#I drew this when it had snowed and was in a cozy mood

[bonkalore]

Just some cute stuff between Lucy and Cyprus while he's wearing his human glamour. Merfolk are close to cold blooded so they don't deal with extreme temperatures very well.

[kykyonthemoon]

The first bouquet: For reunion and childhood memories

⭑.ᐟ The Little Flower Shop In Linkon ( Long fic) - Table of contents

⭑.ᐟ L&D Masterlist

Word count for this chapter: 2k5

When the late spring hues began to bloom, Lunaire decided it was time to open her own flower shop.

That property was on a quite ancient and peaceful street. Finding a calm space like this amid crowded Linkon, near the city center, was a blessing. The shop consisted of a ground floor that was a commercial space, on the side was a wooden staircase covered with vines leading to the upper floor separated from below. It became Lunaire's living space - a modest house with full amenities for one person.

That property was formerly owned by Lunaire's grandmother's long-time acquaintance. They opted to live overseas and sell it. With her savings over the years, Lunaire could only afford a lower floor. Although her grandmother intended to help her, she did not accept and was still working hard to be able to buy the house above.

After some renovation and rearrangement, Lunaire was able to officially move in on a late spring day.

Her flower shop, Elysium, would be open that weekend. Everything was well, thanks to her grandmother and Caleb, who frequently came to support her. They were now in the kitchen, and Lunaire sat on the floor, holding a huge cardboard box filled with beautiful objects from her previous home. Most of them were older than ten years. Lunaire had a passion for preserving artifacts related with specific memories.

The box gradually emptied once the objects were displayed in new positions. Her palm met something chilly at the bottom. It was a box made of wood. The familiar icy air emanating it drew Lunaire's attention. It had been a while since she had opened it.

Lunaire lifted the box with her hand. It had been on her desk for many years, stretching back to her childhood. She vividly remembered what was inside: plump, snow-white seals presented to her. But since the person who gifted them to her departed, Lunaire no longer desired to open the box and look at them.

That was why the box was always carefully tucked away in a corner of her desk. Sometimes, when she missed that certain person, she would softly touch it, allowing chilly air to flow through her palm. For a brief moment, she imagined her childhood friend standing in front of her, with the same appearance as before, encouraging her to keep studying or soothing her when she was in a bad mood. But it would all disappear when she returned to reality and realized that what she was holding on to were just memories.

"Lunch is ready." Grandma's words echoed from the kitchen. She quickly emerged. "Oh, you've found that box?"

Grandma, more than anyone else, acknowledged the value of the wooden box in Lunaire's hands and the memories contained within it. So she was astonished when her granddaughter did not bring it with her to the new residence on the first day. The next day, when the girl came to get something else, grandma quietly placed this box in her cardboard box. How silly that Lunaire then rummaged through her old room just to find it, almost crying because she accidentally lost such a precious thing. Of course, her grandma had not told her where the box was. She thought that sometimes her granddaughter had to truly lose something first to eventually admit how much she needed it later.

"Yes." Lunaire answered. "But I don't remember putting it here."

"Sometimes you still forget things here and there." Grandma's bright grin puzzled her a little. "Once you discover it again, be mindful of it. It would be a shame if you lost it for good one day!"

Before Lunaire could reply, Caleb's voice burst out:

"Grandma Céline. Lune! Let's have lunch!"

Lunch was served in Lunaire's brand new and cozy kitchen. She and Caleb prepared the dishes. Lunaire felt a twinge of sadness as she realized that after living alone here, she would no longer be able to enjoy her grandmother's cuisine every day.

In recent years, she had frequently had to leave her home to engage in EVER's research projects. Not long after returning, Lunaire moved out again. Only her grandma was left alone at home. However, she constantly claimed that she was not alone because Caleb's grandma lived right next to her.

When she was a child and moved to the Bloomshore district with her grandmother, Lunaire became Caleb's next-door neighbor. He also resided with his grandma. The two kids instantly became friends. To her, Caleb was like a big brother who always protected her. Currently, because he was on leave, he came home to visit, but then Lunaire bothered him again, asking for all kinds of help with her new shop and home. Despite his complaints, he was still willing to assist her.

After lunch, her grandmother said she wanted to go downstairs to see how the flowers in the shop were doing. Lunaire's maternal side of the family had a strong connection to plants. She also inherited the bloodline believed to be from witches. To others, this ability was known as Evol, but her family called it magic.

Grandmother seemed pleased with how Lunaire displayed and adorned the shop. It resembled their modest garden, particularly the light-filled tea area. She assisted her with the plants as Caleb checked the shop's lights. Lunaire was waiting for an electrician to arrive and install extra lights that day. Everything came into place, leaving her absolutely thrilled.

Suddenly, she heard a clanking sound in the corner of the shop. Grandma hugged her chest and knelt on the floor.

Some members of Lunaire's maternal family have exceptional talents. They have the ability to influence the Evol of others, either increasing or decreasing their strength. But that type of impact comes at a cost. If someone utilizes such power excessively, their body will be destroyed in a variety of ways.

Grandma Céline frequently suffered from heart attacks. When she was younger, things were not as dreadful. However, as she grew older, the suffering increased longer and more powerful. That was why she had not used her Evol in a while.

That day, she intended to use a little of her power to make the flowers in her grandchild's shop bloom exactly on opening day. Unexpectedly, just that little bit would cause her to be hospitalized.

Elysium Flower Shop was located near Akso Hospital. Caleb and Lunaire were waiting in the sparsely populated hallway. Her phone rang. The electrician had arrived at the shop and was waiting. She was about to reschedule for another day when Caleb suggested:

“How about I go back to take care of the shop for you? After finishing work there, I'll get back to the hospital to visit Grandma Céline. Is that Okay?"

"Thank you." Lunaire nodded slightly. Fortunately, Caleb was there for them. 

A nurse arrived shortly after he had departed. She stated that Grandma Céline had recovered consciousness, but that Lunaire needed to first consult with a doctor about the patient's condition before visiting her. Worried, she followed the nurse named Yvonne to the front door of an office. She glanced at the nameplate attached above and thought she was dizzy. 

Yvonne said: “Just go inside. Doctor Zayne is waiting.”

Zayne…

Lunaire's heart rate increased as she heard the name. Perhaps she was not mistaken. Maybe she knew the person in the room. Once.

With her fingers on the doorknob, Lunaire's thoughts strayed back to a day many, many years ago.

The town where the Lunaire family resided has been attacked by Wanderers. The ten-year-old girl lost her relatives and could only follow with the flow of refugees into Linkon city. By the time she regained consciousness, she was surrounded by strangers who were injured and screaming.

The girl shifted her gaze, seeking for any recognized faces. Yet, there was none. As she walked, she inquired whether anybody knew where her parents were. Those tiny legs kept roaming till they became exhausted. She sat down beneath the eaves of an unknown home. In her palm was a melted popsicle, leaving just the vibrant colors on her fingers.

Little Lunaire started to weep. What if she were forever separated from her loved ones? What if no one could find her? What would she do in this utterly unfamiliar city?

At that time, a person approached her. Another child who was older than her had a calmer demeanor. He stood there staring at her, his yellow and green eyes barely showed anything. But then he held out a popsicle in front of her.

“Take it. Don't cry anymore.”

Lunaire gazed at the popsicle, then at the young boy, and finally at her hand. Did he think she was crying because her popsicle had melted? She hesitated for a time before taking the icy present from his palm. She no longer had the heart to wonder where the boy got the ice cream from.

Sweets always made Lunaire feel better. The popsicle had a mild minty flavor. It was not her favorite flavor, but at that very moment it was strangely delicious. While she was eating the treat, the boy sat down next to her on the porch and took out a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

"Wipe your hand." He talked in short sentences, his tone a little frigid. However, he appeared to be rather kind and gentle. To Lunaire back then, everyone was good people. That was why she extended her hand to him.

The boy was a bit astonished. He obviously told her to wipe it off herself, but instead she extended her hand to him. He did not say a word, merely using the handkerchief to cover her palm and carefully wiping away the remaining traces of cream. When his hand touched hers, Lunaire felt a bit of cold mist emanating from it. When she calmed down, she realized that the boy possessed a type of icy Evol.

Lunaire's hands trembled slightly. The boy knew she was a refugee who got lost here and offered to help. He volunteered to take her to where people were seeking sanctuary in the district. There maybe she would find her family. Eventually, Lunaire agreed to it.

The little girl was absolutely unfamiliar with this place. But she kept following the boy. He was considerably taller than her, and his mature appearance gave people the impression that he was immensely reliable. Lunaire occasionally fell behind due to exhaustion. Realizing this, he deliberately walked slower to allow her to catch up. Her legs were not hurt, but they were fatigued and covered in mud. Her face was dirty and her clothes were unkempt. After a long distance, the two children arrived at the district's center, where a big crowd was rushing in the direction of the Wanderers' recent attack.

In the midst of the crowd, Lunaire lost sight of the friend from earlier. While looking blankly to the left and right, she felt a squeeze on her hand. He found her.

"Let's go. We're almost there.”

Lunaire's tiny fingers intertwined with his, allowing him to guide her through the crowd. All turmoil appeared to have subsided. Finally, they arrived at the shelter. But the boy remained with Lunaire for a while longer, until her grandmother found her.

That boy was Zayne. And after several years, they met again at Akso Hospital.

Lunaire walked into the minimally decorated office. An individual sat behind a desk, focusing intensely on the computer screen.  The typing on the keyboard stopped. He lifted his head. Through his thin glasses, their eyes met.

Lunaire would always remember that childhood friend's eyes. Everything about he could change; his appearance, his voice, his address; yet those eyes remained the most gentle. It had been too long. She had imagined the moment they met again, the things she would say to him. But when they actually met, her mind became empty.

He was the first to say: "Come here."

Still so gentle. 

Lunaire moved closer. She felt like her feet failed to walk anymore. She sat down in the chair near his desk.

"Grandma Céline is fine." He spoke as if he had sensed what she was worrying about. "She used Evol again, which caused the previous illness to recur. She will have to stay here to be monitored over the remainder of the day. If everything goes well, she can leave tomorrow morning.”

"Thanks, Z..." "Dr. Zayne." Lunaire spoke.

Zayne glanced at her swiftly and handed her a piece of paper.

"Fill this out."

He remained as reticent as he had been as a child. She snatched it from him. She assumed it was Grandma Céline's paper, but it had her full name written on it. The messy handwriting made her have to squint her eyes to read it over and over again before she could recognize her name being there.

"This is?…" 

"Yours." Zayne responded without glancing at her. He resumed his work on his computer screen. "You need regular health check-ups."

Zayne turned to look at her and replied:

“Grandma Céline and you own the same kind of Evol. Do you still feel pain in your heart at times?"

Lunaire nodded slightly. Zayne was well aware of this since as a child, he had witnessed her go through a similar predicament. 

“But it was only fleeting,” she continued.

“Nevertheless, you should be checked. I already spoke to Grandma Céline about this. She also agreed that you should both have regular health check-ups."

“All right…” Lunaire replied. She raised her head, looking for a pen on Zayne's desk. He immediately reached into his pocket for one and handed it to her.

"Thank you." She took it. At that time, she unintentionally noticed the scars on Zayne's hands. He promptly retracted it. 

Lunaire began filling out her information on the paper in silence. But in her heart, she wanted to ask him countless questions; about Grandma Céline, about him. How had he lived these past years? Where had he set foot to? Who had he met? What had he gained and lost during the time?

Finally, as late afternoon fell on the pot of jasmine in the window - the only plant present in Zayne's office - Lunaire handed him the paper. It was time for her to go see her grandmother. 

“Thank you, Doctor Zayne.” Lunaire said as she stood up. The reunion that she was looking forward to may have to wait a bit longer. For this meeting, it ended here. 

Lunaire walked out the door with unprecedented awkwardness. When she looked back, she found Zayne staring at her from his side of the desk. She smiled.

“By the way, I have a flower shop nearby. Elysium Flower Shop. This weekend will mark its grand opening. If... Doctor Zayne has time, perhaps stop by for a bit? I will be delighted if he does…”

Lunaire hesitantly observed Zayne's expression. His face remained the same, nothing had altered to indicate whether he would agree, or if he was happy to see her again. Zayne simply replied: "I will see."

Lunaire nodded slightly to say goodbye to him, attempting to disguise the disappointment that was quickly showing on her face. 

When the door closed behind the girl, the jasmine bud in Dr. Zayne's window suddenly stretched out, bursting with white petals. He smiled a little, realizing it was a present from his childhood friend.

Artwork: commissioned by me.

Artist: Thiếu I-ốt

[naturessprout01]

 Nainital with Friends and Charming Accommodations

There's something magical about planning a getaway with friends, isn't there? The excitement of exploring new places, the anticipation of shared adventures, and the joy of creating memories together – it's the stuff that dreams are made of. 

Recently, my friends and I embarked on a delightful journey to the charming hill station of Nainital, nestled amidst the serene mountains of Uttarakhand, India. 

And let me tell you, it was an experience like no other.

First things first, let's talk about accommodations. Nainital offers an excess of options to suit every budget and preference, ranging from cozy homestays to luxurious resorts. For those seeking a home away from home, homestays are the perfect choice. We opted for a quaint homestay tucked away in the heart of the town, offering warm hospitality and breathtaking views of the surrounding hills. Our hosts welcomed us with open arms, treating us to delicious homemade meals and sharing stories of life in the mountains. It was a truly immersive experience, allowing us to connect with the local culture and forge lasting friendships.

If you're in the mood for a bit of luxury, Nainital has no shortage of upscale lake view hotels and resorts that cater to every whim and fancy. 

 Some reference are given below

●  The Naini Retreat Nainital

●  Nainital Willows

●  Nature’s Sprout Nainital Hives

●  Hotel Cloud 7

●  Classic The Mall

●  Lakeside Inn

●  Swiss Cottage

For those who prefer a more rustic experience, camping under the stars is a popular option in Nainital. There are several campsites dotted around the town, offering a chance to reconnect with nature and experience the thrill of sleeping under the open sky. We spent a night camping by the serene Khurpatal Lake, roasting marshmallows over a crackling bonfire and trading ghost stories late into the night. It was a back-to-basics adventure that brought us closer to the beauty of the great outdoors and reminded us of the simple pleasures of life.

From boating on the tranquil waters of Naini Lake to trekking through the lush forests of Snow View Point, there's no shortage of adventures to be had in this picturesque paradise. We spent our days exploring the charming markets of Mall Road, sampling local delicacies, and admiring the stunning vistas from vantage points scattered around the town. 

And when the sun set behind the mountains, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, we found ourselves grateful for the opportunity to witness such breathtaking beauty with our own eyes.

Of course, no adventure is complete without a few unexpected twists and turns along the way. From navigating winding mountain roads to braving sudden rain showers, we encountered our fair share of challenges during our time in Nainital. But it was these moments of adversity that brought us closer together, reminding us of the importance of teamwork, resilience, and a good sense of humor in the face of uncertainty.

As our trip drew to a close and we reluctantly bid farewell to the stunning landscapes of Nainital, we couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the experiences we had shared and the memories we had created together. Whether it was cozying up in our homestay, indulging in luxury at a five-star hotel, or roughing it out under the stars, each accommodation had played a unique role in shaping our Nainital experience. And as we journeyed back home, hearts full and spirits rejuvenated, we carried with us the cherished memories of our time in this enchanting hill station – memories that would stay with us for a lifetime.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Cabin in the Woods [18+]

Jackson Neill x Female Reader

For @storiesofsvu​’s Fall Bingo! Requested by @resparza​​! 

Summary: You and Jackson take a trip to New England that goes slightly awry.

Warnings: NSFW, nipple play, fingering, praise, slow gentle sex until the end when it gets a lil rough. Fluffy fluff & the tiniest bit of angst (so Jackson can reassure you). Trans male version here

3,350 words

Jackson made a tiny mistake with the timing. He booked your leaf-peeping getaway for mid-October, when the leaves in the city were just beginning to turn.

When you arrived at your cozy Airbnb in the mountains of Vermont, you were greeted by the awe-inspiring sight of… sticks.

“Goddammit. I forgot how geography works,” Jackson griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d been in a sour mood for most of the drive up I-91 when the scenery started to look distinctly more ashen than orange halfway through Massachusetts.

“It’s like we time-traveled two weeks into the future,” you marveled at the bare tree branches rattling in a chilly breeze. Your rustic cedar-shingle cabin was surrounded by forest and at the end of a long dirt driveway. Even without the screen of leaves, you couldn’t see any neighbors.

“So much for leaf-peeping. There are no leaves.”

You picked up a bright red maple leaf from the driveway. “Found one!”

He chuckled at your enthusiasm and shook his head. “If I made our reservation a week earlier, the foliage would be, you know, in trees.”

“Found another!” you pointed at the colorful ground, grinning. “There’s another!” You picked each one up and tossed them at him like confetti.

“Alright!” he groaned, curling his elbow about your neck like a shepherd’s crook to wrangle you in. “I see you refuse to have a miserable time. Won’t even wallow with me for two seconds?”

“I think it’s pretty.” You turned in his arm and kissed him.

The tip of your nose was cold, but your lips were warm as he kissed you back and tried to look on the bright side. Just because things weren’t going to plan didn’t mean he had to relapse into his ingrained Catholic guilt.

***

Since the publication of his book, Meyerism: A New American Religion, Jackson Neill had been receiving threats from the eponymous cult that had him on edge. Not only was he afraid for himself—he wasn’t so macho to pretend otherwise—but he worried about you or his kids getting caught in the crossfire. The deeper he dug into the Meyerist Movement, the more he was convinced they were capable of anything.

This vacation was supposed to be a way to leave all that behind for a weekend, but stress clung to him like spiderwebs.

At least the weather was cooperative. Friday afternoon was clear and sunny—just the right temperature to sit out on the porch with a hot cup of cider. After unpacking, you settled down with Jackson on Adirondack chairs and listened to the sounds of nature as the fading sun slanted orange and red through the forest.

Pops of bright color still stood out amid the dull grey-brown landscape like flames—late trees that had waited for your arrival to change.

“You’re right: it is pretty,” Jackson conceded, your hand nested in his. Your fingertips were getting cold, so he held them to his lips and blew on them.

Tomorrow, you’d go on a nice hike with a beautiful view of the snow-capped Green Mountains. The trip wasn’t a total waste, Jackson thought. He tried to relax.

***

The next morning, you awoke to the pounding of rain on the roof and Jackson pacing downstairs in the living room. The entire cabin creaked and groaned with the force of the wind, and you quickly pulled on a sweater and wool socks before padding down the stairs.

Jackson was tapping at his phone, muttering under his breath, before finally tossing the useless device on the couch with a dry laugh. His apparent crankiness couldn’t have been that bad, though—he’d gotten up early to light about a hundred votive candles, filling the dim living room with flickering golden light. He must have been planning something romantic.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“No signal out here in God’s country,” Jackson rolled his eyes at a wooden cross decorating a door frame, which had not been visible in the listing photographs.

“Isn’t there Wi-Fi?”

Jackson stared at you with lips so thin they vanished into a fine line, and eyes that looked ready to shatter like exploding light bulbs at any moment. “Storm knocked out the power.”

Oh. That was why he lit candles.

“And our hike is canceled, unless you want to go out in that.” A freezing mix of rain and sleet rattled the window panes.

It was easy to let another person’s bad mood get you down, but you tried to stay positive. He’d been so tense lately, he needed support. You both needed this vacation to go well. “That’s OK. We can stay in and get cozy with the fireplace.”

“You would think so,” he gave a humorless chuckle, shaking your arm off to sulk into the open-plan kitchen. “The listing said breakfast was included, but the refrigerator is empty. We’ve got… toast.”

“Maybe we can drive into town? Find one of those quaint little bakeries.”

“Out into the cold,” he sighed. “And we don’t have internet to look a place up. No wonder the host thinks they can get away with starving us—I can’t even call to complain!”

The wall of positivity you’d constructed groaned and cracked, and the anxiety it held back began to stream through. You sank down onto the couch.

Oblivious, Jackson hunted through the charmingly rustic (and empty) cabinets with an increasingly frustrated frown. “This trip is a disaster.” The words stung as surely as if he called you a disaster.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” He turned. Your voice was so quiet he barely heard you say anything.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated so he would hear, lower lip trembling with the effort.

It took him three strides to cross the entire cabin, and he was on top of you, kneeling in front of the couch, stroking your face. “Hey, no, no… What are you talking about?” His green eyes were soft as the hay fields you’d passed yesterday as they searched yours.

“It was my idea to come here,” you sniffed.

“I know.” His head tilted, and frown lines creased his forehead. “I wanted this weekend to be perfect for you, and I can’t get anything right. I don’t know why you’re sorry. This is my fault.”

“But it’s my fault you’re miserable. I thought getting away from the city would be relaxing. I wanted some alone time with you. But you’re not having any fun. I just don’t want you to be upset…”

Something changed in his eyes.

“I… I’m not upset.” His thumb gently stroked your cheek. “I’m not upset at all—not at you. Maybe at myself. Fine, entirely at myself. This was your trip, and I fucked it up. I hate disappointing you.”

A hint of a smile crept back into your face. You covered his hand with your own and turned into it to kiss his palm. “Jax, you could never disappoint me. All I wanted out of this trip was to spend time with you. So long as we’re together, I’m happy.”

“You don’t look happy.” A flicker of a self-deprecating smirk. “Guess I ruined things by being a grouch, huh?”

Your face once again threatened a smile. “No…”

“Yes. I’m a big mean grouch. Come on, you can tell me off,” he grinned, leaning close to your neck and purring his words against your earlobe. “Punish me. Throw a handful of sleet down my shirt. Push me into a pile of wet leaves.”

“Nooo!” you squirmed beneath him, fighting a laugh as he invented tortures for himself and kissed them into your skin.

“Come on, I deserve it.” He pulled back, and a smile broke across his face like dawn to see how your eyes had brightened.

“Alright, alright. Maybe just a little sleet.”

“From now on”—he pressed his lips against your neck again and sucked lightly at the beat of your pulse point—“I promise”—he nibbled his way over your jaw—“to appreciate every moment of our vacation”—his lips ghosted against yours—“and make sure you feel good.”

You pulled him down onto the couch with you, falling back onto the cushions as his lips melted with yours and his tongue hunted for a moan inside your mouth. He found one, long, slow, and tortured as you tasted the raw heat of his apology.

“Mmm,” you hummed as if a chocolate truffle were melting on your tongue. “You want to make me feel good?”

“Yes,” he sighed back, lips moving against your cheek and his hips lazily grinding against your thigh.

“I have a few ideas about how you could do that…”

“So do I.”

His long fingers slid down your stomach and slipped beneath the waistband of your flannel pajama pants. You drew a sharp breath as his pads grazed the top of your slit, and he paused, looking to you with lust-blown eyes for permission to continue. Sucking your lower lip between your teeth, you angled your pelvis to move his fingers onto the aching bud of flesh that sent hot shivers out beneath your skin at the contact.

“Seems we’re on the same page, Dr. Neill,” you whispered, and captured his lips again.

Moaning into the kiss with a dark, gravelly rumble, Jackson let his fingers venture deeper into your folds. You weren’t drenched for him yet. Moments ago, you had been on the verge of crying, and he still had to reassure your body that it was wonderful and loved—but he was a patient man and enjoyed taking his time. Each breath and sigh was a signal he attended like a rapt student in the front row of the classroom, his own pleasure coursing through his veins as he played with your pussylips and brought out your trust and desire.

“Shirt off.”

Nodding, you peeled the hem up over your stomach, and he sat up to help you wriggle it off over your shoulders. While he was at it, he pulled off your pajama bottoms and stripped to his boxers.

“Hey, I’m cold,” you whined, pouting as goosebumps began to prickle over your naked arms.

He pulled the fleece blanket off the back of the couch and covered you both with it. “I’ll keep you warm, querida,” he purred as he lowered himself over you.

A hot flush spread over your skin. You loved when he spoke Spanish—sweetly, with the vocabulary of a 1950s telenovela, and full of diminutives the way his mother used to speak it to him as a child. A well-placed querida or cielito could send shivers up your spine. It was nothing compared to the back-arching jolt a moment later when his tongue teased your nipple.

You cried out, fingers curling sharply into his hair as if his tongue carried an electric charge, unsure if you were trying to push him off or pull him closer and make sure he never stopped. As he gently sucked and your sensitive flesh pebbled into a stiff peak beneath his circling tongue, you were leaning toward the latter. Head thrown back, you gasped out his name, begging for more.

He worshiped your chest, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful, attentive expression, but he didn’t give you more, no matter how you clawed at the back of his scalp. His tongue worked in gentle, leisurely circles, tracing one fully before moving on to give attention to the other.

Fingers delving back between your thighs, he found your clit swollen and throbbing. You let out a startled, sobbing moan as he stroked it, your back arching, clinging to his head almost painfully tight to brace against the overwhelming sensation. If he kept touching your two most sensitive areas at the same time, you were going to come fast.

“Easy…” he soothed, sensing your agitated level of arousal. “I want to make this last. Can you be good for me and wait?”

Whimpering, you nodded and loosened your tight grip.

“Yes, Dr. Neill.”

“Good girl.”

As he languidly serviced your nipples, he dragged his fingers lower, through your folds. It still made your skin prickle with wanting, but without direct contact with your clit, you wouldn’t come as fast.

When he found your entrance with the pad of a finger, it was slick enough to press inside without resistance. You let out a delicious, tortured moan as the long digit penetrated your tight walls, opening them a little at a time.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. So wet. That’s my good girl.” He lifted his face from your chest to kiss you in praise.

Your hips writhed to push the finger deeper as you kissed him back. He was hungry to reconnect with you—to go slowly and spend as much time as he could sharing pleasure with your naked body—but you were starving. You might explode if he didn’t fuck you.

He moaned softly as your wetness swallowed more of his finger. “Feels like you’re sucking it. Trying to pull me in. You must want more.”

“Yes… please,” you whined, your hands gripping at his broad shoulders.

A second finger stretched your entrance, and he began slowly fucking you with both.

“Oh, fuck. More! Harder,” you moaned.

“You sound so desperate,” he observed casually. “Like one of my students trying to cram for a test.” Heavy-lidded bedroom eyes betrayed his desire, but he wore a cheeky grin and did not increase his pace.

Wet sounds of flesh filled the cabin, so slow it was torture. “Please, Jackson… please let me come. Please…” you begged, but he just kept watching you studiously, worshipfully, as he fingered you slowly. Enough to keep you begging, but not enough to let you finish.

He was straddling one of your legs, and his cock pressed rock-hard into your thigh. Every so often, you would feel it twitch, usually when his fingers massaged a sensitive spot inside that made you give a satisfying noise, and he could feel your pussy gripping around him. Then he would murmur, “You’re so beautiful. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Only when you were a drooling, trembling mess that could barely string two intelligible words together did he start to actively roll his hips, rubbing his erection against your leg.

“Do you want more?”

“Y-yes,” you sobbed.

He sat back on his haunches, and you wailed as his fingers slipped from your yearning wetness, leaving you so empty. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked softly, so tenderly that “fuck” sounded like the most romantic, poetic word in the English language.

“I love you,” you replied, which wasn’t technically a yes, but made Jackson’s breath catch suddenly in his throat.

“I love you, too, mi corazón.” He tugged the elastic waistband of his boxers down over his straining cock, and, taking it in his hand, notched its thick head against your entrance. His forehead rested against yours as he demanded huskily, “Now tell me you want me inside you.”

You gasped. He was so big and blunt against your tight pussy, you almost didn’t think he could fit. But you knew he could—and you knew that was why he always warmed you up so gradually, so agonizingly, so he would never hurt you. With the crown of his cock stretching your opening, the temptation of being filled by him was so close that an unbearable ache drowned out every other thought.

“I want you, Jackson. I need you.”

A thrill rushed through you as his walls came crashing down. His hips canted forward, and a pleasurable burn filled your depths as his cock stretched you open farther than seemed possible—and you watched his mind empty in that moment. All the stress and worry were gone. Nothing was on his mind but you and how good you felt wrapped around him. Nothing existed for you but him between your legs and the ragged sound of his breathing.

As if to seamlessly replace his fingers with his cock, he set the same languid pace. At first, the difference in girth was enough to make it infinitely more intense. Relief cascaded through you as your pleasure finally began to build toward a finale, heat pooling in your lower body with every thrust. Dipping his head, Jackson found a hardened nipple and sucked it until you were babbling incoherently, hips jerking to add to the depth and friction he was giving you.

“H-harder,” you whispered, and this time, he didn’t tease you.

Your pussy coated his cock with so much cream, he knew you could take all of him. Knew you were ready to snap, and so was he—so his hips pounded faster, thighs slapping your skin, heavy balls swinging against your ass.

“Yes… yes… yes…” he breathed rhythmically, chasing his climax as your arousal coated his cock and slicked your thighs.

“More,” you rasped, though your fingernails were already digging red crescents into his back, the stretch almost too much. He needed a stress release, and you wanted to be his outlet. “Let yourself go.”

A final barrier broke inside him, and he took you so quickly, it was more like jerking himself off with your body than making love. Nothing went through his mind but seeking his own release. For a moment, Even you vanished, and there was nothing but his cock surrounded and gripped by unbelievable warmth. You cried out in pleasure at the new depths he struck with reckless abandon.

His hips stuttered. “Fuck!” he gasped, fingers gripping the couch cushion as his hot seed painted your inner walls.

He panted, going still. After a few moments of catching his breath, cock twitching the remainder of its contents into you, he wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow and opened his eyes.

“You didn’t come, did you?” He gave a sheepish sigh.

“It’s OK. Sometimes it takes me too long… It was fun anyway.”

“Stop that. Whoever gave you those excuses is a fucking idiot.”

Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he reached between your bodies to stroke your clit. You gasped out, finding your body responded quickly with waves of molten heat exploding between your thighs. You were still close to finishing.

Jackson circled his hips, using his spent, tender cock while it was still hard. Though each movement was overstimulating and made his body cry out to stop, he savored the way you responded to the pressure: your eyes squeezing closed, your breath growing shallow. He lowered his mouth to your chest again, stroking your clit faster as he flicked his tongue and rocked his hips in shallow thrusts. Your moans built, louder and more strained, back arching beneath him until finally, you came, walls crashing around him, convulsing and releasing, then clenching down again as your whole body shuddered with wave after wave of ecstasy.

Jackson’s mouth popped off the bud of your nipple as a pained moan tore from his throat. His exhausted cock suffered as your pussy involuntarily tried to milk another orgasm from it, but there was a smile on his lips. A breathy laugh.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You’re perfect.”

You lay together for a while under the blanket. Even after you’d recovered, your shared body heat was incentive enough not to want to get up yet. The storm outside didn’t relent, and despite the warm light of a hundred flickering candles, the air inside the cabin was chilly. Soon, you would start up the fire in the rustic stone hearth, and you could stay cozy inside all day roasting marshmallows and reading books or playing board games. After a brief trip into town for supplies, that is. Besides, you would have to brave the storm to make good on your promise to slip some ice down his shirt.

For now, Jackson’s face was buried contentedly in the curve of your neck, hot puffs of breath tickling your skin. You held him in your arms, combing your fingers through his hair.

“So,” you murmured. “Enjoying our vacation yet?”

You felt him smile. “It’s everything I needed.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @detectivebarba​

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two (redux) 39

An hour passed, and then two. Nyota watched the sun rise through wisps of falling snow, as it stained the sky rosy-gold and then soft blue. Geo kept talking, first with stories about his children and then spinning yarns he’d heard from traveling traders. Nyota noticed the absence of stories about the rebellion. Perhaps he meant it as courtesy.

“Geo,” she said as the last tale (nearly unbelievable, who would put a bobfae in a space suit) drew to a close. “Geo, I am sorry.”

He looked up from the mug at his lips. “For what?” A long sip. “Were you dozing off on me?”

“No, for—”

Geo held up a hand. “I am going to stop you there, ma’am. Don’t say what you’re about to say.”

“But—”

“Chances are, if I’ve guessed right, it’s going to spoil this cozy mood between us.” He met her eyes at last, and all the challenge he’d avoided rested behind his now. “Am I right?”

Nyota sighed. “You are right. But still, I… lied to you. You’ve been kind to me. I felt I owed you an apology.”

“In all fairness,” Geo replied, in a startling imitation of the dry tone Nyota often used, “I kind of caused you a lot of trouble this morning. Call it making amends on my side, if you like.” He took one hand off his coffee mug again to run his fingers through his dark beard. “I knew who you were when we fought side by side at that glitch’s castle. Didn’t stop me from helping, right?”

Nyota smiled at the memory of him charging through the Occasus, roar ringing in her ears and axe whirling like liquid silver. “You helped very well.”

“You’ve always been the Protectorate Captain to me,” he said simply. “That’s the only Nyota Saimiri I know. Maybe you feel like you have to atone for everything to everyone, but I just want to think of you as you are now.”

Nyota’s smile faded into a sigh. “I am very tired,” she whispered, “of living my series of lies.”

Geo finished his coffee and set the mug aside with a quiet dulled click. “You’re going to need to lie a whole lot more if you want to survive siding with the rebels, you know.”

“I know. I would just rather not do so to my friends.”

The silence was longer this time, and she knew her words had hit home. She looked up at him with a thin, tired smile and said “It is very hard to be Captain Nyota when I keep acting like Agent Saimiri.”

Geo nodded slowly; Nyota saw his hand shift like he was resisting the habit of scratching his beard again to sort out his thoughts. “Tell you what.” He steepled his fingers and watched her over the tips. “You keep proving to me that you aren’t that woman anymore. When you finally believe it too, we can kill her together, bury her properly, and live. Sound good?”

The weight of the words he said so lightly took her breath away and sent bubbles of excitement roiling up her throat. A solution she’d never thought of. “Sounds good,” she agreed, and started smiling again as he patted her back. “Though I am afraid you will have to wait for my next visit to appraise my progress.” She stared up at the sky, suddenly some mix of restless and wistful. “We have so much to do.”

“Well, do not let me hold you up,” Geo said, grinning. “Good luck to you out there.”

Nyota cast a wry glance over her crew. Arjun’s sleepy shuffling to the coffee pot was the only movement among them. “I do not think you’ll be the one holding me up.” She stood up and stretched. “Might I ask one last favor? I might need an extra set of hands for making breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Geo sounded a mystified. “Do you cook for everyone all the time?”

“It’s the most effective way to get them all out of bed. And I enjoy it.” She helped Geo to his feet. “Of course, there will be some for you, too.”

He chuckled. “In that case, count me in.”

Lumen drifted over to join them first, tired and creaking from the cold. Arjun joined them just long enough to refill his coffee and take a pair of mugs back for Hadley and Oldarva. Geo laughed again when he caught Hadley’s sharp curse as the hot, bitter drink snapped the last of the sleepiness out of her. She had grabbed the wrong mug.

“Captain,” Hadley said as she shuffled over, mug held tight in her hand, “you make a damn good cup of coffee, but the tea needs a warning label.”

Oldarva followed and lightly pulled the mug out of Hadley’s hands to take a long sip. “It’s not that bad,” she said, “Just very strong.”

“Yeah, exactly. Your fur’s standing on end.”

Nyota chuckled softly and helped Geo serve pancakes to a few sleepy rebels who had wandered over to see what the ruckus was about. “Gather your belongings when you’re done with breakfast,” she told her crew. “We have work to do today.”

[taeyongssmile]

🥀 Happy Valentine's Day 🥀

♥️ Genre: Supernatural, Horror, one shot

♥️ Characters: Taeyong, OC & female reader

♥️ Word Count: 1093

♥️ Warnings: Death

"Valentine's Day" Taeyong smirked. "A day when hearts are given so freely" he said as he walked around the girl held up by a bondage contraption. His footsteps on the plastic covered floor echoed in the empty warehouse. "It's my favorite of all the holidays, you know. Though, I do tend to take it more literally than others". He had come full circle and stopped directly in front of the girl. He noticed the way her hooded gaze roamed over him taking in the silver hue of his hair that was brushed back from his forehead with just a sliver of strands meeting his dark eyebrows. Then, down to his lips which held a hint of a smile, there was a confidence to his look, to his stance. Moving her gaze lower to the obsidian shirt that teased her with a hint of skin from where a few buttons were undone.

Taeyong watched as she licked her lips in anticipation of what’s to come. He knew she wasn’t paying attention to anything he said. She was too caught up in the fantasies of what she thought was going to happen here. In a way her thoughts were correct, pain and pleasure were on the menu tonight, just not in the way she expected.

Taeyong delicately traced the outline of her face with his long and slender fingers. Some part of him that was long forgotten begged for him to memorize this face, to cherish this face, to feel a lick of remorse for what’s to come so that he could finally put a stop to the madness that stained his life. But that part of him was so small, so insignificant, so easy to flick away and silence it. The voice that now took over his mind was that of a predator. He assessed her, she was fit, healthy, and flawless. The perfect candidate.

He wanted to drag this out, have some fun, give her what she wanted and then take everything he needed. But time was not on his side. The night had only begun and there was much to do.

Without delaying any further, he cracked his neck in preparation. His fingers that now lay on the pulse point of her neck trailed slowly over her collarbone, down her chest and onto the swells of her breast. Her could feel the rapid beating of her heart as he locked eyes with her. It was a melody that sang to his soul. His eyes instinctively closed, savoring the moment. Then, in one swift movement he plunged his hand into her chest, held onto the life beating in his hands and then ripped it out.

The light in the girl’s eyes faded as she slumped forward, dangling on the ropes that held her up. Taking no time to relish in his kill, Taeyong devoured her still beating heart like a ravenous beast. The essence of her precious life refueling his dying body. He could feel his stone heart starting the agonizing process of beating. He could feel the warmth of her blood flowing through his starved veins. Though the moment was fleeting. This was only the beginning. One down, 126 more to go before he could refuel himself for the year.

~

There were perks to joining the Neo Cult. For one, you could live forever. That was the tagline of the society, immortality. It's what drew in all of its members. The greed for eternal life. A chance to see all the ages this world has to give. To build an empire for yourself. To create your own legacy. And to top it off, it also promised youth. For one would never age nor die. And a side effect was strength, with each passing Valentine’s day the members of Neo Cult found that their strength had built to something inhumane.

Taeyong was young and ambitious when he was approached by the founding father of this society, Lee Sooman. He was instantly enthralled by the man’s sweet words and promises and hastily pledged his allegiance to the Neo Cult without reading the fine print. Now, a century later, he finds himself prowling the streets of Seoul looking for youthful humans whose life he could steal so that he could continue living.

At first, he was appalled by the thought of killing a person for personal gain but once the painful process of desiccation started, his humanity went out the window. He could not help his nature. He could not ignore the voices in his head begging him to make the pain go away. And so, he found his first victim. The guilt of his actions plagued him. Though, over the years, the guilt lessened to a point of non-existence. The more you performed the ritual the easier it became. And eventually such emotions went away entirely.

~

Taeyong stalked the streets that were lined with heaps of snow. It was the peak of winter, the air was frigidly cold, but with all the hearts he had devoured he was feeling rather warm and cozy.

Over the years Taeyong developed a little game to satisfy the boredom that came with forever. His immortality demanded 127 hearts. It was a considerable amount to get through in a day. So, he would plan out each victim in advance except for the last one. She would be a wildcard. A prey chosen on the day. And with this last victim he planned to make her think she had a chance to survive it all. He’d first sweep her off her feet, give in to all her fantasies. And then the predator will come out to play. His little lamb will then run for her life and once she finally think’s she’s safe… he’ll pounce.

Taeyong’s plans brought a sinister smile to his lips as he slipped into a Starbucks. Purchasing an iced americano and his favorite sweet potato snack, he made himself comfortable in a corner seat. He whipped out his phone and began his search. He loved how modern-day technology and dating apps made his life a million times easier than it was back in the day. Within minutes he found his little lamb.

She was beautiful and vibrant. There was life that shined through so brightly in her images. She had ticked all his prerequisite boxes. Youthful, fit, flawless. He even found her name to be of his liking…

'Y/N'

He swiped on her picture and it turned into an instant match. His smile only broadened. “So, Y/N, my little lamb, let the hunt begin”.

Hope you guys like this, I wasn't in a loving mood this vday 🤭

So sorry that Taeyong's going to eat your heart but who knows maybe you'll be the one who changes him. Maybe he'll forsake his immortality for you ....

Or perhaps not... 😬

[emmerrr]

Possible prompt if you’re interested could be Declan finally seeing one of the portraits Jordan does of him! Alternatively, jordeclan moving in together and creating a space where neither of them has to hide themself in an attic

i can’t resist a moving in fic and i’m sorry this took so long

-

It’s late afternoon when the final box is removed from the moving van, and just for a moment, the excitement is overshadowed by the overwhelming task of unpacking that lies ahead.

Boxes, boxes, everywhere. Declan closes the front door and follows a trail of them to the bedroom where he finds Jordan, curled up on top of the bed they’ve not long finished making. Her eyes are shut, her breathing even, but Declan isn’t fooled.

He crosses his arms and leans nonchalantly against the doorframe. “Faker.”

Jordan affects a snore which makes Declan laugh, and she opens an eye, that wicked grin that stole his heart spreading across her face. She pats the empty space beside her. “You know you want to.”

He really, really does. He kicks off his shoes and crawls up beside her, his feet instantly grateful for the reprieve. He groans happily, sinking his face into the softest pillow in the world. He feels Jordan press her face into his arm and turns his head, and for a moment they just watch each other.

“We have so much unpacking to do,” Declan finally says.

Jordan nods. “We do. Don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere.” She lifts Declan’s arm and tucks herself underneath, then kisses his collarbone.

He sighs, happily resigned to his fate. The house is still a mess of boxes, they need some more furniture, and the whole thing is still too new and alien for it to quite feel like home. But with Jordan in his arms, nodding off to sleep in the bed they now share in the place that’s just theirs, it’s the closest to home Declan’s ever felt.

-

“What do you think?”

“It’s hideous.”

“Isn’t it?” Jordan says dreamily. “Sit on it.”

Declan eyes the armchair dubiously. It’s some kind of paisley print in the most garish of colour schemes; bright pink and orange, smatterings of yellow and turquoise. “It won’t go with the rest of the living room furniture,” he tries.

“Your doubts are duly noted,” Jordan says sagely. “Sit.”

“...This feels like a trap.”

“Sit.”

Declan sits.

It’s the most comfortable chair he’s ever had the pleasure of sitting on, and he does everything he can not to let his face give that fact away. He shrugs. “It’s alright.”

Jordan grins the grin of the triumphant, and Declan knows they’re getting it.

He tries to imagine it in their space, and suddenly finds that he can. He can picture where it will go; at an angle, equidistant from the fireplace and the TV. He can picture them in the winter, him and Jordan cuddled up together, blanket tossed over them, snow falling outside, the light of the fire covering the whole room in a cozy glow.

He thinks he might be going soft, and he thinks that might be okay.

“I told you we’d find something in a thrift store,” Jordan says, her fingers twined through his as she leads him to the checkout counter.

He pulls her hand to his mouth, kisses it gently. “So you did.”

-

The furniture is pulled back from the walls and newspaper covers the floor as Jordan and Declan stand, paint rollers in hand, transforming their bedroom walls from a bland and safe off-white to a lovely deep forest-green.

Jordan’s phone is playing music through wireless speakers, a playlist that seems to jump from Rihanna to Metallica to Taylor Swift to Arcade Fire to some K-pop band Declan doesn’t know the name of, and so on, in no discernable pattern that he can follow.

“What playlist is this?”

Jordan smiles wryly. “It’s all songs that Hennessy hates.”

Declan thinks about that, and about all the canvases in the spare room that Jordan has set up as her art studio, original pieces that she started and then aborted.

“Is there still a part of you,” he says carefully, “that thinks everything you like, or create, or choose, is really just some facet of Hennessy’s personality and not truly your own?”

Jordan’s expression hardens, and he knows he’s hit a nerve. “That depends,” she says evenly. “Is there still a part of you that thinks this is doomed? You and me?”

It’s Declan’s turn for a wry smile. “Touché.”

Their love story is a unique one, and Declan can’t deny he’s had his moments of thinking that it’s all going to end in flames. But through it all he also knows that he’d still be here, even if they were heading towards their inevitable end. He wants this, for as long as he can have it.

It’s hard to stop constantly thinking about worst case scenarios, because it’s so ingrained in Declan to do just that. But Jordan quiets that part of his brain with a touch, or even a look. Just being in her presence is a balm to his heart and his mind.

They’re happy. And maybe they’ll be okay. Who’s to say?

“For the record,” he says at last, “I don’t think this is doomed.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “No. And also, you are your own person, independent of Hennessy.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Jordan puts down her roller, and cups Declan’s face, bringing it down to hers as she kisses him. She’s probably getting paint on his face, but he doesn’t care; not now, not ever.

“For what it’s worth, you are the best choice I ever made,” she says fiercely, her forehead pressed to his.

He kisses her again, soft. “It’s worth everything.”

-

“When are you going to put your paintings up?”

It’s a fair question. They’ve been here almost four months now, and everything from Declan’s attic in the D.C. house is still leaning up against the wall in Jordan’s art studio, covered over.

“There’s no attic here.”

“Ha, ha,” Jordan says sarcastically.

The truth is, he doesn’t know quite why he hasn’t gotten around to it. At first it was for practical reasons; they had painting and other repair work to do in several rooms, so it made sense to wait until that was all finished.

But it is finished now, and it has been for weeks, and other art pieces and photographs have gone up; some of it Jordan’s own work, some that she bought (or stole) once upon a time, some that they bought together. But nothing from his own collection, nothing that he had kept locked up for his eyes only until Jordan had shown up and gently prised the key from his hand.

His silence drags for so long that Jordan drops the sarcasm. She puts her hand on his chest. “This is our place. Yours and mine. You don’t have to hide here.”

Because he has been hiding away, for years, so much so that it’s habit more than anything that seemingly forbade him from doing anything that wasn’t cookie-cutter.

But Jordan sees him, she knows him; the real him behind the slick, designer veneer, and that’s the part she loves.

The part that wears fancy shoes.

“Come on, then,” he says, taking her hand. “You can help me decide where they should go.”

“I’m so glad you said that because actually I already have some ideas,” she says, and that's how they spend the afternoon.

They take Declan out of the attic, one piece at a time.

-

It’s quiet when Declan gets home. He takes his shoes off by the door and hangs his coat up, then makes his way through the house, peeking in each of the rooms in search of Jordan.

She’s not in the living room, where Declan’s favourite hideous armchair now lives. Matthew fell asleep in it on New Year’s Eve, and Ronan drew a monocle and handlebar moustache on his face. It had been a quiet one; they’d played games most of the evening, almost all of which were won by Adam, and at midnight Ronan and Hennessy had been in charge of the dream fireworks they set off outside.

The kitchen is also empty when Declan scans it, his eyes lingering on the slight chip in one of the floorboards from where Jordan had dropped the admittedly ridiculously heavy cast-iron skillet when they were unpacking. He remembers accidentally flipping a pancake right out of the pan and onto the burner. He remembers burnt toast and spilt coffee and broken crockery, and various other messes, but most of all he remembers the laughter that went along with all of it. The dancing in the kitchen at 2am, the doing the dishes in companionable silence, the domesticity in helping each other prepare a meal.

These are the things Declan now thinks about when he thinks about the concept of home. Maybe it’s a place where the good memories you make outweigh the ones that hurt. Maybe home is what you make of it, the stamp you put on it to make it your own. Maybe home is a person. 

Maybe it’s a combination of all of those things.

Declan finds Jordan, inevitably, in her studio. She has headphones on which explains the quiet, and she’s working on a painting, the canvas almost as tall as she is. There’s no reference that Declan can see, and it’s not a copy. She’s painting just for the sake of it, a complete original.

He moves carefully around until he’s in Jordan’s eyeline, and the laser focus in her eyes shifts to a smile of delight when she spots him. There’s paint splattered on her overalls, specks of it on her face and in her hair, but she never looks more radiant than when she looks at Declan like this.

“You’re home!” she exclaims, pulling her headphones down.

“I am,” he agrees, warmth settling in his chest.

“I’d kiss you but I’m all painty.”

“I don’t care,” Declan says, and he closes the gap between them, sweeping her up into his arms as he kisses her, swallowing up her delighted little “oh!”

“You’re in a good mood,” she says with a laugh when he puts her down.

“Just happy to be home.” It’s so strange to finally be able to say that, and to really mean it. He’s home with Jordan, where he belongs. “You about ready to take a break? I was going to make coffee.”

“I’ll be out in a minute. Make me a latte?”

Declan smiles. “For you? Anything.”

[magalidragon]

targaryen’s seven | a Jonerys drabble

A/N: I could not help myself and just threw down this Drabble. I  don’t want to post it on Ao3 just yet because is not a full one-shot nor is it going to be multi-chapter (in the near future, maybe one day I will come back to it) but thought you guys might like it.  Enjoy!

The wind bit at her exposed skin, cheeks pinking without any aide of blush or tint.  It whipped over her silver curls and braids, already pulled back taut from her face.  It would have chilled anyone’s bones, except hers.  Her bones were heated from the heavy thud of her heart against her breastbone, the rush of blood in her veins, and the fire raging inside her soul.  The fire which rose to sparkle in her lavender eyes, redden her plump and pursed lips, and thirsted for revenge.  

In the dark winter in the North, far beyond the everlasting lights and skyscrapers of King’s Landing, the craggy peaks of the Vale, and the marshy flats of the Riverlands, no one walking by on the quaint lantern-lit light posted street with its cozy restaurants, pubs, boutique hotels, and little shops devoted to preserving the heritage of the Realm’s largest, sparsest, and remotest kingdom.  

The woman standing against one of these lightposts, her hands in the pockets of her designer black trenchcoat, hardly paying attention to the bustle of people.  There were locals intermixed with tourists—it was the Dawn Festival soon—going from building to building, stopping to take photos in front of silly little cardboard cutouts of ice zombies and Northmen.

Only a few stopped in their tracks to glance at her, for she stood out among the darkness and the cold snow, her silver hair a moonlit beacon, her entire demeanor that of someone who should not be trifled with nor confronted.  One glance of her purple eyes and they were on their way, bewitched almost to forget she was even there to begin with.  

She lifted her left wrist up to peer at the heavy silver men’s wristwatch, ticking softly under the wail of the wind.  Daenerys Targaryen tsked under her breath.  “He’s late,” she murmured.  She supposed it was silly to think he would actually honor her summons.  He would not be coming then.

Well I suppose I will have to go looking for him.

Her heavy black combat boots crunched under the fresh snows, hands returning to her pockets, walking slowly down the sidewalk.  The last time she was here had not been pleasant.  The Northern History Museum had been far more difficult to crack than she’d originally planned.  She had barely made it out of there with the silver wolf circlet she’d broken in to steal.  Retrieve, she preferred, even if the authorities had different views on the matter.

The silver wolf circlet allegedly belonged to a Northern queen, who rebelled against the kingdoms and ultimately died of starvation when all her allies abandoned her. It was exceptionally expensive and the funds of which now had been siphoned into a series of orphanages the Northern government had been sorely neglecting.

Her walk took her from the local streets a bit farther off the beaten track, the lamps extinguished or nonexistent, the people fewer and fewer, until she was the only one on a darkened street.

Dany paused in front of a pub, glancing down at her phone.  A message from her hacker—Missandei—informed her his cell phone had been pinging from that location an hour ago.  She glanced up, smirked at the worn sign-- The Wildling -- hanging on one hinge.  It was not for charm, but because the owner no doubt didn’t care about it.  Perfect.

She entered the pub, which suddenly went quiet.  Everyone stared at her.  Dany reached up to pull at one of the buttons on her coat, her smile amused, gaze sweeping from one end to the other of the less than desirable establishment.  She was not a local, she should not be there, but she did not care, purposefully striding towards the ancient bar, where a gigantic man with thick red beard and wild eyebrows surveyed her with bright blue eyes.  

“Ale please,” she ordered, sweet.

The man chuckled.  “You’re not from around here.”

“Nope.”

“You lost?”

Dany smiled, taking another look over her shoulder at the clientele, all of whom were still staring at her. She met the man’s gaze again, shaking her head.  “Nope.”

They looked at each other, unblinking, for what seemed like several minutes, but was only a couple.  A boom of laughter finally broke their silent pissing contest, the man slapping his dustbin lid sized hand on the bar, pointing at her, grinning darkly.  “I like you.”  He reached under the bar for a pint.  “Attitude like that, first one’s on me.”  

“I was hoping you could pass something along for me to one of your regulars.”

“Can’t say anyone you know would be in my pub,” the man said.  He set her pint glass full of darkened ale.  He grinned again.  “But try me.”

Dany slipped her fingers into one of the inner pockets of her coat, removing a slim black box.  She set it down on the bar, pushing it with one red manicured finger towards him.  Another enigmatic smile did the trick. “This is for Jon Snow.”

The entire pub might as well have gone on mute.

The jovial bartender immediately hardened, those twinkling blue eyes now chips of ice.  He was gruff.  “Don’t know a Jon Snow.”

“I think you do Tormund Giantsbane.”  Dany climbed off her stool, took a long pull from the ale glass, and wiped the foam from her upper lip.  The gruffness of the bartender dropped like a mask at her sudden use of his full name.  She liked to stun them.  It was fun that way. She turned, calling over her shoulder.  “Put it on his tab.”

The heavy oak door swung closed behind her with a deafening thud.  Dany liked the taste of that ale, making a note she would have to return if she was ever in the mood for it again.  She tugged her phone out, now a message from her ghost, warning her that this was a bad idea and they should try some other way.  

Barristan had said the same thing.  So had Daario.  Grey and Gendry might have also agreed, if Missy and Arya hadn’t been as forceful as they had with their displeasure.  Sometimes it was bothersome to have members of a team fucking, but Dany accepted the two couples because they worked well together and did not usually let their personal issues bleed into the world.  

Plus they all had reason for this job.  Well, not Daario, but he would do anything she asked because he was in love with her.

They all tried to convince her to get someone else.  There were plenty who would kill to be a part of her team.  To join them in this endeavor.  No one else would do, she told them, calm and quiet.  

It had to be him.

She returned to her car, parked in a community lot near the main square, and paid the exorbitant parking fee, even if it probably would have been easier to just use one of Missandei’s contraptions to hack her way out of the 15 stags.  She drove off, humming along to a silly pop song playing from whatever radio station had been on when she picked up the car at the Winterfell International Airport.

Ah Winterfell, so many memories.  The castle loomed large over the city that bore its name.  It was a museum now, even if the Stark family still retained some ownership of it.  Somewhere on the other side in more modest accommodations a few of the Stark family still lived. 

The Starks weren’t as big as they once were.  They were desperate for cash.  All they had were their titles, such as they were.  Dany thought about Arya Stark, her ghost, who technically bore the honorific Lady, but if you thought of calling her that you would get a knife in the gut.  It was part of her reason for taking this job.  

They all had reasons and now she just needed the final player in the game.

In lieu of a hotel, as much as she would like someone to pull back her linens and prepare a fire for her when she turned in for the evening, she rented out a luxury cabin several miles away.  It afforded her privacy, stunning views, and a large sunken tub.  Dany liked a sunken tub.

She parked, walked up to the front door, and smiled to herself at the threshold.  So obvious. She slipped in the key and entered, turning to plug in the code for the alarm panel.  When she turned back, she slipped off her coat, and walked into the large stone paneled living room, with its great fireplace—already crackling—and mountain filled wall of windows.  

“Hello Jon.”

The chair before the fire turned, revealing its occupant, who sat rather bored, legs crossed and fingers tapped against his temple.  He looked the same as ever, she thought, if not better.  Dark raven curls, wild around his face, which had been chiseled from marble.  Dark beard dusting over his jaw and upper lip, his gray eyes black in the shadow of the fire.  All black ensemble, which she knew hid a body that was as chiseled as his face.  Smooth planes and sharp edges, he was a masterpiece.

And he was deadly.  

The gray eyes glinted, just a hint of red.  Could have been from the fire, or it could have been something else.  

Her smile peeled over her teeth.  “My white wolf,” she purred.

Jon Snow smiled in return, although it did not meet his eyes, rather cold, as cold as the storm that began outside, the faintest hints of howling wind sounding.  “Daenerys Targaryen,” he said, in his rumbling Northern burr.  He kept smiling, until he wasn’t.  

And then he was at her throat, his fingers digging into the slim column, tilting up her jaw, his breath mingling with hers, warm and raspy.  Her eyes threatened to roll back into her head and her body ignited, fire consuming her.  He barely touched his mouth to hers, barely breathing.  “I thought I said I would kill you the next time I saw you.”

Now it was her turn to smile.  She lifted her hand, his eyes rolling down to it.  The cold steel of her dragonhead knife was against his jugular.  Even if his thumb was pressing down on her carotid, threatening to cut off her oxygen, she knew he wouldn’t.  Just like he knew she wouldn’t kill him.  Draw blood maybe, but she could never kill him.  “Darling, I think you forgot, it was I who said that.”

“Hmm.”  He drew in her scent, nostrils flaring, and eyes going red again.  The wolf, she noted, her skin prickling, and her body straining towards him.  Not to break free, but to join him. There would be time for that later. His thumb dragged over her bottom lip and she darted her tongue out to touch it.  He groaned, his nose pushing to hers, laugh deep in his chest.  “You came looking for me.”

“I will always come looking for you.”

“I don’t want it.”  His dark brows arched, the feral wolf flickering over his features again, hiding his obvious desire for her.  She bucked her hips against him, reminding him.  He laughed.  “Peace offering, huh?”  He immediately let her go and flicked the box towards her.  He growled.  “You stole that from me.”

“And I’m giving it back.”  She opened the box, revealing the white wolf head pommel from the ancient Valyrian sword he kept in one of his many safehouses.  She sighed.  “I realized that it really belongs with you.”

“No, you realized no one would buy it.”

She shrugged, flicking the box towards him and he caught it one-handed, setting it down on a table behind him.  “Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toh.”

“I’m not joining you again.”

Ire flared, her eyes darkening to indigo.  “I am no longer asking you nicely.”

“Funny was that what it was when you tried to kill me?”

Of course he would bring that up.  She waved her hand dismissively.  “It was an accident.”

Jon dragged the collar of his shirt down, pointing at a knife scar on his collarbone.  “That is not an accident!”

“Oh yeah, well you stole from me!”

Now it was his turn to shrug it off.  “That money needed to go to the Night’s Watch,” he mumbled, arms crossing over his chest.  

They squared off against each other.  This was not how she planned it to go, but nevertheless.  She narrowed her eyes on him, staring.  He stared back.  No one blinked.  Until they were at each other, grappling, tugging, and tearing at each other, mouths a frenzied clash of tongues and teeth.  She drew his tongue in between her lips to slide along hers, moaning into his mouth when his large hands slipped from her shoulders to cup the sides of her breasts, straining in their cashmere sweater cage.  She lifted herself against him, remembering every feel of him, every dent and ridge of muscle, every nervous quiver, and every bump and drag of scars.

He tore from her first, a hand tangled in her immaculate braids, fingers digging into the ridge of her skull, and another on her hip, holding her to him.  “The answer is still no,” he whispered.

Dany shook her head, whispering.  “You haven’t heard my proposition.”

“I’m out.”

“Even when I tell you the mark?”

He shook his head again, although she knew him.  She’d known him since they were teenagers, misfits and unwanted, trying to scrap by on their wits and wiles.  They had bled together, fought together, fucked and almost died together.  They’d gone to jail together.  She nibbled his lower lip again and he flinched, barely, but she felt it. He still wants to know. “No,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want it.”

She cocked her head, her fingers smoothing over his cheek, dropping to cover his heart with her palm.  Eyes steady, breath even, she smiled again.  “I need my second Jon.  I need my partner.”

They all wanted her to bring in someone else.  Even someone she might have worked with in the past, none of them matched to the trust she had with Jon Snow.  He was her equal, the one she could trust above all else, the one who knew her deepest and darkest fears and desires.  Jon Snow came from nothing like she had and built himself up.  He was the only one she would ever feel comfortable doing this job with.  

There was also the fact that she was still in love with him.

Trivial thing really, she lied to herself.

Whatever they said about him, she didn’t believe it.  He was out, he was done, he’d gone straight…all lies.  He was just like her.  They were wild, they could not be tamed, and he could never settle for a boring law-abiding life.  

The irony of Jon Snow was he was the most honorable criminal she had ever met.

“No.”

Now it was time for the final play.  Her other hand cupped his head and fingers twirled with his hair at the base of his neck.  “Even if I tell you that we’re going for the Targaryen crown and dragons?”

His dark eyes lifted to hers, his breath stilled.  He said nothing.  

Her tongue dabbed her upper lip, her pupils dilating wide, smile curving again.  “The crown and the eggs will all be in a single location, for the Conquering Day Celebration, and Tywin Lannister himself will be there, to give a speech, to commemorate the day.  Robert Baratheon, Cersei Lannister, and that little fucker Tyrion will all be in attendance.”  She brushed her nose over his, whispering.  “Can’t you feel it Jon?  That wolf inside your heart?  The one howling?  What does he want?”

She knew what it wanted, just like he did.  All she needed was for him to say it.  

Jon closed his eyes, shivering, and his arms tightened around her.  “Revenge,” he murmured.  He didn’t need to say it but draining the Lannisters of their stolen riches would also be a bonus.

“Exactly.”

He gazed down at her, lips dropping to hers again, and she knew it.  She knew before he even whispered the words to her, before he kissed her and before they decided to start talking terms.  

“When do we start?”

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 11

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Heyyyyyaaaaaaa. I’m going to be honest with y’all. I have not been working on this story like I should have since I started posting. That being said, I do have a few more chapters completed but then things get a littleeeeee fuzzy bc I’ve been slacking. I’m going to try to keep up with the posting schedule I have rn, but if that doesn’t work out, please forgive me. I may need to pause for a few weeks to stack up some more chapters. BUT CROSS YOUR FINGERS I GET MY SHIT TOGETHER. As always, please like and reblog and leave me an ask if you can. :’) When you’re done reading, I would love for you guys to go find a petition you haven’t signed yet. All of my love. Xx

Melody still had nightmares. Horrible ones. Awful, haunting dreams that pressed at the edges of reality, blurring lines between sleeping and waking. But they somehow became less constant and more bearable within the next few weeks. Whether it was due to Harry’s constant, tender touches as she fell asleep every night, or to the ugly, unartistic paintings and incoherent writing she’d forced out, there were no clues. She thought Harry deserved the credit, but he thought it could be a mix of both.

Early snow dusted the city like powdered sugar, lightly enough to look pretty without making traffic a mess. Melody felt the cold dampen her mood, but Harry only seemed to brighten at the prospect of a blizzard warning. Snow dazzled him. Despite everything he’d experienced in his relatively short life, somehow winter had always remained a sort of sanctuary for him. And he’d softened himself toward everyone as a result.

“Ugh, do I have to go?” Melody asked aloud when she reentered the bedroom to find him laid out on her bed. He looked so cozy and warm in a pair of sweats with his hair mussed atop his head. She bent over him to plant a chaste kiss to his lips.

“No,” Harry said, “yeh don’.”

She smiled ruefully and stole another soft kiss from him. “Yes, I do.”

“Yeh don’ have to. Could stay here with me.”

“Harry.” Melody accepted his return kisses as he sat himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.

“Melody.” He ran a thumb over the curve of her chin and sighed.

“I need to go. Please, be nice to Bea.”

“Always am.”

“Sure you are.” She pressed her lips to his one final time and let them linger a few moments too long, until she felt his fingers sneaking around the back of her neck. If she let him touch her too much she’d end up late to her own match. “Okay, I’m leaving,” she insisted as she backed away. “I’m going. Bye.”

Harry watched her slip out of the room, collecting her gym bag on the way. He was relieved that she hadn’t told him she loved him. Every time he heard the words on her tongue he felt his very organs shift, felt them contort and fold in on themselves. He would never, ever tell her the way it made him feel, but he hoped that eventually, when he still wasn’t saying it back, she might just let the sentiment die. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“Let’s go, Harry!” Bea called from the living room.

He sighed as he rose to his feet and lumbered out of the bedroom, his cane clicking on the hardwood. The door to the apartment closed before he made it past the threshold of the room. It was only him and Bea left. There was still an awkward air between them, but it was beginning to thin. Harry thought it was because of his help with Melody’s nightmares. He didn’t like the idea that Bea had ever thought he’d be useless in a situation like that. He didn’t like that doing the bare minimum to comfort Melody had somehow made Bea more open to him.

“You don’t look enthused.”

“I don’ like to bullshit,” Harry responded.

Bea grinned. She patted the cushion beside her and waited for him to sit. She didn’t seem bothered that he sat farther from her than necessary.

“Aren’t you wondering what we’re gonna watch?” Bea asked.

Harry shrugged. “Not really.”

“What if I picked a chick flick?”

“Then I’d just fall asleep.”

“You’re not falling asleep tonight,” Bea stated. “We’re watching The Silence of the Lambs.”

Harry’s lack of reaction seemed to deflate her. She clicked a button on the remote and the opening credits of the film began to roll.

“I have no clue how you’re with someone who writes and paints,” Bea murmured.

“If yeh figure it out, let me know.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the movie started. And didn’t even exchange a glance when Queenie appeared, curling up on the cushion between them.

Bea paused after a bit to take a call from Josie and microwave a bag of popcorn, and when she returned she found her cat sprawled across Harry’s lap, purring loudly, much to Harry’s chagrin. She had to consciously stop herself from spitting out laughter. Instead, she sat back in her seat and slid the bowl of popcorn into the spot that Queenie had abandoned.

***

“That was fucked up,” Harry eventually said, when the end credits of the movie had been rolling for a few minutes.

“Yes.”

“He wore the guy’s face.”

“He eats people. I feel like that’s the more fucked up of the two.”

Harry shook his limbs, as though he could expel the disturbing parts of the movie from his memory. Queenie, who hadn’t moved since she settled into his lap, took unkindly to his movement, stretched to the floor, and bounded into Bea’s bedroom.

“Glad Melody didn’t watch this one.”

Bea drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “Melody loves scary movies,” she informed him. "But that’s because she knows they’re not real. She’s not—It’s different when you live it, right?”

Harry fell silent. Whether she agreed or not, he was the one that had dragged Melody into a horror film of her own. Now she could barely sleep in her own bed because of his brother. And he didn’t know how else he could help, how else he could ward off the monsters.

“Speak of the devil,” Bea said as she caught sight of Harry’s phone, where it buzzed on the coffee table. “Mel” was spelled across the screen. Harry leaned forward to answer the call and bring the phone to his ear.

“Hi.”

“Hey, man.”

Sean’s voice sounded muffled and uneasy. Harry felt himself stiffen almost immediately, and his body language conveyed something to Bea. She unfolded her legs to place her feet flat on the floorboards.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“Because yeh’re callin’ me from Melody’s phone and yeh sound like yeh’re about to get in trouble. Don’ fuck with me.”

There was a brief hiccup of a chuckle on the other end of the line. It was a nervous sound. Harry didn’t like it one bit.

“Uh, she lost her match.” Sean cleared his throat before he went on. “She’s about to get an X-ray of her torso done right now. I’m sure it’s just—”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Sean! Yeh could’ve led with that.” Harry was already on his feet, reaching for the arm of the sofa to keep his balance when he realized he was forgetting his cane. He doubled back and waved off Bea’s desperate vie for information.

“She’s probably fine!” Sean defended. “I don’t think she broke anything or she would’ve been a little more hysterical.”

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Harry hung up before Sean could respond. “She’s gettin’ X-rays at the hospital,” he spat at Bea, who was following him around and demanding to know what was going on. “Might have a broken rib or somethin’.”

So much for this strange bonding experience that Melody had insisted on. It felt more like something sorority sisters might do on the weekends than anything else, anyway. And Harry didn’t wait for Bea as he hobbled down the complex stairs, struggling into a jacket while supporting himself with his cane. But somehow she ended up in the cab with him, and their mutual silence felt unifying.

***

“Floor two,” the woman at the lobby’s desk said. Harry was already crossing to the elevators, so she nearly shouted the room number to him. Bea, despite being in perfect health, had to rush to keep up with him. Her curls bounced with every hurried step.

“Harry, I’m sure she’s okay.” She tugged the zipper down on her jacket as they waited for an elevator and tried to catch her breath. This felt like exercise, and Bea hated exercise. “Not that you shouldn’t be worried,” she continued, “but don’t act like she’s on the brink of death. She’s used to injuries.”

Harry snorted humorlessly. Melody didn’t know what injuries were. She told him once that she’d never been to the hospital for herself. It was always a cousin giving birth or her father getting stitches. She had never split her skin open far enough to get stitched up herself, or been hit so hard that her insides were bleeding, or snapped a bone.

There was a musical ding as an elevator reached the ground floor. Harry didn’t wait for the family on it to exit before he shouldered past them and jammed his thumb into the button for the second story. Bea was more patient. She allowed everyone out before she stepped in beside Harry and watched him smash the button to close the elevator doors. It was almost endearing to see him so concerned, but it was also too intense for her tastes.

There was no elevator music to lull the pair of them. They waited in silence until they reached the floor that Melody was on and then navigated through the halls quickly until they found the correct room number. Sean was just inside the door.

“Ah, I thought you’d gotten lost or—”

“Fuck you,” Harry snapped as he stepped past his friend. Melody was laying in a hospital bed. This setting was so familiar to Harry, but with the roles reversed, it felt like he was having a nightmare of his own.

“You don’t have to be rude to him, you know,” Melody muttered.

She had an awful, swelling bruise on her forehead, so close to her temple that it could’ve made Harry sick. She was in a sports bra, and for the first time he noticed Vanessa, who was meticulously wrapping up Melody’s ribcage.

“‘S not broken?” was the first thing Harry said.

“No,” Vanessa answered.

“Bruised.” Sean took a step forward, trying to insert himself back into the conversation that he had been ejected from. “She was doing really well and then—”

“I don’ wanna hear from you,” Harry interrupted. Melody rolled her eyes. Sean sighed.

“Fine, I guess I’ll go home,” he said. “I’ll let Goodman know you’re out for at least a month.”

Melody’s eyes widened and when she moved, the pressure on her ribs made her flinch. “A month?”

“At least,” Sean repeated.

“It’s a bruise.”

“‘S a bruised rib, Melody,” Harry snapped.

Sean left without any goodbyes. Bea leaned up against the wall where he’d been standing and lifted an eyebrow. “Thought you had defenses like a brick wall,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Melody mumbled as Vanessa finished her work. The room fell silent.

“Do you want some ice for your face?” Vanessa asked eventually, when Melody had been avoiding everyone’s eyes and the rest of them were sick of looking at each other.

“No, I can just—”

“Yes, she’ll take some ice,” Harry cut in.

“You tend to interrupt people,” Melody informed him. She laid back gently against the pillows that had been propped up behind her. “Have you noticed?”

Bea snorted. “Pretty sure he does it on purpose,” she said before wandering out of the room. Vanessa glanced between Harry and Melody and then followed Bea. The tension that had already filled the air seemed to thicken, settling over the two of them like an unnavigable fog. Harry sliced through it first.

“This is why I don’ want yeh fighting,” he said.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Harry,” she muttered. Then her voice rose. “If you were still in the ring you’d be getting injured, too. And I—”

Harry ignored the sting that he felt, the knowledge that he couldn’t box in his current condition. What if she wasn’t able to write? These days it seemed just that she didn’t want to, but if she wasn’t able to, wouldn’t she feel this same sort of despair? “Mel, yeh bruised your fuckin’ rib.” He took a step further into the room. “A little more pressure and it breaks. A little less luck and it punctures a fuckin’ lung and yeh’re chokin’ on blood. These are not just injuries. Yeh didn’ just fall off a bike and scrape your knee.”

Melody paused. She didn’t know how to respond. That sounded like her own fears spit back in her face. A half inch to the left and that bullet would’ve killed you.

“Are you going to keep yelling?”

“‘M not fuckin’ yelling. Do yeh want me to yell?” Harry’s brows knitted together and he shook his head. “What did yeh expect, me to lay down next to yeh and tell yeh ‘m so glad yeh’re okay? ‘S not happenin’. Think I’ve made my feelings pretty clear when it comes to this.”

“Actually, I didn’t expect anything. I didn’t want to call you.” Melody licked her lips as she studied the anger etched into the lines of Harry’s face, and then the minuscule shift as he realized that Sean was on his side. At least in this moment. “It comes with being a boxer,” she said after a pause. “You told me that once.”

Harry sighed. “Yeh’re not a fuckin’ boxer, Mel. Yeh’re a writer. Yeh’re a painter.”

“I can be whatever the fuck I want to be, Harry. And you’re not going to tell me what that is.”

His features hardened for a moment and then he glanced out the window. There was snow falling, slowly and gently, without the force of the brutal wind that would arrive in the coming weeks. It was so peaceful out there, and Harry wondered how he’d let himself become so resentful.

He stared outside for a few long minutes and then let his eyes wander back to Melody, who was already picking absentmindedly at the wrappings of her ribcage. His legs were growing weary and he was on the verge of needing to sit. Melody glanced up when she felt the weight of his gaze.

“Can we go home now?” she asked, and her voice was so soft, so at odds with the way she’d spoken her last sentence, that Harry could feel himself physically jarred by the shift.

“I can’ help yeh walk,” he said, though the words tasted like acid. “Yeh’re gonna need Bea and I dunno where she went off to.”

Melody chewed on her lower lip. She felt guilty for the short argument they’d had, and she could see that same feeling reflected back at her. The match had tired her out, her bruised rib hurt with every expansive breath. In vain, tears began to collect at the corners of her reddening eyes.

“Don’,” Harry said, taking a shaky step forward. He could sense the shift even before he saw her chin trembling. “Please, don’.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” she murmured, pressing her fingers to her eyelids, as if they could keep the water back like a dam. “Uh, how was the movie?”

“It was good,” Harry assured her, surprising himself. He hadn’t known that he enjoyed it until then, when he was put on the spot. Bea appeared like she’d been summoned.

“I heard that!” she nearly shouted. “He liked it!” Then her eyes fell to Melody and her snide grin tipped into a frown. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Melody said with a discrete sniffle. “Can someone ask Vanessa if we can leave?”

“She said you just need to take it easy for a few weeks.” Bea shuffled past Harry and pried Melody’s hands from her face. “Which means no training.”

“Perfect,” Melody mumbled. She allowed Bea to begin shifting her out of the bed, gently twisting her limbs, trying not to tweak her rib. Harry had to lower himself into the chair a few feet from where he had been standing to give his legs some relief.

“The wraps are just for you to get home.” Bea paused as Melody bit back a whimper, waiting for her to straighten her torso. “And she’s hooking you up with some pain meds.”

“Yeh’ll need ‘em,” Harry muttered. He stood back up as the girls made their way toward the door. They were a conspicuous group, with a cane, a wrapped ribcage, and shuffling footsteps. Eyes followed them through the halls, all the way to a cab.

***

Melody’s lips grew white as Harry helped her out of her wrappings. She screwed her eyes shut and her fingertips curled into his knee.

“Okay,” he whispered as he tugged the final loop of fabric loose, leaving her skin bare. The sight of her flesh made him hiss. “Who the fuck hit yeh, the Hulk?”

“Mmm.”

Harry pressed a hand to her cheek. Her skin was hot, damp, and he could feel her jaw twitching, like she might be grinding her teeth. Her breathing was shallow.

“Let’s get yeh some o’ those painkillers, yeah?”

“No, I’m okay,” she whispered, though her voice shook.

“Mel.” He pressed a kiss to one of her closed eyes. “I’ve had a bruised rib before.”

She didn’t respond. He heard her try to take a deeper breath and then felt her neck quiver beneath his fingertips. She shook with the effort of stifling a cough.

“Don’ do that.” He pressed her backward and she gasped, clinging to his arm and letting out an agonized sob at the sharp intake of breath. “‘M sorry,” he rushed. “Love, ‘m sorry. Just sit back for me.”

She let him lower her away from him, eyes still squeezed shut and chin beginning to tremble like it had in the hospital. Her eyelashes were wet and Harry touched his forehead to hers. “Okay?”

“No.”

He let out a short huff of acknowledgment and then lifted the pillow from beside them, holding it tenderly to her chest as he leaned back. “If yeh need to cough just hold this to your chest. ’S still gonna hurt but it’ll be better.”

There was a pause before she wrapped her arms around the pillow and sputtered out a few gentle coughs. Her eyelids fluttered, nails biting into her palms, lips curling into her mouth.

“Melody, yeh don’ have to pretend yeh’re not in fuckin’ pain,” Harry told her, pressing a hard kiss to her cheekbone. He brushed hair away from her forehead, carefully avoiding her bruise, and then used his thumb to pry her lips back into place before kissing them. “Not on my account. ‘M sorry I got angry. I don’ want yeh to fight. But if yeh’re hurtin’ like this ‘m not just gonna tell yeh to suck it up.”

Harry stroked her ear and her tensed facial muscles began to relax. Her lips parted. She opened her eyes to glance up at him and almost immediately let them fall closed again as she began to cry.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. He didn’t know whether it was for her or for himself. And he didn’t know if her tears were solely from the pain or for another reason entirely.

The mattress shifted despite his best efforts as Harry climbed off the bed. He hurried into the kitchen, gathering Melody’s prescription, a glass of water, and an ice pack. He almost didn’t even realize he’d forgotten his cane until he was laying himself down beside Melody, who had pulled the pillow up to cover the bottom half of her face, stifling her shallow sobs. But this wasn’t a moment to celebrate.

“All right, love, take some o’ these.” He shook out a few pills and reached across her for the glass he’d put on the night table. She lowered the pillow enough to toss the meds back and swallow a gulp of water, but Harry had to tug it from her grip so he could position the ice atop her angry, swelling bruise. Somehow, he’d finagled her bra over her head before attempting to unwrap her, and her breasts erupted in goosebumps at the cold touch.

“It fucking hurts,” she whimpered out.

“I know, I know.” Harry settled his hand over the ice pack, pressing his lips to Melody’s shoulder. “Give the pills a little bit o’ time.”

He fell silent and stroked her wrist with his free hand until her tears began to ebb. The clock read one in the morning. Bea had gone to bed as soon as they’d gotten home because she needed to work on a group project the next morning. Harry was beginning to feel tired himself, and he couldn’t imagine how exhausted Melody was.

“Just one problem after another,” he finally said. “Just can’ seem to catch a break, can we?”

“Wouldn’t life be so boring?”

He chuckled against her skin. “Just a little break would be nice, though.”

Melody didn’t respond. Her shallow breathing was beginning to slow. Harry kissed her cheek to check that she was truly asleep before he removed the ice pack from her side and very carefully covered her with the sheets. And he hoped that the rest of her healing would pass more smoothly than this first night.

Chapter 12

[pbandjesse]

Its snowing!! Just a little but its so nice. Its sticking to the cars and the buildings but not the street. So its just pretty. Today was a pretty alright day. I just had some chocolate milk. I am cozy in bed and Im in a good mood. But I am tired. 

I didnt sleep amazing last night and I worked myself up this morning so I just didnt feel good. I woke up and had a lot of trouble getting out of bed. But I did. I got washed up and dressed. I felt really pretty. I took some photos for the store but I was in a mood. Like I said I had worked myself up and wasnt feeling good. So I snapped at James about something stupid and then my sandwich just felt like. Mush in my mouth. I was not having fun. I tried to play animal crossing for a little while but it was just. Not making me feel much better. 

I asked yesterday if me and James could make pretzels. So that is what we did! I sat in the kitchen and mixed the yeast and James kneaded the dough. I just watched and moped. But it was nice to be together. 

While the dough rose James went for a bike ride. I mostly just wandered around the apartment. I did some cleaning. Vaccumed until the battery died. And then I sat on the coffee bar and drew on my tablet until James got back. 

We worked on making the pretzels then. It was hard to make them thin enough so they came out sort of plump. But it was a fun process. I wish pretzels kept longer, but it was very good. 

Soon after pretzels it was time for me to leave though. I was still all worked up and my stomach hurt. But it ended up being a pretty fine day. 

I got to be with kindergarden for the first few hours. And that was fun. I got to help with their valentines door. I made two very large donuts out of construction paper and then the kids will decorate hearst to be sprinkles on it! I think its going to be very cute. 

I helped the girls with their work when I could. They mostly had it and it was all good. I got to draw for a little while and by 3 I was off to the open space to help watch the kids there. 

I set up some tables with art supplies and I drew and enjoyed watching everyone. There were some issues with rough housing but for the most part it was just a nice time. 

I really do enjoy these kids. So when I found out that this job is going to be ending a little sooner I was only sad about that. But then I was offered a possible position as a teachers aid! So well see what happens but I think that could be pretty great depending on the grade I end up with. Well have to see. 

I built some stuff with the kids with jenga blocks but soon all my kids were gone and it was time to go home. 

I was very hungry so I went to chipotle. I had to wait for a little while but Im glad I got it. When I got home it was really good. 

I went to work in the studio and then James texted me that he was coming home early. It was very slow at the restaurant and he couldnt stop sneezing. So he was home about an hour after me. Poor sneezy James. He took some allergy meds and hes not as sneezy now but I worry about him developing these allergies. 

We hung out for a bit. I made a video. And then it started snowing! I just got an email that they are closing the district because they think there will be ice tomorrow. So I dont have to leave tomorrow. Im pretty pleased about that. 

I got a shower and now Im in bed. I am really tired so I really hope I can just fall asleep easy. Tomorrow I hope to work on crochet, something I havent done in a while. But I want to keep working on my sweater. I hope it is just a nice day, guilt free. 

Goodnight everyone! Take care of yourselves!! 

[girls-scenarios]

Dates at Home with Loona

Prompt: Can you drabbles about how Loona would dates at home with their girlfriend ?

A/N: I forgot how hard it is to come up with things for 12 members- but anyway I hope you all enjoy! Also this ended up being super long so I put it under a read more (for all that that does) - Admin Kiwi

♡ Tip Jar♡

Haseul:

Haseul is kind of down for whatever you want

But she would enjoy dates at home

Especially if they involved cooking with you

Working hard to cook something delicious would be rewarding to her

And then getting to eat it with you over a candlelit dinner would make it even better

Especially if you were happy when you ate her food

The two of you would work together to wash the dishes and clean up

Although she would usually get distracted by the music she likes to play

Singing and dancing and splashing you until you laughed and joined in

Eventually, the night would draw to a close, usually quietly

Sometimes the two of you would watch a movie

But the two of you would usually do other things

She would like to play the guitar and sing to you

Because it made both of you feel at ease

And sometimes the two of you would chat over card games

Or a cup of tea while watching the stars

She’d like to tease you quietly, and you’d roll your eyes and tease her right back

She’d be the type to curl up into your side and rest her head on your shoulder

Content to spend the rest of the night in your arms, occasionally leaning up to kiss you

(And sometimes, she’d do just that)

Vivi:

Vivi is a very go-with-the-flow type of person

But she would really, really love to spend time with you at home

Especially once the two of you were dating for a while

She would like to cook with you

Although she would also love getting chicken delivered

She would chat quietly with you as the two of you ate

Telling you about her day and then listening to you with a smile as you talked about yours

She would also love, love, love to bake

Especially chocolate cakes or cakes of any kind

And usually the two of you would end up making and decorating a cake together to eat after dinner

A lot of times after dinner, the two of you would read together or do something separate in comfortable silence

Drinking tea and occasionally holding hands, just happy to be with each other

The two of you would usually then end the night by watching a movie

A huge movie buff, she would like to be able to talk to you about them afterwards

Excited to share her love of movies with you as the night drew to a close

She’d then kiss you goodbye with a gentle touch of her hand to your face

Saying “I love you” without actually saying it

Yves:

She would love hanging out with you at home

Quality time would mean a lot to her

Especially if it meant she got to try cooking some new, special, fancy recipe that her friends might not like

You’re a bit of a guinea pig for her recipes, but you get food out of it so it’s a win-win

She likes to drink wine or special drinks with you

And always lights candles on the table or puts flowers there

Because she’s a hopeless romantic at heart

(Even if she wont admit it)

A lot of times the two of you will drink after dinner and chat for a while

Sometimes out on balcony, or on the couch, or in the bedroom

Probably likes to get a little tipsy or drunk with you on some nights

Because she’s an adult and thinks it makes playing board games or watching bad movies a lot more fun

She definitely gets clingy to you as the night draws on

Kissing and cuddling up to you and even acting cute

(Again, she’d deny it if you ever told anyone)

A lot of times the two of you just end up spending the night

Because it’s nice and cozy together, and neither of you want to leave

And because a-few-drinks-in Yves makes it hard to leave regardless

Jinsoul:

At first, she would have to be in the mood for a home date

Just because she’d love going out with you so much

But after the two of you were dating for a while, she’d warm up to the idea

Finding that she loved just spending quiet, quality time with you

Although just how “quiet” these times are is... debatable

Because she talks. A lot.

Honestly she just loves hugging and cuddling and kissing

And home dates would give her the chance to do that all night without anyone complaining, so she’d love them

Sometimes you would end up looking over her shoulder as she showed you things she wanted to buy online

You’re 90% of her impulse control then

“Do you really need a cat banana opener?” “No, but it’s so cute!” “Please don’t buy that.”

Likes to end the night with reading or watching something with you while wrapped up in big, fuzzy blankets

Even during the summer

Cuddling up to you and whining for kisses every few minutes

It would be annoying if she wasn’t so cute, and if you didn’t know that it was just her way of showing that she loves you

Kim Lip:

She’d like dates at home just because she likes to chat with you

And what better place to do it than at home?

She’d also enjoy being able to just chill with you

Her hair up in a messy bun and dressed in comfy clothes with fuzzy socks

Not worried about anything and just happy to be with you

Eating would be a must

The two of you would probably just snack the entire time

Her favorite thing to order would be pizza

Until you got sick of it and demanded something else

Whatever the two of you did

Whether it be watch Disney movies (per her request)

Or play games or watch whatever weird YouTube videos she’s found

She would chat almost the whole time

Making jokes at the movie or trying to explain things or just talking

You would learn to love it, though, and wouldn’t even notice it after a while

Used to listening to her talk whenever she could

The two of you would usually end the night with a kiss goodbye

That is, unless one of you spend the night

Then the night wouldn’t end until much, much later

Chuu:

Dates at home would be rare with her

Because she just loves to be out adventuring with you

Or just out in general

She’s very hyper and full of energy

And she’d get kind of bored at home

However, she would like to play board and card games with you

Maybe over ice cream or a home-cooked meal

Especially if it’s after a long day of work

And she wouldn’t mind finishing up the night with a movie

Cuddled up against you and usually wrapped up in a blanket

Whispering jokes about the movie into your ear

Although she would usually fall asleep before the movie ends anyway

It becomes normal for you to wake her up with a little shake and a kiss on the cheek

“The movie’s over.” “Oh. I fell asleep again?”

It’s so cute that you can’t get annoyed at her

Especially not when she gives you a sleepy smile and a kiss

“I had fun tonight. Thanks for coming over.”

Heejin:

Surprisingly, although she’s hyper too, she would love at-home dates

Growing up in the countryside, she’d understand the value of just hanging out and chatting with someone

Watching out the window with you as the world went by

She’d like to do crafts or try new things when you came over, though

“Hey, I saw this video on how to make couples bracelets, want to try?”

Honestly, she always makes a huge mess

Especially when she wants to try to cook something new

But the outcome is always cute, and it’s fun to try things with her

So you don’t complain

She also might play the guitar for you and sing, if she’s been working on a cover for a new song

She always goes to you for your opinion first

The two of you usually end up cuddling and chatting

Snacking on whatever the two of you made that day as you tell each other about everything going on in your lives

Sometimes one of you will stay the night, sometimes not

But she always gives you a smile and a kiss at the end of the night, no matter what

A little token of her love for you

Hyunjin:

This girl is... kind of weird

One night, the two of you might have a normal dinner and chat

And then the next, she wants you to help her try and see if she can eat bread while standing on her head

She’s also not really one for home dates, unless it’s raining or snowing outside

If the weather’s bad, she’d like to grab a bunch of blankets

And sit near the heater with a cup of hot tea or cocoa

Wrapped up with you while the two of you watch the rain or snow outside

Chatting and making jokes in the warm cocoon of blankets

Otherwise, the two of you would usually end up eating some sort of dinner

(Usually takeout, she hates cooking most of the time)

And then playing games

She definitely has a mini table tennis set

She beats you every time, because she has too much energy

But she also sleeps early, so she kicks you out before it can get too late

“Goodnight, I need my beauty sleep.” “Well I love you too, Hyunjin.” “Hey! You know I love you! Are you dissing me? Wanna fight?”

This is why you usually go somewhere to tire her out before going home

Choerry:

Choerry is another one who wouldn’t really like at-home dates

She’s too bubbly and full of energy to stay stuck inside

So these dates would usually only happen after a day of work

Or a long week, where she might just want to rest

Even then, she would be full of energy

Asking you to watch a new YouTube video she found

Before chatting your ear off about her new interests

She hates sitting still and lazing around

So that’s is why these dates would usually happen at night

It’s the only time of the day where she wouldn’t mind sitting down and resting

The two of you would probably order takeout and chat late into the night

Probably looking out at the stars and trying to find constellations

Although she would just end up finding weird shapes to make you laugh

The two of you would eventually end up in the living room cuddled together

Either watching some weird anime movie that she’s recently found

Or just talking about things

Until she notices the time and tells you that you need to go home to sleep (even though you know that she wont be sleeping any time soon)

Go Won:

Although her favorite dates would be shopping, she would like dates at home too

Especially if you brought her flowers when you came over

(They always die quickly, she doesn’t know how to take care of them, but she likes the way they look on the table)

She always likes to talk to you

But it would depend on the day for what the two of you would do (other than talking, that is)

Sometimes she’d like to play video games, other times watch movies

You’d always be subjected to watching lots of Oh My Girl videos, though

“You haven’t seen this fancam yet, have you?” “I feel like you showed me this before.” “Oh well, let’s watch it again.”

She definitely has Dance Dance Revolution and LOVES to play it

Probably has embarrassing videos of you dancing on her phone

She has a very specific taste in movies

So she mostly just wants to watch the same ones over and over

The two of you play rock paper scissors to see who chooses the movie

Because you got tired of watching Hunger Games over and over

Usually at the end of the night, the two of you end up talking until some really late hour

Until one of you either has to go home, or spend the nigh

Olivia Hye:

If the two of you are at home, it’s video games

She loves playing video games, especially with you

Shoulders touching on the couch as she laughs

Amused by the way you’re playing the game

She’d tease you for losing but then immediately let you win

Or watching someone else play video games on YouTube while cuddling with you

Honestly, if you want to get her away from video games

You’re going to have to take her out of the house

Or distract her with food, any food will do

Acts like she wont share her food with you but does anyway

She would also enjoy just sitting with you after the games were done

Tangled together on the couch and talking about anything and everything

“Hey, do you think spiders have ears?” “Why are you asking me that?”

She’d usually end up falling asleep on your arm only to deny it later

“I was resting my eyes!”

She would try her best to stay up with you

Even if it made her a little grumpy

Still, it would be cute, and you wouldn’t mind letting her rest for a while before you had to go

Yeojin:

She’s a homebody at heart

So she would love dates where she doesn’t have to leave the house

Especially if she can just lay around in sweatpants

“Let’s just lay on my bed and chat.”

She would also like playing video games

And she seems like the type to fall down YouTube rabbit holes

Both of you watching videos for hours before you realize how far you’ve gone since the original video she wanted to show you

“Just one more video, I promise!”

But she would also be down for board and card games as well

Blanket forts would also be a thing

Because eventually she’d get tired of just laying around

And would want to do something with you

Also she saw it in a movie once and thinks it’s THE cutest thing to do

She’d also like painting your nails as the two of you hung out

Or painting her own nails, if you didn’t want any

She would usually be doing something with her hands, even while laying down and resting

Full of energy but also lazy at the same time?

It’s fine though you love her

[frozenartscapes]

Today’s headcanon is of the first natural snowfall that occurs after Solveig’s birth. I don’t know why, but I bet it’s something that Elsa is especially excited to share with her months-old daughter.

It was one of those days. Solveig was fussy. She had begrudgingly had a feeding, which was good. But she had fought through her bath and diaper change. None of her toys were entertaining anymore. And now she was refusing to go down for her nap. But, Elsa thought as she carried her little one around the nursery, at least she’s not crying. Yet.

It was days like today that wore Elsa thin. It was these kinds of days when she was grateful for Gerda stepping in to help. She loved Solveig with all her heart, but it was these difficult days that left Elsa feeling like she could cry just like a baby herself. She just wanted to be a good mother, to give her child the world and then some, to see her happy - but each wail and annoyed whine in response to her attempts at mothering felt like some kind of personal failure.

Elsa adjusted her grip on her little girl, carrying her so that Solveig’s tiny head rested on her shoulder. She rubbed soothing circles on her baby’s back, whispering soft nothings into her ear in the hope that Solveig would eventually quiet down. Solveig continues to fuss, voicing her complaints in a way only a baby could while squirming in her mother’s grasp.

“Please, my Sunshine,” Elsa pleaded quietly, desperately, as she felt her own tears beginning to form in her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept for more than six hours. Her back was sore. And she had a headache that hadn’t gone away in weeks. She was damn near the end of her rope but she couldn’t rest until Solveig did.

But then, by some miracle, Solveig stopped squirming. Her cranky whines dissipated into gentle, awed coos as she became transfixed with something over Elsa’s shoulder. Elsa recognized this behaviour, and at first, a pit of dread settled in her stomach. Solveig’s mood shifted like this when she saw snow. Elsa had discovered it once on a very similar day, when she had gotten so upset and stressed that her grip on her powers failed and snow flurries started in the nursery. Solveig had loved it, but for Elsa all it symbolized was more failure.

She glanced around, hoping she hadn’t made it snow too much indoors. But she frowned in confusion as she looked for any hint of snow or frost, only to find none. So what was it, then, that Solveig had seen?

Her eyes landed on the window, and it all clicked. It was early December in Arendelle, and it was about time that it snowed. A small, lopsided smile formed on Elsa’s face as she watched the fat, fluffy flakes falling outside the window. Solveig reached her little arms out, clenching and unclenching her hands in an undeniable request.

Elsa grabbed a hat and a warm blanket to ensure Solveig would be kept warm, then headed off to the nearest balcony. Solveig initially grew concerned as they left the nursery, and her view of the snow was obscured. But then as Elsa walked out onto the balcony, Solveig swaddled nice and cozy in the blanket and held close to her Mama’s chest, her mood brightened once again.

She giggled gleefully, reaching tiny, ungloved hands out to the sky in an effort to catch the elusive flakes. Despite endless attempts, gloves or mittens never stayed on Solveig’s hands for long, and she didn’t seem to mind. One particularly fluffy cluster of snowflakes floated down and landed on the child’s nose, causing her to squeal in pure delight.

Elsa chuckled warmly, feeling all the stress and worry from earlier melt away just like those snowflakes on her daughter’s nose. “So you like this snow, too, I see?” she asked humorously.

Solveig babbled out a wordless reply, grinning a toothless grin as she tried to reach for more snowflakes. “I like this snow, too,” Elsa added, “The first snow of the year is always the most magical.”

Solveig cooed softly in agreement, continuing to marvel at the snowy world around her. Elsa smiled, and held out a free hand. A cluster of snowflakes landed on her palm, and unlike for most people, did not melt. She brought the cluster closer to Solveig to allow her to get a good look. Solveig peered down in awe at the group of delicate crystals in her Mama’s hand. She reached out with surprising gentleness for someone her age. As she poked the flakes, they broke apart, some scattering back into the air, and Solveig giggled merrily at the sight. Elsa couldn’t help but join in the laughter.

It was there the pair stayed, Mother and Child, watching the snowfall coat the kingdom in a delicate layer of white powder. Every now and then, Elsa would check to make sure Solveig was kept warm. Despite the rosy nose, her little girl didn’t seem to mind the cold that much. It was actually a struggle to keep her hands tucked in the blanket, as she’d much rather continue to reach for the snowflakes than keep her little hands warm.

After a while, though, Solveig yawned. Her excitement about the snow faded, and soon she was snuggling closer to her Mama’s chest as her eyes drooped shut. Elsa struggled to hold in a yawn of her own, and it was then that she decided it was time for them to go in.

She returned to the nursery and headed to the crib. She removed the snow-covered hat and blanket from around her sleepy girl and hung them on a rack near the fire to dry. But just as she was about to place Solveig down, her little one made a soft, contented noise as she hugged her Mama tight.

And perhaps Elsa didn’t have to sleep in her bed that night.

She headed over to the soft chair near the window, settling down to watch the snow float lazily down from the darkening sky. Solveig snored softly in her arms, her tiny body warm and soft and comforting.

Elsa allowed the weight of the world to slip from her shoulders, creating a moment just between herself, her daughter, and the snow. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The world was at peace as the snow softly fell, and so was she.

She wouldn’t give this up for anything.

Anna found them the next morning, still in the chair and still contentedly asleep.

[milomeepit]

Diamond In The Rough: Chapter Nineteen

Roman has always wanted better. Has always believed that there’s a better life, a better world, just out of reach. Just beyond the veil of shitty teachers who don’t care, angry classmates that scream insults and slurs at each other all day, and drug-hazed parents who are more concerned with their next hit than looking after their ten year old son.

When he runs away after a particularly bad night at home and finds a quiet little cafe/bookstore tucked away in a back alley of the city, the sweet couple who run the joint (an odd pair; a quiet, gloomy man with a wry sense of humour and a cynical gleam in his eye, and a bouncy man who smiles like sunshine and laughs like a storybook king) help show him that maybe- just maybe- he really can have the life he always dreamed of.

Masterpost (to be added soon!)

Word Count: 3314

Chapter Warnings: nightmares, blood, snakes, confusion, stabbing, panic, anxiety, crying, happy crying, food

“Roman. It’s time to get up, Roman, come on.”

A hand shook his shoulder gently. Roman raised his head from the pillow, blinking at the bright sunlight that streamed in through the window. He looked towards the disturbance to see Logan’s face, hovering above him. A concerned frown creased the man’s eyebrows.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly.

“‘M... tired,” Roman yawned as he shook his head. “S’fine.”

“I made pancakes for brunch. Would you like some?” Logan sat on the bed next to him. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Roman had a brief flash of the sensation of falling.

“I, uh... sure. Thanks,” He flopped back down onto the pillow, facing towards the window.

Logan leaned down to the floor and picked Arwen off the ground. He brushed her off before offering her to Roman. “I’ve also got hot chocolate warming on the stove, if you would like some.”

Roman took Arwen. “Yes, please.” He forced a smile onto his face. His head ached, and his limbs felt heavy as lead, but he didn’t want to worry Logan.

Logan squeezed his shoulder gently. “I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes, then.” He smiled before getting up and leaving the room.

Roman lay in bed for another minute, staring out the window. Crisp white snow covered the ground, glittering in the morning sunlight. Part of him ached to go out and play, but he knew it would just be him and Cody. Logan had mentioned he wasn’t much of a fan of the colder weather, so it seemed unlikely he would join in a snowball fight. He sighed and got up, swapping his cozy pyjamas for sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt, and his red hoodie.

Breakfast passed, painfully slowly. Logan did his best to keep up a conversation, but Roman felt sapped of energy, like lead weights were tied to his wrists and dragging him down. He felt bad for the one-word, disinterested answers he gave Logan, but he just couldn’t bring himself to pull up his usual pep and bounce.

By the time Logan disappeared into his office, Roman was practically ready to crawl back into bed. Everything ached, and he wanted to hide away for a little while. Though, he could practically already hear Patton rambling about sleep schedules and making the most of the day, so he instead settled for curling up with a blanket on the couch in the rec room and watching a movie.

The familiar crescendo of the Walt Disney sequence was comforting, as was the sepia-toned rainy opening scene of the film. His eyes were glued to the screen as Lewis fiddled with his PB’n’J dispensing hat, half wondering if it would work the same with pop tarts.

If he was Lewis, the one being adopted, then he decided that Patton would definitely be Lucille. Virgil could pass for Bud when he was in a silly mood. Virgil had mentioned he had siblings, so the two of them could probably be Fritz and Joe. And Roman wouldn’t mind marrying someone like Franny. She was funny and passionate and strong and loved her family more than anything, all the best things he liked in a person.

He cuddled Arwen tightly, only half paying attention to the movie as his mind wandered. It would be amazing to have a time machine like the Robinsons did. He could go anywhere, any time, he wanted. Just fly through the sky and pop to wherever he liked.

Though, he thought, it would be cooler to ride on a dragon. Feel warm scales beneath his hands, the wind rushing through his hair, the powerful wings pushing them up, up, up through the clouds. Dragons were cool. He’d always wanted a pet, something friendly and scaley that climbed up his arm. A snake could be cool.

He could picture it now; shining eyes and shimmering golden scales, smooth to touch. Dropping down into his lap from the sky, a gift from the heavens above, like a fallen star. It would curl around him, wrapping him in a serpentine hug before slithering away.

Roman got to his feet, slowly following it. The golden scales drew him forward like a magnet, almost hypnotizing. When he finally broke his gaze away and looked around, they were in a forest. Green and blue and red and purple plants surrounded them, and the snake nimbly weaved between them. Roman trotted along behind it, looking around at the scenery. It rather reminded him of the valley from his last daydream.

He looked down at the snake again, watching it curl around a tree and onto rocky ground. He blinked, looking around to see a cave. Stalactites clung to the ceiling, water drip-drop-dripping from them in a soft rhythm. Piles of treasure littered the space, almost glowing in the shadows where the light didn’t quite reach. He heard voices, distantly, faraway conversations he couldn’t quite catch.

Fear tugged at his chest, and he instead returned his attention to the snake. It wound back around and out of the mouth of the cave, and when Roman looked up again, he was walking through a garden. A picnic blanket was spread carefully across the grass, and a box of cookies sat half-eaten on top of the basket. Bottles of water sat unopened on the checked blanket, and Roman felt the distinct urge to go sit.

He blinked, glanced back to the snake, and then they were in a ballroom filled with people that spun gracefully past him. They seemed undisturbed by the snake that stretched across the shining floor. Faces flashed past him, too quickly to get a proper look at, but achingly familiar. A young man with a moustache and a mischievous grin, with a tall young woman with a shy smile and fluffy brown hair that fell down her back in waves. A girl with eyes bluer than he’d ever seen and a flowing white dress winked at him. Another woman, older, with dark ginger hair and a sharp smile swept past. He knew them. He couldn’t know them, and yet he did.

It made him dizzy. He looked down again, silently begging the snake to take him somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. It seemed to respond to his discomfort, hooking to the right and away from the crowd. Before Roman knew it, they were outside. It was night, but not dark. A full moon cast a silvery light over the scene, a grassy hill dotted with small flowers that waved in the breeze. Stars sparkled overhead, glitter spread across the dark, dark blue that covered the sky.

Roman let out a soft gasp at the bone-deep longing that spiked through him. It was beautiful, more so than anything he could think of. He felt that same pull to sit, to just soak in the scene and stay there forever, but the snake didn’t pause. As it was, he broke into a jog to catch up with it. He studied it as he walked. It, too, seemed somehow familiar. Something seemed to be trying to click in his head, like an engine having trouble starting.

The scene changed again. Stone walls appeared around them rough and imposing, and when Roman looked back down, the snake had vanished. A cold sense of horror rose up, and he broke into a sprint, trying to find it.

The night became darker. The glittering stars faded from the sky. He shivered as he searched the maze for his guide. There seemed to be no escape from the cold, no matter how hard he tried to will himself to another place. The walls began to form cracks, stone splintering off and falling to the ground. He had to step around chunks of rubble as he ran further into the labyrinth.

Carvings appeared on the ruined walls. Images that seemed to dance before his eyes, hard to focus on. A terrible monster, huge and angry and merciless, destroying towns and villages, swallowing people whole. Figures bowed down before the giant creature, a snake with those same golden scales he recognized. Roman skidded to a halt in front of a depiction of the snake staring straight at the viewer. Its eyes drilled into him, sending a chill right through his body.

“... What are you?” He murmured, reaching up to touch the wall.

As his fingertips brushed against the stone, a loud crash rang through the night. He spun around, blinking rapidly. “H-hello?” He called. “Who’s there?”

“You don’t understand, he’s gone completely rogue!”

He jumped at the noise. A girl’s voice, both familiar and not. He was getting pretty sick of that feeling.

“Look, I know you two used to be really close, but... he’s.... changed. Badly.”

A boy, this time. A little nasal and whiny, and something inside him ached at the shaky words.

“Hello?” He started walking towards the voices, yelling out to them.

“He’s a monster! Nothing we can do would change that!” The girl snapped.

The walls around him shifted again. Banners appeared, large enough to hang down to the floor, with careful embroidery and bright colours.

“I know. I know you want him back, but...” The boy trailed off.

At some point the rough ground had changed to smooth stone. Windows dotted the walls between tapestries. Torches on the wall threw dancing shadows as he sprinted past them. A castle?

“Gods, why can’t you just trust me on this?” The girl’s voice was filled with anger and hurt and desperation.

Roman wondered who they were talking to. It certainly seemed like pieces of the conversation were missing.

He hurtled around a corner and skidded to a stop. A dead end. He looked over the hall, noticing the spears that lay abandoned on the floor, some snapped and broken. Blood was splashed across the castle stone, violent red smears that made his stomach roll. He peeled his eyes away from the floor and up to the tapestry hanging on the wall.

That same golden snake. It felt like it was taunting him, it’s cold eyes mocking his confusion and distress. Poor little prince, lost and alone, it seemed to say. Nobody to save you. Nobody to chase away the shadows and monsters. Nobody to protect you.

Roman’s head felt like it was going to split open. What was this? He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this. The dizziness, the nausea, the darkness and panic and violence and cold. He didn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand, he just wanted out.

Footsteps clacked on the stones behind him. He turned to see a tall man, his features hard to make out in the dim, flickering torchlight. The only thing Roman could see clearly was his eyes- shining gold.

Just like the snake.

It took a moment for him to register the knife in the man’s hand. A dagger, shining in the firelight, with a sharp, thin blade. It took another few seconds for Roman to realise it was pointed squarely in his direction.

His heart leapt into his throat. What was happening?

“You need to wake up, Roman.” The man’s voice was smooth, like liquid gold. Roman shivered at the strong pang of some unfamiliar emotion that shot through him. The man threw a glance over his shoulder as running footsteps drew closer to them, clattering down the hall. Someone shouted out at the man, and he stiffened, stepping around the corner and much closer to Roman. “You don’t belong here, little one.”

Roman stumbled backwards. He hit fabric, his back up against the snake tapestry hanging on the wall. Something was wrong about this. Wrong and bad and much too real. “W-who are you?” He choked out.

The man froze for a moment. His eyes swept up and down Roman, and he opened his mouth.

“Get away from him!” The boy’s voice boomed down the hallway, and the man glanced over his shoulder again.

His mouth twisted into a snarl, and Roman was distracted for a moment by the sharpsharpmuchtoosharp teeth. His eyes glowed with something Roman couldn’t identify. Not quite hatred, but something close. “Your murderer.”

Roman’s eyes snapped open. He gasped as he bolted upright on the couch and clutched at his chest. Pictures danced in his vision, too fast to focus on. Constellations that sparkled overhead, their shapes utterly foreign. Smooth scales under his hands, warm and soft. Fires that blazed, higher than he could see and hotter than he could bear. Soft smiles, barely visible out of the corner of their mouth. A knife, plunging into soft flesh that parted beneath its blade.

His chest ached. A familiar feeling, one he knew as well as the freckles that dotted his arms, but it seemed to burn. He curled into himself, clapping both hands over his mouth in an attempt to muffle the sobs that burst from his throat.

“Roman?” Logan appeared in the doorway. He crouched down next to the couch and reached out to touch Roman’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He asked gently.

Roman flung his arms around Logan’s middle and clung to him. “Bad dream,” He mumbled against the fabric of Logan’s shirt.

Logan sat on the floor and rubbed Roman’s back. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?”

Roman shrugged. “I... I dunno,” He admitted. “M’scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I... what if I don’t...” The words died in his throat, bitter and uncooperative.

Logan hummed in understanding. “It will be alright. I can’t see any reason that things wouldn’t work out.”

Roman pulled back a little and scrubbed at his face with his sleeve. “... But what if they don’t anyway?” He whined.

Logan frowned sympathetically. “Well... whatever happens, I’ll be here for you. I promise.”

Roman sighed. He sagged against Logan’s chest and turned his head to look at the TV screen. It was black, the timer device having turned it off after a period of inactivity. He wondered how long he’d been asleep. His stomach growled, as if to say ‘Long enough we need food, dingus!’

He peered up at the clock on the wall and his stomach sank. It was 4.30pm. Only half an hour left before his fate was revealed.

“Would you like to do a puzzle? I still have an unopened one in the hall closet.” Logan suggested. “I think it’s a fantasy scene, a lake with mermaids.”

“Yes, please.” Roman nodded. He slid off of Logan’s lap and shuffled on his knees over to the coffee table.

They spent the next half hour chatting about mermaids and mythology as they fit together the glossy puzzle pieces. Roman worked on the trees and plants while Logan worked on the water, and it quickly took shape under their hands.

Roman had never realised quite how much he enjoyed doing puzzles with people. It was pleasant to work together on something so casual, especially if you could talk while you worked. The pretty artwork and brightly coloured scenes were a big plus, too.

“As legends go, the first known mermaid stories appeared in Assyria, around 1000 BC. The goddess Atargatis, mother of Assyrian queen Semiramis, loved a mortal, and unintentionally killed him,” Logan explained. “She jumped into a lake and took the form of a fish, but the waters didn’t hide her divine beauty. After that, she took the form of a mermaid- although the earliest representations of Atargatis showed her as a fish with a human head and arm, similar to the Babylonian god Ea.”

“Cool!” Roman exclaimed. “Who was Ea?”

“Well, that’s actually quite interesting! Enki is the Sumerian god of water, knowledge, mischief, crafts, and creation. He was later known as Ea in Akkadian and Babylonian mytho-” Logan was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Roman froze and looked up at Logan. “It’s not 5pm yet, is it?” He mumbled. “Can’t be.”

Logan ruffled his hair lightly. “It’s alright, Roman,” He reassured. “Come, let’s go see.”

Roman slowly got to his feet and dragged himself after Logan. It felt like he was marching to the gallows, or pulled along in an ice cold river that intended to toss him over a jagged waterfall. He wrapped his arms around himself and hovered in the doorway of the rec room. He stared at the front door. From here, he wouldn't be able to see who was there, but they wouldn’t be able to see him, either, so it suited him just fine.

“It’ll be okay,” Logan glanced over his shoulder and smiled again before returning his attention to the door as the visitor knocked again.

Roman’s heart thudded in his chest as Logan turned the handle and opened the door. A gust of wind swept into the entryway, and he shivered. It was obviously still freezing outside. At least he might be able to play in the snow at some point, he thought. That would make things a bit better.

He couldn’t quite see Logan’s face from here, either. He was speaking quietly with whoever was at the door. Roman couldn’t make out the conversation, and his anxiety ratcheted up another notch as he strained to hear the other person’s voice.

A few tense seconds passed before Logan moved out of the doorway. Roman held his breath, his eyes wide.

Please.

He almost screamed as vibrant green and purple eyes met his around the door. Virgil broke into a wide grin and dropped to one knee as Roman threw himself forward into his arms, already bursting into tears again.

“Oh, sweetheart, honey, it’s okay, we got you, it’s okay, darling.” Patton’s arms joined Virgil’s, and Roman felt like he was going to burst into pieces like a firework.

“Hey, hey,” Virgil murmured. He dotted kisses on the top of Roman’s head. “We got you, buddy.”

“I-I...!” Roman wheezed, flailing a hand wordlessly. What words were there, when his heart was so full of love and relief and hope and joy? What could possibly encapsulate how happy he was to see them?

Patton took his hand and squeezed it. “I know, honey,” He beamed, and Roman saw the shiny film of tears swimming in his eyes. “Me, too.”

“I can stay?” Roman asked as he relaxed into their grasp, feeling safer than he had in quite a while.

Virgil nodded. “You sure can, Ro,” He whispered. His voice was soft and raw, and Roman realised that he’d probably already been crying.

He could stay. Forever. Cookies and hugs, movies and blankets, spaghetti and kisses, storybooks and warmth, and love. So much love. His heart felt like it was going to burst open. His hands shook as he clung to Patton and Virgil, and he never wanted to let go. He would never have to.

Logan cleared his throat, and the three of them looked up to where he stood, awkwardly holding the door open. “We’re letting all the heat out,” He pointed out.

Virgil laughed. “Sorry, Specs. Got a little distracted.” He kissed Roman’s forehead again, and Roman swore that he felt sparks zap right through him. “C’mon, guys.”

Some undignified scrambling later, they were all on their feet once again. Patton hung off of Virgil’s arm, cooing over Roman and chatting away about all the ideas he had for decorating Roman’s room and making it his. Roman liked that idea.

As Roman sat in the rec room, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, sandwiched between his new fathers, and his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of sweet hot chocolate, he sighed contentedly.

Sometimes, he thought, just sometimes, life really did come equipped with all the parts of a fairy tale. A down-on-their-luck hero, villains to make your blood curdle, and, most importantly, a loving family.

As Patton leaned across to peck Virgil on the cheek, his arm looped lovingly around Roman’s waist, Roman thought to himself that he liked that part best of all.

[voyager-into-the-unknown]

My December 29 Contribution to the Pikelavar Winter Event

“All I Want for Midwinter is Meklavar” Chapter 4:

Tradition

Meklavar studied her map before she and Pike set out on their journey through hill country. They had decided to stop at the closest village to take shelter for the night, knowing that evening would soon be upon them and the temperature would drop rapidly after sundown. It seemed like any other wintertime journey for them, except that it wasn’t. They had danced together in Talarian City, shared a warm bed in a cozy cabin for three nights, and then, after a narrow escape from near-death, they had kissed beneath an ancient oak draped in mistletoe. Pike and Meklavar had confessed their love for one another, and when he had asked for permission to court her, to his amazement, she accepted him as a suitor. Despite the bitter cold, Pike’s heart was racing with the euphoria of knowing that of all the males in the world, she wanted him to be her life mate. They trudged hand-in-hand through the snow towards the village ahead, with warm hearts and empty bellies.

They came upon the gates of the walled village, and were greeted by a pair of watchmen. “What business do you have in the village of Farwynd?”

Pike spoke first. “We need shelter for the night. We are traveling north for the Midwinter Festival, But we had to make an unexpected detour away from the valley road.”

“There’s been a mudslide,” Meklavar added. “The road is blocked with rocks, mud, and broken trees. We barely escaped with our lives.”

“This is ill news,” said the first watchman. He turned to his companion. “Go an alert the mayor of this unfortunate happenstance. He will want to alert the other villages in the morning and send out a work crew to help clear the path.” He turned back to the weary travelers. “Welcome to Farwynd. Your best bet for lodging is the third inn on the right, see it there? The Green Lion. Anyplace else is at full capacity tonight with all of the guests that have come to town for our own Midwinter festivities. You two look as if you could use a warm meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed for the night, and The Green Lion can provide all three.”

“Thank you,” said Meklavar.

“Happy Midwinter to You!” Pike added with a wave as they walked through the open gate.

The windows of the Green Lion Inn were lit with fairy lights in a rainbow of brilliant colors and the common room was warmed by the glow of an enormous fireplace. The aromas of hot, delicious meals filled the dining area, and the sound of cheerful holiday carols brightened the mood of every man, woman, child, elf, and troll that was gathered there to eat, drink, dance, and be merry. Pike and Meklavar entered the common room grinning broadly. The innkeeper, a stout woman with a ready smile and cheerful demeanor, greeted them.

“A Merry Midwinter to you, travelers. I am Beatrix Berylla. How might I assist you this fine evening?”

“Hot meals, baths, and a room for the night, please,” said Meklavar.

“Meals and baths we can provide, a-plenty, but there is only one room left for the evening. Will that be proper?” She looked at Pike, who was a bit nervous under the innkeeper’s scrutiny.

Meklavar blushed. “He is my Intended,” she explained.

“Oh, my dear! Congratulations to you both! Have you begun the exchange of tokens yet?”

“What—?” Pike didn’t know what she meant.

“—not yet,” interrupted Meklavar. “This is very new to us.”

“I see. Well, blessings be upon you both, and may your union be a joyous one. Would you prefer a meal or a bath first?”

Pike and Meklavar looked at each other, and then down upon their mud encrusted boots, cloaks, and trousers. “Baths!” They said in unison.

Beatrix clapped her hands twice, and a skinny serving maid appeared, “Verilyn, take these two to the bathhouse and have the boot polisher and the launderers get to work on their travel stained gear.”

“The bathhouse is full, ma’am, save for the honeymooner’s bathing room.”

“Oh, dear,” fretted Beatrix. “These two are Intended, but not yet wed.”

“It’s allright,” Meklavar said reassuringly. “We can begin the rituals tonight.” She was blushing so hotly that Pike could almost feel the heat radiating from her. What rituals? What were they talking about? Pike suddenly felt very nervous.

Verilyn beamed. “I will have everything prepared while you show them to their room, ma’am.” She exited through the back door of the common room.

Beatrix withdrew a key from the large ring at her belt. “Follow me upstairs, my dears.”

The room that Beatrix opened for them was spacious, clean, and warmed by a small fireplace of its own. There was a table with chairs where two might dine comfortably, an enormous wardrobe, a washstand and mirror, and even a screen for privacy that presumably concealed the chamber pot. The Green Lion was indeed a very fine inn, and Pike just stood there, his lips parted and eyes wide as he looked about at all of the fine furnishings. Meklavar thanked the innkeeper and gave her payment for their lodgings.

“I’ll send Verilyn up when your bath is ready. In the meantime, you can undress and put these on,” Beatrix explained as she drew two long, fleece lined robes from the wardrobe. “I can even have your evening meal sent here after your bath.”

“Thank you,” said Mek as Beatrix exited their room.

Mek set her helmet down on a side table. They both put aside their weapons and traveling packs, then shed their filthy cloaks and boots. Pike helped Mek as she began to remove her armor.

“What are the rituals that you two were talking about?” Pike asked, curiously.

“Before a dwarf maiden takes a husband, the bride and groom must be ritually purified by taking a bath together. They wash each other, but any kind of sexual activity is strictly forbidden.” Now he knew why Mek was blushing so hotly. “They share a meal and a bed after that.”

Pike’s eyes were as big and round as saucers. He stared at her in amazement. “You...you want to give me a bath?!” He was stunned by this new information.

“If you don’t want to do this, I will understand...”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t want to! I just think it’s really—“

“Weird?”

“Sexy,” said Pike, waggling his eyebrows at her. “And I really want to see what your amor has been concealing after all these years.” He winked at her.

“Actually, you won’t be able to see much of anything with only a few candles lit, and before you jump to conclusions, we won’t be completely naked. You won’t be allowed to touch me anywhere really private until after we are married either, so it’s rather innocent.”

“Still sounds like fun,” he grinned at her. “I always like touching your smooth skin anywhere and everywhere. And I really like being touched by you...” He gave her his most seductive look. Mek rolled her eyes at him.

“We should start undressing then, before I change my mind about this. Strip down to your underwear and put on that robe. Bring your sleepwear with you as well.” She said. He noticed that she tucked a comb inside the pocket of her robe. Mek disappeared behind the privacy screen in their room to undress, much to his disappointment. Although Pike put on a show of being an incorrigible flirt, in truth he was as inexperienced and nervous about intimate matters as Meklavar was. Nervous, and incredibly excited by the thought of it...

Pike was clad only in his very brief underpants when Mek came out from behind the screen wearing her robe. He gasped in surprise, but then decided to make the most of the opportunity. “Like what you see?” He stood with his hands on his hips, proud of his long, thin-but-muscular physique. He gave her what he thought was an irresistible smile.

“Pike, I think that you had better put your robe on now.” She bit her lip, trying to suppress her grin of amusement.

“Is my animal magnetism too much for you?” he said, moving closer to her and giving her his most smoldering look.

“No, but it might be too much for Verilyn. She’s standing right there in doorway behind you.” Pike shrieked and ran to grab his robe. He nearly tripped over the sash as he hurriedly scrambled into it. Meklavar was doubled over with laughter. That’s when Pike realized that the door was closed and no one had entered their room.

“Hey!” Pike exclaimed when he realized that she had tricked him.

“Well, she’ll be here any moment. I just thought you ought to put something on,” she said, giggling. “After all, she might be overcome by your animal magnetism.”

“You are one naughty dwarf maiden. That’s one of the things I like about you.” Pike smirked at her, then moved closer to her and tipped her chin up towards him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, and Mek coiled her arms around his neck kissing him back with sweet affection that melted into mutual passion. The intimacy between them ended suddenly when there was a knock on the door to their room. They sprang apart, blushing.

“Come in!” Mek called.

Verilyn entered, followed by two other servants who had come to collect their soiled boots and garments. “The bathing room is ready for you. Follow me. We’ll take the back stairs.”

Pike and Meklavar put on the slippers that matched their robes, gathered up their sleepwear and clean undergarments, and followed Verilyn down the smaller staircase that led directly to the bathing area.

When they arrived, they beheld a dimly lit but cozy room with a below ground bathing pool, big enough for two occupants to swim in, and deep enough for them to immerse themselves fully if they wished. There were scented candles, soaps, shampoo, and lotions, bowls for rinsing, and a large pile of fluffy white towels. It was the nicest bathing room that either of them had ever seen. Verilyn indicated a small silvery bell on a delicate chain. “Just pull this cord if you require any assistance. Otherwise you will remain undisturbed.” She curtsied and made her exit.

“This is lovely,” Mek said, examining their surroundings.

“What, exactly, is this ritual?” Pike asked softly.

“Well, first you remove your robe and enter the pool. Then you allow me to bathe you, and you do the same for me. It is an opportunity for the Intended to see if the other’s form is pleasing to them and and for the maiden to discover if her beloved’s touch is rough or gentle. Symbolically, this tradition represents purification and an opportunity for us to begin bonding through gentle and playful touching.”

“I think I am really going to like this tradition,” Pike said with a grin. He shed his robe and waded into the shallow end of the pool. He swam around for a bit, then turned to face her. “The water is warm and feels great, Mek.”

Meklavar unfastened her robe, then dropped it to the stone floor. Pike stared at her, his mouth agape. She wore very brief, opaque underpants and her soft bosom was concealed only by a bandeau that covered her breasts and left her shoulders and midriff bare. She just stood there for a moment, allowing him to stare at her slender figure. “You’re so beautiful, Mek. I think I must be the luckiest male in the world to be chosen by you.” Meklavar blushed and smiled at him approvingly. She picked up the shampoo container and entered the pool.

Mek began by washing Pike’s hair, working up a rich later by scrubbing his scalp with her fingers, and taking special care to give his ears the gentle scratching that she knew he loved. He purred enthusiastically as she pampered him. When she was done washing his short hair, Pike rinsed the suds away by submerging himself in the water and shaking the water droplets away, splattering Mek. She giggled and splashed the water back at him. “My turn,” he said, smiling broadly as he reached for the shampoo bottle.

Pike ladled clear water over Meklavar’s bowed head with one of the silver bowls, then lathered her thick hair with the sweet-smelling shampoo, massaging her scalp with his long fingers and then carefully pouring clear water over her head to rinse it away. He then looked at the containers of sweet smelling oils. “Are these for the hair?”

“Oh, the red one, please. Just a little will do. Rub it on your hands first.” Pike did as she requested and then rubbed the sweet smelling oil onto her scalp and through the wet strands of her hair. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy the pleasure of the flowery aroma and the gentleness of Pike’s touch. When he was done she smiled at him and reached for the soap. He followed her to the shallow end of their little bathing pool. “Turn around,” she said, and she began to lather his broad shoulders and his smooth, muscular back. Pike closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation. She swam around him and washed above and below each of his strong arms in turn, and then she lathered up his chest and belly. Pike observed her every move with interest. She was pink-cheeked and was totally engrossed in her task, as if trying to memorize the planes and angles of his body and every curvature of his lean musculature. His breathing quickened and his purring grew louder and she massaged his chest. When she was done, Pike kissed her forehead. He dunked himself in the water to rinse the suds away, then looked at her with an unspoken question apparent by his expression. He stared down at the garment that concealed her bosom, uncertain what to do next.

As if she read his thoughts, she said softly, “You can wash my arms, shoulders, and belly.” Pike took the soap then planted a soft kiss upon her left shoulder, then lathered up her left side, from the top of her shoulder down the length of one arm. Then he kissed her right shoulder and repeated the sequence, covering her with sweet suds from her right shoulder down the length of her other arm. He ladled clear water to rinse the soap away, then positioned himself behind her, sudsing her bare stomach and surprising her with a kiss on the neck that made her laugh with delight. He discovered that she was ticklish there and he hoped that he could use that to his advantage for many years to come.

With her back to him, Meklavar moved to the shallow end of the bathing pool and undid the fasteners that held her bandeau in place. She took it off, set it beside the pool, then pushed her damp hair aside, revealing her back to him. Pike’s heart hammered in his chest. She was giving him permission to wash her fully exposed back. Modestly, she cupped her palms and crossed her arms over her bare breasts as he drew near. He was glad that she couldn’t see his face at this moment. He was certain that he was blushing at hot as the noonday sun. He gently lathered the silky smooth skin of her back, marveling at how frail she seemed even though he knew she was a formidable warrior. “Thank you, love,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “Now leave the soap beside me and allow me a bit of privacy for a moment.”

Pike set down the soap next to her at the pool’s edge and swam away from her. Even though her back was to him he could tell that she was lathering up her... He shut his eyes, but his imagination was filled with speculation about her...chest... He covered his eyes with his hands but couldn’t stop thinking about the parts of her body he had not yet seen.

He heard her swimming toward him a few moments later, then felt her tap him on the shoulder. He knew she was facing him, waist deep in the water, and he was uncertain if he should open his eyes. Was this a test? “It’s okay. You can open your eyes, dear one.” Her bandeau was back in place and she was grinning at him. “Thank you for being such a gentleman.” He smiled back at her, looking a bit bashful, silly, proud, and adorable all at once.

“This way,” she said, swimming back to the shallow end. “Sit on the edge.” He did so, feeling rather self-conscious about how his wet underpants clung to him, leaving little to the imagination. She was washing his large feet and his long, thin-but-muscular legs, modestly averting her gaze from his loins. As soon as she was done, he slid back into the pool to rinse off, then picked her up from the waist and set her down gently on the edge of the pool. He washed her adorable little feet and relished in the sensation of lathering up her smooth legs as she leaned back, smirking at him. He lifted her up from the pool’s edge and pulled her back down into the water with him. She had her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly on the lips. When they broke apart, he said in a low voice, “I know one place that you haven’t washed yet. I know it is an appendage you don’t have, and it’s probably going to be weird for you the first time you touch it, especially because it’s so long, but —“

“Pike, um, some parts of your body have to remain private until we are properly married.” She averted her gaze, too embarrassed to look at him. “You’ll have to wash down there by yourself.”

“I didn’t mean...” he was as flustered as she was. “I meant my tail.”

“Oh!” She laughed nervously.

“You thought I meant something else, naughty girl.” He winked at her. Red-faced, Meklavar’s gaze did not meet his own. She simply picked up the soap and said, “Turn around.” He did as she asked, and he yelped as she gave his tail a little tug as she washed it.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused.

“Maybe. I am serious about the parts you need to wash yourself though. We both have to wash in private places, so we should go to opposite ends of the pool and face opposite directions to do that, please. No peeking.”

“No peeking,” he agreed.

A few awkward moments later, Mek announced that she was getting out of the pool and going to dry off and change into her sleeping tunic.

“Still not peeking,” Pike said from the other end of the pool. “See what a good boy I’ve been?”

“Good kitty. I’ll reward you later,” she said with a little laugh. After a long pause, she announced, “I’m dressed now. And I am facing the other way, so you get out of the pool to dry off and put some clothes on.” Pike turned around to see that Mek was indeed sitting with her back turned to him, and was busy combing the tangles out of her hair. Naked, he emerged from the pool and quickly dried himself, then donned his pajamas. He then tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to him.

“Well, did I do this ritual thing the right way? It felt like it was some sort of test.” He helped her to her feet.

“You were perfect in every way. I know I made the right choice.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.

“So when we get married are we going to bathe together like this? I thought is was a great way for us to bond, you know what I mean? I like being able to be close to you this way.”

“Our future home has to have a bathing pool big enough for two, most definitely.” She smirked at him, and he blushed. “Hand me the little green container over there.”

Pike reached for the jar that she indicated. He opened it and sniffed it. “This smells really good.”

“It’s a lotion for after bathing. It’s for moisturizing the skin.”

Pike smiled shyly. “Do you want me to put this on you?”

Meklavar smiled at him. “Maybe later. Don’t you want supper?”

“Actually, I do. I am starving, Mek.”

“Then we should bring this jar up to our room,” she said with a smile that made his heart race. She pocketed the green container. She pulled the little chain to ring the silvery bell by the wall, and a servant appeared moments later to take their requests for the evening meal that would be sent up to their room.

[nyotasaimiri]

Moving On

An hour passed, and then two. Nyota watched the sun rise through wisps of falling snow. Geo kept talking, first with stories about his children and then spinning yarns he’d heard from traveling traders. Nyota noticed the absence of stories about the rebellion. Perhaps he meant it as courtesy.

“Geo,” she said as the last tale (nearly unbelievable, who would put a bobfae in a space suit) drew to a close. “Geo, I am sorry.”

He looked up from the mug at his lips. “For what?” A long sip. “Were you dozing off on me?”

“No, for—”

Geo held up a hand. “I am going to stop you there, ma’am. Don’t say what you’re about to say.”

“But—”

“Chances are, if I’ve guessed right, it’s going to spoil this cozy mood between us.” He met her eyes at last, and all the challenge he’d avoided rested behind his now. “Am I right?”

Nyota sighed. “You are right. But still, I… lied to you. You’ve been kind to me. I felt I owed you an apology.”

“In all fairness,” Geo replied in a startling imitation of the dry tone Nyota often used, “I kind of caused you a lot of trouble this morning. Call it making amends on my side, if you like.” He took one hand off his coffee mug again to run his fingers through is dark beard. “I knew who you were when we fought side by side at that glitch’s castle. Didn’t stop me from helping, right?”

Nyota smiled at the memory of him charging through the Occasus, roar ringing in her ears and axe whirling like liquid silver. “You helped very well.”

“You’ve always been the Protectorate Captain to me,” he said simply. “That’s the only Nyota Saimiri I know. Maybe you feel like you have to atone for everything to everyone, but I just want to think of you as you are now.”

Nyota’s smile faded into a sigh. “I am very tired,” she whispered, “of living my series of lies.”

Geo finished his coffee and set the mug aside with a quiet dulled click. “You’re going to need to lie a whole lot more if you want to survive siding with the rebels, you know.”

“I know. I would just rather not do so to my friends.”

The silence was longer this time, and she knew her words had hit home. She looked up at him with a thin, tired smile and said “It is very hard to be Captain Nyota when I keep acting like Agent Saimiri.”

Geo nodded slowly; Nyota saw his hand shift like he was resisting the habit of scratching his beard again to sort out his thoughts. “Tell you what.” He steepled his fingers and watched her over the tips. “You keep proving to me that you aren’t that woman anymore. When you finally believe it too, we can kill her together, bury her properly, and live. Sound good?”

The weight of the words he said so lightly took her breath away and sent bubbles of excitement roiling up her throat. A solution she’d never thought of. “Sounds good,” she agreed, and started smiling again as he patted her back. “Though I am afraid you will have to wait for my next visit to appraise my progress.” She stared up at the sky, suddenly some mix of restless and wistful. “We have so much to do.”

“Well, do not let me hold you up,” Geo said, grinning. “Good luck to you out there.”

Nyota cast a wry glance over her crew. Arjun’s sleepy shuffling to the coffee pot was the only movement among them. “I do not think you’ll be the one holding me up.” She stood up and stretched. “Might I ask one last favor? I might need an extra set of hands for making breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Geo sounded a bit mystified.

“It’s the most effective way to get them all out of bed.” She helped Geo to his feet. “Of course, there will be some for you, too.”

He chuckled. “In that case, count me in.”

Lumen drifted over to join them first, tired and creaking from the cold. Arjun joined them just long enough to refill his coffee and take a pair of mugs back for Hadley and Oldarva. Geo laughed again when he caught Hadley’s sharp curse as the hot, bitter drink snapped the last of the sleepiness out of her. She had grabbed the wrong mug.

“Captain,” Hadley said as she shuffled over, mug held tight in her hand, “you make a damn good cup of coffee, but the tea needs a warning label.”

Oldarva followed and lightly pulled the mug out of Hadley’s hands to take a long sip. “It’s not that bad. Just very strong.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Nyota chuckled softly and helped Geo serve pancakes to a few sleepy rebels who had wandered over to see what the ruckus was about. “Gather your belongings when you’re done with breakfast,” she told her crew. “We have work to do today.”

[nerdyhuntress]

CSJJ Day 19: “Kiss It Better”

Summary: Killian and Emma make hot cocoa on a cold, winter evening :)

Rating: M for smut ;)

A/N: I mixed up a couple of the prompts together to make this story. I know it’s short, simple, and fluffy, but I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @csjanuaryjoy for creating this wonderful events and all the writers/creators for such wonderful works!

“Deck the halls with boughs of hollyyyyy-”

“Swan, are you going to help or not?” Killian said exasperatedly, slightly amused by her antics. “You said you wanted hot cocoa, remember?”

“Uh huh,” she said, not paying any attention to his words and focusing on the last drops of rum left in the bottle.

After dinner, the two had shared a bottle of hot buttered rum. Normally, Emma could definitely handle her liquor, but she had far too much to drink this time. She had definitely surpassed the definition of tipsy. Killian couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her this drunk. He found it endearing, amusing, but annoying too. She had turned on the radio and was singing along (rather awfully) to the Christmas carols.

“Darling, it’s not Christmas anymore,” he reminded her, taking out the hot cocoa mix from the cupboard. “And will you help me?”

“No, but I’ll tell ya what to do,” she said, voice slurring as she tried to sit up on the counter and nearly slipped off. Killian let out a gasp as she nearly fell to the ground, but she hastily righted herself and began humming to “Sleigh Ride”.

“Killian, I wanna have the best hot cocoa in the world. Don’t use water like you did last time!” she reminded him with a frown.

“I know, lass,” he said, drawing out a jug of milk from the fridge.

“Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with youuuu,” she sang as he boiled the milk and added the cocoa powder.

Everything went well and it was rather cozy to be in the kitchen. The snow softly pattered on the window outside and the kitchen’s warm glow shone brightly in the cold night. He loved spending evenings cooking with her. It was something they were both somewhat adequate at, but with their skills pooled together, the food was delicious. Perhaps it was the joy of making it with someone he loved.

“Almost done, love,” Killian said grinning, watching her hum another caroling tune as she set the empty rum bottle down.

He poured the hot chocolate into their respective mugs; it steamed and frothed, begging to be tasted. The aroma of the sweet liquid was enticing. He then realized why she loved it so much. Killian turned to look at her, expecting an expression of delight or excitement. Hell, he even looked forward to a kiss (or more) for gratitude, as she often gave him when he made something for her.

What he didn’t expect was her punching him in the shoulder and frowning, her pretty eyes blazing in annoyance and drunkenness.

“Killian, that’s all wrong!” she said petulantly. “You forgot to add cinnamon and whipped cream!”

“Alright, then tell me how to make it!” he groaned, vexed with how she was acting. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. He loved his wife, he truly did, but it was awfully rude of her to ac this way. “Bloody hell, Emma. You’re awfully frustrating right now, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” she giggled, tracing the outline of his face and peppering kisses over his cheek. Her shift in mood was awfully confusing and strange, but when she was drunk, she often teetered between differing emotions. Like right now.

He went to the cabinet and pulled out the cinnamon, noting where it was on the shelves. Emma really loved that spice and always wanted it in a place in reach. Opening the fridge, he found the canister of whipped cream, remembering to shake it before spraying it on the frothy mugs of hot chocolate. Almost immediately, it began melting into the sweet drink, making it more appetizing. Before he could sprinkle cinnamon on top of the cream, Emma came up from behind him, rubbing her face against his body. That was another thing; she was often clingy while drunk and it was adorable.

“Swan, don’t distract me. I have to concentrate,” he said in a serious tone, but his wink practically begged her to continue her affections. She ran her hands over his shoulder blades and back, her teasing touch welcoming, but unbearable. He could feel his arousal growing in his pants and he shifted quietly, hoping she didn’t notice.

“Are you almost done?” she asked with a sigh, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Aye, love. Here you go,” he said, turning around and handing her the mug of hot chocolate. She let go of him to accept her drink.

“So perfect,” she said softly, slurping her preferred beverage rather quickly. She made an odd, indecent sound as she finished her drink, murmuring praises for his cooking skills. He was about to warn her to be careful (the last dregs were often the hottest) when she yelped and set down her mug.

“Ow, Killy. I burned my tongue,” she said.

“Would you like me to kiss it better, love?” he said with his signature smirk, setting his own mug down.

She nodded excitedly, squealing when he lifted her off the ground and drew her in a passionate kiss. He didn’t even need to finish his own drink. The taste of hot chocolate with cinnamon, mixed with the lovely taste of his wife, was far more alluring and tempting than anything he could ever savor. Instead of pulling away from him to finish her beverage, her slightly inebriated state kindled feelings of lust. Emma moved her hands away from his shoulders as he sat her down and touched his chest, opening the buttons on his shirt. She moaned at the sight of his chest hair and continued her touch further down, cupping his growing erection in her hand.

On most days, he would encourage such behavior, taking her to the nearest surface. He wasn’t picky either; they often coupled on the kitchen table and even the couch in the living room. But he wanted her in bed at that moment. His arousal was far too unbearable and he had to have his release. Nevertheless, he pushed his baser instincts aside and focused on the reality of the situation. His wife was drunk and he had to be a gentleman.

“Darling, you’re drunk. I won’t take you like this,” he said, trying to gently let her down.

“But I want to. I’m not that drunk, I promise,” Emma pleaded, giving him that look and biting her lower lips, causing him to groan and shift his position once more. Damn, this woman. He loved her so much and he would do anything for her. Truly anything.

Killian often wondered if her lie detector abilities had rubbed off on him. He could tell that she wasn’t lying and she was just as aroused as he was, if not more. He even speculated that if he were to push aside her skirt and run his fingers over her warm center, he would find it wet and wanting. With a nod that affirmed her words, he had his answer.

He kissed her once more and lifted her into his arms, carrying her upstairs to their bedroom. His own hot chocolate forgotten, he desired nothing more than to sate his lust with her. Once at the foot of their bed, he deposited her rather unceremoniously, causing her to squeal and fall to the bed. They quickly divested themselves of their clothing and Emma settled her head on the pillow. Killian removed her panties and groaned at the sight of her warm center.

“Bloody hell, you’re so wet, love,” he moaned, lapping up her arousal. She grasped the back of his head and held tightly. He always managed to find the right spots that brought her closer and closer to her climax. Like a pirate to his treasure, he knew exactly what to do and where to go.

“Get inside me, already,” Emma begged, feeling the tingling of an impending orgasm.

He wasted no time and did as his wife bid. Grasping his erection, he positioned it and entered her, making them both moan. It wasn’t long before Emma came, clutching his shoulders tightly as she climaxed. He collapsed atop his wife as he released himself inside her. They panted and laid their in each other’s embrace for several minutes before Killian stood up, intending to clean her up.

Once he emerged from the bathroom with a washcloth, he was surprised to see his love fast asleep, murmuring something indistinctly. With a grin, he softly cleaned her up, taking great caution to not wake her. He considered himself a fortuitous man to have such a stunning woman in his life. When he finished, he settled himself in bed with his wife. Instinctively, she curled to his touch, pushing her body against his, seeking comfort and warmth in the winter cold.

“Sweet dreams, my wife,” he said into her ear, brushing a few kisses atop her forehead.

She whispered something in her sleep, completely unintelligible, but the meaning came through to him. They were words he always yearned to hear from her. And he knew she felt the same.

“I love you.”