cassiestars
Crying is healthy I support it lets all cry
I ..I like Drawing LanceALOT
amayas-scar
ace-pidge
when ur gf is being too cute and ur overwhelmed with affection
(not sure when/if i’ll apply full colour to this so just take it as it is for now)
amayas-scar
smiling-keith
an olympics au with beach volleyball lance and gymnastics keith :)
im drawing pidge and allura next:D
probably-somewhere
Am I too late to join the Klance Week party?
‘Cause I wrote you a little blue and red fic that I think you might just enjoy. But I’ll let you decide that for yourselves.
Capture the flag, Lance thinks, works best in a giant space castle.
The terrain is ideal, really. There’s the sheer expanse of the castle, which means they can space the flags far apart, but it’s also floating in space so it’s kind of impossible to go too far out of bounds. Pidge rigged the coms to channel selectively to the separate teams, and Shiro didn’t want to play despite Lance’s insistence that it would be great team bonding, so the teams are even.
It’s Lance, Coran, and Pidge against Allura, Hunk, and Keith. Shiro had drawn colored beads out of a helmet to make the teams and determine the team captains. Much to Lance’s delight, he’s captain of his team, and he’s faced up against Captain Keith on the other.
Team Blue is going to demolish them.
“Alright team,” Lance says into his com. “Are you in position?”
“Roger that, Captain!” Coran nearly yells, and it makes Lance jump a little.
Pidge grunts into their microphone, and there’s the soft sound of their armor across metal. “Yeah, I’m ready,” they reply. “But I’ll need a few minutes to finish rigging the diversion. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on your boyfriend.”
Lance reddens. “I don’t consort with the enemy, Pidge. If you see him, destroy him.”
Pidge has been insufferable since he and Keith told the rest of the team they were together, but Lance doesn’t have time to deal with them right now. He’s all business.
“I’m going in,” Lance tells his team. “I’ll take care of getting their flag and getting back with it. They’ve probably only left one person to guard it, and I’ll bet it’s Hunk. I can take him down in no time flat.”
“Less talking, more capturing,” Pidge tells him, their voice only half interested so Lance knows they’re buried in technology. “Or I’m turning you over to Team Red.”
“Enough of your mutiny, Pidge!” Coran says before Lance does. He chuckles at Pidge’s groan of contempt, then turns his volume down so he can sneak in peace.
The Red Team’s base is somewhere in the training wing, he knows, because they had to exchange the general vicinity of their flags. His team is near the control room for strategic advantage. Pidge said they would devise a spectacular defense and diversion for their base but wouldn’t say what, and the teams only had half an hour to prepare so Lance had to trust them. Coran made Pidge promise that it would neither damage the castle or incur bodily harm, so it can’t be that bad.
Besides, Lance has a mission to focus on.
He spends a solid twenty minutes slinking through the hallways. It’s eerily quiet, which unsettles him, but he has no choice but to continue on. He checks in closets and empty rooms and finds nothing. Eventually the only thing that’s left is the training room.
Lance takes a breath to prepare himself and opens the door.
He expects a barrage of training darts or to be tackled or a bucket of water to drop on his head or somethig. But instead, as the door hisses closed behind him, Lance sees a single figure standing on the other side of the room. He waits in front of a strip of red fabric hanging limply on the wall.
Keith.
He stands with his weight on one foot, arms crossed, and hair pulled back into an approximation of a ponytail. His helmet lays on the floor beside him, which is tactically flawed because his team might need to contact him. Or the other way around, because Lance is about to take his flag and he won’t be able to call for backup.
The look he gives Lance simultaneously infuriates him and makes his knees go weak.
“Are you, like, the final boss battle or something?” Lance says, betraying nothing.
“The what?”
“Like in video games, when you get to the last level and–oh, nevermind.” He knows it’s useless with Keith. The guy lived in a shack for a year, and who knows what before that. Modern culture is entirely over his head. “Are we gonna fight or what?”
Keith grins and holds up his hands. “May as well.”
Lance charges across the room, straight for Keith and the flag. He pulls one fist back for a punch, but gets the wind knocked out of him by Keith’s knee. Lance would fall to the ground if Keith’s arms weren’t wrapped around the back of his neck. Another knee slams into his gut.
“Aagh!” Lance cries and tries to duck away. Keith adjusts to keep him where he is all too easily.
“You’re so predictable,” Keith taunts, and Lance realizes just how close their faces are. He can feel Keith’s breath on his ear, and it does all kinds of things to his ability to focus. It doesn’t help that he can’t get a full breath of air thanks to the pain in his chest.
“Predict this!”
Lance pushes off of the ground with all the force he can muster, right onto Keith. The pair crashes to the ground with Lance sprawled bodily across his opponent. He pulls away enough to see the surprise on the red paladin’s face.
That is a mistake.
Keith’s cheeks are pinks and his mouth hangs slightly open. The impact with the ground has made his eyes go wide and starry, and the collar of his t-shirt is bunched on one side and strained on the other. When Lance pulls his eyes back up to Keith’s face, their eyes meet.
Another mistake.
Because whenever he and Keith are this close, and he looks into Keith’s eyes and sees their deep purple and notices how thick his eyelashes are and how there’s always a few hairs in his eyebrows that grow in a different direction than the others–
Lance has the irresistible urge to kiss him.
Their lips meet and Lance positively melts against him. Keith has gotten so much better at kissing in the last few weeks–thanks to Lance’s helpful tutelage and advocacy for hands-on learning–and it’s a curse, really, because Lance can’t look at him without wanting to kiss him anymore.
Keith’s hands find his helmet and pry it off his head, muttering against his mouth: “It’s hitting my face.”
Lance nods, which has the convenient side effect of rubbing their noses together. Keith tosses his helmet away and smiles against Lance’s mouth. He repositions himself so that one of his knees fits between Lance’s legs, forcing Lance to pause momentarily and whimper ever so slightly. Then he redoubles his kissing efforts.
He’s not sure how long they’re there on the floor of the training deck, but he enjoys every tick of it. Keith is his favorite part of outer space.
The door slides open behind them, and Lance scrambles away from Keith with a yelp.
Keith pushes himself onto his arms and wipes his lips with the back of a fingerless-gloved hand. “Told you it would work.”
“What?” Lance asks, turning to see who just walked in.
Hunk and Pidge enter the training deck first, the collar of Pidge’s sweatshirt grasped firmly in Hunk’s fist. Pidge’s glasses are sideways and they’re muttering curses. Coran is behind them, looking dejected, and Shiro comes in next with amusement written on his face. Allura follows them all, grinning hugely with a strip of blue fabric wrapped around her head.
By the time Lance realizes what’s happened, Keith has busted out laughing.
“You disgust me,” Pidge spits. “We were so close to winning. But you let yourself get distracted by him? That’s like the oldest trick in the book! How could you fall for that? They literally left him here for you as bait and you–you–”
“Pidge,” Shiro warns with a hint of smile in his voice.
“You were right,” Allura says. She pulls the blue flag off her head and tosses it at Lance’s feet. “It worked.”
Lance stares at it in disbelief. His head’s still spinning from his and Keith’s amazing make out session, but one thing is clear.
He’s been tricked. Taken advantage of. Played like a fiddle. Duped.
“How could you?” he demands.
Lance looks over at Keith again, his hair pulled mostly out of its ponytail and his face flushed, but for all the world looking like he’s not the slightest bit embarrassed for having been caught with his shirt halfway up his chest and his boyfriend’s hands all over him. Instead, he fixes Lance with the most smug grin he thinks he’s ever witnessed.
“Hey Captain Lance,” he drawls. “Team Red wins.”
clairelutra
Anonymous asked:
More alpha beta omega au (any ship) please. (Ps I love all your fics they're amazing)
Breathe in, breathe out, don’t look over at Chat, do smile for the cameras, don’t look over at Chat. Just. Don’t.
Ladybug filtered her breath through her teeth and smiled.
Chat, whom she wasn’t looking at, continued to converse with the strange alpha.
If she’d been thinking clearly, this wouldn’t be a problem. Ladybug didn’t have a say in who Chat associated with and she didn’t want one. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and she knew that. She wasn’t his guardian and she certainly wasn’t his alpha — she was a friend, and that was all she ever would be.
Sadly, clear thinking was in short supply today, because the way Chat smelled was taking her common sense and shanking it in a dark alleyway while her hormones stood by and laughed.
Damn omega heat cycles.
(Chat’s cycle lined right up with Adrien’s too, which meant she’d been on edge even before walking into this, thanks to being trapped in a classroom with him and Chloe at the same time. Once again, damn omega heat cycles.)
At this point in both the press meeting and the disintegration of the heat suppressants she guessed were in Chat’s system, Ladybug’s sanity was hanging on by a single frayed, weather-beaten thread, and the strange alpha. Wasn’t. Helping.
It’s just talking, Ladybug reminded herself firmly, because her smile was getting more forced by the second — a feat, given how forced it had been to start with. It’s just talking and you are not his mate. You have no right to put a stop to it, so don’t. Don’t.
The alpha had seniority on her by at least ten years anyway; if she flipped her shit on him, there would be hell to pay.
Ladybug turned away, tamping down on her urge to maul the offending gentleman, and stealing one last glance at Chat as she did so, telling herself it was to make sure he was really alright.
Chat’s hands were the first thing she noticed, held up like a barrier between himself and the man leaning over him. The awkward, uncomfortable grimace of a smile came second, and the hunched, avoidant set of his shoulders and spine sank in third.
Ladybug’s itchy, itchy veins turned to ice.
Then the alpha put a hand on Chat’s shoulder, and Chat took a single step back, like an aborted, belated attempt at escape.
And that was it.
Ladybug was sort of aware of the room blurring around her, of her core burning hot, of the gasps of the gathered journalists, but they all paled, faded in importance next to the single, helpless little glance Chat had sent her way.
The world only righted itself when she was next to Chat and the creep was on the far side of the room. It still took Ladybug a few seconds to many to realize that the alpha was slumped in the broken remains of a refreshment table and Chat had her by the arm.
“What the hell, Ladybug?” he was hissing through his teeth, physically holding her back from ripping the alpha’s throat out with her teeth. “What the fuck?”
She tried to snarl mine, back off at the alpha, but found her throat blocked by the subsonic growl occupying her vocal chords.
Oh well. It made her point anyway.
Chat was babbling excuses at the masses (which struck Ladybug as highly unfair; they should all be babbling excuses at him for allowing that creep in the front door) and pulling her away, and Ladybug let him.
By the time Chat got them to safety and relative privacy, she’d calmed down enough to form sentences, but only just.
Chat sighed, arms folded as he faced her down.
Ladybug avoided his eye and stared out at the skyline, grateful he’d chosen to stand downwind.
One of the truly unfair things about working with Chat was that he was willing to call her out when she was being unreasonable, and was one of the few who would.
And it was irritating as hell.
(it also kind of made her want to kiss him, just for being willing to tell her where the line was, but that was a dangerous trail of thought when he smelled like goodnight kisses and sleepy morning-afters, and she ignored it with everything in her.)
Wind blew through the spires high on the city and the brook of humanity on the streets below burbled on.
Chat broke off the standoff.
“Why? That was a press conference. He was a part of the press.”
“He was an asshole,” Ladybug hissed, blood pressure spiking at the mere thought of that bastard. “And shouldn’t have been hired in the first place.”
Chat slumped, and Ladybug, seeing it, tried not to droop as well.
He was disappointed in her.
She’d been expecting anger, but not disappointment.
“Ladybug. He’s forty-two years old, an alpha, the head of a famous gossip magazine, and the head of a well-established pack, and you punched him across a room. On his own territory.”
Ladybug could see his point, but just the fact that he’d told Chat all of that meant that he’d been trying to pick Chat up like a hooker at a bar, and she desperately, desperately wished she’d been allowed to rip his throat out.
(Chat was hers hers hers hers hers hers. It might not be official, and it might never be official, but Chat was hers, and if that fucker thought he could just—)
Chat touched his fingertips to his temples and sighed again. “I just want to know why.”
Ladybug bit her lip and didn’t answer.
“You know as well as I do that this is going to have consequences.”
“What consequences? To who?” she snapped, frustration clamping vice-tight around her throat. “We’re packless, the both of us. There’s no one he can take action against. Not even us.”
Chat flinched, and Ladybug registered the hurt seconds too late.
“Oh…”
Chat scrubbed a palm across is bicep, and suddenly his folded arms
looked a lot more like a hug for himself than an expression of
disapproval. “Right.”
Ladybug couldn’t breathe. Every instinct was screaming at her to protectprotectprotect, to stroke his hair and beg for forgiveness and rip into whatever had caused him pain with teeth and claws and rage until it was dead and gone.
But she couldn’t. He wasn’t hers. Couldn’t be hers. They both knew that.
She felt sick.
Chat sighed again, straightening his shoulders (—strong, brave, unaffected — not—) and putting his hands on his hips (—let me fix it, let me help, let me lay you down and take care of you, love you until you can’t remember what pain is—), and said, “You could have talked to him, you know.”
“You were uncomfortable,” Ladybug finally muttered, spitting the confession like an admittance of guilt.
Chat blinked, stymied. “What?”
“You were uncomfortable,” she said a little louder, feeling her face and stomach burn in shame. “And I lost it.” She rubbed the back of her head. “Sorry.”
Chat blinked again. “Oh.”
Ladybug drew in a slow breath and let it out slower, waiting for the verdict.
Damn omega heat cycles.
He rubbed the back of his head, thoughtful, and said in a measured tone, “You still could have talked to him, you know.”
“I know,” Ladybug echoed quietly, swallowing down on the mess of hurt and rage and longing roiling in her stomach.
“But…”
She looked up.
Chat graced her with a crooked little smile. “Thank you.”
She felt her chest nearly collapse with the weight of her relief.
He offered his fist and she met it halfway, dangerously close to tears.
“Mission failed,” he said, lightly, almost teasingly. “But that’s okay. We’ve got this.”
Voice gone, Ladybug could only smile.
things that i should have put in somewhere but i was Tired: u gotta be pack before u can be mates or lovers, and superheroes don’t have enough permanence to belong to a pack.
there is so much worldbuilding to be done in this ‘verse and i hate me for it
amayas-scar
justiceforallura
Betcha anything Coran gave Allura one hell of a ‘you almost died and I was so worried’ hug after everything cooled down.
This is so cute ❤
ruinedchildhood
