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sorrow doesn't know my name

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You’d been here for weeks. Months. Filthy and bruised and worth nothing to the Prince of the Galra Empire. You took a shaky breath in and stared at the roof of the cell you were kept in. You hadn’t seen anyone in months, other than the Prince and the guards who snuck in to fuck you when he wasn’t there.

Lance. You missed Lance. You wanted Lance. You wanted the team. You curled your knees against your chest and dug your nails into your palms. A stuttering sob tore out of you for the third time today. Lotor had been feeding you lines about how Voltron didn’t care, and how they would’ve come by now if they did. You tried to rationalize. You hadn’t been seen anywhere. No one knew where you were.

No one knew where you were.

You wailed at that, an agonizing sound cut off by the slam of the door open. It was a guard. 

“Shut the fuck up, you whore,” he snapped, looming in the doorway. “If I hear one more sound out of you, I’ll show you what it means to cry.” Your mouth shut, tears sliding down your face, and you looked away, your arms wrapping around your knees. Please leave me alone please leave me alone please leave—

The door shut and you exhaled in relief, only to be flung open again. This time, the Prince himself stood in the doorway, smirking smugly at you. He kicked the door shut behind him. You flinched as it slammed shut, shrinking away from him.

“Oh, darling, don’t be like that,” he drawls, a smile tugging at his lips. You almost gag at the sight of his face. “This is routine. You should be used to this by now.” His hands touch your knees, nudging them apart, but you resist, shaking your head vigorously.

“No, no, please, please, leave me alone, I don’t want to,” you say desperately, shoving at his hands. He backhands you and you cry out, jerking back, immediately angry at yourself that you gave him a reaction. “Please don’t,” you whisper. He doesn’t listen.

You feel like you’re floating. You can’t feel anything. It doesn’t feel good, it feels bad bad bad and you want him out of you. But you can’t say anything. You can’t do anything. So you stare blankly at the ceiling as he groans above you, trying to tune him out. You think about Lance and holding his hand and sitting on his lap, and you think about his smile and you wonder if he misses you.

You can feel Lotor’s cum dripping out of you and it nearly brings you to tears. You’re not alarmed—Lotor cannot have children with a human bitch. He was infertile. But the feeling was disgusting and wrong and you just wanted to scrub yourself raw, until every trace him was gone from you, but you knew he’d never really be gone.   

A maid comes in to clean you up, but she doesn’t change your clothes or brush your hair. However, she does lead you out of your cell, and you struggle to keep your astonishment in check. Your hips and vagina are sore, aching, and you wince with every step, daggers of pain shooting up your legs and spine. You take deep breaths as the maid ushers you into the command center of the ship. You see Lotor, sitting in a large chair, speaking to someone over video. You can’t get a good look from where you are but your chest swells with hope it’s Voltron. You bite your lip as you try to figure out how you can get closer, before Lotor stands and beckons you. The screen is bright as you approach him meekly, walking slowly as to not limp. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction.

It was Lance. Lance was on the screen. Lance and Keith and Pidge and Allura and Hunk and Shiro and Coran and you had to shut your eyes tight to stop yourself from crying right there. You hear gasps, and you know you didn’t look great. You haven’t seen yourself in months but you knew you had gotten dangerously skinny and gaunt. You pushed down a wave of insecurity as you looked up again, locking eyes with Lance. He looks horrified. A sob wrenches out of your throat as your body moves without your bidding, stumbling forward as Lotor grabs your arm like a vice.

“Lance,” You say, tears gushing down your face. He was talking, frantically, but you couldn’t hear him, could only see him and everything is white noise. He’s alive, and he’s okay, and—

Lotor grips your arm tighter, if that’s possible, startling you into reality and pulling a pained yelp from you. You’re forced into the chair he was previously sitting in, and started to undress you, right then and there. Your face burned with humiliation, as you crossed your arms over your chest and crossed your knees. You were in front of so many people, you felt so violated and disgusting and, please God, not in front of Lance, not in front of Lance, please, not in—

As usual, your prayers weren’t answered.

Lotor instructed the guards to tie your hands together and feet apart, till you were on full display for everyone. There was ignored shouting over the comms, but you could only see Lance. He looked so angry. Vaguely, you hoped it wasn’t directed towards you. You can feel Lotor playing with your body, thumbing your breasts and running his hands down your sides. You’ve never been the most confident of your body but this just brings it to rock bottom. Lance is screaming, garbling words of “Stop it!” and “Pidge, where the fuck are they?”

Lotor slides his cock in, in front of everyone, and you cry. For the first time in months, you sob as he fucks you, too hard, too fast, too much, and not in a good way. You’re still sore, aching, and Lotor doesn’t care. Lance is yelling curses and pleas, and “No!” over the comms and you make watery eye contact with him, mouthing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again. You see the hopelessness in his eyes as he pulls at his hair. He watches with wide eyes in stunned anger, only moving to throw up off to the side. The paladins are not watching the screen out of respect but you can vaguely understand that Pidge is tracking the connection.

You feel so humiliated.

You try to pretend it’s him, pretend like you woke up too early in the morning and started to cuddle, and it lead to something more. Or you pretend that he came back from a long solo mission and you just needed him. You watch him the whole time, watch him yell at the screen and Pidge and himself and you watch him hit the control panel in anger. “I love you,” you mouth to him, trying to smile as best as you can. He bursts into tears and says, “I’m gonna come get you, baby, I swear,” and you believe him, thinking of those words as you drift off into black, the pain overwhelming you.




You blink awake to the dark cell illuminated with light from outside. As you squint to adjust—God, you feel disgusting—it’s not Lotor. In fact, it’s not a Galra.

“Lance!” They yell. “I found her! She’s not in good—”  

You straighten, immediately regretting it. Your head swims as you try to steady yourself against the wall. A figure kneels in front of you and you flinch away, shielding yourself. “No, please,” tumbles out of your mouth against your better judgement, but they are speaking quietly, comfortingly, and it calms you enough for you to hear them through the panic.

“…You’re okay. Hey, it’s me. Can I touch you? I want to take you back to Red,” they murmur softly, repeating the sentence until you’re nodding, gasping with relief.

“Lance? Lance!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. The paladin armor is hard against your face but his hands are warm on your waist. “I can’t believe you found me, I—”

He gently pets your head, murmuring comforting words, before slipping his arms under your knees and back. He picks you up, bridal style, and you hiss in pain involuntarily. He freezes, looking down at you. You get a proper look at him this way, and a dopey smile spreads across your face. He’s just as handsome, just as beautiful as you remembered him. You can’t believe he looked for you. “I’m okay,” you murmur. No need to make this harder than it already was. He frowned but took small deliberate steps, careful not to jostle you. The hallways were eerily quiet as you both trudged through it, surprisingly empty. It was an easy trip to Red. Lance seats you in the pilot chair, and Red seems to know where to go because Lance isn’t piloting him.

You both sit in silence for a long couple minutes before you both open your mouth at the same time:

“I’m sorry.”

Lance surges forward, eyes wide. “No! You can’t be sorry. God, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find you sooner. I can’t imagine what you went through and I—” He chokes off, staring at the floor. “I can’t believe he hurt you like that and I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, Lance,” you say to him. Your heart clenches as you say, “It’s not your fault. I understand if—if this changes how you feel about me. I’m broken and I’m dirty and I—I get it. I promise I won’t be hurt.”

Lance looks horrified. “(Y/N), no! How could you say that?” He smiles softly, sadly. “I love you too, for you. You went through some bad shit. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you to suffer through it alone?”

You felt tears well up in your eyes, and grabbed his hand and pressed your cheek against his palm. “Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely. You both stay like that for a while, Lance’s hand cradling your face. “I couldn’t bear the thought of him hurting you or the team,” you admit softly after a while. “I thought if I let him hurt me, he wouldn’t hurt you.” Lance searches your face before his lower lip starts to quiver. “Don’t cry,” you say mirthfully. “It’s okay, we’re okay now.”

“I should be saying that,” Lance says sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m so awful. (Y/N), please. I—”

“Lance,” you say softly. “You came for me and that’s all that matters. You’re here with me now, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

He takes a deep breath as he moves his hand from your face to gently lace it with yours. “You have to help me. I don’t know how to—I want to take care of you.”

You take a deep breath as you lean back in the chair, squeezing his hand. “We’ll help each other. I swear.”

Lance smiles and it’s more radiant than a thousand suns.