going down on her in a minute for a comment like that. “okay, i can roll with that,” though part of miles is a little confused. it’s not like he wants frankie to order him to be shut off, but he can’t help but wonder if she’s just saying it because she thinks she should, or that it’s because he wants to hear it. he didn’t expect her to basically say that it’s cool if he leaves the door wide open. “well, i’m not exactly window-shopping either. i’ve also already got way more than i expected out of this whole thing, like, from the moment we first kissed,” he admits, fingertips lightly trailing down her back. they’ve had so much fun in here, he doesn’t wanna do anything that’s going to put an end to that right now. “yeah, actually,” he laughs, rolling her tighter into the duvet, “we’re gonna have to ship this alien mug back home asap.”

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads.#frankie & miles.#frankie & miles 013.#trust it to be thread 13 before it all turns unlucky

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bradshawsbaby · 2 years

Text

Lt. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw As Your Husband (Pt. II)

* Reposting because tags are being weird again! *

Author’s Note: I got too excited and just had to post Part II. I’m having a blast writing these, so I’m thinking that I’ll definitely post more parts as ideas come to me. Hope you’re enjoying!

You can check out Part I here.

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff.

- Rooster is so proud to call you his wife. He gushes about you all the time, to anyone who will listen.

- Maverick usually just smiles indulgently, happy to see Rooster so happy and starting a family of his own. Phoenix, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy are happy to listen as well. Coyote typically nods, listening with half an ear. More often than not, Hangman rolls his eyes good-naturedly and ribs Rooster about being “whipped by the Mrs.”

- “You just wish you were lucky enough to have a girl half as great as Y/N,” is usually Rooster’s response. Hangman would never admit it out loud that he’s right.

- Whenever the two of you attend functions for the Navy, Rooster always whispers in your ear how gorgeous you look before introducing you to his colleagues and superior officers.

- “This beautiful lady is Y/N Bradshaw. My wife,” he says, his hand resting on the small of your back as you shake hands and exchange pleasantries. You always have to bite back a laugh when Rooster calls you by your actual name instead of one of his many pet names for you.

- Rooster loves standing off to the side during work functions and watching you shine. You’ve always been so much better than him at making small talk and holding conversations about anything and everything. He admires that about you and thinks your confidence is very sexy, even though confidence is usually the last thing you feel at big events like that. You always want to make Bradley proud.

- You confessed that to him once, on your way home from a banquet. “I don’t want to let you down, you know?”

- He had a serious expression in his eyes as he gazed down at you and cupped your face in his hands. “You could never let me down, honey. Never,” he told you, kissing you deeply. “In fact,” he added, leaning close to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been dying to get you home all night.”

- On the rare days when Rooster gets home early, he insists on helping you cook dinner, even when you try to insist that he get some rest. He’s not a very good cook, but he’s as loyal as a puppy dog when it comes to fetching you whatever you need. And he’s an expert at setting and clearing the table.

- This man loves to cuddle. Whether the two of you are on the couch watching a movie or snuggled under the covers in bed, he wants to be holding you close. He loves kissing your neck, especially since he knows how ticklish you are there. It always makes you laugh, which is one of his favorite sounds in the world.

- Sometimes when Rooster looks at you, he can’t believe how lucky he is that he gets to call you his. He usually wakes up before you in the morning, but he’ll often spend a few minutes just quietly lying beside you in bed, watching you sleep and admiring how beautiful you are. Sometimes, when he knows you’re still in a really deep sleep, he’ll kiss your hand or your cheek or your forehead and whisper sweet words into your ear.

- On the infrequent occasions when Rooster goes out with his fellow aviators without you, he always makes it clear to the women in the bar that he’s taken. Girls try to hit on him all the time, but he always flashes his wedding ring and offers a content smile. “Sorry, ladies, I’m a married man.”

- “I don’t see her anywhere,” one particularly bold woman said one night, smirking as she rested her hand over his. Phoenix and Bob had exchanged a silent, knowing look.

- “She’s at home,” Rooster said, straightening up and easily slipping his hand out of her grasp. “Which is where I should be, too. See you all tomorrow,” he threw over his shoulder, waving at his friends.

- He’d come home that night and made very thorough love to you.

- “Well that sure was something. What did I do to deserve the honor?” you’d asked him teasingly, resting atop his bare chest.

- “You don’t have to do anything,” Rooster told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re just you. And I love you so much,” he added, lacing his fingers through yours.

- No matter what, Rooster makes it his personal mission to make you feel like the most special girl in the world. And he succeeds. Every time.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #rooster headcanon #miles teller #top gun: maverick

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ventihonklightice · 3 years

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Clingy || Wilbur Soot

word count: 3.5k

~~~

Y/N had been lounging around the flat all day as her boyfriend filmed videos with his fellow Minecraft friends. Wilbur had currently been recording with Tommy and Quackity, another one of their wild Minecraft mod videos. She knew her love was busy and had his responsibilities with his own videos alongside the ones made with his friends, but she had been scrolling through Twitter and saw that he had just gotten verified. There was no way he knew about the news as he had been busy all day doing his job.

A smile grew on her face as she rushed to his bedroom door to share the great news, however she paused as she heard the nature of his current discussion with his friends.

“- but she’s been good. We’ve been really good,” Y/N smiled at his words, seemingly knowing it was about her. That smile quickly disappeared at the words her boyfriend was about to spew. “Just, she’s been kind of needy and clingy or something,” Wilbur shook his head not fully understanding his own words, looking at the wall behind his monitor too lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t quite understand his own thoughts half of the time, especially today as all he has done was played Minecraft. Slowly, the hate he has been receiving has been catching up to him, forcing him into this pit he’d never thought he’d be in which added to the stress that fueled his words. “Like she thinks she always has to be with me. Right now even, she’s at the flat.” Wilbur ran his fingers through his messy brown hair as he proceeded to explain his relationship. “I love her, I do, but I can’t even be with her right now so I don’t understand why she has to be here,” he confessed, mind clouded with tiredness masked by the wine he downed in an attempt to calm his nerves.

Y/N furrowed her brows leaning forward to listen further. “Well, she loves you, so what do you expect her to do? Not want to be with you?” She heard an American accent, likely belonging to Quackity.

“I-I don’t know. It’s just- I’m not used to this. It’s been a while since I’ve seriously been with a girl like this before. I just need space, but she wants to be around me constantly. It’s annoying.” The anger, the annoyance, and the frustration were all evident in his voice, making Y/N second guess a lot of her choices the past few days. She looked down at her hands, the mustard sleeves reaching past her palms belonging to the man behind the door she leaned on.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to push back her tears before she walked away, not being able to listen to him any further. Her eyes began to water more and more as bothering him was the very last thing she had ever wished to do. She sat on the couch before pulling the jumper off of her body, folding it neatly in her hands before pulling on her shoes.

Fanning her face quickly to reduce any possible puffiness or redness, Y/N timidly knocked on the door to Wilbur’s room. “Hold on guys,” he spoke to his friends, muting himself on discord. “Yeah?” She heard his deep voice call from the other side, taking it as her cue to push the door open. His hair fluffed about as he turned to face her. “Hey what’s up?” He asked with a soft smile.

“I uh think I’m gonna head home, got an early shift tomorrow and all,” she spoke softly while avoiding his gaze. Y/N wasn’t one to lie so she felt guilty for doing so but she didn’t know what else to do.

He furrowed his brows, confused at her words. She almost always stays the night, especially when she works early because he lives closer to her job.

“You sure? You’re more than welcome to stay the night. Y-You always do,” he muttered with slight concern in his words as he took his headset off.

She shook her head lightly, “nah it’s alright. Gotta water the plants,“ Y/N fiddled with the door handle as her other hand traced the sweater, knowing full well she doesn’t have any plants.

“Alright, I’ll walk you out,” he stood up, adjusting the chair in order to do so. Y/N reached out to him, his jumper resting in her hand, “where’d you like me to put this?”

He stood up, increasingly getting confused at her actions because he knew that she loved wearing his clothes and stealing them any chance she got. “I-I’ll um, just toss it on the bed,” he pointed to the made bed, slipping on his shoes to walk her out.

She felt his form loom over her as he walked with her out of the flat and to her car. They walked in silence, uncharacteristically. Wilburs’s hands were stuffed in the pockets of his pants lost in his thoughts as he heard her car alarm He walked to the driver’s side, lost in his thoughts while he opened the door for her.

She approached the door, getting ready to sit in the driver’s seat before turning to Wilbur to bid goodbye. He leaned down to kiss her, standard for all of their farewells, but she turned her head at the last second, his lips crashing onto her cheek. His heart dropped at the odd situation he was placed in, wondering why this was happening.

“I-I’ll see you later,” she smiled softly before sitting down and preparing to drive.

He could let her go like this. He had to know if things were good, okay even. Before he shut the door, he leaned down a bit to get closer to her. “Is everything okay? You seem a bit off, darling.”

“Y-yeah I’m just really tired,” she chuckled humorlessly, placing a hand on her forehead. “Sorry, it’s just been a weird day.”

“If you’re that tired you could stay here,” his voice practically pleaded, assuring her once more that she always had a place there.

“I-I’ll be fine, I promise.” Her words were soft along with her eyes, but she just wanted to give him what he desired; space.

“You sure?” He asked once more, extremely concerned, but what answer was he really expecting? Y/N nodded her head, “positive.”

“Alright, text me when you get home,” he leaned back, preparing to shut the door for her. She nodded her head, pushing her keys into the ignition. “I love you,” he spoke sincerely, bending down so that she’d be able to see him better once more. There was an emotion in YN’s eyes that he couldn’t recognize, but the smile on her face was sad. “I-you too, I’ll see you later,” she fiddled with her keys before meeting his gaze.

His heart shattered at the words. You too? What the hell is that suppose to mean?

He gave a tight smile before shutting the door for her. You too, the words echoed in his mind as he began walking back to the front door, pausing his steps on the pavement to watch her pull out of the driveway. He sighed before turning back to his path home. Upon returning, the place felt dimmer without her presence and he quickly took note of that.

Letting out a huge sigh, he plopped down at his desk, unmuting himself on Discord. “Sorry bout that, I’m back. J-Just walking Y/N out,” he spoke, taking the only opportunity his friends quieted down to speak.

“Wilbur!” Tommy yelled as the rest of the VC, which now had Niki, Jack and Fundy, errupted in chaos. “W-What? What the fuck happened?”

“Dude you got verified on Twitter,” Quackity shouted. His eyes went wide, opening the light blue app to see if it was true. Sure enough, a small check mark emphasized his name. He beamed at the sight of it, rushing to make a tweet about how grateful he was.

He went back to his feed, noticing that Y/N had made a tweet about ten or so minutes prior.

y/n✨| @yourusername

so proud of my favorite boy getting verified <3 love you @WilburSoot !!

His heart clenched at the tweet, being drawn back to the events that occurred moments beforehand. He liked and retweeted it, watching his fans swoon at the couple’s interaction without knowing what was happening behind closed doors, before getting back to his friends being completely distracted by thoughts on the girl he loves.

~~~

Y/N never texted him to tell him that she was home. She woke up late that morning seeing a few texts from him about twitter, how his stream went and so on.

As she looked at the time on her phone, realizing the lie she told him about working early and chose not to answer quite yet.

She spent the rest of her day around the house, cleaning, cooking or watching TV. She wasn’t in any mood to go on social media, not wanting to interact with Wilbur quite yet. Y/N sighed thinking about yesterday, thinking that it would be a better idea to just give him some space.

And so she did, for several days before Wilbur’s worry consumed him.

He sat on Discord with his friends, days after his last interaction with his girlfriend. “It’s just weird because she’s never like this. She always calls or texts me whenever she gets the chance regardless of whether or not I ask,” he expressed to his friends as they were fucking around on their own Minecraft world. He wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing in the game, just aimlessly pressing buttons and moving his mouse as he thought of Y/N.

Tommy chuckled shortly, “now look whos being needy.”

“Shut up Tommy,” Wilbur explained, running a hand across his chin, fingertips gracing his incredibly overgrown stubble. “Look I’m just saying,” the blond furthered, “there’s no need for you to say she’s clingy or whatever when your freaking out over a text! Like you saw her less than what, two, three ago?”

Wilbur shook his head, fuming now, “Oh my god, shut the fuck up Tommy! How would you, a literal child, know anything about what’s going on? You’ve barely hit puberty!” His outburst caused his friends to quiet down, them not being used to anger being directed in such a way.

“Wilbur,” Tommy started once again, becoming more serious, “I know you. You worrying over a few short days almost disproves everything you said the other day. I think you don’t know how to handle affection well, not that she’s clingy or whatever.” Hearing Tommy acting serious and not childish for this one second made something snap within Wilbur, knowing that the child was right.

He sighed, “I-I’m sorry for snapping at you. Everything is happening at once in my life right now and Y/N not talking to me has me worried. This isn’t what’s normal between us. It’s strange.”

“But isn’t this what you wanted? She isn’t being as ‘needy’ now. You got your wish, didn’t you?” George chimed in, hoping to help even though his own experiences with relationships hasn’t always been the best.

“Yeah, and I fucking hate it, I don’t know why I even said that. I don’t mean it. I love when she’s around, I hate when she isn’t,” Wilbur went on, his thoughts focusing on the good memories he has with his girlfriend.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dream spoke ominously, feeling as if now was the most appropriate time to speak.

“I-I’m gonna call her,” the distressed twenty year old expressed, whipping out his phone to go to her number. As the phone rang, he became more and more nervous.

“What if she got in an accident? Or someone kidnapped her or something?”He rushed before him and his friends heard “please leave a message for 3-“

“Wilbur, she’s probably fine. She probably had a long day at work or something,” Niki spoke, hoping to add a small but of optimism to the situation.

“Yeah but she would’ve told me that. She would’ve called me to rant about her day, and tell me how much she wanted to see me, but she didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, getting more and more stressed out over this.

“I-I think I’m gonna head to her flat.”

~~~

The drive was long as his anxiety slowly but surely began to increase with every green light. He pulled into her complex, parking and building up the courage to confront her.

“It’ll be fine. Things are fine,” he muttered to himself as he walked up the steps to the familiar doormat.

He knocked on the door, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. After a minute, there was no response so he knocked again with more ergency.

“Just a minute,” he heard her soft voice yell out, flooding him with relief. The voice wasn’t as warm as it typically was, only increasing his nervousness.

Before he knew it, Y/N opened the door, eyes meeting his chest before trickling to his eyes. “Wilbur? What are you doing here?”

He froze, shocked at the situation that he forced upon himself without realizing it. “I-You weren’t answering any calls or texts. I was worried,” he mumbled, immediately taking note of her puffy eyes.

“Have you been crying?” He stepped closer to her with concern lacing his voice. He reached out to hold her waist, caress her cheek, anything, but she stepped away slighted. Y/N blinked, “y-yeah, it’s just allergies.”

“You don’t have allergies like that Y/N. May I please come in?” Wilbur knew her better than that, probably even better than she knew herself. She nodded shortly opening the door wider for him to enter, looking down at her sock clad feet.

He entered the tiny flat, taking not that the once welcoming space has become littered with turmoil. The tissues by the sofa didn’t go unnoticed and neither did the pile of dishes in the sink. “What’s been going on? These past few days you’ve been acting strange,” he asked sincerely.

Y/N looked around, finding something and pretending to be busy with it. “I’ve just been busy,” she mumbled looking over the pile of mail she refused to actually look through. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, would you like some tea?” She asked, realizing her manners.

“Y/N,” he spoke defeated, “come on talk to me, please.” He practically begged as he followed her steps into the kitchen to start the kettle, even though he didn’t give her an answer.

“Everything’s fine, Wilbur,” she replied absentmindedly as she searched for her various teas. “We got chai tea, black tea, Engli-“

“Y/N, I dont fucking want tea right now I want you to talk to me,” he shouted, approaching her in the kitchen and forcing her to face him by pulling her waist gently. She gasped at the loudness of his words, not used to him yelling at her.

“Wilbur,” Y/N whispered, her hands on his chest as he looked down into her eyes. Desperation was clear in his before being mimicked in his words, “this is the longest you’ve gone without calling me Wil. Come on Y/N, please.” His voice cracked towards the end, the shakiness not leaving.

She closed her eyes tightly before she pulled herself out of his arms, turning to grab two mugs out of the cupboard, “you’re getting chai tea.”

“Love, I just want us to be okay,” he spoke passionately, pleading for things to be right.

“We are okay Wilbu- Wil,” she corrected, more so forcing the nickname to combat his complaint. As she prepared each cup, putting Wilbur’s desired amount of sugar into his cup and respectively her own.

He shook his head, not believing her words as his own eyes began to turn red, “there’s something wrong and I can tell. Please just-please Y/N.” His voice was completely broken and she knew she had to express her concerns. She paused her motions, staring at the jar of sugar she just placed onto the counter.

“I-I didn’t want to bother you,” she muttered softly, examining the mugs before her.

The man sniffed, confusion growing within him. “W-What do you mean? You could never bother me Y/N,” his voice soft, approaching her once again.

She shook her head, moving to put sugar in each cup, forgetting that she already did so, “but that’s not true. We both know that.” The water remained on the stove while copious amount of sugar occupied each cup. Wilbur gently grabbed the hand holding the spoon that shoveled the sugar into the mugs, making her stop her own actions.

“Yes it is, love.” Wilbur whispered softly as she put the spoon into the jar, coming back to reality. Y/N let out a shaky breath, facing the counter while Wilbur occupied her side, facing her.

“So why’d you tell all of your friends that I’ve been clingy and needy and overbearing and everything under the sun?” She whispered as her voice wobbled, indicating that tears would soon come falling down.

Wilbur furrowed his brows, confused at the words she expressed. He scavenged his mind, not understanding what she was stating. “What are yo-“ he cut himself off, taking his hand from hers as he remembered that conversation.

Guilt washed over his soul as he realized the greater impact of his words. She thought she had to change....for those idiotic meaningless words expressed in a fit of stress and exhaustion. He shook his head lightly, refusing to look at her, refusing to look at the damage he’s caused.

“I didn’t mean it Y/N. I just-there was a lot on my plate and I just had to complain about something. A-And you were there to complain about.” He spoke honestly, knowing that it doesn’t excuse his behavior. The sound of the kettle went off, the whistle tones attacking his ears while Y/N ignored it to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I just didn’t want to be a burden,” she muttered with a wobbling bounce that made the tall idiotic man pull her into his arms.

“No,no,no don’t ever ever think that again. You are not a burden. You never were Y/N. This is on me, I shouldn’t have said what I had said,” he muttered into her hair, repeating apologies like a mantra while kissing her hairline.

She let go, allowing her pent up feelings from the past few day flow out through tears while in the comfort of his arms, “my biggest fear is bothering people. I-I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” he pulled away to hold her tear stained cheeks in his hands, regret prominent in his gaze, “you have been nothing but patient with me these past few months and that is something I don’t even have the words to express, love.”

“You, Y/N L/N, are not a burden, not now, not ever,” he whispered lovingly. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I’m sorry I even said it. I didn’t mean it, but fuck I shouldn’t have. Look at what I’ve done to you,” his voice wavered as he pulled away to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he shook his head as a sob escaped his lips before he could pull her into his arms again.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, holding her tight while the whistle pierced his ears. She leaned back slightly, pressing her forehead against his while closing her eyes, “I know, I know. It’s okay. I know you. I know you wouldn’t mean it.”

“I love you,” he whispered, holding her head in one of his hands. “I love you too, Wil,” she whispered back, pulling his lips onto hers, sealing their words with this actions.

As much as he loved the feeling of her soft lips on his once again, he pulled away. “Okay, okay, as much as I don’t want this to stop, that damn kettle is driving me mad,” he expressed, making Y/N chuckle before kissing him on the cheek and going to turn off the stove.

He watched fondly as she was about to pour the water into the mugs, stoping to see the plethora of sugar in each. “Oh shit,” she paused, laughing at the mess she had made. Wilbur snapped out of his gaze, examining the scene that caused her words.

He shook his head lightly, grabbing the kettle from her hands before placing it back onto the stovetop. “You,” he turned to face her, poking her cheek, “go to bed, get all comfy and put on a film. I will finish the tea and bring it to you.” His eyes got soft towards the end of his statement as he went to assess the mug situation.

“Then,” he spoke gently, grabbing her waist once again, littering her face with kisses that trailed down her neck, “I’ll spend the whole day making it up to you.”

Y/N laughed, running her fingers through his soft hair, “can’t wait.” His lips stayed pressed onto her neck, before they made their way back to her own.

#Wilbur soot #Wilbur soot imagine #Wilbur soot x reader #Wilbur soot one shot #Wilbur soot fanfiction #Wilbur soot hc #Wilbur soot smut #wilbur mcyt #mcyt #minecraft #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #dream mcyt #dream #dream team

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slothgiirl · 3 years

Text

the medic (keith x reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Languages are hard.”

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

“Hunk-”

“Yeah.”

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

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

—————

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

“Don’t even think about it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh, “of course you are.”

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

You roll your eyes.

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

“I have! Vivian Tran from Calculus.”

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

“And Atticus from Cantonese.”

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

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

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

“Eh-” Lance shrugs.

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

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

“Hey!”

“My nails Lance,” Hunk grumbles.

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

“English.”

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

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

“Ah.”

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

“It timed out.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Only because you cheat!”

“It’s not cheating!”

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

Keith frowns, his hand coming up to his cheek.

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

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

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

“Its been three years,” Lance retorts smugly.

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

“Two and a half,” Pidge answers.

“Ha! You’re twenty! Adult-”

“I don’t have adult acne!”

They’d fought over more meaningless things before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s clay!”

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

“I could go for a spa,” Hunk nods.

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

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

You shrug. “No clue.”

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

“So face masks?”

You nod, “want to try it Allura?”

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, accepting your diagnosis.

“Let me get the medicine.”

“Mhm.”

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

Keith pops one in immediately.

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

“Worried?”

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

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

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

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

“I’ve got to fix this machine first.”

“Need help?”

“Might ask Hunk or Coran,” you admit.

“I could-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“It was only a sprain,” Keith grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

“Keith,” you utter, worried.

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

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

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

Keith leans into your touch, “no.”

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

You were going to have to corner Coran about it.

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

Add cornering Lotor to your list.

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

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

“Mm.”

He was completely out of it.

His breath tickles your cheek.

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

“Oh.”

You look behind you.

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

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

You frown, still processing.

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

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

“If you’re sure?”

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

———————

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

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

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

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

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

Lance unsubtly glances over at Keith.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt!”

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

“No!”

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

What had brought this on?

Shiro clears his throat.

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

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

“Pidge,” Shiro chastises.

The green paladin was right.

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

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

The red paladin crosses his arms over his shoulders.

Pidge taps her foot on the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh.

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

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

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

Shiro gives the signal.

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

Matt and you get to work.

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

Stupid damn biolocks.

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

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

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

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

“You in,” you ask him.

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

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

The sulfuric fog coats everything.

You taste rotten eggs on your breath.

Inside your suit, sweat runs down your back.

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

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

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

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

“Pidge,” Keith yells out.

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

Nothing.

Matt’s face goes ghostly white.

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

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

“On it.”

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

“Keith,” Shiro yells, “wait!”

“Fine.”

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

He steals himself. “Right.”

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

You and Matt go out to meet them.

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

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

Matt rushes to his sister, “Katie!”

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

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

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

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

Shiro clears his throat, “paladins.”

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

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

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

“The jet pack helped,” Pidge points out.

“Lucky you,” you grin.

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

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

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

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

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

“Very good.”

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

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

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

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

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

You grab her.

Her face goes crimson from the pain.

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

Keith picks her up.

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

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

Keith shakes his hair out.

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

“Why,” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

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

“Oh. Yeah. They did.”

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

A knot of anxiety dissolves in your chest.

“Well,” he asks, “satisfied?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You chuckle, pulling your hands away from his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

“Starlight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like for real!”

“Yeah.”

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

You finally hit the motherlode.

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

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

Literally since you and Shiro were the only humans here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shiro nods.

They shake hands.

You stand up, ready to corner Lotor.

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

“Yeah, sure,” Shiro leads Lotor away.

Your eye twitches.

That snake!

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Wait-”

But she scurries off.

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

Your toe throbs, “fuck,” you hiss.

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

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

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

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

“Anything to spare the wall,” you joke.

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the only constantly dark place in the castle.

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

He whimpers, curling up further.

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

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

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

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

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

“Coran already gave me a dose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think Allura minds?”

“Mind what,” you ask.

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

“What if I looked even more Galra?”

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

He was also half human.

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

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

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

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

You wonder how long it’s been bugging him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle, “you’re doing it.”

Keith tries to look at his reflection in the glass.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what the mats were for.”

“Still!”

Keith laughs at your expense.

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

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

He doesn’t answer you right away.

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

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

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

You trusted Keith.

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

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

“Duh.”

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

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

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

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

You liked him.

The universe was lucky to have him as a paladin.

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

Could it withstand a hit from a galra battleship?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shh, shh,” you whisper gently.

Sweat beads on his brow.

Whines escape his throat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, clenching his teeth.

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

Keith curls up further, muscles stiff.

You’re helpless.

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

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

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

His hair is damp near his ears.

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

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

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

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

Oh god.

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

You don’t get any sleep that night.

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance over at the red paladin.

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It takes some getting used to.”

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

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

“Stuff.”

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

“You’re hurt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad timing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Varga,” Keith supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

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

“Vrepit Sal two,” Keith offers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nab a table outside the stand.

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

Hunk glances at Keith without subtlety.

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

Keith raises a brow.

“Nothing,” Hunk looks down at his screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What,” you ask, looking over at him.

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

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

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

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

Keith frowns for a second, before continuing to eat.

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

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

He looks at you with a knowing smile.

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

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

They were all so nosy.

Oh fuck.

——————

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

You roll your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lance is undeterred. “Could go higher.”

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

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

You jab your elbow into his side.

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

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

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

“Thank you Pidge.”

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

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

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

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

You throw him a dirty look.

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

“You okay there buddy,” Hunk asks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

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

Oh.

Your eyes widen.

OH.

His ears had changed.

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

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

Keith ducks his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keith growls lowly.

Lance sniggers.

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

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

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

Keith squeezes your hand back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Our only medic,” Hunk points out.

Keith growls, his hand squeezing yours hard.

You all look over at him.

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

Or maybe she’d make a great poker played.

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

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

“It’ll be fine Keith,” Shiro adds.

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

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

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

Allura nods. “Our chief medic is correct-”

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

Shiro covers his face with a hand.

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

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

“Yikes,” is Ezor’s quiet whisper.

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

“Wait-” Keith follows you.

You ignore him.

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

“Listen-,” he whines.

“I didn’t mean-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You bite your lip.

Don’t cry, you think to yourself.

You were being dumb.

He was just being plain stupid.

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

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

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

“Because I can’t fight?”

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

You swallow.

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

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

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

What the heck.

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

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

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

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

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

Most people smelled like nothing at all.

He stiffens.

“But it’s nice to hear again.”

Keith smothers a laugh.

You kiss his hair. Boys were so dumb.

He purrs.

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

At some point?

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

Fuck.

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

——————

Bombs still pelt the surface.

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

Allura was last, tailing the group.

You reach the bunker.

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

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

The bunker seals and you get to work.

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

The fight continued on the surface.

The paladins had to form Voltron.

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

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

Your hands stain blue from the blood.

Allura works alongside you.

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

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

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

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

It irked you.

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

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

“Is that what you call it?”

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

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

“Another then?”

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

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

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

You can feel Allura’s questioning glance on you.

——————

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

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

You snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know better than to take it personally.

It was Keith.

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

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

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

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

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

“All the same,” the older man smiles.

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

You snort, taking a seat between him and Hunk.

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

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

The whole room turns to look at Shiro.

He had called the meeting.

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

Keith goes rigid, a spring wound up too tight.

Hm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hunk elbows him in the side.

“Hey!” Lance is about to start in on Hunk.

“Guys,” you snap, shoving Lance’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” Lance zips his mouth and throws away the key, “shutting up.”

“Looks like that didn’t work,” Pidge snarks.

“Paladins,” Allura’s clear commanding voice rings out. When everyone shuts up again, she nods at Keith, “you may continue.”

He looks up at everyone through his bangs, “I’m going through Galra settling.”

Hunk looks over at Allura, who was far more familiar with all this alien mumble jumble than anyone else.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder.

“And that is,” you prompt gently, before Keith hastily decided that was all he needed to say and left.

He meets your waiting gaze. Under the ship’s bright rooms, his eyes were obviously violet, heavy on the purple. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he isn’t sure he wants to go through with saying any of this and you wonder if he must be thinking of how weird things were between everyone when he learned of the alien part of his heritage.

Your mouth quirks up into a smile.

You were more than willing to stuff someone into a cryopod if they bothered Keith. He may be part of Voltron, tasked with defending the universe, but you’d make sure there was someone to defend him.

An embarrassing rush of heat bubbles under your skin. You look away, nervous.

“Shiro,” Keith asks.

Shiro nods, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s shoulder. “Galra settling is when Galra,” he looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about as he said it. Aliens were weird. “When Galra reach a certain age their appearance locks in.” Even Shiro looks a little puzzled. He was a pilot, not a biologist. You knew organisms back on earth who could manipulate their genotypes, generally sex changes with the right environmental conditions, but you weren’t sure there was anything comparable to whatever this was. “The Galra are apparently very adaptable in individuals. That’s why there’s such a range of them.”

Huh.

That explained the fur, range of tails, more reptilian looking once, and the eyes.

You wanted a Galra biology course, a full semester long one. What exactly caused such a plasticity in their phenotype? Did the trait have to be encoded in their genotype to appear or was there something freakier, Allura’s space magic, going on?

“-because he’s half human and we don’t go through anything like this it’s more painful than it would be. Lotor said the chameleonic abilities of Alteans helped him when he went through this,” Shiro finishes without a satisfying or thorough explanation.

At least Keith wasn’t dying.

Thank god.

Thank whatever freaky Altean magic existed in the universe.

“So,” Lance starts, “it’s Galra puberty.”

In a split second Keith loses any self consciousness about the situation, “it’s not Galra puberty!” His hair puffs up and you have to fight the urge to laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“There’s…” Shiro glances at Keith, before Lance and Keith could really get into it, “there’s more.”

Keith looks mullish, but ultimately gives Shiro the go ahead.

“Part of these..changes,” the black paladin explains, “have brought out some Galra instincts.” Clearly he was having as much trouble grappling with what this meant as Keith was. Your body suddenly deciding to change was no fun when you had no context for it. “Among them, the need to scent family…”

Pidge tilts her head, “is this like the most convoluted and emotionally constipated way of asking for a hug,” she asks Keith.

Keith smiles wryly, “pretty much.”

“Oh come here dude,” Hunk grins, engulfing Keith and Shiro in a hug.

“Ah number four,” Coran points up in the air, “I am now just recalling the galra that lived on Altea having explained this once, of course it didn’t occur to me because of the apparent dominance of your human genes.”

“So they’re actually co-dominant,” you muse as Lance drags Pidge along for a “group hug!”

“No.no,” Pidge makes a half-hearted effort to wiggle out, being a younger sibling herself, was used to being subjected to affection. She smiles even as she struggles.

“It would seem so,” Coran nods, “though not every gene.”

“Just these.” You wonder if there’s a space equivalent of the human genome project.

“Lance,” Keith yelps, “that’s my foot.”

“Buddy, I am not feeling the love here.”

“Is it working,” Hunk asks, peering at Keith, “are you going to turn purple now?”

“No one turns purple from hugs,” Keith replies, annoyed but makes no move to pull away.

“Thank you for trusting us with this Keith,” Allura smiles, her eyes crinkling.

“Get in on this too Princess,” Shiro motions over, before catching your gaze, “you too. Don’t think you can get out of this. You’re part of Voltron too.”

You snort, and join the group hug.

Pidge’s elbow is a bony thorn in your side and there’s the slight hum from Shiro’s prosthetic, but it’s a good mix of warmth and intimacy with the people you were closest to in the entire universe. Allura’s shoulder presses into you back and it’s sort of ballooned to ridiculous proportions, Keith somewhere in the center of it all, his hair barely visible to you.

“Add cuddling Keith to the chore wheel,” Pidge proposes.

Keith groans.

“How about we let Keith decide,” Shiro proposes.

You snort, knowing him too well. “Are you willing to take that risk? Died-from lack of hugs.”

Lance laughs.

Shiro looks convinced by your stellar argument.

“I’m not that bad,” Keith grumbles.

“You’re a terrible hugger,” Lance argues back. “You’re all stiff, like you’re enduring one of Iverson’s paradox sims. Not as bad as my abuelo but still.”

Keith lunges for Lance.

Someone topples over.

Everyone falls.

You laugh, smothered by limps and someone’s hair in your mouth…maybe Hunk’s? You don’t move, worried about kicking someone’s head.

From somewhere, Keith does that low rumbling chest noise that reminds you of a cat purring happily.

No one makes fun of him for it.

——————

“You should comb your hair before we take the pod down,” you tell Keith. You’d spent your free time before this alliance dinner scrolling through a datapad, trying to learn names, where they hailed from, species, things that may prove useful.

Half a varga ago, Keith had found you balled up on a sofa, and sat next to you, his way of asking for physical comfort. You’d obliged him readily, throwing an arm over his shoulders and spooning him as you both laid on the sofa. He was already in the paladin uniforms that Allura had dug out once the alliance became a reality instead of a loose string of rebel groups fighting the Galra empire.

You’re both short and slight, fitting together perfectly.

You squash any feelings you have, this wasn’t about you, it was about him. You’d done it a thousand times with Hunk or Lance, fallen asleep listening to Allura, why should Keith be any different? (You know why.)

He’s reading the screen with you.

“I doubt they’d notice,” he remarks as you scroll to a particularly vivid color alien race with sensory appendages sprouting from their heads.

“You have a point desert bum,” you tease, “I’d rather be a bum by a beach town. All surfer bro.”

“Can you even surf,” he asks flatly.

“No. Learned how to swim at the garrison,” you admit. “But tanning by the water has to be more appealing than roasting under the Texas sun.”

“I like the desert.”

“I know.” You were pretty sure everyone just liked their homes.

“It’s quiet,” he admits, “and watching how the sunlight transforms the landscape…”

“It’s too big and wide,” you admit, thinking of space. Flat land that went on forever…empty dark space that went on forever.

“Good for driving,” Keith smirks.

You laugh. Or course that’s where his mind went. “Sure, but it all looks the same, everywhere you turn.” It was disorienting. To be fair, you were a city girl. Your background noise was cars honking and people yelling even at four in the morning. The garrison had been a big adjustment.

“It’s really not. You just have to look.”

“I’ll trust my gps,” you counter, “not my sense of direction. I’d probably end up one of those cautionary tales about mirages and deserts.”

“You can’t really get a good signal,” Keith replies lazily, his body slack against yours, “out there. It’s best to mark a trail with chalk if you don’t know the area.”

“But you do, know it I mean?”

“Out past the Garrison? Mhm. All of it. We used to go hiking…before,” he trails off.

You press your lips to his hair lightly, before shifting, “my arms asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” You sit up, “it’s nice. I used to put my sister to sleep this one year she had nightmares almost every night.”

“You miss her,” Keith states, sitting up, looking at you with his intense expression. Having someone focused one hundred percent on you was a new experience. He wasn’t thinking of a thousand other things, just you.

“I do. I miss everyone, but,” you shrug, “I’ll see them again. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me.” You smile fondly at Keith. “I’m going to change before we have to go to dinner.”

“I’d take fighting Zarkon anyday,” Keith mutters, cringing at the upcoming show of diplomacy. There was so much smiling and hand shaking. It was exhausting to be that extroverted with a roomful of strangers.

Even Lance zonked out after these things.

“Knock on wood,” you laugh.

_____________

Treaties have been signed. A wrecked Galra fleet floats in space above the planet your on today, but today’s battle is won.

One of Lotor’s General’s is here, Acza. She’s wary, and surprised at the warm reception she’d received. She might be Galra, but she’d been crucial in taking down the Galra base’s shields. Biolocks, Zarkon should really rethink those.

You sip at your thick drink, warm and flavored like cinnamon oatmeal, that chases off the chill of the night. The idea had been to sleep, your hands still ached from all the sutures and stitches you’d woven, but Allura refused to hear it, dragging you along. There would be time for sleep on the Castle, she’d claimed, joyous to have helped another besieged planet.

“My congratulations,” a Blade utters from behind their glowing mask.

You jump, not having known there was even a Blade here. They were allies, yet their anonymity that made them so useful in information gathering, created a gap between you. You had no way of knowing who this person was. Their suit obscuring any details, the mask a rank.

You couldn’t even see their eyes.

“For what,” you ask, puzzled. You hadn’t fought. Your skills made you most useful after the battle, trying to save lives and patch up wounds. It was important and emotional draining work, but you hardly won battles.

Because of the mask, you can’t get a read on their reaction. Blades. Spies. Maybe if you could see their eyes…

They nod, and walk off without explanation.

You watch them go, still confused until they disappear among the bodies loitering around, celebrating liberation.

It was a feat to disappear when you were eight feet tall.

First the Galra had avoided you like the plague, the black plague, now they were being cryptic as fuck.

You lean your head down, trying to sniff your armpits without making it too obvious. Was it the blood? Or the space bleach? That tended to linger.

You didn’t smell that bad. Certainly like bleach and rubbing alcohol…

You take another sip of your drink, looking around for a place to sit. You’d been on your feet for too long. You wanted to sleep.

Someone would find you.

You wander around. Smiling when someone notices you, and thanks you and you hurry to get away before they ask you a hundred questions. There were only eight humans in space. Well, seven and a half. You stood out.

They wanted Voltron, but you would do.

“There’s space here,” Acxa calls out.

“Thanks,” you plop down next to her, sagging into the seat. Oh, yeah, you were so freaking tired.

“Of course. You look dead.”

“Yeah,” you look around the rebel camp, “I’ve no clue how they have the energy.”

“It’s like that everywhere. This is their home,” Acza offers, “people fight hard for their homes.”

You nod, before looking over at the alien woman, “not avoiding me anymore then?”

She shrugs, not disputing the allegation. “No need anymore, now that you and Keith sorted yourselves out.” She’s so blunt about it. “Galra are so sensitive when settling. We didn’t want to cause any incidents.”

“Is this about the scenting?” You still hadn’t had time to read through the information you’d gotten your grubby little hands on.

She nods.

You put your drink down on the mossy ground. “Yeah, Keith explained it. Well, Shiro did, really. Lance is over the moon about having an excuse to bother Keith.” Now you really all were a family. You’d named it outloud.

Acxa’s brows furrow, “Lance?”

“I think he just misses his family a lot,” you offer. “We all do and while we’re family too, it’d be nice to see our family back on earth too.”

She frowns. “Keith and you are not,” she asks slowly.

“Me and Keith,” you flush, ducking away from her. “No-I, no. We’re not.” You should’ve gone back to the Castle the moment Allura turned her back. She would’ve never known.

Acxa’s frown becomes tinged with anger and worry, her hand grabs your wrist. “Galra have more than one type of scenting, between families, and between partners.”

“Oh.”

You try to connect the dots but your brain gets stuck between ideas. Scenting. Keith. You. You and Keith. It was right there but-

“Keith isn’t marking you as family,” she explains slowly, “he’s marking you as his partner.” Acxa waits until her words sink in before adding, “to do so without letting the other know…” She makes it clear what a social taboo that is.

But you’re one step behind her.

Did Keith like you?

You think back to all the times you’d been with him in the past few vargas, trying to pinpoint any hint: he’d smiled at you but he was happier now in general so it could be a coincidence…

“If you need,” Acxa offers, “I will help clarify the situation.” It’s an awfully kind gesture.

“No,” you say in a rush. “no. It’s-I think I need to go talk to Keith.” He’d known what he was doing…you could draw a thousand conclusions but nothing would be better than confronting him about it.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you stand up, glancing around. During parties, Keith tended to find a quiet corner out of the way. He’d opened up, but he was still more of an introvert.

You find Keith lying stretched out in the shadow of a makeshift building, looking up at the stars. It’s his eyes that give him away, reflecting the light enough to be inhuman, nocturnal vision.

“We need to talk,” you wrap your arms around your body. You weren’t angry, just confused. Didn’t he know he could just come talk to you about it by now?

Keith looks up, startled, then stands. “Alright.” He sounds resigned, a man sentenced to detention for a month which was janitorial duties at the garrison. It kept even the most smartass cadets humble.

You look around.

No one was really here. You could hear the music and people a bit further into the heart of the camp. Here was good enough.

“I talked to Acxa,” you start, “she said-” you look down at the trampled vegetation underfoot. It was embarrassing to your human preconceptions to even think, let alone say, which was why you were pretty sure Keith didn’t mean any harm. Scenting meant nothing on earth, where he’d grown up. “She said you’ve been scenting me, which like I know but not that way?” You look up at him as realization sets in and he ducks his head, looking away. “Is it true?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I-,” he takes a deep breath before ranting, the agitation and months of buried emotions flooding out, “I hate this. I hate that I can hear the conversation outside and smell which direction Shiro’s in and how much my eyes hurt on the Castle from how bright it is but I don’t-I can’t say anything because I’m already enough of a freak. Before I was just the weird kid but now I’m just a fucking alien freak! There’s always so much going on and I don’t even know what’s next!”

You wait, wondering if there was more.

It was a lot of changes.

You couldn’t understand, there was nothing in your life comparable to your biology deciding to be a little more Galra after twenty years.

“And I tried not to-,” he admits, meeting your waiting gaze, “I tried to leave everyone alone so you wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, forcing himself to continue with an obvious disgust at himself, “you wouldn’t smell like me or whatever Lotor explained but I couldn’t-it was driving me crazy like this itch, this buzzing under my skull and seeing you guys with others-I thought I was going crazy until Lotor explained. And then when Lance would ruffle my hair or you would check that I wasn’t about to fall over and die and-,” he waves his hands in the air, “I would just zone out.”

“Oh,” you utter, recalling past events with a newfound understanding. Keith had been reaching out, all instinct even when he was trying not to be a bother. It broke your heart, how he always came from the perspective that he was an inconvenience.

“I did know,” he says in a small voice. “That-you…but I don’t know if it’s me or this, or all these things happening to me.”

Your expression wobbles. You bite your lower lip, trying to get a handle on it. How silly to worry about a crush when Keith was going through it.

“I like you, but I don’t know if I like you or if it’s just these stupid Galra instincts messing with my head.” Keith deflates, drawing into himself. “Everything

s…it’s been a lot.”

“I get it,” you utter, “maybe not the situation but I’m not mad. Though Acxa was ready to kick your ass and she totally could,” you try teasing.

But Keith flinches, looking away guiltily.

“I’m joking. I-I get why. It makes sense. It’s a lot to get used to.” You swallow, not sure what to do about anything either.

“Its a huge offence,” Keith utters, “that’s why she was pissed. Made worse because you can’t even tell…I-I couldn’t think straight and I…it took the edge off.”

“Scenting me?”

He nods.

You take a step towards him.

“I-,” Keith’s eyes meet yours, his attention entirely captivated by you. It sends a thrill down your spine. You’d seen how he could be when laser focused: on piloting, on training. “I know they say it’s wrong but you and Lance do stuff like that all the time. And I thought…I figured I could figure out how much of what I’m feeling is me and how much of it are these new instincts.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I-you’re right, it’s whatever to me. Like, a Blade congratulated me earlier which was weird but fuck them you know? I can ‘smile and nod’,” you smile as fakely as possible to show what you mean, “through it so long as you’re okay.” He’d bled in your lap.

Keith looks a little unsteady, unsure what to do with your lack of anger. “You don’t-”

“So is it like galra marriage then?” You were curious as to what exactly the Blades were going to gossip about you and Keith.

He makes a choked sound. “Sort of. They bond. It can be broken but that generally means someone killed the other.”

“Let me guess,” you reply, “Zarkon fucked even that up.”

Keith nods.

“That guy’s the worst.” Your voice is light.

Keith snorts, smiling for a split second. “I won’t anymore. I’ll-”

“Keith,” your voice cracks as you out your hand on his arm to keep him from rubbing off, “if its really causing you all this additional confusion in too of everything…you can…” the words were too intimate to say, too charged with a sensuality that he clearly was figuring out. You were willing to wait. For him.

He was conflicted enough without you dumping your feelings on him.

“You don’t-”

You raise your hand, caressing the side of his face with the back of your hand, ghosting over the purple mark on his cheek, “I don’t mind.” Sure, you had a crush on him, you could admit that much, but more simply, you loved him.

This was a small ask.

Your gaze flickers to the tips of his ears.

You had washed his blood off your hands.

“Besides, shit’s hard enough. My arm falling asleep is a small price to pay if I can help you.”

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

You laugh, “come here.”

It finally sinks in that you weren’t just talking bs. You meant it, as you hug Keith, wrapping your arms around his middle. He smelled good in spite of the battle he’d been through earlier.

Without really thinking, you breathe in the scent of him.

Keith hugs you back, cuddling you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You yawn. “want to sneak back into the castle?”

“Only if you tell Allura you’re the one who wanted to leave,” he deadpans dazedly.

You laugh.

——————

“Come,” Allura motions as you stand from one of the Castle’s weapons systems, “we must meet with the rebel leadership on planet.”

The planet was a farming camp.

The slaves were overworked and underfed and they had still revolted when they learned Voltron was near. Now, they were free.

“Princess,” Coran calls out, “it appears that number four is heading back to the ship.”

A pained expression crosses Allura’s broad features, her full mouth frowning, before she decides to pick her battles for the day. “I am sure Keith has a good reason for his actions.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

You don’t want to go down there either.

This entire last week had been spent synthesizing medicine and treating thousands of people made harder by the range of species. The garrison better give you that medical degree immediately.

“I’ll go check on him,” you say automatically, “he might need me to prep a pod.”

“Fantastic idea number five,” Coran believes your excuse.

“Let us know if anything happens,” Allura says, giving you a long look, before heading for the exit.

The central Galra soldiers had been taken out, but small bands of fighters were still fighting to their last breath. It’s why Voltron has remained on the planet.

The lions had roamed the landscape answering calls for aid and hunting down the last of Zarkon’s forces here.

You meet Keith in the red lion’s hanger.

He’s popping his helmet off, running a hand through his flattened hair. “I thought you were headed out with Allura?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was, but I wanted to check on you first.” That was a normal thing to do for your friends. There was no reason to overthink things.

“I’m fine.”

He sets the helmet aside, working on undoing the armor off. There was dirt and dust but thankfully no blood to speak of, his or otherwise.

“Then I’ll see you there,” you ask.

Keith looks over, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, his smile slight when he replies, “I’m not heading there.” Blunt. Concise.

“It is depressing,” you admit. There was so much resource allocation and need planet-wide.

He raises a brow. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Keith?” Now you’re wondering what the real problem was. “What is it?”

“Does it matter. I don’t need to be there. Shiro and Allura can handle it.” He looks away, suddenly very interested in the wall. Unlike the rest of the ship, the red lion’s hanger was dim, in a permanent night cycle.

Pidge’s work.

“I think the people would like all of Voltron present.” Then you make a face, “oh god, I sound just like Allura don’t I?”

Keith laughs, “just a bit. As long as you don’t make us all meditate…”

“It’s so boring. I fall asleep.” You smile softly, “Seriously, go down for a moment. Then you can hide out here.”

“I-I’d rather not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Four out of five is is fine.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” you agree.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad.”

“Keith-” you start, knowing he already felt hyper aware of how his appearance had changed. Before, it hadn’t really ever come up outside of the team. No one would tell and if Keith wasn’t vocal about it…now everyone in the entire universe probably knew.

There were rebel Galra, mostly in prisons and work camps. Feelings varied.

“That’s not true,” you say, not sure if it was true, “you helped free them.” You shift your weight onto your other foot, “there’s a few assholes everywhere.”

He gives you a long look. “The Galra enslaved all these people.”

“Pfft,” you wave off, “you look like one sixteenth Galra. And-”

“They stare.”

“Because you’re a paladin,” you reason. “Pidge is also cranky about the attention.”

Keith sighs.

The paladin armor lies in a discarded pile.

You step forward to him, “anyone would be lucky to have you as a pilot. And Voltron sort of lucked out when the red lion chose you.”

Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks.

In for a penny, in for a pound, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, ghosting over his skin, “face marks and all.” You can’t meet his gaze when you pull away, blushing fiercely.

Why did you do that!

God, you were so dumb-

He cups your cheeks and brushes his lips over yours.

Oh! Oh.

“Is-is this okay-,” Keith starts asking.

You feel giddy, smiling before kissing him. Yeah, it was okay.

#keith kogane #vld keith #keith x reader #voltron #mine #trying this agin to see if it shows up in the tags #as usual: is this any good?#was supposed to b smut but turned into fluff

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