#anyway... yeah ignore the logistics of this and just have fun lol <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ughgoaway · 1 month

Text

Snapshots

a/n; This is kind of half a blurb and half a fic?? Idk, it's just horny thoughts expanded tbh. now, this is NOT sanitary at all. PLEASE do not do this without thoroughly cleaning the shoe first. You are asking for a yeast infection and a UTI otherwise. But this is fiction, so let's all pretend he did a little sterilising beforehand! however, that's not hot to read, so im not gonna write it, but let's play pretend!! Thank you, ily <3

Content warnings; boot grinding, d-word, degradation, jealousy, bratty behaviour, dom matty, spit, swearing, and teasing. But I think thats it?? I'm so sorry if I'm missing some!

word count; 2.1k ish

(shout out to Kirke @nowshesdoingitallthetime for once again causing this. you are my fav little devil on my shoulder encouraging this behaviour...)

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*click* *click* *click*

“Okay and now look to the left!” You hear the photographer shout. matty turns his head exactly as she asks. But apparently, it's not quite right, judging by how she walks over to him and poses his body.

you can feel the jealousy in every fucking nerve when her fingers graze the edge of Matty's jaw, adjusting his head half a centimetre. The move was so small it was completely unnoticeable to anyone else, but what was noticeable was the sly smirk on the photographer's face as her fingers lingered on Matty’s skin.

Your boyfriend remains completely oblivious, as he has been all day. You, however, noticed it as soon as you walked in together. You weren't planning on coming to play jealous girlfriend, you were prepared to be silently supportive.

But when she spent 40 minutes trying different outfits on Matty and showering him with compliments, you knew something was up.

You studied her every move from then on. The way she “adjusted” Matty’s hair after almost every take, running her fingers through every strand in a way that had Matty practically purring.

You look at the way she pulls at his clothes, untucking and tucking in his shirt multiple times. and you also watch her eyes dart down to his exposed stomach every. fucking. Time. You swear you can almost see the cogs turning in her head when she catches a flash of the rose tattoo on his hip.

Every joke he makes, she laughs just a little too hard. Matty is funny, but making a shitty pun is not worthy of doubling over and acting like you're at a standup show. Yet, every vaguely funny comment he makes has her cackling and wiping tears that are streaming down her cheeks.

So you were fuming. Partially at her, Matty had introduced you as his girlfriend at the start of the session. Which had earned him an unimpressed hum from her and you a petty wave. she didn't seem to take too much notice of that fact, though, judging by the way she's stroking his cheek right now.

But you're also pissed at Matty for playing right into her hand.

You knew he was egotistical, but the way he was practically turned into a giggling schoolgirl over the shoot drove you insane. His attention whore actions usually make you laugh, probably because they're normally aimed at you. as soon as you start rambling about how much you love him, matty becomes a child star, immediately glowing at the praise.

But it's remarkably less entertaining when he's lapping up the attention of a woman who is practically getting on her knees in front of you.

And maybe you took it too far, walking over to him mid-conversation and grabbing his face, pressing your lips onto his harshly, you take advantage of the gasp that leaves his lips to press your tongue into his mouth, licking inside and moaning excessively loud.

Matty pulls you off once his logical brain overtakes his horny one, but you can still see he's slightly dazed when he goes back to chatting with the photographer. The haze in his eyes and the pink flush on his cheeks take a few minutes to fully fade, especially when your hand slides onto his thigh and grips his skin possessively.

You hang off his arm for the rest of the break and move closer to the set when they start up again. Every adjustment she suggests you swoop in and make before she can, punctuating each one with a peck on Matty’s lips and a glare her way.

Matty knows what you're doing, and after you lingered a little too long on one kiss, he pulls you in with a hand around the base of your neck.

You feel his breath on your ear before he starts talking, “I know what you're doing. Behave.”

You don't listen to his demands. Why should you when he's been gagging for every piece of attention this stranger gives him? So you play it up even more, determined to beat this woman at her game.

whilst you might win that war, you certainly don't win the one waging with matty judging by his tense shoulders and rolling eyes.

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The ride home is full of tension, Matty's knuckles are white from how hard he's gripping the steering wheel, and the hand that usually lives on your thighs is firmly stuck on the gearstick.

You cant deny that the mix of his palpable anger now and how fucking good he looked at the photo shoot had riled you up. Every tick of his jaw makes your thighs tighten. And you swear you see a smile cross Matty's face as you cross and uncross your legs for the 20th time, desperate to relieve some pressure.

As soon as you get in the door, Matty is barking orders at you.

“Follow me. And be quiet. You've done enough talking today.” Any bratty behaviour left simmering inside you was gone. You trailed behind Matty silently, walking into the front room and starting to sit down on the sofa beside him.

“Nope, floor,” Matty says bluntly.

... no, he's joking. Surely.

“What?” you tilt your head at the man in front of you as you speak, assuming this is another one of his unfunny jokes (but you're sure the photographer would be fucking cackling at it.)

“You heard me, Don't play dumb now, baby. Kneel.” You don’t know whether it’s the intensity of his eyes or the assertiveness of his voice, but you do exactly as he asks. Sinking to your knees like you had done for him so many times before.

Your hands start to move to his fly instinctively, assuming you'd be apologising the only way you know how, letting Matty fuck your throat until you cant speak. But his hands smack yours away before you can even touch the denim of his jeans.

“Thats not gonna cut it today, baby. i need a proper apology this time.” Matty's foot slides between your legs, his boot sitting between your thighs as you hover just above it.

“I want you to grind on my boot, sweet girl. Put on a proper show for me, yeah?” Matty nods at you, and you don't even think before immediately nodding back, sinking down on his boot below you. in your mind, you know you should be scoffing at him and rolling your eyes, but your body moves without you telling it to.

You can already feel wetness pooling in your panties, throbbing at the idea of being so powerless under him. You gasp as soon as the cool leather of the boot touches your core, goosebumps blooming over your skin.

Your hips start rutting against the leather, sliding your hands around Matty's calf as you experimentally grind down on his shoe. Matty feels your fingers tighten around his leg as you clit brushes agaisnt the leather, the slight scratch of the boot making your head spin.

You rock your hips dumbly against Matty's shoe, arching your back when it brushes harshly over your bundle of nerves. Your ruby red nails dig into Matty’s leg through his jeans as you cling to him desperately.

One of your hands slides behind you so you can rock your hips even deeper on his boot, laying your palm flat the ground and canting your hips up desperately. Your thighs burn with every rock you make, but the burn in your core is stronger than anything else.

“thats it. now stick your tongue out, fuck. that's it angel,” Matty palms himself over his jeans as he stares down at you, groaning as he watches spit drip from your tongue and fall on the boot below, making every move you make slicker and more dizzying.

Matty looks pretty fucked out for someone who hasn't been touched, a thin sheen of sweat sits on his skin, his dick straining in his jeans as he watches you like a hawk. He studies your every movement like he is watching a cinematic masterpiece, taking in every move you make and committing it to memory.

His jaw clenches as he fights every urge in his body to grab you by the hair and pull under him. Visions cross his mind of him jackhammering his hips inside you until you're screaming his name, watching the bluge in your stomach as he pumps fucking every inch of himself inside you. But he stays strong, keeping his eyes trained on you with every move you make.

“Thats it, shine my boots with your cunt. Good girl” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Matty drags out his words and pushes his boot up, the pressure against your clit making the world around you fall into a haze.

A flush covers your cheeks and chest, and Matty smirks at how blissed out you look.

Fucking you dumb is something that will never fail to amaze him, watching a smart girl become a babbling mess because of him does wonders for his ever-growing ego. It's not like he needed the boost, but your brain melted out of your ears as soon as he starts talking to you like he owned you.

You can't help but squirm as you start moving closer towards the edge, the pressure building inside you slowly becoming too much. Whimpers and whines fall from your lips as your hips speed up, pleading with Matty to let you cum without saying it. Luckily, Matty has seen you fall apart under him enough times to know exactly what you're asking.

“You getting close, baby?” Matty smirks as he speaks, “‘course you are. Filthy girl wants to cum all over daddy's boots.” your jaw drops at the nickname, and you nod as best you can, whimpering with every circle of your hips.

“Beg." he demands

"Tell me you're fucking sorry and beg to cum,” Matty's jaw drops when he sees tears start falling down your face, desperation filling your every nerve. Soon, you're sobbing and begging Matty for mercy, your hips bucking wildly.

“Please. I’m so- fuck- im so sorry, Daddy. Please let me cum, ill be so good, I promise. Just- ah! let me cum. Please.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you fight to hold in your orgasm, but every rut of your hips is making pushing you closer.

“So good for me, such a dirty slut. Okay, angel, cum for me.” As soon as the words leave Matty’s lips, your cumming, the rubber band inside you snapping.

White spots dance across your vision as you push even harder down on Matty’s boot, letting the tough leather push you through your orgasm with every circle of your hips. Your chest heaves, and your jaw shakes as your orgasm drags on, intense pleasure wracking your every nerve.

Your thighs grip tightly around his boot as you reach your peak, but soon enough they're going lax, your hips slowing down until you’re motionless sitting on Matty's shoe, panting wildly and fighting to catch your breath. His fingers move from his lap and grip your chin, forcing you to stare at him as he speaks.

“Don't leave a mess. clean it up for me baby, be a good girl.” Matty nods at his boot, looking at you expectantly with a sick smile covering his face.

You sink further down on the floor below you, ignoring the way the cold concrete scratches your knees as you slide. Dark brown eyes meet yours as you hold eye contact with Matty. staring up at his as you stick your tongue out, and start to lick the leather covered in your slick. An exaggerated moan falls from your lips at the taste, and Matty’s jaw drops as he watches your tongue lap at his shoe.

After a few more seconds of you swiping your tongue over the leather, Matty is dragging you into his lap, gripping your hips harshly as you settle on top of him. He can't help smirking as you hover over him. Your cheeks are pink as you stare at him. The same pretty pink covers your lips. undoubtedly from desperately bitting at them to try and dampen your needy whimpers.

“Don't be so selfish now, princess, give daddy a taste,” you smirk at Matty before gripping his jaw, watching in awe as his mouth drops open and his tongue falls out.

Power skitters up your spine as you lean forward and let a drop of spit fall from your bottom lip, watching it drip and fall onto your boyfriend's tongue. A grin immediately pulls at your lips when you hear the groan that is ripped from his chest.

As soon as Matty tastes the mix of your slick and spit, he's dragging you deeper into his lap, forcing his tongue in your mouth to desperately lick every trace of your release from the inside of your mouth.

Needy hands grip each other's skin, groping every piece you can get your hands on. Eventually, Matty pulls away from your lips, his eyes dropping to watch a string of spit spread between you. His head falls back against the sofa behind him, staring at you in awe.

“I'm booking another photo shoot with her,” he teases, his chest heaving as he desperately sucks in air to his lungs.

“The fuck you are.” You surge forward and capture his lips again, smiling as you feel his lips turn up as soon as your skin touches his.

#wrote this from 12am to 2am so it might be shit #probably is #but delirium is a funny thing #anyway... yeah ignore the logistics of this and just have fun lol <3 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #matty healy fic

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franeridart · 6 years

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Jack says "ignored YOUR rule". Does that mean it's something Bakugou obligates himself not to have or something non of them can have? I'm actually curious 🤔

It’s actually a rule Bakugou put down for himself for a number of reasons, half related to his own safety and the safety of the person he’s dating, the other half to the fact that Bakugou hates lying, but (again for safety reasons) he can’t just go around telling everyone what he’s doing - he doesn’t want a relationship in which he’d just contantly lie to his partner and ditch them for vigilante work without being able to explain them what’s going on, so he put down the rule as soon as he decided he wanted to do this. Well, he hadn’t been interested in relationships anyway before Kirishima, so it was an easy decision to take at the time - now though...

Ahhhh if only he figured out Kiri and Red are the same person smh that’d make everything so much easier on him

Anon said:When you draw Jiro and Bakugo having platonic hugs and cuddles my bi heart becomes incredibly soft THANK YOUUUUUUU

I’M HAPPY TO HEAR THAT cause honestly that’s as self-indulgent as I go hahaha

Anon said:The vigilante au is so far sad but I could totally see it going in a miraculous ladybug kinda direction. What if they tried putting distance between themselves and suddenly found that they're falling again, for the vigilante forms this time because "oh sh*t he's cute in every way Kirishima is" and "He's just my type too, Bakugou-- *sigh* I could use some moving on from him." Or only Kirishima moves to vigilante!Baku but he remains stuck on kiri..//Or what if like, vigilante! Kiribaku are about to get caught by a hero and Kirishima opens up about his last regret of not getting to see his crush one last time after they set distance between themselves, while Bakugou listens and...

That’s!!!! a lot of ideas you got there hahaha I’m glad you’re having fun with the concept!!!!!!

Anon said:That vigilante au is amazing. You really express emotions well in comics.

AAAAAHHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH that!!!! honestly means the world to me *sob*

Anon said:I just want to say you're really cool and I like you art uh- K bye

Thank!!!!!!!!!!! YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:Oh damn. I think i fall in love for your Vigilantes AU. Please don't stop. I really love it❤️

I mean, as long as you guys are okay with it being a bit all over the place and also being just pencil doodles, then I got no problems doing that right now haha thank you for liking it!!

Anon said:I love your vigilantes AU so much 😍😍😍😍

THANKS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:LET THEM BE HAPPY !!!!

THAT’S THE PLAN!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:May I ask how you draw bakugous hair so well?? I just can’t seem to get the right amount of poof (or should I say BOOM💥 )

oHO I’m glad you like it cause actually the answer is I spent two years drawing it nearly daily and I finally sorta reached a place when I guess I’m okay with how I draw it lol some time ago I drew a step by step for it? but by now my process is mostly “do whatever and hope for the best”, which incidently is also my process in drawing Kirishima’s hair lmao

Anon said:Im a bit confused with the vigilante kiri, does he have black hair in his civilian form and red in his hero form?

YEH it’s one of the reasons why Bakugou still hasn’t figured out Red is Kiri haha thought if you’re asking for the logistics of that, I can’t say I spent too long thinking about it? We can always call it temporary hair dye spry or something like that, but to be fair it’s not like it matters all that much lmao I just needed Baku to be unable to tell it was him easily haha

Anon said:I love ur gem Au! :D are you gonna make more? Its okay if not :)

As I’ve said literally every single time I’ve answered asks since I posted it, MAYBE yes! The thing about that AU is that I love it and I have fun with it, but posting it ended up being the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, so honestly I don’t know when I’m gonna draw it if I’ll draw it, but the possibility is there

Anon said:Hello! I just wanted to say I have love reading your comics and your art is amazing-- but I especially love your vigilantes AU! Thank you so much for sharing it with us!!!

HECK thank you!!!! I’m so happy you’re enjoying it ;O;

Anon said:Why must you hurt us? I started crying at that vigilante au comic..

*passes u a blanket* I’ll try not to make it as sad in the future!

Anon said:Hi! I've purchased the take my hand book about a month ago, just wondering how long it takes for it to be delivered??? BTW I live in NZ so I understand if it takes a while~

Heck sorry anon but I’m so not good with dates, you should check the @takemyhandzine blog for that sorta stuff! Thank you so much for buying it tho!!!! ;O;

Anon said:Is Nico a cinnamon roll or a sinnamon roll?

That......... depends a lot on who you ask :0

Anon said:I love bnha more and more with every new character out. All that's left is to ask, which minor character is currently your favorite? (***That isn't from UA because that is a much bigger dilemma)

oUCH it would have been easier picking from UA actually since I’m pretty sure Amajiki is it hahaha well, if I can’t pick from UA...................... you know what, probably Shishikura

Anon said:Bakujiro friendship is something I didn’t know I NEEDED. U do good work bro

I’M SO GLAD YOU CAN GET BEHIND THAT!!!!!

Anon said:Your art gives me life!!! Every time you post is just so unique in every way :00000 ❤️ anyway i just wanted to let you know that you’re inspiring in every way and that I absolutely adore your kiribaku art to the moon and back!!!

SOB thank you so much???? You’re so sweet!!!! ;O;

Anon said:FRAN!!! YOUR LATEST KIRIBAKU ART KILLED ME (in a good way) HONESTLY YOU IMPROVED SO MUCH SINCE I FIRST STARTED FOLLOWING YOU, IT MOTIVATES ME TO KEEP DRAWING!! THANK YOU

HELL ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH I’M SO GLAD MY FUMBLING AROUND IN THE ART WORLD IS INSPIRING FOR YOU ???? LET’S BOTH KEEP DOING OUR BEST!!!!!

Anon said:fran you could convince me to ship anything with one (1) drawing

Since I got this ask I’ve been trying to find the most outrageous ship just to draw it and test this theory.......... I still haven’t found something outrageous enough but.... soon

Anon said:Hi your art is amazing also beautiful As you probably might know there is a traitor in the show, if you didn't know well then im sorry for spoiling. May I request a traitor kirishima

nnnnnnnggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sorry anon but the traitor theory arts are stuff I just can’t get behind, mostly so if it’s my fav characters - I don’t find it credible and I don’t find any joy in dwelling in the idea, so I got zero motivation to draw for it orz

Anon said:I can't believe you made me read the phrase "startle and explosion out of baku". (Yay for the vigilantes AU!)

LMAO he’s actually trying to do just that tho, maybe I’ll draw it hahaha

Anon said:Please! I need more BakuKiriKami fan art! I’m gunna die without it!

Anon I’m gonna be very real with you here my first reaction to reading this ask was thinking “then perish”

Anon said:Hello! I don't know if you've gotten this question before but have you ever considered drawing the villains?

I’ve drawn Dabi and Twice in the past! I’m not really much intereste in any other villain atm tho so I doubt I’m gonna be drawing them any time soon ^^’’

Anon said:You are by far my favorite artist. Your Kiribaku gives life to my bleak exsistence. Thank you. I bought some of your things of redbubble to make me happy!

AHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:Hello! I'm a big fan of your work and your kiribaku fluff especially, and I've been working on a (not so innocent) fic about Bakugou having burnt marshmallow smelling and tasting sweat, (funny how nitroglycerin is a natural lubricant, tastes and smells like burnt sugar, and is explosive) just wanted to know if you ever thought about it? also wanted to know if you'd like to read my finished fic, should be done real soon and it would mean a lot to know what you think about it!

Anon I’m so sorry but I really can’t say yes to this - especially because you said it means a lot to you, you’re putting me in a spot here where in case I didn’t like it I wouldn’t be able to tell you so anyway (and I generally don’t like talking about fancontent I don’t give a 10/10 to anyway, it’s too rude for me) and I’m sure it’s gonna be a great fic! But by the way you talked about it it’s gonna be a nsfw fic and I really rarely like those fics, so !!! orz I’m sorry, but this is a really uncomfortable request for me ;;;

Anon said:Can I use your art real quick if I hard out credit u? It's alright if I can't

Nope, sorry

Anon said:Could you draw another doodle of Setsuna?. I love how you draw her jfvdkd ;;v;; (Sorry if my English is trash.)

Not right now, but in the future yeah sure, I love her!

Anon said:Your Kirishima is so beautiful i fucking cry omg ;-; thank you for brightening my morning.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; thank you for liking how I draw him !!!!

Anon said:💛💛💛💛 Thank you for sharing your art, it always makes my day

Thank YOU for liking it!!!!!

Anon said:In your SU AU what if a gem offers to replace Kiri with a 'newer, better pearl'? How would Bakugo react?

Actually, Kiri was given to Bakugou specifically because he’s sorta defective, it was punishment for both of them that sorta backfired lmao

Anon said:hi there! I'm new to your blog and I love your art style immensely! I saw somewhere with your latest seroroki post that you're still finding your main todoship; I hope I dont sound rude or pushy, but can I ask your opinions about todo*aku and/or tod*kir*baku? If not, thank you for your time! Keep up the great work!!

Still not completely sold on romantic tdbk tbh (platonic tho, that’s my jam) but I’ve been real into the ot3 lately!!! It just can’t be my main todo ship bc I still prefer krbk too much over it haha

Anon said:I loveeee your art, especially your kiribaku stuff! But consider! Size difference! What if Kirishima grows a lot but our lil' Baku doesn't? Does he get jealous or does he really like it? There'd be some epic hugs/kisses! What if he secretly loves getting picked up by Kirishima? XD

Oh that’s an hc I see around a lot! Personally I stil prefer them sorta the same size tho ???? with the only difference being Baku being lithe and Kiri being a tank, I think it has to do with the whole “complementary equals” theme they have going on, I like for it to be visually represented too ??? maybe, I had never really thought about the hows or whys of this preference tbh lmao

Anon said:Hey so I'm not up to date with BNHA but in your asks there was a thing about dragon boy having a zombie costume? I had another look at what I think is the right doodle and to me it looks like a Chinese vampire costume! (unless that's not the one you guys were talking about oops)

Nope that’s him, and you’re right!!! Either way my boy still hasn’t done anything worth of note, so I still don’t know why he’s dressed like that orz Hori plssss

#fran answers #i have a couple asks in my inbox i have willingly left there to be answered when i have more time #so if your ask isnt in here chances are that's why #PLS bear with me!#one of them specifically is asking for a reference sheet #gimme time i'll get to it i swear!!!!#anonymous

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pumpkins-s · 6 years

Text

Learned Behavior (Of The Replaceable)

Read on AO3 Here

In the wake of Shiro’s disappearance, Hunk reflects, not only on what it means to be a part of Voltron, but what it means to be a part of this Voltron, and his place in it.

Understanding Lance, trusting Lance, is easy. The others? Not so much.

And while Hunk has somewhat made his peace with the fact that he likely will die out here on some Galra battlefield, the idea of losing Lance, physically or mentally, is…terrifying.

(Or, Shiro goes missing, team Voltron freaks out, and Hunk and Lance learn that coping is best done together.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Lance/Hunk

Characters: Hunk, Lance, Keith, Allura, Pidge

Written for the @aphelionzine

((Author’s Note:

This was written way back in the early summer of last year, as part of the Aphelion Zine, before season 3 came out. As someone with...mixed feelings...about the lion switch, even then, I wanted the chance to tackle a pre-season 3 fic that would give more emphasis on Hunk & Lance's feelings on the whole situation -- from the switch to missing Shiro -- than I expected (or ended up getting lol) from canon. As of season 3 & 4 coming out since this fic was written, this can officially be considered canon divergence, or an alternate take on how the lion switch might have gone down, whatever suits your fancy.

Either way, there's lots of Hunk and Lance being cute and just plain old Good for each other.))

After Shiro disappears, things kind of go to shit.

…Yeah, that about sums that one up, if you ask Hunk.

Well…not that they hadn’t already been shitty beforehand—what with the Galra and Zarkon attacking them and being an unfathomable distance away from home and all that—but things definitely do not improve with Shiro’s disappearance, to say the least. Losing their leader when they barely had half a clue as to what they were doing in the first place was not the best turn of circumstances in the slightest.

So yes, Hunk thinks it’s fair to say things deteriorate to an even larger extent with Shiro’s…absence.

Absence—that’s all it is. All it must be. Shiro can’t be dead.

…Right?

Because…if Shiro’s dead, then they honestly have no hope in hell of winning this fight.

Still, Hunk is painfully aware of the fact that sharing this little revelation on his part would do nothing to help the team’s morale. Nor will it get them out of the current pickle they currently find themselves in, and would likely only make certain people’s panic worse, so he decides it’s best kept to himself.

…And Lance.

Lance, who’s quick to sneak into his room that first night (and every night following) after they escape Zarkon’s clutches again, plus one new bayard yet sans Shiro, and curl up on the end of Hunk’s bed across from him, knees drawn up against his chest as he stares down at the blankets with wide eyes and pale cheeks.

“Shiro left Keith in charge,” he says almost immediately once he’s situated, giving up on beating around the bush. Not even bothering to give Keith’s name the usual disgusted inflection he tends to place on it at most opportunities for the sake of theatrics, if nothing else. “He left us alone, with Keith in charge.” There’s a breath, shaky and unsure. “We’re all going to die.”

…Welp. He doesn’t really know how to argue with that one.

“Lance…” Hunk sighs, long and low, because he knows Lance is right in his worry. Knows Lance is almost always right in his analysis of a person’s abilities, once he removes personal bias at least, but is scared to admit to this fact, especially in the face of Lance’s own spiraling paranoia. “I know you’re not Keith’s biggest fan, but we can’t just—“

“He’s going to get us all killed,” Lance cuts Hunk off flatly. “This has…” His face balls up, conflict and irritation crawling to the surface. “This has nothing to do with my feelings about Keith as a person one way or another, honest. You know I’m over a lot of that, anyways.” He breathes out, hands trembling where they’re fisted in the fabric of his pajama pants, and Hunk doesn’t hesitate to reach out and loosen his white-knuckled fingers carefully, tangling them with his own.

“It’s just logic,” Lance continues, narrowing his eyes and glaring down at the blankets. “He’s too hotheaded, impulsive. Never mind his focus right now is on figuring out this whole…Galra thing.” A pause, and Hunk meets his eyes sympathetically. “Look, I’m not saying he could never be a good leader. Shiro saw potential in him and that must mean something. It’s not like Keith’s terrible, but Shiro barely had a handle on how to lead us himself as it was, and he was mostly playing sounding board to Allura’s own bouts of impulsiveness when her anger gets the better of her. Put her and Keith together and we’re a dead ship sailing. Er…” He makes a face. “Floating.”

Hunk wavers for a moment, looking for a rebuttal, and slumps. “…Yeah.”

So…okay, yeah, they’re kinda fucked.

Ironically, Hunk thinks things wouldn’t be so bad if he or Lance (preferably Lance, in his mind) could get a word in edgewise to mention their concerns in the most polite terms possible during one of the team scheming sessions on how to get Shiro back, those already being the team’s predominant focus with barely a day passed in an attempt to stem their grief into something useful, and also, like, not die, but their version of Voltron, in its short and tumultuous history, has always operated as more of a ‘listen to the leader’ type group than a democracy, per se.

Or, at least, it’s somewhat a democracy, so far as what Keith or Pidge suggests at any given time if Allura and Shiro are feeling like listening—Shiro more than Allura, honestly. Allura isn’t much better than Keith in terms of the whole ’doing it my way’ thing, in Hunk’s opinion.

Which, incidentally, is another reason it kinda sucks not to have Shiro around.

At least then Pidge might be able to get a word in. Shiro always listened to her suggestions, which if nothing else provided the rather interesting telephone game that was Lance talking to Hunk who talked to Pidge who then talked to Shiro, when issues needed to be met that way. Perhaps, logistically, it would be easier to cut out the middleman, but Hunk generally found it easier to talk to Pidge than Shiro when necessary, and Lance could always easily start a fight even when there wasn’t one, when he felt someone wasn’t taking him seriously.

Not that Lance is inherently always wrong in those assumptions.

Just…sometimes, because, again, paranoia.

But…yeah, that’s another thing Hunk has noticed—that in terms of actual suggestions for dealing with problems, Lance’s and his own opinions aren’t exactly…valued beyond, say, votes on a group consensus, occasionally.

Even that is iffy, depending on how you look at it.

Not that the team ignores them or anything, just that…well. It’s complicated. As a group they really have no idea what they are doing, and he and Lance are not, unfortunately, top of the expertise-seeking food chain, as it were. Have questions about an engine, and Hunk is your guy, but those skills don’t necessarily extend to battle plans, and the fact that Lance might be useful with those is apparently lost on most people.

Then again, as much as that annoys Hunk ever so slightly, most people haven’t been glued to Lance’s side since they were like…eight. The team isn’t going to have his personal level of Lance-centered expertise, just like he isn’t going to have Pidge’s level of tech knowledge or Keith’s fighting instinct. Lance-reading is a learned art form, developed over a lifetime of observation, as are most things, especially when it comes to interpersonal relationships—which Hunk will readily admit neither he nor much of the rest of team Voltron likely excels at.

Not that he minds being the Lance-to-world translator at times, just as Lance is for him often enough.

…It’s just. Complicated.

Really fucking complicated.

At the end of the day, Lance is paranoid, insecure, and a bit of a secret pessimist, but he’s not often wrong about these things—about people.

So yeah, they’re kinda fucked, and not, as Lance would so crudely put it given the opportunity, the quote on quote “fun way”.

It is, Hunk reflects later—after Lance has crawled into the warm space next to him on the long, but not particularly wide, Altean bed that really can’t fit the both of them, snuggled into his side and sapping his warmth with cold fingers curled into his shirt sleeve, as they have done since they are children—undeniably frustrating that understanding the right path for the future of Voltron, and what to do in the face of this new, rather significant bump in the road, is not even half as clear as it is to him the simplicities of talking Lance down from a panicked spill of rambling and into sleep.

But he supposes that’s rather the point, isn’t it? He’s had the better part of a lifetime to learn Lance, and comparatively, in his short period as a paladin, he’s had basically no time to figure out exactly what the right way to go about being a paladin of Voltron is.

When days of searching for Shiro turn into weeks, Hunk gets used to two things very quickly: breaking up vicious arguments, usually with Coran’s help, and dragging Lance away from the hologram monitors on the bridge every night.

Usually, Hunk would count on Lance to help out with the former problem among their fellow paladins, and he still often can, blessedly, but thanks to the latter aforementioned sleep issue, not always. Lance is the kind of person that can run for days on nothing but spite and manic energy, but when he finally crashes, he crashes hard, and if he doesn’t get some solid sleep for a couple nights afterward, he turns nasty pretty quickly when pushed too hard.

A sleep-deprived, cranky Lance is not one you want to pick a fight with, Hunk knows this, but apparently the others haven’t quite gotten the memo yet. Which means he’s all-too-frequently forcing himself between Keith and Lance, and occasionally Allura, in order to stop their loud words from escalating into actual punches.

Trying to figure out what to do now is stressing them all out, Hunk included, and he finds keeping the peace comes with its own tolls in terms of exhaustion levels.

If nothing else, he can rely on Lance to consistently coddle Pidge off to rest when she gets overly tired and cranky herself—ever the caretaker to those that will let him get away with it. Honestly, Hunk rather suspects that Lance would do the same for Allura, maybe even Keith, if they let him, but he feels that’s a thought better kept to himself. There are enough pushed boundaries and stepping on toes going on now as it is without him aggravating the situation.

So he does what he can. He cooks, he cleans, he helps keep the peace, and he handles the complexities of Lance, as always.

Three weeks into Shiro’s “unplanned vacation,” as Lance has taken to calling it in faux-joking terms that have nearly gotten him strangled by Keith a couple times, Hunk finds Lance perched back on the flight deck floor, not long after Hunk had wheedled him into going to bed for the first time that night, hands swiping through hologram screens at a speed that gives him a headache just watching.

Great, so Lance is doing the sneaking out at night multiple times thing now. Classy.

“Y’know, it’s kind of hard to get this one past me when you sleep in my bed pretty much every night, dude.”

Lance startles, making a half-smothered noise somewhere between a squeak and a squawk, and turns back with hunched shoulders to look at him guiltily. “…You’re a heavy sleeper!”

“No,” Hunk says, taking the last few steps to Lance and folding down to the floor next to him, crossing his legs and tucking his hands under his thighs as he offers Lance a pointed side-eye. “You think I’m a heavy sleeper. Besides, I’ve got your body clock memorized. You’ve been waking up at four AM to pee every night since we were like…nine. By now, I wake up naturally, expecting to feel your sharp elbows jabbing me when you get up. Not really that hard to notice when you get up and then don’t come back, ya know.”

Lance pouts, blowing a raspberry into his palm and flopping backwards to lay spread-eagled on the cool metal floor, bringing his holo-screens with him to project over his head with a quick grabbing motion of his hand as an afterthought. Almost automatically, Hunk copies his movements, settling with his hands crossed over his stomach and feet tucked together, a sharp contrast to Lance’s all-over-the-place limbs, taking up much more space on the floor despite being half Hunk’s size. Making a happy noise, Lance frees a hand from the monitor to bury it in Hunk’s hair, scratching lightly in an idle motion as the other hand continues its swiping and tapping on the screen.

“Can you even read that?” Hunk asks, yawning, eyes glazing over as he tries to follow the whizzing Altean scrolling by. He can recognize a few written Altean words (or maybe they’d be better considered symbols) by now, but only things in relation to equipment around the ship hangars, workshops, and the kitchen when he’s very lucky. Even the alphabet, if Alteans even have one in a similar format to theirs, would be lost on him. But that’s hardly surprising, given language has always been more Lance’s area than Hunk’s.

Humming, Lance shrugs, shoulders sliding along the polished chrome. “Yes and no? I’m getting better, but a lot of the more complicated stuff is still lost on me, especially without a human language point of reference. I swear, Altean is the most complicated language possible to try and learn.”

Hunk smiles despite himself, closing his eyes, “Even harder than Japanese?” he asks, thinking back fondly to the period Lance had gone through in middle school when he’d decided he was going to try and learn the language, merely because some kid that had been really into manga at their school had bet him he wouldn’t be able to.

He’d managed to, as well, for the most part. It had taken a few years, but he’d done it, purely out of spite—the best motivator for Lance there is.

Lance snorts. “Well this doesn’t have three different writing systems, as far as I can tell, but it’s no cake walk either.”

Hunk hums in agreement, and for a long moment there is silence, distinct and obvious but not uncomfortable, Lance’s fingers still tangled up in his hair, before there’s a quiet sigh, and he cracks an eye open to watch Lance’s half-awake, exhausted face reflected by the dimly glowing lights of the holo-screens, hand still outstretched to tap or swipe.

“What’re you thinking?” Hunk asks. An offer to talk, but not a demand, and Lance glances ruefully at him, one thin eyebrow arched in a response.

“Hell if I know. It’s not like I have any idea what I’m doing, really.”

Hunk nods slightly, accepting the admission for what it is. “…Shiro?” he guesses, quietly.

Lance looks away, and he sighs. “You’re allowed to be worried about him too, Lance. Yeah, you’re not as close to him as Keith or Pidge…or Allura, maybe, but he’s still…” His voice catches on the words, and it comes out as something like a question, “He’s still our…friend?”

Blue eyes turn back to him, Lance’s face scrunched up in something between grief and distaste. “Is he? He’s our teammate, sure, and our leader. And yeah, we need him around, no bones about that one, but can we honestly say he’s our friend?”

“I…” Hunk blinks, hesitating, and Lance snorts, gaze darting away and narrowing to a glare at the monitor above him.

“I just want him back as soon as possible so that we can go back to normal,” Lance says firmly. “The less time Keith stays in charge, the better.”

“You’re allowed to care, you know.”

Lance grunts in response, fingers untangling from Hunk’s hair to cross his arms and pout up at the ceiling.

Hunk grins despite himself, rolling onto his elbow to peer down at Lance, head caught in his hand as a resting place. Almost unconsciously, he reaches out to poke Lance on the nose, earning himself an unamused huff. “Oh come on, don’t even try. I’m not saying you’ve suddenly got to become best buddies with Shiro or something, I know he wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but don’t pretend it doesn’t matter to you whether he comes back in one piece or not for reasons outside of team functionality.” He laughs at Lance’s disgruntled face, smoothing his fingers over bared collarbone against the loose edges of the wide neckline of the castle-provided paladin pajamas, feeling the faintest pattern of heartbeat just underneath. “You care about him. You care about all of them, probably a bit too much. Don’t think I don’t notice. Every fight you pick with Keith and Allura is to distract them and give them a break from stressing over Shiro. It’s your own way of looking out for them.”

“Not every fight.”

“Most fights,” Hunk amends softly. “You, Lance McClain, have a heart the size of Earth, and you’d take a bullet for anyone on this team without hesitation.” He smiles ruefully. “Much as I wish you’d show a little more self-preservation.”

Lance grumbles, rolling his eyes, and pushes lightly on Hunk’s chest. Obliging, he leans away from his place hovering over Lance’s head, falling back to his original position on the floor. Lance rolls over in turn, tucking himself against Hunk and folding his arms up onto Hunk’s chest, chin resting on them over his breastbone, one leg idly tangling with his own.

“Maybe I do care about them,” he admits, catching his lower lip between his teeth. “But not as much as I care for you.”

Hunk smiles. “That’s a bit different though, isn’t it?” he says, and Lance hums in reluctant agreement.

“And what about you, huh?” Lance asks him quietly, eyes drooping and voice lulling in rare peace. “Sir Hunk—everyone’s knight in shining armor. Savior of the Balmera, and of our kitchen whenever Coran’s on the move. Leg of Voltron, strength of Voltron.” He grins lazily, wide and easy. “Strength of all my crazy, keeping me from falling off the rails.”

“Me?” Hunk laughs quietly. “I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Not you. Never you.” He traces his hands over Lance’s sides, familiar warmth under his fingers. “You know me too well.”

“Maybe,” Lance acquiesces. “Maybe.”

They fall into silence, long and open in a way that makes the hum of the sleeping castle even clearer, like the ticking of a clock that gets louder the longer you listen to it, one part soothing and one part filled with the creeping, crawling sensations of distant foreboding. Almost idly, Hunk runs his hands along Lance’s waist and hips and up his back once more, one hand coming up over Lance’s shoulder to trace fingertips along his jaw, feeling the thin bone underneath soft skin. Lance smiles tiredly, turning his face into Hunk’s hand and closing his eyes, breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly, and Hunk finds himself copying his rhythm automatically.

There is still so much to be said. About them, about the team, about Shiro, about Voltron…but now, he suspects, is not the time. To press on too far would shatter the serene stillness of this pale imitation of night, and he doesn’t have the heart to do it. Not when so much about their situation, their lives, is so unsure, and Lance is the only stable, familiar thing he has left.

So he lets it be, sliding his palm up Lance’s cheek and pushing his bangs back off his forehead, running his fingers through Lance’s hair in a steady motion as Lance brings an arm up to rest his elbow on Hunk’s chest, his chin propped into his fist, and his other hand traces unfamiliar symbols into Hunk’s sternum, practicing his Altean, assumedly, even in this half-awake state.

“I know I’ve been worrying you,” Lance murmurs eventually, voice laden with sleep as he peers down at him with lidded, dazed eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Hunk smiles softly, shrugging as best he can against his position on the floor. “I always worry, it’s what I do.”

Lance snorts lazily. “Yeah, but I haven’t really been helping.”

“Just take care of yourself,” Hunk says quietly. “That’s all I need. To know you’re okay, that’s it.”

There’s a sigh, and Lance slumps forward, dropping his arms and resting his face against Hunk’s chest, ear right over where he knows his heartbeat resides, and he brings his arms up carefully, wrapping them around Lance’s shoulders. “Ok…ok.”

“…You too. That—you too.” Lance adds almost silently after a long moment, and Hunk closes his eyes, pretending not to hear.

There are some things he can’t swear to, right now, if it means keeping Lance, and everyone else, safe. He won’t make promises he can’t keep.

A little over a month and then some into Shiro’s disappearance, the Galra find them once more, and they run out of time.

It’s a whirling, anxious thing, in the aftermath of what is much more an escape than it is a victory, as they realize that hiding and waiting and hoping Shiro will return to them of his own accord—or that they will magically find a way to locate him immediately—is a near hopeless endeavor. A dangerous one, even, given they now know for certain the Empire has regrouped and is doing just fine.

Whatever element of surprise or advantage they might have had, knocking Zarkon out of commission, it is lost now. The Galra have more than demonstrated that they do not waver in the face of a threat in favor of sentimentality, not even for their Emperor. Everyone is replaceable, even Haggar and Zarkon’s generals know this, and they are on the losing side of this battle so long as they pretend otherwise.

At least, that’s so much as what Lance says, when it’s all over and they’ve skulked off to some deserted star system to lick their wounds and consider what to do next.

Not surprisingly, Keith promptly reacts by grabbing Lance by the front of his shirt and threatening to show him exactly who is so replaceable, and Hunk forces his way between them with diplomatic grace as he ignores the flicker of hurt on Lance’s face and the grief in Keith’s eyes. He can’t solve everything at once, he just can’t.

It’s Allura who finally gives into it, catching Hunk’s eye and nodding before asserting control with a steely grip, demanding their attention and their compliance with tone alone as she calls for silence, and reluctantly, oh so reluctantly, admits they cannot carry on like this any longer.

She doesn’t say it, would never say it, but it rings in the air anyways—Lance is right.

Pretty much most everything is replaceable in war, even if it’s a damn shoddy replacement, like a bad spare part for an engine. It has to be.

Everything. Even Shiro, albeit hopefully temporarily.

It leaves Lance with a smug grin and his hands on his hips even as Keith scowls and shoulders past him, not that it stops Hunk from catching the sight of Keith’s wrist darting up to rub at his eyes as he speeds out of the room, or the crack in Lance’s petty expression as he watches him go, genuine concern flickering across for only a moment. They’re all hurting, they’re all terrified, but Hunk doubts Keith and Lance will ever get on the same page long enough to notice, let alone talk it out properly.

They’re too different—Keith is hot anger and fire, channeling his grief and his love into fury and wickedly bladed words in the face of what they have lost, and still stand to lose. And Lance…Lance takes all his fears and doubts, ties them to an anchor, and chucks them in the water to let them drown, hiding them from any wandering eyes. Neither of them is what they seem on the surface, but underneath their contrasts and occasional similarities are even more obvious.

It’s the kind of thing that might be able to be fixed one day, to sit them down and help them hammer out a way to understand each other, but that certainly isn’t now. This isn’t the time, or the appropriate situation, and frankly Hunk may not be the person for the job.

He’s biased. Admittedly, undeniably biased, as much as Shiro is towards Keith, and he doesn’t think he’d even know how to be an impartial party in a manner pertaining to Lance, honestly. A good decade of doing the exact opposite stands firmly in the way.

And so, as Keith departs the bridge and Lance follows him with his eyes, weaknesses covered up and his indecipherable mask back on once more, Hunk sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and then lets it go. He’ll deal with Lance later, and Keith…well. Someone else will have to handle Keith.

He ignores the part of himself that reminds him that certain someone else for Keith would normally be Shiro.

He looks to Lance, who nods, hands curling into anxious fists at his side, and then Hunk turns to Allura, observes her tired eyes and set jaw, steady on her feet even as their few reclaimed victories crumble around them.

“What do you have in mind, Princess?” he asks, speaking for both himself and Lance—and Pidge, he supposes, from where she hovers in the corner, arms crossed and leaning against the wall with a dark expression. Allura’s face brightens ever so slightly with relief as she relaxes her shoulders and brings her hands together in front of her, and Hunk tries to feel glad for it.

Fighting her helps no one, after all. She needs their support, because right now there is no one else to give it. That is simply the way it is.

They are all replaceable, yes, but right now, at least, they are valuable—maybe not as individuals, but certainly as a unit, and that has to be enough.

It must be enough.

In light of Shiro’s final advisement to the team, Allura calls for a lion rotation in the interest of finding a way to reform Voltron in his absence, admitting it’s probably a more sensible option than looking for a new pilot for Black altogether, given the suitability of a black paladin relies severely on the composition of the rest of the team.

Perhaps Shiro had known what he was doing after all.

Or…perhaps not, Hunk thinks, when post Allura reassigning Keith to Black, as they all expected, she makes the executive decision to stick Lance in Red, and take over the Blue herself, rather than try and convince the Red Lion to accept an inexperienced pilot.

“It’s the best solution in light of our situation,” she tells them, looking to Lance in cool appraisal. “You’re the closest substitution we have for Keith’s position. It will go fine, with any luck.”

Hunk takes one look at Lance’s face, pinched tight and brimming just under the surface with a good dozen emotions, most involving anger, and seriously doubts it.

Lance argues weakly for a few scant moments, arms crossed defensively in the face of his own argument that they are all of them replaceable, before he accepts the position, arms at his sides in a not at all subtle parade rest as he nods to Allura and exits the room quickly. Keith’s eyes follow Lance, mouth a thin line, in a cruel mockery of their positions during their earlier confrontation, and Hunk forces himself to turn away and ignore the pit in his stomach until Allura finishes speaking and dismisses them. He may want to go after Lance like…now, but then he will likely miss something said, and Lance will want to know what happened.

One of them needs to be here.

Eventually, Allura departs, gesturing to Keith to follow her and mentioning she needs to speak to Lance about the lion change in depth. Hunk watches them go, hesitating on whether to follow or not, before sighing and going to see if he can press Pidge to eat something and get some rest, since Lance isn’t here to do it for him. He doubts any of the participating members will appreciate him eavesdropping in on a conversation he’s clearly not meant to be a part of (even he has enough tact to admit that much), and Lance will no doubt want some time to himself to get his thoughts together afterward. They may be…close, and share the aspects of their thoughts and personalities the others aren’t privy to, but Lance is still the kind of person who prefers for someone not to see him at his most vulnerable unless he approaches them first. Hunk has painfully given into this one, through much trial and error. It’s not easy to leave well enough alone when it comes to Lance, but he’s getting better at it, slowly.

Hunk makes a show of coaxing a meal onto Pidge and then tidying up the kitchen, creating noise simply for the sake of it to shake off the still emptiness of the castle that still claws at him even after this long, far too used to the busy noise of the small town where both his and Lance’s families had moved when they were children, and later the hurried racket of the Garrison in full operational swing.

The castle might have been glorious once, packed to the brim with Altean nobles and staff and visiting diplomats, but now it is only a hollow ghost of a shell of what it might have been, echoing with the barely forgotten memories of the past. With only seven residents—eleven if you include the mice, he supposes—in a residence meant for hundreds, their own tininess in the vast scheme of things, even in relation to the size and scope of one singular culture, is palpable.

…He hates it, honestly. While there is something undeniably incredible about visiting alien species, rescuing their homes and liberating their planets, he finds his mentality has grown over time to be more and more like Lance’s, rather than, say…Keith or Pidge’s. The more he sees, the more he just wants to go home.

He may have accepted this duty gracefully, he may have even embraced it, but he never signed up for it. Hell, he only applied to the Garrison on Lance’s encouragement, relieved at the idea of this oh so special, and so close to his heart, piece of home coming with him into this new, foreign territory.

The two of them had wanted a little adventure, maybe, sure, but…not this.

It’s too much and too little, all at once. So much responsibility and promised infamy in the history books eating away at the moments of normal life, all the little milestones that they’re skipping over. His grandmother’s birthday, Lance’s sister’s wedding, their college graduations…

Missed, lost. Every last piece of it, all the promised memories they’ll never get at all now.

Sometimes, in the recesses of the night, he wakes with heavy breaths to a creeping, crawling fear—that one day, if they stay away long enough, they too will be forgotten, just barely distinguishable smudges of the past, like the ghosts of the Castle of Lions.

He doesn’t tell Lance about those nights, even when the other is there in his bed still sleeping next to him, which is a solid almost always. There are some things Lance doesn’t need to know, with so much weight and so much peril already to bear.

Later, much later, after Allura and Keith have returned, arms crossed and avoiding each other’s eyes as expected, because Hunk’s not quite sure if they ever fully worked out the Galra thing, and he doubts all this is helping with it, he ventures down the flights of the ship in search of Lance.

It’s not hard to guess where he might be, honestly. Lance has a short list of places he considers as close to safe as he can within the castle, and the entirety of it is basically comprised of just his room, Hunk’s room, and the lion bay, right with Blue. Given the situation, Hunk feels he can safely guess which of those it is, and he skips any fanfare by just finding the closest elevator down to the lion hangars, fingers tapping nervous rhythms against his side as he considers what he could even say in this situation.

It’s not like he can offer to take Lance’s place or anything. He probably would if he could, just to spare Lance any pain, even if it makes his gut queasy and causes Yellow to growl moodily in the back of his mind, but he’s pretty sure he’d be an even poorer replacement for Keith, and Red might just eject him if he ever got motion sickness in her cockpit.

Much as he hates to admit it, and much as he knows Lance will too, Lance is the better option here, even if it’s still not a remotely good one.

Hunk finds Lance at the Blue lion’s base, curled up in a miserable-looking ball on one of her feet, thin shoulders hunched and knees pulled to his chest, turned away from the door in a clear sign for any intruders to go away. He notes with some relief Lance is at least out of his paladin armor, form all the more deceivingly breakable looking in his oversized jacket and faded jeans. Lance tenses as he gets closer, no doubt hearing his footsteps, and Hunk breathes out slowly, giving it a moment.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Allura.”

“It’s me,” Hunk says quietly, and is rewarded with Lance rolling out of his ball quickly, turning around and wiping not so subtly at his eyes to look at Hunk, expression hovering between closed off and calm, and open and vulnerable.

“Oh.”

Hunk sighs, slowly walking the few extra steps to stop in front of Lance, waiting. “Can I sit down?”

Lance snorts, forgoing an answer and instead shifting over to tap the space on Blue’s paw next to him in invitation, clearly considering the question unnecessary, if appreciated for the permission check it offers. They’re both very different people when it comes to personal space, and while they know each other better than most people when it comes to these things, it certainly never hurts to check, especially in situations like this.

He sits down gently, patting the metal of Blue’s surface when her welcoming purr starts up in the corner of his mind through the interconnected lion bond via his tie to Yellow, muffled and less distinct than his own lion’s, but still plenty clear in its intent.

There’s a short moment of wonder as to whether Red would respond so positively to his presence in the same situation, assuming she first accepted Lance, and then he shoves it out of his mind. It’s hardly important, really, what Keith’s lion thinks of him, even through the lens of Lance as a pilot.

Lance is on him in seconds, curling into his side, tucking a leg over the closest knee, and burrowing the side of his head into Hunk’s shoulder in an obvious seeking of physical comfort. Hunk accepts more than gladly, trailing an arm around his waist and resting his head on top of Lance’s, breathing in the smell of citrusy-sweet Altean shampoo and feeling himself relax properly for the first time in hours after the haunting silence of the nearly empty castle. After a moment, he feels the slightest stirrings of movement as hands wiggle under his shirt, coming to rest on his stomach and abdomen, and he grins sheepishly against Lance’s hair. It’s not sexual in the slightest, it rarely is with them, but the skin on skin contact is nice, a reassurance in the void of space where human touch outside of their team is completely nonexistent. Lance has always been big this sort of thing, even before Voltron, but he’d become particularly insistent on making it a regular occurrence after they ended up in the castle—not that Hunk can blame him, really. If he had five siblings, he’d probably be used to a significantly higher amount of physical contact too.

…And it’s enjoyable, regardless, so he hardly minds.

Idly, he brings a hand up to catch on the hair at the back of Lance’s head, threading thin strands through his fingers, and hums, “It’s getting longer. Are you thinking about growing it out again?”

Lance shudders visibly, knowing exactly which childhood phase Hunk is referring to, and makes a noise of disagreement. “What, and let Keith give me crap for following in his frankly atrocious footsteps? I think not.”

“I thought the whole point of that argument was against the existence of mullets,” Hunk says, voice tinged with amusement. “Not long hair on men in general, per se.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Lance mumbles, shifting slightly. “Besides, it was always a mess. Impossible to keep tidy.”

“It was fun to braid, though,” Hunk offers, remembering hot summer afternoons when they were little spent up in the high branches of the climbing trees at the park, his hands pulling the locks of Lance’s just slightly curly brown hair gently through the processes of the short braids he’d do down Lance’s neck.

Lance offers only an amused huff, wiggling against Hunk’s side in an effort to get more comfortable as they lapse into silence once more. After a long moment, he sighs, extracting a hand from under Hunk’s shirt to reach next to him and grab the object Hunk hadn’t even noticed had been there until now, holding it into view in front of the both of them. “I thought it wouldn’t really matter who kept what bayard, since they’re just weapons, but apparently they’re synced to each lion’s consciousness or something, since there’s the whole…plug it into the dashboard and produce a huge weapon thing, so…”

Hunk looks down, watching the lights of the hangar glint off the polished surface of the red bayard, and fights back the slight, but undeniable sinking in his stomach. “What shape does it take?” he asks almost automatically, unable to help himself as his head buzzes with the possibilities. Lance is naturally a ranged fighter, preferring guns or…basically anything that can be used from a distance, honestly, but the traditional role of the red paladin, from what he understands of it, is that of a close combat fighter—a bladed weapon.

There’s the slightest of exhausted, but willing breaths, and then Lance’s second hand is on the bayard as both grasp it and yank it apart as the bright light of its activation shapes it willingly with his movements. When the blinding white clears, Hunk blinks down and whistles at the two small, distinctly shaped blades lying in Lance’s palms.

“Throwing knives?” he asks, reaching a hand out carefully to trace along the sharp edge of the closest of the thin-edged blades, hissing when it catches on his skin and pulling away quickly, sticking the offending finger into his mouth as he would a paper cut. Lance looks worriedly to him for a moment, but he waves it off, pulling his hand back away and nodding to the knives. “Do you um…even know how to use those?”

There’s a huff of laughter, and Lance shakes his head. “Nope, not a clue, and I’m not that hot at it either, Allura made me practice for her.” Hunk winces, and Lance just shrugs, “This was apparently the closest compromise the Red lion and I could reach between a ranged weapon and…well. Its preference for something sharp and pointy, so it is what it is.”

“What would you do once you’ve thrown them, though?” Hunk asks cautiously, squinting at the small blades suspiciously.

“They just seem to automatically re-spawn? Every time I threw one and reached for another—while Allura yelled, of course—there was one waiting at my hip like there would be if I had a storage belt.” Lance wrinkles his nose, “Pretty much in the same vein as how our guns never run out of ammo or Pidge’s electric blade…thing…never runs out of charge. It’s like some kind of…bad alien video game hack. Infinite ammo.”

“Well,” Hunk offers quietly, “It is magic…I think.”

Lance scowls, dropping the knives and watching with unreadable eyes as they clatter to the ground and are reabsorbed by the white light, reforming the red bayard’s resting form at the base of Blue’s foot in an almost painful moment of visual irony. “I hate it. I already miss my gun.”

“It’s only temporary,” Hunk murmurs, and Lance snorts in response.

Temporary. Right.” He sighs out, falling back against Hunk’s chest and craning his neck to peer up at him, eyes wide and tired and full of so much raw humanity, the same way they were that night out on the flight deck only what was a couple weeks ago, but in many ways feels like lifetimes previous. Every day out in space has been long and unfamiliar, and every minute and every hour without Shiro even more so. “We’ve been searching for more than a month, Hunk. Everyday, nonstop, every night, out on those holopads looking for something, anything that might tell us where he is. What if we never find him?”

He considers making some quip about Lance’s previous insistence on not caring, and then dismisses it, knowing it will do little to help in this case, instead smoothing a hand over Lance’s forehead gently. “We’ll find him.”

“But what if we don’t?” Lance presses, staring at him with so much naked fear, and bone-chilling certainty in the face of his admission. “Like I myself said first, as Allura kept reminded me, we’re all replaceable. All of us— Zarkon and his soldiers, Shiro, even you and me. We’re only here because we were a convenient option that managed to fulfill some very specific characteristics. What if it gets to a point where it’s just…more economical to stop looking? Could we really blame that logic?”

Hunk freezes, looking into Lance’s imploring expression and trying to decide the right answer, jumping between gaps in sentimentality and logic in the face of their deepest fears and worries laid bare. “Do you…do you remember that time when we were ten, and that older kid in the grade above us stole our lunch cards?”

Lance blinks, furrowing his eyebrows. “Uh…yeah? But—”

“And do you remember how we were too embarrassed to tell our parents, so every morning you’d sneak over to my house before they woke up and we’d make lunch for ourselves in my kitchen?”

“Yes, Hunk, I was there.”

“That first time—“ He hesitates, idly brushing his fingers over Lance’s bangs, “That first time, we realized the brown paper bags we’d need to pack them were on the high shelf, yeah? The really high shelf, the one neither of us could reach even when standing on the counter. So we got the footstool ladder from the hall closet, and we still couldn’t get them down, because I was too scared to climb up, and you were too short to reach back then even with the ladder. So you remember what we did?”

Lance’s mouth is a scrunched line of confusion, eyes squinting up at Hunk in bafflement. “We…I climbed on your shoulders?”

“You climbed on my shoulders.” Hunk beams. “And like that, we were just tall enough together to get that cupboard open and save ourselves the humiliating embarrassment of admitting we had forsaken our lunch cards to the horrendous monster that was the idiot in class B6.” Lance laughs, soft and fond, and he grins despite himself. “A hundred other people could have gotten that cupboard open a hundred different ways, but only the specific combination of you and me would have produced that exact result. We could only do it as a team.” Hunk sighs, tracing a thumb along Lance’s cheekbone. “There may be a hundred other potential paladins out there…we may be replaceable as a part of this team, because we have to be for Voltron to survive, that’s fact. You know it and I know it. But you are not replaceable to me. There is only one Lance McClain in the whole universe, and I wouldn’t want any substitute, lions or no.”

There’s a chuckle, and then Lance grins, thoughtless and bright and all the things his smile used to be, before Voltron, before everything. “That was an absolutely terrible metaphor.” Hunk snorts, and said grin stretches even wider. “…I like it, though.”

“Yeah?”

Lance’s hand finds his, fingers twisting around each other and palms pressed flat together, and Hunk closes his eyes, breathing in softly.

He may not know what comes next in this perilous experiment they’re calling the rebirth of Voltron, the weapon born of long gone ghosts of Altea and revived by five children of Earth who accidentally stumbled into a war they were never meant to be a part of in the first place. He may not know if they will find Shiro, or what condition their leader may be in. He may not even know where he stands with this team, disjointed and falling apart already as it is, and he may not know when he will ever get home again, if ever.

But he knows he has Lance.

“…Yeah.”

And that, for once in his life, he thinks, can absolutely be enough.

#Aphelion Zine #my writing #vldfanfic #Hance #Hunk #Lance #Voltron #Learned Behavior (Of The Replaceable) [Voltron]

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