#The patriarch

[questintheskies]

[grumpyoldfker]

When next he entered his study, something small and white would catch the Patriarch's eye. A singular, ethereal feather wafted in the slightest breeze as his arrival disturbed the air in the room. This one did not dissipate like the others, and it drifted along the marble floor serving as a reminder of his misplaced wrath.

Heavy boots thundered along the white-marble halls, their echoes rippling through the silence of the sprawling estate. The Patriarch’s stride was steady, his pace quick and resolute despite the burden of the heavy armor that adorned him. His piercing gaze remained fixed on the massive wooden doors ahead—the entrance to his sanctuary, his study.

That place was his refuge, a haven of quietude and solace. Within its walls, he would draw at the faint threads of happiness, sitting in his worn chair by the window and dreaming of the woman who had long since departed. It was a sanctuary untouched by time or tragedy, perfect in its stillness.

As he neared, a guard moved swiftly to open the door. Adonis crossed the threshold, and the tranquility he craved washed over him. Familiarity settled like a comforting weight—until the soft thud of the door closing disturbed the air.

A faint gust stirred the stillness, lifting a feather from the ground. It floated gently, wavering momentarily before settling once more on the polished floor.

Adonis froze. His peace fractured. His control wavered.

Stooping, he picked up the delicate object, holding it in his weathered hand. The feather’s softness stood in sharp contrast to the calloused palm of the seasoned Paladin.

“You and I are fated to assist one another in some manner. I do not understand how or when, but I know this: our paths will cross and cross again, no matter how we try to evade it.”

The words were a poison, corroding his focus and disturbing his calm. His fingers clenched around the feather, but he found himself unable to crush it. His grip faltered, and his hand opened once more, revealing the feather intact.

A growl rumbled in his throat, low and frustrated. He marched to his desk, dropping the feather with a deliberate motion before sinking into his chair. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought to steady his thoughts. The weight of memory pressed heavily on him, dragging him into an uneasy slumber.

Adonis awoke to darkness. The familiar study was gone, replaced by an endless void. Feathers—countless and shimmering—drifted around him, descending slowly into the abyss. He reached out, catching one mid-air. It was soft, symmetrical, and strangely mesmerizing.

Then it burst into flames.

He flinched, his hand stinging from the sudden heat. Around him, the other feathers began to ignite, flames spreading like a ravenous tide. Smoke thickened the air, the heat suffocating, as memories surged forth—screams, crumbling walls, clashing steel.

“My Lord!”

The voice of Haldir, his loyal Majordomo, cut through the chaos. Adonis blinked and found himself back in the burning halls of his estate. The once-pristine marble was now stained with fire and ash.

“They’ve breached the eastern wall!” Haldir’s voice trembled with urgency. “The staff are in the catacombs, sealed in for safety. Your sons are in the courtyard, holding back the enemy, but we’re losing ground!”

Adonis’s eyes narrowed as he processed the scene. Down the hall, ghoulish figures on all fours charged toward them, their jagged teeth bared in a grotesque snarl.

The Patriarch moved on instinct, a warrior long accustomed to battle. While others might call upon the Light in moments of desperation, Adonis carried it within him—a constant, unyielding force. When the first undead claw lashed out to tear his flesh, it crumbled to ash before it could land. The creature shrieked, a brief, wretched sound, silenced as Adonis brought his warhammer down with crushing finality, shattering its skull.

The others followed in swift succession. His hammer, radiant with the Light and guided by years of honed expertise, swept through the undead with brutal precision. Flesh and bone gave way beneath the holy weapon, the first foe split in two as its remains scattered. Without pause, he turned the swing to obliterate the next, each strike a seamless testament to his mastery. They fell to the ground, smouldering silently with silent screams carved upon their features.

Adonis then looked back at Haldir. “Fly fast,” he commanded, his voice firm and steady. “Tell everyone to retreat to Silvermoon. This house is lost. Let the dead have it.”

Haldir nodded and turned to leave before Adonis grabbed his arm causing the Majordomo to look back in confusion. "Where is the Matriarch?" 

Haldir blinked, then glanced down the hallway. "She was evacuating the others before sending me to find you, my Lord. I believe she’s in the Atrium."

Adonis gave a sharp nod. "Go." His voice carried a finality that left no room for hesitation. Haldir turned and sprinted toward the main exit of the estate.

Adonis, however, ran in the opposite direction. The acrid smoke and searing flames did little to slow his stride. His focus was singular: to reach the Matriarch. Though he was known for his calm, even in the chaos of battle, a rising tide of panic threatened to overtake him. Determination tempered his fear, driving him forward with unrelenting purpose.

Adonis rounded the final corner of the estate’s labyrinthine halls, and his destination loomed ahead.

The Atrium, a sanctuary of light and life within the estate, had no ceiling, allowing natural sunlight to flood the space. Marble walls framed the lush flora and fauna that the Matriarch herself had nurtured with care. Sungrass blanketed the floor, a golden tapestry that often drew admiration and whispers of defiance against the austere traditions of elvish architecture. It was a place of quiet beauty—untamed, yet intentional.

Now, it was a hellscape. Flames consumed the greenery, licking hungrily at the tall trees, their fiery tendrils stretching skyward before the trunks gave way and crashed against the marble walls. Smoke choked the air, and the once-vibrant flora burned to ash.

At the heart of the chaos, Adonis saw the Elite Guard locked in a desperate battle against an unending tide of undead. The Scourge poured through gaping, smoldering breaches in the walls. The guards moved with precision, their formation a semicircle shielding the Matriarch. Their swords and spears struck with practiced rhythm, felling one monstrosity only for another to take its place.

At the center of the formation stood the Matriarch, radiant and resolute. Fear did not touch her; she wielded the Light as naturally as a blade. Her hands moved with practiced grace, summoning holy magic from within her core. She unleashed it in a brilliant wave that tore through the advancing horde, buying her defenders precious seconds.

But the enemy pressed harder. An Elite fell, their line momentarily broken, and the undead surged into the gap.

Adonis roared, a sound born of panic and fury, and charged toward the Atrium’s entrance. Two figures emerged to block his path—Scourge champions clad in saronite armor, their runeblades gleaming with dark energy. Death Knights.

They moved as one, their strikes calculated and relentless, but Adonis met them head-on. He shifted his weight deftly, countering their onslaught with his warhammer. The weapon, imbued with the Light, arced through the air with surprising speed, slamming into the chest of one knight and sending it hurtling backward. The second Death Knight pressed forward, but Adonis swung again, his hammer shattering steel and bone in a single, decisive blow.

Meanwhile, the Matriarch held the line. She poured her strength into closing the breach, her holy magic flaring brighter as the undead threatened to overwhelm. A guard cried out, his armor failing as ghouls clawed at his flesh.

Her eyes turned to Adonis, a fleeting moment of recognition amidst the chaos. Her lips curved into a bittersweet smile. She closed her eyes, summoning every ounce of her power. The air in the Atrium grew electric, crackling with energy as she drew the magic inward.

Then, with a final, deliberate motion, she released it.

A blinding sphere of Light erupted from her, expanding outward in a cataclysmic wave. It consumed the undead and the living alike, purging everything in its path. The Light slammed into the Atrium walls, already weakened by the assault, and they collapsed inward. The ceilingless sanctuary crumbled in a cacophony of marble and fire, burying the combatants beneath an avalanche of stone and flame.

Adonis had just struck down the second Death Knight when he saw it happen. His warhammer fell from his grip as his eyes locked onto the Matriarch. For one brief moment, their gazes met. Her smile was warm, unyieldingly kind—even as the walls came crashing down around her.

And then she was gone.

Silence fell over the ruins.

Adonis stood amidst the devastation, his breathing ragged. The weight of what had transpired pressed down on him like the very stones that now buried the Atrium.

Then, something stirred. A feather, impossibly untouched by the carnage, floated gently down before him. It danced in the faint breeze, its delicate edges catching the light, before settling softly on the scorched ground.

He bent to pick it up, his fingers brushing the downy surface. When he looked up, the world had shifted.

The smoke was gone. The flames extinguished. The Atrium stood as it had always been—untouched, serene. Marble walls gleamed, the Sungrass was whole and golden, and the air carried the faint scent of blooming flowers.

Before him, near one of the reflective pools, stood the Matriarch.

Adonis let his hammer fall and ran to her. She turned at the sound of his approach, her laughter soft and melodic, and he swept her into his arms. Her delicate hands looped under his arms, pulling herself close against him.

“And what, I wonder, has you in such a mood?” she asked, her voice a soothing balm to his turmoil.

“I…” He struggled for words, gripping her tightly as if she might vanish. She was a flickering light in the encroaching darkness, a warmth against the cold.

Something brushed against his cheek—soft, familiar. He opened his eyes to see wings folding around him, their embrace protective and comforting.

“How often is it that I stray from your gaze, my love?” she whispered, threading her fingers gently through his hair. “Can I not walk my path just as you walk yours?”

“What do you mean?” Adonis asked, his voice trembling as he clung to her.

“I died,” she said softly. “My journey is over, my love, but yours continues.”

He shook his head fiercely. “No… You’re here now. I can feel you. I can hear you…” The desperation in his voice was raw, unrestrained.

Her voice shifted, as though another presence interwove with hers.

“You are a man of few threads, Adonis,” it said, calm yet laced with intrigue. “You hold significantly less than most.”

Adonis froze. The voice—he knew it. Recognition dawned as the woman in his arms shifted before him, her form changing. Her beauty remained, but it was no longer his Matriarch. Wings unfurled behind her, and confident, piercing eyes met his.

“…imagine my astonishment,” she said, her tone almost playful, “when I discovered a golden thread flowing from you… into me.”

He blinked, stepping back. “What are you—”

His words caught in his throat as he beheld her fully. The woman who now stood before him was not his wife but her.

“Does that not astonish you as well… darling?”

Adonis jolted awake with a gasp, sweat clinging to his brow.

He was back in his study. Alone. Yet the weight of the dream—and the memories it unearthed—clung to him, unrelenting. He looked down and saw the feather on his desk, untouched and unharmed. The Patriarch picked it up and stared at it with an expressionless gaze before he opened a drawer and slid it gently inside. He turned his eyes towards the courtyard and beyond. The thread began its pull.

@themadamelioness @kelzthalassunwhisper for family things

[theunhingedcowboy]

Anyways heres a screenshot from Collision last night of me flipping off the patriarchy.

[parasitic-saint]

archbishop pussy

[madhatterbri]

Christian didn't do anything wrong. Nick made something from scratch while Killswitch paid for it. 💅

I'll see myself out.

[midwestmade29]

“Do you understand me?” 😈

Well, I had every intention tonight to continue writing chapter 3 for [Leave Before You Love Me] but I kept staring at the screen blankly 😖 I really want to continue it so I hope I can get my shit together and do so ASAP. Instead, my brain came up with this smutty little number 🤭

If you are not 18+ years old, PLEASE KEEP SCROLLING. Do not interact with this story.

Due to the explicit nature, this story is NSFW or minors.

Some topics/theme(s) of this story may not be suitable and/or triggering for some readers. Read at your own discretion.

Dominant male, mentions of being punished (sexually), anger/frustration, (slight) edging, unprotected sex.

Word count: 943

The story takes place at a party/event that you and Christian Cage are attending.

Christian’s obsession with Nick was really starting to wear on your nerves tonight. Any other time you knew better than to complain or show any disdain towards his “Golden Boy,” but right now you just didn’t care. You let your frustrations bubble to the surface the more Christian carried on, rolling your eyes and sighing. “He’s a good boy, a special one. I couldn’t imagine a better son. He’s my pride and joy!” Christian raved. “More like a pain in the ass if you ask me…” you mumbled under your breath. One of the people in the group you and Christian were mingling with must’ve heard you because they covered their mouth and snickered. You looked up at Christian to see if he heard you too, leaving you disappointed when he pressed on without skipping a beat. “Nick has a bright future ahead of him, thanks to my guidance. He’s a smart boy choosing to follow my direction.” The same person that laughed at your “pain in the ass” remark piped up, asking what your opinion on Nick was while sporting a big grin. They probably got the hint that you weren’t Nick’s biggest fan, so you were certain they just wanted to stir the pot. With a dry laugh you responded, “You want my opinion on the precious Golden Boy? I think he’s a brat that needs to be knocked down a peg. He’s a 6ft obnoxious baby! I could go on and on!” The entire group of people around you burst out in laughter, everyone except Christian. You could feel his anger radiating off him, causing a cold chill to run down your spine. It was in that moment that you knew you had messed up big time.

With his jaw clenched, Christian excused the two of you from the group conversation. He grabbed hold of your wrist and pulled you in the direction of the stairs, his grip remaining firm. You tried to pull it free, but he only squeezed harder. “Where are we going Christian?!” you questioned the further you got up the staircase. He didn’t answer you with words, but the scowl on his face was all the answer you needed. Christian scoured the hallway for an empty room before choosing the host’s personal office at the end of the hallway. Once the two of you crossed the threshold, he released your wrist and walked further in the room, standing with his back towards you. “Shut the door.” He ordered. Recognizing the tone in his voice, you quickly did as you were told. “Christian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all of that. I just couldn’t stand to hear one more word about Nick…” You trailed off when Christian abruptly turned around and pinned your body against the door with his. “Don’t you ever talk that way about my son again!” He warned. “But did I lie though?” you hissed back defiantly. Christian grabbed your jaw with his large hand forcing you to look him in his darkened eyes. “Not only did you disrespect my son, but you also disrespected me while I was conducting business. Is that something my good girl is supposed to do?” “No.” was all you offered him. “No? No what?” he cautioned as he released your jaw from his hand. “No, sir…”

“That’s right, baby. There’s a multitude of ways I’d like to punish you for your little outburst, but we’re limited on time and resources, so I’ll just have to settle on fucking you up against this door until you learn some manners.” Christian boldly stated. Your core instantly ignited with fire, causing you to shiver and moan against his lips when they collided with yours. He moved your hands down to his belt buckle and you took the hint and made quick work of removing his pants and boxer briefs. Without hesitation, Christian lifted you up so your center was aligned with his hard length, your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him even closer to you. With one hand he slid your dress up to your hips and moved your panties to the side before pushing himself inside of you. The sudden fullness you felt in your lower half caused your head to fall back against the door and your eyes to skewer shut. Christian cursed under his breath at your tightness as you bounced up and down against the door, allowing him to go deeper inside of you with every thrust. The door rattled in its frame the faster he moved, causing the delicious pressure to build rapidly in your core. Christian took notice and asked breathlessly, “You want to cum baby? You want to let yourself go all over me?” You nodded your head yes, which caused Christian to stop moving and pull himself out of you. You groaned loudly at the sudden loss of contact, frustration replacing the feeling of ecstasy that had consumed your entire body. “What’s wrong baby? Frustrated?” he teased with a ruthless smile on his face. The both of you started to hear voices and footsteps echo down the hallway, so Christian released you slowly allowing you to slide down the door to your feet. With one finger placed over your mouth signaling you to remain quiet, Christian pulled you against his body walking you over to the wooden desk in the center of the room. Before spinning you around and bending you over the desk to finish what he had started against the door, Christian placed his lips mere inches away from yours and growled up against them, “Don’t you ever interrupt my business like that again. Do. You. Understand. Me?” “Yes, sir…”

Ugh he’s sooo freaking fun to write about 🥵

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Ethiopian Bible — considered as the oldest and most complete 'Bible' on earth.

The world’s earliest illustrated Christian book has been saved by a British charity, which located it at a remote Ethiopian monastery.

The incredible Garima Gospels are named after a monk who arrived in the African country in 5th century AD.

Abba Garima arrived from Constantinople in 494 AD. Legend has it that he was able to copy the Gospels in a day because God delayed the sun from setting and is said to have copied them out in just one day.

It is beautifully illustrated and the colours are still vivid. It has been conserved through the Ethiopian Heritage Fund.

The incredible relic has been kept ever since in Garima Monastery near Adwa in the north of the country, which is in Tigray region at 7000ft.

Experts believe it is also the earliest example of book binding still attached to the original pages.

The survival of the Gospels is incredible considering the country has been under Muslim invasion, Italian invasion, and a fire in the 1930s destroyed the monastery’s church.

They were written on goat skin in the early Ethiopian language of Ge’ez.

There are two volumes dated from the same time, but the second is written in a different hand from the first. Both contain illustrations and the four Gospels.

Though the texts had been mentioned by the occasional traveller since 1950s, it had been thought they dated from 11th century at the earliest.

Carbon dating, however, gives a date between 330-650 AD, which tantalisingly overlaps the date Abba Garima arrived in the country.

So, the first volume could be in his hand – even if he didn’t complete the task in a day as the oral tradition states.

The charity Ethiopian Heritage Fund that was set up to help preserve the treasures in the country has made the stunning discovery.

It also allowed incredible rare access to the texts, so experts could conserve them on site. It is now hoped the Gospels will be put in a museum at the monastery where visitors will be able to view them.

Blair Priday from the Ethiopian Heritage Fund said:

"Ethiopia has been overlooked as a source of these fantastic things. Many of these old Christian relics can only be reached by hiking and climbing to remote monasteries as roads are limited in these mountainous regions.

All the work on the texts was done in situ and everything is reversible, so if in future they can be taken away for further conservation, we won’t have hindered that.

The pages had been crudely stitched together in a restoration in the 1960s and some of the pages wouldn’t even turn. And they were falling to pieces.

The Garima Gospels have been kept high and dry, which helped preserve them all these years. They are kept in the dark so the colours look fresh.

This was the most astounding of all our projects. The Patriarch, the head of the Ethiopian Church, had to give his permission.

Most of the experts did the work for nothing. We are currently undertaking other restoration programmes on wall paintings and religious texts.

We believe that preserving Ethiopia’s cultural heritage will help to increase visitor revenue and understanding of the extraordinary history of this country."

📷 : Credit to the Owner

[brideofinfamy]

like HOW??! He's aging like the finest wine🥵🤤

[questintheskies]

It's Hook!

[grumpyoldfker]

Haze

"Old warrior, lay down thy helm, thy sword, thy shield. The world has taken its fill of thee. Thy spirit is weary... thy strength spent. Close thine eyes, and let darkness be thy weapon, thy armor."

Adonis blinked, his vision blurred as morning light poured through the glass windows of his chamber. The weight of blanket and sheet pressed down on him, soft to the touch yet stifling, as though the very air conspired to keep him bound.

"You snore like an old warthog, you know that? Get up—the children are already asking for us."

The voice carried a playful rebuke, tinged with an indomitable strength born of love and endurance. A laugh, bright and familiar, followed the words before fading into silence. His hand reached instinctively toward the sound, searching for its source, only to grasp at emptiness.

With a low groan, he pushed against the mattress, his body yielding a chorus of dull aches—shoulders tight, legs heavy. He paused, head bowed, hair cascading to shield his face, granting a fleeting reprieve from the unrelenting march of the day. Time seemed a blur—was it morning? Noon? Did the sun deceive him, heralding dusk instead?

The doors opened, and servants streamed in with practiced efficiency. Without thought, Adonis rose, moving to the spot he occupied each morning. They worked quickly, strapping on armor piece by piece. Steel encased his flesh, rendering him a relic—a warrior prepared not for battle, but for routine.

His gaze wandered to the window, half-expecting plumes of smoke or the acrid tang of brimstone to taint the horizon. Yet the view beyond was tranquil: trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering with golden light.

When the last strap was secured, the servants withdrew, leaving him alone once more. He flexed his arms, feeling the stiffness in his joints, the armor a cage as much as a shield. Still, he moved forward, defying the creeping infirmity that clung to him like an unseen adversary.

In the hall, his steps echoed softly as he made his way to the study. The familiar doors creaked open and closed behind him. He approached the chair that had become his perch, day after day, and sank into it, eyes drawn to the expanse of land stretching beyond the estate.

"Old warrior. Sitting upon thy throne. Staring into root, tree, and stone. Thy shoulders bear an unbearable weight. Thy armor, an anchor. How much longer will thou clutch this burdensome crutch?"

The sunlight, fierce and unyielding, pierced his half-lidded gaze. His mind wandered, slipping away from the stillness of the study into a battlefield painted with chaos.

The cries of the wounded mingled with the clash of steel and the relentless rhythm of war drums. Blood soaked the earth, its tang sharp in the air. Amidst the turmoil, Adonis saw himself—not leading, not fighting, but sitting still, his form sagging under invisible chains.

Tired. Weighed down. Alone.

@daily-writing-challenge

[majordomo-haldir]

What was Adonis like as a child? As a teenager? Was he ill-tempered then, or was his sour disposition something cultivated with age?

Haldir stood before the extravagant courtyard of the B’andtherion estate, his gaze sweeping over the familiar grounds. The courtyard had always been a nexus of memory for the Majordomo—a place where time itself seemed to linger. It was here that countless moments had unfolded, each etching its mark on the estate’s storied legacy.

One memory came to him when the question was asked: a much younger Adonis walking beside his father, the then Patriarch. The scene was not one of paternal warmth, but of instruction���rigid and firm, a father shaping his heir with deliberate precision.

“I recall...” Haldir began, his voice heavy with thought, “I recall a young man eager to learn, exceptionally disciplined in navigating life’s trials. Ill-tempered? No, not quite. I would say firm—crafted that way by his father, just as his father had been shaped before him. There was a fire in him then, a genuine enthusiasm for bettering our people, for ushering in a new dawn for Quel’Thalas. But fairy tales rarely endure.”

His tone darkened, tinged with sorrow. “Frustration grew. Betrayal came from men and women he once trusted. He learned that many who entertained his words did so only for their own gain. The Matriarch tempered that sharp edge, softened it with her influence. But since her passing, that edge has honed itself once more—so sharp now that even the slightest graze draws blood.”

He turned to the Lioness, his eyes filled with poignant intensity. “I can only hope that edge finds itself tapered—not dulled, but refined—by a whetstone placed in purposeful hands.”

@themadamelioness ty for the ask )

[mchasmfiend]

Sin from Lolina by R L Hughes

Hellfire from High Noon Over Camelot by the Mechanisms

Did I make this post because I have been listening to Sin on loop? Maybe.

[madhatterbri]

👀

[midwestmade29]

Ice Skating ⛸️

Christmas writing prompt: #3 Word count: 777 Divider by: @benkeibear

Ok, there’s a couple mentions of you, Christian and a hot bath…but I promise I was on my best behavior and kept this story 100% fluff!

Christian helps you get the hang of being on skates for the first time…

“Refresh my memory, but did you say you’ve never done this before?” Christian asked as he pulled into a parking spot at the outdoor skating rink. “No, I haven’t. Not even once.” You confessed, feeling a little embarrassed. Your whole life you’ve lived in a cold weather state where ice skating was a common winter activity, but you never gave it a try. Of course, the one time you decide to attempt something new like this, it’s with a man who was practically born on skates and views gliding around on the ice as a basic skill like riding a bike! “It’s really not that hard. I promise I’ll help you.” He reassured. “I can already feel my back starting to hurt. Are you sure there aren’t other things to do around here? There has to be something we can do that has a smaller chance of me breaking a bone!” You begged, trying to get out of it. Christian looked at you with the cutest puppy dog eyes you had ever seen before, almost making you change your mind. “Come on Y/N! Don’t be nervous! How often do we have free time while we’re on the road? I haven’t been skating in forever, it will feel good to be on the ice again. If you do end up falling, I promise to run you a hot bath later to soothe your aches and pains. I might even join you…”

You found yourself at the skate rental counter after Christian convinced you to get out of the car when he elaborated more about the hot bath he promised you later. He handed you your skates and chuckled when you stared at them uncertainly. “Come sit and I’ll help tighten the laces for you.” It took him no time at all to make sure your skates were well adjusted and fit properly. Once his skates were on as well, he helped you stand and walk over to the entrance of the rink before stepping onto the ice. “I won’t let you go unless you tell me to.” Christian pledged while reaching his hand out to you. He guided you onto the ice, steadying you while holding onto your arms and grinning at your shaky legs. “No laughing!” you warned before smiling too. “I would never!”

Around your 4th lap around the rink, you really felt like you were getting the hang of things! Christian even released your arms and laced his fingers with yours once he knew you were okay. Christmas music played through the speakers around the rink, strings of lights were hung everywhere for the perfect ambiance, and if the aura around the rink couldn’t get any more perfect, fluffy white snowflakes began falling too. It really felt like you were in a winter wonderland! “You’re doing great baby! Thanks for giving this a chance, it means a lot to me.” Christian expressed. Before you could respond, a skater zoomed right past you, making you wobble. Christian pulled you into his arms before you had the chance to fall, and his chest felt good against your frozen nose as you nuzzled in closer to him. Unfortunately, your embrace was short lived when the next skater went by just as fast. Christian began to teeter before eventually losing his balance. He tried to stabilize himself by grabbing onto your arm, but he pulled too hard and the two of you fell like a ton of bricks.

Christian broke your fall when you landed right on top of him and he groaned as the cold and damp ice started soaking into his pants. “Oh my gosh Christian! Are you okay?!” you asked, full of concern. “I’d be a lot better if you’d get your knee off my pelvis.” He quipped. You apologized repeatedly as you peeled yourself off him and offered a hand to help him up. Once the ice shavings were brushed off his clothes, you couldn’t help but to start giggling. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “You know, I was for certain that I’d be the one falling down tonight, but that wasn’t the case. Technically I wasn’t the one that fell. You drug me down with you!” you teased as Christian scowled at you. You placed his arm around your shoulders as you made your way off the ice and over to the counter to return your skates. As Christian slid into the driver’s seat, he hissed at the soreness that was already settling in. You reached over and took his hand in yours before murmuring, “Come on my little figure skater. Let’s get you back to the hotel and into that hot bath...”

My how the tables turned...😂

[officialchristiancagebbgirlblog]

IM ON NICKS STORY?!?!?!