#ivy needs to be tucked in bed at all times

[dollfacefantasy]

hi! i love your writing so much! i was wondering if you could write something with leon and a clingy reader? she just likes being held by him, and one day a make out session gets out of hand while he’s holding her so he just fucks her while standing up, not letting her get down. i don’t know if this makes sense but the thought won’t leave my head. hope you’re having a good day/night! <3

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you're such a needy little thing. leon can't get enough of you, and when he finds out you like being held, he has to take advantage of that.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), standing sex, daddy kink

word count: 3.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the request! i FELT this one cause i also have a thing about being held hehe. i hope it's what you were looking for :) reblogs and comments are really appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

It only took Leon a couple weeks of dating to figure out that his girlfriend was exceptionally needy. He could tell you tried to suppress it to the best of your ability, control your yearning for physical contact, but it was still there. Honestly, it was obvious from the way you looked at him alone. Glossy, pleading eyes just calling out to him for some love.

At first, he was wary of this trait. He wasn’t good with affection normally. Didn’t like talking about his feelings. That stuff was just too much. He’s a busy guy already. He didn’t need extra worries in the form of a sweet thing like you rubbing your cheek against his neck, snaking your arms beneath his shirt, softly pleading “Leon, I wanna cuddle.”

But his problem was that he always gave into that stuff. Words like those hitting his ears, your pouty lips begging for his kisses, and grabby hands roaming around his body always got you what you wanted. He’d plant a smooch on your temple or forehead, grunt a quiet “c’mere then baby,” and pull you on top of him.

Time passed, and you grew on him like ivy climbing a stone wall. Your clingy nature took root somewhere inside him and drove him wild. It was addictive, feeling so needed. For the first time in his life, he felt like someone’s absolute first choice. It was nice living out his days with the subconscious idea that he was your favorite person. He could get a bit cocky about it sometimes but more than anything it made him all sappy. He couldn’t help it. He tried keeping up the cool, slick persona around you for a little while because impressing you was so important to him. But the way you looked at him made him feel like Superman. Your precious face tilted upwards to gaze at him like he was the only man you’d ever laid eyes on. It just made him wanna scoop you up and take off, soar far up into the clouds where it would just be the two of you.

So he ended up feeding into this kind of behavior one thousand percent, enabling you with no reservations. If you were sitting together, you were on his lap. Standing near each other? His arm was around you, keeping you tucked to his chest. The two of you would be lying in bed and simple cuddling just didn’t cut it anymore. No, instead, he’d be rubbing your back, nuzzling and kissing your neck, massaging your scalp. And the pet names were constant. Your actual name was only reserved for serious or special occasions. In ordinary conversations, it was always “my baby” with the intermittent “precious girl” or “princess” mixed in. 

Because, from his perspective, why wouldn’t he? You both deserved this. You craved the physical affection you’d never gotten enough of while he yearned for a sweet little thing to dote on and love between the brutal DSO missions that plagued most of his time. He didn’t give a fuck if someone wanted to say it was codependent or that he was whipped. You were his baby, and if sweet tender affection was what revved your engine, what kind of man would he be to deprive you of it?

Maybe he was whipped. He wouldn’t shy away from that label. He loved you undoubtedly. His heart ached to see you smiling and laughing. Each individual cell in his body cried out to be pressed against you. But in the same breath, he’d be a liar if he said that sex played no part in his urges to coddle you.

He’d never seen a girl get as cock drunk as you. He’d warm you up with his cooing and caresses, and then all he had to do was slide a few inches in you, and you were gone. Nothing had ever gotten him so hard. It’s like your brain shut off as soon as your sweet little pussy was filled up. Really, you went the whole nine yards; whining, babbling, drooling. Your gorgeous lashes would flutter as your eyes went hazy, and you always wanted to hold his hand. Well, more specifically, you wanted him to offer his hand to you. He’d simply murmur “Aw, is it too much, princess? Here, hold daddy’s hand. That’s my girl,” and you were already cumming.

Cause that was the other part of this whole thing. Shortly after he caught on to your intense need for physical affection, he discovered your penchant for the infamous d word. The first time you’d said it, he had you pinned down to the mattress, face shoved against your pillow, hips slightly elevated while he stuffed you full of cock. You just cried it out in the same way you’d yell for God or whine “fuck.” And he rolled with it. One little word wasn’t gonna get in the way of what he’d found with you.

Beyond calling him daddy, Leon tried to take note of all the things that got you going. Sure, you were fond of physical expressions of love, and you probably wouldn’t turn down an offer from him ever. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have favorites when it came to this stuff. Leon took pride in remembering what you liked. Over the months of your relationship, he made a point to remember the specific motion you liked him to do when he rubbed your back. He burned into his mind that you liked to kiss in a way that would definitely make those over-the-top smooching noises found in network dramas. What could he say? He just wanted to do everything right for you.

Possibly his favorite thing that he discovered about you though was your love for being held. Love probably wasn’t even a strong enough word. Your affinity? Proclivity? Plain white hot need? Who fucking knows. All he knew was that you had a major thing for being wrapped up in his arms with your head on his shoulder.

The first hint he’d got at this part of you came by pure accident. He’d just arrived home from a mission, a long and taxing one at that. He’d missed you like crazy, felt as needy as you did on a daily basis, and you were practically vibrating with a longing for his touch. So when you came bounding down the hallway to meet him at the front door, he’d grabbed you by the waist, picked you up and spun you around like in an old cartoon when the prince and princess finally get their happily ever after.

Coming out of the short twirl, he’d brought you to his chest and held your body a little ways above the ground. He cradled your head to your shoulder and kept his grip tight to support you. And it wasn’t like you melted or had little hearts gleaming in your eyes, but something in your demeanor shifted.

“There’s my baby,” he muttered while smacking kisses on the side of your head.

You replied with how much you missed him, more than anything in the whole world. He laughed his deep, rumbling laugh and brought you over to the couch. You were all over him even more than normal which was really saying something. You couldn’t stop pecking his face or pushing up against him. Next thing he knew, you were tugging at his belt and taking his dick down your throat.

“Fuck, precious. don’t gotta choke yourself. It’s not goin’ anywhere,'' he hummed while tilting his head back against the couch. You weren’t normally so forward. You were always needy, but typically, you waited for him to initiate. It was much more your style to drop hints that you were in the mood and wait for him to pick up on your signals, but this time you just went for it.

He stroked the back of your head while you bobbed your head, taking him deeper each time. Groans fell from his lips, and his hips jolted in small twitches. Your saliva seeped out over your soft lips and dribbled down to his balls. You had never lacked enthusiasm before, but now you were taking him like his cock was the best treat you’d ever had.

He could barely stand the sight of you in that moment. Cute eyes drooping while your cheeks hollowed. Once he heard the muted sound of you gagging, he was done for. Shot his load deep in your throat in what would have been an embarrassingly short amount of time if you were anyone else. But you swallowed it all without any complaints and then crawled into his lap to cuddle some more. As you curled up to his chest, he knew something he did struck a chord with you to get you so eager.

So naturally, he tried picking you up again a couple days later. He had to know if that was a fluke or if it really was a thing. This time it was much more intentional, but he still played it off as a teasing gesture. He scooped you up from behind while you were fidgeting with something in the kitchen, expecting a whiny chorus of “Leon!” and “Stop, put me down!” But you didn’t say either. You let out a soft squeak and a quiet “What are you doing?”

“Just giving you a hug, baby,” he teased and situated you in his embrace so your front was pressed to his.

Almost immediately, as if your skull was magnetized, your head fell to his shoulder. Your limbs tightened around him a little and you took a deep breath like you wanted to commit his scent to memory. You didn’t even complain about him pulling you away from whatever task had been occupying your attention.

“This isn’t a hug,” you’d said softly.

“Says who? Seems like a hug to me, got my arms around you,” he responded with a small kiss to your temple.

His hand rose to your head and cradled it against his shoulder as your legs locked around his waist. He stood there with you for a moment just taking in the embrace. It was as if he could feel you melt against his body.

“A hug is when we’re both standing,” you say quietly while slotting your face in the warm crook of his neck.

“Yeah? You look that up in the dictionary or something?” he mutters in return.

When he had a firm hold on you, he walked you through the living room, taking the long way up to the bedroom to give his little experiment some time to play out. You rested quietly in his grasp as he navigated past furniture. He ran his free hand up and down your back as he moved, his other one planted firmly on your thigh to support you.

After the two of you reached the bedroom, he set you down on the bed and climbed in after you. His fingers coasted across your cheek as he looked down into your eyes, studying you in a way. He was still curious about what was going through your head. Again, him holding you like that had led to some of the best sex the two of you’d had, but there was something deeper there too. This wasn’t just a cheat code to get you to drop your panties. There was an emotional part of this too. He could tell.

“So you like when I pick you up, hm?” he’d asked.

You looked up at him from your spot against his chest, glowing a bit as you came down from the high. “I guess,” you answered with a tiny shrug.

He’d chuckled at your attempt to be casual and just dropped the subject matter. Your reasons were probably sensitive to you. Located in a deep, private cavern of your heart that was too guarded for you to let even him in yet. And that was ok with him. For now, he’d just chalk it up to some desire on an instinctual level. It was just something that made you tick, and it became something he did for you from time to time when you needed that extra level of care.

This evening, the two of you had been watching some movie. To be honest, Leon didn’t even remember what it was called at this point because he didn’t really wanna watch it in the first place. He was much more interested in you. You had just started it up as he arrived home from running some errands though, so he didn’t want to be rude and ask you to shut it off just because he was horny. Instead, he flopped down next to you on the couch. 

A small laugh bubbles from your lips as he pulls you to him and kisses down the side of your face, murmuring for you to explain what’s going on in the thing you were watching. You ramble on about the story, telling him that it’s the end of the world and these guys are trapped in this house, and that one is friends with that one but hates the other one, and blah blah blah. He loved you to death, but he just couldn’t care less about that right now. He hums along with a stream alternating between  “mhm” and “oh yeah.”

Your laughter increases as his kisses become more distracting. He nips at the skin of your throat and litters your soft skin with love bites. His tongue laves at your neck as his nose coasts over your flesh. After a while, your own interest in the movie begins to dwindle. You turn your head and plant some smooches on his face, enticing him to tilt his head upwards. The two of you meet in the middle, connecting your lips.

Mouths move in sync, tongues brush each other, and soon enough, your seat’s been abandoned in favor of your true favorite spot. You’re parked on his lap, the lush flesh of your ass flush against his semi-hard bulge. His hand slithers up your back underneath your shirt to rub up and down your spine while pulling you closer. Your breathing gets heavier, and you’re practically panting when you two finally pull away for a break. Your lips are wet with spit and a little puffy from making out. He drags his thumb over your bottom one as he smirks at your glazed eyes.

“Think you’d be ok with finishing this later?” he asks.

To his pleasure, you’re quick to accept the offer with a nod. “Seen it before anyways,” you admit and lean back in for more kisses.

He chuckles into your mouth and boosts you up without even turning the tv off. He’s stumbling to the bedroom, and you’re latched onto him like a little spidermonkey or something. He knew well by now that being carried took your brain to that sweet spot of utter submission, but today you were on something else entirely. You were getting whiny between kisses. He was having to support you extra because your hands were trying to slide in between the two of you and get at his pants. He assumed it was cause he got you riled up before picking you up, but he didn’t lament about it too much. He wasn’t thinking with his head right now.

All your squirming around nearly made him trip and topple the both of you to the ground. He grunts and shifts you around, trying to get you to settle down at least till you reach the bedroom. You wouldn’t let up though, continuing on with your impatient hip rocking and greedy fingers. He’s sure he’s about to fall over and one of you is moments away from serious injury, so he totters a few steps over and secures you against the wall.

“Jesus, you’d think I’d just got back from a war or something,” he breathes.

You laugh, but keep up your neediness. “Just want you so bad. Missed my daddy all day,” you murmur.

“Yeah? I know it’s hard being away from me. Your little head’s just not cut out for all that thinking is it?” he coos condescendingly, “This is how you're meant to be, just attached to daddy, letting him take care of everything while you tag along.”

“Mhm,” you nod and kiss him again. He can feel you smiling against his lips.

“Yeah, so how bout you do me a favor then and stop wriggling around so much. You wanna get dropped on your head so thinking isn’t even an option anymore?” he teases.

“No. I just…” you whimper defensively. A smile spreads across your face as you hide your face at the base of his neck. “I just want you… really bad.”

That was a tone Leon knew well by now. That was the tone of the guessing game. It was the voice you used when you wanted something but were too shy to just ask for it. So Leon had to decipher your signals and figure out what that thing was. Luckily, this time around it was pretty simple.

“Really bad? Like pinned down in the middle of the hallway while I’m stuffing you full of cum bad?” he asks.

“Sorta…” you say.

With an amused shake of his head, he thinks a little more. The stuffed full of cum thing was a given. So what was off? He was thinking through this as if searching for a missing puzzle piece. He runs through different scenarios before it clicks. He laughs a little. It was kind of obvious once he had it.

“Oh, of course not. There’s no way you’d choose to be out of my arms. What was I thinking?” he says, exaggerating his cadence, “So you want it standing?”

You nod, and with the right answer, that little smile feels so much sweeter. He leans harder into you, keeping you by pressing you between him and the wall. Giving you a few messy kisses, he finally undoes his pants and pushes them down to his mid-thigh. He was fully hard now. You could feel it as he rolled his hips against your center.

“Lucky you’re wearing a skirt, nice and easy for me,” he hums.

He bunches up the fabric around your waist before dragging his fingers over your panties, feeling how they were damp. He smirks against your lips while applying more pressure, seeking out your swollen clit.

“Already so wet, baby,” he chides, “Is this how you get while I’m not with you? Can’t think of anything but daddy cause your pretty pussy’s just crying for some more attention.”

“Yeah, need you to make the ache go away,” you say in a breathy whimper.

“I know you do,” he coos.

It’s a bit difficult in this position, but Leon manages to remove the last barriers of cloth separating the two of you. He lines up his dick with your entrance and slides home. Now it’s his head that falls on your shoulder as he groans. His stance didn’t really allow him to ease in. He was balls deep in the first stroke. You let out a long satisfied moan.

Taking a moment to readjust, he gets his elbows hooked under the bends of your knees. You’re basically bent in half, his cock to your cervix. This angle felt even deeper too. Your walls pulse around him as you work to accommodate the length.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Every part of you clings to me,” he grunts before taking a step away from the wall.

Losing the stability behind your back had you rocking and shifting more, causing his tip to nudge against all those sweet spots. Your thighs quiver as Leon gets into a rhythm and figures out how to bounce you on his cock like his. The sound of your skin meeting floats down the hallway. You whine and whimper, your eyes roll back as your head tilts the same direction.

He could tell you were loving it. Your favorite place to be combined with your favorite feeling in the entire world. There was nothing his sweet girl loved more than being stuffed full of cock and held by him.

“Feeling good, princess? Is daddy fucking you just how you wanted?” he asks.

“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” you whimper and nod dumbly.

“Good,” he says. He focuses on working himself in and out of you. His mind is locked on the sensation of your slick coating his shaft and collecting at the base, dripping down to his balls. But more words fill his mind and rush to his mouth to be let out. “This is why you’re so needy, right baby? You just need some cock in you or you get so frustrated. Can’t even think straight without your fill, can you?”

You shake your head wildly. Your legs tense over his arms. His hands dig into your back to keep you supported. You see his biceps flexing beneath his sleeves as he uses his strength to hold you up. He rocks you on his cock, back and forth, sliding himself in and out. You’re gasping and trembling more noticeably now. He knows you’re approaching the peak.

“Doing so good for me, precious,” he murmurs, “Keep squeezing me like that so I can fill you up just how you need.”

Your noises become more desperate. It feels as though you get even tighter. Leon slams into you deeper than you could remember. But then again, in this state, your memory wasn’t worth much. Pumping in and out, he sees your eyes squeeze show, your mouth widening into that cute familiar shape it always made when you came.

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess for daddy,” he groans.

You do as he says, following your orders. You seize up and moan, long and loud. He tightens his grip and takes a step closer to the wall to ensure your high isn’t cut by falling. His hips don’t stop though. He feels that tensing in his belly. Gritting his teeth, he pounds you over and over until he has to stumble back to the wall.

You hit the surface with a thud, but he’s a little too busy to notice. He growls and whimpers into your neck, hips working at a more strained pace as he tries to grab that brief euphoria. A few thrusts later and release is washing over him. He fucks you full, going deep and staying true to his word about filling you up. He pumps every last drop in.

You slowly slide down in his arms till he lets go of your legs and your feet can touch the ground again. Looking up at him as he comes down, you watch his features melt into the relaxation of post-release. You lean up and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes open and look down at you. A lazy smile spreads on his face and moves in to return the gesture.

“So how’d I do?” he asks with that smug look you loved so much.

“Perfect like always,” you answer, genuine in contrast to his teasing. You step forward on wobbly legs, grabbing his hand to finish your trip to the bedroom together. He leans down and smacks a kiss on your neck.

“Clearly not perfect enough if you’re walking on your own now,” he purrs in your ear.

You smile and look down. “There’s still time to fix that,” you offer.

“Of course there is,” he agrees with a light swat to your ass. He pecks your lips once more before following you through the entryway to your shared room.

[chestersturniolo]

𝙁𝙞𝙚𝙡𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧

Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader

In which; You and your boyfriend Chris escape to the English countryside

based on this request

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You and Chris had been planning this countryside getaway for what felt like ages. Between the chaos of everyday life and your never-ending schedules, a break in the peaceful English countryside seemed like the perfect way to slow down, reconnect, and enjoy some much-needed time together.

As soon as you arrived, the air felt different. crisper, lighter. The cottage you’d rented was tucked away among green hills, surrounded by trees and pastures. It looked like something out of a storybook, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and a little wooden gate. You could hardly believe it was real.

Chris, with his usual playful grin, wrapped his arms around you from behind as you stood at the cottage door. “Welcome home” he whispered, resting his chin on your shoulder.

The first evening was pure magic. After settling in, you both decided to explore the nearby village. Hand in hand, you strolled through cobblestone streets, admiring the old stone houses with thatched roofs. Chris found a tiny bakery, where he insisted on getting freshly baked scones for later. “it’s traditional shit ma, we have to!”

Later, back at the cottage, Chris lit a fire in the open fireplace, and the two of you curled up infront of it on the floor. You were wrapped in a thick wool blanket, your head resting against Chris’s chest as you watched the flames dance. The scones were even better than you had expected, and Chris had laughed at you when you got a bit of clotted cream on your nose, before kissing it away.

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The next day was just as dreamy. You woke up to crisp air flowing through the cottage windows, the sound of birds chirping in the distance. Chris had already slipped out of bed, as you go to find him, he was busy making breakfast in the little kitchen. His hair was a little tousled, and his sleepy smile was so endearing that you almost melted on the spot.

After breakfast, you ventured out for a long walk through the countryside. The path wound through fields dotted with grazing sheep and little streams that glittered in tthe sunlight. You laughed as Chris tried to get a selfie with a sheep that seemed less than interested. At one point, he pulled you into his arms and spun you around, making you both dizzy with laughter. It was the kind of carefree joy you hadn’t felt in so long.

That afternoon, you found a hidden spot by a small lake. The water was so still it looked like glass, reflecting the sky and the trees around you. You both lay on the grass, staring up at the clouds, making silly guesses about their shapes. Chris’s fingers laced with yours, and for a while, neither of you said a word. There was no need to. The peace and quiet were enough.

As the sun began to set, the golden hour light beaming,, Chris pulled you close and kissed your forehead. “This is so perfect” he murmured softly. You smiled, feeling the same. It was like the world had paused, and all that mattered was the two of you in this beautiful, peaceful place.

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The next few days unfolded like something out of a movie. You and Chris had no real plans, which made it all the more perfect. you just woke up each morning and decided to let the day take you wherever it wanted.

One morning, you both slept in late, the rain pitter pattering on the window, soothing you both. It was one of those cozy, lazy mornings where you didn’t rush to do anything. Chris woke first,, pressing a kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the kitchen. When you finally dragged yourself out of bed, you found him by the window, staring out at the mist that had settled over the hills.

“How about we take the car out for a drive?” he suggested.

So, off you went, winding through narrow country lanes that seemed to lead nowhere and everywhere all at once. The mist hovered on the fields and hillsides, creating an atmosphere that made everything feel…unreal. You discovered a little town that wasn’t on any of the maps-a collection of a few cottages, a small pub, and a tiny antique shop.

The antique shop was run by an elderly couple who greeted you like you were old friends. You and Chris spent hours browsing through trinkets, from old clocks to worn-out novels. Chris found a little porcelain figurine of a sheep and jokingly declared it your “trip mascot” buying it on the spot. You couldnt help but laugh, especially when he later perched it on the dashboard of the car like a prized treasure

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Another day, the rain had cleared. You packed a simple picnic-sandwiches, fruit, and a bottle of pressed apple juice you’d picked up from the village-and walked to the top of a nearby hill. The view from there was breathtaking,,miles and miles of green. You spread out a blanket, sat down together, and just soaked it all in.

Chris laid back with his head in your lap, his eyes closed, a soft smile on his face. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the calm settle in around you. After the picnic, Chris pulled you up and insisted on a race down the hill. You both tumbled through the grass, laughing breathlessly by the time you reached the bottom. You collapsed next to each other, your hearts racing as you cackled like idiots.

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The next day, you decided to take a long bike ride through the countryside. You rented two old-fashioned bikes from a nearby farm and pedaled through fields and along narrow trails, the wind making your hair tangle slightly. You stopped at a farmshop where they sold fresh strawberries, and you both sat on a wooden bench under an oak tree, sharing fruit while Chris made ridiculous jokes that left you in stitches.

On the way back, you found a crystal clear stream that run through the woods. You both took off your shoes and paddled in, the water refreshing. Chris, always the goofball, splashed you until you were both soaked and laughing uncontrollably. When you got back to the cottage, you both shared a candle lit bath in the old fashioned tub, talking about your day in whispers. You then got into dry clothes and made hot chocolate, curling up together in front of the fireplace once again.

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The morning of your final full day arrived. You woke to the birds chirping again, and the distant sound of cows mooing in the fields. Chris was already awake, quietly moving around the kitchen. The smell of coffee wafted through the cottage, and you smiled sleepily, stretching beneath the warm covers.

“Good morning, sleepyhead” Chris greeted you with a grin as you wandered in, still wrapped in the blanket. He handed you a steaming mug and kissed the top of your head. “I was thinking… what if we spent the whole day doing nothing but indulging ourselves?”

You raised an eyebrow “Indulging how?”

“Well, we’ve done so much exploring. How about today, we slow down? Like,lazy breakfast, maybe a visit to that little local spa I read about. Then dinner at the pub we saw down the road?”

The idea of a totally relaxed day sounded perfect. So, that’s exactly what you did. The breakfast Chris made was simple, you ate slowly, and the two of you lingered over breakfast, chatting about everything and nothing. Time felt like it didn’t exist here, and you loved it.

After breakfast, you headed to the small, rustic spa Chris had found. It was nestled in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by greenery and overlooking a peaceful pond. You were greeted with herbal teas and led into a cozy room with next to no lighting and music playing lightly in the background. You both opted for massages, and as you lay there,, the last bits of tension from city life completely faded. Chris smiled at you from the next table, his eyes half-closed in complete relaxation.

“Best decision ever” he whispered, and you couldnt agree more

After the spa, you returned to the cottage for an afternoon nap. The warm air drifting through the open windows as you lay in bed together, your head on chris’ chest as he pulls you impossibly close.

In the late afternoon you both wake before getting ready to go for food . You walked hand in hand to the local pub-a small, ivy-covered building with low ceilings and a crackling fire inside. The owner, a cheerful older man with a thick Yorkshire accent, welcomed you both warmly and showed you to a cozy table near the window.

The food was hearty and traditional. You shared fish and chips, a steak and ale pie, and a sticky toffee pudding for dessert. Between bites, you talked about everything you loved about this trip, laughing over the silly moments and cherishing the quiet ones. Outside, the sun started to set, and you could hear the distant chatter of locals enjoying their evening through the cracked window beside you.

After dinner, you took a slow walk back to the cottage under a sky filled with stars. The air was cool, but Chris pulled you close, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you strolled along the quiet road. The stars above seemed brighter here, clearer, as though you could reach up and touch them. You stopped for a moment to take it all in-this peaceful night, the warmth of Chris by your side.

“I never want this to end” you whispered

Chris smiled, pulling you even closer. “It doesn’t have to y’know. We’ll make more memories like this” he assures.

Back at the cottage, you lit a few candles and sat out on the small terrace, wrapped in blankets. Chris poured you both a glass of wine, and you spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing under the stars. The night felt endless in the best way, a perfect end to a day of pure bliss.

As the stars twinkled above, Chris leaned in, “I’m so glad we came here” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. You smiled, knowing that this trip had been more than just a getaway. It had been a beautiful pause, a chance to savor everything that really mattered. Eachother.

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The next morning , it’s was time you had to pack up and head back home, neither of you really wanted to leave. But as Chris squeezed your hand and promised, “We’ll come back. Maybe even make this a tradition” you couldn’t help but smile. The countryside had given you something special,,memories that you knew you’d carry with you forever.

And as you drove away, the cottage growing smaller in the distance, you felt content, knowing that the best part of the trip hadn’t really been the place, but simply being with Chris.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

a/n; thankyou so much for this request anon ilysm!! as an english girly i was in my ELEMENT writing this😭 imagining chris in settings close to home was so sososo fun (i need it badddd). hope you enjoyed guys!!!

love yallll

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

MASTERLIST

taglist; @sturnobsessedwh0re @nayveetbhh

@phone4pills @demzzz @sturniooolos

@monroesturnns @mattsbitchh @pvssychicken @tsturniolo4 @brianna-grace12

@blahbel668

@stvrlighht @witchofthehour @ilyttmatsa @asherrisrandom @l0ver-i

@starstrucktyrantinfluencer @fratbrochrisgf @emely9274

@chriseatingmeoutin4k @slvttie-zx

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@sturniolossss @sturniolofannnforevver @zariyam @r0s3luvr

@sturniolosluttt

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎFairytales꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: fluff <3 pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: princess reader x billy the kid author’s note: enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this one <3 might do more pending interest :) Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Moonlight was your lantern as you rested your cheek against the stone of the window. Stars freckled the skin of the sky and you traced them with your eyes, creating imaginary constellations with pretty names. The delicate scent of roses wafted through your window, making you sigh.

Collapsing your upper half over the windowsill, you stretched your arms out, letting your hair fall over you. You'd just brushed it out, all smooth and silky so it flowed between your fingers. Normally your lady's maid would have helped you prepare for bed, but tonight you'd given her the evening off, determined to do it yourself.

All dolled up in a pretty nightdress, you were practically hanging out the window, eyes roving past the rose-crawled palace walls for any sign. For most of the night you'd paced your pretty pink room, running and pressing your nose against the glass. Eventually you'd unlatched it and pushed it open, letting the fresh air breath into your space.

It was late now. Later than you should have been up. To bode the time you'd tried to distract yourself, organizing your vanity and playing with the ribbons on your sleeves.

A letter laid opened beside you on the pink cushion of the window seat, wax seal broken, paper wrinkled as if the receiver had been clenching it. The words were ingrained in your mind now, you'd read it so many times. It was a comforting thing, imagining his hand toiling over the page, brow creasing as he thought of the perfect thing to say.

Reaching for a strand of your hair, you trailed your fingers down it, anxiously wondering if he was coming at all. He'd never failed to show when he sent word. Had he changed his mind?

You laid back so your head rested on the hard plane of the windowsill, feet on the ground, hair tumbling down the stone wall like a character in one of your storybooks. Closing your eyes, you gave up, one of your hands resting on the letter beside you.

Hoofbeats. Sitting up, you turned your body, nearly falling through the window in anticipation, knees digging into the tiny expanse between the seat and the edge. Though the night was dark, it was clear, and you could see the shadow of a man on a horse, dismounting and wedging his foot into the stone of the garden wall, hoisting himself up over the edge.

You sprung up, racing across your room and flinging the door open. Hair streaming behind you, your feet carried you down the stairs through the secret passage behind the library. Nobody was awake, and the guards were all stationed outside. It was thrilling running through the empty halls alone, skirt grasped in your fingers so you wouldn't trip. The last thing you needed was a bruise on your rosy cheek.

The door only creaked slightly as you snuck through it, creeping under the ivy leaves that kept it hidden. Your footsteps were soft as you padded through the garden. Sneaking behind the pink rosebushes and pushing aside the leaves of the willow tree, your eyes brightened as you saw him, waiting there on the white stone bench. His head was bent, hat pulled low over his eyes as he studied something hidden by his fingers.

When he caught wind of your presence he stood, tucking it into his shirt pocket and sweeping the hat off his head, lowering himself into a deep bow. Voice raspy and low, he murmured, "Princess."

Your feet pattered across the grass as you pushed him to stand up straight, jumping into his arms and burying your face in his neck. He was warm, heating you through your thin nightdress. "Don't do that," you whispered, fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. "It makes me feel unworthy."

Billy was smiling into you- you could feel it. One of his big hands stroked your hair, smoothing it from your journey downstairs. "My love, you're worthy of everythin'."

Pulling your head back, you stood on tiptoes, tilting your chin up and knocking his hat off. He smiled fondly and lifted you up off your feet with arms around your waist, dipping his head to kiss you soft and sweet. Nudging your nose against his, you murmured against his lips, "I thought you weren't coming."

"'m sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, lips trailing across your cheeks as he peppered kisses over your face. "Had a lawman tailing me for a few miles...had t' lose 'im 'fore I could come...'m sorry."

"It's okay." You tried to get in a few kisses of your own, but he was determined. This was a ritual every time he saw you; he had to kiss you all over for the same reason churchgoers had to do the sign of the cross in the doorway. "I'm happy for any time with you."

He sat in the grass and pulled you to sit across his knees, not wanting the green to stain your pretty nightdress. Billy held you tight to him, chin resting on your shoulder as he slightly rocked you back and forth. It was soothing even when you had no need of being soothed.

You played with one of his hands splayed over your tummy, memorizing the details of his fingers. Here was your own tradition where his was kisses. Somehow you'd convinced yourself if you didn't know every detail of him, he'd disappear before your very eyes, leaving you sprawled on the ground alone.

"I missed you," you said plainly, careful to keep your voice low. Though the guards were stationed far away, you knew they weren't above investigating any strange noises that pierced the night.

"Missed you too, baby," he cooed into your neck, lips nudging the spot. "All those nights without my sweetheart...coulda run right through the front gates 'n climbed through your window."

"Oh my darling," you murmured lovingly, turning and putting your arms back around his neck. "I rode out over the hills a few times hoping to see you."

"That's dangerous," he breathed, kissing your nose. "Honey. There's bandits in those woods."

"You're in those woods," you protested lightly, shifting on his lap.

Billy sighed softly, shaking his head and smiling softly. "'xactly. Lotsa scary stuff in there."

"You aren't scary." Nuzzling your cheek against his jaw, you clasped his hand in yours. The feel of his scratchy stubble against your smooth skin was one you adored.

He chuckled, rubbing your back. "'m an outlaw darlin'."

"But you're different," you insisted, and he tucked your hair behind your ear. "You don't keep what you take."

"'s the least I can do," he murmured, a lost look shadowing his eyes. "Don't want less fortunate folk to hafta do what I do t' survive."

Heart warming, you kissed his nose with the gentlest of touches. "That's what makes you different. You're a better person than you've ever given yourself credit for."

Billy smiled in a tired sort of way. He said nothing, just framed your face with his hands, nose bumping against your cheek as his lips found yours. He kissed you lazily for a moment, and you lost yourself in it, the scent of the roses acting as a sort of aphrodisiac. "I love you."

"I love you," you breathed, and he got a tender look on his face, thumbing the side of your cheek. Billy always reacted this way, like he couldn't believe you meant it.

He captured your lips once again, holding you so close that you were nearly melded into one person. The way he touched you was sacred, like you were a china doll he was afraid would break under his rough fingers.

Oftentimes you would daydream that Billy was your knight, like in the storybooks lining your shelves. He would appear before you in the court, gallantly sweeping you off your feet and carrying you away from the restrictions and traditions of your life as it was.

He was everything you'd ever dreamed of, handsome and solid and good. You held him tight whenever you could, wary of the forces threatening to tear you apart. Heaven only knew what the king would do if he discovered your secret. Banish you to marry a prince from a foreign land, maybe. Or worse...send Billy to the hangman's noose.

You held him closer at the thought. He pecked your lips twice, softly bringing you down from the kiss. Big hands smoothed your waist over your nightdress, ghosting the soft fabric. He smiled, leaning back slightly to take you in. "Ya wear this just for me, sweet girl? 's pretty."

Nodding enthusiastically, your hands going to the handkerchief around his neck and playing with it. "And I can see you cleaned up."

"Only the best f' my girl," he grinned, touching his lips to the tip of your nose. "Knew I was meetin' the princess. Course I tried t' look my best."

"I think you're handsome any way," you promised. Billy's fingers fiddled with the lace edging on your sleeves, tickling the ribbon. He looked at it fascinatedly, making you giggle. "Shall I wear this next time we meet?"

"Yeah." The word was out of his mouth instantly, and you laughed softly. Billy trailed his fingers up and down your waist. "You're so pretty, baby. Like an angel." Pulling a rose seemingly from thin air, he tucked it behind your ear.

"You make me feel pretty," you smiled, reaching up to touch the flower. He always had.

"I wish I could do more for you, sweet girl," he murmured, adjusting the rose.

"I have your letters," you kissed his cheek. "And my time with you. What more could I ask for?"

Billy just watched you affectionately for a moment. His hand was under your jaw, tipping your face up to meet his eyes. The blue of them were an icy chasm you longed to throw yourself into. It was those eyes that whispered their way into your fantasies, appeared in your dreams. You could lose yourself in them forever and not mind one bit.

Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pushed your hair behind your shoulders, telling you to close your eyes. Something cold touched your collarbone, and your hand flew up to hold it. There was the sensation of a chain touching your neck, and he carefully pulled your hair up and over it.

You only opened your eyes when he told you to, looking down at yourself. A little silver heart rested there on your skin, and you gasped in delight. "Oh, Billy..."

"You like it, baby?" he brushed a strand of hair behind your flower-less ear. The other arm wrapped around your middle and squeezed your back to his chest.

"Love it," you whispered joyfully, leaning your head back against his shoulder. Now that he had access, Billy brought his mouth to your neck, silently kissing the space. His hand rubbed your side absentmindedly. "Who did you take it from?"

His words were muffled against your skin. "Countess of Rothshire."

Fingering the chain, you said, "She was mean to me at last fortnight's ball."

"I know," he mumbled, lifting his head to glide his lips over the space behind your ear. "Thought it'd look better on you."

You giggled in delight. "My hero. Avenging my honor."

"Ain't no hard thing," he insisted, pulling back and settling one hand on top of your head, thumb brushing your hairline. Billy kissed your temple soundly, leaning his head against yours. "The least I can do, honey. You're my princess, too."

Looking at him with his earnest eyes and loving heart, you knew he was forever yours. Even if you became a spinster and only was ever able to meet him behind the leaves of the willow trees, he would come back to you over and over. Your soft, lace trimmed world was brighter when he held you this close, kissed you this sweet.

"Only the best for my sweetheart," he breathed, the stars in his eyes alike to the ones in the darkened heavens above. "I'm only one of many men before you."

With that he laid back in the grass, pulling you to rest on top of him. He kissed you tenderly until the sun broke through the leaves of the trees, alerting the princess and outlaw that it was the time of day when he was forbidden to touch you anymore.

Next Part

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #17

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: implied domestic abuse

Iris woke up with a throbbing headache. She had been tucked into bed, which she didn’t remember doing.

The morning light filtered through her windows, and it made her head pound.

But in order to close the curtains, she’d have to get up.

Iris groaned and pulled her blanket over her head.

“Oh good,” said a quiet voice. “You’re awake.”

It took her a moment to recognize that it was Kit. “What time is it?” she mumbled. 

“Twelve after ten.”

Alarm ran through her, and she shot up. She winced.

“Take it easy,” said Kit. “It’s your day off.”

“Oh thank god.” Iris fell back against her pillows, vaguely nauseous. Kit stood next to her bed, amused. 

“Did you even go to bed?” she asked. 

“I slept.”

“In your room?”

“You were drunk. I wanted to keep an eye on you.”

“Thanks,” she said, closing her eyes. “Could you go get me some breakfast? With orange juice?”

Iris was aware she was whining, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. She could have asked Kit to magic away her hangover, but she deserved it for drinking so much. Served her right.

“Yes, Mistress.”

Kit left, and Iris lay in her bed, trying to will herself to shower. 

The need to use the bathroom eventually forced her out of bed.

Showering did make her feel better, and the floral soap lifted her mood.

By the time she had finished and gotten dressed, Kit had breakfast waiting for her.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, uncovering the french toast and pouring herself coffee.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good.”

Kit sat on the floor as she ate, and Iris could see a strong dark green coming in at his scalp.

“Your hair isn’t black, is it?”

He seemed startled by the question. “No,” he said simply.

“It’s changing color,” she continued, “You’ve got some green coming in. I take it that’s good?”

A faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Mhm.”

Slight disappointment coursed through her.

It seemed that for every day Kit had a conversation with her, he’d be nearly silent the next.

“Let’s get some sun after breakfast,” she suggested. “I’ve been inside all week, and you need to pick out where your garden will be.”

“I get to choose?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Kit shrugged halfheartedly. Getting words out of him would be difficult today; she could tell.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he had said that first evening. Maybe he just needed a topic.

“Have you thought about what you want to do with it?” she asked.

“A little.” Iris waited, taking a sip of her orange juice.

“I… I’d like it to look like home,” he explained, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. “Just a bit.”

“Are you going to plant some wild roses?”

Kit nodded. “If I’m allowed.”

Iris stood from her chair. “You can plant whatever you want, Kit.”

“Even a tree? Ivy? Berry bushes?” he asked, following her out the door.

“I did say whatever you want.” Brennan greeted them with a nod, and they headed down the hall. “I’m not particularly interested in gardening, Kit. I don’t care what you plant; go wild.”

Kit brightened beside her, and Iris hid a smile. He was sweet, and he deserved a place that was his; that he could choose himself.

The late morning air was warm, slightly humid, and she assumed that was good for a plant fae like Kit.

He seemed to soak in the sun, and he truly looked much better than before.

Jeff was weeding a flower bed, wheelbarrow beside him and trowel in hand.

“Good morning, Jeff.”

Jeff looked up, and squinted in the bright sun.

“Morning, your majesty.” His eyes slid over to Kit, who winced. “Morning… you.”

“Hello,” said Kit. 

“I’ve offered Kit a spot on the grounds. Something just for him to look over.”

Jeff didn’t look pleased, but he knew better than to argue with her. “Fine with me,” he said tightly. 

“Great,” Iris gave him a sunny smile. “Thank you for understanding.”

Jeff softened a little before turning back to his work.

They wandered the gardens; Kit looking around for the perfect spot.

“Anything catch your eye yet?”

“Sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s fine,” she reassured him. “I don’t mind. I could use the exercise.”

They rounded a corner, and Kit stopped.

“What is it?”

“I, uh, I like that corner over there.”

Iris followed his gaze. The high garden wall met the castle, and the castle wall curved inwards, creating a small nook. It was empty, save for a tree that created a patch of shade against the sun.

“What do you like about it?” she asked lightly, curious.

Pink tinged Kit’s cheeks. “It’s quiet,” he said. “And out of the way. And, um, it looks nice for a nap,” he added quickly. “And the walls… I don’t have to worry about someone sneaking up on me.”

Iris recalled how James Harbor had boasted about catching Kit with an iron-laced net while he slept.

“Then it’s yours.”

___________________

Three days later, and Kit dozed under the oak. It was the perfect temperature; warm but not hot, and he curled into the protective roots of the tree.

A robin sang sweetly in the branches, and Kit hummed along.

Iris was busy in a meeting, and he had wanted a nap to pass the time.

He was right about how peaceful it was.

It seemed like this spot had been forgotten about, and he liked it that way. The perfect little oasis; where he could be left alone.

“Mr. Kit?”

Or not.

Kit yawned, stretching out. “Hm?”

“I- I need some help.”

Kit’s eyes flew open, and in front of him stood the red-haired maid from before. David.

He had a black eye, and he was holding a rucksack.

Kit sat up. “What happened?”

David sniffed, lip trembling, and Kit noticed his slight sway.

“Hey,” he said, softly. “Come here.”

David sank into the grass, and Kit scooted over to sit next to him.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” said David. “I- I should b-be at home. But I don’t want to go home anymore.”

His breath smelled like alcohol.

“Have you been drinking?”

David nodded, resting his chin on his legs. “I thought it would help,” he said. “It always helps Dad.”

“It doesn’t really work that way.”

David burst into tears.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he sobbed. “My face hurts and he takes all my money and now we don’t have anything for food because he spent it all and he gets mad at me for it and-”

David gasped for air, and Kit pulled him close. David wept into his shirt.

“I-” Kit worked his jaw, trying to sort out what he could and couldn’t say. “Are you hungry?” he settled on. Food never hurt anyone.

David nodded. “Y-yeah. We- we ran out of… I really tried. I really did.” His voice was so small, and anger bubbled in Kit’s chest.

“Let’s go get some lunch, and we’ll figure something out.”

David sniffled. “Okay.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso @starfields08000 @honeycollectswhump @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

[written-with-blue-ink]

Lyney and Kazuha separately (or just Lyney) with a reader who is beginning to get stretch marks and is deathly afraid that he will think she is ugly pls? Any pronouns are okay ofc ofc she/her is just preferred qwq I'm starting to get some and I'm feeling even more self conscious than I was before😭🙏🙏🙏 Stay safe and hydrated!💫💫💫

I just did Lyney if that's alright. I remember crying when I first got stretch marks so I completely get it. I hope this helps <3

Lyney X Fem! Reader Contains: Kitten as a nickname, Lyney is a cat-boy like Lynette, stretchmarks, undergarments, etc

Ivy on the Tower

Tonight was such a big night for Lyney and Lynette. The first time since Fontaine’s most recent flood that they got to perform once again at the Opera Epiclese. With this revelation, Lyney’s partner, (Y/N), offered their apartment for lunch and a space for the twins to get ready for the big night. 

The day was going great, Lyney assumed. The sandwiches and snacks that were catered were soft and comforting and the conversations between his siblings and his lover seemed to be going well. 

That was till they were getting ready. Freminet stayed in the living room while Lynette took the spare bedroom and Lyney took (Y/N)’s ensuite. Makeup was done and in the middle of tucking his shirt into his pants when he heard faint whimpering on the other side of the door.

Creaking it open, he saw his dear (Y/N) sitting on her bed in her undergarments, twisting and glancing at her skin and fingers running over it gently. Tears formed in her eyes as she couldn’t take her eyes off of her figure.

Feet silently tapped the floor as he crept closer but (Y/N) didn’t realize until he sat on the bed, scooching himself closer as he rested his head on her left shoulder. Their eyes met through the mirror’s reflection and the look of disgust and fear filled (Y/N)’s eyes along with tears.

“Kitten, what’s the matter,” he purred, curling his body closer and wrapping his arm around her body only for her to pull away. His tail wrapped around her hand and pulled her back, “Please tell me what’s wrong, (Y/N).”

His sharp eyes caught her cupping the sides of her body with her hands and he slowly moved his hands to hers. With effort, his fingers wrapped around hers and he was able to glimpse at what she was hiding. 

Faint white and purple lines rested on her hips and thighs and that only made him raise a brow, “Kitten, do you hate your stretchmarks?”

Knowing the jig was up, she let go of her sides and nodded. Pulling away with tears falling down her face as she sobbed, “I-it’s ugly, it’s hideous but I just have to live with it… You don’t…”

His periwinkle eyes melted as he pulled her back, fingers interlocking. “I would never find you ugly or hideous or leave you for something as simple as something natural your body does because I love it all.”

Grazing his finger over the stripes, he drew little five-petal flowers as he said, “It’s like ivy on a tower. It doesn’t take beauty away, it only adds to it as the tower ages and changes over time.”

His eyes looked back up and saw the soft smile and tears appearing on (Y/N)’s face. She moved, kissing his hair between the fluffy cat ears. “You are the sweetest,” she mumbled into his sleek blonde locks. 

The smirk he was known for grew back onto his face, “If it makes you feel any better, I have concealer in the bathroom if you really need to cover them up.”

Leaning into his arms, their backs hit the mattress and she curled into his chest for warmth and comfort. “No, your words were more than enough…”

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Hurt/very, very little comfort. Like barely a hint, and I might be imaginating it by reading too much into my own work. Delta is doing bad, the ghouls are a mess.

If Alpha hadn't been distracted by his own thought, he would have noticed much sooner the tense silence smothering anyone stepping foot in the common room sooner.

As it is, it takes Mist loudly clearing her throat to snap him out of his own head. His shoulders immediately stiffen as the atmosphere finally registers.

Ifrit, crossed-legged on the rug, looks devastated, eyes red and puffy, elbows on the coffee table, gripping his hair with enough strenght to turn his knuckles white. Zephyr is sitting on the couch behind him, lips drawn in a thin line, frown knitting his eyebrows, shoulders slouching. Mist...she throws Alpha a look that almost has him stumbling in shock : helplessness is written all across her face as she paces nervously, whole body tense as a bowstring, ready to snap. Alpha never saw her like this. It makes his stomach roll uneasily.

Then his eyes land on Omega, and it's like being punched in the guts. The quint is unusually quiet, curled in on himself despite still standing, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible, ears flat against his skull, tail tucked between his legs. Before Alpha can reach him, smooth a hand along his back and enquire what's wrong, a shuffling draws his attention toward Pebble and Ivy.

And oh, Alpha is starting to understand the pattern. Pebble looks positively furious. Snarling silently, glaring at Omega like he believes looks can kill, the only reason he hasn't drawn blood yet seems to be Ivy's arms coiled tightly around him, refusing to let him go in spite of sharp elbows being thrown at his ribs or feet stomping on his.

There is only one reason Pebble could look so ready to maul Omega, someone he, despite what the past few years made transpire between them, respects very much ; something happened to Delta.

That certainty settles in Alpha's bones like ice, chilling him to his core, and not even his internal fire can thaw such a realisation.

Given the situation, Alpha turns to the person most likely to give him a straight answer.

"Zeph ?"

Zephyr lifts heavy, tired eyes toward him.

"Delta...something happened. He collapsed in the middle of the hallway...he's stable now, but very weak. Aether is watching over him."

So it's getting worse again. Alpha's stomach churn. Delta barely pulled through the last time he had such a crisis, not long after the Papas' murder. So now...

"I should go check on..."

"You won't get anywhere near him, you hear me ?!"

Omega's weak offer gets cut off by Pebble's venemous growl, straining against Ivy with renewed energy, fangs bared. Omega seems to shrivel under the earth ghoul's scalding anger.

"He needs-"

Pebble nearly manages to jostle himself free, sending both himself and Ivy sprawling onthe floor, from which he keeps spitting his rage at Omega's face.

"Aether's with him, he certainly doesn't need you. You're the one who fucked up his transition so bad-"

"I did my best, water and quint are such unstable elements-"

"-had him repatching himself on a molecular fucking level-"

"-was the first ever attempted, I didn't know that would happen, he begged me to-"

"-and now Delta's half dead on a hospital bed, and it's all because of you, are you proud, Omega-"

The room disolves in chaos, between Pebble's accusation becoming more and more frantic, Omega attempting to defend himself while slowly crumbling, Ivy begging them to stop, Ifrit breaking down again, sobs raking his whole body while Zephyr does their best comforting and shushing him, Mist seemingly hesitating between knocking someone out or banging her head against the wall.

Alpha's head is pounding, the image of Delta laying lifelessly on white sheets barely paler than him bounces inside of it, a spike of nausea-inducing panic nearly has him retching, and that's just it.

The second Pebble manages to wiggle his way out of Ivy's grasp, lunging claws first toward Omega, Alpha's instinct kicks up. He tackles the earth ghoul, one arm around his waist, the other around his middle, trapping Pebble's arms against his body. Uncaring of the thrashing, Alpha holds on tight.

"Let it all out. Come on, give me everything, give it to me, i can take it."

And Pebble does. Kicks, yells, spits curses, snaps his jaws, even sinks his fangs in Alpha's shoulder, but the fire ghoul doesn't budge, kneeling on the worn carpet, arms unyielding around him even as he calls him every names under the sun and then more.

After a while, the earth ghoul slumps, and Alpha knows he's crying silently of his shoulder, can feel the dampness through his shirt, the occasional twinge of salt on the fresh bite mark there. It speaks volume on Pebble's emotional state, that he let himself cry on Alpha of all people ; any other day, the fire ghoul would get disembowled if he had the unfortune of seeing Pebble with even the slightest hint of tears in his eyes.

"Alright. You're alright."

A shaky exhale, a shudder. Pebble doesn't look at anyone when Alpha releases him, making a beeline for the door, no doubt heading for the infirmary, but he pauses at the threshold. Hand lingering on the handle. He doesn't look back, but the hesitation is there. A heartbeat later, he's gone.

Alpha shares a look with Mist, who's helping Ivy get to the couch next to where Ifrit curled against Zephyr in distress. She jerks her chin toward Omega, then sticks her thumb in the direction of the huddled mass of ghouls on the couch.

You deal with him, I deal with them.

Smart girl.

Alpha glances at where Omega slid down against the wall, knees to his chest, eyes staring unseeingly. With a heavy heart, the fire ghoul reads the pain clear as day on the quint's pinched features.

There will be many more tears to drytonight.

[aelinschild]

Season Of Forgiveness

Main Masterlist

Happy Holidays everyone!! I'm a little (Very, sorry!!) late with this post, but this is my gift for the 2023 Rowaelin Secret Santa! Big thank you to @rowaelinscourt for organizing it!! This is dedicated to the lovely @shyvioletcat , I wish you a very merry holiday season, and hopefully you enjoy this absolute monstrosity. I actually do not know what took over me during writing this, but I'm just happy its done.

SYNOPSIS: Holidays are known to be the season of joy, but when that joy is no longer Aelin's, she is forced to find peace in the unknown. WORDCOUNT: 9k GENERAL WARNINGS: Very light one bed trope, mentions of sex, angsty for no reason, swearing, alcohol, arguments, choking and CPR, happy ending dont worry

(A/N: After writing this, I realize it has the same vibe of calling Die Hard a Christmas movie. Granted, I actually didn't finish the movie, but from what I watched, how the fuck is it a Christmas movie?? This is me telling you that this fic is probably like that lol)

Hour One

Fuck.

There was really no other way to put it. Fuck is such a versatile word, situationally. Aelin can recount the times she's moaned out breathy fucks, and the times she's roared them during moronic altercations. 

This type of fuck? Certainly not the cathartic type. 

This fuck is the sum of all past mistakes in her life, multiplied by her best friend's scheming mind, and then raised to the power of the irrational choice to return to her old university town. 

On the queen-sized bed were two plush towels. A robe. Face cloths and minimal toiletries. 

Oh, and a fucking red rose. 

In Lysandra’s plush apartment – a classic Victorian style, with ivy creeping up the brick fireplace, and stained glass windows at odd intervals – she was the owner of three bedrooms. 

And to Aelin's luck, there happened to be two couples staying here this evening. Which meant two of the three bedrooms were now occupied. Mathematically speaking, the two other individuals would each need their own room. 

It seems that math slipped Lysandra's mind when she organized her little yearly anniversary Yulemas Eve dinner. How…pleasant.

Chest rising and falling with barely contained frustration, Aelin didn't know whether to yell or cry. Her hand held her overnight bag so tight her knuckles were pressing at the whites. Nails digging into supple skin. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Lysandra had done. But it took a lot of willpower for Aelin to not storm out of the room and choke her friend for the transgression. And just past the blood rushing in her ears, she could hear the friendly greetings of her other friends as they crossed the threshold of Lys’ little home. Welcomed into the warmth of tradition. 

Oh, I'm going to kill you, Lysandra. 

Aedion and Lys would – obviously – take their master bedroom. Located around a corner and at the end of that hall. Far from where Aelin was. A feature she was grateful for, given Aedion and Lysandra's… healthy love life. And Lorcan and Elide would slip into the downstairs spare room. The one the couple had claimed during the first year of this tradition. 

Leaving Aelin, in this spare room with a queen-sized bed and the bloody rose, to bed with Rowan. 

Oh, how she loathed her life at this moment. What foul god had she angered to be punished this way. Maybe that same god would derail Rowan’s cab en route. Shucking it into a frozen lake, or something of the like. 

Gently brushing over the towels, Aelin traced the other memories this room held. 

The queen-sized bed hardly fit her and Rowan, that she knew from experience. His height alone ruined the tucked edges of their duvet, which always ended up on his side of the bed by morning. The pillows would have to be mushed together in the middle so that they would not fall off. And Rowan, he at night would roll around. Restless, even in the deepest hours. He would usually end up on top of Aelin, face along her breasts and hair tickling her chin. 

Her fingers moved from the towel to the rose. Plucking it up, she held it at eye level. Studying the contours of the flower, it was beautiful. But Aelin couldn't get past the fact that Lysandra had set this up. And put a godsdamned rose on the towels. 

Aelin might just take the couch. 

The front door opened and closed again, voices rose up from the entry through the open bedroom door. Aelin began unpacking mechanically. The drawers where she set her clothes were the same as she had for the last decade. The dent on the wall by the left corner was also the same. Seems like Aedion never got around to patching it. Aelin chuckles under her breath, the talking-to she and Rowan had received after denting the wall from a vigorous…activity, would never fail to not make her laugh. 

Once the unpacking was complete, only taking a few moments as Aelin wouldn't be staying longer than the night, she took a moment to sit on her side of the bed and breathe. 

This would be disastrous. And she had no way of getting out. Unless she jumped from the window to her left. 

A decade ago, Aelin and Rowan had met through their friends. Their family. Aedion had bridged the gap by dating her best friend, Lysandra. Their quickly evolving and fiery romance meant that there would no longer be Aelin-Elide-Lys days. Now, they included the Ashryver cousin. Lorcan and Rowan had been over Aedion’s lovesick puppy act and had forcibly inserted themselves into the group. As her cousin rarely left Lysandra's side anymore. 

This meant that Aelin and Elide were left to deal with two grumpy college guys. It was like babysitting rocks, who could probably show more emotion than the lot of them. But somehow, somewhere along the line, Elide fell for Lorcan. And when Aelin was forced to watch another friend fall in love, she turned to the only bastard left. 

But Aelin and Rowan had always been…different. Difficult entirely. It started as sex. Each of them too busy with their respective degrees to foster any more of a connection. 

It worked, and it worked well. 

For two years, Aelin was exclusive with Rowan Whitethorn without anyone knowing the depth of their friendship. To her girlfriends, he was the hot guy whom Aelin should really give a chance. To his boys, she was the girl who could obviously help blow off a little steam. 

Time stretched out, and steadiness had replaced the need for romantic connection. Post graduation, Rowan and her barely crossed paths anymore, unless the entire group got together. But there still existed an attachment built during years of intimacy – which Aelin never voiced, not wanting to ruin the entire affair by breaking the principle rule of their arrangement. And due to that principle, Rowan had also never expressed any interest above surface-level desire. 

She had been left in the dark of his feelings for her, just as she had left him in the dark of hers. They were two polar magnets, separated only by the fear of shattering the fragile closeness built from tentative familiarity. Neither were any good at subtly hinting at something. 

When the parallel lines of their lives crossed, ever-diligent Rowan proposed something rather different. Unpredictable.

He offered a relationship. 

Looking back, it was hilariously clinical. It wouldn't surprise her if he had stored papers in her bag with a list of what their relationship could entail. Numbered – or alphabetically ordered. Probably about who did what and when hand-holding was allowed. Such a stickler for the rules.

But Rowan had shocked Aelin that night. When she had said yes, fuck it let's give it a chance, and they had gone back to his apartment, there was a bouquet of fragrant red roses placed on the counter. A box of her favourite chocolates beside it. Things she had mentioned in passing, probably after a hook-up. Maybe during a romantic comedy that they would often watch together. Where she’d point out the little things men can do that show a deeper appreciation. 

They had cracked open a bottle of wine, and talked for hours under the stars and above the rushing traffic. And it was like peeling back a layer, revealing this steadfast and romantic man. The one who had refiled her glass more than once. Used his hand to cover sharp edges when she leaned around after a few too many drinks. Who had carried her to bed, gently unclasping her stiletto heels and massaging the tired soles of her feet. Who had carefully removed the maxi dress she wore, hanging it up to prevent creases. Then, with permission, undressed her further. 

That night hadn't been like before. Aelin wasn't sure she had ever felt that way. Not a blinding, stretching heat or an all-consuming pressure. No, rather a connection. When Rowan had caressed her like a piece of art, she felt revered. Holy. Her skin had tingled with the unfamiliar feeling of adoration. 

Breathless whispers and tight holds had conveyed words that were far too new to speak aloud. 

That night had been the beginning of a long-standing understanding. The two of them weren't open about their connection. Rather, it was a pleasant slice of life, cut out to fit the shape of two lovers who aimed to navigate the crossroads of their future. And for years they existed peacefully in the space they had made for each other. 

Until they couldn't anymore. 

The door creaked open, its hinges never oiled. Lysandra was allergic to a chemical in WD-40. 

A whoosh of breath came from the entrance, and Aelin’s spine felt the all too familiar tingle of the presence of the man she had loved. 

“Aelin,” came the voice, like gravel smoothed by arctic winds. There always existed some sort of unrest under Rowan’s skin. It could be heard in his voice, worn from use. Had she still been his, she would have made him a cup of tea. Extra honey. As he liked. 

Humming out a noise of acknowledgement, Aelin turned slightly. Cheeks starting to heat. “Hello, Rowan.” She said, breathlessly. 

She watched his throat work. He had gotten leaner since she last saw him. His eyes less bright. Cheeks sunken. His unachievable tan had faded. 

He was still the beautiful boy–man, she had always known. Pleasure and pain united, each moment in his presence stole some of her oxygen. She loved him. Loved. 

A shrill squeak this time, and a crafty brunette head popped into the doorway. “Ah! Okay! Guess, how many candies are in this jar!” Lysandra asked the both of them. Their moment shattering and instead opening up to accept another's presence. Lysandra was holding a large mason jar filled with red and white peppermint swirl candies. 

“Uh,” Rowan scratched the back of his neck. “Two hundred?” Lysandra just snorted and then turned to Aelin. 

Aelin studied the jar, fighting to not break out into goosebumps with the feeling of Rowan’s eyes on her. “One hundred…and… forty-three–no! Twenty!”

“Final answer?” Lysandra taunted. 

“Yes.”

“Wrong.” She cackled. Turning away and hightailing it down the hall, laughing like she was possessed. “Come downstairs, you losers!”

Hour Two

Aelin had left with no word to Rowan. She couldn't bear it. The wound still so fresh. Instead, she had sauntered by and shut the door gently on her way out. Missing the pleading look in his eyes as she walked away. 

“Ae!” Elide shouted at her approach. Aelin couldn't help but smile. As awful as the next eleven hours may be, Aelin was grateful she had her best friends by her side. Lysandra's still on thin ice. 

“El! Look at you!” Aelin grabbed a hold of her friend's hand, letting her do a little twirl. The sequined skirt she had on fanned out around her. Reflecting the lights in the room across the walls. “You like our own little mirrorball.”

Elide just let out a soft laugh. Grinning. “Gotta get the party started somehow.” She said. Stepping back she put her arms on Aelin's elbow, holding tight. She made a show of looking around the room, and upon it being clear, Elide looked her right in the eyes. “I'm sorry.” 

“For what,” Aelin asked, perplexed. 

She gave her a pointed look. “I tried to explain to Lys that she wasn't being fair. It's not fair. I offered to get a hotel room for me and Lorcan, but you know how Aedion is about traditions.” She rolled her eyes. “I realize that this isn't… you know. This was not on the healing plan–”

“Maybe, El, just being with my best friends could be healing. Maybe we switch the healing plan around for a little.” She said softly, speaking from a place of honesty. 

Elide’s eyes were misty, and Aelin had to look away. This was a hurt that was deeper than her. 

She took a breath, “Okay. But–no I'm serious. Don't look away. If you need anything, anything at all, I'm here. And we can have a little girl meeting with Lys after we put the boys to bed.” She gave a choked laugh. 

Aelin nodded. An understanding passing through them both. Everyone knew that tension would be high this evening. Aelin herself knew it would be brutal. Facing her ex at Lys’ annual Yulemas Eve Dinner, a tradition shrouded in love and comfort. But she was eternally grateful for Elide – and Lysandra, but maybe not currently. How she found such caring women would never fail to surprise her. 

Elide nodded back, smile and eyes watery. They both let out laughs. This solidarity was something Aelin needed more than she knew. 

“Okay, no more tears.” Aelin sniffed, disconnecting their hand-elbow position to wipe at her waterline. Elide laughed and did the same; laughing at the growing pains. Embracing and squeezing love into each other. 

Hour Three

They had all moved to the living room. It was three o'clock, and the festivities would run until midnight. 

This tradition of theirs started years ago, when Lysandra had been given this apartment by her uncle, conveniently on Yulemas Eve. As a group of broke college students, they had gotten together at noon at Lys’ new abode, flocking towards the offer of free food and drinks. But, they had spent the next twelve hours renovating, each of them finding different tasks every hour to keep the boredom away. At midnight, the promised food had been delivered and all of them had pigged out and slept on the worn carpet of the living room, full of holiday spirit. 

That tradition continued on, and it proved to be extremely helpful in the days when family ties were harder to save than simply forget. When the lonesomeness of the holidays overtook the youths, twelve hours at Lysandra and Aedion's home would never fail to rekindle that merriment. 

And so, for the past decade, everyone would arrive at noon, and each hour would be filled with something new; usually holiday-themed, but it was truly left to Aelin’s best friend’s imagination. 

So at hour three, the group found themselves in the living room, sipping on sparkling wine and snacking on appetizers. This would – apparently – be the hour of catching up. 

“... And so I told him, if he wanted a maid he could hire one. I mean, the man is rolling in money. What fucking scumbag hires someone, and then lets them play servant for the rest of the office, and then drops all his work on them? I mean, truly.” Elide was saying. Aelin was nodding along, enjoying the fresh gossip about her best friend's workplace. “But then he got all on his high horse, all you can't talk to me like that and I'm your superior, you know. Stupid bullshit.”

“So what did you do?” Lysandra asked, thoroughly enthralled by the story. Lorcan let out a hearty chuckle, his arm slung across Elide lovingly. 

“I fucking stole the glass plate from his microwave. Then took all the ink cartridges from his pens. And all the extra toilet paper in his washroom? Not there anymore!” Aelin snorted out her bubbly wine. Lysandra was racked with giggles, and Lorcan was trying not to laugh out loud. Aedion’s cackle joined the fray. And like she always would, Aelin picked up on Rowan's breathy laugh, it ignited flames through her veins. 

“Oh my gods, El. You absolute heathen,” Aedion got out through fits of laughter. Lysandra attempted deep breaths while wiping stray tears from the corners of her eyes. Aelin stared into her drink, suppressing giggles. 

“Well, it's not like he didn't deserve it,” Elide added, smiling smugly. Lorcan just kissed her temple. 

“Certainly not. Where’d you get those ideas though?” Leaning for a piece of cheese, Aelin asked. Grabbing a few pieces and rolling them around in her palm. Lysandra’s giggles were waving in and out, each time Aedion whispered something in her ear, they’d begin again. 

“My gigantic brain.” Elide snorted, pleased at her joke. 

“Nice, El.” Came from Rowan. 

“See, I thought you'd crucify me for that. Mister straight and narrow.” Oh.

Rowan didn't falter, “No, actually, if anything that gives me ideas.” He said. “Sometimes the corporate world can be a little too uptight.” He glanced at Aelin. 

Aedion laughed again. “Rich! That’s rich coming from you.” He taunted.

Rowan leaned into the jest. “Maybe I want to break free.”

“Uptight life not suiting you anymore, Boyo?” Came from Lorcan. 

“Maybe.” Rowan shrugged. “Maybe life is worth a little more than corporate deviances.” He pulled at the seams of his shirt. Fingers twirling the stem of his sparkling wine. 

Aelin didn't think anyone else had noticed the stall in the conversation. The way the bright energy slowed and sputtered. Pausing momentarily and applying enough pressure to Aelin’s soul that she felt winded. But everyone moved on, Rowan included. Laughing and sharing stories as they might. 

The conversation didn't end, and Aelin’s buried sorrow didn't dissipate. But she would keep breathing. Keep moving forward, exchanging banter all in the hopes of drawing out the sound of her heart breaking slowly. 

“By the way, Lys, how many candies were in the jar?”

“None. It was the paper decoration that it came with from the store.”

Hour Four

It was cocktail hour. 

This was Aelin’s favourite tradition. One she actually prepared for. And it consisted of each of them having to make a holiday-themed cocktail, completely customized. There could be no research during the competition – before was a grey area Aelin loved to exploit – and they each had ten minutes. 

The order would follow; Lorcan, Lysandra, Elide, Aedion, Rowan, Aelin. And so, a silver tray had been placed in the middle of the table, and six yellowy drinks in champagne flutes sat. The colour was truly horrifying. 

“So, explain.” Lysadra motioned to start. 

“Right,” Lorcan grabbed a flute, examining it carefully. Like he didn't even know what was in it himself. “So, this…drink–”

“Sound a little more enthusiastic babe, or I'll be really worried about what you made.” Elide interrupted. 

“I'm already worried,” Rowan whispered to Aedion, face set in a perplexed grimace. 

“Hush, you goons.” He waved at the other guys. They broke apart laughing. “In here there is…Gin, uh, some Limoncello and creme de Banane. And I call it the…uh, I don't know. Yellow shot?”

“...of death,” Aelin whispered to Lysandra. Who nodded solemnly. Elide looked disgusted at her fiance’s creation, but schooled it into a look of pride when he turned to her. The moment he looked away, she made a fake gagging motion to Aelin and Lysandra. 

“Sounds wonderful, my dear Lorcan. Now, my great sir, would you please bring me my beverage.” Aedion declared, hands aiming to move in a dignified manner. He looked like he was trying to swat away flies. 

“No.”

“It was worth a shot,” He sighed, reaching for a drink. 

Aelin grabbed a flute, “Limoncello and Gin, what the hell were you aiming for here Lorcan?” She delicately sniffed at the drink. Oh god.

Plopping himself nearly onto Elide, who let out a squeak, he just shrugged. Grabbing his flute, he threw it back in one fluid motion. Everyone paused, waiting for the reaction. He swallowed, looked around, and then quickly turned away to gag and cough. 

Laughter erupted. 

Once everyone had a glass, clinking them together in cheers, and shot it down like Lorcan. He watched from on the couch, eyes a little watery. There was a pause as everyone swished the drink around in their mouth, tasting the flavour. 

It was fucking godsawful. Aelin had never tasted anything so evil. The hint of banana flavour nearly had her spitting the drink back into the glass, and the way the Gin nearly curdled it was almost worse. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she tried to swallow. Forcing the atrocity that was Lorcan’s drink down. Catching Elide’s eye, as the woman got up and ran for the washroom. Lysandra was the only one who seemed unbothered. 

“Fuck!” Aedion shouted when he could speak again. “Holy gods man, I have never put anything worse into my mouth. Ever.” 

“And that's saying somethin',” Rowan choked out. Also beyond bothered by Lorcan’s monstrosity. 

“You evil, evil man,” Aelin added. A shudder racking her body.

-

The cocktail hour carried on. Lysandra had made a mojito with cinnamon rather than mint, and it was not nearly as bad as Lorcan’s. Elide had done a ‘Sunrise Suprise’, which was simply tequila and orange juice. The ability to make a good cocktail skipped both Elide and Lorcan. Aedion had wanted to send everyone to their death, combining four different whiskeys and a melted spoonful of ice cream. It hadn't been as bad as expected, but there were much better choices out there. Rowan had mixed pickle juice and vodka, to create a dill martini. Interestingly enough, that had been the most palatable drink of the night. 

When Aelin’s turn came around, she began to pull out the individual ingredients. Lining them up in the order in which she would mix. Her focus on the drinks made her unaware that another body was present in the kitchen. Until they spoke up. 

“You look well,” Rowan said from the opposite end of the room, his body leaning up against the cabinets. Jumping at the sudden sound of his voice, her head snapped up. There he was, cataloguing her every move, a familiar feeling; his eyes on her. 

Startled, she stared at him. And kept staring at him, not realizing she had been ogling him for a few moments. She took in the lines of his body, the way his dress pants hugged his legs. The black leather belt, cinching in his waist. The sweater – cashmere, most likely – was elegantly draped over his upper body. The hard planes of his stomach were slightly in sight as the soft material moulded to his form. Everything about Rowan meant something. And looking at him only brought back bitter-sweet memories. Her gaze snapped away when he gave a light noise of acknowledgement. 

Blushing and caught, Aelin turned back to the drinks, cracking open the bottle of vodka she had slipped mint candies in a few weeks ago. She planned to let the flavours permeate the liquor and add a nice flair to her drinks. She felt Rowan’s inquisitive eyes on her every move. 

“Thank you, Rowan.” Acknowledging him, she hoped he would just walk away. She wasn't strong enough to just stand here and allow him to be there. To feel the gaping divide between their beings. 

Silence. 

“I– Look, I need to talk to you Aelin,” He approached from the other side of the room, slipping around the counter where she was. “I know it’s not the best–”

“Rowan.” A firm command, all blushed drained. She could be strong. She could. She was back to looking at him again. Green eyes, full lips, strong jaw. The silver strands that ghosted his brow. Gods she hated how looking at him hurt her so deeply. His smile, and laughter, earlier had been the knife to the gut. His presence here now? A twisting. 

“No, Aelin. I'm serious.”

“I am too.” 

“Wait.” He breathed. Gentler this time. His hand stretched out, muscle memory. She knew it would land at the curve of her waist, how the weight of it would ground her. The warmth would slip under the fabric of her dress, warming her bones. 

He retracted it before it got close enough, burning the neuron pathway that made the movement instinctual. 

She steadied herself, leaning towards him slightly, but not enough to communicate any more interest in where this was going. “Not now, Rowan. Not now. You had your chance, let me be.” 

“What chance? The fucking run-in at a cafe? That was not a ‘chance’ Aelin.” He snapped. Letting his frustration run into his tone. She hated him when he was like this. Not frustrated, no she understood that. But…seeking. She knew what he wanted, and she knew it would break her down quicker than she could turn away. Her sanity rested on the finalization of this conversation. 

Smiling politely, in a way she knew brought more frustration, she turned away and began preparing the drink. 

“Not now,” She whispered. More to herself, a silent prayer of resistance. She heard more than saw Rowan turn to walk away, over the entire conversation entirely. He missed the tear that raced down her cheek, or the hitch in her breath when the door swung close. 

-

“Peppermint Cocktails!” Aelin announced, waltzing into the room with her usual charm, all emotions wiped. She avoided Rowan’s look like the plague. Offering a drink to each friend, she was pleased to hear that her concoction was the best of the night – an unsurprising win – and the group sat around talking still. The light buzz from all the alcohol had Aelin feeling looser. The unease from moments ago slipped away like sand between her fingers. 

“I saw Rowan walk into the kitchen,” Elide whispered into her ear. Everyone else had been looking at a picture on Lorcan's phone. 

“Mhm.” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No.”

Hour Five

Rowan likes the cold. 

He liked it in a way many others didn't. He liked the way it nipped at his body slowly in the beginning, a feeling that was urgently chased away by shivers. He liked it when it froze deeper. When it slowly crawled into the heat of his body, dousing it and cutting off feeling. He liked the stiffness. The slowed movement as the cold reached his core, seizing feeling. It isolated him in a way many things did not. 

Sitting on the front porch of Lysandra’s apartment, he embraced the cold. 

Everyone had just finished up with a game of cards, and Aedion had rushed out, forgetting some ingredients for dinner. He had excused himself, just need a moment, and walked all of three steps before stopping. Allowing his body to freeze, his cashmere sweater not saving much heat. 

As he lost feeling of some body parts, he embraced the thoughts rushing through his mind, all seemingly racing in circles around the fiery blonde. The one whose embers never burnt out, but now seemed to be slowly dying. The consistent crackle and warmth of her presence, all leaking away in a manner he knew he was responsible for. 

The cold he had embraced wholeheartedly was killing his fireheart. 

His thoughts spun like the twirling snowflakes as they fell to the ground. Circling gently, melting away. But all things seemed to lead him back to his bedroom. To the moment this morning, before he had slipped away into the cab to make it here tonight. His thoughts brought him to the second drawer in his nightstand, underneath a notepad and tissues. In an embroidered box, sat a diamond ring, inlaid into a gold band that had sweeping leaf designs along its curves. Two emeralds set into the inside, to rub against one's finger. 

All thoughts seemed to lead him back to Aelin

Hour Six, Hour Seven, Hour Eight

“Can you pass me the salt?” Lysandra called from Aelin's right. She was before the stove, stirring the gravy and watching the vegetables as they cooked in the pan. 

Handing her the salt, Aelin brushed by her to grab some butter from the fridge. Needing it for the bread that would be coming out of the oven soon, steaming hot. 

They worked in a comfortable silence, only waiting for Aedion to return with some forgotten ingredients. Lorcan, Elide, and Rowan were all in the living room, having not been drawn for cooking duty this year. A method that was quickly taken up once the group realized six people in the kitchen was less of a pleasant experience. Top many bossy chefs. 

Post-cocktail hour, tipsy cards had commenced. And the many, many, shots of straight liquor had reached Aelin by that time. She was feeling much better, her heart no longer aching and screaming at her mind to just look at the man across from her. Rather, she had enthusiastically played cards. Letting the feeling of her family around her and the laughter that kept escaping cocoon her. Unfortunately, that joy had meant that Lorcan had swept everyone off their asses, wiping the board clean and winning the one hundred and twenty dollars put into the pot. That had sobered her up pretty quickly, arguing that he had cheated. He had just smirked. 

Then when Aedion rushed out, Aelin caught sight of Rowan walking out the front door too. She had been standing at the other end of the hallway, out of his view. She had watched his expression fall as soon as he crossed the threshold. It was like night and day, the crinkle around his eyes and the brightness of his smile, wiped away. He just stepped out, closing the door softly behind him. 

She had waited a moment, arguing mentally if she should go after him, until Lysandra had called, telling Aelin she needed her help. 

She wasn't ready to face him alone.

“Aelin,” A soft hand was at Aelin's wrist, pausing her chopping of vegetables. She glanced up, shocked out of her reverie. Lysandra was staring at her, looking deeply into her, her brows pulled together in confusion. She must've been calling me for a minute. When it seemed Lysandra had the other woman’s attention, she added softly, “I couldn't not invite one of you.” 

Dropping the knife, “Lys.” Aelin pleaded, not wanting to have this conversation. It felt like the entire night had been her running in circles around her and Rowan. Her and Rowan. Rowan and I. “Seriously, I can't do more of this.” 

Lysandra paid no mind to Aelin’s plea, pushing forward. “Listen. I love you deeply, very very deeply. Sometimes I wonder why,” at that, Aelin cracked a mirthful smile. “But I see the way you two look at each other. And while I know it's not my business, I think this is something you two seriously need to talk out.” She said solemnly. 

This was the point she'd been dancing around for such a long time. 

Pushing the cutting board away from her, Aelin slumped into her arms, leaning against the counter. 

“Did I make a mistake? Breaking up with him?” Like a breath after being underwater, Aelin let it out, asking the question that had rattled in the back of her mind for months. Breathing in a little deeper when some new space opened up because of it. 

“I have my own opinions, but whether or not you made a mistake is up to you.” Lysandra was soothingly rubbing her back. 

“Some days it feels like the biggest fucking mistake I've ever made, Lys. Some days it hurts so much I can't even get out of bed.” 

She hummed, letting Aelin speak. 

“I just– it felt right at the time. But it doesn't feel right now. How is that fair? How could I have made a decision like that? What would have happened if I stayed?”

“You wouldn't have done well, Ae. We all saw what was happening.”

“But you can't know that.” She whispered out. 

“I can, and I did. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let go. And that's what you did, my love. Maybe something could have gotten better, but maybe not.” Lysandra took a deep breath. “I'm proud of you regardless, that's not an easy choice to make.”

“And it clearly wasn't the fucking right one.” 

Lysandra's hand stopped, she grabbed onto Aelin's shoulder, squeezing firmly. 

“You can say that all you want, Aelin, but ultimately it was the right choice for you at the time. You blossomed. But now? Maybe it's different. And maybe every time I see you two lovesick fools in the same room, I am simultaneously sick and overjoyed. I see his face when he looks at you Ae, like you hung the stars.”

“What's this? Therapy hour?” A loud voice broke apart their moment, jerking both women out of their moment. It was Aedion with the groceries. He was smiling widely, but it fell when he took in the expression of the other women. “Oh. Shit, sorry.”

Aelin just groaned. “And look at me now, ruining the festivities.” Watching Aedion's smile drop was just a reminder of the emotional burden she forgot to check at the door. Bringing that cloud of gloom inside. It was not fair to everyone else, they didn't deserve to bear witness to the sorrow leaking from her. 

“You're not ruining anything, Aelin. Aedion, stop being an idiot.” Lysandra amended. 

Aedion, clearly understanding the situation now, came over to drop the groceries on the counter and pull his cousin into a tight hug. “Lys is right. You have nothing to be sorry for. We all love you lots and want to see you happy, and if drinking shitty cocktails and spilling your gossip helps you feel better, I'll gladly do it alongside you.” He kissed her temple. 

Aelin wanted to break down. This was not how she expected to spend this evening. Granted, she has predicted being in the same vicinity as Rowan would test her. Bring those choked feelings up to the surface. It would hurt just as it had when they split, as there was truly no way to prepare for seeing him again after months of no contact. Months of isolation and heartache. Months without the half that made her whole. 

“Lys, baby, is the gravy supposed to bubble like that?”

“Shit!” Exclaiming, Lysandra rushed away from Aelin's side to check on her portion of dinner. Leaving Aelin, still bent over the counter, staring at the herbs she’d have to chop to sprinkle over the potatoes. 

She felt a gentle shoulder push against her side, and then her cousin was beside her, close enough she could feel the warmth radiating off his huge form. “Your parents would be so proud of you, Ae. No matter what. And I think you should do what you feel is best. Even if that's walking away. I love you, we love you.” Mumbling into her ears, lower than anyone else could hear. Aelin nodded, brushing the moisture away from her face. 

“I love you too, Aedion.”

-

“Cheers to this year!”

Glasses chimed as they clinked together, bubbly wine spilling over, onto the feast laid up on the table. Decadent smells wafted up, making Aelin's stomach rumble. She was ready to dig into the spread, and let the food smother the churning anxiety in her stomach. 

She was seated next to Elide, and Aedion on her other side. Everyone else was spread around the round table – Lysandra hated the idea of a square table. Not wanting any fighting over the head of it. 

Aelin had spoken to Lysandra and Aedion for a few minutes more, opening up a little about how she had been feeling. It took some pushing, given her displeasure at possibly ruining everyone's evening with her issues, but the couple had assured her that it wasn't possible. Highly doubtful of that. But it had been…cathartic, to really speak about how she had felt. How she was dealing with her wounded heart. It meant more than Aelin would realize at the moment, for the two of them to give her a little perspective. 

Then, once the timer for the roast had gone off, and the main part of dinner had been pulled out of the oven, it was dressed up in the herbs Aelin had finally finished chopping – after getting a few more hugs in from both Lys and Aedion. Lys and her had started dishing up the plates and Aedion set off to cut some of the roast. Lorcan and Rowan had joined to set the table. And Elide had popped some bottles of prosecco, pouring glasses for everyone. 

Seated now, in front of a plate of aromatic food, a balm for the soul, she felt the urge to voice her appreciation. “So,” she started, drawing attention from everyone, especially Rowan. “I- I wanted to say thank you. To all of you. I think… that because of the lives we live today, I really don't have the opportunity to look at all of you and say that. To be able to sit around with each of you means more than anything, and I can't imagine being anywhere else right now. It wouldn't feel right.” 

“Cheers to that,” Lorcan added, a slight smile aimed in Aelin’s direction. If that wasn't the definition of a Yulemas miracle, she didn't know what else could be.

Glancing around the table, the circle of the most important people in her life, her eyes stalled upon Rowan. She meant what she said, meant every piece of it. She loved all of them. Grumpy Lorcan, meddling Lysandra. But gods, she loved Rowan, and she lied to herself every day when he was no longer a warm presence next to her. His side of the bed uncharacteristically cold. The feeling of it cooling her. 

She hadn't noticed the change in the environment, her focus being locked on Rowan. Their eyes connected, as if reading each other's minds. A choked wheezing noise almost drew her away, but she couldn't. Not when she was swimming in him, not when–

SLAM

“Elide!” A shrill scream. Ripping Aelin away, she was met with a panicked Lysandra, and a horrified Lorcan. 

Elide was facedown on the table, and amid chaos, Aelin noticed her chest was not rising and falling as it should. Shouts ensued, voices yelling about get her up and call an ambulance. What had happened in the seconds Aelin wasn't present. How could this have happened that quickly? What was happening! 

“She can't breathe!”

“Start CPR. Now!”

“Has someone called an ambulance?” 

What is going on!

Lorcan had gently laid Elide on the floor. He had his finger down her throat. His face was panicked, but he was hiding it well, focusing on Elide. Chairs were shoved back, and Lysandra was rushing away, Aedion was on the phone, Rowan was getting on his knees by Elide. They were saying something to each other. Rowan pushed Lorcan away. Lorcan fought back before he realized what was happening. Rowan placed his hands by Elide’s middle, his fingers laced together. She looked so frail there, on the floor. 

Rowan started pushing down, one two three four. One two three four. Onetwothreefouronetwothreefour– What is happening!

Aelin was frozen. Frozen in fear, in disbelief, in shock. How. That's all that was going through her mind. How. It had been going so well, how could one moment lead to this? To Elide, down on the floor, not breathing as her fiance shouted panic commands at Rowan. Equally freaked out. To Aedion, shouting instructions from paramedics. Two minutes away! To Lysandra, distraught, not knowing what to do. To Aelin, standing as her best friend couldn't breathe. 

Lorcan leaned down, his ear by Elide's mouth. His hand on her neck, searching. Rowan paused, breathing heavily. 

Aelin thought she knew what it was to feel her heartbreak, to feel it shatter. But she had never felt it as it fell. Dropped straight out of her chest when Lorcan looked up, eyes wide as saucers, pupils fully dilated. As he looked at Rowan and a lone tear slipped from his eye, dropping down, down, down. Down to where Elide was not breathing. 

Hour …

Seated in the emergency ward of the local hospital, Aelin listened to a dull Lorcan list off what had happened. She had choked. She had something lodged in her throat for so long that she passed out. It got lodged deeper. She has two broken ribs. It's not your fault Rowan. You saved her life. She had an endoscopic surgery. To remove the food. She’ll need to stay for the night. Observation. 

Struck by disbelief, Aelin couldn't do anything more than trace the lines on the floor. Her hands shook, a later symptom of the shock that had paralyzed Aelin in the moment of action. As Elide was carried out to the ambulance –still not breathing – she had only stood there. Rooted to place. Snapping out of it only when Rowan said he was going to follow them to the hospital. Aelin hadn't even said anything, snapping out of her state and running to the door to grab her boots and jump into whatever car Rowan would be taking. 

Only she and Rowan were at the hospital, alongside Lorcan. Aedion had made the executive decision for Lys and him to stay back. Lys had been hysterical, shouting, but shaking just as Aelin was now. She hadn't thought of them once, only what might happen to Elide. To her lovely Elide. 

“But she’ll be okay?” Rowan whispered. Agony weaved into his question. He felt guilty, this Aelin knew. Even if he had saved a life, he felt guilty he had hurt someone. She could scream. 

Aelin didn't hear an answer, assuming that Lorcan had nodded when Rowan let out a great sigh. Cut short by the sob that burst out. Lorcan was there in an instant, wrapping his brother up in a tight hug. She palmed her thighs, squeezing so tightly. 

Eventually, Lorcan released Rowan. The both of them were slightly breathless. Eyes red and sad. Lorcan said he was going to check on Elide, and Rowan sat down next to her. For a few quiet moments, no words were exchanged. A too-real grief hung heavy in the air. They almost lost someone, and now here they were, waiting for Elide to be here again. Because she almost wasn't. She was so close to not being here anymore. 

Standing up abruptly, “I- I have to go.” Aelin walked off, not waiting for an answer from Rowan. She was walking quickly through the halls, adrenaline coursing through her so quickly she could barely breathe. And then her breath was coming too quickly. And then she was running, running for the exit. And in her haste, she didn't hear the other feet running after her. 

All she could hear was her breath. Elide’s lack of. 

She slammed through the front doors, flat-out sprinting now. She had no idea where to go, and it was snowing hard. The wind whipped at her dress-clad form – she hadn't grabbed her jacket. But she kept running. Tripping up on ice, pelted by the rising blizzard. She had no idea where she was, but the blood rushing in her ears, and her hyperventilating had her in a dizzying state. 

“AELIN!” A voice roared. She couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, completely surrounded by falling snow, as it blocked out the light. Spinning wildly, she could feel the tears as they rushed down her face, freezing on her cheeks. 

She was panting, barely in control, when Rowan came from her side, nearly slamming into her and knocking them both over. He was breathing heavily too. His hair was out of place and his eyes were wild. 

“What were you thinking!” He yelled, grabbing onto her. “You can't fucking run like that! Aelin! What the fuck!” His tone kept increasing. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Unlike Elide. No movement, no breaths. No breaths, no breath, not breathi- 

“Aelin! AELIN! Look at me!” 

Her eyes were wild, nails pressing into Rowan’s biceps as she held onto him for dear life. Where was she, where was she, wherewasshe…

A chilled hand grabbed her chin, pulling her – not roughly – to look into Rowan’s frantic gaze. Her breathing wasn't slowing, and Rowan’s gaze was unbreakable. He was whispering something, his lips moving. Aelin watched as they moved, shifting up, down. The corners of his mouth pinching. Another hand came up, and her face was now being cradled between Rowan’s large hands. And she saw his lips still moving, and then the crease in his brow, the worry dancing in his eyes. And then she was pressed against his warm chest. 

Her head was against his heart. The thump-thump a grounding. She felt her breathing start to ease, felt arms tighten around her. Felt as she leaned further into Rowan. The tears falling faster now, but her breaths slowing enough that her brain could finally catch up. To where she was. Where she was, here in Rowan’s arms. In Rowan’s ar–

“No!’ She shouted shoving away from him, breaking the cage that was his grasp. “No! No, no, no!” 

Rowan just let his arms drop, hanging by his sides. His expression was one of worry, and confusion. Frustration and dismay. “What?” He said. His voice carried through the snowstorm. 

“Dont– Dont do that!” Aelin sobbed out, hands going to her hair. Pulling at the roots and turning around aimlessly. 

“Do what.” His hands clenched. His worry wiped away, a vexed expression appearing instead. 

“Do that! Care for me! Stop!” She kept shouting, the snow thoroughly soaking her now. The chill seeping into her bones.

“Care for you? What?” He shouted back. “What the fuck do you mean Aelin!”

“I mean, don't come r-rushing after me! Don't fucking p-pretend you care!” 

“Pretend I care?!” He took a step forward, she took one back. An undecipherable look crossed his face, before it was set back into a frown. His shoulders lined with tension, and fists opening and closing around nothing. “Aelin, what do you mean?”

“You don't care. S-so don't c-come running after m-me like you do!” The chills were shaking her body now, and she wrapped her arms around herself as tightly as possible, trying to keep in body heat. The storm was getting worse. Rowan’s image was getting blurrier, maybe it was her tears, still flowing freely. Along with her nose. 

“What… Aelin– I,” His hand went to his hair, raking through the soaked strands before pulling. “I chased after you because you fucking ran away hyperventilating! Out of a hospital! Into a fucking blizzard! What do you think I’d do? Sit there like an idiot and let you freeze to death or get hit by a car?!” 

“It doesn-”

“Yes it does! Yes, it fucking does!”

“Why!” She screamed, shaking and watching as Rowan stepped forward. This time she didn't step back. 

“Aelin.” He said, this time it was more of a command, a telling. “Are you asking me why I’d come for you?”

She considered it for a second, then nodded. 

A moment passed before Rowan's face morphed into one of genuine pain. 

“Because I would always fucking follow you! And I would always make sure you are okay, no matter what.” He snapped. “And I'm sorry I can't turn my feelings off as easily as you, but watching you walk away, no matter what, it fucking kills me!” 

There was a pause as the words sunk in, as Rowan’s chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, as his eyes traced her face for any hint – of anything. 

“You what?” Aelin squeaked out. Not knowing if the question was swallowed up by the storm until Rowan took a tentative step forward. Then another, then they were just a few breaths apart. 

“I would always follow you, Aelin,” He whispered, face drawn in sorrow. Her cheeks hurt from the frozen tears, but they warmed at his confession. “Because… because I still love you. Still so, so much. Ae, it hurts.” 

“What,” She said, more to herself. But Rowan's face crumpled, and she felt the fall directly in her heart. 

“Aelin,” He whispered, reaching for her hand that was tucked under her exposed bicep. Slowly freezing. She let him grab the hand, warming it between his palms, and then pulling her forward to place it on his heart. “I have missed you every day, and I- I couldn't do anything about it, ‘cause I fucked it up in the first place. I made you have to leave. And so I watched you walk away. I let you,” He took a deep breath. “I never wanted that to happen. Ever. But I did, and… gods Aelin, I’ve never regretted something more in my life.”

She just looked up at him. Not really believing the words she was hearing, because how could this be possible? 

“Rowan…” Her lips were turning blue, and she could barely feel her legs. She was going to freeze out here, in the midst of a blizzard, as she heard her ex-boyfriend tell her how he messed up, how he missed her. 

A tear fell on his face, and she watched it trail down. “I love you, Fireheart. I still love you. I am in love with you.” He shook his head, his hair had froze. “I'm sorry.”

“Rowan, I t-thought you wanted m-me gone. I thought it w-wasnt working.” Her teeth were clacking together so hard, she could barely get the words out. That and the weird feeling erupting from inside her. 

“I never wanted you gone, Ae. I was just so… I didn't realize what I had– what we had.” 

“And now y-you do?” She mumbled, her feelings dancing on the edge of a knife. 

His pine-green eyes scanned her face so quickly, moving over every feature. As if he was re-memorizing them all. She watched his throat work.

“Ae… I don’t know how to– I,” He closed his eyes. 

Aelin took in her hand on his chest, the tear tracks along his beautiful face. The soaked sweater. Her frozen body, and she took a chance, stepping forward, pressing up. 

Rowan must have sensed a change, because his eyes snapped open, searching, before finding Aelin closer than she had been in months. 

“Rowan…” She breathed, “I love you so godsdamned much.” She slung her arms around his neck, and pressed a cold kiss onto his stunned lips. He didn't react for a second, and she almost darted away, before she was pulled back. 

Her lips crashed back into Rowan, into a fiery and all-consuming kiss that warmed her from head to toe. Rowan's hands moved all over, making purchase along her frozen body. Never settling, like he didn't realize she was real. 

There, in the middle of a raging blizzard, Aelin got back what she had been searching for. Her other half. The man who was only everything to her, all along, and forever. 

-

Once Rowan had realized that Aelin might actually contract hypothermia, he had rushed her back to the hospital, where she was treated for minor frostbite, and then released soon after. The pair had visited a sleeping Elide and tired Lorcan, before heading back to the house to update Lysandra and Aedion. Once they had gotten past them, Rowan had gone up to their room to run a bath for Aelin. 

Lysandra had told Aelin she could take Lorcan and Elide’s room – given that they wouldn't be home that night – and when she had objected, saying she preferred her room, Aedion and Lysandra had looked at each other questioningly. But they let her go without a fuss, Lysandra already planning to get this information out of the woman. 

Aelin had paid them no heed, moving lethargically upstairs, where she found Rowan sprinkling some of the petals from the rose into the bath. 

She had kissed him, and then gotten distracted kissing him, before timidly inviting him into the bath as well. He agreed, and the two of them spent a gentle moment together, not initiating anything further, but Aelin sunk into the feeling of Rowan, of having him back in her life, in her heart. 

When they had both pruned up, Rowan hopped out and brought the towels over, drying the both of them off. Running on the dregs of her earlier adrenaline rush, Aelin leaned heavily into Rowan as he got her ready for bed. The soft moment bringing her back to where she felt safe, where she knew she belonged. And when Rowan picked her up bridal style, gently laying her on her side of the bed, tucking her in and then crawling in behind her, she knew she was home. 

“I love you, Rowan.”

“I love you, Aelin.”

Hours Later

That morning, when they went as a group to visit Elide and Lorcan in the hospital, carrying some gingerbread cookies, flowers and a present for Elide, they found the couple asleep together in bed. Lorcan's large body curled protectively around Elide, his great arms placed with a delicateness reserved only for the woman he loved. They had tried to backtrack – let them sleep – only for Elide to snap at them. Telling them to get their asses back in the room because she wants to spend Yulemas morning with her family. 

Aelin could have cried happy tears, and she had. Rushing forward to hug Elide. Careful of her ribs, and the giant man behind her. She had cried into her arms. Mumbling incoherent words into the woman's skin. And soon she was joined by Lysandra, who was equally as teary. Lorcan had mumbled something about wanting to spend the morning with his fiance and had slipped off the bed with a groan, headed elsewhere. His spot was quickly replaced by the two other women. All of them snuggling up together. Rowan had snapped a quick photo. 

Aedion and Rowan pulled up chairs, and Rowan grabbed an extra for Lorcan when he returned. Chattering happily, Elide was in the center of her family. And even if she had been in pain, had almost died, she was forgetting about it instantly with their arrival. And she sat with them for the entire morning, basking in the love so freely available. 

And when it was time for them to leave, she didn't miss the way Rowan folded his arms around Aelin, and the beaming smile she reserved for him. The way their hands snaked together when they thought no one was looking. And the kiss Rowan dropped onto Aelin's brow as they walked off, away. Intertwined again.

Taglist: @backtobl4ck // @goddess-aelin

Thank you for reading!! Happy holidays to you all :))))

[heavyhitterheaux]

Jack and fl trying to have alone time but the triplets keep interrupting them

"Finally." Jack said as he let out a sigh once he came into your shared bedroom. He had just put the triplets to sleep after reading them "A Bad Case of the Stripes." six times.

"Babe, what took you so long?" You asked while scrolling through your iPad as he walked over towards you.

"Your children requested that the bedtime story be read to them six times."

"What the? Two, maybe three I can see. But six? They have you wrapped around their fingers."

"And they don't do the same thing to you?"

"Hmm, maybe."

Jack simply leaned down to kiss you while taking the iPad out of your hands and throwing it to the side and easing his way down onto the bed to hover over top of you.

As his hand reached under your shirt, you heard Ivy scream at the top of her lungs.

"DADDY!"

He broke away from you and let out a sigh before getting up.

"She couldn't possibly need anything."

"Just go and see bubs."

"I swear that they have a sixth sense and know when to cockblock." Jack muttered as he made his way towards the door.

"Jackman, do not call our children cockblockers."

"Well did I lie?" He asked before making his way to Ivy's room.

Ten minutes later he was back and promptly took off his shirt after he locked the door.

"What did she need?" You curiously asked and he just shook his head.

"I forgot to check under the bed for monsters so she made me do that and the closet."

Just as Jack had laid down, you promptly swung your leg over and began kissing him. Jack began to suck on your neck when you heard Axel call out for you next.

"MOMMY!"

"You cannot be serious." Jack said as he detached himself from you and you sighed.

"Well, he just started being able to sleep through the night by himself. Let me check on him. Two minutes, babe." You said as Jack helped you off the bed to make your way down the hallway towards his room.

"Ax, baby, what's wrong?" You asked while coming into his room and seeing him sitting up in bed wide awake.

"I'm thirsty. Can I have some water?"

"Yeah of course you can. Come on." You said as you held out your hand for him to take. The two of you made your way downstairs and you poured him a small glass. He sat there quietly and drank it before handing the cup back to you to put in the dishwasher.

You walked him back to his room and tucked him in and at that exact moment, you heard Autumn.

"MOMMY! DADDY!"

You were in the hallway and heard Jack groan since your bedroom door was open and stifled a laugh as you caught sight of him.

"Come on baby. Hopefully after this they'll go to sleep."

"I doubt it. Cockblockers."

When the two of you went into Autumn’s room she looked upset and had her arms crossed.

"You two only gave me 2 goodnight kisses instead of 3. I can't sleep without them."

"I…" Jack started to say but then shook his head and laughed before leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

You proceeded to kiss her cheek and her nose making her laugh.

"Does that make up for it?" You asked and she immediately nodded.

"Okay, goodnight." She said and the two of you made your way out of her room and made sure that her night light was plugged in.

"Okay, attempt number three." Jack said as you laughed as you peeled off your shirt and threw it across the room.

"I can never get tired of that view." He said while leaning down to kiss you.

Just then there was a knock on your door.

"What the? Get your children." You said while sliding your shirt back on.

Jack opened it to see the triplets with their favorite stuffed animals in hand and looking up at him.

"Can we sleep with you and mommy?" Ivy asked but didn't wait for an answer as all three of them came into the room and reached up for you to pick them up and put them in the bed since it was so high.

You and Jack got them settled in between the two of you when Autumn suddenly had a question.

"Daddy, what's a cockblocker?"

[fryingpan1234567]

Ladies and gentlemen and everything in between, it is nine degrees Fahrenheit outside

as a result: how well different DC characters handle the cold (because we all know it gets freezing in Gotham, sometimes right in the middle of the summer. Metropolis, Star, and Central City aren’t much better.)

Damian Wayne: he’s been raised from a very young age to withstand conditions harsher than most adults- cold was included in that package. However, that doesn’t mean he likes it. He’s right there with his siblings when they get back from a particularly frigid patrol, stumbling to the nearest fireplaces and dialing every naturally warm-running Kryptonian they know for cuddles (of course Dami would only ever be cuddling with Jon, but sometimes it’s nice to be sandwiched between him and Kara as well)

(That in itself is a sight to behold- Cass and Steph snuggling up to their gf Kara who totally has work tomorrow, Jon forcing Dami into his lap with like six blankets so he doesn’t get sick, Tim is literally melted into Conner’s side and hasn’t woken up since he got here, Dick and a reluctant Jason are sharing a massive blanket with Kon, and Clark and Bruce take pictures before sneaking off to cuddle without the prying eyes of their kids while Alfred makes everyone hot cocoa)

There are several heroes including the Flash, Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and ofc their respective people (speedsters, Kryptonians, Amazons, Atlantians) who don’t really… get cold. They tend to be used as heated blankets for other JL members and their kids lol

Wally West does not like the cold. Although he never has to worry about it actually damaging him because of his healing factor, it’s just unpleasant as a whole. So that means he comes home to Dick from patrol shivering, with a brand new cold, and pissed off. Dick will just hold him under multiple blankets in bed, watching Disney’s Frozen until they’re both asleep.

Jason Todd is used to it. He grew up on the streets and before that in poverty, so he’s no stranger to Gotham winter. He’ll often give his leather jacket and gloves to people he sees without, leaving him in just his suit and maybe he starts to get a bit chilly by then but it’s so worth it to know he made someone’s night a little more bearable. Plus he’s got a boyfriend and daughter to warm him up when he gets home.

Harley Quinn is an absolute psychopath and rarely wears a coat, even when it’s in the negatives. She’s out there in her pigtails (dyed green and red instead of blue and pink for the holidays!!) and skimpy skirts, not a sign of the winter in sight as far as her outfit goes (unless you count the hideous tree skirt she’s wrapped around her shoulders like a poncho). Something about her is just… immune. And it’s great, bc her gf Ivy definitely does not do quite as well as her in the cold and she’s happy to provide warmth whenever necessary.

Jon Kent is aware that it’s cold outside, but the funny thing is that it doesn’t bother him until he starts thinking about it. Like he’ll be on patrol with Dami or Conner, perfectly fine, and all of a sudden he’s aware of Damian’s chattering or Conner tugging his jacket closer at a gust of wind and then he’s so cold he wants to claw his own skin off. Luckily, whoever he’s with is willing to get him a hot cocoa at the nearest coffee shop, but still, he hates the cold. As a Kryptonian, it’s just unnatural.

Bruce Wayne has had hypothermia so many times in his Batman days that his temperature sensors are honestly dead. Obviously not great, but it means he can sit atop a gargoyle with 70mph frigid winds whipping past and hold whatever bird is tucked beneath his cape to hide from the weather without being affected whatsoever. There is a limit- Alfred has ordered that he come home when the frostbite kicks in, because he does need all his limbs to fight crime, but that’s the extent of his winter protection.

Tim Drake is the type of guy to forget it’s December and march out the house in a short sleeve, almost get blown off his feet by an aggressive breeze, declare “NOPE” and head right back inside. In the winter he does prefer mochas, but he adds so many extra shots of espresso you almost can’t even taste the chocolate anymore. Only Tim Drake could find Christmas horror movies, but he manages, and that’s how he spends 90% of his wintertime, Conner tucked into his side like a personal bf heater.

You know who really likes the cold? Diana Fucking Prince. She never got snow or even so much as a chilly breeze on the island- and you know what the snow does remind her of? That night. The one where she and Steve slow danced in the town square after saving the village, all the way back in WWII. It was the first time she’d ever experienced the cold, but it thankfully wasn’t the last (:

With that guys I gotta go to bed- I’m finally on winter break!! Have a good morning/ night/ 4am y’all 🥰

[iamthecomet]

Did I really just write 1000+ words of random slice of life ghoul bullshit that I thought was going to be smutty but really just ended up as "Dew helps Mountain with something super mundane"? yes. Apparently, I did. No warnings here. Very much SFW. Just ghouls living their lives. There's a peak into Dew's somewhat angsty thoughts, elemental magic, a kiss, and a suggestive joke or two, but nothing worse than that.

Dew tramps across the Abbey grounds. The sky is snow gray. The world washed out to hues of purple and blue. His breath trails after him in tight puffs of white. His fingers are tucked under his armpits. He’s wearing a flannel that is too thin for the weather and torn jeans. His boots are unlaced, feet bare inside of them as he hurries across the already frosty ground and tries not to slip and fall and die. 

The greenhouse is a short walk in the summer–but a long one with a blizzard on the horizon. The sharp windowed peak of the roof is just visible over the crest of the hill. It sits at the base. Vegetable gardens long since put to bed stretch out in front of it. Beyond that, the livestock barn, the pens, the lake. Frozen over. Gray like the sky. 

Dew descends the hill, and leaves the Abbey behind him. Sinking slowly into the horizon as he goes. Treading carefully now. Imagining slipping out of his boots, tumbling ass over teakettle (or whatever it is Copia says) all the way down to the greenhouse door. Busting an ankle, a rib or two, well and truly ruining his planned winter of relaxation. 

The greenhouse is enormous. A sprawling gabled structure, made of dark metal bones and thick glass walls. A thin metal chimney rises from the far end. Dew drags his eyes up the length of it. No smoke. Mountain really must need him. The greenhouse is pretty. Dew admires the it from afar often. Looking at the scrolled metal edges of the frame, ivy leaves pressed into the metal on the corners of the glass panes. An intricately carved wrought iron and glass door. It’s a lot of work for something so functional. 

Dew doesn’t often think about the Abbey before him. That line of thought typically leads to ones about the Abbey after him. And those are unwanted. He can get lost in the realization that he’ll go back to the pit someday. That this strange and wonderful life he’s somehow stumbled into, is temporary, he cannot keep it forever. No matter how hard he tries. 

But he does think about these structures. Who built them. Who cared so much that the greenhouse was pretty when all it was meant to do was grow food and flowers. It’s starting to snow by the time Dew gets to the door. Big fat flakes that stick in his eyelashes. The glass is covered in foggy condensation. The plants and earth ghoul inside reduced to blurry silhouettes. 

Dew extracts his stiff fingers from under his arms and blows on them a little before he reaches for the metal door handle. It’s cold, but warm pours out of the door when he pulls it open. The greenhouse smells perpetually like summer. Warm and green and humid. Dew slips into the building. Dirt soft under his feet. He shuts the door behind him. 

“Quick,” Mountain hisses from the other side of the room. Crouched in front of the woodstove. It’s practically sweltering in here, so it can’t actually be that urgent but Dew hurries over anyway. Careful not to trip on his bootlaces. 

Despite the impending apocalyptic weather outside, the greenhouse is cozy, warm, teaming with life. Dew cuts between rows of plants and touches his finger to a young tomato plant, thriving under Mountain’s watchful eye. 

“Thought you were just trying to get me down here for something fun,” Dew teases as he reaches Mountain. The earth ghoul is kneeling in the soft dirt in front of the stove. It’s a modern addition to the greenhouse, and therefore temperamental. Dew doesn’t know shit about mechanics or machinery. But he knows a thing or two about fire–and that usually is enough to solve the problem. 

The stove is designed to run constantly as long as it’s fed. If Mountain feeds it well enough tonight it will run for the next day or two with a touch of Dew’s magic to help it out. Long enough for the storm to pass without Mountain having to trek out here in the middle of it. He’ll do it anyway if someone doesn’t keep an eye on him. 

But that’s a problem for another time–because right now the stove is out, and Mountain can’t get it to light. Dew can smell the frustration on him, wafting off of him in thick waves. Bitter, burnt earth. 

“No. This is serious.” 

Dew nudges Mountain out of the way and eyes the stove. Crouching in front of the open door. Clean and piled with kindling to get it started. 

“Did you really run out of matches.” 

Mountain doesn’t answer, but when Dew looks up the bigger ghoul is glaring down at him. Too stressed for this, Dew knows. Especially considering the thorny vines sprouting from around his horns. Dew sighs. 

He sparks the fire to life. Easy. Then, as it grows, he feeds it with logs and little bits of his magic. Ties himself to it. He’ll know it goes out, if it gutters. He’ll know long before Mountain even thinks to climb out of his warm bed to check on it. 

But it won’t go out. Not as long as Dew is watching it. 

Dew stands, closes the door. Heat pours out of the stove and into the room. Dew steps away from it–too much for him. But Mountain slides closer to feel it. Dew stands on his toes and starts plucking the thorny veins from Mountain’s hair. Careful not to prick himself or the earth ghoul as he does it. 

“Better?” 

Mountain nods. When he glances at Dew now it’s apologetic. Dew waves it off. 

“You ready to go before we get stuck in here for a week?” 

“I just need to do one more–”

“Mountain,” Dew says, firmly. He grabs Mountain’s hand, laces their fingers together. “I love you, I do. But if we get snowed in because you needed to just check one more thing I will eat you.” 

“Fine. Just don’t hurt the plans,” Mountain jokes, pulling on Dew’s grip just a little, enough to get over to his potting bench to start cleaning up. “I’ll eat them first,” Dew promises. “I’ll make you watch.” 

Mountain gasps–false offense. He turns back to grin at Dew, bending down to kiss him softly. Bumping their horns together as he pulls away. 

“Bullshit,” Mountain nips at Dew’s bottom lip. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

[agentnatesewell]

tremendous tasks, dear friends

the wayhaven chronicles | barbara robertson (f!detective) / nate sewell / mason + family (lucas daniels) | 5k words | rated G

happy holidays to @delucadarling on this twelfth night and epiphany eve! i have simply fallen in love with barbie and had such a wonderful time writing for her for the @wayhavensecretsanta

.🎄.

Within the forested woods surrounding a deceptively inconspicuous town, one brimming with holiday cheer and festive wishes, bustling with last-minute preparations of a yuletide celebration for humans and supernaturals alike, sits a dilapidated building. A relic of a time ago, thought abandoned and unbothered, hiding a veiled mansion beyond its crumbling facade. 

In this warehouse, now as familiar as home, Barbara Robertson - detective or agent depending on when and who one asks - sits in the center of the living room elegantly dressed for the season. One last task, a final check-in, for the next day’s Wayhaven Christmas Fete remains, and her trusted Filofax is set securely nearby, traded for a cup of steaming, glasses-fogging drinking chocolate. Hands warming against the gold rimmed and whimsically painted precious porcelain, she shifts her attention from event planning to listening, intently, of past traditions once forgone and now renewed. 

In this living room, now his home, Nathaniel Sewell - agent and acting commanding agent, a temporary promotion until their team leader returns from a self assigned important mission - sits adjacent, on the floor with long legs tucked beneath him; sweeping his hand over carefully laid materials, collected from the nature surrounding them, on the ivory lace-embroidered cloth covered coffee table. He picks out a hard confection from a glass jar in the middle of the table, passes it to her then reminisces, “My earlier days, when I was with my family, during the Advent period before Christmas Day, my brother and I would spend the morning hours collecting what we could on our grounds. Not dissimilar to what we’ve found on our strolls in town and the community garden this autumn.” 

Long branches of holly from the gardens, deepest green leaves with sharp, curved edges, clusters of bright, reddest berries; vines of ivy growing along on the outer stone of their home, long stems dense with lined green and white leaves; hardy sprigs of rosemary from their kitchen window garden, fragrant and robust; precious bundles of mistletoe, from the town’s nursery, with pretty pearlescent white berries; and perhaps his most prized possession of the season, from a bespoke shoppe, a singular pear sitting on a bed of gold foil. 

“Are you making a wreath,” she inquires, leaning closer to the greenery. Fingers already occupied with proffered candy instinctively seek her pencil, and blindly slide behind her ear, in case there is need to write any pertinent information of this tradition. As she inspects, Barbie notices there isn’t any sort of evergreen present that she’d become accustomed to with modern wreaths, though perhaps Nate had used all he could find to festoon along the fireplace mantle, perhaps all the evergreen in Wayhaven and the surrounding forest. 

“A Christmas Bough.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, voice trailing and he falls into a fog of nostalgia, happy memories returning to overshadow those which usually haunt him. As his thoughts fade, Nate chances a glance at Barbie, and he is pulled back into the present. For behind a curling strand of her blond hair, fallen away from her gilded claw clip, peeks a twist of red and white, and the scent of peppermint. The pencil which is usually there in her hand, in peril of becoming her drink stirrer. 

“Barbie?” 

“Nate?” The abrupt change in his tone, now alarmed, draws Barbie away from her study. She looks up towards him, green eyes peering over her red plaid-rimmed glasses, taking note at how amusement highlights the honeyed hues of his brown eyes, and how he’s closing the already narrow gap between them, brows raised questioningly and silently awaiting permission to come closer.  

And it is easy for her to grant him such permission, as Nate is always so careful, comforting, safe, even in this spontaneity, and Barbie is quite curious what it is that has attracted his attention. 

The brush of his thumb across her cheek, his fingers curling at her temple and over the shell of her ear prove far more exhilarating than any spice and sugar rush incurred during the holiday season. Nate chuckles, deep and resonating, just as silver bells sing, and he pulls away, his palm open. “You might find that peppermint candy complements the dark chocolate of your beverage far more than your pencil might.” 

“What,” Barbie looks at her cup, pencil between the rim and its high handle, and groans. “Oh my god.” Shaking her head, she drops the utensil with a sharp laugh. “Guess I needed this break. Helping Tina organize the Fete  at the station this year is keeping me busier than I imagined. Especially with all of,” she waves her hand, “this.”

Nate knows she is referencing her continued training with the Agency and on-call, standby assistance for the Wayhaven Police Department’s local cases - taking a holiday encouraged, always, during their sporadic diners at the local bistro - but does hope she has been enjoying the past week spent transforming their, in his opinion, humble home into a Christmas wonderland so expertly designed, it would rival the most elegant department store displays. And though Adam and, by order, Unit Bravo, had been convinced by Nate’s suggestion of team building exercises, Barbie has been enjoying herself. Excitement casting her in gold and silver radiance, she is even more breathtaking, indulging herself in the season. Dressed in themed ensembles, time made and spent introducing Farah to popcorn tins and Christmas themed movies, baking and icing so many cookies, decorating while singing tunes so delightful, he has been humming them both in tandem and alone. 

Regardless, Barbie deserves empathy and understanding, and a second candy cane. “May I say that the Fete has been coming along quite nicely, and will surely be memorable for years to come.” 

“You may,” she accepts his compliment, allowing her fingers, nails painted to resemble ribbon tied gift wrap, to just barely glide along his as she accepts the candy. To avoid a repeat of a near miss, Barbie stirs her drinking chocolate with the straight side of the candied stick, inhaling the melding scents as the steam rises and evaporates into the air. “Thank you, Nate.” 

Pleasant moment aside, and desperately needing the embarrassing moment aside, Barbie points the candy cane, melting end, at the table. “Tell me about your Christmas Bough. I thought it was called a Kissing Bough?” 

Nate nods. “You’re correct. Formally, these were called Christmas Boughs, and traditionally, Kissing Boughs. Every year, from when we could carry in ash wood or willow wood branches, our bough would adorn the doorway to our drawing room, welcoming our guests for the many parties held during the twelve days post Christmas. Usually family, many cousins, family friends.” 

Barbie places her cup on the table, resting her elbow on the edge, listening intently once more. The cadence of his voice again melodic, a nostalgic recitation in celebration of a life passed instead of a sorrow of a life lost. 

“One modern convenience this year.” Nate points to a neat stack of green craft wire, set opposite of the shining pear. “Bending curved tree branches into circles is much easier these days, but I would like to focus more on this particular foliage” 

“Do they hold any meaning?” She asks, knowing too well that rarely does Nate take on a task casually. 

“Holly,” Nate works as he speaks, nimble hands still familiar with the process from centuries ago, tying the branches together with the wire, a blur of green and red repeating until creating a circle. “Everlasting life.”

The irony is not lost on Barbie. By how Nate blinks his eyes, an attempt to keep them clear, she knows it’s not lost on him, either. But then he clears his throat, shapes his mouth back into a smile, and transfers the rest of the holly branches and half of the wire to the space in front of her. An offer to join him, and she obliges; observing and enamored by his hands, mirroring his motions to create a second circle. 

“Ivy,” Nate continues, “dependence and endurance. Rosemary, remembrance.” Running the tip of a finger along the leaves, breathing in the released fragrance, he takes a deep breath. Another breath. 

As silence grows, the bough making process is acknowledged as a memorial by them both. When her half is complete and returned to him, Barbie lays a hand on Nate’s shoulder. Immediately, she feels him relax, and this time the deep breath is an exhalation. When he turns to her, his smile is genuine, grateful for her grace. “Thank you. My apologies, for my sentimentality.” 

“What about the mistletoe?” She squeezes his shoulder, and hopes the question cheers him up. 

“Ah, mistletoe.” Nate lifts a bundle for himself, a second one for Barbie. She keeps it for herself. “A good luck charm. One could, during the celebratory period, greet their guests or each other for a kiss. A suitor could kiss the one they wished to court, on the cheek, and we did make sure all parties were in accordance. All would hope to be kissed, lest they endure the bad luck of being left out. There was a limit, as with every kiss, a berry would be picked. When all was gone, the kissing ceased.” He chuckles, picking a single spray which had fallen out of place. “Milton’s pockets would be full by night’s end, as he was rather outgoing and effortlessly charming.”

Barbie plucks a gem-like berry to roll between her fingers, twisting her lips as her gaze shifts towards Nate, finding he has done the same. It comes as a surprise to them both, a happy and quite welcome surprise, when Barbie closes the space between, kissing Nate’s cheek. Drawing away, she puts the berry in his palm. “There, now you have one, too.” 

Behind a second, cordial-ish, exchange, through the doorway of this living room which has yet to bear the meaningful ornament of greeting, shaking bruising snowflakes off the jacket he’s worn during his overnight patrol of the town - stubborn to accept the order to dress weather-appropriately from their temporary leader, until an approving hum from Barbie, he will keep to himself that he did not mind the shearling-lined leather moto jacket that kept him from freezing - Mason grimaces at the warm welcome of glittering ornaments, the droning and inescapable music repeating too many damn times, and the strong and tangled scents of cassis, eucalyptus, white musk, and pine. 

Thick blankets of snow keep him from his reprieve on the rooftop, and if it was any other season besides one that compels humans to decorate their homes with garish and gaudy blinking lights, corral them into the streets to sing in groups, he would volunteer to take the next patrol. But it isn’t wholly terrible, though. In the living room he can wait for Barbie to tie up any loose-ends, as she’d called them, with her next-day festival preparation; maybe Nate will help her, and Mason can retreat to the quietest and dimmest corner of the room to look out the window and watch the hidden parts of the forest, untouched by merry well-wishers. 

Her voice cuts through his annoyance, happier he knows but unsure how to tell. She sounds like she did the other day as he watched her hang monogrammed stockings over the fireplace, Nate explaining some change, some rise and fall in her sound, more cheerful. When he hears Barbie laugh, the tension in his body fades, and the abrasive reminders of the season taunting his senses fall into the background. Mason sheds his coat, rubbing his hands over his arms to avoid losing too much heat too fast, and follows a conversation to the middle of the room, in front of the couch and on the floor.  

Too far to perch on the arm of the velvet armchair, where he’s most comfortable when Barbie is around, he instead sits on the edge of the coffee table, angling away from the herbs and plants invading his senses. Any other time the seemingly innocuous rosemary would have him retreating, but she turns to him. And Barbie is fucking - glowing. Mason blinks, wondering if his retinas are taking longer to heal from the morning’s snow glare than usual. Still glowing with a pink tint to her cheeks, and damnit if that halo around her doesn’t make him think of that angel on top of their second Christmas tree, and damnit that he’s lost the cool edge to his entrance. 

“Elf got your tongue, sunshine?” Barbie asks, smoothest he’s ever seen her, at least with a candy cane between her teeth. 

In his periphery, Mason spots a small bundle of leaves and the plant is easily identifiable. Cheap, plastic replicas in abundance at the previous night’s party in some sort of garden dome when he’d walked through the park on his route. He swipes a sprig and twirls it, answering, “Wouldn’t mind you catching my ton-”

“Hello, Mason,” Nate sighs, tying what is left of the mistletoe together. “How was your patrol?”

Giggling teenagers and metal scraping at the ice rink and the entire town smells of vanilla, chocolate and sugar, that flashing robotic Santa waving in the air are all enough to keep anything interesting from happening; too chaotic to focus any magic, too much of a headache to get up to any trouble. Mason shrugs, “Same old.” 

Settled, finally giving notice to whatever Nate and Barbie are actually doing, Mason juts his chin in the direction of the circles of holly. “You aren’t done decorating this place yet?” 

“It’s a Kissing bough,” Barbie explains, rising to her knees to meet Mason. Nate subtly coughs the alternative ‘Christmas bough’, likely as a means to keep the atmosphere light and less hot, less heavy - wholesome! “When you’re under, you give a kiss, and get a reward.” She leans in, one hand on his thigh and he grins, arm slinking around her waist, ready for a knock-her-tights-off kind of kiss. But instead of her mouth, his is met with a waxy, tasteless and not sticky clump of berries. “It’s not up yet, Mason.” Smiling, having amused herself, she sits at the coffee table once more, awaiting Nate’s next instruction. 

“You’re welcome to join us, if you would like to thread this wire through the pear.” Nate knows he is pushing Mason’s good will and willingness to participate in any more decorating, yet persists with his inclusion. “This should be our final project.” 

“Wait! One more!” 

From a flash of purple and a cloud of glitzing gingerbread scents and mirth, attention is captured towards the fir and cedar garlanded mantle in this living room, and standing between a cozy, crackling fire and the main Christmas tree, eight feet all and so elegantly adorned, skirt at the base holding exquisitely wrapped gifts, is Farah Hauville - home from one last visit to the Christmas Tree Lot at the edge of town for the season before taking over agent patrol for the rest of the day - standing atilt, resting an elbow on the top branch of a small, a quite small pine tree. 

Amber eyes sparkling with triumph, Farah sweeps her hand out in an arc, resting it on her hip. “Ta da! What do you all think? Natey, Barbie? Mason.” 

Not just quite small, the tree is rather sparse. Uneven weight distribution, inconsistent branch thickness and needle distribution - some thick with vibrant needles while others rather pale and almost white, some with just tufts at the end. A lone pinecone sits towards the base, and there may have been a debate if the bird’s nest fell or broke apart. 

Nate stands, stepping slowly and surely to the tree, mind whirling as he thinks of how to express his thoughts; keep Farah from being crestfallen, express his gratitude for her enthusiasm, how to hide the tree in plain sight and preferably outside. “Certainly a unique tree,” he manages, “though, I do wonder if it would be better suited in the hallway. Could be set in an urn outside of your bedroom door and we can bedeck after your shift - wrap a strand of fairy lights, drape tinsel, use the rest of the ribbon.”

“Knew you’d say that,” Farah replies, bouncing, “This tree has been in that lot since it opened, and no one has given it a chance! A second look! I know it’s not pretty, it doesn’t match the other trees we brought home. It’s not perfect,” Farah flails her arms, pointing to the three other trees in the room that could have been portraits in a magazine. “But it deserves love, doesn’t it? Like the great philosopher, Linus, said.” 

“Linus? I’m not familiar with their work.” Nate pokes at a dull needle with this index finger. “Unless you mean Linus of Thrace, the musician.”

Barbie soon joins, shadowed by Mason, and circles the tree to study it. “‘Charlie Brown Christmas’. Farah and I watched while you read ‘The Gift of the Magi’.”  

“You were even playing the song the next day,” Farah remarks, miming him at the piano. He nods in response, fingertips brushing along the edge of a healthier branch. She continues her plea, turning to throw her arms out, wide and dramatic, and quotes, “‘I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It’s not bad at all. Maybe it just needs a little love.’”

“Farah,” Nate rubs the back of his neck, knowing she’d likely practiced her speech during her last few patrols about town. The tree truly does not fit in with the well planned out, specific aesthetic of the room but he is moved by her effort, her passion. “I can promise to find space for it. In here.” 

To the great shock of everyone, Mason grabs a smooth, circular red ornament from the main tree, fixes it to a sagging branch on the new addition. He comments before Nate can protest, “I like it. It’s irregular, obviously intended by nature to be so. Has character. Leave it where it is, at least it’ll be something interesting to look at.”

Barbie stops pacing, following Mason’s lead, with a green ornament she hangs on an opposite, slightly lighter branch. Just a little trimming, tinsel and lights and ribbon, and this tree could truly be special. One of a kind. Its own new tradition. 

It gives her an idea. 

Leaving the others to discuss re-arrangement, Barbie walks back to sit on an empty space of the coffee table to consult the ‘CF’ section of her Filofax.  A layout of the main room of the Christmas Fete is centered by a hallway length runner rug with tables at either side for Haley’s hot cocoa and treats station, beginning at an entry arch and a dais at its end. On the side of the page, the cast. Elves - Len’s kid and Douglas, Mrs. Claus - Tina, Santa Claus - Lucas, making his debut.  

Lucas, her beloved brother and subject of her final, most important task - confirming his, and Adam’s, flight details and estimated arrival. Barbie checks the time, and tapping her phone screen she notes alerts from his airline. Five minute delay, ten minute delay, confirmation of arrival, a text from him. 

Another hour or two from the city, and Barbie and Lucas will be reunited after far too long apart - and she can hardly wait! Smiling to herself, singing to herself that song from their childhood Christmas pageant, Barbie pencils in a small tree in the space between Mrs. and Santa Claus. She calls to the group, asking Farah, “Could you bring this Charlie Brown Tree to the Fete tomorrow? It’s just the right size, wouldn’t be in Lucas and Tina’s way. Added bonus, the people in town seeing what they missed out on, how a little love goes a long way.”   

Nate places a hand to his chest, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Barbie. Farah claps hers in excitement. “It would be an honor! I’m going to get Nate’s decoration box and get this little guy ready for the show! I’ll drop it off at the station.” Taking a hold of the tree at its base, Farah lifts it like a piece of paper and runs off and out of the room. And it is a testament to Nate’s reflexes and agility that he catches the two ornaments shaken off, and returns them to their home. 

A ring of Barbie’s phone interrupts the calm in Farah’s wake. 

Video call, her mirror image on the screen and Barbie gives her glasses a quick adjustment before swiping her finger across the glass to answer. 

“Ho, ho, ho!” A voice bellows, and there is a grinning Lucas, dark brown hair expertly mussed under the brim of his vintage, thrift-shop treasure, red flannel and white wool Santa Hat. “Merry Christmas!”

Barbie waves, laughing, widening the camera view to show off the living room, then back to her. Nate greets Lucas, unsure where to stand and if he can even see him, moves to lean over Barbie’s shoulder where the pocket of his brown leather jacket fills the display. His own cellular phone rings and he excuses himself to answer. Mason shakes his head, and, arms folded, walks to settle on the edge of the couch.

Back to Lucas, and now Barbie spots a twinkling flash against the red of his hat, one more, behind him white snow flurrying and thickening with each passing second. His voice muffled, harsh streaks of wind silencing him, though she can pick up the unmistakable and clear, deep accent of Adam Du Mortain, calm and authoritative.

There is a leaden, sinking feeling in her stomach. 

“Snow squall,” she finally hears, and when did Lucas move? Blurred behind the camera lens, he has found shelter inside the doors of the airport. Fellow travelers behind him converge into small groups, collective voices rising in confusion and frustration relaying the news to their loved ones. Airplanes had been taking off and landing, no imminent threat of weather. “Barbie, roads are closed, don’t know when they’ll open. Promise I’ll be home as soon as I can, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make the Fete tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay,” she answers, nodding, glancing around the room to find Nate speaking animatedly and Mason watching snow swirling outside. “Just stay safe, Luke, alright? Keep me updated. Is Adam with you?” 

“Ordering the weather to behave,” he chuckles, attempting to keep her spirits from crashing. “Look, Barbie, I’m sorry.”

Trying to formulate a plan, alternatives and logistics, how to inform Tina, Barbie doesn’t respond until she hears her name again. She shakes her head, “It’s alright. Take your time. We will figure this out. Don’t do anything hasty or dangerous, you need to come home in one piece.” Barbie looks at the screen again, zoom tighter on Lucas, notices the same plush red and fluffy white at his shoulders. “Are you wearing your Santa costume?”

“If you’re going to travel for the holidays, you’ve got to travel in style and make a big entrance. Besides, someone has to spread holiday cheer amongst the masses.”

“Keep them distracted and don’t have too much fun. Again, stay safe. I’ll talk to you soon.” 

As she ends the call, Barbie consults her Filofax, searching for an answer. Surely, she wrote up a back-up plan for Santa, Mrs. Claus, and the Elves, and she did but Sung committed to the community Christmas Feast. She turns to a blank page, scribbles thoughts - Surely, Adam will take care of Lucas. Surely, Mrs. Claus could take the place of her husband, saying he needs a head start on his journey, the children could video-chat with him. 

“Barbie,” Nate’s voice is as understanding and gentle as his gait, taking a seat next to her, patting her back with a touch so light it does not register. He finds Mason, raising his brows and tilting his head and in seconds, Mason stands before them. “I spoke with Adam. Unexpected change of weather a few miles northwest of the city, might be due to magic gone awry, and does not appear to be malicious. Unit Golf has been dispatched to secure the situation, and Adam will be working with them. Bravo is on standby, but he feels this should be contained without our intervention.” 

Mason shrugs, Barbie is still writing in her organizer. 

Turning towards her, Nate’s smile is encouraging, “Now, you are in need of a Saint Nicholas for your Christmas Fete tomorrow. Do you have Lucas’ costume? He and I are of similar build and height, and I would be glad to stand in for him.” 

Barbie, facial muscles finally moving and her mouth falling into an unintentionally pretty pout, unlocks her phone, finds her text messages, and brings up a picture to show him, then Mason. Lucas, mid-laugh, Santa hat flopping to the side, Santa jacket open with a white shirt underneath, Santa trousers on underneath, standing with a not so stiff shouldered, slightly amused Adam in the midst of white and colored glistering lights. “Spreading so much cheer that he performed a holiday miracle, making Adam smile.”

Mason, concerned with the pallor of her skin and the dullness in her eyes, crouches down and pats his pockets, where his now banished cigarettes were once stored - to prevent a fire hazard in this room of shimmering, glimmering potential kindling - pulls out a package, a monstrosity, a little cake shaped like an evergreen tree, an emergency treat purchased at the convenience store. Smushed, and he decides there is no way he will let her raise her blood sugar with something that tastes like plastic. “Eat something if you’re going into figuring-out mode. Maybe not this, I’ll get you something that doesn’t look like reindeer vomit.” 

Nate, rubbing his bottom lip with this thumb, remembers the prior year’s Christmas celebrations. A truly magical time in this already magical town, every year healing from the tragedies at the start of their permanent tenure. He recalls a certain gentleman, an embodiment of the legend and a hero to each child, reading their name from a scroll and making them believe to be the most special. “Mr. Rockwell. He was treasured, and enjoyed the role.” 

“Retired. Out of town to visit his new grandchild.” Barbie taps her pencil against the cover of her Filofax. Nate’s mention of the Santa Claus of the past decade, of his generosity and love, his joy infectious, reminds her of a conversation - between Mr. Rockwell and his wife, Lucas and Tina, and her. A transition of tradition. 

“Wait.” Her eyes open wide, sparkling once more with another idea. “We are brilliant! Mr. Rockwell left us his suit, even though it was too short for Lucas, something about keeping the Christmas spirit. It should still be at the station, I’ll call Tina to confirm.” 

Once more in the middle of this living room, Mason returns to see two faces look at him expectantly, and though there is some he does not understand, he understands the faces of two schemers. Especially one who has talked him into decorating more than he ever thought he would in eternity, and one he would do just about any damn thing for. He shoves the cookie, on a napkin to avoid another lecture by Nate, towards Barbie. “Eat this. And what do you both want?”

“Tina said the Santa costume is at the station, and she’s running a lint roller over it to get rid of any dust. You’re about Mr. Rockwell’s height -”

“No.”

Nate makes a second attempt, honeyed words pleading, “for no more than two hours. It would mean so much to this town that has become our home. It would mean -”

“I’m not dealing with any little brat screaming in my ears about some presents.” 

“It would mean a lot to me,” Barbie finishes for Nate, flatly. “We will keep the kids calm, Nate and Farah will entertain them. Tina will talk to them, and you can just check their names against a roster and repeat their wish. Then take a picture with them.” 

“Nope. Besides, we’re supposed to be in the shadows.”

Nate nods, acknowledging that Mason is correct. The accessories, such as the full, white beard, may be uncomfortable for him, as well as the inevitable sounds which come with the excitement of children. It may not be such a fair ask, and there may be some other possibilities. “Babs, there may be some adjustments I can have made to the suit, to accompany the length of my arms and legs. The tailor in town, I am sure, is quite busy. I can, however, make a request with ours at the Agency.”

An attempt to speak comes out as a squeak, and Barbie throws her arms around Nate’s shoulders in a hug. “Thank you, Nate. Really. We should go now, and get to your tailor as soon as possible.” 

Mason, silver eyes sharp and observant, regards Barbie and he guesses she’s relieved, with the sharp exhale of breath, taking a bite of the cookie and writing down some last notes. There is an errant thump in his chest, and he rubs his palm against it. Then regards Nate, also exhaling a breath, longer, and his hands slide into his pockets, their refuge. 

And damnit, her smile is making his jaw tingle, and he stretches it to alleviate that sensation. Damnit, she is so fucking beautiful like this, merry and jovial. And, groaning, Mason drags his hand down his face, wrapping his fingers behind his neck. 

He thinks he might regret this for eternity, but then figures that being able to do what Nate is doing, make her glow like that again, so ecstatic? Maybe that’ll make an afternoon of misery worth everything. 

“Wait,” he reaches, finding Barbie’s hand, and pulls them both up. “You just have to promise to stay near me, alright, sweetheart?” 

Barbie’s mouth falls open, and she truly is stunned, frozen in place as she processes his answer. She then grins, thanking him with a kiss to his cheek. “You got it, Santa.” 

~

In the midst of hazing lights, luminous trees and the rising dawn of the Eve, there is a stir. In this living room, under a bough and honoring the custom of the mistletoe, a couple hushes each other between deep kisses and berry extraction. His senses are heightened once more, and he grumbles an announcement of visitors. She spies past the door and wishes, one small wish, that he will appear.

And to her delight, they are not just any visitors.

The commanding agent will claim this a completed, successful mission, but with a hearty and robust, “Merry Christmal to all!”, Lucas will say that with a little magic, he fulfilled his Christmas promise.

fin.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🗡️ Clipped Wings: Chapter Two

Clipped Wings: After living a life in seclusion due to an over protective father, you sneak away to experience life as it really is. Slowly building up the woman you always wanted to be, your quiet life is interrupted when you meet a rather elastic boy and his crew. This is just the beginning of trouble and your carefully crafted life starts to crumble around you. The past never really stays in the past, and now it has come knocking. In more ways than one.  

Warnings: Blood, UNEDITED (Ya’ll get the raw until I find time to edit!).

To Note: Dracule Mihawk x Reader, NAMED!FemReader, Some physical features have been given (hair & eye color).

Word Count: ~2.2k

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Your mother’s pocket watch glimmered in your hand as you counted the seconds. It was late in the night, or early, and you were counting on the schedule of guard change to give you the chance to sneak out to the hidden port on the far side of Esmereld Cove. From what you had learned from the maps within the library, your home had two ports. The main one which shipments of goods regularly came in every month and where the Lady Syl was harbored should you and your guards ever need to make an emergency exit from your home. The other was a hidden one at the back of the island for severe emergencies like the island being attacked. It was within a cave system hidden by a curtain of ivy and plant, and wouldn’t be recognized as an opening to a cave unless you were familiar with the island. Your father’s paranoia had come in handy for once.

With an option to escape the island at the back and far from the prying eyes of your nannies and guards, you’d be able to slip free of Esmereld Cove one and for all. You’d spent the last month and a half solely focusing on navigation and sailing, the prior six months on surviving on your own. It had all been under the guise of innocent lady Sylvia wondering how anyone could survive without nannies and guards to care for them and Mel had eaten your wonder up in glee for it kept you in the library. Well the joke was on her because it was she how had prepared you to flee from the island in the first place.

You wondered what they were going to do the moment they realized that you hadn’t just snuck out of your room, but left. Would they inform your father that they had lost his precious daughter? Would your guards search for you in secrecy? Knowing them they probably wouldn’t think that you’d gotten very far by yourself. You’d be long gone by the time they realized you’d hoodwinked them. The hour hand on your watch clicked two and you began moving, slipping down the hall from your room, you darted for the hallway that lead to the servants hall. Bongo was on surveillance of the servants halls tonight, but he was on the other side of the manor at this time while Don and Gopher swapped out duties roaming the grounds and guarding the door to your room.

Slipping into the seldom used passage, you held your side bag against your waist to keep it from jangling around while moving as fast as possible, as silently as possible. In an hour Gopher would be peeking into your room to see that you were still in bed, and he would see that you were… thanks you the hair your chopped off earlier and left tucked against your pillowcase. Sneaking through the area where Alanna and Mel slept, you had a few moments of guilt wash through you as they had raised you, but reminded yourself that you were an adult in your twenties and if you didn’t leave, you wouldn’t be able to see the world.

You made it to the kitchen and paused, by now, Don would have made it to the grounds and begun his rounds. Now you were going to have to wait for him to pass through the gardens before continuing your trek. So you hunkered down by the door and counted the minutes that passed, remaining calm and telling yourself not to rush. Nothing good ever came from rushing, you knew that much. Don walked quietly for a hulking man, especially with his armor and weapons, but you had slowly developed an ear for even the softest of feet. He wasn’t far from the kitchen door and was making his way around the fountain. You waited by the count of his strides and the time it took to reach the other end of the manor, and then went to the window.

Both Mel and Alanna allowed a thick layer of rust to build up upon the doors of the manor. No one could sneak in that way. So if you wanted to slip out unheard and without evidence, you were going to have to slip out through a window. They weren’t large, but on the controlled diet run by Mel, you had a thin frame that could easily slip through the tight spaces of the tall windows. Cracking the window, you pushed it open just enough for your body to slip through and slipped free from the manor. You returned the window to closed by pushing back in place firmly until the latch clicked on the inside.

Now you had exactly three minutes and forty two seconds to get to the edge of the manor grounds without leaving behind any traces. You’d stolen a pair of Mel’s cushy shoes to lesson the sounds of your footsteps and leave little to no evidence. They didn’t fit, pinched your soft feet (because what lady had foot callouses?), and hurt were they rubbed… but if they got the job done you’d bear it. You were by no means glamorous about your sneaking across the grounds, paranoid about being caught and general lack of knowledge of having to sneak around certainly didn’t help your case, but you made it to the edge of the jungle woods without causing any alert or alarm.

You checked your watch again. You had exactly five hours and forty three minutes to be long gone before you were roused by your nannies. It would take half an hour to reach the hidden cove and another ten minutes to prepare the ship for departure.

“Must make haste,” You murmured to yourself as you began your trek into the jungle wood. You knew it well by now, but even then the jungle wood was slow going without using the secret tunnel from the manor to the hidden harbor. The problem you’d discovered was that the entrance to the tunnel was directly in front of your room behind a fountain which your guards stood in front of. It hadn’t been an option in your escape plan.

Sweat was trickling between your shoulder blades and down your back by the time you were halfway through the jungle wood. Worse, your feet were beginning to slide in Mel’s shoes which meant your skin had already broken. Troublesome and irritating. Leaning against a mossy tree trunk, you slipped the shoes off and flexed your feet. The pain was sharp and stinging, but not unbearable. You were also on a time schedule.

“You can fix that later,” You told yourself, lifting your gaze and continuing to follow the mental map you’d made. Making it to the entrance to the cave, you slipped through the bushes covering the opening and stepped onto cool rock. That actually made your sting feet feel better. Almost there. You ran towards the ship hung over the water in a dry dock. There had been doubts about whether you’d be able to put the ship in the water alone on your mind, so you had figured out how to use some weights and momentum to turn the wheels.

So your first task was to lock the weights onto the wheel and get it moving. You’d spent nearly two weeks trying to figure out how to move such heavy weights, then you realized there was cart that could do it for you. Grabbing onto the cart, you pushed it towards the wheel, thankful that all your activity in the last few months had gotten you strong enough to pull off a stunt like this. When the cart was at the wheel, you took the tope attached to the weights and tied it to one of the wheel rungs using a knot you’d learned about and practiced. Secured, you lifted the cart up as best as you could (which wasn’t much because you were still very much weak and turned it in the direction of the cliff where the ship hovered.

“…really need to work out.” You growled, pushing the cart bit by bit to the edge. It teetered for a moment before fully tipping, they the weight sunk like it should and the wheel behind you began spinning fast. The suspended boat dropped to the ocean water with a violent splash and bobbed for several seconds. That was one task down. Boat in the water, you skirted the cliff and used a hanging rope to swing yourself onto the deck.

Landing in a tumble, you laid on your back for a moment and coughed. That hurt more than you thought it would. Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving. You rolled onto your side and got to your feet. Now you just had to wait for three sixteen when the tide would drag the water out and get you to where you could catch the winds with the sails. You checked your pocket watch, two forty two. That gave you enough time to focus on getting yourself ready. You dragged yourself to the stash of boxes and items you had hidden on the skiff hanging from the much larger ship and pulled yourself into it.

Your feet were bleeding and roughed up by your trek, so your first priority was wrapped them up. There was a minimal supply of medical supplies that you wanted to use only if you had to, but there wasn’t much you would be able to do for yourself if your feet were taken out of commission. So you grabbed several bandages and sat down, wrapping your feet and ankles to give you something to grip. With that done, you grabbed the navigation chart of the East Blue and rolled it flat in front of you.

Your finger rested on where Esmereld Island should lay on the map. It was an unmarked island. Then you looked at the surrounding islands that were in reach of the small skiff. You had chosen one, but it would be close given the supplies you had. Conomi Islands. It was an archipelago in the northwestern region of the East Blue and has several communities to pick from. You didn’t care which one you ended up on, as long as you reached land.

“Conomi Islands,” You mumbled, leaning back on your shins and listening to the lapping water. You’d broken enough gems from your jewelry to sell for money once you made land so you weren’t completely broke, but the start of your new life wasn’t going to be easy.

The ship had been pulled out to sea as expected and you’d wrested the sails free to catch the wind. It hadn’t been easy, it’s been near impossibly hard, but you’d done it with several curses and many broken nails. You had already laughed at having broken nails because Mel would be beside herself! So you took a small break to catch your breath and pick splinters from your fingers. Esmereld Island was long behind you, faded in the distance and you knew that it was time to take the skiff and head in the direction of your destination.

Your really couldn’t keep sailing a ship this big on your own. It was hard enough for you to figure out how to work the sails on your own. The skiff was small, with only one mast and sail, manageable for you who’d never sailed before. You double checked that you had everything you needed in the little ship before tying the big ships wheel in place so it would continue in the same direction for as long as possible. With that done, you winched the small skiff over the water and climbed on board. It rocked in the wind and you had to steady yourself before using the bully to lower yourself to the churning water below. The moment the first wave caught the bow of the skiff, your little ship rocket bow up and you felt back with a yelp.

Head smacking the solid wood side of the skiff, you were left sprawling and in a daze on the floor as it rocked and rolled in the waves. Your forehead pounded and among the cold splashes of ocean water you felt warm thick liquid run down your nose. Blood.

“Shit,” You grunted, pressing your fingers into the laceration at your hairline. You’d cracked your skin right open and it was bleeding steadily, but you had more pressing concerns at the moment. Sitting up in a daze, you stared at the horizon before twisting in place to see the larger ship plowing behind you just like you wanted. That sight made you slump back and sigh with a grimace. Part one of your plan was officially finished. Now onto getting yourself to civilization.

You sat back up and blindly reached around your something to stop the flow of blood coming from your forehead. There was a strip of cloth you had been using to tie a few bag of goods together with. That would do. Unraveling it, you pressed it against your pounding forehead with a grimace and wrapped it around your head several times. With it tied off you looked to the lone mast which now seemed so easy to figure out compared to the large ship you’d just abandoned.

“I can do this,” You told yourself, shakily getting to your feet on the rocking boat. “I can do this.”

Date Published: 10/4/23

Last Edit: 10/4/23

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[winniethewife]

Cat Nap (Vessel x III)

Tags: Animal Hybrid AU, Implied Poly!vessels Cat!Vessel, Wolf!III, Inspired by @l3earfat-st ‘s art (As a gift for being cool). 

A/N: Okay so this is my first finished, longer than 100 words fic for Sleep Token and I'm all sorts of nervous about posting this but I'm gonna do it anyway. If you want to hear me shout into the void about this band (And others) Please follow me over at @lyricallymelodic

Disclaimer: All fan fic written by me for this fandom is based on a fictional depiction of the personas of the band members, no real people were perceived in the making of this fiction.  

Words: 597

It wasn’t unusual for Vessel to have spent the whole day in his room, He was a typical Feline, taking long naps during the day and only coming out to spend time with the gang in the evening. What was unusual was not at least hearing from him in some way or another for a few days, which lead the others to worry. III wandered up the stairs and down the hallway to Vessel’s attic hidey hole of a room, his ears bent back in worry, his tail gently tucked between his legs, as he approached the door he knocked softly before opening the door, taking a look around in the dimly lit room.

“Ves? It’s me.” He called out cautiously making his way inside. A quick glance around and he could tell that Vessel had recently cleaned up the room, the usual amount of clutter was tidied away, and there was the cat in question, curled up in a nest of blankets on his bed, not entirely asleep, one eye open peering at III as he entered the room.

“Wha…III…’m nappin’.” Vessel muttered with a huff before rolling over, attempting to seem uninterested, but clearly still paying attention as his ears twist back on his head to catch whatever he said next.

“Napping? For three days? Yeah likely story.” III mumbled as he approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, careful not to sit on any of Vessel or the various and sundry objects he had collected. Vessel looked over his shoulder a look of confusion on his face.

“Three days?” That doesn’t sound right.” Vessel spoke more clearly now, his ears stood up atop his head. III tilted his head and looked at Vessel more inquisitively now.

“You mean you didn’t know? None of us have seen you for three days Ves. I thought Ivy was gonna claw me apart if I didn’t find out was going on and II has been pouting, he doesn’t wanna admit he’s worried but…” III was going to continue but the look in Vessels eyes made him pause. He looked scared. He hadn’t seen Vessel that scared since the day they met.

“I thought…I just took a little nap…but, three days.” Vessel whispered, his eyes wide. III reached for Vessel, taking his chin in his hand, holding his face gently.

“Shh, hey it’s alright, deep breath.” III spoke softly, his eyes filled with a mix of worry and love. “You’re saying, you’ve been sleeping this whole time? That’s not a usual cat nap love.” He ran his thumb over Vessel’s cheek affectionately. Vessel nuzzled into III’s touch.

“I don’t know what happened…and that scares me.” Vessels voice wavers, he felt extremely vulnerable in this moment, something he would never share with anyone outside of his inner circle, But even in this moment he didn’t like how weak it made him feel. III knew this, knew him well enough to know that admitting that he was afraid meant more than just the words. III navigated the carefully built nest of blankets and comfort objects to gently wrap himself around Vessel, tucking his tail around his waist and placing his chin on top of Vessel’s head, as he held his lover close to his chest.

“We’re going to figure it out, together.” III said with a gentle squeeze. Vessel cuddled into III’s embrace, the warmth and familiar comfort causing the feline to begin to purr. Maybe this didn’t lead to immediate answers, but this was what he needed right then. Love, affection…and maybe a little cat nap. 

~

Masterlist

Taglist: @silvernight-m

[sirianasims]

Chapter 34

So It Goes…

It was Saturday morning and things were becoming predictable.

I had just gotten out of bed as Samuel entered the room. He came straight from the shower after sleeping on the couch again.

I missed him. Even when he was home, he just seemed so far away. By the time he came back from the hospital, he was exhausted. Every second of sleep was precious.

We barely talked. I couldn’t remember when we last had sex. A couple of months, at least.

He was in an even worse mood than usual today. He glared at his phone before going to the closet to get dressed.

“Samuel? Something wrong?”

“Charlie.”

Even with his back to me, his entire body radiated annoyance.

“Charlie? What’s with Charlie?”

“He’s in Copperdale and he wants to visit us.”

There was venom in his voice as he pulled the belt through the loops of his pants with angry movements.

“Oh. But isn’t that a good thing?”

“I guess. I guess I should be thankful that my brother finally deigns to grace us with his presence. Do you know how often I’ve heard from him since the wedding? Twice. To congratulate us on Hailey and Ivy. That’s all.”

“I know, but aren’t you still happy that he wants to visit?”

Samuel sighed heavily.

“Sure. It just pisses me off that everything has to be on his terms. Always. He’s practically been gone since he moved out, doing whatever the fuck he wanted while someone had to be the responsible one. And then he thinks he can just walk back in like nothing happened and be all, hey bro, care for me to drop by for dinner?”

“Admit it, Samuel, you miss him. And he’ll get to meet the girls.”

“I know. And of course I want him to meet my family. He suggested dinner tomorrow. And he even invited us to see his band play at the old warehouse tonight.”

“Tonight? We should go. I could ask Amelia to look after the girls, make it a date. We haven’t gone out forever.”

“You know we can’t do that, Freya. I have another long shift, I won’t be home until early morning.”

I said nothing. Of course. All he ever had was long shifts, and he didn’t even take the time off he was technically allowed to. I only saw him when he slept, and lately he didn’t even come to bed.

My husband was slowly becoming a stranger in the house, just dropping by for the occasional nap.

“Freya? Are you mad? If you really want me to come home early, just say so.”

He always said that. But it was a risk-free offer. He knew that I’d never demand it. I tried to rearrange my face into something less pouty.

“No. You know I can’t do that, your job is important. I just… I wish you felt that your family was just as important.”

Samuel sighed.

“Ah, yes, because you always seem to think that I’m putting my job over my family. Of course you and the girls are more important to me than my job! But as you very well know, my job is also important, I have a lot of patients depending on me.”

“Whereas we are fine without you, I guess.”

I regretted it immediately. I was stepping onto a well-trodden path and I didn’t have the energy to have this particular argument again.

Neither did Samuel. He just turned away from me as he finished tucking in his shirt.

“You know what, I don’t have time for your shit right now. I need to be at the hospital in half an hour. And if family is really the issue here, why don’t you go see Charlie’s band? You’re his family too. Then you can ask His Highness what he would like for dinner tomorrow.”

He stalked off. Less than a minute later I heard the car start.

The sun was barely up and my husband had already left in a huff. Great.

I wondered if he’d come back.

I wondered if I wanted him to come back.

beginning / previous / next

[winters-mistress]

Raindrops and Roses

"Here, girl." Vesemir says, placing a wooden plate upon Ciri's lap. The dog in her lap shifts, hid weight a conofrting presence. Icy blue eyes snap in Vesemir's direction, and Thunder growls at him. He's a breeding stud, and one of Ciri's favourite dogs that are here in the Keep. Hunting dogs, they tell her, a soft of wolf shepheard cross, but all Ciri sees are enormous fluffy beasts who she adores. He'd been napping on her ever since she'd returned from lunch, and she had been comforted by the weight and the warmth of the fluffy black and white dog.

The girl looks up from her camp of an old mage's settee settled by the fire, piled with blankets and furs and pillows, her skin pale as she looks up at the oldest witcher.

He reminds her of Eist, warm and strong and commanding and reliable, although Eist definitely wasn't as prickly as the old witcher was. The Skelligan jarl never handed out chores or lashes or scoldings in the way Vesemir did, but her beloved grandfather never lectured Mouseack or Calanthe the way he did Geralt, Lambert and Eskel when he felt they were treating her unfairly or too harshly. It wasn't often, and the quiet talking to's during pillowtalk the Skelligan had with Calanthe never produced the same results as the venomous lectures or whip lashes that the eldest witcher gave out to his pups.

Both men are strong and wise and raggedy and trustworthy and loyal, and Cirilla's heart aches with how much she misses him. The way he would tuck her into bed and curl around her when she had a nightmare, dump blankets upon her little head or rub his knuckles against her temple, tell her stories of his homeland and sneak her cookies and tartlets after one of the nannies had sent her to bed without supper when she had snuck out to play knucklebones or throw rocks in ponds. She misses him horribly, but there is an echo of him in the old wolf that tells her that he will be just as instrumental in healing her hurting heart as much as his pups would.

Geralt is her echo of Calanthe, strong and brave and wicked with a sword. Parental and forceful, antagonistic with her when she needs it just as much as they were gentle when the times for love came. Protectors in their own rights, a strong pillar coming in quick after grief.

Eskel is her echo of Mouseack. Magical and eerie, spiritual and gentle with a gruff exterior. Mouseack's imposing height and large beard spooked off as many people as Eskel's bulk and scars, thick, large hands that are scarred and powerful are the same ones that brush her hair back and wrap bleeding cuts and kiss her hair and light up her room with beautiful images when her ghosts threaten to tear her apart.

She cannot pinpoint who Lambert stands in as just yet. Perhaps a mix of Eist and Lazlo? Eist, who would teach her all the dirty tricks of knucklebones and rook and all the drunk card games, and Lambert, who tells her each and every dirty trick he has with a blade and at the card table as he taught her gwent. Lazlo, who would keep her in line when she would run off with her group of little companions scolds her just as much as Lambert does when she edges too close to poison ivy in the woods or in the caves below Kaer Morhen when the two of them go fishing one afternoon. He is rough and gruff, but he sits outside her room whenever she's woken up from a nightmare, gives her an extra slice of bread and slips her a couple sips of Rivian cherry liqueur whenever Geralt wasn't looking as the witchers hit the bottle.

She loves them all, as gruff and snappy and imposing and scarred as they all are.

Ciri comes back to earth and looks down at the plate Vesemir places in her lap. She doesn't understand why he's feeding her at first, they've had lunch two hours ago. Thick slices of chicken with warm bread and green wild vegetables, as well as some lovely strong and hard cheese and a couple berries Eskel hadn't useful for the pies the day before.

She still thinks about that hunk of cheese and bread, slick from the freshly churned butter that melted into the thick slices. Her mouth waters at the thought.

It's honeycomb. She realises, looking down at the plate. Two large and uneven hunks of the stuff, dripping and slick with honey, and four cookies with dollops of strawberry jam in the middle. The dog snuffles, uninterested at the food, and closes his eyes again.

Her eyes widen at the treats, and she looks up at the old wolf.

"Uh-" he scratches at the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic show of nerves. "I know our tonics and herbs fucked up your-" he points at her stomach underneath the dog and the blankets, and she wishes she hadn't. She'd forgotten about the pain for a few minutes, warm from the dog, while her back was similarly heated from hot waterskin Eskel had gotten for her that morning when she'd woken up in a panic, her sheets slick with blood and horrible cramping in her abdomen.

The witchers ran in, swords at the ready, one after another, and she couldn't find the words to stop their fears, blinded by tears and shaking with the pain.

She remembers when Triss was here and she'd gotten her cycle, when it came to light that the tonics they had her on were fucking her up good and proper. Her bones refusing to heal right, blood thinner than it should have been, the nausea and the headaches and the vivid nightmares and the aches and pains all coming to light, as well as the lumps Triss had found inside her after an examination.

They'd wear off in time, and she had thrown all the bottles of tonic and tea leaves in the fire after slapping them all silly. Verbally and physically.

She'd left for now, promising to come back at the end of spring with word of Ciri's pursuers, and warned all the witchers to never, ever, ever give any type of supplements to the girl again, otherwise she'd rip their balls off and shove them down their throats.

It's only been a month, Ciri supposed, Triss said it would take a while for the cysts to heal. She'd done all she could, made sure they wouldn't rupture, but she was no surgeon who could ease them out, and all they could do was wait for them to come out on their own.

But good gods, this is horrific.

"-the breadseed poppy's milk'll help the pain. But I thought these would make you feel better, try and make the next couple days a bit more bearable." He looks so earnest that it makes Ciri's heart heart a bit.

They hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't realised the effects the supplements were happening. All they saw was her endurance and muscles were improving, and they all felt awful when Triss beat them all to Ciri's shaking doorframe as the girl screamed in pain.

Kaer Morhen should never hear a child scream like that again, not when it's seen so many.

They'd all apologised, seeming to be beating themselves up and be in worse shape than Cirilla herself had been. Lambert drunk himself into a stupor, Eskel had run -just like those first couple weeks when he couldn't separate the two granddaughter's of Kaer Morhen from each other- and Geralt had gone to slay one of the beasts in the caves wearing too few armour. And Vesemir had slapped them all and brought them to the girl so they could apologise and promise never to do it again.

All the pups think that suffering barters suffering, it seems.

"Thank you." She whispers, touched. These remind her of the honey cookies and strawberry tarts of her childhood, and her heart hurts with the memory and aches with the love she feels. "I-thank you."

Vesemir gruffs and pets her hair like he would the dog upon her legs.

"Eat up, girl. Need all the strength you can get right now. Then take a rest, 'll get Eskel to drop off one of those books you like whenever he and wolf get back from their hunting trip. Lamb's experimenting with some powder he found, so don't be surprised if the keep goes to shit and I have to dig the whip out again."

Ciri giggles, and Vesemir cracks a smile.

[gretavanlace]

Poppins (part 2)

Jake & Josh x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: language, fluff, angst (sort of), alcohol consumption, drug use, still pretty tame but we’ll get there

Morning light is barely crawling into the room, dust motes chasing each other across the scuffed hardwood floors in a muted beam of sun sneaking through the curtains. The golden glitter makes you think of Josh’s smile…the sunshine always does.

It’s early, but you can hear Lily and Jake in quiet conversation across the hall. The only thing on earth that could rouse Jacob Kiszka in these wee hours is his beloved lily-bit. He loves her more than music, you’re certain of it.

The soft cadence of their voices tenderly tug-of-warring draws you out of bed and into the secondhand robe you keep hooked to the door.

Admonishing thoughts beat themselves against the walls of your still half asleep brain as you cinch the silk closed. You should have tried harder last night.

Should’ve waited for Josh to lull her back to sleep and reappear. You had things that needed to be said. Explanations to be heard.

Instead, like a coward, you’d shirked Jake’s reassurance off and disappeared into the guest room. Quietly clicking the door closed and locked as if silence could help you disappear.

After lying awake wondering why the flinch in Josh’s stare twisted your guts as it had, you’d finally drifted into a fitful slumber.

Their whispers tug you along on your bare feet until you find yourself near the doorway of the room that serves as Jake’s whenever he finds himself in town.

He is stretched across the bed like royalty. A king with his tiny princess tucked beside him in a nighty bearing grinning strawberries sporting comically large eyes.

Her miniature fingers toy with a fringed hole worn in his flannel as his touch curls through the hair on her head that matches his own in color and rattiness from their pillows.

“Daddy’s been gone a long time.” She complains, but with a contented snuggle in closer.

“Not so long, girly.” He tucks the blankets up around her. “Plus, he’s ordering an omelet for poppins, they take longer than pancakes.”

You feel like a spy, watching her upturned face scrutinize his own. “How come you call her that? Her name is…”

“I know her name, silly.” He grins. “Mary Poppins? You’ve never seen that movie? And he calls himself a teacher.”

For a breath, you long to correct him. Josh isn’t a teacher, and Jake knows it. His favorite brother is a professor of film analysis and criticism, who happens to be the rockstar of his field. He continues on at the relatively modest university he has chosen - where he remains the youngest ever offered tenure to date - for personal reasons, though regularly head-hunted by larger schools. An Ivy League or two having even chomped at his bit.

Lily-bit shakes her head and turns her attention back to the hole in his shirt she’s still fiddling with. “You need better clothes, uncle jakey.”

He starts to answer his niece with the fondest of smiles on his lips, but notices you instead. “Look here, lil. We’ve got an admirer.”

“Hi!” Her pudgy arms dart out, reaching for you with a delighted grin. “Come cuddle with us.”

“Yeah,” he raises an eyebrow at you over her head. “Come cuddle.”

“There’s a movie about you.” She prattles on, crawling across the waves of blankets. “Uncle jakey told me…when daddy gets back with your omelet that takes so long, we’re all gonna watch it. He said.”

“Who said?” You pull her into your arms as soon as she’s close enough to snatch up.

“Jake!” She huffs as though the answer to her embellishment should be obvious.

Jostling her around teasingly in your arms, you meet his wink with a blush “Well, who says he’s the boss?”

She leans back to scrutinize your face with an expression far beyond her years. “He’s not. Daddy’s the boss and you’re second boss.”

Jake stretches like a sunbathing cat with a hum of lazy satisfaction. “Joshua couldn’t boss his way out of a basket full of puppies.”

The garage door cranks to life, alerting Josh’s return, and lily scampers out of your arms, bolting out of the room to greet him…tiny feet slapping daintily down the hall with a squeal of delight.

“I, on the other hand…” he continues, quieter now as if beckoning you closer so that you might hear. “Have been told that I’m very good at taking control. Happen to be fond of letting go of it now and then, as well. Whichever you prefer, poppins.”

Leaning against the doorframe, you cross your arms and regard him affectionately. He’s so beautiful, so charismatic, how could you not?

“Why don’t you close the door and slide under the covers where it’s warm?” Jesus, the way his voice sounds. Hushed and hazy as it undulates through the atmosphere, reaching out to curl its searching fingers into your heart.

You shake the moment off with a smile, along with a lighthearted jab, “Ever think with anything aside from your dick, Jacob?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “No. Not often. C’mon, babe, lemme keep you company a little while. Come lay across my big brass bed.”

A soft laugh flutters out of you. What is it about him that renders you no more than a girl with a crush waiting to spot him in the halls of high school?

It’s Josh that breaks the spell his darker half has cast. Or, his voice rather, shouting happily from the kitchen, that breakfast has arrived.

Irritation flashes in Jake's eyes, but he erases it with a blink. “Was hoping for something a little sweeter for breakfast,” he sighs, snapping away the covers gracefully, after running his tongue over his lips. “But I suppose the pancakes I ordered will suffice.”

~

“Look!” Lily waves her tiny starfish hand at your plate, proudly showcasing a western omelet large enough to stuff three human beings to the brim, and a pile of sliced strawberries. “We got pancakes, but Daddy says you don’t like sugar in the mornings so you got something savey.”

“Savory.” Josh corrects. “It means the opposite of sweet. Think of apple pie, can you taste it?” She briefly closes her eyes and then nods. “Okay, good,” He nods back, heaping pancakes out of a styrofoam to go box and onto a plate. “Now think French fries. Which one is savory do you guess?”

“French fries.” She offers a curt nod to prove she understands and is over this line of conversation.

She is intelligent beyond measure, and it’s thanks to him. He never misses an opportunity to zero in on a teaching moment. Ever patient, ever kind, ever loving. Guiding her gently along as she discovers the world around her and the answers she seeks.

Three nights a week, no matter how exhausting his day has been, he sits at the dining room table and pores over books with her in a way that conceals the fact that he’s teaching her to read. He will pointedly stumble over the easy words he knows she’s learned, and color with love when she giggles like a bell before correcting him.

Jake slinks, feline-like, into the chair next to yours and crassly reaches over the table for the bottle of syrup waiting with its sticky cap. “I’m calling child protective services on you, brother.”

You watch on as he drizzles an obscene amount of the sugary mess atop his breakfast.

“S’that right?” Josh finds his own seat, sounding unconcerned.

“Yep.” You’re still staring as Jake lifts the fork to his perfect mouth, speaking around a bite, but with a napkin carefully placed to avoid anything offensive. Karen would be proud. “She’s never seen Mary Poppins? What kind of a father are you?”

“I saw the shining!” Lily offers up, not helping her father’s case.

Jake’s eyes lock in on his twin’s with an accusatory glare as Josh holds his hands up as if to prove his innocence.

“Opening scenes only!” He promises. “I was assisting with a dissertation. Kupbrick. She was up past her bedtime and sneaked in on me.”

“Redrum!” She gleefully announces before plucking a strawberry from your plate.

Josh hangs his head in exasperation, fingers rubbing tight circles into the bridge of his nose, “Oh my god.”

“See?” Jake looks exponentially proud of himself. “Like I said…CPS.”

~

It’s late - too late to still be floating in a tub full of rapidly cooling water, when your cell begins to vibrate noisily against the cheap linoleum flooring of your bathroom.

Josh’s name is displayed on the screen when you scramble to grab it up with a splash.

“She’s restless and asking for you.” He says, forgoing hello all together. “Can you come? I know I shouldn’t ask, but…”

“No…” you interrupt, already rising to climb out of the tub. “No, it’s alright. Really. I’m on my way.”

“What was that sound?” He asks, sounding peculiar. “Were you in the bathtub? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called, I…”

“Josh,” you interrupt. “Shut up.”

~

When you whip into the driveway, he is seated in one of the Adirondack chairs that pebble the porch, with his legs splayed wide, looking both relaxed and on edge.

The closer you step, hurriedly dressed in sweats, slides and an old tattered hoodie, the more bewildered you become.

One, you can smell weed drifting through the air…the heady scent that reminds you of backyard parties in college, that normally only trails after him when she isn’t around.

Two, he looks unbothered. Slightly nervous, perhaps, but nowhere near the anxiousness you’d expected to find when he’d fired the flare gun for reinforcements via phone.

“Did you get her to sleep?” You ask, watching his lips purse prettily around the dwindling joint, stepping up on the porch, confusion evident.

“She isn’t here.” He confesses with a sheepish glance upward in your direction, lovely face downturned.

Silence lingers as you take a seat next to him, but you wait, allowing him to break it.

Finally, he does. “You want?” He hands the joint off to you and watches intently as you draw delicately on it. “I lied, you know? And I’m not really sorry about it. How could I be? It got you here.”

“You’re faded.” You smile, passing back with a slow exhale.

“A little.”

“Where’s Lily?”

“My mom’s,” he shrugs, staring out at the fireflies twinkling across the lawn, in love with and chasing each other through emerald blades of grass. “Jake took her for game night. Candyland, go fish,”

“Hi Ho Cherry-O?” You question, nostalgia creeping in.

“Undoubtedly.” He’s still avoiding your eyes. “They’re going to stay.”

You pull at the strings on your hoodies, winding them through your fingers “So why am I here, Josh?”

At last, he rolls his head against the wooden back of his chair to find your eyes. “What did I interrupt last night?”

Heat rises inside you, crawling uncomfortably up the back of your neck until you’re forced to scratch at it to quell the itch. “Nothing. We were just…talking.”

“Talking.” He nods, and flicks the roach out onto the lawn before scrunching his face up, unhappy with his decision for disposal. “Alright, we’re talking right now. Should I press you up against a wall and slide my hands up your shirt now or later?”

“Josh…” you begin, mentally flailing about for an excuse.

“No.” He scrapes his chair against the porch, turning to face you. “You know he’s all bullshit talk, right?”

You stammer his name once more, at a complete loss for much else.

“Are you sleeping with him? I shouldn’t ask, but I don’t really give a shit. He’s going to hurt you. And it’ll be bad.”

He leans forward and laces his fingers, seemingly for something to do with them, and waits.

“His hands weren’t ‘up my shirt’,” you finally croak, stunned by this turn of events. Weren’t you just soaking in bath water? Halfway to bed? And now you’re here on the porch with Josh, your friend - yes, but also, your boss - a hint high and discussing heavy, heavy, shit. “They were on my waist, is all. And no, I’m not sleeping with him.”

Relief skitters across his expression, but only for a moment. “But you want to, I think. And I know he wants to…and so you will. And you’re so out of your league with him you aren’t even playing the same game.”

You recoil as if you’ve been slapped…and a slap definitely would’ve hurt less, but he hurries to rectify the situation he’s blundered. “No. No, I’m an idiot. What I mean, is…he’s a professional, sweetheart. A girl in every port and not a fucking one of them with a name he can remember.”

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.” You argue without conviction. Of course he knows him as well as he thinks he does. It’s Jake and Josh. Of course he does.

“Do you want a beer?” He asks after another stretch of silence that is fat full of thoughts and things unsaid.

He disappears into the house when you nod, and you have to fight to stay rooted to your seat. You’d run to the safety of your car and speed away if you had half the nerve.

Soon, a chilled bottle is slipped into your hand as he rejoins you.

“Why him?” His query is small and uncharacteristically unsure. “We make sense, you and me.”

“There’s no ‘why him’ and there’s no ‘why not you’.” You lie. “What you saw last night was nothing. A moment of flirting. That’s all.”

“You’re a shitty liar.” He counters.

“And you’re a shitty detective if you think either of you are anything more than friends to me.” You take a casual pull off your beer like this is all just no big deal.

“A shitty liar, and a shitty actress.” He chuckles softly before following your lead with a drink.

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