#late-March snowstorm

[johnschneiderblog]

Payback

During that unseasonably balmy weather we enjoyed earlier this month - the weather that inspired me to pull out our driveway markers and put the snowblower in mothballs - I heard it said a dozen times: We'll pay for this.

Meaning, of course, that, in the course of 365 days, it's the natural order for Michiganders to suffer a given amount of miserable weather. No exceptions.

So, if a string of sunshine comes our way in early March, you can be sure its counterpart - a late-March snowstorm, say - will step in to even things out .

That's the way we think up here - even the non-Catholics.

Well, the bill is arriving as I write this. Snow is falling and some predictions say we'll have have 5 inches before it's over.

[samcat18]

Me getting kind of frustrated with myself for not being more productive as the day wears on: well i guess i just needed to rot today, it's probably fine i guess, i just hate how little time i have for my hobbies and how often i'm too tired to engage in them :/

Me after getting a text that work will be closed tomorrow due to the weather: 🤩🤩🤩

[mousy-nona]

Head-cannon for thought?

Lucifer has duck wings so they molt every spring and end of summer. Luci dealing with molting… with Alastor??

Excerpts from “Duck Care for Dummies: Hell Edition”:

Molting can be painful for your aquatic friends! Their skin can get very sensitive during this time, and some ducks may even pick on their fellow birds. Please be patient with them throughout the molting process. 

Alastor looked up from the book with a grin that sent Angel Dust scurrying for cover. 

“Very interesting,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming fever-bright. 

The mystery started a few weeks ago. The denizens of the hotel had woken up one morning to find some mysterious prankster had scattered feathers everywhere – between the couch cushions, on the stairs, even stuffed between the kitchen cabinets and in between the radio speakers (that one felt a bit personal). 

So began a strange battle, with the hotel on one side and what appeared to be the ghost of Mother Goose on the other. Every afternoon, they’d finish cleaning up the remnants of last night’s avian snowstorm, and every morning they’d wake up to find a new layer of radiant white down covering every possible – and impossible – surface. 

Husk finally lost it when he found a stray piece of fluff floating in his rum. “Alright, ‘fess up! Who the hell is shaking their tail feathers around this damn place, huh?” 

He glared daggers at Vaggie, whose very conspicuous wings flared wide as everyone turned to stare at her. She marched forward until she and Husk were nose to nose. 

“What the hell are you implying, huh?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying, you overgrown chicken!” 

It was mayhem. Charlie rushed to Vaggie’s defense, Angel Dust pulled out a bin of popcorn, Niffty started chanting kill kill kill kill at the top of her tiny lungs. But Alastor, who made a habit of haunting the shadows, spotted something no one else did: one of Lucifer’s hands twitching towards his back. Where his own wings would be, when he wasn’t hiding them. 

“Interesting,” Alastor grinned, then disappeared to the library, where he found this book after a few hours of intense searching. Someone had moved it from the shelves and shoved it under a massive pile of papers – almost as if they didn’t want anyone to find it.  

Unfortunately for Lucifer, Alastor was nothing if not thorough. Humming a swinging, jaunty tune, flipped to the last chapter. 

So your duck is molting…what should you do about it? 

Unlike their earthly counterparts, ducks in hell may go through a much longer molt without help. A good avian caretaker can speed up the process by helping brush out the feathers. A light touch is essential – using a soft brush or bare fingers is the best way to dislodge the plumage without hurting the sensitive skin underneath. 

“Very interesting.” 

He waited until nightfall to make his move. When the hotel had finally quieted down, and the only thing he could hear were the roaches in the walls, he willed himself to appear by Lucifer’s door and knocked, just once. 

Lucifer cracked open the door, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He looked as if he hadn’t slept properly in days. “Charlie, is that – oh. It’s you.” He sighed, visibly deflating when he saw who it was. Alastor’s smile widened. 

Oh, he was going to enjoy every moment of this. Especially the parts where Lucifer would protest, and stutter, and turn as red as one of his beloved apples. 

“I was doing a little light reading today, and stumbled upon a rather interesting passage.” 

Lucifer scoffed and tried to slam the door in his face, but Alastor managed to slip his foot in the crack before he could.

“Alastor, it’s really way too late for this – “

Alastor held up the book in question, and Lucifer shut up immediately. A pink blush spread across his pale face. Alastor could have purred with satisfaction at the sight of it. Oh, how he enjoyed making Lucifer uncomfortable. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite pastimes. 

“Would you like me to share a few verses with you? I must say, this portion about just how sensitive the skin grows during a molt is especially fascinating –” 

“Shut up!” Lucifer stuck his head out into the hallway and hurriedly glanced around, checking to make sure if anyone had overheard him. Then he grabbed Alastor by the lapels and yanked him inside. 

“Your Majesty, how very forward of you.” 

Lucifer pinched his nose between two fingers and took a long breath in. Out. “So you figured it out, huh?”

“That you’ve been spreading your body parts all over the hotel?” Alastor chuckled merrily. “Quite. I found it especially interesting how fond your feathers were of my radios.”

Lucifer had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Okay, that was childish, I admit it. But you’re not exactly the easiest person to live with.”

“That’s entirely by design, I assure you.” Alastor stepped forward, his smile turning coy. “But this little midnight rendez-vous isn’t about me. It’s about you, and your rather, ah, feathery problem.” 

Lucifer pouted, looking almost uncannily like one of his beloved toy ducks. “I’ve never gone through a molt alone, alright? Lilith is usually here to help me out, and…it’s a rather intimate thing to ask of Charlie.” 

“That’s why I’m here!” Alastor grinned. “Alastor the Radio Demon, at your humble service.” He swept into a grand bow, ending it with a little flourish of his cane because he was a showman, first and foremost. 

Lucifer blanched. “If you think I’m ever letting you within an inch of my wings–”

“And what’s the alternative, your Majesty? You’re going to fill the hotel with feathers until we all suffocate or drown? You’ll wait until Husk kills Vaggie?” He covered his mouth, feigning shock. “I didn’t realize you were so cruel! You would really stand by and do nothing as your daughter becomes a widow?”

Lucifer scoffed, but Alastor could tell that he’d hit a nerve. He paused and ran a frustrated hand through his golden hair. 

There was a long moment of silence. Then finally – “I do need help.” The words were so quiet, spoken so quickly it could have been a passing breeze.

Alastor stepped forward and wrapped one arm around Lucifer’s thin shoulders. Lucifer was burning up, his back so hot Alastor could feel it through his gloves. “The night’s not getting any younger.” He leaned in so his lips brushed the shell of Lucifer’s ear, delighting in his shudder, in the bob of his throat as Lucifer gulped. A thin line of sweat trickled down his temple. Alastor’s mouth watered, but he forced himself to sit still and wait. “I suggest we start immediately.” 

“Fine,” Lucifer sighed. Slowly, begrudgingly, he stripped off his coat and shirt, then willed his wings into existence. All six of them sprang out in a veritable shower of feathers. Alastor was covered in the stuff – feathers were in his hair, on his suit, stuck on his pants. A few of them even landed in his mouth, to his great displeasure. 

He spat them out and glared daggers at the angel, who looked like he might burst out laughing. “Sorry,” Lucifer said, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic about the mess. 

Alastor determinedly shook off the plumes that he could find. Then he stepped forward, stripping off his gloves as he loomed over Lucifer’s wings. His smile grew as Lucifer shrunk back, staring nervously at the sharp points of his claws as they drew closer and closer to his tender skin. 

“Can’t you keep those things on?” He squeaked.

“No can do!” Alastor said, almost sing-song with glee. “The book said it would be better with bare hands.” 

“They probably didn’t think of the claws – oh!” He jolted upright, as if he’d been tazed. His eyes fluttered closed, a truly indecent sound ripping from his throat as Alastor rubbed the outer spot of his wings. A few feathers flew off, revealing bare skin beneath. With a gentleness that Alastor hadn’t known he’d possessed, he rubbed carefully around the frame of the wings first, working from left to right as he freed Lucifer of the worst of the molting.

Lucifer grit his teeth, his throat working as he fought to keep those strange sounds inside, but more and more escaped as Alastor finished with the edge of his wings and started working his way inward, towards the spot where his wings folded into his shoulder blades. At one point, Alastor brushed against a particularly sensitive zone near his upper back, and Lucifer let loose a long, low moan, his back arching up against Alastor’s graceful fingers. 

And Alastor, being Alastor, couldn’t let it slide. 

“Having fun, your Majesty?”

Lucifer turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. Like strawberries in spring. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Alastor’s hand stilled. “Why, I thought I was doing you a favor. I could stop here…”

“No!” Lucifer yelped, then buried his head in his arms, as if he wished the floor would swallow him whole. “I mean…”

“Yes?” Alastor prompted. The embarrassment! The shame! Lucifer’s humiliation was sweet on his tongue, like blood and spun sugar.

“Please continue,” Lucifer whispered, his voice mouse-quiet. Alastor chuckled. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

Lucifer jerked and arched as Alastor finished his ministrations, the white pile of feathers on the floor growing into hills, then mountains. Finally, Alastor leaned back, humming with satisfaction at a job well done. 

“I daresay my work here is finished.”

Lucifer sighed, shaking out his wings with a groan of satisfaction. “They feel so light! I can’t remember the last time I could move them like this. I – Alastor, thank you.” 

Alastor grinned. “Save your thanks. Let’s just say…you owe me one.” 

Lucifer blanched and shook his head. “I am definitely not saying that.” 

As Alastor turned to leave, Lucifer grabbed his shoulder.

“My molting season…it doesn’t end for another few weeks.”

“And…?” Alastor prompted, his Cheshire cat grin stretched almost impossibly wide. 

“I would appreciate it if we could do this again,” Lucifer said, too fast, as if he thought he could pretend he never said it if he said it quickly enough. 

"An interesting idea! I'll be sure to give it some thought."

Lucifer spluttered, but Alastor was already gone, his radio laugh echoing endlessly into the night.

[ashimetsu]

【Oh kiss me, won't you?】

: ̗̀➛ the nrc boys' takes on kissing : ̗̀➛ characters: riddle rosehearts, deuce spade, jade leech, jamil viper, trey clover, jade leech, malleus draconia, azul ashengrotto, ace trappola

: ̗̀➛ warnings: some suggestive (azul, malleus) : ̗̀➛ words: 2.6k : ̗̀➛ [a/n]: short drabbles based on different ways of kissing! might extend some of these into full lengths fics We'll See... for now, enjoy!

【Riddle Rosehearts】 -cheek kisses

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"I've told you before, Prefect, you should work harder on keeping yourself presentable."

In a secluded hallway, Riddle has pulled you aside to readjust your tie that had supposedly gone haywire sometime earlier that day. You didn't notice, and it seems Grim and the others didn't either, or didn't bother to tell you. Regardless of how this situation arrived, you and Riddle are intimately close. His deft hands work on the silk knot as he scolds you for tarnishing Ramshackle's name (as if it had a reputation to begin with). Securing the final tie, a small smile appears on his face as he admires his work.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Riddle?"

He shoots you a puzzled look that meets the smirk on your face, a delicate finger pointing to your own cheek. Connecting the dots, Riddle's face flares in a shade matching his own hair. He glances from side to side, assuring the coast is clear before heeding your wishes. Using one hand, Riddle gently thumbs your cheek while leaning into the other, placing a soft kiss. Flowers bloom where his lips were pressed a moment ago, fleeting and leaving a feeling of warmth in your body. You grin at his flushed face and return the favor, in turn, Riddle's face erupts into a more violent shade of crimson.

"See you, Riddle. Pull me aside if my tie needs fixing again."

You turn and stroll to your next class, practically hearing (and ignoring) the steam blow out of his ears.

【Deuce Spade】 -forehead kisses

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Shivering in the chilly weather that's managed to sustain through late March, you eagerly stand in the sidelines of the track field to watch your boyfriend's race.

Sage's Island winters were tough. Snow begins in late October and sustain until late March, until a random snowstorm attacks in April. The on-and-off of warm and cold weather has been getting on your nerves, today being no exception. An icy wind bites at your nose, practically the only part of your skin exposed to the elements. Though the 30 degree weather is better than January's negative temps, you're angry that it's cold in March in the first place. Seething, you hardly notice a tall figure loitering in front of you.

"You look a little cold, Prefect." A gentle voice snaps you out of your rage for winter. Anger dissipates as you look up at Deuce, whose smile could melt all the snow on the island.

"I should be the one asking you that, aren't you freezing in that?" Deuce's outfit consists of a thin long sleeved shirt under his jersey, along with matching black tights under his shorts. The compressed clothes cling to his frame, lining toned arms so you can see every muscle underneath. It reminds you how you didn't fall in love with him just for his dorky personality.

"Running keeps me warm, don't worry about me," he chuckles, taking a step towards you. Caressing your cheeks with both hands, he moves to place his warm lips square on your forehead. He's an oven, and you can't seem to get close enough to absorb his excess heat. After too short of a time together, he pulls away, taking his visible warmth shown on his cheeks with him too.

"Uh, I hope you enjoy the race," he stammers, realizing what he's just done. You smile back at Deuce, his glow radiating through your body for the rest of the day.

【Jade Leech】 -hand kisses

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Crash!

Stars spin in your vision as you take in the situation. Surrounded by broken plates and scattered silverwear, pain begins to bloom on your rear. Although you've been working as a waitress at Mostro Lounge for some time now, mistakes still happen. You just didn't expect who you crashed into.

"My, Prefect, I didn't see you turning the corner. Apologies, it seems I got caught up in bussing tables."

As your vision clears, a hand is extended towards you. You look up to see a pair of mismatched eyes peering down at you. Jade's seemingly innocent grin invites you to take his hand, which you graciously accept. His firm hand pulls you to your feet, being careful that you aren't injured by the broken glass. As you take your stand, Jade wraps an arm around your waist to support you.

"Ugh, I didn't think I'd crash to the floor like that." You rub your temple as you begin to regain your awareness, absorbing the situation at hand. His grip tightens as you lean into his side, taking full advantage of his kindness.

"You really ought to look where you're going," he pauses, tucking a lock of your messy hair behind your ear and bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "Else," he continues, "you may hurt yourself again."

His cool stare into your eyes as he spoke sent a shiver down your spine and a warm glow to your cheeks. Although your pain dissipated from a simple kiss, Azul ended up letting you go home early, allowing you to rest from the collision. Your "rest" consisted of replaying today's earlier incident over and over in your head.

【Jamil Viper】 -eyelid kisses

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"You're welcome to study with me at Scarabia, I can give you a few pointers for the upcoming exam."

The sun had set a few hours ago, and studying was beginning to feel fruitless in Jamil's room. The two of you set up a work station on his bed, papers sprawled across the comforter. A small lamp cast a warm glow across his concentrated face, still fully focused on studying for the upcoming potions exams. You clocked out of studying about an hour ago, scribbling to appear busy so Jamil wouldn't scold you. The dim lighting, comfortable bed, and boring subject matter were the perfect conditions for you to slowly doze to sleep.

Jamil knew you haven't been studying for the past hour, as seen by your doodles now visible to him after you began sleeping soundly. He let out a small chuckle, there was no way Jamil couldn't be angry at you when you looked so peaceful sleeping. He began to organize your notes, placing them on the nightstand. Jamil pulled an extra blanket over you after noticing a chill run over your body.

"Jamil?" you mumble, eyes fluttering open from the blanket covering you. "W-what time is it?"

"Don't worry about going back to Ramshackle tonight. Stay the night here, it's too late to head back now. Could be dangerous." Jamil smiles as if he planned for this to happen.

"Mm, 'kay," you whisper, refusing to argue with his point. It was late anyways, and Jamil's bed was much comfier than the long walk back to your own. Jamil must have been satisfied with his answer, smiling once you closed your eyes and nestled into his sheets. As you lie still, he leans over and places a soft kiss on your eyelids.

"Sleep well, Prefect."

【Trey Clover】 -crook of elbow kisses

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"A little ballroom dancing, whaddya say?"

A few days ago, Trey invited you to be his "date" for a Heartslabyul ballroom dancing event, as a part of an unusual unbirthday party. You thought yourself as more of a dancing partner, but Trey seemed to treat you more like a date instead, intertwining your hands and holding you close around the waist. He couldn't help himself, your sleeveless red dress drew him to you, caressing you as much as he could. You felt the same towards him, his black tux with red accents complimented your dress, making you two the perfect pair at the dance.

"You look stunning tonight, I can barely keep myself away," he whispered, twirling and dipping you slightly, putting an even greater height advantage over you. You giggled at his confession, thinking his lovey-dovey mood was cute. Trey has shown interest in you before, but now he's seizing this opportunity to show you how he really feels. Swinging you back up to standing position, he raises your hand above your head, exposing the soft flesh of your inner arm. While holding eye contact, Trey presses his face into your forearm, slowly sliding his lips to the crook of your elbow, planting a light kiss. He hums as you squirm in his arm, not used to the sudden affection from Trey.

"Trey, you're embarrassing me."

"Heh, my bad."

【Floyd Leech】 -shoulder kisses

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"Mmm, it's too early to get up yet..."

Dim light peeks through the blinds as morning dawns, waking wildlife all around, except Floyd Leech, who is currently attached to your side, chest glued to your back as he squeezes your waist with his long arms. You tried to escape his grasp earlier, but he's relentlessly held onto you, maybe as a means of preventing the day from starting. More time spent laying by your side is time well spent for Floyd.

You accept defeat and huff out a sigh. Floyd wasn't letting go anytime soon, might as well enjoy his warm figure to melt into. Once you stop struggling, Floyd captures his prey and presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin. He can never get tired of this, sucking in as much of you as he possibly can. Floyd's clingy nature is evident by the way he protectively holds your body for hours at a time, refusing to let you go before he's ready to get up too.

He feels your body relax, sinking his head further down your body. Floyd's nose rests atop your shoulder, breaths steadily escaping his nose and tickling your collarbone. You feel warm lips press against your shoulder, fleeting, but ending with a quick nip of his razor sharp teeth.

"Ow. Just for that I should force you out of bed."

"...Five more minutes."

【Malleus Draconia】 -collarbone kisses

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"The stars are beautiful tonight, aren't they, darling?"

Malleus greets you at the door to his room, dressed to the nines in a black tux with an emerald green pocket square peeking from his suit. He can hardly hold in his grin as he soaks in your appearance; a sleek black dress shaping your curves and small jade earrings decorating your ears. Malleus waves Silver away, who kindly escorted you to Malleus' room at this time of night. A few days ago, your boyfriend sent a letter requesting your presence for an outing, dressed in your absolute best. You were nervous that the dress wasn't up to par, but from Malleus' hungry looks, it appears that your choice was perfect.

"Come in my dear, I have something special for you."

You follow the prince into his quarters, which is completely dark, save for the moonlight shining through the open window. The chilly breeze adds to the elusive atmosphere of Malleus' dorm, attracting you to the enigma that is Malleus Draconia. Next to the window stands a tall, floor-length mirror. While checking your appearance, suddenly, Malleus appears behind you, nearly making you jump. His tall figure and broad shoulders tower over your body, reminding you just how small you are next to the prince of Briar Valley. Your heart speeds up as he makes his brooding presence known.

Malleus reaches around your neck and places a cool pendant to your warm skin, burning an imprint of the metal onto the crest of your clavicle. Silver metal adorned with two green gems illuminate your bare neck, completing your outfit. You look up from the pendant to see his face congruent to yours, whispering into your ear.

"It's a family heirloom, my love. It's been passed down from generation to generation in the Draconia bloodline." His voice lowers, raspy vocals tickling the fine hairs lining your ears. "You'll help me continue my bloodline, won't you?"

Your face heats up at the implication of his words and the prized heirloom now placed on your neck. It nearly feels weightless now, having adjusted to the temperature of your skin. Malleus' lips are still centimeters from your ear, though short-lived, as his face continues to travel down your neck, resting adjacent to your newfound necklace. He plants a kiss on the peak of your collarbone, just next to your new heirloom. You can feel a smile spread across his lips, knowing that he's claimed you as his own.

【Azul Ashengrotto】 -thigh kisses

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"You're taunting me, aren't you?"

Face to face with ocean blue eyes lined with a mischievous glint, Azul has you trapped with both hands flat on his desk. You sat yourself on his work, forcing him to pay attention to you. Although most fall into Azul's schemes, you know exactly how to press his buttons and get what you want. Your legs dangle off his desk, brushing against his, eliciting a response of something close to a sigh. You lean close to his ear, voice raising barely above a whisper.

"Kiss me, Azul."

The lips would be too easy, wouldn't it? If you're going to play games with him, he would surely be a tough competitor. He leans his face close to your lips, pausing just before contact. Your eyes travel to Azul's gloved hands that are finding comfort in squeezing your thighs. He doesn't break eye contact as a thumb brushes underneath the hem of your skirt, rubbing small circles while breathing on your lips, feigning the kiss you so desire. Slowly, Azul brings himself down to a kneel in front of you, hands still massaging your soft flesh. Pushing your left leg open, he ghosts his lips above your inner thigh, teasing a kiss you've desired since he walked into his office.

"As you wish, princess."

Cool lips like ice cubes press onto your contrasting warm skin, sending a tingling sensation through your spine. Azul isn't short with it either, peppering kissing along your thigh until his once-cool lips match your body temperature. You comb your fingers through his silk silver locks as he rests his cheek along your thigh, soaking in your warmth and accepting your comforting hold. You both rest in silence, appreciating each other's presence.

【Ace Trappola】 -temple kisses

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"What's that, are you scared of getting caught?"

Ocean waves lap over the white sand. You're sat snugly against your boyfriend's chest while looking over the glittering stars, just outside of Royal Sword Academy. Ace had the slick idea of sneaking out during the academy's Founding Day to watch the fireworks with you. Though a troublemaker through and through, his sense of romance is endearing to you. For once, the two of you are silent, absorbing the gentle sounds of incoming waves, distant chatter of the academy, and the slow rise and fall of each other's breaths. You could have fallen asleep here from how calming the atmosphere was.

"Don't sleep on me, Prefect!" Ace whisper-shouts, squeezing your sides. "The show's starting!"

Looking out at the sky encompassed before you, bright and colorful lights begin flaring, the boom following shortly after. The two of you are entranced by the light show, each successive firework grander than the one before. Ace looks over at you, fondly smiling from the pure child-like wonder on your face. Have you ever seen fireworks before? He'd have to prod and poke at you about that later. Right now, Ace wants nothing more than to just paint your cute expression into his memories forever.

Without thinking, he pulls your head closer to him, pressing a firm kiss onto your temple. You stiffen initially, then relax into his touch and melt in his arms. Though unpredictable⎯and rather mean sometimes⎯Ace really did care about you.

[beggingwolf]

CRYBABY

Jen gives Zhenya a look that could peel paint as he jogs out of the hotel lobby. 

“Not late,” he cuts her off as she yanks open the back door of the big, black SUV, the sort that always turns up for these events. 

“Thirty seconds,” is all she says, voice dry against the soggy, warm Newark air. Zhenya is rarely in New Jersey so early in the year and it sits on his skin like a grime. It’s nothing like the warm blanket of Miami’s heat, which Zhenya already misses even while his hair still carries the faint scent of saltwater.

Jen shuts the door loudly behind the two of them, cocooning them in the cool, air-conditioned interior, and smacks a clipboard right onto Zhenya’s thighs.

“Why?” he grumbles, and she buckles her seatbelt with a loud click as he peers at the itinerary for the NHL’s Media Tour. 

“It’s just like last year, yes?” he asks as he flicks through the pages. 

The English pokes uncomfortably at his brain, and he takes a moment to really look at the letters. He’d spent the better part of his summer carefully leafing through a Dostoevsky novel that had a glossy paperback cover and too-white pages. Between his halfhearted attempts to self-educate and his summer back in Moscow, readjusting to the spikes of written English is an ugly affair.

“Today you’ve got interviews with networks, the off-ice promotional shoot, and a Q&A session,” Jen rattles off, tapping at her phone. “Tomorrow you do on-ice filming.”

Zhenya pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, letting the pages fall back in order before dumping the clipboard onto the empty seat next to him. The drive isn’t far; Jen had booked the same hotel the Penguins stay in when they come for games. Zhenya walks into Prudential Center through the back entrance he always uses, adjusting his suit jacket as Jen flashes her badge at the security guard. 

It’s strange, in some way, to come back to this after his summer. The reporters can’t resist bringing up the Penguins’ ignoble exit to playoffs, their postseason’s tailspin into failure. It’s easier to think of his time back in Magnitogorsk—where he had a K stitched onto his jersey instead of a C, where the media asked him pointed questions in no-nonsense tones—than it is to think about the abbreviated NHL season that had followed. 

It had been an odd year. The KHL had felt familiar and foreign all at once. Zhenya had become Malk once again, and Malk tore it up, almost two points per game. It had been fun to stretch out his old memories and readjust to the international ice size. He’d felt young again while living in his parents’ house, decorating the New Year’s yolka with them and skittering out of the way when Geoffrey, enormous and terrifying, bounded around corners and nearly took out Zhenya’s knees. 

And then he’d gotten the call that the owners and the union had figured their shit out. He’d gotten on a flight back to Pittsburgh during a winter snowstorm, Moscow howling its rage at his departure. It had been a portent of the things to come: his concussion in January, his shoulder injury in March, and then the Eastern Conference Final, where Zhenya’s Penguins had been pushed to their knees by the Bruins. 

Zhenya had barely gotten three months to lick his wounds in Moscow and tan them away in Miami. The new season stretches out in front of him, and he tries to curry hope in his chest as reporters ask him about the new divisions and his Penguins’ chances. 

He’s lingering outside of a conference room, throwing too many texts to Nealsy and pestering him about when he’ll be back in Pittsburgh, when he hears hushed voices approaching. 

He presses himself against the cinderblock wall to make room. Jen abandoned him to make sure he’s still scheduled for the roundtable discussion and Zhenya is already tired. The humidity outside leaks into the arena, and Zhenya feels rumpled and groggy and honestly doesn’t want to deal with Toews’s weighty, complicated conversations or Doughty’s gregariousness. 

“Hey,” Zhenya hears, and he looks up.

Oh. 

Zhenya has been asked about Sidney Crosby more times than he can count. Today, last season, even during the lockout. A stout little thing out of Canada, fast with the puck and strong on his skates. 

He’s bigger now than he was when Zhenya had seen him in Ufa at World Juniors, when the whole of Metallurg had hopped onto a bus, full and sated from their New Year’s dinners, and made a weekend out of watching the Canadians and Russians duke it out over bronze. 

Crosby’s smile is nothing like the sullen, angry expression that had been plastered onto his face when Russia sent Canada home empty-handed. He’s in a dark suit that’s abysmally cut for him—too boxy, an immature, poorly-tailored design that rankles Zhenya’s European sensibilities. His grin is boyish and confident, and Zhenya’s been shown a clip or two of his interviews; he’s good-tempered and answers everything asked of him.

Jen had told Zhenya to take notes. Zhenya had told Jen he was going to get her fired. 

Crosby holds out a hand, and Zhenya glances down at it.

“I’m Sid,” Crosby says. “Sidney Crosby. This is Nate. Nice to meet you.”

Lingering behind Crosby, obviously more nervous and looking like an underbaked piroshki, is MacKinnon. Canada’s two golden boys, blazing into the NHL in the wake of the lockout. 

Crosby’s smile widens, just a bit, and Zhenya finally reaches out and wraps Crosby’s smaller hand in his own. 

As soon as Zhenya engages, MacKinnon jumps forward eagerly, sticking out his own hand. Zhenya gives him a reluctant shake, and MacKinnon’s hand grips tighter. 

“Wow, Geno, like, the Russian bear, right?” MacKinnon laughs, high and delighted like he's a child and not one of Zhenya’s new coworkers. Crosby clears his throat softly but pointedly, and he widens his eyes at MacKinnon in an obvious plea to shut the fuck up.

Zhenya smirks, and when Crosby notices, his ears go pink.

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Ya know how Bill can possess bodies once he's given permission to do so?

What if his deal with Ford was the longest he had ever had the luxury to possess someone?

The information about summoning Bill was in Journal 2, right?

So, I'd wager that by the time Ford started to write in his 3rd journal, they had already made the deal.

In the official Journal 3, Ford started writing it in June (three days after his birthday) and while we don't get the date of his 'Trust No One' entry, the day before testing the portal was January 17th...

So, 7 months...wow...I wonder if Bill did occasional...mischief during this time.

Also, it is unknown when Ford got sucked into the portal, as he has hidden Journal 3 at this point. The only evidence we have was that it was snowing in Gravity Falls.

I did attempt some research about the climate in Central Oregon and it can get chilly, even during the summer (though not enough for snow).

Prior to the official Journal 3, it was thought that Ford got sucked into the portal perhaps in December or January because there was a snowstorm going on. Now, the fact that the testing didn't happen until the later half of January has to make me rethink this and thanks to this one website and some approximation, I'd say that Ford got sucked into inside by March.

I'm sure some would be thinking...how? Since March is rather late for such a snowstorm. Not for Central Oregon and most certainly not for Gravity Falls. Like I said before, Central Oregon can get chilly, even during warmer seasons. Now, of course, it can get less cold in spring and summer, meaning little to no snowfall. However, since it's already established that Gravity Falls can have funky weather on occasions, so as long as there is a chance for snowfall, a snowstorm can happen.

So, going by this, Bill probably had access to Ford's mind and body for about 9 months, maybe spending the last two on giving Ford a hard time (an understatement) before Ford gets pushed into the portal...

And that doesn't even take account of the probability that Bill still had access to Ford's mind up until he got that metal plate in his head!

It could've been years!!!!!!!!

[usmsgutterson]

so, it’s probably nothing, but it’s been on my mind sometime and I can’t let it go- hug prompts! The link for those is here, and again, you can send in as many combinations as you want!

pin hawthorne with 2, 3, and 4??

Spring- Pin Hawthorne x gn! reader

okay, thank you for sending this in! I haven't written for Pin in almost six months and I missed it a lot more than I thought lol. The prompts you sent in are as listed below:

slowdancing that’s actually just a hug with swaying involved, hugs that last a long time, and “It’s been a while,” hugs

fic type- fluff

warnings- mentions of flooding and power outages in relation to snow and rainstorms, mentions of icy roads/ground also in relation to snow and rainstorms

You’d always loved it when spring graced the island, though you weren't shy of admitting your disdain for the lethal weather that late winter and early spring often brought along.  

During winter, the stables were in a relatively consistent state of snow and cold weather from September through to the last week of March. Spring always got a late start and, as you’d noticed since you moved to the island at sixteen, winter always liked to overstay its welcome.

Spring weather typically came back around between the last three days of March and the first six days of April, often immediately following a snowstorm so severe that you and Pin would have to check on the horses at least a day in advance. You'd have to get to the stables and make sure that nothing was at risk of breaking with the strength of the wind and that everything was still properly insulated to keep out the worst of the cold.

The last week of March and the first week of April were no different that year. A snowstorm picked up on the twenty-eighth of March and lasted through to the thirtieth, you in yours and Pins loft, Pin staying with his dad due solely to happenstance, as Pin had stopped in for tea and to see how things were with his dad when the snowstorm started unexpectedly. 

On the thirty-first, a rainstorm hit and Pin couldn’t get back to you because of the risk of a power outage due to the wind, coupled with the fact that the snow was melting and turning into ice that made driving or travelling by horse way too risky. 

Pin didn’t get to your loft until the third of April, waiting out the storm--which had only ended on the second, ending on a high note with warnings of icy roads, fallen trees, flooding on the roads and warnings about floods flashing in bright white against bold red on every single news station--in his old room and keeping his dad company, the two of them playing card games when the power went out, drinking cold tea and talking in some feeble effort to pass the time. 

He knew you’d be at the stables with Gabby, Zoe, and Marcus, checking on the horses and feeding them when he saw your text that morning. Instead of telling him to meet you, though, you simply asked him to run a couple of errands in your stead, and so he did.

When he got back to the loft, he’d spent the better part of four hours on his feet. He had a twenty pound bag of cat food for the two and a half year old orange tabby you’d adopted together over one shoulder, a bag with bread, ice cream, sugar and a couple of the sweets you loved in his left hand. 

He put the bag down to unlock the door, proceeded in, fed the cat--who you’d been calling Pumpkin since you’d adopted him--and put the groceries away, happy to simply stand in your kitchen for the first time in nearly a week, a song from an indie band Pin liked playing idly through a bluetooth speaker.

You came into the house fifteen minutes later, not even registering Pins presence at first. 

But then you noticed the striking blue eyes, the obsidian ring that he hadn’t taken off of his ring finger since you got each other promise rings as a three year anniversary present the year before. You saw the black hoodie that Pin always wore during the winter, the one you always stole during the spring, and you almost felt weightless.

“Ran your errands,” he said. “How were the horses?” 

“They were fine,” you said, knowing that the horses and Bright Fields as a whole had slipped from your mind entirely as you walked toward him. “Everything was fine. Nothing took significant damage.” 

Pin pulled you into a hug and felt relief flood every single part of him with the action, felt himself relax as your arms wrapped around him and hugged him as tightly as he’d hugged you. 

You’d been communicating through a combination of facetime and texting for nearly a week, and sure, that was passable, but nothing could ever beat the feeling of your body against his, your lips on his cheek and his lips on your forehead as “I love yous” and “I’ve missed yous” and “it’s been too longs” fell from your lips. 

Somewhere within the depths of it all, Pin had jokingly asked you if you'd like to dance and you'd said yes, pulled him impossibly closer and cherished the warmth his body provided as part of you devised a plan to steal the hoodie he wore.

You knew that he'd likely swap it in favor of a knitted jumper if the heat didn't kick in in the loft by the time that the temperature dropped with nightfall, and you'd simply take it then.

You would press a kiss to his lips when he asked if you'd stolen his hoodie later on, and Pin would roll his eyes as one of his arms wrapped around you and a kiss was dropped onto your cheekbone.

The slow dance you’d begun with him wasn’t really more than a hug with swaying involved, the two of you moving slowly through the kitchen, talking idly and enjoying each others presences after almost a week of not being able to hug or kiss or exist with one another. 

It’d been a while, and that was communicated with the reluctance you had when it came to letting one another go.

Eventually, though, you did. When you checked the time, you found that you and Pin had been holding each other for almost an hour.

The realization made you laugh, contentment flooding through you as Pin pressed a kiss to your jawline, arm around your waist as the two of you moved into the living room. You curled up together on the couch, eventually falling asleep in the comfort of the silence you shared. 

[ravensliterature]

Love Born From Cold

A/N: Sorry about the week pause! I had some birthday celebrations to do!

pairing: Fili x Reader

warnings: Primarily fluff

w/c: 1242 (sorry, on the shorter side) 

Prompt: You and Fili have been separated from the rest of the group on a snowy mountain after an orc attack. Best time to discuss things? 

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Fili and you had been disconnected from the rest of the company. The company was attacked by orcs in the mountains that were supposed to be safe, but the battle turned into a disaster, leaving you alone in the snowy wasteland. You hoped the rest of the company was alive as you and Fili continued to march in the hopes of making it out. 

"Hey, Fili! I found an orc carcass!" You yelled back to him who was walking ahead of you. He turned to look up at you as you were a little bit of a distance in front of him. He started running to where you said it was and when he got there he saw a decapitated orc with an axe laying beside it. 

"That's good, the axe appears to be of dwarvish make. Let's keep going, we must be on their trail." He said while walking past the orc.

You followed behind him looking back at the corpse.  After some time of walking in silence, you decided to speak to him.

"You know,  I have been thinking about something lately." You began. He looked down and listened intently.

"What is it, Y/N?" He asked after looking over his shoulder at you.

Fili stopped dead in his tracks causing you to walk right into him.

"Nothing, Fili! It was just random stuff really." You said waving him off. He seemed unconvinced, "No need to hide things from me, Y/N. What is it?" 

"Well...," you said rubbing the back of your neck, "I was thinking..."

He looked down waiting for you to finish your sentence.

"About, umm, our relationship. Like, what do we actually mean to one another? And I don't know if this is too personal or not."

You had to admit it was a little confusing.  Your relationship with Fili had changed so much in so short a span of time. You were each other's best friend, but recently you've begun to question. Longing glances, flirting jokes, and quick touches. But you knew that you had to continue to ask these questions. It wasn't the first time you had wondered about this, and it won't be the last. If he wanted to say anything, he probably would have done it already.

"Y/N..." He said taking your hand and squeezing it softly. "What is it that you're trying to say?"

You were taken aback by the sudden contact and stared at him confused. 

"Uhh, nothing!" You said shaking your head as if that would clear away all thoughts from it. Fili was the prince of Erebor. You knew better than to get your hopes up. You never should have even brought it up.  There's no way they'd ever go out together like that.

"Is something bothering you?" He whispered. "Please tell me Y/N and I will try my best to rectify it." 

He said giving you his most gentle smile before turning around and continuing to walk. You followed behind him as well, not knowing he was feeling slightly disappointed. 

--- 

The snowstorm appeared to get worse and you two continued to march forward. The temperature dropped drastically from the freezing temperature of the mountain air to the freezing temperatures of snow and wind, both blowing through your hair and clothes.

After a couple more yards of traveling, you could see a dark cave in the distance.  The sun was beginning to set, and although the night was still relatively early, the darkness would eventually claim the horizon and cover everything in darkness. 

With no idea what kind of animal or monster lives inside that cave, you and Fili decided to go in because even if there was something inside the orcs and snow would definitely kill you. 

As you and Fili walked towards the cave the storm worsened until you were barely able to see. The snow fell so hard that it almost covered your feet, causing you to slip multiple times but you managed to remain upright and continue walking.

When you finally got close enough to enter the cave, Fili reached out and grabbed your arm to guide you further in. Once you entered the cave, the storm ceased completely and the only source of light was provided by the fire in the cave you had just created.

"Let's stay here tonight and leave tomorrow morning," Fili said quietly, not wanting to scare you.

"Alright." Was all you could muster from your mouth, which had gone dry. You sat down near the fire and wrapped yourself in your fur cloak.

"Are you ok?" Fili asked standing next to you.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a cold I think." 

"Here, wrap yourself up in my fur also. Two is better than one." He pulled his cloak and fur around you, creating a warm cocoon of warmth.

"Thanks." You muttered, snuggling deeper into Fili's side. 

He placed his hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, what did you want to say to me earlier?"  

Your eyes widened. "I told you, it was nothing. Don't worry about it." You trying to avoid eye contact with him. 

Fili gave a small frown, and you knew he wouldn't let it go anytime soon. "You can't lie to me. Trust me, I know you."  He chuckled and leaned in closer to your face.

You couldn't help but blush slightly. You did want to bring this up but now felt embarrassed again. 

"Look, just spit it out, alright?" Fili sighed.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and then blurted out, "Do you feel anything for me?!" 

There was an awkward silence between you for a few seconds before Fili spoke.

"If we are being honest here Y/N, yes I feel something for you, but..."  He paused as if he didn't want to continue.

"But?" You raised your eyebrows at him, curious of his answer.

"It's not that simple." He replied honestly.

"...Huh?" You said confused.

"I am the prince. When Thorin dies I must ascend the throne. I'm not sure he would..."  Fili paused again.

"Would what?" You asked impatiently. 

"He might not approve...of us." Fili finally said.

"So what? Why does he get to control how I show my love?" You exclaimed exasperated. 

"You... you love me?" Fili looked at you surprised.

"Of course I do! Is that so hard to believe? Have I not shown you how much I-" You stopped mid-sentence.

Fili was grinning widely at you and you felt your heart stop beating.

"Y/N... I love you too." He replied simply.

All of the words you thought you heard died in your throat. All that came out was a soft whimper.

Fili leaned closer to your face and placed his lips against yours gently. It wasn't like any other kiss you had shared before. It was soft yet passionate and made your stomach flip. You wrapped your arms around Fili pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

After several minutes of exploring, you pulled away and rested your forehead against Fili's. You gazed at him lovingly before he started laughing slightly. You glared at him playfully.

"Why are you laughing?" You inquired.

"Sorry, I'm just happy." He responded.

"Me too." You whispered before leaning back in to capture his lips once again. This time you stayed with your foreheads touching one another. You had never felt so peaceful despite the cold surrounding you both.

If Thorin didn't like it he could shove it. 

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Submit a request here

[apprenticestanheight]

All is Well That Ends Well - Lawrence Gordon x gn! afab! reader - Part IV

Annnnnnnnnd, an hour and eleven minutes later, here's part four!! the next parts will be released on the seventh and fourteenth and then, unless I can manage to get a lot of writing done in not a lot of time, there'll probably be a bit of a delay between the end of The Beginning and the beginning of The Middle (I promise better titles will be created for these sections I am just. I am just terrible at titling and pull stuff out of a hat a lot of the time) but at the latest, the Middle will start in late march-early april.

Fic type - this one is so smutty, but it's also fluffy, so it's fluff that leads up into smut

Warnings - minors,, DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT THANK YOU, oral, cockwarming, edging (kind of??) mentions of the loss of Lawrences foot + prosthetics and pain and itching associated with wearing them too long

A few days pass, and on that Wednesday, after all of your classes were cancelled from a snowstorm, you wake up at eight and make a list with Aurelie over the phone of things you need to grab, organized by room for your own convenience.

For your bedroom you need to get a nightstand, wardrobe, a lamp or two, and better sheets and blankets than the ones you’d had for a decade, which were on their last legs as it were.

For the bathrooms—of which there are two, one in the primary suite and the other across the hall from one of the other two bedrooms—you need shower curtains, bathmats, and small bins to hold random essentials like pads, tampons, Band-Aids and anything else someone might need short notice, as well as trash cans and garbage bags accordingly.

The living and dining rooms are where stuff gets pricey—you need a couch, love seat, rocking chair, coffee table, television and a stand, curtains, maybe a rug and definitely a dining table.

For one of the other two bedrooms, you require an additional bed and curtains so that it can serve as the guest space. For the other of the two bedrooms, you need curtains, bookshelves, a comfy daybed, a desk and a rolling chair so that it can act as a library-slash-office space for studying and reading.

Since you figure Lawrence is working, Aurelie helps you get most of it. A lot of it came from IKEA for the sake of your own convenience but you refused, blatantly, to buy a bed or couch or even so much as a rocking chair from there, so it was a fairly cheap trip.

You grab the bed from the same spot you got the one you’d bought for yourself six months before, when the bed you’d had got lumpy and it became clear just how old it was—a local furniture store that was a twenty minute drive out and did same-day delivery fee at no additional cost.

The rocking chair, couch, coffee table, love seat, wardrobe and daybed were purchased from a furniture store one of your bosses had recommended. It was a forty minute drive from the condo but so worth it as they delivered to your apartment for only an additional $20.

Once the furniture shopping is complete you grab groceries and are home to unload them at half past four, making quick work of it because all you want to do is lie on your couch and make a bad decision or two.

You call Lawrence, exhausted but wanting to test out the couch in more ways than just sitting on the damn thing, at five o’clock on the dot. He answers on the second ring.

“How’d furniture shopping go?” He greets.

You bite your lip to fend off a smile. “Aurelie did it with me—sorry for not calling you, I figured you were working and the places I went to for the bigger things do delivery—and now I’m just sitting, lonely. Kind of want to order take out, honestly, but Aurelie has studying to do and I’m assuming you’re still at work.”

“Just left, actually,” Lawrence says. “I can come over if you’d like? We can talk for a bit and, assuming there are groceries in your fridge today unlike yesterday, I can make dinner. Takeaway is decent but food that takes effort is good, too.”

“I didn’t come close to spending a quarter of the rainy day fund,” you say. “I told myself I’d spend five thousand at most, and I spent close to five thousand, yeah, but still. The way I see it, I have sixty dollars to blow on take out and if you really must cook me dinner, you can do so Friday night. I like things more even and unless you’d prefer that I spent the $60 on weed, I’d really like to see you.”  

Lawrence laughs. “I think I’ve realized what you aim to get from me,” he says. “I thought I’d be the one making those types of calls or coming into the condo with my spare key and groping you while you read whichever book you’re reading at that point in time.”

You laugh seductively. “That’ll come up in the next few weeks, I imagine,” you say. “However, right now I am exhausted, need something in my something and this couch is way too big for one person. Grabbed an L shaped one so that I could take a nap on it on a lazier Sunday afternoon but today was not lazy or a Sunday. Today was productive and if I don’t see you in the next thirty minutes, I will drive my ass back to where I vaguely remember your house being and knock on a door, one that I can only I hope is yours so that I can make the first $2000 you’ll give me on whichever day within the next week so worth your while that it hurts.”

“You’ll get it Saturday,” Lawrence says. “The first installment.”

“Get your ass to this condo or so help me God—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Lawrence laughs. “Mouthing me off is not recommended.”

“There can’t be too many punishments out there. I like it when pain gets involved. Being thrown and smacked around just gets me wet.”

“There are ways to torture you without being aggressive. Be a good puppy and wait for me, yeah?”

You roll your eyes. One sexual encounter a few days prior and he knows, already, that calling you his puppy is the quickest way to get you to submit.

“Yeah, Lawrence,” you say. “Of course.”

“Good,” he says. “You can wait fifteen minutes without touching yourself, can’t you?”

Without meaning to, you grind helplessly against the hem of your jeans.

“Mhm.”

“Good puppy.”

And then the call is done, and you’re going to your bedroom to swap your day clothes for something more comfortable—a black hoodie you’d owned since you started in the PhD program at 26 that you’d accidentally ordered around six sizes too big—and strip of everything else.

You head back into the living room, clad in nothing but a baggy hoodie. It leaves your clit, folds, and breasts open to the wintery cold updraft, which forces you to grab a throw blanket and toss it over your legs.

The ten minutes to proceed those events are spent reading a romance novel that you’d put on your coffee table for decoration, and when you hear the sound of Lawrences spare key entering the slot on the door, you grin.

He closes the door behind him lightly, grins when he meets your gaze, and you look him over.

He looks good in a way that makes you almost insatiable—navy blue button up shirt, black slacks, white doctors coat hanging loosely off his shoulders. His hair is handsomely unkempt, and he looks like the picture of laidback professionalism.

He takes the white coat off, drapes it over the top of your loveseat.

“You look cute,” he says. “Waited for me on the couch the entire time?”

You nod, standing up without thinking twice about it. “You said to wait. I did.”

He steps towards you, intentionally walking slowly. “Are you wearing anything beneath the hoodie, puppy?”

You shake your head. “I’m not. I always wear the hoodie like this—it’s comfortable for me,” it’s a lie, of course, but you just have to hope it’s not a very obvious one.

“Is it really?” He asks. When you bite your lip, he laughs.

“I don’t like liars,” he says. “If you decided to forgo anything beneath it because of me, you’re allowed to be honest. I find honesty preferable to lies, even if the way that you bite your lip and how fucking good you look makes me want to bend you over the arm of the couch and use you to my preference.”

You nod. “I wore it like this for conveniences sake,” you admit. “Was a bit warm, too, and needed to cool off, even though I regretted that almost instantly because it's the fucking winter. Figured you’d have an easier time touching me if I wore nothing underneath the sweater.”

Lawrence takes another step and is finally within arms reach.

“I’ll buy us dinner,” he says. “You can use the sixty for a nice lingerie set if you want, or maybe a few new books, but I have to get you back for thinking of how to dress in a manner that conveniences me.”

“You’re giving me four thousand dollars this month. I am not letting you buy dinner.”

“New rule, then,” he says. “Rule number four: in addition to the four thousand dollars monthly, I get to buy you dinner and gifts whenever I please.”

“You’re only doing that out of spite,” you say pointedly. “You said four thousand was the max amount you could give me while living within your means.”

“I said it was the amount I could give you, not the max amount,” Lawrence says. “Realistically I could afford close to five thousand, but I figured that spoiling you to some extent would come into play at one point or the next, so I rounded down.”

“Fine,” you nod. “I accept the rule. What’s your favorite color?”

“That’s a tie between dark blue, dark green, and maroon,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

You bite your bottom lip lightly. “While I am privy to owning a decent set to feel confident once in a while, I do want it to look so good that you can’t resist the urge to see what’s underneath. Your favorite color is the place to start in figuring that out, one would think.”

He puts one hand on your hip, a smirk kicking up the corner of his mouth. “I won’t be needed at work until nine tomorrow morning,” he says. “I’m going to make this worth it for us both, mm?”

You nod. All you want him to do is either start rubbing your clit while he kisses you, or for his fingers to be in your mouth again.

“Hows the oral fixation?”

“Still doing it’s thing,” you say, biting your lip again. “Why?”

“Be a good puppy for me and kneel, Y/N.”

You do as he says without having to think twice, becoming eye-level with his half hard cock and almost moaning as you look at it.

“What do you wanna do from where you are?” Your gaze goes to his.

Your tongue pokes out from between your lips, and suddenly thoughts of sucking him off cloud your mind entirely.

“Go on, puppy. Speak.”

“Wanna suck you off,” you whisper. “Wanna—oh my God. Lawrence please—”

“Do as you please, puppy,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna tell you no.”

You lean in, smelling him through his pants before you undo the zipper, button, and pull them and his boxers down, taking his half hard cock into your mouth within seconds.

“Good—holy fuck,” Lawrence moans. “Your mouth is amazing.”

You hum in response, tongue finding the underside of his length and setting a pace that clearly drives Lawrence a little insane. When a hand falls to your hair and he sets a pace of his own, you let him, just enjoying the feeling of his cock in your mouth.

He finishes in your mouth a few minutes later, and you swallow his cum without thinking. It makes him laugh even as he apologises for coming so suddenly, wiping what of it had dribbled to your chin after he’s helped you stand.

He presses his thumb against your bottom lip and you take it into your mouth, getting the cum off of it and grinning slightly when he thanks you for the deed.

He sits down on the long end of the couch, having pulled his boxers and his pants back up.  

His gaze meets yours, and he smirks. “C’mere, puppy. Sit on my lap.”

You do as he tells you, sitting on his lap so that your thighs sit on either side of his. His hands find your hips pretty quickly, and all you want to do is kiss him, but you refrain.

“Did Aurelie offer to help, or did you ask?” Lawrence asks.

“I called,” you laugh a bit. “Defeating the hyper independence one phone call at time, I guess. Plus, she wasn’t working and told me to call her if I needed anything. My mind has been pretty fuzzy since last night, when I tried to think of everything I’d need to buy, and I called her to avoid having a breakdown. Without her helping me figure stuff out and then going with me to grab it I would’ve cried a lot more today, to say the least of it.”

“Good,” Lawrence says. “And you called me because you were alone, horny, and needing company?”

You nod. “I know our first—encounter—was the other day, but I just—”

Lawrence nods like he understands, and part of you believes that he does. “Can I kiss you, puppy?”

“Please, Lawrence.”

And then his lips are on yours, and he’s letting you press his back against the couch as your hands cup his face and sit at the bottom end of his neck, and it’s so, so easy to get lost in it.

Lawrences tongue darts out to your bottom lip while one of his hands moves from your hip to your clit, resulting in the sound of a hushed gasp befalling your lips. Lawrence uses it to his advantage, tongue finding its way into your mouth while he rubs excruciatingly slow circles around your clit.

“Lawrence,” you moan, desperately clenching around nothing in order to avoid grinding down onto him. “Oh, Lawrence. Please.”

“Not yet, puppy,” he whispers, pulling away from your lips just enough to talk. “You got a bit mouthy earlier, yeah?”

You bite your lip, nodding slightly.

“Well, I believe I made a point about there being ways to punish you that don’t involve pain?”

“Mm,” you hum. “You’re not going to be needed at work until nine tomorrow, which means—”

“Realistically, I don’t have a need to be home until around one, which means I have you until at least midnight, which is, what? Six and a half hours out?”

“Lawrence—” you whimper. “Please, sir. Please don’t make me wait that long.”

“Aw, you think using an honorific is gonna make me take mercy? Puppy, I love it when you address me as such, but you did this to yourself, yeah? You can’t tell me what to do, sweetness. I’m the one who does the ordering. Be a good puppy for the next thirty minutes and I promise, the punishment stops and the reward begins, okay?”

You clench around air again, nod and let him go back to kissing you.

He kisses you until your head is spinning, and when he pulls away, you find that it’s only been a few minutes. Your head rests on his shoulder as you catch your breath, both of his hands returning to your hips.

“Take my cock out of my boxers for me, yeah?”

“Had you kept the pants and boxers off, it would’ve been easier,” you sass before you can stop yourself.

Lawrences response is a nod, a kiss to the side of your head. “Do as I say, puppy,” he says. “Good puppies get treats, and if you don’t do as I say, you’ll just be punished until midnight, and when I leave, you’ll have gotten a free dinner but sexually? You’ll be dissatisfied for at least another few days.”

“Sorry, Lawrence.” You lift yourself off him and pull his pants and boxers down, waiting for him to do the last of the work before you sit on his lap again, hovering just over his length.

“It’s okay, puppy,” he whispers, kissing your cheekbone. “You’re allowed to stop hovering.”

“If I don’t, then you’ll—I’ll—do you want us to use condoms?”

“I got a vasectomy in October, and Plan B pills are a thing,” he says. “You said you were clear for STIs, so I’m not worried. Go on, Y/N, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You slide yourself onto him, letting yourself be split open by his length, watching the way that he reacts to it.

The way that Lawrence reacts has to be one of the most attractive things you’ve ever seen—he rests his arms on the back of the couch, and as soon as you’ve taken the tip, his head tilts back.

When you’re close to bottoming out, a long, depraved, drawn out “fuck,” falls from his gorgeous lips.

When you do bottom out, you let yourself moan, let your head fall onto Lawrences shoulder.

“Gotta stay still, puppy,” Lawrence says. “No moving, yeah?”

You whimper, biting down onto Lawrences shoulder in order to keep yourself from doing so.

“I know, Y/N. Twenty minutes until six, mm?” He laughs, one hand slipping beneath the sweater you wear. “You can’t react, either. No clenching, no moving, nothing. Biting, moaning, and whimpering are allowed, though. You’re cute when you get needy, so it seems.”

His hand finds your lower stomach and he presses down, and you have to fight every single reactive urge to do as you’ve been told. Instead, you moan lewdly, the pressure of your bite against his clothed shoulder increasing.

“Good puppy,” he praises, his voice a whisper. “Oh, you really are a good listener. You like how this feels?”

“Lawrence,” you moan desperately. “’M sorry about the bite—I’m scared I might’ve bruised.”

You kiss the area of his shoulder you’d bitten while he laughs.

“You’re just doing as I told you, yeah? The pain wasn’t bad compared to the other stuff I’ve been through.”

At that, you remember his foot, or lack thereof, and just how long he's probably been wearing his prosthesis, which just has to hurt by that point. But no, of course you'd completely forgotten about potential discomfort when horny and wanting, though it was something you had taken account for when you'd talked in not-sexually-driven situations.

“Shit!” You curse. “I’m so sorry—I just—”

“I try not to make a huge deal of it,” he says. “It’s really no concern.”

When he finds that you still look a little unsure, he laughs and presses a kiss to your lips. “It’s all right, puppy. I promise, I'm fine. Nothing hurts, aches, or itches as far as my footless leg is concerned, yeah? Just relax for me, mm?”

You nod, still feeling guilty. Lawrence presses a kiss to your forehead and the next twenty minutes are spent with him letting you thrust once or twice every few minutes, his fingers rubbing slow circles around your clit.

When six hits, Lawrence beams. “You’re allowed to move,” he says. “But don’t come yet, yeah? Wanna spread you out on this couch.”

You do as he says, setting a pace that’s just quick enough to make you teeter along the edge within minutes but not enough to come. When Lawrence has had enough, he tells you as much, telling you to get off of him and lie on your back.

You do as he tells you, watching him take off his shirt and tie like it’s a strip show. When finally his lips are on you again, he’s kissing your thighs and making his way to where you need him most.

Once there, he presses a kiss against your clit, then runs his tongue gently through your folds.

“You’re so wet,” he laughs. “You really do get turned on easily, mm?”

Your response comes as a half-laugh, half whimper, and it just eggs Lawrence on. His tongue attaches itself to your clit and you clench around pretty much nothing, one hand finding your nipple beneath the sweater while the other grips the back of the couch like it’s a lifeline.

“Lawrence,” you moan as his lips and tongue move down to your hole. You pinch your nipple between your fingers and Lawence laughs at how desperate you sound for him.

His nose presses against your clit and you grind against him, moaning lewdly. “You're using your fucking nose—ohmygod,” you moan, having a split second wherein you don’t care about how loud you’re being. “Oh, fuck, Lawrence—”

Although he’d only gotten divorced four, maybe five months beforehand, it’s clear that he knows what he’s doing—whether it’s muscle memory from the early days of his marriage or something he’d picked up in the time since his divorce, you’re glad for it.

“Lawrence—ohmyfuckinggod—” you grind against his face and he laughs, nodding slightly.

“Use me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your clit. “Use my mouth, yeah? Don’t worry about anything, just focus on yourself.”

You do as he says, letting yourself set a pace while Lawrrences hands move up to your stomach.

“Fuck, Lawrence,” you moan, inches away from releasing over his face. “Lawrence—I—”

“Go ahead,” he presses his tongue flat against your clit as you grind against him and that’s basically the final straw—when he buries his face in your cunt again, you cum over his face with your thighs pressing against the sides of it, holding him in place slightly.

He stays with you through the aftershocks and comes up to kiss you once all is said and done, and once again—depraved but so fucking hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is intense but also everything you need to relax, and when Lawrence pulls away, you tell him there are wash cloths in the bathroom and that he’s welcome to take a shower if he sees fit, but you’re exhausted and sprawled out over the couch is the way you aim to stay.

He leaves your side and is back twenty minutes later with a damp washcloth, which he runs over your exposed cunt and then himself. He helps you get to standing and leads you to the primary suite, grabbing you a pair of sweatpants and a baggy sweater after locating them easily in your wardrobe. You wobble back to the living room while Lawrence gets dressed again, plopping into the rocking chair you’ve placed in the corner of the room.

Lawrence checks the couch for stains and both of you are surprised to find that there are none, though Lawrence cleans the area anyway before he calls and orders delivery to your apartment.

“I know we said no staying post-coitus,” you murmur. “But—you have until midnight, yeah? Stay for a while.”

Lawrence nods. “I’ll at least stay for a while after dinner,” he says. You stand, sit in the love seat. Lawrence sits down next to you, wraps an arm around your shoulders. “I do want to get to know you more—I feel like we don’t know each other as well as we should.”

You smirk. “I’m entitled to my secrets, and you are to yours.”

“Yes, that is a fair point, but part of me wants to know everything about you that’s not a secret, Y/N.”

“Don’t forget one of the first rules we made—you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

“I wouldn’t hate loving you in the platonic sense of the word,” Lawrence says. “That’s what I aim to do.”

You hum, press a kiss to his shoulder. “’Mkay,” you nod. “Loving me platonically is allowed, says the judge of whatever the fuck this is going to turn into.”

Lawrence laughs.

For a split second, you feel the urge to freeze the moment in time, to treasure the simple domesticity of it.

You want to stay in that pocket of time forever, Lawrences arm wrapped around your shoulders, your cheek pressed just above his chest, so blissful that nothing else in the world matters to you or him, so well hidden away from the rest of the world that nothing can find you or be bothered with looking.

You brush it off quickly—the first rule of the agreement had been that you weren’t allowed to fall in love with each other. You were not going to start falling for a man you could not have, one that would not want you in turn.

[spacesquidlings]

Starry Eyes Sparking up the Storm

Description: With Gavin working longer hours, coming home exhausted from work, Rowan sees a sudden snowstorm as an opportunity to ease some of his burdens around the house, undertaking the task of clearing the driveway for him. But her plans are lost to the flurry of the storm when he returns home early, insisting on spending the snow day in her arms.

Pairing: Gavin Bai x MC (Rowan)

Tags: Fluff, comfort, snow day

A/N: Not to be silly and self-indulgent but I have scoliosis so shovelling absolutely kills me and the last snowstorm we had I dreamed of Gavin's nice warm hands offering a nice back massage and then this fic was born!!!! Please enjoy <3

taglist: @aluneposting

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The keening of the wind through the barren branches of trees was like the howl of a phantom chasing at Rowan’s heels. The forecast hadn’t called for it to begin snowing until late into the night, yet when had the weather ever bent like saplings to the demands of humans?

Rowan had thought it a brilliant idea to take their dog, a husky-shepherd mix Stella, for her walk early, less than an hour after Gavin had left for work. While it had been cold, and the sidewalks had  been a minefield of ice, the sun had been bright, warm, no sign of the evening snowstorm in sight.

She’d been no more than five minutes into the walk when the clouds had drifted across the clear blue of the sky, darkening the world around her. Shadows had stretched long, the wind had picked up.

And then another ten minutes later the sky had torn apart, and the storm had begun.

Stella, for her part, had been utterly unfazed, prancing through drifts of snow and snapping at flurries of snowflakes as the wind tore through her fur. She’d sniffed at trees, wagging her tail in delight as she threw herself into the snow and rolled around like a child making a snow angel.

Rowan had not been so lucky, shivering as surely as a leaf in the wind, as a lonely flower in a gale. Her hood had kept getting torn away from her head, snowflakes catching in her hair as the unforgiving wind had raked claws through it. Her fingers had throbbed, aching even within the thick layer of her gloves. Her grip on the leash had loosened as they’d marched along the sidewalk, their footsteps covered before they’d even fully lifted their feet.

When they’d finally returned home she’d been relieved, at first, dreaming of a warm drink and wrapping herself in her heated blanket. But it had felt like forging through a raging river as she’d clambered up the driveway, making it impossible not to take note of the swiftly growing drifts of snow.

While Stella had no problem prancing through the snow, the same could not be said for Rowan. Nor could it be said for any of their vehicles.

The garage was small, and already snow was piled high enough that it would not be getting open anytime soon. And with a twist in her stomach at the memory, Rowan remembered that Gavin had taken his motorcycle into work that morning.

There was no way he was getting Sparky up the driveway, not when it was like this.

She’d shuffled inside, knocking the snow from her boots, unclipping Stella from her leash, before trailing to one of the windows at the front of the house, peering out.

There were no signs that the snow would let up anytime soon, but surely it had to, didn’t it? After all, the forecast hadn’t called for this in the least.

So surely it would be alright to leave the driveway untouched for now, wouldn’t it? 

It had been a half hour since she’d come to stand in this spot, watching the churning of the snow as the world was painted in layers of alabaster and ivory. She could hear the quiet whirr of the heat cycling through the house, blasting warm air into the rooms to combat the storm. Even where she stood, nose nearly pressed to the window, her breath steaming over the glass, it was warm. She could feel her fingers again, the burn of the cold stitching itself into her skin long-since melted away.

The storm still had not slowed, and the snow had only continued to pile high. Her stomach twisted, lurched, her heartbeat a thrum of nervous butterfly wingbeats. There was no way Gavin would be able to get Sparky up the driveway through all that; it was an ocean of ivory, a frozen sea of powdered pearl.

The last thing she wanted to do was make him deal with so much right after work, too; Gavin had let slip that things had been very difficult at the STF, and while he hadn’t been able to divulge all the details because of security, she’d been able to piece things together well enough.

He was often tired lately, and even quieter than he normally was. She would ask about his day, or she would make his favourite foods, or she would buy a small Lego set they could build together, and although she’d been able to coax small smiles to his face, it had not been enough to erase the lines of stress etched into his brow and around his lips.

There was still no sign that the storm was going to let up, but Rowan wondered if maybe she could still try to clear the driveway now. Best case scenario, the storm calmed, and it would be entirely clear for when Gavin returned. Worst case scenario the storm did not calm, but it would not be as hard to get Sparky up the drive.

The decision was easy enough to make, resolve strengthening within her heart, calming the flutter of her nerves. She could do this, at least, she could make something a little easier for Gavin.

Rowan made quick work of pulling on her jacket and gloves, wrapping a scarf around her mouth and nose, shoving a knit hat over her tangled hair. She snatched up her boots in one hand, making her way to the door connecting the house to the garage, Stella on her heels.

“No my love,” she cooed, when Stella pressed herself against the garage door, staring up at Rowan with wide, pleading eyes. “You stay here. I’m just going to shovel the driveway.”

Stella was unmoving, giving a quiet huff, as if to say “without me?!”

Rowan sighed, scratching between Stella’s ears. “You’re not going to let me go outside without you, are you?”

In response Stella’s tail swished, as if confirming Rowan’s words.

“Fine.” There was no point in trying to sneak by her; somehow, Stella had picked up Gavin’s stubbornness, and when she wanted something, she usually got it.

“You want to go outside with me? Should we go outside?”

Stella’s tail began to wag faster, almost frantic, as she recognized the phrase. Her front paws tapped excitedly on the floor, click-clacking against the linoleum before she hurried to Rowan’s side

Snorting, Rowan shook her head. Stella had become her little shadow, following her everywhere. She supposed that at the very least she was glad to be accompanied by such a sweet creature while she braved being out in the unforgiving storm.

She pulled her boots on, making a note to wipe up the melted snow that puddled beneath her feet when she finished her task. Finally fully dressed for the elements, and accompanied by her protective dog, Rowan headed into the garage, grabbing the shovel from where it hung on one of the walls, before finally heading back outside.

Her earlier fears were confirmed when she tried opening the outer door, snow piling at her feet as the drift that had formed before the door was disturbed.

She swore, practically crawling over the drift, snow slipping under her sleeves and into her boots, before she finally stood outside. Stella was much quicker, and far less bothered, prancing out into the front yard, snapping at snowflakes and rolling around near the small tree at the corner of their property.

Turning to stare down the driveway, hesitation rolled through her like ocean waves. A river of white stretched before her, piled high as her calves in some places. It would take an hour at the least, likely more than that, to clear the driveway completely.

Rowan pushed the uncertainty from her mind before it could take root. She could not let it grow like a weed, choking out her determination. Memories of Gavin surfaced in her mind, of his loving gaze and his comforting embrace and his sweet smiles.

For him! She would brave this fierce storm for him!

Rowan dragged herself to the very edge of the driveway, Stella barking as a cardinal flew past, a streak of vermillion like a bleeding wound cut through the storm.

At first it was easy enough. Dig the shovel into the snow until it scraped against the asphalt below. Lift it up, toss the scoop of snow towards the lawn where Stella pranced and played. Pushing the shovel from one end of the driveway to the other made it easy to clear large swaths all at once, but it made it more difficult to lift the shovel, and her muscles strained under the weight.

Rowan managed to clear a quarter of the drive before the dull ache began to ripple through her muscles. It spread slowly, starting from her back, unfurling towards her shoulders, her upper arms. It crept like thread weaving between the twisting of her muscles, guided by the pinprick of a needle. It registered in the back of her mind, but it was manageable; it was something she could handle.

Then the press of pain in her lower back began, reaching up her spine like tendrils of thorns digging into the spaces between her bones. It coupled with the ache in her upper back and shoulders, coupling together into something that she could very much not handle, not easily at least.

Rowan had to grit her teeth as her arms began to shake, cursing herself for turning down Gavin’s offers to help her build up her strength. The handful of pilates classes she had taken had helped her back and her flexibility, but they were of no help now, as she fought a fruitless battle against the cascade of snow drowning the drive.

She had to take breaks often, heaving in deep breaths as she stretched awkwardly, trying to alleviate some of the pain. The ache in her shoulders and upper back steadily grew, and it felt like a fire was being kindled beneath the skin of her upper arms each time she lifted the shovel.

And her lower back…

Oh it ached. She reached back to massage it, scrabbling uselessly, unable to fully reach the spot that hurt most, the core of that barbed pain from the heavy layers of her winter jacket. Her gloved fingers passed over the spot, barely doing more than swiping at the coiled pain, offering no more than a momentary respite before it ached all over again.

But she was determined to see this through. Even as her back and arms ached, she wanted to keep going, to make things just a little easier for Gavin when he returned home.

If the storm didn’t completely ruin all her hard work before then.

The thought gave her pause, and Rowan stopped, surveying the drive behind her. Although it was a significant improvement on what it had been before, almost half of the driveway now cleared, already snow was dusting the dark asphalt, like foaming waves washing footprints from the sand.

She cursed, digging the tip of the shovel into the snow, leaning against the handle as she stood on her toes, arching her back to stretch out her spine.

“Stella, is your papa even going to notice I shoveled all this by the time he gets home?”

Stella’s ears twitched, and she swivelled around to stare at Rowan, a splash of dark brown in the sea of white, before she gave a loud bark and returned to digging in the snow.

“Good talk,” she snorted. Once this was done she was going to wrap herself in the softest blankets she had, and she was not going to move for the rest of the day.

Rowan occupied her mind with thoughts of warm blankets and drinks, with catching up on the newest episode of a show that had just released, with falling asleep after eating her fill of something very warm, and waking up to see Gavin’s smiling face.

With the scream of the wind around her, and the scrape of the shovel, and Stella’s intermittent barking, there was not much Rowan could hear. Her mind was devoted to the exhausting task she’d given herself, and even her daydreams of warmth and her husband slipped away like water through a sieve. She could not even grasp at the more fantastical of daydreams she entertained in her quiet moments, thinking about the books she had most recently read, the webcomics of beautiful women in sumptuous gowns forever having tea and enchanting their husbands when they smiled.

Sometimes she liked to imagine herself as one such woman, with beautiful gowns and a veritable palace to call home. Of Gavin as some high-ranking noble, a count or a duke, respected across her made-up, fantasy world. 

She liked to imagine dancing with him at balls like in her favourite period dramas, or going for strolls through gardens drowning in more flowers than she could name.

But the scrape of the shovel and the wail of the wind coupling with the now incessant pain in her back and arms occupied her mind entirely. They left no room for even a wisp of a whimsical daydream to ease the tedium and the pain of her task. Sweat slipped down her back even as she shivered, her hair coming loose from her hat and her hood to snake across her eyes, her ears were ringing, her mind nothing but white noise, like the static of a television.

Not even the muffled roar of an engine could penetrate the bubble around her, nor the crunch of snow beneath boots.

“Rowan? What are you doing?”

The cadence of his familiar, beloved voice was what finally pierced through her mind, like an arrow shot from the heavens.

Rowan spun around, delight making her forget for a moment the pain and the cold and the way her fingers were once again throbbing.

“Gavin!” She stumbled towards him, her legs stiff from how she’d been standing as she hunched over the shovel. She opened her arms wide and he swept her into his arms, lifting her from her feet as he held her tightly.

Stella barked, bounding towards them. She ran around their legs, pawing at Gavin, although he did not let Rowan go for a moment.

“Oh I missed you,” she whined into his hair. Not even this dreadful storm could douse the warmth that bloomed like summer blooms in her heart when she saw him. Nor could it extinguish the heat of his embrace, wrapping around her so protectively, so adoringly.

He settled her back on the ground, amber eyes searching hers. The corners of his lips were quirked up, but the phantom smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, and it was undercut by the lines of his brow.

“I missed you too,” he said, hands skimming over her waist, her hips. “But what are you doing? The weather is awful, you should be inside.”

She gestured behind her, to where she’d abandoned the shovel. “I’m clearing the driveway for you. I wanted it to be clear when you came home tonight.”

At that she frowned, flicking her attention between Gavin and where he’d parked Sparky at the end of the driveway. “But why are you home so soon? It’s not even noon.”

He shrugged, his smile growing wider, sweet and genuine and warm enough to turn the snow to mist and steam. “The storm became so bad that many of the agents were worried about being able to make it home if they stayed at the office.” He found her hands, squeezing them gently. “So I ordered anyone who was doing mostly paperwork to head home for the day until the storm passes.”

“And what about you?”

“Well most of the difficult parts of this latest mission are done, so I just need to complete some reports and paperwork. But I can do that from home.” He gave her hands another squeeze, bringing them to his chest. “I didn’t want to be away from you for a moment longer than I had to.”

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she said. She felt like she was flying, dancing across sugary clouds. What could be better than being home with him, warm and comfy and safe, while the storm raged on outside? “Although you did ruin my surprise.”

He chuckled, peering over her shoulder. “What exactly were you doing, anyways?”

She gestured behind her, to the abandoned shovel and the partially cleared drive. “I was clearing the driveway for you. I thought it would make it easier when you came home, and it would be something you didn’t have to worry about.”

He was always doing physical work around the house as it was. Helping to carry heavy furniture, building shelves, changing light bulbs, mowing the lawn. Not that she didn’t do any of those things when he wasn’t home, but he was always so insistent on doing the tasks she didn’t like, or the tasks that were more strenuous. 

He would even go out of his way to take heavier bags of groceries from her, and he would cut her bagels for her in the morning, and he would help with cutting up and cooking meat when they were making dinner.

She only wanted to do something for him, one less task for him to worry about.

Gavin’s brows drew together and he sighed. “You didn’t have to do that for me, pumpkin. It’s no problem at all, and what if you hurt yourself?”

“I’m not going to hurt myself shovelling, Gavin.”

“Really?” He crossed his arms, arching a brow. “Then how’s your back?”

“It’s…” Wrinkling her nose, she looked away. “It’s fine.”

“And I didn’t just see you trying to stretch it out because it hurt?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He hummed, although the sound was nearly torn away by the wind. Gavin gave a huff, and suddenly the shriek of the wind and the pelt of snow against her face was gone. The air was not warm, not exactly, but the chill of the snow and the wind was gone, like they were standing in the eye of a storm.

“That’s better,” he sighed. He reached for her, settling his hands on her waist. “You don’t need to worry about me, I’m more than capable of handling a little snow.”

“Well so am I.” She pouted, not that he could see it with her scarf wrapped around her face. But hopefully he could hear it in her voice. “You’ve been so busy lately, and you’re always tired. I wanted to help.”

Gavin was silent for a moment, his eyes searching hers. Stella pawed at him again, whimpering as her tail wagged, and he turned to her, scratching between her ears and beneath her chin.

“You’re so stubborn,” he said, his smile indulgent. “You’re just like your mama.”

“You’re the one who’s stubborn,” Rowan groused, crossing her arms. “You do all the physical labour around the house. You won’t even let me shovel the driveway.”

Gavin chuckled, the sound warming the frozen caverns of her bones, thawing the icicles that had formed in her veins. He straightened, turning his attention back to her.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. I would happily do all the physical labour forever if it meant you never had to strain yourself.”

“And I would do the same for you.” She no longer needed to shout to be heard above the storm, and her words came out soft as feather down. “I would do anything to make things easier for you.”

He huffed, smiling. “I know you would.”

“Not that it matters now.” She threw her hands up, feeling defeated. “You came home early, so it’s not much of a surprise.”

“Tell you what.” He squeezed her hip. “It will be faster if we do the rest together, and then we can both relax.”

“Don’t you have paperwork to do, still?”

His answering smile was nothing short of mischievous, his eyes pinpricks of colour in the alabaster and ivory and silver drowning out everything else. “I’m sure it can wait. I have much more important matters to attend to.”

His fingers hooked around her scarf, pulling it down to expose her lower face. She didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before his lips found hers, tender and warm. His breath fanned over her, his bangs tickling her brow.

He was so warm, so sweet. She wanted to tip her head back, wanted to lose herself in his embrace. Like a figure made of ice, she felt herself melting, puddling in the place where she once stood.

Too soon did he pull away, chuckling when she mindlessly chased after, colder already with that sliver of space between them.

“Let’s get this done,” he said, fixing her scarf so it once more covered her face. “Then we can warm you up properly.”

Rowan’s mind was a haze of warmth and the smell of pine, at least until Gavin released his hold on his power, their little scrap of serenity from the storm washed away in an instant.

The wind and the snow snapped her back to her senses, and she gave a sharp nod before shuffling back to the shovel, already covered by a thin layer of snow.

With Gavin there, the driveway was clear in no time. It didn’t hurt that Gavin was much stronger, working faster than she did.

She was almost jealous, as he straightened, the driveway finally clear, not a hint of exertion in his face while she heaved in deep breaths, her arms like rubber, sweat dripping down her back.

“Thank you for helping,” she croaked as he pried her shovel from her hands, stowing it back in the garage.

“I would do anything for you,” he said, his face bright. “Now, how about we head inside?”

She took his offered hand, letting him draw her back into the house. Stella followed at their heels, not needing to be called to return inside, sensing her duty was done for the day.

They had to work together to towel Stella off, snow clinging to her fur and her paws. She was absolutely thrumming with energy, and by the time the both of them were able to dry her she shot deeper into the house, little more than a streak of brown and the echoes of clicking footsteps against the floor.

“Well at least she had a good time.” Rowan groaned, bending down to unlace her boots, her gloved fingers stumbling over the laces.

“Let me.” Gavin crouched, deft fingers making quick work of the boots.

But he didn’t stop there, not as he carefully tugged the boots from her feet, setting them to the side to dry. Rowan made to take off the rest of her outerwear, but again he stopped her, catching her hands between his.

“You look exhausted,” he murmured, the softness of his words belied by how bright his eyes were and by the way he couldn’t quite keep his smile in check.

She tipped her head back, her words muffled behind the fabric of her scarf. “I am exhausted. That was a lot of hard work.”

He hummed the melody of one of her favourite songs, gently pulling her gloves from her hands one finger at a time. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

“You’re worth it, though.” She couldn’t catch herself fast enough to stop the sigh that fled from her lips as he blew on her fingers, rubbing them to coax warmth back into them.

Gavin’s brow arched, but he remained silent, not letting her hands go until he was satisfied.

“What?” His brow remained high as he untied her scarf, dropping a kiss to the tip of her nose as he folded it up. It made her suspicious, wondering what mischief lay hidden behind his eyes.

“Hmm?” He unzipped her jacket, folding it to the side. “I’m only thinking.”

“About?”

As she pressed him for his answer, his smile grew. “I’m thinking that maybe you did all this so I would take care of you.”

Rowan sputtered, even as she let him scoop her up into his arms, carrying her past the entrance so she didn’t step in any puddles of melting snow. “Why would you think that?”

He shrugged, still smiling far too broadly. “Just a hunch.”

“I never asked you to help! Or to help me with my jacket and boots.”

Although she would be lying if she said she didn’t like it when he did. He reminded her of a knight, and he made her feel like she was a princess, like she was loved entirely. He would help her with her boots, he would warm her hands, he would make her teas and coffees, he would always bring her favourite snacks from the store. The list went on for eternity, all the ways he took care of her.

“You’re right, you didn’t…” He turned his head to the side as he trailed off, his breath warming her ear. “But if you didn’t want me to, you could have asked me to stop.”

She drew her lip between her teeth, looking away.

“Rowan?”

When she still didn’t respond he laughed, pressing kisses behind her ear, the scrape of his teeth against her skin making her shiver. “If you want me to stop, you just have to tell me, princess.”

Her stomach somersaulted, as though she stood at the precipice of a cliff, teetering on the edge. Butterflies unfurled gossamer wings in her chest, and she twisted her hands into his shirt without thinking.

She didn’t want him to stop, she wanted him to keep going. She just wanted to stay in his arms, to let him spoil her a little.

The pinch of his teeth over her pulse brought her from her thoughts and she gasped, turning to glare at him sharply. “Gavin!”

“I’m still waiting on my answer,” he teased, looking the picture of devilish delight.

She huffed, pouting beneath the weight of his smirk. “So what if I like it when you take care of me? I didn’t have any ulterior motives, I just wanted to help.”

He hummed, settling her on the couch. “So you don’t want me to stop?”

Rowan narrowed her eyes, glowering at Gavin’s sunny smile. “Why are you teasing me?”

He shrugged, tucking a blanket around her before sitting beside her. “Maybe I just like the colour of your blush.”

She gasped. “You’re awful!”

“But it’s so pretty.” He hummed, stroking her cheek. “It’s my favourite colour.”

She whipped her head around, face burning. “You’re unbelievable!”

“So…” He sounded like he was on the verge of laughter. “That means you do want me to stop?”

Sniffing back fake tears, she peeked over her shoulder at him. “No. Well… It depends.”

“Oh? And what exactly does it depend on?”

Shivers crawled across her arms, gooseflesh racing along her skin. The sound of the heater cycling warm air through the house could be heard, soft rumblings and clunks as air streamed through the vents in the walls. Nonetheless she was cold, a protective blanket torn away when Gavin’s arms were no longer around her.

She did like it when he took care of her, so lovingly doted on her. But he seemed committed to teasing her, and she didn’t know how to respond without him toying with her further.

Unperturbed, Gavin hummed, taking her chin before she could turn around again. “Well? What does it depend on? I’m at your command.”

It did not particularly feel like he was at her command. It felt more like he was playing around, very much like she was not the one in control.

Rowan opted to pout, hoping that would soften his resolve. At least a little. “It depends on what kind of mischief you have up your sleeve.”

“No mischief, pumpkin.” His smile was a little too wide to be believed. “I’m just trying to thank you for helping me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe that’s entirely what it is.”

Gavin brought his face close, their noses bumping together. “I might have my own selfish reasons, too.”

“Like?” She tipped her head back, their lips nearly brushing.

“Like.” He drew out the syllables, smiling against the corner of her lips. “Wanting to be near, wanting to touch you, wanting to warm you up.”

When she shot him a sharp look he laughed, drawing away, palms held out in surrender. “Not like that. I missed you, I only want to hold you.”

“Mmm, I’ve heard that before.”

His eyes glittered, sharpened like the steel blade of a knife. “I mean, if you want-”

She chucked a pillow at his face before he could continue, laughter rioting from his mouth as he tossed it to the side. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“I don’t think you were.” Rowan huffed, sliding away from him. “I think you were entirely serious.”

A quirk of his brow. “And if I was?”

She rolled her shoulders, a dull ache rippling along her back. Tomorrow she was going to hurt. “If you were being serious I wouldn’t say no, but just not right now.”

His head cocked to the side, strangely reminiscent of Stella when they were talking to her. His eyes were warm, his smile soft. “Of course. I’m happy with whatever you are.”

She ducked her head, smiling. “Thank you, babey.”

“But, if it’s alright.” She looked up at the earnestness in his tone, found him holding out his hands. The tips of his ears stained peony pink, the corners of his lips curved up in a crescent. “Would you be alright still being close?”

As if she could ever say no to him. As if she ever wanted to be far away either.

Rowan scooted closer, leaning into the arms he opened wide for her.

“Is that better?” She looked up at him, smiling as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. She felt so at ease in his arms, wrapped up in his warmth, the smell of his soap filling her nose, the calluses of his hands rough against her skin as he stroked the shell of her ear.

“Much. I don’t know how I made it through the day without you.”

She smiled, closing her eyes. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about it anymore today.”

He hummed, fingers running through her hair. “Thank goodness. I don’t have to worry about anything now that I’m with you.”

Rowan leaned forward, intent on kissing his cheek, but winced instead. Dull pain radiated around her shoulder blades, reaching fingers up her neck. Her muscles locked, and she reached back, trying to press down on the pain, trying to rub it away.

Gavin’s eyes narrowed, a line etching between his brows. His hand moved to cup her cheek, his touch gentle even as his lips pressed into a thin line. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing.” She kept rubbing at the spot, some of the pain easing. “I think I might have used some muscles I didn’t know I had when shovelling, and now my back hurts.”

His expression softened, turned thoughtful. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Rowan arched a brow in response.

“I’m just thinking.” Huffing softly, he stroked her cheek, head cocking to the side. “Would you like me to try and help with the pain?”

“What are you thinking?”

A flash of mischief, quickly concealed as he spoke. “Well you have said I’ve become quite skilled with my hands.”

“Gavin-”

He tapped her lips before she could scold him further. “I was thinking I could try massaging your back a little.”

“Oh!” Her voice came out as a squeak, breath rushing over the pad of his finger and he chuckled, giving one last tap before dropping his hand.

Gavin’s massages were very nice, never so hard that they hurt, but it seemed he was singularly adept at untangling the knots and smoothing away any pain in her back and muscles.

Maybe it was because Gavin really was quite skilled with those long, deft fingers. Or maybe it was some sort of placebo, her mind convincing her that she felt better because it was him so lovingly massaging her.

Whatever the case, it was always very nice when he did, and Rowan was not about to turn down such an offer.

“I would like that very much.” She spun around instantly, peeking over her shoulder at him as he laughed. “Please?”

“I thought you’d say that.” He was still laughing, amber eyes rolling skyward. “As you wish.”

She pouted, fluttering her lashes at him. “Gavin.”

“I know, just give me a moment, pumpkin.”

Gavin readjusted behind her, settling his hands on her hips and shifting her to the side. “You know, it would be easier if you sat in my lap.”

She gaped. “So you did have an ulterior motive!”

He looked away from her accusation, cheeks flushing brighter, a mischievous smile playing at his lips. “And if I did? Do you not want a massage anymore?”

“Well I didn’t say that.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, turning them to the gold of champagne as they flicked to her.

He didn’t have to say a word for Rowan to understand the meaning of his raised brows, the amusement flickering in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes, as if that didn’t make him smile more. “If it makes it easier I don’t see why I would say no.”

“And it’s not just because you want to sit in my lap?” His brows nearly vanished beneath his bangs as they rose. His shoulders quivered with quiet laughter, and he smiled so smugly she considered just bearing with the pain and stretching out on the floor until it went away.

“If you’re going to tease me, maybe I’ll just put up with it.” She made to stand, but a hand on her wrist stopped her. Another second and she was being yanked into Gavin’s arms, tumbling into his lap.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t look particularly remorseful, not with a massive smile on his face. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, humming like he was about to start laughing again. “I’m sorry, princess. Don’t go.”

Rowan’s breath caught, snagging as fabric on thorns. Gavin’s breath was warm as he murmured against her cheek, his lips still smiling wide. He kissed her again, murmuring another apology, followed by a downy-soft “please?”

“Okay.” How was she meant to say no to him? To such a delicate plea? She knew he was still playing, devilry in his voice, in each kiss he laid on her cheek and jaw. Yet knowing that did not make it easier to say no. Did not make her want to say no to him.

“Okay? You won’t go?” He sounded sunshine bright, hugging her all the tighter.

“I’ll stay.” And then, with a little more bite, more for her own sake than his, “But I have conditions.”

“And what would those be?”

She twisted around in his hold, back facing him. “You have to massage my back.”

She could hear the attempt and failure to stifle his snorting laughter, his body shaking beneath her with the effort. “I think I can manage that.”

Rowan straightened her back, wiggling her shoulders. More laughter, but Gavin took the hint to begin. His fingers brushed her hair away from her neck, warm and careful as though he were handling glass.

He trailed his hands over her shoulder at first, down her back, barely adding any pressure. She let her eyes fall closed as he repeated the movement, slowly adding more pressure each time.

“Does this feel okay?” He moved his hands to her neck, thumbs digging into the grooves connecting her neck and shoulders.

She hummed, smiling a little. “That feels very nice.”

His lips brushed against the back of her neck before he continued, warmth radiating from the touch as light radiated around stars, spilling through the universe.

He did that every few moments, whenever he adjusted his hands, finding a new knot in her shoulders or pain flared in her lower back. Lips found her skin as sunshine did in summertime, kisses light as a breeze curling against her as his skilled fingers dug into her skin, easing her pain until it was as distant a memory as the dismal grey of a winter rainstorm to the warmth and colour of blooming spring.

Every now and then he checked in, making sure she was comfortable, making sure it all felt nice. He pressed his fingers down on either side of her spine, gliding his hands down. He dug the heels of his hands into her back, dragging them to the sides. He even found the aching spot in the small of her back, massaging little circles on either side of her spine at first, slowly moving his hands out, until he had worked through the muscles of her lower back.

Rowan sighed, murmuring whenever he did something that felt nice. He would oblige every time she asked him to do something again, the aches in her body fading, his touch a balm that smoothed away every ache and crack in her body that seeped pain.

She swayed, fighting off a yawn. He worked methodically, a soundless rhythm building in his movements, a melody that reverberated through her muscles and sinew, echoing in the hollows of her bones. It was a lullaby for her body, tranquil and soft, steady as calm ocean waves.

As her head began to bob, as her eyes grew heavy, as her yawns became near uncontrollable, Gavin drew his hands away from her back, settling them on her hips.

“Why’d you stop?” She struggled to keep her eyes open, her words sounding strange and slow.

He chuckled, giving her hips a squeeze. “You’re falling asleep.”

“No I’m not!” A yawn belied her words, but still she tried to hold fast to her denial. “I’m not falling asleep! Don’t stop.”

Sighing, Gavin pressed one final kiss to the side of her throat. “If I keep going you’ll fall asleep and then I’ll be all alone.”

She twisted around in his arms, swaying with all the strength of a sapling buffeted by the wind. “I won’t! I promise I won’t.”

“Really?” He brushed her hair back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His smile was indulgent, as if he didn’t really believe her, but he was willing to play along for now. “You mean your eyes aren’t heavy?”

The eyes in question, traitorous things, fell closed, seeming to weigh hundreds of pounds each to lift open so she could fix her gaze on him once more. “Not at all.”

He cupped her cheek as her head lolled to the side, snorting. “You’re not making a very good case for yourself.”

“You’re so mean,” she grumbled. She slumped against him in a huff, earning soft laughter as he readjusted to cradle her against his chest.

“Do you want to sleep?” He stroked her hair, pushing it back from her face. “We can take a nap if that’s what you want.”

She groaned, shaking her head. “It’s still early, and it’s been so long since we’ve had a day together.”

“Well then you have to stay awake, pumpkin.” He pinched her cheek, and the sharp pain roused her. At least, it roused her enough that she could glare at him.

“That hurt.” She smacked his hand away, rubbing her cheek. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“I’m sorry, princess.” He was smiling far too widely as he said it, prying her hand away from her cheek to press a kiss to the reddened skin.

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“I’m very sorry.” His smile only widened, utterly unrepentant. “So very sorry.”

“Oh really?”

“Let me make it up to you.”

Gavin was using his most powerful weapon in his arsenal as he spoke, the saddest puppy dog pout she had ever seen. It was impossible to say no to him, even the most iron of resolves crumbling like overbaked pastry beneath the might of such a look.

Rowan’s head drooped and she huffed. “How? What are you thinking?” Something devious, she was sure.

“Something like this-” There wasn’t a moment for her to think before Gavin had cupped the back of her head, secured his remaining arm around her waist, holding her fast as he showered kisses all over her face and neck.

She shrieked, laughing against him. It was so sudden she couldn’t catch her breath, and his breath and lashes and hair all tickled her skin while his lips made her catch fire like dried kindling.

“Gavin! Gavin!” His lips brushed against her collar, and she burst into a new fit of giggles, the spot particularly sensitive and ticklish.

“Does this prove how sorry I am?” He sounded breathless, pausing his assault to speak. “Am I forgiven?”

She snorted, pushed her hair back. Gavin was watching her, a goofy grin on his face, his cheeks flushed. “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

His brows rose, his smile cutting across his face now, wicked. “Do you need another demonstration?”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lips, smiling. “Just one last demonstration, babey. Right here.”

“As you wish, my love.”

Where his kisses had been playful, teasing, now he kissed her with a tenderness that told her how happy he was. She could taste his delight on her tongue, felt the sunshine of his joy filling her. His hands moved to cup her cheeks, to hold her gently as he took his time kissing her.

When Gavin pulled away they were both breathless, warm, melting into each other.

Rowan did her best to smile, nestling her head on his shoulder. “Alright, babey. You’re forgiven.”

He pressed another kiss to the top of her head, smiling into her hair. “Oh thank goodness.”

She would have been happy to stay there, tangled together, growing drowsy in his embrace.

Gavin, however, did not seem content, pinching her side to wake her again.

“Babey.” She pouted, rubbing her side. “Why do you do that?”

“You were falling asleep again.”

“I can’t help it! You’re warm!”

He huffed a laugh, patting her back. “Why don’t I make you some tea. Would you like that? That should help you wake up.”

She peeled away, just enough to meet his eyes. “Will you make the new one I bought? The blended one?”

“I can make whatever you want me to.” He smoothed her bangs, the pads of his fingers brushing against her brow as he fixed it. “Is that the one you want?”

She nodded eagerly. She plucked at the collar of his shirt, trailed her fingers down over the buttons of his uniform shirt. The shirt was starchy, stiff, not the most comfortable thing to be pressed up against. She doubted it was the most comfortable thing to be wearing, either. “Did you want to change?”

His hand covered hers, fingers curling around her wrist. “Are you asking me to?”

She stiffened at the laughter in his voice, looking away. “Your work clothes just aren’t very comfy, I thought you might want to change into something else.”

“Like that new sweater you got me?” He chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips. “Or the blue one you’re so fond of?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Huffed laughter ghosted over her hand as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I do want to change. But I can make you something to drink first.”

“That’s okay, I can make something while you change. You’re the one who’s been working so much lately.”

“And what if I want to make you something?” He rolled his eyes, smirking. “What if I want you to stay right here until I come back?”

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll go try to shovel more snow?”

He snorted, shaking his head. The corners of his lips twitched, like he was using all his strength to fight against his smile. “Maybe. Maybe I’d just like to spoil you a little.”

Rowan had no response for that. Like the unfurling of petals at the first signs of spring, heat bloomed beneath her skin. She was a field of wildflowers, leaves and petals wavering in the wind, reaching towards the sun, the centre of their world.

Gavin took the opportunity to extract her from his lap, settling her on the couch. He didn’t give her a chance to argue, already on his feet. “Your new tea is the one with the picture of a forest on the label, right?”

She nodded, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater, pulling them over her hands in lieu of fiddling with a blanket. Most of their blankets were folded neatly on the little chair next to the couch, out of her reach.

Seeming to sense her thoughts, Gavin reached over to grab one of the blankets, unfolding it and tucking it around her.

“So you don’t get cold while I’m gone,” he said. He smoothed a hand over her hair, pressed a kiss to her brow. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Too late.”

He nuzzled her cheek, laughing. “I already miss you too.”

Before he could vanish from the room she called to him again, twisting the blanket between her fingers. “Gavin? Are there any snacks left?”

“There should be some of those squares we made left.”

She sat up straighter, craning her neck forward as if that would reveal the hidden snacks to her. “The raspberry ones? Or the nanaimo bars?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m not sure, I saw the ones with the pink icing this morning before I left. And the s’mores ones for sure.”

“Could I have one of each? If that’s okay?” She clasped her hands together, pleading with him as a disciple pleaded with their god. “Please?”

“Anything else, princess?” He smiled, arms crossed. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“When you go to change can you get the book I left on the bed?” She tugged the blanket up higher, hiding her face behind it as she flushed. “And can you come back quickly? I miss you.”

Nodding, his smile tender, Gavin said “as you wish,” before vanishing into the kitchen.

Rowan smiled to herself, clutching the blanket closer. It was cold outside, snow still careening from the storm-clouds that had gathered overhead. There was no sign that the storm would let up any time soon, and as she leaned close to the window her breath fogged against the glass, obscuring the ivory waves cascading across the world.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, Gavin’s reflection in the window. She turned to see him waving from the doorway of the kitchen, his smile bright enough to melt the snow and bathe the world in sunshine.

He had her book and her favourite sweater in his arms, and he crossed the room quickly to lay them in her lap.

“So you don’t get bored while you’re waiting.”

“Thank you, babey.” Rowan ran her hands over the fabric of her sweater, the sky-blue yarn soft and faded like it had been left too long in the sun from how often she wore it. Gavin was still in his work uniform, only the top few buttons undone, like he had started to change and thought better of it. Like his mind had been preoccupied, something else at the forefront of his thoughts.

His smile was spun-sugar sweet, and her teeth ached, just getting to revel in his sunshine smile like eating her fill of chocolates and cakes and candies. 

“I know you get cold easily, and I didn’t want you to get bored, or fall asleep before I get back.”

“I wouldn’t fall asleep!” Her rejoinder was automatic, a knee-jerk response to his saccharine teasing. As Gavin raised a brow, his barely contained smile dripping with amused disbelief, Rowan shrank, picking at a thread on her sweater. “I might fall asleep.”

He sighed. “Well at least wait until I come back. We can pick out a movie to fall asleep to together.”

“But you’ll be back soon?” Rowan wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t clingy; it was a rare occasion that Gavin was home early and she was loath to waste even a second of his company. There were moments where she would wish to bury herself in his skin, to stretch across his chest and refuse to let him get up in the morning so he couldn’t leave.

“I promise I’ll be right back.” He smirked then, something like smugness in his eyes. “But if you’re missing me you can always come find me.”

She scoffed, snatching up her book and flipping it open. Her cheeks were warm, her chest aching as her heart pressed against the prison bars of her ribs. “I’m perfectly content right here.”

“Oh? Is that right?” He leaned forward, seeming intent on teasing her. But his brow arched as his eyes flitted to the fogged window, bangs spilling across his brow as he cocked his head to the side. “Oh, what were you looking at earlier?”

“Hmm?” She turned, spotted the foggy part of the window, still opaque. An idea occurred to her then, a spark like flint striking together, catching flame.

Rowan leaned over, breathing on the glass again before beckoning him closer. “Come look!”

He was practically on top of her as he leaned over, his brow furrowing as he stared at the window. “So you fogged up the window?”

“No, just wait!” She quickly sketched her finger across the clouded glass. A heart, and then their initials in the centre.

“See?” She beamed as she looked up at him. “What do you think?”

Simple as it was to coax a blush to Gavin’s ears and cheeks, Rowan never tired of seeing the dusting of pink on the tips of his ears quickly deepening to vermillion, spreading over his cheeks and down his neck. Colour seeped across his face, soft as dawn, darkening to the last heat of dusk. When his eyes met hers they were bright as galaxies, and she could have picked out the individual stars in his gaze, their light making him glow.

“I think it’s very cute, pumpkin.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lashes tickling her skin as his eyes closed. “Maybe we should write that somewhere else, somewhere more permanent.”

She giggled, tickling him when he tried to kiss her again. “Like where? A tree in the backyard?”

“Maybe. Or somewhere in the house. We could paint it ourselves somewhere special.” He snorted, batting her hands away as she tried to tickle him again. “Careful or I’ll have to make an arrest.”

“You can’t arrest me!” Her voice rose in mock distress. It was difficult to hold back the bubbles of laughter lodged in her throat, the glee curving across her lips like the rising moon. “I’m your wife! You said you would make me tea!”

She did tickle him again, then. Reached out to his sides, to all the little spots that made him snort and laugh, much as he tried to pretend like he was not so vulnerable.

“Alright! I surrender, I surrender!” His shout dissolved into more laughter, his face red as ripe tomatoes.

“That’s what I thought.” She beamed, smug as she pulled her hands away. Gavin’s chest heaved, his eyes blazing as he stared at her. He looked dishevelled, bested by her attack.

Something about the flush in his cheeks made her stomach twist, her breath catching like a leaf snatched from the wind. His eyes flashed, mischief and bemusement twining together as they sat for a moment, waiting for the other to move.

It was Rowan who surrendered this time, moving to perch in his lap, compelled by the animal part of her brain to squeeze his cheeks between her hands.

“Is this further punishment?” He was smiling as he spoke, his eyes holding fast to hers. He tilted his head back in her grip, his lips grazing the line of her jaw. “What else do you have in store for me?”

“No punishment,” she murmured, adding a quiet “this time” that had him laughing. “You just looked so cute I had to squeeze your face a little.”

His eyes closed, a serene smile on his lips. Sitting there he painted such a pretty picture, like something she would see hung on the walls of a museum. She could imagine the name of such a piece, ‘serenity’ or perhaps ‘a prince in repose.’

She could have stared at him forever, lost in the lines of his face, like purposeful strokes of a brush. In the threads of his hair layered in gold and umber. In the light dappling over his cheeks, illuminating him as though a sun glowed from beneath his skin.

When Rowan didn’t move, Gavin’s brows rose, and he cracked one eye open. “Are you satisfied, princess? Or should I stay still for longer?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, itchy as insect bites. She pulled away, scooting back into her previous spot, yanking the blanket up to her face so he couldn’t see her flush. “Weren’t you going to make me tea and get changed?”

 “As you wish.” Gavin chuckled as he stood, ruffling her hair even as she scowled up at him. “And when I return you can stare at me as much as you want.”

He was gone before she could come up with any kind of reply, the sound of the kettle boiling and glass clinking the only indication he was in the kitchen.

“Unbelievable.” She grumbled under her breath, snatching up her sweater and shrugging into it. “He’s utterly unbelievable. Teasing me like that.”

“I can hear you, you know!”

“Good!”

She continued grumbling, louder this time so he heard every word. Gavin’s laughter echoed through the house, trailing after him even as he climbed the stairs to their room, fading only when she heard the click of the door.

With nothing else to do, Rowan picked up her book again, flipping to where she’d left off. The soft click of nails on the floor told her that Stella was on the move, and only a moment after she’d opened her book she felt Stella shoving her nose against her arm, whimpering.

“Do you want to get up?” She did not have to ask twice, Stella’s tail wagging so quickly it was little more than a brown blur before she leapt up. Air rushed from Rowan’s lungs as the dog stood on her stomach, wincing as she turned around and around, trying to get comfortable. Her tail smacked into Rowan’s face, and she leaned back as best she could until Stella finally settled, curling up into a ball on her lap.

Both Stella and herself now settled, Rowan returned her attention to her book as best she could. But she was only half paying attention, her ears straining for the sound of Gavin’s footsteps, her heart thrumming when she heard the door open and the stairs creaking as he made his way back downstairs.

Soon he would be back, and they would cuddle, and maybe he would rub her back some more, and she would get to spend the rest of the morning in his arms.

What a gift, to be able to be with him, to share a quiet morning together.

When the storm had first begun she’d looked at it with trepidation, with annoyance. The snow had been a hindrance, a hurdle to overcome. But perhaps it had been a blessing, a godsend from the universe. The screaming storm laced with magic, bringing Gavin back to her, giving them another day together.

The sound of humming spilled from the kitchen, the melody of a song Gavin had been practicing on his guitar lately. Maybe she would ask him to play it, maybe she would try to join him on the piano. He always loved that, always beamed brighter than any star when she did. Sat beside her on the piano bench, his hand on her thigh as he listened.

Or maybe they would break out one of the Lego sets they hadn’t built yet, spend the day building it together. They could play a movie in the background, could indulge in the sweets leftover from the holidays, make warm drinks and spike them with the leftover rum in the cupboard.

Or they could bake some more, trying out some of the recipes they hadn’t gotten to yet. Gavin always seemed so excited to make something new with her, although she was beginning to suspect it was only because he liked to eat the leftover batter and dough while they waited for their treats to bake.

Whatever their hearts desired, they could do. Whatever would make them happy, whatever would bring a smile to Gavin’s face, whatever would make his heart glow.

They were caught in the eye of the storm, and in their little pocket of peace they could do whatever they wished, whatever kept their hearts warm and their bodies close.

She smiled, watching as flurries of snow streamed just beyond her reach. Snow days were the best.

[guerrerense]

Heading home through the snow por Mike Danneman Por Flickr: After pushing a westbound Burlington Northern Santa Fe freight west out of Denver to the top of the grade in the Moffat Tunnel during a late winter snowstorm, a helper set of two BN GE C30-7s drifts eastward through Crescent, Colorado, on March 19, 1998.

[johnschneiderblog]

Gathering winter fuel

I always dedicate these soggy days of late March - when the promise of spring danglles in the air like an plum we can't quite reach yet - to the final state of firewood procurement.

The solid ground of winter is for cutting and hauling; Spring is for splitting and stacking the 10 face-cords we'll need to heat our house nest winter.(A face-cord is pile of wood stacked four feet high, eight feet long, one log wide.)

Friday's snowstorm sidelined the project but we were back at it Friday. I split; Sharon stacked.

[rutilation]

Chapter 72 of Chainsaw Man takes place in a metaphorical (literal?) time warp. Click below for further details.

This all started when I asked myself: “Wait, why is it snowing in September?”

During my initial read-through of Chainsaw Man, I paid no attention to dates, or calendars, or anything of the sort. There were, after all, so many other elements of the story demanding my attention, such as chainsaws, and men. But, as I mulled over what I had just read, I developed a vague impression that the story must have started sometime in the summer, and ended during the winter.  After chapter 119 was published, I observed some discussion about the calendar in Denji’s apartment, and how it matched March of ’98.  This made me curious enough to look into the story’s timeline.  Imagine my surprise when I learned that one of the very few concrete dates provided was the Gun Devil being summoned on September 12th.  

“That can’t be right,” I thought.  “It was snowing.”  

While the sub-tropical heat of Tokyo is foreign to me, I live in a climate region very similar to that of Hokkaido, and know from lived experience that September is just diet-August.  There’s no way it would be snowing there so early in the year, right?  Sometime later, I was bored enough to look up when snowfall in Hokkaido starts—mid-to-late-November in the low-lying regions, and mid-October in the mountains.  Careful to take into account the succession of 20 years’ worth of global warming, I even looked for Hokkaido weather forecasts from 1997, and indeed, there was no snow there in September.  I concluded that Fujimoto simply doesn’t grasp the subtleties of winter past a certain latitude, and gave the matter no further thought.

But, Aki enjoyer that I am, I found myself rereading chapter 72 several times. When I wasn’t wallowing in the tragedy of it all, I was marveling at this farce of unseasonable snowfall. Does this guy think Hokkaido is in the Arctic Circle?  Does he think snowy regions are too cold to have spring and fall?  Because that little niggling annoyance kept scratching at the back of my mind, I at last noticed the calendar prominently featured in this chapter.  Idly, I decided to pull up a list of calendars from 1997 to see which month it matched.  (For those who already know where this line of inquiry will end, hold that thought for now, this rabbit hole goes deeper than you might realize.)

June.  The only month from 1997 which matches this calendar is June.  Fujimoto is reticent to be pinned down by a specific timeline, but it’s June.  Aki’s going to die in a few short days on September 12th, but it’s June.  There’s a snowstorm outside, and you can hardly see out the window, but it’s June.  It’s June, and it shouldn’t be snowing in September either.  Oh boy, when I tell you my mind started racing…

Obviously, there had to be a normal, diegetic explanation for this. Perhaps this place was a little shabby, and the inn’s proprietor simply hadn’t bothered with updating the calendars in the rooms.  The fact that I hadn’t heard any mention of this before, even when I specifically looked into the series’ timeline, meant that there were probably no bizarre time warps going on.  Regardless, I cared much more about the reason for including this odd calendar in the first place, than I did the justification for why it was there.  

The choice to accent Aki’s epiphany with impossible weather for an impossible date evoked, in my view, a sense that this moment had become unmoored from time, emotionally, if not necessarily literally.  The bond between these three reaches its peak right before they’re torn away from each other in the most traumatic way possible.  It was as if the torque from these two opposing forces had dilated the time surrounding this moment-in-between.  Tomorrow, they’ll return to Tokyo, where the weather makes sense, and time follows its proper, entropic course.  But for now, they’re nestled together in a place where tomorrow doesn’t exist at all, where there is nothing beyond this singular moment of togetherness, preserved outside of time forever.  I got goosebumps just thinking about it.

I glanced back at the calendar in chapter 119 just because I still couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing, and it did indeed match March of ‘98.  Fujimoto wasn’t just… randomly drawing calendars without reading them, or something.  But, I quickly noticed another strange element: both of these calendars looked the same.  They both featured months whose beginnings perfectly lined up with the start of the week—that is to say, the 1st lands on a Sunday—and isn’t that an interesting coincidence.  So interesting, in fact, that I suspected it was on purpose.  As I clicked around looking for more instances of this, I discovered that, after March of ’98, the next occurrence of a neat, symmetrical month was August of ’99—one month after the purported apocalypse.  So, not only did chapter 72 take place during some sort of liminal snowy Junetember, it also, subtextually, took place one month after the end of the world.

I was so ready to go ballistic over this.  How would I approach writing my meta?  I was debating how best to deploy references to Picnic at Hanging Rock and the Lothlórien section of Lord of the Rings, when it occurred to me that, perhaps, I ought to look for additional information regarding these mysterious calendars.  What other ways did people interpret them?  This is all so in-your-face that there must have been many vibrant discussions—

The calendars in Chainsaw Man all begin with Monday.  Way back in chapter 13, there’s a calendar shown in Aki’s flashback, one which clearly labels the days of the week, and it starts on Monday.  Apparently, some boomer calendars in Japan were once designed like this in order to center the workweek, or some such thing, and their use here was probably for the purpose of dating Chainsaw Man as a period piece.  Anyway, the calendar from chapter 72 thus matches up with September of ‘97. As for the calendar from chapter 119, March of ’99 begins on a Monday, so both Marches would look the same depending on the formatting.  Considering Chainsaw Man’s usual clipped pace, it’d be reasonable to assume the story is currently in 1999, giving more urgency to the apocalypse’s ticking clock.

When I tell you I was despondent…  With one google search, with mere glances at a few Reddit threads, all these cool, organic connections I’d made in my brain, connections that had greatly enhanced my enjoyment of my favorite arc of the story, imploded into a sad pile of detritus. I still thought it was odd that it was snowing in September.  I still thought it was odd that the calendar from chapter 119 could be from either ’98 or ’99.  I still thought it was odd that two of the three calendars depicted lined up perfectly with the start of the week.  But, I felt there was no longer substantial indication of intent behind any of it.  I resigned myself to my initial understanding that Fujimoto simply doesn’t know how snow works, shot my pet theory out behind the woodshed, and tried to put the whole thing out of my mind.

But then, about two weeks ago, I saw some people talking about the Aquarium Arc, and how the first chapter set in that location was published on December 6th, which was the same as the date on the fanciful, alternate-universe photo which served as the cover page for chapter 79.  I’d heard that piece of trivia before, but it had passed through one ear and out the other—nothing but a neat little party trick that Fujimoto had concocted to add a little flourish to that stretch of the story, as far as I was concerned.  This time, though, it gave me pause.

“That’s weird.”  I thought. “Weren’t they wearing shorts in that photo?  Wasn’t Power wearing a tank top?  In December? Even for Japan, that doesn’t seem quite right.”  At this point, a sense of Déjà vu was creeping up on me.  I pulled up the cover page…

Just as I recalled, their outfits did not suit December at all.  But, more importantly, my impossible June had clambered out from behind the woodshed, and slapped me across the face.  A quick google search confirmed that Japan orders its dates the same as we primitive Americans—month first, day second.  It was right there in front of me all along: my meditations on a calendar that made no sense, what that might represent, the unseasonable June that was somehow also midwinter, and our found family in a timeless world that couldn’t be.  Power’s even wearing the damn hairclip.  With shaky hands, I looked back at my list of calendars from 1997: December also started on a Monday that year.  September, June, and December are all directly invoked by the narrative in this web of symbolism, and they all potentially matched the calendar in the inn room.

I’m kicking myself for not noticing this earlier, but take a close look at the flowers on Chapter 72’s calendar.  While I’m not enough of a botanist to say with total certainty, it seems to me that these are hydrangeas—they’re all bunched together, and have serrated leaves.  I’ll get into the hanakotoba meanings in just a moment, but I think what’s really crucial here is when they bloom: the cultivars native to Japan typically bloom during the rainy season from early June to mid-July, and viewing the blossoms is considered a traditional early-summer activity. If you’ve engaged with enough Japanese media, you’ll notice it’s more often than not quite keyed in on flower symbolism, especially as it pertains to the changing of seasons.  Putting Hydrangeas on a September calendar would be just as ostentatiously atemporal as the chapter 79 illustration being dated to June.  Once again, I was gobsmacked.  I was morbing.  I was seeing shrimp colors.  Anyway, as for what they symbolize in Japan: on the one hand, fickleness and impermanence, due to their blooming period depending on the vicissitudes of annual rainfall, and how they change color with slight variations in the soil.  On the other hand, the fact that the flowers grow clustered together is taken as a symbol of family bonds and harmony.  It doesn’t take much reflection to see how those different meanings apply to the Hayakawa family at this point in the story.

This whole time, the calendar from chapter 72 was a setup, and this photo, juxtaposed against Aki’s tragedy, was its cruel punchline.  It’s 9/12, and Aki is dying his worst death, dragging a chunk of Denji’s soul down into the grave with him.  It’s 6/12, and our leads, now childhood friends, are having the time of their life on a trip to the aquarium; within this far-off paradise, they pause to snap a photo.  It’s 12/6 in our world; Asa and Denji have entered an aquarium that never ends.  And, in a single moment untethered from time, as Denji, Aki, and Power huddle together against the encroaching snow, right before the other shoe drops, it’s all three at once.  Did you know that once the company arrived at Hanging Rock, their watches all stopped?  Did you know that after he’d gone and passed again into the outer world, still Frodo the wanderer from the Shire would walk there, upon the grass among elanor and niphredil in fair Lothlórien?  I then realized, just as 6/12 and 12/6 are mirrors of each other, so are 6/12 and 9/12. Y’know.  69.  Here, at the end of this rollercoaster, at the center of this matryoshka doll, Fujimoto was memeing on me with a 69 joke.  Holy shit.

It occurred to me that I’d missed some nuances by only looking at these dates in retrospect.  There was also the serialized presentation to consider.  Prior to chapter 75—which is prominently named after the date on which it takes place—the only orientation the reader would have been given is that November 18th, 1983 was thirteen years ago circa chapter 13.  So, from the perspective of a weekly reader, one would look at the calendar from chapter 72, and—while keeping in mind that the only other calendar thus far started on a Monday—assume that this takes place in December.  After all, the snow piling up outside is a lot more noticeable than a tiny photo of hydrangeas tucked in the corner of a panel.  The weather here doesn’t just heighten the surreality of the scene, it’s also there to deceive the reader.  Fujimoto is exonerated in my heart at last: he does know how snow works!  This element of trickery makes me wonder if there will be some sort of twist down the road involving the similarly-ambiguous March calendar.  I’m going to be watching that like a hawk.

I also started thinking about what separates these liminal time warp dates from the clearly-labeled ones.  Both of the Gun Devil’s appearances, as well as the impending apocalypse, were given concrete slots in the timeline during the moment of their presentation.  There’s no room to wonder about what month or year we’re actually in.  Calamities are etched in stone, their body counts carefully recorded down to the second.  In the space between those tragedies, however, the veil thins; time has a double meaning, and tries to trick you.  Without realizing, you might even briefly slip outside of it.  While half of you will return to meet your doom, the rest of you might grab your friends, run away to the aquarium at the end of the world, and never look back.  

(You might even call that aquarium endless.)

[ruiningsalads]

Happy Friday! Wishing you a merry angst with "The letter that arrived too late" for Cullen/Trevelyan.

let me brace myself to hurt my own feelings real quick...

cw: death

The cold should have bothered him more, should have driven him to seek shelter, but he couldn't stop now. Cullen pushed himself on, following what should have been Evelyn's path. So far, he hadn't found any sign of her.

The runner who delivered her message was delayed by a massive snowstorm, and by the time he actually read her letter, it was more than a week old. Certain words repeated themselves in his mind in a maddening litany: darkspawn raids, children taken, have to help, Wardens too far.

He found the village half a day ago. The people there hadn't seen her since she set off after the darkspawn days before, nor had they seen the return of their missing children. The former Inquisitor didn't want to wait any longer for reinforcements and left on her own, the village elder told him.

Her passion was as maddening as it was endearing. She wasn't one to sit idle while innocents were in danger, not even if she had no one to back her up. In her letter, she warned him that she would only wait three days for him before setting off alone. True to her word, she had set out on the morning of her fourth day.

He didn't find many signs of her passage until his second day out of the village, when he found remnants of a fire and a trail marking carved into the bark of a tree. That at least told him he was headed in the right direction, so he pressed on with renewed strength.

He found more trail markings, and with each one, he felt a jolt of hope. Surely he was catching up to her; his stride was longer than hers, and he was more accustomed to long marches in difficult conditions. Perhaps he would get lucky and find her before she found the darkspawn, and they could plan their next move together.

But his hope didn't last more than a day.

The smell hit him first: the cold air became tainted by the stench of darkspawn and dead things. There was no sound save for a winter wind blustering through the trees. Dread crept down Cullen's spine, but he hurried on regardless.

He found an unfinished trail marking next to a darkspawn corpse. More sprawled forms littered the surrounding area, the snow black with ichor. The sheer number of them... But how many times had she faced uncertain odds and come out the other side? He didn't let himself think about how she usually had help in those instances. Surely he would find her holed up in a cave and nursing her wounds. She had to be alright.

Surrounded by the thickest concentration of dead darkspawn, he caught a glimpse of long, chestnut hair sprawled across the dirty snow. Cullen staggered closer and shoved the monsters away, silently begging the Maker and Andraste and anyone else who might be listening--

She lay face-down in the snow, her blade mere inches from her open palm. Cullen knelt down and reached out his shaking hands to turn her stiff form over. Her eyes were blank and unseeing, her face streaked with frozen blood and splattered with ichor. What had once been a beautiful, vibrant woman was now an empty shell discarded in the snow like so much garbage.

Sobs wracked his body as he cradled her in his arms. Before her, he never thought he could find someone to love, to build a life with. She changed everything the moment she entered his life with her bright smiles and gentle encouragement. She was tough when she needed to be, soft when she wanted, and she had claimed every part of him.

How could someone, who was once so bright and warm and vibrant, be so cold and still? How could it be that this corpse was the same being as his greatest love?

As a gentle snowfall cascaded around him, Cullen lifted the former Inquisitor and set off to take her home one last time. After all she had done, for him and for Thedas, it was the least he could do.

[tomtenadia]

Arrivals - an ALB Outtake.

Hello everyone. I have a surprise for all of you. It’s fluffy and I hope you love it.

Winter in Orynth was always challenging and cold. Snow was a permanent feature from late September all the way through to March and sometimes until a very early April if the winter had been bad. That year the snow had arrived at the very beginning of September and the meteorologists had predicted a very harsh winter.

Rowan stared at the outside world from the rolling doors of the firehouse and sighed. The storm had been raging since the early hours of the night and it was not meant to let go for another day.

They had a few call outs and the drive had been hellish. Ansel and Nox had guided both truck and engine through the streets of Orynth under a snowstorm and very poor visibility. He had driven the ambulance with nervousness. He knew Nox had changed the tyres and was always on top of maintenance, but even with that reassurance he had hated the drive. When dispatch alarm went off he ran to the ambulance and joined an apprehensive Elide.

“Here we go again.” She whispered, while reading the details of the call on the onboard computer. This time it was just them. 

His phone on the dashboard pinged but he ignored it as he parked the ambulance and jumped to work.

*

A heavily pregnant Aelin exited her car, wrapped in the coat and walked to the familiar doors of east station. The apron already covered with fresh snow, the tyres trails faint on the snowy tarmac. Keeping it clear was impossible. She entered the side door and found the apparatus floor empty and her heart sank. She hoped they were all fine. That was an aspect she always hated. If a call came through on such horrendous conditions, they had to respond. It was the job of a first responder. She stomped her feet hard to remove the snow and walked quickly to the bunks room and dumped her stuff on Rowan’s bed remaining only in her polo shirt and TFD track suit trousers. Her uniform had soon become very uncomfortable so she had started wearing more comfortable clothes.

She then walked back in the common room and sat heavily on the sofa. Rowan had begged her to join him at the station as soon as her shift at the academy was over. She had just entered her last month of pregnancy. Both the commissioner and her husband had been nagging her to finally go on maternity leave but Aelin had asked for another week. There were a few thing she wanted to get ready before she went on leave. They both had resigned at her stubbornness. On that day though, Rowan had begged her to stay at the firehouse. If power failed they had backup generators and she would be safe. He did not want his pregnant wife alone in a cold house.

It was a few minutes later when she stood again and made her way to the kitchen. She was not feeling great and hoped some warm green tea might help. With the finesse of a stranded whale she landed again on the sofa and her hand went to her bump. It had been feeling tight and sore all day. She shrugged and grabbed the remote and relaxed until the team was back.

It was an hour later when she heard the familiar sounds of the rolling doors being activated and the vehicles being parked on the apparatus floor.

She stood and slowly walked to the big room knowing that it was very likely that Rowan was not there yet.

Aelin stared at the team jump off the vehicles and smiled but the pang of sadness she was expecting never came.

“Aelin!” Shouted Brullo who had been the first one to spot her.

“Hellish call?”

“Roof cave in,” added Manon while she removed her bunker gear “All of this snow is crazy.”

Aelin chuckled “Guess that will keep you busy, eh captain?”

Manon sighed “I have already three reports waiting for me in the office. No rest for the wicked.”

In the background she heard Asterin giving orders to the team and she smiled. Aelin was not worried about her station as she left it in very capable hands. Manon had become a wonderful captain very quickly and Asterin had stepped up to her role of lieutenant on truck with the same easiness. 

“Shouldn’t you be stranded on the sofa?”

Another strange pang of pain and Aelin nodded and followed the team inside.

“Cap, fancy some lunch with us? Rowan and Elide had to go to med. They will be back soon.” She smiled back at Brullo and the man joined Ress at the stoves. As the smell of food started to rise in the air she began feeling sick and thought she had far too many doughnuts for breakfast. One of her students of the class that was about to graduate had brought in sweet treats knowing full well how much she loved them. She ignored her upset stomach and kept sipping the hot tea in the hope it would settle the stomach. Rowan and Elide waltzed back in not long after. Her husband’s stare landed on her and he smiled at seeing her safe.

“Buzzard, your whale of a wife has landed,” she announced, extending her arms to him.

Rowan walked to her and kissed her deeply then brushed her bump “Hi Maya, being nice to mum?”

Aelin sighed “she has been very active today,” another flinch escaped her and Rowan did not miss it.

“Are you okay?” And from his tone she knew he had activated his fussy mode “do you want me or Elide to check on you?”

She shifted uncomfortably “No Ro, I am fine.”

He sighed and walked away but she knew the battle was not over yet.

Aelin had been feeling lousy all afternoon, and worry started to rise in everyone when she barely ate.

“It’s just false labour,” she kept repeating “I think Maya is getting ready, and she has been swimming all day.”

Surely her daughter had decided that her bladder had become a squeeze toy as she stood to walk to the restroom for the billionth time that day.

It was on her way back to the common room when the pain started to get worse. Aelin landed heavily back on the sofa and swore at the stabbing pain in her abdomen.

“Aelin?” Rowan was at her side immediately “What is it?”

She grabbed her belly as what now she was positive was a contraction rocked her abdomen “I think….” She breathed out in a desperate hope to chase away the pain “I think I am in labour.”

Rowan turned his head to Elide and the woman jumped into action, coming back a few minutes later with Manon “My quarters are free. Go, check on her.”

Rowan helped Aelin up and the two paramedics accompanied her in the captain quarters and lay her down on the bed. Her husband grabbed the jump bag Elide had passed him “Ae, I need to check on you.”

They both removed her trousers and Rowan donned his gloves and proceeded with his checks and then gasped “Aelin, did your water break and omitted to tell me?”

She stared at Rowan with curiosity “I—“ she did manage to finish the sentence as another contraction followed really quickly “Maybe this morning in the shower…”  more pain rippled through her “I have no fucking clue, Rowan,” she growled.

“Damn,” he resumed his position between her legs “Aelin, you are well advanced in your labour and almost fully dilated.”

He stared at his wife close her eyes and grit her teeth as another contraction rippled through her.

“It’s too late to take you to the hospital, we are delivering here.” Elide looked at him and nodded in approval. Plus, considered the weather, Aelin would probably end up delivering in the ambulance along the road. No, the firehouse was a safer location.

“Ro, I just thought it was false labour.”

“Yeah, well, our daughter seems to think otherwise, fireheart.” Rowan gave her a big smile and tried to be as supportive as possible.

It was when Aelin screamed out loud once more that he noticed his daughter’s head crowning.

“Fireheart, Maya is coming.”

Elide took position behind him but let him deliver his daughter. She trusted his skills and was ready to jump in if needed.

“Ae, I need you to push at the next contraction,”

And so Aelin did, over and over and over until Rowan held their crying daughter in his strong arms “You did it, my love.” Aelin was positive her husband was crying.

Elide grabbed the baby and checked her while Rowan went to kiss Aelin “You have done so well, my love and she is gorgeous.”

While Elide was cleaning and checking on the baby, Rowan enveloped his crying wife in his arms “Is she okay?” She sobbed hard.

“She is healthy,” added Elide while passing the baby to Rowan “But we should go to the hospital as soon as it’s safe.”

Rowan nodded and Elide left, probably to give the good news to the team and also to allow the new parents some privacy.

“I am sorry baby,” cooed Aelin as Rowan passed Maya to her “I just thought you were being very active, sorry my love.”

Rowan chuckled “Well, it will be a very interesting story to tell. You are so stubborn you ignored that you were in labour.”

“Maya, don’t listen to him, your dad is a mean old man.”

Rowan kissed his daughter’s head and in that instant the baby girl opened her eyes and pine green meet green.

“Ro, she is a mini you.”

His arm went behind Aelin and he pulled them both close “I love you so much,”

“She is here…” whispered Aelin almost incredulous.

Rowan placed his pinky in her tiny fingers and she gripped softly and at the gesture he almost cried on the spot again.

Elide came back ten minutes later and while she checked on Aelin, Rowan grabbed Maya and decided to introduce the little girl to the crazy band of aunties and uncles.

“Now, my love, we are going to meet a lot of people who will probably love you just as much mum and I do.”

His daughter looked up at him and cooed happily.

He entered the common room and silence fell.

“Are you all ready to meet Maya?” He turned to allow everyone to look at the tiny bundle in his arms.

Joy spread in the room and then Rowan turned to Brullo “I can’t keep her away from Aelin too long but I want you to be the first one to hold her,”

The man’s eyes were moist with emotion and with extended arms he took the baby from Rowan.

“Welcome to the world, Maya. You have been part of this family since the day your dad told us Aelin was pregnant,” he kissed the girl’s head “You will always be welcome in this house.”

Slowly Maya was passed around all the members who were eager to finally met her, but when she started fussing, Rowan claimed his daughter back and joined his wife once more.

“Did she meet them all?”

Rowan smiled and placed his daughter in her mother’s arms “she did, and they are all in love already. Brullo cried.”

“Did Elide check on you?”

Aelin nodded in a tired way “she wants to go to the hospital as soon as possible, though.”

He brushed huis wife’s hair “I agree. We need to check on both of you.”

“Is the storm still raging?”

Rowan nodded “we’ll go very slowly. I hate this but I want to make sure you are both okay.”

His wife nodded tiredly and Elide came back in that instant “Nox did a quick check on the ambulance and I called the hospital in advance.”

Rowan, reluctantly took Maya back from her mother and passed her to Elide, while he lifted his wife in his arms.

“I will make sure to leave you a five stars review for service.”

Once in the ambulance he passed Maya back and covered them both with a blanket and nodded to Elide.

“I will stay with the two of you. We’ll let the man drive.”

The drive to the hospital had been long and painfully slow. Rowan was positive he broke road rules for slow speed, but he was not risking all of their lives.

At the emergency room they were met by Sorscha who had a doctor and a paediatrician ready. Elide and Rowan both followed and lingered in the waiting room for the all clear.

The doctor came back ten minutes later “They are both fine. Aelin is exhausted and we are keeping an eye on her while her body finishes the afterbirth process,” she explained “your little girl is healthy too and she is busy having lunch now.”

Rowan relaxed. They were both fine.

“Go and see them before we head back to the station,” Elide pushed his elbow and nodded towards the door.

Rowan walked to the room’s doors and once inside his heart melted at the scene. Aelin was sitting in bed, in her arms Maya was nursing and he stood immobile for a moment. Incredulous that he had a daughter and a family.

“Come, Ro.”

At his wife’s voice he took a step and then another and sat down on the bed at Aelin’s side.

“She was so hungry.”

“Like mother, like daughter.”

“Hey,” retorted Aelin in false indignation “She looks like you, I am glad she took something from my gene pool.”

Rowan kissed her head and stared at his daughter. He was itching to hold her and touch her again but didn’t want to disturb the baby while she was feeding.

“Elide and I will have to go back to the station. Our shift will be over tomorrow morning, I will come and see you then and bring clothes for both.”

Aelin looked at him and went for a kiss “Please drive safely.”

He kissed her deeply and then kissed Maya’s head inhaling the scent of a newborn baby “Love you both.”

*

It was three days later when Aelin was finally discharged from the hospital and Rowan was happy it had happened on his day off. The storm had abated a day earlier but Orynth was still covered in a thick layer of snow. The roads were clear but he still drove carefully while Aelin called him grampa.

Their house in the outskirts was surrounded by heavy snow, but Rowan had spent the morning cleaning and gritting the driveway.

He got out of the car and ran to his wife’s side and opened the door “M’lady,” he then ran to the the back door and removed an attentive Maya from her car seat and passed her to Aelin.

Once in the house Aelin started walking around while Rowan was unpacking all of their belongings “Welcome home, Maya.”

Rowan was busy preparing lunch when he walked back to the living room and saw Aelin standing in front of the fireplace with Maya in her arms, swaying her gently. He leaned against the doorframe and took in that image, treasured the infinite happiness that he was feeling.

“See this, Maya?” Aelin nodded at the box with the piece of metal from the hangar “A cold January four years ago, that’s when I met your dad,” Aelin turned to Rowan and winked at him “He was grumpy and a mean old man,” Rowan walked closer and pulled Aelin against his chest while his arms circled his wife and daughter too “See? They were bad at fire prevention, so mum had to go and save him. It took me a while but I finally had him to fall in love with me.”

Maya cooed happily and gave her parents a gummy smile.

“Yes, you just listen to mum.”

“Fireheart, I let this pass because you had our daughter and I honestly I don’t care,” he nibbled at her ear “What matters is now. Our family and our future.”

“Maya, you should also know that your dad is an old sap.”

Rowan squeezed them both “And I wear it like a badge of honour.”

Aelin hummed in approval and let him sway them both. While they stared at the piece of metal.

For years since that cold January day. Since the fire that changed their lives and fate threw them together.

Through pain, through loss, through hard times and happy memories.

Rowan looked at the piece of metal and realised that it had all been worth it. The journey there to the day in which he would hold his two most precious women in his arms. 

“Come on, bottomless pits, time to feed you both.”

Aelin grabbed Maya’s tiny hand and gently smacked Rowan’s “Brute.”

The echo of their laughters filled the house.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp​ @swankii-art-teacher​ @whimsicallyreading​ @elentiyawhitethorn​ @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj​ @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories​ @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire​ @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck​ @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee

[ao3feedzukka-blog]

"Stuck" in a Snowstorm

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54472567 by hot_flippin_mess Sokka comes up with the brilliant plan to take Zuko for a drive late one night in retaliation to his dad's "no sex while I'm home" rule. The issue is Hakodas was *always* home. Words: 5087, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Zuko (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Hakoda (Avatar), Bato (Avatar) Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Porn With Plot, Sex in a Car, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Supportive Bato (Avatar), Tired single dad Hakoda (Avatar), he's doing his best, Sokka is just hella determined, Top Sokka (Avatar), Bottom Zuko (Avatar), To beta we die like Ozais bending March 14, 2024 at 03:00PM