#(with some added ''and jostling the chest is also painful but slightly differently'')

[racke7]

So, last week I went back to work. For two days. Then I called in sick again, because the pain in my chest was getting worse. (My job includes exercise, such as wearing a really heavy backpack and running up and down stairs.)

Basically, the cough and chest-pain had pretty much stopped being a thing beyond feeling “a bit bruised” so whatever, right? Then I picked up the heavy backpack on Monday-morning and it felt like something in my chest shifted.

So I went from “every day is better than the last one” to “it’s worse than Sunday, and it’s definitely not getting better”. Which was enough to make me call in sick on Wednesday. Except it still isn’t really “getting better”.

It’s not bad. Most of the time I don’t even notice it. And then I take a very deep breath, or I laugh or I do something else that isn’t “sitting still”, and suddenly ouch yeah that still kind of fucking hurts.

And it’s... so frustrating? Like, if my job was to sit in front of a desk all day, I wouldn’t even bother with calling in sick? But because the whole point of my job includes physical exercise, that’s just not feasible for me?

[deanstead]

Only You

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request by anon: Since you're writing for Dean again can I please request a flangst one shot of dean x reader where she gets badly injured during a hunt and after she wakes up dean gets a panic attack because he was so scared of losing her and she's the only one who can calm him down.

Warnings: anxiety, panic attack, mention of injury/blood

A/N: Here it is! I really hope that it turned out okay and that you like it! I always do love writing for Dean! That said, I’m officially rewatching Supernatural again so please send in your Dean requests!!! Ask box is always open, so ask away! Thanks for reading!

*gif not mine*

---

You groaned from where you lay on the floor.

You tried to move but you couldn’t, your eyes finally landing on the red patch blossoming across your abdomen. You twitched your arm as a sharp pain shot through it and your head gave a painful throb.

“Y/N!”

Dean’s face swam in front of you. “D…”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay. I got you.” You could feel Dean’s fingers on the back of your head, followed by his sharp intake of breath.

“Y/N, stay with me. Sweetheart? Look at me.” Dean’s whispers that you so desperately wanted to respond to but couldn’t.

“De…” You muttered again, as your eyes rolled backwards to the sounds of Dean desperately calling your name.

---

Dean paced frantically outside your room, his hands wringing together. His breath was coming in short spurts and he kept looking up every time a door opened.

“Dean.” Sam reached out to touch his shoulder. “She’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” Dean snapped without looking at his brother.

“Dean.” Sam tried again as the door to your room opened and a doctor stepped out. Dean’s head snapped up, closing the gap between himself and the doctor in an instant.

“How is she?” Dean demanded.

“She had some internal bleeding.” The doctor explained, keeping a grim expression on his face, as Dean felt his heart drop into his gut. “We managed to control most of it with the surgery and managed to fix the fracture surgically as well.”

“What are you saying?” Sam asked, glancing a little at Dean who was visibly stressed, the medical terms bouncing around them.

“Her physical injuries are under control, but she had a bad concussion. We’ll have to wait and see when she wakes up.” The doctor finished, looking between Dean and Sam. “For now, it’s a step in a good direction. We’ll monitor her condition closely and hopefully she’ll wake up soon.”

Dean frowned. “When will she wake up?”

The doctor looked back at Dean. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

“What do you mean you have to…” Dean raised his voice while Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean.”

Dean stopped midsentence as he felt Sam’s hand.

“Can we go in to see her?” Sam asked. The doctor nodded and motioned towards the room you were in.

Dean was already halfway there, pushing open the door to look at you – you were lying in bed, hooked up to at least 2 different machines that were beeping, your upper torso was covered with bandages across your arm and abdomen, as was your head.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he moved towards you. You looked fragile, as if you would fall to pieces with just a touch.

Gently, he took your uninjured hand in his as he sat next to your bed. “Y/N.” He whispered, your name slipping through his lips.

“You come back to me, you hear me? Please, just come back to me.” Dean whispered, taking your hand and pressing his lips to it.

It took a week before the incessant beeping of the machine finally broke through your consciousness. Dean had barely left your side for a week, only leaving for short periods when Sam forced him to go and get cleaned up, and even then Sam had to swear that he wouldn’t leave your side before Dean would go.

You slowly peeled your eyelids apart, the room slowly focusing, the beeping starting to irritate you.

“Y/N?” Dean’s worried face hovered above yours, his voice drowning out the beeping sounds that were drilling into your head.

“De…an?” Your throat felt parched, it sounded foreign to your ears.

“Hey baby. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Dean soothed, as your eyes darted around, confused. “You’re in the hospital, it’s okay.”

You could feel everything coming back to you, the throb in your head was as real as the feeling of your hand in Dean’s, the warmth you felt spreading through your entire body which you also knew was what had kept you going - a warmth only Dean’s touch could make you feel.

The doctor came by to examine you shortly after and you heard Dean exhale as the doctor brought you through a cognitive exam. “Everything looks good, there’s been no sign of any additional trauma. We’ll monitor her for a few more days and hopefully we can discharge her after that.”

“Welcome back, sport.” Sam smiled, hugging you gently.

Dean let out another audible breath, not saying anything but pressing himself closer to you, planting a kiss on your forehead.

---

After a week, you were finally let out from the hospital. You had been itching to get out for the past four days but for once, Dean was on the doctors’ side.

You were finally back at the bunker. Your arm was still in a sling but at least you were home, in the bunker, with Dean.

Dean was halfway to the kitchen to get you a glass of water when everything from the past two weeks hit him in a sudden intense wave. It felt as painful as if he had been dealt a blow in the gut and he sank to the floor. It felt like his lungs were being squeezed, like he couldn’t breathe.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam rushed towards Dean who was now seated on the floor, his chest heaving although it didn’t feel like any oxygen was entering his system.

Dean’s heart felt like it was pounding in his head instead of his chest and he could feel the fear creeping onto him, the images of your still form bleeding on the floor, of you lying in the hospital bed, all flashing in his head at once.

Sam’s frantic voice travelled through the bunker and you opened the door to Dean’s room where you had been.

“Sam? What’s going…” Your voice trailed off as you noticed Dean slumped on the floor, almost as if he was gasping for air, as he clutched at Sam’s arm.

“Dean?” Your voice rose as you ran to him, clenching your teeth as your arm was jostled in its sling. You bent in front of him. “Dean, baby.”

You put your free hand on his face. “Dean!” You raised your voice more until his green eyes found yours.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.” You said, now that you had his attention.

Dean’s eyes focused on you and he took a shuddering breath as your face hovered in front of him and he finally felt oxygen fill his lungs. “Y/N.” He whispered.

“I’m right here, look at me. I’m right here.” You reassured him, realising what this was. A panic attack.

Dean hadn’t shown it at all, he had been a rock especially since you had woken up – reassuring you that everything was going to be fine, barely leaving your side but now you realised that he had been really scared.

As Dean’s breathing evened out, you took his hand, putting it onto your cheek. “I’m right here. I’m in front of you. I’m right here with you. It’s okay. Breathe.”

You glanced at Sam who nodded as you saw Dean slowly relax. “You okay?”

Dean took a deep breath but instead of answering you, he pulled you gently into him. You shifted slightly so that your arm was comfortable, allowing yourself to be drawn into him. Dean panted a little slightly but you lay there in his arms until you heard his heartbeat slow.

“Come on, let’s get you up.” You whispered.

He nodded and slowly climbed back up. You gave Sam a small nod and he patted your uninjured shoulder gently. “Call if you need me.” He whispered before you retreated back to Dean’s room, Dean’s hand securely clenched in yours.

“Feeling better?” You asked, after the door closed behind you.

Dean looked at you and gave a small smile. “As long as I have you.” He answered.

You motioned for him to sit and bent down towards him. “Hey, Dean. I’m sorry.” His green eyes jumped back up to lock onto yours. “I didn’t realise how stressed you must have been.” You whispered.

Dean just tugged you into him again, as you sat on him, looping your uninjured arm around his neck.

“I was afraid I was going to lose you. I am afraid.” Dean whispered into your hair.

You tightened your arms around him. “That’s okay, Dean. I’m okay.” You whispered as you felt Dean’s arms tighten around you as well, burrowing his face into your neck.

---

DEAN WINCHESTER TAGLIST

@akshi8278​ | @mrspeacem1nusone​

If you would like to be added to a taglist, you may request here or send me an ask!

[starlight-starwrites]

not me taking days to come up with a request 😌💅 lmao may I get some hurt/comfort with Ezra 🥺 maybe he or Reader is injured and the other has to patch them up (and maybe they feel at fault for the other's injury 🥺) thank you, my love 😍 you're the best! 😘💜

Angel

ezra x reader

wc: 2.9k (oops this was supposed to be like 1k...) warnings: some non descriptive violence, swearing, injuries, hurt/comfort, vague and inaccurate medical care, and soft feelings (it ends in fluff i swear it) note: not me taking weeks to answer it 😌 so sorry i took so long to get this out for you!!! but i hope it lives up to the wait? i also couldn’t decide who should be injured and who would feel at fault so i said ~both~ :)

“Shit, shit.”

You pull Ezra’s arm tighter over your shoulders, but his added weight aggravates your leg. Your limp slows you down, but you aren’t leaving him behind. Not after what he did for you.

“Ezra, c’mon.” You jostle him slightly as you try to stumble further back to the pod, moving as fast as you can. You don’t know if he’s fully conscious. “Please you gotta help me out. I can’t do this on my own.”

He mumbles something into your shoulder, and you don’t quite catch it. But he’s not unconscious. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out. You can see the pod in front of you, it’s so close now. But Ezra still sways into your side, barely able to do more than drag his feet after you. A jolt of pain shoots though your leg, and you collapse onto one knee. “Ezra!” Tears prick at your eyes.

You’re so close. So fucking close.

You can hear shouts behind you, and the fear rises. You had shot one of them, though not fatally, after Ezra had killed two of theirs. You didn’t know how many were left. Not too many, but certainly too many to take on by yourself while injured.

You try to push yourself up with your one good leg, tucking yourself under Ezra’s arm to get him up, but it’s too much. You sob into the cold air, trying to catch your breath. Castomore had a breathable atmosphere so you didn’t need helmets, but the air was thin, and combined with your recent skirmish, you were already feeling lightheaded.

“Ez, please,” you whisper. His head lolls to the side, mouth moving but eyes closed.

You can’t do it. You sink to your knees in the powdered snow, tears already freezing on your face. You lower Ezra slowly to the ground next to you and try not to cry again at the sight of the red stains on his suit. You don’t have a choice anymore. You could hole yourselves up in the pod for a while, maybe try to fix Ezra and yourself up best you can. But it would only delay the inevitable.

You’d be trapped inside, and the miscreants following you would get you eventually, possibly even damage the pod before you could do anything. You couldn’t afford to be trapped here.

Ezra still breathes, talking quietly, though nothing more than nonsense. You drag him behind a fallen tree, hiding him as best you can for now. You sling the thrower off your back, prepping it quickly.

You only have one option now.

Ezra’s face is soaked in sweat despite the cold, and you steel yourself. You wouldn’t let it end like this. You wouldn’t let him die for something that was your fault. His cheek is scratchy under your palm, and you gently brush your thumb along his face. You resolve to tell him. You’d tell him exactly how you felt if you survived this.

Another shout comes, this time closer. You breathe out and look away from the man that lays on the ground, taking up your thrower and balancing it on the stump you hide behind. You turn your head, squint through the scope, waiting for it to come into focus.

Three men. One limping, just like you.

You take another deep breath. Take Aim. Fire.

--

Ezra jolts up with a gasp, nearly knocking into you, and you have to push him back down just to make sure he doesn’t make his wound any worse.

The stim in your hand is quickly tossed away, both hands gently holding him and pressing on his chest.

“Hey,” you say it softly while his eyes dart quickly around your cabin, “just breathe, we’re safe now.”

He glances around, checking your surroundings as if he were still in danger. His heart beats rapidly underneath your palm now, so much faster than the dull thump when he lay unconscious. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I had to stim you,” you reach up to smooth down his hair, and his panicked eyes meet yours. “Ezra, we’re alright, I just need you to breathe okay? You’re shot full of adrenaline, it’s going to take a moment, just stay with me baby?”

He lets his head fall back on the bunk beneath him, trying to breathe just like you said.

“What?” His voice is nothing more than a rasp, and you carefully check the bandage you pressed to his skin. The bleeding has slowed considerably.

“A stim,” you say it slowly, thinking he didn’t understand you. “I had to bring you back, but now I need you to try and breathe.”

His eyes slipped closed when he smiles, huffing a laugh that quickly turns into a wince.

“Ezra.”

You diligently work on fully patching him up now, wiping up some of the residue from the medpatch you put on him, and securing it nicely with the bandage tape.

“What appears to be my diagnosis, Doctor? Am I to continue on this wretched rock, or will I be sent to float among the stars?”

Even injured as he is, he still finds a way to be melodramatic. Or maybe he’s just cracking a joke at your expense.

You roll your eyes. “You’ll live. Now be quiet while I clean you up.”

Tossing away some of the wipes you used earlier, you tidy up the bunk to turn back to your patient. He smiles, eyes still closed, and you take the moment to admire his features.

He looks like shit.

His skin is pale and lips blue from the cold. His hair is slicked back with sweat and dark circles lie under his eyes. Added with his cut open suit and the patches on his chest and abdomen, he looks lucky to be alive.

You focus on cleaning up the dried blood, inspecting him for any other injuries as you sit on the bunk beside him. His smile slowly fades.

“Does it hurt at all when you breathe?”

He shakes his head, eyes opening. He reaches a hand up over yours and holds it to his chest as he looks to you.

“What happened?” his voice sounds weak. He looks so tired. You’re willing to bet you both do. You needed a week’s worth of rotations just to recover from this expedition. Neither of you were on top of your game—hadn’t been for some time now.

The both of you lost more money and supplies than you made so far, and every chance you got to make up the difference somehow ended in disaster. You sadly stared at his bandages.

“They’re dead,” you whisper. “I got you back here while you were unconscious.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “My angel.”

You look up, see the slight curve to his lips. He’s trying to comfort you.

It’s your turn to close your eyes, hold back the tears you’ve been trying get rid of since the moment you stopped outside, fully believing that was your last stand.

“I’m so sorry, Ez.” Your voice cracks, and that’s when it starts. A silent tear tracks down your cheek, and you shake your head when you feel him squeeze your hand tight. “I’m so sorry, I thought it would be fine, I should have listened to you, I should never have made you come—”

“Hey.” He squeezes tighter and all you think is that you’re relieved he has some strength left. “This ain’t your fault. We went together.” His hand lets go of yours, and he moves to place it on your thigh. “Here I lay, nothing more than a sad—”

“Ow!” you yelp as soon as his hand closes around your leg.

He immediately snatches it away at your cry, startled. He starts to sit up, looking over you truly for the first time. His eyes widen when they see the track of blood that runs down your leg, the torn hole in your trousers.

“You’re hurt.”

He’s shocked by it. You had forgone checking over yourself and instead focused only on the man before you now. The pain had dulled to a constant throb, uncomfortable, but with more pressing matters at hand, able to ignore. His reminder suddenly brings it back.

You shift where you sit, taking your leg away from his reach, and he starts to sit up.

“No, you need to lie down,” you say through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t be moving, just rest.”

“You are hurt. Let me—” He looks at you more intently now, scanning your body. You’re not sure what he sees. His face morphs into an expression of concern, then anger. “Look at me.”

You don’t move. He’s forced to reach up, and you can tell it strains him. His fingers take your chin, turning your head to the side so he can look at the part of your face you hid from him. He looks murderous.

“They shot you.”

“It was just a graze.”

“They shot you twice.”

You lower your head. Feeling the dull ache in your leg, your cheek. Your arm.

“Three times,” you whisper.

Your jacket is pulled off, revealing the hole in your bicep. It went straight through, seemed to have missed your artery, going through the meat of your upper arm. You were lucky. Incredibly lucky.

Ezra stares at it, breathing raggedly still. He says nothing for once, situating himself so he can sit on the edge just as you do. He should be resting, but you refuse to say anything more. You make sure he is as comfortable as can be, help him bring the field kit closer so he doesn’t have to reach.

He takes care of you silently, efficiently patching up your leg first. His brow is furrowed, eyes focused as he does it. You hate how it makes you feel. You had almost gotten him killed, and now here he was, forced to patch you up too.

The arm is quicker than your leg, and his hands are rough and shaking as he wraps the white cloth around it. He tries not to aggravate it, you know that, but it still hurts when he pulls it tight. You had used most of the pain killers when you worked on him. You would just have to bear it.

His hands still before coming to gently hold your face again, turning it towards him. Your eyes find the white square on his chest, and you think of the hole underneath. You’d almost lost him because of a reckless decision, because you had been foolish and greedy and too tired to care. It was your fault, and you deserved the three wounds you sustained. But he didn’t.

You feel Ezra swipe his thumb over your uninjured cheek, taking a tear with it. “Sweet angel,” he whispers, “don’t you cry for me.”

Your chest shudders when you breathe, and as he carefully wipes the blood from your cheek, you fight to not collapse into him. “I almost got you killed. I could have lost you. And I—” You stop yourself quickly, feeling a pull in your chest again.

You wonder if he remembers how you screamed when he went down, how you yelled and begged for him to stay with you, how you whispered your confession into the frozen air when you feared you wouldn’t make it.

“You’ve done nothing of the sort.” His touch his gentle as he cleans you up, tilts your head so he has better access to the gash that runs from the bridge of your cheekbone to the tip of your ear. He looks so tired and worn, and you want to comfort him. All you can do is bring your hand to his leg, relieved by his proximity and that he’s still here to speak with you. His gaze is fixed on your cheek, thumb still stroking your other, obviously distracted from treating your graze. “It was my fault, birdie. I…”

He trails off, a pained look in his eye as he turns from your cheek to your bandaged leg. You sag where you sit, leaning closer but still hesitate to put any weight on him. “No, Ez, it’s not.”

“I vowed once I would protect you,” he steels himself as he says it, snapping back into action and raising the disinfectant to your cheek. The sting makes you hiss, stopping you from interrupting him. “I may not be much, but if I was ever a man of my word, I was to you.”

He patches you up quietly, and you watch his eyes as they follow the graze along your cheek. You never had the chance to look at yourself, but from what you surmised by the blood flow, it wasn’t too deep. He pointedly fails to meet your gaze, scanning you for anything else while he smooths the bandage at your face, his other hand braced on the bunk by your hip to keep him upright.

He was right. Ezra was many things, but he had never lied to you. And remembering the promise you made to yourself not minutes before, you wouldn’t make a liar of yourself either.

“I love you, Ezra.”

His one hand fumbles with the tape and it falls into your lap.

“I’m afraid these drugs might be a little stronger than I first believed, angel.” His lips quirk up nervously, and his eyes dart between yours. “What did you just say?”

“I love you.”

It feels like such a small thing to say. As though the words don’t really convey exactly what you want them to mean. It’s a true statement, and you’re not afraid to say it finally. No matter how it’s received, it’s true, and you think he at least ought to know it.

It doesn’t stop you from fiddling with seam of your pants however, and you drop your gaze from his when he’s still quiet.

His hand comes back to gently cup your jaw, just under the now-bandaged gash.

“I’m…still not sure I…”

You lean forward at the same time he does, your hand finding the curve of his face. His lips fit nicely to yours, like they were meant to be there. His forehead rests against yours, nose brushing your uninjured cheek, and each of you become the other’s support. Neither of you move for a moment, content to feel the press of each other’s lips, have the knowledge that someone cared for you, and, of course, much too exhausted to do anything else.

He breathes out, lips adjusting over yours before his thumb brushes your cheek. You tense as the touch skirts over the edge of your bandage. Ezra pulls back, and you already mourn the loss of his warmth. You drop your hand from his face to his shoulder, and he grunts at the pressure, the two of you barely able to hold each other upright.

“I must apologize,” he speaks slowly but a soft smile plays on his lips. “As much as I should like to, I cannot in good conscience—” he breathes deep again, a hand over his chest, “nor in good health do anything more.”

You let out an easy laugh, finding it hard to keep your eyes open now that you had to chance to close them.

“Please, angel,” he starts again while letting himself lie back against the bunk, hand taking hold of yours on the way. “Please tell me we’ve at least earned a moment of respite.”

“Yeah, Ez,” you set the kit on the floor, not wanting to deal with anything else now. The man you love is calling you to bed. “We can have a moment.” Or ten, you think.

You shuffle silently in next to him, fitting so the two of you can lay shoulder to shoulder. You turn your head to watch his eyes slip closed, just as he reaches to clasp your hand in his and entwines your fingers over his stomach.

You let him, finding the bunk somehow much more comfortable than it ever was before. Your eyes roam over his face, noting the way his lashes kiss his cheek, the slope of his nose that dips to the curve of his mouth, the patches of scruff along his jaw. His eyelids flutter as he settles, his chest moving with each breath, and you’re grateful to see the life in him.

His head turns to face you, eyes opening just as yours drift closed, too heavy to keep open. You’re safe in your temporary home, nestled into Ezra’s side. No one was left to chase you, the pod is sealed, your wounds bandaged. You breathe easier, reassuring yourself that all is well, just as you feel a finger trace along the side of your face, carefully avoiding your newest scar. Even as you begin to fade, the action makes you smile, and you sigh, focusing in on the small details you still feel.

His thumb caresses yours, the gentle motion lulling you further to sleep. You only feel the hard press of the bunk mat at your back, the press of his shoulder to yours and the touch of his hand. All you hear is the gentle hum of the air regulator and his soft breathing, and just before you drift off, Ezra’s quiet whisper.

“I love you too, angel.”

[demonsandmischief]

Come Home To Me Part 5

Marvel - A Sam Wilson Imagine

Sam Wilson x Female Reader 1.4k Words

Here's Part 4 and my Masterlist for additional parts

-Part 5-

The ending.

----

You liked Washington DC. You liked Sam's house and being able to see the things he enjoyed.

It was also nice that you had the opportunity to be able to walk or ride the subway to wherever you needed. Even though there was a car for you to use, you couldn't drive. Sam had promised to teach you when he got back.

The only downfall was when he had to work. Sometimes he was gone for days. Two weeks had been the latest so far. It did give you a chance to find yourself beyond your sweet soulmate, but you always missed him terribly.

For this mission, it had been five days since you had last seen him.

You took boxing classes once a week to give you something to do. You considered getting a job, but you still were very uncomfortable and wary around other people.

It was also really difficult to sleep without him. The nightmares return full force. You didn't mean to be so attached to Sam, but how could you not, given everything that you went through?

You hum to the music as you eat some cereal for breakfast. Sam's place was full of old records, CDs, speakers. It was comforting to listen to the things he liked.

Sam: Miss you.

You grinned when you read the text. He had managed to call last night, and it had been so good to hear his voice.

You: Miss you more.

You could just push the messages right to his head, but you promised yourself you wouldn't when you learned they gave him serious migraines. Not to mention you had no idea what he was up to and you didn't want to be a distraction.

The TV program you had on in the background cut off to an emergency news broadcast, and even though it was muted, it still caught your attention. You turned up the volume.

It was definitely an adjustment to be without him, but you were learning lots of new things. How to cook and clean, different kinds of movies and TV shows. It was nice to feel like a normal person doing normal things.

Everything had been good recently, but that never lasts long.

"We interupt your scheduled program to inform you of the reports of a plane hijack containing US officials, including the Vice President. The plane has since crashed over Pennsylvania and is believed to be an act of terrorism. Captain America is believed to have been helping get the plane under control, but has not emerged from the crash site. Emergency personnel are on the scene."

You watched with horror as the cellphone video played, capturing your glimmering man falling from the sky before disappearing into the dust and flames.

You turned it off as a quick reaction, your heart pounding viscously in your chest. Your stomach threatened to turn, and your spoon hit the table with a clatter.

Oh god. Please let Sam be okay.

He had just texted you. He had to be okay. You cringed as the video replayed over and over in your head.

He had to be okay because you loved him.

Your phone ringing broke through your sluggish mind and you scrambled to get to it in time. It was an unknown number, but you answered.

"Hello?" you whispered.

"It's Bucky. Sam's been hurt."

A sob left your mouth but you muffled it with a shaking hand, "Is he okay?"

Bucky didn't say anything, only adding to your worry. You didn't even know Bucky was with him, or any of the details

"Bucky?"

"He's going to be fine, Y/N," he gave a tired sigh. "I'll come pick you up and take you to the hospital to see him. Is that okay?"

You nodded, before realizing he couldn't see. "Okay."

----

Sam was pretty banged up when you got there, but he was alive and you had never been so relieved in your life.

You sat impatiently by his bedside. The doctor told you his suit had taken the brunt of the impact, but he still hit his head pretty hard. Some of his ribs were fractured, along with his right wrist. He had been very lucky.

You dried your tears for the billionth time. Where would you be without him? Sam saved your life. He was your soulmate, your home.

You had dozed off in the stiff plastic seat when he woke.

He hissed as he shifted and stretched.

"Sam," you cried, reaching for his hand. "Don't move too much. Let me get the nurse."

"It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"You scared me," you whispered, feeling new tears. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Shh," he soothed, running his thumb over your knuckles and closing his eyes again. "I hate to see you cry."

----

The hospital monitored Sam's head injury for about a day before they cleared him to go home.

Bucky had stuck around and he drove you and made sure Sam was settled.

"Thank you for everything," you told him. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat before you go?"

He shook his head, "My girl is waiting for me at home. Let me know if there's anything he needs. You have my number now."

Sam was out cold. He was taking some medicine for the pain, and you felt beside yourself, not knowing what to do or how to help.

You had fallen asleep on the couch when you were startled awake by Sam standing over you.

"Jeez," you gasped, pushing yourself upright. "You scared the hell out of me. Why are you standing over me? Why did you get out of bed?"

Sam chuckled, "I'm sorry. You should have seen your face."

He nudged you over and sat down beside you, pulling the blanket onto his lap.

"Hey," you protested. "I was using that."

"Too bad. You have to scoot closer if you're cold. Why didn't you come to bed?"

"I don't want to hurt you, Sam," you protested. The cool air caused bumps to form on your arms.

"C'mon. You can't hurt me. Get over here before you freeze."

You hesitated. "I'll just get another blanket." You stood up, but he reached for you.

"Please, baby. I just need to hold you. I promise to tell you if you hurt me, okay?" He said it so soft and sweetly that you couldn't do anything but comply. Besides, all you wanted was for him to hold you.

You sat as close as possible without leaning too much on his ribs, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his left arm around you.

He reclined the couch, and you adjusted the blanket so it covered the both of you.

It was pretty quiet, and you could feel yourself starting to go to sleep when he spoke.

"All I could think of was you."

"What's that?" you mumbled.

"When I fell, all I wanted was to come home, to be with you."

You hummed, reaching for his hand. He kissed your head.

"When I accepted Captain America, I accepted my fate. I told myself that I would be okay with dying, but now I have so much to live for."

You smiled, turning slightly to see his shining eyes. He leaned down for a sweet kiss.

"I was terrified when I saw that video, and then Bucky called me. Like I told you before, I don't want to be anywhere you're not."

He sighed, "There's always a risk. It comes with the territory."

"I know," you whispered. "And I know it'll never get easier for me, but we can handle it."

Sam nodded, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I'm surprised your sister hasn't personally come up here to beat your ass."

He laughed, wincing at the jostle it gave him. "That's only because you were around to tell her what's going on."

You smiled, "That laugh was payback for nearly giving me a heart attack."

Sam peeked down at you with another chuckle "You're a brat, but you're my brat."

You shuffled a bit so the blanket was pulled to your chin, a warm contentment settled over the two of you. He reached over to turn off the lamp.

"I do love you, Sam," you whispered very quietly into the darkness.

He groaned playfully, "You just had to wait until it was dark. How am I supposed to kiss you now?"

You giggled, a light happiness swirling in your stomach.

"I love you, too," he said back. "So much."

Tag List: @superwholockruleztheworld @imiiimargo @hiuahoe @idunnomayn @cable-kenobi @nialeesato @bklynxbaby @wolflover384  @mytbel0st @burnalley @heyarely16 @lilithknight1111  @loveyou5everr  @yougottalovefandoms @lets-love-little-me @cxlpxrnia @daddyissuesmademe @queentorresstuff @spookycereal-s

----

Thank you guys for loving this series. I've been in such a mental slump and struggled with this, so I hope it ended okay. I appreciate each and everyone of you.

[malfoymanortings]

lavender and velvet //part eight

SUMMARY: she had her fathers eyes, his aristocratic looks, her grandmothers spite, her mothers heart, but the one thing she didn't have was the love of her father that her god brother received. juliet black finally meets her father who has already decided who his child is.

PAIRINGS: George Weasley X OC!SiriusDaughter

taglist: @person1839 @big-galaxy-chaos @spooderham @iamashlynmarie @acciosiriusblack @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @ivettt @msmarklee1213 @briargardens 

as always, let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist. enjoy!

The house was abuzz with Christmas cheer the following day. They had spent the morning decorating the dark and dreary Grimmauld Place with Christmas decorations, and Sirius had kept the cheer alive by singing Christmas carols at random. Hermione had arrived as well, having decided against going skiing with her parents. 

Harry had stayed upstairs, no matter how many times Molly had tried to lure him down. Juliet felt slightly guilty for being happy that he had stayed up there, as it meant she had more of Sirius’ attention. She was trying her best not to be so standoffish towards her father. It was easier now, with him in such a joyous mood and Harry out of the picture.

Remus came by around noon to take Juliet to Diagon Alley to shop for presents. The two of them had set out by fifteen after, and by one o’clock they were nearly done shopping.

“So, how have things at school been?” Remus questioned as they walked past Ollivanders. 

A strong gust of wind blew flecks of snow over them, and Juliet wished she would have worn her cloak. She had dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, with George’s parka thrown over it. She hadn't been able to find her own, and George was more than willing to offer his out.

“It’s been alright,” Juliet paused, chewing her lip. She wasn’t sure how much she should say about Umbridge, or Theo. “Our new teacher has been quite the experience, I can tell you that.”

Remus’ mouth drew into a tight line. “Yes. That ghastly woman has made life difficult for me as well.”

“Seems she likes to hold grudges, too,” Juliet said lightly, holding the door to Madam Primpernelle’s, a beauty shop. “Me being the daughter of the infamous Black, and my adoptive father being a werewolf, well, I feel she nearly fainted when she saw me in her class.”

Remus let out a humorless laugh. “I’m sure you’ve given her the utmost respect.”

“Course I have. I was raised by the most respectable man, wasn’t I?”

She ducked away from Remus’ swatting hand, heading over to the shelves of different colored potions and jars. Scanning over them, she picked a few for Ginny. The girl loved skincare, as was evident by her gleaming blemish free freckled skin, so she replenished a few of the ones she knew the ginger haired girl was low on. Plucking a dark amber colored perfume that proclaimed to be of a woodsy scent, she was done shopping for Ginny. 

Remus looked more than happy when she rang up her purchases, and they left the store. He had looked out of place while they had been in there, and Juliet couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“Alright, now you’ve just got to get something for the twins, correct?” Remus asked her as they walked down the cobblestone pathway. 

Juliet nodded, heading towards the Apothecary. She knew there were a few ingredients that were vital to the twin’s joke shop plans, and she knew it would be the most worthwhile gift she could give the two.

She found what she needed inside rather quickly, and as she was walking back outside of the shop, she couldn’t help but feel as though they needed something more.

“What’s got you looking like you swallowed an acid pop?” Remus nudged her shoulder, taking a few bags from her. 

“I dunno,” she sighed heavily, watching the fog from her mouth swirl away from them. “I just feel like I should get them something more personal.”

“Them, or just George?” 

“My goodness, you too?!” Juliet stopped in her tracks, her hands on her hips. The multiple shopping bags she carried smacked against her thighs harshly, but she ignored the pain. “Why does everyone assume we like each other? George is my best friend, my absolute best friend, and he’s outrageously gorgeous and funny and caring and kind, and he would much rather date Alicia Spinnet whose also gorgeous and kind and stupid Gryffindor rather than a Slytherin-”

“Woah, okay, okay,” Remus cut her off, putting his hand up to halt her ranting. He looked sideswiped, as though he hadn’t been expecting that reaction. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I just thought that you and George were… heading in that direction. I’ve always liked him, you know, I think he’s much better than the son of a Death Eater.”

“My merlin, who told you?” 

“I may have questioned Fred and promised him some more doxy venom if he would care to gossip with me.”

“You are unbelievable.”

The two of them resumed their walking, Juliet silently fuming. If Remus knew, then surely Sirius knew about Theo. They wouldn’t understand! Sure, he did carry a bit of the usual pureblood prejudices, but he seemed to be seeing her point of view a bit better. He was kind, too, much more so than the other Slytherin boys. 

But he wasn’t George, the voice in her head pointed out.

She shook her head. Why would she think that? George was her best friend. That was that. Just like Fred. They were both her best friends. Nothing more to it. 

So why did she keep thinking about how breathtakingly handsome he was?

“Look, you could give him that,” Remus broke her out of her thoughts, pointing towards a street peddler, who was advertising picture frames. “Let’s take a look.”

The closer they got, the more they could hear what she was advertising. She claimed you could think of any memory, and she could extract it from your thoughts, and turn it into a picture. It seemed impossible, even with magic, but with Remus’ encouragement she decided to try it.

“Alright love, what can I do for you?” the girl gave a wide smile, her teeth a light blue color.

“I’d like a picture of my best friend and I,” Juliet paused, her face falling. “Although I suppose if it’s my memory, I won’t be in the picture.”

“Well, I’m sure I could think of one for you,” Remus spoke up, winking at the girl waiting eagerly. “How about I do one of both you and the twins, and one of you and George? That way Fred won’t feel left out.”

Juliet nodded, and she stood by and watched as the lady explained the process. All Remus had to do was think of a memory, and she would extract it from his mind and place it onto the picture film. 

Once Remus confirmed he was ready, the woman pressed her wand to his temple and drew out a silvery strand that she quickly placed onto the four by six film.

Juliet let out a gasp of awe as the picture quickly focused into place. The three of them were at the Weasley’s, Juliet and George sitting on the couch as Fred sprawled out over them.  They were all laughing, jostling Fred around in an attempt to get him off them. 

“That’s amazing!” she exclaimed, beaming at the girl.

The girl wore a bright smile as she extracted the next silvery memory from Remus. As it focused into place on the film, Juliet felt her heart skip a beat as it focused into place. 

This memory was from this summer at Grimmauld Place. They both sat on the floor, her head in George’s lap as he lazily ran his fingers through her hair. He was looking down at her with that expression he wore at Kings Cross, while she read from a muggle book Remus had gotten her. She lowered the book slightly, and the two of them broke out in laughter.

Juliet felt her chest constrict, and her stomach dropped. Her conflicting feelings hit her like the knight bus, and she inhaled sharply.

She fucking liked George. A lot. A hell of a fucking lot. 

“Do you like it?” the girl asked, a grin on her face.

“It’s perfect,” Remus nodded, taking out his pouch from Gringotts. “How much do I owe you?”

“Three Galleons and two Sickles,” the girl replied brightly. “For an extra two Galleons, I can throw another one in for a discounted price.”

Remus hesitated, before nodding and pulling out the coins. “Alright, sounds like a deal.”

The girl took the coins, and placed them in her bag. She then waited for Remus to say he was ready, before she placed her wand to the tip of his temple once more, the silvery memory splashing onto the film before them.

This one was different, and it took Juliet a moment to place the scene and recognize the people there. Once she did, thoughts of George left and all she could do was stare.

 A man with unruly black hair and glasses next to a gorgeous girl with stunning green eyes and dark red hair sat on the floor with a chunky baby who had a tuft of black hair, waving his fists around as he seemed to be babbling to the other baby next to him. This baby had soft brown hair, a girl, holding a snitch in her tiny fist as she smiled at the baby. Behind her, sat a handsome man with wavy black hair and a charming smile, a woman with long blonde hair resting her head on his shoulder with a smile on her face. 

“Mum,” Juliet said the word softly, her voice catching in her throat. “Is that Harry and his parents?”

Remus nodded, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Any chance I could have another copy?”

“For twelve sickles, you certainly can.”

A few minutes later, and they were on their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Knots formed in Juliet’s stomach as she realized she was that much closer to being back to Grimmauld Place, which wouldn’t be a problem if she hadn’t had the earth shattering realization that she liked her best friend of twelve years.

“How about we get a cup of Butterbeer before we head back, hm?” 

Juliet nodded thankfully at Remus’ suggestion, and the two of them sat at a table with a slightly sticky top. They had their bags underneath the table and between their legs, just in case any of the more questioning patrons thought of taking their gifts.

Remus ordered each of them a Butterbeer, and with a wink thrown her way, a cauldron cake and a pumpkin pastry. It was their tradition every year to do this after Christmas shopping, and she had been slightly worried that they may not have been able to do so with everything going on with the Order.

“I’m not needed anywhere until four, so we’ve still got an hour.” Remus explained, waving his wand towards the table to rid it of its stickiness. 

“Will you be by on Christmas eve or day at all?” asked Juliet, her chin in her hand as she awaited his response.

“I think I can swing it with Dumbledore to stop by Christmas day.”

“What does he have you all doing, anyways?”

As soon as the question left her mouth, she could have kicked herself. She knew he probably wasn’t allowed to discuss it with her, much less in the crowded Leaky Cauldron. The response from Remus shaking his head imperceptibly let her know it was a foolish question.

Their drinks arrived, and they spent the next half an hour munching on their treats and drinking their Butterbeer. As usual, they split the two treats between each other. It was their Christmas tradition. Remus inquired about how school was going, and hinted about the DA, and she told him both were going well. She let him know how great of a teacher Harry was, and how they had started getting along better.

“Juliet!”

Remus and Juliet both turned to see who had called her name, and her heart warmed as she saw Narcissa and Draco making their way over towards her. She stood up eagerly from the table, engulfing her aunt in a hug.

“Auntie Cissy, it’s so good to see you!”

“I’m here too, y’know.” Draco muttered at his mothers side, his fuzzy hat nearly covering his eyes.

Juliet rolled her eyes, and pulled out of her aunt's warm and good smelling embrace. She hugged Draco overly tightly, letting go to pinch his cheeks.

“Oh, my dearest Draco, how could I ever forget you!”

“Oh, bugger off.” Draco grumbled, swatting her away.

“Draco, be nice to your cousin,” Narcissa gently reprimanded, turning her attention back to Juliet with a warm smile. “Juliet, we missed you at our house over summer hols.”

“Yes, it seemed you were dogging our invitations.” Lucius appeared behind them, a cold look on his face as he eyed Remus who had come to stand next to Juliet.

“Molly needed her help over the summer,” Remus responded coldly, his hand resting on Juliet’s shoulder protectively. “Juliet was quite busy.”

“I’m sure you all were.” Lucius had a look in his eye Juliet didn’t at all.

“Juliet, would you like to come over for Christmas eve?” Narcissa asked, giving her husband a harsh look from the corner of her eyes.

“I would-” Juliet began, but was cut off from Remus’ quick reply.

“Actually, we’re traveling for Christmas this year. Just needed to grab a few things before we left, but we are heading off later tonight.”

“Where are you headed?” Lucius cocked his head, flexing his fingers on his cane. “Not too far, I would imagine. On your salary, or lack thereof.”

Remus tightened his jaw, and Juliet quickly tried to diffuse the tension.

“I’ll see if we’re back by then, Auntie,” Juliet tried to smile, but she thought it came off as more of a grimace. “I’ll write to Draco if I am.”

Narcissa nodded and smiled at her. Lucius cleared his throat, drawing her attention.

“Well, Juliet, our home is always welcome to you,” a glint appeared in his eyes. “Especially if you find your… dog, prefers someone else over you.”

“Let’s go, Juliet.” Remus had dropped all pretense of being polite, and gripped her hand harshly as he turned her around.

He quickly gathered their bags, keeping a painful grip on her arm. Juliet let herself be dragged away, flashing an apologetic look towards Draco and Narcissa. She knew Lucius was an ass, but she hated that Remus was making her leave without a goodbye.

“Let go of my arm,” Juliet snapped once they were outside, yanking it out of his grip. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” Remus replied distractedly, not sounding very apologetic at all. “We have to get a move on. I need to tell Dumbledore immediately about Malfoy.”

Juliet rolled her eyes, and followed Remus to a more secluded area where he apparated them back to the front of Grimmauld Place. Once the place appeared, they entered quickly.

“Remus, Juliet, is that you?” Molly called from the kitchen, the smells of dinner and the sounds of Christmas carols floating through the house.

“It’s us, Molly,” Remus replied quickly, shifting the bags to Juliet. “I’ve got to send a message to Dumbledore right away, and then get off to…” his voice disappeared as he slipped further down the hall.

“What was that?” questioned Molly, entering the hallway to see Juliet standing with the weight of all the bags on her arms. “Oh, dear, would you like help? Fred, George, come help Jules!”

Juliet’s face flushed as Fred and George bounded down the steps, he heart leaping to her throat when George stood in front of her.

“Ah, what have we got here?” Fred attempted to peer inside the bags.

“I don’t think so, Weasley,” Juliet snatched them away from him, handing over the ones with Ginny’s, Harry’s, Ron, and their parents presents. “You and your brother can carry these. I will make sure these ones are hidden far away from you lot.”

“Oh, so now I’m the brother?” George joked, although she could see some genuine hurt showing underneath the joking manner. 

“Course not, Georgie,” replied Juliet, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re my best friend.”

The two of them shared eye contact, brown meeting grey. The air seemed to grow heavier around the two, and Juliet could feel her confession threatening to claw its way out of her throat-

But then George looked away, clearing his throat, and Juliet flushed once more, embarrassed at herself. Why did she have to figure out she had feelings for him?

“Alright, Jules, make sure you have your presents wrapped,” Remus reappeared, pulling his wand from his pocket. “I’ll see you on Christmas.”

He gave her a tight hug, and then left Grimmauld Place. She felt a bit empty, sad, about watching him go, but shrugged it off. He would be back.

The twins helped her carry the presents off to the small room with the Black family tree, and after casting them out and locking the door, she began wrapping her presents. The only one that wasn’t one she was giving out, was the picture of her parents and Harry’s with them as babies, from Remus to Harry. She wrapped it carefully, and set it aside. 

Wrapping everything had taken nearly an hour. She was meticulous in her wrapping, and had to have everything be perfect. On the back of the picture with her and George, she had debated on what to write on it before finally deciding to simply write, ‘to my best friend. love you. -Jules’. 

She found herself staring at the other copy of the picture Harry was receiving, examining every picture. She didn’t have many, or really any, pictures of her and her parents. She only had one lone picture of her mum, a few of her father, and none of them all together. Most of it had been lost along with her mum.

A knock broke her out of her thoughts, and she wiped tears as she looked up.

“Juliet? Can I come in?” Sirius’ voice came through the thick wood. 

She swished her wand to unlock the door in reply, and Sirius entered the room. He chuckled at the sight of the slight pile of presents next to her. It died down as he saw the picture in her hand, and he carefully sat next to her.

“Where did you get that?”

So, Juliet launched into an explanation of the girl who made memories into pictures. By the end of her explanation, Sirius looked thoroughly impressed. 

“Not too bad of a price, either,” Sirius rubbed his face, looking down at the picture. “When this whole mess is cleared up, I’ll have to pay her a visit. I can think of a million memories I want to be tangible.”

It was silent for a moment, as Sirius stared at the picture. 

“I always think of how things would have been so different had I not gone after Peter that day,” his voice was low, rough. “I would have never had to leave you, or Harry. I could have raised you both, protected you both… you both would have known so much love.”

“Remus has given me plenty of love,” Juliet replied defensively. His words rubbed her the wrong way. “But when you finally came back, you didn’t show me any. You may have missed out on the first thirteen years of my life, but you could make up for it. Instead you’re giving it all to Harry.”

The admission made her breathless, and her words seemed to hang around them. She held her breath, expecting Sirius to retort angrily as he always did, but he didn’t. Instead, he sagged his shoulders, slumping forward, and nodded.

“I know I haven’t been the best father to you, Jules,” he began earnestly. “I look at Harry and I see… I see James. My best friend, nearly my brother. Hell, he was my brother for all intents and purposes. I pushed him to use Peter as the secret keeper. If I hadn’t done so, Harry would have had a father. I feel the only way to make it up to them is by doing my best to be the father figure I robbed him of.”

This time, it was his admission that hung around them. On one hand, Juliet felt vindicated that he finally admitted to the favoritism, but on the other hand; she felt if he was able to be so insightful and see he was acting that way, he was able to not do so. 

“I just want you to love me like you love him,” her voice was just above a whisper. “I used to dream about you coming home and us being a family. But you never came back for me. It was Harry you came back for. Not me. It hurts.”

“I saw Pettigrew in the paper,” Sirius shook his head. “I knew if he was still alive, my chance for redemption was there. If I could just get hold of him, I could prove my innocence and take guardianship of Harry, and you. That gave me all I needed to break out. And then… Peter got away.”

Juliet was silent again. He didn’t leave for Harry, he left because he saw a way for him to put his life back together. Not only for Harry, but for her.

“I know I haven’t been as good as showing care for you like I have been with Harry. It just feels so natural towards Harry, because of his dad. But I’m your dad. Literally. And I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She felt vindicated, so vindicated, and relief at hearing these words come from his mouth made her happy.

“Your mother would have been right pissed, you know,” Sirius nudged her shoulder, still looking down at the picture in her hands. “You turned out to have the Black looks through and through. She had hoped you would have been a spitting image of her. We had a bet going, before…” and his voice trailed off, lost in memories.

“Do you miss her?”

“I do. It’s gotten easier, but… your mother was special. A really good friend.”

“Remus always told me stories about her. And you, and James, and Peter. Lily seemed to be the only one of you with her head on straight. Sometimes, when I was younger, I would pretend my dolls were you guys. Like you were there with me.”

Sirius wrapped an arm around her, hugging her tightly. “I’m here now. I’m sorry I wasn’t before.”

Her heart swelled as for the first time, she felt comforted by her father. Her blood father. Remus was her father in every sense of the word, but she had always craved Sirius’ love and presence. Now, she had both.

Things were getting better.

[angstyaches]

This is trope anon from before :) It might be interesting to see Elliot put off feeling sick, because he is so caught up taking care of everyone else? He kind of strikes me as a worry about everyone else first kind of guy lol. Then absolutely regretting it later haha

If not Elliot, Ryan also kind of gives me similar vibes

CW: mention of disordered eating/malnourishment, trauma mention, overwork, nausea, emeto, dizziness, blood mention (he’s a vamp, so yeah), pining (for absent partner), platonic/brotherly caretaking

Author’s note: Elliott and Felix are going to be just FINE! They’re not even broken up; Felix is just a little AWOL after a fight they had. I just loooove me some angst.

Elliott’s vision went pitch black for a moment as he stood and waited for the kettle to finish boiling. His stomach lurched so harshly that he almost turned towards the sink, expecting the return of the blood he’d drank for breakfast. Instead, he swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly through his nose. He was overexerted, probably. He’d been pushing himself during his and Shayne’s ritualistic “sparring” (or, as Shayne called it, “trying to kick the shit out of each other” or “therapy”) session. Elliott had hoped his supernatural abilities would have begun to manifest by now, seeing as his transition to full vampire was complete. But still, nothing yet. Maybe the stress of Felix being gone was stunting his development. Maybe the stress was adding to how bad he felt.

The kettle clicked, reminding him of why he was standing in the kitchen in the first place. Elliott’s heart sank as he recalled Shayne’s eyes rolling back in his head, his body almost hitting the ground before Elliott could catch him. Turned out the kid had been starving himself again. Elliott would have punched his lights out if they hadn’t already basically been out.

A minute later, Elliott picked up a hot mug and crossed the open-plan kitchen and living area to where he’d left Shayne on the white sofa. He was conscious now, at least, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

The mug contained hot, weak tea and a few spoons of the glucose solution Ryan had concocted for Felix’s blood-and-sugar lollipops. Back in the day, when Felix refused blood and couldn’t hold food down, Ryan had fed him the solution like this, and it had kept him from passing out. The smell was so strong that Elliott almost gagged, his body so delicate as to protest merely being in the presence of human sustenance.

Elliott tried to hand Shayne the mug, but his cousin’s hands were so shaky he almost dropped it immediately. Elliott took it back, trying to ignore the fact that his own hands weren’t exactly the steadiest. He brought the rim of the mug to Shayne’s lips.

Shayne made a face and pulled away as soon as he took the first sip. His hand went to his mouth, like he was considering spitting it back out.

“Swallow it.”

A shiver seemed to roll through Shayne’s body as he did. His eyes watered like he was about to cry. “That tastes like shit, El.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for forgetting that you need to eat.”

“I didn’t forget I needed to…” Shayne mumbled. “I’m not stupid.”

“That’s extremely debatable. Drink.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“Drink,” Elliott said again, as calmly as he could, “or I’m going to get Ryan.”

The last of the fight went out of Shayne’s eyes. Elliott knew he didn’t want Ryan or Nancy to know things had gotten this bad again.

Victorious but not feeling it, Elliott brought the mug to Shayne’s lips again and again, letting him take small sips. At one point, he covered his mouth again, shoulders jerking forward as he gagged slightly. Elliott’s stomach flipped at the sound and he had to turn his face away until Shayne stopped. He didn’t usually puke from seeing somebody else do it, but he had a bad feeling that if Shayne threw up, he would lose it too.

Shayne shook his head when presented with the mug again. A tentative hand rested on his stomach. “I can’t, El. It’s so heavy.”

Part of Elliott didn’t want to yield so easily, wanted to make him finish the mug. He wondered what Felix would do, or how Charlie would have reacted to that pleading look. Elliott knew he wasn’t soft in the same way they were. He just hoped he wasn’t harsh.

He hoped he wasn’t frightening.

He swallowed against a swell of nausea in his belly. Whatever was gnawing at the pit of his stomach weakened his resolve.

“Okay,” he said, “lie down.”

Shayne gave a small sigh of relief.

Elliott took the mug back to the sink. White floor and wall tiles swayed all around him like he was inside the world’s most colourless kaleidoscope. He slowly breathed in through his nose, leaning on the edge of the countertop to try and introduce some form of balance to his body.

He’d extended the offer to Shayne, but honestly, lying down sounded like an absolute dream to Elliott, too. Maybe his body would stop freaking out if he got a little more rest. His sleeping pattern was completely thrown off, his mind raced in the middle of the night. Felix had star-fished across about forty different mattresses before choosing theirs, and while Elliott had acted like he didn’t care which one they bought, he had ended up agreeing that it was the best mattress he’d ever used. But sleeping there without Felix felt wrong, so his body had been rejecting it as much as physically possible.

Nowadays, he might as well have been sleeping in a wooden coffin like the stereotype dictated.

He turned around to check on Shayne, frowning when he saw that he was still sitting upright on the sofa.

“I thought you were going to try and sleep?”

“I can’t – I can’t,” Shayne whispered, lowering his head into his hands. “El, I – every time I try, I feel like she’s here. Breathing on the back of my neck…”

Guilt churned Elliott’s stomach this time. Elliott felt regrets like cobwebs sticking to his soul, and although he didn’t allow himself many, one of those cobwebs was the feeling that maybe he could have gotten Shayne out of Madelyn’s sooner.

“She’s not getting in here,” Elliott promised. “Ryan will have her head on a stick before letting that happen. Nancy will turn her blood into tar.”

“She doesn’t have to be here, El. She’s already here.” Shayne pressed a finger to either side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jesus, I’m – I’m sorry, man.” Elliott laid a hand on his stomach, stifling a belch since he really didn’t need gas leaving his body to make this moment even more stressful. “What usually helps when this happens?”

As Elliot should have expected, Shayne gave a lifeless shrug. Alright, think, Elliott told himself, swallowing thickly. He’d never seen Shayne warm up to anyone until that day in the park when he’d been clinging to Charlie like his life depended on it. He liked to act tough (and who did he pick that up from, I wonder?), but really, Shayne just didn’t want to be alone.

He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t understand that feeling.

Elliott swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat and the swirling in the pit of his stomach.

“Want me to sit with you?”

Shayne opened his eyes, looking genuinely surprised.

Elliott sank down on the sofa without waiting for a verbal answer. He hit the cushions a little too quickly for his stomach’s liking. It shifted noisily, semi-digested contents swimming around inside. “Now, if you think you can feel someone breathing on you, you can tell yourself it’s just me.”

“Ugh,” Shayne groaned, curling up on his side so that the top of his head was just next to – scarcely touching – Elliott’s thigh. “Do not breathe on me, man.”

Elliott smiled through his vaguely-concealed discomfort, glad that Shayne wasn’t facing him. “Afraid you’ll catch vampire cooties?”

Shayne didn’t respond beyond a soft groan that Elliott interpreted as “shut the fuck up, old man”. So even though he’d have loved to keep taunting his cousin and keep himself distracted, Elliott shut up, letting his neck rest against the back of the sofa and draping one arm up over his eyes. Lack of vision made the world feel a little less like the spinning drum of a washing machine. Elliott regretted dreaming up that metaphor, gritting his teeth as he realised his stomach felt like such a drum, too.

He was swallowing constantly, every few seconds now, chest tight with the effort of drawing slow, shallow breaths. It felt like the fibres holding his being together were frayed and left just shaky enough to throw everything off without causing him any actual, physical pain. Beneath it all was a tiny flame of anger; what the hell was the point in becoming a vampire if feeling unexplainably shitty at inconvenient intervals was still on the table?

An icy shiver ran down Elliott’s back, and he flinched where he sat. He slid his hand around the back of his neck and gulped another wave of saliva. Nothing was there, yet when he exhaled, he shuddered again. Shayne’s talk about Madelyn must have wormed its way into Elliott’s mind. Lord, he really was a mess.

He glanced down to make sure his sudden jump hadn’t disturbed Shayne. It was hard to tell if the boy was sleeping or just trying very hard to stay still. At least he didn’t seem to be panicked or shaking anymore. Elliott desperately wanted to stand up and walk around; moving and distracting himself would surely ease the building pain in his stomach, but he didn’t think he could get up without jostling Shayne.

Sucking in a breath and trying to brace his stomach for the move, Elliott shifted his weight on the sofa, cringing at how much the cushions flexed with him. He watched Shayne’s head, his breath still caught somewhere between his belly and his lungs. Another trickle of unpleasantly cool sweat ran down the back of his neck and his hands shook until he dropped the weight of his head into them. His elbows felt unbalanced on his knees. His stomach flipped, and he swallowed measuredly against its protests.

“El?”

“Yeah,” Elliott choked out, though he’d meant to give a friendly, open yeah? As in Felix’s chirpy Yeah, buddy? Are you okay? What can I do for you?

“Y’alright?” was all Shayne replied with.

“I’m good, yeah.” Upon tasting blood and bile, Elliott gulped again. “Just relax, okay? No one’s going to –”

Elliott jammed a fist against his lips in time to stifle a wet, shallow belch. The sound was so sudden and violent that his head shot forward, almost ducking between his own knees.

“Fuck,” Shayne gasped, scrambling upright despite the fact his eyes were barely open. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elliott half-snapped, annoyance at himself manifesting as annoyance at Shayne. “I may have pushed myself a bit this morning, but I’m –”

He was once again cut off by a belch, this one rumbling up from much deeper inside him. His belly continued bubbling even after the air stopped being pushed up.

“El, I think you need to –”

“Don’t.” Elliott shook his head.

“Why did –” Shayne winced slightly and rubbed at his head. “Why didn’t you say you were feeling sick?”

“Because I was trying to look after you!” Elliott sighed into his hands. The tiny burst of frustration was dizzying on top of everything else. “Lord fucking knows you can’t take care of yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Shayne said back, though his voice was empty of any of its usual fight. “I’m – I’m trying, I’ve been trying… Elliott, just go to the sink!”

Elliott’s shoulders rolled as he covered his mouth with his palm, feeling a thick film grow over his tongue. He was tempted to swallow it down again but a cramp ripped through his gut, making all of his organs squeeze in defiance of him swallowing anything.

“Shit,” he somehow mumbled, sitting forward and pushing himself to his feet as Shayne pushed – weakly but with good intentions – at his back to help him up. Elliott sprinted across the kitchen tiles and flung himself at the sink, stars in his vision and blood in his mouth. He was unbearably dizzy as he heaved up what he’d drank that morning. At least it had been an animal-blood day, and he wasn’t watching mouthfuls of human blood pooling in the sink and trickling into the drain.

It was a waste, but it could have been worse. He choked on a sob, realising he’d never thought like this until Felix.

“Fuck,” Elliott gasped when something moved next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Shayne following him to the sink. “Christ. I feel awful… Why – why do I feel this bad?”

“You’re trying to force something you’re not capable of.” Shayne folded his arms and rested them on the countertop, eyes falling shut again.

Elliott spat bitterly towards the drain. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

“Because that’s my whole life summed up, El.”

Elliott gripped the neck of the tap and turned it on, directing the water around the sink to get rid of the mess he’d made. His head was spinning and his nerves still felt alive with electricity and just wrong in general, but his belly felt a lot better. He felt like he could breathe normally again.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” Elliott rinsed his mouth, running tap water into his palm and lifting it to his lips. It was cool, and soothing on his throat after the retching.

Shayne looked positively miserable as their eyes met. “What now?”

As he shut off the tap, Elliott brushed a wet hand across the back of his own neck, relishing the cold drip that started trailing down his back. He shut his eyes, feeling like he was ready to drift off to sleep on his feet, like a horse.

“Well,” he said, “how would you like to take a nap on a really nice mattress?”

[phantom-curve]

“Apricity” for Juke in whatever universe you would like to put them?

I loved this prompt, thank you so much for sending it! set in the did I shatter you? universe, between the end of that fic and the sequel that follows, here's a very quiet and fluffy morning with Juke ft. a small scene that foreshadows the sequel.

apricity - the warmth of the sun in the winter (Rated T for some slightly suggestive moments towards the end)

also available on ao3!

Julie in the early morning was a sight Luke would never grow tired of. Relaxed and softened by sleep, curled into the cocoon of his arms or draped across his chest, hair wild and untamed around her face, Luke could watch her for hours and still it would never be enough time to truly appreciate all of the things that he loved about her. If their year apart had taught him anything, it was that Luke had never valued those little moments with her enough before.

He had been so caught up in his anger and hatred towards Bobby, so settled and comfortable in his relationship with Julie, that he had missed all of the things that actually made that relationship so special. He hadn’t thought twice about the nights he spent sleeping away from her, the mornings he woke up alone instead of at her side. When he would lash out at her, he never saw beyond the single moment of pain. Never saw the way he was cutting her deeper and deeper, so used to his own wounds that he thought she would be, too. He had been selfish and wrong, and he had excused it all by telling himself that they had time. They had forever together, what was a few bad years in the grand scheme of things? He had thought that spending a lifetime with her would mean he could catch up on those moments later. After the Bobby thing wasn’t so painful, after their band made it big enough, after he had reached a point where his skin didn’t itch with the need to fight everything standing in his path to greatness. He had wasted so much time thinking he had an eternity to gain it back, and it wasn’t until she had left that he realized time lost could never be regained again.

Luke had learned his lesson. He wasn’t wasting any more time when it came to Julie. The second she had been willing to give him a second chance, he had gone all in on righting his previous wrongs. It had taken time and hard work and weekly meetings with a therapist that he still talked to on occasion, but he had finally put the past to rest. It was liberating in a way he hadn’t expected, like a weight that had been crushing him for so long he had forgotten it was there was suddenly lifted, allowing him the space to breathe again. Allowing him the space to love again.

Julie had forgiven him, had added The Phantoms back to her name right where they belonged, and slowly, as she watched him grow and change for the better, she had let him back into her heart as well. It was a homecoming he hadn’t ever thought he’d be given, made all the better because this time his home was filled with sunshine and open spaces instead of dark rooms crowded by memories that only aimed to hurt. This time, he knew exactly what he had to lose, knew exactly how much power he had to destroy this fragile new beginning, and he was determined not to screw it up again. He was a new man, forged from the fires of his past to become stronger and better and deserving of the life he had worked so hard to achieve. He wasn’t going to miss out on any more little moments with Julie.

Which was what had led him to adjusting his internal clock to make sure he always woke up before her and had at least a few uninterrupted moments to watch her sleep and remember just how lucky he was that he got to have her in his life again.

This morning was no different than the others. The sun had risen an hour or so ago, pale golden light spilling in through the cracks in their curtains. Julie was curled into his side, legs tangled together, head resting on his chest, breath sending warm whispers of air across his skin in a rhythmic pattern that his heart had slowed to match. Luke had curled one arm around her back so he could hold her close, fingers tracing patterns along the thin strip of exposed skin between her tank top and pj shorts, both articles of clothing that had once belonged to him only to be stolen and repurposed by Julie. He didn’t mind. She looked better in his clothes than he did anyway.

He heard their bedroom furnace click to life in the corner. New York in the winter was much colder than LA, but Luke had grown to love the city during its chillier months over the years. There was a kind of magic that existed there that LA just couldn’t touch with its constant sunshine and balmy temperatures. Winter in LA was a pale imitation of what winter should truly be.

True winter was being bundled up in layers of wool clothing, wandering the city with snow falling overhead and gloved hands clasped together, sharing pockets of warmth with each other on the subway and in coffee shops that looked more like bookstores or bars. True winter was their cozy Cornelia Street brownstone with a fireplace that they actually lit fires in, a basket of quilts passed down from Julie’s abuela tucked in the corner, and their favorite mugs stashed right next to the tea and hot chocolate mix, so that when they came home frozen to the bone, they didn’t have to think twice about how they would warm themselves back up. True winter was New York City and all of the memories, good and bad, that they had created there with each other.

Luke inhaled deeply, the air in their room warm and comfortable despite what he was sure were frigid temperatures outside. His lungs filled with the smell of vanilla and peaches and Julie, the most soothing scent he could imagine. She sighed against him as her head rose and fell along with his chest, her fingers stretching across his body until they came to rest above his heart. He felt the muscle skip and stutter underneath her touch. All these years later, and he still reacted to her just like a lovesick teenager. Julie slept on, undisturbed by the way his heart was racing. Luke couldn’t stop the fond smile that stole across his lips as placed one of his hands over hers.

He thought about the small box he had in the drawer of his nightstand, tucked underneath an old journal that was long past overflowing with songs and snippets of things he wanted to say when he finally presented the ring in that box to Julie. Alex and Reggie had been on his case for weeks now, trying to talk him into popping the question from the very minute Ray had gifted him the heirloom. It wasn’t the right time yet though. The boys didn’t get it, but much like there had been a tugging in his soul when he made that fateful trip to Coney Island over a year ago, Luke knew that there would be a sign when it was time. He had to be patient, had to set things in motion the right way.

Julie murmured something in her sleep and tucked her face deeper into his skin. Luke moved his hand up from her waist to card softly through her curls. He knew exactly how to avoid pulling or getting his fingers caught, just gentle strokes against her scalp until she settled deeper into slumber. A particularly bright beam of winter sun burst through the edge of the curtain, illuminating Julie with a kind of otherworldly glow. Like an angel come down from the heavens above just to bless him with her love. The sight sent a sucker punch to his gut, breath stolen away by the depth of his love for her. He was moving his hand away from hers and reaching for the bedside drawer handle before he even thought twice about it as he dug out the box and his journal without jostling Julie. He turned his head ever so slightly so that he could make sure he didn’t knock anything over as he quietly skimmed through the pages of his notebook until he found the one he was looking for.

Reggie had made the joke in passing, some silly throwaway line when a Bruno Mars song had come on the radio one day. Luke had made a big show of jotting it down in his Julie journal even though he didn’t plan on using it. But now that damn lyric was spinning on repeat in his head as he looked at Julie in his arms, the exact place he wanted to keep her forever and always. Hey, baby, I think I wanna marry you. He didn’t let himself think twice, riding the gut feeling in his soul that told him at the very least he could keep the photo for himself, just for the memories and the reminder of this moment that felt monumental for all its quiet simplicity.

She didn’t twitch when he slowly shifted just a bit to the side, his hand slipping from her hair so he could use it to hold up the piece of paper he had easily pulled from the broken binding of the notebook. Her head fell to rest against her pillow, one hand tucked underneath her ear while the other stayed still against his chest. He placed the open box next to it, tried to hold back the ridiculous grin he could feel stretching across his face as he pulled his phone off of the charging pad on the nightstand. When he opened the camera something about the sight of that ring so close to the spot he hoped it would live for the rest of their lives sent a shot of serotonin through his veins. He couldn’t hold back his smile anymore, but he also couldn’t find it in himself to care about how ridiculous he would probably look. It didn’t matter. He would be the world’s biggest fool for Julie any day of the week.

His phone was silent as he snapped just one selfie. He didn’t want to risk Julie waking up, didn’t want to blow his cover before he was fully ready, before they were fully ready. He didn’t even take the time to double check the picture before he was tucking the paper and the small box back into the corner of his drawer. He locked his phone and set it off to the side, turning slightly so he could soak in the sight of the clear winter sun pooling along the dips and curves of Julie’s sleeping form. She stirred slightly, like she could feel his eyes upon her back, groaning softly and stretching, one eye peeking open to meet his gentle gaze. Her lips curved on the edges, a small attempt at a smile even though she hadn’t fully woken up yet. Luke leaned over to kiss the edge of her temple.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

Julie hummed a wordless response, blinking slowly as she adjusted to the brightness of their room. She reached out with seeking fingers and Luke let her pull him close, brushing his nose along the line of her cheek and jaw until his lips met hers. Julie melted against him, and Luke took advantage of the moment to haul her back on top of him. She broke their kiss with a giggle, propping herself up against his sternum with a fist under her chin.

“Hi.”

Her eyes were still softened and cloudy from leftover sleep, the dreamworld and the real-world meeting in the warm depths of her brown irises. Luke felt full to bursting as he took her in. God, he loved her so much. Had never loved anything or anyone more in his entire life. Her curls cast a slight halo around her, his very own goddess of light and love.

“I love you,” he whispered into the small space between them.

“I love you, too.”

Her words were like a caress as they worked their way into his heart and soul, stitched into the lining of his very being. Julie pushed herself up slightly, until they were eye level, her mouth sweet and soft as she leaned down to press her lips against his once more. Their room illuminated fully as the sun finally made its way over the tallest buildings outside, the light clean and pure in a way only the winter sun could be. Warmth filled every line of his body, a fire lit by Julie that he would never seek to tame or extinguish.

Something in his soul tugged hard, an invisible thread pulling taught between his hidden treasure in the nightstand and his pounding heart where it was pressed against the soft cotton of his shirt covering Julie’s chest. Soon, he promised himself, soon it would be the right time to ask for an eternity together. Forever and always, just like they had vowed to each other from the beginning.

[thousandsunnywrites]

How about law meeting a girl who has the same energy as Luffy and tends to touch him in some way all the time, her favorite being ridding on his back. He has long since given up trying to get her to stop, only to find out when he teams up with the straw hats she’s Luffy’s sister by blood. The oldest of Ace Sabo and Luffy.

Law

Law x f!reader; romantic

⤷ a/n: g o l l y this ficlet was a whopping 2.7k words 😭😭i really do love picking on law; also ps this isn’t proofread yet so enjoy the rawness ty

----

“traaafFFFYYYY!” He stumbles forward to balance the sudden weight tossed on his back, hands instinctively grabbing the legs wrapped around him. His life was never like this, until you came around.

It was a regular night in the submarine, Law doing his routinely watch through the sub’s finder. What the hell is that, he zoomed in to get a better view of the blurry image, hm, what is that?

He found a floating bucket under the sea with a tightly sealed lid and a hole carved on the upside with a plastic straw sticking out. Confused and hoping it was some lost gold, he made Bepo fish out the container and check it out. Instead of finding what he hoped to uncover, he discovered a limp body of a young female.

“It’s not breathing, captain! What if it’s been purposely tossed into sea... what if...” his words begin to trail off when the horrid realization of the sea being the graveyard to rest the corpse crossed his mind. He shrieked. They messed with the dead! They’re going to die! He watched too many Asian horror films to know where this is going.

Not before long, Law sighed out of annoyance, moving Bepo’s paw from the right side of the chest to the left, instantly calming down his tremors and leaving the poor bear sheepish.

Footsteps approach Law’s office and busted through the door. Low and behold, it was no other than Penguin and Shachi.

“Cap’n!! What’s wrong? We heard Bepo scream!—” Penguin tugged on Shachi’s sleeve, forcing his attention to the corpse curled in the bucket. Bepo covered both mouths before a squall was ripped from their throats, “Shh... it’s alive.”

“Room,” the iconic blue sphere encapsulates the room as Law unsheathes his Kikoku, “Scan.” The sliver glint of the sword flickered against the blue hue as it perused the physique. Producing no results, he sheathed his sword. “None” was all he could report.

“Oh thank god!” Penguin leaned over the large wooden pail, examining the face of the woman. “She’s kinda cute,” his hand reaches out to caress her cheek. “Mind if I say that I saved her?” He bantered with a sly smile.

“Move outta the way, lemme see!” Shachi shoved Penguin, an instant grin apparent inside his face.

“Stop fucking around.” Law jostled the apologetic duo to hoist majority of the body’s upper half out the bucket. “Bepo-ya, grab the feet”

“Roger!” He saluted before doing as told.

“Pen-ya, Shachi-ya,” their attentions turned to him, responding with a “Yes, boss?”, to which Law replied, “Get out.” As they left, the captain and first mate transfer the patient to the resting ward and laid her on a more comfortable bed.

“Catch some sleep, Bepo-ya.”

“What about you Captain? Who’s gonna watch her if she wakes up?”

“I will. Go ahead and sleep. Lack of sleep isn’t good for your fur.”

Bepo bowed, trusting all will go well since the captain was watching over her, and left to do as told. Meanwhile, Law pulled out a chair and raised his feet atop the bed. It was going to be a long night.

Surely, he must’ve fallen asleep because next thing he knows, he’s the one in bed and his crew bustled in the kitchen. It was a different ruckus this time; it wasn’t the same morning liveliness he knew, no, it was something more like... a party?

He made his way to the kitchen, head slightly pounding due to the loud vibrations bouncing off the walls. Swinging the kitchen door open, he’s faced with a festive bunch surrounding a stranger. Who the hell is she and how’d she infiltrate my ship?

Now on alert, he reached for his sword, preparing to attack but was stopped by his lovable white bear, who had multiple syrup stains resting on his fur. “Captain!!! Look!! She’s awake!!”

Who?

Oh yeah, the bucket girl.

“Yeah man that was suuuuperrrr crazy! I really thought I was gonna die out there!” A guffaw rumbled in the room, the crowd listening intently to what you have to say, “dude there was this big—and I mean big— whirlpool! With nowhere else to go, I just hid in a good ol’ barrel and hoped for the best.”

“Woah, you’re so cool Y/n!” The crew chanted as Law made his way through the crowd, sitting rightfully at his bench, head against his propped up hand.

“Hey, you must be the captain!” You greeted him with a hearty laugh while you reached over to the opposite side to pat his back, unintentionally thrusting his body forward with every rough pat.

“Don’t touch me,” he pulled away and dusted himself off, “I take it you’re better. Any pain?”

Completely ignoring his question, you continued, “Yeah how rude of me, I’m Y/n!!! I’m sorry for intruding so suddenly, it’s just I thought I was gonna die out there because—“

He held up a hand and finished the same sentence you said prior, “Yeah, yeah, there was a whirlpool and you thought you were gonna die, so your pea-sized brain said to stuff yourself in a barrel and hope for the best, yes, I’ve heard it earlier.” He said all in one breath. This amount of stupidity reminded him of a certain captain he was supposed to meet soon.

Instead of feeling offended, a big cackle bursted in the suddenly tense room. “I like you!” Slamming down your fist on his table as a sign of determination, he saw that same look of craze. Oh, how he could never forget that gaze.

“From here on out, I’m your crewmate now.” Cheers erupted from your mates, picking you up in rejoice to congratulate your recruitment.

“No, everyone quiet. You are not a part of my crew. Find yourself another place to loiter in. We don’t accept stowaways here.”

“Yeah no, it’s fine! I’ve been looking for a crew anyways.”

“I am captain of this ship and when I say I will toss you overboard if you insist you’re a Heart Pirate, I will toss you—”

“Y’all I’m hungry, got any food? Preferably meat, yeah?”

“Do not feed her.”

They feed you anyways despite his protests. He didn’t need another one like him on his ship, let alone in his crew.

“By the way, what’s your name Mr. Captain?” A piece of meat was ripped right off the bone. What a slob, Law grit his teeth, and as if I’ll accept her messy behavior. I’m tossing her right off the sub when she’s done.

“It’s Trafalgar Law!” Penguin chimes in, beating the captain to his own introduction. He grunts in annoyance. “Address him as Captain or doctor,” added Bepo.

“MMmmmmm,” your face twisted comically after a brief ponder, “Too boring, how ‘bout Lawsy?”

“No.”

“Trally?”

“Not a chance.”

“Gar.”

“Just shut up, I’m losing brain cells from you. Address me accordingly.”

“Okay, Traffy.” You burped as you chugged down the last of the juice.

Law could only sigh, because even if he threw you overboard, he’d still be stuck with you.

And that’s how it all circles back to Law giving you a ride on his back while walking along in the designated plaza. This is how his normal looks like nowadays. And nowadays, he doesn’t complain, even if he hates being ordered around, he just does it. His crew speculates him having only a soft spot for you, but he denies it every time. It was obvious though.

Today was the day he and Luffy agreed to meet at Dressrosa to take down that son of a bitch named Doflamingo. Everything was going as plan.

“Hey, Tra-guy!” The strawhats called putting from the other end of plaza, stirring a commotion contrasting the daily chatter of the citizens. He scans around and only sees Zoro, Usopp, Robin, Franky out of the troublesome gang. Where’s Luffy?

His grip tightened to hold you in place after your legs thrashed around in excitement, that never leaving irksome grin plastered on your features as always. “Stay still,” he sneered as he forced your legs to settle.

“Woah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Y/n,” Usopp whispered to Nami, to which she nodded in agreement.

“My, they have gotten quite close,” Robin’s chuckle was covered by her hand.

“Wow!” Franky drawled out, his stance in his usual super pose, “Since when did you two get together?” The glint of his shades gleamed as Law approached.

Law simply responded with a “Never” and carried on with discussing the plan that Luffy and most likely his crew won’t follow suit—but it was worth a shot. Hell, he didn’t even bother to explain it to you, knowing you’d do your own thing anyways like what you were trying to do now.

“Traff, Traff, Traff!” With every chant, you kicked your legs outwards to catch his attention.

“What, what, what.” He propped his arms upwards to readjust your sagging position caused by the sudden movements. The strawhats paused their chatter, noting that the stoic doctor had no sign of vexation on his face. That was a first.

“I’m hungry,” you smooshed his cheeks together. With a lilt, you asked, “Food?”

He casually nods, telling you “Later”, inattentive to the cheek smooshing and now cheek pulling. Nobody said anything, but it was obvious he had a soft spot. I mean, nobody can touch him—let alone his face— like that. If they tried, they’d be in a million pieces.

“Guys!!” The scream approached fast along with a mob of angry citizens following, “Got the meat! Now run!” The strawhat captain zoomed by, dragging the rest of his crew and allies along with him until stopping at a hidden alleyway.

During the time of escape, you hung your head down as Law transferred you from his back to his chest, face-to-face, in one swift motion, so you never caught a glimpse of the runner.

“‘Eyyyy, Tra-guy! Didn’t even notice you’re here!” The man gnawed on his meat while stuffing the leftovers into his big orange bag.

“Glad to see you too, Strawhat-ya,” he greeted back, eyes meeting with yours for a hasty second before trailing his gaze to your relaxed lips. It was intimate, seeing you close to him, bodies pressed together, arms around his neck and waist whilst his rested on the underside of your thighs. You and him always been together since the day he was held at gunpoint to recruit you, so it was normal for him to have some form of physical contact, whether it’d be hand holding to prevent you from straying away or the constant elbow hitting the back of his head while you whistled a verse or two. Giving you piggyback rides was common, so why did his heart start racing? This is what he always did, what was so different that could make him feel heated?

His chain of thoughts broke when you ripped yourself off of him to hug Luffy. “It’s been so long,” the shorter make cried, “I missed you Y/n! So nice seeing you out here! Especially with Tra-guy.” Seemingly impossible, your arms drew him tighter to you. “I missed you Luffy. God, I’m so happy to see you alive, I read all those articles. Really making big moves out there, kiddo.” Dramatic tears flowed out both his and your eyes, basking in the nostalgia and memories you shared.

To you, it was a touching moment; but to others, it was a cloud of confusion.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Usopp’s question dripping in disarray. But, their confusion was unparalleled to Law’s. That’s who you reminded him of—Luffy. He fell in love with someone who’s basically Luffy. He fell in love with Luffy’s sister. He fell in lo— no. No he’s not in love, what is he thinking?

“Huh, that’s a shocker,” Law’s lips were dry, mouth slightly agape as he watched the two monkeys hit it off.

Parting ways as the sun retired for business, Law took you to the hotel he had a reservation for. He was definitely gonna ask about Luffy. Grabbing the keys, it was a nonstop travel to the bedroom. Gotta hand it to Mingo, the bastard is a sick fck but he has some classy taste. The hotel was flooded with the natural shine of the moon, decorations silk and simple to compliment each other and the luxurious smell that was hard to miss.

Immediately upon entering the room, the first thing you checked was the fridge, searching for sweets whilst Law leaned idly against the doorframe as he watched.

“Yes, they have kinder eggs,” you shoved an egg in his field of view, “See?” He lowered your hand away from his face and ran his calloused fingers against his hair. It was a long day today, and he was tired as hell, but in this moment, all he wanted to do was to watch you.

“Want some?” Already munching on the Cadbury you found, you waved your face in front of his to break his daze.

“What?”

You simply pointed and broke off a piece to lay it against his outstretched palm.

“No wonder you seemed familiar to me,” he started, “You’re his sister.” Responding in a hum, he continued, “How did that happen? Sister by blood or by choice?”

“By blood dummy,” you popped a jawbreaker in your mouth, “We grew up together. If Ace and Sabo were being a jackass, I’d beat their ass flat. They were such bad influences! But seemingly in a good way..? They were like brothers to me too, ha, I was kinda like their mom if you really think ‘bout it,” Your mouth stopped sucking as the words you said became more and more sentimental. “I miss them. Ace, Sabo, and Luffy. But I’m happy. I guess it’s just... with everything... it’s nice seeing him alive and laughing. Enjoying life. And happy! Must’ve been hard on him all by himself. Besides, I can’t bear to lose another brother, not again.”

“I understand,” naturally that was his response, being that he could empathize since he did lose a sibling, a mother, and a father—twice— because of people. The world was fucked up. No other words were exchanged, effectively ending that convo.

You dug through the multiple bottles of wine, haphazardly throwing them away to search for more candy. A set of hands joined you on this search, crouching right beside you.

“Seems like you need help.” He offered a tiny, yet genuine, smile, to which you smiled back.

After endless digging, you found a can of whip cream and laughed as you sprayed a heaping load on the doctor’s nose before running around. He chased after you, grunting and hitting his long limbs against the small obstacles you placed, and lost you after he moved said objects to clear the path. You climbed onto the wall and pounced on his back, causing him to fall down completely, the cream crushed against his pointed nose and marbled floor.

“I win,” you sat on him as he struggled like a caught spider underneath your weight.

“Okay, I concede. Get off me.”

You flipped him over so his face was towards the ceiling, which was dark after you turned off the lights, and laid back on his chest. His chest had a subtle, yet rhythmic rise to it and made you fall asleep without trying too hard. You peeped a sigh of content before snoring away.

He admired how peaceful you looked when he wasn’t busy babysitting you. The moonlight doused your features in a soft light, turning even the harsh features into something delicate like a flower. The way your lips parted to let out obnoxious snores, the way your hair is tousled in a perfectly imperfect manner, the way your eyelashes contrast your skin tone, the way how there’s something about this moonlight that makes him wanna just lean down and plant a chaste kiss on your lips.

So he does.

You barely felt it graze against yours.

His hand caressed your hair with feathery light touches and his other brushed against your cheek.

Only the moon knew about the endearing look hidden in Law’s eyes that night; it was that same endearing look that showed he was in love.

[emperorsfoot]

abandoned Star Wars fic #2

This one is so rough my notes are still there in the document. When you see the brackets [ ] that is me talking to myself as I write. 

Another AU, again based off the Star Wars EU that existed pre-Disney Buyout. Vader manages to intercept Obi-Wan before he can get Luke to the Lars, but Vader can’t raise him on Corescant. Palpatine would ask too many questions. So, Vader takes Luke to be raised by an alien race loyal to him on planet Honoghr.

...

[title]

Chapter One:

Sand and dust was kicked up in the wake of two speeders racing across the dessert night. One furiously gaining, the other desperate to shake and lose its tail. 

One arm wrapped protectively around the bundle clutched to his chest, the other trying its best to steer the small one-man speeder. Keep it steady. While simultaneously trying to shake off and lose his pursuer. But it was a tall order to fill. His hunter knew these sands far better than he did, had grown up here, was shaped by the sands and the winds. And he was driven. Driven by a a raging tumultuous storm of feelings to wild and varying to interpret fully. But Kenobi would have to say that rage was definitely at the forefront of that emotional storm. Rage and pain.

Pain over the death of Padme and rage at the one he credited with responsibility for her premature passing. 

Because goodness forbid Anakin Skywalker ever take responsibility for his own actions or their resultant tragedies. 

Kenobi clutched baby Luke tighter as he banked hard to the right. Taking them down a labyrinthine formation of shallow canyons and jagged rocks. For the majority of the journey, the baby had remained blissfully quiet. Something the Jedi master was sure was uncommon for new borns and infants. It might have given him cause to worry if he didn't currently have a much greater and more pressing concern tearing between rocks and sand behind them. 

But now, being rocked and jostled by the chase, and perhaps also sensing the violent storm of feelings behind them, Luke uttered his first loud, unhappy cries since slipping from the warmth of his mothers womb into the cold and uncaring world they lived in. 

Perhaps he was spurred on by the sound of his son's crying, or perhaps he'd just gotten close enough for the weapon to be useful, but from behind, Kenobi heard the unmistakable snap-hiss of a lightsaber.  Unable to simultaneously draw his own blade while still steering the speeder and holding Luke, Kenobi did the only other option open to him. He leapt from his own speeder just in time to miss being split in two by a jumping swing of the crimson-white blade. 

The red hot saber slashed the speeder in two instead. Each half banging and ricocheting off rocks and canyon before they came to skidding, crumbling halts. A few seconds later, Anakin's own abandoned speeder followed the Jedi's speeder into oblivion by crashing into the canyon wall. The spectacular explosion lighting up the night enough for Kenobi to see flames illyminate the new black armor and helmet in brilliant shades of orange and red. 

Lowering the red saber only slightly, Anakin -no, he wasn't Anakin anymore, Anakin had died on Mustafar, this man was a Sith Lord- Darth Vader extended his free hand. With a new voice, deep and baritone, nothing like Anakin's at all, uttered a single command. "Give him to me."

Shaking his head, Kenobi drew his own lightsaber. Ready to defend the innocent life in his other arm with his last breath if necessary. "Don't do this, Anakin. Let him live his life without the burden of your legacy."

There was a beat of silence filled only by the sound of the respirator, carefully counting breaths. Then, "You have taken to much from me. You'll not take my son as well."

With that, the sinister figure closed the distance. Dark cape trailing behind him. Kenobi just managed to bring his own blade up in time to block the blow. With only one hand holding the saber, he had less strength to hold the red-white blade at bay. The Jedi hoped that Vader would regulate his strength enough so as to not injure the baby he carried -it was, after all, the baby he was after- but remembering his actions towards Padme, Kenobi just couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Vader wanted the baby. But he also wanted the Jedi master dead. 

Pulling a bit of the Force to him, Kenobi pushed Vader off them. Taking advantage of the younger man's imbalance to swing an offense of his own, Kenobi aimed for that shiny and new black helmet. But the blow was only glancing, just melting a scratch on the surface, not even penetrating to the head beneath. Both men to a step back to regain themselves. Luke resumed his wails. The cries seeming all the louder for the echo off the canyon walls. 

"This is what Padme would have wanted for him!" Kenobi tried to reason with him. "To grow up with a family and love. Not be used as a tool for your ambition or the Emperor's power!"

"He will be with his family." Vader snarled. "I am his father!"

"You killed his mother!" Kenobi reminded him. 

"Because of you!" The other snarled. 

He swung his lightsaber at the man. The spinning blade arching towards his head. Kenobi jumped to the side, drawing on the force to help cushion his fall, not for himself but to ease the discomfort to the baby. The swinging blade came flying back to its wielder's hand and he slashed down at Kenobi's prone form. The Jedi struggling to regain his footing was quick enough to evade a death blow, but not quick enough to come away unscathed. He screamed as the red-white blade sliced through his ankled with a burning ferocity. Kenobi's scream of pain, adding to the chorus of Luke's. 

"She was my wife!" Vader roared. "And you used her. Turned us against each other. I might have been the instrument, but it was you who killed her! Its your fault! Your fault!" The dark shoulders shook with unchannelled emotion. It sent reverberations through the Force, washing other both of them. Causing the Jedi to forget the pain in his leg for a moment and the baby's sobs degraded into hiccups, having already cried himself hoarse. "You took my wife from me, Obi-wan. I will not let you take my son from me as well."

The Sith Lord bent down over them. Black gloved hands reaching… and with unexpected care, plucked the hiccuping child from the Jedi's arms. He held the baby for a moment or two. The only sound apart from Luke's nervous hiccups and grumbles, the mechanical breathing of the respirator. Vader -or perhaps in that moment he was Anakin again- looked down at the child in his arms who squirmed uncomfortably against the cold leather pulled over unfeeling bionics. There could be no warmth in that hold. No physical warmth. But perhaps there was some emotional warmth from the father for his son. For Luke seemed to calm ever so slightly. His child in his arms, Vader's own raging storm of feelings also subsided to what Kenobi decided must be the new baseline for the Dark Lord. 

The relative serenity of the scene was broken by an errant breeze whistling through the canyon. The soft sound string them from their brief moment of peace. Kenobi called his lightsaber back to his hand. But Vader was quicker on the draw. The Jedi froze with the glowing crimson tip a few centimeters from singeing distance of his beard. 

[I cannot yet decide if Ben would serve the story better alive of dead. So I'll leave this scene here for now. Perhaps you can think of a suitable way to close this little skirmish. ]

And so he had his son. Padme's son. The last living remnant of the woman he'd loved. 

But what to do with him. 

Taking him back to Corescant was out of the question. Loath though he was to admit it, Obi-wan did have a valid point. Padme would not want her son to be used as a tool for Palpatine's power. Not to mention that there was that tiny matter of the rule of two. It was possible that the old man might not even allow the boy to live. Either that, or order the father's death and take the boy as a new apprentice. Young, and malleable, and still whole. But if he was gone, then who would protect the boy while he grew?

Vader unconsciously tightened his grip on the boy, wrapping him in an invisible cloak of dark and territorial feelings. A gesture protecting him both physically and psychically. He needed to keep his son safe. That was priority one. Everything else was detail. It could be sorted out later. First thing first, he needed to get Luke to a secure location. After that he could figure out what to do. Corescant was out. But Naboo didn't sound to appealing either. While he was sure Padme's family would be more than happy to take in her motherless child, it would be to easy to find him there. 

Briefly, he considered Tatooine. They were already here, after all. And it was where he grew up. But no. The environment was too harsh. Both ecologically and culturally. Slavery was to prevalent and to many households were just a few credits difference away from selling their own children into bond to feed themselves. He would not risk his son becoming a slave. He would not allow his son to grow up believing slavery to be a common and acceptable practice. Slowly, he ran through the list until he finally thought of one that might just be perfect. 

Remote. Out of common knowledge. Honor-based culture. And most important of all, completely dedicated to him. 

Vader didn't know why he didn't think of it first!

Now with a destination, they set course for Honoghr.

…

[And then I realized Anakin/Vader wouldn't have had time to construct a new lightsaber. Between "NOOOOOOOO!" and Obi-wan taking Luke to the Lars' there just isn't the opportunity to make one. So the fight between Kenobi and Vader couldn't have gone like that. I'll have to re-write the scene. ]

Kabarakh braced one arm against the speeder's dashboard, his other hand gripping the side panel so tightly his gray knuckles threatened to turn white. He was a Noghri warrior, trained to remain calm and composed even under great strain. …But none of his mentors had ever had the 'honor' of riding passenger in a speeder piloted by the Son of Vader. 

"Wha-hoooo!" The young human whooped as they banked a hard turn just in time to save them from plummeting down a rather steep ravine cut by the rushing waters of the Vas'ser river. Kabarakh let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. If the fall hadn't killed them, the waters surly would have. They sped off over the short scrubby kolm-grass of the wastes. 

...

THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE

I’m not even sure I had an end-game for this. Just a vague idea of a premise. Like, was I gonna have Luke leave Honoghr at some point? Was the whole fic gonna be him growing up steeped in the culture? Some combination of the two?

Who the fuck knows?

I certainly don’t!

[morelike-bi-light]

Bingo Fic: Rosalie and Emmett as Parents

So this blog reached 500 followers this week! When I started this blog, it never occurred to me that this would happen, or that I’d find such an awesome fan community and such incredible mutuals, but it did and I did, and it’s kind of changed my life! So much so, that I wanted to celebrate! Those blog bingo sheets have been making their rounds, so I made one for myself, and decided that if anybody filled it out, I’d gift them a 500 word fic (500 words for 500 followers, but that wasn’t planned lol) for a prompt of their choosing!

One of my fav mutuals @rosalie-stan was the first to reply, and thus, the first bingo fic is all for her, for the prompt in the title! Hope you don’t mind - I went a little over 500 words, and then added some headcanons, because I honestly loved your prompt way too much. Hope you like it!

❤️❤️❤️

It's a quiet summer afternoon for the first time in almost a decade. The air conditioner is whirring gently, even if Rosalie and Emmett can't feel it. It's not for their sake - Bree volunteered to take the kids out to a movie, but little Alicia was still too young for the theater.

Not that Emmett minds - in fact, he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be, than plopped down on the couch with his exhausted baby in his arms, and his soulmate tucked against his shoulder as she fingers through a piece of historical fiction that Carlisle had called 'certainly' entertaining and 'passably' accurate.

"Aw. Blinky," he grins, cradling the baby’s curl-covered head closer to his chest as she gurgles sleepily. His brows furrow for a moment. "That is crazy. She's like a little mini Rose."

Rosalie glances up to shoot him a dry look before going back to her book.

"Why do you insist on doing this?"

"What, tell the truth?" He shrugs, carefully so as not to jostle either his daughter or wife. "It's not my fault you married an honest man."

"She's a baby."

"So?"

"So, she looks like a baby - which I'm not."

Emmett springs for the throat. "You're my baby."

Rosalie bites her lip, smothering a grin. She shouldn't reward his bad behavior.

“Don't be funny," she huffs, batting at him absently.

"Impossible," he declares with a smirk. "And you know how many little brothers and sisters I had. I'm a certifiable baby face expert. Trust me, she's almost as close to you as Donnie."

"I trust you more than anyone else in the world," she deadpans. "Doesn't mean you're right."

"But you haven't disagreed either," he points out. "Not that it matters. Whether you disagree or not, she still looks like you."

Rosalie turns on him, closing the book. "You say that about all our kids!"

Emmett shushes her, pressing a cheeky finger to his lips and nodding at the drowsy baby curled in the crook of his arm. Rosalie rolls her eyes - Lisa could sleep through a hurricane - but lowers her voice just a bit.

"A few months ago, you tried to convince me that Bree has my smile, and she's not even related to us."

"I didn't say that," he snorts. "I said you smile the same way."

She raises a perfect brow in disbelief. "And that's different?"

He's as unaffected as she is unimpressed. "Totally."

"Well, I'm not buying it."

"No, really," he drawls. "You both do that cute little thing where you clamp your mouth shut like you're trying to hold it in, but then something will make you laugh, and it'll stretch real wide and get all dimpley."

If she could flush, Rosalie thinks she'd be beet red. Emmett's eyes are crinkled, glimmering like stars. Home, they say, I'm home when I see you, when I see our kids. It should be impossible to say so much with a simple look. She has to duck her head, look at her book's cover instead. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, it's so," he murmurs softly, and sits up straight. "And I can prove it... 'cause you're doing it right now."

The dam breaks, and she can feel the truth of his words as a smile blossoms on her lips.

"You're ridiculous," she says.

"You love it." He's right again.

She shakes her head, sighing as she leans against his shoulder, looking over their fourth child carefully.

"You're wrong about this one though. If anyone, she looks like you - the little button nose, and those same curls like you and Beth." Her smile softens. "This one's all yours."

Emmett shakes his head right back. "She might have my hair, maybe my nose, too. Hard to say - but look."

Alicia's eyes flutter softly as she pries them open, a sweet, familiar blue. Her gaze wanders a moment then settles on her parents, before she babbles a short hello.

"Look at those baby blues. Those are yours, right?"

Rosalie stares for a moment. A phantom pain burns like ice in her throat, but just for a moment.

"Right." She swallows, but she doesn't try to hide her smile this time. "Right. Those are mine. I guess she's both of ours."

“Course, she is,” he hums. “They all are. Always will be.”

❤️❤️❤️

As I mentioned, in the process of writing this, I accidentally created a whole Rosalie-Emmett family, so paragraphs of headcanons for context galore under the read more! Otherwise, hope you enjoyed the fic and thanks for following!

So as you probably noticed, Bree is alive and well and a part of the family in this AU. She not only lives and is a Cullen, but Emmett and Rosalie have adopted and adore her just like their own. Thus, she’s the oldest kid in the Rose-Emmett fam. They've had her for about a quarter of a century during this fic. Eight years ago, Carlisle discovered that a vampire couple could genetically have a child by using a surrogate. After some discussion between Emmett, Rosalie, and Bree, the family decided to expand. Yay!

With this, the second eldest kid is Elizabeth Cadence 'Beth' Cullen, age seven. When she was a human, Rosalie had always pictured naming her first daughter Elizabeth, and her middle name comes from her father's favorite human sister whom he'd once promised a goddaughter. Seeing as he’s the only Cullen with a happy backstory, I like to think he’d want his kids to have ties to his human family, even if he’s outlived them by a century. Anyways, they call her Beth. She has black curls, big wide eyes, and an easy smile like her father, plus the small, straight nose and excellent bone structure of her mother.

Beth is a goofball who loves to get herself into either trouble or danger, though the latter of which is hard to come by with an extended family of vampires and werewolves at her back. However, she is also incredibly generous, whether with her toys, her time, or her patience. She has a quick temper, though, and goes cold when she's angry, like her mom. Her favorite activity is running with her family, especially when Bree picks her up and carries her on her back, but she's also fond of music, and is passionate about dance. Her favorite babysitter is either Aunt Alice or Uncle Jasper, both of whom coddle her immensely, and her role model is definitely Aunt Leah.

Their third child is Donovan Matthew Cullen, age three. He gets his first name from a baby book, but his middle name is that of Emmett's eldest human brother, who always looked after the rest of the Masen clan. He has soft, wavy dark blonde hair, doe eyes, and a full pout like his mother, but he shares Emmett's button nose. During the summer, his cheeks get freckly and the tips of his hair gets sun-bleached almost white. (He also needs glasses as he gets older.)

Baby Donnie, as his older sisters call him, is a serious little fellow, very polite and horribly gentle, who likes to read - which is why he gets on with his aunt Bella so well. However, he can get just as rowdy as his sister, though he is greatly less likely to get messy due to his thoughtful nature and sensitivity to criticism. He gets along perfectly with both Grandma Esme and Uncle Edward, who is dying to teach him the piano, but secretly his favorite is probably Uncle Seth, who always knows how to make him feel both good and normal.

Their youngest, and the topic of this ficlet, is Alicia Esme 'Lisa' Cullen, not yet one. Obviously, her first name is derived from Alice, and her middle from Esme. They chose a slightly different name for her first because as Rosalie puts it, she should always remember to be her own person, even as she learns from others. Emmett assures Bella she has dibs on the next daughter, but I think four is enough for them - and she tells him as much. From Emmett, Lisa inherited dark, wavy hair, a button nose, and a round babyface, but she has her mother's eyes and full, solemn mouth.

Lisa grows up to be a mellow kid, partially due to nature and partially because she's had to learn to adapt on the fly without breaking too much of a sweat. She has the best sense of humor in the family, and the sharpest wit, due to observational skills and an impeccable sense of timing honed by years of living with the boisterous extended family she has (which includes the Clearwaters as step aunt and uncle, and through them, the wolf pack.) Out of everyone, she is the most down-to-earth, but also has the hardest time initiating confrontation when she’s hurt or upset. She has a very special bond with Grandpa Carlisle, and she adores her Aunt Victoria (because why not combine all the AUs?).

Whew, that was a lot! I would not blame anyone who took one look at those blocks of text and ran the other direction. But I enjoyed writing them, so it’s all good! If you actually made it this far, I am very impressed, and flattered, and I love you and thank you with all my heart. Hope you had fun reading!

[corinnejmorris]

↷ CORINNE MORRIS |MAKE SURE YOU HIT HIM WITH THE PRENUP

       The apartment is quiet as she overlooks the cobblestone streets of Tribeca. Alessia relishing in the fleeting moments of extra asleep, Logan at the ‘brush your teeth and grumble about manhattan’ stage of his morning routine. Yet Corinne is a silent intrusion into their way of life; mostly because Logan is her brother and he knew first hand the fit she’d throw being shut out from his life, secondly because she was a free and adoring babysitter. She stands in front of the floor to ceiling windows, softly swaying with Cain propped against her hip. As espresso heats up on the stove top, Logan can’t help but smile at his older sister. Delicate fingers wrapped around his son’s tiny fist, her face lit up like he’s never seen it before— some call it motherly glow, but in this case it was pure unadulterated love. And although he’d love to give her this moment forever, they’ll be a day late and a dollar short if they don’t get moving soon. He pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth and pipes up, “We’re leaving in 15 minutes tops, subway, walk, or car?” he asks before opening a cabinet to grab a travel mug, coincidentally with the name of his firm printed across it as if it wasn’t already obvious that he was the epitome of Manhattan finance bro. 

       The little moments like these were the ones that she cherished most. She couldn’t wait for the chance to do the same with a child of her own. In her very own kitchen, maybe not the one she lived in at the moment— too many tight corners and sharp edges but, one day. Maybe a house in Alexandria, along the river, with a backyard  reminiscent of the one she grew up with, but just close enough to D.C. that if she was needed at the office she could make the drive. Yet it was all just a fantasy for Corinne, she was playing a game to see whether she could live vicariously through her brother or go mad. So far so good, though. Every baby being inherently cute, was a universal fact in the same vein as the concept of an infinitely expanding cosmos. But Cain was different, his teeny fingers, his cheeks chubbier, and the joyous expression in his sweet blue eyes made her heart melt at the mere sight of him. She presses her forehead against his and closes her eyes softly. She takes a moment's pause to revel in that newborn smell and whispers “good morning” in response to her nephew’s giggle. She returns the smile only to be interrupted by her brother who stood at the opposite edge of the galley kitchen. A kitchen she wasn’t particularly fond of, for reasons beyond the decorating— rather, a long, tall, strip of marble masquerading as an island that Cain was sure to split his head on when he finally gets the hang of zipping around their apartment. It’s a day she sits and waits for with anticipation, not for her nephew to get stitches but, for the day he can safely stand on two feet and run to her, shouting “Cor! Cor!” The day he’s able to express his feelings for his aunt is the day she might just keel over and die from the explosion of happiness in her chest. 

       She turns slowly, still bouncing Cain on her hip. She flashes her brother the smile reserved for clients and television cameras. Sweet, caring, yet unnaturally still, as if there’s no one really behind it. “Whatever you prefer,” she says softly, careful as to not allow any inflection in her tone as to not disturb the small human in her arms. She pads her way across the floor to her brother whose arms are outstretched ready to pull his son into his chest with the same bright smile Corinne had shone earlier. People often said despite the thirteen year age gap, they looked incredibly similar. If that was even remotely true, she hoped the nurturing smile her brother displayed was the same one Cain saw when he looked up at her. He pulls his son close to his chest before sticking his toothbrush in his mouth and pointing at Corinne with his free hand. “Corn, I’m ready in five minutes, We’re walkin’, and then taking the subway to his office, and we’ll stop for a coffee on the way— don’t take any of that shit that’s on the stove it’s Alessia’s and it tastes like garbage,” he says which earns him a pointed glare for Corinne. “What? You’re worried about him? He knows I swear,” he says with the shit eating grin he’s perfected over the years before disappearing around a corner. Corinne is left alone with the hum of the streets of Manhattan and shrill squeak of  a stove top espresso machine. 

      In that very moment she remembers why she’s even in the city in the first place. It was all she could think about as Nicky drove her to the airport, all she could think about as she knocked back a martini in the airport private lounge, eyes expertly trained on the flights touching down and lifting off to destinations that weren’t her’s— places she’d much rather be than where she was headed. It was all she could think about as she met Logan at the airport and he placed the small suitcase she brought with her into the trunk of his S.U.V. But when she saw the little carseat in the back— that’s exactly when all the bad thoughts washed away. She would see her nephew, and all would be okay. But now as she stood at her brother’s front door, purse slung over her shoulder fingers tentatively play with the dainty rings she chose to accessorize with, purposely skipping the ring finger on her left hand. “You put a ring on that finger, before you’re engaged and you’ll be cursed for life,” her mother used to say when she was a little girl, sitting at the vanity table as her mom brushed through her long blonde waves with precision. Corinne even at such young age, idealized this beauty, vanity, gratuitous accessorization. The bows in her hair, and look in her mother’s eyes when her eight year old daughter applied lipstick with razor sharp accuracy. She was a doll. Her mother’s doll. When she got older, when she dressed herself, tried lip gloss instead of lipstick; her mother didn’t want to play anymore. 

        She’s brought back from the recesses of her memories when her brother approaches. “Go go go, I can stand bein’ fuckin’ late,” he says opening the apartment’s front door. They take the elevator in silence as he taps away violently at the screen of his cellphone. “Fucking clients whatta’ they know,” he scoffs before sliding the sleek, caseless device into his pocket— she’d prod about that later. She offers a polite wave and “good morning Stan,” to the doorman which contrast sharply from the dap up her brother gives. Clearly she was the eldest, momma would have liked the way she conducted herself and would have reprimanded Logan and that’s all that really mattered. They begin their walk down Watts St. She wobbles slightly on the cobblestone in her four inch heels. The added height does nothing as she still just a hair under Logan who claims to be six foot, but just cleared 5’11” and 3⁄4. “You look like a baby Giraffe,” he snorts and gives her the once over. “Fuck off, it’s the cobblestone,” she retorts with a playful swat at his shoulder. They turn onto Canal St. and Corinne thanks the city planning gods for pavement. “You know all that fucked up walking coulda’ been avoided if youd’ve just met the man in fucking Raleigh right, Corn?” she winces at his words as they shuffle down the steps alongside the rest of the morning crowd. “Yeah, and stay with momma? In that big ol’ fuckin’ house? Not see you? Or Alessia? Or my nephew? Ya’ I don’t really mind cobblestone streets all that much,” her tone is short as she’s squeezed between him and some other financial analyst, clearly a new guy if he’s still walking around with the banker bag.

      His sigh is loud and exasperated as he and the rest of the passengers are jostled by the movement of the subway cart. They stare at one another in the loud ambience has come to know is native to the streets, and subsequent subway tunnels of New York City. “Stand clear of the closing doors please,” sounds the crummy speakers that probably haven’t been changed since the 70s. It’s only after a few people shuffle off the train that Logan opens his mouth again. Idiot, you never did know when to shut up. She thinks back to the times when he was four or five and would cry and whine to their mother if she so much at looked at her brother the wrong way. “He’s just a baby Corinne,” her mother would snap as she coddled her angel son. The origins of the rage that brindled within her at moments like that is still unknown, maybe it was because she knew he’d forever get off scot free or because she knew his fakery earned her a night in the hallway closet. “I’ll never understand why you don’t like her—” There’s thirteen years of pain you’ll never understand. “she’s not even that nasty of a person—” Not to you, she loved you. “Maybe if you called once in awhile, and fuckin’ visited you wouldn’t have any issues,” he berates her as the knuckles wrapped around the handle of her purse turn white. She wants to snap, but she’s in public and she’ll control herself. There’s also the possibility that she might get all choked up and make a fool of herself as the tears stain her face. “It’s not that I don’t like her Logan, we have opposing views and she’s unbearably judgemental.” Her tone is controlled as the doors open and they step out onto the subway platform. 

      Up the stairs and they step out onto wall street, where a million different men dress and act like her brother. Their conversation has been postponed until further notice as Logan ushers her along with his index finger. “The place I go to makes North American style Turkish coffee,” that just sounds like an oxymoron in itself, she thinks to herself quietly. They dodge angry callers, bird scooters and blind texters as they weave down the street. They turn into a quaint coffee shop with standing tables only, inundated by patrons too focused on their own business to even look up at the door chime. The stereotype of New Yorkers not giving a fuck, was most definitely a real one. They approach the cash and Logan greets a man— boy? who’s name is Mattias. The exact kind of person she’d picture who’d work at a North American style Turkish coffee place. Logan orders and Mattias proceeds on with Corinne who orders a simple turmeric tea. They move off to the side and sit— or rather stand at the edge of a long communal table. “So let me get this straight,” Logan starts “You and momma don’t talk, so she calls Mr.Clark who calls you, who then proceeds to call me, to ask if you can crash?” She sways her head along to the rhythm of the story, “Well I mean yeah...kind of?”

— ⟡ ▒ ONE WEEK EARLIER ▒ ⟡ —

      It’s a little after 1pm on a Wednesday and Corinne strolls back into her office after having changed into her Lululemon yoga attire for afternoon yoga at the office. She sits at her desk and pulls her ringlets back into a bun, as her eyes inspect the report she’s been forwarded. The moment her hands drop from her head the LED on her desk phone flashes. “Cor? I’ve got a Mr.Clark on the phone for you, from Raleigh,” Nicholas sounds worried, as he always does when a 919 number called Corinne. He knew very little about Corinne’s family but knew that she rarely called them and they seldom called her unless it’s to return one of her phone calls. “Oh?” Her immediate reaction is one of confusion and fear. She remembers her mother’s lawyer and his office in their little town center. A stone building with a gold plate by the front door that read ‘Clark & Brennan Legal Offices’. Corinne both loved and hated that office, with all its dark wood and leather, the smell of stale paper and what a 10 year old could only define as alcohol on Mr.Clark’s breath when her mother would force her to greet him with a hug. What she did love was his secretary; Kelli, a twenty something brunette, with long legs accentuated by pencil skirts and a kind smile. Corinne always sat on her desk, ate Chupa Chups, and read Judy Blume novels. But, the only reason Mr.Clark would call her is, if something dire had happened— but surely, Logan would have called her first if her mother had died, right? “Yeah send him through Nicky,” she says leaning back into her desk chair. 

“Hello, this is Corinne Jessica Morris speaking,” she answers in her most professional tone, she had a feeling he still thought of her as that 10 year old girl whose legs used to dangle off the edge of his secretary’s desk.

“Connie—“ A nickname she hates, Connie is short for Constance, not Corinne. “It has been an awful long while since I’ve heard from you, how are you doing miss?”

“Mr.Clark! It has been far too long, to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing from you?”

“Connie, Connie I know it’s been awhile but you needn’t call me Mr.Clark, please call me frank—“ she wouldn’t. “I’m actually calling on your mother’s behalf,”

“Oh, well in that case...Frank, I’m interested to hear what you have to say,” It’s gotta’ be inheritance, Logan is for sure getting more.

“It’s about your prenuptial agreement, I think some congratulations are in order sweetheart,”

“What? A prenup?” She retorts sitting up straighter.

“Yes, a prenup if you’d prefer, there’s one from ‘95 but, surely it needs to be updated to include your new home and the like?” He continues, not even acknowledging Corinne’s surprise.

“Mr.Clark, I don’t think you understand. I’m not engaged— I’m not even seeing anyone at the moment,” She reiterates.

“Is that so?” he pauses and there’s a silence on the line. “Well it wouldn’t hurt to look it over, I’m sure a gorgeous girl like you has many options.” She visibly winces at his words, you haven’t seen me in person since I was 16, creep.

“I guess so,” she says quietly— it’s not that she hasn’t thought about the suspicious lack of ring on her finger, there were other things she wanted to accomplish first.

“Well I’m in Raleigh til’ Friday but, I’ve got an early mornin’ flight to California so I’ll be out til’ Tuesday and in the New York offices until Saturday—”

Corinne quickly interrupts, “I’ll be in New York. Can I meet you on Thursday?” She slides the phone between her shoulder and ear as she grabs her cellphone to send Nicky a text. Flight to NYC. Next tuesday. Red eye. Call Logan.

“Oh well in that case, I’ll be delighted to meet you in New York Connie. My secretary will be in contact,”

— ⟡ ▒ — ⟡ ▒ —⟡ ▒ —

“And that was it?” Logan asks as he finishes the last of his Turkish cortado, which inherently isn’t Turkish coffee the second milk was added. 

      Corinne responds with a nod before taking a sip of her tea. Before Corinne can even open her mouth Logan starts again, hands upheld as if to say hold the fuck on— “Corn are you even ready to get married? Do you even want to?” His expression is a mix of shock and concern. Unable to meet her brother’s eyes she looks down at her left hand and plays with the ring on her index. Of course she wants to get married; she’s been planning her dream wedding since the day she kissed R-D. Was she ready? now that was an entirely different question, she’s perfected the art of living alone, eating alone, drinking alone but, rotating a colourful cast of friends in lieu of feeling lonely. 

“God Logan, I think I know myself enough to know what I want. I’m just waiting—”

“When was the last time you were in a relationship,” he blurts out, cutting her off.

She counters hastily “God, what does it matter to you?” 

“How do you know what you want if you haven’t been in a relationship since you were in fuckin’ college!”

“How’d you know Alessia was the girl you wanted to fuckin’ marry after banging her at fuckin’ mixer?” 

      Logan simply smiles back at her, and she hates it. She hates snapping at him, she hates his smug grin but most importantly she hates this conversation. 

      “Look, I really don’t need the lecture Logan I’m just gonna go, listen to what he has to say and that’s it,” as she finishes her sentence, his cell phone pings. “Shit its work,” he says reading the preview off his lockscreen. “Look, I gotta go, just keep walking south on Broadway you’ll be at his office in two minutes,” he hugs her quickly before heading off to his own office.

      Corinne walks slowly, following the directions her phone gave her. She stops in front of a massive building, a far cry from the old stone of North Carolina. She greets the information desk attendant with her nicest smile. They give her the floor number and direct her to the elevators where she clambers in alongside a dozen or so corporates. It’s only as the numbers rise does she wonder how much business a small firm from North Carolina does to warrant a New York Office. Once the elevator chimes for the thirty-sixth floor she squeezes past those who remain in the elevator and out into a sleek reception area. As quietly as she can manage she makes her way over to the gatekeeper. “Hi I have an appointment with Mr.Clark at 8:30? I’m Corinne. Corinne Jessica Morris.” her voice is soft as she makes eye contact with the receptionist who was clearly not expecting to be bothered this early. She types at lightning speed before handing Corinne a security pass and informing her he’d meet her in conference room 5C. 

      She scans her pass and electric glass doors whirr open. Nice touch, we should get those. The office is quiet besides a few early risers who eye her as she walks past, heels clicking on faux marble tiles. Another automatic glass door lets her into the conference room. She’s greeted by a bouquet of flowering dogwoods, white roses and a box from Ladurée with a little note taped to the top— lovely to see you again Connie. “Thank you,” she says to no one in particular as she pops the top off and fingers hover over the rows of delicacies. With a bite she sits and sets her purse down on the table besides her. 

      At exactly 8:40am Mr.Clark strolls around the corner, with a younger man holding a legal pad and a stack of papers in toe. She can’t help but think of Alex who’s timeliness was uncanny and it brings a smile to her face. “Connie,” his tone is sing songy but sounds as though he smokes Cubans at least once every few days. “Mr.Clark,” she says replicating his sing songy tone. He greets her with a kiss atop her knuckles and she struggles to keep her smile from faltering. With his free hand he claps a football player sized palm on the shoulder of his companion. “This here is Garrett, he’s easily one of the, if not the smartest legal minds in the New York office, He’s gonna’ be my running back on this matter,” Garrett greets her with a simple nod and a “nice to meet you,” as he sets his materials down on the table.

      They each receive a copy of her original prenup and Corinne quickly leafs through it. She wonders if her mother envisioned her marrying Ryan-Dean and that’s why she had this made. Corinne wonders if he was even still a possibility. For a brief fleeting moment she wishes she had this meeting in North Carolina, just to ask her mother about the context of this document but alas, she was going to do this alone. “You’re a very attractive woman both on paper and in person, are goal is to protect you and all your assets in the event of a separation,” Clark starts. “Let’s start with the disclosure first,” Garrett pipes up taking a highlighter to the document. “It’s my understanding that you are not yet engaged, right?” He pauses, glancing at Corinne expectantly. She returns his glance with a nod. “So we’ll just be updating the framework of this agreement and retcon any specifications in the event of an engagement,” he says nonchalantly as he scrawls on his legal pad.

      It’s hard to hear of love spoken in such a calculative fashion but, she understands the reasoning behind such a thing. “Let’s begin with the disclosure of assets,” Garrett says. Mr.Clark begins listing off numbers, “Approximate net worth of eight million U.S. dollars which is comprised of property in Adams Morgan, Washington D.C. at an estimated value of 1.7 million U.S. dollars, A 2018 Audi S7 at an approximate value of 92 thousands U.S. dollars, a Roth IRA with a current value of Approximately 1 million U.S. dollars, a 15% share in Morris Consulting Ltd which roughly translates to about 3.2 million U.S. dollars and finally an investment portfolio with an estimated value of 1 million U.S. dollars,” he finishes with a quiet sigh, and Corinne looks between the two of them to see if that’s a good or bad thing. Garrett offers a simple raise of his brow as he goes back to writing on his pad of paper. “Does that sound about right to you miss.Morris,” he asks nonchalantly.  “Yes, it concurs with the information I was given by my financial advisor,” her hands are crossed politely on the table. She wonders what his expression meant. One of surprise at her financial value? Commendation for her self made company? An evaluation of her?

     “Well whoever the guy— or lady, may be, they’ll be one lucky son of a bitch,” he looks up from his writing and smiles. Corinne returns a bashful grin before Mr.Clark interrupts. “But we’ll make sure he’s not too lucky,” He flips to the next page. “One of the main concerns your mother brought to me was your inheritance—” I fucking knew it.”She assumed it’d be a point of contention in the divorce filings so she’d like it included in the prenuptial agreement,” Well that’s probably the most seemingly logical thought she’s had in decades. “Oh, I don’t see why that’d be an issue,” she shrugs and smiles at Mr.Clark who offers her a smile in return. Veneers. For sure. “So the clause we drafted states that your partner receives 10% of the differential between the day the prenuptial is validated and the day the divorce is finalized,” she nods. “You can always fight for less but this felt like an agreeable number,” She nods again. “No, 10 is fine,” in reality she’s lost in her own thoughts— who could theoretically receive all this money? She makes a potential husband shortlist in her mind.

CORINNE JESSICA MORRIS-??? HUSBAND SHORTLIST

???

Ryan-Dean Marks

Luka ???

Gavin Moir

     The list is short with reason, yes she would if asked but, they’re all hypotheticals. They’re also all people she wouldn’t mind sharing a life with nor an amicable divorce. Which is a terrible thought to think but its a genuine fear she has. Isn’t the statistic something like 50% of marriages end in divorce? Her parents had their trials and tribulations but, lasted through it all. She knew too many couples that didn’t make it through though, and that’s what really scared her. She always quietly mentions to herself— you’ll be different. you’ll make it work. “Now there’s also alimony, which is sometimes waived but, It’s beneficial to at least set up a framework; less headaches down the road.” Garrett’s voice interrupts her thoughts, and she snaps out of her gaze and turns to him. “Do you plan on having children?” He asks. “Of course,” she replies, sitting a little straighter in her seat. “An increasing number of women are opting not to,” he says almost defensively. “When you have children, child support trumps alimony. It’d be fruitless to define the terms of child support so early on, do remember this is simply a framework.” Mr.Clark adds and both she and Garrett nod in unison.

     “For alimony we’re suggesting the differential of 45% of your net income and 30% of your partners net income.” Garrett says. Is that enough? Is that too much? She doesn’t imagine herself marrying someone so wildly out of her tax bracket but it’s all about protection right? “This seems like a lot of money going out,” her voice is quiet as she inspects the papers before her. “It’ll make the process easier,” “It’s just a framework,” Mr.Clark and Garrett’s voices overlap as they both look at her and she’s frozen in place. Mr.Clark gives Garrett a sideways glance before clearing his throat. “An attractive prenuptial agreement is beneficial for all parties sweetheart, and like Mr.Howard said it’s only a framework, we’ll most definitely do alterations down the line at you or your spouse’s request, alright Connie?” He smiles again, teeth too white and too straight. Corinne returns an uneasy smile and quietly utters “okay,” and that’s how they proceed. For the next hour and a half, outlining the details of the money she’ll split with an invisible suitor. When they finish and walk her to the door, bouquet in one hand and a box of macarons under the other, she thanks them for their time and they thank her for her’s. After a hug from Mr.Clark and handing off her security card to Garrett who says he’ll take care of it she’s left alone with her thoughts.

     She steps into a surprisingly empty elevator and as the doors close with a soft click, she feels a tear roll down her cheek. She uses the back of her hand to wipe it away before the elevator is inundated with more passengers. She’s exhausted, she wants to be back home in D.C. Alone in her bed, with the lights off. She opts for a taxi rather than the train and sits in silence as the financial district passes by her window. She greets the doorman with a strained smile before taking another elevator up to her brother’s apartment. In the silence of the tiled hallway she leans her head against their front door and stifles more tears before taking a deep breath and wiping her tears away as best she could. She unlocks the front door and is greeted by Alessia and her nephew. She can’t help the smile that replaces the tears. “Hey, didn’t know you were back so soon,” Alessia says as she passes Cain off to an awaiting Corinne. “We were just about to go on a walk, you down?” She asks absentmindedly as she packs a diaper bag. “Okay, I’d love to. Lemme’ go change my shoes,” she says softly as she plays with her nephew’s tiny hands. you’ll be different. you’ll make it work.

[yuki-setsu]

[New] Painful Nights, Sleepless Awakenings

hi hello please accept this while i meager up the strength to finish up my WIP;;; wrote this for an event called Langst Palooza (@langstpalooza), so take the chance to check out the other great works people will be putting out!!

there should be 4 chapters and i’ll be posting every friday until it’s complete ^^ (lord i hope the cut works i don’t want to clog people’s dashes T__T) 

it’ll also be updating on AO3 if you read on there! the full collection for the stories that’ll be part of this event can also be found here! 😃

Summary: A potential alliance gone wrong lands Lance at the receiving end of a curse that makes him experience unbearable pain whenever he tries to sleep. Unfortunately, trying to shrug it off and deal with it on his own might bring consequences that become too heavy to bear.

Forging alliances usually went smoothly.

It tended to be a simple affair: make contact with a peaceful planet with the intent of bringing them under the protection of Voltron, and then go for a face-to-face meeting once they got approval to land. Some took more persuading than others, having faced the horrific realities of Galra strikes and the Empire's suffocating influence. But most of the time, they came around and things were resolved amicably, sometimes even with a celebration.

Lance found the planet of Xa'Qar nice. Kind of dreary and too warm at first glance, but he thought the tranquil and steady ambience was comforting. It reminded him of days where he napped on the beach back on Earth, the sun soaking warm rays in his skin and the waves crashing in his ears.

He glanced around at the looming tree-like plants that seemed to span the entirety of the area the team was passing through. The Xa'Qans had agreed to meeting for a possible alliance, and Allura had landed the Castle in the one open patch of land they could find closest to the small village the species resided in. The planet was like a big, warm jungle. Except all of the trees were as tall as redwood, and weird yellow ginkgo-looking leaves covered every inch of what would usually be bark.

“These things look like huge, fluffy French Fries,” Lance said, reaching out a hand to gingerly touch the leaves of another tree they passed.

“They are called Zensag.” The Xa'Qan replied. A guide had been waiting for the team at the landing point, calmly greeting them before guiding them down a path towards their civilization. “They grow even without direct care from us, but they provide much to our people. Their leaves are used with other ingredients for effective remedies, their wood helps us create our homes, and they bear fruit that can feed many.”

“They look incredible.” Allura chimed in politely, earning a small nod from the guide.

Lance hummed, lightly bumping shoulders with Hunk once in a while as they walked side-by-side down the path. Shiro, Keith, and Pidge were walking just ahead, but they trekked on silently, too exhausted for small talk. There had been an Galra raid in the middle of the night on a planet not too far from Xa'Qar and two other separate emergencies throughout the day before they'd finally come here in the evening for the alliance talk, leaving most of them running on—at most—5 hours of sleep. No one was really in the mood to expend any more unnecessary energy.

“We are here,” the guide announced, stopping in front of a large arch, a clear division between the end of the forest and the beginning of the Xa'Qan's home. The houses, needless to say, were... yellow. Turns out the wood of the Zensag were as bright as its leaves.

For some reason, the guide chose to wait until they all navigated to the small hut in the heart of the city to announce that the leader preferred to have small company during negotiations, resulting in just Allura and Shiro heading inside to talk. The rest of them were told that they could “explore the village as they wished”, but the guide hesitated for a moment before adding, “we advise that you disregard anything the witch doctor says should she approach you.” They ducked inside the hut before anyone could fully process the statement.

Lance had no idea what they meant, and quite frankly, the words sounded a bit worrying despite the calm and brief manner in which the warning was delivered. How were they supposed to even know who the witch doctor was, anyways? He doubted this planet held the same stereotypical interpretation of what a witch was imagined to look like back on Earth, with her green skin, pointed hat, and smoking cauldron. He leaned over to voice the question to the team, but found that everyone else had already dispersed. Pidge and Hunk were busy fawning over a snack offering of what looked like warm biscuits brought over by a young Xa'Qan, and Keith had opted to linger and keep watch near the leader's hut, so Lance headed over towards a pair of Xa'Qans that were quietly watching under the shade of another home.

“How are you?” He started brightly, keeping what he felt was an appropriate distance for a first encounter. “The name's Lance, also known as the incredible Blue Paladin of Voltron. But the pleasure's mine.”

The pair seemed to neither accept or reject his introduction, simply staring at him with their hazel eyes. All of them seemed to have the same eyes, he realized—piercing but accented against the dark brown of their skin. The only thing that distinguished them—asides from their outfits—were their ears, which looked like the equivalent of large, floppy dog ears that drooped down to brush against the top of their shoulders. The color of their ears seemed to differ with each Xa'Qan, even similar shades having a slightly different hue.

The extended silence had Lance shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, sorry. Was that rude?”

One of the Xa'Qans finally responded with a slight shake of their head, donning a small grin as their gray ears jostled with the movement. “It was not. We have just not met an outsider who acts as... familiarly as you.”

“Oh.” Lance smiled again, the tension in his shoulders receding. “Well, when it comes to making conversation, you can say I'm the best Paladin for the job. Love the planet, by the way. Very, uh, yellow and warm.”

The green-eared Xa'Qan straightened slightly, perking up at his words. “We take very good care of it, and it us. We let the trees grow and prosper throughout the days, and we work in the nights to harvest and collect wood.”

Lance tilted his head. “Wow, busy workers. When do you all sleep, then?”

It was the gray-eared Xa'Qan's turn to puff up their chest, a smug look on their face. “We do not need sleep to function. We are always awake.”

Lance blinked, not sure if he heard right. “You...don't sleep? At all?” His eyes widened at their nods, a smile growing on his own face. “You don't feel tired ever? That's insane! In a good way, I mean!”

“The most exhaustion we will feel is from overwork, but that is easily overcome by sitting for a short time and eating to regain energy.” The green-eared Xa'Qan was speaking animatedly, her eyes shining. “After so many tries, we can finally use every dobash possible to commit ourselves to prospering as a village.”

The question was already lodged in Lance's throat, and he couldn't stop himself from asking. “Wait, 'so many tries'? Does that mean your species wasn't born not needing sleep?”

The conversation reached a lull, neither of the Xa'Qan's scrambling to speak this time. They exchanged a quick glance before the gray-eared one cleared their throat. “You could say it was an...improvement. Our village gained the ability through the mixture of an herbal concoction and some...witchcraft.” Their face grew dark at the last word, and Lance had the nagging sense not to press further on the subject.

But before he could even find a topic to switch to, another voice rang out from the side, low and ragged. “Not witchcraft, but magic.” He glanced over to see a small hooded figure standing a good few feet away, their form hunched and obscuring their appearance completely. “Good magic, bad magic, stolen magic.”

One of the Xa'Qan let out a noise of disgust, and Lance looked to see them already inching away from the newcomer. They met Lance's gaze, giving him a curt nod before turning in the opposite direction. “We will be leaving now. Be well, Blue Paladin.” They left almost too quickly, heading towards the middle of the village where Hunk and the others still were.

Lance stared at their retreating figures, a bit dumbfounded before he blinked and turned back around to see if the figure was still there. They were, and even though their head was ducked, Lance felt like their eyes were trained solely on him. It was an uncomfortable sensation that crawled up his spine like spiders.

“Blue Paladin,” the figure croaked, as if they hadn't spoken properly in ages. “Blue. You are indeed blue. Come a little closer.”

He took a step forward reflexively before freezing, a bit of uncertainty tickling his chest. “Uh, are you... Are you the witch doctor?”

“I am no witch.” The form hissed, practically bristling under the large robe. “I am a doctor, yet they call me a witch. Even though they live this way due to me.”

'Disregard anything the witch doctor says should she approach you', the guide had said.

Lance shifted his weight from side to side, not knowing how to exactly approach the situation. After a few seconds, he opted to smile, trying to look as friendly as he could. “Okay, doctor it is. I'm guessing you mean you were the one who helped them achieve this 'no sleep needed' thing?”

For a moment, the figure didn't respond. But then she straightened up, letting her hood fall back to reveal an aged face lined with wrinkles and black ears. Even with that appearance, Lance had a feeling that she was even older than she seemed. But what unsettled him the most was her expression. It was angry, haunted, bitter—a stark contrast from the peaceful and quiet vibe the other Xa'Qan's gave off.

“Yes. My biggest accomplishment, my biggest mistake.” She growled, creeping closer. Lance fought down the urge to back away, although he was ready to bolt for it if things got out of hand. “Do not trust this village. They took everything from me for themselves.” She was right in front of him now, her height just barely reaching up to his chest.

“Lance, whatcha doing over there?” Hunk's voice drifted in before he draped an arm over Lance's shoulders, happily oblivious. “Look, you gotta try this Zensag bread. I swear it tastes like oatmeal cookies.” His voice tapered off for a second, realizing Lance hadn't been alone. “Oh. Hello.”

Lance took the bread from Hunk's hand, choosing to save it for later. “Thanks, buddy. This is, uh, the village doctor? Hey, did you know that they don't—”

“What do you seek on this planet?” The Xa'Qan cut in, voice low.

The question threw both Lance and Hunk for a loop. Lance couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a trick question, or if she genuinely had no idea why they were here.

Hunk recovered first, a confused noise at the back of his throat. “Um, Voltron's alliance with this planet, I guess? I mean, the Princess and our leader are still in talks with your leader, but yeah.”

The witch-doctor's eyes flashed, an almost deadly look creeping across her face. “You wish to ally with this village? They will only take. Never give. Bad beings. If you negotiate with them, you are no better than they.”

Lance straightened up slightly, suddenly glad Hunk was there with him as support. “Look, I don't know what you have against the village, but Voltron just wants to provide protection for the planet should it ever come under threat by the Galra.” He could feel Hunk's hand still on his shoulder, the slight anxiety dancing off his fingertips. “We fight the bad guys, defend the universe, all that jazz.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, and her face twisted into one of raw anger. “You wish to protect them? Then you are even worse.” Her hand whipped out, reaching for Lance's wrist. “You will regret saying such vile words.”

Her fingers had barely brushed the top of his armor, and it should have been impossible for him to feel the fleeting contact at all. But he felt it, a slight twinge sparking across the area like a burst of static electricity, as if she'd touched his bare skin. It wasn't painful, but Lance jerked his arm back in surprise. Hunk jumped at the movement, already stepping backwards as he used his arm to drag Lance with him.

“Uh, I think I hear our teammates calling us.” Hunk laughed nervously, voice high. “We'll be leaving now.”

The witch-doctor said nothing as Hunk led Lance away, although the boiled anger in her gaze already spoke plenty. Lance finally forced himself to turn around, swallowing down the mild panic that had been rushing up his throat as they reached the front of the leader's hut again. Keith was still propped against the yellow home, arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. He raised an eyebrow when the two approached, but he said nothing as Hunk came to a stop, letting out a large sigh.

“That was... kinda creepy.”

Lance nodded, the spot on his armor that the Xa'Qan had touched feeling...oddly exposed, even though his armor was still fully covering what it should. He couldn't understand why she'd been so angry, but suddenly, this planet started feeling a bit more unpleasant than peaceful.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye before someone snatched at the bread that had still been lying in Lance's hand. He glanced over to catch Pidge shoving the last few bits into her mouth, a triumphant grin on her face.

“You snooze, you lose. Should've eaten it when you had the chance.” She sing-sang. Her smile faltered slightly when she caught Lance's expression. “Did something happen?”

A door opened before he could reply, and all eyes landed on Allura and Shiro as they made their way back out of the hut. Allura was smiling, but the strain in it was poorly hidden. Shiro hadn't even bothered, looking more than a bit disgruntled as he followed behind her. No Xa'Qan accompanied them out.

“Paladins,” Allura started, her voice excessively upbeat. “Let us head back to the Castle. We will debrief once we've taken off.”

From the looks of it, the talks clearly didn't go well. Everyone followed along silently, and Lance took a chance to see if the witch-doctor was still there as they headed back towards the forest. She wasn't.

By the time everyone had filed into the Castle, Allura had stopped looking cordial, a scowl on her face as she set the ship for a course back up into space. They were gathered on the bridge, standing awkwardly with Coran as they waited for a sort of explanation, one Shiro clearly wasn't tripping over himself to offer.

“So...” Hunk said slowly. “The alliance...?”

“Is not happening.” Allura answered flatly. “Our ideals and methods simply did not align, so it was bound to not reach fruition.” She turned around at the heavy silence, an apologetic smile on her face. “Do not be too down. Our goal is still the same. We will continue to expand Voltron's protection with planets that seek our help. We are not guaranteed to be accepted by all of them.”

“The Princess is right,” Coran piped up brightly. “We've all had a long day, I think we all deserve a good rest for now. Good work today, Paladins.”

The team mumbled in acknowledgment before they all headed towards the kitchen for some food. They'd been so busy that they'd barely eaten all day. But somehow, Lance somehow didn't feel that hungry. His mind kept flashing back to that witch-doctor, so resentful and overflowing with anger. His wrist tickled again, but he ignored it.

That night, Lance woke up to the worst pain he'd ever experienced in his life. It was like knives scraping at the insides of his body, the pain radiating throughout so violently it jolted him out of the slow tendrils of sleep in an instant. He pushed himself upright, practically tearing both the eye mask and headphones off and tossing them to the side in his panic. What was hell?

His head felt like it was threatening to split open any second, not helping the almost burning sensation that was dragging across the rest of his body. But as soon as it started, it seemed to ebb away, like a slow and receding tide. He doubted it at first, thinking that the pain was just so great it was numbing out his senses, but no, it was definitely going away. It didn't take more than 30 seconds before Lance was sitting in the dark with nothing but a cold sweat and slight shudders that ran down his skin with each heavy breath. His throat felt raw. Had he screamed? He couldn't remember.

Blue was fuzzy in his mind, her concern washing over him. He glanced down, placing a shaky hand against his chest where the pain had felt the greatest. Then checked under his shirt to make certain that he didn't actually have some sort of injury. There was nothing, and Lance was starting to think he just had some sort of crazily realistic nightmare. That had to be it—there was no other explanation.

His heart rate was still well above the norm by the time he'd retrieved his eye mask and Pidge's headphones (they hadn't broken, thankfully—Pidge would've killed him), and he opted for a few breathing exercises before he let himself lie back down.

The second time around, he woke up to the same excruciating pain almost immediately, and this time he didn't even have the energy to sit up and recover his senses. He pressed his face against the pillow, screaming into it as his hands gripped at the fabric so tightly it might have torn. But the same thing was happening. The moment his mind began to jolt awake and reorient itself, the pain was already beginning to fizzle out like a dying flame. Only when it seemed to have completely disappeared did he finally release his death grip on the pillow, rolling onto his side. The headphone pressed uncomfortably against his ear, and he took them off a bit more gently this time, placing them next to him as he removed the eye mask and blinked blearily at his darkened room.

Something was wrong. He had no idea what was going on. Was he sick? He felt fine now, though. Shaken up, but fine. He pushed himself upright again, pressing his hands gingerly against his stomach. Felt it rise with each unsteady breath he took. Why did he feel so normal now? All he could remember was waking up both times to—

He blinked. Now that he thought about it, the pain left nearly as soon as he woke up. As if it only seemed to trigger once he fell asleep. A shudder passed through his body, settling into an uneasy weight in his chest. That almost sounded like a curse...

An image of the witch-doctor flashed through his mind for a quick second, but he swallowed down the sudden panic. No, he was overthinking this. It sounded crazy. It was crazy. Even still, his stomach lurched at the idea of trying to go to sleep again, of having to relive that sort of rude awakening a third time.

He didn't sleep that night, sitting against the wall of his bed as he thought about blue oceans and orange sunsets.

                                                        (Hour 28)

All-nighters never came easy for Lance. Sleep was important—vital—both for healthy skin and a healthy mind. If given the chance, Lance avoided all-nighters like the plague. Usually, it never came to that extreme, and he always managed a few hours of sleep in between late night Galra attacks and distress calls from nearby planets. But as morning crept around, Lance wondered how Pidge managed all of her sleepless nights. His body felt particularly heavy as he slumped against the wall, wishing he could sink into his bed and be wrapped into a warm cocoon. It was so tempting, the idea of curling back under the blankets and drifting off, even though it was the completely wrong time to do so.

Lance sighed, pushing himself onto his feet as he rubbed at his eyes. The room's lights felt brighter than usual—he'd turned them on halfway through the night to keep himself awake—and he trudged to the bathroom with heavy steps.

What was wrong with him? He had no idea, and he had no idea how to explain to anyone if he tried to bring it up. He hurt whenever he tried to fall asleep? He didn't know how to describe it if anyone asked; the sensation felt too visceral in a way that words seemed to fall short of portraying it accurately. Maybe it was just a psychological thing. But how does he fix something like that?

He figured it might wear off. He hoped, at least. Then maybe later through the day, he'd be able to nap without any of his current worries. It sounded optimistic, almost too optimistic, but Lance was desperate for anything that would help him get through the day. Hopefully they wouldn't have to do anything that required a lot of concentration—he could barely focus on one thing at a time.

After he'd gotten ready and headed down for breakfast, he wasn't surprised to see he was the last one to arrive. The others were already seated, in various stages of finishing their bowl while they shared idle chatter amongst themselves. Hunk was the first to catch his eye when he walked in, his smile slipping into something more concerned by the time Lance got close enough to slide into the seat next to him.

“Dude...” Hunk started hesitantly. “You look kinda...”

“Terrible?” Lance supplied, eyes shut as he slumped against the chair. “Worse for wear? Like a dried up plant?”

There was a small clatter, and Lance peeked an eye open to see Hunk grabbing a bowl that Shiro passed over the table before placing it in front of his seat. “Yeah, basically,” Hunk said, a slight grin on his face. “Trouble sleeping last night?”

The question brought back the current reality of his situation back with startling clarity, jerking Lance out of his drowsiness. He straightened up, grumbling as he reached for the bowl of space goo. “Don't get me started. I didn't sleep at all.”

Across the table, Pidge made a slight noise, almost surprised. “You pulled an all-nighter? That's new.” She'd already finished her bowl, one hand propping her head up as she stared at him lazily. One look was enough for him to tell that she didn't get much sleep, either. Although that was probably out of poor life choices, not whatever he was dealing with. “What were you doing up?”

Lance picked at his bowl, his appetite failing to rouse him enough to eat. He could hardly remember last night, his memory a blur of bright lights and hazy thoughts. It was exhausting just to try and recall the past few hours, so he gave up, opting to focus on the weird texture of the food in his bowl as he mixed the spoon around. It was gross, but it kept him awake.

“Uh, hello?” Hunk's voice suddenly cut in, and Lance startled at the hand waving in front of his eyes. “Earth to Lance? Don't tell me you fell asleep.”

Lance blinked, looking up to see the rest of the table had quieted down, all staring at him after Hunk's question. He felt the heat rising to his face, shaking his head as he sat up, the spoon all but abandoned in his bowl. “I didn't, I was just... thinking. I probably just had trouble sleeping because I wasn't feeling that great last night.”

Hunk's brow furrowed, eyes scanning even more closely. “Maybe you're sick?” He raised a hand towards Lance's forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

Lance batted the hand away, clicking his tongue. “I'm fine. No fever. Not sick. Nada. Don't mind me.”

“We will be training around one varga after we finish eating and preparing,” Allura said, watching him carefully. “Are you sure you will be alright?”

Just the thought of having to train had his body groan with exhaustion, but Lance forced himself to nod, a tight smile on his face. “Don't worry, Princess. Nothing I can't handle. Appreciate the concern, though.”

He was glad no one pressed much further, although Lance grew acutely aware of the subtle glances people threw his way, as if they were expecting him to fall asleep in his food. Not a far off possibility, but Lance wasn't going to let that happen. The last thing he needed was to wake up screaming in the middle of breakfast and freak everyone out. So Lance ignored the fatigue pressing at the back of his eyes, shoveling down a few spoonfuls of food at Hunk's insistence.

He'd deal with it after training.

[smolpocketsmonsters]

Heart Balm

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Now with a chapter title

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               You look awful.

               The words bounced around inside Aether’s mind, lethargic but needling. Ugly but correct. They lapped at him like waves on the Waking Sea. Like the bathtub water, gently jostled with the slightest movement from the man behind him, fingertips light and calm and soothing as they tenderly spreading the sweet smelling balm over his hair and skin.

               Vergil cared a lot about appearances, usually about his own, but this time, Vergil was fussing about Aether, far beyond that of his usual teasings that he would prod the healer with, especially over his tendency to pout. You’ll get wrinkles, he would say. This time, Vergil was fussing for real.

               You look awful.

               And he knew it.

               He knew that his poor appetite and lack of proper sleep the last six, almost seven months had washed him raw of the healthy tones that had once resided in his sun kissed skin, in his fair hair, and even his elfroot green eyes that were now lackluster and dull. And his body… How he wished he had been able to control that better. That whenever his cheeks were even slightly more sunken than usual, his cheekbones were more noticeable. And it wasn’t just his face that had been visually affected by his lack of health. He knew it from the way that his collarbone looked sharper, and the bones of his hips.

               He wondered if Vergil could see the knobs of his spine as sharply as they felt to his own hand.

               Aether did know that he could still come across as healthy to strangers, a little thin but not in a way that expressed physical sickness instead of mental, but to people who were familiar with him, people who knew him, they could see the difference.

               Vergil could see the difference.

               But what shame Aether felt from allowing himself to get this bad went silent as Vergil tended to him, gently and quietly pampering him in ways he had almost forgotten. It had been so long.

               The warm water was as soothing as the actions, as soothing as the presence of the other mage who later made him tiredly smile, and even laugh a little bit, as the Warden Commander would tell the healer all of what he had missed from Vigil’s Keep, of how his fellow Wardens were. It was good to hear everyone was doing well.

               Vergil must have noticed his exhaustion, or maybe he assumed such by the way he barely touched his food from lack of general appetite, because he gently inquired if he wanted to lay down. And the answer Aether gave him was replied in turn with a fond smile that made the worry in his heart ease up.

               All because of a confession of I miss you.

               A confession that was answered with I’m here.

               And Aether went to sleep that night with his heart feeling lighter than it had in months.

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               It took mere hours for Aether to wake again and drowsy eyes sleepily stared at the little bit of pale skin he could see peeking out from the shoulder of a black tunic-shirt, and beyond that, the ceiling of the rich bedroom that was his own, bathed in moonlight that poured in from the large balcony windows that sat closed to keep the chilly night air at bay.

               It was so strange to wake up not in his hammock, tucked away in the dark little closet that used to also be dedicated to keeping his private stash of wine. To sleep in his actual bed was more proof to the exhausted healer that the afternoon before had not just been an awful and wonderful dream, that the sweet smells of perfumed balms had been more than just his missing Vergil coming to a head.

               It was real.

               This was real.

               And a tired smile curled on his lips and he breathed deeply, sedating himself a little with the soft scent of Vergil’s favored bath oils in his nose.

               And although it put him at ease, it did not help him fall asleep.

               He and Vergil had gone to bed too early and Aether had missed his nightly ration of sleeping draught.

               That or Vergil told the apothecary to not bother them.

               Aether wasn’t entirely sure.

               But as he tried to doze off, he thought about how they all began.

               Strange to think it was coming up on thirteen years since the day Aether had found himself trapped up a tree by werewolves only to be rescued by a party of people who, at the time being, he had no idea consisted of three Grey Wardens, one who became King of Ferelden, the second who eventually was the husband of the Empress’s Arcane Advisor and Liaison to the Inquisition, and the third who wore the title Hero of Ferelden and Warden Commander publically.

               Vergil was such an awful flirt back then too.

               If not for the Dalish Warden insisting on lingering a little longer once Zathrian’s clan was safe, that was all Vergil would have been to Aether. But things happened just the way they had and that forest was where the two of them truly began what would transform into what they were today.

               A sharp and sudden ache in his left hand dragged his attention away from his peaceful musings and he winced from the Anchor’s flare.

               It had been doing that more often since encountering Telana’s barrier during the excavation of the Frostback Basin. More often but the flares were no more painful than they had been since the first time the mark grew more powerful, back after Corypheus’s attack on Haven.

               At this point it was just a mild annoyance.

               A heavy sigh hefted in Aether’s chest and he curled his fingers, nuzzling his face against Vergil’s skin.

               He had to try to get some sleep.

               But what sleep came was poor and he woke frequently and morning came all too soon with the sound of Aether’s personal rooster closing the door behind her and coming up the stairs, the scent of breakfast wafting into the room and Aether couldn’t help immediately feeling sick to his stomach.

               Aether listened as her steps hit the landing and then paused, perhaps hesitating under the view of the two sleeping in the bed, and then there was the sound of a heavy tray being put down, one, two steps and then…

               “Not a step closer.”

               He didn’t even realize that Vergil was awake, hadn’t noticed the change in his breathing, hadn’t noticed the change in his heart beating against his ear.

               “That’ll be all. Dismissed,” Vergil’s low voice added, scratchy from sleep.

               There was hesitation, and then the familiar chirpy voice of the servant reached his ears.

               “Excluding meals, Ambassador Montilyet has cleared the Inquisitor’s schedule for the day.”

               Aether quietly thought a blessing to the esteemed ambassador as he listened to her quieter retreat and then heard the door close. Once it was, he sighed and felt his entire body relax, and Aether allowed himself to doze back off until this time it was Vergil who disturbed him by moving, by uncoiling his arms from around the Inquisitor and pulling away.

               Aether felt anxiety creep into his chest when he felt the man get out of bed, but that was eased when he felt the bed sink once more and he felt Vergil’s fingers lightly stroke over his hair briefly as the Warden settled himself back down, not to sleep more, but to eat in bed. With that peace of mind, Aether quietly stretched out, feeling long and gangly if only for a moment before he curled back up onto himself, unwilling to open his eyes, to be aware of anything more than what he heard and felt, and just wished himself to go back to sleep.

               He probably was for a few minutes, he doubted it was an hour, before he felt the gentle rousing touch of Vergil at his shoulder.

               “You should eat something,” Vergil quietly said.

               “’m not hungry,” Aether murmured in sleepy protest.

               “I know, but you still should,” he reasoned, “even if it’s just a little.”

               He didn’t want to eat, but a little was not unreasonable and it was Vergil who was asking.

               Lethargically, Aether sat up and rubbed his puffy eyes, suddenly and desperately craving his salt rock that was clear on the other side of the room, hiding somewhere on the mess that was his desk that needed to be organized, badly.

               The servant who normally woke him wasn’t allowed to touch anything on the desk.

               But for the first time since the intervention, Aether’s morning was quiet as Vergil gently encouraged the Inquisitor to drink some water and nibble on some fruit, allowing his mind to slowly wake up by itself while the body ran on autopilot. It felt both peaceful and awkward, just the two of them eating in his bed, reminding him of the odd times off and on before the fight where the same would happen, although back then it had been without Vergil’s urging and without Aether’s silence.

               Eventually though, their day sluggishly came to a start and fond old habits began to settle again as Aether mildly demanded for the bandages and salve for Vergil’s scarred arm.

               “I can use my teeth like always, but if you insist.”

               “I do insist,” Aether stated with a proud huff before his voice took on a scolding tone as he added, “and I will be taking a look at your leg too.”

               And Vergil let him.

               Aether observed closely as he carefully tended to the scar, watched the way the muscles beneath would tense and listened for every occasional hiss. It still amazed Aether how sensitive the area was no matter how careful he was. But eventually the old wound was wrapped and the healer moved on to Vergil’s leg, drawing it across his lap so he could lend it proper attention.

               “How did this happen?” the healer asked as he began, his hands warm with magic as they carefully massaged balm into Vergil’s sensitive and swollen ankle, his ears pricking slightly from a muffled sound that Vergil made. “Does that hurt?”

               “It doesn’t hurt,” Vergil started, adding “much,” like an afterthought. “I don’t think I was ready for your magic. Forgot how it feels.”

               A fond smile softly betrayed his own lips, warmth seeping into his chest as well as a small spark of sadness.

               He didn’t want Vergil to ever forget.

               Swallowing the nerves that had started to stick in his throat, Aether continued, ignoring his own thoughts in favor of healing, listening for any sounds of discomfort in response to his actions. Even when he had finished with the ankle and moved on to the strained muscle in Vergil’s thigh, his hands warm and soothing and careful and comforting as they carefully worked away all pain and discomfort until the irritation in the matter was gone.

               It felt like an accomplishment, however small.

               That sort of feeling was far and few between.

               But just like Ameridan told him, Aether took the moments of happiness where he found them.

               Because the world would without a doubt take the rest.

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               The nobles left a day early, not because of the Inquisition, but rather because of Vergil, and Aether didn’t know what to do with his emotions on the matter.

               On one hand, he felt glad that they were leaving, and apparently had only good things to say about the Inquisition, but on the other hand, he felt bad because they were leaving out of anger directed towards Vergil, who could not be entirely blamed for his automatic response to their yappy little shit of a dog slamming into his ankles, after all, when one had spent as long as Vergil had regularly getting attacked by darkspawn that would spring up from underfoot, it was somewhat expected for a defensive attack to be used.

               Unfortunately that meant that the nobles would likely spread awful gossip about Vergil and potentially the Grey Wardens as a whole.

               The entire matter gave Aether a headache as he reluctantly sat down to the scheduled evening meal.

               And when the plate was put down in front of him, the Inquisitor felt surprise spark in his stomach and Vergil spoke up.

               “I made a suggestion to the cook about portions,” he explained, noting that his portion at lunch seemed to be too much for him, and quietly, Aether stared at the portion.

               It was smaller.

               It felt a little easier to manage.

               And Aether smiled a little for the ease.

               “Food has been difficult for me the last few months,” Aether admitted to Vergil as he quietly began to eat. “My appetite just isn’t really there anymore.”

               “You need fuel for this wonderful mind of yours,” Vergil said, his voice with humor, “So we’ll get to it. Even cheat the brain out of its stubbornness.”

               And the healer smiled.

               “How would you suggest to trick it?”

               And Vergil did have suggestions, of smaller portions and light snacks in between meals and plenty of water. Vergil even suggested the idea of using a potion to promote appetite, one that he himself used to help prevent when the Taint might take him by surprise and make him feel like he was starving to the point of gorging himself until sick, which did no one any good.

               They were all good ideas, and Aether approved of them all as a healer, even if he himself was the patient.

               It was better than forcing him to eat so much food all in one sitting and make him feel sick and spiteful until the next meal.

               Vergil’s council on the matter was appreciated.

               And, quietly, the Inquisitor could feel things start to change, if only for the better.

               For him to get better.

[codename-bewareofthefangirl]

Could I request the reactions of Shoto, Bakugo, and Izuku finding out that their S/O is the child of a Villain?

Hi dear! Iliked a lot this ask, but it wasn’t simple. In the end, I believe they’d bevery understanding, especially Todoroki and Midoriya (You’re not your parents),so I hope you like them!

Have a nice day!

Bakugou,Midoriya, Todoroki x Villain’s Daughter Reader (Slight Angst, Comfort, Swearingfor Kacchan)

BakugouKatsuki

“What the fuck?” Bakugou shouted and you jostled,taking a step back as his hands sparkled and the smell of nitroglycerin invadedthe small bedroom. “Shit!” he growled again, angrily.

You shut your mouth with wide eyes, thinking about somethingto say to calm him down. To make everything alright again. You should have saidit before, you should have found another way instead of blurting it after yourboyfriend had to fight him. You should have done better. But you couldn’t turnback time.

“Why the hell haven’t you told me before?” he askedglaring daggers. Bakugou clenched his fists trying to avoid blowing upsomething again, but he felt like combusting inside.

You shook your head, stepping back.

“…I was afraid…” you whispered, staring at the floor.You didn’t want to see that the usual, hidden softness in Bakugou’s eyes hadvanished, nor that he was disgusted. Or betrayed. You two had fought andstruggled so hard to get together, to become better people together.

What if it had all been in vain?

Bakugou frowned deeper as he understood your words: hewasn’t stupid and he knew you. He knew what you were afraid of and that annoyedhim even more.

“Oi, look at me!” He marched towards you, who ended uptrapped with the back to the wall, “I said, look at me.” He repeated slamminghis hands at the sides of your head.

You slowly lifted the chin and met his ruby eyes.

Bakugou was angry. Mad angry. His jaw was tense andhis eyes were narrowed as always when he was trying to kill someone with hisglare; you could hear the crackling from his palms.

But he hadn’t given up, nor he was sickened.

“…I’m sorry,” you instinctively murmured, trembling.You were fighting hard to bite back your tears, but you were losing that battle.

“Shut up,” he scowled, “This is so fucking stupid.”

“I’m-“

“I don’t give a shit!” he roared and you shrunkagainst the wall, “Do you approve what your dad does?”

You shook your head, lips sealed.

“Do you care if I throw him in jail for the rest ofhis life?” Bakugou asked again, analyzing every single movement and expressionof yours. To read the truth.

Your eyes saddened, but you shook your head again.

Bakugou took a big breath and relaxed his shoulders,nodding slightly.

“Then, I don’t give a shit that he’s your father,” herepeated in a lower voice, visibly calming down, “You’re with me, that’s theimportant thing. The rest is bullshit.” He leaned ‘till he rested his foreheadagainst yours, his breath caressing your lips.

You finally felt the fear and the anxiety being washedaway by a wave of relief and showed him a small smile.

“…thank you.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed, but for a second youcould swear you had seen a grin on his lips.

“I’m still mad because you haven’t told it to mebefore,” he reminded you in a low growl, but you giggled.

“Yeah, sorry,” you hummed, too happy that the tragedyhad been avoided. “Could you let me go now?”

Bakugou smirked and tilted his head. “Not yet,” he repliedbefore leaning closer and kissing you fiercely.

Midoriya Izuko

You finished your confession with a sob, looking downat your cup of tea, now cold.

“…I’m sorry if I haven’t told you before, I was reallyscared you were going to hate me,” you explained, wiping away the tears. Thetension was tearing you apart as you waited for an answer.

“Uhm SO,” Midoriya was smiling awkwardly, scratchingnervously the back of his head, “If I have to be honest…well, I already knewit?”

You perked up immediately, staring at him shocked.

“What?” It was impossible.

“Y-you know that I like to study and analyze otherheroes, noting down everything about them…I did it with you too?” Midoriyaexplained tentatively. A faint blush colored his cheeks and he seemed scared ofyour reaction.

“I discovered who she was before we…started dating? Oreven before we became friends. I don’t really remember …”

That was absurd. He was to one who should have beenmad at you for lying, deceiving him and not trusting him enough to tell him thetruth about your mother. One of the evilest villain around.

“Then why did you stay with me?” you asked incredulous,shaking your head in disbelief, “Do you trust me? Aren’t you mad?”

The questions flowed one after another and Midoriyablinked at you, finally relaxing a bit.

“At first I was a bit cautious, I admit it, but Iobserved and befriended you: there’s no way in the world you could be evil. You’rea hero,” He answered smiling softly at you.

That smile hit hard, making you tearing up again.

“You’re crazy…” you mumbled covering your eyes andMidoriya chuckled.

“I-I just fell for you…” he explained as if it was thesimplest thing in the universe.

You beamed at him and let the pain and the fear ofrejection fade away.

“Thank you,” you said fondly making him blush evenmore.

“So you aren’t mad that I stalked you?” he playfullyasked, playing with the green hair.

“It depends on what you had found…” you faked tothreat, standing up to reach him and plop down to his side.

“Well, then maybe we should talk about it anothertime,” he replied sheepishly and that made you both giggling.

TodorokiShouto

Todoroki was laying on the infirmary’s bed, somebandages covering minor wounds and blood smearing his face, but actuallynothing too serious had happened. Except for him discovering your dad was adamn villain.

“…I’m sorry,” you whispered looking down, “It’s myfault,” you added clenching your hands around the white bedsheets. And it wasfor real. If you had said about your father to Todoroki before, he wouldn’thave discovered it by the enemy himself, wouldn’t have been so shocked about itand consequently hit by that last attack. Luckily, other pro-heroes were thereand managed to solve everything peacefully.

Still. It was your fault. What was worst is that he’dalso discovered that you’d lied to him for all that time and that your fatherwas a bad guy.

Todoroki sighed heavily, but his eyes were moreconfused than angry, even if the twitch of his lips betrayed his annoyance.

“Why haven’t you told me before?” he asked, grabbingyour hand and pulling it gently to force you to meet his eyes.

Again, his voice was the usual cold and didn’t let anythingshine through.

“Because I didn’t want to disappoint you. I’m thechild of a villain, Shouto. You’re an incredible hero,” you whispered in reply,tired and broken.

He scoffed, giving you a dirty look.

“Did you really think I would judge you about who yourfather is?” He seemed more troubled by this than everything else, “Do youremember who’s mine?”

You frowned.

“An asshole,” you replied instinctively and that madehim smirk, “But a hero. Not a villain,” you added trying to free your hand, buthe tightened his grip. He grimaced doing that and you stopped movingimmediately with a worried look.

“He hurt you!” you grieved, guiltiness eating you fromthe inside.

“Weren’t you the one who’ve helped me freeing myselffrom my father’s influence? Who’ve taught me how to love my fire? Who’ve said Iwasn’t my father?” He calmly reminded you. You grimaced but shook your headstubbornly, even if you recognized the truth in your own words.

“It’s different-”

“It’s the same,” he argued, “Now, or you have lied tome about this or you aren’t your father too.”

You pursed your lips in a tight line.

“What if I am?”

“I wouldn’t love you,” He replied without batting aneyelash. Your face flushed.

You stayed silent again.

“What if…I’m going to become like him?” you murmuredscared, searching in his eyes a certainty. The last one. The only one youneeded.

“Then I’ll fight to bring you back with me,” hereplied with a small, soft smile, “Because I know you’re better than that.”

That finally broke your walls and you let the tearsstream freely down your cheeks. You threw yourself at him and buried the facein his chest.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” you repeated in a blur. Todorokisighed again between fondness and exasperation as he stroked your hair gently.

“There’s no need,” he huffed, “ But, please, tell meeverything from now on,”

“Mmh.”

“And I’m not hurt,”

“You’re bleeding and it’s my fa- I’m sorry, I’mhurting you? Let me mov-“ you tried to move away from his hold, but he kept youthere.

“Stay here,” he frowned, looking away to hide thelight blush of his cheeks. That sight finally made you smile and you noddedamused, resting again.

“As you want,”

“Thanks.”

[maraudersmessrs]

Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban--- Chapter 27: Hogsmeade Trip

Ao3 link

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21 / Chapter 22 / Chapter 23 / Chapter 24 / Chapter 25 / Chapter 26 / Chapter 27 / Chapter 28 / Chapter 29 / Chapter 30 / Chapter 31 / Chapter 32 / Chapter 33 / Chapter 34

Remus was warned off of giving specific gifts to specific students by Professor Sprout and McGonagall; “You don’t want to promote favoritism or inappropriate teacher student relationships,” McGonagall had said warningly.

“You also don’t want to be beholden to 75 little ruffians for Christmas crackers,” Sprout had muttered darkly, instilling in him a burning need for that story. But when he had looked at her in curiosity, she had just shaken her head solemnly and sipped her tea.

She did, however elect to come along, as she apparently needed a new stash of Cauldron Cakes; Peeves had dumped all of them down the toilet. “Little bugger doesn’t often bother me,” she had scowled sourly as they met outside the gates in the pearly afternoon light. “I fancy he was bored, what with the castle being empty for weeks on end and there’s no way I’ll be able to manage first year’s greenhouse drama without my chocolate.” She clasped her green cloak and set her fuzzy earmuffs on firmly before looking up at him. “Ready?”

The Apparated in tandem, appearing on Hogsmeade’s snowy streets in stride with each other. The snow looked like icing on the cozy store front with their frosted windows, glowing from within. For a moment, he allowed the ease of this place seep into him; magic folk everywhere, the full moon weeks away, a town steeped with happy memories like a strong tea. How many times had he walked these streets with friends at his side, huddled in sneaky delight beneath James’ cloak or with adolescent smugness? Too many to count, he was sure. He could walk these streets blindfolded, if pressed. A moment of pain passed through his chest; he found if he alighted on memories delicately enough, just grazed them in passing, they hurt far less than being submerged and…wallowing, he supposed the term was.

Remus looked down at Professor Sprout, striding briskly at his elbow. Perhaps it was time for a new memory in this place.  “Well, my stop it's Honeyduke’s,” she said. “Anything you're getting from there?”

He studied the sign thoughtfully. “I'll expect that's the safest place to get most things, honestly; who doesn't enjoy sweets? Probably the easiest on my budget as well,” he sighed before eyeing her dryly. “That was the general idea of the holiday amnesia where everyone conveniently forgot to inform me when presents were exchanged, was it not?”

Sprout had the decency to at least not try to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about; she met his eyes and flashed him a knowing grin. “Yep. I told them it wouldn't hold water; too much pride in you to let all that go.”

“Pride hasn't a thing to do with it!” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. She raised hers right back. “Well… at least not all of it,” he subsided, grudgingly.

The smell of warm caramel and dark chocolate flooded over them as they entered the warm, spacious candy shop. While he enjoyed sweets as much as the next person, it seemed the youthful fanaticism with sugar had dimmed in his years away from Hogwarts. Where the ocean of nougat, sprinkles, and icing would have seemed a veritable dream to him when he was Harry's age now had the effect of making his teeth hurt just looking at them. Idly, the both of them wandered down separate aisles, picking through the smorgasbord of colors and flavors. “What does Professor McGonagall like?” Remus asked over the partition featuring a bright blue mouse doing some sort of frenzied, quaking dance, giving faint squeaks intermittently.

“Minerva's a woman who likes the basics; biscuits, some of those lemon meringue bites, the simple things, no special effects.” Her voice issued from somewhere behind a tower of chocolate frog boxes. “You can call her Minerva, you know, lad. You're not our student anymore.”

A small chuckle escaped him at the thought of the awed and terrified look that Peter would have shot him if he dared try to address her that way. The unholy and irreverent glee that would have shone in James and Sirius’s eyes. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m not sure when I’ll feel like a proper Professor anyhow; I still have the maddening feeling everyone knows more than me.” He pondered over the bright stacks before choosing the very bits of meringue Sprout had suggested.

“No one knows more than anyone else, just answers to different questions,” she grunted dismissively and came around the corner to his aisle. “Ah, here they are.” She began loading boxes of Cauldron Cakes into her arms while speaking over her shoulder to him. “Now, listen, you've done your research and you know your stuff. And there's no possible way you could do any worse than the buffoon Dumbledore hired last year; ask Minerva about it sometime. She has a whole tirade. These,” she reached out and plucked a bag of candied violets that apparently sent sparkling purple butterflies flitting about when jostled. “Filius likes these.” Obligingly, he set them in the basket, making the contents shimmer and jostle for a few seconds before settling. “Who else are you buying for?”

“Oh, all the staff.”

“Even Severus?”

“Especially Severus.”

When she shot him a squint of disbelief, he tried to smile as benignly as Luna and said, “Would anything annoy him so much as a thoughtful and accurate gift from me?”

Sprout laughed aloud. “Wicked boy!” She said, approvingly.

They moved about the store, Sprout acting as his candy liason to the professorial body at Hogwarts, pulling this and that from the shelves before he hefted the lot up to the front counter. After a thought, he also replenished his chocolate collection for the students from the wicker baskets where the bars were stacked at least a dozen high. The portly man behind the register quirked his large moustache in jovial amusement at the hoarde, to which Remus said, slightly sheepish, “Er, late holiday shopping.”

“Doesn't bother me any, son,” he chuckled and began to pack them all away into brown bags, decorated ornately with shiny gold patterning.

The sun was crawling high above them when they left the shop, brighter through the veil of clouds than it had been when they arrived. Remus turned to Professor Sprout. “My class is in the afternoon, do you have anything you need to return for?”

She considered the castle far up on the distant hill, then squinted up at the sun before she screwed her long pipe in between her teeth. “Mm, not particularly. Fancy a walk?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you mind?” She flicked the pipe with the tip of her finger, to which he shook his head.

“Not at all.”

She lit it with a decisive jab of her wand and began determinedly puffing on it, long streams of sweet, earthy smelling smoke billowing from her nose and lips asking with her wintery breath. They trudged along in amiable silence, every once in a while breaking it to point out some patron or another, some remembered memory on a street corner. It was cold enough that it bit his toes even through his shoes but not enough to ruin the pleasure of the crisp air and walking with company.  Sprout’s nose was bright red above her pipe, but she looked cozy bundled in her wooly cloak, scarf and mittens, grey hair sticking every which way. “How are they working for you? Those?” She asked suddenly after a moment, gesturing with her chin to his hands, as if reading his mind.

“Oh,” he looked down at his brown mittened hands and flexed them. “Wonderful, actually. I hadn't even noticed they weren't cold. Thank you,” he added, and she waved him away airily.

“Bad as it sounds, I had them around and weren't getting much use from them--I prefer gloves, fingerless ones, at that. Figured you’d appreciate them more.”

He laughed. “Waste not….”

It faded from his face, however, when he saw that their absent wanderings had brought them to the fence of the Shrieking Shack. Sprout glanced up at him at the sudden quiet but then made a grim sound around her teeth clamped on her pipe. “Sorry, lad,” She said quietly, sounding as gentle as Remus had ever heard her.

He blinked back at her, then realized his expression must have looked quite bleak. “What? Oh. No, it's…” Looking back at the Shack, he gave an involuntary shiver, the temperature seeming to drop by degrees. He tucked his hands beneath his arms and shot her a fleeting smile he didn't feel. “It's alright.”

She squinted at him and began to say something when she too gave a shudder and rubbed at her arms. This place seemed to suck the sunshine out of the day and suddenly, his meager bag of treats didn't seem even close to balancing out the gifts he'd received.  The darkness of the Shack beyond them, the numbing fingers of frigid wind that snuck between cloak flaps and slipped down his neck weighed down on him. He now just felt foolish, standing here with a bag full of candy, hoping to even come close to paying back the charity he had received, unearned. The cold was an ache in his bones and joints, throbbing in his deepest scars.  Wait… Remus furrowed his brow, turning to Professor Sprout to ask, “Do you--” but she was looking into the forest over his shoulder, face drained of color.

Time became a stilted. Suddenly, his wand was in his hand and he was facing 3 Dementors that were almost halfway to them from the woods. He stepped in front of Sprout when she made a noise--maybe the beginning of a word, a spell, an order. Something in the back of his mind was trying to tell him that they had nothing to fear, all the Dementors could do--would do-- was drain happiness; they weren’t fugitives. They hadn’t done anything wrong. The Dementor’s wouldn’t do anything.

Wraith-like, they swept forward with something like intent in their tilt. Hunger in the dipping of their heads. Starving…. “We haven’t done anything,” he said loudly, going for strident, but it caught in his throat as they all pulled in a sucking gasp as one. “Go--”

The tide of absolute deathly cold that flooded the two of them swamped any rational thought he might have had. There was an animal terror, here, that was clawing at the back of his mind. Unnervingly, it felt as if he were slipping sideways mentally, as though down a path long since forgotten. Unguarded against. A memory ignited like a faulty match, sputtering.

Night. A bright night. Leaves patterned against the window. A record played in his parents room, warbling, distant. Warm and safe; it smelled like home. A scrabbling at the window, a shadow against the moon. Sitting up, rubbing sleep from his eyes; a branch? A rasp against the glass; an owl?

No...bigger….

Yellow-green eyes, the predator-pupil glint against the bedside night-light. A vibration, lower than a growl, going deeper than a sound, cutting straight through him. Terror. Frozen. The latch cracking, tinkling to the floor. Help. The muffled thud. Claws on the hard-wood. Slowly. Catching in the wool rug. Stalking. Oh, help…. He opened his mouth to scream, to call out, to say some magic words to be safe but--

He opened his mouth. “Ex--” It was nothing; steam on the breeze. Useless.

The creak of the bed as the beast put up a paw, levering--he twisted to run, flinging himself off the bed--the overwhelming stench of rotten meat, of wet fur, of monster--he was slammed down, he was lifted, fangs in flesh, he was thrown--

You aren’t that boy; you are the monster.

The teeth--the madness--the screaming--

“HEY!”

The bellow came from right beside him and he flinched away, glazed eyes turning. Professor Sprout flung a snowball at the one in the lead, catching it in its middle to negligible effect. She was bristling, pipe forgotten, eyes burning as she bent down to scoop up a rock. “This isn’t tea time! Get out!” The rock sailed over their heads but Sprout’s action broke whatever horrible flashback loop he seemed to be caught in and he began to desperately rummage about for happy thoughts.

Harry. Luna. Neville. Dumbledore. The joy of the castle. Harry is safe. I am home. “Expecto Patronum,” he said slowly, clearly.

Nothing happened at his wand tip but the Dementors, who had already slowed at Sprout’s attack, swirled, more agitated, drawing no closer. Breathe. You’ve done this before. Happiness as a weapon, not as their food. Teaching. You teach, you help. Lily’s voice surfaced once more, echoing from so many years ago; You help people. “Expecto Patronum,” he repeated, louder.

“What he said,” Sprout spat, holding up another snowball menacingly in one hand and her wand in the other. “Expecto Patronum!”

One of them gave an almost animal like huff of irritation and they began to drift back the way they came. But they went slowly, their faces still turned to them as if hesitating.

McGonagall snickering helplessly. Hagrid beaming, presenting his gift. “Go!” Remus barked, “Expecto Patronum!”

At the faint silver vapor that darted from his wand, they finally turned and retreated steadily, drifting silently back into the forest. Remus and Sprout stood, breathing a little too fast,until she sat down abruptly and heavily on a tree stump with a muttered curse. He found that he could really only look at her, feeling drained and a little lost, until he spotted her pipe, lying forgotten in the snow between them. Wobbling slightly, he made his way over and presented it to her along with half a chocolate bar he snapped off without a word. Equally silent, she met his eyes briefly before taking both. He sat in the snow beside her rather woodenly and started in on his own, unenthusiastic. After a few bites, however, he could feel the cold of the ground beneath him rather than the cold within him and the crisp winter air smelled like pine and snow. He now had a stomach instead of just ice, albeit a nauseated one. “Thank you,” he said, a little raggedly after a few moments.

“It was you who cast itl,” she answered, voice rough.

“I was useless. I...I wasn’t expecting...3.”

She looked down at him, then into the distance. “Not useless. 3 is too much for any one person, I expect. I wasn’t too much of a help myself.” She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. “Made me remember Elodie.”

“Elodie?”

“My wife.”

“I hadn’t known you were married.”

Grimly, she nodded. “Son, too. Gone, now.”

Something in her tone made him ask, “The War?”

She gave a grunt of assent, sucking in a breath through her nose and sighing it back out in a huge billow of rising steam, chewing on her chocolate bite. “Came home one day to no home. Ministry blokes everywhere. And Elodie and David….Well.” She cleared her throat loudly and brusquely crumpled the wrapper of her chocolate. “So it goes.”

He handed her another bar without prompting and she took it. “To think that I would grow to feel unsafe in Hogsmeade again,” she growled as she snapped off a piece with her teeth. “Didn't think we would have to bother with those damn things, what with Apparating, but it seems I was wrong.”

“They seem to be getting hungrier,” Remus said, darkly.

“Starve ‘em all, if I could. Got no business being around any sort of person,” Sprout snarled, her bramble of curls quivering.

“Suppose we had been students,” he said quietly.

“Exactly. We’ll have to report this.”

He gave a toneless ‘hm’ of agreement, staring down at his hands. They sat in silence again until she nudged his arm with her boot and he looked up at her. “Those were hers,” she said in an oddly tender voice, nodding at the mittens. “Hadn’t the heart to wear them and I figured you could do them more justice than moldering in some closet.”

His first genuine smile since the Dementor’s crept onto his face, sad though it was, and he said, “Maybe that will be my next Patronus.”

“Well, now it had better, or I’ll be very put out.”

“I will be sure to keep you informed,” his smile stretched wider. Rising, he helped her stiffly from her perch with a muffled groan of complaint and, together, they gathered their scattered spoils before Disapparating.

[distant-rose-archive-blog]

A potential "Little Pirates" series prompt: Emma or Killian gets really really hurt while fighting a villain/monster of the week. Kids react to their parent getting really, really hurt for the first time (ft lots of worried and overly attentive spouse). Thank you! I love the series!

This has been sitting in my inbox for a long time and I apologize for that. Anyway, I tried my best on this one. I hope you enjoy it after waiting for it for so long. Anyway, here’s 5,300+ words of Killian hurt, worried Emma and Harrison freaking out. Plus some Neal and Ruthie Nolan added in.

Killian Jones wakes up to the most annoying and insistent beeping he’s ever heard and the taste of cotton in his mouth. His head is cloudy, like it’s full of candy floss, and there’s a dull ache in his chest that feels like someone is pressing insistently against his side.

He blinks for a moment, eyes adjusting to the harsh lighting as he takes in his surroundings. He knows where he is. He’s in a hospital bed in Storybrooke General. It’s been quite a while since he’s been here and the last time that he was in a hospital bed, his not-yet wife had cuffed him to the rails. Killian grimaces slightly at the memory. It wasn’t one of his prouder moments.

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake.” Emma’s voice sounded like it was miles away for a moment but she’s right there, looking at him anxiously.

She takes his hand in her hands, interlacing their fingers and giving them a squeeze. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days, but she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

“Hey, Beautiful. This is a trip down memory lane, huh?” he asks in groggy voice.

The corners of Emma’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t laugh or even smile for that matter. Her eyes are wary and she looks like she’s trying to mentally drill a hole into his head.

“Killian Jones, if you weren’t laying in a hospital bed, I would kill you for running off without me. We’re a team remember?” she whispers fiercely.

“Sorry, love. I got ahead of myself. Good thing death doesn’t tend to stick to me, right?” he tries to joke lightly.

“You scared me, Killian. You can’t joke about that. You can’t. Your heart stopped for a whole minute. I almost lost you again. I can’t, I can’t right now, possibly not ever,” Emma replies, voice wavering.

“Love, you can’t think like that. I’m here. I’m still here. I promise,” he responses, licking his cracked lips.

“You almost weren’t,” she replies, visibly swallowing. “You’ve been out cold for a day and a half. I wasn’t sure you were going to wake up.”

“I did though,” he says lightly because he has to. She looks ready to collapse and if they have the conversation that she is trying to make them have, she’s either going to have a break down or they’re going to have a fight. Neither option seems palatable.

She doesn’t answer him, just keep staring at him while biting her lip. He knows that look. It’s the look she gets when she thinks she’s about to cry, but doesn’t want to because she needs to be strong. He squeezes her hand, closes his eyes for a moment because it hurts when she has that look, especially over him.

“Where are the kids?” he asks.

“Camped outside. Whale doesn’t want to let them in until he knows you’re okay,” Emma says quietly.

“Well, I’m fine. Send them in.”

“Let’s wait until Whale looks at you first,” she replies, tightening her hold on his fingers.

“No. I want the kids,” he counters, trying to keep back his frustration.

He doesn’t care about doctors and examinations or any of that nonsense. He just wants to make sure his little ones are okay. He wants to see his boys smiling, hear his daughter’s laughter and feel Emma’s hand in his. He doesn’t care about anything else.

“Killian, your heart stopped. I don’t want you getting all excited if it’s not good for you,” Emma says insistently. “Please, just be patient. For me.”

He takes their entwined hands and brings them to his chest. Unwinding his fingers from hers, he places her hand flat on his chest, directly over his heart.

“Feel that?” he asks.

Emma doesn’t speak, just nods.

“Does that feel weak to you?” he asks.

“It feels fine, but I’m not a doctor, Killian. I just want to be sure before you see them. And you will see them and my parents and my siblings because they’re here too, but please…I can’t any more chances with your health,” she pleads.

Any words Killian might have said die on his tongue as the door to his room opens and Victor Whale walks in with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh good, you’re actually awake this time around. How are you feeling?” Whale asks, picking up his chart.

“Like I want to see my kids,” Killian replies stubbornly.

Emma gives him a look that makes it very clear that if he wasn’t in a hospital bed then he would be getting a mighty slap on the shoulder. Killian doesn’t pay her much mind, he just focuses all of his attention on Whale.

“Ah yes, I saw the whole brood outside. I’m almost impressed with how long David has been keeping that old grudge. He was staring me down the entire time I was in the hall,” Whale remarks casually, still looking at the charts.

Neither Killian or Emma could think of an appropriate reply to his statement, both awkwardly nodding their heads. If Killian’s hand wasn’t on top of his wife’s, he would be drumming them in his impatience.

Whale doesn’t make any more comments, just looks more at Killian’s chart before looking up.

“Aside from wanting to see the offspring, how are you feeling? Any aches? Pains? Feelings of nausea? Light headedness?” Whale asks, raising his eyebrows again.

“Nothing. Maybe a little aching in my ribs, but that’s it. May I see my family now, please?” Killian responds and this time his annoyance is quite evident in his tone. 

Emma shoots him a warning look.

“That’s normal. You fractured quite a few ribs there,” Whale replies, pausing for a moment. “You’re in quite a fragile state. I don’t want you jostling your injuries too much and making me have to work on you again, so as you can see, I’m a bit hesitant to let the toddler terror squad in.”

This time Killian and Emma are united in their impatience and anger towards the doctor. Both stare him down as if daring him to keep talking so flippantly about their children.

Whale seems to realize that he’s overstepped himself a bit and takes a physical step back under the ferocity of their combined glares.

“I mean, children can be taxing, but if you are capable of managing the clan and making sure everyone is calm, cool and collected, then I don’t see why they can’t come in, but that’s as long as Hook doesn’t move much,” he says, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I think we can manage that,” Emma replies, narrowing her eyes.

There’s a frostiness in her voice that makes even a shiver got down Killian’s spine. His wife is a force of nature and he’s half in love with her for it.

“Right,” Whale says awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably. “Fine. They can come in, but make it as brief as you can. Visiting hours end at 6pm and you’re here for the next few days for observation.”

“We got it,” Emma replies tersely.

Whale nods awkwardly, putting the chart back in its place and heading towards the door. It’s clear to both of them that he’s making his escape while he still can in one piece.

“Right. If you need anything, just call the nursing staff. That’s what they’re here for. I’ll let the brood in.”

Whale steps out, opening the door and nodding at whoever is outside. As Whale exits, David and Snow immediately walk in with Henry, Neal, Ruthie, Wes and Beth in tow. The children almost immediately swarm Killian’s bedside. Beth and Ruthie both rise on their toes, curling their little fingers around the bedrail and looking down at Killian with fearful eyes. Henry flanks Emma while Wes unceremoniously climbs into Emma’s lap. David and Snow linger by the doorway with Neal holding onto Snow’s sleeve.

“Well, look who is back from the dead again,” David says with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. There’s a fading furrow in his brow that tells Killian that even David was worried about him.

“Can’t get rid of me,” Killian chuckles.

“How are you feeling? Really, Killian, because if you need, we can take the kids and leave you in peace…” Snow says gently.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a car, which makes sense because I was, but I’m fine. No need to worry about me, Mummy,” Killian teases.

Snow makes a face at his jest, but settles back against David with merely a sigh.

“Hook! You okay, Hook?” Ruthie asks, rattling the rails and looking at him anxiously.

“Right as rain, little one,” Killian reassures her, looking at her warmly.

Killian has a deep fondness for all of the Charming children, especially his wife, but he does have a soft spot for little Ruth Nolan who looks like his daughter’s twin. The resemblance between Ruthie and Beth is uncanny, both of them dark haired and green eyed. Most people aren’t able to tell between them despite their distinct difference in style. Even though they’re still young, Ruthie has always been more femininely dressed while Beth preferred to wear her brothers’ clothing. At this moment though, he can see why people often referred to the two girls as the Charming-Jones twins.

Speaking of his daughter, Beth hasn’t seen a word since she’s entered the room and keeps looking at him like she’s afraid he’s going to keel over in front of her. He can’t have that.

“Hey there, minnow,” he greets his daughter quietly, letting go of his wife’s hand and holding it out to Beth.

Without saying word, Beth takes it and grips it tightly with her little fingers. She’s giving him the same look that her mother had given him not even fifteen minutes ago - like she wants to cry but won’t because she also wants to be tough. It breaks his heart to see that look on his four-year old’s face.

“Hey now, little love, I’m going to be okay. Daddy’s going to be fine,” he murmurs to her. “How about you get up here and Daddy proves it to you, huh?”

“Killian…” Emma’s tone is full of warning.

“It’s fine, Swan. It’s going to be fine,” Killian says, not taking his eyes away from Beth. “Come up, love.”

Beth hoists herself over the rails in a way that violently shakes the bed. Killian winces a bit, but nonetheless encourages her to cuddle into his side. She puts her head into the curve of his shoulder and he places a kiss on the crown of her head.

Ruthie looks at them with puppy eyes and Killian chuckles.

“Want to join us, little love?” Killian asks.

Ruthie nods her vigorously, giving him a big smile.

“Oh, come on! Seriously, Killian?” Emma exclaims in exasperation. “Whale told you to take it easy.”

“I am,” Killian replies while encouraging Ruthie to climb over the rails. “I think you’re just being jealous, Swan, since I have two lovely ladies of royalty paying me call. I’m quite popular, you see.”

Emma snorts.

“Seriously, Hook, you stole away one daughter and now you want to steal away the other, now that’s just greedy,” David calls teasingly as Ruthie settles onto Killian’s other side.

“I can’t help it if your daughters like pirates, Dave,” Killian chuckles before giving both Beth and Ruthie a kiss on the head. “And I wouldn’t say too many words against pirates, mate, seeing that your granddaughter is the queen of them.”

“Yeah! I’m queen of the pirates, Grandpa!” Beth exclaims proudly, expression almost eerily similar to her father’s when he was being smug about something.

Killian help but kiss Beth’s head at her little declaration, looking at David with absolute amusement. She was only four years old, but she was the most fiercely loyal thing that Killian had ever come across. He couldn’t help but love her more for it.

“Can I be on the bed with Dad too?” Wes asks quietly, looking a bit left out.

“No,” Emma says sternly as Killian says “yes.”

“Killian Jones!” Emma scolds her husband as if he were one of their children.

“Let him up, Swan,” Killian replies, patting his thigh. “If I get a little bruised, well at least, Whale gets to finally earn his big paycheck. Ruthie, love, mind climbing over and snuggling up with Beth so that Wes can have a cuddle?”

Henry laughs as Wes climbs over the bed rails to join Killian, Ruthie and Beth. The hospital bed squeaks and whines under all the weight, but does little else as Killian’s seven-year-old crouches on the bed. It’s cramped, but Killian wouldn’t have it any other way.

“The fierce Captain Hook and his band of little children,” Henry snickers.

“Watch it, lad,” Killian warns his stepson with no heat at all. “These little children make a mighty fine crew and they can take you out if they want.”

“Oh yes, I’m no match for their combined cuteness,” Henry agrees while Emma just shakes her head.”

“Ruthie, love, you really need to move and give Wes more space, darling,” Killian requests again as Wes tries to settle comfortably.

Ruthie gives a small nod and Killian finds himself impressed with his tiny sister-in-law as she scales over his lap with more consideration and gentleness than he thought was possible for someone her age. He knows for a fact none of his kids would be as careful with him except for perhaps Harrison.

The moment that his eldest son crosses his mind, Killian realizes that he isn’t in the room. Frowning deeply, he looks up at his wife in confusion.

“Where’s Har?” Killian asks as he brushes Wes’s blonde locks out of his face so he can place a kiss on the boy’s forehead. He absently notes how long his seven-year old’s hair is and thinks it might be time to give the boy a proper haircut.

Emma’s eyes widen in realization and she immediately looks to her parents for an explanation. Both Snow and David look down at Neal who looks fascinated with his shoes.

Neal and Harrison have been close cohorts since Harrison could walk. Where one went, the other generally followed. Emma and Snow loved to tease Killian and David about their sons’ friendship, often calling it the “Bromance Revived,” whatever the hell that meant.

“Neal, do you know where Harrison is?” Snow asks gently.

“He’s outside,” Neal replies, still looking at his shoes.

“Why is Harrison outside, Neal?” Snow asks again, this time with a bit of impatience.

“Because he doesn’t want to see his Dad hurt bad.”

Killian’s heart breaks. Harrison is only eight-years-old but he worries like a middle-aged man. His son has an old but sweet soul and it sometimes hurts to see how much he cares and how much it affects him.

“Alright,” Killian says as he comes to a decision. “Crew, off the bed. I gotta get up.”

The three kids look startled by the command but they obey it. Wes crawls off and settles in Henry’s lap instead of Emma’s, burrowing his face in Henry’s hoodie while the two girls jump off and scramble towards seats near the door. Beth keeps watching Killian warily while Ruthie grabs handfuls of Beth’s hair and just starts playing with it until Beth gives her a whack.

“Killian, no!” Emma says sharply, getting up.

Killian doesn’t pay her much mind as he starts pulling at the bed sheets, entirely prepared to get out of bed and walk down as many hallways as he needs to just so see his son.

“Harrison needs me, Swan,” he says casually. “Can’t laze about while he thinks I’m on my death bed now.”

“Killian Jones! I said no!”

Emma places a firm hand on his shoulder and gives him a fierce glare. Killian grips the sheets tightly as he returns her stare.Their eyes meet and a silent clash of wills takes place between them without so much of a word uttered.

“Emma.”

“Killian.”

“Emma,” he repeats with some determination.

“Killian, no,” she states firmly, squeezing his shoulder in emphasis. “You are not getting out of this bed. I’m serious.”

She doesn’t wait for his reply, instead she turns to her younger brother.

“Neal,” she says softly. “Go get Har and bring him in here. His father would like to see him. Please?”

Neal’s blue eyes dart back and forth between his older sister and his brother-in-law for a moment as if carefully considering what side he wanted to be on. After a few seconds, he gives a tiny nod and quietly leaves the room.

Killian leans back against the pillows with a groan, partially from bending to Emma’s will and partially from the pain of moving around so much while his medication wears off.

“You win, Swan,” he sighs dramatically, looking up at the ceiling.

“When are you ever going to learn that I always win?” she responds with a roll of her eyes.

“Life lesson there, Henry, whenever you and your wife get into a disagreement, more likely or not, your wife is going to win,” Killian says with a huff.

Henry snorts.

“Yeah. I could have told you that.”

Any reply Killian could formulate dies as the door to the room opens again. Neal has Harrison by the wrist and is gently tugging him in. Despite the fact that Neal is nearly two years Harrison’s senior, Harrison towers an inch or two over his uncle. Killian hopes his son’s continuing stature doesn’t impede on their friendship. It was hard enough as a father to swallow the idea that his son was going to surpass him in height, but Killian has long come to accept that it won’t be long before his son passes him. The pediatrician estimates that he will be well over six feet when he reaches his full height.

Despite his tall stature however, Harrison looks more like a little boy than he ever has. His face is pale and his green eyes are wide, darting around the room in a rapid fashion. When they land on Killian, Harrison bites his lip.

“Well, if isn’t our favorite big bear,” Killian says lightly, licking again at his cracked lips. He knows licking at the sores won’t help but he can’t help it.

Harrison says nothing, just keeps staring at him like he’s going to kick the bucket at any moment. Killian sighs.

“Come on, lad, get over here,” he says, patting his leg.

Harrison looks at Neal for a moment and the other nods in Killian’s direction, silently encouraging his nephew to move forward. Tentatively, Harrison steps towards the bed but stops about two feet from Killian’s bedside.

Killian lets out an impatient sigh.

“I’m not dying, lad. Just invalid. I would get out of bed to hug you, but your mother would beat me within an inch of my life.”

“Damn straight,” Emma responds, leaning back in her seat. “You’ve been delinquent enough in your care. I have half the mind to get you a shock collar in order to make you behave.”

Killian’s eyes light up at her words and he opens his mouth to make a response before he glances at Harrison’s still concerned expression and thinks better of it.

“Har, it’s okay, mate. Come here.”

Harrison comes closer and Killian sits up again, ignoring his increasingly throbbing ribs. He reaches forward, capturing his son’s cheek in his palm.

“I’m okay…”

“You weren’t for a while,” Harrison mumbles under his breath. “You wouldn’t wake up and Mom did that thing where she was crying without actually crying.”

Killian sucks in a breath at that bit of information. He turns his head to look at Emma but she’s taken this moment to focus on the dirt on Wes’s face, trying to rub it off with her thumb. She’s determined to not look at him.

“Yeah…I was hurt, but as you can see, I’m getting better. Sometimes we get hurt when we try to protect the people we love and sometimes the people we love get hurt protecting us. It’s a part of life, son.”

“I don’t like it,” Harrison says and there’s a flash of Emma’s stubbornness in his eyes.

“You don’t have to like it, but you have to accept it,” Killian replies in a firm tone. “A lot of things that you don’t like are going to happen in life and you’re going to have to learn to deal with that.”

Harrison scowls at his words and looks down at his feet. Neal nudges him in the side and the two boys share a nonverbal conversation for a moment. Whatever they’re communicating about, they seem to come to some sort of camaraderie because Harrison places a hand on Neal’s shoulder and Neal nudges him again with a smile.

And that’s when Killian sees it a bit. There’s an echo of his and the Prince’s friendship in the boys, that seems a little eerie considering the striking resemblances both boys have to him and David. Everyone always seems to comment on Harrison’s strikingly similar looks, but there’s a lot of David in Neal; it’s just thrown off a bit by the dark color of the boy’s hair.

“Hey Har,” Killian addresses his son.

The boy looks away from his uncle and gives Killian his attention, once more looking nervous. There’s a furrow in his brow that looks out of place on an eight-year-old. Killian swallows for a moment.

“What is it going to take for you to stop worrying all the time, lad?” he asks with a small smile.

“You and Mom not getting hurt all the time,” Harrison mumbles.

Killian sighs before turning to his wife.

“Can you and your parents go take the kids for some jello in the cafeteria or something while me and Harrison talk?” he asks Emma calmly.

“Why do you want to talk to Harrison and not us?” Wes demands, glaring at his older brother.

Killian wants nothing more to groan in frustration. For a while now, he and Emma have been noticing Wes’s aggressive and jealous behavior towards his brother. They have been trying to figure out ways to tackle it with Archie, but they’re still in the beginning stages.

He really doesn’t want to deal with it at the moment.

“I just need to talk to your brother, okay?” Killian tells his youngest son while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, but he doesn’t get ice cream,” Wes replies, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“You do not get make that call, Little Duck,” Emma says sternly.

She scoops Wes out of Henry’s lap. He immediately clings to her, wrapping his arms around her neck and his legs winding around her waist. He looks like an overgrown koala bear. Emma places a kiss on his forehead.

“Alright, let’s get some ice cream crew,” Emma says to the girls, whose eyes immediately light up at the words “ice cream.”

Beth and Ruthie immediately get up, holding each other’s hands as they race out of the room, followed by the adults. David and Snow chuckle as they watch them.

“You would think they were feral or something with the way they act,” Snow comments with a shake of her head as she follows them.

Neal is the last leave, patting Harrison’s shoulder before stepping out to follow the rest of the family. Harrison gives Killian a dubious look once they’re alone.

“Have a seat,” Killian gestures to the spot where Emma had been sitting with his head.

“Am I in trouble?” Harrison asks as he sits, watching his father warily.

People always talk about Harrison’s uncanny resemblance to Killian, but Killian sees a lot of his wife in Harrison’s mannerisms. Emma has a lot of subtle nervous ticks, lip biting and picking at her nails. Harrison does the same. Even now, he’s mirroring her. He sits the same way she does when she agitated, not allowing himself to relax but sitting his butt at the near end of the seat just in case he has to get up and bolt. Where Emma sometimes fiddles with her rings, Harrison plays with his fingers. Killian can’t help but wonder how much is genetic and how much is learned.

“What would you be in trouble for?” Killian asks calmly, sitting up a bit more.

“I don’t know,” Harrison replies, bowing his head and raking his fingers through his hair. “Talking back, I guess…”

“You weren’t talking back” Killian says gently. “You were voicing your thoughts. Sometimes that’s a good thing, sometimes it’s not so good, but I’m glad you did because I don’t like it when you feel like this.”

“I don’t like it either,” Harrison replies with a shrug, still looking down.

“I can’t imagine you do,” Killian sighs, bringing his own hand up to comb through his hair. “You’re quite a perceptive little boy, you know? You get that from me and your Uncle Liam. You’re named for him. Well, your middle name is his…”

Harrison looks up at that.

“Which Uncle Liam?”

“My older brother Liam. Not the one living with Uncle Nemo. He died a long time ago. Long before you were born. He raised me. A real hero,” Killian says with a sad smile.

“How did he die?” Harrison asks.

Killian takes in a sharp breath. He hadn’t been expecting that question. Though considering Harrison’s current state of mind, it shouldn’t have been so surprising.

“It was accident and it’s not nice to talk about,” Killian replies.

“Was it a car accident?”

“No, no. No car involved. Poisonous plants, but no car. Why are you thinking about cars, Har?” Killian asks quietly.

Harrison looks back down at his hands. His fingers keep tracing over the knuckles of his left hand. Killian watches as Harrison bites his lip for a moment.

“Nate and Kelia’s dad died in a car accident not to long ago and Mom said to Grandma that you got hit by a car,” Harrison mumbles after a moment.

Killian’s eyes close at Harrison’s words. He remembers responding to the car accident Harrison’s talking about. Dr. James Thatcher had been drinking when he ran through a red light and hit back of Keith Travel’s truck. Keith had lived. Dr. Thatcher wasn’t so lucky and left behind two kids, Harrison’s classmates.

It’s no wonder that Harrison is a bit out of sorts. He’s just discovering just how fragile life is. First with Dr. Thatcher and now with him laying in a hospital bed. It’s not something Killian wants his eight-year-old thinking about.

“Beth thinks you’re invincible,” Harrison says after a moment. “She probably thinks that you can just walk out of here if you really wanted to. And Mom said you were okay and you weren’t hurt too bad, so Wes believes it. He believes anything she says. But Mom lied. She said you were okay, but she left us at Grandpa and Grandma’s house last night. And she called up Henry for school which she never does. She was sad. Whenever she’s sad, she lies.”

“She does that because she doesn’t want you to be sad too,” Killian responds, leaning back a bit. “Its what parents do. We’re supposed to make sure you grow up and you’re happy. And sometimes that means keeping you out of grown-up things.”

“Well, parents aren’t supposed to die either.” Harrison’s voice cracks a bit and there’s some tears rimming his eyes.

“Harrison, I’m going to live. I’m going to be fine, lad. I promise,” Killian says softly. He wants nothing more than to get up and embrace him, but his ribs are starting to really hurt and he doesn’t want Harrison to know he’s in pain.

“Yeah, this time, but what about next time? You and Mom are cops. I’ve seen the shows. Cops end up dead and I don’t want you to die, Daddy.”

Fat tears roll down Harrison’s cheeks and Killian hates himself for it. Harrison almost never calls him ‘Daddy’ anymore unless he’s incredibly upset. This is his fault. His kid is crying because of him. 

“Hey now. No crying, okay? We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow or the next day, or the day after that, Harrison. You can’t live worrying about the might be’s because nothing is certain. Nothing. Worrying about death, sickness, heartache and things that haven’t happened yet is no way to live, son, because that isn’t living. That’s just existing. I don’t want that for you or for anyone really,” Killian says gently.

He leans forward so he can brush his hand against his son’s face. A jolt of pain runs through him, but he does his best to ignore it.

Harrison looks up at him with his big green eyes and it doesn’t matter how much Harrison looks like him, all Killian can see is Emma’s eyes on his son’s face.

“Can you promise me that? That you’re going to stop worrying about what can happen and just live your life like a normal kid?” Killian asks, wiping away a tear from his cheek.

“You’re asking me to pretend I don’t know things,” Harrison mumbles.

Killian sighs.

“I’m not asking you pretend, I’m asking you not to let it consume you. If you promise to not to let it get to you, I can promise that Mom and I won’t let anything happen to each other.”

“But you can’t promise that!” Harrison says loudly. His eyes go wide as if even he is surprised by his own outburst.

“You’re right that’s not something I can really promise, but it’s something I can promise to do my best to do. I promise to try. Can you do the same and try to let the grown-ups worry about grown-up stuff?”

Harrison bites his lip. He looks like he wants to argue more, but after a moment, he gives a small nod. Killian lets out a sigh of relief. This conversation has been exhausting.

“Praise the Gods,” he chuckles, wincing slightly at the continuing pain in his ribs.

“I want you and Mom to sign a contract though and put that promise in writing,” Harrison says stubbornly.

Killian blinks.

“You want us to sign a contract? Where the hell did you get that idea?” he asks, staring at his son in disbelief.

“The television. All the lawyers make people sign contracts so that they keep their word,” Harrison explains.

Killian lets out a laugh of disbelief. Of course, the kid got it from watching the television. It seems watching that blasted thing has given him a lot of strange ideas. He needs to have a chat with his wife about possibly getting rid of the bloody thing before he and the other little ones get any more ideas.

“Naturally,” Killian says with a shake of his head. “We can talk about it when we get home from this dreadful place, okay?”

“You’re just saying that because you hope I’m going to forget,” Harrison says with slight accusation in his voice.

“You forget about something?” Killian scoffs. “Not bloody likely. You’re the kid that doesn’t forget anything. Not even your chores like a normal kid. No, I promise, we will talk, but I’m pretty you’re missing on some good ice cream right now. You can go get some you know…”

“I would rather stay here with you,” Harrison says quietly. “Besides, Mom is going to bring me some.”

“You think so?” Killian asks, rising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, that’s what Mom does. She makes sure everyone gets ice cream, even you,” Harrison responds with a small shrug.

“We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we.”

No medicine could have made Killian feel any better than watching the triumphant look on his Harrison’s face when Emma did return with two cups of vanilla ice cream. Not even the ice cream itself could have been sweeter than his son’s smile. And if he had to sign a bloody contract to keep it there, he would.