bluemantics
lance/iris ☼
fanfic writer, flirty, fun, fabulous | 18, ✡, she/her | pfp postscratch
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Their room reeks so strongly of peppermint that it makes Keith’s eyes sting. He blinks it away, slipping into the room as quickly as he can, minimizing the amount of light bleeding into the hallway. The lump of covers on their bed trembles slightly, and Keith’s heart breaks at the sight of it. He sets a glass of ice water on the bedside table, slipping out of his clothes in favour of a softer t-shirt and pyjama pants. He picks the cup back up and turns to the blanket lump, gently peeling the covers off his husband’s face. It’s wet, covered in tears, and his eyes are squeezed shut, fingers pressed deeply against them in an attempt to ease the pressure.
“Sit up,” he requests gently. Lance doesn’t move immediately, and Keith doesn’t push, gently stroking his forehead and untangling his hair. Lance leans in to the touch, relishing the cold of his fingers.
“It hurts,” he croaks, after several minutes. Finally he takes his hand away from his face, cracking open his bleary brown eyes.
Keith sighs. “I know, baby. But the water will help.”
“Okay.”
Keith squeezes his shoulder, then quickly crawls onto the mattress behind him, leaning against the headboard and helping Lance pull himself up so he’s leaning upright onto Keith’s chest. The change in altitude, however minuscule, make his breath hitch, and seconds later Keith feels something wet drip onto his arms, hears it drop steadily onto the duvet.
He winces. This one is…bad. He’s reminded, painfully, of the first time he ever witnessed Lance have an episode, hunched over a toilet bowl and shaking so bad Keith had been convinced he was seizing. The then-Blue Paladin had begged him, in between gags and heaves, not to tell anyone. Keith, who had only really known him for six months, six months of near-constant arguing broken up only by rare moments of true teamwork, who had barely considered them friends, had already been halfway out the door, Coran’s name on his tongue.
Keith had been scared shitless. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he knew enough to know that it was serious, that Lance was in real danger. His mind flashed to poisoning from a backstabbing ally, alien sickness a human immune system couldn’t fight off. A million different worst-case scenarios had rushed through his head, making Keith want to throw up himself.
But the terror in Lance’s eyes had scared him a thousand times more than whatever was wrong with him. So he had swallowed his fear, then, and kept his mouth shut, placing a tentative hand on Lance’s back as he vomited and carefully watched the door.
He doesn’t have to watch the door, anymore. There’s no more hiding.
But the fear has never left him.
“The meds aren’t doing anything,” Lance rasps. He’s drained the entire glass of water in seconds, body desperate for something to replenish all the sweat and tears and shaking effort of fighting off something that isn’t there.
“How long?”
“Third time.”
Keith tightens his arms around Lance’s waist, eyes closing in resigned disappointment. Third time — the meds have been ineffective for three consecutive attacks. It doesn’t work.
Fuck. They’d been hopeful about this one.
“We’ll talk to Coran.”
It had taken a year of Keith desperately trying to keep Lance’s secret — from the ‘real grown-ups’, as Lance called them — before they’d been caught. Usually Lance’s migraines were pretty predictable, warning signs obvious enough in advance that they could either find something to prevent it or get Lance somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed.
But once they couldn’t manage it.
Neither of them could have predicted the bright, flashing lights of the planet the team was visiting. Nor did they know how badly that was going to hit Lance. One second he was fine, upright, laughing with Hunk, and then next the lights were flashing in and out like an ambulance and Lance’s eyes were rolling back into his head. He had come back as fast as he’d passed out, before he even hit the ground, but there was no mistaking the way he looked like someone had just taken a mallet to his skull, the way his palms were pressed, digging, into his eyes, the way he was obviously and clearly in pain.
Migraine has never been a large enough word.
Lance groans quietly. “I don’t — not right now.” He pushes himself forward slightly and then carefully spins around, so he’s no longer leaning against Keith but leaning into him, head buried into his neck. Keith moves his arms until he’s adjusted, then wraps them back around his waist, resting his head on top of Lance’s and just holding him, covering him, letting him know he’s there. “You know what he’s going to make me do.”
The team had wanted to push Lance into a pod immediately. Keith had been yelled at by five seperate people at the same time when he’d stood in between them and Lance, protective hand on his arm, and refused to move.
That’s when he thinks things clicked for the two of them, he thinks. Not when he found out for the first time, not when he promised to keep quiet, not when Lance stood by him and Black’s choice, not in the countless other times they’d fought and won together. But the time Keith had stood between him and their friends, the people who wanted them to be safe, and said without saying the words I am on your side. I will be on your side, even if I don’t agree, even if it’s the wrong one.
“It’ll help,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to Lance’s temple. “I know it won’t make it go away, but you won’t feel it while it works it’s way. And who knows? Maybe this time it will fix something.”
“I doubt it.”
It hadn’t then, either. Lance had eventually agreed, battered, to a pod (“I can’t do it, Keith, I can’t, I’ll get stuck in there and suffocate and won’t even be awake to try and save myself —” “I’ll keep watch.” “What?” “The entire time. As long as it takes. I’ll stay awake and make sure you come out. I swear it, Lance.”), staying in cryosleep as the migraine worked it’s way through his body and the rest of them puzzled over his brain scans. They had even contacted the Olkari, the leading scientists in medicine besides the Alteans themselves, but no one in space is familiar enough with the human brain to find any miracles. And besides, from all angles, everything looked normal. Healthy, even, besides the pain. But obviously there was something wrong.
“That’s okay. We’ll just…sit here for a bit.” He knows that he should try to get Lance into a pod sooner rather than later. He can’t really sleep when he’s like this, so he’s just suffering, head pounding and nausea twisting his stomach, pain wrapped around his nerves. At least when he’s in the pod he’s in stasis. His migraines aren’t usually this bad — he can usually handle low lighting, can usually swallow the pain enough to smile and work and interact with the team; hell, usually the painkillers work — but when they are this bad, there are no other options. When they’re this bad, nothing does anything; not the water or an ice pack or the dark room or rest or peppermint or anything. (The peppermint always comes out, though, because Lance says it smells like healing. It smells like the times it /does/ work, smells like when he puts it on and the pain goes away. Keith will take burning eyes for that.)
For a while, the team put all their downtime into trying to figure out what they could do to fix things. Lance went through brain scans when he wasn’t hurting, when he was, when he was only hurting a little. He had so much blood drawn that he became anaemic again. Different ideas were tossed around and disproven three days later. He cycled through meds. The only thing that everyone could agree on, something that Lance already knew, was that the migraines started after the Sendak incident. Brain damage, of some kind. Once, carefully and kindly, Coran suggested that the pain might be psychosomatic. Keith and Shiro refused to talk to him for days, both remembering years of doctor’s visits that almost always ended with Well, Mr. Shirogane, have you considered that your problems may be more mental than physical?
It had been Lance’s scolding as much as Coran’s guilty face that had to two of them fixing things. Psychosomatic or not, Lance had reasoned, there’s something wrong, and what it is doesn’t really matter so long as it can be treated.
But it couldn’t. Be treated, that is. So long as it appears that Lance’s brain is just…attacking itself, sending off rapid fire pain signals for no reason, he just has to live with the constant pain of it, and the dread of the pod, the one fear Lance has never been able to fight off.
“I’ll watch,” Keith murmurs, lips pressed to Lance’s hair. He tightens his hold as Lance shudders.
He always has. It’s been eight years, in space, and Lance has been forced to enter a pod more times than he can count, for hours on end. But Keith has always stood there. He has always stood guard, watching the pod until he is bleary eyed, because he made a promise and he intends to keep it.
“Okay.” Lance exhales, long and slow. “As long as you’re with me, okay.”
“Always.”
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———
Keith has formed a pretty steady routine since moving back in with his brother four months ago. Shiro is always up earlier than he is, workaholic that he’s always been, so Keith wakes up to an empty apartment and all the hot water gone.
He doesn’t mind. He’s missed his brother.
He doesn’t mind the rest of his day, either. He’s happy with his job, or as happy as he can be anyway. He’s glad to be back in a city he’s comfortable in. He enjoys the convenience of getting food from the cafe downstairs whenever he wants it, basically.
What he does not enjoy is Shiro’s new fucking barista.
“Willie Nelson,” the barista in question greets, flashing a cheeky smile.
“It’s five in the fucking morning,” Keith says tiredly. “I just want my smoothie.”
The barista — who Keith has nicknamed Nuisance in both his head and in many rants, to Shiro’s great amusement — holds up his hands, stepping away from the POS and heading towards the blender. “Yeah, yeah, almond mom. One kale monstrosity coming right up. I’ll make sure to make it extra disgusting just for you.”
Keith holds his hands up and mimes squeezing his head right off his body. It does wonders for his stress levels.
“Do you not have expenses?” Keith demands, turning the offered plastic cup around to see ‘ScarJo circa 2003’ scrawled on the side in messy sharpie with its usual heart. “Normal people fear losing their jobs over this kind of harassment.”
Nuisance blows him a kiss. “You love it. Also, I’m the owner’s favourite, so I’m untouchable.”
Keith snorts. Unlikely. Shiro has three favourite employees, all of whom work the afternoon shift. He has described them in many ways, many a time: Allura is the witty and kind astrophysics student, Pidge is the sweet but snarky super-genius, and Lance is the bubbly people-person who can bake anything he can conceptualise. Nuisance is none of those people.
Keith snorts. “Sure you are.” He drops some change into the tip jar — Nuisance makes Keith want to throw things but he is an objectively stellar barista — and walks off without so much as a goodbye. He intentionally ignores Nuisance’s irritating “See you tomorrow, Gerard Way!” and wishes the cafe doors could slam.
“It cannot actually be that fun for you to torture him,” Allura says as they watch their number one tipping regular walk away. “It is the same thing every morning. You cannot continue to derive the same amount of joy every day.”
Lance giggles exaggeratedly into his hands. “I can and do. He gets all red in the cheeks when he gets mad, like Tinkerbell.” His dark eyes light up. “Ooooou, that’s what I’ll call him next! I’m gonna add it to the list.”
Allura rolls her eyes fondly as he digs in his apron pocket to find the now-crumpled piece of paper he’s been adding to since they first met Keith. It is almost completely covered in ink, Lance’s excitedly messy scrawl dutifully recording every demeaning celebrity comparison and pop culture reference he can onto the damn thing. It would be cute if Allura wasn’t so embarrassed for him.
“Get back to the kitchen,” Allura scolds the second he’s finished. “You’re supposed to have two dozen muffins done right now. You’re lucky I let you handle him every day, loser.”
He presses a smacking kiss on her cheek, yelling out a thank you before dashing to the back, still very much a giggling mess.
Lance enters the kitchen absolutely beaming to himself. He genuinely cannot remember the last time he had so much fun at a job. Sure, he loves Shiro’s cafe, and there are parts that are fun, but the fun parts are usually hanging out with his friends during slow times. That doesn’t count as having fun at work, that’s having fun with his friends with the coincidence of it being at work. Messing with Keith, however, is only possible because of his job, and is a direct result of his job. In fact the entire dynamic they have of irritating barista and disgruntled customer relies on it.
Lance is delighted.
He knows that he is being a little bit bonkers. They have had ridiculous regulars before, and Lance has not get the urge to strike up a rivalry of some kind. But for whatever reason, pushing Keith’s buttons just satisfies Lance in some innate way that he cannot name. The time Keith came in and requested to buy a bagel with cream cheese, and Lance responded that they only accept cash or card, still makes him laugh out loud if he thinks about it. (Keith had simply walked out of the store. He didn’t even say a word, didn’t so much as blink to process Lance’s easy rebuttal, simply turned one hundred and eighty degrees and walked right out the doors. Lance had been completely useless the rest of the day, dissolving into fits of giggles every ten minutes.)
As he sets the trays of muffins to cool on the counter, snagging one to himself, he reads over his insult list for the millionth time. He’s got a good twenty something he hasn’t used yet, and another ten he’s only used once or twice. Many more days to go.
Man, he hopes this morning shift arrangements lasts forever.
#I LOVE THIS AU OMG#coffee shop comedy is my fave#loved writing it love reading it yk. such a great genre#also keith not recognizing lance is hilarious likeeee#RIP shiro he’s gonna get yelled at
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“Lance, buddy.” Hunk nudges his best friend gently, who is currently dead to the world, somehow using his own shoulder as a headrest. “We’re here. Up you get.” Lance makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a mix of muffled yelling and sobbing, then testily uncurls himself, opening bleary brown eyes just to glare through the windshield.
“You’ll be fine, you drama queen,” Hunk admonishes. “You’re always fine once your brain kicks in.”
Lance only grunts, shifting his gaze to the door and opening it.
Well, trying to. It takes him four tries before Hunk takes pity on him, turning off the car before getting out of his own seat and walking to the other side to open Lance’s door for him. He sighs slightly to himself — he’d been planning on dropping Lance off at work and then jetting, but he should’ve known that wasn’t happening.
“C’mon, out you get,” he says, opening the door. He has to stop Lance from faceplanting on the pavement when he trips over nothing.
“Yeesh,” comes a voice from behind them, “what alien came down in the night and sucked out his brains? Or whatever’s left of them, anyways.”
Pidge stands by the rear door of the cafe holding three bags of coffee beans in her arms, glasses gleaming in the moonlight and smirk making her look impish. Her poofy dandelion hair is more of a mess than usual, as if a brush was a distant thought.
“He’s on low power mode,” Hunk explains. He slips an arm around Lance’s shoulders, patting him delicately and perhaps a bit patronizingly on the cheek. Lance responds only by groaning again and flopping his head back to rest on Hunk. “Lance is very big on beauty sleep, you see. So this is kind of a nightmare for him.”
Pidge’s smirk only gets wider. “I do see.”
Somehow, she makes a simple phrase of acknowledgment sound like she has just formed several evil plans in her head and is about to commence Lance’s downfall. She makes no attempt to hide this, which speaks to her power.
“Pidge? Everything okay out there?” calls a voice from inside the cafe.
“All good, Shiro! Just harassing Lance!”
“Oh, okay then.”
This makes Lance pull away from Hunk in pure indignation, jaw dropped and eyes furrowed on betrayal.
Hunk bursts out laughing.
“I think you’re good now, dude,” he says, patting Lance’s back one last time before waving goodbye and heading back to his car. Lance watches him go, then stomps into the cafe, putting his apron on as aggressively as he can possibly manage and scowling at a gleeful Pidge.
“Hello, Zombie Lance,” greets an amused Shiro. He looks impossibly normal for a man who has to be awake and working at Three In The Goddamn Morning. “Thanks for coming in, kiddo. I appreciate it.”
Lance shoots him a tired thumbs up and then heads to the kitchen.
“Never in my life have I seen him like this,” Pidge remarks. She is practically bouncing off the walls.
Shiro raises an eyebrow at her. “He’s the only one here who can bake. You’re not allowed to make him quit.”
“Can I make him consider it?”
“No.”
Pidge pouts. “Aw, Shiro, come on! You’re not here on the afternoon shifts! He and Allura gang up on me, Shiro. I am a victim. They do that weirdo thing where they communicate with eyebrow wiggles and Looks Of Judgement and then suddenly they know every embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
Shiro snorts, but shakes his head again. “Still no, Pidge. You’re all an asset to this team. Besides, Lance is the only one who doesn’t hate interacting with customers during rush. Do you want to start doing that? Because that’s what you’ll be doing if you annoy him into quitting.”
“Fine,” Pidge grouches. “I’ll only torment him a little. Until he gets his voice back. Fair’s fair.”
She sprints off before Shiro can stop her.
Chuckling to himself, Shiro continues unpacking the supply shipment, stacking sacks of flour in the store room and bringing boxes of teabags up front. They’ll probably be fine. They’ve worked here for years and managed to not kill each other. Sure, Shiro has never had three of his early-morning bakers and stockers quit at the same time, nor has he ever had to panic-text his best employees to get them to work outside their usual shift in the dead of night, but he’ll…manage. Hopefully.
“I’m here! I’m here! I’m not late, I’m —” Allura stumbles into the storeroom, frantically trying to tie her thick, kinky hair out of her face and shove it into her visor. She gives up very quickly, tossing the visor on a random surface and smiling sheepishly at her boss. “I’m a little late. But in my defense, Uncle Coran is trying to build a flux capacitor again so all the clocks were behind.”
“Grab a sack of flour, you walking mess,” Shiro says fondly. Smiling back at him, Allura does, picking up three sacks with complete ease and stacking them neatly.
“What do we have to do to open?” she asks. “I’ve done it a couple times, I think, but never this early, and —”
She’s interrupted by screeching, followed by cackling, and then the sound of several things clanging together as they fall to the floor.
She purses her lips, clearly fighting back a giggle. “Pidge and Lance in the kitchen?”
Shiro sighs. “Unfortunately.”
They follow the sounds of destruction, pulling the two fools away from each other, Allura dragging Pidge to go help her with the unloading and Shiro staying to help Lance. Between the four of them they manage to get the cafe stocked and prepped for the day, supplies out where they belong and enough goodies baked for the morning rush.
“Thanks again,” Shiro tells them, when six rolls around and they get ready to open.
Lance grins at him, having woken up fully sometimes around four. “All good! Opening shift is kinda nice, actually. You get to see the sunrise.”
Shiro smiles back, somewhat nervously. “It’s great that you feel that way, buddy.”
“Oh no,” Pidge says, sensing his tone.
Shiro pushes on. “—because Stephanie, Tyler, and Lou all quit. So. I am completely out of an opening shift.”
All three of them blink.
“Have you been opening on your own every morning?” Allura asks, concerned.
“No, this just happened,” Shiro assures. “That’s why I called you guys in. I know it’s frustrating, but I was hoping you guys would be willing to take this shift for a while, at least until I can get new hires. You guys like working together, so I pulled all three of you, but you don’t all have to say yes. I can definitely ask the late afternoon or evening shifts.”
“I never said anything about liking to work with the gremlin,” Lance grumbles, but he’s resting his elbow on Pidge’s head and his tone is nothing but fond.
“Yeah, and who says I want to work with two beanstalks?” Pidge complains. “If you move these two knuckleheads to this shift then maybe I can go back to my regular shift and work with appropriately sized people!”
“Oh, darling, I don’t believe any of our coworkers are preschoolers.” Allura bends down to Pidge’s height, face exaggeratedly sympathetic. “Child labour is illegal, you see.”
Pidge scowls as Allura and Lance burst into cackles, high-fiving each other. “You see?” she demands, gesturing between them and Shiro. “They gang up on me! Workplace harassment! I can’t believe you’re making me take the morning shift with these two doodooheads!”
“This is the best gift you could have possibly given me, Shiro,” Lance says, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m eternally grateful for this opportunity.”
Allura sniggers. “As am I.”
“Alright, alright,” Shiro says, rolling his eyes. He shrugs on his jacket, tossing the keys to Allura — the most trustworthy of the bunch (Pidge will most definitely make copies for nefarious purposes and the one and only time Lance was trusted with the keys, they ended up accidentally baked into a banana loaf). “I’m gonna sort some things out and see what I can do to get some newbies hired. No killing each other while I’m out, and no making each other quit either. Play nice, children.”
The three of them call out some derivative of “will do, father!” and wave him goodbye, watching him unchain his bike from the side of the building and pedal off.
The second he’s out of eyesight, Lance turns towards the other two, hand flying to his nose. “Dibs on first pick of breakfast! And on not unlocking the doors!”
“Hey! No way!”
“You only get to dibs one, you cheater!”
———
Usually, Lance works from ten to five, so he gets the second wave of breakfast rush and both waves of lunch rush. Early dinner rush too, but only if he’s working on weekends.
Early morning rush, though, is a whole different ballpark. There are way more people, somehow, and a lot of them are ruder. Possibly the lack of coffee, but still. Pidge intentionally makes decaf after notices several people be much meaner than Lance than usual.
Not that she thinks Lance notices she does this. But she’s not very subtle, and every time she does it makes Lance smile.
“Whew,” Allura huffs, slumping over the counter. “That was rough.”
“Was it ever,” Lance grumbles. The cafe has been quiet for five whole minutes, signalling an end to the dreaded mass of customers who’ve yet to caffeinate themselves.
Pidge is very scowly. “That one guy was such a prick. He was so mean to Lance for no reason, and then he called you hotcheeks, Allura! Ugh. He’s going to be so miserable when he gets caffeine withdrawals. I hope they’re particularly bad for him.”
“Careful there, Pidgey,” Allura says, sharing a grin with Lance. “It almost sounds like you care about us.”
“That has nothing — I do not! I’m just —” She flounders, ears going red. There’s no bleeding heart like Pidge, but God forbid she ever admit it. “I’m going on break! Fuck you guys!”
She stomps off to the back, throwing her apron at Lance’s head as she turns the corner. Allura and Lance look at each other, and last approximately four seconds before cracking up.
“Payback,” Lance says between giggles. “She was a total shit this morning. I considered throwing eggs at her.”
“You didn’t consider shit. You did throw an egg at her.”
“Yeah, but she dodged, so it doesn’t count.”
Allura rolls her eyes. “If I put you in a chokehold but you don’t die, it still —”
She cuts herself off at the sound of the windchimes hanging from the door, looking over to see a guy walk in, their age, wearing a cropped leather jacket, fingerless gloves, big emo boots, and —
“Is that a mullet?” Lance mutters, aghast. “In this day and age? Unironically?”
Allura bites her lip, hurriedly turning towards the espresso machine. “I’ll get started on a coffee as black as his soul,” she teases under her breath.
Lance has the bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, and even then he can’t stop his smile. He turns to the guy. “Welcome to Starbrews. What can I get for you?” he asks, voice shaking with mirth. He glances at the man’s gloves, and then back at his face. “A pink drink?”
Is he being a little mean? Yeah, probably. Can he kiss any tip goodbye? Most definitely.
Oh, well.
The man scoffs. “Is that your idea of being funny?”
Lance shrugs, very much amused even if the beloved customer isn’t. “What’re you gonna get, then?”
The man hesitates for a beat, still glaring at Lance, then mutters, “A pink drink.”
Lance does his absolute best to keep his smirk at a reasonable level. He sees Allura’s shoulders shaking out of the corner of his eye.
“What size?” he asks pleasantly, tapping the register.
“A medium,” the man says, with no small amount of attitude.
Without waiting for the man to finish, Lance shakes his head.
Oh, he is delighting in this.
“Sorry,” he hums. “I don’t know what that is.”
The man looks a hair’s breadth away from reaching over to strangle Lance, which is excellent. Instead he places his hands on the counter very gently, in a way that tells you he is physically holding himself back from slamming them, and leans in close. He hums, mocking the way Lance did earlier, condescending smirk on his face. “It’s, like, in between a small and a lar—”
“Shh,” Lance interrupts, matching the man’s position, leaning so close he can see the freckles that dot his nose, and the faint scar on his cheek. “We go by tall, grande, and venti here? Most people know that.”
Most people don’t know that, actually. This is a privately owned cafe. This isn’t a Starbucks. Shiro just has an all-encompassing loathing for Starbucks and anything associated with it, and expresses this loathing with as much copyright as he can get away with, which is a lot. (Aside from the sizing, they even have two menus, labelled ‘Our Menu’ and ‘The Starbucks Menu’. How Shiro has not yet received a cease and desist, Lance does not know, but the pettiness as a whole brings him great joy.)
But for whatever reason, Lance appears to be set on being as annoying as possible to this random man today. Perhaps it’s because he is personally offended by the mullet. Perhaps it’s because Lance is neurotic and the man is objectively very attractive. No one will ever know exactly how Lance’s mind works, least of all himself.
The man’s eyebrows narrow, and something shifts in his expression. He smirks widely, tilting his head at Lance and putting his hand to his heart in a false show of genuineness.
“Aw,” he coos, as patronizing as Lance was seconds ago. “Do I look like most people, sweetheart?”
The mocking pet name only emboldens Lance further. He straightens, punching in the order — not that he needs to, there’s no way Allura isn’t paying full and complete attention, but still — and grinning.
“Absolutely not,” he chirps, as preppily as he can.
The man huffs, straightening up as well. “Hm. That was a little condescending, don’t you think?”
“Was it?” Lance drawls.
“Yeah,” the man says flatly.
“Interesting,” Lance dismisses. “Can I get a name for the order? Or does Billy Ray Cyrus work for you?”
Allura can’t tamp down her laugh at that one, clamping her hand over her mouth as soon as the sound escapes and hurriedly reaching for the coconut milk.
“Keith is fine,” Keith grouches.
“Sure thing,” Lance assures, writing Billy Ray Cyrus on the cup, and then a heart just to be annoying. He slides the cup over to Allura, who fills it up and walks it over to the counter.
“Pink drink for Billy Ray Cyrus?” she calls, because she may pretend to be more mature than Lance but deep down she is just as much of a shit disturber.
Keith scowls. “Not my name.” He takes the offered drink and then — to Lance and Allura’s great surprise — drops some money into the tip jar, before leaving the cafe in a huff.
“You are going to get your dumb ass fired,” Allura says once he’s gone.
“Nah,” Lance dismisses, grinning cheekily at her. “Shiro likes me too much. Plus, how would he ever find out?”
Allura grabs a rag and stars wiping the machines down, shaking her head. “You’d be surprised.”
“Oh, come on. What’s Mr. Emo gonna do? Tell Shiro? It’s not like they know each other. That would be romcom levels of ridiculous plot hangering. Not happening.”
“Whatever you say, Lance. When this comes back to bite you in the ass, I am going to point and laugh.”
———
scene from this video
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Form Voltron!!
+ black paladin armor
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a few nights ago i had a dream about long distance klance lol
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@/seltzerpink on twitter said gap tooth crooked nose keith and i said ur on to something....
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Witch Keith, he turns into a cat and sits on the beach sometimes to get out of his own mind. When he's in cat form less people approach him and he's doesn't have to respond since ppl are weary of black cats.
But one day a guy approaches him as the waves brush gently over his paws.
"Hey there little kitty, the water isn't bothering you?" He says and Keith just huffs in response earning a chuckle "mind if I join you?"
Keith ignores him for a bit hoping the man would leave but he doesn't. Instead the guy takes off his shoes and sits next to Keith, let's the waves lap at his feet while staring out at the sea in silence.
They sit in a surprisingly companionable silence, it's the first time in a long time Keith hasn't minded the company. He nearly forgets the guy is there until he speaks again.
"Do you ever wonder what it's like to be the sea?"
The question is so sudden Keith finds himself giving the man a curious head tilt.
"It's so vast, so full of depth yet the tides always return....it's gentle yet viscous but people love it all the same."
Keith can't help but shift closer still maintaining a gap between them. The man turns gifting Keith the kindest smile he's seen from a stranger "does it not scare you? To be so small in a vastness so large?"
He stares in response gaining one last chuckle from the man before watching the guy stand "I'll see you later kitty, don't get swept away by the waves now."
As Keith watches him leave he feels like he's already been swept away and it wasn't by the waves.
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Post-Battle Hurt/Comfort Klance
“Where’s Lance?” Keith heard Hunk whisper behind his back to Pidge. Even though he knew Hunk was worried, Keith didn’t turn back. For some reason, despite knowing where Lance was, and despite the fact that Hunk was literally way more equipped to handle Lance, Keith chose not to tell Hunk anything.
Instead, he pulled his helmet off his head and shoved it under his arm.
Inhale. Exhale.
The black paladin left the lions’ hangar, head held high, retreating into the quieter lights of the castle hallway. As he walked, his footsteps echoed, the empty hum of the castle louder than it’d ever been before. Keith knew, though, that today was different, that the battle they’d just finished was a defining moment Lance wouldn’t ever forget.
Maybe he prevented Hunk from knowing Lance’s location because he knew these situations better than Hunk. Every member of Team Voltron had made sacrifices before, but few one quite like this, so personal and close. Keith had, though; he’d suffered through loss after loss and been the cause of suffering. Hunk, soft and warm as a teddy bear, wasn’t exactly the right messenger for what needed to be said.
Keith slowed in front of a door. He pressed the button to slide it open and stepped into the room. Awkwardly, he pushed his bangs up on his forehead, looking into the room that Coran had engineered for Kaltenecker.
Designed just like an Earth meadow, the room looked almost expansive, with grass and flowers dotting the ground in a plush carpet. Outside the room, it was metallic, gray, and icy, a relic from a past that the humans on the Castle-ship often felt disconnected from. Inside the meadow, though, the starry blanket followed the light-rhythms of the ship, and were currently mimicking a North American view of the stars.
Offhandedly, Keith picked out Pegasus and Ursa Major, before his eyes finally came to rest on Lance’s form.
Only Coran and Keith knew where Lance came when he wanted to be alone. Coran, because Lance had entrusted him with the information. Keith, because he’d accidentally walked in on Lance at 0100 hours, when Keith (who was known to be lactose intolerant) tried to sneak past Hunk’s defenses to get milk for a milkshake.
Desperate times, in his defense.
Now, though, Lance was much less responsive to Keith entering. He lay flat on his back in the meadow, hands pillowed behind his head as he stared up at the starry expanse. As if he was underwater, the blue hues danced across his skin, hiding his expression from view. He was as still as stone.
Keith walked in. Careful not to disturb Lance, Keith laid down next to him, staring the same way Lance was. They were less than a foot apart. Keith could see the rise and fall of Lance’s chest through his armor, which he hadn’t even bothered to take off. It wasn’t comfortable– Keith hadn’t bothered either– but Lance didn’t seem to notice.
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#klance#lance mcclain#voltron#keith kogane#klance fic#klance fanfiction#lance voltron#vld#fanfiction#klance voltron#langst#langst fic#klangst
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FIXXIEPOO ILYSM 🫶🫶 this is so reciprocated ofc ur so talented and so cool
making this on my phone with very little sleep or consideration, but i think the point stands
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Hear those bells ring deep in the soul
Chiming away for a moment
Feel your breath course frankly below
And see life as a worthy opponent
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Me personally? I just think Lance would be obsessed with the emperors new groove, mulan, and all those Disney classics. Hercules Omg….
he makes hunk quote scenes with him as kuzco and hunk as pacha
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