#I remember a few other fics where Wild has a prosthetic arm

[cosmetichorror]

I want to write a LU thing where Wild has a sheikah prosthetic that looks like an arm because Purah and Robbie are talented and made it look realistic and then one day he just. Takes it off to give his arm a break and the rest of the chain stare at him all confused like

And then HE’S confused too because he thought it was obvious, Or that he thought he mentioned it already. Like, what do you mean you didn’t know??? Didn’t I tell you??? I thought it was obvious??? How did you NOT know??? Everyone in my hyrule knows???

It would be pure crack but I need to work on my other shit before I start another 🌚 I have ELEVEN other books I’m working on

But hey, I prefer even numbers so I’ll probably ignore my own advice and start writing it

Anyways if you want to know about any of my other books I’m working on lmk I’ll happily talk about them (and maybe give a wip)

[acerace]

...you have opened my eyes to a vast universe of VintageBeef lore that I was unaware of. I knew about the New Hermit Order, of course, and the UHC invention, and I've watched a few of his CTM things but -- I will take all the info and lore you feel like giving out because Beef is amazing and my knowledge is so small.

Vintagebeef my beloved <3

So the thing is, right, until about 2016 I only watched two (2) youtubers- Vintagebeef for Minecraft and aDrive for Pokemon (and funnily enough both of them are named Dan irl). So I've watched most of Beef's videos over the years and have a general knowledge of most of his stuff, except because it's been like a decade I don't remember where most of the lore comes from XD

The thing with him is that he doesn't do Lore tm the way other mcyters often do lore- he doesn't have an extensive RP series to draw from like Grian, doesn't have a solo world with steadily increasing amounts of lore like Etho or Zisteau, and while he's played on SMPs and been involved in storylines before it's not really the focus of his episodes unlike with Evo or Legacy or Empires

So where does that leave us?

IRL, Beef always has multiple series running at the same time. Often he's playing on an smp while doing a singleplayer, often modded, series as well as a CTM or modpack with a group of friends. For example, right now he's playing on Hermitcraft, doing weekly Pixelmon and Building a Zoo episodes, and a CTM map with Slip. And to me, this translates to one thing: Beef is an adventurer. He travels frequently- he explores a world and when he decides he's done, he leaves for the next one. That's the basis of my personal interpretation of his series and his character for my writing.

Ok so reading this back, this got extremely long and didn't explain much in the way of lore, somehow? If anyone has any additions to add please do so, I am very definitely leaving out a lot and would love to see what other lore people remember and are using for Beef! I didn’t include the Hermitcraft stuff since my memory of season 4 is blurry (his base was themed after the Martian, that much I know, and he and Iskall were buddies :D) and most of the s5 NHO lore is best watched from Bdub’s perspective from what I remember, and the only s6 stuff is a single line in Hermitgang and then the Area 77 arc with its possibility of an NHO reunion which we did not get rip. And s7 of course had the cloning machine and also the Podzol Party as the main lore. So all the original rambling is still below the cut though it is very long, and I'm gonna bullet point the main stuff here instead:

Actual canonical things:

Invented UHC and was the only survivor of the first ever uhc (Mindcrack UHC s1)

Married to an ender dragon (one of the UHCs I think), later father to a different dragon (Mindcrack season 3? I think?)

Might not have legs if you choose to take that joke as canon (Mindcrack s2)

Was a wizard (RAD)

is a zookeeper (Building a Zoo) 

Had a wife and kids (Sims in Minecraft)

Part of the Trial of the B Team court case (Mindcrack)

NHO founder, founder of the Podzol Party (Hermitcraft)

Created a cloning machine that sort of works (Hermitcraft)

Played the Forest which is I believe the first time he and Keralis played together (look up the trigger warnings for this one, it's a horror game)

Was the creator/owner of Sourceblock SMP (featuring some familiar faces if you know Legacy, Empires, or MCC) and there is literal magic from a mysterious sourceblock of water that teleports people and summons mobs and probably more stuff that I haven't seen yet since I'm still watching it myself

Things you can infer:

Good with animals (Life in the Woods, Pixelmon, Ark)

Is a car nerd (irl and all of the car games he's played)

Is a highly experienced adventurer who has traveled through dozens of worlds both vanilla and modded, across multiple dimensions (Twilight Forest, the Aether, the Betweenlands, Limbo), completed dozens of monuments, fought in blood sports, survived apocalypse after apocalypse, tamed dinosaurs, and played a lot of prop hunt and golf with your friends

If you're looking for what to watch for lore purposes, I'd say the Mindcrack UHCs and Team Canada's RAD series are pretty good, definitely Sourceblock and HC s5, plus the Diversity CTM maps and Ruins of the Mindcrackers maybe? And Mindcrack Prank Wars for the chaos and the origin of Team Canada. And if you can handle horror than the Forest is fun and if you don't do horror you can watch the Pojkband play golf or prop hunt they're hilarious I love them sm I want a Pojkband reunion So Bad 

Beef's first series was a singleplayer series in beta 1.4_01 though he had played the game extensively before that, and was a big fan of Guude, having watched his own Minecraft videos. The series was functionally a hardcore one where if he died Beef would delete the world and start again! I haven't actually Watched this series so idk if he died or how often lmao. When Guude made Mindcrack, which was btw one of the very first Minecraft SMPs, he also hosted a competition for people to join, and Beef submitted a video (which is still viewable on his channel I believe!) and won, and was added to Mindcrack in season 2 :D (fun fact, Guude said that even if Beef hadn’t won he would have added him anyway) 

Two running jokes emerged from Mindcrack- pulling a Vintagebeef and Beef doesn't have legs. The first is a reference to Beef dying of fall damage (I believe the exact instance was him trying to jump into his swimming pool and failing spectacularly) and after the incident, every time someone died of fall damage they were pulling a Vintagebeef. The second joke comes from Guude, who joked that the reason Beef wasn't going to a convention was because he didn't have legs, and then he pranked Beef's base by building a giant pair of legs at the entrance to his castle so you had to walk between them to get into the base. This joke has long since died and both Beef and Guude feel pretty bad about it iirc because there were people who genuinely thought Beef was disabled and were emailing him supportive messages and stuff oops. So if you go looking on the Salad or find old Mindcrack fics, you might see references to Beef having prosthetic legs!

Mindcrack also brought about the creation of several Player groups- Team Nancy Drew, Team Canada, and GOB to name a few relevant to Beef. Team Nancy Drew consists of Beef, Pauseunpause, Guude, and Baj, who formed to investigate a prank on one of the members but I forget who. They're named Nancy Drew after the detective! Team Canada also formed in retaliation to pranks, with it consisting of Beef, Etho, and Pause, the three Canadian members on the server (not including Adlington who moved to Canada but never joined the group). There was also a Team America who pranked them with American flags everywhere. GOB is Guude, OMGChad, and Beef, who played stuff like the Ragecraft, Pantheon, and Monstrosity ctms together but that's way down the line lol

Team Nancy Drew is also notable for inventing UHC. It was Beef's brainchild but it was the four of them who first played it! The first UHC had the four of them working to kill the dragon with no natural regen, with everyone dying but Beef, who "won" the UHC. The second uhc was still dragon focused and iirc is where Beef married the dragon? Memories are hazy but they do kill the dragon in this one I think. UHC was then revamped as a pvp event and became a regular Mindcrack game every few months, featuring most of the Mindcrackers and several special guests, including Dinnerbone, who as we know Thanos-snapped Doc's arm out of existence as a result of Doc killing him in one of them

In one of the seasons of Mindcrack, Beef invited swedish Mindcracker and good friend Anderzel to go caving with him and invented ABBA Rules caving, where the winner takes it all. ABBA Rules is a game where each ore (and also dungeon loot like nametags) is assigned a point value and the person with the most points at the end wins and gets to keep all the stuff collected from the game.

In Mindcrack season 3?, Beef punched the ender dragon in an... awkward area, so when the dragon died and left the egg behind, Guude said Beef was the father of the egg XD I don't remember if I watched s3 so I have no idea if anything Happened with this concept but *history of the world voice* you could make lore out of this!

So Team Canada has played a Lot of CTM maps (which fun fact were pretty much invented by another Mindcrack member, Vechs, with his Super Hostile series! Super Hostile has a bunch of things called "Zistonian", which are references to another Mindcrack member Zisteau, who has a very wild singleplayer series with even wilder lore but I digress). In Ruins of the Mindcrackers, they had a running joke that Beef was Etho and Pause's mom, which is a joke we can leave in the past actually /lh. They also played all the Diversity maps, Sky Factory, Terra Restore, Uncharted Territory uhhh and a couple more ctms and adventure maps! Each map kinda has its own story so in Diversity 3 for example they were trapped in a simulation? I think? Team Canada also recently played the Roguelike Adventures and Dungeons modpack, aka RAD, in which Beef was a wizard with a magic staff that could do anything from summon lightning to control hostile mobs.

Sourceblock SMP is a vanilla survival 1.14 series that ran for one season and the series starts with each of the Players being drawn to a strange sparkling water source that, once they touch it, brings them to the Sourceblock world. It also summons a giant zombie at one point. There's probably more lore for this series but like I said I haven't watched it all the way through yet 

He has a Patreon server called VintageCraft and has done a series or two on there as well, and played a few UHCs with them, so lore that how you will! 

Beef also played a few popular mods, notably Pixelmon, Life in the Woods, and Feed the Beast, with LitW being singleplayer and the other multiplayer. He's also recently played the Zoo and Wild Animals mod a lot. He did a short series with the Minecraft Comes Alive mod where he married one of the villagers and had two children, so that's canon now :D he’s played a Lot of Pixelmon starting when the mod first came out iirc (he chose Turtwig in his first series and built a Grass gym, then made a Normal gym in another series in uhh 2016) and he still plays to this day. Quite a few Hermits played on his Pixelmon servers with him, like Wels, Etho, Iskall, Stress, Slip, Zueljin, and also Guude and Phedran (a Mindcrack adjacent player and creator of the LitW modpack) and a few Mindcrackers on the older servers 

Mindcrack and friends played a lot of other games too- 7 Days to Die, Ark Survival Evolved, Unturned, to name a few, so you can pull a lot of lore out of these as well. Speaking of friends and non-Minecraft games, Beef teamed up with Pause, Keralis, and Slip (a former Hermit) to play the horror game the Forest, which saw them stuck on an island trying to survive against terrifying mutated human... things. They played it a few times as the game updated but as afaik it's the first time Beef played with Keralis and possibly Slip and since the game starts with the Player's airplane crashing, that could totally be how Beef first met them in-universe 

I... think? that’s everything I mentioned in the tags? There is probably way more stuff I’ve forgotten that stems from inside jokes and things that happen within each series, but I hope that was a) helpful and b) at least somewhat comprehensible lmao 

[elizabeethan]

Where The Love Light Gleams

Killian visits his brother and sister-in-law in Storybrooke, Maine for the holidays and runs into the woman who broke his heart three years ago.

Rated T for language

~9700 words

Read on Ao3

A/N: Merry almost Christmas! I was feeling a little angsty the other day and finally sat down to watch the Dust Storm, then had an idea for a CS AU. This isn’t based strictly on the film and a lot of it’s plot points are different, but it is somewhat similar! With a Christmas twist, of course.

With that being said, there are mentions and brief descriptions of alcohol consumption, abuse, and withdrawal in this fic (although not nearly as heavily used as in the film) so please be aware of that.

Also, the worlds largest snowman (and snowwoman), as described here, is a real thing!! It was built in 2008 in Maine, and fun fact, I was there! I think the record was recently broken in Austria, but whatever. Olympia will always be number one in my heart.

Finally, thank you to @donteattheappleshook​ for your beta services!!

Tagging: @courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4​ @stahlop​ @klynn-stormz​ @laschatzi​ @emelizabeth88​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy​​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​ @shireness-says​​ @snowbellewells​​ @hollyethecurious​​ @ouatpost​​ @daxx04​​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​

To say that Killian is miserable is a bit dramatic. Sure, he’s in this strange little town with only his brother to keep him entertained, but it’s a blessing to be spending the holidays with him and his new bride. Certainly better than being alone in Boston now that Liam has moved from England, he tries to remind himself. But the fact remains that he hasn’t been in much of a Christmas mood over the past few years, and he would almost rather be back at home getting some work done.

He isn’t a workaholic, honest. And he definitely isn't a scrooge, despite what his brother thinks. Really, he just hasn’t been in the mood to celebrate for a while.

Well, a few years, he supposes.

And it’s not because of a woman. No, it most definitely isn’t because of the fiery blonde who stole his heart and ran as far and as fast as she could once things started to feel real.

(She didn’t steal it; he gave it willingly.)

As the snow falls upon an overly-picturesque Main Street, Killian gets about as close as he possibly can to grumbling without any sound actually coming out. It’s freezing here— although not much colder than Boston— and if he has to spend any more time outdoors this weekend, he may very well lose a toe. It’s as he’s making his way down the slushy streets, avoiding the overly cheerful townsfolk and keeping his head down to avoid getting snow in his eyes, that he suddenly feels the warmth he’s been craving for three years.

It can’t possibly be true. The woman he’s just crashed into, the one with golden hair that smells like mint, fruity shampoo, couldn't possibly be her.

But when he looks up, he sees her.

The woman who ripped his heart out of his chest three years ago and ran off to Phoenix with it.

Bloody Hell.

“Oh my… god,” she says slowly, dumbfounded. “Killian?”

She looks stunning. Even more beautiful than he could ever imagine her becoming. Her hair is longer, a whiter shade of blonde under her gray beanie, her eyes perhaps an even more intense shade of emerald, cheeks just as round and rosy as ever, and he can tell even under the large puffer jacket that her body is even more perfect than he remembers.

This can’t actually be happening to him, can it?

He clears his throat, his hand drifting up to the spot behind his ear as he nods. “Hi.”

She laughs lightly and his entire world starts spinning at the sound he’s missed so dearly. She grounds him, though, the spinning coming to a halt when she springs on him and hugs him tight. “Oh my god,” she whispers against his neck.  

He can’t stop himself from hugging her back, the scent of her shampoo back in his nose and conjuring up memories he didn’t even know he had. “Aye,” he chuckles against her hair, taking in another breath. “Long time.”

“How are you?” she asks as she pulls away, a bright smile on her face.

“I’m… fine, I guess,” he says, screwing up his face and making her laugh.

“I mean, what are you doing here in Maine? What the hell? What a coincidence that we’re both here!”

“Aye, it is. I’m visiting with my brother and sister-in-law for the holidays.”

“Liam?” He nods. “He moved here? He’s married?”

He nods once more. “He did. He and Elsa moved here after the wedding two years ago. My, uh…” he clears his throat. “My dad finally passed away, so nothing was holding him there.”

How he’s allowing himself to do this is beyond him. His willingness and ease in opening right back up to her without thought is maddening to him, but somehow so natural. Bloody hell, has he missed her. “I’m so sorry,” she consoles, lightly touching his shoulder. “Would you… would you want to grab a drink with me?”

“Yes,” he says, before he can even consider how stupid his answer is. But it’s snowing hard and it’s freezing and—

And the love of his life just crashed back into it. He sure as hell isn’t letting her go so easily this time around.

~~~~

He doesn’t tell her that he stopped drinking soon after she left. Doesn’t tell her how badly he reacted to her fleeing, turning to rum in hopes of numbing the gash in his chest that she left wide open. He doesn’t tell her that one of their favorite things to do together became the thing that almost killed him.

He ignores two phone calls from Liam.

When she takes him to the Rabbit Hole, a dive, but the only option in this horribly quaint town, she orders what used to be his favorite shot. It sends a pang of nostalgia so strongly through him that he can’t deny her anything, couldn’t possibly say no to a second when she asks. After he’s had three, his lips are so loose that he should probably staple them shut.

“So,” she says, leaning drunkenly towards him as he does the same to her. “Tell me about your life now. What else has changed?”

He laughs, as if anything since she left is the same, and holds up his left arm. “I got this,” he says, sloppily pointing towards the prosthetic.

Her mouth gapes open and she drops the glass to the table with a bit too much force as realization hits her. “Is that,” she starts, but it seems like she’s unable to get any words out.

“A fake,” he tells her, knocking it against the table. “Lost it in the Navy.”

“Oh, Killian…”

He feels nauseous at her pity because he knows exactly what she’s thinking. He always knows what she’s thinking.

“Not your fault,” he shrugs. He doesn’t have to elaborate because he knows that she knows that he joined the Navy full time because she left him. “You tell me something now,” he insists.

She clears her throat and shakes her head, glancing away from him and smiling as she thinks of the thing she wants to tell him. “I’m here because my brother is having a baby. Well, his wife is.”

“David?” he asks. Although she was adopted by David’s mother as a teenager, she still struggled to consider him a brother when the two of them were together, so to hear her label him as such was strange.

“Yes,” she giggles. “My only brother, David.”

“Ha ha,” he chortles sarcastically, bumping into her and laughing for real as he takes another sip from the drink she ordered from memory. “That’s lovely news.”

“Maybe you can come meet him once he’s born.”

“Maybe.”

“Now, what about good news?” she requests.

Good news, he thinks. Since you left?

“I don’t know,” he says with a sad shrug. “My brother got married.”

“Yes, I heard,” she laughs, always able to make any situation feel light despite how miserable he may be. “I meant for you, though. Tell me something good that’s happened to you.”

He laughs, but it comes out more like a scoff. How can he tell her that, since she left him, his life has been shit? How can he still be so hung up on this bloody woman? “I don’t know,” he says again.

She shifts, and he can tell that she understands his meaning. Liam texts him again and he locks his phone without reading it.

She laughs lightly to fill the silence between them, taking another sip from her drink before saying, “dance with me.”

It isn’t a request. It reminds him of how many times he asked her to do just that in the sleazy clubs in Boston, and how many times she was too insecure to say yes. But now here she is, asking him, and he wonders what else has changed about her.

He says yes.

They’re on the dance floor, almost completely alone, dancing to shitty old music because apparently good songs haven’t found their way to Maine yet. And she looks so wild and so free as she swings her hair from side to side, slides her back up to his front, and lifts her arms until they’re reaching behind her to the back of his head and she’s pulling him close. His mouth is so close to her ear that he could nibble on it easily— she likes that. But he doesn’t, because he knows she’ll run.

But then she’s spinning around to face him, dangerously close as she continues to swing her hips with her hands in his hair, and he leans down and kisses her.

He knows it’s a bad idea the second he does it. He’s a fool for doing this, but he hasn’t had a drink in almost two years and he isn’t thinking clearly. All he can think about is the fact that she just started kissing him back.

He’s heartbroken when she pulls away just as quickly, looking confused and torn and broken as she turns away from him. He tries to call after her that he’s sorry, he knows he fucked up, he shouldn’t have done that, but just like three years ago when she left him, she’s gone once more without a word.

As confused as he was when he ran into her, he’s far more confused now.

~~~~

When he wakes the next morning in the room he rented because Liam and Elsa were renovating their house, he’s feeling worse than he has in years. There were many reasons he quit drinking, and the hangovers were certainly one of them. The throbbing in his brain sends it slamming against the front of his skull with each move he makes, and the bright light streaming in through the blinds isn't helping. What he needs is an aspirin and a greasy breakfast sandwich, plus about a gallon of water, but he’s got to get out of bed to get any of those things, and he thinks he may be sick if he tries to stand.

He also needs to stop thinking about the fact that he saw Emma Swan last night. Maybe if he got any drunker he could’ve convinced himself that it was some sort of fever dream. Seeing her nearly killed him because he knows that he would take her back without a second thought despite how badly things ended the last time. The fact is, their relationship needed work, and instead of putting in the effort and communication necessary, Emma simply ran.

What he really, really needs is for his phone to stop ringing and that knocking to go the hell away.

“What?” He calls out, his voice groggy and thick from the dry air and his dehydration.

“Open the door,” she demands, and his heart begins racing at the sound of her voice. What the bloody hell is Emma doing here?

He tries really hard to stand up. He’s barely got his eyes open, the movements sending a rush of blood to his head with each step he takes, but he’s a damn fool and he can’t let an opportunity to speak with her pass him by. When he reaches the door, he leans his blunted, naked arm against the frame and rests his head against it as he opens the door.

She’s bright eyed and bushy tailed when he first opens it, but when she sees the state he’s in, her face falls immediately. She drops her arms to her side, coffee and to-go bags hitting against her thighs as she takes in his appearance. “Oh no,” she says. “You look like you could use some breakfast.”

He couldn’t stay away from her if he tried, truly. He can smell the bagel inside the bag already, and it’s making his mouth water. All he needs is some water and he’ll be as good as new, right?

He moves slightly out of her way so that she can brush past him, sliding gracefully into the room and placing her offerings on the small table by the bed, just beside the prosthetic he doesn’t remember removing and the half-empty bottle of rum he bought on his way back here. He should throw that away.

Once everything is settled, she takes her coffee and seats herself on his bed. Bloody hell. If the sheets smell like her tonight…

“How'd you know where my room was?”

She shrugs. “There's only three rooms here. I took a lucky guess and followed the stench of day-old rum.”

He tries to laugh but nearly falls to the ground, a wave of nausea pulsing through him once more. ��

“Oh,” she says, moving towards her large bag and pulling out a bottle of water to toss at him. He catches it one-handed, as he does everything, and opens it up effortlessly, gulping the entire bottle down almost instantly.

“Thank you, love,” he says, then wonders if he can still call her that. He still loves her.

“You look awful,” she remarks playfully, giving him a smirk.

“Thanks,” he grumbles. He moves across the room and takes a bagel out of the bag she brought, his stomach singing in anticipation as he takes the first bite.

“I’m only teasing,” she tells him with the soft smile he recognizes. The one he’s yearned for for years.

“Aye, I know when you're teasing. I’m just a bit hungover. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged that much.”

“Really?” she asks, turning towards him once he sits on the edge of the bed as far from her as possible. “How long?”

He clears his throat, buying time by taking another bite and practically groaning at the feeling of his body coming back to life. “Little over two years.”

She stills, her face falling, her shoulders sagging as she clearly and effortlessly puts together the timeline in her mind. “Oh.”

He says nothing in response, taking a hefty swig of his coffee made just the way he likes it.

“I’m sorry, Killian—,” she starts, but he raises his short arm to cut her off.

“No, I shouldn’t have said yes, it’s my own fault.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she says awkwardly.

“No, not like I shouldn't have said yes, just…” he sighs, dropping his head slightly in defeat. “I wanted to catch up, I just shouldn't have drank, that’s all.”

“You're almost three years sober and I pushed you to drink within fifteen minutes of seeing you,” she says, her tone filled with self-defeat and disappointment.

He attempts to laugh and lighten the mood by saying, “it’s not the first time you've driven me to the bottle, love,” but he can see how bad of an idea that was the minute the words leave his lips.

“I’m sorry,” she nearly whispers. “I should go. I shouldn't have come.” She’s standing, getting herself ready to leave because he’s driving her away again. It’s his fault, again.

“Emma, no,” he tries.

“No, I just… I came to apologize for running off last night. I should've stayed and talked to you and dealt with that, and I'm sorry that I didn’t. So I've said my piece, and now I should go.”

He’s thrown by her words, her statement of wanting to discuss the events that transpired, because that was always the last thing she wanted to do when they were together. All they really did was drink and fuck each other and argue, falling in love somehow despite never having a conversation of substance. Each time he tried, she distracted him with a drink or her body. And because of that, things ended the moment it became difficult between them. The moment he tried to make it real. “You want to… talk?” he asks, his shock clear in his voice.

She laughs, dejected, and responds, “is that so surprising?”

“Yes.”

She clears her throat awkwardly, wrapping her arms around her middle before moving back towards the bed to sit down again. “I just wanted to come here to say I’m sorry and that I shouldn't have run off. Or left you with the bill. That’s why I brought you breakfast, to try and make up for it.”

“You never want to talk.”

“I’m not the same person you knew three years ago.”

“Then what’s changed? Aside from the fact that you suddenly seem open to having a conversation with me?”

“Killian,” she sighs, running her fingers through her perfectly messy hair. “I didn't think I would be having this conversation with you in this ass-backwards town after not seeing you for three years.”

“Well, I didn't think I would be having any conversation with you, ever.” She sighs again, and he knows he’s being unfair. He probably can’t blame her for everything that went wrong.

“I get it, okay? I fucked up. I was fucked up. I still am fucked up. I fucked you up, obviously. I shouldn't have done most of the shit I did when we were together. But right now, I'm feeling nostalgic, and I've missed you terribly and seeing you yesterday… Well, I just missed you, okay?”

He huffs out a breath, taking another generous swig from the to-go cup then running his fingers through his hair. “You think I haven’t missed you just as terribly?”

“So can’t we just enjoy this time we have together? Come to town with me and we can go to that holiday festival they have going on. Something brought us together and I don't want to waste this opportunity to catch up with you.”

And that is how Emma Swan convinced Killian Jones to forget all of the heartbreak she put him through three years ago. Not by offering him a drink, not by using sex as a bargaining chip, but by talking to him. He isn’t sure if this is a horrible idea or a brilliant one.

His phone rings again, and he knows Liam will chastise him if he answers the call.

It isn't as if they talk about anything meaningful. Their conversations throughout most of the day are rather bland and lack any quintessence whatsoever, but that doesn't mean he enjoys her company any less. They were always good at this, the banter and the jokes and the lighthearted conversations. Her sarcasm is infectious, as is her laugh, and he does whatever he can to hear it ringing through his ears again and again.

The winter festival is lackluster, the small and sleepy town providing all that it can but not holding a candle to anything he’s seen in Boston. There’s supposed to be some snowman building event soon, followed by a tree lighting ceremony, but he doesn’t get his hopes up. It’s still snowing lightly somehow, and the flakes that settle on Emma’s lashes are begging to be kissed away, although he holds back. Emma said she missed him, but in what capacity, he isn't sure.

“What about your nephew?” he finally asks as they walk through the overly cheerful crowd watching a couple of children sledding.

“Not here yet,” she responds. “I’ve just been waiting and waiting. I’m glad I ran into you, otherwise I’d have to be sitting with the lovebirds all this time.”

“Ah,” he says with a falsely somber tone. “So I'm simply a means to an end?”

She knows he’s joking and looks up at him with a bright smile that could probably melt some of the snow surrounding them. “You caught me,” she laughs. “I’m using you for your company alone.”

“I am rather good company, I must admit. Who else would buy you a bloody four dollar hot chocolate?”

She laughs again, bumping his shoulder with her own, and says, “no one.”

“Precisely.”

When she starts shivering, he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close to him. She doesn’t flinch or pull away, only turning her body slightly so that she fits perfectly under his arm, then wrapping her own around his waist as they continue strolling.

The winter festival doesn’t offer them much by means of entertainment, but apparently, Storybrooke, Maine is breaking a record for the world’s largest snowman, around which the festival is built. Once they reach the center of the park, Emma enjoying her caramel corn and occasionally sharing with Killian, they’re able to watch as the townsfolk put the finishing touches on the stories-high structure. She laughs when the crane carries a giant truck tire to use as the coal eyes and mouth.

“Look at that!” she shouts, pointing at the two trees they plan to use as arms. The thing is at least 100 feet high, and it doesn’t seem like the 30 foot spruce will be big enough. She nearly collapses from laughter, apparently in utter disbelief that this is happening before her. It truly is magnificent to watch, the record-breaking snowman coming together before their very eyes. Apparently, the entire process has taken close to a month, and the festival celebrates the end of construction.

“Quite astonishing, aye?”

“Aye,” she laughs, resting her head on his shoulder as the people around them begin to applaud the final product. The thing is massive, and somewhat horrifying, but it was fun to be there to witness it’s completion. With her.

An announcement is made that the tree lighting ceremony will begin soon and Emma makes a comment about wanting to make this day as cheesy as they can by doing all of the small-town winter activities, so they head that way.

Again, Storybrooke has nothing on Boston in any capacity, but the small and homey feel of a town where everyone knows each other and welcomes the newcomers makes him feel quite at home. Though he isn't sure if it’s the town or the woman on his arm who seems more than comfortable to be there.

Everyone lets out an ooh and an aah as the lights are plugged in once the sun goes down, and Emma lets out a gentle, contented laugh, her smile beaming and blinding him. She glances to him quickly, her grin softening. He knows it must be because he’s unable to hide the look of wonderment on his face as he gazes at her. “It’s really something,” she says softly.

His smile grows and his eyes flutter, and he truly can't believe that he’s here again. He can’t believe that he’s letting himself fall so hard for this woman once more. But things feel so different. Better. When she turns so that she’s facing him completely, no longer paying any attention to the twenty-foot tree before them, he knows there isn't anything in the world that could stop him from falling back into the maelstrom that is loving Emma Swan.

She steps up onto her toes, her nose close to touching his, and threads her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His own hand and prosthetic find purchase on her hips over her large puffy parka as he tilts his head forward until their foreheads are touching. “I’ve really missed you,” she says, her breath warming his lips as it escapes her mouth.

“Aye,” he whispers back. “Me too.”

“You’ve missed yourself?” she jests. He laughs, although he thinks she has no idea how true her words are.

“Perhaps.”

She doesn’t answer verbally, choosing instead to lean a bit further onto her toes and press her lips gently to his.

This kiss is unlike any they’ve ever shared. It’s unlike the last one because neither of their minds are altered by anything other than the presence of the other. It’s unlike all of the ones they shared during the year and a half they spent together, but he isn't sure why.

She deepens the kiss and he lets her, her tongue sliding against his as she tilts her head. Her lips are soft and sweet like the hot chocolate she was drinking. Her teeth nip lightly on his bottom lip and he sighs into her mouth. Despite the fact that he knows this could very well destroy him, he feels at home.

They kiss for several minutes, or perhaps it’s hours, before she pulls away from him and presses her forehead to his again, breathing heavily as her smile nearly touches his. To say he’s conflicted would be an understatement; every part of him wants to be with her in this moment, to forget the past and make things right with her. But the logical part, the part that his brother practically beat into him, tells him to run.

But when she says, “do you want to get out of here?” there isn't a single part of him that wants to say no.

“As it turns out, I have a lovely room that’s currently unoccupied.”

She hums as she laughs, rubbing her nose against his. “Isn’t that convenient?”

They walk hand in hand to the inn, Emma standing behind him and melting effortlessly against his back  as she wraps her arms around his middle. When they get inside, she walks to the small bedside table, picking up the half-empty bottle of rum, and he thinks the worst.

It’s as if she hasn't heard a word he’s said all day. He quite literally quit drinking because of her, and if she offers him rum right now, he knows it will have to be over between them. He knows he would have to leave her now for his own good.

He thinks of Liam's words telling him how bad they were together. How the fact that they never communicated was completely unhealthy, how their excessive alcohol consumption prevented them from having an adult relationship, how their reliance on physical expression made it impossible for them to have any sort of meaningful conversation. He thinks about how close he came to death because of how excessively he drank when she left him. He thinks these things and nearly says them. “Emma, I can’t.”

But she interrupts. “I was just gonna throw this out. We don’t need it if you're sober, right? Is that okay? I don’t want to overstep.”

He feels his shoulders sagging and drops his head back with a smile, relief washing over him. “Yes,” he finally breathes out. “Yes, please get rid of that.” His heart rate starts to go back to normal almost immediately.

She smiles at him as she carries it to the adjoined bathroom, popping open the cork and ceremoniously pouring it into the toilet. She grins at him as she does so, and he smiles back, leaning on the jamb of the door and crossing his arms as he watches. She places the now empty bottle on the counter and turns to him, wiping her hands together three times as if to indicate that all is said and done. “There,” she says.

“Thank you,” he tells her softly, still leaning against the doorframe. She steps towards him, getting close enough to where he can smell the mint of the candy cane she ate earlier, and wraps her arms around him.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“You don’t need to apologize again, Swan. It was my decision.”

“Would you have bought that bottle if I hadn’t asked you to get drinks? Would you have ordered shots if I hadn’t ordered them for you?”

He wants to lift his hand and scratch behind his ear, but she knows that’s his tell, so he wraps his arms around her in a hug and she lets him. “Probably not,” he murmurs sadly.

“Then I apologize.”

“You didn’t know.”

She giggles against his chest, the air puffing from her nose stirring the hair she leans against. “You could’ve told me.”

He shrugs. She sighs against him, squeezing once more before letting go and moving towards the bed to take a seat, patting a spot beside her.

“We never could talk about things that mattered, could we?” he asks boldly.

Her laugh is sad as she hugs her legs up to her chest, and he thinks she’s probably wishing she had a drink right about now. He wonders if she’s holding onto her legs to stop herself from running. “We weren’t all bad.”

“No,” he agrees. “But we weren’t all good either. What we had, Emma, it wasn’t healthy. I see that now.”

“Then why would you want to see me? Why would you say yes when I asked you to get a drink?” Her tone isn’t necessarily accusatory, per se, but he can see that she’s hurt by him saying that they weren’t right for each other.

“I don’t know,” he answers with a dejected tone.

Emma scoffs, shaking her head as she stands from the bed enthusiastically enough to send Killian bouncing. “So it was a bad relationship because I never communicated, but I ask you one question and you don’t have an answer.”

“Don’t do that,” he starts, though he isn’t sure where he’s going.

“Do what?! Try to actually have a conversation with you? Killian, you told me that you wanted to work on things because we never communicated.You told me you were serious about us, and instead of putting in the work, I left. I’m sorry for that. But now I’m here and I’m trying and you just don’t see that!”

“I do see that!” It’s true. It may not have been long since he ran into her, but he can see the changes in her from a mile away.

“Then talk to me! There’s a reason you said yes to drinks with me even though you’re sober, just tell me what it is. Why would you do that if you knew you would be hurting yourself?”

“I didn’t want to lose the chance to see you!”

“That’s ridiculous,” she chastises, rolling her eyes, and he stands now too.

“It’s because I never got over you. I saw you randomly in the streets after you basically destroyed me and I knew instantly that if I had the chance to be with you again I would take it.” Her face has fallen and she looks so sad and lost that it pains him. “When I saw you last night, I knew I never stopped loving you, no matter how fucked up we were. If I’d said no, I’d never have forgiven myself.”

She’s frozen. He is too. “You love me?” she asks.

“Aye.”

She’s crying. He is too. She wipes at a tear trailing down her cheek and sniffles hard. “After all this time?”

“I didn’t realize how bad we were while I was in it. After you left me, I basically got my ass handed to me by my brother and he helped me to see how toxic we were.”

“Toxic,” she repeats.

“Yes, Emma. All we did was drink and fuck and argue. We never talked. Not about the stuff that mattered.”

“I tried,” she says. “I really did try for you, Killian. You were always just so… so connected and you were always saying these profound things to me and about me, and I couldn’t handle it.”

“Why didn’t you just say that, then?”

“I didn’t know how!”

“So instead you left? Just up and leave one morning without a word? One fight and we were  done?”

“There was a lot more than one fight.”

“None of the others mattered. They were over stupid, meaningless shit. The one time I tried to get you to work on us you ran off to Phoenix.”

“That was a bad move,” she admits.

“Then why did you do it?! Why would you do that to me?”

She chokes out a soft sob, dropping onto the bed and letting her face fall into her hands. He feels regretful for making her so upset, but he must admit that there’s a certain catharsis in letting this out three years later.

“I didn’t know how to handle how much I loved you. No one has ever talked to me like that, not before or since. And I thought, if my own parents couldn’t love me enough to even keep me, then you couldn’t possibly either. So a part of me never really believed you. Every time you would say that you loved me, I could tell myself you didn’t mean it.” She sniffles again, blowing her nose into a tissue before continuing. He takes the opportunity to sit beside her once more. “Then that night, you were so honest. You just kept saying how badly you wanted a future with me and how desperately you wanted to make things work between us. And I thought I had done a good job of keeping you at arm's length so that that wouldn’t happen, but I guess I didn’t. And I couldn’t believe I had done that to you. I thought you couldn’t possibly have had a happy future with me.”

“Emma,” he says, hoping to argue with her but desperately unsure of what to say. “How can you say that?”

She shakes her head, still crying although he’s managed to stop his own tears. “I tried, Killian, really. I tried so hard to let you love me the way you wanted to, but I just thought you deserved so much better.”

“You deserve to be loved, Emma.”

She sighs, hugging herself around the waist. “It’s been really hard for me to see that,” she says softly, almost weakly.

“I love you,” he says. “Every part of you. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s true. I only wanted to help you see that.”

“All I did was push you away,” she chokes.

“Aye, that made things rather difficult for me,” he laughs. “And I’ll admit that I ran out of patience and had to insist that we open up to each other. And I’m sorry that you weren’t ready then, but I don’t regret it. I regret losing you, every day, but I don’t regret saying what I did.”

She looks up at him through long, tear-filled lashes and barely smiles. “I know.”

They sit in a soft silence for a moment, the remnants of what was exchanged between them comfortably heavy in the air. Finally she turns to him, still holding a scrunched up tissue covered in her black makeup, and says, “can I tell you about Phoenix?”

He scratches behind his ear, unsure if he wants to hear about the things she got up to after leaving him behind, but says, “sure, Swan.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she smiles at him. “No one has called me that in three years.” He chuckles back at her, smiling and unsure of what to say. He likes this, him sitting here beside her while she talks to him. It’s different, and exactly what he needed all those years ago. “It was miserable. I was so unhappy, I don’t even know why I went. I got a shitty job as a waitress, I barely made enough to support myself, and I missed you so much it hurt.”

“I missed you too.”

She takes his hand and continues on. “Eventually I met this asshole who I thought was good for me, but I kept comparing him to you and I couldn’t get over it. A couple weeks ago he did something really stupid, stole some watches, and I got the hell out of there.”

“So where have you been for the last few weeks?”

“Here,” she shrugs. “Waiting for the baby, using that as an excuse to avoid my problems.”

He chuckles, unfortunately understanding what she means. “Well, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you there. Never did get that job as a cop you wanted, did you?”

“No,” she hums sadly. “I guess there’s still time.”

“Aye.”

“Can you tell me about Boston? While I was gone?”

“Ah,” he starts, scratching behind his ear and earning a smile from her. “Wasn’t all that great. I started drinking more after you left. I joined the navy full time, then dad finally died, and even though I hated the bastard, I started drinking even more. Then I got to the point where I had to have something in me to even make it to work, and one day I crushed my hand so badly they couldn’t save it. Basically went through withdrawal while I was in the hospital. Liam moved here with Elsa, I got discharged, and then rest is history.”

She’s silent for a moment, taking in a deep breath before she says, “Christ.”

“Aye.”

“I guess neither of us really got our shit together, huh?”

He laughs again. “At one point I thought I had, but then I ran into this woman in the street and suddenly things just started going mad again.”

“Hmm,” she hums lightly, scooting over towards him on the bed. “What a bitch.”

He shrugs. “She’s not so bad now that I’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

“Ha ha,” she fakes. But before she can say anything more to him, she’s perching herself close to him and taking his left arm in her hands, gently stroking up and down the remaining flesh under his shirt. “Are you okay?”

He knows she’s referring to the hand he lost, probably to all the other things he went through as well. He nods, taking the opportunity to lean towards her and meet her forehead with his. “It was a while ago. Over two years now. I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry that it happened to you. And that you lost your dad.”

“Thank you.”

Before he knows what hit him, she’s kissing him. She presses one soft kiss to his mouth and pulls back, as if asking permission to go on, as if he could ever resist her. He’s kissing her back, placing a hand on her hips once she gets into his lap and running his arm up and down along her spine, wishing he could feel her against his fingertips again.

They remain in that position, her hips atop his and her fingers in his hair, for more time than he can keep track of. It doesn’t go any further, they simply enjoy each other as they get to know one another’s mouths again. If he thought he missed her before, he was a fool.

Once they break apart, he moves his arms so his hand slides up into her hair, pulling her into a tight hug and pressing their chests together until he can breathe again. They’re silent for another few minutes as they hold each other, trying to catch their breath. Her nose is pressed into his neck and he can feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. His nose is tucked into her hair and he can smell her familiar shampoo, fruit and mint mixed together.

“I’m tired,” she finally says. “I know it’s not that late, but can we go to bed?”

“I have rather missed sleeping beside you.”

“I haven’t really slept in three years.”

“Well,” he starts, moving to remove his shoes and grab his pajamas from his suitcase. “Lie down, Swan, and we’ll make sure you sleep soundly tonight. Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?”

“Yes please,” she smiles. “Did you bring face wash?”

“Of course, it’s in the bathroom.”

As they get ready for bed together, easily slipping back into the routine, he tries not to stare at her ass in his t-shirt, covered only by her cotton underwear. Once they’ve slid into bed, she slots herself up against him, one leg hitching over his hips as her arm hugs around his waist. He isn’t sure about her, but he sleeps like a rock for the first time in ages.

~~~~

When he wakes to her still clinging to him, he grins. At first, he can’t believe that she’s still here, but when he remembers their conversation, it makes sense. As much as he wants to tell himself that she could still take his heart again and run with it, he doesn’t believe it.

He detangles himself from her grasp, careful not to wake her, and stands to stretch. Once he gets out of the shower, he changes into a shirt and jeans and leaves her a note, telling her that he has to check in with Liam and asking her to meet him at the diner after.

When he finally gets to Liam's house, his brother exits his front door in a rage, marching down the front steps and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

“Good morning to you, too, brother,” Killian jests lightly, removing his hand from his coat. “I came to apologize.”

He scoffs. “You haven’t answered a single call or text, you don’t show up for the festival like we planned, what were you thinking?”

“I was busy.”

“And you could have told me you wouldn’t be home for dinner. Elsa made extra just for you!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait… did you say you were busy?”

Killian smirks, stepping aside from Liam towards the house to let himself in. “Aye.”

“Tell me it’s not her, little brother.”

“Younger.”

“Killian.”

“You mean you knew she was here?” he asks as he turns from the door, releasing the handle before he can get inside.

Liam sighs and moves Killian out of his way so that he can slip inside first. “Yes, I thought it may have been her when she arrived. As you know, she never wanted to meet me, so it was hard to determine from the pictures alone. But I remembered you saying she had a brother, and I knew David’s sister was in town.”

“Bloody hell,” he says as he follows his brother into the kitchen. He’s offered a coffee but he refuses. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because, brother, think of who you were when you were with her. I didn’t want you going back to that place.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“You nearly died when she left you! How is that not my concern?”

Killian sighs, taking a seat on the stool at the countertop. He knows his brother is right, and that they still have more that they need to address, but he feels good about their conversation last night. He especially feels good about the fact that it was Emma who initiated it. “We’re both in a better place,” he starts.

“Well, you’re down one hand. What has she lost?”

“Liam,” he warns. “My reaction to her leaving is not her fault. I was the foolish one.”

“And I’m sure she agrees that it’s all your fault?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve had a conversation about this already.”

Liam laughs condescendingly and says, “really? Emma Swan had a conversation with you.”

“She initiated it.”

He’s quiet. A quiet Liam is almost never good… it means he’s thinking.

“I know you love her,” he starts. “But watching you the last time… well, it nearly ended me to see you go through that.”

“I know, brother.”

“I don't want to see you go through that again.”

“I don’t want to go through it again.”

They speak a bit more, mostly Liam talking at Killian about how concerned he is.But finding out that Emma was the one to reach out and take the first steps must have been encouraging to him. It was to Killian.

Almost an hour later, Killian finally leaves, just before he’d asked Emma to meet him at the diner, and makes his way down Main Street. It’s finally stopped snowing, and now that it’s Sunday morning and the fame-garnering festivities have ended, the town seems a bit quieter. He takes the gentle calm as a good sign. If nothing else, it’s finally showing him that perhaps this sleepy village isn’t as bad as he’d once thought.

He sees Emma sitting at the counter when he arrives, happy to see that she’s taken him up on his offer. But when he begins to walk over to her, something is off. The man seated beside her is sitting a bit too close, and he doesn't just think that because he’s fallen back into his tendency to be protective of her. When he takes hold of her arm forcefully and she tries to back away, Killian rushes towards her.

“Neal, I said stop! Get off me!”

He thinks of nothing but getting to her, grabbing the man by the shoulder and throwing him off the stool he’d occupied. She shouts when he does so, and he rushes to her to take her cheek in his hand and brush his prosthetic over her tousled hair. “Are you alright?” he asks, brushing a tear from her cheek.

“I’m fine,” she says shakily, letting out a breath in a sob. “I’m okay.”

He can only console her for so long before the man, Neal, grabs him by his own shoulder and yanks him away from Emma. He swings towards Killian and strikes his cheek, so he shoves his shoulder into the man’s gut until he falls and collides his own fist to his jaw.

He hears Emma shout his name, but whatever happens next is a blur to him. He doesn't stay on top of the man who attacked her, rising quickly to get away from him and standing in front of her in hopes of protecting her.

He forgets that her brother is the damn sheriff. It’s a small town, of course someone calls.

When he arrives, Emma tells him what's happened, blaming it on Neal and explaining that Killian was protecting her. David takes a statement from the both of them, then arrests Neal, leaving Killian with only a threatening look that he assumes means watch yourself around my sister. It’s not unlike the looks he gave him almost five years ago when he and Emma first began their relationship.

After all is said and done, Emma gets him ice from the kitchen and tenderly places it on his throbbing cheek. She apologizes relentlessly for getting him involved, as if he wouldn’t choose to do the same thing again and again. “It’s fine, love,” he tells her. “I’m alright.”

“This is all my fault.”

“No, Swan,” he insists, placing his hand on her cheek and brushing some hair behind her ear. “Don’t say that.”

She leans into his hand, soothed by his touch, and says, “let me bring you to your room. You don’t want to be out here with everyone watching.”

He finally gets his bearings back on his way up the stairs, the stars behind his eyes fading away and the feeling of her hand in his grounding him. She takes the keys from his pocket, struggling slightly to open the door with her shaky hands, so he rests his chin on her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to her check and neck.

Once they’re inside, she pulls him to the bed and sits him down beside her. “That was my ex,” she tells him, pressing the glove filled with ice back against his cheek. He flinches away from the cold against his flaming skin and she apologizes once more. “He found me, I don’t know how. But he’s mad that I left him while he was fencing the watches he stole. He was scared I was gonna turn him in.”

“Well, he did a nice job of getting himself arrested, then.”

She chuckles, leaning close to him and pressing a soft kiss to the uninjured cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Thank you. For just… I mean, we were in a public place and I know nothing could've happened, but… I don’t know. As messed up as it sounds, it felt good knowing you were there for me.”

“‘Course I am. Always.”

She runs her long fingers through his hair lightly, soothingly, and he leans his head against her hand.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He opens his eyes to look at her once again, urging her to go on. “I’m in therapy.”

He smiles brightly at her and she returns it. “Are you?” It explains enough, her willingness to be open with him especially.

“Yeah. I started about a year after we… after I left you. It’s been going really well.”

“That’s wonderful, darling.”

“Yeah. And, uh, it’s made me realize some things. Like… like how you’re right, I pushed you away because I didn’t think I was worthy of love. And how being abandoned affected, like, every aspect of my life. But mostly my ability to… be vulnerable with the people I love.”

He nods his head, leaning back so that he can sit against the headboard. It’s only around 10, but he’s exhausted. “That makes sense, Swan. I’m glad it’s working out for you.”

“My point is,” she continues as if she didn’t hear him, likely because she desperately wants to get her point across. “My point is that… you’re one of those people. Just like you said everything changed when you saw me, it was the same for me. The second I saw you I knew that I— that I never stopped...”

She’s practically spitting the words out, but it’s so much more than she was willing to do three years ago. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. I always have, I think I always will. And you were right. We weren’t good for each other back then because I was horribly closed off and you deserved someone who would open up to you. But I’ve worked on myself and now, well, now I want to work on us, if you still want that.” He grins at her admission and leans forward to press a kiss to her lips. “And one other thing.”

He backs away just slightly so that she can speak, but isn’t willing to go far. “What’s that?” he whispers.

“I have an interview after Christmas for a position on a police force. I’d just be beat cop but… I’m gonna go for it.”

He laughs and backs away some more because it’s all he can do. He’s happy for her, of course. She’s following her dreams. But he’s also heartbroken to hear that she plans to plant roots in Phoenix.

“That’s fantastic news, love. I’m glad to hear you’ll be following the path you set for yourself.”

“Yeah,” she says. “But you missed the best part.”

“What’s that?”

“The job is in Quincy.”

He’s frozen. “Quincy? That’s—”

“Like, 20 minutes outside of Boston.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I checked a map myself.”

He breaks out of his stupor to laugh, suddenly appreciative of her ability to make light of their situation now that she’s shown her willingness to be open with him. He’s in awe of the steps she says she’s taking. Of course there’s still more to discuss, but her admission has given him something he hasn't had in quite some time: hope.

“I know we haven’t talked about this,” she says in almost a whisper. “But I haven't been happy in Phoenix. I was hoping to move back to Boston soon anyway. And then when I ran into you… Killian, I'm…” she inhales deeply, smiling at him softly before saying, “I want to try again. Really try.”

Every time he thought of her over the last three years, he felt broken and saddened, and yet he still had love for her. Whenever he thought about their relationship and how bad it really was, there was still always a part of him that would have taken her back. Each time he had these thoughts, he knew they were outrageous because he would have needed her to tell him that that’s what she wanted too, that she was willing to work with him to make their relationship something good.

He never dreamed he would actually hear those words from her mouth.

“You’re serious?” he asks, completely dumbfounded by her once more.

“Yeah, I mean… if that’s something you would want.”

Without a second thought, he says, “yes. Yes, Emma,” he laughs. “I always would have taken you back. I always would have and I always thought that would be a horrible idea because I didn't think it would work, but now you’re…”

“I want to make it work.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, standing and moving towards her so that he can scoop her into his arms and hug her so tightly that he lifts her from the mattress. Her laughter rings through his ears joyously, a sound of which he thinks he’ll never tire. “Bloody hell, woman,” he says against her neck. “You've really put me through the ringer this weekend.”

She giggles again, tucking her nose against his pulse and planting a kiss there. “We all need a little drama around the holidays.”

“You’ve certainly delivered.” He releases her a bit so he can look into her eyes, brushing some fallen hair from her face and planting a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You're really moving back to Boston?”

She nods. “The only thing keeping me in Phoenix was my therapist,” she tells him with a laugh. “I can get a new one of those.”

He breathes out in disbelief once more. “I’m very proud of you, you know. All this time I wanted you back but I never thought you would want to put in the work. Not just for us, but for yourself. I’m glad you started seeing someone, love. You deserve to love yourself the way I love you.”

With a smile that seems to never fade, she touches her fingers to his cheek, the one with the bruise forming, and nods her head. “I’m glad I ran into you this weekend. Pretty life-altering.”

“One might consider it a Christmas miracle.”

With a laugh, she takes his hand and says, “yeah. Now come on, I need breakfast.”

They spend the day together again, this time neither of them timid around the other and freely touching and kissing one another. He can’t get enough of her. He’s sure the patrons of the small diner are sick of them reaching across the table to hold hands throughout their entire meal. Well, Emma holds his prosthetic, but the concept is the same, and she doesn't seem to mind. They talk about Christmas and New Years and life when they go back to Boston. They talk about their schedules and when they'll have time to see one another. She tells him she plans to start looking for apartments as soon as she can. She’ll stay with her brother and help with the baby until she finds one.

She gets a call from the sheriff after they've finished their breakfast, more like lunch given the time, and is informed that her nephew is on his way. She tells him that she’s going to meet him at the hospital and asks if her boyfriend can come, too.

The baby is quite cute, as newborn babies go, but what’s cuter is the look on her face when she holds him for the first time.

Killian sits in the waiting room to call Liam while she sits with her brother and sister-in-law, and he asks him to come by for Christmas Eve dinner. He also tells him that he should bring Emma along, and he hopes that she’ll agree. When they were last together, she was too afraid to meet his family. But when he brings it up to her once she’s finished visiting, she happily agrees.

Emma gets along beautifully with Elsa, and Killian can see that Liam really does try to give her a chance. Christmas Eve is special not only because he gets to spend it with the people he loves, but also because Elsa surprises all of them by revealing her pregnancy. When Liam finds out he’s to be a father, he cries.

With a promise to return for Christmas morning, they head out and back to his room at the inn, Emma claiming that the only gift she wants for Christmas is to spend the morning with him.

“So,” he says once they’re seated in the lobby with a fire roaring before them. “I’m your boyfriend?”

She hums, as if considering this, and nonchalantly says, “I guess so,” as she takes his hand and pressed a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

They sleep with her back against his chest, her hips wiggling into his every so often driving him mad with desire. But there’s an unspoken agreement between them to wait before being physical with each other again. The last time, sex was something they used to distract themselves from the things that were going wrong in their relationship. This time around, he wants it to be something more. He wants it to be about them and how much they mean to each other.

He can tell that she’s sleeping as her breathing shallows, and he reaches his hand onto her hip to hold her a bit tighter. When he does, she takes his hand and pulls him over her so that every part of them is touching. It’s perfect.

~~~~

When he wakes on Christmas morning, he’s alone. She’s tossed the sheets away so that they were folded over on top of him, and when he reaches for her pillow, it’s gone cold.

A part of him panics. Could she really leave him again? The last time, he woke and she was gone, leaving only a note that said ‘I can’t, I’m so sorry’. This time, there’s no note, and he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The difference now is that he isn’t as worried as he could be. Sure, she isn’t here, but he trusts her more now after just two days than he thinks he did for much of their relationship three years ago. So when he collapses back onto the bed, slightly worried, he finds himself also embraced by a sense of unexpected calm.

She’s opening the door just a few moments later, and he knows his face brightens by several shades once he sees her carrying a tray of drinks and pastries. A bear claw for her and a donut for him, plus a coffee and what he’s sure is a hot chocolate. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to convince Granny to sell these to me.”

He sits up in bed slightly, reaching his arm behind his head as he grins at her. “Happy Christmas, Swan.”

She places the tray on the table beside the bed and tosses her shoes off before climbing into bed and onto his lap, her legs straddling his. “Merry Christmas.”

“There are some things you just won’t be able to change, my love.”

“That’s alright,” she laughs, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I like you the way you are.”

It’s enough, he thinks. It’s perfect.  

[mystech-master]

F/GO High School/Modern AU BS

Me and @rex101111 have been talking about a modern/HS AU ft. as many Chaldean servants as possible. Here are the ideas we came up with (I am pretty much cut and pasting our message convo, so this is a mixture of both me and Rex's ideas):

Gil is the douchbag Senior everyone hates but his dad owns the school or whatever so he can do whatever he wants. The only decent person who willingly hangs out with him is his childhood friend Enkidu who's hoping he can un-douch his bro. He has kid Gil as his little brother and Caster Gil as his older bro who both agree that he sucks (Gil is the loser middle child of the family), Caster Gil wonders what Enkidu sees in his shit head brother. "He's too good for you." "Blow it out your ass." "One day he's going to wise up, see how much of a shit you are, and when you're all alone don't come crying to me." Caster Gil is in college studying political science, Kid Gil goes to a fancy boarding school. Archer Gil goofs off and throws parties

Scathach is a swimming class teacher, mainly b/c I recall underwater training being a part of Cu's regiment under her tutelage. People were jealous of the Cus for like two seconds when they find out the swim teacher is their mom, then they see her having them do an extra twenty laps and ignoring when OG Cu starts floating in the water. "CU DIED!" "YOU'RE NOT HUMAN!" while Scathach is like "you have two seconds to stop playing around before I ACTUALLY drown you" and he's back to doing laps.

Yeah with 4-5 Cus (if you count Setanta from Arcade) that is like 5 brothers.

Nightingale as school nurse, she is friends with Asclepius who works at a hospital associated with the school (strictly professional, but the students think otherwise).

Side note, keep in mind you can have multiple servants be the same type of teacher, just for different classes/grades.

King Hassan is the old Religious History teacher. Every one thinks he's older then the rock is the school is made out of. He has a scary face and a scarier voice but most students consider him the most fair and patient teacher in the whole school. He always gets a lot of food gifts before Ramadan form the students. (A few students, such as the Guda twins and Mash, call him gramps.) The other Hassans are his grandkids, like actual grandkids. He's super strict with them because he expects a lot from them. He always praises them when they do well though. He made sure they ALL got into his class and they've been living in fear ever since. They love their grandpa but by Allah they know not to disappoint him. The only one to ever get out of anything is kid Hassan (one of the hundred face). Cursed Arm is oldest, then Asako (the main hundred face), then Serenity.

"I am very disappointed in ALL of you, have you all lost your heads? I swear I-*to kid Hassan*-ah no Habibi not you you're fine here have a candy-*back to the rest*-I KNOW you're better than this!"

VERY traditional guy, Cursed Arm mutters "Oh for God's sake" while doing a pop quiz and King Hassan looms over him and growls, "No Blaspheming In This Class Room"

For the various Artoria/Arturias, I imagined Lancer and Lancer Alter being sisters, so Saber Alter is a cousin. That leaves everyone else to just be sisters with one brother. Mother Lartoria owns a casino and gas her own yacht in reference to the summer event where she became a Ruler. If you want MHX could be a part of the family as a massive fucking Star Wars nerd. MHXX and MHX Alter are her mom and sister (so MHXX is a third sister for the two Lancer Artorias)

For Irisviel, I remember in one of the Nero Fest things that she was called Therapist Iri. Maybe she starts to get into that b/c she wants to help her adoptive son Shirou (instead of a big fire like in Zero it can be an orphanage fire thing, similar situation but a much smaller scale) , so she is the school therapist/psychiatrist. Like Maruki in P5 Royal.

Iskandar died in his 30s, Waver is around his 30s as Lord El Melloi II. The two are old college friends who still hang out and Alexander is Iskandar’s kid.

If you guys want you can see this as the two being gay dads since I know that ship is popular.

Fran had an abusive father before Babbage and Moriarty got involved. In the og story, Frankenstien has a scientific mindset like his creator, here Fran has a talent in the field, but she also hates it b/c it reminds her of him. Like imagine being talented at the thing your abusive parent was good at/known for. Moriarty tried to get it into her that SHE'S the one with the talent, not her college dropout bum of a father, "From you tell me of him Victor couldn't engineer his way out of an argument with a cat, you have a magnificent mind my dear, not letting it flourish to spite him would be a horrible waste...it's your talent, your skill. Not his." He smiles that smile she loves that scares every one but she knows he only smiles like that when he is absolutely convinced of something, "and you can out perform him without breaking a sweat."

Moriarty teaches Fran sign language while Babbage teaches her some engineering.

Jekyll is going for a major in medicine with a minor in law (in the actual irl story Dr. Jekyll was a doctor in medicine and law).

For science associated servants, you got da Vinci, Babbage, Edison, and Tesla as possible science teachers.

The Jeanne sisters. Without the Avenger BS, the reason Jalter (or Joan as one series of fics calls her) could hate her here is just inferiority complex and being compared to her perfect saint big sister all her life. Joan does have her talents, based on the summer event an, but again she doesn't acknowledge her own talent b/c of her always being compared to her older sister., in the 7 counterfeit events she is a really good artist. And it is the typical thing of Jeanne actually being scared out of her wits of being less than perfect because of all the expectations thrust on her. She gets one A- and runs to the bathroom crying and Joan has to swallow her pride and actually have a conversation with her sister for the first time in years. Jeanne Alter lily puts up Christmas decorations super early, much to Jeanne Alter/Joan's displeasure.

"IT JUST TURNED NOVEMBER CHILL TF OUT!"

"CHRISTMAS!"

Martha is Jeanne's BF since middle school and has this HUGE dog that scares everyone and growls at anyone expect Martha and Jeanne. She calls him Terry.

Rex loves Penthesilea. and we talked at length about the situation between her and Achilles. Can you not tell that he likes a woman who can kick his ass *gestures to all of his Baiken posts*

Rex's idea: I think they had a fight when they were little and Achilles, being a little shit back then, made fun of her for being a girl, and Penth has been sore about it ever since. She keeps running into big misogynistic meatheads that reminded her of that and she just got angrier over the years. She's a wrestler and can knock out just about every dude in school by herself. Achilles is very regretful about back then and wants to apologize but Penth ain't having any of it.

My idea: I thought they were on opposing HS sports teams and when Achilles handed her ass to her he forgot to drink his respect women juice and then Penth got all pissed.

In this AU, Penth and Hippolyta's dad was a general who taught them how to kick the ass of men twice their size since they were seven or something.

Penth surprises everyone when a festival comes up and she gets picked to be the one to organize everything...and does a spectacular job. Another surprise is that she plans on being a business major when she goes to college (Obligatory Amazoness CEO jokes)

Bedivere is the Arturia Pendragon family butler with a prosthetic arm. He's also the security guard, last guy that tried to steal something or cause trouble got slapped right out of the window he sneaked in from.

Francis Drake and Artoria Alter Lancer are work friends (referencing them both being associated with the Wild Hunt in F/GO's lore).

Beni-Enma is the short and shorter tempered lunch lady, last kid who mouthed off at her during lunch got smacked upside the head with her spoon. She's sweet, but if you're in detention and have to help her in the kitchen she's a mini Gorden Ramsey, "IT'S RAW DECHI!!!" She can also come into the home EC class where Shirou is her best student. Also her roasting of the other girls like in her quest. Getting Fs in Beni's class is the worst, because it isn't just an F, it's a meticulous dressing down of exactly why letting into a kitchen should be considered a war crime, dechi.

The three Avenger Nobus are three different people. 1st Ascension is basically Archer Nobu, then you got Oda Kipposhi, and then the mom is Ascension 3 with Demon King Nobunaga. The youngest Ascension 1 Nobu is a musician. Demon King Nobu is one of those "super scary but also super polite people that only makes them scarier" type, basically a female koei Nobunaga from samurai warriors (check out some cutscenes form the games with him, he's a treat).

Imagine Demon King Nobu mom in a business suit.

Suzuka Gozen and Sei Shonagon are the textaholics who always talk in slang to the point of it sounding like they speak a different language. Murasaki is the librarian but Sei is like that ONE student who just makes her job so much harder.

Every week it's "No phones in the library Miss Shonagon." while Sei rolls her eyes and types out twitter post like "fugly ol librarian at my school needs a life lol"

Oui Katsushika is a gifted art student, and her dad (not a floating little octopus), is just a normal dude with a squid/octopus like beard. She's the teacher's pet in De Vinci's art class.

Eresh and Ishtar come from a rich family, Ereshkigal is the older sister so she had a shit load of responsibility to take over the family business while Ishtar basically gets to party her life away. Rin is the cousin they each try and swing their way. Eresh wants Rin to keep up her studies and get into a good university, Ishtar wants Rin to loosen the fuck up and admit that she likes that scrawny Emiya kid already.

BB is the host of a talk show downtown so she is kind of an absentee mom. Meltryllis has prosthetic legs that she specifically asked to be made into stilts b/c she wanted to be taller, and Passonlip has a massive rack that makes life difficult (either people staring, people assuming she's gonna be a home wrecker b/c said staring must be intentional, etc.), and of course he also has prosthetic arms to match her canon claws, obviously not as massive.

Hijikata is a very serious police officer but his wife Carmilla just uses this to have fun in the bedroom. They have two Dobermans. Hijikata's route has him patrolling near the school so most of the kids know as that scary police dude that has a picture of his wife in his pocket. One day a famous Idol called Eli-chan~ (yes spelled with the ~) is about to perform in the town and the kids can't stop talking about her, so Hijikata overhears. But, being the serious dude he is he shrugs it off until he sees a picture of this "Eli-chan~" and realizes it's his sister-in-law that came to visit and suddenly the influx of parasitic paparazzi near his house start making sense.

Carmilla: "Now you see why I hate them?", Hijikata: "No you cannot send the dogs after them honey."

She almost ran one of them over in her, very expensive, car and when that reporter says she should be locked up Hijikata corrects that would only happen if she had hit him...and she would be fined. For littering.

Okita Alter being Hijikata's partner, while Okita is her younger sister who's looked up to Hijikata since she was a little kid but she has asthma and such so she's afraid she might not get accepted.

Sigurd owns a metalworks shop (referencing his myth where he was raised by the dwarf Reginn), he met his wife Brynhildr when she was disowned by her overly controlling father.

Ozymandias, Nitocris, and Cleopatra are all the high board members of a company. Nitocris specifically got wind of Scheherazade's abusive husband situation and after getting said husband arrested, she offered Scheherazade a job.

Atalanta is a college student/TA who worked with Achilles' dad who ends up at their HS for a program or something, Achilles' dad has told him a lot about her.

Amakusa Shirou is an uncle married to the CEO of Babylon Gardens Pharmaceuticals, Semiramis. Semiramis herself is kinda chill if REALLY scary. She had to be pretty cutthroat to get to her position in the company, but Amakusa Shirou helped her mellow out, but she is still a massive tsundere.

"You know you COULD poison their lunch." "Semi, dear, I'm not going to poison my coworker's sandwich for being an ass." "It wouldn't kill them! Just a bit in their peanut better and they'll be stuck on the toilet for a week, no harm no foul."

Rex initially said Taiga would be an overly enthusiastic gym teacher but then I remembered that she was a homeroom/English teacher in Fate canon, but either or can do if you wanna be unique.

For Quetzalcoatl, Wrestling club supervisor when she isn't the senior year gym teacher. Some of the male students laughed that they didn't think a woman would know anything about wrestling. Two piledrives later, the students have earned a new appreciation for the importance on how not to be two pieces of shit. She's big on Lucha as in canon and during Halloween she gets JAGUARMAN to have an exhibition fight with her. They make a show of it but later on Taiga admits that Quatz could have CRUSHED her if they were actually fighting. She takes the wrestling club out for homemade Mexican food after tournaments

For Siduri, there's a bunch of rumors she's dating Caster Gil but it's strictly professional, Caster respects her too much to consider that. Archer Gil hits on her relentlessly, she manages to wound his ego more severely then anyone else simply by being unfailingly polite in her rejections and treating him like what he is, a teenage punk jumping higher than he can handle to land.

Ibaraki is Shuten's adoptive little sister after she was taken from an abusive mother, hence why Ibaraki looks up to her. Ibuki is either Shuten's big sister who had to take on a guardian role, or just her mom. Shuten and Ibuki have a bit of a strained relationship because Shuten saw the way Ibuki acted as they grew up, taking more and more responsibilities onto herself and refusing any distractions. And she decided that her biggest nightmare is to wake up one morning and realize she's turned into Ibuki so she tries to do everything to avoid that, hence their relationship not being the best. Ibaraki is kinda stuck in the middle because she wants to side with Shuten but she sees where Ibuki is coming from. Messy.

Caren is still Kotomine’s daughter, but he isn’t a good dad and in rebellion she sleeps around despite being a woman of god. Including sleeping with local punk Angra Mainyu. Angra Mainyu seems like a bad guy but he has a shit load of issues due to being blamed for everything going wrong in his old town, eventually coming to believe them and thinking he will cause nothing but problems. Caren banging him gives him a type of closeness he’s never felt, but under very warped circumstances.

For the Tamamo family, Vitch totally fucked her way up a corporate ladder or something, imagined Tamamo Cat working at a Cat Cafe if she were a Student. Tamamo no Mae accidentally fed her prev BF a food he was allergic too, and that kind of haunted her and scared her rep. IDK basically she seriously fucked up a previous relationship, either on purpose or accidentally, and that kind of hurts her deeply so she wants to start over with Hakuno.

Nero and Tamamo no Mae are rivals over this one guy.

Kiichi Hougen is the adoptive mom, Benkei is the family friend/uncle, Taira is Ushiwaka's older sister. Taira isn't on the best of terms with her family, some drama way back caused a rift and nowadays Ushi is the only one who's willing to talk to her and visit. Benkei never lets her go alone because he doesn't trust Taira one bit. Taira and Ushiwaka are Kintoki and Tomoe's cousins (I say Tomoe b/c apparently her husband and Ushiwaka were half cousins, with their grandpa having kids with their grandmas. I tried to make a whole family tree out of a few servants).

These are the ideas we had the most to talk about, if you guys have any suggestions for your fav servants in this AU, let either me or Rex know. Or just reblog and say them here. Who knows maybe you have a much better idea for a Servant we already mentioned.

[pastelwitchling]

This prompt is courtesy of @likeadisgruntledpelican.

Have you heard the song Babe by Sugarland Ft Taylor Swift? I was listening to it and imagining it from Alex's POV. (So if you feel inspired by it, and decide to write a fic (no pressure), no actual cheating pls - not on Maria OR Alex). You are one of the writers that I feel could really handle Alex putting Michael "out" lol

***

               Alex sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, his prosthetic foot crossed over the other. He didn’t know how long it’d been since he’d had his head against his kitchen wall, his phone ringing in front of him, but it felt like hours.

               The name Guerin flashed on the screen as the phone vibrated with every ring, inching closer to Alex as if begging to be picked up, but Alex wouldn’t. He still remembered Michael and Maria several hours ago, when the sky had gone pitch black and Alex had gone to the Wild Pony to look for his cowboy after an entire day of waiting, the way they’d been glued together.

               Come back tomorrow, Michael had said, we’ll talk then.

               Alex had said nothing in return, only walked out. His expression had remained numb, his mind silent as he speedily drove back to his cabin, parked his car, took off the dark clothes that in an instant had stopped making him feel comfortable and made him feel foolish instead, and put on his sweats and Air Force sweater. He expected to be sobbing by now, tears streaking his face, his throat sore with his cries, but he was still unable to feel anything. He slowly came down to lie on the tiled floor, his head pillowed on his arms, staring at his phone.

               His entire body, especially his leg, ached with how long he’d been sitting in that chair, waiting for someone that wouldn’t come. He felt like an idiot. He’d told Michael that he was his family, that he didn’t want him to leave, that he’d wanted to be a better fighter for him. In all those instance, Alex now realized, Michael had never said anything back. He’d never told Alex he loved him, or that he valued him, or that he even wanted him around. Alex had gone on to rely on Michael, to see only what he wanted to see, hear what he wanted to hear. In actuality, Alex wondered how long ago Michael had stopped seeing him as anything more than someone from his past, someone he had to humor.

               He never cared about you, a voice in his mind crept in. You were just there for sex. He never wanted anything with you. Look at you, you’re a broken toy, inside and out. Who’d ever want you?

               Alex exhaled shakily, closing his eyes. Please go away, he begged the thoughts. Leave me alone.

               The phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing, and Alex slowly reached out. He stared at Michael’s name flashing (Maria, he guessed, had known better than to call), and he swiped to answer. He held the phone to his ear, staring straight ahead into space, and said nothing as Michael’s voice sounded.

               “Alex,” he breathed. Had he been running? “Alex, are you there? Alex?”

               “I’m here,” Alex said, his voice quiet and distant, even to his own ears.

               “Alex,” Michael said. “Can – Can we talk? Can I see you?” Alex said nothing. It was guilt, he knew. That was why Michael was trying to fix things now. He felt guilty about Alex finding out the way he did. It meant nothing.

               Had he wanted to tell Alex himself? Had he wanted him and Maria to talk to Alex first? Had he wanted to get Alex’s blessings? To know that it was okay to move on? Alex shut his eyes tight. It didn’t matter. Michael had chosen someone else. Alex had been waiting for him, and he had chosen someone else.

               “Alex, please say something. Tell me where you are.”

               “Did you forget?” Alex couldn’t help but ask. “Or did you do it on purpose?”

               A pause, then, “What do you mean?”

               “Did you forget that you had asked me to come over? That we’d talk? Or did you leave me there on purpose?”

               “Alex,” Michael breathed, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Seems fair, Alex thought. He, after all, still couldn’t believe what he’d seen at the Wild Pony. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

               But he would, the taunting voice continued. He already has.

               “I don’t believe you,” Alex whispered. It was a fact. He couldn’t trust anything Michael said anymore.

               “Where are you?”

               “I’m home,” Alex said, and there was shuffling on the other line, like Michael was getting into his car. The thought brought a chill to Alex’s bones. He didn’t want to see Michael. He didn’t want to talk to Michael. He didn’t want anything to do with Michael, not anymore. The cowboy was no longer anything but a reminder that Alex was his father’s son. A Manes doesn’t deserve reassurance or comfort. A Manes doesn’t deserve love. Alex was a fool to think he was any different.

               “Okay, uh – where – where is that?”

               Of course, Alex thought. Michael had never been to his cabin, had never bothered to ask where it was. He’d never come to talk to Alex, had never sought Alex out. Why had Alex ever thought that Michael wanted to be with him?

               “We’ve been holding onto this thing!” Michael had once said to him, and Alex felt stupid never to realize how right he had been. He himself had held onto that day, over ten years ago now, that Michael had told him he liked him, ignoring the tragedy that followed – the one that’s been following since.

               “Alex, where are you? You have to tell me, Private, come on,” Michael urged, and Alex’s fingers tightened on his phone. Why couldn’t he cry? Shouldn’t he be crying right now? Shouldn’t he want to scream and get angry? What was wrong with him? Then it hit him, the reason he felt nothing, the reason he felt like he had no right to.

               “We weren’t dating,” he said, and the other line went silent. “You didn’t cheat on me, Guerin, you didn’t betray me. You just liked someone else. And we weren’t dating,” he repeated, the need to remind himself stronger now than ever.

               “Alex,” Michael said, and Alex couldn’t fail to notice the panic in his voice now. Lies, Alex thought. Or guilt. It couldn’t be anything more than that.

               “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

               “Please just tell me where you are.”

               “I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you,” he said numbly.

               “Alex –”

               “I won’t do it again.”

               “Please,” he begged, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry, I just want to talk to you.”

               “I don’t really want to talk to you anymore,” he said, his voice barely over a whisper. “Please don’t call me.”

               “Alex!”

               But Alex never heard what Michael wanted to tell him because he ended the call and turned off his phone, letting it fall to the floor. He had given Michael his chance to speak up, to say anything that showed Alex how much he wanted to be with him, but the cowboy never did. Alex now supposed it was because Michael had just never wanted it. Nothing he said now would make any difference.

               Alex closed his eyes, curling in on himself. Michael would be fine, he always was. Maybe Maria would comfort him now, tell him he had no reason to be guilty. She would be right. He had none. Alex didn’t think he could talk to her either now. He couldn’t imagine a time where he could look her in the eye. Maybe that would change, but he honestly doubted it.

               Alex curled in deeper on himself. Kyle would probably try to call him at some point, and he would get worried when Alex wouldn’t answer. He’d come to check on him in the cabin, and he knew where the extra key was hidden, so he’d come in and find Alex like this. Alex would have to remember to get up before then. Kyle always worried too much.

               Just a few more minutes, he thought as he hugged his arms, trying not to think of how stupid he felt when he had hit on Michael, when he had kept trying to talk to him in Caulfield, when he’d come to the airstream expecting Michael to actually be happy to see him.

               “Now’s not really a good time, Alex.”

               So, so stupid. Alex made a decision then not to see Michael again, not to speak to Michael or about him to anyone. Not even his best friend. When Kyle got here, Alex would be happy, productive, and fine. Michael Guerin was part of his past, and he had to move forward without him.

               The thought made Alex curl in even deeper on himself. Maybe the tears would come later.

***

I know it’s nothing like you wanted, but this was a chance for me to get some pettiness out, and it felt GOOD to get so many thoughts down on what Alex must feel after what Michael and Maria did! When I heard the song, this scene instantly came to mind, and I just followed it. I’m so thankful for the prompt, and I really do hope you enjoyed reading regardless.

Speaking of fics where nothing goes well, here’s my first malex short story on ao3 if anyone’s interested in reading!

[saadiestuff]

“Don’t leave me behind.” - Alex giving Michael the ship piece back?

One Last Night (Malex fic - rated M) [AO3 link]

Michael stares at the reflective piece of spaceship console Alex has just handed him.

"I've had it for months,” Alex admits, “I should have given it to you as soon as you showed me your bunker, but then everything happened and…” he shifts on his feet, running a nervous hand through his own hair, “You're pushing everyone away so hard, Guerin. I’m hanging in there but--"

"Thanks," Michael says dismissively, and waves him off without looking up.

"Alright,” Alex sighs, because he’s not here to fight, not today. “Just... don't leave me behind, okay?" Alex adds, knowing it’s loaded, but meaning to make a joke of it anyways as it's a ridiculous thing to say -- a console does not a ship make. But the idea that Michael might want to leave if he could? It had been enough to make Alex run before, and it's enough to make Alex stand his ground now, even as he turns to leave.

"I can't promise that," Michael says quietly to Alex's back, and takes his breath away.

~~~~~

Months later, Michael shows up on Alex's doorstep in the middle of the night.

"You asked me not to leave you behind," Michael says simply.

"I did," Alex agrees.

"I never promised that," Michael tells him.

"I know,” Alex says, still remembering the ragged chill Michael’s words had sent down his spine. “How have you been?” Alex asks tentatively, for Michael has been a ghost for months, constantly disappearing, and impossible to get a hold of -- even more so now that Max is back, which is the opposite of what everyone had expected.

"I'm leaving tomorrow,” Michael says, ignoring Alex’s question, licking his lips for something to do while he debates holding Alex’s gaze.

Progress, Alex thinks, and chooses his words carefully, speaking slowly. “Thank you for telling me. We all worry when you drop out of contact for days at a time, you know,” he says tenderly, trying not to heap guilt on Michael, and adds a smile, “So... do you know when you’ll be back?”

Silence.

“Can you tell me where you’re going?”

“Tennessee,” Michael says, managing a near microscopic smirk.

Alex frowns, but he’s happy to see Michael with a sense of humour, sort of.

Michael’s gaze skitters away from Alex’s face, instead falling to his own feet, where he kicks at some mud his boots tracked onto the porch.

“I’m leaving the planet, Alex,” Michael says flatly.

“If you don’t want to tell me details, that’s okay. Like I said, I appreciate you letting me know you’ll be away for a bit. It’s good to touch base,” Alex says, reserved with his praise, fearing too much will scare Michael off somehow.

“I’m serious,” Michael says, and with all trace of humour gone from his tone and his face, it rattles Alex.

“As in... you’re travelling to outer space?” Alex asks, turning it over in his mind, thinking this has to be a metaphor, but not coming up with anything that’s good news.

“Yes,” Michael confirms.

“How?” Alex asks. Even with the console complete, it's not like Michael could actually go anywhere. The ship he'd need to build -- genius he may be, but the materials and resources he'd need? Well, he's not NASA.

Michael shakes his head, and looks off to the side, fixing his stare down the length of Alex’s porch and out into the forest. "Just believe it, for a second. And consider that I might not make it back… And tell me…” Michael exhales sharply and faces Alex again, “Tell me... do you want one last night?"

"Yes," Alex says quickly. He doesn't know what game they're playing, but this buys him time to figure it out. That’s what he reasons anyways, pushing aside that he’s been wanting another night with Michael since their last night together, before the drive in, before he walked away again, before he knew it was about to be over. It’s not like he replays that night over and over, their casual love-making after they’d so quickly fallen into a comfortable rhythm in just a few weeks time. And then the bagels, and not taking that damn ride. Fuck. Alex hadn’t been ready then -- he knows that even if they did it all over again, him then couldn’t say yes. But him now? Yes-yes-yes.

“Alex?” Michael seems to call softly to him from a great distance.

“Yes,” Alex says again, because he’s not sure what he said out loud and what was in his head, and he just wants to get Michael inside and for one night not be worried about where he is.

"You sure?” Michael drawls, trying to put up his swagger front and failing miserably in Alex’s ears.

“Yes,” Alex repeats easily, thinking of the last time Michael gave him this chance, when he’d had to push back so hard, with a whimper, or they’d have ended up fucking in a bathroom stall at the Wild Pony.

“Might it be easier to not have me again -- not make it fresh?” Michael continues, and Alex isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to convince, “You probably already forgot how it feels when I touch you."

"Never," Alex shakes his head and moves towards Michael. "Never did, never will," he whispers as his lips find Michael's, and he drags him inside, desperate to have Michael under him and safe.

Alex hadn’t even realized how scared he’s been all these months. Maybe he’d shoved that all down, so he’d be strong if Michael ever put himself within reach of help. And here Michael is, finally close enough for Alex to pull him into his orbit, anchor him, snatch Michael from his cold, lonely, wander of emptiness of space.

Indeed, as they fall into bed, Alex forgets what Michael has planned for tomorrow. Michael had only asked him to believe it for a second -- come and gone. So Alex takes it for what it is, whatever it is, he doesn't know.

But still, Alex notices that Michael treats it like a last. The way he pours into Alex, clinging to him, rocking too fast so Alex’s fingers must dig into his flesh harder, every ecstasy expressed by mournful whimper; each union lingering, staying joined together almost until beginning again, over and over again, all night long.

In the morning, in the light, Michael says his goodbyes with tears in his eyes, and Alex panics -- it suddenly all feels real.

Alex pulls at Michael's arm, trying to keep him in the bed, because once Michael is out he'll have a head start before Alex gets his prosthetic on, or even makes it to his old crutches. He'll slip away.

“I don’t know what outer space is code for, but you’re talking like you’re not coming back, and you’re scaring me!” Alex says frantically.

“It’s not code,” Michael says weakly. If he tries to explain, he’ll never leave.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Alex breathes, deciding to play along, yet he’s so terrified he might actually believe it, that this is goodbye, he doesn’t have to put on an act at all. “If you’re going to outer space, then-- then… I need another night!”

“Alex--” Michael starts to refuse him, but his throat tightens and he can’t breathe, let alone speak.

“Please, Michael,” Alex begs, “I didn't know this was the last -- I need one more!” He wants forever, but that’s asking too much, isn’t it? When Michael wants to leave the fucking planet for the hole in his heart -- one both Alex and his father dug deep.

“I told you,” Michael whines, because he can’t deny him, even as he twists away from Alex’s grasp.

Alex grabs at him, heaving a frustrated sob for his stupid leg and the thought that he won’t be able to chase Michael down.

“You told me but I didn't know! I didn’t, Michael. I didn’t!” Alex shouts, feeling wild and desperate and there's a pain in his chest he knows is a fraction of what it would feel to stretch their connection so far, across universes, for him to be left wondering.

"Shhh,” Michael soothes, sympathetic, for he knows in part what Alex is feeling, for Michael felt it every time Alex deployed -- though Alex had never gone as far as Michael planned to, and at least Michael always understood those could be lasts. So Michael moves to hold Alex close, conceding, “I'll give you another night.”

Alex calms instantly, tears drying up, voice finding its authority, the words rushing out. “You cannot not show up, Guerin. I will lose my fucking mind. I swear-- In fact, we should spend the day too, right?”

“Nah, I have shit to do,” Michael shrugs him off.

“You were planning on blasting off into space today. Your schedule should be pretty much free.” Alex snaps, because everything hurts and what the fuck is going on?

“I have different shit to do now. And I’ll have to modify some inputs for the new launch date.”

“Stop,” Alex pleads.

Michael ignores him, pulling away. “Same time, same place. Just you.” One last night.

He swoops to kiss Alex on the forehead, and then he goes.

~~~~~

Michael does come back that night. Alex weeps when he opens the door to find him standing there.

They waste no time getting as close as possible, but with both of them exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before, they only go one round before they’re tangled in the heap they’ll hold until morning.

“I half expected the lube to be laced with alien poison so you could forcibly confine me,” Michael says after a long silence.

“I considered it…” Alex admits, for he’d considered just about every option, “But I wouldn’t. You can trust me,” he shifts to look Michael in the eyes, hand going to his jaw so he can’t look away, not that he ever really does, but the time for substituted words is over. “I love you. I have since we were seventeen. And I always will. And even though you haven't been around lately… I've fallen more in love with you every day that I've let myself grow into who I am."

Michael’s voice is but a crackle, breaking over every word. “I love you, too."

They’re both crying now, managing only the messiest of kisses, mouths scarcely finding each other as they grab clumsily for something deeper -- more skin, more love, more soul -- all without ever really moving, precious energy not to be wasted on that, not when their time is limited.

Later, Michael wakes in the dark to Alex’s fingers strumming along his back, whispered words in his ear.

“Stay. Stay. Stay."

Michael feigns sleep. It's not hard, not with Alex's soothing rhythmic chant skittering over his skin, despite what it means. Until--

"Or, take me with you.”

Michael opens his eyes. “So, you believe me now?”

“Tell me what’s really going on. It’s just me. I could help you,” Alex says softly, impossibly gentle.

Michael just tucks into him closer, and hums against his chest, “The wind is going to be too strong tomorrow.”

And with that, Alex can close his eyes.

~~~~~

Michael comes back the next night.

And the next.

And the next.

It goes on for weeks. They stop having sex every night -- sometimes they just cuddle and sleep. And Michael starts staying for breakfast when it works with Alex’s schedule.

It goes on three months. Michael is there every night, though sometimes only briefly. He even comes by early for dinner often enough that Alex falls into the habit of cooking for two.

"I'm always eating your food," Michael says absently one day.

"I don't mind," Alex says.

Michael brings a bag of groceries the next day. Only enough for one meal.

After all, it's just one last night together.

~~~~~

Six months pass.

“Ready to go home?” Alex asks Michael, before paling, his mouth opening to try to walk it back, not wanting to risk upsetting the delicate balance they’ve mastered. But it’s too late.

For a moment, Michael worries that this disruption of the illusion will shatter him. What hits him instead is a warm wave of happy.

Michael beams. “I’m not going to space," he declares, "And I basically live with you. I don’t know when that all became okay, but it did.”

They barely make it out to Alex’s car before they’ve torn most of their clothes off, indignant squeals -- which they won’t talk about later -- emit from both of them as they whisper words like boyfriend and tease about cleaning out drawers for Michael.

The final wall between them, constructed of the eggshells of impermanence, goes down as they at last give their whole selves to one another.

But there is one thing that nags at Alex. Perhaps it is a thread he shouldn’t pull, but when they get home, he does, though only once he has Michael firmly in his arms.

“What does 'going to space' really mean?" Alex asks slowly.

"What do you mean?" Michael says sleepily.

"It's not literal,” Alex explains.

"What? Yes it is!” Michael exclaims, “I thought you eventually believed me?”

“Are you serious?” Alex is incredulous.

“Yes!” Michael says excitedly, trying to twist to face Alex, a little surprised to find he’s rather locked in a vice grip. “Alex,” he says softly, as he wriggles uselessly in Alex’s arms, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Alex reluctantly relaxes his hold. “But you could.”

“I’ll never leave you behind. I promise,” Michael says first when he turns to face Alex, “But yes, I could go to space,” he admits.

“How?” Alex raises a questioning eyebrow, “The console-- you needed a vehicle to attach it to?"

"Well... I got one..."

[blak-e-lee]

So here is the second part of my meet the parents fic; apologies for the massive text post. I am tumblr illiterate and don't know how to hide things under a cut on mobile. It's still incomplete but hopefully this will tide everyone over till then. Thanks so much for all the love and support.

Girlfriend.

Blake had actually said that.

"Um. Hello." Yang said meekly, wild eyed and nervous. Blake released her sweating palm and stepped aside. She was grinning ear to ear, fully aware of what she had done. Blake had thrown her to the wolves, or in this case to the panthers. So much for teamwork. So much for the bumblebee attack plan.

"We've heard all about you-" Ghira boasted, reaching out to land his heavy hand on her shoulder. He was a strong man, but Yang had braced herself on impact instinctually. She didn't budge under the force of his blow. In fact her body seemed to push back against any force the faunus exerted. Blake's father caught on far too quickly however, smile brimmed with infectious delight. "Oh." Ghira beamed. "Blake wasn't lying when she said you were strong." He finished, patting down with his calloused hand a few more times before gripping onto her jacket for emphasis. To say he was impressed was an understatement.

"I...uh" Yang was turning red, blood rushing to her face. Blake had told her parents that she was strong? In that moment Yang wondered what else she had told them.

"Dear, give the girl some space." Kali interrupted, lifting her husband's muscular arm up and away from Yang's shoulder defensively. "Whatever you do don't let him talk you into a contest of strength. He's been going on about challenging you to an arm war all morning."

Yang froze. They had spoken about her all morning? Blake's dad wanted to arm wrestle? This was all too surreal.

"Anyway, come on lovebirds. I've been waiting to put on the tea. Lunch is almost ready." Kali turned, signaling for the two girls to follow.

The four of them made a short tour through the Belladonna house. Nothing official of course, just the few rooms and hallways it took to lead to the den. The den had an open floorplan, several cushions aligned in a circle for seating. In the center of this ring of was a low lying table, already adorned with ready teacups and plates.

Blake sat first, tapping the spot to her left with urgency. She had become increasingly adamant about holding Yang's prosthetic lately, always ensuring seating arrangements would accommodate her need.

Yang complied without question, crossing her legs as she knelt near where Blake was. Their thighs brushed as they adjusted their seated positions. Blake trailed her fingers across Yang's pant leg until finding the spot where her metallic mandables rested. As if they had never separated their hands to begin with, they soon were clasped together again.

Blake's father sat next, taking his time as he all but toppled to the floor, complaining under his breath about bad knees and old age. Blake rolled her eyes affectionately, smiling as she shook her head at the ludicrous notion that her father by any means was feeble.

Kali trailed off to fetch the acoutraments, leaving while humming some sort of upbeat tune. The duration of her absence was unknown, and so the three of them awaited patiently for her return, eyes locking in an awkward staring contest.

"So, Yang." Ghira began, cracking his neck as he slouched back on a plush pile of pillows. "My daughter won't stop talking about you. You must be quite the charmer."

Yang tensed. "...well" she began, looking to her faunus companion for any kind of support. None came, so she stammered on. "Although normally I would disagree with you, there has to be something about me that's kept us together for this long." Yang finished her statement with a lightharted shrug, smiling nervously at the man across the table.

Ghira leaned forward "exactly how long have you two been together?" His brow bunched quizzically and the hulking giant straightened his back to convey that he was at full attention. He seemed genuinely interested.

Yang's heart sank. She had already hit a roadblock. Two red flags came of his innocent question. The first flag was the fact that Blake had neglected to tell them herself. The second was that this may have been her father's way of testing her, a judgement see if Yang was a liar. That, or to see if Yang cared enough about their relationship to remember an anniversary. Was it a possibility that Blake had refused to tell them the duration of their relationship for personal reasons? Either way Yang felt trapped, the air suddenly thicker. Even if she had wanted to tell the whole truth there was a major problem. Yang didn't know how long the two of them had been official.

Back at Beacon they had flirted, held hands, shared food and applied each others cosmetics. They would wake eachother in the night, sharing a blanket on the floor of their dorm like preteens at a slumber party. Days filled snapping selfies that would cycle through as scroll wallpapers and social media account headers. The two would gravitate towards one another, growing unlikely attraction at a breakneak pace. Both of them internally knowing the implications of their actions, terrified to afraid to act upon their desires in fear of losing the companionship no other dared to rival. Bestfriend to crush. Crush to something neither had wanted to fully accept.

After the fall of Beacon was loneliness. Separation acting as the catalyst in allowing the two of them to accept the full intent of their emotions. The greiving stage, the I miss you stage, the awkward reunion phase. A slow journey of trust, a path littered with soft looks, careful touches, words that weighed heavily against the false notion they could remain friends. All of these things were like the pieces of a puzzle, each supporting the other to form the intricate picture that was their relationship.

What if she were to tell Ghira of their firsts instead?

I held your daughter in my arms for the first time during a long flight to Atlas. I confessed my love for her in secret, whispering my affections when others were nearby. I kissed her lips like I had never kissed another, all while our sleeping teammates lay blissfully unaware. We made love in the dead of night under a blanket of starlight, fire to our backs in an unforgiving wilderness.

Brilliant Yang thought, that was sure to go over smoothly.

Yang didn't know what the answer to his question was, so instead she opened her mouth to let out a statement lacking of emotion. "Well, It's kinda...complicated."

Ghira seemed even confused, head tilted for emphasis.

Blake turned to face her partner, expression soft and enduring. She never broke eye contact, speaking up to answer her father on Yang's behalf.

"It's been 4 years, Dad."

[unbreakablejemmasimmons]

fic: variations on a theme >> read it on ao3

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico Summary: Two interludes of waking up together under two very different circumstances: one past, one future. Relationships: Michael/Alex Word Count: 1,135 Notes: Written for @gra-sonas​ for the @goodvibesinroswell​ Cosmic Love Exchange! Thank you for providing the artwork to use as inspiration-- it has been a delight being your Cosmic Buddy!

Painting is "Kissenland rot" by Peter Wever. 

---

Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?

Michael came awake slowly, nuzzling his nose against the warm skin at the back of Alex’s neck. He felt boneless, blissful in a way he hadn’t in ages. Certainly not since the last time Alex had come knocking on the door of the Airstream while on leave.

He also felt disoriented, like he wasn’t sure if he’d been asleep for minutes or hours or maybe days, even. The shades were down, but when he craned his neck to squint at them over Alex’s sleeping form, he could tell it was still dark out. Good. Maybe they had a little more time.

With a soft sigh, Michael let his head rest against the pillow again and allowed himself to tighten his hold around Alex’s waist, just barely. Just enough so his chest was flush against Alex’s back. Just enough to feel like this could be the time he’d stay.

“Mm. Time is it?”

Michael stiffened, even as a shiver ran up his spine at the throaty sound of Alex’s voice. He peeked at the clock on the other side of the trailer.

“Almost two.” Then, with a smirk: “Guess I really wore you out, huh?”

Alex chuckled. “I spent 15 straight hours on three different airplanes yesterday. I’m surprised I stayed awake long enough for us both to get off.”

Something inside Michael burned bright at the thought that he’d been Alex’s very first stop once he’d landed in Roswell.

“I can put on a pot of coffee,” Michael offered. “Get a little caffeine in you and bet you’ll be up for another round.”

Alex hesitated, and in the breath of a moment, a wild thought entered Michael’s head: Had he remembered to buy eggs? He thought he might have the last time he was at the store, and it was remotely possible there was a little bacon in his fridge that was still good, too. Maybe after coffee, he could cook them a real breakfast, and then--

“You know I have to get over to the base, Guerin,” Alex said, and Michael wasn’t hungry anymore, anyway. Still, Alex didn’t make a move to get up.

Michael breathed out a slow exhale, and let his free hand drift upward, slipping through the crook of Alex’s elbow to rest lightly on his wrist. Michael stroked the pads of his fingertips over the skin there. If this was as much time as he was going to get, he wanted to make the most of it, get as close as he could.

“I really ought to get going.” Alex’s voice came softer, sleepier, and Michael almost thought he could feel him press back into his embrace. He bowed his head so that his lips brushed feather-light against the nape of Alex’s neck, toward the slope of his shoulder.

“Mmm,” Michael hummed.

“Gonna get up in just a minute,” Alex murmured, but then his breathing went quiet and even, any tension in his body melting away.

By the morning, Michael knew Alex would be gone, only the faint scent of him left on the pillow. He let himself drift off to sleep, anyway.

In his dreams, Alex always stayed.

---

Now I see you, 'til kingdom come you're the one I want To see me for all the stupid shit I've done

The alarm was loud, especially for something all the way on the other side of the bed, and Michael burrowed deeper into the covers to block out the sound. When it kept up its noisy, rhythmic beep, he slid his hand over Alex’s waist and pinched the sensitive skin at his hip.

“Wha-- ow,” Alex said, his voice muffled by pillows.

“Turn that thing off, or else.”

“Or else what?” He reached out and fumbled for his phone on the bedside table, finally managing to silence the alarm, then drew his arms back into his chest. “Better?” he mumbled.

“Or else I might change my mind about today. And yes.”

Alex chuckled, low and sleepy and familiar, as Michael stroked his palm over the skin he’d pinched. “You mean that’s all it would take?” With a grunt, Michael pinched him again, then rolled close enough to bite lightly at his shoulder.

“Nah.” Michael let his head fall back against the pillow, scooting close enough to rub his nose against the soft hair at the back of Alex’s head. “Gonna take a hell of a lot more than that. I just wish we didn’t have to get up so early.”

Alex reached down to where Michael’s hand was still playing at his hip and grasped it with his own. He pulled it up towards his mouth. “Maybe if somebody,” he began, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. “Hadn’t kept us up so late,” another kiss, “we wouldn’t be so tired today.”

“Mm, I seem to recall you being the instigator of that, actually.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm.” Michael yawned. “And if you’d rather, next time we can skip the part where--”

“No.” It wasn’t quite Alex’s Captain voice, but it was close enough that Michael bit back a laugh.

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

Alex stretched, arching his back against Michael, who took the opportunity to curl closer around him. They had to get up soon-- Isobel would be at the cabin bearing coffees and a thick binder of to-do lists before 7-- but he couldn’t help but want to steal just a few more moments alone.

“We really ought to get going,” Alex said, traces of a yawn in his voice.

“You afraid of Isobel’s wrath if we’re not ready when we told her we’d be?”

“I’ll deny it if you tell her so, but. Yes.”

Michael had to admit he was a little afraid of her wrath, too. He let out a long exhale and tightened his arm around Alex, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before letting go to sit up in bed. Alex shifted onto his back, blinking up at him, and Michael had to swallow down the wave of emotion that threatened to knock him out. He had never, ever felt so at home.

“We should really get up,” Alex said, breaking the moment, and Michael rolled his eyes fondly as he clambered out of bed.

“Yeah, yeah.” He yanked on yesterday’s pair of jeans from the floor-- Isobel would be bringing over their suits, anyway-- and headed for the bedroom door. He stopped by the jamb, glancing over his shoulder to where Alex was perched on the side of the bed, focused on putting his prosthetic back on. “Hey, Alex,” he said, his voice soft.

“Yeah?” He looked up, hair a mess, eyebrows raised, the ghost of a smile on his face, and Michael thought his heart might burst from the sight.

“Let’s go get married.”

[gra-sonas]

Don’t Stay the Night

Pairing: Malex, Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Words: 2.5K | Rating: M | On AO3

Written for a prompt from veronicabunch's prompt list:

➼ i have a strict rule where no one sleeps over but i guess i forgot to mention that because i wake up and you’re making coffee in my kitchen and why haven’t you left yet?

------

I borrowed 2 lines from Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. There's also a spatula in this fic. I hope @signoraviolettavalery enjoys those things in particular.

Eternal gratitude to the wonderful @insidious-intent for betaing, any remaining mistakes are mine.

~ • ~

Alex had had every intention to tell the man (Michael, he’d said his name was Michael when they’d barely made it inside of Alex’s flat before they'd started making out) that he couldn’t stay the night, but somewhere between Michael going down on his knees and swallowing Alex’s cock to the hilt, and Alex fucking Michael with reckless abandon, he must’ve forgotten to mention it. And now it’s 4 am and Alex is wide awake with Michael softly breathing (snoring) into his neck, his arms and legs wrapped around Alex from behind like a cuddly octopus.

Alex waits. Waits for his anxiety to kick in, for his body to go rigid in the warm embrace, waits for his ears to strain and listen for heavy footsteps in the corridor outside of his apartment. Instead, there's nothing. He feels amazing actually. His breathing is and remains even, his body and limbs are relaxed, his mind is at ease, he feels deliciously warm, and apart from Michael breathing and rustling the sheets ever so slightly when he moves in his sleep, Alex doesn’t hear anything, which puzzles him.

The only two nights he’s ever dared to spend with someone else in his bed, have both ended in disaster. The first disaster had been courtesy of his father, who’d kicked the quarterback (from a visiting high school) he’d snuck into his room to the curb in the middle of the night. He’d then made Alex enlist as a punishment the following morning. Alex had been seventeen at the time.

The second disaster had been courtesy of one of his nightmares a few years ago. He doesn’t even remember the guy’s name, only that he’d looked exceptionally uncomfortable (almost scared) when Alex’s screams and flailing had woken him up. He’d left in a hurry and Alex had never seen him again. Since then, and especially since the loss of his leg, his rule for hook-ups had been: don't stay the night.

So, the fact that he’s lying here in his own bed, peacefully, in the arms of a stranger in the early hours of the day, is difficult for Alex to process.

They’d met at the Wild Pony the night before. Alex had been there to meet with a group of friends when he’d spotted Michael at the bar. He’d looked gorgeous. A halo of honey golden curls framing a face Michelangelo would have desired to immortalize in marble, a lean yet muscular body clad in all denim, worn jeans low on slim hips, a shiny belt buckle directing Alex’s gaze to another promising area of the man’s body (if the decent bulge below the belt was anything to go by).

Michael had been talking to a leggy blonde amazon sitting on a barstool. She’d kept touching his arm and even grabbed for a strand of his curls to tuck behind one of his ears. In that moment, Alex had known he didn’t stand a chance with the guy, of course he was straight and had a model for a girlfriend.

Before he’d decided to turn around and look for his friends, Alex had allowed himself one last look at the Greek god, when suddenly Michael had looked up and stared right at Alex. They’d locked gazes and Alex had felt like time came to a halt suddenly. The music had faded into the background, the strobing lights from the small dance floor in the corner had dimmed down, and all Alex had been able to do was to stare at Michael for what felt like half an eternity. Then the blonde woman had poked Michael in the ribs with a perfectly manicured finger to get his attention.

When Michael had gestured at Alex to stay put, Alex had held onto a nearby barstool to steady himself, while Michael had bent down close to the woman’s ear to say something to her over the sound of the music.

She’d turned around and had followed Michael’s line of sight until she’d spotted Alex. She’d winked at him, her smile laced with something he interpreted as approval and encouragement. Alex had found that rather odd, what kind of arrangement did she and her boyfriend have? She’d slapped Michael on the back before she’d turned back around to the bar where a drink had been placed in front of her.

Michael’d had the swagger of a cowboy when he’d walked over to where Alex stood. He’d invaded Alex’s personal space with confidence, his curls had tickled the side of Alex’s face when he’d bent forward and whispered into Alex’s ear.

“Hey darlin’, haven’t seen you in here before.”

The drawled endearment should’ve annoyed him, but Alex had flirted back.

“I’ve been here before, cowboy, but you were probably just too busy making out with your girlfriend to notice.”

“She’s my sister, not my girlfriend.”

Oh, his sister. That would explain the intimate body language between the two.

“So, how about you save a horse and ride a cowboy, Private?”

Alex had tilted his head back to look at the man with a raised eyebrow, silently communicating his faux annoyance at the atrocious pick-up line. He’d wondered how the man knew he was military, but then he’d remembered he was wearing an Air Force t-shirt and his dog tags underneath his open black leather jacket.

“Airman, actually. Does the macho cowboy swagger shtick ever get you laid?”

Michael had winked at Alex, and as if he was laying down a challenge, he’d asked:

“You wanna find out, darlin’?”

Alex had indeed wanted to find out, or more precisely, his dick had wanted to. Alex had texted his friends, had called an Uber and half an hour later they’d stumbled through the door of Alex’s apartment, lips locked in a searing kiss and hands groping, trying to get off too many layers of fabric as fast as possible.

The sex had been epic. Like two pieces meant to be together, their bodies had seemingly known exactly what the other wanted and needed, and when.

Alex hadn’t even had time to consider a mental breakdown when Michael had pulled Alex’s jeans down in one smooth move and revealed the prosthetic. Michael hadn’t flinched at the sight, he’d just looked up at Alex with heavy lidded, kind eyes.

“Is it okay if I help you take it off, or would you rather do it yourself?”

Alex had been too far gone in his need to get Michael’s mouth back on his dick, he'd just waved at Michael in a helpless gesture. Michael had taken a quick look at the leg, then he’d removed it with sure hands and had placed it on the floor beside the bed very carefully. He’d even removed the sock covering the stump of Alex’s right leg, then bent down and tenderly kissed Alex’s knee just above the stump. Alex’s heart had almost stopped at the intimacy of it. Michael had continued to leave a trail of kisses and teasing bites all the way up Alex’s inner thighs until his mouth had been back on Alex’s cock.

Alex knows it’s ridiculous and utterly pathetic, but it had been during those few precious moments that he’d felt like he was falling head over heels in love with Michael. That’s nonsense, of course, he’s not the type to fall in love with someone he’s only known for a couple of hours. He’s not the type to fall in love with anyone for that matter.

And yet he can’t help but notice the flutter of his heart when he thinks back to that moment. Suddenly, tears prick at his eyes. He hates how his brain is always so eager to turn a wonderful thing into something that will no doubt make him feel miserable, but before he has a chance to start a mental downward spiral, he hears Michael’s hoarse whisper from behind.

“Stop thinking, Private. It’s way too early for that. Close your eyes and sleep.”

Alex turns half around in Michael’s embrace and his lips meet Michael’s in a soft kiss.

“Okay.”

He feels Michael settle behind him, his arms still a warm and reassuring cage around Alex’s torso. Alex gives in and with the feeling of Michael’s soft lips pressed to the nape of his neck, he drifts off to sleep.

-----

When he wakes up what must be hours later, it’s light outside and the alarm on his bedside table tells him it’s past 7am. He can’t even remember the last time he’s been able to sleep past 6. He stretches carefully and notices with a certain delight, how pleasantly sore he feels. A smile tugs at his lips when he thinks about the "exercise” that makes him feel like he overdid it at the gym yesterday. Only, it’s so much better!

That’s the moment when Alex’s brain finally kicks in and he becomes painfully aware that he’s alone in his bed. He looks around his bedroom. The clothes Michael had pulled off of him in his rush to get Alex naked, have been folded neatly and placed on a chair by the window. Michael’s all denim outfit is nowhere to be seen, though.

Alex closes his eyes for a second to tamp down the disappointment. Michael’s gone. They had fun last night, sure, and the sex had been amazing. Best he’s had in years, if not the best he’s ever had. He’d felt a deep connection with Michael, almost like they’d known each other for years.

What if Michael’s left his number somewhere? Alex turns and searches his night stand for a note, but he only sees his phone. For a wild moment Alex wonders if maybe Michael had unlocked it with his fingerprint while he was asleep and added himself as a contact, but when he checks his phone, there’s nothing. Maybe Michael left a note outside of his bedroom? It’s not like he has pen and paper stored by his bedside.

Alex doesn’t really want to get up, but he’s curious. He fumbles under the pillow and pulls out a pair of pyjama pants he puts on. He doesn’t bother with the prosthetic, instead he grabs a pair of crutches leaning against the wall near his bed and pulls himself into an upright position. He stretches again. He feels so good, and yet he’s anxious that his brain will come up with a million reasons to feel shit about himself, and last night.

Before he can dwell on any more negative thoughts, he walks over to the door of his bedroom and opens it. He’s surprised to hear music playing in the kitchen at the other end of the flat. Maybe Michael turned it on while he got dressed and forgot to turn it off? Then Alex hears someone sing. Slightly off-key, but that’s definitely a man’s voice, belting out the lyrics to Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings.

When Alex enters his kitchen, Michael stands at the stove and stirs something in a pan. The man is a sight to behold. He's only wearing a pair of almost see-through white boxers and Alex’s mouth waters when Michael’s buttocks seem to clench to the rhythm of the song underneath the fabric. Alex remembers all too vividly how amazing it felt to drive into the tight heat between those cheeks. He blushes and coughs, and almost drops a crutch in his haste to cover his mouth with his hand.

When Michael hears Alex behind him, he turns around mid-chorus. He keeps singing.

“I’d marry you with paper rings.”

Alex can’t help himself, he laughs.

“Are you proposing?”

Michael holds the spatula like a microphone and sings at Alex, fluttering his lashes.

“Darlin’, you’re the one that I want.”

Then he drops the spatula on the counter, walks up to Alex and pulls him into a tight embrace. Their lips meet and for a while they’re very busy kissing each other  thoroughly, morning breath be damned.

When Alex feels like he’s about to keel over, Michael pulls up a chair for him and places the crutches right beside it on the floor. Alex takes a seat while Michael turns down the volume of the music. Alex is still slightly shell-shocked and he looks at Michael with wide eyes.

“You... stayed.”

His voice is a bit wobbly, he’d been prepared for the disappointment of finding his flat void of any hint that Michael’d been here, instead Michael's still here, almost naked in his kitchen, making breakfast and proposing marriage to Alex. Well, sort of.

“Of course I stayed, darlin’. Would you rather I’d be gone by now? I can still leave if you want?”

Michael sounds insecure, and Alex can’t have that.

“God, no. I’m honestly so relieved you’re still here. You know, normally, I have a strict rule where no one sleeps over but I guess I forgot to mention that because I wake up and you’re making coffee in my kitchen, and I’ve just been wondering why you haven’t left yet?”

“I wanted to eat breakfast with you. And if you’re free today, I wanted to ask you out on a date?”

Alex is baffled.

“You’re asking me out on a date? But why?”

“Because I like you, Private. And while we are unbelievably compatible in bed, I’d like to do something other than finding new ways to make you come. Not that I don't want to continue doing that, don't get me wrong, I very much want to. Just. Call me old-fashioned, but I think it would be great to see whether our compatibility also applies to other aspects of spending time with each other, if that’s ok?”

The alarm on Michael’s phone startles Alex and spares him an answer. Michael twirls around to the stove and turns it off. Then he fills two plates with something steaming hot that looks like some kind of stew and smells utterly delicious. Alex’s stomach growls. Michael carries the plates over to the table where a thermos with coffee, two mugs, and cutlery are placed already.

“You don’t have milk and I didn’t feel like making pancakes with the creamer in your fridge, so I’ve made shakshuka instead. Hope you like it?”

“I love shakshuka. And coffee.”

Alex bites his tongue, because he wants to add “and you”.

“Next time I’ll make sure I have milk for pancakes, though, pancakes are my favorites.”

Michael places the pan in the sink, then he walks over to where Alex still sits on a chair in the middle of his kitchen. Michael goes down on his knees in front of Alex (and doesn’t that  stir another deep desire in Alex) and pulls him in for a long and thorough kiss. When he pulls back just a fraction of an inch, he mumbles against Alex’s lips:

“Next time. I love the sound of that.”

[doobler]

This isn't gonna be in the fic proper because my planned timeline doesn't work with it but like I had to lmao

Tony assessed the little study. It really was a testament to the king's selfish and unkind nature that his own son's private hideaway was so small and so remote. There were old tomes strewn about, rotted with age. At least a dozen medical journals took up one bookcase alone. A beautiful flower, a Silent Princess, was somehow still blooming, hanging from the ceiling in a solitary planter.

"Did you find what you needed yet?" Steve called from the door, sword drawn. "This place is crawling with Guardians, I'd really rather we leave quickly."

"This is our first and possibly last trip here in the Castle," Tony shot back. He picked up a rather ratty looking book that crumbled to dust in his hands. "I wanna make sure I see everything."

Finally, he spotted it, a lone leatherback notebook opened on the desk. It was bound in blue with an assortment of beaded tassels to serve as a bookmark. When he flipped the page, he found entry after entry in barely legible sloppy handwriting. Despite this, somehow, he could read it.

"Date: xx/xx/xx. My father is being an ass again. He urges me to pray to a goddess that never listens. I could be doing so much better for our people if he let me study the spells I wanted to and work on splicing the Ancient technology with our own. Already, Anthony and I have made incredible progress. The soldier who lost an arm has taken fully to his Guardian enhanced prosthetic. He thanked me the other day and my heart raced at his smile. That was where I belonged, helping people with my knowledge and expertise, not praying in front of another dusty old statue--"

"What on earth are you reading?"

Steve had backed up a few paces, tucking himself deeper into the study. Across the bridge, the spotlight of an aerial Guardian flashed by. He peered over Tony's shoulders, his heart sinking.

"Is that a diary?" He asked, nudging the inventor's shoulder. "That's a breach of privacy--"

"Yeah, well, our memories aren't coming back fast enough," Tony flipped the page, already halfway done with the next entry. "This is Stephen's journal, maybe reading a few passages will jog something."

Steve still looked uneasy but decided that, as long as he himself resisted the urge to read, he was still kosher. Tony cleared his throat.

"Date: xx/xx/xx. Anthony and Steve accompanied me to another bullshit prayer session across the country. We took to the lush rainforests of Faron. I wanted to stay to study the local wildlife, the wild oxen, the produce that grew untamed, but my royal guards pushed us forward. I made them wait a good ways back as the three of us entered the Spring of Courage. Anthony had a sense of pride emanting from his cocky smile the whole time, like he himself made the temple in his own image. Steve and I teased him but he was right to be proud. The springs of Wisdom and Power were nowhere near as opulent as this."

Tony snickered. Even if he couldn't remember the excursion, he could perfectly imagine how it played out.

"--Of course, an hour straight of prayer yielded no results. Hylia still refuses to answer me. Not that it matters. My study, my slow mastery of magic, my scientific knowledge. That's who I was. No goddess could ever tell me who I needed to be, or show me a path to better myself. Still, deep down, I do feel shame. Anthony speaks about dreams, dreams about holy prophecies and lives long passed. Even Steve, who's meant to be the most severed from Her Holiness, sometimes hears a voice. I'm happy for them but, at the same time, I'm deeply jealous. I only hope that, when the time comes, I can meet my destiny head-on and do my people proud."

Tony sniffled. Though the memories were faint, his feelings for the prince were still there. His heart clenched, his fingertips tingled. He missed him terribly.

"Does uh," Steve suddenly spoke up. "Is there more to that entry?"

"Huh?" Tony turned the page. "Oh, uh, yeah. Here we go. 'Anthony and Steve seemed very apologetic and understanding. They get my frustrations like no one else does. I was delighted when I saw the guards had remained at their posts a good deal away from the temple. Anthony and Steve were so gentle, they--"

Tony snapped his jaw shut, eyes wide and unblinking. Steve nudged him to continue but Tony shook his head, simply passing over the book in shocked silence.

"-- the water was warm-- the air was thick-- such broad hands and strong arms--" Steve inhaled sharply. "... We. We had sex in a holy sprin--"

"Alright! Okay!" Tony snatched the book back, tucking it into the desk before grabbing up his bow. He notched three arrows, avoiding eye contact. "You said this place is crawling so we should leave before we wind up as perfectly charred dust!"

Under his hood, Tony's face was bright scarlet. He wasn't sure why he was so flustered. Maybe it was the confirmation that they three were romantically involved, maybe it was the shame of breaching a loved one's privacy, maybe it was the realization that he had terribly affectionate and emotional sex on hallowed ground, it was hard to tell. Behind him, Steve was snickering, his own cheeks a rosy pink.

"Yeah, yeah, calm down, tough guy," He patted the inventor's shoulder with a grin. "Let's head out."

Steve took off running, leaping across the bridge and back under safe cover. Tony took one last look back at the journal the study as a whole before dashing off to join him.

[bearly-writing]

I just read your self-surgery fic and it was everything I never knew i wanted! Soo good! I would love a continuation where we get to see the aftermath. Do you have any plans on writing that?

Sorry for the super late reply! Actually a few people asked for a continuation so I have written a little something. I’m much better at writing hurt than comfort so this probably has more angst and not enough comfort than people were hoping for, but hopefully you enjoy it anyway!

Take a Deep Breath - Chapter 2

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Prompt: Self-Surgery, Chapter 2

Characters: Shiro, Coran, Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura

Warnings: Check the first part for other warnings, Eye Loss, Eye Trauma, Scars, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, Body Image Issues, PTSD

Read the first part here!

Read it on AO3 here!

***

Shiro wakes up choking.

There’s cool air against his skin. A rush of noise, like a breeze whipping past. Shiro opens his mouth to it and, for a moment, is surprised that he can. He can’t remember why he should be. He can’t remember where he is.

“Shiro!”

More than one pair of hands catch him as he falls. Strong arms wrap around him before he can land on his knees. For a wild, breathless moment, Shiro fights, unsure of where he is or who’s touching him. Afraid that the arms are going to constrict and cut off the air he just regained. Voices swirl around him but it’s difficult to make sense of them. He can’t breathe and he’s hurt and he needs to hold his throat open otherwise he’s going to die, only his non-prosthetic arm is trapped against his side by the broad plane of somebody’s chest, and he needs his Galra hand to make his captors back off.

“Shiro!”

No, that isn’t right. There’s no wound in his throat now. Air pumps in and out of his lungs as he pants a little desperately, and the arms around him aren’t tightening, aren’t crushing his ribs. They’re holding him up. And that’s Keith’s voice in his ear – Keith had been there…

Shiro blinks. Blinks again. Keith is here, leaning down towards him, face chalk-white beneath his mop of black hair. When Shiro drags his eyes over to him, his expression tightens, then abruptly smooths into a tentative smile.

“Hey Shiro, you back with us?” Then, when Shiro offers him a shaky nod: “How are you feeling?”

How is he feeling? Shiro takes stock of himself. He feels…as good as he ever does. Now that he’s no longer panicking, his ribs rise and fall smoothly. There’s no squeaky whistle as he struggles to drag in air, no choking pressure against his throat. Shiro tries a smile. There’s a strange, tight sensation, not unlike the way the scar on his nose tugs at his skin whenever he makes an expression that shifts it, but all of the muscles obey his command at least. He flexes his jaw next and marvels at the fact that it stretches without pain. That his bones are no longer shattered fragments in his face.

“Good,” he manages, and marvels again at the strength of his voice, rising unimpeded through his throat. “I’m good.” Keith’s smile widens, but the tightness doesn’t leave his eyes.

It had been bad – Shiro recognises that, in a distant sort of way. He knows how easily he could have lost the opportunity to stand here, in the med bay, totally healed. How easily he could have lost the opportunity to see the other paladins again. A shudder ripples through him. Feeling suddenly vulnerable in a way he definitely doesn’t like, Shiro tries to straighten. This time the arms around him do tighten – hard enough to force a huff of breath from Shiro, before they shift and a shoulder presses up under his arm instead. Hunk. It had been Hunk’s arms around him as he thrashed through his confusion, holding him up. There’s another little shudder, then, as Shiro realises how easily he could have hurt him - how much damage an errant flail of his arm could have caused.

“I’m fine Shiro,” Hunk murmurs, as if he can read his thoughts, cutting off the apology that Shiro was just about to voice. “You didn’t hurt me.”

But Shiro still grimaces, shifting away from Hunk’s touch. Hunk lets him go easily enough. “I could have.” It’s not a pleasant thought, but he can’t let himself get away with lapses like that and he can’t let the paladins get complacent either. All it would take is one good hit and then… Shiro can’t even finish the thought, stomach churning queasily.  

When he turns to look at Hunk, that queasiness only intensifies. There’s a strange, distorted quality to the world, as if it’s stretching out of shape, as if everything is reeling past him too fast and yet, at the same time, much slower than it should be. For a long, frightening moment, the world goes dark, like a thin shroud has been pulled over his vision. Shiro blinks rapidly, but a dark smudge remains. The left side of his world obscured by a black hole. There’s no pain, but Shiro can feel the echo of it, the sharp, pulsing agony - just another bright spot in the mess of his caved in face. It had barely even registered then, but suddenly it’s all he can focus on. Vaguely, he’s aware of his breath hitching. Of someone’s hand light on his arm. His prosthetic lifts, moving almost independently of his mind, but someone catches his wrist, holding it still half-way to his face. Part of him wants to snap at them – to keep them safe from the danger – another part of him, small and vicious and usually buried, wants to light it up – to burn the hand circled loosely around his wrist, to stop them from touching him.

“Careful, Number One.” Coran’s voice filters through to him as if from very far away, and that’s vaguely familiar too: the Altean’s voice pulling him back into his body, whilst his mind tries hard to float away. “Don’t touch it.”

“What…?” The horrible, frightened rasp of his voice pulls him up short. But he can’t help asking: “My eye?”

Coran’s face is soft, creased with pity and something that has anxiety writhing through Shiro’s gut. Behind him, Lance looks even worse. The pained expression is ugly on his usually cheerful face.

“I’m sorry, Shiro.” And Shiro’s heart drops. His left hand, free from the loose grip of Coran’s fist, continues the prosthetic’s journey. Trembling fingers brush over the dark hole in his face. A ropy knot of scar tissue greets him, rough and strange beneath his fingers. As alien as the metal arm grafted to his shoulder, the unnatural flash of white in his bangs. The tremble shivers up his arm until his whole body is crawling beneath his bodysuit.

“The healing pods – they’re not perfect. They can’t replace something that’s already lost. Any more than it could replace your arm.” Coran tightens his grip on the prosthetic, as if to prove his point. With the dulled sensation, Shiro can barely feel it, but he jerks his arm anyway, suddenly uncomfortable with the restraint. The Altean lets him go. Watches him tuck the prosthetic close to his chest with dark eyes.

“It’s gone then?” He finally asks, and doesn’t know how he manages to force it past the lump in his throat. It might as well be crushed again for all that he can breathe through it. Shiro already knows, he already knows that it is, but the small nod Coran offers him is devastating all the same. He isn’t sure what noise squeezes itself out of him, but it draws the others towards him like a magnet, crowding too close.

A small arm snakes around his waist, then Pidge’s head is pressing against his stomach. “We can make you a new one,” she whispers, voice small and muffled against him. Because of course she does. “A robot one.” Shiro thinks she might be crying.

The sick, anxious feeling that’s been curling through Shiro’s gut flares into sudden life. They’re all too close. Pidge’s arm is tight as a vice.

Shiro turns as far away from them as he can manage and vomits all over the floor.

***

It’s not fair. Shiro allows himself the thought, alone in the bathroom, forcing himself to stare into his own eyes in the mirror. Or, he should say, eye in the mirror. Usually Shiro avoids looking at himself, if he can. There are no mirrors in his own bedroom, and bathroom trips are completed with long ago engrained military efficiency. He isn’t vain - never really cared about his appearance before, or now, even. But there’s something endlessly disconcerting about looking in the mirror and seeing someone you hardly recognise.

If he had thought the scar and the hair was bad, it’s nothing compared to the way he looks now.

The most obvious is the eye - or the lack of it. It’s a twisted knot of flesh and not-flesh, dark and unnatural in his face. Shiro can barely stand to look at it, and yet his gaze is drawn unerringly back to it whenever he tries to drag it away.

There are more scars too. A spiderweb of little white cracks across his jaw. Jagged marks branching away from the older, thicker scar on his nose. A thin, pink line across his throat that sends a little shiver of unease over his skin when he brushes fingers against it. Another time, he might have been more bothered by them. Now they’re utterly eclipsed.

He is glad though, that he couldn’t see himself when those wounds were fresh. He can’t imagine the mangled, bloody mess he must have been. Some of those scars must have been caused by bone, jutting through his skin, or gaping, open wounds. He can remember the pain - the pure, all encompassing agony and, as always, there’s a strange disconnect there. It’s difficult to reconcile the two experiences when his skin, though not smooth, is whole again, whilst the wound feels as though it happened only minutes ago.

He’ll have to talk to the others at some point. They shouldn’t have been subjected to that, and he can only imagine how they feel about it. But he can’t face them right now. Not yet. He needs another few moments to fall apart.

The stranger in the mirror stares back, unblinking, as Shiro unravels. One sunken grey eye flickering over him as he shakes and sweats and grips the sink so tightly that he’s afraid it’s going to crack beneath the pressure of his Galra hand. The missing eye is all he can see, a caved-out hole in his face. Shiro can imagine it sinking right through his flesh and out the other side. Imagines being able to see the back of the bathroom straight through his skull.

It’s not fair. The Galra have already taken so much from him. It’s not fair.

There’s a crack like a gunshot and Shiro falls, barely avoids smashing his face against the shattered remains of the sink as he drops to his knees. Or maybe he doesn’t, because the sound reverberates uncomfortably through his head, spikes of remembered pain lancing through his jaw, his nose, his throat, his eye. Maybe he tore all his wounds open again. Maybe Keith never arrived and he’s still lying on the hard metal of Black’s cockpit, gurgling out his last strained breaths.

Shiro fumbles at his neck. No blood. No fleshy wound slick with spit and bile. He presses at his jaw next and is relieved to find it firm beneath the pressure. Then, tentatively, he runs his fingers over the bridge of his nose. The thick skin of his scar is rough beneath them, but it’s still intact. It’s not just another hole in his face.

He can’t bring himself to touch any higher.

He tucks his arms around himself instead, and his hand finds the join between prosthetic and flesh. It’s just one more thing, he tells himself, just one more thing that’s different. And if his fingers dig in hard enough to hurt, that’s only because the skin there is so sensitive.

He’s dealt with this before. He’s dealt with the Galra hurting and changing and making him something he isn’t. He’s dealt with the pain and the taunts and the fact that no matter what he does he can never get what he lost back. And if it means he can never be a pilot again-

Shiro chokes, his grip on his arm going so tight that little sparks of colour burst across his vision.

He’ll never be a pilot again. Not with one eye.

We can make you a new one. A robot one. Maybe…

As soon as he thinks it his stomach turns. There’s a flash of purple. Remembered agony pulsing up his arm, worse than even his throbbing face. It won’t be like that. It won’t. Because it’ll be Pidge and Hunk and Coran - not Haggar, not the Galra.

Still.

He tries to imagine it - a cybernetic eye - but all he can picture is Sendak’s unnatural orange glare. His arm throbs. We’re connected, you and I.

No.

Shiro manages to get to the toilet before he vomits this time. There’s nothing left to bring up and his stomach clenches painfully around nothing as he spits bile and acid into the bowl.

“Shiro?”

He heaves again, gasping against the pain. There are tears on his face, damp against his cheeks, dripping over his chin. The acidic taste of bile in his mouth is too familiar.

“Shiro, we’re coming in.”

No. No, no, no. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, slumped over the toilet, sweaty and shivering, face a mess of tears and spit and bile. He’s supposed to be the leader. He’s the Black Paladin for God’s sake. Or, he was. Who knows what he is now?

“Oh, Shiro.” There’s a gentle hand on his back and Shiro shudders beneath the touch. More hands shift him upright and he sags against Allura’s shoulder as Coran holds him steady. “It’s OK, it’s OK, Shiro.”

It’s not OK. Shiro can’t stop the tears. Can’t stop the awful, ragged sobs bursting out of his throat. Allura slides her arms around him and he buries his face in the soft cloud of her hair and cries and tries desperately to breathe through his tears.

Eventually, Shiro cries himself out. He slumps bonelessly against Allura, too embarrassed to look up and meet her gaze. A hand strokes over his face, carefully avoiding the space where his eye should be and Shiro doesn’t even have the energy to flinch away from it.

Part of him cringes at this awful display of weakness. Another part of him, small and sick and tired, acknowledges that it doesn’t even matter - it doesn’t matter that he just fell apart in front of Allura and Coran, doesn’t matter that he just proved how weak he is in front of the only people who could strip the Black Paladin away from him - because he’s never going to be the Black Paladin again anyway. It’s a bitter thought, but then, Shiro has plenty to be bitter about. He allows himself that.

“That’s right Number One, get it all out.” Another hand on his back. Shiro doesn’t shake that one off either. “Everything feels better after a good cry.”

Shiro doesn’t actually feel much better, but he doesn’t argue. Just lets Allura stroke his face and run her fingers through his hair. Let’s Coran rub comforting circles between his shoulder blades. They sit in silence until Shiro’s shuddering breaths finally come under control and he starts to feel human again.

“The others-“ Allura starts and Shiro goes tense all over. It had been bad enough that Allura and Coran has seen him fall apart. The Paladins, they don’t need to see that - he doesn’t want them to see that.

“Don’t-“ A hitching breath. “Don’t let them see-“

“Not to worry Number One,” Coran interjects, before Shiro can choke out the rest of his sentence. “They’re not expecting to see you.”

That should be a relief, but something hot and guilty squirms in his stomach as Allura pushes his bangs out of his face with surprising tenderness and Shiro turns into her shoulder to avoid the sudden weight of her gaze. “They’d like to though. They love you, Shiro. They’re worried about you.”

Shiro takes a deep, shuddering breath. She’s right, he knows she’s right. The other Paladins deserve for him to face them. But he doesn’t want to.

“I’m sorry Princess.” He straightens up. Wipes a hand carefully over his face to get rid of the worst of the mess. “You’re right, I should talk to them.”

There’s hesitation in the brush of Allura’s hand. “You should,” she agrees, carefully. “But you don’t have to.”

Only, he does.

***

They’re in the rec room when he finally gathers the courage to go and find them. Pidge and Lance and Hunk huddled together on one of the low couches, Keith leaning against the wall opposite, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a thin line.

As soon as he steps into the room, they turn to him, their eyes zeroing straight towards him like he has a gravitational pull. Pidge jolts off of the couch, then hovers, wringing her hands.

“Shiro! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“It’s OK,” Shiro cuts her off before she can finish the thought. He definitely doesn’t want to hear her apologies - doesn’t deserve them. “Listen, we should talk. I need to - I need to say I’m so-“

“Don’t.” The venom in Keith’s voice surprises Shiro and he stutters into silence. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Not for this.��

Keith pushes off the wall and stalks towards him. His face is pale, his mouth a dark slash across his chin. Shiro flinches away before he can stop himself, his hand shooting up to cover the horrible wound in his face. The feel of it under his palm makes his stomach turn. But he doesn’t let go, too self-conscious beneath the other Paladins’ stares.

Keith stops abruptly. There’s a horrible, sick expression on his face. Tension tightens the air between them. Then Keith unwinds something from between his hands and holds it out, offering it to Shiro with a humourless smile. It’s his bandana - the one he had worn when he had rescued Shiro from the Garrison.

“Thank you,” Shiro whispers, throat inordinately tight, taking it with his free hand. He has to turn away so the others won’t see the scar as he winds it over his head. It does make him feel a little better when he turns back around to face them, although the tense, sad expressions on their faces make his stomach clench. “I won’t apologise. But we should talk.”

Keith doesn’t say anything in return, but he nods. The others do too, although they look unhappy about it.

“It must have been difficult for you to see that,” Shiro starts, ignoring Lance’s spluttered, “Difficult for us?” bulldozing through it as quickly as possible. “I don’t want to…patronise you. But if you need to…talk about it. I’m here.” And Shiro’s used to taking an almost paternal role with the Paladins - ever since a young Keith, alone and scared and hurting, had caught his eye at the Garrison - but there’s something distinctly uncomfortable about asking them to open up about something so…personally traumatic.

“You -“ Unsurprisingly, it’s Lance who speaks up first. “We thought you were dead.” And his voice breaks on the word - a horrible, wet, hitching breath. Shiro can’t help wincing. “And your - your face. When we found out you were…conscious…” He cuts off with a choking sound.

Shiro fights the urge to close his eye. Hunk picks up from where Lance trailed off, his voice soft and pained. “It was awful. God, Shiro, it must have hurt.”

There’s no good answer to that - not a true one anyway. “I don’t remember much of it,” Shiro lies. And he’s studiously avoiding looking at any of them, but Keith is standing close enough that he can’t avoid seeing the way he tenses, clearly calling Shiro’s bluff.

“Shiro.” He can’t tell who the complaint comes from. There’s an odd rushing in his ears. The sound of his own pulse throbs through his head. Someone touches his arm, more than one someone, Shiro thinks through the fog. Strong arms slide around him and no. He can’t do this again. He can’t fall apart on them again. It had been bad enough the first time, when he had nearly hurt them, it had been bad enough with Allura and Coran.

At least his face is dry this time. Any tears he might have shed have already been purged. And it’s not bad, exactly, to have their arms around him. To feel Pidge’s head against his chest, Hunk’s own chest warm against his back.

“Be OK, Shiro,” someone whispers. “Please, be OK.”

And he will be. He has to.

[flusteredkeith]

[Voltron]: safe in your arms

Title: safe in your arms

Read it on [AO3] Words: 3,464 Tags: Sheith, Another Nightmare Fic, Sleepwalking, (Hurt/)Comfort Summary:

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith mumbles, his voice muffled against Shiro’s shirt. “I know you would never hurt me on purpose.”

---

This fic was written for my dear friend @voltrash​, who is a sunshine child that always brightens up my day. Here’s to many more Sheith dates on google hangout. <3

As someone who’s been known all his life for sleeping with a dagger under his pillow, Keith is never one to drop his defenses, not even when he’s asleep. So when he hears the quiet footsteps of someone passing by his room, his ears perk up at once and his eyes creak open.

It takes him a while at first, his mind swaying back and forth between the thin layer of consciousness and unconsciousness, and a small part of his brain (the sleepiest part of it) tells him he’s imagining it. But then, as he slowly resurfaces from slumber, the footsteps continue on. Slow gentle strides of someone who sounds suspiciously tall and…

His eyes snap open. He knows there’s no mistaking it now.

Takashi Shirogane is wandering around out of bed.

Rubbing his eyes, Keith pushes himself up into a seated position and blinks a few times as he comes to. Once his brain refocuses itself, only one thought sharpens in his mind.

Shiro.

He doesn’t exactly know why Shiro would be walking around at this hour, but given the black paladin’s history during his missing year, Keith has a vague idea.

Keith throws the blankets off of himself and swings his legs around so he can get out of bed. He makes it no further than three steps when he hears a loud squeak as his foot catches on something. Flailing his arms, he topples over and lands face first onto the floor.

For one wild moment, dread fills him at the idea that maybe he’s stepped on one of the mice. Looking down at the floor, however, he sees that it’s none other than one of Lance’s rubber duckies.

Keith rolls his eyes. It’s not the first time Lance has played this prank on him. Usually, Keith is wary enough to see it coming, but tonight in his haste to check up on Shiro, it had totally slipped his mind.

He curses Lance internally and chucks the bath toy into the trash bin where it belongs and pulls on his pants. Within seconds, he’s fully dressed and heading out the door, which hisses as it slides shut behind him.

Once he’s outside of his room, he looks up and down their sleeping quarters.

“Shiro?”

He knows he wasn’t imagining it when he heard those footsteps, yet no response calls back to him even though Keith is sure Shiro couldn’t have gone very far. Eyebrows furrowing, he tries again.

“Shiro?”

His own voice echoes back to him. No sound or hint of Shiro’s deep timber taking the shape of Keith’s name.

Keith heads over to Shiro’s door and punches the press pad for it to open. Just as he had expected, Shiro’s bed is empty, his blankets and sheets looking sad and forlorn.

Frowning, Keith walks out of their sleeping corridor and into the main hallway where he looks back and forth in both directions.

There’s no sign of Shiro. Instead, the blank castle walls seem to stretch for an eternity, empty, hollow and devoid of life.

Keith tries to remember which way the receding footsteps had tapped down but given the distance between the hallway and his bedroom, he figures it’s a moot point. With a sigh, he decides it wouldn't make much of a difference in the long run. Stepping out into the hallway, he heads down to the right along the cool passageway.

“Shiro?”

Keith continues to call his name down each hall he passes through. If Shiro is up for any reason remotely similar to the last time Keith had discovered him awake at this late hour, then Keith knows he has every cause for concern.

“Shiro? Are you there?”

He remembers hearing Shiro’s panicked yells in the middle of the night a few weeks ago. As his room is only a few doors away, the faint, muffled sound of Shiro’s moans had traveled through to his ears.

Eyes snapping open, Keith had thrown his blankets off at once and bounded out of bed.

When he bursts into Shiro’s room, he finds the black paladin curled up and twitching in his sleep. Keith barely registers the dread that fills his own stomach as he rushes forward and catches Shiro by the shoulders.

“Shiro!” he yells, shaking him. “Shiro, wake up!”

Legs kicking and eyelids shut, Shiro begins writhing in bed, low whimpers escaping his lips.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Keith tries again, gripping Shiro’s shoulders harder. “Wake up, wake up. It’s me.”

With a violent jolt, Shiro’s eyes snap open and he sits up at once, nearly smacking Keith in the face with his prosthetic arm.

“No! I’m not—! I’m not what you — I’m…”

He’s panting as though he’d been running for miles. As he catches his breath, he turns his head towards Keith, the ghost of a nightmare still etched into his features.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Keith croons, his thumb rubbing circles around Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s me. I’m here.”

Keith watches the terror fade from Shiro’s face, his furrowed eyebrows smoothening out as he continues to look at Keith.

“You okay?” Keith asks. He wants to hold Shiro close, to cradle his head into his chest and tell him he’d be safe there. But he isn’t entirely sure if Shiro would want that.

For a moment though, Shiro looks as though he’s considering the same thing. In the next second, however, he drops his gaze down to his knees and wipes a brow of sweat from his forehead.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” he finally says.

Keith had ended up staying up with him for the rest of that night. Together they sat in the castle lounge with water pouches in their hands, simply passing the time and being in each other’s presence. Keith hadn’t dared to push any of his boundaries — not if Shiro didn’t ask. So they stayed up and talked about everything and anything from the galaxy to the sun, to the stars, to the Earth, so long as the topic was weightless and light. After all, there’s enough gravity on their hearts to hold them down and Keith knows they’d both prefer to fly.

As the ticks go by, Keith continues to wander around the castle, scanning every corner for possible signs that Shiro might’ve passed through. He checks the dining hall, the bathrooms, the kitchens, and the hangars. Keith keeps hoping with every room he passes that he’ll simply catch Shiro doing something mundane and untroubling, perhaps eating a midnight snack or hanging out with his lion.

However, wherever Shiro has wandered off to, Keith hasn’t found him doing any of these things. The growing dread gnaws at the insides of his stomach as he makes his way around one of the final hallways he hasn’t walked through yet. The castle is huge, but only so big. Unless Shiro found his way outside of it — which would be an even bigger cause for concern — Keith is quite surprised that he hasn’t seen him yet.

And maybe if Lance hadn’t set that stupid duck up, I would’ve found Shiro by now, he thinks with gritted teeth. Shiro had only just passed his doorway when he’d tripped over the damned thing.

His mind proceeds to flit through a barrage of curse words, all dedicated to the blue paladin, when he hears it.

The clanging of metal upon metal, shallow grunts and raspy breaths — the sounds of a struggle. It’s faint and distant, but the second Keith hears it, he knows there’s no mistaking it.

“Shiro!” he calls out, breaking off into a run.

Keith sprints along the dark hallway, following the source of the noise. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that they’re coming from the training room. Heart pounding louder in his ears, he quickens his pace, worried about what he might find.

The second he reaches the entrance of the training deck, he punches the touch pad and rushes in before the doors can fully slide open.

The color drains from his face at the scene before him. There in the center of the training room kneels Shiro, crouched down and paralyzed at the gladiator bot’s feet. His Galra arm is active and glowing but his eyes remain closed and twitching.

Keith doesn’t stop to think. Pushing off, he runs as fast as he can towards the center of the room as the gladiator raises its bo staff to attack.

With a loud thump, Keith catches it by its torso and knocks it off its feet. The both of them go careening off to the side, crashing and bouncing off the floors until Keith pins the bot to the ground.

“End training sequence!” Keith yells at it.

The round cyan light on its face blinks twice before it dies out and deactivates. Keith sighs in relief and wipes his forehead, but before he can turn to check up on Shiro, something clops him over the head, sending him toppling over onto his side.

With a short grunt of pain, Keith shakes his head and looks up to see Shiro standing over him, still asleep, posed for combat.

“Shiro, wake up!” he shouts as the black paladin raises his weaponized arm and walks toward him. “It’s me!”

Shiro’s face twitches again but he remains asleep. Keith backs up as the older man takes another step forward.

“Damn it,” Keith mutters to himself as Shiro swings his arm. Grabbing the bot’s bo staff from the floor, Keith whips around to block the oncoming hit. With a loud clang, Shiro’s wrist comes down on it hard, pushing against Keith’s hold with a strength quite remarkable for a sleeping man. In any other situation where his best friend wasn’t trying to kill him, he’d have felt impressed.

“Shiro! Wake up!” he tries again. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

Raising his arm, Shiro relents for a split second before bringing it down again. Keith rolls out of the way at once, kicking himself up onto his feet as he does so and holding the bo staff out in front of him in defense.

He’s sparred with Shiro more times than he can count back in their Garrison days, but he’s never gone up against his Galra arm. It’s a force to be reckoned with — he’s seen what it’s done to robot sentries, how it’s melted through tables and walls, how it barely singes Keith’s hair now as he leans back to avoid a close sweep over his head. Whatever Shiro’s hallucinating, Keith decides it must be scary. He can’t even imagine the horrors that plague Shiro’s nightmares these days let alone the one that’s haunting him tonight. All he knows is that Shiro needs to wake up now.

“Shiro!” Keith yells in between blocking his blows. “Wake — up!”

He’s strictly on defense, moving only to dodge or deflect Shiro’s attacks. Shiro has chased him all along the walls of the training deck but Keith still can’t figure out how to wake him up.

Looking around at the wide, empty room, he tries to think of ideas.

“Activate — water?!” he tries on a whim. A swarm of drones fly out of the vents that open up in the ceiling. “What? No, no! Deactivate!”

It’s a mess. Keith ducks as another strike comes swinging his way. Shiro’s arm knocks over a drone behind him instead as Keith twists away from the black paladin, panicking. He didn’t mean to make it worse for Shiro.

“Deactivate drones!” he shouts wildly. The round, metal robots fly away from them, returning towards the spot in the ceiling they came from, but in the split second Keith had looked up at the retreating drones, Shiro’s wrist comes out of nowhere and knocks the bo staff out of his hands.

Keith staggers backwards from the force of the hit and straightens back up. His face pales as he sees Shiro charging towards him. Without sparing another thought, Keith lunges forward as well, ducking low and catching Shiro by the waist, sending them both flying backwards and onto the floor.

Typically, Keith pins Shiro down more often than Shiro likes to admit. This time, it’s Shiro who pins Keith to the ground, his Galra arm raised above their heads and and his human hand wrapped around Keith’s neck.

“Shiro, it’s me,” Keith says again, this time in a much more subdued voice. Although Shiro’s managed to fight with full strength during his sleep, Keith can tell that the fingers around his neck are already starting to loosen its grip.

Noticing a mild wetness at the corner of Shiro’s eyes, Keith reaches up to stroke the side of Shiro’s face. With a gentleness he’s only ever reserved for Shiro, Keith then trails his thumb up to Shiro’s forehead and smoothens out the knot in his eyebrows.

Shiro’s features twitch for a moment before his eyes finally crack open with a sharp intake of breath.

“Wh-what? Where am I?”

Keith watches as the confused paladin slowly adjusts to his surroundings, catching his breath and lowering his Galra arm down to his side. Keith’s hand covers over the one Shiro has around his neck and squeezes it reassuringly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re in the training room. In the castle. You’re safe.”

“Keith?” Shiro asks, his voice hoarse. The look of terror hasn’t completely left his face yet. He leans back just enough to allow Keith to sit up. Keith doesn’t let go of his hand.

“You’re okay,” Keith repeats, bringing the back of Shiro’s hand to his cheek. He stares up at the older man as Keith leans into the touch. “We’re in the castle and I’m here. You’re safe.”

Shiro looks around the room, taking in everything from the inactive gladiator bot to the discarded bo staff to the half-dead drone crackling on the floor.

“Did I… Did I just—?” he looks at Keith, who’s clearly worked up a sweat, and his eyes land on the bruise on Keith’s cheekbone. “Did I hurt you?”

Shiro reaches his Galra hand out to hold Keith’s face. Without flinching, Keith lets him.

“It’s nothing,” Keith tells him. “I’m more worried about you. Are you—”

But tightening his grip on Keith’s hand, Shiro pulls the younger man to his chest, wrapping his prosthetic arm around Keith’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith mumbles, his voice muffled against Shiro’s shirt. “I know you would never hurt me on purpose.”

Shiro squeezes him tighter, his hand cradling the back of Keith’s skull. Cheeks pressed against Shiro’s chest, Keith breathes in, taking in the faint scent of aftershave and that all too familiar skin-smell around Shiro’s neck.

They stay like this for a few minutes in the center of the training room. Keith can hear the pounding of Shiro’s heart start to slow and knows it’s only a matter of time before this moment will end.

“Thanks for waking me up,” Shiro murmurs. “The nightmares haven’t been that bad for a while.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keith asks, head still buried in his chest. He can feel the gentle rumble of Shiro’s exhausted sigh.

“I don’t think I could explain it,” he replies. “I’m sorry for troubling you though.”

“Don’t be,” Keith says. “It isn’t your fault. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Neither did you.”

Keith pulls away and lifts his head up to look Shiro in the eye.

“I asked for every bit of this when I became your friend,” he says, a harsh note in his voice. “I don’t care what happens to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“Keith…”

“And if you don’t like it,” Keith continues. “Then you should’ve thought of that before you came in and changed my life.”

Shiro stares at him with his mouth slightly parted in surprise. For a tick, Keith wonders if he’s pushed his boundaries a bit too far. It’s not unusual for Keith to make such admissions but when he remembers that Shiro might still be in a raw, vulnerable state after his nightmare, Keith wants more than anything to be careful with him.

After a few blinks, Shiro’s lips curve up into a small smile. Keeping his hand at the back of Keith’s neck, he pulls Keith in and leans his forehead against his.

“Thanks, Keith,” he says. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Me neither, Keith thinks as he closes his eyes. He hears a light chuckle from Shiro and his heart skips a beat. It’s clear Shiro knows Keith shares the same sentiment.

“Are you feeling better?” Keith asks, blinking up at him.

“Of course,” he replies, his voice deep and gravelly. “I’m with you.”

Keith smiles, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. Even if it doesn’t mean what he hopes it to mean, he clutches Shiro’s words close to his chest.

Shiro takes a breath and lets out a long exhale. “Should we go back to the sleeping quarters?”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees.

Keith pushes himself to his feet, pulling Shiro up with him. They walk side by side out of the training hall and back down the hallway towards their rooms.

As Shiro’s bedroom is located at the furthest end of the corridor, Keith’s room comes first. They stop in front of his door, Shiro idling by as Keith raises an arm to press the touch pad.

“Well. Thanks again,” Shiro says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep.”

Keith pauses with his hand in midair and turns to look at him.

“Anytime,” he smiles. “I’ll see you at breakfast?”

“Yeah…” Shiro says. “Goodnight, then?”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

Keith punches the touch pad and the door slides open with a hiss. He’s about to take a step forward when Shiro’s voice calls out to him again.

“Keith?”

Keith turns to face him, his heart beating fast. “Yeah?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Shiro continues, avoiding his gaze. “Could you maybe stay over in my room tonight?”

The door to his room slides shut once again from the lack of activity. With a small smile, Keith nods.

“Of course,” he says. “Whatever you need.”

He follows Shiro down the hallway to his room. The door slides open, revealing Shiro’s empty bed just as he left it. It feels natural, Keith reflects, as Shiro settles himself on his side of the mattress while Keith sits on the other. There’s nothing strange or foreign about climbing into bed together, as though it’s a typical thing they do everyday.

Shiro rests his head on his pillow and lifts the covers to allow Keith to wiggle under it.

“Are you comfortable?” Shiro asks as Keith lies down, facing him.

“Yeah,” he replies as he adjusts his pillow.

It’s by no means the first time they’ve slept side by side in the same space but it is the first since Shiro left for Kerberos more than a year ago. After everything they’ve been through up until now, both together and individually, Keith feels something different about tonight. There’s ease and familiarity, but also a shift from how things used to be.

Before, Keith wouldn’t have thought twice about their set up before falling asleep. Now, his heart pounds loudly in his ears, giving no sign of slowing down anytime soon. During much simpler times, Shiro often drifted off much more easily, a look of peace on his face. Now, however, there’s a world of sadness in his eyes as he stares back at Keith. A distant, haunting look hewn into his face.

Keith resents all the terrible things that made Shiro this way, but also accepts it. Not only has it become a part of Shiro, it’s molded and solidified with everything Shiro was and has transformed him into everything he is now. He’s still a leader. He’s their leader. And still the kindest, gentlest person Keith’s ever known.

“You gonna be alright to sleep?” Keith asks. He’s starting to feel himself doze off but he refuses to fall asleep until he’s sure Shiro can, too.

Shiro reaches out his human hand to cup the back of Keith’s head, thumb grazing over the bruise on his cheekbone. With a gentle pull, he draws Keith in and presses his lips to the discolored mark. Then, wrapping both arms around Keith, Shiro holds him close and tucks Keith’s head beneath his chin.

“Now I am,” Shiro says.

Keith snakes his arm around Shiro’s torso and buries his nose in the older man’s chest.

“Good,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”

He waits for Shiro’s breathing to level out into slow, measured breaths. Then, with a smile, Keith closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

[kathpad]

Voltron Shiro-Centric fic recs

Fanfictions about Shiro, that are Shiro-centric or have Shiro as the main character,- because we all need more of our precious Space dad.   ♥ - I personally recommend this Story.

This list is not finished yet

Part 1: Non-Pairing

Hurt!Shiro or Sick!Shiro

♥ Parasite Knight by VelkynKarma [Chapter 14/14 Words:86,840] “You may refuse all you like, Champion, but I have found the one thing in the universe that can be absolutely counted on is that everything that exists desires to survive. Even you. Perhaps especially you.” Something’s not right with Shiro, but it may go far deeper than anybody anticipated.               

The Opposite of Sorrow by nightwalker [OS / Words:6,165] Shiro takes a hit from a druid spell that causes its victims to just quietly give up and die. Fortunately he's got six good reasons to keep fighting. Light of the Galaxy by thekingoftrash [OS / Words:5308] Sometimes, it's the aftermath of freeing a planet that gets you. OR Shiro's hurt, Hunk's helpful, and Lance and Keith argue over the proper grammar usage of quiznak. Hurricane by a_fearsome_thing [Chapters:2/2 / Words:4778] Shiro is injured and very pragmatic about it. Hunk is decidedly less so. Silence is Golden by VelkynKarma [OS / Words:10,291] It's just a sore throat. It's really not that big a deal. But the rest of team Voltron doesn't really see it that way—and Shiro's taking a day off whether he likes it or not. Senmō by The Otaku With Hazel Eyes [Chapter: 2/2 Words: 5,078] While under the effects of an alien fever, Shiro dreams of another time when he was sick. Confused and ill, he cries out for the only person he thinks can aid him- his mother. (A moment of Shiro bonding with the paladins stemming from him being sick, and a look into his thoughts. Two-shot.) Phantom Limb by Paint_the_Angsty_Memer [OS / Words:2,295] Patients who undergo an amputation, often feel sensation of where the missing limb was, as if it's still there.The symptom is called phantom limb.It's as if the body can't accept that a terrible trauma as occurred.  The mind is trying to make the body complete again.Patients who experience phantom limb report many different sensations.  But by the far the most common, is pain.         Not Ready to Die (Not Yet), Pull Me Out by realityisiron  [OS / Words:872]        What Shiro hadn’t told any of them was that when a lion had settled in his bones, death had settled right beside her. Shiro being the Black Paladin had some unfortunate implications. Part 1 of the series Train Wreck   ♥ Giggle at a Funeral by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [OS / Words:2,375]        Stranded and wounded on a planet, Shiro is bleeding out. Luckily, he can still contact his team. Unluckily, he's well enough to talk at them. ♥ One Hundred Percent Probability by VelkynKarma [OS / Words:14,004] Shiro has no one to blame but himself for getting stuck on a mission with Slav, really. And of course it has to go all wrong, because really, when does it ever not.    

Post-Season 2

what the living won’t let go by mumblefox [OS / Words:9132] After their battle with Zarkon, it takes Shiro a moment to realize that something's a little strange. It takes him even longer to fix it. a hollow nest to dream by lacking, Quadriviuum [OS / Words:14428] Shiro blinks and sees a black sun reflected on dark water, his own fingers wrapped tightly around his lion’s controls. Constellations spin overhead and a view screen flickers in front of his eyes, the images blending together like a poorly exposed photograph. There’s a sharp pull deep within his chest, a hook slipping in between two ribs that catches when it tries to lift free.Shiro becomes unfixed in space and time after vanishing from the Black Lion, slipping between alternate versions of his life. The paladins try to bring him back, but their interference could be causing more harm than good. Reconstruction by grimwoode   [Chapters:6/6 / Words:15,677]     When their explosive battle with Zarkon is finally over, the paladins are shocked to find the Black Lion lifeless and her paladin missing. Little do they know, Shiro has unwillingly entered his own battle where his very essence is in danger. With the help of the paladins and the Black Lion, Shiro has to pave his own way back to reality.   Out of Phase by LittleWhiteTie  [Chapters:5/5 / Words: 18,740] Shiro is lost, only able to contact the paladins during their dreams. He helps them through their nightmares when they need him the most, but it's getting harder and harder to find them as he starts to lose track of what's real and what's imagined. He's losing his grip on this reality, and his sense of self is beginning to fall apart. He's going to need their help to get back before he disappears entirely.  Finding Home by PencilofAwesomeness [Chapter:7/7 / Words:34,969]      Shiro is nowhere to be found, but the paladins aren't going to give up on finding him. Problem is, the galaxy is a big place to find one person.Shiro isn't sure exactly where he is, but he's determined to find his way back. But the road home is longer when one doesn't know where it is.  Part 1 of the  Finding Home series The Black Paladin by GriffinRose [Chapter 22/22 / Words:80,488] The empire is not as defeated as the team thought, which make's Shiro's disappearance that much more bitter. Everyone's a little lost and confused, some physically, some mentally. No one knows what's going on, and honestly the appearance of some Prince guy is the last thing they wanted. But they'll be damned if they let this prince stand in their way of finding Shiro. Part 2 of the The Black Paladin series  Wild Boys by cocopops1995  [Chapter 10/10 / Words: 13,575] Shiro wakes up back in Galra captivity. But he's not having any of that this time. This time he's determined to escape or die trying. Along the way he meets up with some familiar faces, some more unexpected than others. (Written before season 3 aired)  

Shiro & Voltron Lions

And I'll Form the Head by QueenofCheese (Supertights) [ Chapters:4/6 / Words:13,421] Five times Shiro pilot's a Voltron Lion that isn't his when he returns. And one time it is. In My Eyes by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [OS / Words:5,804]   After a fight with the Galra, the Black Lion has to take control of Shiro for a longer period of time.  Allura finds herself uncomfortable. Noise in the Cockpit by pentapus [OS / Words:2067]                 Piloting the black lion was unlike piloting any ship Shiro had ever flown. And it wasn't just the bizarre weight balance. It was that he didn't know on any given day how loud the Lion was going to be.Today was one of the loud days.

Shiro & Team Voltron

Give Them Shelter by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)  [OS / Words:3,488] Have some freakin' gen fluff, you goddamn animals. Of (Space) Dogs and Good Intentions by realityisiron [OS / Words:7753] When in doubt, get your friendly neighborhood Black Paladin a dog for his birthday.Well, considering you're in a galaxy far far away, at least get him a space dog.Nothing will go wrong probably. Playing With Your Food by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [OS / Words:1,720]     Shiro did not sign up for this grocery shopping trip.           Days of Gladiator Love by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [OS / Words:3,589] Turns out, there was a fair bit of merchandising involved with the Gladiator battles, especially with their more famous fighters. Apparently, this includes romance novels. Bridge This Gap by  BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [OS / Words:2,287] Forming Voltron comes with side effects. Kiss From a Rose by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [Chapters:6/6 Words:14,176]               5 times Shiro got kisses from the team, and one time he returned them Like Broken Satellites by itsthevoid [OS / Words:4,854]         Shiro has a history of losing the people he loves. what's needed by eugyne (AreteNike) [OS / Words:2,704]               The one time Shiro gives everything to his team... and the five six times they give it back. The Let The Spectrum In series by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [Works: 7 Words:139,444]

Aftereffects of Shiros time in captivity

(Everything that has the focus on his galra arm, PTSD, special skills he acquired etc.)

Oathkeeping by SassafrassRex (Serbajean) [OS / Words:5213] Dirt on your head. My dick in your mother’s rib-cage. Forgotten turtle’s egg. Wear a green hat. Fuck your second uncle. (And those are just from Earth). Shiro didn’t always have an Altean babelfish. But he figured it out eventually. OR Sport and violence and violence for sport are the universal languages.   ♥   Routine Maintenance by VelkynKarma   [Chapter 6/6 Words:50,777] Being an amputee with a prosthetic limb is difficult enough. Having a solid metal alien prosthetic forced on you by another species entirely is even worse. OR: Five times Shiro’s Galra arm caused him trouble in some way and another member of the team helped him out with it, and the one time the same arm is the only reason any of them survive. Part 2: Advanced Maintenance  [Chapters:2/? / Words:4,863] Maintaining an alien prosthetic limb can be difficult even with help from your friends. Fortunately, Shiro's able to get a little extra assistance from a few unexpected places. Like Forgetting The Words by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) [Chapter 6/6 Words:12,797] 5 times Shiro forgot about his metal arm, and one time he was comfortable remembering.    Part 1 of the Follow-Up series   Melody to my Soul by chidori-blossom237  [OS / Words: 6,840] When the group bring back a piano from the space mall, its presence causes an unexpected reaction in Shiro. Will he find the courage to face this new obstacle in front of him, or have the galra scored another point in their game of torment? Based on 8 prompt words. Post season 2 but Shiro didn't disappear after battling Zarkon.              

AU

♥ Empty Night by BossToaster [OS / Words:5250]   From the Chicago Yellow Pages: "Takashi Shirogane – Wizard   Lost items found. Paranormal Investigations. Consulting. Advice. Reasonable Rates. No Love Potions, Endless Purses, or other Entertainment."When the Chicago Special Investigations Unit finds a murder victim surrounded by strange symbols and candles, there's one person to consult. Road Trip to End Times by VelkynKarma [ Chapters:4/4 / Words:20349] The outbreak is at its peak, and the country is in ruins. But there's still hope: Safe Haven, the colony on the West Coast. Reach it, and you'll find safety and a chance to rebuild a new life in this zombie-controlled world. If you reach it, that is. But Shiro doesn't intend to give up on trying. Not when he's got four teenagers desperate to find their families again under his protection. ♥   When the Wolfbane Blooms by a_fearsome_thing [OS / Words:20,055]   Shiro never makes it back to Earth, instead crash-landing on a planet filled with what seem to be giant wolves. Injured and without a ship, he needs to find a way home to warn the Earth that the Galra are coming. (the one where Shiro gets adopted by a wolf pack in space) ♥ something strange by ashinan   [OS / Words:3,453]         Shiro can see ghosts. The rest of the team can't. This isn't always a problem - except when it is. Part 1 of the Stranger Things series Geartooth by EndoplasmicPanda [ongoing / Words: 19,287] The Shiro they rescue in the desert the night before everything goes to shit isn't the Shiro Keith remembers. (Or: It takes a lot more than a rip in space, an armada of the universe's most menacing villains on his tail, and ten years of rewritten time to keep Shiro from protecting the only friends he's ever truly had.) Time travel AU. Author recommendation: BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) VelkynKarma