#shake him like a colicky baby

[amandamadeathing]

A Twitter post about Admiral Rampart.

[dira333]

To save and be saved - Shouto Todoroki x Reader - Baby Series part 3

part 2

“Oh, you’re hiring help now?” Katsuki drawls from the doorway, one hand in his hip as he examines the office.

“Uncle Tsuki!” Shouji’s on his feet in a heartbeat, racing over. “Uncle Tsuki!”

“Hey Stinker,” he picks the kid up with ease, settling him on his shoulder. “You helping your Pop?”

“Yes!” Shouji exclaims eagerly. “I’m drawing his Logo.”

“Good idea, the old one sucks anyway. You wanna show me what you’ve got so far?”

The boy considers it for a second, sucking in his lower lip before shaking his head.

“Not yet. Wanna finish it first.”

“Good choice. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Gonna talk to your Pop for a second, okay? Ears off!”

“Okay,” Shouji giggles, pretending to shut off his ears when Katsuki lets him down, shuffling over to where he’s got paper and pens spread out.

-

“Is it taking your kid to work day?” Katsuki asks Shouto, walking closer. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“Sorry,” Shouto pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shouko’s colicky. It’s been a tough week.”

“Ugh, that’s the worst. I’m so glad Kaede is over that. Want me to take Shouji for the weekend? It’s only a small help, I guess, but we like having him around.”

“That’s a nice offer.” Shouto yawns. “I’m going to play it back before giving you an answer, if that’s okay. But surely you’re not here to help me raise my kids and keep my sanity at the same time.”

“No, you’re right. I have the numbers on the new guy. Hitoshi thinks he’ll be able to trap him tonight or tomorrow at least. Thought you might want a piece of it, but I think you better sit this own out.”

“Uncle Toshi?” Shouji asks from his corner, curiosity piqued. 

“What did I say about your ears being off?” Katsuki asks, face thunderous.

Shouji giggles and turns back to drawing, not the least bit afraid.

“It’s a shame, really,” Shouto agrees. “But I don’t think it would be a safe choice to join. I’d appoint one of my Sidekicks if we need the numbers. Shatter’s doing exceptionally well.”

Katsuki huffs. “Sidekicks.” For a moment it’s quiet between the two, but then he nods. “Fine, tell her to call me. I’ll give her the details.”

He gets up, pausing for a moment, his hand on the back of his chair as he stares at the wall.

“I’m gonna send some of the guys over,” he finally adds. 

Shouto blinks up at him, confusion visible.

“You need a nap. If you can’t ask for help, that’s your bad. Eh, Stinker. You wanna hit up Kirishima?”

“Uncle Jirou?” Shouji’s jumping up and down with excitement. “Can I, Papa?”

Shouto sighs, eyeing the Couch. It does look comfy.

“Sure. But don’t eat any of the sweets Denki keeps in his pockets.”

“Okay,” Shouji grabs a paper and runs over, pushing it onto his Desk.

The Logo he’d been trying to draw has been abandoned in the corner, instead, there’s now a drawing of him, you, and the two kids. Shouji and Shouko are drawn holding hands and he has to fight back tears when Shouji clambers up his lap to press a wet kiss against his cheek.

“See you later Papa. Love you!”

-

“No way,” Denki leans forward. “You’re making that up.”

“Uhuh,” Shouji shakes his head. “I really dreamed that.”

“A dragon’s so cool. I never dreamed of dragons. I just have boring dreams. Like race cars.”

“Race cars are cool too.”

“Uff, I’m glad.” Denki chuckles, turning to his side. “Babe, did you hear that? I’m cool too.”

“Not you,” Kyoka points out. “Just the race cars.”

“You wound me.”

She snickers before winking at Shouji. “You’re going to come over to visit when the little one is born?” She points at the swell of her belly, flinches at what must be a kick. 

“He’s playing soccer right now.”

“He is?” Shouji’s amazed. “I didn’t know there was so much space in there. Shouko never played soccer!”

“Yeah, because our kid’s cool.” Denki boasts before considering it. “Shouko’s cool too though. Maybe she was planning world domination?”

“What’s that mean?” Shouji asks just as Eijirou settles heavily on the chair next to him. “Hey Big Man!”

“Uncle Jirou!” Shouji jumps into his lap with ease, eager to cash in the warm hug this uncle always gives out. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Big Man! You’re growing like a weed, Man. Soon you’re taller than Minoru.”

“Very funny,” Minoru lisps from the other end of the table. “Don’t listen to him, Shouji. You can do great things no matter your height!”

“Sure, Uncle Noru.”

“Is everyone coming by today,” Denki asks at that moment, eyeing the door. “Not like I hate impromptu get-to-gathers, but what’s the occasion?”

“Shouto needed a fiver,” Katsuki harrumphs, stepping over. “And if I just call one of you guys, the rest is gonna be jealous. Don’t lie.”

“I’d never lie,” Tenya points out, two steps behind him. “I thank you for your consideration.”

-

Shouji doesn’t seem to mind the attention, climbing from one lap to the other, always answering the same questions.

Yes, he’s grown since the last time. 

Yes, his little sister is the cutest thing on earth.

Yes, he’s progressing well in his Quirk Training.

“Look!” He shows off to Uncle Shouji - probably one of his favorites because Uncle Shouji always calls him Shouji Number One. “I can make a really big flame and a big icicle at the same time.”

“That’s amazing!” Shouji praises him.

Not soon after though, all the talking and climbing and hugging has tired him out. 

“Has anyone seen the kid?” Katsuki asks when he notices his voice missing.

“Over here,” Shouji calls out in a hushed voice, opening up his arms. Shouji’s sleeping soundly in his embrace, sucking on his thumb.

“So cute!” Mina can’t help but comment, clinging to Eijirou. “I want that too.”

“Children are not just cute,” Tenya points out. “They are also a lot of work!”

“I know that,” Mina hisses back. “Spoilsport!”

Tenya opens his mouth to retaliate, closing it with a click though when someone clears their throat pointedly behind them.

“I thought you wanted to hit up Kirishima?” Shouto asks from the doorway, voice carefully calm.

Katsuki shrugs. “You call one of them, they all come. You had a good nap?”

“Yes,” Shouto confirms stiffly. “Thank you. Where’s my son?”

All of his old classmates point in unison.

Shouto sighs. He should have known.

“I should have been home an hour ago,” he explains softly under his breathe as he makes his way over. “Sorry for the trouble, everyone.”

“No trouble at all,” Izuku points out, pressing Shouto’s shoulder with one scarred hand. “Always there to help when you need us.”

“I don’t wanna bother-”

“Dude,” Denki exclaims. “You’re not bothering us. If anything, you’re giving us an excuse to hit you up as well when the little one’s a pain in the ass.”

Kyoka hits his shoulder at that, but she still nods to show her agreement.

“Look,” Fumikage points out, startling them. “We’ve been through war together. Can it really be more difficult to ask for help in this?”

Shouto’s shoulders lower and he nods. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He bends down to scoop up Shouji, unable to stop from smiling when he notices the thumb firmly lodged in his mouth.

“Let’s get you home.”

“No, no...” Shouji whines low under his breath, waking up just enough to realize what’s going on. “Wanna play!”

“Yes, yes. Momma’s waiting.”

Shouji sniffles at that, falling silent, his face hidden against his father’s neck.

With a last smile at his friends, Shouto leaves.

-

“Fuyumi asked if we’d leave Shouko with her for the weekend,” you explain that night, curled into his hold.

“That’s pretty brave to offer in this state,” Shouto comments dryly, enjoying the chuckle it draws from you.

“It is. But she’s gone through this before, she knows what to do. Besides, Rei’s going to help out.”

“You think we should do it?”

“You don’t think so?” You ask back, leaning back to catch the look in his eyes. “What are your thoughts?”

“I’m just… Shouldn’t we be able to do this on our own?”

“We are doing it on our own,” you disagree softly. “But no one said we have to refuse any help. Besides, I think we’re over the worst. And one weekend of uninterrupted sleep would do wonders for us. You can’t be a good father if you’re running on fumes.”

“Hmm,” he hums, considering it. “So… Shouko with Fuyumi and Shouji with Katsuki?”

“He offered,” You remind him. “Besides, your parents are always eager to get Shouji for the weekend, you know that.”

“Yes.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I know. I think…” He takes a deep breath. “If you think it’s the right thing to do, I’ll follow your lead.”

“Good,” you kiss him, let your love and care for him drop like honey from your tongue. “Now close your eyes and rest, love. I’ll keep you safe.”

Maybe he could have laughed at that. That a civilian could keep a Hero safe.

But he knows it’s true. His heart has never been safer than with you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next part? - Baby Series - part 4

[storm-angel989]

How would Valentino react to his baby having colic? (when a baby cries for no apparent reason)

Hi Friend,

Please see the below! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. As you may have noticed, I haven't published any content in a bit- this is the first one I'm happy with how it came out!

Enjoy!

<3 Mandy

The sound of a baby crying used to piss him off.

The screeching, shrieking, screaming bawl of an insolent child instilled nothing in him but rage. In the past, he wanted nothing more than to eliminate the sound by any means possible, and although children were barred in his studio, he made it a point to ensure they were kept as far away from him as possible in all areas of his life. Hell, if someone had told the younger version of himself that someday he would run towards his own crying child and not away from it, he would have probably shot them without hesitation. 

As Valentino lounged back in his directors chair, the scream of his number one rule being shattered sent him to his feet, his wings springing  forth as he launched himself towards the sound. For the first time in front of people, the sudden movement was for protection, not anger. 

“Val, I need a break,” his wife’s voice, quaking with tears, met his monstrous form. “I can’t, I can’t get her to settle.” 

“Back upstairs,” his voice answered, sharp as a knife. “You know…”

“Val, I’m begging you.”

The continuous crying, and the tone of his wife's voice told him something was very, very wrong. Ignoring the work behind him, he shielded her and the screaming child as he guided her to the elevator. His wings blocking the view, he took the upset child from his wife and settled her against him. Behind him, the door closed and despite the constant noise, his voice softened.

“Bebita, what’s wrong?” He asked as he tried to comfort his child. To his surprise, the wailing continued. Even more alarming, his wife began to sob. 

“I…don’t….know! She won’t stop crying. I tried everything, I can’t…she won’t…why do I feel like this?” 

With his free arm, he pulled his wife to his side and gently cradled her head to his shoulders. He pressed his lips to the top of her head as he did his best to soothe both her and the baby. A younger Valentino would have smacked any woman who dared to cry in front of him. After all, he wasn’t an overlord known for mercy. But as he appraised his wife’s current  appearance, the very thought of hurting her made him sick to his stomach. Dark circles under her eyes, pajamas that clearly needed to be changed, and hair that looked like it needed to be washed- or at the very least, brushed. But moreso, she seemed beyond exhausted. Sad maybe? Overwhelmed? Sick? He couldn’t tell.  How long had she been alone with a crying baby?

“Alright, honey, we’ll figure it out,” Valentino said finally. “I’ll call the doctor and…”

“You have to work, I shouldn’t have bothered you,” she sobbed through the continued cries. “I tried to call Vox and Velvette, and I just…she’s colicky, and I can’t…I don’t…”

“Hey, hey. No. Always come to us,” he replied quickly. “You’re not in this alone. Come on. You need sleep.” 

The elevator door opened and he carefully guided his wife into the penthouse and nudged her towards the bedroom. 

“Go. I’ve got the baby,” he said gently. “You need to go rest, and…”

“No! She won’t stop crying, she won’t take a bottle, her diaper is dry, I’ve tried everything. You can’t just lay her down! Something is wrong and I, I can’t figure it out,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry! Nothing is working, Val!” Her expression crumbled as she sobbed harder. “I’m a terrible mother. I suck.”  

Unease settled over Valentino. To see his wife, a known angel slayer, merciless ruler of hell, crumble to bits sent alarm bell ringing. He stepped into the nursery and laid the still screaming baby down in the crib before walking out to where she stood, shaking. Wordlessly, he guided her to their bedroom and kissed her forehead. 

“You are not a sucky mother,” he told her firmly. “I want you to lay down and sleep. In silence. You’ll feel better once you’ve rested, I promise. I’ll take care of the baby. You take care of yourself.” 

“I only have one job right now, and I can’t even do that right,” she sobbed. “She’s still…”

Valentino didn’t like to do it. And he knew he would pay for it in spades later. But he bent down and as he pressed his lips to hers, he allowed just the smallest drop of his red liquid slip into her mouth, just enough to make her sleep. He watched as her entire body instantly fell against the bed. Gingerly, he settled her under the covers before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. 

Though distracted momentarily, the sound of the baby crying brought him back to attention. Quickly, he walked back to the former guest bed turned nursery and lifted his daughter from her crib. 

“Shush, mi bebita princessa,” he said softly as he rocked the still crying baby. “It’s okay, Papi is here. Shush.” 

The cries continued. Valentino glanced at the clock. It had been less than a half hour since his wife had showed up at the studio and already the noise was giving him a headache. He settled down in the rocking chair and with one arm supporting her, the other quickly called the pediatrician. 

One long list of suggestions later, with the promise of a house visit if none of them worked, Valentino stood up and carried the baby towards the bathroom. 

“Does your tummy hurt?” He asked aloud softly. “Shuddh. Daddy will try to make it better. Let’s try a warm bath, okay?” 

With one hand holding her securely, the other turned on the faucet, filling the infant bath tub that currently occupied one side of the vanity. As he waited for it to fill up, he laid his daughter on the changing table and tugged off her diaper and onesie. 

“I know sweetheart,” he said softly as she continued to cry. “Let’s see if this helps.” 

As soon as the water was comfortably warm, he added a few drops of lavender oil and settled her in the tub. Gentle as he could, he carefully ran a soft washcloth over her body, cooing to her as he did. To his relief, she seemed to settle ever so slightly. 

“Did the warm water help?” He asked as he lifted her from the tub and wrapped her in a towel. “Papi will put you in some clean clothes and rub your tummy and if that doesn’t work, we’re going to try a baba again, okay?” 

Her only response was to continue to cry. Unbothered, he laid her back down and dressed her in a diaper. He hesitated slightly as he laid his hand on her tummy. The doctor had suggested a gentle massage, but the fear of hurting her- and causing more discomfort- flitted through his mind. Carefully, as gently as he could, he pressed down and gently rubbed in a clockwise direction, just as the doctor had suggested.

“Does that feel better?” he asked softly. “Does it help your tummy?”

Valentino watched her facial expression change. A green stain on the previously white changing pad slowly crept out from under her and suddenly, her cries stopped. All of his experience on the club scene had made him immune to the worst of scents, and his daughter was no exception. 

“Still better than drunk adults,” Valentino told her as he lifted her. “You’re going to need another bath though.”

To his relief, she giggled. He quickly discarded the now soiled diaper and sat her up, wiping her down with her damp towel as quickly as he could. 

“The rest will come off in the bath,” he told her. “You’re yucky. But I love you.” 

She babbled and he carefully laid her in the still warm water. A quick wipe down with a washcloth and a rinse in the open sink later, he wrapped her in a fresh towel and carried her out of the bathroom. 

“You’re lucky your Aunt Velvette designed this room,” he told her as he laid her on the changing table closest to the crib. “She thought of everything. I don’t know any other baby in the world that has not one, not two, not even three- but four whole changing tables. And two cribs. You know, just in case one gets yucky.” He unwrapped her and dressed her in a fresh diaper and onesie. “Babies are yucky. Yes they are. Doesn’t mean I love you any less, but you’re yucky.” 

Once she was dressed, he lifted her up and carried her out to the kitchen. With one arm supporting her, he made a bottle and pressed it to her lips. To his relief, she latched on quickly. He carried her across the room and sank onto the couch as he fed her, relishing in the silence. 

“She isn’t crying,” came his wife’s quivering voice. “How did you get it to stop?”

Valentino looked up to see his wife standing next to the couch, her eyes filled with tears. To his dismay, it didn’t look like she had done more than get an hour or so of sleep. 

“She had a major blowout,” he replied calmly. “A warm bath and I rubbed her belly. That’s all. Come here, bebita. Let me hold both my girls.” 

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered as she sank down next to him. “Val, I tried that, I couldn’t…”

“It was nothing I did,” he said quickly. “Just the right time. You did everything right.”

“Apparently not,” she whispered. 

Valentino set the empty bottle to the side and shifted his daughter upright. He snagged a clean cloth from the table and laid her head on his shoulder as he patted her back firmly. 

“She’ll probably sleep after this,” Valentino said quietly. “Why don’t you go take a shower? Spend some time taking care of yourself? You’ll feel better, mi amore.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re a good mom. And being a good mom is a full time job, and some. I’m glad you came to find me today. You don’t have to do this alone, my love.” 

“But that's all I do right now, I shouldn’t have to bother you,” she whispered back. “I…Uncle Lucifer won’t let me work, because…”

“Because having a baby is a full time job. And recovering from giving birth is another full time job,” he replied firmly. “And you can’t go through days like today alone, without a break. You deserve to shower, and eat, and drink and do all the things the rest of us do while working. You do not have to sacrifice yourself and your sanity to take care of an infant.” He leaned over and kissed her again. “Now, please mi amore- take the next few hours to do all the things you’ve been neglecting to do.”

“Val, I…” 

“Not up for discussion,” he told her firmly. “Go.” 

To his relief, she stood up and vanished into their bedroom. As soon as he was good and sure his daughter was ready, he laid her down in her crib.

“Now, Uncle Vox has his eyes on you,” he told her as he checked the position of the cameras. “So be good. But cry if you need anything.”

She babbled in response, but stayed quiet as he turned and walked away, his eyes on the video footage of her on his phone. To his relief, she fell asleep almost instantly. 

Several hours later, his wife lay snuggled up against him in their bed. Time spent soaking in a hot bath, clean pjs, her favorite dinner and lots of rest, his wife looked more like herself.

“I married the best man,” she told him as she snuggled into his chest. “Thanks, Val.”

He looked down at her. “You don’t get to thank me for being a father. She’s half mine you know.”

She laughed and snuggled into his neck. “Yeah, but…”

“No buts,” he replied lightly. “You’re mom, I’m dad. And you have Auntie Velvette and Uncle Vox to lean on. Don’t let yourself get to that point again mi amore, promise?”

“I promise.”

[sequinsmile-x]

bestie bestie bestie. what if what if aaron kept his beard/facial hair when he was back from overseas and when em and aaron had kids, he’s never had it shaven off. one day, he shaves off his beard and his kids got a shock and like “i dont wike it daddy” and cries and runs to hug em. and aaron is like “its me honey, its daddy” and theyre like “no! youre not my daddy” and it hurts him a little but em also agrees with her kids, “yeah, i dont wike it daddy” 😅🥹

Hi bestie!! I love this idea, and it was exactly the fluff I needed to write today. I really hope you enjoy this <3

-x-

Transform

After a slight mishap with his razor, Aaron has to shave off his beard for the first time in years, much to the disappointment of the women in his family.

Especially his 18-month-old daughter who doesn't recognise him.

-x-

Words: 2k

Warnings: None!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’d always loved Aaron’s beard. 

It had taken her aback when she first saw it, the rugged stubble at odds with everything she’d ever known about her boss. Even when she’d visited him in the hospital after Haley and Jack had gone into hiding he’d been clean shaven, something he’d since told her had hurt like hell to do, his chest still burning from every wound Foyet had given him. 

By the time she can acknowledge the fact the beard makes him even more attractive, her concentration on Ian and Declan the moment she gets back, it’s gone. A wry smile painted across Aaron’s face as he tells her Jack didn’t like it. 

The next time she sees the beard is on their honeymoon. She convinces him to grow it out, fascinated by how it feels against her skin, the scratch of it something she finds comforting and arousing in equal measure. They end up straight back into a case the moment they get home and the airline loses his luggage and therefore his shaving kit. She’s distracted by the combination of the beard and his suit and she decides she needs to see it every day, her husband impossibly more attractive to her. 

He agrees to keep it, Jack’s distaste for it apparently long gone, and Emily’s love for the beard only increases. She loved to scratch her nails against it, to hear the rasp of it in their otherwise quiet bedroom. He mostly keeps it tidy, trimming and keeping it neat, but it gets a little more unkempt when their daughter is born. Ivy had been a fussy baby, colicky and only happy to sleep on one of her parent's chests for weeks. She’d even loved it then, loved how he looked when holding their tiny little girl, his stubble covered cheek pressed against her dark hair as he paced the bedroom to try and get her to sleep. 

She sighs sadly as she watches him from the doorway of their ensuite, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the wall. Aaron chuckles as he makes eye contact with her in the mirror, his attention briefly shifting from his reflection and his focus on his task. 

“You look like Ivy when she doesn’t get her way,” he quips as he looks back at himself, massaging the shaving balm into his face. 

Emily narrows her eyes at the comparison to their 18-month-old and pushes herself off the wall and walks towards him, leaning against the countertop in front of the sink, “It’s a travesty.” 

He smiles at her before he swills the razor in the sink and then starts to shave his face, “I can’t exactly walk around with a notch in my beard for the next couple of weeks, Em,” he says, tilting his head to pull the razor down his neck, “It will grow back.” 

He’d been distracted by his phone ringing when tidying up his beard, accidentally slipping and shaving a gap into it that usually wasn’t there. He’d decided, much against Emily’s protests, it was best to shave it off entirely and start again. 

“I know,” she sighs, running her fingers through his hair, her eyes fixed on what he was doing, the revealing of his skin underneath and she smiles, “And at least for the first time in three years I won’t have beard burn on my thighs.” 

He laughs and shakes his head at her, pulling the razor away from his throat, “Sweetheart, please don’t make me laugh when I’m holding a razor against my neck.”

She scrunches her nose up and nods, “Sorry, honey,” she’s cut off by Ivy crying out for her from her room and she leans in to kiss the tip of his nose, “I’ll go get her.” 

She stretches as she walks out of the master bedroom and towards the nursery, smiling as she opens the door to find Ivy standing up in her crib, her hands wrapped around the bar. Her dark hair was a mess and her pjyamas rumbled from where she’d slept, looking every bit as adorable as she always did. 

“Mama!” Ivy yells, her smile wide as she reaches for Emily, her tiny fists clenching and unclenching as she impatiently waits for her mother to cross the room.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” Emily says, lifting the toddler onto her hip, “We're going to have to get you a big girl bed soon,” she says, kissing her forehead, “I think you’re close to climbing out of the crib. Shall we go find Jack?”

Ivy snuggles against her and wraps her hand around the neckline of Emily’s t-shirt, one that used to belong to Aaron that she’d stolen for pjyamas, and she sighs, “‘Ack!” 

Emily chuckles and turns out of the nursery and heads downstairs, the sound of Jack’s cartoons letting her know exactly where he is. He’d been a morning person as long as she’d known him, often up even before Aaron these days, and he was happy to entertain himself until the rest of the family woke up. 

“Morning sweetie,” she says as she steps into the living room, putting down Ivy who was wriggling in her arms. As soon as she’s on the floor she runs over and joins Jack on the couch, practically climbing in his lap.

Jack turns and smiles at Emily, “Morning Mom,” he says, reaching for the television remote to change the channel, his attention on his little sister for a moment, “Shall we watch Dora?”

Ivy nods enthusiastically and claps her hands together, “Dora!” 

Emily ruffles Jack’s hair and smiles softly when he looks up at her, “You can carry on watching your show, Jack. You don’t have to change the channel just for her.” 

He shrugs like it was nothing, like the way he loved Ivy didn’t make her heart swell in her chest every time. When they first found out she was pregnant with Ivy, Emily had been worried about his reaction to becoming a big brother, but he’d been excited from the start - especially when they found out they were having a girl. They’d recently started trying for another baby, both of them well aware they wanted to expand their family and that they had limited time left to do so. The thought of having another baby, of having another little person to spend moments like this with made her giddy, the love she had for her family and the ordinary days she got to spend with them overwhelming. 

“It’s okay, she likes it,” Jack says, placing the remote back down, as Ivy stares at the television. 

“You’re a good big brother,” Emily replies, suppressing a yawn, “I’m going to go make some coffee, your Dad will make breakfast as soon as he’s downstairs.”

She turns to leave the room but smiles when she sees Aaron walking towards her, his face cleanly shaved and a soft smile on his face. 

“I can make your coffee, sweetheart,” he says as he makes it to her side and both Jack and Ivy turn to look at him. Before Emily can respond the kids react in unison to Aaron’s appearance. 

“Dad, you shaved!” Jack says, his words partially drowned out as Ivy bursts into tears. 

“Princess, what’s wrong?” Aaron says, moving to pick her up from the couch, but she only cries harder, scrambling out of his way and off the couch towards Emily, all but climbing up her until she lifts her.

“Baby,” Emily says, frowning as she exchanges a concerned look with Aaron as she holds Ivy close, running her hand up and down her back as the toddler buries her face in her neck, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” 

Ivy peeks out from Emily’s embrace and looks over at Aaron, her eyebrows furrowed as she unhooks one arm from around Emily’s neck, “Who that?” 

Emily sees it register on Aaron’s face the moment she realises what’s happened too. Ivy had never seen him without his beard and she didn’t recognise him. Emily has to press her lips together to stop herself from laughing, well aware that it wasn’t appropriate to do so when her daughter was upset and her husband looked so worried that he’d caused it. 

“Ivy, that’s Daddy,” Emily says, adjusting her hold on the toddler so she’s facing Aaron. She smiles when Ivy snuggles further into her embrace as she steps towards Aaron, as if she could hide away from him in her mother’s arms. 

“Not Daddy.” 

Aaron finally moves from where he’d been frozen in place and steps towards them, swallowing thickly against the guilt that was climbing up it at the thought of upsetting his little girl, no matter how accidental it had been. 

“It’s me, I promise,” he says, reaching out for her hand and lifting it to his lips to kiss the back of it. He’s grateful when she doesn’t pull away, her gaze intense as she looks at him, an expression Emily would say is all him staring right at him whilst she tries to figure out if he’s really who he says he is. 

“It is Daddy, Ivy,” Jack says, walking over with a framed picture in his hand, a photo from their wedding in his hands, Aaron’s clean shaven face staring up at them from behind glass, “See.” 

Emily smiles gratefully at her son for trying to help before she turns her attention back to her little girl, “He looks a little different but it’s still Daddy.”

Ivy touches Aaron’s cheek, her eyebrows knitting together as she feels the soft skin, and then she rests her head on Emily’s shoulder, “I not like it.” 

Emily laughs and kisses the top of Ivy’s head, “I’ll tell you a secret, sweet girl,” she says, kissing her one more time, “Mommy doesn’t like it either,” she says, winking at her husband when he rolls his eyes, “Now,” she says, putting Ivy back down on the couch, “Why don’t you two watch Dora, and we’ll go make breakfast, okay?” 

Ivy is reluctant to let go of Emily at first, but is quickly distracted by her favourite television show and her big brother, all of her concern about Aaron and his missing beard long gone. 

Emily walks into the kitchen and smiles softly when she sees Aaron the closest he’d ever come to pouting, his shoulders slumped slightly as he starts to gather everything he needs to make their breakfast. 

“She’s okay honey,” Emily says as she walks over, wrapping her arms around him as she encourages him to turn to look at her, both of her palms on her back, “She’s just never seen you without your beard before.” 

“I know,” he grumbles, “I hate that I upset her.”

She hums as she runs her knuckles down his bare cheek, glancing them over his jaw before she works her way up again, “Maybe you’ll be more careful next time you shave when it’s grown back.” 

He rolls his eyes at her and pulls her in, pressing his lips against hers as he drags her in for a kiss. It feels different to what she’s used to, his skin soft against hers, the scratch of the beard that had become so normal to her gone. She sighs contentedly as she stamps his lips against hers again as they pull away.

“It’s different,” she says, kissing him again, her eyes boring into his as she pulls back, her hands on the back of his head as she holds him in place. 

“What is?” He asks, running his hand up and down her back, his palm having snuck under the large t-shirt she was wearing.

“The kissing,” she replies, pressing her lips against the corner of his mouth, purposely catching his cheek instead. 

“Bad different or good different?” He asks, raising his eyebrow at her and she chuckles, leaning in to kiss him properly, her tongue sweeping through his mouth. 

“Good different,” she says, barely pulling back to speak, “Never bad.” 

He smiles widely at her as he pulls back and she cups his cheek and she presses her thumbs into his dimples, the carved out dips in his skin standing out even more now he no longer has a beard.

“How hard was it not to laugh when you realised why she was crying?” He asks, turning his head to kiss her palm. 

She bursts into laughter, the sound bright and beautiful, and something he wants to listen to forever. 

“Oh honey, you have no idea.” 

-x-

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[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

More headcanons about my comic fanchild Gregor Blackheart! (Mostly about the C! Goldenhearts as parents)

I want to draw him again, esp as a kiddo/baby, but drawing kiddos and babies is hard. Their proportions ain't right

- When Gregor was born, Ambrosius literally did not want to allow anyone else (besides sometimes Ballister) to hold him ever. Having his own baby brought up so many feelings of childhood trauma that he went into full protector-mode, and felt panicky if the baby was anywhere but his arms. Ballister had to put his foot down to not allow Ambrosius to co-sleep for safety reasons, their compromise was to have the crib right next to the bed

- Ballister derived immense enjoyment by planning cute kid-friendly science experiments and doing them together, and watching his son get so excited by the baking soda volcanoes and stuff

- Ambrosius likes to hide little toys in the garden while he's gardening, so as a kid Gregor would spend time with him in the garden looking for "buried treasure"

-Gregor loves science but he's not good at math, so he doesn't plan to become a scientist like his dad or auntie Meredith

- Meredith and Nimona have a friendly argument over who named Gregor. "I gave Ballister the idea in the first place" vs "I called Ballister Gregor which made him realize what a good name it was." Ballister always interrupts the arguments with "My partner and I are the ones that named him. I don't see your signatures on the birth certificate."

-Gregor was a colicky baby and would have long crying fits regularly which stressed his parents out a lot. Ballister was low-key very worried because of Ambrosius's tendency to lose control of his actions when he was under extreme emotional duress that he might accidentally shake Gregor. So whenever Gregor was colicky and Ballister noticed Ambrosius start crying or rocking back and forth or stimming, he'd swoop in to take over and send Ambrosius to go lie down. He never told Ambrosius about his concerns for fear he'd interpret it as Ballister calling him a bad parent. He was unaware that Ambrosius was also, and in fact much more terrified of the exact same thing happening

-As a little kid Gregor loved riding around in Ambrosius's wheelchair on his lap, he thought of it as like a fun ride (Ambrosius started using his wheelchair more on long public outings because it was easier for him to carry his baby than when he was using a cane or crutch)

- Ballister read every baby book. Every. Single. One. He did a library's worth of research before his child arrived and all of it flew right out of his brain the second Gregor was placed in his arms.

-Gregor had much lighter features as a baby than when he got older. His eyes went from blue-green to hazel in his first weeks of life, and his hair went from dirty-blond to dark brown when he was a young child (cue Ballister "who's goddamn white baby is that" /j )

-Gregor was also a chonky baby (I hc Ballister was as well) aside from his coloring and his nose, newborn Gregor was the chubby, bald, spitting image of baby Ballister.

That's all I got rn teehee

[thewritingofspencerrose]

general masterlist

Max Verstappen x Single!Mom OC

can you tell i'm finishing up/ cleaning out my drafts? this is based on max's padel match with other drivers a few races back that kelly & p attended

"If it isn't my favorite little muppet!" Lando's voice is the first to reach us as we enter the facility, Claire's entire face lighting up at the sight of Max's friend. Although it's not just Max and Lando, there's Daniel, and a few other drivers that we have been acquainted with, most that I recognize from the track but cannot for the life of me remember the name of.

"Mijn liefje," Max whispers into my hair, kissing the top of my head before hauling Claire into his arms, peppering kisses all over her face and pulling giggles from her little lips.

Five years old and you'd never know there was a time she was a colicky baby for months on end. You'd never know when she's around Max.

"Sorry we're late, someone decided to spray her juice box all over all over the front of my dress," I muse, partly amused by her and also still bothered that the once-white dress is now stained.

Max just chuckles, shaking his head at our girl before he pulls me to his since once more, kissing the side of my head. "You look gorgeous regardless. Thank you for coming."

His eyes are shining, nearly brighter than all of the lights in this court.

"Of course, Love, you know we appreciate any extra time we get with you," and I truly mean it. "Plus, this gives Claire a perfect place to run around so we're not cooped up with a crazy lady tonight in the hotel," I joke, said little girl giggling brightly.

"She enjoys the chaos she brings," Max's comment makes her laugh more, ever clearer that she has certainly been raised in part by him. For the last two years that we've been together he's been her second parent, her father figure, and it's obvious day in and day out that she's taking after him.

"Max, mate, don't hog my favorite members of your household!"

Lando's voice reminds me of the other driver's presence. His arms reach out, stealing Claire and throwing her onto his shoulders, wandering away without even a greeting.

"Be careful with her!" Max is quick to remind, taking my hand into his and pulling me along, closer to his work friends.

"Are you going to introduce us?" One I know to be Yuki asks, approaching us all from the other side of the court, lunchbag in hand.

He doesn't wait for an answer though, turning to me with a smile. "Can I share a snack with her?"

"Oh," my hand comes to my heart, "She has a couple allergies, so it depends on what the snack is?" Max's hand slips from mine to my waist, looking down at the Japanese driver.

"She's allergic to peanuts and gluten," He offers, offering a small smile.

Yuki nods, going over to Lando's shoulders and beginning a broken conversation with Claire, handing her what looks to be an apple slice.

"Schatz, these are my fellow drivers, Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso, Yuki Tsunoda, and then you know Lando," Max introduces, pointing to each man as he names. He turns to me now, smiling down on me as he speaks words meant for his friends. "This is my girlfriend Jean," He begins, turning to where Claire is still perched on Lando, "and our daughter Claire."

Our daughter.

I can't help how large my smile gets, looking up at Max like he's the sun. Because to me he is.

"You have a child?" Alonso is the one to ask, chuckling to himself, elbowing Carlos. "Man beats me on the tracks and to having a child, que sigue (what's next)?"

Typically I would join the boys in there laughter, but I'm too focused on the near tears in Claire's eyes as she stares at a laughing Max.

"You called me your daughter?"

That sends a pause over everyone.

"Wait, she is not his child?" Carlos questions, meant to be a quiet comment to his teammate.

"You're my daughter in the ways that matter," Max answers, pulling away from me and to take our tearful girl from Lando, hugging her tight to the space between us.

"Max and I got together when Claire was two, she's five now," I explain, offering a small smile to Max's friends.

"He's my dad," Claire smiles, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you both," Charles is the one to greet. "It is nice to meet those who are Max's family."

"And it is nice to meet the famous inchedent man- i mean, his track family."

Everyone laughs once more, Max kissing my head. "You're a menace. No wonder Claire is chaos."

Claire just giggles, "You love us."

Max just smiles, shaking his head.

"I do."

[corroded-hellfire]

I was wondering how different Lucas, Ryan and Eliza are all like when babies?

Was one more quiet as a baby? Did the other always loved running around more than the others? Who was the one that always needed to be held 24/7?

Oh, they all showed their personalities very early on…

Ryan was a quiet baby, was content to sit in his swing or any comfortable spot and watch Eddie go about his routine—because Eddie was constantly singing to him. The man was overdramatic with every lyric and danced around (which he would never do for anyone else) to amuse his son and Ryan was always the best audience. As he got older and started making more sounds and saying a few words, Ryan would try to hum or babble along softly to the words, always bringing a bright grin to Eddie’s face. He didn’t need to be held 24/7 but it was well known that it was Ryan’s preference to be cuddled as much as possible. The first time Ryan looked up at Eddie with those brown doe eyes of his, Eddie finally understood the affect his own eyes had. Once he started to walk, Ryan would follow Wayne around more than anyone. Grandpa is going to get something to eat in the kitchen? Ryan’s gonna check it out. Grandpa is helping Eddie fix something? Ryan’s gonna be right on his heels, watching every little move. Grandpa’s going outside for a smoke? Sorry Ryan, can’t go outside and follow. Which would always lead to a tantrum until his grandpa would come back in and scoop the little boy up in his arms. And the moment he becomes a big brother, Ryan becomes very protective over his baby bro.

Luke came into the world testing how loud his lungs and vocal chords would let him get, and not much has changed since. Luke was definitely a fussier baby than Ryan, demanding more stimulation to keep him occupied. When Luke was up, he left a trail of toys in his wake. His attention span never lasted particularly long on any specific toy, so he was always whining and looking for something new. If Luke wanted to be held, he wanted to be held now. But for the most part, he didn’t need to be held or cuddled nearly as much as Eddie wished he would. Except of course, when he got colicky. There were nights where Eddie would pace back and forth for hours with the baby because he just wouldn’t go to sleep. Part of Eddie liked that he got this time to hold his youngest son, just the two of them, as he tried to soothe him. But the other part just wanted Luke to feel better and the both of them to get much-needed sleep. As Luke got older, he would “sing” along to Eddie’s music all the time, no matter if he had the pitch or even the melody correct. He just liked to make as much noise as the guitars were. And when Luke learned how to walk? Oh boy, they needed to put a tracker on that kid. You turn your back for one second and Luke could be knee deep in unraveled toilet paper or trying to figure out how to climb up on the roof.

Eliza has the entire family wrapped around her little finger from the moment they lay eyes on her and she knows it. She’s a fairly quiet and calm baby as long as someone is paying attention to her. If she’s in her crib alone, awake, and no one is coming in to get her? The walls will shake from her wails. But if she’s feeling grumpy all it takes is one of her big brothers (especially Luke) to play with her and she’s giggling up a storm. And spoiled? Oh, she absolutely is. But never a spoiled brat. Well…maybe sometimes. There are a million ways Eliza is like her daddy, but none so much as with their stubbornness. The little girl is feisty and isn’t afraid to tussle with any of the older members of her family, learning how to throw herself onto her brothers and parents with her full weight before she even knows how to walk. And before she can talk, even Eliza’s baby babble has sass. A single quirk of her eyebrow or tilt of her head holds all the judgement of someone twenty years older than her. She’s a picky eater but Eddie defends her by saying she just knows what she likes. Who runs the Munson household? Eliza. From day one.

This was so much fun to think about, thank you for sending it in! 🥰

[probssomethingorother]

Cried out, to you alone: a tlou fanfic

posted my oldest fic, now my newest....enjoy!

Sarah's death, lots of hurt no comfort, canon compliant

Joel, Sarah, Tommy

Rating: Teen

Sarah's gone. Joel is a wreck. Tommy is caught in the middle of needing to get his brother to safety and grieving his niece. A (hopefully) sad sad continuation of that heartbreaking scene.

Intending on this being a 2 or 3 parter, but just have one chapter up for now :)

Words: 2,390 -- last updated 9/20

Read chapter 1 on AO3 here or down below ⤵️

Cried out, to you alone

Chapter 1:

The word disbelief carried new meaning now. 

That’s what steeped Joel- pure unadulterated disbelief. Despite his daughter lifelessly resting in his arms, he whole heartedly couldn’t believe his reality. 

“Sarah….baby…please…come’n baby.” 

His hands, bloodied and shaking, cradled her fragile form, her innocent face still marked with raw fear, eyes forever wide. His throat was tight, his face was wet, snot clogged and poured from his nose, his jaw shook as anguished pleads escaped his mouth.

“Just get up for me…please Sar.”

Tears blurred Joel’s vision, his breath uneven and ragged as he pushed her close to him, clutching her against his chest, rocking her back and forth. Her arms hung listlessly, swaying ever so slightly with Joel’s soft seated undulations.

She loved to be rocked as a baby, it used to be the only way to get her to sleep - colicky she was. When he was stretched thin back then, too tired to even hold her, Tommy had relieved him during the night a few times, took his place lulling her back down with the tender movements. A desperate part of Joel hoped he could step in now, just like back then. 

“Tommy, you gotta do something. Help her please,” Joel mewled, head turning toward his brother for just a moment, before nuzzling back into the crook of Sarah’s neck. An inhaled sob had his nose filling with the familiar smell of her hair- sweet, like honey, with a hint of something tropical, coconut and something else. He should really know the scent exactly - bought the shampoo and conditioner so many times for her- but what’s in it doesn’t come to his mind, he just knows it’s her. 

Tommy was standing just a few feet away, rifle down, rooted in place by shock and disbelief of his own. Sarah wasn’t his, not like how she was Joel’s, but a deep pain was gripping his heart all the same. Reality was more clear for him, and he knew she was gone, unlike his brother.

“Joel,”  Tommy whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. There was nothing he could do, but admitting that out loud was impossible in the moment. He couldn’t do anything, nothing, not even move. This wasn’t the first time he had seen someone shot down, but this was the first time he was rendered frozen by it all. A long dormant military persona rattled inside him, begging him to make a move - you can’t stop for casualties, you can’t stop in war. 

But by God, was Sarah worth stopping for. 

“Baby girl….you’re alright, come-on Sarah…please baby don’t do this to me.”

“Joel.” Tommy’s voice was stronger this time, steadier with each passing moment and louder as he cautiously walked over to Joel. Still, even if Tommy had yelled his name, Joel wouldn’t have heard it despite calling for him in the first place. He might have well been on another planet, mind and body lightyears apart.

A ringing in his ears, coupled with a painful and loud thumping of his heart had Joel deaf to the world, unable to hear anything.  Even his own soft mumbles into Sarah’s ear seemed too quiet. He worried she wouldn't hear him.  

“Baby, please…” Joel whispered, his voice breaking, faltering as the reality tried to set in, each word a painful shard tearing at his insides. “You gotta...you gotta come back to me, angel. I can't...I can't do this without you.” 

Joel released his grip just slightly, allowing Sarah to fall away from his chest for a moment so he could look at her more clearly. One hand shakily came to her face, brushing away some loose locks of hair that somehow had slipped from the front of her ponytail.

Her tried not to think about how her skin already seemed to be growing colder, or how her eyes were still open.

Absolutely nothing was behind them, her sparkle long gone.

“No no no no, baby….my baby.” Joel chocked out, lips tight, barely able to form the words. Yet, somehow, a keening, primal sound managed to break free from his mouth just a second later, a mix of a scream and sob. It echoed through the dark field beating out the ample sounds of sirens that distantly filled the background air. 

Tommy felt tears stinging his eyes, the weight of Joel’s grief pressing down on him, mingled with his own. Dropping his gun, he knelt in front of Joel, his voice barely more than a whisper, the steadiness he had mustered just seconds ago forcefully stripped away by the sounds of his brother's cries. He couldn't remember ever seeing Joel cry and it was unsettling. This all was deeply unsettling. 

“Joel -“ was all Tommy could get out yet again, unsure of what to say to a man whose world was ending. His eyes got caught on the blood transferring from Sarah to Joel - his brother's arms becoming more and more red- causing any budding thought to dissipate, enamored by the crimson substance painting the pair. 

“We - we need to get her help. Go get - get help.” Joel stuttered out, eyes meticulously mapping Sarah’s face, hoping beyond all hope that he would see a flicker of life come back to it. Maybe she would even blink. 

Head hovering above her’s, Joel’s tears dropped on to her paling skin, salty water mixing with the red splatter and dirt that marred her face and the drying tracks of her last tears. 

“Joel, brother, you gotta listen to me.” 

Mercifully, Joel raised his head, red eyes meeting Tommy’s. 

"There's nothin' we can do for her." 

The words had a harsh denial surging within Joel, an inmate reaction, almost rageful. Anger bubbled up for a moment to meet the cruel reality that Tommy was seemingly imposing on him. But when Joel looked into Tommy's tear-filled eyes, the brutal truth came across clearly, poking holes in his facade of denial. 

"No..." Joel gasped, a raw and tortured sound. He glanced back down at Sarah, his Sarah, his smart, sweet, kind, beautiful Sarah. She still looked so beautiful, even in death. Still looked so much like herself. It made reality harder to come to terms with. 

Memories of her filled his mind, playing like a cruel, cruel, movie. His hand found one of hers and grasped it firmly.

He remembered the day she was born, the feeling of her tiny hand wrapping around his finger, holding him tight just as he did for her now. When he tried to remember the last time they held hands, nothing recent came to mind and he felt his gut cramp up. What did come to mind, was Sarah as a toddler, afraid of the dark, worried about monsters who would kill her. She didn’t even know what death was then, couldn’t comprehend it, but still, she was scared of her own demise, maybe more so than other children. 

So, Joel kept vigil in her room, sat countless nights on the floor by her bed, blocking the path for any monsters to come crawling out to get her. Sarah was so sure it was going to happen -death by monster - that Joel even brought it up with the pediatrician once, afraid her fixation was a sign of something else wrong. Looking back, perhaps small Sarah had some deep knowledge that she would die young, a premonition engrained her. The thought she knew this would happen all along, in somehow, was sickening. Amongst his cries, Joel wanted to vomit, throat growing tight, mouth beginning to water. 

"please kiddo...Daddy's here, no need to be scared....I got you...I got you..."

His bleary eyes were locked on her hollow ones. Flashes of her first steps, her first words, her beaming smile, her infectious laugh passed through his mind - all flickering fragments of a past that now seemed to belong to another lifetime, another world.

Tommy wasn't trying to rush things - how could he ever rush this - but denying the truth was going to do nothing good for Joel. But pushing things seemed wicked.

“She’s gone, okay? I’m sorry, but Sarah’s gone.” 

Joel couldn't accept it. Wouldn't. His entire being rebelled against the very notion that she was gone. It was an inconceivable reality. Simple disbelief. 

“She can’t. She was just- ….Tommy. She’s my little girl, Tommy. Don’t say that…please…Sarah baby girl. Please.” 

Joel's hand moved to cup Sarah's face - she was still warm- he couldn't let her get cold. 

Head on a swivel Joel searched for something to cover her in, worried she would we loose her last sign of life. His eyes found Tommy's button dow and was reaching for it in an instant, tugging at the fabric, firmly grasping the edge with the buttons, pulling it close as if it would somehow just come off Tommy's body on-the-spot.

"Your shirt, give it to me- Tommy. She needs it." The words spilled out, practically slurred in haste. 

The forceful request caught him off guard and Tommy's brow furrowed as his eyes went from Joel's hand now on his sleeve to Joel, to Sarah, and back again. The minute it took for Tommy to react was too long for Joel. 

"Now! Please Tommy." Joel readjusted her in his lap, the pair sinking further into ground, slumping together even more. "Don't worry baby, you'll be okay," he whispered gently to her, head bowing to be as close to Sarah's as possible. 

"She's gettin' cold - need'ta cover her up," Joel said more pointedly, raising his head to meet Tommy once again before ducking back down, "Uncle Tommy's got ya," Joel reassured her. 

Joel was roping him into the delusion, but Tommy could hardly fight it, the soft utterance of his name ripping at his heart. "Uncle Tommy, yeah.." he said under his breath as he stripped off the button down shirt and gingerly placed it over his niece, also covering Joel's arm's still grasping her firmly in the process. The red hue of fabric adeptly concealed blood that almost instantaneously seeped through down by Sarah's abdomen, where it was continuing to slowly ooze out of her. With the substance camouflaged, it made the sight of Joel and his daughter a little more easy to work with, a bit less emotionally distracting.

"There you go...there you go baby." Joel cooed. 

Tommy let out a shaky breath as he sat back on his heals. He was at a loss for words and for what do; but even if he had thought of something more, it would have been drowned out by another roaring crash.

A second plane began to nose dive at the other end of the fields, probably a mile or so away. The sound of its rapid descent had Tommy instinctively ducking as it careened into the ground in a firey blaze, despite being far off. 

Joel, stuck within his own deep turmoil, didn’t even flinch. Didn’t notice how the ground shook or the subsequent thundering explosions of jet fuel igniting. 

Tommy’s eyes pealed away from Joel, scanning the black overhead, checking that a third plane wasn’t going to fall from the skies anytime soon. His eyes slowly trailed down to the opposite horizon only to see growing yellow lights coming up from behind them. 

Headlights. 

Two years overseas had Tommy knowing exactly what type of vehicle those lights belonged to, and the realization made his heart sink. 

“Brother. We got company coming our way.”

“I'm so sorry, baby girl," Joel murmured brokenly, again falling completely oblivious to Tommy in front of him. 

Tommy gripped Joel's shoulders, shaking him gently, his own tears flowing freely now. “Joel, please…” His voice broke, the plea hanging heavily in the air, laden with sorrow. He loved Sarah, but he loved Joel too. And he couldn’t see him die if the army was heading their way for round two. He killed one to save him before, but there was surely more that drawing closer.

“Joel. Joel. Listen. I’m sorry. We gotta move.” He tried to be as forceful as possible, while not losing compassion for the situation. 

Tommy tugged at Joel's arm again, but Joel barely budged, Joel even ripping his shoulder back to break the grasp. His entire existence was in his arms and he wasn't going to give that up.

"I ain't leav'n. Can't move her Tommy," Joel said strongly, and gruffly, in a fleeting moment of lucidity.

Tommy's mind raced as the headlights grew brighter, the sound of engines approaching at a relentless pace. With a reverence, but firmness, he gripped Joel’s forearm and tugged it away from Sarah, trying to get his hold on her to loosen, but Joel’s grip only tightened. 

“Okay..okay.” Tommy said breathlessly, head quickly turning over his shoulder, checking on the process of the approaching vehicles. They didn’t have much time left. Tommy had to make a choice, a horrific, gut-wrenching choice. 

Moving around toward Joel’s back, he wedged his hands into his armpits, grabbing at him with a renewed urgency, and heaved, trying to lift his brother. Tommy was strong but, trying to effectively lift two bodies worth of dead weight was just not going to work. 

His eyes nervously found the trucks again. He could clearly hear the engines. Five in a horizontal line, tearing through the field, heading in the direction of the plane crash. For a split second, Tommy thought that maybe, just maybe, they would zoom right past them, but the chance they wouldn’t was far too great to go to odds with. If anything, the caravan might just run them over if he didn't get them out of the way. 

"Joel, damnit, we have to go!" he nearly shouted, his voice breaking with desperation and terror, as he crouched down at Joel’s side and tried to pry his brother’s arms from around Sarah. 

But time was out, three trucks whizzed past them through the grass, disturbed air whipping up their hair. Two came to a grating stop in front of them, h the sound on grass and dirt skidding up as the heavy vehicles coming to an abrupt halt.

The bright headlights made Tommy, Joel, and Sarah’s shadows cast long against the ground. Filled with dread, Tommy couldn’t make himself turn around, and instead watched as four more dark ominous shadows came to meet theirs.

[partygcthered]

Thorne was a somewhat colicky baby no matter his form, but hearing one of his parents' voices and being walked around was a very surefire way to soothe him. The rhythm of footsteps, the tone of voice, being held close to someone whose scent was familiar to him. The cub was happy as could be aside from his empty belly, little ears working away as he nursed at the fabric of his father's shirt. Little breathy sounds left his body now and then. A little shiver ran through him at the light touches to his fur, and he tried to burrow even closer. Big dark eyes lit up, his vocalizations becoming loud as he noted the milk being poured into the bottle. How his little tummy ached with hunger! With all the eagerness of a cub, he enthusiastically latched on when presented with the bottle, his little head bobbing quick and strong, tail twitching contentedly. Bits of milk trickled out his mouth and into his fur, his eyes half lidded.

Miraeth was nearly trancing with the warm weight against her, her body producing a flurry of hormones. She heard him come over past the quiet din of the older children, the cries of the little ones and the talking of their caregivers. She had long ago memorized the pattern of his step against the earth. Miri rolled her head languidly, presenting him with dried tear tracks against pallid skin, deep yellow bags beneath her eyes. Nettie bustled over and took the little one from her, fixing her with a firm look as she passed over a tonic. "Drink it all, or we'll be having words. You look like you're about to pass out, girl." Miri took the bottle with shaking hands and began to sip on it as she looked over at Halsin. Their son was batting at his hand with tiny paws, growling quietly as he fixed his eyes on the half emptied bottle. "This tastes horrid," she whispered, exhausted to her very soul. Nonetheless, she finished drinking the tonic and soon felt its bolstering effects bring some life back to her. Thorne let out a little cry, changing his tactic and biting his father's arm desperately. "Pass him here." Her tired eyes lit up a bit as she cradled his furry little form to her chest and began to hold the bottle out. "My little sun and stars...you vex me so, and yet I have never loved as I love you. I only wish you weren't so mercurial in form, baby mine..." she met Halsin's eye sadly. "It will get easier. But for now it hurts my heart...but I cannot shun him. It will cause irreperable damage to him-my greatest gift."

Halsin did not recognize the extent of his ritemate’s pain, his focus instead was on their cub. Halsin was swaying ever so carefully as he carried Thorne through the Grove, talking in low hushed tones to him about any manner of things as they walked. The little wiggle to his ears was one of Halsin’s favorite things, and he brushed his fingers tenderly over the cubs back. “Your I’osu would have loved to carry you close, to wear you as she wore me.” Halsin said gently. “She will guide you, her roots will reach far from the Grandfather Tree all the way to you, precious one, no matter where your path may take you.” Once he was in the room the small family had shared he first spread some honey on the tip of the bottle, preparing the expressed milk they kept under stasis. It had become a necessity for them.

That had been the first day that Thorne had held his wild shape for longer than an hour. It was a great blessing and a horrid curse, and Halsin had been unable to soothe his son or Miri. She had cried from heaving their son crying out, even as the cubs growls had been different to hear there had been no question their meaning. Halsin had almost considered asking one of the ursine sows that stayed with the Grove if she could help, but then they had gotten Thorne back to his true shape and Miri had cried with relief at the way he had immediately taken to his meal at last.

It was a bit harder trying to hold the cub and finish preparing the bottle but Halsin managed, the cub rapidly drinking. He was fairly sure he knew where he could find Miri and made for the crèche. He didn’t want to interrupt as he took a seat next to his ritemate. “Do you want to finish feeding him?” Halsin offered - understanding how precious providing for Thorne was to her.

[saturnznct]

colic | pjs

➸ request; okay, so this thought hit me when i saw dreaming-- but jisung attempting at calming down a colicky chunae or bada? or maybe something that makes him realize something like “i’m a dad now. I’M A DAD NOW’

➸ note; thank u for requesting! i’m sorry if this is bad,,

➸ word count; 985 words

➸ chunae; newborn

nct masterlist

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

‘Sungie, it’s your turn,’ you mumble sleepily, shaking his shoulder gently.

‘Ok,’ Jisung murmurs back, ‘I’m going.’

You and Jisung had just had your first child together, a daughter named Chunae.

It was hard.

You found that you had fallen so much deeper in love with Jisung over the course of your pregnancy and the first few weeks of your little girls life. You would walk into the nursery and find Jisung asleep in the armchair with the baby on his chest, matching bottom lips sticking out. It filled your heart with so much love and pride at what you’d built with him, the happiness and home that you’d created together. For Jisung, he couldn’t believe he finally had a baby of his own. He’d seen so many of his members become fathers over the years, and had longed to become one himself for a long time. Now that he was one, it hadn’t fully sunk in yet, but he loved Chunae more than anything.

Despite this, Chunae was not an easy baby. For her first week of life, it was generally somewhat straightforward to calm down. It seemed to be one of four things; she was hungry, she needed changed, she wanted a cuddle or had a bad stomach.

These situations were fairly easy to resolve - you would breastfeed her or Jisung would give her a bottle, she would be changed, cuddled or given a stomach massage. Something Jisung loved was hearing her satisfied grunts, her little milk coma face was his favourite sight. But after a couple of weeks, the crying got worse.

Chunae would cry for hours on end, for seemingly. No reason at all. You would both desperately try to calm her, offering her bottles, giving her baths, changing the temperature in case she was too hot or cold, constant back rubs and pats, but nothing would change. She would just cry incessantly.

‘I think she might have colic,’ you sigh midway through one of these episodes.

Jisung only nods, cradling Chunae in his chest and stroking her back while she screams.

The two of you devised a sort of system that would happen when Chunae would cry. If you had not long fed her, Jisung would have to be the one to get up. He insisted on this, wanting you to rest.

‘Hi baby,’ Jisung stumbles into her nursery, rubbing his tired eyes, ‘come here.’

He leans over her crib and lifts her out gently, cradling her against his chest over the shoulder.

‘What’s the matter, hmm?’

Chunae just screams, and Jisung mentally begins preparing himself for the next couple of hours. He begins rocking Chunae in his arms, humming a random NCT Dream song quietly. He massages her back as slowly as he can, hoping to calm her, but to no avail.

‘Let’s just cuddle, okay?’ Jisung had read up a lot on colic, and how to help Chunae. The biggest tip generally was to just give cuddles, so that was what the both of you did with her most nights. Jisung sinks down into the armchair, settling Chunae so that she’s laying in his arms.

‘Don’t cry baby,’ he mumbles, ‘you’re okay. There’s no need to cry, everything’s okay.’

She quietens down a bit, but still strangled cries escape from her lips.

Being sat down with his baby daughter, it suddenly hits Jisung just how tired he is. He’s running on next to no sleep, big thick black bags under his eyes as evidence. He smells a little too, both from the lack of a regular shower and the baby powder and milk.

‘You take the life out of me,’ Jisung sighs, ‘what do I have to do to make you stop crying, huh?’

Chunae just keeps screaming.

So this was what being a father was like.

His hyungs had told him countless times that he would be awake all night with the baby, unable to stop them from crying endlessly, and just how constantly exhausted he would be. But he underestimated just how hard on him it would be. It was difficult to express sometimes. He knew you really have the brunt of it. You’re Chunae’s mother. You carried and gave birth to her, breastfeed her constantly throughout they day, and when you’re not doing that you’re pumping for bottles. Your body is tested every single day, hormones and emotions constantly running high. You’re upset and emotional, but still working so hard for your daughter. Jisung admired you so much. You were the most devoted and strong mother, and the things he had seen your body do were incredible, and it made him love you even more than he thought he could. He knew that his exhaustion wasn’t nearly as close to what you were likely feeling. Jisung tried so hard to help, taking over feeding and night time duties whenever he could to allow you to rest and take it easy. But he didn’t feel like it was fair to you to say he was tired. Despite that, this was when Jisung really felt like he had become a father. This baby in his arms was his, made from him and the person he loved most, his to take care of and attend to every need, to keep alive, to love and to mould into a happy and kind person.

Jisung sits with her for over an hour as her sobs gradually fade into weak murmurs.

‘Finally tired?’ Jisung whispers, ‘just close your eyes.’

Once Jisung is sure that she’s sound asleep, he gently lowers her into her crib, before tiptoeing out of the room.

He’s so relieved to climb back into your bed, even though his side is now cold to lie in.

‘Thank you,’ you mumble, half-asleep, ‘love you.’

Jisung kisses the side of your head and settles down into the mattress, falling asleep quickly. Until two hours later and she’s crying again.

[theeternalblue]

“Babe!” A sweet and giddy voice babbles.

Jughead rolls his eyes at the excitement of his 18-month-old daughter - yes, he was one of the guys who always complained about kids’ age in months but in his new role as a dad, he gets it. There’s a difference between months because babies grow incredibly fast and one day you’re trying to make them stop crying and the next they are crawling and munching on the plug of his laptop’s charger.

But this time, Agatha is not exactly looking at herself in the mirror or having a friend over for that essential (and horrific) experience of playtime - he cannot say it enough but he only stands his child and he will not witness the stupidity of another kid shoving legos up their noses.

Aggie has just spotted Jughead’s childhood best friend, Archie. Of course, he’s accompanied by his wife, Veronica, who looks thrilled to hear the child's voice.

“‘onnie!” Aggie adds with a big smile as Veronica joins her on the floor.

“Hello, darling,” Veronica coos and starts tickling Aggie’s sides making her squirm and laugh.

Meanwhile, Archie is already blushing.

“Jug-“ he attempts as apologetically as possible. Everyone knows this is not his fault. Aggie keeps mimicking Veronica and after one weekend with her godparents, she decided that calling Archie babe was the best thing in the world.

“Babe! Up-up!” Aggie demands, lifting her arms so Archie picks her up.

Jughead snorts a laugh when Archie shakes his head.

“Babe,” Veronica pouts, copying the baby, and Archie rolls his eyes. “Pick her up. You are her favorite.”

“Everyone needs to stop calling me that.” Archie gets on the floor and repeats his name like when they were toddlers trying to spell their names.

“But babe!” Jughead teases and Veronica chuckles. This earns him a glare from everyone’s favorite redhead.

Aggie though decides to soothe Archie’s worries by placing her chubby hands on Archie’s face and shaking her head. “No mad, babe?”

“I can’t win, can I?” Archie’s rhetorical question is met with a bout of laughter from Aggie and those adorable kissing sounds she makes because her mom spends too much time trying to prove a Jones can be lovable and sweet.

Jughead sweeps his hair to the side while sipping his third coffee of the day, watching as Veronica sits next to Archie and they both play cool auntie and uncle, spoiling Aggie to no end.

“Get your own kid,” he has said jokingly before, and even if Archie gets the gleam in his eyes, the couple agreed to wait a bit more. Veronica has never said no, but she hasn’t said yes either. It's a running joke she's taking notes about what not to do after witnessing Aggie growing up.

But it's funny. While Archie's friendly deameanor might seem the obvious choice for a child, Veronica steals the spotlight with her expressive gestures and calm voice – she had the touch when Aggie was a colicky baby.

"We're getting a puppy," Archie says later when they are feeding Aggie – more like making a Jackson Pollock with apple sauce.

"You're not getting a puppy," Jughead replies, glaring at Veronica who chuckles. "You're not."

"We are," Veronica confirms. "It's a cute little fur ball. Sweet, friendly, a bit goofy."

"You have Archie," Jughead quips, while Aggie shakes her arms giggling.

"Ha-ha." Archie leans against Veronica, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a gesture that makes Jughead think they are working on something more. He'll figure it out later.

"You're trying to make my child like you more than me."

"Maybe," Veronica jokes.

"She already does!" Archie exclaims. "Right, Aggie?"

"Babe!" Aggie shouts, delighted when Archie takes the spoon from Jughead's hands and gives it to her. She obviously takes all the food without effort now.

"May I hire you as a babysitter?" Jughead wonders. "I think it's one of the few jobs you haven't added to your list yet."

"You can't afford me, Jug. I'm a kept-man, devoted to my wife. The only job I haven't been fired from."

"Yet."

"Shut up."

Veronica laughs but decides their antics are too much. She takes Aggie to clean up and change, look cute for when mom gets home from work.

"A dog, huh?" Jughead asks as he washes his cup and Aggie's bowl.

Archie smiles. "Baby steps."

So there's a plan. There's always a plan.

[niniblack]

🧠

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

A meet-cute with May and Ben on a plane.

Ben just picked up his nephew after his brother and sister-in-law died tragically and has no clue what he's doing. May is on her way home from a business trip. They're about to get stuck at O'Hare overnight when their layover is cancelled.

Then they're gonna speedrun through life, until May has acquired a husband and baby, and then very quickly lost the husband and now has only the baby.

But like, actual baby. Itty bitty Peter. May has no fucking clue what she's doing either but by god she's gonna do it.

(I have a tiny bit written so far)

---

If May never sets foot inside of O’Hare again in her life, it will be too soon. Her layover was supposed to be two hours, but it’s been five now, and there’s no end in sight. It started sleeting about thirty minutes after her flight from California landed, and hasn’t let up.

“We normally get snow,” the gate agent had mused, when May spoke to her.

Luckily the bartender at Chili’s had given May a to-go cup for her margarita, so she’s currently picking at a questionable quesadilla and consuming tequila and sugar at her gate, just in case a miracle happens and they start to board.

14D is there too, pacing the aisle with the fussy baby.

Maybe he has colic. That must suck. May has no experience with babies, much less colicky babies, but she’s heard about them. On TV and stuff. And from her sister, who had been very proud that neither of her kids had it.

14D finally gives up on the pacing and drops down onto the bench across the walkway from May. He spots her, and looks bemused. He lifts one hand in a wave.

May waves back.

“Are you going to New York?” 14D calls over.

“Yes,” May answers. Two groups walk between them.

14D frowns. “What?”

“Yes,” May says again. A family with a screaming child of their own goes past.

14D raises a hand to his ear, cupping it, and shakes his head.

May gets up, balancing her food, drink, and luggage, and drags everything across the walkway to plop down into the chair next to him. “Yes, I’m going to New York. Queens, specifically. You?”

“Me too!” 14D grins.

Fanfic Ask Game

[florbelles]

👀👀👀👀 PLEASE AND THANKS X

ash.......

anyway cw in the following for allusions to child abuse/neglect, gaslighting/manipulation, fairbanks family fun (tm), the works.

ONE. from all along the watchtower, isabela's series, act iii.

She is trembling. She was just a girl. She was just a little girl.

No. She was wrong, she was always wrong, there was something wrong with her, she was such a hateful little creature, always screaming, always crying — wasn't she? wasn't she?

No. No. She'd never cried. She had never been colicky. Not as an infant. Not as a girl.

But she was feral, she was misbehaved, more wolf than girl.

Dirty feet, bloody hands.

Wildflowers flowing from her skirts. Laughter flowing from her mouth.

A hand, reaching for hers.

Lawrence staring at her, strangely, Lyra was always a good girl.

No. No. No. Not possible. Not true.

But it is. It is true.

Mama?

She sobs. She is choking, she cannot breathe.

What have I done. She is shaking violently, now. God forgive me, what have I done.

TWO. from untitled, lawrence pov, prompt "hide."

"Excuse me, sir, would you mind terribly —?" she waggles her fingers, smiles apologetically.

Clever. Lyra has never stumbled a day in her life. Not even when as a child. She never wobbled, no, just went right from crawling to walking up right.

Or so he heard. Bels doesn’t know shit, of course. Blinked at him once and said, "it walks?" like she thought he didn’t hear her jibes just because he didn’t acknowledge them.

Better not to encourage it when she’s in her moods.

Which is, you know. All the fucking time.

Lyra is stepping into the boat, an ingratiated smile on her lips, hand firmly pressed into Cochran's. She scaled the walls of the summer house, once, in the off season. Neawrly gave Bels a heart attack.

(He told her she was mistaken, of course. Wasn’t worth it. Never was. She wouldn’t remember two days from then, anyway.)

THREE. from searching for a devil, isabela's series, act ii.

she’s the most beautiful baby, lawrence tells her.

they’re never beautiful when they’re just born, isabela says, not really.

lawrence looks her, dead in the face, and says, with not one trace of his usual levity, this one is.

FOUR. from harsh realm, the from whom earth and heaven fled quartet, part iii.

there’s nothing left we can do to one another.

nothing left.

she was wrong.

he found something.

you win, love, you broke me in the end.

his voice on the radio. do you know what she is?

he’d known, of course. he’d always known.

joseph was right.

not your fault, joseph says, not your fault, not your fault.

as if it matters.

he’s no less dead than if she’d slit his throat herself.

[urrone]

I posted 2,164 times in 2021

62 posts created (3%)

2102 posts reblogged (97%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 33.9 posts.

I added 601 tags in 2021

#loling forever - 182 posts

#julie and the phantoms - 69 posts

#relatable - 67 posts

#fan art - 58 posts

#dragon age - 49 posts

#cats make everything funnier - 42 posts

#meme - 42 posts

#yes - 32 posts

#star wars - 32 posts

#me - 28 posts

Longest Tag: 82 characters

#but if average middle aged white men get to process their problems through fiction

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

“Scars show you where you’ve been, they don’t have to dictate where you’re going.” 

Criminal Minds just noodled my entire brain. 

13 notes • Posted 2021-04-30 18:15:32 GMT

#4

wip wednesday

tagged by @nug-juggler and @swaps55

tagging @agirlnamedkeith @mallaidhsomo @shadoedseptmbr @theoriginalladya @nightmarestudio606 and anyone else

This is from my Lavellan/Cullen fic, set on the night Lavellan drinks with Bull to celebrate having slain a dragon. 

“We have to have a very serious conversation,” she says, hiccupping. 

“Do tell.” 

“You’re not allowed to break my heart.” 

“I hadn’t planned on it.” 

“It’s just,” she sighs. “Everyone will find out and then we’ll be answering questions for weeks and everyone will be tiptoeing around us—”

He stops her with a finger over her mouth. “Hold on, we can’t break up because you’re worried about what the rest of the Inquisition will say?” 

She nods.

Cullen thinks about how quickly their kiss on the ramparts had turned into a full blown discussion he’d had to have with Josephine. “You’ve made your point,” he says. 

“Also,” she says, slumping into his very inviting chest. “I’d be very sad.” 

--

Okay so I was tagged twice and @swaps55 said some people might actually care about my Hunger Games fic, so here’s a snippet from a future chapter of that: 

For all that she mostly raised Prim, Katniss has no idea how to be a mother. The baby crying frustrated her at first, just wishing he would open his tiny mouth and tell her what’s wrong. Peeta was the one that would reach for him, checking his diapers, rocking him gently and shushing him while he asked Katniss when he last fed. He kept the baby’s schedule on a pad of paper in the kitchen and tried to get her to use it as a reference point, but she couldn’t stop the well of panic  every time he cried. 

When she thinks of Prim as a baby, she remembers the solid weight of her, her own small arms shaking with the strain of carrying Prim just across the front room. She didn’t realize then that babies seem to actually be made of spun sugar and glass, their fragile little bones and the papery thin skin stretching across the misshapen dome of their heads, spotted with small tufts of the finest, wispiest hair she’s ever touched.

The girl was colicky, and Katniss got really good at bouncing. So good, in fact, that Peeta caught her more than once bouncing a bag of dirt absentmindedly while working in the garden. “You’re a natural,” he said, but Katniss knew she was anything but.

14 notes • Posted 2021-04-28 17:36:01 GMT

#3

daniel: what year is it?

sam: 1999

me: hey swaps what happened in 1999?

@swaps55: makes a sound like a cryptkeeper

18 notes • Posted 2021-11-13 04:42:52 GMT

#2

I hadn’t taken as many shots in 2 as I did in 1 but then I found the actually good lighting on Aeia.

19 notes • Posted 2021-05-27 14:34:45 GMT

#1

Scenes From a Cargo Bay

Gen - James Vega & FemShep friendship story

Summary: A friendship unfolds. 

A million thank yous to @swaps55 for her enthusiasm for all things but most especially this story, and for betaing it last night. 

The first time Shepard comes down to the cargo bay, she still has soot streaked across her face. Sweat and maybe a few tears cut thin lines through the gritty gray. She attacks the clasps of her armor with hands that James can see shaking from behind his stack of crates. Piece by piece, it gets thrown on the table in the corner.

He drops a box of ammo, just so she hears it. He doesn’t think it would be that easy to sneak up on the great Commander Shepard, but it still seems polite. She doesn’t startle, but then, he knew she wouldn’t.

“Kaidan’s going to be fine,” she says when she’s done with the armor. Just a white t-shirt and her thermal pants underneath, indents from the armor still visible on both. She leans over the table, arms spread wide and stiff. Spots of sweat make the shirt stick on her back in odd shapes.

The only words they’ve exchanged since leaving Earth were right there, right where she’s standing, when he yelled at her to go back, to fight the Reapers, to make a difference. But he’d been thinking small, even though he was thinking of the whole Earth. Like any good marine, he solves the problems in front of him, often with enormous guns. It’s different for Shepard, he knows it is.

After Mars, it still isn’t different for him, but he doesn’t resent her. Not for leaving Earth, anyway.

He wonders suddenly if it’s weird for her, him being on the ship, a reminder of her time in that small room on Earth, held captive because of the terrible decisions this war keeps forcing her to make. He wonders if he’d have had the cojones to blow up a relay.

Read on ao3

52 notes • Posted 2021-03-06 21:08:21 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[hiscyarika]

37. "Dance with me" and 70: “This is why I fell in love with you." Thanks darling 😘💜

Word Count: ~800

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Prompt: 37. “Dance with me.” 70. “This is why I fell in love with you.” (from This List)

Warning(s): None

A/N: Man, this made me soft as fuck at 3AM. I’m crying in the club. Where is my Catfish? I’m tired of waiting for a love like this. Anyway, I hope you like it! 🥺

Masterlist

Tag Lists

---

You sigh in relief as you step out of your son’s nursery. After hours of rocking him, singing to him, trying to feed him, and every other thing you could think of to get him to stop crying, he had finally fallen asleep. You love the newborn to death, but sometimes you wish that he weren’t so colicky.

As you step into the living room, you glance up at the clock on the wall, shaking your head when you see that it’s almost two in the morning. You rub your eyes, trying to assuage the ache of exhaustion that has settled almost permanently behind them. The saving grace is that you’re still on maternity leave and don’t have to be up early for work, not that the baby is going to let you sleep in peace for the rest of the night. He’ll be up in a few hours just like always.

“Hey,” you hear from behind you. The sudden disturbance in the silence nearly has you jumping out of your skin.

You turn to see Frankie standing in the doorway, eyes only half open and his hair pointing in every other direction. Once you recover from being startled, you giggle softly, shaking your head at him. “What are you trying to do, Cat? Give me a heart attack?,” you ask, closing the distance between you. You take his stubbled cheeks in your hands, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“It’s kinda hard to sleep when I don’t have you in my arms,” Frankie murmurs against your lips, snaking his arms around your waist as he speaks. “You know I’m capable of handling him for a night, don’t you?,” he asks. He pulls you close, and you close your eyes, resting your head on his shoulder. You let one hand rest on his chest, but bring the other up to his hair, gently untangling the unruly curls with your fingers.

“You were asleep. No sense in waking you,” you mumble, your voice heavy and laced with your fatigue.

You feel his chuckle, low and vibrating in his chest. “You’re wearing yourself out, baby,” he says, moving one hand to cradle the back of your head. He then turns and presses a kiss to your temple, feeling his heart flutter as a soft smile lifts your lips.

Frankie starts to sway gently then, humming some soft tune that you don’t recognize. “What are you doing?,” you ask, your tone lifting in amusement.

“Dance with me,” he says, interrupting his humming.

“I’m exhausted, Cat,” you reply softly, but you don’t move away from him. You let him rock you, settling into the movement. It’s actually quite soothing, and as he starts humming again, you feel yourself drifting off to sleep right there in his arms. But it’s safe and warm and comforting, exactly where you need to be.

Frankie continues to sway, feeling you lean into him more and more with each passing second. He’s easily able to keep you upright though, until he hears a soft snore in his ear. He smiles to himself then. All he’d wanted was to get you to sleep.

He slowly brings himself to a stop, and then bends down to pick you up by your legs. All the while, he does his best not to jostle you or disturb you where you lay on his shoulder. He lets out a soft breath when he realizes that you’re not waking up any time soon.

Padding carefully back to the bedroom, Frankie can’t help but marvel over the treasure that he holds in his arms. He loves you with every fiber of his being. There’s no doubt about that. You’ve always been the one he could count on to be in his corner, whether that was in college, while he was deployed, recovering from the mental hit the Delta Force had thrown at him. You were always there, even when he put you through bullshit that you didn’t deserve. You aren’t going anywhere, and he knows that.

He presses another kiss to your temple before lowering you gently to the mattress. You shift and let out a soft breath, but you don’t wake up. Frankie climbs into bed behind you, smiling as you instinctively settle into his side: the same position that you’ve slept in almost every night since college.

“This is why I fell in love with you, you know. You’ve always been stronger than me,” Frankie whispers, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. He knows you can’t hear him, but feels the need to say it anyway. It’s true. There’s no denying it. He’s never met another woman that could handle life with him as gracefully and be as forgiving as you. He doesn’t deserve you, but he thanks his lucky stars every night because somehow he has you anyway.

He closes his eyes, his heart and mind at peace with you beside him. Just like you will be for the rest of his life. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Permanent Tags: @theforceofdarkandlight @hail-doodles@aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73@lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934  @lavenderl3mons @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-tidal-wave @forever-rogue @flower-petal-blooming@fleurdemiel145  @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pynch-bug@pedropascalito @creamysacrilege @bandofmarvels @paryl@phoenixhalliwell

[darriness]

Klaine Fic - Care Part 2

Author: darriness

Word Count: 1044

Summary: Kurt has a run in at the store

Author’s Note: Felt compelled to write another piece, even though know one asked lol. This takes place right after the first part. 

Link to Part 1

AO3 Link

It’s too late at night for the grocery store so Kurt heads to the convenience store a few streets over. The streets are fairly empty, only a couple of people out walking their dogs or colicky babies, and Kurt doesn’t mind that.

He has to think less when there are less people around. Ever since becoming a vampire, Kurt avoids crowded places and not just because of the increased risk of fashion faux pas. His vampire specific hunger is not as all consuming as it used to be, Blaine has helped a lot with that, but he always has to keep his wits about him when there are humans around.

Kurt shivers a little thinking about Blaine and his gums pulse with a heartbeat he doesn’t actually have. He runs his tongue along them to relax them.

It was a complete accident to find out that werewolf blood is more potent than human blood. Blaine had come over one afternoon a few months ago having accidentally given himself a papercut earlier that day. He had already healed, of course, but when Kurt gave him a kiss hello his sense had gone into overdrive.

Kurt had pulled back abruptly, “Why…” He had started, feeling the now familiar sensations take over his body.

Blaine had looked surprised and confused. Kurt had taken a deep breath to try and get himself under control, he did have years of practice.

“Why is there blood…” He had trailed off, not wanting to expressly ask the question but he gestured to Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine's eyes had lit up with recognition, “Oh! Yeah, I got a paper cut earlier and put my finger in my mouth to stop the bleeding.” He had explained with a roll of his eyes at his own stupidity, “It’s healed now though.”

Kurt had swallowed hard, the faint taste of blood still lighting his senses on fire. It would appear he and Blaine would need to have a chat.

Kurt shakes himself out of the memory as he reaches the convenience store. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about Blaine and his blood right before entering an enclosed space with humans. 

The stale smell of food overpowers him when he opens the door and he’s simultaneously disgusted and thankful for the distraction. He heads to the aisle with cookies and quickly spots the chocolate chip ones. He grabs a box, goes to walk away, and then thinks better of it and grabs another box before heading to the register. Blaine can be THAT hungry after transforming.

He rocks on his heels as he waits behind a man buying deodorant. Kurt can’t help but think the man needs it. He wrinkles his nose at the smell as the man walks past him and then places the cookies on the counter. The transaction is almost over when another man enters the convenience store. 

Kurt knows before he even looks that the man is bleeding. The stale smell of food and lingering body odor is immediately overpowered by a much more palatable smell. 

Kurt and the clerk both turn toward the door but Kurt’s sure it’s the scream of the man for bandages and gauze that draws the clerk’s attention. Not the smell of blood.

Kurt needs to leave. He needs to leave now.

He grabs his cookies and leaves without his change. He moves faster than he should to appear totally human but the men inside the store have other things to think about. It must have been an accident with a knife but Kurt doesn’t want to think too hard about it.

He speeds his way home, not caring who he might pass. They wouldn’t really be able to see him or register his presence anyway.

He’s in his bedroom a little over a minute later. He closes the door and leans back against it, taking deep breaths (that he doesn’t REALLY need) and closing his eyes. He probably would have been fine had he not been thinking about Blaine right before.

“Everything okay?” 

Speaking of Blaine…

Kurt opens his eyes and focusses them on his bed. There sits Blaine, looking both adorable and sexy in his sheets. He’s sitting up now and he’s got a soft smile on his face. He looks a lot better then when Kurt left him. Had that really only been ten minutes ago?

Kurt sighs, “Yeah, just...a guy at the store. Cut himself.”

Blaine’s eyes light with recognition and he gestures Kurt closer. Kurt goes willingly, sliding into bed next to Blaine and cuddling close. The proximity shouldn’t make him feel better right now, but being close to Blaine’s familiar scent IS, in fact, centering him.

Blaine grabs one of Kurt’s hands and brings it to his lips to kiss, “Do you need…”

Kurt shakes his head against Blaine’s shoulder. His boyfriend doesn’t even need to finish the question. Blaine just transformed. Kurt is the one who is supposed to be taking care of him. He would never impose on Blaine like that in a time like this. He’ll settle. He just needs a moment.

They’re quiet after that for a few minutes. Kurt starts to feel his senses relax. His gums stop pulsing and his laser focus eyes stop scanning the room for potential targets that aren’t there. He ‘drops out of hunting mode’ as Blaine likes to call it.

It’s like Blaine can feel when Kurt’s muscles relax because he kisses into Kurt’s hair with a sigh, before gesturing to the bed next to them, “Thank you for the cookies.” He says, softly.

Kurt chuckles, softly, and moves away from Blaine slightly to grab a box, “Not the easy trip I was planning but,” He opens the box and hands Blaine one of the sugary treats. Blaine happily accepts and takes a bite, “worth it.” Kurt finishes.

He lays the box on Blaine’s lap and cuddles back into him. He knows he needs to grab the heating pads, that Blaine’s muscles are probably screaming at him, but for just a moment, while Blaine enjoys a few cookies, Kurt is going to enjoy the snuggle. He takes a few more deep breaths to bring himself more fully into this moment with his boyfriend. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.