These little gems are the source for so much love from a lot of my family members. This including myself for my personal craft.
I actually have it in 3 different forms. Each of which hold their own magikal properties.
The Flower: Development of psychic powers and WISHINGGG!
The Leaf: Purification, Banishing Negativity, Healing and Summoning Spirits…and WISHINGGGG!!
The Root: Protection while you sleep, Calling Spirits, Divination …and did I mention WISHINGGGG!!! Also, Dandelion root tea can help promote your psychic powers. Likewise, left to your bed this steamy cup of tea can call spirits your direction.
Summary: Killian takes care of Emma while she’s sick. She tries to find some way to repay him. (Neighbors AU)
Word Count: 3,610
Every time someone did something for Emma Swan she liked to repay them in some way - the reason being that nobody was ever there for her, not after she had been abandoned on the side of some road in upstate Maine. So it makes a difference to her when somebody goes out of their way to do something nice for her.
Well, someone once showed love and care to her. And she had repaid him by successfully smuggling a bag of stolen watches from a small locker at the train station. Before she got arrested and put in jail for a good eleven months.
After that, Emma vowed never to put her trust in people again. She’s better off on her own.
Especially when she is out on a cold, bitter November night in four-inch heels and a skimpy piece of vermilion cloth that can barely pass as a dress, chasing down a no-good thief and cheater.
“Asshole,” she declares as she pins him down with a knee and waits for the police to arrive. “Nice try getting away.”
The man glowers at her and tries to banter out a reply, but his words are cut off with several coughs and a sneeze. It’s evident from looking down at his bloodshot eyes and flushed, burning cheeks that he has a high fever.
Two policemen finally arrive at the scene and Emma rises from the ground and watches the man get hauled away before she struts to her precious yellow Bug parked about three blocks away. She heads home, home being a cozy apartment on the sixth floor of a well-tended complex on the outskirts of Boston. By the time she arrives at her floor and steps off the elevator, her feet are killing her.
The door to the left of hers opens and out steps her gorgeous next-door neighbor with the raven-black hair and the beautiful ocean-blue eyes and that insanely hot accented tongue. His attire is all in black: black leather jacket zipped up to the chin, black jeans, black boots. When their eyes meet, his instantly widen, mouth falling open into the shape of an O, and he blushes, hand reaching up to scratch the tip of his right ear nervously.
“Good evening, love,” he states quietly, closing his mouth and passing by her with a small wave. She reciprocates, smiling at him before she unlocks the door and opens it, leaning against it as soon as she closes it. Kicking off those damn heels, she breathes a sigh of relief and shuts her eyes before opening them and traipsing to the bedroom to peel off that disgusting dress and pull on grey sweatpants and a lavender camisole. She rubs the soles of her feet to relieve some of the pain before slipping them into the most comfortable duckling slippers she’s ever encountered in her life.
She shuffles to the kitchen slowly and opens the fridge to take out tomatoes, mayonnaise, the packs of ham, cheese, and lettuce. She sticks two pieces of bread in the toaster and slices the tomatoes. When the two pieces of toasted bread pop out of the toaster, she takes them and puts them on a plate, piling one with ham, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes, smearing the other slice of bread with mayonnaise before clapping it over the other slice.
She takes the plate to the kitchen table and stifles a big yawn, deciding not to make hot chocolate for the night. Despite how exhausted she is, she manages to finish eating the sandwich relatively quickly, washing it down with a glass of water and leaving the dirty dishes in the sink. She’ll wash the plate and glass in the morning.
Emma falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow and she awakens once in the middle of the night to sneeze and tuck herself underneath the covers. In the morning, she wakes up coughing and sneezing, her forehead burning when she places her hand on it. She checks her temperature, discovering that she indeed has a fever. She must’ve gotten it from the guy she had to chase down last night.
Groaning, she manages to rise from bed, trailing to the thermostat to adjust the heat to her liking before sauntering to the kitchen to rummage through the pantry, frowning when she realizes she is out of tea.
She can really go for a nice steamy mug of peppermint tea, mixed in with a teaspoonful of honey.
She can also go for a hot bowl of delicious chicken soup from the quaint delicatessen at the corner, but she feels so unwell she doubts she can step out into the cold and manage to bring back a few groceries.
It suddenly strikes her that she has a really hot neighbor living next door who might be able to supply her with a tea bag or two before she starts to feel a little better so she can go out and purchase her own.
Don’t be ridiculous, she scolds herself. You see the guy only in the halls. You don’t even know his name.
But Emma is pretty desperate at this point. She knows she won’t survive without that necessary mug of peppermint-honey tea, so she throws on a white hoodie without zipping it up, and shuffles into the duckling slippers. She checks her reflection in the mirror and grimaces at how flushed and red her cheeks are. Brushing her hair so she doesn’t look like a bed-hair freak, she finally musters the strength to leave her apartment and knock on the door to the left.
The same hot man she had seen yesterday opens the door, his jaw falling open instantly when his cerulean eyes land on her. “H-hello, love.” Emma wants to giggle at the way he stammers when he looks at her.
Yup. She is definitely not feeling well.
“Hi, I’m so sorry for looking like a hot mess, but I have a really high fever and I ran out of tea and I really need peppermint tea because peppermint helps cool the body down and helps the fever go away and-”
Her neighbor chuckles and holds a hand up, causing her to shut her mouth as she blushes. “I was babbling, wasn’t I. Damn, this fever is real.”
“I have a whole collection of tea in my pantry,” he says. “Would you like to come in and select what you need?”
Her eyes widen. “I can’t get you sick. I just need one tea bag, that’s all. I really can’t get you sick.”
“Nonsense, love.” He opens the door wider and steps aside, beckoning her with a sweep of his arm. “It would be bad form to leave a beautiful lass such as yourself waiting in the hallway.”
“I’m sick. How can I be beautiful?” she scoffs, attempting to glare at him, but she stops herself because he is helping her out here and she really shouldn’t be rude to him.
He bends down and places his mouth by her ear. “That top of yours is rather bunched up on your breasts, love,” he whispers, straightening his back to throw a very sultry wink at her before spinning to retreat into the apartment.
Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp and she instantly zips up the hoodie, remembering that she isn’t wearing a bra underneath the camisole. She’s beginning to have second thoughts about her neighbor, but she really does need the tea, so she follows him into the complex, closing the door behind her and taking in the sight of a very neat dwelling place: books aligned in an orderly fashion on the shelf, plants hanging from the ceiling and dangling right above the top level of the shelf, guitar resting gingerly in the gap created by the shelf and a desk.
He waits for her in the kitchen by the open pantry, gesturing to it. “Take any box, love.”
“Any box?” she asks skeptically. She really came for just one tea bag. She can’t deprive the man of an entire box.
As if he can read her mind, he chuckles. “One tea bag won’t suffice. Please, take an entire box. You can see as well as I can just how much tea I have.”
She musters a smirk of defeat and stares for a long moment into his eyes before directing her gaze to the pantry, reading the labels before finally finding peppermint printed in sea-green on a box. She selects it and wraps her fingers around it, double-checking to make sure she hasn’t touched anything else and contaminated the pantry with Emma Swan germs.
“Thanks,” she whispers and he bends his head, a shy smile chiseled on his handsome features.
“Of course. This is what neighbors are for,” he announces, looking up at her. “Killian Jones.” He sticks out a hand.
Emma wants to take the hand and hold it with hers, but she suddenly coughs, bringing up her arm to cover her mouth. “Emma Swan,” she blurts out. “I would shake your hand, but I’m sick.”
“Aye. Apologies, love,” he says sheepishly, letting his hand drop to his side. He suddenly lifts it again as if to place it on her forehead, but he first looks at her. “May I?”
She stares at him for two heartbeats, inhaling sharply. “Sure,” she replies, wanting to close her eyes and sigh happily when his warm hand claps gently over her hot forehead.
“Swan, you’re burning,” he declares worriedly. “Are you sure tea will help you?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s helped before,” she admits. Stuffing the box and her hands in her pockets, she shuffles back to the doorway. “Thanks again,” she says, turning to look at him.
“Love, you look absolutely adorable in those slippers of yours,” he whispers, almost awe-struck, and usually she’d roll her eyes, but all she can muster is a weak smile before she opens the door and leaves, returning to her apartment to prepare the tea and snuggle on the couch with a fluffy blanket and thoughts of those beautiful blue eyes.
She is sitting on the couch, wrapped in the fluffy blanket, holding a mug of steaming tea and watching a miscellaneous episode of Sherlock, when there is a knock at the door. She rises from the couch and wraps the blanket around her shoulder as she shuffles to the door and opens it.
Killian stands there with two brown-paper grocery bags in his hands. “I bought some things for you, Swan,” he announces with a grin, and all she can do is let her hand drop from the doorknob as she stares open-mouthed at him.
“Y-you di-didn’t have to,” she stammers. “I just wanted some tea.”
“I’m aware, but you do have a high fever, love,” he deadpans. “Now, where’s your kitchen?”
“Straight ahead,” she states, blinking as she watches him walk past her and make a beeline for the counter, putting down the bags and opening one to take out a container of soup. “You brought me soup?” she asks, incredulous.
He looks at her shyly. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says, reaching up to scratch his ear nervously. She’s begun to find the act endearing. “You’re sick and I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you, love.”
“Fine.” Emma pauses to sneeze into her arm and Killian immediately hands her the tissue box reclining on the kitchen table. She swipes a tissue immediately from the box and presses it to her nose, blowing it. “Thanks,” she sniffles after she has thoroughly cleaned her nose and thrown the crushed wad away.
“Of course.” He opens two cupboards and reaches into one, taking out a china bowl into which he pours the soup. “Where do you keep the silverware?”
“I can get that myself,” she glares, throwing open a drawer and picking a spoon before shutting it a little overdramatically. “I have a fever. I’m not crippled.”
Her eyes widen after the words spew from her and she purses her lips as she stares down at the floor, pushing a slipper-clad foot against the heel of the other. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”
He chuckles. “S’all right. You’re unwell, that’s all.” He stretches out the bowl and she takes it from him, the heat of the bowl passing to her hands and traveling up her arms. She returns to her spot on the couch, but disregards the blanket as she sits down, taking off the slippers and tucking her feet underneath her legs.
“Mind if I join you?” His voice sounds very near and she almost jumps, turning her head to see him stare down at her, a bag of saltine crackers in his hand. She hadn’t heard him leave the kitchen.
“You’ll get sick,” she admonishes, but she secretly hopes he won’t listen as she takes the bag from him.
“Then I’ll just sit here,” he says with an amused grin and a mischievous waggle of the eyebrows, plopping down on an armchair close to the couch. “You should have the entire sofa to yourself anyway.”
She stares at him a moment longer than needed before she continues to eat and watch the mystery series. Killian does the same, the apartment silent sans the blabber on the television and the clinking of the spoon in the bowl.
“You can have some soup, you know,” she tells him, feeling guilty that she is the only one eating.
“I wouldn’t dare, Swan! The soup is for you. Besides, I already bought my own groceries; I left them in my home before coming to yours.”
She smiles timidly at him then and he rewards her with such an ear-splitting grin that she smiles widely and laughs - right before her laugh dissolves into two sneezes and a cough. “Sorry,” she says, blushing widely as she reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table.
“Nothing to apologize for.” He lifts the box and hands it to her. “There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for.”
She smiles at him again - this time without all the nasty coughing and sneezing - and reverts her attention to the soup and to Sherlock and Watson.
But she can’t help staring at Killian out of the corner of her eye, wondering just who this guy is and why he has decided to take care of her.
Killian visits her every day after that, constantly bringing her items meant to help her.
“The ice cream will help cool your throat,” he says with a wide grin as he produces a tub of rocky-road ice cream.
“Bloody hell, you’re running on tissues the way cars run on gasoline. Here are a few extra boxes.”
“I noticed you don’t have any painkillers. You definitely need a vial,” he chides, holding up the box containing the vial of Advil.
“Here’s some ginger. All you have to do is put two tablespoons of this powder in a bathtub of warm water and mix well. Then you step into the tub and lie there for ten minutes, just to soak yourself in. When the ten minutes are up, pat dry yourself and go to sleep in a blanket. Trust me, love. This remedy works.”
And the remedy does help. Everything he brings helps her, especially the ginger.
“I never knew ginger helps,” she tells him one day when her fever has begun to cool. “It’s helping a whole lot.”
“My mum used that remedy on myself and my elder brother when we were lads,” he admits sheepishly. “There was always ginger stocked in the house just in case one of us boys came down with a fever.”
“Oh,” is all she can muster as she stares blankly at the television. She can’t help but feel envy because unlike her, this man has a family, has people who care for him.
“Love, you’re glowering at the bloody screen. Is everything alright?” he asks in concern, and she blushes.
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Well, since I started, I might as well finish,” he whispers, tone more somber. “Mum passed away when I was nine years old. And then Liam.” He chuckles wryly. “Best man that ever walked this planet, Swan. My brother was a bloody hero. Taught me all there is to know about good form.” His jaw suddenly clenches as he leans his elbows on his thighs and looks down at the floor. “He died in a car accident. I told him not to drive after he drank too much at a party. It was raining that night.”
Emma closes her eyes and a wave of guilt washes over her for having harbored those thoughts for even a moment. “I was left on the side of the road as a baby,” she confesses. “I went from one foster home to another, but I never stayed longer than two months in each home.”
She feels something clap over her hand and when she opens her eyes, she looks down to see his ring-clad hand over hers. She averts her gaze to him. “Come here,” she says as she shifts over and pats the empty spot next to her on the couch.
“I thought I’d get sick?” he challenges with an amused raised of the eyebrows.
She rolls her eyes and tugs at his hand. Shaking his head and laughing, he joins her on the couch and she curls into him while his arm wraps around her shoulders, holding her close to him. She laces her fingers with his hand resting on his lap, squeezing them gently as she whispers, “thank you. For being here.”
“Of course, love,” he whispers back before planting a soft kiss on her golden head.
Several days pass before she wakes up, fever gone and cough just barely lingering. She can’t help but almost dance as she throws the hoodie on, dashing out of her apartment and into his. Why doesn’t he lock the door? she asks herself, but she pushes the thought out of her mind when she collides into him in the kitchen, hands crashing onto bare skin.
Well, bare skin and hair.
She gasps when she steps back, eyes flitting up and down his muscular torso, all dusted with dark glorious chest hair. When she finally looks up at him, she sees that he is staring down at her with a cocked eyebrow.
“Like what you see?” he greets her, grinning cheekily and she flushes and laughs.
“I came to tell you that I feel better!” she exclaims and his grin transforms to a happy smile as he wraps his arms around her in a warm embrace.
“I’m so glad, love,” he mumbles into her hair, his fingers toying with the ends of the blonde strands, and she exhales in relief as she nestles her chin on his shoulder.
“Thank you. Seriously, thank you,” she whispers.
“Think nothing of it, Swan.”
But she can’t think nothing of it. In fact, she can’t stop thinking about it. She wants to repay him, but she isn’t sure how to.
Because this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for her.
She starts by purchasing a new box of peppermint tea, practically forcing it into his hands, even though he first adamantly refuses to take it.
But a small box of tea isn’t enough to show her gratitude, so she begins to do small favors for him. It gives her an excuse to ogle at him without him really noticing, and she is doing something for him at the same time.
It’s a win-win situation.
The next afternoon, she is just leaving her apartment to go take a walk when she sees Killian struggling to open the door to his place, balancing three bags in his hands. “Here, let me help,” she says as she rushes over to take two of the bags and balance one on each hip.
“You don’t have to, Swan,” he protests, but she still follows him to the kitchen, leaving the bags on the counter.
“Why do you insist on doing something for me?” he questions, leaning against the wall with his hands in his belt loops and a raised inquiring eyebrow. “Yesterday, you picked up the mail I carelessly dropped in the hallway. Today you help me carry in the groceries.”
“Just trying to be neighborly,” she states with a weak laugh. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”
“Emma.” She feels his hands grab hers, causing her to blush slightly as she looks down at the floor.
“Fine. Because you were there for me. You took care of me. All I wanted was some tea, but you went out of your way to buy me soup and bring me food and watch shows I’ve already watched and nobody’s ever cared that much for me and I just wanted to repay you, but I don’t know to rep-”
“You can repay me with one favor,” he interrupts her. “A date.”
Her eyes widen and she releases her hands from his gentle grip. “Did you take care of me so you could ask me out?” she pounces, slightly glaring at him.
He chuckles, a sheepish sound reverberating in the room. “No, Swan. I took care of you because it would be the right thing to do. You are a beautiful lass, but I wasn’t going to take advantage of that.”
She bites her lip as she scrutinizes him closely. “So, a date. A date will be enough to repay you?”
Killian grins widely. “Emma Swan, will you go out with me?”
And Emma can’t help but mirror his happy smirk. “Sounds like a good bargain to me.”
▪he doesnt exercise much (except hiking/walking when he wants to take pictures) but he eats extremely healthy
▪if he had Instagram his feed would be 50% Pinterest-looking meals and 50% photography
▪he also does not skip breakfast no matter what
▪skipping lunch or dinner is fine in his eyes but if he skips breakfast he gets kinda cranky and super lethargic
▪so if he’s going to be on a photography trip or something, he makes sure to pack his messenger bag full of granola bars and apple/orange slices
▪he eats pomegranates with buttered popcorn too which is good
▪has a lengthy nightly routine, it includes preparing some food for breakfast and setting some fruit infused water in the fridge
▪V is the one who taught Jumin how to make strawberry pancakes!
▪V’s specialty is blueberry pancakes tho
▪since Rika was so into Zen’s musicals, he probably has a few of his own that he likes!
▪he has always been extremely proud of Zen and would attend his musicals with Rika when she was alive
▪well…he still would if he could
▪they sat in the front and cheered the loudest
▪probably has a super small bookshelf in his apartment but it’s full of dog-eared, destroyed (but well loved!) books
▪he’s also super into podcasts and radio talk shows
▪like way before he was blinded, too
▪there’s just something so comforting about having someone speaking to you and sometimes telling a story
▪he never does anything in the morning without brushing his teeth first
▪doesn’t like electric toothbrushes for some reason???
▪his shades are honestly probably Gucci
▪his mother was a famous composer (canon!) so he knows a lot about music
▪maybe she tried to teach him an instrument?
▪like yeah sure violins and pianos are great, but imagine little V trying to reach the strings on a cello twice the size of him
▪he adores going to symphonies, take him to one and he’ll be wearing the biggest smile and probably unconsciously conducts with his pointer finger pls yes
▪he chooses the cutest moments to kiss you during the concert, tbh no one around you can be mad because it’s adorable and anyone can see how much he loves you
▪V can also ballroom dance very well!
▪sometimes it’s hard to reach him because he’s so tall but his movements are extremely fluid and graceful
▪he never stumbles or messes up and he’s able to stay steady enough so you don’t fall over
▪he is scared of thunderstorms!
▪like not terrified, but they really unnerve him
▪so on stormy nights he curls up on the couch with a big knit blanket and a steamy mug of tea
▪he’s lightly shaking but manages to turn on the TV and listens to it as he falls asleep
▪when it’s just raining he likes to go out and take pictures in the park where no one’s around, it’s peaceful and relaxing to him
▪no one had to teach him photography either, he just picked up a camera and once he had the buttons figured out, it all went from there
▪imagine him teaching a photography class tho??
▪he is so stubborn
▪if he’s ill, he refuses to stay and rest
▪like “no MC the dishwasher needs unloaded let me do it”
▪pls get some rest so you can be happy and healthy it’s all I want in life
Hii! May I please have domestic fluffy HCs of Shinsou with his female S/o please? I love your blog! Hnnghh
My beautiful 💕 finally
I’m answering one of your previous asks! I’m sorry it took so long! I feel like
we’re sharing the same love for Shinsou and that makes me just so happy? Thank
you for loving my blog, I love you pretty 💫
By the way, I plan
on continuing the lapdance story, no need for you to beg 😘
For now, here we
He and his partner are having at least two cats
and they have the cutest nicknames you can imagine
Shinsou’s favorite sight is coming home in the
late afternoon, seeing her asleep on the sofa with their cats sprawled over
her. The setting sun is dying the cotton candy clouds in a dusty pink and the
last twinkling yellow sunbeams are dancing on her sleeping countenance. Seeing
her peaceful face and her chest slowly rising up and down he can’t help, but rub
his eyes every time. If this is a dream, please don’t wake him up
He watches everything she does with the utmost
admiration. It’s one of his favorite past times to just sit close to her and
let his eyes travel over her delicate frame. It happened more than once that
she was talking to him and he was so lost in her, he couldn’t hear her angelic
voice until she frantically gestured in front of his face. Every time this
happens he will scratch his head and flash her an apologetic smile and she will
grant him that captivating laughter of hers
They both like movie nights a lot, entangled on
the sofa, their cats lazing around and all their favorite food/snacks on the
table in front of them.
the movie, not me”, a warm laughter fills the room
“I’m sorry, I cannot
help it, nothing is more mesmerizing than you”
“Oh cut it”, she
laughs again “I didn’t know you are such a hopeless romantic”
He nuzzles his
face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her comforting scent and enjoying the peace
of this moment
Sunday mornings are always spend with breakfast in bed, particularly
Shinsou making her favorite dishes and a cup of hot, steamy coffee/tea/cacao. Usually,
she will find a little gift or a flower accompanying her meal tray. It’s not something
big, but something he caught her unconsciously saying she wanted it, it’s his little
way to spoil her. Actually, he wouldn’t mind giving her anything she wanted,
even if it would be expensive. The loving smile dancing around the corners of
her curling lips is worth more than anything he could ever buy
Hey, I would really appreciate it if you could answer a few questions I have about Kyoya: Does he ever wear sweatpants? Cuddler? Favorite TV show? Favorite food (of he actually eats)? Guilty pleasure? Favorite book(s) What would his love potion smell like (from Harry Potter)? Secret crush? Turn ons? Embarrassing moments? (Do tell) Any trophies? P.S. I LOVE LOVE LOVE your posts, thanks again, -CherrySoda27
Yoooo I gotchu
> Kyouya really only wears sweatpants when he’s alone; he loves the feel of them, but he feels like wearing them around other people will make them think lower of him (i.e. “Kyouya’s unprofessional,” “looks lazy…” etc.)
> 1 000% yes he’s a cuddler omf. Kyouya wouldn’t stop cuddling if he didn’t have work to do,
> He doesn’t really watch television that much, but he’ll watch South Park or any show that might be on the Food Network or the Game Show Network if something good is on.
> Kyouya mostly eats plain ramen (as it makes him feel like he’s not too exciting or “weird,” although everyone thinks he’s weird for eating it plain), but he’s got a bit of a love for spicy foods.
< His guilty pleasure is Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi.
> Kyouya has read far too many good books to pick a favourite.
> His love potion would smell like an old book and a hot, steamy mug of gyokuro tea.
> His secret crush, while most people think it would be Tamaki or Haruhi, is actually Hikaru. (My main reason for headcanoning this is bc I put it in a fic, along with Mori x Kaoru. I’ve been obsessed with these ships ever since).
> Kiss his neck or touch his tummy and he’s a sexually driven pile of putty in your hands.
> Ever since Tamaki came into his life, pretty much every single day is an embarrassing moment in his life. Just kidding lmao. Though once when he was three years old, he looked at a truck and yelled “FUCK!” because he couldn’t pronounce the letter “T” yet. Fuyumi often reminds him of this, and Kyouya often turns into Tamaki and grows mushrooms in the corner.
> He doesn’t have any trophies; at least, not that he remembers.
Thank you so much for enjoying our posts, despite our increasing inactivity! I promise, the blog hasn’t been abandoned. We just haven’t had much time to update, and a lack of decent headcanons has taken its toll. However, at least one of us will hopefully be a bit active during the summer!!
(I’ve been so into Bungou Stray Dogs over the past few months that I’ve constantly almost typed out Kouyou instead of Kyouya ^^U)
You sat squashed on the floor of the living room on a pile of knit blankets. Emma, Mary, David, Killian, & Henry sat around the room holding steamy mugs of hot tea. You sipped your chamomile drink, vaguely listening to their conversation. The bottom line of it was: Emma was going to help Hades go after Pan and Rumple. After finding a dead end when searching for Peter, you knew he had gone with his son to get up to no good, and stealing Zelena was in fact, no good at all. Your eyes glued to a patch on the floor as the rest of the group discussed the outcomes of the next day, which was your biggest worry. Emma was going after Peter, so he might get hurt. But if Peter knew about the plan then he may hurt Emma. And Emma being hurt meant Zelena could get hurt. And Zelena getting hurt meant Regina and Hades getting hurt. And so the chain continued, making it clear that if anyone was at fault here, it was the person you just so happened to be in love with. Suddenly aware that someone was staring, you glanced up, catching Henry’s gaze. He spoke silently to you through his thoughts; he was worried for you, he knew what you were thinking. You just sighed, mouthing, ‘I’ll be fine.”
“Well, I’m exhausted, let’s head off then?” Emma said, rising from the couch and taking a hold of Killians hook as he and she left the room.
“You go to bed,” Mary Margret said sternly to you and Henry. The she smiled, giving you both pecks on the cheek before heading out with David.
Now it was just the two of you.
“(Y/N),-” Henry started.
“Shh. Don’t worry about me.”
“Henry,” you breathed, your hands massaging your forehead, “please, just…worry about yourself, I’ll handle this, okay?”
Henry opened his mouth and then shut it.
“Goodnight,” he said softly. He stared at your hands, gently taking your empty mug, and in the second where your eyes met and your hands touched, you sensed something in his eyes.
Then he was gone.
You sat on the quilts for a minute before rising and walking to the window. You pressed your nose against the glass, looking at the underworld stars and dreaming of neverland, and in this sleepy haze you could almost see Peter. But then, that wasn’t it, you could see Peter, for he stood outside, eyes right to the window where you stood. A tilt of his head was all it took for you to know.
“It’s c-colder than I t-thought,” you chattered once outside.
You stood around the edge of the apartments beside Peter, the wind snapping at your exposed skin. Peter tilted his head and smiled, using his arm to roll you under the side of his toasty coat.
“Mmm..” you muttered sleepily against his shoulder.
Peter held you tight, his eyes to the sky, yours closed.
“I miss the stars,” he said out of nowhere.
“Me too, and I saw them more recently than you.”
Peter grimaced, “Neverland seems like a lifetime ago.”
You bit your lip, holding your breath.
“What is it?” Peter asked, sensing you shift uneasily.
“I-” you began, but then stopped.
“Love, is there something you want to tell me?”
Your mind said yes, but you said, “No.” You didn’t tell him about Emma, you didn’t ensure his life was no longer at risk, you just didn’t say anything.
“I love you, you know that right? So just-” Peter sighed.
“I want to tell you,” you said, pulling out of his coat, “that I really want to kiss you right now.”
Peter smiled, hand cupping your cheek as he brought his lips to yours. You hung on to his collar, lips molding into his soft round ones as you bent your head to the side. You held your lips lightly to each other, pulling back after a moment of quiet.
“Get up to bed, you’re as cold as ice,” Peter said with concern.
“See you soon, lost girl. See you soon up where we belong,” he grinned with excitement.
This time you didn’t say the words back to him. You turned and ran for warmth, eyes stinging as you moved away from Peter for who knew how long.
“Peter is fine,” Henry said the next day.
You were the only two at home, and the storybook was set out open in front of you has Henry scribbled a piece of art depicting the events that had gone down at Granny’s.
“Hades tore up the contract, and then Rumple left,” Henry recited.
“Without Peter,” you noted.
“Peter is fine,” Henry repeated.
“For now,” you concluded.
“But Rumple, how do we, how can, I don’t-” you stammered.
Henry put down the quill and turned to you, his voice trying to hide his annoyance, “If you want to know what Rumple is up to at this very moment because you really don’t trust him, then you need to track him.”
Your eyebrows creased in frustration, “Fine.”
Then you bit your lower lip, facing Henry, “but you can write the story.”
Henry shook his head, “No, (Y/N), you know that’s not how things go with me. Every story has a start and finish, and I’m not the one who wants to decide that, I’m just the one who writes it.”
“Fine,” you said again, your cheeks flaring as you rose.
This was ridiculous. Why did Pan have to help Rumple when you could split hearts like he had said? You knew why. He wanted his son’s trust, and plus, a whole heart absolutely ensured he would escape.
“I’ll figure it out on my own then,” you said calmly.
Henry shook his head, “(Y/N), I’m sure I can still help you.”
“Well,” you muttered stiffly, “apparently not.”
Henry was taken aback by your tone, but calmly, he said, “I know you chose to keep us safe over Peter. That was really brave of you to do that.”
You shut your eyes, breathing in slowly, “I know.”
You had no idea how to track Rumple since you had no clue where he was, so you secretly followed Emma and the gang like a spy the whole day, but it paid off. It was easier to follow them because you knew Rumple would target one of the group members individually, and this way you could look out for them all at one time. He only needed the single heart, after all. You were sat outside the building and through the glass, you watched as Rumple emerged, and you watched as he took Robin’s heart. You opened your mouth to scream at him to stop, because Peter’s plan was never worth the life of Robin, and never, had you imagined, would Rumple actually keep his word and do this for Peter. But as your fists came to the window, Rumple muttered something, & slammed Robin’s heart back in his chest. Too late, you had realized your mistake. Rumple turned to the glass as you ducked onto the ground, but you knew you’d been seen. Without a moment of hesitation you were sprinting, sprinting until your feet took you to the place you had to be. Rumple was never going to hurt Robin. He didn’t need to, because it was never part of his plan to give Peter a heart, or a functioning one at that. You had no idea which heart he could give, for he had to give one to fool Peter, except that it certainly wouldn’t be one that would save Peter. You had been right. Rumple was a thief, a liar, and a little boy filled with regret and with revenge set in his mind. Breath heavy, you skidded to a halt outside Gold’s shop. You could see Peter inside, waiting patiently, and you were shocked as to why Rumple wasn’t there yet. You flung your hand out to the doorknob, and the door flew open.
Peter turned, “Hello?”
“Peter!” you gasped, “I have to warn you, you can’t trust-”
“Hello?” Peter said again.
“Peter?” you said, “It’s me!”
Peter stared right where you stood, shrugging and turning away as if you were invisible.
“Peter!” you pleaded, water brimming at your eyes, “Peter, please!”
“See…you, dearie, need to learn when to stop interfering,” came a familiar voice in your head.
You tried to move but found you couldn’t. You were stuck silent and unseen.
Rumple walked straight past you, reaching for the doorknob. The door jingled as he stepped inside.
“Hello, papa,” he said calmly.
“The portal will close soon,” Peter replied flatly, “Ready, son?”
Rumple nodded and turned slightly, his eyes locking right to where you stood.
“Tea,” Brahm asked Alexander.
“Sounds lovely,” he replied as he placed his mug forward and Brahm fills the mug with some steamy lemon tea. Taking a sip, Alexander remarks, “It’s very good, where did you learn how to make such good tea?”
Smiling to himself Brahm replied, “I learned from my teacher, Master Blaise. He made fantastic tea, mine isn’t as good as his, but I like to think I learned something from him.”
“What happened,” asked Alexander after he took another sip.
“He died, he was old,” Brahm smiled when Alexander went to apologize, “It’s okay you didn’t know. He was something else. He was like a father to me, found me in the woods being raised by dryads when I was three. I don’t really remember not knowing him, my dryad family would come over and visit, but it was mostly Blaise and I.
"He taught me how to use magic, raised me, fed me, he even paid for my tuition into Ravenwood Acadamy. I get to learn without worrying about paying it back.”
Alexander thought for a second before saying, “The others and I don’t have that problem, do we? We’re all from wealthy families. You don’t seem to have much of a family at all unless you visit Dryads.”
“Yeah,” Brahm frowned, “They don’t come around often.”
Alexander stood and hugged Brahm, “Don’t worry. We’re your family now, the society and I, you’ll never lose us.”
What would your perfect night with your bias be like?
Drinking steamy, fruity rooibos tea while talking about the universe and making shitty jokes, laughing and smiling a lot and generally basking in the presence of one another. It is cold and rainy outside, but we are wrapped up in cosy blankets. We are warm and happy. Everything is delightful.