Voltron doesn't have to save the universe anymore. Not after Haggar is brought down.

While they're working alongside Lotor to dismantle the oppressive hold the Galra has kept for ages, Lance finds himself going home to Cuba to visit his family. He doesn't stay.

The nostalgia is here, of course. He still feels gladdened for the crystal-clear, turquoise waters Lance grew up swimming in, for his grandma dancing rumba and his uncle's boliche and morcilla and when Copelia guava ice cream used to be a treat, for Veronica playing the tres outside his bedroom window and humming along, for Marco and Luis beating him at football — but, it's different now. Lance has seen more.

There's so much more that exists out there than his most precious childhood memories.

He promises to stay in contact, and joins the rest of the paladins on the Castle of Lions. Lance turns nineteen, wants to train harder than before, and with Shiro.

The drones whizz around him. Lance glimpses one of them swooping low and phases his bayard out of the rifle, and into the form of the Altean broadsword, cutting it down before it zaps him. He does the same for the other four training drones, waiting until they're aligned before slicing the blade across the middle of their path, halving all of the drones while in mid-air.

"Very nice."

Shiro's praise, coming from behind him, seems to warm Lance's giddy, heavily sweating features. And then, the world tilts backwards, as Lance is grabbed around the neck, yanked onto the mats.

He struggles and flails in Shiro's choke-hold, barely able to protest due to the restraint.

"Break out of it," Shiro mumbles calmly, using his Galra-arm to lock tightly around Lance's neck. "I know you can—hey!" An alarmed, high-sounding yelp leaves him when Lance's fingers squirm under Shiro's armpit, tickling him relentlessly. They end up rolling down, laughing until breathless and wrestling each other.

Lance knows he stands little chance of winning this contest of strength, and actually pinning Shiro down due to the other man's sheer muscle mass. He's okay with that. It's worth seeing Shiro's eyes darkening above him, his mouth relaxing and pressing softly onto Lance's chin and nose and his rosy-brown lips, memorizing him in touch and looks and kisses, as their hands loosen their knuckling grip on each other.

Lance's breathing goes erratic. Their bodies continue to push together, in a slow erotic grind, until he can feel the outline of Shiro's cock hardening up through his lounge-pants.

They shouldn't — not in the training deck in plain sight, not with the automated-entrance left open for Keith or anyone. Lance isn't even going into heat — and wouldn't be for a long time — but he feels a little trickle of fluid escaping, coating Lance's innermost thighs. The smell of Lance's arousal is weaker than the beginnings of a rut clinging to Shiro, like a dull, earthy musk.

He's not gentle with Lance, but waits for him to turn over, spreading his knees and legs apart.

We're gonna get caught, Lance thinks, too-totaled off the anticipation, adrenaline, to consider stopping when the other man yanks down Lance's sweats and his underwear, lifting his ass higher. He rocks back earnestly on Shiro's thick, organic fingers plunging inside him, stretching and half-prepping him. We're gonna—

A cry rips out of Lance, garbled and noisy, when the tip of Shiro's Alpha-cock widens his rim, dimpling into his ass. It's enormous and hot and Lance's heartbeat pounds in his ears. Shiro presses him flat-down on the mats, groaning and rolling his hips, while Lance's body slowly, so slowly adjusts to the glorious, fleshy drag.

He's mostly in, when a flushed, panting Lance makes another whining sound. Shiro's palm roughly claps over Lance's mouth. He can't feel Lance's breaths go ragged and moist, not against his prosthetic hand. Shiro reams Lance hard and fast, eventually grasping his upper thighs and hips for balance. The other man doesn't force himself against Shiro's weight, belly-down and pliant, taking every swollen, raw inch.

Shiro seizes Lance's hips again, dragging him back to meet every thrust. Stifled, tiny gasps fall from Lance's mouth when the Alpha-cock inside him directly hammers onto his sensitive, engorged Omega-glands. It's quick and absolutely filthy, dizzying. Lance's fingers slides over his abdomen with the utmost care, reaching for his stiffened Omega-cock, tugging it a few times.

There's no knot this time, holding Shiro in place when he releases a flood of come, getting pushed out of Lance's orgasming channel when those muscles squeeze, until his cock pops up wetly.

"Fuck, oh god," Lance mumbles into Shiro's prosthetic fingers, his bottom still raised in the air, quivering visibly and trying to not clench up further. The body-hot, sticky come leaks generously between his thighs, dripping onto Lance's brown, muscular skin and the surface of the mats.

"Definitely a bad idea," Shiro agrees, petting Lance's back, chuckling at the half-disbelieving look.



Getting together had never been the plan.

Shiro doesn't regret it. But he's a little negligent and impulsive, especially as an older Alpha — ending up with a full-bodied arousal just by gazing over Lance naked in the showers.

His embarrassment mounts, when Lance teases him good-naturedly and kneels down, asking if Shiro wants to fuck his mouth, to gag Lance completely with his dick, and yes — yes. Shiro does.

He loves the sensation of Lance's softly rigid palate and his tongue on him, sucking and licking. Shiro loves it because Lance grins around the huge, veined dick, peering up, his eyelashes dark and long and shiny with water droplets. It's goddamn gorgeous without even forcing it.

They're resting out on Shiro's cot, exhausted and face-to-face. Lance's hair is darkened and damp with shower-water, limp when Shiro brushes it patiently out of the other man's half-lidded eyes.


It's more of a rasp than Lance's voice.

Shiro nods understandingly. He wasn't exactly gentle in the shower either. "Sorry, babe," he replies, holding the side of Lance's face. "Thought you would have gone into your cycle by now."

Oceanic-blue eyes peek open. "I didn't have it last time either," Lance informs him, quietly.

"Did you talk to Coran?"

"Yeah, today."

There's a fluttering in Shiro's chest. Some warm and unnamed emotion he can't pinpoint when Lance stares at him like this, like everything's dreamy and beautiful, like he knows things beyond Shiro's comprehension. It's possible he does. "Skipping… um, when you skip heat cycles, it isn't a big deal," Shiro mutters, clearing his dry throat, sitting up. "It's normal, I thought?"

He's at a loss when Lance smiles impossibly big and places a hand on his clothed abdomen.

"Not this time, Shiro."

Impossible — and yet, it wouldn't be. Shiro's jaw drops.


Lance nods, a bit more excited now, snort-laughing at the look of sheer amazement. "Yeah. Two months, I think. Explains why I kept getting nausea and not wanting anything in the morning." He makes an exasperated, still smiling face. "My mama is gonna flip when she finds out she's finally getting a grand-kid. She's been nagging Veronica about it ever since my big sister got married to her wife."

"Maybe now she can ease up on her," Shiro breathes out, kinda impressed in himself for managing a conversation. He watches as Lance props up on a elbow, draped in Shiro's black undershirt.

"Oh no… Mama is gonna have the grand-baby fever now. They're all next."

Without knowing he's done it, Shiro reaches out with the same awed expression, pushing up the shirt just enough to rub over Lance's stomach, covering it with his organic hand. The other man rolls his eyes benevolently and flushes, lying back down. If Shiro presses a little, he thinks he can feel a tiny, protruding curve where Lance's navel is. It's barely there… but it's there.

"I can't believe you're pregnant, Lance…"

Lance shrugs. "We haven't exactly been careful," he points out.

It's too nonchalant. A deepening rush of guilt and shame hits into him. "Shit… maybe we should have." Shiro rakes his hands over his face, whispering and babbling, "You should have taken the suppressants. I should have had you do it. Keith has been for three years and Pidge is gonna start—"

He's interrupted by Lance grabbing his arm sternly, frowning up at Shiro.

"I've only been getting my heats since last year," he says. "This was my decision too. I'm okay with this happening and I wasn't forced into it. We're not fighting the bad guys anymore. Voltron isn't going into a war. We're not in danger." Lance's brown fingers slip over his wrist, tangling loosely with Shiro's metallic-colored ones. "It's us, Shiro. It's you and me only, and I wouldn't… want this with anyone else I know," Lance admits, his frown softening away.

He doesn't say mate but Lance may as well have. Shiro lets out a trembly, awed giggle, bending over to press their foreheads together and kissing Lance all over his face, his throat. Holding him in the ring of his arms, Shiro feels Lance's body reacting, how he moans and squirms.

This time, Lance kisses him with a brutal need, laving his tongue over Shiro's molars and against his lips, filling up Shiro's mouth entirely. No more gentle nibbling or biting.

It takes a moment but Shiro realizes Lance isn't wearing anything beneath the undershirt, as the other man saddles on top of him, pulling on Shiro's half-erected cock. The repeated, aggressive motions of Lance's hand fires Shiro's blood, and makes him want to fuck him now, wreck him until his Omega screams out for more, aching and filled to the brim.

He nearly loses it when Lance braces himself determinedly and holds Shiro's reddened, spongy cockhead firmly against his entrance. His weaker Omega pheromones like sweet, light heaven. He pushes Shiro inside himself, exhaling shakily, his blue eyes squinting and moistening.

Shiro remains tentatively slow during their love-making, hugging Lance against him and reveling in the little, low pleas, wanting to cry himself in this overwhelming and emotional moment.

Falling in love wasn't in his plans either.



"Oh jesus christ, please…" Within the depths of the Red Lion, Lance's straining, cracking voice echoes. He huffs, scrambling one-handed for the console. "Right there… THERE…!"

Lance straightens up, presenting out his extra pair of headphones triumphantly.

"There you are, you rascal!" he crows out.

The holo-screens and console lighting power up, whirring to the familiar, astral blue. Lance glances around, confused. A tinny — like a disembodied hum or a voice — grows inside Lance's head.


He presses several fingers to his temple, concentrating.




What feels like a wave of heat, soothing and balmy, closes around Lance when he shuts his eyes. Red growls, distantly in his mind, but out of compassionate. "Thanks for that, girl," he murmurs, running his palm over the front of his blue and gray long-sleeve, holding onto his flat abdomen.

"Everything alright?" Shiro calls out from the Red Lion's mouth-ramp, peering in curiously.

"Yeah, just…" Lance trails off, reopening his eyes and discovering that the holo-luminescence has vanished and everything powered down. "I don't think I gotta tell Red the good news. What's up?"

"You free?" Shiro's eyes crinkle, as he smiles nervously. "I was hoping you would wanna… celebrate."

Lance blinks rapidly.

"You mean like a date?"

"That's okay, isn't it?" At the hesitation, when Lance pauses from stepping down from the ramp with him, Shiro's cheeks pinken. He marches the rest of the way down, shaking his head. "If it's not…"

A pfft!

Lance beams, joining him on the ground-level and cocking an eyebrow.

"So where are we going?"



Shiro considers requesting the unmarked carrier ship for their short-range trip, but instead decides to borrow it, traveling with Lance to a spherical, pale green moon with artificial gravity.

Well, for a specific building on this moon.

The smiling, narrow-eyed amusement on Lance does not go unnoticed.

"Really? A space mall?" he asks, moving aside expertly as a tall, bug-eyed alien races by him on a hover-scooter, speeding out of the mall's double-doors and nearly clipping into Lance's shoulder.

Shiro conceals in the innate, instinctual urge to glare at the offender, for daring to come close to violently touching any portion of his newly pregnant Omega. He grits his jaw, swallowing hard and guiding Lance quickly towards a less crowded and brighter region.

From there, he feels a little more levelheaded.

"I heard you guys had fun last time. That's all."

Lance offers him a smirk and a mild eye-roll, following him to the escalators. "If by fun… you mean getting chased out by some Galra security guard… sure, fun," he declares, physically shifting closer to the other man when Shiro wraps his prosthetic arm around Lance's waist snugly.

"Good thing we don't have to worry about that, hmm?" Shiro's lips nuzzle pleasantly into Lance's hair. "I've never been to one of these. You can show me around," Shiro says, doing a fakey stage-whisper.

It earns him a laughing, cheerful kiss, and Lance directing them to the advanced gameplay shop.

Around noon, they head to the food court on the lowermost levels. Despite it being packed, nobody gives them any attention. "Uugh," Lance groans out dramatically, flopping into a chair and throwing back his head. Shiro witnesses him folding his hands over his midsection. "I'm running out of juice…"

"Juice actually sounds like a good idea. What kind do you want?"

"Honestly?" Lance announces, and then gazes back up, serious-faced. "Literally just don't buy anything that has the same color or texture of food goo. I'm not barfing again today, dude."

"You're not gonna barf," Shiro tells him, massaging one of Lance's tensed shoulders. "Wait here."

He locates what appears to be a space-fruit drink station, occupied by a heftier, purple-skinned alien in a chef's hat, dutifully ignoring him. "Hi," Shiro says politely, waiting for the one-eyed alien to look up and regard Shiro with dulled, awkward questioning. "Do you speak Terran?"

At the further silence, Shiro's voice rumbles and croaks with an entirely different language.

"{How about Galran? Do you speak it?}"

The alien gurgles the roughened, thundering syllables of what Shiro picked up on as Galran.

"{What'll it be?}"

Shiro taps on the interface-menu and the photos of the drink selection enlarge, along with the Galran translation beneath what he assumes is the alien's native language. "{I'll take two of these.}"

There's no thank you in Galran, and if there is, Shiro has never heard of it. He learned to become fluent while imprisoned and tortured, and then later on with Lotor. Shiro nods in acknowledgment when his order is done and paid for, receiving the two, large cups from the alien's heavily-gloved tentacles.

After a minute of navigating around other mall-shoppers, Shiro locates Lance's chair.

But no Lance.

He considers sitting down and waiting for him to return, likely from the bathroom. But something doesn't feel right. Shiro's insides feel this sense of uneasiness and terror — but not his own.

That's when Shiro picks up on Lance's shouting, coming back towards the entrance-doors.

The drinks go flying, spilling onto the space mall's floor as he sprints towards the noise, vaulting over a railing or two, crowding and pushing past innocent, frustrated aliens on the down-escalator while Shiro goes up, winded and closer to full-blown panicking than he could ever imagine.

An unmarked freight ship, with no visible pilot, its thrusters rattling and blowing flames. He gets a split-second glimpse of Lance, tossed harshly down, before the hanger-bay door slams shut.



After two months, Shiro still feels haunted by that last image, before the dense, black smoke engulfed him and Lance's kidnappers took off into the far-reaches of the universe, leaving behind no trace.

There had been volunteers initially — beings from the Voltron Coalition, to watch for any suspicious activity, or to contact them if they get a hint of Lance's whereabouts. But interest dwindles. They've got their own planets and civilizations to rebuild after the Galra Empire was defeated, dismantled.

"We're gonna find him," Allura promises, flipping through the multitude of holo-monitors on the bridge.

She sounds weary.

They all are.



Lotor visits when he can on the Castle of Lions, encountering a bleary-eyed, pale Shiro wandering the Lion Bay, staring up desperately at the Red Paladin's Lion encased by its own shielding.

"Tell me something," he mumbles to Lotor, scrubbing his face one-handed. "Anything good."

"I wish I did for you, my friend. None of my associates have—"

The severe look of pity fades from Lotor's thin, sharp features as the tiled, glowing shield melts out of existence, replacing with astonishment. Shiro turns around as the Red Lion self-activates and crashes its paws to the bay's ground, shaking their very bones, opening its jaws.

As soon as the elongated, metal ramp protrudes from the Lion's mouth, Shiro climbs on, yelling for Lotor to follow him inside. Surprisingly, it doesn't reject either of them, piloting its course.

They call for backup when Red's signal on the main-console grows bigger.

He's not sure if this is an asteroid or a smaller, rockier moon, as they drift deeper into space, but Shiro knows wherever this beeping leads to, it has to be where Lance is.



It all happens too fast.

Lance's kidnappers — a group of Teeljian hired mercenaries, with high-powered weaponry and gadgets — are either apprehended for questioning or killed during the battle. They're not sure if the mercenaries themselves are even the original kidnappers, or who they were working for. Lotor swears to discover the truth.

And Shiro discovers Lance himself within a cell, dirtied with soot and beaten and unresponsive. It's terrifying, and relieving, at the exact same moment, pulling him out of there and cradling his Omega in his arms. Lance's shallow, quiet breathing is the first thing he notices, and then how small and young he appears, freshly bruised all-over, more visibly pregnant than before.

The guilt intensifies when Lance recovers in the med-bay, eating very little to the point of requiring an nutrient-IV bag hooked to his wrist, isolating himself from his friends, from Shiro. The aversion to the simplest of touches reminds Shiro of the early stages of his own PTSD.

Not wanting any physical contact, feeling skittish, losing yourself to your own trauma…

Lance barely shows any ounce of emotion upon his return to the Castle of Lions, speaking in a monotone to Coran and Allura. The life and joy, his confidence, now evaporated.

They're just not sure what happened to Lance, and how he was transported for so long. It wasn't a form of stasis based on the fact that Lance's womb had naturally progressed and developed. His belly however is too-small and tight, not quite the size it should be more how far along he is.

Coran does an ultrasound, walking about the examination table and scan-tech positioned over Lance's exposed, round stomach. He rattles off the healthy percentage of amniotic fluid in the sac, and Lance's vitals along with the baby's, as well as praising the strong and continuous heartbeat. "We need to get you out of this malnourished stage, Number 3," Coran informs him, yanking away the scanner.

Shiro enters, when the Altean man excuses himself out of the med-bay. He approaches Lance with a boyish, slight smile, calling out his name so the other man wouldn't become startled.

"I just wanted to see how you were…"

"Fine," Lance mutters.

He lowers his striped, grey tee-shirt over his bump and avoiding Shiro's eyes. Shiro's heart clenches. This shouldn't have happened to them. They weren't supposed to be in danger anymore.

"You don't have to be fine, Lance." When Shiro says this, solemnly and ruefully, Lance's body goes tense, his blue eyes widening. "What happened to you…" I'm sorry I let this happen. Shiro wants to say it, but it can't be about him and his remorse. Lance is hurting right now. He needs to know it's okay to feel hurt, to feel angry and lost. "You don't have to be ashamed about it."

After a moment, Lance swings his legs over the examination table, gripping to the padded, white edge.

"I don't remember everything," he whispers, his brow cringing. "It's like flashes of stuff… colors, noises…" Shiro knows all to well, and waits for more, keeping a respectful distance when Lance's eyes water. "I remember fighting. I remember fighting the whole time to get out. And then, whoever, they…" He chokes out, "If I didn't stop fighting, they were gonna kill her…"


Shiro feels the weight of his emotions, threatening to drag him down, when Lance breaks, ugly-sobbing and flushed, reaching for Shiro when the other man hurries over. He embraces Lance, practically heaving him off the table and into his arms, kissing Lance's ear and his wet, trembling eyelids over and over.

The war isn't over. He's not letting Lance out of his sight. Ever again.



Eventually the information reaches them in a couple of movements — a faction of the Galra rebels, ever-loyal to Zarkon's memory, paid off the Teeljian mercenaries after they acquired Lance during a hostile exchange from the original kidnappers. Their identities were still unknown.

Lance knows he should be feeling safer, with everyone around him, but… it gets suffocating. He's stressed out, pacing the corridor by the lounge, having difficulty controlling his breathing when it hitches at the occasional stabbing pain erupting in his pelvis. There's increasing pressure. There's muscle cramps in his legs. His lower back has been killing Lance for the past hour.

Moving around helps a bit. Lance wipes the sweat off his forehead, pressing his forearm to the wall. Not even twenty minutes ago, he had to change out of his newest set of pajamas. For some reason, they got leaked on when Lance's pelvis-pains started, but it hadn't smelled like urine. Thank god.

Hunk exits the lounge, noticing him with silent curiosity. He opens her mouth, but yelps when Lance bows over quickly and grabs his own belly one-handed, catching him. "SHIRO!"

He hears Hunk's frantic, panicked shout from another corridor, racing over to them.

"Lance started falling over… I-I…"

"It's alright, Hunk," Shiro reassures him, clasping him shoulder and helping Lance upright. "Find Coran for me. Tell him what happened and he needs to get to the med-bay. Go."

As soon as he's disappeared, Lance buries his face into Shiro's bright orange jersey, feeling other other man examine him and whimpering through another stab of pain throbbing deep inside him.

"Shh, Lance…"

"Fuck—oh god, I can feel it," Lance says, panting and groping suddenly between his thighs, holding himself. It's wetter down there. "It's—unnh, it's coming. What do we do?"

Somehow, it makes him feel better that Shiro goes flustered, eyes darting and licking his lips.

"Okay, you're gonna be okay," he mumbles. "Let's… uh, let's get you upstairs."



Water is where Lance feels the most comfortable, in his element and at peace. It's home.

He and Coran lead Lance into what Shiro assumes is a in-ground, smaller pool for hydro-therapy, if needed

— but it's definitely helpful for this emergency, as he removes Lance's pajamas. Lance is only five months. It's far too early to go into labor, too soon, Shiro's brain insists.

Shiro disregards the fact that he's still in his clothes and boots, splashing into the pool with him and cradling Lance against his front and whispering encouragingly, easing Lance's legs wider apart for a stern-faced Coran to poke and prod. He assures them that Lance's omega status will ease the birth, no matter what Lance's age or how early the baby decided to come. The contractions become worse, more frequent, until he can hear Lance cursing through gritted teeth, sometimes not in English.

However long it takes, it's time. He massages Lance's arms and shoulders as the younger man breathes out Shiro's name and quivers nervously, and tells Lance to take deep, cleansing breathes. Shiro can't see at the angle he is, but Lance pushes and strains while gripping his bump, thrashing in Shiro's arms, and yells until his voice cracks when the pain must be catastrophically bad.

There's a gush of bloody water, and then Coran is holding something wriggling and bawling softly. Shiro's mouth goes dry, his pulse quickening. "Oh… my god," Lance murmurs, almost sedately.

Lance looks so uncertain, when a smiling, happily sniffling Coran passes the newborn to him, awkwardly balancing her to his naked chest. It's purely mesmerizing in Shiro's eyes, how delicate and little she is. "Is this actually real…?" he hears Lance murmur again. Shiro nods with his mouth pressed tightly against the back of Lance's head, just as awestruck as his partner.



Once all the mucus and membrane and blood washes off, Lance discovers she's got his light brown skin and a cap of fine, black hair on the top of her head. Exactly like Shiro's hair color.

Due to her premature condition, Coran has her incubated until she's gained enough weight, until her lungs and body temperature have stabilized themselves. Neither Lance or Shiro rest during that period, even when the rest of the Paladins convince them to leave the med-bay, to get involved in a distraction.

The first thing he does is visit the Lion Bay, when she's ready to be swaddled and carried around. Lance walks up the usual, long ramp into Red Lion's mouth-entrance, greeted by the lights whirring on.

"You haven't met her yet, have you, Red?" Lance proclaims, gently shifting the dozing newborn in his arms. He feels that same mental warmth from before, and something akin to love within it. Lance flattens his lips, brushing a finger stubbornly under his eye. "Thank you… for coming after me when you did, Red. You saved her and me," he says. "There's no way I can ever repay you for that."


The word rings in Lance's psyche, resembling a low, purring growl.




Lance's mouth curls into a grin.

"I will," he says softly, glancing up to the astral-blue ceiling.



White, blinding lights—Lance's sneakers scuffing and sliding helplessly across the mall's floor—Galra-violet—the cloth smelled like numbing medicine pressed to his nostrils—an electric rod—

Lance gasps himself awake, jerking upright from the collection of hand-woven quilted pillows and nearly sprawling off the bed. "Hey, whoa…" Shiro says to him, murmurous and drowsy, touching Lance's arm when the young man gazes around in terror, and slowly, it fades when he realizes where he is.


The sun-heated ocean waves surge and crash along the beach not even a mile away. Lance's ears pick up on his dad humming tranquilly along to one of his favorite songs, strumming Veronica's tres perched in his lap, lingering on the creaking, wooden porch outside of Lance's half-opened window.

"Shit… shit, mm'srry," Lance mumbles, also keeping his voice low. He pushes his bangs out of his face, exhaling audibly and feeling Shiro cupping the side of his face. "Think it was a nightmare."

"Look at me, babe …" Shiro's voice and his morning scent, familiar and heated and pleasant, surrounds him, lulling him to a calmer state. "I'm right here," he explains, stroking his thumb over Lance's jawline. "So are you. I know it doesn't feel real sometimes… I know. My brain tricks me and I'm right back, Lance. I'm right back in the Galra holding cell and I'm scared to death."

Shiro glances down to the infant squirming between them on the mattress, bubbling spit on her lips and kicking her teeny, fabric-covered legs. "Then I look at you, at her, and…" he trails off, smiling wanly as Lance snuggles her, giving Rosa's chubby, brown cheek a messy kiss. "I feel more grounded."

"I love it when you're a big ole sap."

"Jerk," Shiro whispers fondly, leaning over as careful as he can and kissing the other, groaning man deeply, chuckling breathlessly into Lance's opening, rosy-brown mouth.



Voltron isn't mine. TIME TO POST ANOTHER VOLTRON EXCHANGE FIC! I signed up for "Feeling Black and Blue - A Shance Angst Exchange" and was assigned Fiercaldra (on Tumblr) and ended up with a few prompts but I went with "abo angst, angst with a happy ending" and I love me some domestic family. I hope that my giftee loves it too, and you guys as well! I had a good time writing this and DID A LOT so any comments/thoughts would mean the world to me! Thank you! :)