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"Lance summoned his Bayard.
Aim. Breathe. Shoot.
The resounding shot echoed in his ears. Except it wasn’t from his gun.
Lance’s legs gave out before he even realized what’d happened. He’d been shot. Square in his right ass cheek."
...
Lance McClain, Blue Paladin and Red Lion Pilot, has survived many trials out in space: Strenuous battles, relentless pining over Keith Kogane, being shot in truly embarrassing places ... but when he ends up on a solo mission it may prove to be his hardest challenge yet. Especially since he's stuck on a planet that doesn't even like Voltron. But it can't be any harder than trying to reconnect with Keith (who's been extra closed off since his returned from the Quantum Abyss), can it?
In the peaceful yet mysterious valley of Pelican Town, Gwen has found solace and purpose in the quiet life of a farmer;...
Hello everyone! I’m working on a Lance fanfiction- there is a serious lack of Lance love and I’m looking to fix that!!! So far I just have it on Wattpad, but I’ll be adding to AO3 as well.
“ I love it when you grab the sheets when you’re about to cum” with Lance and dom!reader?
Lance you say? I don't know if I've written for him which is a shame because he is fire.
Discord (16+) - Request Information - Event Post
Warning: This is NSFW so if you’re under the legal age or uncomfortable with content like this, please skip over this one! This piece is for an event that’s linked above with the other information!
Lance - “I love it when you grab the sheets.”:
"I love it when you grab the sheets." Lance said, bending over to reach your ear. Your knuckles had gone white with your grip as you help back some of your pleasure. Your body was shaking as you managed to crack your eyes and look at Lance.
His red spiky hair was sticking to his forehead and he had a sheen of sweat on his body that made him almost glimmer in the dull bedroom light. His face was flush with exertion as his cock slide in and out of you and a slow and languid pace.
One hand was gripping your hip while the other hand held a vibrator up against you. You had no idea how many times you had cum already, but you were almost at your limit.
"Just one more round...one more." Lance said, pulling his cock all the way out slamming back in. You cried out, trying to grip the sheets tighter but that was an impossible feet at the moment. Lance was going to break you then bring you back to life.
From the distance, I saw Valkyon dressing in vermilion scales, shifting into his dragon form ready to come and meet me in the sky. How could he, how dare he turn his back to his own blood and defy his brother like this!
He should have listened, as a dragon, he should have stayed with his kin where he belongs. Instead, he chose to return to those bastards with the tail between his legs like a puppy! This only proves my point; the influence of that rotten guard has turned Valkyon into a waste of a man that will never be able to honour his lineage.
He even DARED to refuse my last offering to give Eldarya what it deserves! True freedom can only be achieved through the destruction of this tainted world and its miserable inhabitants!
They have chased innocents to death, unfairly punished faery races for being true to their nature, turned a blind eye to unforgivable crimes that benefited their interests, and every.single.day, spread a web of lies and manipulations to keep the people of Eldarya submissive and ignorant to the reality we face.
And Valkyon, after ALL that the Guard of Eel has done, after all of their lies, their barbarism against the dragons and the aengels, the unfairness toward the powerless ones, chose to remain with them. HE CHOSE to fight his OWN BROTHER!
Now I remember why I didn’t take him with me when I faked my own death to leave that disgusting warren. He is too guileless, too dewy-eyed to face the cruel truth about this world. We stand over our race’s legendary blood, and the least we can do, the least I CAN DO is set them free.
Their sacrifice has only been useful for the faeries to kill themselves, to chase power and dominance through pain, suffering and agony. It was not enough forcing us to exist in hiding and fear, they have also doomed many other people to a runaway life through their contemptible methods and their desperate search for control.
This is not just about me. I am just the head of the revolution of the ones who walked into the light and opened their eyes.
That day, all of it would come to an end. We were going to drag Eldarya to his imminent destruction. All of us were willing to die if that meant that the rest of this world would chase the same fate.
Valkyon was aiming straight at me, and he even had the pathetic winged human on his back in a coarse attempt of fighting me. Truly hilarious.
Heading straight to the city’s shield, my steady flight was wrecked by the insufferable rays of the sun that was shining upon us like a silent beholder of our fight. Inevitably, he decisively rammed into me just before I reached the shield.
I clashed, lashed and thrashed trying to break free, but he held onto me with his massive body, refusing to let me go as if the future of Eldarya depended on it. As I struggled, I saw from the corner of my eye that stupid wretch focusing on my neck.
I viciously roared, letting blue flames escape my snout and nostrils burning Valkyon’s wing, who finally got out of my way. The audacity! Letting that piteous creature ride him to try and aim at my weak spot! Even THAT was too low for him. Just when I thought he couldn’t be more of a disappointment, he manages to surprise me again. Was that what he learned during my absence? Cheap and filthy tricks?
After he drifted away, he started circling me, both of us spitting fire trying to keep each other in line. Honestly, I was surprised; I was not aware that my foolish brother could manage to unwind his dragon form.
Even so, he could not stand a chance with me. After all this time denying his primal self, no matter how hard he tried, he could not still match my skills. With all my strength, I charged against him, and even though he tried to counterattack, I dodged his lunge and ploughed into the shield.
Unfortunately, it didn’t break as easily as I thought, shoving me back while I was spewing flames to knock it down. I headed straight to the crystal room trying to slip away from my brother, but he rushed after me, and casting flames, he tore one of my wings.
I howled in pain and rage as I was failing, trying to retaliate in vain. I had to fight back, I COULDN’T afford to lose like this, LOSING BECAUSE OF HIM!
Out of desperation, I grabbed onto my brother and I managed to destabilize him, dragging us both as we pierced the delicate roof of the crystal room. Within a second, we both crashed into the damaged crystal. As fast as I could, I got to my feet with blurry eyes and a spinning head.
I felt my blood boiling under my skin. Could not he see what I was trying to do?!? Did not he understand the scope of my project?! I was doing this FOR US! FOR HIM! I WAS THE ONE WHO HAD TO FIX THE MISTAKE THAT THE INSIGNIFICANT ELDARYANS COMMITTED!
I didn’t hear anything anymore. I didn’t see anything apart from my brother’s figure, now human-like. My vision was clear: I had to finish this, and nothing else would matter after I destroyed this damn stack of blue crystals.
With the last growl, I got close to my twin, sinking my silver claws in the flesh of his chest. I pushed forward, feeling his ribs and limbs slang against my weight. His face twisted in pain and furrowing a brow, he glanced over the aengel one last time before looking back at me.
He didn’t seem angry or scared, it was like… He expected it. A heavy feeling sank into my chest. Unable to do anything else, I removed my claws from his chest and he collapsed to the ground, almost noiselessly, his wings like a shroud.
I quickly returned to my human form, and my little brother’s eyes were still locked into mine. We stared at each other, without saying anything for some ageless seconds before Erika rushed to him and plunged him into unconsciousness.
I was incapable of taking my eyes off him. I have witnessed more deaths in my life than I can remember, many of them executed by me, but nothing could compare to what I did that day. For once, I had regrets. For once, I questioned if what I had just done, was worth the trouble. I decided to stop thinking at all. It would not matter anyway, since the end was near.
The floor was trembling and the screams of the people out there were the symphony of such an awaiting moment. I closed my eyes and I waited, waited for the moment that would finish all.
Hello! It's been a long time! This little thing you just have read is the first part of "Memories of an ice dragon", a small tribute to Ashkore and not this... Spoilt thing called "Lance" in a new era.
I've had this idea in my drafts for a long time, but I needed to polish and it has taken me a while since life turned a bit... complicated, recently.
Anyways, I plan to do small passages of Ashkore's life during his duel after TO's events which you can also read in AO3. So, if you have something to propose, let me know in my ask box!
If you have liked it, consider stopping by my masterlist.
In the overnight hours we had two preorder come in for “A Collection of Langst Volume Three” which propelled us to 25/25 for the first stretch goal, being a zine exclusive fic! ♥ Thank you to all who helped us reach this! If you were in the first 25 orders for the zine look for a little something extra in your package when it arrives ♥
Due to this, preorders will now remain open until Saturday, November 7 at 12:00 pm CST as I will need time to write the zine exclusive fanfic.
But wait, there’s more!
I’m adding a BONUS STRETCH GOAL! Oooohhh ♥ If the zine manages to reach 33 preorders I’ll add in the earlier voted upon Patreon Exclusive fanfiction of The Power of a Hug (platonic Hance feature ♥).
Just to clarify, preorders have been extended for ALL BOOKS but November 7 will be the final date to purchase any of my works, unless you contact me and we discuss and set something up :) Thank you all for the interest. Please click below to find the bookshop to order your own copy.
PREORDERS NOW OPEN THROUGH NOVEMBER 7! CLICK HERE TO VISIT THE BOOKSHOP!
Current Langst Zine Stretch Goal: 26/33 (inclusion of Patreon exclusive fic)
i keep putting Hunk in the position of wingman and thats probably me self-projecting bc i wouldnt trust anyone else to wingman me tbh
-- -- --
Summary: You own a flower shop. Lance steals your flowers. Hunk is your co-worker and Lance’s best friend: a situation in which he did NOT ask to be. It leads to some interesting conversations.
Word Count: 6K
Genre: fluff with a teensy bit of angst sprinkled in there. this is probably the fluffiest thing ive written to date
Notes: masterlist - ask me what I’m working on next 👀👀👀👀
-- -- --
You threw down your pair of scissors, wiping your hands on your apron and marching up to the front of the flower shop–Forget-me-not, your pride and joy–your fists balled and scowling.
The boy at the window looked up, saw you. His own eyes widened and he gave you a crooked grin and a wink before skipping off, twirling a single pink rose between his fingers. You almost growled, leaning against the doorway and watching him go about with narrowed eyes, knowing that running after him would probably cause a scene. It wasn’t worth it. It was only a single rose.
With a last scoff, you pushed off the doorframe and picked up your scissors again, finishing wrapping up a beautiful wedding bouquet of red tulips and baby’s breath. “That’s the fourth time this week,” you shouted over your shoulder at the back room where your co-worker Hunk was tending to the flowers in the cooler. He poked his head around the door and frowned.
“Serious? And he just takes one flower?”
“A single one,” you grumbled, sitting back on your chair and crossing your arms, glaring at the tulips as if they’d personally offended you.
You probably were being dramatic. It wasn’t the first time someone had snatched a flower from the display outside, but this guy had been doing it for over a month now, and it was starting to get annoying because he never came at the same hour of day, and you never seemed to be able to catch him in the act.
“They’re all roses, too. Usually pink and white ones. He’s not even original.”
“Eh, Y/N, don’t worry too much it,” Hunk said, patting you on the head affectionately. “They’re just flowers.”
You swatted his hand away before turning back to the flowers sitting in front of you. It was a slow day, not many customers had come in yet, but there was always work to do and you intended to get it done, without distractions in the form of some guy stealing flowers from your shop close to every day. Hunk cast you a smile. “Chin up, sweetie!”
When he left for the back room again, you leaned against the desk and sighed, closing your eyes. The truth was that you weren’t exactly angry with the flower thief–you couldn’t be. You had only caught glimpses of his face, and yet you felt like you’d recognise him anywhere, even though you didn’t even know his name.
Yeah, you were in deep.
It made no sense–how could you gain a crush on someone you’d never even properly seen, let alone spoken to? Hunk would laugh at you if he knew, Pidge even more. He hadn’t ever seen the flower thief as he spent almost all his time in the back room, always just managing to miss him. You were always going off about how you wanted to catch him in the act, stop him from stealing once and for all, but that would mean he had no reason to come here again. Perhaps you’d see him again. Probably not.
You’d have to snap out of it eventually. It was just a temporary crush, right? Nothing serious, nothing that would last long enough for you to become genuinely distressed about him. That’s when you made a decision: Next time you saw him, you would go right up to him and tell him to stop stealing your flowers. With a little luck, you’d never see him again, and you’d quickly get over whatever silly crush it was that you’d gained on someone you’d never even spoken to.
You didn’t know how wrong you were.
There he was. You had been lurking by the door for the whole morning, waiting for him as a predator waits for its prey. And there he was, just a few meters away from your shop, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of a dark blue hoodie, black headphones hanging from his neck and his hair a mess. He reached your shop. He didn’t notice you. His hand reached out towards the basket of pink roses.
You whipped open the door and grabbed hold of his wrist before he could do anything, and he yelped in surprise, eyes widening at the undoubtedly furious expression upon your face. “Stop. Stealing. My. Flowers,” you growled, narrowing your eyes at him and trying to ignore how cute the guy looked, startled as he was.
Immediately, his eyes softened and he gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
You let go of his wrist, pursing your lips. “Whatever. Just–quit it.”
He saluted, crooked grin still sitting on his face, and you hated the way your stomach did a little flip. “Sir, yes, sir.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and shifting your weight from one hip to another.
As he started to turn around, though, something in you felt the need to blurt out, “Who are the flowers for, anyway?”
You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His smile turned sheepish again, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Oh. They’re–they’re for my girlfriend.”
The words were a slap to the face, and they shouldn’t have been.
He was a stranger. You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him. This was the first time you talked to him at all. Yet you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment stinging through you when the words “my girlfriend” were spoken. It made sense, too; roses were the most popular flowers gifted to a romantic partner. Pink ones and white ones especially held the meaning of pure and innocent love. You felt like facepalming: it made so much sense, why hadn’t you seen it before?
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, forcing down the blush threatening to stain your cheeks and contemplating what you were about to say next, because you were quite positive you would eventually regret it. “You know what…” you started, and you ran a hand down your face, cursing your weak heart and internally screaming, “if you–if you’re discreet, I won’t tell anyone.”
His eyes–really nice blue eyes, you noticed, and immediately cursed your eye for colour–lit up, and his grin widened. “Are you serious?”
You nodded dejectedly. “Go off. But no more than one flower, please,” you sighed in defeat. You were so disappointed in yourself. A single boy, you thought. One single boy has completely made my willpower crumble. Great.
“You are the only valid person,” he promised, eyes already wandering towards the rose buckets, and you pinched the bridge of your nose, starting back inside. “You’re the best!” the guy called after you. You gave him a tired thumbs up over your shoulder.
At lunch break, you picked listlessly at your sandwich, chin leaning on one hand. “I seriously need to work on, like, feelings,” you muttered.
Hunk didn’t even look up from his own panini. “Oh, same.” Then he frowned and set down his sandwich. “Please don’t tell me this is about the flower stealing guy.” Your silence told him enough and he leaned back in his seat. “Y/N.”
“I know, I know,” you said, rubbing your temples. “I basically encouraged him to keep stealing roses. I’m such a bad influence, I’m telling people to commit crimes–”
“Y/N!” Hunk looked absolutely baffled.
“They were for his girlfriend! How was I supposed to say no?” But even your own words sounded weak in your ears and you felt like cowering beneath a table.
“Oh my god.”
“I won’t be judged. I forbid you to judge me right now.”
“Too late for that, sweetheart.”
“Christ.” You clunked your head on the table. “I deserved to be judged, don’t I,” you said, voice muffled.
“You do.”
“Fuck.” You let yourself drip off your chair and onto the floor, where you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. “What do I do, Hunk?”
He looked at you with something resembling pity in his eyes. “He has a girlfriend. I’d say you avoid seeing or talking to him at all costs.”
You raised a thumb from your spot on the floor. “Sounds good.”
“You don’t know this guy. You don’t know his name. That’s good, that means you can’t stalk him on social media or anything,” Hunk reasoned. He was genuinely trying to be helpful, and you appreciated that, and with as much dignity as you could muster while lying starfish on the floor of a flower shop you nodded.
“I need to detox.”
Spoiler alert: You did not detox.
Now, you thought you knew how to distinguish a simple crush from something deeper by now. You had crushes all the time, to the point where your friends were more surprised whenever you didn’t like someone than whenever you did.
But you were starting to feel like this might be something different. Almost every day you had a short conversation with the flower thief, and every time he finally went on his merry way you found yourself staring after him and smiling like an idiot, replaying his words in your head for the rest of the day.
Needless to say, Hunk was not amused.
“Is this your idea of ‘Avoiding him at all costs’?” he hissed whenever Flower Thief had left the shop one particular morning, whacking you on the back of the head. He still hadn’t seen him–he said he did not want to get involved with whatever it was that was going on between you and Flower Thief–but he always came to see you when Flower Thief left. Sometimes he’d just treat you to a disappointed glare, sometimes you’d have to listen to one of his scoldings. This particular situation was one of the latter. “Do I have to remind you that he has a girlfriend?”
You scowled, arranging some daffodils, purple dahlias, and crocuses into a purple-and-yellow bouquet, their respective meanings flashing through your mind. Positive change. New beginnings. Happiness. A beautiful message, and all of that conveyed through nothing more than a couple of blooms.
How you started learning the meanings behind flowers, you didn’t remember exactly, nor when. You just knew that you’d always been interested in the symbolism behind each flower, always keen to learn and spouting facts about every single you laid eyes on. It was a family thing, you supposed–the flower shop was still officially your dad’s, even though you were basically managing it.
“Pass me the string, will you,” you muttered, extending a hand. Hunk did so with a sigh.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
It was silent as you wrapped the bouquet, probably tying the knot a little tighter than necessary. Hunk’s gaze burned holes in the side of your head and you took a deep breath, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. “It’s harmless. We’re barely even talking, Hunk. I don’t know his name. He doesn’t know mine. It’s just…” You looked at him, suddenly very tired. His shoulders sagged slightly, and you hope he got the message. Drop it. “Let me have this. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.”
He squeezed your hand briefly. “All right.”
– – –
Hunk opened the door to the coffee shop Lance had asked to meet, seeking out his friend among the many customers. Lance raised his hand, waving him over.
“Hey, man,” he said, plopping down on the chair opposite him and grabbing the mug of steaming tea Lance had already ordered for him. At this point in their friendship, Lance knew exactly what he needed to get Hunk, depending on his mood. Now, too, he’d done well: plain green tea. It soothed him. But their friendship went both ways, and Hunk had the feeling that green tea meant that Lance needed something from him. In just a moment, he’d be proven right. “All right. What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until next week?”
Lance sipped his own coffee before answering. “Right. So you know how it’s Valentine’s Day in a couple of weeks, right?”
Hunk nodded, already suspecting where this was going. The flower shop already had dozens of custom Valentine’s Day pieces commissioned, and you were getting slightly anxious at the various e-mails of customers you were getting every day. He’d already proposed you stopped taking Valentine’s Day commissions, or at least set a deadline, and you’d nodded absent-mindedly. I can take a few more, you’d assured him. Don’t worry.
The truth was, Hunk did worry a little bit. He was worried that you’d overwork yourself, something that had happened before and something that would happen again. But he also knew that trying to talk you out of whatever mindset it was that you’d worked yourself into was pointless; you could get unbelievably stubborn. He found it equally endearing and frustrating. You were his friend. He’d hate to see anything happen to you.
“And you work at that flower shop, right?”
“Yeah. Get to the point.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Okay, then. I want to surprise Nyma with a bouquet, but I want to make it myself, and I need to know which flowers mean what and which ones look good together so I don’t accidentally tell her “You’ve disappointed me” in flower,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“That’d be a shame,” Hunk said dryly, sipping his tea and wincing at the bite of his words. It was no secret that he wasn’t Nyma’s biggest fan, but he usually toned it down. For Lance’s sake. Lance was his best friend, and it wasn’t his business to judge his partners. Besides, he and Nyma had been together for a little over three years now, so they seemed to work pretty well. “No, but listen. I’ll have to ask my co-worker, Y/N, about that because they do all the real work at the shop, and they’re really good with flowers and their meanings and that kind of stuff. I’m just the heavy-lifting and delivery guy.”
Lance didn’t seem to have noticed Hunk’s small jab at Nyma. He nodded, eyes shining with anticipation and excitement. “You’d do that? Great. That’s great. You know, I’ve been giving her flowers almost every day. She likes it, she thinks it’s romantic. There’s this little florist a few blocks away, and they told me I could just grab a flower every now and then. How cool is that?”
And Hunk almost choked on his tea. “Hang on, hang on,” he wheezes, holding up a hand as he pounded himself on the chest. “That was you?”
Please, please, please don’t let it be him, Hunk prayed, but of course, it was him.
Lance frowned. “What do you mean, ‘That was’–” Then his eyes widened, and he set his cup on the table with a dull bonk. “Oh. That’s your flower shop? But I thought yours was on the other side of the alley–”
“That’s–it’s the back entrance, moron,” Hunk mumbled, setting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands. A thousand things ran through his mind. You had a crush on his best friend–his best friend who already was with someone. This entire situation couldn’t get any worse, he thought. “Lord, you’re the worst.”
“How come I haven’t seen you around, then?” Lance sputtered, face red.
“I work in the coolers!”
“The what?”
Hunk raised his hands in an I give up gesture. “You know what, never mind. It’s fine. I just–nothing. It’s fine. This is fine. Keep taking those flowers. Don’t tell Y/N we know each other.”
Lance frowned. “Why not? That makes no sense.”
“Just–trust me on this one, man. Not yet,” Hunk said, the gears in his mind working overtime. How was he supposed to make this work? You would freak out if you found out about the fact that Lance was his best friend. He’d have to figure something out. He needed to talk to Pidge about this. Maybe she’d know what to do. But that was something he didn’t want to think about just yet, so he clapped his hands and shook his head. “But let’s not talk about that. Let’s forget about that for a second. Nyma. Talk to me about Nyma. What are your plans for Valentine’s day? Except for the flowers, I mean,” he rambled, silently wanting to punch himself in the face.
But it seemed to work, as Lance sat up a little straighter and launched himself into a rant about all the romantic things he’d planned for Valentine’s day. He really had gone all out this year; a picknick by the lake, stargazing, chocolates, the works. But that was Lance–every year had to be more spectacular than the last.
Hunk only listened to Lance’s pondering about which berries best to buy for the picknick and their compatibility with chocolate with one ear, wondering how in the hell he’d still managed to get himself involved in this shitstorm when he’d explicitly stated that he would like absolutely no part in this.
Looked like he didn’t have a choice.
– – –
Lance had a problem.
Valentine’s day had passed. Everything had been perfect, and Nyma had loved it, and he’d loved that Nyma had loved it–and yet he didn’t really feel like he should. The butterflies in his stomach died down whenever he saw her, and she didn’t make him laugh like she used to. He started growing more easily irritated with her, the mannerisms that he’d once found endearing turning somewhat annoying.
He had a feeling that he knew what was happening, and he didn’t like it one bit.
He could have called Hunk. Probably should have–but he was stubborn, and this was something he had to figure out on his own for now. At least until he’d had a good talk with Nyma about it, and until he’d confronted himself about it.
He was falling out of love with her.
And it was confusing. He and Nyma had been together for three years, and sure, they had their differences, but overall he figured they’d done pretty well. But as he sat down, and he buried his head in his hands, and he really, really thought about it–he began to realise that he hadn’t just fallen out of love with Nyma.
It had been building up. All the little things that hurt and all the little things she’d said and all the little things she’d done, the little things that he’d dismissed and shoved away into a far part of his brain and deemed not important. The dam he’d built to keep all the memories and feelings out of the way was cracking, threatening to break at any moment. What had made him take a step back and realise that maybe, just maybe, a relationship with Nyma wasn’t what he wanted–and wasn’t what he needed?
The answer was simple, and Lance almost felt embarrassed at how quickly it popped into his mind. One word. You.
He’d met you, and gradually his whole world had been flipped upside down.
Every day he left his house to get to Nyma’s, he looked forward more to seeing you for a couple of minutes than he did to seeing his actual girlfriend. He’d started taking detours to your shop when he got home from work, just to see you once more. And the flowers he took with him reminded him of you, and he realised he didn’t even want to give them to Nyma anymore. They reminded him of you and he felt like a traitor, giving them away, even though that was the original reason why he’d started taking the flowers in the first place.
He flopped down on his bed (the one he shared with her), looked around his room (the one he shared with her)--and found that it didn't feel like home any more. A lump formed in his throat and he sighed, rubbing his temples. His fingers itched to call Hunk, his mother, anyone that could help him figure out what to do, but he knew he had to do this alone.
This wasn’t what he wanted anymore. It sucked, but it was true. And he’d have to face it one way or another.
– – –
It had been a busy Wednesday morning, and quite honestly you couldn’t really afford to leave the shop, even only for a few minutes. But when Lance walked right past your door, not even slowing his pace, you forgot about that and shouted over your shoulder at Hunk to cover for you for a minute, ignoring his slightly panicked reply, You yanked off your apron and slipped out the door, jogging after him.
“Hey,” you laughed, slightly out of breath when you caught up to him and tapping his shoulder. “You didn’t take a flower! Are you okay?” You had originally been joking, but your eyes widened when he turned and worry jolted through you.
His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, his hair even more of a mess than usual. His blue eyes were rimmed red and heavy bags hung beneath them. He looked like he hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in weeks. You started at the sight. “Whoa. What happened to you?”
A sad smile appeared on his lips and he avoided your gaze, looking down at the ground. “I, uh–I broke up with Nyma.”
Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no.” A pause. “When?”
He rubbed at a spot on the sidewalk with the tip of his shoe. “Last month.”
“Oh.” You paused again. “I’m sorry.” And you were. He used to always get this adorable goofy smile on his face when he talked about her. Hell, Valentine’s day had just passed! There probably wasn’t a worse time to break up with someone, and seeing him like this made you sad.
But he only shrugged, his eyes fleetingly meeting yours. “It’s okay. Really.”
“Are you–are you sure? I mean, you’d been together for a good while, right?” you said cautiously, fiddling with your fingers and suppressing a shiver. It was the beginning of March, and it was a cold and gloomy day, and the air was starting to bite at your skin. The shop was always heated, for the flowers, and you cursed yourself for not taking your coat with you.
He shrugged again. “A few years. I mean, sure, it hurts, and it’ll hurt for a bit of time, but…” The look he gave you warmed your cold body right up, from the crown of your head to the very tips of your toes. “I guess we just weren’t meant to be.”
Your breath hitched in your throat. “I guess not,” you said quietly, another shiver running up your spine, but this time it wasn’t solely from the cold, and you quickly looked away, turning back towards the shop. “I should be getting back to work,” you said apologetically. You pretended not to notice the way his face fell slightly, forcing yourself not to think anything of it.
“At least let me walk you there,” he said, offering you his arm. You rolled your eyes but took it, shuffling a bit closer to him and exhaling when his body heat seeped into your very skin. The two of you walked like that for a little while when something occurred to you.
You leaned away from him a little. “You do realise we still don’t know each other’s names, right?”
He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly swallowed back his words and nodded. “You’re right. What should I call you, then?”
You snorted. “How about just Y/N?”
“All right, just Y/N.” You waited for him to give his own name, nudging his shoulder when he didn’t and he frowned down at you. You raised your eyebrows in a Well? gesture. “Oh, right,” he said breezily. “It’s Lance.”
Lance. The name sent butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “Nice name.”
He smiled the smile you’d grown so fond of. “You, too.”
You had arrived in front of the shop, and Lance let go of your arm. “Well…” he started, hesitant, as if he wasn’t exactly sure, “until next time?”
You felt yourself nod, but as he turned away, you blurted, “Hang on.” You plucked a gardenia from a bucket that sat just inside the shop and twisted it between your fingers before handing it to Lance. “Here.”
Did you imagine it, or did his cheeks flush? You blamed it on the cold. Your own face would be red from the biting wind too, by now. He reached for the flower with a small smile on his lips. “Thanks. To what do I owe the honour?”
You shrugged. “It’d just be weird to see you leave without one.”
His smile widened ever so slightly. “See you around, Y/N.”
Cursing your thumping heart, you quietly replied, “Bye.”
You were still stood in front of the shop entrance long after Lance had disappeared from view. Then a voice rang out behind you and you jumped three feet in the air. “Yo, that was smooth as fuck.”
“Hunk,” you hissed, and you folded your arms in a weak attempt to cover up your embarrassing stunt, feeling your face heat up–and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. “Asshole.”
“I’m serious,” he said airily, casually sweeping the floor and tapping your ankles to get you to step aside. You did, albeit with a huff. “You guys are looking like you’re seriously hitting it off. His girlfriend better watch out.”
You pulled a face. “They broke up.”
Surprise flashed in Hunk’s eyes, which in turn surprised you. He even stopped sweeping. “Did they now?” He narrowed his eyes. “When? Why?”
You put up your hands. “Last month? I don’t know, man. He didn’t exactly go into detail.”
Hunk shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
“What?” you said, defensive.
Hunk seemed to realise he’d been talking out loud and he quickly changed the subject. “What flower did you give him, anyway? Not one of those big peonies, right. Those are so expensive–”
“No, I gave him a gardenia, dickhead.” Then, in full you-style, the meaning of the flower dawned on you and you brought a hand up to your face, staring at him in horror. “Oh, fuck. I gave him a gardenia.”
You didn’t know how well-known the meaning behind the gardenia flower was, but it sure was enough to have a sickly feeling rise in your throat. Gardenias were pretty, quite big and stark white. Popular in wedding bouquets, often associated with purity and whatnot. But you were thinking of the specific meaning a single gardenia carried when gifted to someone. A secret love. Your flower–obsessed subconscious had guided your hand to the very bloom that could ruin everything.
Hunk’s eyes widened a fraction after, and you saw he had figured it out too. “Okay, let’s not panic, all right? He probably won’t know what it means. Had you given him a rose, then it would have been a bit more difficult to explain, but the gardenia thing’s not very widely known, right?” You shook your head, heart thumping. “Well, then,” he said, satisfied, picking up his broom. “Problem solved. Trust me, when it comes to romance, Lance is completely clueless.”
Something he said had you stiffen. “I never told you his name. And how would you know the romance thing?” Your eyes widened. “Oh, lord. You knew all this time. You know him.”
Hunk froze–then he sighed, long and pained. “I do. He’s my best friend, to be precise.”
Your hands dropped to your sides. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Before you could demand an explanation Hunk’s phone rang. He fished it out of his back pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and pulled a face. “Speak of the devil.”
“That’s him?” you squeaked, hands balling to fists.
Hunk shooed you away. “We’ll talk later, okay? But if I don’t take this call he’ll just start bombarding me with texts until I answer anyway.” You started to open your mouth, but Hunk was already retreating into the back room, and he picked up as he closed the door. “Hey, man–Lance, slow down–”
You jumped at the ringing of the doorbell and spun around, slapping a smile on your face. Customer. Work was calling. But how in the everloving-hell were you supposed to concentrate on work?
– – –
Okay, so now Lance had a serious problem.
He tried to explain everything to Hunk but tripped over his own words and even as they left his mouth he knew he didn’t make any sense.
“Okay, okay, back up, man. Breathe,” Hunk was saying–calm as ever, bless his soul–and Lance did, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. Calm down, Lance. Breathe. He pondered how best to explain everything. He came up with nothing, his words suddenly failing him.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” Lance muttered, pacing the length of his room–his own room, at his parent’s house, free of anything Nyma-related. “I’m just–I didn’t expect–”
“–to fall in love with Y/N?” He said it so casually Lance almost choked on air. But he knew there was no point denying it: after all, he’d fallen in love with you long before he even realised it.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess.”
There was a silence, and Hunk sighed. “Lance, do you know the meaning behind the gardenia flower?”
Lance stopped pacing. “The fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“Just look it up, will you?” He sounded like he would not be taking no for an answer.
“Fine,” Lance grumbled, crashing on his bed. Turning his head, he glared at the flower you’d given him before leaving. It’d just be weird to see you leave without one. He grinned stupidly.
“Listen, I need to go. But…” Hunk hesitated. “Y/N always stays a bit longer than I do every night. To close up. Ten thirty. You might be able to catch them.”
A smile slowly crept up on his face. “All right.”
“I promised myself I’d stay out of this one, you know. I mean, Y/N gets crushes all the time–and it never works out. But this time, it’s… I don’t know. Different.” A pause. “Take that as you will. Just be careful with them, all right?”
“Christ, Hunk, are you their dad or something?” Lance laughed, but only to mask his own nerves.
He could almost hear Hunk roll his eyes over the receiver. “Bye, Lance.” Then the connection broke and Lance chucked the phone onto his bed with a sigh.
The truth was that he hadn’t felt this for anyone in a long time–maybe even ever. He didn’t know what made it so different from what he’d experienced before; maybe it was the twinge in his gut whenever he talked to you. The innocent little things he noticed about you and made his heart swell. It was pure, and sweet, and good.
He mulled Hunk’s words over in his head. Ten-thirty. Maybe he’d take a look, if he didn’t chicken out and turn around before he’d even gotten to the end of the street. He pulled his phone back to him again, suddenly remembering something else Hunk had said. Gardenia. A second later, his eyes skimmed the first site that had come up, and his heart started beating quicker with every word.
He remembered something Hunk had told him a while ago. They’re good with different flowers and their meanings and that kind of stuff. It could be a mistake, of course. But then again… you didn’t seem like the person who’d make a mistake like this. And Hunk wouldn’t have had him look up that the meaning behind a gifted gardenia is a secret love.
He could be wrong. Hunk could be wrong. But if there was even the slightest chance… how could he not try?
Lance was seriously starting to regret not taking anything other than his dark blue sweater as he walked briskly to your shop, turning corners and crossing streets almost on instinct now. His breath clouded in the cold March air, and while it had been okay in the daytime when the sun shone and provided some warmth, now it was cold and dark and clammy and he was shivering and cursing himself under his breath.
The lights were still on, illuminating the wooden panel upon which was written the name of the shop–Forget-me-not. It fit, Lance found. From his spot across the street, he could see your form hunched over the counter, scribbling on a notepad in front of you. Your hair was a mess, sticking out all over the place. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. He smiled, and he didn’t feel so cold anymore.
You didn’t look up immediately when he gently opened the door, sending a gust of wind into the warm shop. At his right there was a bucket of gardenias, and in an impulse he grabbed one, twirling it between his fingers. You sighed, straightening with a groan.
“I’m sorry, but we’re closed–”
Your eyes widened when you saw him, and you immediately straightened completely. He tensed, trying for a smile. “Hey.” His voice came out an octave higher than usual.
“Hey,” you said, surprised. “You’ve never–it’s pretty late, you know.”
Lance winced. Had he made a mistake coming here? His fingers clenched around the stem of his gardenia. “I can go if–”
Your eyes widened. “Oh, no! No, I was just surprised, is all,” you assured him with a smile, the sparkle returning to your eyes. “Stay.”
So Lance walked up to the counter and laid down the flower. You looked at it, then at him, then back at the bloom and back at him. Your eyes narrowed. “Are you seriously returning–”
“No! No, I’m buying this one,” he said quickly, feeling his neck and ears heat up. “I kept yours.”
You had to bite back a smile, he saw. The small curl of your lips made his heart beat even faster–and yet also took a huge weight off his shoulders. “We’re closed, you know,” you muttered.
Lance paled, his nerves rocketing, but then you laughed. You chuckled behind your hand, eyes glittering, trying and failing to keep your face straight. “I can make an exception, I guess,” you said quietly, fiddling with your fingers. You looked up briefly, eyes meeting his. “For you.”
“Okay.”
But neither of you moved, and Lance felt his gaze pulled towards you as if by some magnetic force, drinking in every inch of your face. You pointedly kept your own eyes in no particular place, gaze zipping from his to your hands to the flower on the counter to the dozens of other flowers arranged around the shop. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but Lance still broke it.
“Hunk told me to look up what they meant,” he said, gesturing at the flower.
You stiffened. “And?”
He coughed. “Well, I’m giving you this one.” There it was again, the damned flush reddening his cheeks and ears. Rubbing his neck, he said, “I like you a lot, Y/N–”
But he never had a chance to finish his sentence, because you stood on your tippy toes and grabbed the collar of his hood, yanking him towards you and crashing his lips to yours. He hummed in surprise, but soon completely melted into your touch, his own hand tentatively coming up to cup your cheek while supporting himself on the counter with the other one.
His hip dug into the counter, and it was hard getting a good angle and it probably wasn’t the most comfortable place to kiss–what with the counter separating the two of you and all–but he found himself not caring at all, the hundreds of butterflies set loose in his stomach and fluttering around like crazy at the touch of your lips on his.
The kiss was short and sweet and all too soon you pulled away, leaving his heart beating a thousand miles an hour and your taste on his lips. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to form coherent sentences for at least a week. You giggled, quickly retreating your hands and skirting out from behind the counter, halting beside him and pressing a hesitant peck to his cheek. Lance grinned, covering his face with one hand to hide his blush–though he knew it was silly.
Your fingers ghosted over his. Hesitant. Curious. It sent electricity up his arm and a shiver up his spine, but he liked it.
Can you do one where all of them, but Lance-centric, feel guilty about all the people who have died and suffered while they were in space? Like, they've had to see children, families, just over all innocent people die, get seperated, tortured, etc. Lance feels like it was all his fault and is messed up in the head about it. When he talks about it and his mental problems in a offhanded, too casual for comfort way, everyone is very concered about how they missed this.
I hope you don’t mind, I made this a part of my bingo card under the prompt “Survivor’s Guilt.” I hope you like it!
@badthingshappenbingo
Prompt - Survivor’s Guilt
Fandom - Voltron: Legendary Defender
Relationship - Lance & the team
Words - 1,382
(Read below or on AO3 here!)
It was one of their days off, which were very rare when in the middle of a war, and Allura announced that they should spend the time having fun and relaxing together as a team. So they all gathered in the common room and began their own activities. Hunk and Pidge were working on modifying some alien device, which is probably their version of fun. Keith was playing Killbot Phantasm I, trying to beat Lance’s score after some bantering over the game only a few minutes prior. Shiro was sitting next to him, watching in amusement. Coran and Allura turned on an Altean television show they had on disc, which Coran claimed was a classic. But the show was, of course, in Altean. So much for “together as a team,“ right?
Lance tried to watch Keith’s progress on the game, eager to get him even more riled up, but was having a hard time focusing that day. He sat at the corner of the couch and watched as everyone did their own thing, feeling lonely despite being in a room full of friends, of family. He hadn’t felt like this in a while, and it was really bothering him. It felt like an annoying itch he couldn’t reach, and the itch was happiness.
Years ago, back on Earth, Lance was diagnosed with depression and ADHD. It explained why Lance tended to be talkative and active, and why he sometimes felt sad or disappointed in himself, or in this case, lonely. It explained why, when it was quiet and things going on in the room escaped his focus, the intrusive thoughts came to him fast. It was why he had such a difficult time falling asleep at night, which led to having a hard time getting up in the morning.
Since Lance had been shot up into space and thrown into this alien war, he experienced so much excitement everyday and it kept his mind and body occupied. Now that they had a moment of peace, it all started to catch up to him.
“I’ve taken so many lives. They were Galra, but… they were people too.” He didn’t mean to say any of it out loud, but by the time he realized everyone was looking at him he couldn’t stop himself. “I’ve seen so many people die in this war because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t good enough. How can any of us - how can I sit around like this and relax while innocent people are dying at this very moment? They’re not the ones who deserve this. I am. Why can’t I just die instead of them?”
The words of that last part rang in everyone’s ears. Nobody spoke a word, waiting until they were sure he was done, until he had let it all out. Lance was the only one of them who hadn’t broken down crying and screaming in front of everyone yet, so they let him talk. He was always there for all of them when the emotional pain hurt too much, after all. It was inevitable that his happy facade would come down sooner or later. Now it was his turn to lean on them.
Lance just then realized he had tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away in an angry, rushed motion before letting out an unamused laugh and continuing. “So many children and families… so many good people are tortured, die, and get separated from the people they love. What if it’s my fault? Sometimes I know I could do better on missions but my ADHD makes it hard to focus. Sometimes I don’t sleep at night, my depression getting to be too much. I go through my skin care routine to get rid of the redness on my face from crying and the bags under my eyes… But I just can’t do it anymore. I can’t. ”
Lance’s voice broke with the last word, and he leaned forward, sobbing into his hands. Everyone came closer to him, a warm and familiar hand on his shoulder keeping him grounded. Shiro. He leaned in to hug Lance, a strong and loving embrace, and spoke softly. “Lance, you don’t have to hide behind a mask. You’re allowed to not be okay, especially when you’re dealing with so much as a paladin already. You’re strong enough, you’re skilled enough, but sometimes there has to be sacrifices made. But none of it is your fault.” Shiro pulled away and gave a tight, but reassuring smile.
Hunk then spoke up. “Lance, I’m so sorry. I already knew about your depression but didn’t think to even check up on you to make sure you were okay. Things got so busy and… I’m sorry, I really am.”
Lance shook his head. “No, Hunk. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who’s fucked up in the head in the first place-”
Coran cut him off. “Lance, no. You need to stop blaming yourself for these kinds of things. Like Shiro said, none of this is your fault.”
He could recall many times in the past when his team had called him names and commented on his intelligence. He knew they were only meant to be light-hearted jokes, that they had no idea how insecure he really was, but it still hurt. He knew he was the lesser paladin, and he knew that hey knew it too.
He growled in frustration and stood up abruptly. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better. I know I’m not smart or skilled in anything like the rest of you. I’m just going to go train, we all know I need it more than anyone else here. Enjoy the rest of your day off.” Lance’s pace was quick as he made his way out of the room.”
There were glances passed around to one another, concerned about how they missed this, how none of them saw through Lance’s positive facade. To know their happy little goofball was struggling with this… it hurt. He deserved to be as cheerful as he led on to be.
“… What do we do?” Pidge asked, voice quiet and scared.
Hunk pulled her in for a side hug. “I don’t know, but I really hate seeing him like this. Guys, we need to do something.”
Shiro nodded. “He needs us to be here for him, just like how he’s always been there for us. Just because someone is happy on the outside doesn’t mean they are on the inside.” He looked down at his hands, clenching them. “I should’ve seen this before, I should’ve been there for him.”
Of course Shiro was taking the responsibility for this. As team leader, he felt it was his responsibility to look after everyone. But that didn’t mean he had to do it alone.
Shiro felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to meet Coran’s reassuring smile. “We’re all supposed to look out for one another. You don’t need to worry about these things all by yourself, Number One.” Shiro felt himself relax at the nickname.
Allura nodded in agreement. “We’ll all help Lance, together. He may get off track sometimes, but that doesn’t make him a bad paladin. We need to show him how vitally important he is to our team.”
“He does tell a lot of jokes, but they do keep the atmosphere more relaxed. I don’t know what I’d do without his positivity.” Keith admitted. “He’s good at helping plan missions, and really good with his bayard. He has important skills, I don’t understand why he can’t see it.”
Together, they would make sure to show Lance how much they cared for him, and how important he was in their team, that nobody could ever replace him.
However, unknown to the team, Lance had actually gone to Blue for comfort… who connected to the security camera in the common room during their conversation. Lance heard everything, and cried as Blue purred to him in support the whole time.
She would work hard to help him through all of this internal conflict he had going on. They would all need to confront these things later, together. But first, she would let him take a nap in her cockpit for a while.
For now, he could rest peacefully.
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