#i always be putting lance in situations...
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It Changes, like Water (CH. 1)
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Summary: Akari has just met Gaeric for the first time and is still a little rattled by the experience. Ingo tries to reassure her by telling her a story.
Content Warning: Blood, bodily injury, and wild animal attack
Notes: I've made this in honor of Monsoon-of-Art and their PLA mer au (and just a touch from a different au where Gaeric acts as Irida's guardian). Many of the scenes in this fic are directly inspired by their work, there mer stuff more specifically. I've been a big fan of them since I started playing PLA and I've only grown to love all their characterizations of some of my favorite characters in all of Pokemon. Don't like to read on Tumblr? Read it here on AO3.
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“Hey Ingo?”
The large mer was studying the near microscopic flute that Akari had, humming in acknowledgement but still absorbed in his observations. The light wasn’t the best for looking it over in the tidal cavern, but this was the only place he felt safe meeting Akari so close to shore, the cavern offered some protection from any would be outside observers of the clans or the humans. Ingo was trying to think of any mention of a flute quite like this before in the time he had been with the clan, but nothing seemed to jump to mind.
Akari was in the process of reorganizing her bag before returning to the settlement, how it always got to be such a mess was always a mystery to her but her efforts were thwarted by events of the day. The teenager’s mind was still on her earlier encounter with the not quite so large but infinitely more terrifying Warden Gaeric. He was instantly suspicious of her, commenting on her small size and color of her coat after a brief interrogation, ears pinned back and a snarl on his face as he looked at her uniform like he was trying to place it but couldn’t, that was just before Ingo came to her rescue.
“Gaeric’s the one messing with all the supply ships, isn’t he?”
That caught Ingo’s attention, looking away from his open palm to her. Akari was squinting up at him, trying to parse any subtle emotions in his expression. He knew eventually she would ask; it wasn’t hard to put two and two together given Gaeric’s attitude. Despite knowing this question was inevitable, Ingo felt a cold spike of guilt lance his spine and his ears droop even lower. That was answer enough for her.
“He wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me if he knew for sure, would he?”
“Gaeric doesn’t hurt pups.”
His answer was swift, but it wasn’t quite a satisfactory one and they both knew it. Ingo was certain that, even if anyone else other than himself knew the truth about Akari and her mysterious flute, they couldn’t bring themselves to hurt her. Akari was a child – the magical white coat helped with the illusion, at least at first. It made everyone pause in complete befuddlement. Was she sick? Why was her growth so stunted for someone her age? It was hard to see Akari as anything but a sick, stunted pup with that pale coat. Although she was representing herself illegitimately and she was part of the exploration team that was causing irreparable harm to the fisheries of both clans with their presence, Ingo didn’t think a single member of either clan could bring harm upon her… especially not with how close he was tailing her.
“But I’m not a pup!”
She protested, her stomach souring when she considered how close her call with Gaeric could have been. They both knew the truth and Akari had the sneaking suspicion that Ingo was softening the truth to spare her from the dangers of her situation.
“He wouldn’t hurt you. Gaeric attacks vessels, he doesn’t hurt the people on those vessels.”
“Ingo, he leaves them in ice cold water for hours on end after destroying those supply ships. Some of them don’t make it. They die from hypothermia. We don’t have thick fur like you guys do!”
He flinched, turning his head away and tugging his cap over his eyes to obscure the pain in them. He could see it from both points of view. Gaeric’s priority was the clan, protecting them and their territory, and he saw the Galaxy Team as a threat – which they were. They were horning in on their territory, taking away from their primary food source, and potentially endangering their vulnerable pups. The team’s presence was a threat that no one in the clans knew what to do about. Gaeric, never one for subtly or decorum, did what he thought was best to dissuade the Galaxy Team from settling there. Ingo knew it was too late for that, but there was no point explaining that to Gaeric. It wouldn’t stop him, and it would already make Ingo seem stranger that he was defending humans.
Akari and her team were explorers and researchers, their interests lie in the sea, so of course they were going to butt heads frequently with the elusive mers, whether intentionally or not. Galaxy Team thought of them as monsters, huge moving shadows beneath the water that would destroy all they had built in an instant – Gaeric was certainly not helping in that regard. These people were mostly curious, and he could sympathize with innocent curiosity.
“Gaeric is concerned for the wellbeing of Pearl Clan, Akari. I understand his methods seem drastic, but-”
“Seem drastic? Ingo, they are drastic!”
Ingo’s frown deepened. He wasn’t trying to justify his fellow warden’s actions, but that was certainly how he made it sound. He knew why Gaeric was the way he was. His love for his clan ran deep. The mer glanced toward the sun sinking steadily toward the horizon from the exposed mouth of the cavern, soon to be swallowed up by the sea. He looked back at Akari, jaw set and mouth quirked like she was trying hard not to cry in front of him.
“I apologize.”
Ingo said gently, sinking lower in the water to be more on her level. Akari quickly spun away from him on the rock on which she was perched, her arms folded over her chest.
“I’m not trying to minimize the damage Gaeric has done and the people he has hurt. Gaeric doesn’t feel as though anyone is being proactive in the case of the hu – Galaxy Team. So, he takes it upon himself to be proactive, and takes it too far. He has a lot of misplaced guilt when it comes to protecting the clan… May I tell you a story before you return to your settlement? It might help you understand where he’s coming from.”
Although she was not facing him, he could tell he had caught her interest and he folded his arms over the large rock, resting his head on his forearms. He did his best to recall all the details.
Next Chapter >>
#pokemon#legends of arceus#pla#pkmn#fan fic#fan fiction#fanfiction#fanfic#pokemon legends arceus#pokemon: legends arceus#pokemon legends: arceus#p: la#pl: a#pla mer au#mer au
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you're my number one, you're the one i want
#klance#voltron#vld#it is some kind of insane miracle it took me this long to make this about mitski#i always be putting lance in situations...#HE IS FINE. HES FINE. THIS IS A HAPPY 'YOURE ALIVE' REUNION#anyway im signing things now. is it intrusive?#this is weird but the reason i never sign my stuff is cause im like...it ruins the immersion of the piece...#im not even drawing shit thats that good tho so idk what im worried about LOLLL#anyway extremely rare warm palette moment from me#art#my art#mitski
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I was going through a Charles video that mentioned him blacking out in the car at some point. Since I’m a sucker for angst, I was wondering what it would be like for mentor!Seb if it were the reader in that situation instead. Perhaps the season before the one he retires? And maybe we could see more of the reader’s friendship with Charles? Only if you feel inspired by it, of course.
Either way, thank you for sharing your fics with us. They are my favorites and I’m really grateful for having found your blog.
gif by luchitohamilton
EVERY UNIVERSE.
pairing: (mentor! sebastian vettel x ferrari driver! reader) (charles leclerc x teammate! reader)
summary: qatar is a difficult, hot, and taxing track. that along with you having food poisoning, well…that might not end too well for you. thankfully you can always rely on sebastian and charles to be there for you.
word count: 4k
note: can you guys tell i took inspo from mark webber throwing up in his car and the qatar race this year? it was so sad to watch everyone seem so tired especially lance and logan. anyways, the plot kinda got away from me at the end, i do apologize but the seb feels were too intense 😵💫
content warning: car crash, mentions of throwing up, inaccurate depictions of food poisoning
part of this series but can be read without!
“Ready?”
A familiar voice makes you turn around from your pre-race preparations. “Depends on what your definition of ready is.”
Charles smiles, “I know it’s our first race in Qatar but c’mon, it isn’t that bad.”
“Isn’t that bad? I might melt in the car! Doesn’t help that I almost missed this one because of food poisoning.”
“Ah yes, how could I forget that,” he teases. He couldn’t forget it, because you’d been complaining about it endlessly for the past three days. You had food poisoning because Mark Webber invited you to lunch on Thursday, and accidentally gave you something dodgy. You’ve yet to forgive the man. “Well at least you’re starting from P4. Lets you fight for P1, no?”
“Against Lewis and Charles? Please. In my dreams, maybe. Plus, you’re starting P3, asshole.” You retort, turning back around to put your balaclava on. The second it’s on your head, though, it gets pulled off, and you look behind you for the perpetrator. “Charles give it b– SEBASTIAN!”
The Aston Martin driver gives you a grin before hugging you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit. You didn’t expect to see him before the race, but the surprise was definitely welcome.
“Oh but if it was me I would have gotten scolded,” Charles mutters, but his complaints were left unheard.
“Just came to wish you luck before the race starts. P4! You’re going to get a podium, I’m sure of it,” Sebastian beams, letting you go from the hug.
“That’s what Charles said too. He was more delusionally optimistic, though. Said I was gonna win.”
“Because I believe in you! Is that so bad?” Charles complains from the side, his comment ignored once again.
“Well maybe Charles is right— you could win. Meanwhile I’m starting in the midfield, again.” Sebastian complains, groaning a little bit.
“Oh cheer up Seb, you survived Ferrari for 6 years, you’ll live.”
He lights up a bit at your joke, moving to say something before an Aston Martin mechanic shows up outside the Ferrari garage. He wasn’t allowed inside, but it was obvious he was looking for Sebastian– who also wasn’t allowed inside, yet mysteriously got in. Nothing to do with him being friends with your mechanics of course, yeah, totally not.
“Ah shoot, well it looks like they’re looking for me,” Sebastian sighs. He starts to walk away before he pauses and moves back towards you, “Hey, stay safe, okay? New track, it’s dangerous. I know we’ve done practice and quali but you can never be too careful. Plus, it’s sweltering hot. Hydrate.”
You roll your eyes fondly, “Yes, dad.”
His face scrunches up a little, “Don’t ever call me that again, I’m not that old.”
“You could barely work my Instagram the other day! All I asked was for you to open Lewis’ stories!”
“Psh, whatever. I have to go, see you after the race, yeah?” He asks, giving your arm a quick squeeze. You nod, murmuring a goodbye to him. He wishes Charles good luck too, before saving his engineer from the Ferrari mechanics blocking him.
“So he can pull your balaclava off– which you hate, by the way, let me remind you– but if I even try adjusting your helmet straps so it’s safer you slap me off?” Charles speaks up, making you break eye contact from the Ferrari garage doors.
You roll your eyes at him with a smile, “You have got to forget that. It was one time. And it was a soft slap to the shoulder!”
“The point still stands,” he retorts, making you give up on the conversation.
“Whatever, Charlie. Just get ready for the race. Stay safe, okay?” you say, putting your balaclava on again. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, a sign of good luck between the two of you. It makes you smile a little before you hop into your car.
Okay. Qatar. New track, new conditions, but still the same old you. You could do this.
The lights go off one by one, and you grip the steering wheel with anticipation like you always did. Race starts still made you nervous no matter how long you’d been racing. One light goes off…then the next…then the third…the fourth one follows…and then…
“AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO!”
The first few laps were a breeze, maintaining your position in fourth despite Fernando being on your tail the whole time. You noticed the car was slightly hotter than usual, but decided to ignore it and chalk it up to new changes in the engine.
Around lap 25 you started to feel a bit dizzy and sick during the sharp corners, cursing yourself internally for having such bad timing with the food poisoning. “Charles is 0.200 seconds ahead, feel free to overtake,” your engineer buzzes through the radio.
“Copy,” you reply, not really paying attention, still feeling sick. You overtake Charles with ease around the outside, him not putting up much of a fight because it would have taken both of you out. Now you just had to maintain this position for…dear god, 32 laps.
“Lewis 5 seconds ahead, focus on tire degradation instead.” Your engineer’s warning goes unheard, though, as you noticed the cockpit was getting way too fucking hot.
“The car’s burning up,” you say into your radio, getting only a simple “Copy, we are checking,” back.
“Okay, Y/N there are no problems with your engines, I repeat; no problem.”
What? That’s impossible. You felt like you were melting in there. “Are you sure? Can you ask Charles if his car feels like the sun too?”
“Negative, focus on the race.”
Oh you were going to kill them one day– if they don’t kill you first. A few more laps passed in those horrible conditions before turn 5 rolled around and as you swerved your car, you started to see black spots around your vision.
That can’t be good, you think, having to close your eyes for a second before shaking your head and snapping yourself back into the race. Thankfully Charles had pitted earlier and had a 3 second gap to you. “I don’t feel too well.”
“Copy. Is it the car?”
“Well it’s definitely part of the problem.”
The next few turns were torture, your head bobbing around as you faded in and out of consciousness through the fast corners. Charles was catching up now, and you knew if you didn’t do something soon, he would pass you.
You wanted this podium. You needed it. If you got P3 you would grab P4 on driver standings.
There was a slow corner coming up that was a good overtaking spot, and so you had to defend.
As the turn came around– faster than you expected– the extreme heat of the car, your headache, sweat, food poisoning, and dizziness came together and you suddenly felt light, as if you were flying, before a jolt knocked you out of your consciousness completely.
You were out for less than a minute, but that minute counted for everything. You completely turned into Charles, him having to swerve onto the gravel just so you wouldn’t crash into each other. Your car, however, still had more speed in it, and you were headed towards the wall on the very far side of the gravel.
Thankfully, the rough rocks had shook you awake enough that you were able to swerve away from the wall extremely last minute and only take the tail and back wheel of your car out.
The next few seconds were a blur.
You still felt faint, but could hear a muffled voice headed towards you. You knew the back of your car was completely ruined and you were out of the race, and you put your helmet in your hands in disappointment. You were having such a good run before this happened. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The muffled voice running towards you was closer now, and you registered it to be Charles. He was saying something but you could barely hear him with how your ears were ringing and how the seat of the car was still hot.
The man quickly realized you weren’t hearing him, and opted to come closer and lift your visor up. “Smoke. Car. Get out!”
He didn’t need to tell you twice. You pushed yourself up but barely, Charles having to lift you up by your shoulders. Once out of the car you completely collapsed on the floor, only having your teammate catch you.
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you say drowsily, still fighting the urge to pass out.
“Safety car is coming, stay with me now,” he replies, tapping your helmet so you stay awake. You were grateful your friend was there with you.
On track, however, Sebastian had just been informed of what went down. “What the fuck? What happened?”
“L/N completely turned into Leclerc. Driver error, push on for P9.”
Sebastian hated how his engineer sounded like a robot reporting a technical statistic. He saw the aftermath of the accident for a split second, and it didn’t look like your car was in good shape. He worries about what shape you were in. “Are they okay?”
“Safety car is coming out for L/N and to crane the car, but other than that they seem fine.”
“Injuries?”
“Please focus on the race, Sebastian.”
“INJURIES!” he shouts into his radio, annoyed. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the race until he knew you were alright.
“Uh…L/N seems to be out of it and on the floor, but they’re okay. They’ll be fine, Seb.” His engineer adds the last statement to reassure the man. He knew you meant a lot to him. Seb nods to himself in the car, carrying on with the race. The faster this finished the faster he could get to you.
The safety car came out and they all slowed down, Sebastian finally being able to take a second long look at the accident. Your car was still there, the smoke coming out of it being extinguished by a personnel. Sebastian thinks he ought to have a word with the Ferrari mechanics after the race. He then notices you, on your knees in the gravel, only being kept up by a driver he can only assume to be Charles. Sebastian thinks that should be him there supporting you, but at the same time he’s glad he wasn’t the one who you nearly crashed into. He couldn’t have it on his consciousness that he could have hit you.
“‘m sorry for ruining your race,” you mumble, still being held up by Charles. The man shakes his head, “It was ruined before that, don’t worry. My engine was acting up.”
You knew he was lying to make you feel better, his engine was completely fine. He was headed for the podium earlier, his first in a while. And you completely botched his chance to get it. The thought makes you sob a little, along with the fact that you ruined your own race.
Crying wasn’t the greatest thing to do, though, as it only made you more lightheaded. Charles notices this and takes your helmet off for you, despite your protests pre-race. You were grateful that he did, though, as the second he took your helmet and balaclava off you felt like you had a breath of fresh air for the first time.
“Better?”
You nod, unable to speak. You still felt dizzy and sick. Charles felt annoyed that the safety personnel were taking so long to get to you, waving them over to walk quicker. Squinting your eyes a little, you find them with some health personnels, and you sink a little lower into the gravel.
“God not again,” you groan, remembering the events that unfolded back in Spa. You did not need to go to the medical tent. As you attempt to get up, however, you fall back down as your vision blurred. Looks like medical tent it is again.
The rest of the race went particularly well. Lewis won the race and Fernando got his first podium since 2014– which you reminded yourself to congratulate him for once you were out of the medical tent– and Seb ended up P9, a position higher than where he started. That would usually be a mediocre result but with his shitty car, you were pretty impressed.
“Water?” A familiar voice makes you look away from the TV screen in the room. Charles sat beside your bed, holding a plastic bottle of water. You nod and take it from him, chugging the cool liquid down.
“Sorry again for ruining your race,” you say as you finish drinking. Charles shakes his head, “Stop apologizing. You passed out, that was no fault of yours.”
“You passed out!?” A loud concerned voice makes both of you snap your head towards the door of the room. Sebastian stood there, still in his race suit like the both of you, a shocked look on his face.
“Is that what happened? You passed out mid race?” He asks again, but this time softer. He walks towards your medical bed– which you insisted you didn’t need– before putting his hand on your forehead to check if you had a fever. The action makes you giggle, but Sebastian had a serious look that shut you up quickly.
He shakes his head with a sigh, “You have a bit of a fever.”
“Any other fun observations?”
Sebastian didn’t seem to be in the mood for your wit, though. “You could have been injured. Just a few meters and you could have fully hit the wall. If you were just a few seconds late waking up you would have–”
He shuts his eyes and stops himself. He didn’t want to think about what could have happened anymore. His voice got wobbly during the end of his statement, making you realize that he was stopping himself from crying. You absentmindedly sit up and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.
“I’m here, Seb. And I’m fine. Look at me.”
The older driver does, slowly opening his eyes. You squeeze his hand a second time, a soft smile on your lips. “I’m here. And look, I’m completely fine. You’re not getting rid of me that quickly old man.”
Seb lets out a chuckle at that, moving to hug you tightly.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he mumbles into your hair. “Why did you even pass out?”
“I was already a little dizzy before getting in the car because of the heat but I tried ignoring it. The car was overheating too and it made me dehydrated, I think. My drink pouch wasn’t a lot of help either when the water was steaming hot. Plus…” you trail off, not really wanting to talk ill of Webber.
“Mark gave her food poisoning when he took her to lunch,” Charles butted in, making you give him a look. You forgot he was in the room.
“Mark? As in Webber?” Sebastian asks, Charles nodding in response. “The bastard.”
“Oh c’mon Seb, he just wanted to treat me to lunch. It’s not like he poisoned my food on purpose.”
Seb sighs deeply before agreeing, “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know.”
“I get it. I mean, this is my second time at the medical tent in three months. Makes you think how accident prone I am,” you joke. Sebastian laughs, and you’re glad you got the worried look in his face away.
“The one in Spa was completely your fault, but we may have to pin this one on Mark,” Seb teases. You shoot him a grin, “Yeah, we can say that.”
Before you could talk more, though, a PR person from both Ferrari and Aston Martin came in to fetch Charles and Sebastian.
“What about me?” you ask, getting up from your bed. It wasn’t like you were injured or anything, you were just a little sick and had a bit of a stomach ache. You’d already thrown up earlier, so you felt pretty normal now.
“Sorry, we have orders to keep you here.”
You scoff, “Please. What can they do if I walk out?”
Before the Ferrari PR agent could reply, though, you were already out the room. She stands there helpless, making Sebastian and Charles chuckle to each other before following you. You were always stubborn when you wanted to be.
The second you’re out of the medical tent, camera flashes overwhelm your eyes. You walk past them as you always do, but the contrast of the light to the night sky makes you a bit lightheaded again, having to hold Sebastian’s arm for support. He moves your hand from his arm to his own hand, interlocking it with yours and pull you through the crowd. There were no words needed to be said, he always knew what you needed. You’re starting to think he can read minds.
Once past the annoying lot of cameras, you make it to the media pen where at least they pestered you in a more civil way. The interviewers were all over you and Charles, looking for some inside scoop on ‘Ferrari drama.’ Turns out, the media thought you tried to purposely take Charles out a la brocedes style. Because of this you had to clarify to every person you talked to that, “No, I did not try to take Charles out on purpose. I passed out. We’re good. Yes, we’re still friends.”
Once that was all over, you headed over to the Channel 4 area to give a certain someone a piece of your mind. “Mark Webber.”
The man turns around to the mention of his full name, smiling when he notices who it is. “Y/N! Glad you’ve come and joined us! We’re on in about five minutes, we can do a segment about the crash but if you wanna talk about something else on screen that’s fine too, we can–”
“You gave me food poisoning!” you butt in. “I cannot believe you.” His coworkers give him a look, as if they were holding in a laugh at him being scolded.
Mark stands there with his mouth agape, unsure what to say. “Wasn’t that three days ago? Are you sure it’s me?”
Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Yes, I’m sure it’s you. It started three days ago, and guess who I was with when I ate something unusual three days ago? Oh right, it’s you!”
He pauses for a moment before bursting into laughter, trying to cover his mouth to no avail. “Sorry, it’s not funny that you almost crashed, I’m glad you’re safe, but– ha!– I cannot believe it was because of the dodgy Indian food!”
You gave him a shove, trying to act mad, but the smile on your face betrayed you. His laughter was contagious. “You are such an asshole.”
“Awh cheer up,” he gives you a side hug, ruffling your hair a little. “Sorry for giving you food poisoning, mate. I’ll make it up to you, whaddya think about lunch on me tomorrow?”
You escape his side hug when you hear him say that, “Absolutely not! I’m never trusting you again with food recommendations.”
The statement makes him laugh again, and you chuckle along with him. Hard to be mad at someone who didn’t do it on purpose. Sebastian walked over to the two of you, having watched the interaction from afar.
“Look who’s coming over,” Mark mumbled, making you notice Seb trying to pretend to just ‘bump’ into the two of you. “Still competitive ‘till now, eh? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to out-mentor you,” Mark says out loud, grabbing the attention of the German.
Seb tilts his head with a faux oblivious look, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He grabs you by the arm and ‘discreetly’ pulls you over to his side. ‘No idea’ my ass.
The Australian scoffs with a grin, “Whatever you say mate. Listen, I gotta get back because our feed is going live in a few minutes, but you two take care, alright? Nice to see you again Seb.”
“You too, Mark.” Sebastian replies, this time genuinely. While the media knew the two drivers were now on good terms, they didn’t know just how close they had gotten. The two went bowling at least once every two months just to catch up with each other, you being there for half their competitions– yes, they still competed. Apparently that sense of wanting to beat your former teammate does not go away. So far this year, Mark’s been winning.
Before Mark completely walked away, he looked back at you for a second, “Oh, and, I am happy you got out injury free from that nasty crash. Genuinely glad you’re okay. Sorry that my dodgy food contributed to your sickness.”
You wave him off, “It’s fine, Mark. It’s not like you could’ve known I would get food poisoning. Although, next time maybe check online reviews.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiled, waving you a goodbye as he ran to his coworkers who were already getting impatient.
You shake your head with a grin, “Well at least that’s over with.”
Sebastian slings his arm around your shoulder, “True. So want to get dinner?”
“Absolutely not. I think I’m done with food for a good while.”
“Well you have to eat something,” he insists, as you both walk through the paddock. “How about we get room service?”
“Eh, it’s late, I don’t really want a repeat of Monaco 2019.”
Monaco 2019 was when you and Seb got room service at 10pm because you didn’t check the time. Safe to say the staff weren’t very happy with that. You both felt so bad while eating that food.
“We can just get McDonalds then,” you suggest.
“McDonalds?” Charles asks, popping out from god knows where.
“Jesus, where the hell were you hiding? The atoms?” You ask.
“I was here the whole time.”
“You were not,” Sebastian comments. Charles simply shrugs, tagging along with the two of you, not caring that he was obviously third wheeling a moment. “So McDonalds?”
You roll your eyes, “Yes, McDonalds. But you’re paying because you’re tagging along.”
“No fair! Sebastian is richer than me!”
You both give Charles a look at the same time. Charles thinks it’s eerie how alike the two of you were.
“Charles,” Sebastian starts, patting the Monegasque’s back with one arm with his other still slung around your shoulders. Your accident made him very clingy, but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Let me phrase this as nicely as I can; you are from Monaco. You are rich.”
Charles lets out a sigh, “Fine. I’ll buy the food.”
You clap, “Fuck yeah! Food on the rich man!”
“We have the same salary in our contracts?”
“Shh, that’s not important,” you say, shushing Charles. “Food on the rich man! Although, we may have to go to the hotel right after and just get take out. I can feel Mark’s Indian food from three days ago still fighting with me.”
Charles is the one to roll his eyes this time, “I’ll get the car so we can get there faster, your highness.”
“Thank you, Lord Perceval.”
“Don’t call me that!” he shouts, already walking away to the parking lot.
That left you and Sebastian alone again, just enjoying the company of one another, walking slowly down the paddocks. There were few people now, most having gone back to their hotels to call it a night.
“You know, I’m glad I found you.”
The words make you look up at the older driver, who you find smiling at you. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean obviously we would find each other, there’s only so many drivers in Formula One. But I mean I’m glad I found you in this life.”
“Do you think we don’t find each other in other lives?”
Sebastian pauses and thinks for a second. He’s thought about the other career paths he could have taken throughout his life– other lives he could have lived. He knows there’s no logical way, but he thinks he still would have found you in those lives. The thought makes him smile to himself.
“No, I think we do.”
“Well then good. Because me too,” you reply, giving him a smile of your own. “Why did you suddenly think about it though?”
Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t know. I just felt suddenly sentimental. Feels like a chapter of my life closed but I’m not sure what or why.”
Little did he know that he would start contemplating retirement a few weeks after that.
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Whether we find each other in other lifetimes, I mean.”
Seb raises his eyebrow, him now being the one confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re both here now. Enjoying each other’s company. Why bother thinking about versions of ourselves in other universes when we’ve got each other in this one?”
Sebastian gives you the most genuine, softest smile at that. “I love you, I don’t tell you that enough.”
You scrunch your face, “Ew. Sounds like a love confession. Sorry but you’re too old for me.”
“You know what I mean. I love you but not in that way. That’s just gross,” Sebastian says, hitting your shoulder.
“Relax old man, I’m just teasing,” you giggle, trying to avoid his hit. “Love you too. Ew. Sorry, not great with verbal affection. Pretty sure that just made me throw up a bit, and that’s not even with the help of the food poisoning.”
Sebastian just shakes his head, “Okay c’mon now, Charles will be annoyed with how slow we’re walking.”
Later that night, the three of you watched a cheesy romcom while sharing a shit load of fries and chicken nuggets. As you carried on through the night you thought to yourself that despite the hardships of F1, the crashing, the disappointments, the injuries– it brought you a second family you never thought you’d have. And you wouldn’t trade it for any other universe.
Although, maybe a universe where you didn’t get food poisoning.
#sebastian vettel#charles leclerc#sebastian vettel x reader#sebastian vettel x you#sebastian vettel imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc imagine#formula one#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#f1 fanfic#formula 1 x you#f1 imagine
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I have an idea for the Grid Kiiiiiids. They all try to start teaching their sister to drive a kart 🥹 up to you how old she is when they start lol but you know Max and Charles especially want that girl in a kart ASAP
Grid Kids: Little Racer
Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers
Summary: the grid kids can’t wait to take their sister karting
Series Masterlist
Lando looks particularly proud as he rubs his hands together. “Alright, we got the best present for her. Trust us, she’s going to love it!”
George nods enthusiastically, “It’s honestly the best thing ever. A bit of an investment for her future, you know?”
Max, trying to hide a grin, chips in, “And it’ll give her a head start in racing.”
You raise an eyebrow suspiciously, “What did you boys do?”
Charles can barely contain his excitement. “Just open the garage and see!”
You slowly make your way to the garage with growing trepidation, the grid kids practically bouncing on their feet behind you. When you open the door, there, in all its glory, sits a shiny new kart, complete with racing stripes and a custom-made helmet with your daughter’s initials.
Your jaw drops. “She’s one! She can barely even walk! What is she going to do with a kart?”
Lance, looking a little defensive, offers up ideas, “Well, she can ... sit in it? Look cute? Take photos for Instagram?”
George chimes in, “It’s never too early to get them started, right? I mean, she’s got the genes for it.”
“Think of it as a ... decorative statement piece for now? Then, in a few years, she can actually use it,” Mick suggests.
You can’t help but chuckle at their over-the-top enthusiasm. “You guys ... she’ll probably be more interested in the cardboard box it came in than the actual kart itself right now.”
Lando pouts, “Well, when you put it like that ...”
You laugh, “Thank you. It’s a very thoughtful gift. But we’re going to have to save it for when she’s a bit older.”
Max smirks, “By a bit older, you mean like five, right?”
You shake your head, exasperated by your impressively stubborn sons but always grateful for how much they love their sister. “We’ll see.”
***
Four years later, the sound of shattering glass pierces the quiet night. In an instant, you’re on your feet, grabbing a baseball bat from the corner of your room. Sebastian, equally alarmed, snatches up a table lamp from his nightstand, wielding it like some sort of medieval weapon.
As you both stealthily approach the main room, you hear muffled whispers.
“Why did you have to step on the vase, Max!” George hisses.
“It was dark! And Lando pushed me,” Max retorts defensively.
Lando protests, “Did not!”
You round the corner, brandishing your bat and glaring at the intruders. “What are you doing in here?”
The grid kids freeze like deer caught in headlights, Lando holding a giant Happy 5th Birthday balloon, Charles cradling a shiny new helmet, and Mick holding a small cake with five candles.
Max tries to salvage the situation with a sheepish grin, “Well, you did say she could start karting when she turned five. We just wanted to be the first to take her.”
Lance points to the clock on the wall that now reads 12:03 AM, “Technically, she’s five now.”
You sigh, lowering your bat, a smile slowly forming. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Sebastian chuckles as he puts the lamp down, “At least wait till morning. And next time, maybe use the door? You all have keys for a reason.”
Charles grins brightly, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Lando glances at the broken vase and nudges a shard of ceramic with his toe. “Sorry about that. We’ll get you a new one.”
You shake your head with a laugh. “Just ... go home. We’ll see you at a more reasonable hour.”
Mick winks with a cheeky smile, “How about 7 AM? Sounds reasonable to me.”
You groan, ushering them out. “Go, before I change my mind about the karting!”
As the door closes behind them, you and Sebastian share a laugh. The grid kids never fail to bring some chaos into your lives.
***
The morning sun is just starting to peek through the curtains when you hear the soft hum of engines outside your window. Rubbing your eyes, you sit up and glance at the clock. 6:57 AM. “Seriously?” You mutter under your breath.
The doorbell rings and the soft hum now sounds suspiciously like the familiar excited murmurs of multiple voices.
You throw on a robe and head downstairs, opening the door to find the grid kids, all in their race suits, clustered on your front porch. Behind them, a trailer holds the tiny kart, polished to a shine and adorned with a large bow.
Max declares, “Told you we’d be back!”
Charles holds out a tray of coffee, “We brought reinforcements.”
George steps forward, a picnic basket in hand. “And breakfast! We figured that after all the excitement, you might be hungry.”
Lando bounces like a hyperactive puppy. “So, is she ready? We’ve got the whole day planned out!”
Sebastian, now also at the door in his pajamas, chuckles, “Let the poor girl wake up first.”
Mick is holding a small helmet and gloves. “We’ve got everything she needs.”
“We even have a little race suit for her.” Lance shows off the preschooler-sized suit, complete with the German flag and her name. “We got it customized and everything!”
You can’t help but join in on their enthusiasm. “Alright, alright. Just give us a minute to get her up and ready.”
The grid kids cheer, high-fiving each other.
As you head back inside, Sebastian wraps an arm around your shoulders. “You know, for a group of the most elite drivers in the world, they sure get excited about kiddie karting.”
You smile back, “That’s what makes it all the more special.”
***
You tiptoe into your daughter’s room, finding her sprawled out on the bed among a sea of stuffed animals. Sebastian follows closely behind, his excitement barely contained.
“You do the honors,” you whisper, motioning to the tiny alarm clock on her nightstand.
Sebastian nudges the clock and it lets out a soft rendition of a race car engine revving. Your daughter stirs, her little eyes slowly blinking open.
“Vroom vroom,” she murmurs drowsily, pushing herself up with a yawn.
“Morning, sunshine,” you greet, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Ready for your big day?”
She beams, “Karting day?”
Sebastian chuckles, “That’s right! And you’ve got a whole pit crew waiting for you downstairs.”
Her eyes widen in excitement, “Brothers are here?”
You nod, “Bright and early. They couldn’t wait.”
She practically jumps out of bed, “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
Downstairs, the grid kids are in a frenzy of activity, making last-minute checks on the kart, packing snacks, and discussing strategies.
“You sure she doesn’t need a quick racing line tutorial?” Lando asks, pointing at some scribbles on a whiteboard.
Max rolls his eyes, “She’s five, mate.”
“Exactly. The perfect age to start,” Lando retorts.
Your daughter giggles as Charles lifts her onto his shoulders, “Look at you, future world champ!”
George hands her a small helmet, “Safety first!”
She tries it on and it slips down half of her head.
“Maybe we’ll adjust that,” Mick chuckles, helping to resize the straps.
Once everything is packed and ready, the convoy sets off for the track. Your daughter, sandwiched between Lando and George, is treated to a hilariously exaggerated commentary of their drive.
“Watch that apex! Oh no, a dramatic overtake by that ... minivan?” Lando narrates, making your daughter giggle uncontrollably.
At the track, the grid kids swarm around, setting up the kart, unloading equipment, and securing the area.
Lance kneels in front of your daughter. “Now, remember, it’s all about having fun, okay? But also ... don’t crash.”
She giggles, “Okay, Lancey.”
Charles takes her hand, leading her to the kart. “Ready to hop in?”
She nods eagerly, and with a little help, she’s seated and ready.
With the helmet securely in place and the engine purring softly, she looks up at you and Sebastian with big, excited eyes.
“Remember, slow and steady,” you call out, giving her a thumbs-up.
She revs the engine, and under the watchful eyes of her brothers, begins to kart for the first time.
As she makes her way around the track, the grid kids cheer raucously and even get a bit teary-eyed. The sight of the little kart zooming around, driven by your fearless daughter, is a memory none of you will forget.
When she finally finishes her laps and the engine dies down, the grid kids rush over, lifting her into the air in celebration.
Lando, panting from excitement as if he were the one driving, declares, “Best. Day. Ever!”
Your daughter is grinning from ear to ear. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”
Sebastian pulls you close as you watch your children make plans to kart together soon. “Looks like we’ve got another racer in the family.”
Your heart melts when you see the look of pure joy on your daughter’s face as she’s surrounded by her brothers. “Formula 1 better watch out.”
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#sebastian vettel x reader#max verstappen x reader#charles leclerc x reader#lance stroll x reader#george russell x reader#lando norris x reader#mick schumacher x reader#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#sebastian vettel imagine#max verstappen imagine#charles leclerc imagine#lance stroll imagine#george russell imagine#lando norris imagine#mick schumacher imagine#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader
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Here’s ya girl who has gone completely feral over astarion. He’s the babiest baby. Okay, here’s the prompt. My characterisation could be a bit (or a lot lol) off bc I haven’t played the game Y E T so feel free to change the things that seem OOC.
Established relationship, but the beginnings of it, on a mission to find a way for astarion to be in the sun again. Reader has given astarion time to work on his sexual trauma so they haven’t been having sex for some time. Reader is 100% ok w that. But they have a big argument over something (not related to sex) and astarion doesn’t know how to resolve the situation other than reverting back to his seductive artifice and using sex as a way to ensure his safety (in this case, emotional safety). Reader figures it out because they (or she) are not dumb. They reassure astarion and he lets himself be vulnerable but also, it turns out that astarion wants that sexual intimacy. But reader decides this will be all about astarion and making him feel good and loved. Body worship, astarion’s praise kink, just everything focused on astarion’s pleasure in a way he has never experienced and that makes him completely unravel once he comes. Not a subby reader, tho. You know me, I don’t do subby.
If this is too long of a prompt, just the sexy part will be ok. Thank you so much, i have such astarion brainrot DDDD:
I Want to Live
word count: 1700
gn!reader x Astarion | Baldur's Gate 3 fanfic | 18+ only
"I don't think we should use the tadpoles for anything, Astarion." You put your hands on your hips, glaring at the sulky Elf in front of you.
This tense conversation between the two of you had gone on far longer than you'd have liked. Astarion seemed insistent on using whatever advantage the Illithids had unintentionally given your party. Despite not yet knowing the implications of doing so.
Astarion's silver hair glinted in the firelight that warmed your back, his eyes shone like droplets of blood. "You might as well leave me alone, spoilsport." He waved an imperious hand in your direction, sneering at you in the way he knew would hurt you most. "Since you insist on being boring and unimaginative."
You ground your teeth. "I'm trying to keep us safe."
"And a fine job you're doing, my sweet." His lilting voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you ask Arabella how her parents are doing?" He paused, then feigned surprise. "Oh wait..."
Your eyes widened as a jolt of genuine pain lanced through your heart at his callous words. Astarion was aiming to do damage and, like always, he knew how to push your buttons.
Magic sparked at the end of your fingertips as you fought to control your rage. It was the lack of verbal response that alerted Astarion to the fact he might have pushed a little too far with you. His face almost looked regretful for a moment, or perhaps it was a trick of the firelight casting shadows across his features. You didn't gain much insight because of the tears blurring your vision as you quickly turned away and strode as far away from the vampire spawn as you could.
Shadowheart, who always seemed to overhear everything, cast a worried glance your direction before leveling a glare on Astarion who still watched after you with a blank look.
You sat yourself upon your bedroll before the campfire and listened to Volo squeakily tune his lute. Wyll and Gale were over by their tents chatting and Lae'zel sat on a boulder by the river sharpening her sword.
You had thought Astarion would understand and perhaps even agree with you, and the rest of the camp for that matter, that the parasites should not be utilized to gain control of other beings. It was convenient and downright useful, yes...but not worth an unknown cost.
You had thought...since that night when the two of you had become intimate...that he'd maybe come to care for you. But that jab about Arabella's parents, who you'd failed to save, only confirmed that the vampire did not have your best interests at heart.
Sighing, you moved your bedroll away from its usual place beside Astarion's and arranged it next to where Karlach slept. You could feel multiple pairs of eyes watching you move about but you didn't much care at the moment.
Karlach gave you a curious and concerned look as she came over and got comfortable for the night. "Are you alright? I could hear you and Astarion going at it...and not in the fun way."
You grunted and moved your body to the side so you could scrape out a rock that had been digging into your back. "It's fine. He's just an ass." You said these words loud enough for him to hear.
Karlach shrugged and nodded as if this were common knowledge. She gave you a jolting pat on the back before getting comfortable in her own bedroll.
As the breathing patterns of your companions slowly deepened in slumber, you could not find any rest. You tossed and turned as best you could in such primitive sleeping arrangements. You missed your bed back in Baldur's Gate above the taproom of the Shadowcat Claw, the familiar bustle of voices and a mug of ale in your belly lulling you to sleep. Out in this wilderness, with the thought of your argument with Astarion tugging at your thoughts...you had to get up.
As quietly as you could, you slid out of your bedroll and got to your feet. A quick observation of your companions told you they were all in a deep sleep. All except Lae'zel who sat on the boulder still, keeping silent watch. She nodded at you curtly as you passed and didn't ask any questions, for which you were grateful.
You crept through the foliage down to the place in the forest by the river where you and Astarion had had your midnight tryst. You could still feel his moonlight hair running through your fingers, his fangs on your neck as you arched it just for him. The trust...you thought you had at least earned a little bit of his trust.
"I thought I'd find you here." His voice was velvet, it shivered straight through your defenses to your heart.
"I wanted to be alone, Astarion." You tried to keep your own voice cool and collected, but you ached to hold him in your arms again.
Astarion had followed you from the campsite into the woods. He'd been fully aware of your restlessness, of course he had. He entered your line of sight now, looking very much like a cat stalking its prey. His ruby eyes were dark and trained on your face. "Come now, you're far too obvious for all this bluster. Do you not want to feel me again?" He gave you a crooked smile, showing his teeth. "A second taste, perhaps?"
You felt the hollowness of his words and saw the carefully arranged expression he wore like a mask. Beneath the facade you could make out the telltale twitch of a facial muscle, the tenseness of his eyes, indicating anxiety.
You sighed. "I thought we were passed these games."
"Games?" Astarion's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "Games are all part of the fun, my dear. So good at getting the blood pumping."
You folded your arms. "I want an apology."
This tripped him up. For a moment the facade slipped, and he seemed genuinely taken aback. "Apologize?" Then he was back to his usual bluster. "Me? Apologize for what?"
"For having a go at me today. Bringing up Arabella's parents when you know how upset I am about it." Astarion made a noise as if to speak but you cut across him. "That was cruel, Astarion, and I deserve better from you."
"I didn't..." Astarion sighs heavily, his eyes glancing down to the ground then back at your face. "I apologize." The words seemed to pain him in some way. "I wanted to get a rise out of you, that's all. Now let's forget about that and have some fun."
You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, saying nothing, simply watching his face lit in the silver moonlight. His unconvincing grin slowly slipped off his face, a troubled frown replacing it. The two of you looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, you spoke.
"You're testing how much I care for you, aren't you?" Your voice was soft, almost inaudible over the rippling stream.
Astarion seemed momentarily taken aback, he seemed to consider taking shelter once more behind his mask of pompous indifference. But then his shoulder's slumped slightly, the fists at his sides loosened. That was all the answer you needed.
You stepped forward and placed your hands around his, tugging him closer. He did not resist, his footfalls light as ever as he drew near. Close enough to feel his breath warm your lips.
"I care about you, Astarion." Your voice was still soft amidst the rustling leaves and sparkling water. "I discourage you from using the tadpole's powers because I couldn't bear to see your will overtaken by yet another monster."
Astarion was silent for a long time, his scarlet eyes turned silver as a moonbeam fell across his pallid face. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. "What if it's too late for me? To be anything other than a monster? My only choice is which one." He laughs forcefully, bitterness twisting his mouth.
"I won't let that happen." You encircled him tenderly in a hug, pulling him to rest flush against your body. "We're in this...together."
"Together." The word was echoed back to you, his voice framing the syllables as if it were a foreign tongue.
You turned your face into him and kissed his neck softly, feeling his body tense in your arms and then slowly relax. You kept your lips against his skin, over where Cazador had sunk his fangs all those centuries ago.
Astarion's hands slowly slid up your hips to rest against your lower back as he held you close. Your lips caressed his neck, throat and trailed up to his jaw until you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you." You murmured.
You felt him tense again, not pushing you away, but his hands tightened on your back. "I..." Astarion hesitated. "I'm not quite ready to say those words back to you, my dear."
"I know." You felt no anger, no hurt. You accepted him however he wished to come to you, grateful for this rare moment of vulnerability beneath the stars.
You pushed him back gently until his back made contact with the base of a large sycamore tree. A huff of air left his lungs, quickly claimed by your mouth as you kissed him hungrily this time. Your hands made quick work of his clothing and Astarion became eager to help the process along.
"Vixen." He murmured and you laughed against his lips, your tongues teasing each other.
"You're beautiful, Astarion." You held his face in your hands and kissed his mouth lightly, not allowing him to turn away even as the compliment made his eyes search yours for hints of disingenuity. "I want nothing from you in return." You said firmly, reading his emotional turmoil through your shared Illithid connection. "This is just for you." You kissed his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. "To keep."
Astarion's head fell back to rest against the tree trunk as you continued lavishing affection upon him. He moaned your name softly to the night sky as you slowly sunk to your knees before him, the dirt and rocks digging unheeded against your knees. His fingers twisted in your hair and guided you to where he wanted you most.
"Good, my love." You praised him, your words causing his body to shake with increasing pleasure. "Show me."
The night was long and full of bliss. A genuine exchange of pleasure, without the previous facades and plays at affection. You felt the change as surely as he did, and when the others awoke in the morning it was to find your bedroll pulled back right next to where Astarion lay curled against you.
~
"You owe me five gold, Shadowheart." Gale mumbled.
#baldurs gate 3 fanfic#astarion x reader#astarion bg3#gale bg3#shadowheart#bg3 fic#bg3 astarion x reader#astarion x tav#karlach#astarion romance#baldur's gate 3 fanfiction
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V The Mysterious Wayne Family
Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 2
“Why can’t I sit in the front seat?” Danny demanded to know, crossing his arms from the back of Dick’s car.
Dick sighed, peering back at him with the rearview mirror. He’d been shaky as they escaped the apartment without getting attacked by the media. Did the idiot get sick? Was the media in this dimension such a big threat?
Truthfully, Danny didn’t know a lot about this dimension, despite having lived in it for around a year. That year was spent almost entirely homeless, spending only the last few weeks with Dick. Otherwise, he was sleeping where he could, spending his days in libraries and conning people out of cash as a child medium.
…Well, calling it “conning” was a bit of an overstatement. He did get people in contact with dead relatives and the like. He just… didn’t always quote them exactly, especially when it meant he could get enough money to eat for the day.
“It’s unsafe, Danny, you know that.”
Danny glared at him from his booster seat, which put him perfectly at eye level so he could lock eyes with Dick with the rear-view mirror. He hated this whole situation: the booster seat, his age, needing to rely on an adult, the stupid media, the stupid police, the stupid Dick… Okay, he kinda liked the booster seat. It was based off of some hero—Superbman—who was an alien? But looked like a human?
That may be one of the biggest differences between this dimension and his hom–the dimension he was born in. Danny had been one of the only heroes back there, along with Valerie and Dani, if you could even call them heroes. In this dimension? There were hundreds. There were space aliens to normal people in costumes to other humans with powers, and while not all of them were heroes, a lot of them were.
And Danny hated how easy they had it.
Every day back in Amity Park was a fight for acceptance, a battle to convince people that yes, he was a ghost with good intentions, only for that trust to be lost the moment he wasn’t fast enough to stop a ghost from hurting someone, or got thrown through a wall trying to protect people. It was constantly one step forward and one step back, and nothing Sam or Tucker or Jazz said ever truly made him okay with it.
Despite everything, he hoped Amity Park was doing alright without him. He couldn’t go back—wouldn’t go back, even if he had an open portal and his powers, not after what happened—but hopefully they were doing okay.
He hoped his rogues had listened and stayed away from the Fenton portal. For their own safety.
Like every time he thought of his pa–the Fentons, the scars across his chest flared up. They might have been long-healed, but the pain always lingered, a sharp lance that lingered in the thin skin of his wound. Fiddling around in his pocket, Danny found his juul and puffed. Exhaling, a bubble gum smoke filled the cabin as the CBD started to work its way into his blood.
Dick coughed. “You know you won’t be able to do that in the manor, right?”
Danny grumbled, rolling down the window a crack.
“I’m serious, Danny. I know you need it, but the rules are different at the manor. You’ll need to go outside to smoke.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll smoke outside. Wouldn’t want your gramps to get bent out of shape.”
He laughed. “I think Alfred would be alright, once we explain your medical issues. It’s Bruce we’ll have to worry about. He’s got this thing about drugs… once he learns what’s in your juul, he do whatever it takes to get you off it. He won’t even listen if we tell him about your chronic pain, he’ll just think you’re lying!” Dick threw his hand up in the air. “Honestly, it’s just lecture after lecture with him.”
“He can suck a cock then!”
Dick laughed, all traces of anger gone as his bright eyes glanced at him through the mirror. “Say that to his face, and you get ice cream for a week.”
“Done!”
The illusive Bruce Wayne. Danny had heard the name from the TV that morning, and apparently he was Dick’s dad. Not that Dick ever mentioned him in the months they knew each other. Not that this Bruce guy ever visited on the occasions Dick managed to convince him to stay the night, nor in the weeks after his foster placement was finalized. Danny didn’t even know Dick had a dad until this morning, so clearly something was going on here.
If he focused on this case—the mystery behind the estrangement of Dick and Bruce—then he’d finally be able to get his mind off Mrs. Bennett’s case. The Shade had approached him early that morning, flickering in the moonlight, barely visible and just formed. Her case was so easy too; her killer was her son-in-law, she’d been awake when he killed her and he’d definitely left behind evidence too, but there was no telling if the other detectives at Bludhaven PD would find it. Or would care enough to find it.
Corrupt bastards.
Speaking of which—”Are we actually going to be able to consult on cases while we’re in Gotham, or was that just something you said to make me feel better?”
“I believe I said case, as in the singular one with Mrs. Bennett. But yes, I’ve already arranged it with the Commissioner.”
“But she works for the Damir family! We can’t trust her.”
“We can’t trust her when it comes to cases related to the Damir family,” Dick corrected. “Other than that, she’s decent at her job.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“She’s better than the other officers in our department?” he tried again.
“Also not a compliment. I’ve met dead guys that are better cops.”
They bantered back and forth, but the closer they got to Gotham, the tenser Dick became. Dick wasn’t the type to get serious out of nowhere—the only times Danny could remember were when a case involved a gang or that one terrible time when some ugly-ass assassin with a stupid-ass name came to town—but whatever was waiting for them… must be bad. Right?
Gotham, Danny noticed as they drove through town, looked better than Bludhaven, like how rats look better than turds. Danny had heard the rumors about Gotham, mostly about all the dangerous villains, but there was clearly some money going into infrastructure. Beautiful gothic buildings dripping with gargoyles towered overhead, and there weren’t nearly as many boarded up shops and potholes.
It wouldn’t have been a bad place to set up shop if it weren’t for all the Shades around.
The ghost population of this dimension mostly comprised of Shades with the occasional Poltergeists and Wraiths. Ectoplasm wasn’t as accessible here; just traveling to this dimension had stripped Danny of almost all the ectoplasm in his body and he still hadn’t recovered, so his powers barely worked. But Shades were shadows of humans when they were alive, weak and incorporeal unless you were a ghost too, barely kept together with their obsession.
Bludhaven had a lot of Shades. That’s why Danny settled down there when he first arrived. He wanted to help people move on if he could, either by solving their murder or contacting their loved ones.
If Bludhaven had a lot of Shades, Gotham had a colossal number.
Shades clogged the walkways and the streets, dissipating when someone or something went through them and reforming in an instant. Some alleys were plugged with them and some alleys were empty. Danny watched with wide eyes. Ghosts were supposed to be rare. He’d thought ghosts were rare. But Gotham was plagued with violent crime… violent, unique, indescribable crime, worse in intensity from Bludhaven, but not quite there in frequency. There were women with their faces melted off, men ripped in half down the center, children blown to bits, creeping around the streets of Gotham.
Danny sunk down in his booster seat. “I want to go home,” he admitted quietly.
Dick sighed. “I know, kiddo. I want to go home too.”
He blinked away stubborn tears. Dick didn’t understand. This wasn’t Danny’s home, this dimension wasn’t Danny’s home, Dick wasn’t Danny’s home (as much as Danny appreciated Dick, he wanted his family, but they hated him, they attacked him, they—)
Dick continued talking. “But you know what? Everything’s going to be okay. Because my grandfather is going to love you. And Bruce— He’s a little rough around the edges and we might not get along right now, but he’s going to love you too.” Dick sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Danny. “Tim’s going to adore you; he’s told me that he’s always wanted a younger sibling and I can’t blame him; his house looks so lonely and his parents were always gone. He’s staying with Bruce now as a foster since his dad’s in a coma, but he’s been family long before that…”
He listened to Dick continue to ramble about his family. Bruce was rarely touched upon in his stories, but Alfred was spoken of with unmistakable love (Danny never knew his grandparents, Mom and Dad were disowned years before he was born, he could probably guess why), and he clearly adored Tim (He could understand that, Danny loved Jazz with his entire soul, but what would it have been like if he had a younger sibling? Would his relationship with Dani have turned into this if they could’ve spent time together?). Dick continued with stories about his best friend and ex-girlfriend, Barabra (Sam and Tuck, Tuck and Sam, his friends were dead and it's his fault—), and even a few including Tim’s ex-girlfriend too.
He closed his eyes and tried not to think.
Before long, the car slowed to a stop. Ahead of them was a grand manor, the kind shown in those regency tv shows that Jazz loved watching, with obsessively maintained gardens and beautiful, clean exterior. A stone staircase led up to larger-than-life wooden doors; Danny couldn’t identify what kind of wood, but it was probably something expensive and old. Mahogany? That sounded like an expensive wood.
Dick put the car in park before turning around in his seat to look at Danny. “Alright, buddy. Are you ready to meet our family?”
“Your family,” Danny corrected mulishly, unbuckling his seat belt.
“Our family,” Dick said again, smiling. “They’re good people, and they’re going to be here for you.”
“Sure.” Sliding out of his seat and out of the car, Danny stayed slightly behind Dick as they walked up the steps and to the front door. Before Dick could knock or find the doorbell, the doors opened to reveal an old stereotypical butler. He even had a British accent! “Master Grayson,” he addressed Dick coolly, but when he looked at Danny, his expression softened. “And Young Master Daniel. It is good to finally meet you, and welcome to Wayne Manor. I am the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.”
Danny ducked away. “Danny’s fine,” came his muttered response.
Alfred smiled. “Young Master Danny, then. Come along; Master Bruce is waiting for you both in the foyer.”
Dick grimaced. Did that mean something bad? What was a foyer, a fancy word for office? Was Dick going to get scolded?
They followed Alfred into the house (although, calling it a house felt like an understatement). It was even fancier inside, with marble floors and a glistening chandelier overhead. Danny felt significantly out of place in his jeans and ratty coat he’d pulled out of the trash.
There was a man pacing in the room (was this the foyer?). He was dressed in a fancy suit and built like a brick house, but looked similar enough to Dick in a weird funhouse-mirror way. The moment he saw them, his face smoothed into a banal smile and Danny immediately didn’t like him. “Dick! You’re home.” Striding up to them, the man immediately hugged Dick, who stiffly returned it. “Welcome back, chum. And who’s this?”
Dick’s smile was strained. “This is my foster son, Danny. Danny, this is Bruce; I was his ward until I turned 18.” Ouch. Not even a foster son, but a ward? That sounded like a significant step down from fostering. Danny glared at Bruce, who seemed taken aback by his hostility. Dick laughed nervously. “Sorry about him, he’s shy.” Now Danny glared at Dick.
Bruce’s smiled evened out as he crouched down, like that would hide his fucking massive body. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny,” he said. “I’m very happy you're here. Hopefully it’ll be a lot more peaceful now that you’re staying with us.”
Danny scowled. “Suck a cock, douchebag.”
Bruce’s smile dropped as Dick smothered a laugh. “Watch your mouth,” Dick scolded without any heat behind it. Danny smirked.
“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce said, straightening up. “I’m sure Danny’s just shaken up from the sudden change. I’m feel the same, since you didn’t tell any of your friends or family that you were taking in a child.”
“Oh, so you can adopt a child without telling anyone, but when I do it—”
Alfred stepped in. “If you both could contain yourselves a minute longer, I can get the Young Masters settled in. I’ve already arranged a room for you in the family ward, Young Master Danny, if you’d like to rest? It is still rather early in the morning.”
“It might be better to give him a tour of the manor before anything else,” Dick said, eyeing Danny warrily.
“I’m not going to get lost.”
“Mhmm.” Dick didn’t believe him.
“I’m not!”
“Just like how you didn’t get lost at the precinct? Or at the morgue? Or at—”
“I never got lost on the streets!” Danny thought that was rather impressive. Besides, it’s not his fault the morgue was just empty hallways that all looked the same!
“The streets are labeled. Besides, you’ll never know where the in-house theater is without a tour.” Dick winked, like that was a big selling point.
Bruce interrupted them. “Why don't you give him a tour after we talk, Dick? It’s been a long time since we last spoke and I was hoping to ask you about your… recent life change.”
Dick pinched the bridge of nose. “Of course you want to start the interrogation right away,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright, but I don’t want Danny to hear this. Alfie, could you– Tim!” Following Dick’s glance, Danny found a teenager in his fancy pajamas standing on the stairs leading to the second floor. The teen, who looked enough like Dick to be his brother and Bruce’s son, rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Tim can take you on the tour! Come on, Danny.”
Dick ushered Danny up the stairs to Tim. “Will you be okay without me?” Danny asked, not wanting to leave Dick alone with Bruce.
He got a bright smile in return. Danny didn’t trust it. “Of course I will, kiddo. Don’t worry about me, just focus on having fun with Timmy.”
Tim looked blearily between them. “What is going on?”
“You’re taking Danny on a tour so he doesn’t hear me and Bruce fight,” Dick told him plainly. “Danny, this is my brother and Bruce’s foster son, Tim. Tim, this is my foster son, Danny. You two have fun!”
Ignoring Tim’s protests that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, Dick pushed them up the stairs and into the immediate hallway, closing the door behind him. They stared at each other for a moment before Danny pressed his ear against the crack in the door. “When did Dick get a kid?” Tim asked.
“Like, three weeks ago, keep up.” Tim tried to say something again, but Danny shushed him. After a moment, Tim joined him in eavesdropping by the door.
Dick spoke. “I’ll start. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you both I was fostering a kid. I was planning to inform you after the two month mark and Danny had settled in a bit more, but obviously that plan is out the window.”
“I accept your apology, Master Dick,” Alfred said, and there was a sigh of relief. “However, I would still like to know how this happened in the first place.”
“I’m more interested in knowing how you managed to foster him without us being interviewed as character references.”
“...I may have used my boss’ influence to make sure that only my co-workers were interviewed?” Dick admitted.
“Master Richard.”
“I’m sorry, Alfie, but he’s a flight risk! Do you know how many times I managed to get him to come home with me only for him to disappear in the middle of the night!? Fourteen times! Danny’s admitted that he ran away from his previous home, he still hasn’t told me his real last name, and he’s paranoid enough to give Bruce a run for his money! I’ve just barely managed to gain his trust. I didn’t need Bruce being Bruce to ruin it for us—”
“If you had asked me to stay away, I would have—”
“No you wouldn’t, Bruce! You’d pick and prod and try to uncover his every little secret because you don’t trust me to figure it out myself! If Danny had suspected that someone was looking into his past, he would have bolted, B. And I would have lost him forever.”
Danny nodded. He would have. Not that Bruce would have found anything about his past–the perks of getting stuck in an alternate dimension–but some rich asshole poking his nose in his business? Danny would have snuck onto the next bus out of the city.
“You can barely take care of yourself, Dick!” Bruce insisted. “If it was such a dire situation, then you could have contacted me and I would have–”
“–Lost him immediately because he has a strange hatred for billionaires?” Dick scoffed. “He wouldn’t let you get within six feet of him if you tried to take custody.”
“I–”
“He bites too.”
“Dick–”
“Hard.”
“Richard–”
“And it’s pretty bold of you to say I can’t take care of myself. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Because the word hypocrite is written across your forehead in crayon.”
“But I’m not the one who struggles to make rent each month.” Danny flinched. He’d known that Dick didn’t get paid that much, but was it really that bad? Didn’t Dick get a pay increase when he was made detective? Or was Danny taking so much money that it negated the pay increase— “Nevertheless, I’m not trying to take custody away from you, Dick. I’m just… trying to figure out how we got to this point.”
“We got to this point by not trusting each other,” Dick said tiredly. “And I still don’t trust you, not after what you did.”
Dick, I–”
“No, Bruce. This is my life. Besides you were only a few years older than me when my parents died and you decided to raise me on your own. It’s hypocritical for you to complain that I’m doing the same. Look, I’ve known Danny for over a year–”
“You mean you’ve hid this from me for over a year?”
“Bruce–”
“I knew I should have been suspicious when you got that foster license. You’ve been planning this for months–”
“Bruce!” Dick snapped, and Danny had never heard Dick that mad before, not even the first time they met. “Obviously I’ve been planning this for months! I’ve been planning this since the first week I met Danny! The only reason I got that damn license was for him!” He felt… warm. Danny knew that foster licenses were hard to get, but Dick had really wanted him since the week they met. Danny had been so… feral back then, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting him, not even Jazz. Dick continued, voice barely audible through the door. “He’s a good kid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
A sigh. “I just… don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, that’s all.”
“Are you saying you regret adopting me?” The angry voice was back. “Adopting Jason?”
“That’s not what I meant—!”
Tim pulled him away from the door. “We shouldn’t be listening to this. Come on, let’s start that tour you need.”
Danny tried to pull away, but Tim was deceptively strong for his thin frame. Despite his struggles, he was halfway down the hall before he knew it. “Let me go, cocksleeve!”
“You don’t need to hear that,” Tim said. “Trust me, things always get… heated between them, when Jason is brought up. That’s not something you need to witness.”
Jason, huh? That must be the linchpin in this entire investigation. Dick had never mentioned a Jason before, but he was clearly important if the entire family got bent out of shape for him. Did Dick cut contact with Bruce because of this Jason? Did Jason force Dick to do it? Dick would never abandon his family like that, Danny knew this had to be true because of his determination in trying to take Danny home, but if he was forced to stay away… Maybe Jason is an associate of Bruce that Dick hates?
Danny finally managed to jerk his arm away. His entire hand ached. “You don’t have to drag me!”
Shock crossed Tim’s face, like he’d finally realized what he was doing, before it fell. “I’m sorry, Danny. I shouldn’t have pulled you. It’s just… Jason isn’t something you should hear about, at your age. I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring him up, especially around Bruce. Okay?”
Studying the boy, Danny agreed. Sounds like Jason’s some sort of criminal contact, so it was best to behave carefully. Danny kicked at the ground, scraping dirt off onto the carpet that ran in the center of the hall. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” He asked. “I don’t need a tour, I’m not a baby.”
Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I just spent the night in the library, working on a case? If you want to lend a hand with that?”
Danny narrowed his eyes. “I thought you just woke up?”
“...Just because I was in the library doesn’t mean I was awake the entire time.”
Ah, a fellow insomniac. His eyes narrowed further. “I only like interesting cases. What kind are we talking about? Fraud? Robbery? Some dinky school kid project?”
“Multiple homicides. If that’s interesting enough for you?”
“...Carry on.”
A/N: Anyway, I’m using @/jedipirateking’s age chart for the ages of Batman characters. Since we’re right before Under the Red Hood, that makes Dick 24. Danny is roughly a year younger than Damian, but was originally 17 before he was deaged.
Dick: Yes, this is my feral street child.
Danny: *foaming at the mouth, swearing*
Tim, internally: Oh! Dick must have already informed Danny about our identities! They work on cases together too, maybe we can work on one to bond?
Danny, internally: Wow, rich people have weird ass hobbies
Danny: *so close, yet so far from figuring out the Jason thing*
Red Hood: Did someone just walk over my fucking grave again?
Yes, some things are being kept vague on purpose. That’s for a better reveal in the future.
@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog
#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#dpxdc#constantine jr au#c: danny fenton#c: nightwing#c: tim drake#c: alfred pennyworth#c: bruce wayne#c: jason todd#fictag dgvg
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“You’re nervous.”
“Hnnngh,” Keith says, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He looks straight ahead, left leg bouncing, hair pulled back into a ponytail but flyaways everywhere. He keeps having to push up his glasses when they slide down his nose, nudged forward by all the tension in his eyebrows. “Being stressed before a stressful situation is not being nervous, Lance, it’s just my brain responding like a brain.”
Lance hides a smile. “You’ve met my family before, baby.”
Keith slows to a stop as they approach their turn, looking at Lance instead of the road for the first time in twenty minutes. His indigo eyes are wide and pleading. Lance is distracted by the tiny mole beside his nose.
“I’ve met your mom,” he says emphatically, breaking eye contact with Lance to crane his head to the left, checking over the hill for any cars. He’s far more careful than he needs to be — there’s never anyone on this road. But Keith is always endlessly careful when he’s driving other people around. “I’ve met your siblings. I’ve met your abuela. I’ve met the twins.”
“Mighty number of people,” Lance agrees. He looks at his boyfriend pointedly. “All of whom love you.”
“Because they love you,” Keith stresses. “You’re, like, their favourite person. You hyped me up so of course they have a nicer view of me. But this is like — your great grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles and, I dunno, second sister in law five times removed —
“Not how that works,” Lance interjects, amused.
“—and now I gotta impress them all? At once? I still don’t know how I did that with everyone else! I panicked! I forgot all my lines and conversation starters! I just — was awkward, and they were cool with it because your family is cool!”
“Ah, yes, you were yourself and people liked you,” Lance says, nodding sagely. “How bizarre.”
Keith looks at him imploringly. He has a — really cute nose, holy shit. It’s crooked from the three separate times it’s been broken and Lance is kind of obsessed with it. All he can think about is pressing a kiss to the bridge of it and watching how Keith will crinkle it on reflex. He has to fight back a giggle.
“I am going to get eaten,” Keith says miserably. “My luck is going to wear out. I’m gonna say something stupid and offend your third cousin or trip over someone’s toddler and destroy your mother’s flan by crashing into the table and upending hot coffee on an elderly person. Then I’ll get arrested for assault and you’ll have to visit me in prison and my cellmate will make a comment about you or something and I’ll have to kill him and then I’ll get retried and the death sentence, probably, and then Red will bust me out of prison and cause intergalactic meltdowns and —”
Lance can’t hold back anymore. Quick as a dart he reaches out, fisting Keith’s collar, and yanks him over the gearshift, kissing him softly and soundly until Keith sighs, surprise fading into something calmer, relaxed. His hand comes up to cup Lance’s cheek.
“You need a Xanax,” Lance says gently as he pulls away.
Keith huffs, the manic look in his eyes replaced with something much softer. Relieved, even. “Yeah, probably.” He tears his eyes away from Lance, rechecking his turn and finally actually putting on his blinker and moving onto the right road. His free hand reaches over the gearshift and Lance grabs it, tangling their fingers together and resting them in his lap. “I just — I want your family to like me.”
Lance smiles, a wide one that brings a flush to his cheeks and makes him shy, even though he’s not self-conscious; a smile that makes something flutter so intensely in his stomach that it feels so intensely private.
“They’ll like you,” Lance says simply.
Keith exhales. His hand tightens. Lance squeezes back.
The rest of the drive is easy.
———
By the time they make it to Lance’s great-grandmother’s farm, he can tell that some tension has crawled back into Keith’s shoulders. But he’s always been brave, when fighting dictators or meeting parents, and doesn’t hesitate to pull into the gravel driveway and park the car. He squeezes Lance’s hand again before letting go, stepping out of the car and heading to get their stuff.
“Tío! Tío!” scream two voices, and Lance doesn’t even have half a second to brace himself before Nadia is launching herself at his stomach. He manages somehow to spin them both around to offset the momentum, keeping them both upright. Keith is not quite so lucky — Lance hears a slam, a startled oof, and then he sees their bags go flying out of the corner of his eye.
“Jesus Christ,” Keith wheezes, flat on the ground with Sylvio crowded on top of him.
“I got you!” the boy crows, scrambling off Keith’s body in order to adequately dance around in victory. “You went splat!” He whirls around to face Lance, still dancing around. “Tío Lance! Did you see?”
Lance adjusts Nadia on his hip, making no attempt to hide his amusement. “I did. You got him good, buddy.”
Beaming, Sylvio turns back to Keith, who’s finally managed to get enough breath back in his lungs to stand.
“You got me good,” he wheezes in approval.
“Just like you showed me!”
There’s no mistaking the smugness in Sylvio’s voice, the challenge, the I’m-little-you’re-big-and-you’re-a-loser.
Keith recognises the challenge easily, eyes glinting, and before Sylvio can run away Keith scoops him up, tossing him over his shoulder and whirling them around ‘til he’s dizzy.
“Just like I showed you, champ. Think you can get out of this one, though? It’s easy!”
Sylvio shrieks, pounding on Keith’s back with fists weak from laughter. Nadia squirms in Lance’s hold, so Lance sets her down, and in seconds she’s run and attacked Keith’s other side, climbing up his legs to try and free her brother. Keith scoops her up, too, throwing her over his other shoulder as she laughs just as shrilly.
“Clearly neither of you learned very much!” he shouts, grin so wide it practically splits his face. His already precariously dangling glasses slide right off his face but Keith doesn’t even spare them a glance, stepping over them easily and shaking the twins as he goes. “You’re trapped!”
It doesn’t take the bright twins very long to unite forces, attacking Keith with renewed vigour all at once. Lance bends down as they wrestle, scooping up Keith’s glasses and their discarded bags.
“He’s good with them,” Lisa says, sidling up beside him and sliding her hand around his waist. Lance mirrors her, squeezing.
“He thinks they’re hilarious. He loves them to pieces.”
“Believe me, they love him too. I heard about Uncle Keith so much on the drive down that I was tired of him before you two even got here.”
Lance snorts. “Yeah, right, dweeb. No one else here reads Jane Austen. You need your nerd buddy.”
“Indeed,” she says, grinning. She pats him on the hip, pulling away and taking one of the bags slung over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get your stuff dropped off. Marcela will want to fuss over you, I’m sure. She hasn’t seen you since your last mission.”
Lance looks back at his boyfriend before following her, making sure he doesn’t need Lance’s help. The twins have wrestled him into doing their bidding, it looks like, or more likely he didn’t even put up a fight, and sit on one shoulder each, guiding him around the property with shouts and points and frenzied gesturing. Keith has his hand locked firmly over each set of knees, careful not to let them fall, as he wobbles around to make them gasp and laugh.
Lance smiles. He’s fine.
———
Keith finds him within the hour, Nadia and Sylvio off to play with their cousins.
“You abandoned me,” he pouts, hand wrapped around his elbow.
Lance notices, idly, that he’s slouching again; that his ponytail has been abandoned entirely and his hair curtains his face.
Hm.
“You were busy being a doofus,” Lance teases, brushing his hair out of his face. He nobly resists the urge to quote Regina George. “One of us has to be the mature one. We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression about the saviours of the universe.
“You’re hiding out on a random couch on your phone,” Keith deadpans. He glances down at the screen. “You’re watching a seven year old vine compilation. On mute.”
“Like an adult,” Lance says primly. “Watch with me.”
Keith rolls his eyes fondly, but slides on the couch behind Lance, arms wrapped around his waist and chin hooked over his shoulder. Lance digs in his pockets until he finds Keith’s glasses, twisting around to slide them on his handsome face. His hands linger on Keith’s temples. Keith’s smile is small and crooked and bares the tiniest peek of crooked incisors, and Lance’s heart flutters.
He leans back into Keith’s chest as he plays the video, watching a compilation of dorky videos he’s seen a thousand times. He feels Keith’s grin press into the juncture of his neck as he starts to mumble along. His hand rests just under Lance’s shirt, flat on his stomach. Lance fights the urge to squirm.
You Are In Your Abuela’s House, he reminds himself firmly. Your Ancestors Are Watching You. And Jesus, Probably.
Luckily, someone calls out their names before Lance really needs to find a vat of ice water to dunk himself in.
“Leandro! Keith! Come eat before your hog of a brother takes it all!”
The two of them don’t even need to pause for a moment before throwing themselves off the couch, scrambling towards the kitchen at top speeds because Marco absolutely will eat their portion of the food. Not even because he’s hungry for it, just because he’s a butthead who thinks it’s funny.
“This is your fault,” Keith informs him, careening around a questionably placed side table.
“Nothing is ever my fault ever in the entire universe,” Lance shoots back.
(Is it Lance’s fault? Possibly. But in his defense, the several years he spent as a child waiting for Marco to be distracted before eating his favourite thing on the plate still make him crack up when he thinks about it. Marco just got so mad, every time. Plus his eyes bulge a little when he loses it. How was Lance ever supposed to avoid poking that bear?)
Luckily, they make it in time to wrestle a plate away from Marco’s snickering ass.
“Keith, Lance,” Lance’s mother greets warmly before Lance can crack a plate over his brother’s head. “I’m glad you made it!”
“Mother,” Lance squawks dramatically, hand flying to his chest, “I am the second to be greeted? You’re son? You’re youngest angel? The one who went missing for several years and returned to you, prodigal?”
She reaches over and flicks Lance in the forehead. Keith snorts. Marco cackles.
“Keith called me on the flight home,” she explains, ruthless. “So he is the son, and you are the son-in-law.”
Keith flushes as he always does when Mamá pairs them like that, when they’re both her sons, when she implies what it implies. Lance lets the warmth of that expression soak into his bones, deep in through his back, from every point Keith is touching him.
“I was sleeping off being maimed!” Lance despairs.
It does him no favours. Mamá waves her hands wildly, setting down her own plate in favour of placing her hands over her ears. “Gah! Sh! Do not tell me of these things! I am meant to pretend your job is nothing more than ornamental! Do not ruin that for me!”
“It was the slightest ever maiming,” Lance mutters, sullen.
Keith visibly bites back a retort to that, no doubt out of respect for Mamá.
(Lance knows that Keith would have been the world’s biggest mama’s boy had he grown up with Krolia. He has shared this hypothesis with Shiro, who had laughed so hard upon hearing it that he had sprained a muscle in his neck, and then explained later with a heat pack and a wryly smiling Adam that Keith used to scold Shiro for pushing himself with exact quotes from Shiro’s mother herself.)
“Nobody ever wants to hear my side of the story,” Lance laments.
Keith bends down to kiss him on the cheek.
“That’s because you are a liar,” he says kindly.
Lance catches his chin before he can pull away, kissing him to shut him up.
They head outside to join everyone else, plates stacked high with food and plastic cups balanced precariously with spare fingers. Keith starts to slouch again as they walk out the sliding screen door, but he keeps his hair out of his face, eyes flitting between different people. It helps that hardly anyone spares him half a glance, too used to random new people in such a big family.
“Hey, Patito! Over here!”
Lance whips his head up at the familiar voice, breaking into a wide smile when he sees his sister’s wilding waving hand. Keith, too, seems relieved when he catches sight of Veronica, rushing over almost faster than Lance is.
“Hey, losers,” she greets, flicking water from her cup at them as they sit across from her. “Took you long enough to get here.”
“Lance is a distraction and danger to the road,” Keith says immediately, because he is a snitch. He is also unfortunately very quick and manages to duck away from Lance’s pinch.
Veronica snorts. “Believe me, I know. Every ride back to the Garrison on weekends was a near death experience because he kept smacking me every ten seconds. A menace.”
“You manipulator!” Lance accuses. “I slapped you because you teased me! Constantly!”
Keith and Veronica share sharp, matching grins. Lance takes a nanosecond to ponder what he ever did to deserve the sufferings of their friendship.
“That’s because you’re so goddamn easy to rile up, sweetheart,” Keith says with a wink.
Lance attempts to shove him off his chair. Unfortunately, while he does flail backwards, he manages to stay upright.
“You two were supposed to hate each other,” he mutters into his congrí. “This friendship thing is bullshit.”
Neither believe him for a second.
They’re barely into their meal when the nosiness starts. In fact, Lance is honestly surprised it has lasted this long. Luis probably said something to convince everyone to tone it down, because he is a saint and also Lance’s favourite.
“So,” says his Aunt Vena, “…Keith.”
Keith freezes, cheeks bulging. Lance tries very hard not to laugh at him.
“Hi,” he says, swallowing. He says nothing else and looks agonized about it. His memorized conversation starters have no doubt fled his brain.
“You know, I feel like I already know you,” jokes Aunt Vena, never bothered by awkwardness. Or boundaries. “I only see Leandro a few times a year were the only thing he talked about for ages.”
Lance goes pale. Oh, please God, no. Please let Aunt Vena be suddenly gifted with the ability to read Lance’s mind, or at least notice him waving his hands frantically behind Keith’s head, making cutting motions at his throat.
“Keith this, Keith that. Keith Keith Keith.”
Lance cradles his face in his hands. So much for miracles.
“He did?” Keith asks.
“Stop investigating immediately or you’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” Lance threatens under his breath. Keith’s hand finds it’s way to his thigh and rests there, as if laughing at him.
“Oh, yes,” laughs Aunt Vena. “Every other word was about how you sat in class or walked in the hall or flew your planes. He was always angry about it, but he was quite focused on you. Oh, and your hair.”
Aunt Vena turns away to chatter with someone else like she didn’t just ruin Lance’s life. Lance would hate her if he didn’t find her so goddamn loveable, but he does, so instead he looks up and suffers Keith’s wide, shit-eating grin, and ponders deep in his heart how he will re-humble his boyfriend so they’re back on even ground.
“…You were big on the hair, huh.”
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll chop it off as you sleep.”
———
“Keith.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You dorkbrain.”
“I’m just saying!”
Keith’s hair is in a knot at the crown of his head, glasses pushed all the way to his face. He’s got Lance’s hand in his but he’s not paying attention to him in the slightest — he cycles between leaning back, then forwards, then craning his neck and shifting his eyes. Every few seconds he lets out a muted gasp.
A group of children run yelling in and out of the house, heedless of doors and stairs.
“You are such a mother hen,” Lance says with great amusement.
Keith is too distracted to even roll his eyes. “Some of them are very little,” he says worriedly. “Maybe they should play a game outside. There’s more space.” He looks around at the various adults sitting and chatting, aghast. “Should me maybe get a — pool noodle, or something? Just for the corners. So there are no head injuries. That’s the most common way they happen, you know. Tripping during play.”
Lance hums, leaning into his side. “Reading a lot of parenting books, are you.”
Keith is very deliberately silent. Lance flicks up his gaze to watch his face redden.
“…Akira.”
“It’s Shiro’s!” he says defensively. “It was — he had it on the shelf! I read it when I was younger! It was traumatizing! Do you know how easy it is to fuck up a kid? Very easy, Lance! Their heads are very squishy! They don’t know balance yet! They repeat everything you say!”
“Was this book,” Lance starts, choking back laughter with everything he has, “perhaps about raising toddlers?”
Keith’s jaw snaps shut.
“Children under two? Hm?”
Keith glances away. “It didn’t mention.”
Lance loses his battle, burying his cackling in Keith’s shoulder.
“How was I supposed to know that ‘A Guide To Raising Healthy Children For New Parents’ was about — babies? Shiro was the dumbass who had it!”
Lance laughs harder. “Did he — did he buy it when he —”
Keith puts his head in his hands. “He bought, like, forty books when he first started fostering me, they were all basically the same, he’s such a dumbass —”
“Stop, stop,” Lance begs, grasping his aching stomach. The image of Shiro, twenty years old, panicking after impulsively deciding to apply to foster the delinquent who stole his car, frantically googling advice for new parents only to unknowingly receive information about toddlers is the best mental image he’s had in a while. He’ll have to share with Pidge and the rest of the Holts the second they get home.
“You’re such a butthead,” Keith grumbles, but it’s half-hearted. His attention is still mostly on the way Mateo, Lance’s four year old second cousin, very nearly brains himself on the corner of the brick entryway trying to swerve away from his older sister. Keith’s sharp inhale would have been comical if Lance didn’t feel his own heart drop.
“Okay,” Lance concedes, “maybe it’s time for a new game.” He pats his boyfriend on the knee. “You’re up, champ.”
“Wait, me?” Keith asks, bewildered. “You’re their cousin.”
Lance shrugs. “You’re the worried one. Plus, I want to go get wine drunk with Rachel. Mamá said she just got here. She’s been avoiding my calls all week which means she has Information to share and doesn’t trust herself not to tell me immediately. I have to know what’s up.”
Keith still doesn’t look convinced. “But I’m a stranger to them, basically.”
“So start with Nadia and Sylvio, dummy. Once the rest of the kids see a cool newer and accidentally safer game to play, they’ll join fast. Plus, the stranger aspect is intriguing, probably. You’re like a new toy.”
To solidify his point, Lance calls his niblings over, gesturing to Keith. The twins light up, immediately abandoning whatever they’re doing — trying to shove a sleeping Luis’ finger up his own nose — to sprint over to them.
“Tío Keith has a game for you two,” Lance whispers conspirationally.
The twins burst into howling cheers.
“Game! Game! Game! Game!” they chant, each grabbing one of Keith’s hands and tugging him away.
Keith looks back at him, panicked. Lance blows him a kiss, then turns back into the house to go hunt for his sister.
She finds him first.
“LANCE,” she shouts, whipping around to face him. Lance immediately shifts backwards slightly, knees bent, legs widened, arms held out protectively in front of him. He smirks. She matches it.
She charges.
She aerials into a heel kick, as always, aiming for his skull. Lance back handsprings out of her reach, careful of the various relatives around him, who are well used to their brand of bullshit and don’t even pause their conversations as they lean away.
He comes back up just in time to throw up a block to her fists, aiming a kick to her stomach that she can’t fully dodge. She gets him right back, though, like she always does, aiming a sweeping kick for his ankles that he has to flip on his hands to avoid.
“It’s good to see you, fucker,” she pants, roundhouse kicking the dip of his waist.
“Likewise, asshole,” he grunts, grabbing her ankle and flipping her to the ground. She drags him down with her.
They’re both grinning.
“Tomorrow morning we box for real,” she proposes as they lay there, getting their breath back.
“Deal,” he agrees.
By the time they finally get back on their feet, they’re both parched, and since they also make frequent poor decisions, they head straight for the bad boxed wine. Lance pours them both heaping glasses and Rachel guides them to an open lawn chair, which they both sprawl on, a hundred percent in each other’s space.
“So,” Rachel says, chugging half her glass, “my grades are in. I’m graduating top of my class.”
Lance gasps. “Rachel!”
“And,” she continues, building up suspense with a grin, “I got word back from all my residency applications.”
Lance thinks he might explode. He remembers them when they were little, huddled on the floor of their bedroom at one in the morning, glow sticks guiding their planners, mapping out heir lives together. Where they would go to school, when they would bother with dating, how they would do it all together. Lance, best pilot to come out of the Garrison next to Shirogane. Rachel, the first surgeon to successfully transplant a brain.
“I got in,” she says, beam so wide it forces her eyes shut. “Lance, I got in!”
“Rach!” he screams, eyes blurry from tears and heart full to bursting. “Rach!”
He wraps his arms around her shoulders and squeezes, weeping with joy and elation and buzzing from his head to his toes. This is what Rachel has wanted since she was old enough to talk. This is his sister, his first and best friend, getting everything she has ever wanted, as she has always deserved.
“I’m so fucking proud of you!”
She squeezes him right back, her own tears wetting his t-shirt. Her relief is palpable, and Lance knows it, the indescribable feeling of finally crossing that goddamn mountain, finally getting what you’ve been working for for longer than you can remember.
“Everything is falling into place,” she says softly, pulling back and holding up her cup. Lance laughs and clinks them together.
They settle back into their shared chair, too happy for words, gathering themselves. Lance catches his mother’s eye and returns her soft smile, wine making him warm and happiness making him bright. He feels like he’s swimming in sun-warmed water.
He settles back with a sigh.
Rachel nudges him. “Hey, Loverboy. Look.”
Lance follows her pointing finger. Away from the tables and lawn chairs, in a wide, open space, there’s Keith — surrounded by every single child on the property, ordered in neat rows. Each of them has a hefty stick, held carefully in their hands, watching Keith with great intensity. Keith himself has his bayard out, stretched out in a battle position, back straight and shoulders loose. He has the same bright look on his face that he has during Lion training, or riskier missions. Excitement, steadiness, and a hint of cockiness that has Lance shivering. He demonstrates a move, and with a single minded focus, the children repeat it.
It has always been impossible not to want to be a part of everything Keith does, Lance has found.
“…You kind of scored,” Rachel observes.
Lance’s laughter is breathy, high-pitched. “Believe me, I know.”
There’s a rousing shout from the kids, then a cheer, then Keith shouts, “Ready?” and at their raucous response, chaos breaks out. Sticks are strikes and parried and children throw themselves dramatically on the floor in pantomimed deaths, scrambling to their feet seconds later to get back into the fray. Every few seconds Keith calls out rules and reminders, weaving through the children to point out places for improvement or congratulate someone for doing something right.
“I have never seen them all gathered this long without any crying or fighting,” Rachel says, something like awe in her voice. She pauses. “Well, real fighting.”
Lance smiles, something small and secret and over which he has no control. He catches his boyfriend’s eye and waves, which is returned at twice the enthusiasm.
“Keith’s good with kids,” he says quietly. To himself, he wonders if it’s possible to have a heart so full it bursts.
———
The blankets are scratchy but warm, and Keith smells as he always does, and Lance is half asleep. But the words come leisurely out anyway.
“You awake?“ he whispers, words tucked into the spot above Keith’s heart.
Keith hums. Lance feels the rumble of it in his cheek.
“Barely.”
His eyes are too heavy to keep open, so he lets them slip shut. He breathes deeply the smell of his boyfriend’s body wash, and traces meaningless patterns on his chest with his fingertips, breathing slowly, taking his time. He might fall asleep, but that’s okay. They have time.
“‘M glad you came, today.”
Keith’s breathing is slow and even, just like Lance’s, but he can feel the heavy weight of his gaze, those indigo eyes.
“I go where you go.”
Lance quirks his lips. The blankets rustle softly as Keith slowly slides up his hand, encircling his fingers around Lance’s wrist, palm resting on his forearm. After a minute Lance can feel his heartbeat, at the same time that he hears it, head pressed to Keith’s chest. “You’re good with the kids.”
Keith’s breath stutters. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I like them. And your family.”
“Told you.”
“Yeah, you did.” He’s silent for a minute, palm heavy on Lance’s skin. “I wanna — do this, Lance. Forever.”
Lance turns his head slightly, just enough to press his lips to Keith’s sternum. “I will love you until the end of time.”
He feels Keith’s smile, sweetening the air.
“I love you, too.”
#i love keith i love keith I LOVE KEITH#vld#voltron#lance#lance mcclain#keith#keith kogane#klance#established klance#domestic klance#fluff#keith is good with kids#awkward keith#keith is a sweetheart#whipped lance#whipped keith#lance & lance’s family#lance & lance’s siblings#keith & lance’s family#keith & lance’s siblings#glasses and ponytail keith my love#post canon#canon divergence#my writing#longpost#keithtober#happy keithtober!!!
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I know this has already been done but I want YOUR take on this…can I pretty plz get headcanons of the paladins (or just Keith Pidge and Lance) accidentally hurting their s/o bad enough to send them to the healing pods…? How would they spend their time while waiting for them to wake up? Angsty with a fluffy ending…? THANK YOU ILYSM 🥹❤️🔥
Paladins Accidentally Injuring Reader
STOP CUZ IM A SUCKER FOR ANGSTY STUFF LIKE THIS💀💀💀 I decided to do ALL of them cuz why not💯💯 also sorry for taking so long to answer, this was sitting in my drafts for awhile, procrastination is not fun😔🙏💔💔 another also, I didn’t proofread this yet but I promise I will💔
Keith
It all happened so quickly Keith had no idea what had happened
He remembered he was fighting one of Zarkon’s men, relentlessly attacking him with his sword when all of a sudden you came into the picture
While he was on overdrive, the Galra general had taken ahold of you when you tried attacking him from his side, swinging you in front of him
In front of Keith’s brutal attacks…
Using you as a human shield, Keith had no time to stop his sword from swinging down on you
While you did try to stop his attack with your dagger, his force was too strong, resulting in his sword slicing into your shoulder all the way down to your stomach
Keith could never forget the piercing scream you let out
Frozen is shock and horror, he was kicked backwards by the Galra, hearing his footsteps quickly fading from both of you
“Y/N!”
He is a MESS when he gets to you
His hands shake as he tries to apply pressure to your wound, but it’s just too large
His vision just zeros on your face as tears stain your cheeks. Despite whimpering in pain, you want to reassure him that you’re fine, but he doesn’t let you move an inch
By the time the rest of the group gets to him, Keith is too frantic and a bit unstable for him to think correctly
“GET AWAY!”
The group has no idea how to handle this situation as they watch him cradle your now passed-out body, his body shaking from the adrenaline of needing to protect you from anything else
“Keith, listen to me. We need to take Y/N to the castle now if we want them to survive. We can’t do that if you won’t let us help you.”
Shiro is literally the only person who can bring Keith back to earth, words hitting him like a train as he looks down at your body, watching as you take shallow breathes
Keith does not let anyone near you, not in your fragile state. He carries you all the to the castle, whispering apologies as your face twists in pain from every move
Once getting you to the pod room, he only allows Allura and Pidge in the room to help him set up your body and change you into a bodysuit
While you’re in the healing pod, he’s always sitting nearby, waiting in silence for you, hating himself for hurting you so badly
Despite you being out of commission, Voltron still needed to continue its mission
During this time, Keith pushes himself to the absolute MAX
Purposely puts himself in danger, not caring how hurt he gets because nothing can compare to what you had to go through
In a way, this is his own way of punishing himself for hurting the person he cared for
Keith won’t even listen to Shiro, brushing him off whenever the man offered to help patch him up after a more brutal mission
The team definitely gets worried when he begins straying from missions entirely, almost purposely trying to find danger at every corner
So once he finds out you’re out of the healing pod, he is extremely hesitant to see you
But he practically runs to you when Allura tells him you wanted to see him
Seeing him all bruised up upsets you once you find out what he’s been doing
He doesn’t care though, he’s immediately groveling at your feet, apologizing as his eyes slowly filled with unshed tears
“I’m sorry Y/N. I’m so sorry, I hurt you, worse than anyone else I-“
You pull him into a crushing hug, feeling him tense up but slowly relax in your embrace
“None of this was your fault, ok Keith? You may not forgive yourself but I never blamed you for anything.”
You need to comfort Keith so much because this boy almost lost the last familiar person he loved
It takes some time for him to feel secure with you again but the progress you make is enough to set him back in motion
Lots of physical contact occurs now since Keith needs to know that you’re actually with him
He is 100% more protective over you now, always keeping an eye on you when out on missions and protectively standing in front of you during battles
Lance
Lance felt like he was going to throw up
He watched as you quickly were thrown down to the ground, breath caught in his lungs as you laid there unmoving
He was trying to aim for one of the guards that was originally standing in your place, but they had moved last second once they saw him aiming at them
He had no idea that you were right behind the guard, so all he could do was watch in horror as his blast hit your chest, knocking you out in one swift moment
Oh,how he hoped it only knocked you out
Shiro had quickly ran over to your body, checking your neck for a pulse before he abruptly got up, attacking one of the sentries who was aiming at you
Lance was already running to you, sliding over and immediately clutching onto your body
His eyes watered, not able to focus on anything else except your short, shallow breaths
“LANCE YOU NEED TO TAKE THEM BACK TO THE CASTLE! QUICK, I’LL COVER YOU!”
Shiro’s voice brought him back to reality as he picked your body up bridal style and made a dash for his lion
Lance would be so worried over you once they put you in one of the healing pods
He would distance himself from the group immediately afterwards, almost running to his room to just let out the emotions
Oh god, he almost killed you
Lance would be inconsolable during all this, he wouldn’t eat any of Hunk’s food, ignore Keith’s comments that would normally set him over the end, and just not focus on Shiro’s attempts in comforting him
He would spend the days you spend in the pod wandering and moping around the halls of the castle, feeling absolutely terrible for what he did to you
He would sit quietly as your pod door opened, watching from afar as Pidge helped you from falling over
You would notice how everyone around you seemed relieve you see but the one person you really wanted to see stood by the entrance of the room
Lance would not be able to look you in the eyes
“Lance…”
Now he’s a crying mess💔💔
“Y/N! I’m-I’m sorry! If you had actually-“
He just feels awful for what he had done, accident or not
You would stumble over to him, hugging him and feeling as he clutched onto you
His sobs sound throughout the room, the group looking with remorseful eyes, seeing how much this had actually affected him
“You didn’t know Lance. No one could have known that would happen.”
Lance would not be able to leave your side for a few days afterwards
He would still be quiet, but he would slowly begin going back to his usual self
Though during the night, he would get nightmares on the event, only your sweet whisperings could lull him back to a peaceful sleep
After the near death experience, he feels much more aware of his surroundings and how he used his gun
He just cares so much for you, he doesn’t know what he would do if you got hurt like that again
Pidge
Things were going rough for the paladins during their mission, they were slowly losing control on the battle
Seeing an opportunity in front of her, Pidge noticed an electric column near her, already devising a plan
She would wrap her bayards cord around the column, making it an electric extension and have it thrown to their large enemy
It was perfect, until it wasn’t
Not getting the timing right, Pidge quickly threw her bayard to the column, watching the electricity travel through the cord and flying straight to the beast
Except you had jump in front of the beast, hoping to get a hit in, not even realizing the electric cord heading your way
All Pidge could do was yell out your name in horror
“Y/N NO!”
You quickly turned around, eyes wide when you saw what was heading towards you and unable to dodge the electrified weapon
The group could only watch with shocked faces as you screamed out in pain, watching the electricity course through your body
Being the one near a control panel, Keith slashed the entire system, hoping that would at least turn off the electricity
“TEAM FALL BACK!”
Shiro ran towards you, picking up your limp body from the ground and pushing Pidge to run out of the room and into their lions
Her hands shook with fear
She didn’t mean for this to happen. She thought she would be helping everyone. But all she could envision was your body twitching from the last of the electricity leaving your body
Tears formed in her eyes as she let out sobs, ignoring everything else around her, even the concerned words of her paladins
She would be the first one out of her lion, watching with puffy eyes as Shiro quickly took you to the healing pods, not bothering in changing you into a body suit
She would do anything Allura and him asked her to do regarding you
She would ask if there’s anything she can do
She just feels awful like this poor girl :(
Once hearing how long you’d have to stay in the healing pod, she definitely shuts down
It’s almost like she’s a robot, choosing to lock herself away in her room not wanting to see anyone
To distract herself from her guilt and remorse, she buries herself in any new and old projects
Despite clicking away at her laptop, she wouldn’t be able to stay away from you.
Sits out of your pod staring off into space
No matter how many times the group asks, she never tells them how she truly feels
No, they shouldn’t be asking her if she was ok
This was her fault. It was her fault that you had to stay in there, hopefully no longer in pain
Pidge would be the first to know that you’re out since she’s been waiting this entire time
Doesn’t speak a word to you as she helps you out and settles you on one of the stairs
Both of you would sit in silence before you decide to take her hand
“That wasn’t your fault Pidge. It was a smart idea, I was just there at the wrong time.”
Tears would down her face as she would lean her body against yours
“I’m sorry…”
Pidge would lose some confidence in herself, needing your help in building it back up
She would linger behind you now, not wanting to make the same mistakes
Would hold your hand to help her calm down, to know that you’re ok now
Give her lots of hugs man, she needs the support cuz her brain is not the best place to be when she still blames herself for hurting you :((((
Hunk
The Galra took the entire team by surprise while they were busy helping the residents of the planet they were on
Chaos fell throughout the area, the paladins rushing towards the lions to protect the innocent civilians
Despite you being sent to help shelter civilians, Hunk couldn’t help but worry over your safety
Normally you two would be hip to hip next to each other, so not having you near him really put him on edge
While attacking Galra fleets, the yellow paladin wouldn’t be conscious of the small figure running by a cliff nearby
It would be too late for Hunk to react to the rocks that were blasted by his lions beams as they came crashing down on you
His eyes widen in horror as he saw the pieces of rock fall around, watching as you held your shield up in a pathetic way of protecting yourself, only to lose sight of you when a particularly large rock fell over you
“NO!”
His panic would be through the roof as he would leave the rest of the paladins to fight off the galra
Shaky breaths from him are louder than the voices he hears from the comms of his helmet
“Hunk where are you going?!”
“Hunk we need you here now!”
“Guys I need some backup!”
This poor boy would be so overwhelmed with the others voices and trying to find you under all the rubble he unknowingly blasted on you
Yanking his helmet off and tossing it, he would instead focus on digging you out, sighing in relief once he finds you battered up, yet still breathing
Silent tears would travel his face as the yellow lion gently takes you in its mouth, making the difficult decision to leave behind his friends
He could only hope they would forgive him as he hears the panicked and furious yells coming from his helmet
Once at the castle, he would run through the halls to the healing pods, being careful to not hurt you any further
Hunk would fully blame himself
He just feels awful about the condition you’re in, babbling out what had happened as Coran propped you in a pod
“There was nothing you could have done, Hunk.” Coran’s reassuring hand on his shoulder wouldn’t help with his inner turmoil, especially once the rest of the team barges in
“Hunk! You just totally left us out there!” Lance hadn’t a clue what had happened
Overwhelmed, the team could only watch as tears and sniffles came from Hunk
After the event, Hunk would definitely be distant from the team
While the others would try to cheer him up, nothing could really bring him out of his head
The team would notice how he almost resembled a zombie during meetings and missions, on autopilot since that fateful day
In order to distract himself from his own feelings, Hunk would spend most of his free time cooking and baking
Though no matter how much dishes he cooks, everyone notices how each meal seems to be a bit off, never really tasting or looking right
He would also spend a lot of his time sitting in front of you, kinda having mini conversations with you (even though you can’t respond💔)
Hunk can’t sleep at night either since he gets waken up by his nightmares, constantly seeing your fragile body hiding underneath all the rubble in his dreams
I feel so bad for him because literally no one could have expected you to be caught in the crossfire of the battle
Shiro would try to talk to him, but his words would go in one ear and out the other, resulting in Hunk staring off into the distance with a reminiscent look im his eyes
One particular night though, his nightmare would scare him too much, not allowing him to go to sleep anymore
Rubbing his eyes in exhaustion, Hunk walks to the kitchen in the dead of night, needing to snack on something to distract himself from his pounding heart
Hearing footsteps, he would look over his shoulder from the fridge to see who else needed something to eat only to widen his eyes
“Y/N?”
Leaning on the entrance, your tired eyes met with his tired ones, and you would stumble towards him
Hunk puts down his food to quickly run over to you, helping you to a seat as his eyes shined with unshed tears
“What’s wrong Hunk? Did something happen?”
The way your hands rubbed under his eyes did not stop even when he closed his eyes, allowing his tears to finally fall
The room, lit only by the open fridge, filled with the sounds of Hunks sniffling as you drew him into a hug from your seat
“I thought that I had k-killed-“
“Hey. Don’t say that. I’m here, I’m alive, and that’s all that should matter.”
Taking a shaky breath, Hunk would pull away, bringing your hands back to his face as his head leaned into them
“I know. I’m just really, really sorry. I should have payed more attention.”
“It’s ok Hunk. If anything, I should be sorry, I shouldn’t have run into a clear danger zone.”
Hunk preps you a quick meal before taking you to bed, insisting you need as much rest as possible
He sleeps peacefully at last once he has you in his arms💔💔💔
Expect lots of hand-holding and hugs from this dude
He needs a lot of reassurance from you to remind him that you’re actually there next to him
Cooks you so much food, putting so much effort into each meals and making everything beyond your standards
(The team is definitely happy over this, now that they don’t have to eat any more space goo💀)
Would be protective of you the first few days since you’ve woken up, he’s just really paranoid of you getting injured like that again :(
Since that event, Hunk would be extremely cautious of his surroundings, making sure to avoid any more preventable injuries to those around him
Shiro
He has no idea what had happened
One minute he’s fighting alongside you against the sentries shooting at the two of you and the next he’s slammed you against a wall
He tries fighting himself from hurting you any further but the loud whisperings in his head seem to take control of his body
In that moment, you don’t recognize the man standing in front of you
Ducking and stumbling away, you quickly evade Shiro’s glowing hand, watching in horror as it goes through the wall
“SHIRO WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
His crazed eyes makes contact with yours, once again rushing towards you
In the corner of your eye you see a figure vanishing in thin air, realizing it might have been the witch Allura had told you all about
Distracted, Shiro manages to land a blow on your side causing you to grunt in pain and go tumbling towards the ground
You barely roll away before his fist meets the spot you once were at
“SHIRO PLEASE! THIS ISN’T YOU!”
You’re words don’t seem to have any affect on him as he’s up once again and heading straight towards you
As much as you hate the thought, you know you have to protect yourself from him as he’s too dangerous in the state he’s in
You’re dagger clashes against his metal arm, his strength slowly over powering you because of your injured arm
Kicking your side, Shiro’s narrowed eyes meet yours before he’s picking you up the ground
You grip his metal hand as it tightens around your neck, your breathing becoming shallow as he cuts off your airway
“Shiro… I forgive you…” You knew this wasn’t you’re Shiro, the man you knew coming out for a moment when you saw his eyes widen in surprise before going straight back to the dull black ones that stared straight through you
It was only when Lance began shooting at him out of no where did he throw you against a wall, officially knocking you out
Keith slammed his body against Shiro’s causing the two of them to crash on the ground, trying to over power the other
Then that’s when his head was finally able to clear up and stop fighting against Keith
“What’s going on? Why are we fighting?”
Everyone would stare in disbelief before quickly explaining what happened, Hunk already carrying your body towards the group, shielding you from the eyes of Shiro
He would stare in shock at the state of your body though, flashes of what might’ve happened going through his mind
Heading back to the castle, everyone would still be on edge around him
Seeing what he had done to you, this man does some serious evaluations on himself
How could he possibly hurt you, someone he cared for, this much?
Seeing the bruises forming on your neck scares him
If he did this to you, Shiro can’t imagine how far he would’ve gone if he wasn’t stopped in time
During your time in the healing pod, Shiro would distance himself from the team as he doesn’t fully trust himself enough around them, fearing he might hurt them all as well
He visits you daily, but once one of the other paladins enters the room he’s quickly excusing himself and walking away
He feels EXTREMELY guilty over what he did, going through many sleepless nights
He had almost killed you
He is harsher on the team during missions as well since he doesn’t want a repeat of what had happened with you
He is way harsher on himself too
Spends his time in the training room, tiring himself out with the gladiator, pushing his body past its limit
Still remembers what you said to him, so while you said you forgave him, I don’t think he would ever be able to forgive himself for hurting you
The team would notice the strain on them when Shiro began distancing himself from them
He was the one who put them all together so it really hurt them to see him struggle with the recent event
Once you finally awake from the pods, Shiro is the last one to greet you
You notice how he stands at a distance which causes you to narrow your eyes
“What’s wrong Shiro?”
The way you immediately notice his coldness causes his fake smile to strain
It never ceased to amaze him how you could see past him
He would explain his concerned to you once everyone decided to give you both privacy, how he was afraid of losing control again, how he had almost killed you
What had happened made him uncomfortable, knowing the power he held with his arm
You smile sadly as him reaching for his metal hand, faltering when he slightly moved it away from you
Sadness filled his eyes as he glanced to his arm before letting you take his hand
“I don’t blame you for anything Shiro. I know that wasn’t you, I know the real you. You would rather sacrifice your own life to save one of us, so please don’t be so harsh on yourself. You couldn’t control what happened.”
“Exactly. I couldn’t control what happened, I couldn’t control my own body.”
Your reunion was bittersweet to say the least
He is much more cautious around you
Keeps his distance for a few days before ultimately choosing to stay by your side
He wants to do anything to make up for your injuries
Much more softer around you and the others now that he knows you’re ok💔
Allura
“Allura what are you doing?!”
The mission the team was on was extremely crucial since, if successful, they would be able to retrieve valuable intel on Zarkons plans (ooo so original)
And it involved taking down his witch, Haggar
Allura was all for the plan and took it very serious
She believed this was one of their most important missions yet
So while it did surprise the group on how brutal the princess was in fighting her way to Haggar, no one really tried to stop her, knowing just how much it meant for them to get this information
Yet you could see the danger her aggressive behavior was dragging her in
You’d jump in front of her, trying to stop her from pushing herself too far
“Y/N what are you doing?! We must stop that witch from getting away!”
Allura was on a one track kind, take down Haggar and get any useful info from her, but you were making it extremely difficult to do so
Blinded by her own needs, she didn’t take into account of how hard she had thrown you to the ground away from her when she managed to wrap her bayard around you
Running from your injured self to Haggard, she was yanked to the ground
“Allura watch out!”
She could only watch in shock as you dashed in front of her from the ground to protect her from the blast Haggard sent
Her hands shook as she watched your body hit the ground
Haggar was getting ready to blast you both again, forcing Allura to attempt to drag you away before a searing pain filled her body, causing her to crumble down to the ground beside you
Tears filled her eyes as she watched in pain as your breathing became ragged
You both were in this situation because of her
Allura was forced to watch as the witch made her escape, the mission resulting in a failure
After getting help from the paladins and returning to the house of lions, Allura would immediately distance herself from everyone
She’s not only disappointed in herself for costing the team their mission, but she feels terrible for putting your life at such a high risk, all because she didn’t know when to stop
She would mostly lock herself up in her room while you spend your time in the healing pods
Whenever someone tried to approach her door, they would only be met with the sound of her soft sobs
When she isn’t in her room though, Allura is extremely harsh and temperamental with the others
She doesn’t know how to properly release her emotions which causes her to lash out often to those around her
She would be too afraid to visit you in the healing bay
She feels too ashamed to face you, even if you aren’t really conscious
I also think she would brush aside any concern the team may show for her, instead, trying to keep up her image as a strong leader
(Which isn’t working out, everyone can see she’s basically a ticking time bomb)
Allura pushes herself even harder now during missions and battles, which is lowkey kinda hypocritical of her since that’s what got her in that position in the first place
After briefly talking with Keith, Allura would find herself in the training deck, hoping to relieve some of her pent up emotions with the gladiator
Maxing out to the highest possible level, the princess managed to tire herself out, not having enough energy to beat the machine
Grunting in pain, she waited for the gladiator to land a hit on her before she heard the voice of the person she was dreading to see
“End training sequence!”
You would run to her and cradle her body, concern written all over your face
Despite putting you in danger and managing to hurt you in the process, you still cared for her well-being
Tears well up in the princesses eyes before she gave you a crushing hug
Feeling her body shake against yours, you gently wrap your arms around her, whispering soothing words
“I almost got you killed…”
“I’m still here, are’t I?”
Allura would definitely learn a lot through that experience
She would stop pushing herself so hard and begin relying on her team to assist her during missions
She would also linger around you more often than not
She still feels incredibly guilty for what she put you through, but doesn’t tell you (you know though💔)
I also think that she MIGHT be more open to physical affection in front of the others since she needs to confirm that you’re still alive and popping
Holding your hand is something that she does a lot now since it soothes her heart knowing you’re still with her
Expect her to be a little more protective of you though, she does not want you to be in such a critical state again
She doesn’t want to lose you too :(
#voltron x reader#keith x reader#lance x reader#pidge x reader#hunk x reader#Shiro x reader#allura x reader#Keith vld#pidge vld#allura vld#Shiro vld#hunk vld#Lance vld#voltron legendary defender#vld#vld x reader#x reader#Keith kogane#pidge gunderson#lance mcclain#takashi shirogane
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“they were just being mean-“
“what’s their name, house address and parents name”
with dad!lance??
Cw: kids being mean, mentions ivf treatments consequent of fertility issues
You couldn't wait to get home to your family, so when your feet touched the wooden floor of the corridor, you couldn't believe it, thinking you were dreaming of this moment. But alas, the words coming out of your husband's mouth caught you off guard as he answered your daughter.
"They were just being mean-", Addalynn tried to reason as Margot looked between them two. "What's their name, house address and parents' names?", Lance asked just as you crossed the corner to find them in the living room.
"Hello, my loves. What's happening here?", you wondered, seeing Margot babble as she crawled to your feet, wanting your attention after being away from you and given that her father and sister seemed to be having a conversation of their own.
While you picked your youngest daughter up, Lance clarified, "Addy, sweetie, do you want to tell mummy?", he checked with her.
"Today, in one of the breaks at school, a boy and a girl came up to me - they're from the older classes - and said that you were very very sick and that's why me and Margot weren't supposed to be here, that we shouldn't be in here because you were sick", she shrugged, "then they started calling me names and I just ran away from them because I didn't want to give them any attention", she sniffled, the situation still getting to her.
"Oh, my love", you cooed, sitting next to her as you balanced Margot on your lap, "it's okay if what she said hurt you and made you sad, and it's okay to cry about it", you comforted, "but they were just being mean", she said, "they're always doing this to other kids, too", she admitted and as if you hadn't been already angry enough, that surely did it.
"Well, while I think it's a good idea to mention this to your teacher and see when they can speak with us, I don't think going up to their houses is a good one", you looked at Lance whose foot tapped incessantly on the floor.
"We love you, Addalynn - and you too, Margot-, so so so much", Lance said as he sat next to her, "mummy isn't very sick and you and Margot are our biggest blessings, okay? Don't let anyone else make you question or doubt that for a second, okay?", Lance assured as you had a big family hug.
After some comforting cuddles, you put Margot down for her nap while Addalynn worked on a puzzle, leaving you and Lance to have the proper adult conversation. You were typing away on your phone, fingers tapping the screen aggressively, "what are you doing, love? Careful with that", he chuckled.
"I'm giving her teacher a piece of her mind. It's not the first time I've heard about these two kids, Lauren's mother told me about them the other day and the teacher said she would sort it out and what? They just go after another kid, my kid!", you huffed as Lance recognised the mama bear instincts kicking in.
"I thought that we should have good, adult ideas", he teased, knowing you wouldn't take it to heart as he felt the same way, "I don't care, I'll go talk to the kids and their parents if I need to. No one is allowed to talk about that or in that way to my children", you argued.
"Are you okay?", he wondered. The topic was your own, and you had to live with it, so it's not like it caught you unprepared. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm not ashamed of it and certainly not ashamed of the family we've created, our family. Those kids, though, oh, I'm going to make sure their parents know what they are up to and if they're embarrassed or ashamed, sounds like a them problem, not ours".
(Thank you for your submission ✨️)
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kiss it better – ls18
masterlist ||
Summary: The one where a crazy idea turns out to be the best possible thing for you and Lance.
Pairing: lance stroll x reader
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: fluff, kissing and other than that none? might have a few curse words but otherwise very tame
Request: “okay so i’m obsessed with the lance stroll fake dating to lovers/friends to lovers but it’s always the reader asking. would you write lance asking reader to attend gala/wedding or something as his date and then the feels start to come up from both sides? smut, fluff, angst, wherever your imagination takes you x”
Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i did not expect to get this excited for a certain canadian man, but here we are!! now that i had the pleasure of writing about lance, i hope you guys know that more is to come, and thank you anon for the request!! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.
You love slow afternoons, is what you realise as your fingers move out of their own volition on your keyboard as you try your best to finish your draft on time so that you can send it to your agent. Lance is on the couch next to you, his focus on his phone, rather than the show he has on your TV – which he ignores as he continuously texts with the person on the other end and lets out lengthy sighs every few seconds.
After what it must be the hundredth sigh of the evening, you give him a pointed look over the glasses resting on your face, “Okay, this is getting ridiculous.”
“What?” Lance asks, his shoulders rising in a half-hearted shrug. He glances up from his phone, his brows furrowing slightly as he registers your statement.
“You've been sighing and moping around for the past hour,” you say, your tone a mix of annoyance and concern. “What's going on? Is something wrong with the ‘Real Housewives of Beverly Hills’?”
Lance sighs again, louder this time, as if to emphasize his frustration. He puts his phone down on the coffee table and runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further. "It's nothing," he mutters, his voice tinged with a hint of annoyance, “and the housewives are fine, not Kim, though. I think Lisa Rinna is about to break the wine glass, again.”
“You’ve watched the Amsterdam trip how many times, now?” You ask him as you get up from your place at the dinner table and grab your wine glass before making your way over to him on the couch and settle next to him. “Forget it, just tell me what’s wrong so that we can get your breathing back to normal.”
“Chloe is what’s wrong,” Lance mutters, turning his phone screen towards you to give you a better look at the messages between him and his sister, “she is bugging me to bring someone to the wedding.”
You tilt your head to the side, “I thought you were going to take Sandra.”
“It was Sarah.” He returns your look with a pointed one of his own, “We kind of broke up, but now she want me to find another date.”
“So? Just find someone, Lance.” You give him a funny look as you fix the way your glasses are situated on your face and read the texts between the two siblings as you slightly lean over your best friend sitting next to you.
He sneakily places his arm around your shoulder in almost a reflex kind of way, as he argues, “I can’t just bring someone to my sister’s wedding, Y/N, she’s going to have the pictures up on her wall for the rest of her life or something.” He swats your hand away with a weak slap as you try to coo over his response, claiming that he is too sweet for this world when he asks, “Who are you bringing to the wedding, anyway?”
“No one,” you shrug, earning yourself a look from the man sitting next to you, “I’m not a Stroll, Lance, I don’t need to bring a date – ergo, I won’t.”
His eyes narrow on the edge as his voice comes off doubtful, “So I have to find someone to bring to the wedding but you can choose not to?” The nod you give him makes him let out a loud groan, making you giggle as he adds, “Is it too late to ask your parents to adopt me?”
“How more dramatic can you be?” You laugh into the edge of your wine glass as you take a small sip, and then think for a moment as you roll your lips together. “Just ask someone you know to come with you, they’ll get a nice weekend out of it and you won’t disappoint Chloe.”
“You say as if it’s easy,” Lance sighs, but his eyes take on a mischievous glint as you realise he’s had one of his bright ideas and the next words prove that it’s, in fact, one of them. “Be my date.”
Your voice is squeaky as you get out, “Excuse me?”
“I need a date,” he point to himself, and then points the same finger to you, “you don’t have a date. I don’t want to take some random girl off my contacts list to my sister’s wedding, so it makes sense.”
“I- I can’t be your date, Lance!” You exclaim, jumping back slightly to shoot him a full on glare. “You’re my friend,” you emphasise the word, “my best friend.”
“Why not? It’s better than going with a random date.” He argues, “Plus, we’ll tell everyone that we’re trying to work things out and after the wedding we’ll tell them it didn’t work out – problem solved.”
“Problem not solved,” you contend. “I don’t want to lie to everyone, Lance, especially not to our families.”
“You’re not saying no.” He sings, a small smirk playing on his lips.
You give him a light shove as you mumble, “Shut up, I’m serious.”
“So am I, Y/N.” He sighs as he takes your free hand into his, which makes you involuntarily drag your index finger towards his palm, something you used to do to help him calm down when he was dealing with his wrists at the start of the season. It makes him smile softly at you when he realises it’s a thing that calms you down as much as it calms him down. “It’s not lying, it’s us.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice is lower than before, but you can’t put your finger as to whether it’s because you’re confused or something about the nature of this whole arrangement is scary to you – you pray that it’s the first, but something in your gut tells you it’s the latter.
The smile he gives you in return to your question can only be described as ‘warm’ – it’s soft, and it makes his eyes crinkle, and it’s just so him. “It means that people won’t question how we ended up together, especially our families.”
What he’s saying and suggesting makes sense, you realise. He needs a date and you can help your friend out – plus, it would be good not to hear your mother complain about how you’re single in your twenties for a change. You try to think whether you’d even think about actually accepting to fake date someone if the person asking wasn’t your best friend in the whole world. But with Lance giving you an expectant look and looking so cosy on your couch, coupled with the two glasses of wine you’ve had as an incentive to write, you find yourself giving the man sitting beside you a nod of your approval.
“Fine,” you sigh, “but if this blows up all in our face, I’m blaming you and telling everyone you forced me.”
“Pfft,” he scoffs, pulling you into a side hug as the fighting noises from your TV blends into the background, “it’s going to be great, you just wait and see.”
Weddings are epitome of romance in every conceivable way. And Chloe Stroll’s wedding? It is safe to say that her wedding is the level of magical that fairy tales aspire to achieve. Ever since you’ve stepped foot in Italy, you’re captivated by the views and the atmosphere of having all the people there for such a special occasion. The wedding venue is a stunning villa nestled in the rolling hills of Tuscany, with lush gardens and a breathtaking view of the countryside. Soft music floats through the air as guests mingle and soak in the romantic ambiance. Turns out Lance was right, after all, and both of your parents are ecstatic that you showed up together – and no one bats an eye when he wraps his arm around you to help you onto the boat, or how his hand linger a bit longer on your hip.
Another thing people don’t seem to focus? How his eyes seem to focus on your every move as you dance with one of Scotty’s cousins, or is he one of his friends? Frankly, Lance doesn’t care about the specifics. He is more focused on the way the man you’re dancing with makes you throw your head back in laughter and the genuine smile that lights up your face. Lance watches from a distance, his heart swelling with a mixture of happiness because of how happy you look, and a touch of jealousy because it is not with him. But seeing you so carefree and radiant in someone else's arms stirs up emotions he can't quite ignore. But all of that is thrown right out the metaphorical window once you excuse yourself from your new friend, and find yourself back to him – basically throwing yourself into his arms and asking him to dance with you.
“I don’t know sweetheart, weren’t you just dancing with your new friend?” He asks, and though he immediately regrets the snarky words leaving his mouth, which reflect all his jealousy at the moment, you just smile up at him with the softest smile he’s ever seen.
Instead of lingering on his words, you let out a small giggle, “I can’t slow dance with him, Lance, he is not my date!”
“Oh,” he murmurs, “right.”
“So, will you dance with me?” You ask him again, your voice filled with more excitement than before. Your lips form a small pout as you add, “Please?”
His eyes linger on your expression for a moment, and he links his fingers through yours as he leads you onto the dance floor to join the couples who already started dancing. “Let’s go,” as soon as the words leave his mouth, a small smile is quick to overtake his face as you let out a small squeal and a giggle.
As the two of you find your place on the dance floor, Lance pulls you closer, his hand resting gently on your waist. The soft melody of a romantic song fills the air, setting the perfect mood for a slow dance. You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and suddenly you realise it’s much easier to focus on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat rather than the song which is playing on the background.
Lost in the moment, Lance whispers softly into your ear, "You look absolutely stunning tonight, you know that?" You can tell his words are filled with sincerity, and he makes you feel all the admiration he feels for you at that moment.
You give him a playful smile as you do the one thing Lance absolutely hates and answer his question with a question of your own, “Yeah? You like my dress?”
“You know I do,” he shakes his head, lips unable to stop themselves from forming a smile.
Sighing out a satisfied sound, you let fingers occupy themselves with the short strand of hairs on this nape. “Well good, Chloe said you’d appreciate the colour
– through jealousy is not a good colour on you.”
Lance chuckles, the sound rumbling against your cheek as you continue to sway together. "Chloe knows me too well," he replies, his voice filled with warmth, "I’ll just have to thank her for the dress."
“You better,” you scoff, your breath hitting his neck in the process, “it was an absolute pain to put it on.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” his fingers smooth over a crease near your hip, “I’ll help you get it off.”
You pause for a moment, the playful banter fading into a charged silence as his words hang in the air. The intensity of his gaze meets yours, and you can feel the shift in the atmosphere, a magnetic pull drawing you closer together. Your heart skips a beat, and you find yourself lost in the colour of his eyes. There's an undeniable chemistry between you, one that the two of you have been ignoring for a while, and one that has been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.
With a playful smile that eventually finds its way on your lips, you raise your head slightly to get a better look at him, “You’re drunk, Lance,” you announce.
Lance's grip on you tightens ever so slightly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your back. “What is it they say? Drunk words, sober thoughts.” Another squeal leaves your lips as he slowly dips you down, but you know he won’t let you fall.
As he pulls you up again and presses his forehead against yours, and as his nose nudge against yours which causes both of you to release breathy laughs, your voice is almost pleading, “Lance, I–”
“I know, sweetheart,” his voice is soft as he mumbles, and he repeats himself after dragging out a deep breath, “I know “I know but you deserve something better.”
But the question of what something better might be lingers in your mind.
It’s almost the morning when the wedding celebrations come to a pause, and you quickly find yourself on your way back to the hotel with Lance. Hand in hand, you walk along the dimly lit streets, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the night. The city is calm and peaceful, its beauty enhanced by the memories you've created during the wedding festivities. Lance steals occasional glances at you, a gentle smile playing on his lips, as if trying to etch this moment into his memory – you try to act as if you don’t notice, but the same gentle smile finds itself onto your lips every time you catch his eyes on you. As a true gentleman, he lets you lean against him in the elevator, knowing that you’re probably more tired than him because of your choice of shoes.
The soft hum of the elevator and the comforting embrace of Lance lull you into a sense of tranquillity. But all of that calmness is gone once the elevator stops at your floor and Lance pulls you closer as he walks you to your room. With each step, you become more aware of Lance's presence beside you. His warmth radiates, providing a comforting reassurance amidst the late-night stillness. The soft light from the hallway casts a warm glow on his face, highlighting the gentle curves and lines that make him uniquely him. You think the anticipation might actually kill you in the moment, but like a true gentleman, Lance takes out your room key and hands it to you – but even in that simple moment, you feel your entire body lighting up with something more for your best friend.
Your breath hitches once again that evening when Lance’s hands gently cup your face, but he lets you go once he presses his lips lightly on your forehead and gently rests your forehead against yours. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
You feel your heart drop as he pulls away from you, all the adrenaline you’ve been feeling slowly dissipates. A mix of emotions washes over you as Lance pulls away and leaves you standing there, your heart feeling heavy in your chest. The brief moment of intimacy between you leaves you longing for more, and you find yourself mumbling, “I thought I deserve ‘something better’.”
“Y/N,” Lance’s voice is soft, but you’re quick to cut him off.
“I- I just thought you might’ve been talking about yourself, you know?” You let out a nervous chuckle as you shake your head, “It doesn’t matter, it’s presumptuous – oh my god I am an egomaniac.” Taking a small step towards him, you give him the world’s most awkward hug, and slowly start to pull away.
Without you knowing behind his horrified look, Lance has the opportunity to put his quick decision-making skills to test. He knows that he can either let you go, which means the two of you will stay friends, or he can actually do what he wanted to do for a very long time – which has the potential to blow up in his face. So, this time he takes a step towards you, and manages to grab your wrist in time to pull you against himself. Pressing his lips onto yours in a haste kiss, he manages to take your breath away for the second time that night, and you realise what’s actually happening after a small brain malfunction. For a moment, you're both suspended in that kiss, your hearts pounding in sync. It's a moment of pure vulnerability and undeniable passion, a culmination of unspoken desires and the unravelling of emotions that have been building between you for far too long. But you can feel him smiling into the kiss as your lips start to move against his. He tries to pull away, but you chase his lips in what you can only describe as hunger, and both of you let out breathy chuckles as you manage to capture his lips in a kiss once again.
When you finally break apart, gasping for air, your eyes meet Lance's. His grip on your wrist tightens, as if he’s afraid to let you go, and in an attempt to calm his worries, you snake your hand into his and drag your index finger towards the center of his palm. “I meant what I said,” he says, breathily, “you deserve something better.”
“Lance,” you almost seem to grumble his name, “you are the ‘something better’.”
“Well I hoped you’d say that.” He nods his head, and throws you over his shoulder to walk towards his own hotel door.
A mixture of surprise and laughter escaping your lips, you playfully swat at his back as you try to urge him to put you down, but he just chuckles and continues on his mission. As the door to Lance's room closes behind you, the world outside fades away, and you find yourself enveloped in a bubble of anticipation and excitement. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Lance gently sets you down on your feet. The room is dimly lit, casting a romantic glow that accentuates the chemistry between you. The air is charged with unspoken desires and a magnetic pull that draws you closer together. Lance takes a step towards you, his gaze filled with longing and affection. Without a word, he reaches out to cup your face in his hands, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Your breath catches in your throat as he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender and passionate kiss.
In that moment, all doubts and uncertainties melt away, replaced by the overwhelming certainty that you've found something truly special. It's a love that has been quietly brewing beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal itself. As your lips move together in a dance of shared desire, time seems to stand still. The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in this intimate and electrifying connection. Every touch, every caress, ignites a fire within you, and you find yourself getting lost in the depths of Lance's embrace.
When you finally break apart, your eyes lock, and a shared understanding passes between you. It's a silent promise, a mutual agreement to explore this newfound love and see where it leads. With a smile that speaks volumes, Lance intertwines his fingers with yours, pulling you closer as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “I promised you I’d take your dress off, didn’t I?”
#monzabee#requests open#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 smut#formula 1#fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#lance stroll#lance stroll x reader#lance stroll imagine#imagine#fluff#angst#smut#lance stroll smut#lance stroll fluff
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We've all rightly been gushing over Trent listening in on the parent-teacher conference and there are a lot of cool interpretations for why he'd eavesdrop: a crush on Ted, a tendency towards gossip (as seen in "International Break"), the fact that you just can't take the journalism out of the boy, Trent is clearly picking up personal tidbits for the book if the group's initial "Don't print that" worries are any indication, etc. So yeah, it's clear why he'd want/be okay with the door staying open.
Meanwhile, I'm slightly feral over Ted letting the door stay open and what that conveys to Trent.
Based on what we've picked up about his personal life and the direction of this season, we have good reason to believe that Trent was a deeply isolated man prior to Ted arriving. His job makes enemies simply by virtue of the profession itself, especially when you "bring the heat" as hard as he did. Roy flipping the press off at the gala in Season 1 and Nate sneaking out at dark this last episode shows us how journalists are treated on the regular: ignored, dismissed, told to "fuck off" as a matter of course. That's often well deserved, as Roy's two personal stories (Trent's article about him + the response to Isaac's attack) attest, but the end result is still a profession that alienates you from anyone other than your peers. When you're a "colossal prick" in your articles, people hate you all the more.
So Trent at least has other journalist buddies, yeah? Well, not that we've seen. I always think back to that chorus of "--The Independent" in the press room when everyone knew what Trent was going to say and how it... wasn't entirely fun ribbing. I think there's a fair bit of mockery there. Even if others disagree, I doubt that was received well by someone who wears their professionalism as an armor, who takes off his glasses as soon as they're complimented, who was, notably, closeted into his 40s. Trent is a man who is deeply aware of how others perceive him (pointing out his "vibe" feels quite calculated now: highlight what you want people to notice rather than waiting for them to find something on their own) and he is likely to read the worst of most interactions. Cue his shocked, "You really mean that, don't you?" when faced with someone like Ted who is not only genuinely nice, but blunt about it in a way that Trent can't misunderstand, or brush off via denial.
What's his home life like? Married to a woman when he's gay and that's putting a serious strain on them both. He tries to come out and isn't believed. The only other family members we know about are a toddler (who, while lovely I'm sure, can't provide Trent with the kind of emotional support an adult needs) and a father who, if we read the series through Lance's headcanons, may not have been very supportive of his son. Who else does Trent know? Uhhh... other subjects who hate him? Owners like Rebecca who want to use him? A random, potential date that he felt so little for he ditched to get a quote?
(EDIT: I can't believe I forgot to mention the strong implications that Ted was bullied in childhood/as a teenager, based on how he reacts to the whole of the club ignoring him -- resigned but unsurprised -- his reaction to Roy telling him to fuck off after he tries to mend that relationship -- disappointedly awkward "I can't believe I even tried that. What was I thinking?" -- and his body language during the locker room scene -- jumping, furtive glances towards Ted, backed up against the shower stall because shit, he's been in this situation before.
So uh, yeah. Trent may not have had a lot of friends growing up either! That was not the response of a social butterfly, but rather someone who is already very used to being ignored/dismissed/cursed out/threatened, not just within his profession, but within the school-like atmosphere of Richmond's family too.)
I'm by no means reinventing the meta wheel here, but Trent has truly undergone a STAGGERING transformation in Season 3 and the result of that is the reframing of his Season 1 and 2 scenes as, frankly, more depressing than they originally seemed. Seeing him now smiling, singing, gossiping, dressing just in t-shirts, casually snacking, making jokes, letting go enough to be a complete, hyperactive "dork" in front of others... it just hammers home how deeply unhappy Trent was before. How closed off. How closeted--in more ways than one.
So what must it mean to someone like Trent for Ted to leave the door open?
It's not just an open invitation towards community--sit near me, listen in, quietly participate, there's literally no barrier between us--but a staggeringly personal one too. I don't care if a 10-ish year old failing science is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, the fact remains that letting anyone hear a parent-teacher conference with your ex is a hell of a show of trust. That would mean a lot to Trent in general, this acknowledgement that someone trusts the ex-prick journalist with that amount of personal information, but Ted in particular? Oh boy. Ted is the one Trent betrayed with that article! And yeah, Ted forgave him the instant he learned of it, but Trent himself was obviously feeling a lot of guilt, hence him burning his source and orchestrating a firing. Toss in the fact that Ted, despite being a VERY open man on the regular (I still laugh at his "I don't mind" to Rebecca when over-sharing about Michelle) has in fact denied Trent information in the past. No, I won't tell you that was a panic attack. Yes, I will continue the lie that it was food poisoning. Perhaps for Ted it was less about Trent knowing and more about anyone getting at the truth, but at the end of the day it amounts to the same: there was a time when Ted did not fully trust him and Trent justified that fear by writing the very article Ted was looking to avoid, even if Trent approached that situation with as much grace as he could.
So this moment, beyond the humor, just makes my brain go !!!!!! for Trent. Ted Lasso, of all people, has left the door open for Trent Crimm, also of all people, to hear the messy details of his, Henry, and Michelle's life. He is not at all afraid that this information will be spun in a bad light--Local Gaffer's Son Suffers While Father Plays at Coach Across the Pond--despite the fact that Trent is actively writing a book about him. Trent himself is so unguarded in this moment, dressed only in a t-shirt, playing around with his orange, making little quips. The Trent of Season 1 would NEVER. I mean, I think we see small glimpses of the real Trent back then, especially when Ted amuses him enough to coax his guard down for half a second (Trent's reaction to “Make like Dunst and Union and bring it on, baby!" comes to mind. That's a gesture we're seeing a lot now that he's comfortable around the club), but on the whole he was still so, so, so isolated. No one knew the real him: gay, funny, dorky, inquisitive, longing for companionship and using the artificial 'closeness' of journalism to cover that ache up.
Now? Trent is fully a part of the Richmond community and he knows he's a part of it because everyone--Ted, Beard, Roy, Colin, Rebecca--are going out of their way to tell him that, notably in very overt ways. Trent strikes me as someone who wouldn't fully believe it when he's told someone enjoys his company; the kind of wounded, anxiety-prone person who, if casually invited to participate, would assume they're just being polite and he'd actually be an annoyance to them. Trent needs overt, obvious, beat-you-over-the-head-with-it reassurance, which is why Ted is so very good for him because Ted is composed of THE most over-the-top positivity you've ever seen. (Compare that need of Trent's to Michelle thinking that Ted is too much...) When faced with a defensive journalist Ted says explicitly that he liked spending time with Trent. When faced with a still unsure writer who thinks of himself only as an observer--never a part of the team himself--Ted literally begs with monkey noises to hear Trent's opinions. He's blunt to the point of absurdity and someone like Trent who has likely spent the majority of his life hiding/being told that his true self is inadequate needs that level of constant, neon-light reassurance.
So Ted leaves the door open to a personal conversation, refusing to literally bar Trent from his life. The best part? Colin re-opens the door because he understands Trent and he knows his coach; of course Ted wants him included. Colin asks permission to CLOSE the door, not open it, and Trent is seeing this openness again and again over the course of several months, with each episode bringing him further out of his shell as he slowly unlearns that self-doubt. Yes, please stay, please tell us what you think, please offer your advice, please join our Diamond Dogs, please ask us questions (they're no longer perceived as a threat), please become an integral part of our lives. We trust you and we like you and we want you here.
Everyone's waiting for Trent to catch the door again because, you know, the rule of three, but what if he doesn't need to? What if he's past slipping a hand or a foot through the crack and scraping by on what that gets him? He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Colin. He caught the door before it could close to get closer to Ted. Now they've both kept the door open for him, his presence welcomed from the get-go.
Trent doesn't need to sprint for that opening anymore.
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As a game mechanic, Karma was disadvantageous because it injected obtrusive level of awareness of authorial intent into every situation that raised or lowered your Karma (and in doing so frequently demonstrated deranged moral reasoning in how the points are allocated.) In New Vegas specifically, though, I found Karma advantageous in conjunction with the reputation system, because it tracks your character’s long-term behavior on an axis that the reputation system isn’t measuring. “Principled Person Despised by Authority” and “Omnimalevolent Weasel with A Great Eye For PR” are both well-worn archetypes that a dual Karma/Reputation system is able to model to some extent. It also provides another fun axis on which to engage with your companions- Boone leaves you if you piss off the NCR, Veronica leaves if you piss off the Brotherhood, but Cass leaves if you're just generally, generically a shithead- which is an incomplete venn diagram with those other two, and the contrast can serve as an interesting characterization vehicle IMO.
There are ways in which the affinity system in Fallout 4 was a step forward, primarily in how it lanced the obtrusive authorial judgements and more-or-less coherently tied it into the values of whichever companion you're currently travelling with. It also smoothly got around one failure mode of New Vegas- the incredibly specific, poorly telegraphed and thus frequently inorganic sequence in which you had to bring followers to places in order to trigger their affinity points. However, I've always had the vibe that the intended dynamic for Fallout 4 was that you'd pick and stick with a companion that would mesh with your intended playstyle- but I get the impression that what happens in practice is that players instead alter their playstyle for as long as it takes to juice up each companion's affinity meter, which can result in some pretty wild behavioral swings that you have to put some legwork into justifying from a roleplay perspective. And this compounds with the fact that the game isn't really tracking much else about who you are as a person. Your special stats are way less rigid. Nuanced faction reputation is out the window because factions themselves are sort of sidelined as a relevant mechanic outside the big four, and with the big four it's kinda all-or-nothing as to whether you're in their good books. Side quests tend to be fairly siloed in their impact, and Karma's gone. My decision to open fire on a population center, or lack thereof, feels more acknowledged in New Vegas than in 4.
I guess If I were made Fallout Czar I'd probably do a tripartite system- Companion Affinity AND the New Vegas 4x4 faction reputation system AND some re-implementation of Karma, or some analogous system of tracking in which direction you break when asked to make a decision. Deontological vs. Utilitarian. Authoritarian vs Libertarian. Practical vs. Sadistic. Track everything. Break out the quadrants. Make the engine weep blood
#fallout#fallout new vegas#fallout 4#thoughts#meta#armchair game design#anyway I'm fond of Karma!#It's flavor!#fallout 3#fnv#fo4
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i do very much like the idea of baby butch lesbian pidge. or futch or however we wanna diagnose what she’s got going on in canon. but i’ve always seen her having a love/hate relationship with her femininity
when she first came out as trans she was veeery little and flocked to femininity like coming home. it was so easy to put on dresses and grow out her hair and play with girl toys. she wanted to!! and katie rolls off the tongue much easier than any other name, but her annoying brother still calls her that old nickname sometimes :/
(but it’s fine. it was pidge from pigeon. it was her first word. for some reason.)
and when she decides to sneak into the garrison detransitioning for the time being made sense. they’re looking out for a girl. with long hair. it’s the best plan she’s got. it’s for her family she can do it. she can do it she can just pick up the scissors… and…
pidge keeps his head down. doesn’t talk much, even to the two (other) guys he’s grouped with. doesn’t talk to them even as they all get launched into space with two more men. just five boys in a giant lion. guys night, right?
but soon enough it gets clear this isn’t temporary. this is real. they’re in this together. they have to mind meld and get along and be on the same wavelength twenty four fucking seven. pidge has to come clean.
so she does. she’s a girl. the name has grown on her but she’s a girl she’s she.
and the team accepts it. loves her regardless. hell, even saw through her botched haircut.
so… yay. she’s a girl and they know. but would they be okay with her being… girly? she’s missed the dresses and the hair and pretty flowers. yeah allura is all those things and they all like her just fine but would it be weird if pidge just suddenly gets girly? she likes the masc look too but damn she misses heels sometimes. she hates having to deal with her shortness
one day allura weasels all of this out of her and allura doesn’t take no for an answer. so pidge is dolled up in one of allura’s best dresses, face beat to the gods, hair done in the girliest style they can manage with her… whole situation. and she’s beaming at her reflection
then allura drags her to dinner, hiking up the skirt so she doesn’t trip over herself as she gets into her seat. pidge toughens up and waits for the laughs to hit her. for someone to assume pidge got roped into this and secretly hates it. the “uhh… who are you and what have you done with pidge?”
but none of that happens. shiro says she looks nice. keith likes the hair. hunk likes the dress. lance demands to get dolled up next.
if anyone notices pidge’s immovable smile for the rest of dinner, they don’t comment on it. and they don’t bat an eye when skirts and dresses make their way into the rotation of pidge’s outfits right alongside her pants and overalls
#my femmasc futch girlypop#txt#pidge#headcanon#longer than i thought. and this is the short version#she accociates femininity with being a kid in school and being bullied by those kids. they didn’t bully pidge they bullied katie#and other such thoughts#but allura would murder all of them in her sparkliest gown. so who cares what they think <3
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Stray Kids reaction to...you being stood up
Backstory: When the date you were excited about doesn’t show, your best friend is there to make it better.
Warnings: Crying, Strong Language
Rating: Teen
Genre: Angst and Fluff
Chan
Chan sat beside your sleep figure on the couch. Tears were dried on your cheeks, your nose swollen from blowing it and your lips were turned into a pout. He hated seeing you so upset, especially when he was the one that hyped you up earlier that night. He was the one that told you to put yourself out there more and the one time you did, the asshat you gave a chance trampled all over your heart. As he watched you sleep, Chan vowed to himself that he would never let you get hurt like this every again, not if he could help it.
“If I see that asshole, I’m putting him in the ground.”
Minho
Minho had just stepped out for his morning run when he got your call. The sound of your voice, broken and wobbly made him rush to where you were at. He found you at the café that the two of you always go to. He knew by the slump in your shoulders that he wouldn’t say a word about the date. He ordered two drinks, one for himself and the other for you; waiting off to the side. Grabbing the drinks and a slice of cake for you, Minho sits at the table and sets everything down quietly. If you cried while eating the cake, Minho didn’t comment on it.
“Thought you could use a slice. It’s your favorite.”
Hyunjin
He really didn’t know what to say while you cried in his arms. He held you and fought back his own tears. Your pain was his pain and if it were up to him, he would make sure you never felt this soul crushing agony again. He held you tighter and rubbed your back while thinking of what to say. Was there anything he could do to make you feel better?
“Come on, watch that show you keep talking about. We can do facemasks and eat whatever you want. Sound good?”
Jisung
He was outside of your house by the time you got home in the cab. The moment he saw you, he grabbed your keys from you and took your hand in his. The two of you made it into your apartment and sat on the couch. You tried not the cry, it was stupid to cry. You hardly new the person that stood you up, really. Jisung lanced your fingers together and tugged you into his chest. You started to cry and he patted your head, not saying much of anything.
“It’s okay to cry. Go head, I won’t judge. But tomorrow we’re going out!”
Felix
He wasn’t going to be extra but something felt off when you told him about your date. He wasn’t surprised when he drove to the address that your date had giving you and saw that it was a closed down shop. So, he did what any best friend would do. He packed up a picnic basket and arrived to the shop twenty minutes early because he knew you would show up ten minutes after him, always liking to be early. When you stepped out of the cab, you were confused when you saw Felix but you knew why he was here the moment you looked behind him at the closed shop. It stung, you felt your eyes burn and Felix looked ready to cry himself but he cleared his throat and offered you his arm.
“Come on, I know a great spot on the river.”
Seungmin
Seungmin couldn’t believe his ears. What do you mean your date never showed? He was quick to explain the situation to Chan, get permission to skip out on a group activity to be with you. He threw on some nicer clothing and did his hair quickly, even had Felix help him with makeup before he drove to the restaurant that you were at. Seeing you sitting alone nearly made him turn back around to search that asshole down, but he stopped himself. He sat across from you and winked as a waiter came over to take your orders.
“It’s their loss, trust me. D-Do you want me hurt em?”
Changbin
He was waiting up for you at your place, just to make sure that you got home okay from your date. When he heard your front door open a forty minutes later, he nearly jumped up ready to fight whatever intruder came in. When he saw you standing there with tears streaming down your face, Changbin leaped to his feet and started questioning you, checking all over your body to make sure you weren’t hurt. Seeing that you weren’t harmed, Changbin was confused but he didn’t ask any questions. He told you to get a shower and get in some comfy pjs while he ordered takeout and drinks.
“You don’t have to tell me anything right now, okay? I just want you to know that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
Jeongin
When he saw you sitting alone at the ice cream parlor, he was confused. Weren’t you supposed to be on a date? Where were they? He was about to leave and pretend that he didn’t see you on your date, but when he looked at you again he noticed the untouched bottle of water in the seat across from you. He frowned as a thought crossed his mind. Where you being stood up? Pulling out his phone he sent you a text asking how the date was going and when you replied right away he frowned at your response. So your date never showed? He stepped into the parlor and wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind before he sat across from you.
“Fancy meeting you here, huh?”
#soc stray kids#stray kids reaction#stray kids angst#stray kids ambw#stray kids x gn reader#skz bang chan#skz seungmin#skz hyunjin#skz i.n#skz felix#skz changbin#skz han#skz lee know
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Habit
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄... Another Levi drabble, omfg.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒... 836
Levi Ackerman is known as a man of few words. But for some reason, you always managed to put words on his mouth everytime you open yours and spite at him. His jaw moves, lips twitching in a frown as his eyebrows pinches and furrowed as he glared at you with dark eyes, almost as if he’ll swivel his blades through your neck any time now. Although, that was his expression all the time — you managed to witness the glint on his dark eyes whenever he talks to Commander Erwin or Squad Leader Hange.
It was common for you to be spiteful, especially the moments before you were recruited and assigned in Survey Corps with the same amount of trainings and hardships; you thought this is not even the same level with your situation on the underground, as a criminal, a mass murderer that they’ve called you. You took pleasure for that — you were one pride person after all; you took pride of your talent. Although, you were just unlucky and injured at that moment.
Now you were stuck with the infamous Lance Corporal.
You loathed his attitude, although his undeniable combat knowledge and stamina seems to always fascinates you everytime you watch him in the battleground. His speed were relentless, the power and his inhumane strength were clear in your eyes.
“Dash!” Your head snapped to your side, meeting Hange’s furrowed expression as they huffed. “I‘ve been calling you by your name, but you seem so distracted.”
You raised a brow. Hange had the habit to call you by your real name, although you hated how it sounds, you established the name Dash because you’re a good runner that it’s quite a struggle to catch up with you even maneuvering an ODM gear.
“You alright? You seems pretty fucked up.” They pointed out, poking a gentle finger at the gash on your shoulder as you hissed. You didn’t even notice ache on your body until it hit you, tastebuds starting to taste iron metallic.
“Never been better.” You mumble despite your vision clouding.
“I told you, you’ve been holding your blades wrong,” A voice grumbled as you heard the quick retreat of iron hooks on the background, already forming foul words in your mouth not until you’ve noticed who it was. “You’re hurting yourself.”
“I’ve noticed!” Hange exclaimed, “You seems to retract your blades in a wrong way.”
“Now, now,” You grumbled with a sigh, already rolling your eyes in the air as you feel the exhaustion slips through your body, fueling the heaviness. The more you breath, the more it’s getting harder and harder to move. “Don’t gang up with me. I got used to this, alright? It’s a habit.”
“A bad habit,” The Captain muttered besides, grabbing your hands as you hissed from the contact of his rough ones — your hands were already blastered up, the skin of your palms were roughen up because of how you grip the handle of the blades, and some of it are already scars from the past battles. “You were as good as useless now if you don’t take care of your hands. You also had the habit to bite your nails.”
Hange’s eyebrows shoot up, staring at the Captain and his squad member — they smiled sheepishly, pink dusting on their cheeks as they quietly squealed.
You retracted you hands from his touch, already missing the warmth on your cold temperature — the air were thick and chilly today, so why are you feeling hot on cheeks all of the sudden?
“It doesn’t matter, I’m fine. I can manage. I’ll live, alright, Captain?” You sent a sarcastic smile on Levi’s direction and he furrowed his eyebrows, already ticked off by your attitude and he huffed.
You were about to summon the iron hooks off your gear when Levi’s hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements and pushing you towards him, hand clasps on your wrist, he’s quick to remove the cravat placed as his tie and your mouth drops — you knew how important that piece of cloth on his neck, Hange had told you. So, when he wrap it around your palms, including your fingers, you were stunned.
“Wait —”
“You had the habit to use this hand more with the blades even though, it wasn’t your dominant hand,” Levi had neatly tie it securely on your hand, “That will do.”
“But, this is your mothe —”
“Yes, it is. So, come back here in all piece and give that back to me — clean, of course.” Levi retorted, cutting you half way as he nudge his head, indicating you to move forward already as you nodded. You offer a salute before maneuvering back to the walls again.
“You, Levi,” Hange trails off, staring at him with heated cheeks and Levi stared at them warily, already had an idea what’s on the tip of their tounge, “You had a habit of looking out to (Name), don’t you?”
He was silent, although his gaze on your form were already an answer.
hehehehehehehehe
#aot levi#levi x reader#levi x you#levi x y/n#levi ackerman x reader#levi aot#levi ackerman#levi smut#aot x reader#aot
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The first bout of whispering, Shiro can ignore. He’s a teacher by trade, after all. Astronaut, sure. Paladin, even. But he always expected to be a teacher, trained for it, and he knows when you put a group of teenagers in a room and expect them to start learning by lecture, there’s going to be some whispering. He’d be concerned if there wasn’t, frankly.
But as it keeps happening, again and again, to the point where it’s almost constant, Shiro begins to lose his patience.
“Lance, Hunk,” he says, catching himself long before then. He tries to smile, gentle but firm. “Everything okay?”
The two boys clam up immediately. Lance even begins to lean slightly away from Hunk, although Shiro’s not sure he notices.
Shiro frowns, puzzled at the reaction. That’s — uncommon. He’s seen embarrassed, seen sheepish, seen unbothered, even seen downright rude, but Lance looks almost… afraid. And Hunk looks at him with a lot more anxiety than the situation calls for, but Shiro is beginning to notice that that’s just Hunk.
The both mutter some semblance of apology, and Shiro moves on quickly, unwilling to dwell on the incident too long.
For the rest of the briefing, he keeps an eye on them. He’s still focused, of course, as their break-in and recon on a nearby Empire warship is not only hugely dangerous, but will also be hugely beneficial, but he lets his notes do a lot of the talking for him. He flits his eyes to the pair every so often, and while Hunk meets his eyes on occasion, smiling slightly, Lance keeps his head down, hunched over his tablet.
Shiro notices that the tablet is powered off. He doesn’t write a single note.
His shoulders are hunched up to his ears.
———
“Alright, kiddo, good job.”
Keith grins, stepping backwards and bowing to finish the fight. Shiro bows back, matching his smile.
“You did great.”
“I know,” Keith says cheekily. “You’re getting easier and easier to beat. Probably because you’re elderly.”
Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Am I.”
His annoying little brother hums, completely unconcerned. He steps off to the side and starts swinging around his training stick, very clearly showing off. “Mhm. It was super easy to fight you. I just went whoosh, smack, bam! —” he punctuates every sound with a swing and slash of the stick — “and every hit just landed. Honestly, I think a punching bag would have been more of a challenge. Adam is a way better spar partner than you. I wish I was shot into space with him.”
Shiro’s eye twitches. It’s a clear goad, he knows it is. Keith isn’t even trying to hide it. He’s a twerp with too much energy and too much experience pressing all of Shiro’s buttons — a favourite button of his, of course, being the bit of…healthy competition Shiro has always had with his boyfriend.
(He’s well aware of the irony. He hears Adam pointing and laughing in his head every time he endures Keith’s complaining about Lance pulling his mullet, so to speak. In fact keeping his mouth shut about the parallels is the only thing keeping him from throwing Keith down the laundry chute. He’s waiting for a moment when the reveal can be well and truly devastating.)
Shiro manages, with herculean strength, to step away from his turd of a brother, putting his training stick away.
“I am leaving,” he says loudly, pointedly turning away. “I said I’d train one hour with you and not a second more.”
He feels Keith’s pout more than sees it. “Coward.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro snorts, waving his hand dismissively. He hears swishing sounds, and the clicks of buttons — Keith is starting up his own training. Again. “Don’t be late for dinner or I’ll send Lance after you.”
“Can’t promise I won’t maim him,” Keith mutters. “Sometimes I just want to wring his neck.”
Shiro is very familiar with that feeling. Or at least the raving about it. He used to feel great pleasure in driving Adam to that point, just because he was hot when he was mad. But Shiro values his limbs — or at least what’s left of them — where they are, so he keeps the comments to himself as he makes his way out of the training room, meandering back to his own quarters.
He takes his time showering and redressing, knowing he’s got some time before dinner. He thinks Hunk even managed to wrestle Coran out of the kitchen, which means no food goo. It also means that he’s banned from even breathing near the kitchen until the food is fully cooked and completed — which is a bullshit ban and one based in false accusations — but he’s sure he can help set the table, or something. Stir a pot. He’s good at that.
He towels off his hair, not bothering to style it, and takes his time walking over to the kitchens. The castle floors are cold under his bare feet, he finds himself wishing he had the lion slippers Lance made him. They’re very warm. He never wears them because he’s terrified of ruining them, but it’s so icy in here that he might start having to, or else he’ll freeze.
As he approaches the kitchen, he hears voices. He freezes, quieting his steps and pausing behind the wall to listen. Hopefully no one else walks by, or that will be humiliating.
“— all you have to do is ask, Lance, just casually, it’s not even —”
“— it is even, Hunk, it’s the worst and I’m not doing it, why would I inconvenience —”
“— it isn’t! Not even a little! It’s the smallest tiniest thing!”
“Hunk —”
Hunk throws his hands up in exasperation, spoon going flying and splattering some kind of blue sauce all over the cabinets. Neither of them even blinks at it.
“I am tired of watching you struggle, Leandro! Heaven forbid you ask for help!”
Shiro frowns. That’s not good. That sounds serious.
“I asked for help,” Lance huffs, arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you, didn’t I?”
“I don’t count and you know it,” Hunk says sharply, mirroring him. “I already knew.”
Lance looks away, clenching his jaw. His fingers are tangled in his jacket’s sleeve, tense.
“You don’t have to help anymore if it’s too hard,” he mumbles. “I can handle it myself.”
Hunk softens. “It’s not that, Lance.” He wipes his hands in his apron and pulls Lance to his chest. Lance goes, although he doesn’t move his arms, burying his face in Hunk’s shoulder. “You know it’s not that. If that’s all we have then I’ll keep doing it, damn the consequences.” He pulls back slightly, nudging Lance back so he can look him in the face. “You can just do better, dude. All you gotta do is tell Shiro about your —”
A hand claps over Hunk’s mouth, cutting him off, and Lance squeaks, “Hey, Shiro, hello, hi!”
Shiro startles. He scrambles upright before Hunk turns all the way, so at least he’s only seen crouching by the door like a weirdo by one person.
He clears his throat. “Uh, hi.”
“You’re banned from the kitchen,” Hunk says, muffled. How he looks so mighty and dignified with Lance’s hands still very much pressed to his face is well and truly beyond him. Shiro is frankly awed.
“I just came to help set the table,” he assures, hands held up in surrender. “Promise I’ll stay away from the actual food.”
Hunk narrows his eyes, but must decide he could use the help, because he nods, stepping backwards so Lance’s hands fall back down.
“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m making stew. You can set out utensils if you must but know I’ll judge you heavily for it. Lance, come help me finish up.”
Lance scrambles after him, avoiding Shiro’s gaze like he’s sure he’s going to get yelled at. Shiro watches him go, perplexed.
———
The next few days are, for the most part, manageable. Their mission goes well, Keith is surprisingly mellow — Shiro suspects the little nerd has discovered a library of some kind — and distress calls are minimal. All in all, Shiro should be taking the time as the blessing it is and catching up on some much needed R&R.
Instead, he’s worrying about the Blue Paladin.
Shiro can’t say he knows him well. They’ve hardly been in space a couple of months, after all, and while Shiro must have taught him a couple times — he was in the piloting program so it’s almost impossible that they didn’t cross paths — the Garrison is huge, and Shiro largely teachers younger students. Shiro can’t recall teaching a Lance, anyway.
But he can tell something’s off.
Besides the fact that Hunk keeps looking at Lance with concern, the Cuban seems…withdrawn, almost. He still works hard in training and smokes them in any kind of long distance, but there doesn’t seem to be any joy in it. Even his arguments with Keith seem halfhearted, which Keith will never admit leave him agitated as much as it has Shiro’s eyebrows raising. Shiro is sure, basically, that something is the matter, and surer still that he has to be the one to fix it.
How exactly he should go about it…well, that’s the part he’s struggling with. He knows Lance is kind of star-eyed around him, even though they’re on the same playing field, so Shiro’s not sure just regular talking to him about it is going to do something. And he seemed pretty resistant when Hunk pressed, in the conversation Shiro overheard. He’s just not sure what to do.
Luckily, the situation starts to resolve itself.
“Hey, Shiro, can I talk to you?” Lance mumbles into his breakfast, as everyone else is distracted by Pidge and Keith’s loud argument about cryptids (Shiro has heard it too many times at this point. He’s tuned it out).
Shiro blinks. “Sure,” he says, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. “Now?”
“Uh, after we eat, maybe.”
Shiro tries very hard not to seem over enthusiastic. He sucks at that, so it doesn’t work, and it seems to make Lance more stressed, which only stresses Shiro out more. By the time everyone has finished up and people are starting to file out to various tasks, the tension between them is so thick Shiro feels as if he might suffocate.
Suddenly, as if he propelled himself, Lance springs to his feet, snatching his bowl and Shiro’s and powerwalking towards the kitchen sink. Shiro, startled, follows him.
“You okay?” Shiro asks softly, noticing the whiteness of Lance’s knuckles, clenched around a sponge, and the robotic way he scrubs it across a dirty spoon.
Lance says nothing. He keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the soapy water, spine ramrod straight, nerves bleeding from him in waves.
Hesitantly, Shiro rolls up his sleeves, standing beside him and beginning to dry what he rinses. As Shiro gets close he gets tenser, shoulders hiked up to his ears, but as the minutes drag on, empty kitchen echoing the sound of swishing water and clanking cutlery, he begins to calm down. Shiro watches his face relax, easing its worries twist, and terror fade from his brown eyes.
He hands Shiro the last clean dish to dry, then pulls the plug on the sink, darting over to grab a hand towel and starting to dry.
“Can you write mission plans in pink?”
The words rush out of him, like he’d been holding them between his teeth for God knows how long and they’d finally spilled out. He looks almost nauseous after he says them.
Shiro blinks. That was…not what he’d expected.
“…Why?”
“It’s perfectly okay if you can’t,” Lance continues, as if Shiro had not spoken. “I mean, whatever. I’ll figure it out. I’ve gone without this long, after all, and it’s totally doable. Of course there’s the migraines and the agony but that’s all light work. It’s war, after all. Ha.” He chuckles nervously.
He’s shrunk in on himself, looking almost small. Shiro stares at him with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. Lance doesn’t even notice, eyes focused intensely on the hand towel, breathing worryingly erratic.
“I just swore to Hunk that I’d ask, you know. He said it wouldn’t hurt. And of course it wouldn’t but I don’t need it. It’s just. You know.”
Shiro cannot stress enough how much he doesn’t know. He hasn’t felt this lost in a while.
“Pink makes the letters stick to the page. And I know that sounds stupid as shit and that’s because it is stupid as shit, unfortunately. Dyslexia is the dumbest thing in the world, actually. And who named it that? You know how hard that word is to spell? It’s hard. They should have called it — I dunno, I just mean, it’s whatever. It’s fine. I’ve handled it this long. Uh.” He looks up, finally, and maybe he doesn’t know how to make sense of Shiro’s expression, because he winces, shame overtaking his face. He sets down the towel and gestures vaguely behind him, stepping towards the door. “I’m just gonna — go. Sorry. See you later. Sorry.”
He all but flees out of the room. Shiro barely manages to snag the back of his hoodie, holding him in place.
“Lance. Chill a second. Give me time to respond.”
Lance looks deploringly at the door, then back at Shiro. He looks like he’s accepting his death. Shiro can’t help but feel the teensiest bit offended.
“I’m not going to bite you,” he says, aghast. “Jesus, kid. You’re going to give me a complex.”
To Shiro’s great relief, the remark makes Lance grin. Some of the tension eases from his face.
“You sound like my mother.”
“From what I’ve heard, that’s a compliment,” Shiro says lightly. He pulls out two chairs, orienting them so they’re facing each other. He deliberately takes the one farthest from the door, so Lance doesn’t feel trapped. He gestures to the other one. “Sit.”
Lance does.
“Now. From the beginning and with a little less fear, hopefully. Tell me what’s up, kiddo.”
Lance looks down at his hands, where he’s picking at a scar on his wrist.
“Um. So. I have dyslexia. I can’t read too well.”
Lance cringes as he says it. Shiro wonders who he has to kill for putting the idea that this is something to be ashamed about in his head.
“Cool,” Shiro says, as encouragingly as he can manage. “The main character of my favourite book series as a kid had dyslexia. I was jealous of everyone who had it. I used to pray for it.”
The revelation startles a laugh out of Lance, like Shiro hoped it would. The tension melts right off of him.
“You prayed?”
“Every night,” Shiro affirms, grinning. “I even crossed my eyes and pretended when it didn’t work. My mother didn’t believe me for a second.”
“You’re a dweeb,” Lance says, sounding kind of awed. Like he’s shocked that Shiro, too, is a nerd loser on this castle full of other nerd losers. “Dyslexia sucks.”
Letting his face settle into something more serious, Shiro nods. “I imagine it does.” He reaches over and squeezes Lance’s hand, subtly stopping him from picking at the skin. Keith has the same bad habit. “Writing in pink helps?”
Lance shrugs. “Sorta. Dunno why. But things are less squiggly when they’re written in pink or red. Not perfect, but it’s something. I can hardly read at all when they’re in black; it’s like my eyes are spinning out of my head trying to focus on ‘em. Gives me migraines like you would not imagine.”
“And thus Hunk whispering the plans to you so you don’t have to read them,” Shiro surmises, the whispering during briefings suddenly making sense. Guilt twinges in his belly.
“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. Didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Of course not,” Shiro says gently. “I get it now. Sorry for not understanding.” He frowns, remembering something. “I should’ve asked beforehand. Or suspected something, or known better, really. I had a kid a few years back in one of my astronomy courses. Li-something. I marked all his stuff in red for the same reasons.”
Lance makes a very particular face. Warning bells go off in Shiro’s head.
“I appreciated that very much,” Lance says politely.
It takes a moment for it to click.
Shiro considers banging his head against the table.
“Please tell me no,” he begs, ears reddening.
“It was a great honour to be renamed by the Takashi Shirogane,” Lance insists.
“I had you in my class for three years!” Shiro says, aghast. “I — I called you Li all the time! In front of people!”
“I didn’t want to correct you! That’s — embarrassing!”
Shiro cradles his head in his hands. Dear God. He knows he’s not great with names, but — Jesus. To rename a kid. Blatantly. Other teachers must have thought he was some cruel jackass.
“I think there was a Li McKinney ahead of me in roll call,” Lance offers, patting Shiro’s back delicately. “So. Pretty easy to mess up.”
“Did you write your name as Li on tests? And assignments?”
“After the first couple times, yeah. Hunk laughed at me. At a certain point I’d just dug myself too deep, I think.”
Shiro sighs, dragging his hand down his face. It’s still quite hot. He looks up at Lance, who’s mouth is twitching.
“You were short as shit back then,” he observes, trying to picture the kid in his class. “Like, shorter than Pidge.”
Lance scowls. “I was — saving up on growth spurts. Yeah. So. Purge that from your memory.” He smirks. “Like my name.”
Shiro groans. “I’m never hearing the end of that, am I.”
Lance smiles. “Probably not. I didn’t know you were uncool. It’s interesting. I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”
Shiro rolls his eyes, but reaches over to mess with Lance’s hair, like he would Keith. Unlike Keith, Lance freaks out way harder, screeching something about hard work and artistic expression.
He smiles. “Glad you came to talk to me, kid.”
Lance sticks out his tongue, but he looks pleased, too. “Yeah, yeah.”
#fun fact when my sister was diagnosed w adhd & dyslexia as a child my pjo loving ass was so jealous i actually wanted to kill her#and she knew it too she used to rub it in lmfao. well now who has to ask her older sister to read her engineering textbooks out loud 2 her 😌#vld#voltron#lance#lance mcclain#shiro#takashi shirogane#shiro & lance#lance & shiro#dork shiro#big brother shiro#understanding shiro#observant shiro#autistic lance#dyslexic lance#insecure lance#brown eyed lance#lance & hunk#broganes#klance#adashi#i’m fibbing a bit but idc#fluff#early s1#my writing#longpost#fic
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