#gremlin pidge and hunk as usual muah

[mothmanavenue]

ok ok finally reblogging this jackie i love you but also give me more or i’ll cut my hands off

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Lance smooths down the pleats of his new black skirt, trying to focus on how nice it feels and not the anxiety churning in his stomach.

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s totally not going to make a fool of himself and then be forced to quit Voltron due to his own humiliation.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Hunk laments dramatically, poking at Lance’s lockpad like he’s itching to take a screwdriver to it. “Keith is so whipped for you that it’s actually embarrassing. I dunno why you’re worrying about anything.”

“The person who’s fault this is doesn’t get an opinion,” Lance says pointedly. He glares at his best friend through the mirror, who only shrugs in defense.

“You don’t work through your shit unless you’re forced to. Remember the Garrison applications?”

Lance sighs. Hunk’s right, which is annoying. Lance had dreamed about becoming a pilot since he could think, basically, but as soon as he was old enough to fill out the forms, he chickened out. Worked himself up into a frenzy about not being good enough, and managed to convince himself not to bother. It was Hunk, aged eleven, who forged Lance’s application for him and sent it in with his own.

Lance does, unfortunately, need to be pushed into things he’s nervous about. That’s why he and Hunk are friends, even though Hunk is a horrible secret keeper.

“I still think you should be begging for my forgiveness,” Lance grumbles. He takes one last look in the mirror and can’t quite help a smile.

He does, if one were to think completely objectively, look fine as hell. Red is his colour, and damn any conflicting opinions to hell — the belly button piercing is pretty. The tramp stamp is a classy kind of trashy.

And the lipgloss Allura convinced him to get?

Damn. That’s all he has to say about that.

“Finally,” Hunk grouches when Lance turns to the door, but he’s grinning, and he keeps an encouraging hand on Lance’s shoulder the whole walk to the dining room.

“I think it’s really excellent that we’re doing this as we eat,” he says conversationally. “I’m looking forward to watching Keith forget how to use a spoon.”

Lance snorts. “Keith will not forget how to use a fuckin’ spoon, dorkbrain. Besides, he’s seen it all, remember?”

Hunk grins. “I do remember you telling me about the shower incident. Allura and I like to bring it up to each other randomly and laugh until we cry.”

Fortunately for Hunk, they make it to the doors before Lance can kick him for his insolence. Hunk half-yanks Lance through before he can talk himself out of it.

“Oh, no fucking way.” Pidge is the first to notice. She looks at Lance with wide, gleeful eyes, as if Lance has just informed her that her birthday comes twice this year. She looks at his midriff, then back at his face, and grins, adjusting her glasses. “I fucking love it here. Everything about my life is a gem.”

“I mean, we are fighting fascism,” Allura mumbles. She shoots Lance a smile and turns back to trying to sculpt the castle out of food goo (it is not going well, thus her stuck-out tongue and intense concentration). Lance tugs on her hair as he walks by, just to be a nuisance. She tries and fails to trip him.

“My, dear, you look wonderful!” Coran says. He beams so brightly at Lance that Lance can’t help but smile back, accepting the chair Coran pulls out for him — swallowing down the twinge of pain he gets when he remembers his siblings doing the same teasing gesture back home, whenever he dressed up for no reason, the twinge of pain he gets when his space family and his Earth family occupy the same space in his heart — and sitting carefully so as to not flare up his skirt.

“Thanks, Coran.”

He glances at the rest of the table. Shiro shoots him a wink and a thumbs up, and Hunk, who’s sat down next to Pidge, is openly sniggering.

Keith is completely frozen, spoon halfway to his mouth, goo sliding off of it.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says. He hears the slight slyness in his voice, the nerves making butterflies turn in his stomach but kind of exciting him, too.

Keith opens his mouth, then closes it again, and does that several times before he finally makes himself speak.

“Hey,” he croaks out. Lance ducks his head slightly to hide his grin. “You, uh. You look — I like your —” he struggles to find his words and gives up for a moment, gesturing vaguely to Lance’s person.

Poorly-hidden giggles erupt from all over the table. Keith goes redder than his lion.

“You like my…?” Lance tries, well aware he’s fishing for compliments and beyond caring.

“All of it,” Keith says, a little helplessly. He’s undoubtedly embarrassed — obviously — but his eyes are determined, and his voice is sincere. He takes a deep breath and then nods once to himself, like he’s solidifying a decision.

“All of it,” he repeats, voice steadier than before.

Lance’s cheeks start to hurt. “Thank you.”

Keith nods again, ears still red, and turns back to his goo. He scarfs his food down, not looking up, and practically runs to the sink when he’s done, washing his dish at lightspeed and rushing out the doors with a hasty wave and excuse.

“Oh, he’s going to be so embarrassing for the next few weeks,” Shiro says wistfully. He turns to Lance with the fondest expression. “Gold star for you, kiddo. Please continue to make my week.”

Lance thinks to the giant bag of clothes he and Allura brought back from the mall, and how absolutely none of them cover his midriff. He smirks slightly to himself

“Will do, Team Leader.”

He’s going to have fun cracking that boy.