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silkylious · 5 years ago

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Tsunami (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Bakugo x fem reader

warnings: swearing, angst, fluff

A/N: Ahhhh this is my first post on tumblr, i hope you like some bittersweet goodness w angry boi. constructive criticism is much appreciated!

Love.

Such a complex, convoluted emotion that many people find themselves falling helplessly victim to. Of course, there are the cheesy scenes in romantic movies that exaggerate and almost drain all meaning from the prickly feeling; sharing a sweet kiss while basking in the cool caresses of dewdrops, or having a dim-lit home dinner -scenes which drove his gag reflex reeling, he simply couldn’t understand the appeal of mushing faces with someone when he had better things to do, to achieve. He was going to be the number one, dammit, he didn’t have time to waste on cuddling and doing “couple-y shit” with some extra. That’s not to say he’d never had a crush, or found some girls attractive, hot even, but he kept in mind all his “crushes” (he loathes that word with a burning passion) were merely fueled by his hormonal mind, driven by pure sexual attraction. Nothing more, nothing less. So, he never sought out relationships.

And that was enough for him to keep his peace, unhindered and undisturbed on his desolate little boat, one that he was rowing tirelessly towards his end goal, with no waves and no turbulences daring to stand in his way of firmly grasping that number one spot.

Until a tsunami came crashing in, pummeling him off his safe cruise.

That tsunami was you.

He really should have seen the signs -no that’s not right, he definitely noticed the red flags raising in his peripherals, he should have acknowledged them. It started out as small, barely existent ripples, something to break the monotony of his journey and rock his boat gently. You’d always greet him with that stupidly bright smile, the one that made him feel uncomfortable, skittish (though he hadn’t realized why yet), the one that surely made the sun writhe in boiling jealousy. No matter what time of the day it was, how early in the morning or how deep into the night, you always seemed to make it a point to address him with that unhinged, cheeky grin. He’d reply with a curt nod, or a faint grunt if you caught him on a good day, wanting desperately to ignore the brewing sensation inside him.

“Hey, Bakugo! Did ya sleep well?”

He never replied to the tedious question, refusing to give into the one-sided small talk. That didn’t stop you from resuming your daily routine of pestering him about his training progress or babbling about some movie he couldn’t care less about. He didn’t pay an inkling of attention to the stream of word vomit pouring out of your mouth, no, he much rather zoned in on the way your lips move languidly, still upholding that infuriating smile, the way stray follicles fell over your neck, having escaped from the usual updo you were sporting. His concentration faded in and out of the single-sided conversation, managing to scrap together bits and pieces of whatever you were droning on about. Though he never made any effort in reciprocating your enthusiasm, he never shut you down either (like he would most people), and that was incentive enough for you to keep coming back. To keep talking his ear off with a cluelessly precious smile.

Looking back, he probably should have stopped it there, but he didn’t, he couldn’t help but revel unconsciously in your optimism, though he’d be buried six feet underground before he admitted that. It looked all too peaceful, he didn’t mind the soft stir in his boat, and he was more than content to leave it at that. But then you had to go and push your luck.

You were infinitely aware that he treated you… differently, to say the least, your classmates were also painfully conscious of his strangely tamed and, dare I say, docile way he acted around you, everyone with eyes could see it, except him apparently. Even if he was agonizingly oblivious to his own feelings, yours too, your heart couldn’t help but accelerate whenever he displayed a rare act of kindness towards you. One time in particular, he scolded you for overworking yourself while tending to your wounds, his words lacking the usual bite, none the wiser to the chest palpitations he was effortlessly causing. You couldn’t take it, you had to test your luck. You desired to be closer to him, for him to view as more than a nuisance, you wanted to be more than just acquaintances. With caution thrown to the wind, you embarked on a mission to befriend the Bakugo Katsuki.

That’s when the small ripples that would gingerly sway him turned more rigorous; they evolved into waves, ones he needed to smoothly ride if he didn’t want to fall victim to their ferocity.

He became much more aware of your stature in his lifestyle, how could he not? You’d made it a goal to sit with him during lunch, to share with him your bento box, to talk to him at any given moment. And it was then that he discovered a new part of you, one that was hidden behind your tactful persona. It became a common spectacle during lunch, you two hurling remarks at each other, yours more calculated and sarcastic while his were loud and fiery (in true Bakugo fashion), though the competitive grin stretching his lips, wrinkling the corners of his ruby hues gave away his enjoyment. Bakugo could never get over your quick wit, the speed at which you replied to him with your own quips almost gave him whiplash every time, if he didn’t know better he’d think you were regurgitating pre-written comebacks. It took a bit of coaxing at first, but eventually he gave into your petty bickering (all you had to do was mention Deku this and half-n-half bastard that), and then before he knew it, it was part of his routine, but can you blame him? He was presented with a challenge, of course he’d step up to the plate!

Your waves threatened his quaint, little sail, he had to learn to surf them if he didn’t want to topple over. And so, he did, after all, Bakugo Katsuki never backed down from a challenge.

Your comradery only strengthened from there. You trained together, him pushing your limits with his abysmal power and sheer instinct, you pushing his with precise movements and surprising agility. You strangely complemented each other, both in fighting styles and general attitude. He (aggressively) helped you with your academic shortcomings, and though his methods of teaching were very questionable, they proved to be fruitful as your grades had spiked significantly from his (torturous) aid. You’d grown impossibly closer, spending every waking moment together or thinking about each other. Katsuki didn’t know when it became a habit to anticipate your “goodnight” text, or when just the sight of your face made his anger practically dissipate into thin air.

“So, do you wanna come over to study, I’m kinda struggling with algebra,” You sighed sheepishly, scratching at the back of your head.

“No.” came the blunt response.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be such a meanie!” You jutted your bottom lip out much like how a kid throwing a tantrum would, his eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to the childish pout, when suddenly it turned into a poorly constrained grin. You had an idea. “Well, whatever, I was gonna order takeout from a new place down the road, I heard they have pretty spicy ramen there, but I guess I’ll order for one,”

You watched with mild amusement and well-concealed affection as his fiery eyes seemed to light up at the mention of spicy food. “Fine, dumbass, but I’m only doing this ‘cuz your sorry ass would fail without me,”

“Mhmm, sure thing, Bakugo,” You practically sang, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Bakugo.

That didn’t sound right at this point. Words left him before his brain could even process what he said, what he was insinuating.

“Katsuki.” He mumbled firmly. Your eyes widened a fraction, giving away your surprise.

“W-What?”

“Call me Katsuki,” It came out more assuredly this time, his glare directed forward as you both walked to your destination, missing the soft smile adorning your lips and the affection oozing out of your gaze.

“Sure thing, Katsuki.” His own lips curled into a faint smile, a tiny tug at the corners of his lips.

A push-and-pull rhythm was created between you; your waves pulling him in, only for his skillful hands and sails to conquer them. It was an endless tug of war, neither of you seemed to mind it, it blanketed you both in a sheen of serenity.

The calm before the storm.

It was merely an innocent question, a teasing inquiry at most, directed at him by his electric blonde friend. “So, man, when are you gonna ask (last name) out? Y’know if you don’t ask her soon, someone else will,”

Katsuki could have sworn he switched quirks with the dunce faced idiot, because at that moment his mind fully short-circuited. Him? And (name)? What would even give him that idea? Sure, she was cute and all -wait, cute?? What the actual fuck? His lack of response and the pinkish tint that spread from his cheekbones to the bridge of his nose seemed to get a rise out of Kaminari, because within seconds his head was thrown back, his laughter catching the attention of their red-haired friend. “Yo, man, what’re you laughing at?”

With that, Bakugo seemed to snap out of his trance, sharp eyes snapping between his self-proclaimed friends. His mouth opened, ready to deliver a curt response, something along the lines of “Fucking nothing!” or “Mind your own business, Shitty Hair!” but the other blonde beat him to the punch, loudly bellowing out,

“Bakugo has a crush on (last name)!”

Bakugo wasn’t pleased to say the least, his hand darting out, flexing a lethal explosion that Kaminari barely dodged. Bakugo’s eyes were wide with unadulterated rage, though he really couldn’t tell at who, nor did he care, he was seeing red at that moment and that’s all he could focus on. Before he can aim another strike towards his cowering friend, Kirishima looped his arms around Bakugo’s shoulders, activating his quirk to prepare for the barrage of oncoming explosions that were sure to come his way. “Dude, stop! You’re being super unmanly right now!”

Realizing there’s no point struggling against his friends hold, Bakugo’s figure suddenly slackened, Kirishima very cautiously relinquishing his grip on his friend. Burning rage, confusion, uncertainty and self-deprecation began to settle in Bakugo’s mind all at once, a million questions stampeding his thoughts. He didn’t like that, he hated not being in control, he hated not knowing what was wrong, especially with himself. With a furious shout of “FUCK OFF!” to dispel some of the anger bristling within him, the ash blonde stomped out of the nearly empty classroom, leaving his two friends to share looks of bewilderment.

And that’s when a tidal wave, a tsunami of emotions quaked his lonely ship, flipping it and hurling him off the deck into the freezing cold, wave riddled ocean, leaving him to sink deeper and flail around in a futile attempt at staying afloat.

The coming days, one thing haunted Katsuki like the plague, despite trying his hardest to avoid overthinking, you just seemed to carve your way into his subconscious. Everything reminded him of you, and he absolutely despised it. When had he gotten so distracted? When had his schedule morphed to make room for your presence in his life? When had he began to await seeing you, hearing your obnoxiously sweet voice? When had he gotten so weak? He didn’t need anyone, no one but himself, that’s all he needed to reach the top. If that was true, then why were his days getting more and more bleak as he actively shunned you out, avoided looking you in the eyes and subsequently being blissfully unaware of the look of hurt in your eyes. He knew he wasn’t being fair to you, but he couldn’t help it, he had to put some distance between you.

And so, he kept struggling against the currents, which only made him sink deeper, and deeper. Even so, he kept wrestling with the tides, hoping he’d make it out alive and free.

His absence in your life made you fidgety, but you brushed it off as him having a less than pleasant day, he’d surely go back to normal, right? Wrong. Things continued as they are, you wanted to give him space and all, but it didn’t help that it seemed he was only circumventing you. You wanted to be patient for him, and you were. But even the most patient of people, the most peaceful of saints, had their tipping points.

“I don’t understand you, Katsuki, we were good not even a week ago and now you’re completely avoiding me!”

“So what if I was, huh?! Are you saying that I need you or some shit?! Are you looking down on me, thinking you’re all high and mighty, that you could be the one to befriend the “pitiful lonely guy”?! Are you saying I’m weak, is that it, huh?! I’m not fucking weak, (name), I don’t need you or anyone for that matter, stop tryna coddle me, I don’t need your shitty friendship!”

Ouch, that hurt. He knew he was spouting so much bullshit straight through his teeth, it didn’t even make sense but that was how his self-defense mechanism works. When in doubt, push people you love away in fear of vulnerability. He knew he was being a major asshole, but nothing would’ve prepared him for the look of unbridled hurt and betrayal in your eyes, tears silently carving valleys on your flushed cheeks. Your quivering lip suppressed a wretched sob, before opening to utter a few heartbroken words.

“I see. Sorry I was such a nuisance for you, Bakugo,”

Bakugo, double ouch. That one stung. Hard. He’d never heard your voice so broken, so raw and meek. He walked home alone that day, already regretting everything he said, already missing your bubbly self.

A drift shook both of you away from each other. Your concerned classmates could only watch in silenced misery as you both hurdled yourselves into hero work and training, doing anything it takes to stay distracted. Bakugo thought that at least there would be one upside to arise from this situation, he could focus more on his dreams, he had more time than ever, he can totally utilize this to his advantage. Or so he thought. You infiltrated every crevice in his mind, all he could think about, day in and day out, was you. He’s always prided himself in being self-disciplined and focused, but right now he was anything but. You weren’t fairing any better. Your optimism was missed in the classroom, you forced a smile to reassure your friends, but that was about all you could muster. It seemed there was no end to the spiral the pair of you were sucked into until something happened. Something big happened.

He was kidnapped. Bakugo was kidnapped.

It seemed like a wake-up call to both of you. You could have lost him; he could have lost you. Bakugo realized, strapped to that chair, with the grey-haired, handy man holding a picture of you from the sports festival while babbling some vague threats, that he wanted to protect you, protect what he loved. He loved you. And he had to be better for you. He also realized that he wanted to go back to you. Dammit, he still didn’t apologize for what he said! He needed to return.

He no longer fought against the tide, he didn’t want to, and he wasn’t going to. And with his fruitless squirming against the current coming to an end, he began to rise to the surface, the gradually heating waters holding him afloat.

His return was a giant relief, you wanted to jump into his arms the moment he was saved, but you knew better. He needed time to think, to sort out his thoughts. Though you didn’t expect that he would sort out his thoughts with his fists. With Midoriya. Actually, scratch that, it was a very Bakugo thing to do.

That night you couldn’t sleep, sitting on the U.A. dorms Alliance stairs with a steaming mug of tea between your clutches. Your eyes, which had been transfixed on the constellations lining the night sky, blinked downward when you heard two pairs of footfalls approaching. You instantly recognized the two boys, beaten and battered.

“(name)...?”

His abnormally scratchy voice greeted you, you didn’t have to strain your ears to conclude that he’d been crying. Your stares were riddled with unspoken words, unvoiced feelings, leaving a pregnant tension in the air. A haggard throat-clearing cut through the quiet.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” And with that, the one-for-all user excused himself into the dormitory.

Katsuki shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. He knew what he needed to say he just couldn’t find the will to swallow the lump in his throat and say it.

“Hey, umm-”

Before he can get another syllable out, a force collided with him, shaky arms circling his broad shoulders, mindful of the bruises that littered his porcelain skin. Eyes blown wide; he couldn’t fathom the words that were uttered into his chest.

“I love you, Katsuki. I love you.” A sniff followed the heartfelt words, he felt some tears brimming his own lids.

Carefully bringing his arms around you, wrapping them securely around your waist. Katsuki drifted and swayed on your waves, surfing them skillfully, fully abandoning his past ways, no longer would he scuffle with the ebb and flow of the waters that only hoped of propelling him forward towards his goal. His red gems drifted to the sky, mapping out the stars much like a lost sailor would in search of guidance, though he was anything but lost in that very moment.

His lids dropped, thoroughly fatigued from the day’s events, before his head followed suit, descending and placing feather-like kiss on your head, his strong arms keeping you nestled as close as possible against his chest, a quiet murmur with powerful words left his lips,

“I love you, too. I’m sorry.”

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panda-noosh · 6 years ago

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Months in the Making {Pidge x Reader}

Words: 6k

Summary: Pidge is forced to confront her feelings in the most terrifying of circumstances.

Genre: angst

Warning: mentions of blood

Notes: masterlist - pidgeon

+++

The first time Pidge said no, it was purely because you had caught her off guard.

Her feelings being as muddled as they were in the first place, you suddenly approaching her with such a deep confession had messed with her brain; she had simply stared at you, shaking her head dumbly in any attempt to figure out exactly what she was to say in such a situation.

You had seen her head shaking, immediately flushed, apologised profusely and fled from the scene before Pidge could correct herself.

She had yet to actually correct herself.

It was easier said than done. The green Paladin sometimes lay in bed at night, glaring up at the roof with her fists bundled up on her stomach. She can still see your face, the way your eyes popped open upon realisation that Pidge had gone silent at your confession. Pidge still lay there, coming up with these absurd plans and these different ways to get her feelings across to you - but she had yet to get round to it.

Things hadn’t become awkward, thank the Lions. The two of you still lived within close proximity of one another, still had to fight Galra almost everyday, work on different programming systems side-by-side - neither of you could afford to be awkward. After the confession, you had simply pretended like nothing had happened, and Pidge was happy to let that be the case.

Even if it was eating her up inside.

She stares at you now, the way you walk around the table with that thoughtful look on your face, one hand cupping your chin and your eyes narrowed. The food laid out on the table has distracted you enough that you barely even notice Pidge sitting at the counter, her leg swinging back and forth over the edge of the oversized stool. Her laptop is in front of her, though the codes currently etched on the screen have long since become forgotten.

You sigh and run a hand through your hair, before spinning on your heel to face the living room. The sudden movement jerks Pidge out of her trance, and she hastily averts her eyes back to her laptop screen, hoping and praying that you hadn’t noticed her staring.

“Hunk!” you call. “Hunk, what can I actually eat in here?”

Hunk stampedes into the kitchen almost immediately, a delighted smile tugging on his face at the fact that somebody had finally noticed the experimental buffet he had laid out. Pidge dared not to touch any of it - Hunk was currently testing different recipes, meaning it was more than likely that at least one of those dishes was very highly poisonous.

“All of it,” he replies, earning a raised brow of suspicion from you. He rolls his eyes and points to the meringue pie set up on the corner of the table. “Coran helped me with that one. I’m almost sure it’s edible.”

You purse your lips, smile warily at Hunk before saying, “I actually had a late breakfast - I’m not all that hungry just yet.”

Hunk, none the wiser, simply says “Okay!” and leaves the kitchen to go and continue his work - now Pidge has absolutely no chance of hiding from your gaze, and the fact startles her.

You turn and meet her eyes. She notices the way your own eyes widen, having not even noticed Pidge upon initial arrival. She pretends to be busy, pretending like she hadn’t just overheard that entire conversation, like she hadn’t been staring at you from the very moment you had walked in.

“Oh, Pidge!” you exclaim. “How long have you been here?”

Pidge perches her chin on her open palm, lazily scrolling through the codes on her screen. “A few hours. I have work to do.”

“You should have called me down,” you say, already tugging a spare stool over beside her. She moves over, despite not entirely wanting to. She wants to be close to you.

“You have your own work to do,” she says. “Are you not meant to be getting ready for the mission later on?”

“The mission that you and I are going on?”

Pidge’s eyes pop open, startled. “What? I didn’t know I was meant to be going on that!”

You shrug, grinning despite Pidge’s clear distress. “Shiro said it’s a two person job.”

“And he thought adding me to the rota would be a wise choice?” She groans, running her hands through her hair. “I have so much work left to do here - why couldn’t he ask Lance or something to do it?”

“Lance is in his feelings,” you reply. “He’s trying to ask Allura out, so it’s safe to assume he’s pretty distracted. Shiro needs someone who’s head will be entirely on the mission-”

“Someone like Allura, who actually-”

“Someone like you,” you interject. You reach over to the fruit bowl and pop a single grape into your mouth, one of the few foods laid out that you’re fairly certain Hunk hasn’t messed with. “You’ll be fine, Pidge. This work can wait for another night. Our mission is more important.”

Pidge closes her eyes. She knows you are right, of course. There’s no point in huddling herself up in the ship when there’s a war to be fought, planets to save, people to see. Voltron would never be successful if Pidge continued to hold herself up in the ship, refusing to see anyone.

Plus, the mission is with you, and perhaps that will make it all better. You will distract her, she knows, but at least it’ll give her some time to be with you - alone.

+++

Pidge glances over at you, totally unsure of what to say.

There’s plenty to say. The two of you are on a mission, currently walking through a planet that is littered with scared individuals. They are all cowering behind separate rocks, ducking into their tent-like homes, mothers ushering their kids down the street a little quicker - it’s the first time Pidge has ever been greeted with such hostility and fear, and it makes her uncomfortable.

Instinctively, she shuffles a little closer to you, hoping your presence will calm her down. Why were these people so afraid? What had happened to them to make them cower away like this?

You don’t look bothered. Sticking to your usual brand, you keep your head held high and your shoulders drawn back, giving the people a smile whenever you can manage. The smiles aren’t met with polite smiles back, by any means, but Pidge would be lying to claim that the tension in the air didn’t leak away with each one you gave, a tiny assurance that you and Pidge were not there to harm them.

“They’ve been traumatised,” you whisper, snapping Pidge back to the present. “Something bad happened here. They don’t trust anyone.”

“Not even Voltron,” Pidge whispers back, ignoring the way her heart breaks a little bit.

You purse your lips and continue walking; the dust from the ground floats up, making Pidge wheeze and cough every few seconds. She has the urge to pull her bandanna over her mouth, but refrains from doing so - the people around her don’t have access to simple things like bandannas, and so she isn’t going to use hers right now. If they have to suffer, so does she.

The destruction is clear, laying in tatters the longer they walk. Tents have been ripped down, and there are holes in the ground, clearly made from the ladders of a ship - a fairly large ship, if Pidge’s intelligence had anything to say about it.

“Excuse me,” you suddenly start. Pidge’s eyes snap around, catching sight of a cowering elderly woman - though she has yet to duck away, a good sign.

You jog towards her. She grips her walking stick a little tighter, shooting her grandson a startled glance but standing her ground until both you and Pidge have approached her. She straightens up, locks her eyes on your own with a confidence that Pidge can respect, considering the situation.

You smile and bow formally. “I’m terribly sorry to have to interrupt your day, but my name is Y/N L/N, a member of Team Voltron.”

Small gasps immediately follow this introduction; you having long since grown accustomed to such a reaction push on with little hindrance.

“This is my good friend, Pidge Gunderson, the Paladin of the green lion.”

An even bigger gasp erupts from the crowd. Pidge flushes, scooting behind you in her attempts to hide her blossoming face.

The elderly woman simply nods, grey hairs bobbing in straggly lines down her face. Her leather like skin glows with confidence, grey eyes not once leaving your own.

“We’re not here to hurt you or your people,” you continue. “We just want to know what happened here. Was it the Galra?”

“It’s always the Galra.” The womans voice is hoarse, a croak that sends shivers coursing through Pidge’s spine. You and her exchange a small glance, silently acknowledging that this woman has clearly been through plenty of trauma in her time.

You nod slowly. “You’re - You’re right. I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing for me to ask. But can you tell me what they did? How long ago the attack was?”

“Does time really matter?” the elderly woman asked gently. “They’ll be back soon, anyway. They always are. They never have enough.”

Pidge raises a brow, stepping forward. “What do you mean? This attack wasn’t the first?”

The womans lips twitch in amusement, though she does not laugh, does not let down her persona of confidence. “Of course not. The first attack was months ago - killed a good few of our people in the process. The second attack was a little lighter - we didn’t have much to give them after the first one. But this attack...” She looks towards her grandson, who is still huddled against his tattered tent. “They told us to gather their supplies, or else they’ll kill us all. Wipe us out for being useless to them.”

Pidge’s breath catches in her throat. You gasp quietly, hand shooting back and grasping for Pidge’s; she doesn’t know why she does it, but she threads her fingers through yours and tugs you into her side, needing to feel you beside her.

“Why didn’t Voltron pick up on the first two attacks?” she asks, voice quiet and weak sounding.

The elderly woman shrugs. “Why don’t you tell me? You’re the Paladin.”

The conversation dies after that. Neither you nor Pidge can think of much else to say, and so you thank the woman, turn on your heels and head back to the ships you have deserted on the far side of the land.

The silence is suffocating, and yet it doesn’t quite feel like silence. The tension is loud enough, the echoes of the womans words ringing in Pidge’s ears like bells being played on a continuous loop. She wants to shut them out, but at the same time she knows she can’t; how had Voltron missed this? How many other planets are being tortured and tormented off the radar that Voltron hasn’t yet picked up on?

It makes Pidge’s breakfast stir in her stomach. She clutches involuntarily at her gear, resisting the urge to slam her fist into the nearest tree; she hates feeling useless. She had been given one job at the beginning of all of this - protect the universe. That was her job, her life’s duty - and clearly she hadn’t been living up to the worlds expectations of the task.

She is startled back to reality when your hand lays itself gently on her arm. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t bother to meet your gaze in complete fear of what she will see; you’ll try and comfort her. You’ll try and tell her that it’s okay, that it wasn’t her fault - but Pidge doesn’t want to hear it. She is stuck, imagining the thousands of lives that had once roamed this very planet, now gone due to Voltron being behind on schedule.

You open your mouth to comfort her, and Pidge opens her own to silence you, but neither of you get a chance to speak before the crash sounds out loud and clear behind you.

The ground shudders. Rocks collapse around you, slamming down on the ground and causing fresh cracks to surface on the already damaged terrain. Pidge grunts, falling forwards on her hands and knees with you following shortly after.

“What the-”

Pidge whirls around just in time to see the entrance of the Galra ship lower onto the ground. The lights are still flashing from the main body, and she can see the tiny faces of the Galra appearing from the windows.

The ones who aren’t currently running down the ramp towards them.

“Y/N!” Pidge cries out, already on her feet and dragging you up after her. You stumble; there is blood dribbling from your forehead, a rock lodged in the open wound. Pidge’s eyes widen at the sight, but she has no time at all to deal with it now. She keeps running, checking on you only every now and then as she tugs her Bayard from her belt and-

Glowing rope slashes across her forearm. She screeches with the unexpected pain, stumbling and falling to her knees once again; her hand slips out of your own, and you crumble to the floor beside her, unconscious now.

She tries to reach for you, tries to keep herself conscious at the same time. She can feel the blood pouring from her arm, little black dots cast over her vision that she can’t get away from.

And then there are hands wrapping around her own, and the glowing rope tightens, burning her flesh even more. She cries out, tries to squirm away from the unfamiliar hands, but the movement only makes her feel weaker; she crashes to the ground, feels herself being lifted up, can hear herself crying out your name and trying to reach for you, but the darkness wins in the end.

+++

Pidge wakes up and is immediately greeted with that familiar thumping pain in the back of her head.

She grits her teeth as her eyes slowly slide open, allowing the dim light to rush straight through her senses; the light is dim, only the small flame of a lantern, and yet it is too much. She squints, pushing her palms into her eyes in her attempts to rid herself of the oncoming headache, a product of the sudden rush of light.

“She’s awake,” a voice grits out, startling her. Her hands drop. She squints just enough to be able to make out the blurred shapes of Galra, walking back and forth outside of the cell she is locked in; she isn’t even in a room. The door consists of rusted bars - bars that she could easily cut through if she had her Bayard, though the lack of weight on her belt tells her that her Bayard has long since been removed from her persons.

She glances around, suddenly wary - you’re not there.

She has her hands wrapped around the bars before she can even comprehend that she has moved in the first place. She presses her forehead against them, startling the Galra just enough to get his attention set firm on her, the grip on his gun tightening as if Pidge had threatened him.

“Where are they?” she asks through gritted teeth, not bothering to beat around the bush and give back story.

The Galra raises a brow, an infuriating grin appearing on his furry face. “You’ll be seeing them soon enough. We’ve just gotta wait for-”

“I want to see them now,” she demands. “I’ll do what you want - just take me to them.”

Whatever the Galra soldier had been expecting to hear from her, that was certainly not it. He draws back a little at her tone of voice - how can someone so small hold so much rage and authority? Pidge nearly laughs at the shocked expression, but the thought of you being tangled up, on your own on a ship like this, brings her back to earth and she quickly wipes the urge away.

She slams her hands against the bar. “Well?”

The Galra flinches, whirls on his heel and makes his way towards the exit door. “I’ll go and ask my superior.”

“Be quick about it,” she spits, surprising even herself with the tone of voice she is using.

The Galra soldier and his superior arrive back not long after. Pidge stays by the bars, her fingers tight around them, waiting patiently for them to make a decision; they have their heads craned together, talking in hushed tones that drive her insane - she wants to know what they’re saying, wants to know the process of their decision.

Finally, the superior looks up at her and quirks a brow, eyeing her up and down. She stares right back at him, refusing to move under his gaze, refusing to look weak right now.

He sighs. “Y/N is awake as well. We may as well get a move on.”

Pidge resists the urge to cry out in relief as the soldier approaches her cell, unlocks the door and grabs her, slamming chains over her hands. He drags her by the chain, a wise choice considering he doesn’t have to be directly beside her. She was fairly certain that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from gouging his eyes out if he was walking right beside her.

They walk in silence for no longer than two minutes before the Galra is turning and entering a circular, almost empty room. There are steps leading up to a single chair, a small indent in the floor that Pidge is pushed into. She makes to step forward, but is stopped by a hand being placed firmly on her shoulder.

She inhales shakily, trying to regain the composure she prided herself on. “Where are they?”

“Bring them in!” the soldier shouts. Pidge’s heart thumps at a million miles per hour in her chest, and it takes everything in her not to throw herself forward whenever the double doors in front of her burst open, and you’re standing there with a drowsy, weak look on your face.

She had never before seen you look so vulnerable. Her sweet, tough, carefree little Y/N was gone, replaced by somebody who truly looked as though they didn’t even know where they were. You look around through dazed eyes, dried blood still staining the side of your head; Pidge wants to reach out and wipe it off, knowing you hate the sticky feeling of blood on your flesh.

She swallows her yell of your name and instead makes do with sending glares at the Galra soldiers currently dragging you inside. You move willingly, but your feet scrape against the floor, you clearly not having the energy to lift them and walk of your own accord.

“What do you want with us?” Pidge asks. “You know our team will be here as soon as they notice something’s wrong.”

“But until then,” says a Galra superior, stepping into the light, “we have plenty of time to pick your brains, don’t we?”

“Leave them out of this,” Pidge growls. “They’re not a Paladin. They don’t have the experience you want.”

“Experience isn’t what we’re looking for,” the superior replies, his smooth tone of voice making Pidge feel slightly dazed. “The Paladins of Voltron have been trying to take our empire down for generations now - the only reason Y/N is here right now, is because she means a lot to you, Miss Gunderson.”

Pidge’s breath catches in her throat. “W-what do you-”

“Tell me, Pidge - or do you want me to call you Katie? Either one will suffice.” He waits, expectant, before grinning at Pidge’s silence and continuing to pace back and forth in front of her. “Tell me then, Green Paladin - just what relations do you have to this fine person in front of us?”

“Pidge,” you croak out, sounding like you have a mouthful of blood. “Pidge, don’t take the b-bait. They’re trying to w-waste t-t-t-” You can’t finish your sentence, instead slumping forward and giving up on the end of your sentence.

Pidge closes her eyes, inhaling deeply in any attempt to control her anger. She wants to lunge, wants to wipe out these sneering Galra assholes once and for all, but the chains around her wrists and her missing Bayard is enough of a reminder to keep her grounded.

For now.

She opens her eyes again and stares directly at the awaiting superior, who stands with his large hands behind his back. He has stopped pacing now, has instead chosen to bend down and sneer into Pidge’s face.

“They’re my friend,” Pidge replies with as much confidence as she can. “Family. Just like everyone else in Team Voltron.”

Much to Pidge’ surprise, the superior doesn’t seem satisfied by that answer. He tuts, shakes his head and straightens up, going back to pacing. “I’m afraid that answer just does not suffice. Nor add up.”

Pidge narrows her eyes. “What else do you want me to tell you?”

“The truth.”

“That was the-”

“When Galra ask the question of relationship between two people, Pidge, we don’t just want the surface level,” the superior says. “I’m expecting detail - what do you feel for Y/N L/N?”

That is the last thing Pidge expects to hear.

She blanks, can’t help it. She is certain she has heard him wrong, because that can be the only explanation. What do her feelings have to do with anything going on right now?

The superior raises a bushy eyebrow, grinning from ear to ear - he knows he has her. He knows that Pidge has the pride of a lion, would struggle to articulate her feelings even if she had organised through them beforehand.

“I - I - I just told you!” she bursts, frustration overtaking her being. “They’re my family, now let them go before I-”

“One simple question,” the superior sighs. “Answering one simple question, and this can all be over.”

Pidge blanks. “You’ll let them go?”

The Galra shrugs with a faux casualness. “You said it yourself - it’s not them we want. It’s the Paladins we’re interested in.”

Pidge truly feels as if she is going to throw up. She closes her eyes, inhales deeply through her nose and thinks carefully about how to respond - the truth is there, of course. It’s obvious, balancing on the tip of her tongue, but after months of hiding it, suppressing it, pretending it doesn’t exist, even in this situation she is struggling to break out of that habit.

She tries, though, because as soon as she opens her eyes and sees you staring right back at her, blood staining the side of your head, body rigid between the soldiers holding you upright, she realises that if she dies today, she will die happy knowing that you got out of here alive.

“Love of my life,” she just barely manages. The words are like sandpaper, ripping through her throat. “They’re the love of my life. I love them.”

Your eyes widen. She tries to ignore your reaction, tries to ignore the memory of your own confession, months ago, that she had ignored so brutally.

“Deeper,” the superior demands. “I want you to go deeper. Tell me more.”

Pidge grits her teeth. “How much more do you-” She inhales, calms herself down and continues. “I’ve loved them for a long time. They - They make me nervous and happy all at the same time. Sometimes they’re the only reason I can think of to get up in the morning, especially when things are bad.” She closes her eyes. “Y/N has this habit of getting into trouble, always making my heart skip a damn beat because I think they’ve been killed every few seconds.” She laughs, despite herself. “The idea of living my life without them is torture enough on it’s own. That’s why this is so difficult for me.”

There is no relief that comes with her words, not like how she once expected it to feel like. Sitting awake in her bed at night, she always believed that her confession would remove a weight from her shoulders, take one more burden off of her conscience - but now, as she stands in front of your sagging, deteriorating form, there is nothing but that constant ebb of panic thrumming through her skull.

Because the soldiers aren’t moving. They keep a firm grip on your arms, looking back and forth between one another as if having some kind of silent debate over what to do; do they keep their promise and let you go, or do they rip Pidge’s entire heart out of her chest by slaughtering you on the spot?

The superior who had once addressed her now turns to his comrades, tapping a pointed finger against his bearded chin. Pidge watches him closely, examining each and every one of his movements; she isn’t sure why she trusted him, if she even trusted him in the first place. Maybe she had just leapt at the chance to finally tell you how she feels.

“That was sweet, wasn’t it?” the superior drawls. “Our little Paladin is in love. Surely love is a distraction when it comes to the job of saving the universe?”

“Just let them go,” Pidge croaks, nearly slumping forward with exhaustion. “They’re not involved in any of this!”

“I’m not l-leaving you,” you stammer out. Pidge’s eyes shoot up to your own, a silent warning for you to just be quiet so she can find a way to get you both out of there alive, but you pay her no heed. “If you’re s-staying, then s-so a-am I.”

“Y/N-”

“Oh, would you look at that! It looks like Y/N loves our little Paladin as well!” the superior exclaims, throwing his arms up as if in victory. “This is just adorable! It’s working out much better than how I originally planned.”

“Just do what you’re going to d-do,” you say. “T-the other Pa-Paladins will be h-here soon anyway.”

“Will they? I love a party.” The superior spins back around and starts pacing once again. Pidge watches him with narrowed eyes, though her attention is not set on the way he walks back and forth; her attention is set firmly on you, wondering what must be going through your head right now. Pidge had just confessed her love to you, the same thing you had done with her only months before when she had brutally ignored you for no reason other than her own nerves, her own unorganised feelings.

“You know,” the superior starts again. “I think it would just be best to kill them both before the gang gets here. Less to deal with when they’re all around.”

“No!”

Pidge is lurching forward before she can stop herself. She hears your scream pierce the air, feelings the waves of panic shredding through her as everything whirls past her face in a blur. Her chains are yanked so harshly that blood trickles from beneath them, the skin catching on the latch, but Pidge doesn’t stop. She thrashes, tries to run towards you as you are dragged backwards by a hand wound around your throat, your eyes wide and set firmly on Pidge-

The doors behind her burst open. Shrapnel flies everywhere, the sound of a lazor slamming against the metallic walls making Pidge dizzy with the memories of what it felt like to be armed. She would do anything for her Bayard right now, but she knows that is the last thing she should be concentrating on.

She hears Lance, Keith and Hunk stampeding into the room behind her and knows they have everything under control. She sees Allura whiz past her, trying to reach you, but Pidge is quicker. As soon as Keith slashes the chains away from her hands, she is on her feet and overtaking the blue Paladin, throwing herself over your - once again - unconscious form.

“Help!” she cries out. Hunk is the only one who hears her over the sound of open gunfire and screaming. Galra are deteriorating into ash, bullets are slamming into every surface she sees - but Pidge doesn’t care. Not right now, with you huddled in her arms, shivering despite your unconscious state.

Hunk reaches her, grabs you by the arms and hauls you over his shoulder. Pidge stumbles after, her own fatigue finally catching up to her, her own injuries finally pushing to the forefront. She hadn’t noticed it before, but reaching up now, she realises that her temples are bleeding - had something hit her? Shrapnel, perhaps, from the exploding doorway.

She stumbles behind you nonetheless, her only worry currently being dragged out of the ambush and into what Pidge hopes to be a safer environment.

+++

Pidge runs her thumb gently over the stitches embedded in the side of her skull; she was lucky, getting away with only seven stitches. You, on the other hand, look entirely beaten up, and Pidge struggles - for the first time - to keep a steady gaze on you.

You’re still sleeping. It’s been hours. Pidge hasn’t moved, bar to get her stitches checked over by a very jittery Coran, who insisted on making sure his dressing and bandaging had been done to perfection. Pidge had been forced to swat him away a number of times, claiming she was fine and that her state would not change in the space of fifteen minutes.

Now the room is quiet, though. The beeping of the machine currently latched to your arm syncs up with the thudding thrum of Pidge’s heartbeat, heavy and loud in her chest. She reaches out, gently tucks your hair behind your ears-

That’s when your eyes flash open.

Pidge starts, having not expected her touch to affect you to that point. You stir under the covers, groaning at the pain that surely darts through your system - Pidge falls to her knees beside your bed, grabs for your hand before you can risk running it through your hair and potentially pulling a stitch out in the process.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she coos softly yet urgently. “It’s me. I’m here. It’s Pidge.”

“Pidge?” you croak, calming down. The panic seems to have ebbed away, replaced with a dazed sense of curiosity. Your narrowed eyes dart around the room, looking for any sign of familiarity. “We’re not on the Galra ship any more?”

Pidge smiles weakly, gently running her thumb beneath your eye. “No. We’re home.”

You sigh in content. “Oh. Good. I like being at home.” You meet her eyes. “Did we finish our mission?”

Pidge raises a brow. “You’ve just woken up from an ambush, and you’re worried about our mission?”

“We did get it finished though, right? Them people are safe now?”

Pidge purses her lips. Of course, she had asked about the planet you had been on only a few hours prior, though the information given to her had been scarce.

“The other Paladins dealt with it,” she assures, unsure whether she is lying or not. “But you have other things to worry about. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply. “Not dead, and I can get a full sentence out without feeling like my head is gonna fall off my shoulders.”

Pidge chuckles, before abruptly stopping. “And how much do you remember?”

“Everything.”

The answer is immediate. Pidge can’t help but notice the slight undertone to your voice, a way of telling her that you did indeed remember everything - even what Pidge had been forced to confess.

Pidge sighs and gently lowers her head. There’s no point in hiding any more. The confession was out there, and now all she could do was move on from it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, leaning her forehead against your wrist. She hadn’t even realised that she had grabbed a hold of your hand until now. “That must have been a lot to take in, especially after...”

You wince, the reminder of your own confession clearly a sore topic for you to ponder on. “It’s okay,” you reply shakily. “I’m just . . . Happy you finally gave me some closure.”

Pidge looks up slowly. “Closure?”

“Well, yeah,” you say. “I don’t know how you want to continue our relationship after this, but at least now I know your feelings. At least now I know everything I feel for you isn’t one sided.”

Pidge splutters. “You still feel that way about me?”

“Of course.”

You say it like it’s something obvious, like it was just common knowledge that you would still love Pidge after all this time - after she had broken your heart.

Pidge swallows, staring at you in a mixture of awe and confusion. “You just acted so casual after you confessed. . . I thought - well, I just thought I’d hurt you so much that you kind of forgot about your feelings for me.”

“I’d never throw away a friendship with you, Pidge,” you assure. “I was hurt, and a little embarrassed, but at the end of the day, you were clearly still willing to be friends with me and that’s all I was asking for. I just wanted you to stay in my life, whether you loved me or not.”

“Well I do love you.” Pidge winces, the words sounding foreign. The only thing she can think to cushion her abrupt confession is by adding, “A whole lot.”

You chuckle, reaching up and stroking your thumb against her cheek. She closes her eyes, leans into your touch like it is the only thing keeping her grounded and sane - in this situation, after what had just happened, Pidge is convinced that it is the only thing keeping her grounded.

“So what now?” you whisper. “What do you want?”

Pidge doesn’t need to think. The answer is obvious, sitting on the tip of her tongue with the certainty of her simply saying her name - it comes with common sense, a realisation that this is all she’s ever wanted.

“I want to protect you,” she replies. “I want to be by your side, want to hold your hand, sleep next to you at night. I want you to know that I love you, and I’ll always love you.”

With her eyes closed, she can’t see your reaction. She isn’t really sure she wants to see your reaction, but the feel of your hand stiffening against her cheek is enough for her to know the effects of her words.

You inhale deeply, and before Pidge can even open her eyes, can even comprehend what is going on, you have leaned forward and are gently pressing your lips to hers.

She doesn’t bother opening her eyes, but instead rises up on her knees and cups your cheek, gently running her fingers along your jaw. She’s careful, not wanting to tug at any of the machines you’re currently attached to, but not wanting to hold back, either.

Her mind slips into the abyss. She starts to think about how your lips fit perfectly against hers, how your hand is tracing idle patterns into her arms, how it feels as if every single trauma and action that was seen today was worth it just to have your lips against her own right now.

But then you’re pulling away, resting your forehead against hers, afraid to break the contact just yet. Pidge doesn’t mind. She wants to keep you as close as possible for now - at least until her heart beat slows down a little bit.

“I would love that, Pidge,” you whisper. “I can’t think of anything better, to be honest.”

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