READER IMAGINES [1]

Lance McClain x Reader

"Seriously, Keith," he says, "you need to learn to chill out."

Lance looks over at you and you quickly turn away; realizing that you had been staring. Pidge and Matt finally peel Keith's fingers off of Hunk's vest, making him scurry to the other side of the hall for safe measure. But from the corner of your eye, you see that Lance is still looking at you.

***

A low rumble leaves your lips as you push your fist forward, impacting with the firm yet cushioned thermionic contraption in front of you-- acting as a sci-fi punching bag. It rattles slightly and then regains its position, and you swing your fist at it again.

This past week, you've been feeling very stressed. It was thanks to an unidentified spacecraft that ambushed you and your friends on a commute to a lovely planet known for its prosperous abundance in food, but really the stress accumulated mainly from the comments and looks Lance directed toward you.

He loved to push your buttons-- that he was blunt about-- and it made you want to rip something apart. Even if that were a pizza pocket. Just something to... get mad at. Which is why training came as such a blessing because anyone would think that you were merely dedicated to a bit of combat improvement rather than a source of stress relief.

"Nice swing," sounds the voice belonging to none other than Lance himself.

You sigh and try to refrain from closing your eyes. You didn't want him knowing that it was him who you were avoiding, or at least trying to avoid. If he knew, then he'd want to talk about it, and you really don't want to talk about it.

"Thanks," You say, throwing another punch without even so much as turning in Lance's direction.

You can hear his footsteps nearing behind you and you think he might stand there, but he walks around so that he's standing on the other side of the punching bag. It's almost worst like this; having him look at you with those deep blue eyes of his.

Trying to avoid his gaze, you keep attacking the punching bag in the hopes of tuning out that Lance is in the same room as you. And, if you're lucky, he might take the hint that you're too invested in training to talk and he'll leave you alone.

If you're lucky.

"(Y/n)," Lance says, grasping onto the punching bag to stop it from springing back.

With it standing straight like it is now, you can't exactly punch it without damaging your hand. So, reluctantly, you bring your fists down. But again, you don't look Lance in the eye.

"What a wreck this week has been, huh?" You say, looking down at your hands as you fiddle with them, "We can't even go to a planet for a pit stop without getting attacked by aliens."

"Yeah, sometimes I wish they'd let us catch a break." Lance nods.

"Right? I mean... honestly. Sometimes I just want some peace and quiet."

"Is that why you've been avoiding everyone?"

No, Lance. You. I've been avoiding you.

"Yeah." You shrug, "I guess I need a little break from everything."

"I can relate." Lance breathes out, "It can feel like everything gets on top of you."

"Yep."

"So, about the kiss,"

You interrupt Lance's sentence by hitting the punching bag with force, almost causing him to tip over since he was holding onto it. He staggers back a bit, looks at you with surprise, and then regains his composure.