An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
@foxkunkun drew a lovely Red Riding Hood fanart, so I asked if I could write a fic about it and they agreed! I hope you guys enjoy it ;D
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Characters: Keith (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron), Colleen Holt
Additional Tags: Inspired by Art, Crossdressing, Red Riding Hood Elements, Keith is Red, Shiro is the Wolf, Fluff and Humor
Summary:
“What are you doing?” He asked. Keith looked at him like he was an idiot.
“Putting on your collar of course.” He said, as if it was obvious. The wolf stared at him.
“...What?”
“Your collar. You’re cute, and now you’re my new pet.” Keith told him, moving to put the collar around his neck again. The wolf gripped his wrists tightly.
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Hyaaa, here is my gift for @foxkunkun, who asked for fluffy asakono trying sweets and pastries. Hope you enjoy, and happy holidays! .w./
They had walked away from the end of the world. Their reward was watching winter turn to spring again. And again.
Life in Kira budded and bloomed alongside the rest of Sisa, if forever to the beat of its own, secretive drum. The difference wasn’t worth noticing to many cats whose closest contact with the village was the wide arc their path followed around the Valley on their travels southward, the Kirans still the reclusive, stiff, gruff folk they had always been despite the tentative opening of their village doors to outsiders. But to Konoe, who had set foot in Kira when it was still a dark and foreboding place, with an atmosphere as choking and oppressive as the miasma that rose from the foul-smelling rifts in the earth not far from its borders, it was a drastic change. A change for the better.
After their return—and after he was finished praising Asato in private for what he’d said, because he’d been waiting, wondering if it ever would be said—he was brought to a familiar home, just big enough for the two of them. The same home where he once felt more intruder than houseguest, he thought as he furrowed his brows at the dust that had gathered on every shelf, barrel, and pot. The same home where he’d sat in a corner and warily eyed the ignition branch Asato held, saying nothing, tail curled around his ankles. The same home, and yet only now truly home. For either of them.
The few new possessions they had to their name were a bed big enough for the two of them and a blanket to ward off the winter cold, now that the Kirans tolerated Asato’s presence enough to offer him the right not to freeze to death if the weather turned especially harsh. Much of it was familiar, and for everything that wasn’t, he had a cat at his side who would trip over his own feet to teach him the whats and wheres and hows, should he so much as look like he was considering opening his mouth to ask. When they were younger, they had talked about festivals and celebrations too, comparing notes about what used to be their daily lives and finding just as many similarities as they found differences. And though Asato described those in Kira as small and quiet, Konoe couldn’t stifle his curiosity once they’d arrived, with winter so soon approaching.
Their first winter festival in Kira was a modest happening not unlike what Konoe was used to in Karou. They wove together strings of herbs and flowers that spread their scent through their home and watched Kirans in masks and cloaks pantomime the defeat of winter’s demons. At the end of the night, they were invited to join the rest of the village for a shared meal of game meat and berry mash. Flanked by Kagari, Konoe and Asato sat at the periphery of the group, but the air around them was warm with chatter and a few cats even offered Asato a passing greeting as they walked by. At that moment Konoe, then still an outsider, couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a meal so satisfying.
The festivals in Kira never did become any grander than that, but there was comfort in the traditions they followed, now that he earned the privilege to be a part of them. Still, while these winters came with fond memories each time, nothing compared to the scale of his first Antou in Ransen. Homesickness wasn’t it, no—but he missed it. Once wasn’t enough to truly enjoy the festival under the best of circumstances, and back then, when he carried the literal weight of the world on his shoulders, a crushing sense of guilt accompanied any temporary enjoyment. He couldn’t leave it alone, this electric drive to move, see, taste, hear; to be overwhelmed again and to welcome it with open arms and pricked ears.
“It’s alright,” Asato had reassured him when he’d expressed doubts about whether returning to Ransen this year was really okay. “We… I—“
Asato looked away from him, the tip of his tail twitching. Staying quiet so as not to interrupt him, Konoe leaned forward and brushed his tail against his Touga’s arm, encouraging him to continue.
“There’s a lot of the world out there. Outside of Kira. And that was…my first time too, experiencing a festival like that.” Their first time. City cats must have scoffed at how astounded they were by it all—Rai certainly did, but Rai would scoff at anything.
“It was a lot to look at. A lot of noise. But it was okay so long as you were there, Konoe. I have good memories, too.” Konoe caught a trace of a smile and relief washed over him, exiting him in a soft sigh. Asato nodded, as if to himself. “I’d like to go back too.”
Konoe mouthed a thank you to him and thought back, ever so briefly, to the sight of little strings of colored flags fluttering like flower petals overhead, stirred by the incoming winter chill.
Entering Ransen after spending two days trudging through the Valley and then through the woods, being given ample time to grow accustomed to seeing nothing but the skeletons of trees and hearing little beside the crunch of dead leaves underfoot and the calls of birds overhead, was enough to knock the breath out of a country cat on any ordinary day. But on Antou—the first day, when they arrived—it was a contrast almost impossible to fathom. The sounds of the city reached them long before they could see its strange, angular skyline rise over the treetops, but once they stepped through the gates and into the hustle and bustle of the city and its festival, it enveloped them, forbidding them from thinking of anything else. Asato held Konoe’s hand a little tighter and Konoe nodded, standing where he was and watching as Asato’s ears twitched and swiveled to the whirlwind of noise.
He needed a minute. Really, they both did.
Only after the tense shadow had faded from Asato’s features did Konoe pull gently at his hand, taking two steps to urge Asato to take just one, and soon they were in the middle of Antou, just like the hundreds, thousands of cats who had come for the same reason they did. The mood had that eerie undertone he recalled from before, horned masks glaring from peddlers’ stalls and the songs of bands occasionally slipping into minor keys, but the enthusiasm of the crowd was infectious. Soon, he was smiling, and that was all Asato needed to start smiling too.
Later, in the hours of early dusk, they’d make their way to Bardo’s inn. It was a reliable address whenever they were in Ransen and needed to stay the night. Even if Bardo couldn’t squeeze them in a room like he usually did, owing to the enormous crowd now filling the city, Konoe hoped to find a place for himself and Asato at the dinner table. Perhaps, he thought with a glance towards his Touga at his side, they’d even be lucky enough to find Rai there too.
Chatting late into the night and catching up with everyone seemed like a small price to pay for having to play mediator between Rai and…just about everyone else. Weird as it was, he’d missed that too.
“Konoe.”
He stopped when Asato called his name—had to, since Asato had come to a halt whether Konoe himself was going to keep walking or not. Asato’s eyes were fixed on a stall, his ears attentive. Following his gaze, Konoe found his own interest drawn just as much to the foods he saw on offer there: steamed buns filled with meat or nuts, fruit and flowers in syrup, little tidbits of fried dough covered in glaze, everything calling all the more enticingly after their travel left them relying on the plain staples he’d packed in his knapsack. Food and Antou combined struck an alarm bell somewhere in him, however, and before he could remember that little situation he’d found Asato and his stolen grilled meat in during their very first time here, Asato had moved again.
“Ah, wait–!”
They each had their unfounded worries.
Just as Asato would fret and fret and fret some more, however understandably, over Konoe’s right arm, Konoe would at times underestimate just to what extent Asato had learned about the ways life worked outside of Kira. Just now, Asato hadn’t moved to swipe something from the stand and bail, but to pull a leather coin purse off his belt, procuring a handful of irregular copper pieces he’d earned for his work assisting the peddlers who visited Kira. Konoe held his breath for a moment, as if waiting for the worst to happen after all, then exhaled, somewhat embarrassed at his own reaction. Asato, however, didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. Quite the contrary; after the initial confusion, his expression softened reassuringly, and he quietly showed Konoe the coins for good measure, after he’d counted them out.
“Let me pay for half,” Konoe objected while Asato already handed him his share of the bounty: a rolled and flaky pastry filled with berries and practically dripping with syrup.
Asato shook his head. “It’s my turn this time, Konoe.”
“Then…” Konoe looked down at his pastry. Syrup had dripped down his fingers, almost to his wrist. “Then here.”
He held his share out to Asato, who eyed it without flinching. Only then did he see that Asato had bought himself something quite different, something that made him sputter without speaking—kadil was a favorite treat in Ransen, that was true, but he was very sure that Asato should’ve held on to the bowl he was served the fruit in rather than pour the entire sticky mess into his palms.
“Asa—“ Honestly, who was he to talk? They’d both need to find a place to tuck away and groom after this, and he couldn’t berate Asato when he himself looked equally ridiculous. “We’ll clean you up later, but first… You paid for this, so I want you to have the first bite.”
Asato’s gaze moved from the pastry to his own kadil. Konoe knew his cheeks were turning bright red.
“Please?”
“If you’re sure…”
Leaning forward, Asato set his teeth into the pastry and took a modest bite, chewing thoughtfully when he pulled back. The syrup was shiny on his lips. Konoe felt his face grow hotter still.
“It’s good,” Asato remarked, and that was about all Konoe could expect him to say about it. “But the rest is for you.”
Konoe was in no mood to argue, not when the syrup trailing down Asato’s forearm now threatened to reach his elbow and stain the sleeve of his shirt.
Despite that, neither of them could be pushed to any semblance of hurrying while they ate, nor did they try to find a quiet spot where they could enjoy their treats in peace, preferring to eat where they stood at the side of the stall, spurred on by the appetizing scents wafting from a fresh batch of fruit tarts. If he could, Konoe thought with a small smile, Asato might have bought the entire stall empty. He wondered, too, if Asato still felt remorse for the frustration he’d caused Konoe years ago. Time and time again he’d reassured him that everything was properly dealt with, and that he was satisfied to have resolved it by buying off the stolen food for them to share, but it was clear to him from the very start that it wasn’t about the food. It was about the principle of it—Asato didn’t know, had never known, and in not knowing he’d caused Konoe trouble. This, then, was more than paying back an owed debt, as it was never a debt at all. Konoe had his victories in scaling the branches of ever-taller trees, Asato had his in counting out the coins he’d earned and presenting Konoe with something purchased, just as any other cat would purchase it.
That was the whole point, wasn’t it? To hold old memories close, and to hold the new ones closer yet. It said nothing of the groan Konoe let out when he saw the purple stain of kadil syrup on Asato’s pants or the yelp he gave when Asato licked honey off his palm in the middle of a crowded street, but he never expected the strides they’d make to be perfect anyhow.
Snow was an omen, a horrifically evil one, frozen tears that fell from the lamenting moons just before they joined as one to blister like an angry wound high above their heads, pouring ruin down over the forests that had been blanketed so peacefully in white only days before. The cats could tolerate the cold, but snow—snow heralded the end. Of their lives, of their world, of anything and everything. Konoe had wept while that snow fell on him, heat bursting behind his eyes and in his throat and chest. He’d wept for what they’d lost and what they still stood to lose. Before, he’d doubted if there would be anything he’d weep for, but when a pair of strong arms wrapped around him and a soft voice whispered “Please don’t cry,” into his cold ear, he suddenly felt as if something would be torn from his grasp before he’d ever gotten the chance to treasure it the way it was worth being treasured. So he cried and cried and cried, and the forest was quiet, and their destruction crept ever closer, poised with its fangs gleaming, hours away from dragging them into an abyss of never-having-existed.
It would have been foolish not to fear snow then. The cats had common sense and superstitions in equal measure, and Konoe had seen firsthand what little difference there remained between those cautions.
But the moons had healed and their sorrows had been calmed. Seasons had passed by. The springs had brought birdsong back to the forest they had once abandoned. And winter—the bleak midwinter time, when he had tread to death’s doorstep and watched his own face stare back at him, had ceased to be a time for cats to peer uneasily up to the sky, searching for signs of snowfall. There was snowfall. There had been for two consecutive winters now. But when the forest accepted them and graced their stores again with its boundless riches, winter stopped being about food shortages or cold inhospitality. Years after the apocalypse stood down to something the cats had carried in their hearts all along, winter was a time to hole up indoors in front of a fire and wonder what it might be like if cats, too, hibernated.
For Asato and Konoe, this winter had been a season of travel. Outward from Kira’s borders and to the northwest, to the heart of their country—to Ransen and the reunions that awaited them there. They were quiet travel companions to one another, listening to the pristine bed of powder snow crunch underneath their feet with every step. Every so often they came across other tracks, bootprints left a day or so earlier by another traveler heading in the direction of the city or the distinctive trail of one of the many creatures with whom the cats shared the forest. But the footprints of monsters, large and tipped with the imprints of claws the size of their fore-arms, hadn’t crossed their paths since their return from the fortress years ago.
“It isn’t our enemy anymore,” Asato had said, seeming almost astounded when he could grip the branch of a bush and run his fingers along the leaves, then pull his hand away, still fully intact. Konoe remembered seeing the bright red on his tongue back they made their first escape together, when this same forest could have torn their bodies to pieces if they had taken a few more reckless steps. A few years’ difference saw them picking fruits and gathering herbs again without withdrawing their hands a few times in hesitation; they didn’t need to struggle to gauge what was safe to touch and what was infected, and if a thorn pricked their skin or tore a hole in their shirt, they could gripe over their own carelessness without fearing that the powers that were had declared war once again. Forest, water, sky, cats—no, it really wasn’t some terrible hell after all, was it?
Konoe was glad he could share an awakening world with Asato.
At night, they found reliable hiding places amid the roots of ancient trees, and they huddled for warmth in front of the glow of a small fire. Konoe was still not at ease around fire, if he had to be honest. There was a part of him, a part that was not him, that remembered what it was like to step into the blaze, to come to the terrible conclusion about the betrayal that had set the first twigs alight, and to watch a beautiful but foolish cat, his clothing singed and his skin red from the heat, plead when there was nothing left to be plead to.
So the crackle of the flames still had Konoe wary and nervous, but he’d found that if he sat together with Asato, tail twined around tail, shoulder to shoulder, nose to nose…then the hatred and revulsion at his core subverted to a long-denied pain, which he could begin to soothe by simply knowing that Leaks had been wrong. Asato stood between him and the flames, and thus Konoe could reach his hands out and let them be warmed.
But travel didn’t need to all be silent reflection on what was and what used to be. A cat could not spend the entire day lost in their own head, fighting to make sense of their own thoughts. To call it a playful streak was a bit much, but the snow became more alluring the longer they walked in it, and at times Konoe smiled innocently and dusted a few flecks of powder in Asato’s direction with his tail, if only to watch Asato carefully clean himself up again.
Three days of travel slowly lengthened into a week at the pace they were walking, pausing so often to rest and keep warm. By the end of that time they were testing the many possible uses of the snow until, one afternoon while they sat and ate together, and the moon of light still cast glittering rays onto the thick blanket of white, Asato stared at Konoe for a long few seconds—then pounced, rolling himself and Konoe into the snow.
Konoe’s sputtered protests and dismayed cries of Asato! soon turned to laughter in spite of the initial indignity. There was something joyful about it, unrestrained and full of wonder, and before long he was mussing handfuls of snow into Asato’s dark hair and kissing him when they rolled over together, a bit of warmth offered when his fingers were freezing even through his gloves. The snow clung to their clothing—traditional Kiran garb—and his empty right sleeve was caught underneath Asato’s body more than a few times, but he could forget what little he cared for propriety and appearances so long as it seemed like they may as well have been the only two living souls in the forest. Unwilling to let himself be defeated, he pulled away from Asato and make a scrabbling escape, kicking up loose powder as he went, and while Asato was still shaking himself off Konoe scooped up a handful or snow and packed it loosely together before sending it flying in his Touga’s direction.
The snow broke apart harmlessly over Asato’s black hair, but from that moment onward there was no mercy from either of them. Asato had not done this before, but he caught on quickly. Konoe did not keep track of how low the moon of light sank, had no idea how long they spent doing this, he just knew that they made little headway in their travels that afternoon. Snowballs hurtled back and forth between them, intercepted by the trees behind which they began to hide, and when they were close enough to one another they shifted their hips and found their center of gravity, Sanga taking down Touga or vice versa until they decided they were too tired for more—and were ready to keep each other warm in a way more familiar to them both.
When they finally arrived in Ransen and Bardo pushed the lodging papers towards them over the reception desk, Asato nearly sneezed all over them.
Bardo teased about it, that a man as hardy as Asato should succumb to a common case of the sniffles, but he’d never shied away from warming up by a fire like Konoe had for so much of his life. “What’s this?” Bardo had said, eyes practically twinkling with amusement as Konoe walked in, dragging behind him a black cat bundled up in both their coats, his nose red and stuffy, “Bringing an invalid into my inn, are you?”
Bardo couldn’t turn them away, of course. He never did. They could always count on a room at Bardo’s inn, even after so many years had passed by. No, Konoe’s greater worry was that Rai might be present as well, and that a confrontation between a sneezing and coughing Asato and the always-haughty Rai would leave him with not one, but two sick children to tend to—that was how Bardo had said it, and though Konoe glowered a little at him over his choice of wording, he was inclined to agree.
“Here’s your key. Get him up to bed,” Bardo said. “I’ll bring him some soup. First bowl’s on the house.”
And, with a knowing wink, Bardo was off, headed for the kitchen. Konoe would have thanked him for even that small show of hospitality, but two days and eight empty bowls later, Bardo still did not ask him for a single coin.
“That’s what we get for being so careless out in the cold,” Konoe said, seated on the edge of Asato’s bed and smoothing his hand down his Touga’s hair, then underneath, over his warm cheek. Asato gave him a woozy look and freed one hand from beneath the layers of blankets Bardo had insisted on covering him with, placing it over Konoe’s own. One hand, only one, but gentle and careful enough for two, because the Konoe he’d resolved to give his life for was still the Konoe sitting beside him now. Konoe continued. “Now we know better, don’t we? We know better than to do that again…”
Asato turned his head away and sneezed against his shoulder, shutting his eyes and closing his fingers over Konoe’s, laughing softly, hoarsely, and answering in a murmur.
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