Voltron One Shots

PIDGE X READER

~Smut Level: 2~
[THEY'RE NOT ME]

You stepped out of your car and walked up the porch steps of the Holt household before ringing the doorbell. You could hear the sound of footsteps running towards the door.

"Get out of the way, Matt!" You could hear Pidge's muffled voice on the other side of the door.

"Why? Is it your girlfriend?"

The door flew open and the Holt siblings both stared at you from the doorway.

"Hi. And yes, I'm the girlfriend."

Pidge laughed and lunged towards you, wrapping her arms around your waist.

Her brother stood silent, his mouth hanging open. "A-actually!?"

Pidge let go of you and stood by your side, smiling at her brother. "Yeah. I asked her to come and meet mom and dad."

Matt didn't say anything else, leaving the doorway and disappearing deeper into the house.

"That went well. I can't wait to meet your parents." You grumbled.

Pidge bumped your shoulder and lead you inside, taking you down a hallway to a cozy living room with soft, brown furnishing.

"Katie! This must be the girl you told us about?" An older man with glasses and a sharply trimmed beard said.

"Yeah. Dad, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my dad."

Mister Holt held out his hand to shake and you took it.

"Dinners ready!"

Everyone moved to the dining room and you sat on one side of the table with Pidge, her brother sitting across from you, and her father and mother sat at the heads of the table.

[AN: (F/F) means "favourite food"]

The smell of (F/F) filled the room and you grinned when Pidge's mom brought out everything she had made.

"It looks and smells amazing." You praised.

Mrs Holt thanked you with a smile before taking her seat on the other side of Pidge.

"Shall we pray?"

You screwed up your nose slightly and you noticed that three out of the four Holt's did the same.

(Soorrryy christian people. I'm more philosophical than religious)

"Do we have to?" Matt groaned. "If we look at it scientifically, evolution is far more likely than the existence of some great, all mighty entity, even if we can't be sure."

"Agreed." Pidge nodded.

Mister Holt hung his head and reached out to hold his son's hand. "Now you two, listen to your mother."

It was easy to see that he agreed with his kids, but he was following the "happy wife, happy life" rule.

The five of you prayed then dug into the food.

"So tell me, (Y/N). What do your parents do?"

Both you and Pidge froze mid-bite. This was the one question that the two of you wanted to avoid if possible.

"Well, my mom is a dancer and my dad. . . travels."

Mrs Holt's eyes brightened. "A dancer? That's amazing and so unusual nowadays. What kind of dancing does she do?"

Mister Holt piped in. "And what does your father do on his travels? If you don't mind me asking."

You were at a loss for words. Your parents were good people, but their career choices were a little. . .

"(Y/N), just tell them." Pidge mumbled, looking at her plate.

You sighed. This wasn't going to end well.

"My mother is an exotic dancer. She dances on a pole five nights a week and makes more money than most people do with degrees. My father travels with a spiritual group. They sell weed, get high, talk about dumb things and travel across the country in a busted up old van. That is what my parents do."

The dinner table went silent. The table that had two scientists, a genius teenage boy and a genius preteen girl seated at it was silent and at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry, but once this dinner is finished I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Mister Holt said.

You only nodded your head. That was understandable and you saw it coming.

"No."

Everyone looked at Pidge.

[AN: (D/C) mean "degree choice"]

"(Y/N) hasn't done anything wrong. Yes, her dad sells and smokes weed, but she makes sure her house never smells like it and has never smoked it herself. Yes, her mom's a stripper, but (Y/N) plans to go into post secondary and get a degree in (D/C) and exotic dancing is a legitimate form of work. Just because (Y/N)'s parents are different than you guys, doesn't mean the're bad people, and what they do has nothing to do with (Y/N)."

Once again the table was wrapped in an awkwardly tense silence. You were happy Pidge stood up for you, and held her hand under the table to silently show her how much you appreciate it.

"You're right." Mrs Holt said, her head hung. "We're sorry, (Y/N). You're welcome here anytime."

You smiled. "Thank you."

______________________

My boob is hellllllaaaaaaa itchy. You're welocme.

And right after I wrote that I itched it. Also you're welcome.

So how'd you like your little slice of PIdge? And I also didn't edit this before I posted it because I'm lazy

Word Count: 800