Voltron x Reader; Preferences and Oneshots

{Keith x Reader x Lance}; Oppurtunity [Part #1]

He shrugs, a quick gesture that doesn't match how deeply he took that to heart. After hoisting up a decent sized bag, he joins your side as you walk out to the lion hangars, stopping for one more quick chat before you separate. "I find it better not to think about it. We're contributing to the effort, and that's what we shall do until we've done all that we can."

You give a small, short nod of understanding.

"You're not packing anything?" Lance asks, noticing your lack of pack.

You hoist up your small sack of snacks and permanent markers, courtesy of Coran. "Didn't have to."

Lance lifts his backpack-sized sack of amenities, and you can see the outline of a few markers, water pouches and his bayard. (Amongst many, many other things). "If you need something, let me know. Odds are I have it."

"You're organized."

"Not really. Coran packed me a bag that wouldn't let me dehydrate this time."

"This time?"

"Long story. I had to learn about the importance of staying hydrated the hard way." He grins, shaking his head at the floor. You chuckle, light as air, then sling your smaller pack over your shoulder.

"You're great." You sigh. "See you around, Lance."

A pause. He sort of just.. stands there for a second. His Altean marks start to glow a little bit, and his lips bend into the sheepish of smiles. Is.. is he okay? His head shakes suddenly, snapping himself out of whatever he was doing. He hoists an eyebrow, smirking at you knowingly. You roll your eyes, walking into the hangar, leaving him hanging around the corner. "Try as hard as you want, but I'm not gonna call you 'Prince Lance'."

You can hear him laugh around the corner, before walking off on his own and muttering something in return, along the lines of 'oh, it'll catch on.'

(It really won't.)

Turning your attention back to your mind-bonded partner in crime, you lay eyes on the red lion. You walk up to the fiery beauty, looking up into her eyes, the golden splits that peek out above her metal snout. She's activated, but she's still. "Hello?"

She remains silent. "You're seriously going to make me ask again?"

One of her iron claws raises, heavy and grinding, then thumps against the ground. It shakes the floor, nearly sending you tripping, and you drag out a groan. Of all the lions, yours had to be the most moody, which is a bad mix with your lack of patience. "Red, will you please let me in? I don't want to be late this time."

Her head tilts down at you, looks you over, then raises back up- her chin a little higher than before. The judgement from those unmoving, solid yellow eyes would be nonexistent to anyone else, but to you, it's overbearing.

"I don't have time for this! Did I piss you off?! Do you want me to say sorry!?"

She growls in return.

You can feel her presence communicating with you, implementing her opinion right into your head. 'You do not want to go, I do not want to fly. We stay, and it becomes a win-win situation.'

You grunt, snack bag lazily smacking against your mid-calf. "We gotta go, red. Besides, your thing is speed and stamina, not laziness. Open up."

'I have a bad feeling about your future. Your presence at your desired destination would make me uneasy.'

You pause. If the sentient lion ship is worried about you, maybe you should be a little concerned. Gritting your teeth a little bit, a bad habit of pure stress and no agitation, your thoughts swarm. Then, as if they all left you through it, you push out a breath between those grinding molars.