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retvenkos · 1 year

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solar flares | k.k.

requested Voltron: Legendary Defender — Keith Kogane x Reader, angst, fluff

word count: 3.6k prompt: “things you always meant to say but never got the chance” A/N: hello hello hello, old friends. i am... perhaps back, perhaps just dropping something off before i disappear into the void once more. i want to get back onto tumblr but also i have the most anxiety over it so i’m kinda just,,,, vibing. it will work itself out in time <3. i’m kinda on the fence with the ending on this one but also i love keith kogane, and this is your daily reminder that he.

Summary: Time is cruel - it is it’s right. Here, in the Quantum Abyss, where time means everything and nothing, Keith has to reconcile with all that time means, now that it separates him from you.

In every solar flare - in every incandescent glimpse of his long-aching past - Keith saw you.

In the beginning, they were longer memories - moments recent and still fresh in his mind - arguments in the Castle of Lions, the words fierce and sharpened to an ever-stinging point. The apologies that always followed — the weight on his shoulders dragging him down, the pressure of the universe seated on his chest. You'd look at him with clouded eyes — like you knew you shouldn't believe him but wanted to nonetheless, and Keith wouldn't be able to shake it all night long.

Then, another memory: the moment of his departure — that longing in his bones he couldn't be rid of. There'd been something calling him — the promise of a mission grander than everything his fragile mortality had ever been, the guarantee of something more. It had been crushing. It had dragged him to the floor like lead.

He had somehow felt so alone in this great expanse of universe, but even then, there was you. Your eyes — filled with some kind of mourning — a smile on your face despite, and all the makings of a yearning farewell on your lips as you watched him go. Your jaw hadn’t trembled, and your shoulders hadn’t bowed; you'd been solid - the rock that always kept Keith grounded, even if he was halfway gone. He almost didn't know what to do and how to leave it all behind, but then you raced after him for a more private goodbye. Your voice had faltered as you held him tight and said you would miss him more dearly than sunlight on Earth.

"I trust you—" and there was something acerbic in the rawness of your truth "—so I won't tell you to be safe or to come back to me. I won't ask for things you can't guarantee. Just find what you're looking for, Keith… and if you ever do find your way back, bring me something good."

And in that moment, you looked so lovely, and Keith didn't know how to tell you that nothing would compare or ever be good enough for the brilliance of your being. What good could he possibly find, out there, when you were right here? What beauty could lay in store for him when he was leaving you behind?

It should have changed his mind, but it didn’t. The yearning he felt in his being then… It had been so strong and overwhelming - almost like it wasn't his at all but had fastened itself to his very bones for reasons he couldn't comprehend. The desire to follow where this new mystery led had been so fierce and untempered - a fire that reminded him of something he'd once been.

He had thought, then, that it threatened to eat him alive; it was nothing compared to the guilt that consumed him now.

But your eyes had shined like constellated skies, and a single tear fell down the curve of your cheek like a shooting star. Keith held you tighter, and for a breath that should have lasted an eternity, he couldn't pull away. There had been so much he wanted to say to you right then - so much he had mulled over and practiced for hours on end - but none of it came. All of his words caught themselves on the barbs of his ribcage, and all his farewells failed to assemble in his throat.

"Always," was all that made it past his lips. It wasn't nearly enough.

And for every moment thereafter - when he revisited this moment in his mind and drank it like a poison he couldn't be rid of - he had speeches and poetry to bare his soul. He had essays and dissertations to explain what lay amongst his tangled and frayed mind. Every moment remembered, after, was filled with the things he didn't say, but it was pointless, now, and that was a particular ache in his chest. You weren't here to listen, and the moment was already gone.

I love you. And I love you because my whole world is you, and it always has been. You constellate the galaxies, and you solve all my mysteries, and sometimes I fit in the palm of your hand.

The flare would pass. He'd no longer be blinded by the light. Keith's mind would clear, and that void named space would fill in around him once more.

But your ghost was tricky, and it liked to linger under his skin. Its favorite amusement was to swim in the deep wells of his thoughts — spiraling down, down, down - no matter how it tortured him, and no matter how it was an injustice to you.

But nevertheless, the flares would come, and so too, would your ghost.

Soon enough, the memories were less coherent. The solar flare would flash, the universe would still, and for a moment, Keith would see the curl of your grin or feel the pressure of your shoulder against his. Sometimes, they were just impressions - the knowledge that for those moments when his world went white, you were beside him, and he was home. Home - in that living room where the both of you had pieced together the mystery that started everything: the caves with the lion carvings, the desert with its secrets. Home - where all this nonsense began. It was like he could reach out, and his corkboard would be before him, and you would be flipping through miscellaneous books on his right. "Come look at this," he could hear you saying, "you'll never believe what I found."

Other times, it was only your voice - soft and low, the way it would be when you were serious and thinking, that Texas drawl still hanging onto every other word and coloring your speech like a fading memory. Like a secret the two of you kept; like the past you had once built together.

“Just find what you're looking for.”

But Keith didn’t know how to reconcile all that he left behind.

One time, the solar flare had been particularly bright, and Keith nearly thought he saw the future. But no - he was in deep bad enough already. Better to not confuse dreams with premonitions.

But your eyes had been shimmering with relief, and you ran into his arms without thinking, and when you crashed your lips against his, the world was like a mystery that fell into place.

But no - better to not breathe hope where all he had left was abandon.

“So…” and it was raining fairly heavily - or whatever constituted rain, on this strange creature, in this even stranger Quantum Abyss. The fire was crackling and hissing in the shelter Keith had assembled and expanded over the months, and on the other side of the flames, Krolia’s purple eyes danced. “Who’s (Y/n)?”

"How do you know that name?"

And Krolia seemed to like the defensive edge in her son's voice. Keith pretended not to notice the smile that spread across her face, the pride that had started to settle in her facial lines. "I see them, sometimes. The same way you see people I once knew."

The wolf stalked at the entrance of the shelter. He waited impatiently for the weather to turn, and he whined at the precipitation. He wanted to be away from the smoke and this pesky conversation. He longed to run free.

"It's not like I'm trying to, you know. With time collapsing here and us living in such tight quarters, there's no delineation between my memories and yours. You see my remembrances of your father, and I see yours with them."

And it wasn't even that he was ashamed or felt awkward talking about you. Keith just wasn't sure if he deserved to utter your name.

"Yeah, I know," Keith sighed and pushed his ever-growing hair off his brow. If time truly was different here, would he be older than you now? You had always liked your six-month seniority, and there had been a time when you playfully held it over his head. Part of him longed to joke that you couldn't boss him around anymore. But when he got back - if he made it home to you in one piece, with something good and apologetic in hand - would you be in a playful mood?

Krolia sat motionless - waiting for him to respond. Always so silent, always unmoving - it was as though every moment, she was drinking him in, trying to make up for all those lost years in the span of an instant. Always so patient - Krolia would wait forever for him to continue, and Keith knew she would never forget or let it go.

Would he look at you the same?

"(Y/n) and I..." and it was stupid and pointless that it was this hard for Keith to talk about you out loud. But where would he start? In the beginning, when you were little things that met before his world was taken from him? With your trip into space, him coaxing you the whole way there? With the moment he realized he loved you - inconsequential and insignificant, in a time that belonged to him no longer, on a planet he might never return to? Or should he begin with the loss of you? Should he start his tale moving backward and rip himself apart to decipher where it all went wrong?

Maybe he should just lie - make something beautiful and fleeting, tied with a silver bow.

He might never survive this mission, and anything he said here would be lost to the Abyss. He could claim whatever he wanted and leave out whatever he liked, and it might not matter, besides.

"I left them behind." And there it was, again. That inability to speak his mind — that barrier between his thoughts and his voice, where everything became bottlenecked, then fermented, and eventually died. Krolia was silent, still. "I brought (Y/n) out here to space when they didn't want to go, and I convinced them by saying we'd do it together."

The wolf was whimpering at the mouth of the shelter. He was pawing at what one might consider the dampness of the earth.

"But here I am."

"Yes," Krolia nodded, but her eyes were sparkling no longer. "Here you are."

And they were silent until the storm let up.

The vengeance of the solar flares never abandoned him. There was always you. Catching his eye from across the room and winking; taking your place on the Bridge with a clenched and determined jaw; drumming your fingers against the grip of your blade as you danced around him - playful yet focused before your strike. You never left him, and so the memory of you always ached. Deeper than this Quantum Abyss, more profound than any other memory beside. The sun would flash, and Keith would be suspended in memories that haunted him forever.

Perhaps it was all he deserved. Maybe this was some celestial form of penitence for how he left things and how he allowed them to degrade before he had vanished.

But if it were really you - the whole you and not just these fragments he was left with - he liked to think you wouldn't be so cruel. That at the very least (a least he didn't deserve, perhaps, but a mercy you'd allow him - if not for your love of him then some kind of sympathy beside), you would have let him sleep.

These days, he couldn't get much by way of shut-eye. Solar flares were tricky things - more vivid than dreams, so immersive they'd fool you into believing that moment and nothing else was real.

And sometimes, you would be laughing so hard the sound reverberated through his very being. And sometimes, you would hold him like he had never left.

There was no telling how deep this Abyss went, or what even lay in wait at the bottom. Perhaps it would take another two years more. Perhaps it would take decades and when he returned, you wouldn't recognize the person he'd become.

Keith kicked at a rock - or whatever resembled a rock, on this on this unbearable creature, in this near unendurable Quantum Abyss. It skid to a halt, the earth soft enough to absorb the impact. He sighed, kicking at another, and part of him was waiting for you to fill the blanks in between — "I know a broody sigh when I hear one. What's your trouble this time?"

And it would soothe all his woes, coaxing a smile to his face, despite. He'd turn to you haphazard, and the way you cocked your brow would be enough to pacify the worst of him. "And what if my trouble is you?"

You'd push him gently to sway. "An easy remedy, then. I'm always fixin' to change."

Was this what insanity felt like? For your mind to be trapped someplace where your body wasn't?

"I've left people behind too, you know." And Krolia was still there, beside him. Quiet, mostly, except for moments like these when she wasn't. They made quite the pair - this son who couldn't quench the fire that scorched him and his mother, who had long since been burned through - but that had taken time. Luckily for her, time was all they had, out here.

She looked at Keith with almost veiled sympathy. It crept up on her, occasionally, in the moments when there wasn't enough action for a sense of pride, and too much stillness to bear regret.

Keith didn't turn away from his mother, anymore. He just sat heavy with the knowledge of her and sometimes, together, their aches would ease. A breeze blew past them - sweetened from the grasses nearby, cold and everlasting. "We leave people behind sometimes." And Krolia turned her attention to the wolf in front of them, scratching his side, fingers deep in the soft, blue fur.

"Sometimes, there's nothing else we can do," she muttered. Almost apologetic, almost like she didn't wish to speak it at all. Sometimes, Krolia tettered on the edge like that. There was always something that itched at the depths of her throat - like she couldn't rid the thought without uttering it, condemned though it may be. Keith was used to it, now. It rolled over him easily without catching on all of his sharpened edges.

It was a strange sort of familiarity, to recognize yourself in another. It was a comfortable sort of loss, to discover who you took after years and calamities too late.

"We've left people, Keith. And sometimes, we don't know if it was the right choice." Krolia's head hung low, then - the usual glow of her irises cooled. His father. The little boy he'd once been. They were all ghosts swimming in her vision - guilt that couldn't be altered. "Sometimes we'll never know... but it doesn't always mean you made the wrong choice."

Keith scoffed.

What else could he do?

A solar flare passed not long after that - a searing white that coalesced in the image of something more, a promise he'd once avowed to keep, a fondness that was now consigned to ash - and Keith repented, once more.

But time passed, as it had no choice to. And solar flares accosted him, as was their right.

The Colony wasn’t what he expected - the discovery that followed somehow worse. Then the race against time, the battle against Shiro... the revelation that, at present, felt like an explosion - the debris of that blast all truths he'd have to swallow, craters the size of entire moons, the sum more vast that this known universe. It was as though two years' worth of heartache and sorrow unloaded at once, the fallout a reality he could never reconcile, the truth too terrible to name.

But still there, in the middle of it all was you - a breathless disbelief when he landed in the hangar, a flash of too-bright eyes, and an utterance of his name that felt like more of a homecoming than any celebration Lance might coax the others to throw, sometime later. There, amongst it all, was you - and all he seemed to bring back with him was discord and an infinitely deep sort of ache.

He yearned to fix it all then - to reach for you the way he knew he should and unload the thoughts that had haunted him longer than the restlessness within him. But he couldn't; there wasn't the time.

And so one longing in his chest only ever led to another and in the end, he was somehow incomplete.

But it was quiet now, on this strange planet that was so far from the Quantum Abyss and everything else Keith had once left for. The lions were recharging, Shiro was close to waking, and Keith had stepped out to give Allura some solitude and time.

He found you sitting in the shade of his mecha beast, its long shadow a respite from the bright stars above. You kicked at a stray rock and it tumbled, falling away from you, crashing into the earth further below. You shook your head, plucked the grass beside you.

"(Y/n)."

His mouth was dry, his voice more rasp than language.

And when you turned to him, the emotion in your gaze was too complex to name, and against his two-and-a-half years of longing, your handful months of separation rattled him anew.

Could you possibly miss him the way he had yearned for you?

"Keith," and you let his voice linger on your tongue - like the sound was something to savor, the idea something to hold - "you're always coming with a storm, aren't you?"

And his language was getting caught in his throat again, his words trapped in his mind, and all of that meaning snagging on the edges of his labyrinthine being—

You crashed into him with a force that sent him staggering backward. If it hadn't been for how you held him tightly, he would have hit the solid ground.

"I've missed your chaos more than I ever should," your voice was muffled, vibrating in the depths of his chest. And when you pulled away, half laughing, Keith swore you stole all the infinite beauty of the moon. "But never bring this like of storm again, I'm begging you."

And Keith barked a laugh. What else could he do?

"Alright." He tightened the hug for a moment before pulling reluctantly away. "I'll do my best, (Y/n), I will."

Who took the first step, he can't recall, but the two of you started on a walk to nowhere but familiarity, wandering away from the circle of lions but always staying in their view. He asked you to tell him something good, and you recounted some of the events he'd missed, being so far away. You pulled stories from him as well - the best that he could fashion, out of the heaviness he'd been doused in for so long. He apologized then, though for what, he was too vast in his meaning, yet too precise to be vague. It was enough, you assured him, but still too little to be sufficient.

"Oh!" And Keith patted for his pockets, then, searching for a promise he'd almost lost. He should still have it... if there was any mercy in this great expanse of space, it should still be intact...

"Romelle talks a lot — if you don't know that yet then you don't have to wait much longer to realize — and she uhh... she helped me find this." And he fished through the depths of him until he found what he was looking for and held it out.

A rock. No, more of a crystal. The kind encased in dull grey rock but shimmering on the inside, catching the light of a thousand stars and reflecting it back - a kaleidoscope of colors that Keith couldn't quite name. What did it remind him of? A geode, perhaps? No, something grander than that. Something otherwordly. Something that, when he saw it, reminded him of longing and love, and how those two were, in fact, the same though they settled differently in his chest.

Something that, despite his hesitance, was worthy of you.

Perhaps not anymore, though. It was split in two, cracked down an uneven center, and crumbling away at the jagged edges, but it was still beautiful, the same.

Keith couldn't meet your eyes. "She said they're rare on her home planet - a rock of some kind that comes from outside their atmosphere. The Alteans don't know what push them there, but I think I have some idea, after traveling through the abyss. It, uhh... it symbolizes something. I can't remember—"

You called his name.

Despite himself, Keith looked up.

"You brought it." And your voice was soft, but your eyes shimmered with all the intensity he could not bear. They were almost tears, but you refused to let them fall. Always so stubborn, you'd hold onto them and he'd be entranced with how they set your eyes to glisten.

"Something good... yeah."

You laughed, the sound incandescent.

And then you ran.

You ran into his arms without thinking, and when you crashed your lips against his, the geode fell to a softened grass-cushioned landing, but the rest of the universe came close, fitting itself into place - a mystery solved, an uncertainty no longer wavering but defined.

"I love you," and it spilled from his lips afterward, when he was gasping for breath, the words dislodged from the spines of his ribcage - desperate and bloody after clawing their way free. "I always have."

And you kissed him again to whisper it against his lips, soft and ever-present, a sigh that grounded him for the rest of eternity — "I love you too."

taglist: @teaand-dreams, @konepmi, @simpamonroll // add yourself to the taglist here!

(also shamelessly tagging @biqherosix because daniza is a keith lover and i think it would be a crime to not alert her.)

#voltron #vld #keith kogane #keith kogane x reader #keith kogane fic #keith kogane one shot #keith kogane imagine #keith kogane x you #voltron x reader #voltron x you #one shot #imagine #reader insert #angst #fluff

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bagerfluff · 5 months

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Keith's A What?

Keith Kogane x Non-Binary Reader

Prompt - "Your hair is so soft"

“Keith got turned into a what?” You asked Shiro. Tilting your head has if that would help you hear better. The team left for a mission a few hours ago and just got back.

You were excited to see your boyfriend, but when he didn’t come up out of his hanger, you were worried. But the Shiro told you something that made you realize that space is weirder than you thought.

Shiro had explained to you that the Galra had some new magic and used that magic to turn Keith into a cat? At first, you didn’t believe, but when Pidge walked out of the red lion’s hanger with a black cat with extra hair on their head, you thought you had seen it all.

“A cat” Shiro answered your question as you walked closer to Pidge. The cat in their arms looked up at you. The cat was fluffy and somehow had Keith’s same signature glare.

They had the same purple eyes that Keith did. “I think with the help of Allura, I should be able to turn him back” Pidge said with a tilt of their glasses as they placed Keith on the ground.

“But I don’t know how long that will take,” Pigde noted “I’m not even sure if Keith is Keith”. “What?” Hunk said as he looked over at Pidge. “Well I’m not sure if Keith got turned into a cat with the mind of a cat or with the mind of Keith”

Pidge said as they looked over at Hunk and then back at Keith. “Well someone needs to take care of him,” Shiro said as he looked around. “Well I’m not. I have stuff to do”

Lance said before walking off to his room. “Maybe Y/n should do it,” Hunk pointed down to your legs “I mean, look at Keith”. Everyone looked down as did you to see that Keith was rubbing against your legs.

Like a real cat. “Maybe he does have the mind of Keith” Pidge noted with furrowed brows as they moved their glasses. “That’s fine with me if it’s okay with Y/n”. You looked down at Keith before looking up at everyone else with a smile.

“Yeah I’d love to” You reached down and picked Keith up, Keith immediately resting in your arms. You then walked back to your room. This week might be weirder than you thought.

It had been a couple of days since Keith got turned into a cat, and it was differently weird. Pidge had decided that Keith still had the mind of Keith but just a cat body. Though, Lance did not appreciate that since when he tried to pick Keith up, he scratched him.

Pidge said that it should only take a couple more days, but you like cat Keith. He was still Keith, but cuter. You didn’t think Keith could look cuter.

Though he was a cat, he was still Keith. Moody, hot-headed, and only really tolerated you.

Since Keith couldn’t go on missions or train and you didn’t do any of that to begin with, Keith hung out with you. You spent most of your time fixing stuff around the castle. You were an engineer, like Hunk.

But you liked Keith’s company. He just slept and watched you work, but you liked it. You normally did all of this alone, so you liked it. Sometimes, Keith also did the cutest things, in your opinion.

Like he would cuddle up with you. When you were working, sleeping, or just resting. But you kinda wanted your boyfriend back. You wanted to cuddle him.

You wanted to talk to him. You slumped in your chair at your desk as you thought about this. You wanted your boyfriend back. You let out a sigh as he leaned forward on your desk with your arm.

Keith walked over from your bed and jumped on the table when he heard you sigh. “Hey love” you said and reached up to pet Keith’s hair.

Keith mewled as he walked into your hand and sat in front of you. You continued to run your hand through Keith’s fur. That was something you and Keith liked.

You because it gave you something to do with your hands. As an engineer, you were kinda handsy, needing to do something, or maybe you had ADHD. Keith liked it because he liked the comfort he felt when someone did it.

Keith’s hair was also soft and fluffy. You loved it. “Your hair is so soft” you said with a small smile. “Or should I say fur” you said with a laugh, and your smile grew. Somehow, Keith looked annoyed as a cat.

You laughed at that as Keith looked away from you. “Come on” you laughed as he moved closer to Keith. “You know you love me” Keith looked back at you and placed his nose on yours.

Your nose wrinkled at the feeling but you loved it.

You held Keith in your arms as you walked into the bridge. Pidge had finally finished the cure with the help of Allura. And it was time to give it to Keith. It was in a needle, and you were also tasked with holding Keith still.

“Ready Y/n. Ready Keith” Pidge said as they walked closer. “Ready” you said, and Keith meowed. Pidge looked around, and everyone else nodded as Pidge walked closer and shot Keith with that needle.

For a while nothing happened and everyone thought it wouldn’t work. “It didn’t work Pidge” Lance said but was quickly proven wrong as Keith started to shake.

Everyone looked at Keith, who is still in your arms. A couple ticks later a human Keith laid in your arms. He quickly wrapped his arms around your neck. You laughed as you placed a kiss on Keith’s forehead.

“You looked cute as a cat,” you said as Keith blushed from your statement.

#lgbtq #voltron x male reader #voltron #keith kogane #keith kogane x male reader #keith voltron #vld keith #vld #voltron legendary defender #keith kogane x reader #keith kogane imagine #voltron x reader #voltron imagines #voltron in 2023

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voltronisanobsession · 4 months

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Hii, I hope you are having a good day or night! I've recently read your platonic yandere voltron things. And I was wondering if you would make some more headcanons? Or stories with platonic yandere? Here are some ideas you could write either a few headcanons or a story about, for if you have low inspiration. Kidnapped reader with platonic yandere voltron, maybe by an alien species who wanted to help the reader? How would the team react? What would they do? Or maybe the reader get really sick which isn't easily cured cue the panic from the team? Again, just so you know I really like your work! So keep up the good work, and thank you for making your works in the first place! Take good care of yourself, and stay hydrated!

Yandere Voltron’s Reaction to Reader being Taken

O M G DONT EVEN PLAY WITH ME RNNNN!!!! I absolutely LOVE yandere voltron like they’re so fun to write for🤞😜 I love the idea of the group just going crazy if reader were to escape UGHH

tysm pookie, take care of yourself too and ENJOY THIISSSS

OK YOU JUST SPURRED IDEAS INTO MY HEAD

I can already imagine the group going crazy when reader suddenly gets swept up right from their grasp out of nowhere by some random spaceship

I know you said some kind of an alien species taking reader but hear me out

It’s LOTOR AND HIS LITTLE GROUPIES OOOOO

It’s painfully obvious that you’re the real star in voltron seeing as how possessive and protective they are of you, hiding you away whenever danger is nearby

So it only makes sense to Lotor to just kidnap you as leverage for his plans

Little did he know that you would be THANKING him for taking you away from the group lmao😭

Imagine your tied up and homeboys getting ready to explain his super mastermind plan to you when all of a sudden you start rambling about how good it feels to be away from them

“Nothing personal, you were the only thing holding that sad excuse of a team together, so I needed you out of the picture for now.” Cue smirk

“UGH THANK GOD! I was literally starting to lose my mind in there, you have no IDEA how needy they all are.”

Now cue a dumbfounded Lotor

He was not expecting reader to be so relaxed considering how he just snatched you up out of nowhere

You’re just chilling while looking around his ship, maybe making conversation with his generals

You finally get a break from the constant attention and possessiveness, ANYTHING is better than being around the group

While you’re happily talking your voice away with Lotor a group, everyone in the castle is freaking the fuck out

It’s bad enough that they let you slip away from their grasp, it’s worse knowing it was Lotor who took you away💀

We all know how Lance feels about Lotor so I think he would have one of the more extreme reactions to you being taken away

Probably starts pointing fingers and starts blaming everyone for not being able to keep you safe

Lowkey begins targeting Keith because it’s somehow always his fault when something goes wrong💀💀

Lance might even starting crying and wailing out for you with Hunk when the situation finally hits him

Keith is also another one to have a more violent outburst during and after your disappearance

He’s someone I see with strong emotions that he doesn’t know how to handle yet so we already know how he might act

Agitated? Yes. Scared? For you, yeah. Furious? Oh honey absolutely.

Keith might have almost caught you too, but he didn’t. He’s so angry with everything and mostly himself that’s he’s pushing everyone else’s buttons, trying to convince the group that the only right choice is immediately going after you

He’s too anxious now that you’re not in his line of sight, making him kinda desperate to get you back again

Hear me out but I think the calmest ones would PROBABLY be Shiro and Pidge

Now I’m not saying that they’re CALM but they have the nerves mostly in tact

They’re already trying to locate where you are with the secret tracker that have on you so it doesn’t really benefit them to try and blame someone for what happened to you

Pidge’s hands shake while she’s working her whizz tho. She has to type, erase, and retype every now and then because of how nervous and anxious she is

She’s so used to having you around that now her brain can’t function properly without you

She doesn’t want to lose you like how she lost her brother and father so Pidge is trying her best to have a one track mind

Shiro on the other hand is more level headed

He really does try to calm the group down as best as he could but with Lance and Hunk crying, Keith yelling at them to get up and do something, Pidge taking a long time to track you down, and Allura and Coran seemingly in an entire different universe, he can’t help but feel the pressure of this disaster falling on his shoulders

This man is ready to just end Lotor when they find him like I’m not even joking

Everyone is getting on this man’s nerves and knowing that you’re trapped with Voltrons enemy doesn’t really make him feel any better

Hunk might even strike fear into Shiro while he’s babbling on about if you’re hurt or not, if they’re torturing you to get any information out of you etc

Poor Hunk is a flood gate at this point. One moment you’re right next to him and the next you’re not

He’s having a complete meltdown in a corner, maybe trying to comfort himself with a small picture of a selfie you both took together

This dude is already imagining all these terrible scenarios you could possibly be in which makes him feel even more terrible

Quite literally feels like he’s gonna throw up now when he begins thinking about how he’ll never see you again

Allura and Coran are surprising quite and calm during all this

They’d keep to themselves but know that they’re going through some extreme inner turmoil

It’s kind of like Allura disconnected herself from the world ever since you’ve been taken

Her skin itches to run out and grab a pod to find you herself but she knows it’s a brash idea

The only thing she does is mull over the idea of making Lotor regret messing with Voltron

BUT TO MAKE A LONG STORY SHORTT

They are willing to do anything to get you back, not caring for the description they’ll leave along the way

The longer your gone the less control and stability they’ll have as a group

Desperate and irrational are some words to describe them during your being away from them

They will stop at nothing to have you back with them, some more destructive and violent than others

No one holds back when getting you back from Lotor, leaving his ships wrecked and forcing him to put his plans on pause as he recovers

Who knows, maybe him and his group might’ve grown similar possessive feelings towards you as well with the time you spent with them? HMMMM

#voltron x reader #voltron legendary defender x reader #vld x reader #voltron legendary defender #vld #voltron #voltron headcanons #yandere keith x reader #yandere Keith kogane x reader #keith kogane x reader #yandere Lance McClain #yandere pidge gunderson x reader #yandere voltron x reader #yandere voltron #yandere hunk #yandere shiro #vld headcanons #yandere vld x reader #voltron imagine

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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

Text

The mission was fine.

It wasn’t even a big one. It wasn’t even complicated. There were hardly any stakes.

Keith is exhausted.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, to bone-deep fatigue. Maybe it’s the way he’s struggled to sleep right his whole life, maybe it’s the tumultuous nature of being a paladin, maybe it’s the will of God. Who fucking knows. Not Keith.

He feels leaden. He doesn’t know how he summons the strength to walk to his room, doesn’t even remember doing the walking. He presses a heavy hand to the lockpad and keeps it there as the door open, because he realises abruptly that this is it, this is where it ends. The lockpad is currently holding him up. He can go no further — there is not a kilowatt of energy left in his body.

“Keith? What took so long? We landed at the same time but it’s been nearly fifteen — oh, baby.”

Keith’s vision is deeply unfocused, so he can’t see exactly, but he hears the soft thump of something set on a surface, then the familiar slide of Lance’s slippers against the floor.

Cold fingers resting gently on the side of his face shock him somewhat out of his stupor, and he blinks away the blurriness, focusing now on the face of his partner in front of him, eyebrows creased and brown eyes clouded in worry.

“‘M so tired,” Keith croaks before Lance can ask. He pitches forward and he’s damn lucky Lance is there to catch him, to stabilize his head on his collarbones and run gentle fingers through his tangled, sweaty hair.

“I see that,” Lance murmurs, troubled quality to his voice. He’s stunningly careful with his hands, taking time every time his fingers curl around a knot to untangle it without pulling, without hurting. He scratches the back of Keith’s scalp softly and Keith thinks he might just turn to liquid in Lance’s hands.

Lance presses a kiss to the crown of Keith’s head and then stays there, lips pressed to skin, hands falling down his sides to rest at his hips. “D’you know why?”

Keith shakes his head, exhaling long and slow, sagging deeper into Lance as he does.

Sometimes he just…gets like this.

He remembers how it would cost him at the Garrison. He would sink into these episodes of pure, endless, soul-leeching tiredness, weighed like a rock in his bed, asleep but aware of the hours and hours passing. When he shuts off like this time feels like thick honey, and he is trapped in the thick of it, trying desperately to yank his way through and only succeeding to get himself stuck further. He is a fly in a glue trap; the life is leeching out of him and he’s too groggy to panic about it.

Lance knows this, and Lance has never faulted him for it. It’s more than Keith has ever had before, more than he knows he deserves, deadweight as he is.

“C’mon,” he says, and then Keith is being tugged. Boneless as he is he does not resist, stumbling after Lance into their room, door sliding shut behind them. Lance tugs them further than expected, past their bed and to the ensuite, and he must read the distress in Keith’s face because he laces their fingers together and says in the same voice he uses when everything has gone to shit and Lance is their last hail mary: “Trust me.”

And Keith does.

Lance stops them a couple steps into the small room, moving Keith’s limbs for him so he’s leaned against the counter. He’s already down to his underclothes but doesn’t bother with himself for a moment, instead making quick work of the latches of Keith’s armour. He starts on the chest plate, unlatching it and pulling it off, letting it clatter to the floor. Keith is surprised at the relief it brings, at the extra breath that settles into his lungs.

Altean armour is made to be lightweight, but as Lance meticulously peels off every pieces of it from his shoulder pads to his boots, Keith feels as if one of the dozens of rocks on his shoulders has been removed, as if things are just a little bit lighter. Brazened by the newfound relief, however minuscule, he lifts his hands and reaches behind him to unzip his flightsuit, only to be stopped by fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Let me,” Lance says quietly. Keith wants to protest but there’s the look in Lance’s eyes again, a bid for trust, an assurance that he can handle it, so Keith lets his hand drop back down to his side. Lance looks pleased, tugging down the long zipper and pulling the skintight fabric over Keith’s shoulders, down his hips, all the way down to his feet where he pauses for Keith to step out of them. Keith’s face burns, humiliated at his own babyishness, at his inability to undress himself like an adult; hell, like a kid. He knows Lance and he knows there are no unkind thoughts in his head right now, knows Lance has done this and more and for people in worse states than Keith, knows Lance has played nursemaid and clinician and sober friend and every other role where someone couldn’t function on their own and needed someone steady to function for them, because at the core of him Lance is whoever people need him to be. Because Lance will stretch and mold himself to help and help and help because he is painfully, endlessly, unbelievably kind, for all his brashness and bravado.

But the humiliation still warms him from head to toe, still makes acid churn in his stomach, still makes something crooked and twisted sneer in the back of his mind and whispers you think he will still respect you after this? after weakness? and Keith lets it echo because he can’t fight that sentiment off even when he has the energy to undress himself.

Skin still heated with his mortification, he watches as Lance quickly strips himself, stepping to the shower and turning the dials with great concentration. The sight makes Keith’s lip twitch involuntarily, at the furrow of his brow and tongue peeking out between his teeth. He stands with his hand under the water for well over a minute until he’s satisfied with the water, nodding to himself once before shaking out his wet hand and turning back to Keith.

Wordlessly, he links their fingers together again, squeezing three times in quick succession. He pulls Keith in and closes the curtain behind him, manoeuvring him so he’s under the stream, water soaking into his hair and pelting his bent neck and tense shoulders. It’s hotter than how he would usually have it, but surprisingly the extra heat is like a balm to his worn muscles, and it’s a struggle to keep himself upright.

He has no idea how long he stands under the spray. The only measure of time he has is Lance’s humming and the steam that slowly fills the shower.

Eventually though he forces himself upright, jaw set. He needs to wash off, needs to push through. He has been coddled enough — he is a grown man. He is a paladin of Voltron, whom others depend on for survival. What would they say if they saw him like this, struggling to wash himself, to move on his own? The faith in the universe’s strongest weapon would crumble in an instant. The fate of the universe would rest even heavier on Keith’s shoulders.

He counts to three in his head then forces himself to move, tried and true method. He catches Lance’s eye when he lifts his head, and Lance smiles at him. (He’s beautiful, all the time, but when he smiles he becomes for a moment the most stunning thing in the universe. Keith has seen so much of it and so he is sure.) He offers a weak smile back, because it’s almost impossible not to, and reaches around him for the shampoo bottle. For the third time that evening, Lance fingers wrap themselves around Keith’s wrist, stilling him.

“Let me,” he says again, and his voice is equally as quiet, equally as steady. “Let me help you.”

He holds Keith’s gaze and his expression is unreadable not because Keith can’t understand what emotion it conveys, but because it doesn’t fit, it isn’t right, what has Keith ever done to warrant that gentleness? What has Keith ever done to bring out such an intensity, such a single minded focus on taking care of Keith, as if he hasn’t been the one to care for himself his entire life? As if he isn’t the one who is meant to be doing the protecting, the caring? Keith is supposed to be strong. He is strong. He doesn’t need to be handled like strained glass, like the tip of a prince rupert’s drop, explosive under pressure. He can handle himself. He can.

“Please.” Lance’s grip loosens, slick anyway with soap, and he slides his fingertips down the palm of Keith’s hand, tracing small circles on the calloused flesh. “I want to.”

Keith makes a noise he’s never made before, a punched-out, hollow kind of sob. The last dregs of strength, of stubbornness that kept him standing, leave him. He slides to the floor, knees first and then they aren’t enough to hold him either. The tile is icy cold on his thighs, at direct odds with the heat of the water still raining hard down his back.

Keith starts to cry, and no amount of steam or water flow will hide it. The sobs and wails that rip their way out of his throat and chest are horrible, broken things, painful in the way they jerk him around, louder and more wretched than anything he’s ever sounded like before, ever. He knows he cried when he lost Shiro and he knows he cried when Shiro lost Adam and he knows he cried when he lost his Pa and a million times before and after. Keith has spent a lot of tears; they come when he’s frustrated or hurting or frightened and he hates the way they make him look small. But never has he ever clutched himself desperately together as hurt tears itself out of his lungs and burns his eyes, never has his body wracked with the effort of expelling this hurt from him.

He doesn’t understand where it’s come from.

The mission was fine.

There’s a click and a squirt, loud enough to be audible even over Keith’s cries. Seconds later Lance’s hands are in his hair again, fingers combing out the tangles, palms lathering soap deep into his roots. He takes his time to massage the soap deeply into Keith’s scalp, every so often moving his soap-covered hands to rub into his neck, his shoulders, his back. Over the course of Keith’s tears he hears the click of the bottle again and again as Lance moves to a different place in his body, spending careful amounts of time cleaning and caressing until the tightness in Keith’s muscles recede by pure loving force. Keith knows Lance is satisfied when his hands stray away for a moment and the stream of shower water is shifted, high-pressure stream shifting to feel more like the trickle of a creek, drizzling in rivulets down the dips and hills of his spine, his hips, his thighs. No soap ever stings Keith’s eyes, and soon the sound of Lance’s humming soothes some of the wound-up ache in his chest. The floral scent of the soap, of Lance’s soap, plays a part in the relief, too, a scent he has associated with security for longer than he has realised.

Soon Lance’s love is pressed into every inch of his skin, and the bonelessness laden in his body feels less like a sapping of energy and more like a moment of rest.

The steam still wraps warmly around Keith when the shower head turns off, and the weight of Lance’s hand on the wide expanse of his back is heavy and reassuring, rising and falling with each of his stuttered breaths. His finger traces a line across the base of Keith’s ribs and up the side of his chest, making him shiver, hugging the curve of his pectoral and travelling over the swell of his shoulder, running a line down Keith’s arms until it rests finally at the base of his wrist, where it circles once before linking around Keith’s pointer finger, tugging him gently to his feet, steady, and out of the shower. He stands eyes closed on the soft bathmat, water dripping steadily from his soaked hair, eyes burning from his tears and lips trembling.

Something soft and warm brushes against the curve of his ribs, tickling him slightly, making his muscles twitch and quiver. Lance drags the towel over his skin, mapping it in the same, slow, gentle way he washed it, soaking up the water and exchanging the wet towel for a new one three whole times before he finally gets to Keith’s hair. His fingers are deft then, too, digging the towel through his locks to squeeze out the water, pull it back from where it was stuck, soaked, to his skin.

Lance leaves the towel draped over his head as he begins to tug Keith out of the bathroom. Keith still has — he keeps his eyes closed, because he doesn’t think he can open them, because right now, he truly is fragile. He is tittering on the edge of somewhere he’s never been before, and he knows opening his eyes will send him careening over, and he’s not ready to fall quite yet. He trusts Lance to guide him, anyway.

Lance’s soft humming never breaks as he stands Keith in the middle of the room and then putters around; fabric rustling, more tubes and bottles clicking, some other sounds Keith can’t identify. When he comes back to Keith his hands are coated in something creamy and cool and fragrant, and he takes his time working the lotion into Keith’s skin like he did the soap; meticulous, fingers moving in small tight circles from area to area. He doesn’t miss a single square inch of Keith’s skin. By the time he finishes the stutter in Keith’s breath has faded and he’s steady, now, every time he inflates his lungs. He no longer feels the dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

He moves where Lance’s hands guide him, eyes still closed, stepping into soft pyjama pants and a loose t-shirt. When Lance pushes gently on his shoulders he sinks to the floor, feeling Lance settle on the bed behind him, leg on either side of him and fingers tilting back his head to rest against his stomach. He starts the comb at the end of Keith’s hair, carefully working through the thinner and more knotted pieces, before slowly making his way up to the roots and combing it all back. The drag of the teeth along his scalp is nice, but it’s nicer when Lance switches back to his hands, nails less abrasive and impersonal. He thinks Lance ties his hair back into a French braid, strands of hair pulled taut but not tight, not painful.

When Lance pulls gently on his shoulder, kindly asking him up, is when Keith finally finds within himself the strength to open his eyes, to fall, to careen off that edge. Lance is looking at him so lovingly, eyes dark as packed Earth, and inside them Keith melts and crumbles and rises again.

“Thank you,” he whispers, hoarse and crackling.

Lance smiles until crinkles form at the corners of his eyes. He cups Keith’s face in his hand and presses the softest of kisses to his lips, unexpectant and open and inviting. He pulls away but doesn’t go far.

“Of course,” he says, and it doesn’t escape Keith’s notice that he says it instead of you’re welcome, instead of no problem; of course, I will hold your weight, of course, I will help you remove your armour, of course, I will wash you, cleanse you, caress and anoint you. Of course, of course, of course. I would consider no other options. “I love you.”

You are not the first to love me, Keith thinks, impossibly, as he crawls into the sheets Lance has turned over for him, curls into him as Lance flicks off their lamp, tucks their sheets around them. He thinks of fathers and brothers and distant distant distant mothers, of teammates and father-uncle-figures and sisters and brothers, as Lance wraps his long arms around him, tucks his face into his neck. Keith thinks, No one has loved me like this.

“I love you too,” he says, pressing his lips to the hollow of Lance’s throat, and he thinks You are my centre of gravity. He thinks there is no weakness in the way he is loved. He thinks all he has left after being stripped to his soul is the strength Lance has wrapped around him.

He thinks he is so, so grateful, to love and be loved by Lance.

———

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