#posts inspired by me being out of milk this christmas eve morn and having to make my hot chocolate with water

[realbeefman]

i love being cold and i love being hungry and i love shaking but i also love being fat and snoozing and storing up food for the winter like a chipmunk do you see my dilemna here

[jokerownsmysoul]

milk and honey ❤︎

Summary: dealing with the Christmassy hustle and bustle can be tiring. One day you come back home overtired, and some time spent with your lover is exactly what you need. Arthur is always there when you need him, ready to lift up your spirit between laughter and his love for you.

Warnings: smut.

Lenght: 6700

Notes: I want to clarify that for the joke mentioned in this piece I took inspiration from this post. Don't mind me, Arthur is much more talented than I am. 😂

You didn’t remember the last time you left work so tired. Which, on second thought, was a comforting realization despite your undeniable exhaustion.

The holiday season had already begun, Christmas Eve was only a few days away, and like every year all the stores and boutiques in Gotham city all at once began to overflow with plenty of citizens intent on carrying through the last errands to run, making last-minute presents for their loved ones, and checking each and every item left on the grocery list for the holiday meals.

The city blew up, overspilled with all sorts of people rushing and panicking all over the city, afraid of not being able to get everything done in time, determined to be the first to get to the stores and buy the best products before others – a whole new way to fill their ego that some citizens of Gotham city had refined over time.

With the kind of job you got, you had to deal with this kind of festive hustle and bustle every day. Each year you saw it grow and expand like wildfire in early November and linger until mid-January, when the Gothamites’s frenetic spirit faded on and the streets as well as all the adjacent sidewalks returned quieter and again more manageable as suddenly as they came. You could catch them so easily beyond the shop window where you worked or during the long way home, always on the run in a city that on the daily was already quite exuberant.

If anything, as you delved in the meanders of its narrow streets at a leisurely pace, struck by the beauty that the magic of Christmas season used to bring into the city and relishing in the decorative lights and the youthful warmth the Christmassy atmosphere bestowed upon Gotham, you found the sight of it heartwarming. You were happy to see that the Gothamites were excited to celebrate, that despite everything something beautiful in Gotham still remained, ready to come out, more often than not, during Christmas. Above all, you were happy to be able to share it all with your dear Arthur.

You smiled already at the prospect of holding your lover waiting for you very soon when you left Helm’s Pharmacy to take the medications for Arthur. That same morning you'd noticed he was running out of meds and it had been your main purpose to go get them for him that same day. Lately, with the arrival of Christmas, he was getting only gigs in areas opposite your trusted pharmacy, mostly for children or at festive markets. If you could prevent him from having the hassle of going across town after work when he was already overtired, you surely would.

You blinked to the chilly air and savored your homecoming, vividly daydreaming of his heated skin on yours, his sweet grip around you, the warm dinner that you were going to make together once you settled into your pajamas for the evening. You boosted yourself up for the final push, extremely tired but grateful and eager to see him, ready to walk your way home.

But as if that wasn't enough, just as you stepped out of the pharmacy an unexpected to do list you hand’t planned at all snapped on your tracks just when your grocery bag gave out and everything fell to the ground, milk and flour included. You cursed to yourself when you saw the groceries spilled all over the asphalt, freezing under the weight of the curious and judgmental gaze the passers-by gave you, which only make your feeling of powerlessness increase.

As you watched helplessly the groceries on the ground you realized that shit, there was nothing left of the milk you’ve bought and you couldn't go home without it – it was essential for breakfast as much as coffee was, that oh no, you’d gotten some soap dish on your clothes, it hadn’t crossed your mind that you still had to stop by the laundromat to pick up some articles until then, and upon this realization suddenly it dawned on you that you had to make sure of having enough wrapping paper to pack the long coat you’d bought for Arthur as a Christmas presents.

What had been a long, tiring work day quickly turned out a suffered evening spent zigzagging among shops and supermarket once again, in the cold of December streets of Gotham and – to make matters worse – lifted by a few inches of heel, to the point that everything had become too loud, overwhelming, and exhausting. Arthur felt more and more distant, and your feet heavier and sore, until you eventually made your way back to your cosy home with the little energy you had left.

The jingling of your keys inside the lock felt more consolatory to your ear than usual when with an eager flick of your wrist you made them twirl and opened the door. The scent of home and hints of Arthur’s presence hovering within the tiny walls welcomed you instantly and wafted to your nostrils in a familiar pattern, meeting your nose red and numb for the cold.

You kicked off your heels and put down the bags, careful to put the bag of Arthur's meds on the standing shelf beside you, and absently threw yuor purse aside which fell at the foot of the coat hanger, but you didn’t waste your time pulling off your coat as well. Instead, your eyes flew over the figure of Arthur who appeared immediately into your peripheral vision as you walked in, greeting your return across from you.

He was sitting at his writing corner, the arch of his back as curved as whatever he was writing so meticulously required, an extinguished cigarette butt still blowing the last puffs of ash laying on the pink ashtray to his right. From the out-of-place, extra curly brown lock you noticed framing his right temple under the warm light of the lamp above him, you could bet he’d spent the last quarter of an hour making it twirl around his finger as he focused on his writing.

His eyes shot up from his journal, and his wrinkles of concentration extended across his skin as soon as he heard the noise of the closing door behind you, the blossoming of a joyful smile on his face at the sight of finally seeing you at home. You've made it later than he thought and now his waiting was over, just like was yours in being back to him.

“Arth, come and hold me,” you pleaded, feeling a little childish as a playful, little pout spread on your lips and your advance came to a stop. You looked so defeated while standing still in the middle of the living room, heavy feet pinned to the ground and limp in your flesh, too tired even to take those few more steps across the small space between you and reach him where he sat. Sensing your legs sting from the cold and still heavy from tiredness, you came to the conclusion that tonight you weren’t to blame.

The kind of sympathetic, extremely sweet smile he gave you was enough to feel already a little bit lighter on your feet. Your eyes followed him as he directed his full attention to you, got up from his seat, and soon his arms came close to wrap you in the familiarity of his so-longed embraces.

At the exact moment you felt his body folding around yours instant relief seeped into you, and you couldn’t help but smile against him despite the fatigue, despite yourself.

“Long day?” Concern coated his voice as he settled you into him, already sure of knowing the answer the second his touch detected the tension in your muscles and he noticed how tired you were.

“Awfully long. And cold and loud,” you exhaled, cheek pressed onto his chest as he snorted in a meek, knowing chuckle, “and exhausting.”

“I know the kind,” his body answered for him when the grip of his arms around you tightened. He understood you just as well as you understood him, after all, and right now, he knew you only needed to be held for a while.

You kept quiet for a few minutes, taking in from this embrace every little sensation he was giving you so freely. His chest felt solid against you, strong and firm as he leaned on you to support your body, when the only thing your instinct as well as your limbs could allow you to do was to let go and pass out right on the spot.

He was wearing his gray sweater today, the same sweater that kept him as warm as it was keeping you warm while you held on to his waist and tucked your face between the tender underside of his chin and the neckline of his sweater. You let your eyes flutter closed and took a deep breath, inhaling deeply all the different fragrances emanated from your lover that his gray sweater kept trapped in each sewn. The cottony odour of his skin, the dense hint of his last cigarette you had just caught perching on the ashtray, and the well-known aroma of his soft, brown curls smelling like fresh shampoo. A smell you couldn’t find in all of Gotham even if you tried – it had no connection to the city outside and only belonged to him, to your beloved Arthur. Because of that, it was always the first clue to make you grow more conscious of being by his side whenever you were finally together.

“Did your gig go well? How was it?” You asked eventually, wanting to know more about his own day. He’d been looking forward for this specific gig at the children’s hospital for weeks; to prove it his enthusiasm growing day by day. He had to say goodbye to Carnival for a little while and welcome Rudolph, the clown red-nosed reindeer with matching antlers. Clowns aren’t a Christmas thing, he had mumbled when he'd felt your watchful, curious gaze on him when he’d tried the full costume in front of the mirror for the first time. You had missed Carnival that morning, but he looked pretty kissable and sweet in this whole new costume and you loved it all the same. They will adore you, you had cheered him on the threshold before your paths had to split. I added some milk on the grocery list. See you tonight, honey, then he’d planted a quick kiss on your lips before he left.

“It was nice, everyone loved Rudolph. Randall was in his good mood and gave everyone a break, even Gary – and I thought of a couple of jokes, maybe three if I can figure out this other one.”

A smile lighted up your face straight away and you lifted your eyes up to peek over at him, lips brushing against the smoothness of his jawline as you uttered. “Mhm, I love when you’re inspired. I can’t wait to hear them. And I bet you were the prettiest reindeer,” you enthused, then nuzzled the tiny wrinkles of his chin and breathed him in, trying to fill your lungs with nothing but him, before planting a soft peck there. You could tell he had had a nice day from the way his crow’s feet bent upwards when his eyes landed on you, the corners of his mouth lifted in a serene, tight-lipped smile. You couldn’t wait to hear everything about his day. “Did I interrupt your journaling?” You panicked with an afterthought.

“Don’t be silly, of course you didn’t. I always have time for you,” he drifted your worry away. “Besides, mostly I was waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry. I’d planned to get home earlier, my love,” you whined into him, holding him a little tighter. Your hands clasped to the back of his sweater as your face nuzzled the dip of his shoulder, his smell and the warmth his body emanated intoxicating while with your mouth you made your way along the plush skin of his neck left exposed by the collar of his shirt, leaving fleeting kisses, an imperceptible whine heard from out of his lips combined with his grip on your hip as your mouth traveled the cords of his neck with light strokes, and then went upward to peck his chin tenderly. You'd missed him so much. Your lips paused over his mouth, cool and soft at the touch, savoring its thinness while you let your lips brush against his own in a barely-there kiss. “I’ve been craving for this moment all day.”

“Tell me what you need,” he spoke in hushed whisper on your mouth and his hand went up to stroke your hair, calloused thumb gently grazing over the shell of your ear.

You melted in his embrace even more, muffling a dreamy sigh, and for a moment you hoped that you could disappear into his arms completely. “I already have everything I need right here.” An endearing chuckle left him while your mouth moved further and planted lazy kisses along his jawline, until you reached his sideburn that you grazed with the tip of your nose, a quick kiss on his earlobe before you pulled away enough to lock your eyes with his. "But I also need a shower. I was hoping you’d join me."

His excitement came before his reply when he started rocking you in his arms. "How about I take you in the bathtub, then have dinner on the couch, and keep my jokes for dessert?"

“Sounds perfect.”

A radiant smile painted a irresistible pair of dimples across his cheeks before he pecked the corner of your mouth. “Go get ready, I'll get the bath started.”

“You're my hero,” you purred, and with a laugh you both loosened the grip on each other – knowing that soon you would be laying in the bathtub with your naked body against his made it easier to part from him.

You watched Arthur’s back heading to the bathroom and then you reached the coat hanger once again, eyes darting briefly over the lifeless heels lying haphazardly on the floor before you took off your coat to join it with Arthur’s tan jacket. The sound of the running water had already reached you from the other room when you entered the bedroom, heels in your hand and limbs aching as you walked, where as quickly as you could you got rid of your clothes, put on the bathrobe you’ve dug out from the linen closet, and tied your hair in a messy, but effective bun.

When you walked into the bathroom the temperature change was already tangible, a cloud of hot steam gradually unravelling around the frame of Arthur who was already sitting in the bathtub, his clothes folded on the countertop sink. The bathtub wasn’t completely full, you noted, whereas the water, judging by the steam rising upward to the ceiling, must have been as hot as you liked.

“Hi, my beauty,” you grinned, the bathrobe covering your bare forms as you stepped closer and halted yourself in front of him.

“Get in here,” he beckoned you in amusement, prompting an excited giggle from you. A kind of shy anticipation was simmering in his gaze as he followed your every move, his eyes glowing at the prospect of finally having you all to himself.

Arthur gazed at you, transfixed as you loosened your bathrobe belt and let it slid off your shoulders and down your feminine curves, enamored and even after all this time still dumbstruck that you could be entirely, uniquely his.

There were days when your body, a little wider and softer than his, was hard to find attractive. But the reverence in Arthur’s gaze whenever he looked at you, a gaze that was a mixture of starving desire and devotional rapture, always knew how to make you feel beautiful, even in those days when letting yourself be touched required a few more steps.

Under his gaze your skin itched everywhere in the eagerness to be with him. The spongy fabric fell to your feet near his white socks, leaving you exposed to him. Unable to wait much longer you took a few steps forward and climbed in the bathtub, joining your body where his own was, too.

The water was effectively as hot as you thought when you immersed yourself in it and its heat met your skin sheathed in December chill with a sting, though rather than being harmful seemed to soothe the twinge you felt to the bone.

Arthur offered his entire body to you, and by opening his legs to make room for you he invited you to sit with your back to him. Your bodies searched for one another and while he leaned forward towards you, you leaned backward, his front coming into contact with your back and his hands coming up to envelope you immediately when you adjusted to each other and you made yourself comfortable bewteen his legs.

His arms searched around you and he pulled you closer into him, caressing your shoulders up to the ticklish spots of your collarbones on his way to your neck. You shivered when you felt the pads of his thumbs whisper onto the nape of your neck and then advance upward, undoing the bun you kept in your hair with the typical gentleness that distinguished him from the rest of the population in that of Gotham City.

Your hair cascaded all over your shoulders in messy waves, and with his fingers he gathered its ends to rearrange each lock on your back, untangling the knots if he bumped into one. “I want to wash your hair,” he said softly after awhile.

“I love when you do that,” you declared, while his hands withdrew and you heard him rummaging behind your shoulders; the smell of shampoo dispersing all of a sudden in the air around you gave him away as he worked to lather his palm in flower essence. After a few minutes you felt his fingertips landing on your hair again, soapy and calloused and relaxing, definitely Arthur’s by the considerate way they started to waltz in circular strokes on your scalp.

You closed your eyes in reverie, smiling to yourself as soon as you felt his fingers combing through your locks, spreading a generous amount of soap on the wake that his fingers traveled with the same sweetness he used to touch you, tufts of foam shaping themselves on the top of your head as he kept going.

You felt yourself finally relax, your hands and toes beginning to get back sensitivity and your skin to thaw, while the water rose around your limbs and increasingly warmed you.

With your eyes closed and the absence of further external, unwanted stimuli you focused on the sensations you could perceive, bringing your mind to the present moment. The absence of sound permeating the tiny space, except for the streaming water enfolding your figures and the soft rubbing of Arthur’s hands on you, and then also his rummaging when he turned off the water as soon as it finally reached the level you preferred, not too high but enough to keep you warm the whole time.

After the shouting crowds you’d ran into and the frost deposited on your skin throughout the day, being in the silence of your cosy apartment with Arthur so close to you was the very definition of blissfulness. You let your mind drift in thoughts that were nothing but Arthur’s, the softness of his fingertips and the thoughtfulness of his caresses. “I stopped by the Helms’s Pharmacy after work, your meds are by the doorstep” slipped from your lips, head tilted slightly back toward his touch and your breath slowing down in relaxation.

“Oh, I meant to pick them up tomorrow. Thank you, honey,” he whispered, then leaned in to plant a quiet, light kiss on the top of your spine. “That means I can come back to you sooner.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest at the thought of it, and his voice, so calm and close to your skin, almost made you tremble with the need of him. ‘‘I'll be here by the time you get home.’’ You smiled warmly to yourself, already savoring the moment.

Feeling that the foam was puffy enough he shifted to grab the shower handle and proceed to rinse your hair, his ankle bumping against yours while doing so. The shampoo dripping down was warm and pleasant on your back, and even more were his hands, rubbing vigorously to make sure it was thoroughly washed away.

When the shower handle came back in its place his hands came back on you as well, not quiet ready to let you go. He reveled in the feeling of the dampness of his skin against yours, how smoothly the one slipped on the other, but suddenly his touch grew more attentive, thoughtful. The palms of his hands roamed over each knob of your spine and across your sides, and then downwards to the small of your back. While Arthur went through every little inch of you, you admitted that you weren’t quiet ready to be let go, either.

“Your muscles need to loosen up a little bit,” he considered, and began to massage his fingertips onto your shoulders out of instinct, applying a gentle pressure where the tightness seemed heavier, either because of the cold or the fatigue of the day. The way he touched you was always soothing; body and soul medicine alike.

“You always know what I need better than I do,” you marveled, a phrase that sounded more like a breath of pleasure while he kneaded your back in all the right spots. Slowly the knots squeezing your bones began to melt away, the intramuscular twinges eased, and the tiredness of your day began to feel more like a distorted dream rather than a recent memory, now within you welling only the well-known sense of alleviation that Arthur always managed to bring back to you. ‘‘Is there anything you can’t do?’’

Instead of pulling away he enfolded your arms with his, murmuring a soft, raspy “Come here” into your hair. You let him drag you along to make you lie down on top of him as he leaned backwards, until his back hit the contours of the bathtub and you could finally settle on his chest.

He shrugged with a bashful chuckle. “I used to do that for my mother from time to time, her muscles used to atrophy easily. This helped her sometimes,” he let it hang in the air. By the term he'd used, it was clear that those were some of the very few nice memories of her he held onto. Then he leaned in to lay a prolonged kiss to the sensitive spot where your neck met the crook of your shoulder, a loving gesture that used to make your toes curl every time, started spontaneously when you’d cut your hair a few months prior and that he'd made a habit, even after your hair had gotten longer.

Each limb of his was gently cradling yours, his hands laying on your stomach and your head resting on his collarbone. You hummed in contentment and sunk into him further, letting his body warm up the parts of you that the water could not reach.

He coaxed you into tell him about your day, asking you what had appened to get you all so worked up. A tempting invitation to which you succumbed easily by blurting it all out.

He listened to you, very carefully, as you told him about the rudeness of the people you’d come across during your shift, the asphyxiating crowd and the unberable cold, and how all these things combined had overwhelmed you to the point of catching your sensory overload. You told him how the grocery bag had broken, and how you had to crawl back to the supermarket to buy everything back. You also told him with a chuckle that you'd been reminded once again of the reason why you never put on heels for work, and the irony of some milk spilled on the sidewalk being the reason why your evening had taken a different turn. When you mentioned it to him, you shrugged it off with a shared laughter – you skipped the anecdote about his Christmas present, and even if it wasn't necessary you pointed out over and over that stopping by the pharmacy wasn’t included on the list of things that had made you grow exhausted. Taking care of him never was.

Sometimes he’d answer you back, sometimes he’d nod to let you know that his attention was still on you, his occasional nodding each time followed by a butterfly caress along your thighs or an understanding kiss to your temple, and sometimes he’d laugh – those were your favorite moments, where you’d laugh together and the sound of your joy echoed on the fogged up bathroom mirror.

The hot water lulled you into a dreamy state as you made up for lost time since your morning, and you started to feel like yourself again. You always did when you where with him.

His lithe presence was palpable behind you, you could not escape from it, his voice soft and warm a balm to your ear as he murmured when the conversation about your day blurred into a more private and low one, with more silent moments and stolen caresses. You listened only to the sweet melody that your bodies made together, and relished in how good his embrace felt as he held you so tightly. The weight of his hand resting below your bottom rib was a distraction, as were his toes caressing your ankle absentmindedly and the steady rise and fall of his tummy against you. Gradually, a dull heaviness started creeping in your center and caresses became more than the silent moments.

"I'm happy to have you home,” he concluded, cutting through the foggy silence of the room.

Your hand raked tenderly through the fine hairs dusted on his forearm, a little ticklish and attractive all the same. “Now I'm really home.” Your voice grew low and needy as you nestled further close into his chest. “You’re so warm.”

Languidly, you lifted your head around toward him with your lips in search of his. You found them quickly. He gladly welcomed your initiative and his mouth opened up to yours, wrapping you tenderly, the warmth of his tongue more overwhelming than the one of the water cradling you in this cocoon of safety.

The way he kissed you was all-encompassing, sending you into frenzy, a different kind of drug that knew no remedy while his hand reached and then cradled your cheek to secure your mouth to his, a clear expression of his desire of not wanting you to pull away just yet. You had no intention to do so.

There were times when the taste of his mouth felt more intense around your tongue than others, when the cigarettes he'd smoked weren't plenty nor enough to cover his unadulterated taste; this was one of those. It enveloped your mouth and coated your every sense, leaving hints of faint smoky sweetness mixed with his breath that made you hum against him and catch yourself throb in the need to feel him a little closer.

Now that a plain feeling of peacefulness pervaded your senses, your body was allowing you to feel something other than your fatigue. Something deeper that had begun to seethe within you since you’ve seeing him again, a manifestation of how much you've missed him all throughout the day.

As he kissed you, you leisurely grabbed his hand from your cheek and dragged it down, over your breasts and then past your tummy to make it land on your folds.

He let out a soft, surprised hum at your sudden fowaderness that quickly evolved into a low groan as soon as he felt you keep hold of his hand in between your thighs. Your gesture emboldened him, made him feel irreplaceable as he joined his hand in what you begged, in your unspoken pleading, and truth was, he was irreplaceable indeed to you. His hand began to roam over you naturally, fingers slowly studying the heat and follow the contours of your inner labia, prompting soft whines from you already, and surely more than glad to take care of you now in this other way.

For a few heartbeats your hands joined together, your hand still resting on his own that was resting on your most private part, adapting to his movements as his caresses elongated across your entrance. The very promise that you belonged to each other and that you didn't want to let him go. You weren't going to, and you knew he wasn't, either.

With your lips still sealed in the never ending Arthur’s kiss soft whimpers buried in the back of your throats when he started passing over your fevered bud in short, slow strokes of his fingertips, that deepened every time his tongue slipped into your mouth and twirled around yours, smooth and warm, until you broke the kiss to meet his eyes.

“I’ve missed you so terribly.” You nuzzled his mouth, bringing your hand to his cheek to keep him close to you, breathing his own breath falling hot over your skin as it grew heavier.

You watched him for a few seconds as he leaned into the palm of your hand, smiling down at you from the top of his long lashes, always so tender and undoubtedly handsome while his eyes grew veiled with want. You gave his lips a messy kiss before your mouth tried to curl at the corners throught every shallow exhale in the attempt to smile back at him, but your mouth fell agape with a whimper when he dipped a finger deeper in your folds to gather your essence and coat you throughoutly to have a eased friction on you.

You sighed when he shifted slightly and his hard-on bumped into your thigh, your core aching to feel the weight of him, and your hand reached down to hold him in your palm already, but he halted your intentions. “Let me concentrate on you,” he rasped.

At that, you couldn't hold back the little whine that escaped from your mouth as he quickly exhumed what he had started, circling your clit, and then tucking it between his middle and forefinger and let them slid across your heated folds in slow strokes.

He sensed the subtle, familiar shift of your ragged breaths, turned into moans which had turned into helpless gasps when the light ondulations of your hips started and met his roving on you. “I love the sounds you make for me” he husked, his breath growing as heavier as your sounds were becoming louder.

“And I love you.” He giggled. Every time the pads of his fingertips landed on your sensitive nub, you were a little closer to lose and then completely immerse yourself in him, in his body that still enveloped you, warm and damp, and in the water snickering between your bodies, so tightly close to each other.

And then you did lose yourself in him, letting his hand guide the pleasure expanding from under his touch to every part of you, all around you. For each move of his fingers electricity pulsed through your lower abdomen still, begging you for something more as your walls clench around mere nothingness and you missed the way you stretched around him.

You put your hand back on his and asked him to stay. “Please, more,” you breathed into his mouth, a trail of disperate I’ve missed yous falling from your lips as though it was the only thing you were able to say.

Every time you needed his body, he never said no. The way he touched you, the way he caressed you, always managed to erase every trace that the city had left on you during the day. It was never only about physicality – not entirely. It was about what his soul communicated to yours, what he managed to convey through your bodies settled so tight and knotted to each other, impossibly to untangle.

He planted a quick kiss on your forehead filled with tenderness, before he finally slipped his middle and forefinger past your entrance and your head lolled back over his shoulder in an uncontrollable whimper, exposing your neck to him. ‘‘Oh, Arthur,’’ your hand braced on his leg as your hip rutted forward to meet his touch.

His nose nuzzled for a moment the tender spot below your ear. “I’ve missed you, too,” he whispered, voice tender and raspy, before his lips traveled down and latched to the side of your throat to draw a trail of open-mouth kisses to any spot within his reach. His mouth leaded each and every sound of yours, each wet mark that landed on your velvety skin pulling a soft moan out of you, allowing him to feel their vibrations under his lips before he could even hear them and acting like a fuel for his own craving, too.

He kept his eyes on you when his lips pulled away, his gaze enamored and filled with fondness like if into a trance as he watched how endearing you looked when you reacted to him, with his fingers seathed inside you and his thumb flickering over your clit in a rhythm he'd by now memorized.

After making love to you, his second favorite thing was watching you while he gave you pleasure. His uninhibited hand on your inner features, hiding you from everything other than the smoothness of his palm, or your body, writhing beneath him with each gentle tug of your hips, the urgency in your response to whatever he was doing to you.

When his fingers found a pace that matched the arch of your back and his pumping settled, his other hand reached around your back to your front. He cupped your breast and fondled it in his palm, relishing in how perfect it fitted your forms before his thumb grazed over the stiffness of your nipple in gentle brushes. The sensation of his calloused pad over the sensitive peak made you melt in his arms even more, your eyes fluttering close in bliss while the ondulations of your hips started to falter.

He knew exactly all the right places where to touch you, just like his hands had done earlier. Every time your body surrendered to him you were always surprised how Arthur knew not only your heart, but also your body as well, and how he kept every little detail of you in his memory to know exactly how to be there for you whenever you needed him.

A groan tumbled from your lips but this time he captured your lips again, swallowing the sounds you emitted for him that coated the room with a revelatory melody about how much he loved you, and how much he knew how to show you.

Every part of his body was serving to show your body how much, and slowly the familiar flame you felt flaring from within came back again, running through your body in small waves of pleasure as you pulsed around him, overwhelmed with all that he was making you feel. Unfathomable versions of his name filled the room all of a sudden, a distorted echo that mirrored how much you, too, loved him. Feeling like you were reaching for the stars, yet still there, in the arms of your lover who never lost the hold of you.

He held you tight in his arms and kissed your forehead once more as your mind cleared up from your foggy climax and returned to him. “Tell me one of your jokes, please Arth,” you breathed, your head coming to rest again on his collarbone as you tried to catch your breath, each of your exhales shallow and uneven still, ‘‘I really need one now.’’

He chuckled softly and muttered an okay, always so bahsful, despite being aware of the effect he had on you. He cleared his throat. “Why do I always call my girlfriend honey?” You stayed quiet as he set the timing and built enough suspense, curious to know the answer of his joke. “Because she is bee-utiful,” he delivered, not trying to hide the hint of pride that filled his voice. If the origin of his pride was his joke or how well he knew how to touch you, you weren’t quiet sure. As well as you knew him it was probably both.

Your mouth opened into a hearty, airy laugh, another sound you made just for him that soon echoed within the bathroom walls. Whether it was for one of his jokes or for the way he touched you, every joyful chuckle that tumbled from your lips or every sudden whimper, the sounds you made were always, unquestionably made for him.

Eager to look at him you turned around to him, the water waving around you as you moved to face him. When you finally met his handsome features you grinned at him, his hands coming to your back to keep you close. The sight of him warmed you, your smile mirroring his own upon hearing your laughter, and you took him in. You brought your hand to his face and ran the pads of your fingers across his hairline, admiring the relaxed, plain expanse of his forehead and how smooth it was at the touch, feeling it crease when he smiled fondly at you. Following the fine lines onto his skin your hand moved downwards to his cheek, tracing the charming wrinkles around his mouth that you loved dearly, marveling at how deeply carved on his face were. Oh, he was so handsome, and so yours, and you loved him so much. “My boyfriend’s pretty bee-utiful, too,” you purred, stealing a soft kiss from him. Before pulling away your lips lingered to lay a gentle kiss on the wrinkle to the left of his mouth. ‘‘You tell jokes like you make love to me.’’ You confessed in earnest.

He ducked his head in a shy smile. The flustered hint in his gaze, however, made it clear that your words had delighted him. "With you it comes easy, you’re my muse for everything.”

“It’s because you’re good at it,” you stated as a matter of fact. Your eyes fell on his endearing curly lock, somehow still out of place; you brought your fingers to his face again and gave it a gentle swipe of your pads before you tucked it behind his ear. One of the little, symbolic reminders of the endless hours Arthur spent sitting at the writing table, twirling the brown lock around his fingers as time melted away around him until he'd gotten the joke right, or while writing thoughts that before he met you had no place to go other than those few pages of his journal. "Let’s hurry up, I have to focus on you now.”

He nodded with anticipation as he sensed the many promises filling your words, ready and eager to continue with the rest of your evening, but you continued to add one small thing that wasn’t small at all. "I love you so much, Arthur. Thank you for being so wonderful. For being here." With that, you captured his lips again for another never ending kiss, already savoring to hear about his day and to focus on him just like he'd done with you.

Arthur showed you every day that laughter and love walked together. Something that you’ve always hoped to be true, but never experienced. Not until he came into your life. No one made you laugh the way he made you laugh, and no one made you feel loved the way he did. With him, you knew that laughing together was just another genuine way to tell each other I love you.

You hoped someday you would manage to thank him for all he did for you, for always being the bright light of a lighthouse nestled in the midst of a raging sea. For being Arthur. You felt so lucky to be able to call him yours.

Arthur always managed to get you into a world where there was no suffering or tiredness. He showed you a part of the universe whose only anchor was his love, and the inner peace he bestowed within you. No matter what kind of day you had, every small distress was always worth it as long as you had your dear, bee-utiful Arthur to come back home to, because you knew that the second you saw him your heart grew already a little bit calmer, and life was a little bit easier.

•••••

tag list: @arthurflecksgirl @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @sweet-nothings04​ @flowerglitterwoman @forever-fleck

[stillebesat]

Stille’s Sanders Sides Master Post (Updated September 9th, 2022)

Here’s my official Master Post of my Sanders Sides Fics! 

All of them can also be found on my Ao3 account NikaylaSarae. ^^;;

For Tumblr, the links to all my stories are below the cut. <3

Enjoy!

The Brilliant 3 A.M. Idea  -Roman gets an Idea at 3am and must tell Thomas. -Inspired from Image posted by: organisoitukaaosteoria, Fic request: darude-sanderstorm

The Nest -Patton misplaces his cardigan and finds it in an unexpected spot. Inspired from series of text posts by: the-zebra-dragon and arc852, Fic request: sidewritings

That’s How You Know -Roman is feeling low after not getting a part he auditioned for and desperately wanted. The others step in to cheer him up. Song!Fic -That’s How You Know from Enchanted

Out There: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 -Logan finds himself alone in the apartment. So he does something he usually doesn’t do. Sing. Song!Fic -Out There from Hunchback of Notre Dame

Deep Heart: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -When Logan leaves the others in Patton’s room, Virgil takes matters into his own hands and ends up revealing a secret Patton wanted to keep hidden. (takes place at the end of Moving On ½) Inspiration from This Post Courage, Braveheart: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -Virgil had known since he was young that his chances for living long were slim. Still, he had hoped to have lived a little bit longer.

A Sweet Discovery -It’s 2 a.m. and Tiny!Logan is on the prowl for sweets. Tiny!Sides

It Takes Two -When Logan can’t convince Thomas to not give into peer pressure in a potentially dangerous situation, he turns to the Side he thought he’d never go to for help. Virgil.

Found in the Glitter -Working backstage is not always the easiest, especially when Virgil manages to get on the new guy’s nerves. Theatre AU

A Rainbow Connection -Roman’s on the run, desperate to escape the man who’s been able to control his entire life just by looking into his eyes. Hopping from airport to airport, Roman unexpectedly runs into the person who gave him the key to slipping from the Cobra’s mental control; Thomas Sanders.   Song!Fic

Shades of Truth: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - -Everyone has secrets, Roman knows this. But after dealing with Deceit in the most recent video and discovering that Virgil doesn’t like liars…he decides to come clean with a secret he’s been hiding from the other Sides.

Meeting Einstein -It’d been a horrible no good very bad and awful day, and all Patton wanted was to play with the puppies in the local pet store to cheer himself up. Instead he finds something completely different.

True Colors  -There’s a place in the mindscape that Roman only goes to as a last resort when the criticism from the others becomes too much. Unfortunately, it’s becoming an all too frequent occurrence.

A Work of Art -After a rough night of public humiliation at the hands of his old rival, Roman just wants to take a shower and get some sleep. His roommate has something else in mind though.

Contained-Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -You know what they say about Creativity. It’s best if it’s locked away.

FreeFalling- Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 -Sometimes you just need to take a leap of faith. Winged!AU

The Butterfly Effect- Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26  -Roman has three chances to change his life for the better. Three chances to fix past mistakes. Three chances to totally screw it all up. But who said life is worth living unless one takes a little risk?

The Training Program-It’s five a.m.. Virgil hasn’t yet slept and Thomas is summoning him. That couldn’t be good.

A Hero’s Rescue Part 1  Part 2 -After being defeated in battle, the last thing Roman expects is to have a soaking wet hero show up at his doorstep.

The Beginning -Creativity has an idea. A wonderful, awesome idea. Now…if only Creativity could focus enough to make the idea a reality.

Little Lies - Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  -All he’d been looking for when he’d revealed himself to Thomas was a little less work. One less secret to hide. One less thing to keep Thomas from knowing because his host didn’t want to know. To say it had backfired for Deceit was a bit of an understatement.

White Lies - Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 -Sequel to Little Lies -Deceit has been stuck in his ‘role’ as Dilyn for almost a year now. It’s about time he changed that.

CatScratch - Virgil’s learned to expect a lot of things helping the police solve murders, but he never thought that they’d actually find something that could crack his own unsolved case.

The Finish Line - After years of training, Logan Star is finally going to accomplish the one goal he’s had since his first High School track meet. Beat Roman Prince.

Growing Pains -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 -For the past year Logan has been fighting to keep a part of himself hidden. Only now, thanks to Roman, he’s been compromised.

The Grade -Patton: I’m sorry I graded your tests in magic marker, but I just felt like it.

Seeking Warmth -If he’d known he’d be spending the rest of eternity freezing to death on Earth, Deceit would never have left Hell in the first place.

Spilled Milk -Logan never expected to get in the middle of a fight while at the self-checkout of a grocery store.

Egg-stenuating Circumstances -Why is it that the simplest of quests for Roman always end up more complicated than they should be?

The Rise of Deceit -With the Dragonwitch destroying the kingdom, the Crown Prince has a difficult choice to make.

Tattered -Part 1  Part 2 -Left to fend for himself, Roman can’t trust anyone…right?

Raindrops and Cookies -Most people would only be focused on getting themselves out of the rain. Patton isn’t most people.

A Special Delivery -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  - “The stork brings the baby to deserving parents.” He whispered, quoting the words from memory. “All the lost, forgotten, and alone.”

In These Tangled Webs: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11 -It should be easy admitting to your roommates that you’re not entirely human. Only in Logan’s case it’s not. Not when he discovers that Patton is afraid of Spiders.

The Old Hoodie - 2 sentence prompt –Thomas glared at Virgil, eyes filled with hate, and held out Virgil’s old hoodie, obviously expecting him to take it and go back to who he used to be. “I don’t trust Dark Sides.“

I Miss The King: Part 1  Part 2 -2 sentence prompt -“I miss you… I miss the King” a sigh “Apparently, it’s the same for me.”

Infinitesimal -Logan isn’t quite sure why Roman thinks he needs his help at three in the morning.

To Break A Curse: 2 sentence prompt -Logan looked at Roman, eyes dark. “I need you to really think about what you’re saying, because you’re going to hurt Virgil even more if you do not.“  

Shutting Down -Having your phone die shouldn’t be that big of a deal…right?

Anxious to Touch - Virgil ca’t be around the others without hurting them, so he has to stay away. Only Deceit won’t let him do that.

The Path: A Tale of Trick or Treating - Remus(1) Patton(2) Emile(3) Remy(4) ???(5) Logan(6) Roman(7) Virgil(8) Diva(9) Duke(10) Prince(11) Picani(12) Logic(13)  Deceit(14) ???(15)  -2nd person pov. -You’ve been trick or treating at the Sanders Side’s homes for as long as you can remember, but this year things get a bit more…complicated.

The Interview: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5 -A normal day at StoryTime! Inc. takes an unexpected turn when Logan goes to investigate why his coworkers have made a bet using Crofters as the prize.

Virgil’s Interview: -It’d been his dream to work for StoryTime! since he was a kid, and now finally, Virgil may be able to make it come true. Note: Virgil’s pov of Chapter 3 in The Interview.

The Olive Branch -They used to celebrate Christmas Eve without Anxiety there to ruin things. But this year Roman plans to change that.

These Black Wings -An hour ago Patton had been loved, wanted, celebrated. Now? He’s on the run for his life thanks to the large black wings that sprouted from his back.

Chimney Sweep -Sure. It’s great to be able to see visions of missing children…but being able to find them still alive is another thing entirely.

Meeting Romeo -A Prequel to A Work of Art. -It was unfortunate really, but someone had to tell the Romeo standing on the street that his Juliet he’d come to listen to day after day no longer lived in the apartment complex. It might as well be Virgil.

Dance with Me -Patton’s never had a father figure to bring to his ballet class for Valentine’s Day like all the other kids before. But this year…he might.

A Midnight Conversation -All Virgil expected when he stepped out onto the balcony was to have a quiet moment to himself. Note: Virgil’s pov of ch 2 of White Lies.

Warm Fuzzies -Two Sentence Prompt: Remy thought that he didn’t deserve love, not after everything he’s done. But, when Emile walked through the door to room 127, Remy’s heart skipped an unexpected beat.

A Shadowling’s Happiness  -Two Sentence Prompt: “Where the hell are you going!?” “To the subconscious,  and you can’t stop me.”

Scales- Prologue  Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Epilogue -Deceit hadn’t expected his absence from the Mindscape to be noticed by the others…until Logic knocked on his door.

Mother’s Day -Janus has never liked Mother’s Day.

Wanted -Remus knew one thing for sure. No one would ever want to Want him.

To The Moon - A Vague AU Prompt. -This wasn’t at all how Patton expected their wedding night to go.

The New Hire- Roman has never known his brother, Logan, to break a promise. Until now. Note: Roman’s pov of Chapter 4 in The Interview. 

Be My Dad- A Vague AU Prompt -Janus has no interest in being a parental figure to a kid, but trying to convince the universe of that is another thing entirely.

Moonshot-  Was it too much for Logan to ask to have just one date not revolve around sports talk?

The Sweater- Emile had said he was making a sweater for a friend. Only he neglected to tell Remy that this friend wasn’t exactly…well…human.

October ThirST -After seventy years of searching for his Soulblood, Virgil is highly doubtful he’ll find them tonight.

Lemon Drops -Patton just wanted to go somewhere where he wouldn’t be judged, wouldn’t disappoint…wouldn’t…screw up another relationship. (Takes place after SvS Redux)

The Path: A Promise Kept -sequel to The Path: A Tale of Trick or Treating -Trick or Treating may be cancelled this year, but that won’t stop you from keeping a Promise.

The Chaos Twins -prequel moment to The Sweater -Everyone has their hobbies, though Emile wishes his roommates’ hobbies were a little less…explosive.

On the Run -prequel moment to the Sweater -When life gives you an escape attempt, you run as fast and as far as you can to get away.

Nitemear -It’s not considered running away if you’re merely trying to find a more defensible position.

The Key is Confidence -Confidence. That was the key, his father had told him, to getting away with anything.

Among the Branches -Getting woken up at the crack of dawn by your landlord can’t be a good thing. Fractured Trust- Trust is a tender thing, easily made…and just as easily broken. Written for the Two sentence prompt -"Why don't you trust me Roman?" Patton asked tightening his grip on Roman's shirt. "P-Patton I-" Roman stuttered out fearfully.

A Mini’s Pep Talk -It shouldn’t surprise Roman, at this point, that on top of an already no good really really bad day he ends up getting attacked by another Side’s Mini-Me while looking for his own. (Takes place after SVS Redux)

The (K)nightmare -They say that the brain uses Dreams to help understand and solve problems one faces in the waking world.

Demon Comfort -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 -Lurking under a Human’s bed should be downright dull for a Demon of Logan’s rank. And yet…he can’t help but be intrigued by his human charge.

First Contact - Things would be so much easier if only their human, Virgil, would talk to them.

Meeting Virgil (5x1) - Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 -Five times Remy tried to give Virgil a child and the one time he succeeded. A Special Delivery Prequel. 

Catch Me (If You Can) - Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 -Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick.

Beneath the Moon - Part 1  Part 2 Part 3 -After all the research he’d done, after all the signs he’d been experiencing. Logan needed someone to tell him he wasn’t crazy. And Roman…Roman had always been the one most likely to believe in the fantastical, the impossible, the…supernatural.

Hello Darkness (My Old ... Friend?) - Part 1  -Is it possible to search for something…for someone…when you don’t even remember that they’re missing?

Dance Break! -Roman suddenly jumped up, a sparkle in his eyes, as he turned, seeking out the first person he can find and holding out his hand. “Dance with me!” (Written with @kieraelieson)​

Christmas Eve -Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5 -Of all the barriers that Janus expected to have to overcome in order to get his son a pet for Christmas, encountering his Ex, Roman, working in the pet store had never once crossed his mind.

Code: Blanket -Part 1  Part 2 -A friendship doesn’t stop just because one person decides to act like a dick. Especially when said dick is obviously in trouble.

An Unconventional Defeat -Patton knew that heroes started out young, far younger than villains ever did. But this young?

Into the Fray -It wasn’t like he shouldn’t have expected this. It seemed like any plan involving him and Virgil had a tendency to well…go astray.

No Longer Alone -Growing up in isolation away from people has been all that Virgil’s ever known. That changes today.

A Restless Christmas Eve -Even if it had been five years since he’d appeared in the real world, this still felt like it should have been a Virgil problem and not a Deceit one. He’d never had issues staying asleep before. Let alone ending up wide awake, feeling like he needed to–to–just move. Get out. Because of a stupid storm.

Out Camping - Part 1  Part 2 -A Father and Son Camping Trip.

Sanders Sides Art Portals AU-  Deceit  Roman  Patton Logan  Virgil

[missnxthingg]

i love your writing so much 🥺🥺 do you think you could write something for tom when it’s snowing and it’s loosely based on the song ‘baby it’s cold outside’ but like less creepy? maybe the snow is bad and tom doesn’t want her to leave yet? something like that!! sorry if it’s confusing

A/N: It’s almost Christmas everyone, and I was looking for something to post as the last imagine of the year, something thematic. But, I wasn’t getting any inspiration, until I got this request. So perfect! Thought I don’t know if I portraited the request very well. I hope it’s good and once again, I’m so sorry to change it a little bit (we already talked privately). Also, thank you, reader, for sticking around with me during the whole year, and let’s just hope we all stick around for another one.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Female Reader

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: None, I guess.

masterlist | main blog

The sound of the television was all they could hear through the house. The girl lying on the couch with the person she loved the most in the world lying on her belly, softly snoring, feeling her fingertips stroking his hair. And it was all over the news, and she knew it was coming, the worst snow storm of the year, tonight. And it was already getting dark outside. She knew she had to go.

“Baby.” She whispered close to his ear. “Hey Tom, wake up, I need to get up.”

“Hmmm… Five more minutes darling.” He mumbled drunk in his sleep.

“Come on Thomas, it’s going to start snowing soon, and I really need to be home before it does.”

“No, stay, please.” He tightened his grip around her, as if it would make her stay. “Mum is going to make lasagna for dinner, and I know how much you love her lasagna.”

“But I really need to go. My mom will be worried, and I promised to make dinner for my dad tomorrow.”

“I can drive you home first thing tomorrow.” He sat straight to face her and she did as well, searching for her boots to finally leave.

“I can’t baby, I’m sorry. I gotta go.” She smiled tenderly to comfort him, but he looked a bit down, using his fingers to caress her back while she finished zipping her boots.

“Just one more drink them. Anything you want.” She left a small kiss on his lips and smiled.

“Only one cup of tea. No milk.” He nodded and got up to prepare tea for them two. “Can I borrow a jumper?”

“Yeah, I must have one over my bed upstairs.”

She slowly walked through the big Holland house, listening to all of the noises around. She passed through Nikki and Dom’s bedroom, and found them watching a movie with Paddy, all cuddled up together. She smiled and waved at the door.

“Are you going already darling?” Nikki asked and she nodded.

“It’s going to start snowing soon.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay?” 

“Sure. I really have to go.”

“Okay, have a safe trip back home.” She waved and the girl kept walking.

Only one room left with its lights on. Harry’s room, with a soft music coming out of it. And there they were, the twins, lying on Harry’s bed, listening to some music and laughing at something they were saying to each other.

“Night boys.” She said from the door.

“Leaving already, (Y/N)?” Harry asked drawing his attention away from the computer to the girl on his door.

“Yeah, I have to go before the storm.”

“Oh, okay…” Sam said. “Tom is going to be upset though.”

“Why?”

“He was really looking forward to spend the whole day with you and his family before he goes away one more time.”

“Yeah, even Harrison is coming tonight, and you’re already leaving.”

“I really can’t, I promised my dad I’d spend tomorrow with him.” They both nodded.

“I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“But I’ll see you on Christmas eve, okay? Don’t you dare think you’re getting rid of me.” They both laughed and nodded.

“We know.”

“Bye, kids!”

Once she was finally in Tom’s room, she could see the many bags almost ready for him to leave one more time, right after New Year’s day. Her heart sank, knowing she would have to see him leaving one more time, to another country, for a very long time. So she got his jumper on, breathing his scent in before leaving to meet him downstair to say goodbye. The tea was almost ready, but he was getting some biscuits for them. She hugged him from behind and buried her face on his neck, feeling his whole body shiver. 

“We had a good day, didn’t we Holland?”

“Yeah. I got to spend it with my favourite people in the world, and my favourite girl too.” He turned around and leaned against the counter, pulling her by the waist.

“I love you.” She whispered, finally closing the gap between them.

“I love you too.” He whispered once the kiss was over.

‘“Come on, let’s drink this tea, because I gotta go.”

She sat back down on the couch and Tom followed her with the two mugs and plate of biscuits. Before he sat down, the doorbell rang and he went to answer it, meeting with Harrison and Tuwaine. She knew they were coming, but something about seeing them made her want to stay.

“(Y/N), good to see you!” Harrison said, giving her a big hug.

“Oh, my big boys! I was just leaving.”

“Leaving. Why?” Tuwaine asked.

“I really can’t stay.” She said and they nodded.

“Well, it was good seeing you.”

“You too.”

“We’re gonna go see the twins.” Harrison said, knowing he had to leave them alone for a moment.

Once the two boys were gone, Tom and (Y/N) got back to the couch, and he threw his arm around her, pulling her closer. It didn’t take long until she finished her cup of tea, but Tom wouldn’t let her go, leaving a bunch of kisses across her face and neck.

“You’re so needy today.”

“I just wanted you to stay.”

“I know.” She stopped and glanced back to him. “And I also know why. Sam told me.”

“That big mouth…” He sighed and leaned back in the couch.

“Tom, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I really only wanted you to stay, as much as you can, before I go.” She nodded and unlocked her phone, sending a text to her mom. “What are you doing?”

“Telling my parents I’ll be home tomorrow morning.” He smiled and she lied down the couch once again, pulling him to lie over her like some minutes ago.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“I never really wanted to go.”

And they stayed there for a while, just feeling each other for a bit, before the room was invaded by a bunch of boys. Harrison threw himself over the couple and snuggled between them too, making both of them laugh hard. 

“Harrison!”

“I knew you’d stay (Y/N/N)!”

“Come on mate, she’s my girl.”

“Oi, she’s my best friend too.”

“Stop fighting over (Y/N), and come help me prepare dinner.” Nikki said and the boys followed her to the kitchen, leaving the couple alone again.

“Never leaving during these cold days.” Tom said, kissing her cheek. “Or during hot days too.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You love me.” They laughed and she kissed him one last time.

“Merry almost Christmas Tom.”

“Merry almost Christmas, my love.”

(...)

“Can you stop bothering me? You’re gonna miss me so much once I’m gone.”

“Shut up, we won’t.” Paddy said and Tom rolled his eyes.

“You being such a bore around us won’t make us miss you a bit.” (Y/N) mocked him with a smile on her face.

“Yeah, we will.” Harrison said and everyone agreed.

“Thank you all for staying. It means a lot to me, and I love every single one of you.”

“We’ll always be here for you.”

“Yeah, you always will.”

Once it was darker, they all found a place to sleep, and Tom dragged his girlfriend to his room, and lied on his bed, waiting for her to pick a hot pajama for her. Once she was there with him, he pulled her closer, to be together one last time. She used her finger to trace every single freckle on his face and smiled once her finger found his lips.

“Promise me you won’t leave in the middle of the night?” He begged and she laughed.

“Of course I will, I’m just hoping you go to bed soon.”

“Good thing I had a bit of sleep during the afternoon. This way I can stay up to be with you.”

“Needy.”

“That’s me.”

“Good night Tom.” She turned around so he could spoon her.

“Good night silly!”

…………………

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Taglist: @missmulti , @zabdisamor , @cmon-peter-tingle , @lifeisabitchandsoareyou​ , @tinyplanet-explorers , @spideyyypeter , @princezzariel , @pastyoverlord265 , @dumandbass , @lilgaga98,@tomshufflepuff, @deathofthethrones , @unicornslothfish, @coonflix , @itsjustahuman, @legendsofwholock , @emistrash, @starlightfound, @sandran04, @paaaam97, @pure-ghost, @unconditional-love-and-support, @chatnoirfangirl1624, @heartofholland

[ailithnight]

AT LONG LAST! The long awaited, month and a half late I’m so sorry, Sequel to Gifts from the Dark Side! So, yeah. I meant to have this finished and posted on Christmas... I’m very sorry to all the people who have waited so long they probably don’t even remember the first fic. Or those who have changed their url’s since asking to be tagged. I don’t know why but I got through about 4/5 of this and just... lost the motivation. And I didn’t want to force an unsatisfying ending for it, so I just kind of shelved it until I could find it in my heart to come back and finish it. Which I FINALLY did! Yay! So without further ado, here it is. 

Title: Gift from the Light Sides Words: 5687 (Mercy, I really did that!) Content Warnings: Some Angst. Panic Attack. Crying. Lots of Crying. Sleepless night. Mild self-deprecation. I think that’s it, but message me if I should add something.

General Tagslist: @moose-squirrel05, @didsomeonesayprince, @readeatfightlove13

Gifts from the Dark Side Tagslist: @uwillbeefound, @jughead-is-canonically-aroace, @highpriestessofthexeoniancouncil, @its-raining-cats, @lightlady599, @leesacrakon, @milomeepit, @lenakszak, @five-hour-anxiety​, @nightmarejasmine​, @theamberrose97​, @lizziepopanime​, @llamaly​, @cinquefoilelove​, @nerdy-emo-royal-dad​, @bangthekobrakid​, @soiguessthisismyusername​, @samidaboss3​

Virgil was honestly shocked by how much could change in just one year. Less than that really. Half a year more like. It was astonishing, wonderful, and terrifying all at once. Virgil didn’t typically handle change all that well. He couldn’t help it. Change meant differences. Differences meant new things that could go wrong. And Virgil was driven by his own nature as Anxiety, to imagine each and every possible and impossible scenario. Which is what he was doing now. Though this time, not for Thomas.

What if they’re angry at me? All those years of lying, what if it makes them upset. What if they hate me. What if they hate themselves? Oh god, what if they feel guilty? What if I make them feel guilty? What if they’re mad at me for making them feel guilty. I can’t. I can’t do that to them. But I can’t do nothing. I have to do something. Something has to change. What do I do? Dammit! What am I supposed to do now!

Here Virgil was, pacing a small circle in his room, wrapping paper of half a dozen varieties strewn around his room, tape and tissue paper making home of his space. The question had been plaguing him all month and now, here it was, December 24th, and Virgil felt no closer to a decent answer. In all those years, dreaming of acceptance, Virgil had never believed it even remotely possible enough to imagine the real-world implications. It was a genie wish, now coming true, and Virgil was facing the unforeseen consequences.

There were several benefits to being semi-fictional. One of which was an expedited healing process. Things that for a normal person would take days to heal, would take only an hour or two for the sides. Weeks became a handful of days and months not more than a few weeks. But even at this reduced rate, it was still taking the sides months of work and effort to recover from the psychological damage the past 28 years had done. Virgil was struggling in his own way, slowly but surely finding his place among the others and rebuilding his own sense of self-worth. Forgiving them had been easy, forgetting… not so much. And for the other’s forgiving themselves was a challenge almost as hard as Virgil’s battle. Guilt and shame and an intense desire to right the wrongs were only logical after discovering you had mistreated someone for so many years. Virgil knew they were struggling to come to terms with their past actions. He had no desire to make it harder. Which is why as Christmas Day drew ever nearer, Virgil found himself pacing his room trying to figure out what to do.

Patton had been so shy when asking Virgil if he wanted to celebrate Christmas with them. He made a point of emphasizing that Virgil didn’t have to do anything that he didn’t want to or feel comfortable doing. Of course, Virgil wanted nothing more than to spend the holidays with his family. Upon expressing this, Patton’s whole demeanor had shifted, becoming once more the bubbly, excited character he typically was. “Oh wonderful! It’s going to be so much fun having all the Kiddos together. You can help us decorate and bake and we’ll leave cookies for Santa and I’m sure he’ll leave you a present too this year.” That had given Virgil pause.

“I-I-I d-don’t know Pat,” Virgil stammered out. “I mean, he never has before. And I’m not… really the one who… has changed… a lot.”

“Nonsense!” Roman had exclaimed from the stairs, helping Logan haul down a large storage container Virgil assumed held the Christmas stuff. The noise had evidently startled everyone as Virgil and Patton both jumped and Logan almost dropped the box. Patton and Virgil stood to help them. Once the box was safely on the floor, Logan spoke.

“Virgil, I suspect that since Thomas has now accepted that you are a good guy, given that this is his mind, it is likely you will land on the so called ‘nice list’ this year.”

“Yeah!” Patton giggled. “I’m sure Santa knows you’re a good guy now! He’ll probably leave extra stuff to make up for all the years he messed up.” Virgil gaze shifted between the three of them, so hopeful and happy. He couldn’t find the words to tell them the truth, to dash their hopes and layer on the guilt. So, he didn’t.

“Maybe.” He muttered, shifting uncomfortably. Thankfully, they seemed to understand the Virgil wanted to drop the subject. They cracked open the storage box and together made the mindscape commons festive.

Now it was late at night on Christmas Eve and Virgil had spent the whole day in his room bouncing between monitoring video progress, then reception; and wracking his brain for a solution to his current conundrum. The three typically wrapped presents were waiting in their annual spot beside Virgil’s door. This year, Logan was receiving a nebula painted inside of an eye, Roman a fancy new journal and fountain pen, and Patton was getting an old polaroid camera with film and paper. The gifts themselves were not the concern for Virgil, rather it was how they should be presented.

If I give them as Santa, then I also have to come up with more gifts from me. What else could I give them? I worked hard on those. And what about myself? I can’t give myself a gift from Santa. That’s just messed up on so many levels. Besides, I do want to tell them eventually. Just not yet. Not when we’re in the middle of all this other shit. Fuck, what do I do?

An alarm went off on Virgil’s phone and he glanced at it. Midnight. It’s Christmas. Shit, shit, shit, dammit, fuck. I’m running out of time. Virgil pocket the phone and walked over to his door. He opened it quietly, listening to hear if the others were up. When he could here three sets of soft snoring and no one stirring, Virgil picked up the three gifts and crept downstairs, as was his normal ritual. Last chance to change your mind. If I leave them, they’re from Santa. Virgil worked slower than usual, taking extra care to be absolutely silent. He sat back to appreciate his work, still internally debating. Seeing them there, just like every year, but in a whole new light given recent events, Virgil made his decision. I can’t take this away from them. Not now. Not in the middle of all this other change. Let this tradition remain. Resolute in his decision, Virgil stood. He ate the cookies, this year not feeling the desire to consume them all given that he had been able to enjoy them all month. In fact, it was almost difficult to eat just the normal two and a half. He chased the sweet down with half the milk, then finally retreated back upstairs. Now to figure out what to give them from me.

Taking a few notes from the video, Virgil worked through the remainder of the night, barely even aware of the passing hours until sunlight began streaming in through his windows and he could give a shy smile at his newly finished creations. It wasn’t much, but Virgil hoped the others wouldn’t mind, chalking it up to Virgil not really knowing what to get them. He had expanded on the card idea to give Patton a small book full of puns and compliments and a long list of reasons Virgil loved the dad character. For Logan, Virgil had used his vast Tumblr knowledge to compile an alphabetical list of slang terms and memes, including notes of which ones were already outdated and which ones were old and would likely become outdated soon. Roman had been tougher. What do you create for Creativity. In the end, Virgil had written an epic-like poem, telling the story of the dashing prince who saved his kingdom from a monster called Boredom with his horse Inspiration and his sword Imagination. Virgil was quite proud of the trinkets, especially considering the time crunch he was working on. He stood and stretched with a yawn. He summoned a few gift bags and grabbed some tissue paper from the mess of his room. I’ll have to clean this up before anyone walks in. Once the gifts were packaged and labeled, he took them on downstairs, firmly closing the door behind him. Once the presents were under the tree, Virgil released a face splitting yawn, the sleepless night weighing heavily on his body. However, Virgil could tell, too many anxious thoughts sparked and swirled in his mind for sleep to be feasible. So, rather than go back to his room and attempt to rest, he wandered into the kitchen and made some hot chocolate (coffee was never a great thing to give the embodiment of anxiety). With his warm drink in hand, Virgil curled up on the sofa and flipped on the tv, muting it so it wouldn’t wake the others. He flipped through channels until he found a familiar movie, A Christmas Carol, and watched the scenes flickered by in a trance-like state of almost dozing.

“Good Morning and Merry Christmas, Virgil!” Virgil was jerked from his blank minded staring by Patton’s cheery tone. He looked around, noticing how much lighter the room had grown as sunlight filtered in. Patton giggled as he came off the stairs and wrapped Virgil in a hug from behind. “Couldn’t sleep, could ya, Kiddo.” Virgil hummed a vague affirmation, too out of it to produce words just yet. Patton giggled again and grabbed Virgil’s mug, still half full but now cold. “Logan and Roman will probably be up soon. In the meantime, would you like to help me with breakfast?” Finally coming back into full consciousness, Virgil nodded.

“Sure Dad. Sounds fun.” Patton gave him a bright happy grin, which Virgil returned with his trademark, shy half smile. Once Patton let him go, Virgil stood and stretched, groaning as tired muscles clicked and popped back into place after no less than an hour and a half sitting hunched on the sofa. Patton was already pulling out pans and bowls when Virgil joined him. “What do you need?” Virgil asked, walking towards the fridge.

“Eggs, milk, bacon, butter, flour.” Virgil pulled the ingredients as Patton listed them off. Patton cheerily taught Virgil how to mix up pancake batter while the father figure managed the stove. Somewhere in the middle, Logan came down and began to brew a pot of coffee. Roman was the last to come down. He set the table. As the house filled with the sounds of life and merriment, Virgil’s smile slowly grew. This is the life. Only after breakfast was eaten did Patton stand, a bounce in his step, and announce, “Present time!” With light chuckles, everyone moved into the living room. Virgil felt nervous energy well up inside of him, but he pushed it down, focusing on the easy warmth of being with his family. First the stockings were distributed and Virgil noted the distinct lack of coal in his own. Then Patton sat by the tree.

“You do the honors, Padre.” Roman told Patton.

“Okay!” He grabbed a present at random, carefully avoiding the Santa presents, and read the tag. “To Logan from Roman.” Logan took the gift.

“Thank you, Patton.” He tore into the wrapping, exposing a pair of soft, unicorn slippers.

“To match your onesie.” Roman clarified. Logan chuckled.

“Thank you, Roman. They shall see much use.” Virgil felt warmth blossoming through him.

“Virgil, next one’s for you,” Patton spoke. “It’s from me.” The father grinned as Virgil gingerly accepted the gift.

“Thank you.” Virgil pulled off the wrapper to find a framed picture. Tears sprung to his eyes as he recognized the image. It was a selfie Patton had taken with Logan, Roman, Virgil, and Thomas in the background. After the whole ‘ducking out’ thing, they had gathered in Thomas’s apartment for a good feelings jam and movie night. It had been one of the best nights of Virgil’s life. In the picture, Virgil was wedged between Thomas and Logan with Roman to the side. Virgil and Roman both had red tints creeping on their cheeks and Thomas was doubled over with laughter. Logan looked bewildered. The memory magnified the warmth in Virgil’s chest ten-fold. He cleared his throat, trying to speak without too much emotion. “I love it. Thanks Dad.” Patton flashed a grin.

This continued on, Patton handing out presents and everyone opening theirs and sharing words of love and appreciation. Patton had gotten a scarf, hat, and mittens set from Roman covered in cats and dog; as well as a joke book from Logan. He has squealed when he opened Virgil’s gift and Virgil could feel his cheeks burning. Logan and Roman both also gushed over Virgil’s gits to them. From Patton, Logan received one of those Lego Architecture set to build famous buildings and things. In homage to Sherlock, Logan got a set for London. Roman got a scrapbook of playbills from all of Thomas’s past shows and from Logan, a book about improv and method acting. Virgil got a Nightmare Before Christmas puzzle book from Logan and a new makeup set from Roman. Finally, they were down to Virgil’s Santa presents. Virgil tried to hide his excitement, ignoring the shooting glances everyone sent at the stack under the tree.

Logan opened his first. The soft gasp the gift elicited almost made Virgil giggle with bubbly joy. “This is… incredible.” He held the painting up. “The detail is simply astounding. Thank you, Santa.” Virgil hid his smile with a sip of cocoa. Roman’s was next.

“Magnificent! Just what I’ve been needing lately! Thank you, Santa.” Finally, it was just Patton’s gift. Virgil noticed the way his fingers trembled as he pulled the box near. He opened the box and pulled out the camera, turning it over in his hands. Virgil saw the tears well up in his eyes. “I love it. Thank you, Santa.” The underneath of the tree was now empty. Virgil closed his eyes and leaned back in the couch with a contented sigh. Suddenly, “I’m so sorry, Virgil.” Virgil looked up where Patton was now standing above him. The father looked conflicted and lost. Virgil’s eyes darted to the other two who seemed to be in similarly confused states. “I thought for sure… I don’t understand why he would leave you out.” Patton was almost crying now.

“Pat, what are you talking about?”

“Santa.” The damn broke and Patton sobbed. Oh. Yeah. That. Virgil gave the father a soft smile, standing to give him a hug.

“It’s okay, Patton.”

“N-no, it isn’t. It’s not r-r-right.”

“How could Santa be so callous!” Roman sounded affronted.

“Virgil,” Logan spoke, calmer than the other two, “You should have received a present to. You deserve one as well.” Virgil pulled out of Patton’s arms. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat and come up with some way to make it okay again.

“But it’s okay. I don’t need a present from Santa to know I’m not a bad guy. Besides, there’s nothing he could give me better than this.” Patton’s sob slowed.

“W-what do you mean, K-kiddo?” Virgil flashed a smile, a real genuine smile.

“All I ever wanted was to be accepted, to be a part of the family. I have that now. Nothing Santa could give would be better than that.”

“Do you mean it?” Roman asked, sounding choked. Virgil nodded.

“Absolutely.” Before he realized what was happening, Virgil was on the couch, wrapped in the biggest hug he had received to date. Warmth and happiness and love flared almost painfully inside of him. They sat just like that for a long while. After a bit, someone turned the volume back on, on the tv. They spent most of the day watching Christmas movies. At some point, Virgil’s sleepless night caught up with him, and he fell asleep wrapped in the embrace of his family.

 “You got him, Ro?”

“Yeah, I’m good, Patton.”

“He’ll sleep better in a bed.”

“I wonder if he slept at all last night.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if the answer was no.”

“Shh. Guys, you’ll wake him.”

“Take him on upstairs, then, Roman.” Virgil snuggles into the soft, warm wall he was held against by two strong branches. The distant voices fell silent and a gentle swaying lulled him back into a deeper sleep.

 Roman couldn’t help but smile at the lanky emo currently nuzzling his chest. It was only 5pm, but Virgil had fallen asleep. Patton mentioned he had been up when he had come down that morning and Logan speculated he didn’t sleep well, if at all. They had decided he should be put in bed where he could rest comfortably and Roman, being the strongest of the group, had volunteered to take him. He climbed the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle Virgil too much. It probably wouldn’t be good for anyone to have the embodiment of Anxiety wake up in an unexpected place being carried by someone. It took 4 minutes, but finally, Roman made it to the second story. Virgil’s door proved a bit of a challenge, but Roman finally got it to swing open. The sight that greeted him inside was shocking to say the least.

First and foremost, Roman never would have expected a mess. The one time they had popped up with Thomas in Virgil’s realm (which would be found on the other side of the room outside of where the replica of Thomas’s bedroom door was), it had been immaculately organized. Of course, there had been spider webs everywhere, but otherwise, it had been clean. Logan had hypothesized that obsessive organization was a side effect of anxiety. Virgil had confirmed that if he couldn’t find what he needed when he needed it, he tended to freak out. But the mess alone was not what brought Roman to a stuttering halt in the doorway. It’s what the mess was made of. There was Christmas wrapping all over the place, despite the fact that Virgil had used bags. Most surprising of all was the three rolls in particular that stood out to Roman, the three designs he easily recognized. His eyes darted around the room, trying to make some semblance of sense out of the chaos. An idea tickled the back of his mind, but the implications were so horrible, Roman couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it. After several moments, Virgil shifted in his arms, and Roman moved. He cleared a spot on Virgil’s bed and laid him in it, tucking the covers snugly around him. Virgil shifted again and mumbled something incoherent before sighing and relaxing. Once he was certain Virgil wasn’t going to wake up, he made his way swiftly back to the stairs, leaving the door open behind him. He came halfway down before calling for Logan and Patton’s attention.

“I think there is something you two should see.” Patton was on his feet instantly.

“Why, Roman? What’s wrong? Is Virgil okay?”

“I… I think so. Just, come on. Let me show you.” Logan gave him s skeptical look, but got up and followed nonetheless. Roman showed them to Virgil’s room, where they all peeked in.

“What are you talking about? He looks fi-” Patton’s comment came to a stilted halt as he took in the whole room. “Oh.” Logan adjusted his glasses, then cautiously walked in. He picked up the three familiar rolls, balancing them in his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. “Logan? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” Logan turned his gaze to their youngest counterpart, “I’m thinking we should discuss this downstairs.” With that, Logan snapped his fingers, the mess of the room organizing itself at his will. Logan kept hold of the three rolls and brought them out of the room with him, closing the door quietly as he left. “It would appear Santa is not who he seems.” With that, the three sides left Virgil to rest, and went downstairs for a long discussion of Christmas traditions.

 Virgil awoke feeling better rested than he had in a very long time. He came around slowly, blinking blearily to clear his sight of sleep. He expected to wake up in the living room, perhaps on the couch, with the others around him. But when his eyed finally focused, he was surprised to see the almost black blue that was his painted ceiling. He blinked a couple times. “When did I come up here?” He turned his head, expecting the absolute disarray that was his last memory of his room. He was met with confusion at the tidiness of his space, all the wrapping paper stacked neatly in a box by his desk. He wracked his brain, trying to remember cleaning up, until he noticed something. Or more specifically, something missing. Shock pierced his system and he sat up, slivers of fear immediately beginning to crawl up his spine and sit freezing cold on the back of his neck. “Where’s the wrapping paper?” He threw off the blanket and stood, stumbling slightly as his muscles woke up. He staggered over to the box and pawed through it, looking for the old, familiar wraps he has used for many Christmases past. It became increasingly apparent that the paper wasn’t there and Virgil became increasingly desperate to find it. He threw himself at his bed, checking underneath, but only finding his art supplies and canvases. He checked his closet next, only met with his clothes and a few shoeboxes of old photographs. The longer he looked but couldn’t find, the more panic welled up inside him. After 15 minutes of frantic searching, breathing became too difficult to continue. He sat at his desk chair, struggling to regulate his breathing. It wasn’t working and Virgil’s mind began to spiral away from him.

Oh god, what if they found them? What if they brought me to my room and they found the mess and the paper? What of they realized it was me all along? What if they hate me for lying to them all these years? What if they’re mad at themselves for not knowing sooner? What if Patton is upset that Santa isn’t real? Oh god, this is bad. This is bad, bad, bad. I should have cleaned up earlier. I should have dropped off the gifts and come back up to clean. Stupid. Lazy. Fuck-up. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up.

Suddenly, Virgil felt a familiar tug in his gut. He tried to swat the sensation away. “Noooo. Not right now. I can’t. I’m… I …I… noooo,” He whined, but the sensation persisted until Virgil was pulled into the real world.

“Virgil, what’s wrong.” Virgil couldn’t focus on the speaker, too caught up in his own self-deprecating, panicking thoughts. “Virgil, hey, bud, look at me.” Virgil tried. It took a few minutes, but eventually he was able to meet Thomas’s gentle gaze. “There you are. Can I touch you?” Slowly, Virgil nodded. Thomas reached out, placing one hand on Virgil’s shoulder, grounding him further. The other hand grabbed one of Virgil’s guiding it to Thomas’s chest. “Can you breathe with me?” Thomas breathed deeply, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Virgil fought to match the steady rhythm, panicked thoughts fading to the background as Virgil focused on the simple task. After several minutes, Virgil felt like he could breathe on his own again.

“Are you back with us, Kiddo?” Virgil was only mildly surprised to hear Patton’s voice. If Thomas had summoned him, it made sense that he had summoned the other’s too. Virgil flicked his gaze to the father, but almost instantly dropped it again.

“Yeah. M’here.”

“Good. We’re glad.” Virgil flinched back from Roman’s boisterous tone. “Sorry.” Roman amended.

“S’okay.”

“Virgil?” It was Logan speaking now. The logical trait has knelt beside Virgil. “Would you mind telling us what caused this attack? Perhaps we could help.” Virgil couldn’t bring himself to look up and meet their gazes.

“It’s nothing. I just… couldn’t find what I was looking for.”

“Oh. Well, what was it. Maybe we can help.” Thomas was as chipper as ever, if slightly concerned. Virgil glanced briefly at him, then at Roman, Patton, and finally Logan. They were all watching him expectantly.

“It’s nothing important.” They frowned. A thoughtful look crossed Logan’s features.

“Would it perhaps be these?” Logan grabbed something from beside the stairs and three familiar rolls of paper came to rest in his hand. Virgil looked between him, the paper, and the others. Their expressions were unreadable. Virgil felt heat rise to his face and he hung his head.

“M’sorry.” They seemed to get a reaction. Patton came down with Logan, wrapping Virgil in a half hug.

“Whatever do you think you have to be sorry for?” Virgil thought for a moment, trying to put into words the weight on his mind.

“For not telling you sooner. For lying for all these years.”

“Well, why didn’t you say something before? Did you think we wouldn’t believe you?” Patton asked curiously.

���No. That’s not it. I mean, maybe once upon a time, but not now.” Virgil was hesitant.

“Then what?” He prodded gently.

“I didn’t want you to be upset.”

“We would never be upset with you for this.”

“Not… not just with me. Not anymore.”

“I may be alone, feelings are not really my thing, but I don’t understand what you mean, Virgil.” Logan seemed somewhat baffled.

“I didn’t want you to be upset with yourselves. For excluding me. And for jumping to conclusions. You’ve all been trying so hard, just like I have, to be better and I know sometimes you struggle to forgive yourselves even though I’ve already forgiven you and I just… I didn’t want to make it any harder. Especially not right now. It’s… it’s Christmas. Christmas is supposed to be happy.” Virgil couldn’t stop his babbling until the feelings had had their say. It was always something he’d struggled with. Once the words were finally out there, a heavy silence settled over the room.

Patton was the first to respond and Virgil found himself engulfed in the father’s arms. Virgil looked at him, confused by the odd mixture of deep sadness and joy that seemed to be fighting for dominance of his facial expression. “Oh, Kiddo. Virgil. It’s so sweet that you want to protect us from that we love you for it, we really do, but…” Patton trailed off, a small frown forming on his face. Logan picked up where he left off.

“But you can’t protect us from that. It’s illogical and it will not help in the long run.”

“Logan is right,” Roman interjected. “We messed up in a most grievous manner. We caused you pain for many years. There must be consequence for our actions. We must atone for our sins.” Virgil frowned. That’s exactly what he didn’t want.

“I don’t want atonement. I just want to move on. I want to leave the past behind so we can just be a family.”

“Virge.” Thomas piped up, taking on his normal role of mediator and leader for his sides. “The only way to move on from the past is to acknowledge it. We all must come to terms with our past mistakes. It’s the only way to truly heal. That’s the consequence Roman speaks of. The healing process, forgiving ourselves and each other and learning how to be better, it’s a messy process and its going to take time. But in the end, it will be so worth it. Because isn’t healing so much better than pretending not to be hurt?” Virgil listened intently to what Thomas had to say. He was trying to take to heart what he was saying. At the same time, his brain made a connection that had a small smirk pulling at his lips.

“You sound just like you do in the videos. Are you sure you don’t have a hidden camera set up somewhere?” The easy wit did wonders for the tension in the room. Thomas and Roman both chuckled, Patton giggled, and even Logan let out an amused snort.

“No. No filming today.” Something occurred to Virgil then.

“Then why did you summon us all?” Thomas just chuckled again.

“Actually,” Patton chirped, jumping up. “He didn’t Logan and Roman and me were already here.”

“I,” corrected Logan.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Said Roman, rhythmically.

“What, is it National Talk Like A Pirate Day?” Asked Patton cheekily. Logan just sighed and shook his head. Virgil tried to hold back a chuckle, but failed and just barely managed to muffle it with his hoodie sleeve.

“Virgil.” Logan spoke seriously. Virgil swallowed nervously, something Logan didn’t miss. He made a point of softening his tone when he continued. “We were up here seeking help from Thomas. You see, with how thoughtful and generous you’ve been with your gifts for all these years, we thought it only fair you should receive something equally special from us. We required Thomas’s assistance in acquiring it.”

“Oh. Um. Y-you guys didn’t ha-ave to go through all that tr-rouble just for me.” Virgil stuttered out.

“They wanted to.” Thomas responded calmly. “I wanted to. We want to show you how much you mean to us, Virgil. We can’t make up for all those years we excluded and isolated you. But we can make dang sure you feel loved and included now.” Virgil ducked his head, hiding the soft pink spreading across his cheeks, which were on display since Virgil hadn’t put on his make-up yet.

“O-o-okay.” Virgil glanced up from under his bangs, catching the broad smile on each of there faces. Even Logan, Mr. Emotions are the bane of my existence, was sporting one. Patton had bounced over to the coffee table were a medium sized box wrapped in electric purple paper sat. He grabbed it and bounced back over, plopping down next to Virgil and sliding the box into his hands. Virgil noticed a card taped to the top.

“We hope you like it, Kiddo. It was Roman’s idea what to get.”

“Well, Logan picked out which one.” Roman replied sheepishly.

“Patton and Thomas made the card,” said Logan.

“It was a team effort!” Giggled Patton. “Open it up.” Virgil opened the card first. It was a home-made paper card, like the one he had received from Patton what felt like a lifetime ago now. On the front, they had drawn Logan, Thomas, Roman, and Patton with Virgil soaring above them on purple wings. It read: ‘For our Guardian Angle, who takes good care of us…’ Virgil opened the card. Inside, he had landed on the ground and the others had grouped around him in a hug. ‘Don’t be An-Jealous! We want to take care of you, too!’ Virgil made no effort to hide the smile on his face. He carefully slid the card back into its envelope. Then he turned to the box. He glanced up at them, looking for confirmation. The all gave him soft smiles and small nods. Virgil tore into the paper and opened the box. His mouth fell open when he looked inside. He glanced between his family and the box, unsure if this was even happening. “Well?” Patton pressed gently. Virgil’s hands fell into the box, pulling out the soft purple and yellow fabric. He began to unfold it, unsurprised when it took on a humanoid shape. The unfolding revealed pieces of orange fabric mixed in. Once it was fully unfolded, Virgil held in his hands a Spyro the Dragon onesie. Tears welled up in his eyes at the thoughtfulness that must have gone into this gift. He couldn’t even imagine what they’d had to do to get it here within the last 24 hours.

“It’s perfect, guys. Thank you. I love it. I love you.” It was weird saying it, after spending so long hiding those feelings. But even weird, it felt right.

“We love you to, Virgil.” They all chorused back. The tears spilled over, but Virgil found he didn’t mind. Not when Patton was there, gently wiping them away with his own tearful smile. They were all quiet as the cried out their individual feelings of overwhelming joy and love. After a while, Roman snapped his fingers, gaining their attentions. He beamed a broad smile, looking for all the world like he had just had the most brilliant idea in the whole world. Virgil was more than happy in that moment to believe that maybe he had.

“What does everyone say to a PJs and Movies Day with the whole family.” The others all responded with varying forms of yes. Roman looked at Virgil.

“Sounds good to me, Princey. But only if The Black Cauldron makes the list.” Patton bounced up with a giggle. He launched himself upstairs to get some extra pillows and blankets. Virgil stood too, coming off the stairs to stand with Roman by the TV. Logan moved off to the kitchen to prepare some snacks. Thomas went upstairs to help Patton and also to put on his pjs, the sides having snapped instantly into theirs.

“It can be first. But we are definitely watching a classic second. Cinderella.”

“I vote Aladdin third!” Thomas called down.

“Don’t forget Winnie The Pooh!” Patton responded from the top of the stairs.

“And Big Hero 6 if we may,” said Logan.

“Perfect!” Exclaimed Roman, “A day of favorites with all my favorites.” Virgil couldn’t keep the smile off his face. His new Spyro onesie was soft, warm, and comfortable. His family was all around him wearing their own onesies, save for Thomas (Virgil made a mental note to make sure Thomas got one, too at some point). It was the day after Christmas and for the first time in living memory Virgil felt like absolutely everything, down to the last minute detail, was perfect.

Part 2

[jestbee]

Ships that pass in the night (Chapter Sixteen)

Title: Ships that Pass in the Night (Chapter Sixteen)

Tags:  Alternate Timeline, AU, Slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers Words: 3.5k Summary: Dan and Phil are YouTubers. The catch? They’ve never met, and Phil doesn’t want them to Author’s Note: I blame @ineverhadmyinternetphase for the fact that this got started because I said if she posted her fic Missent Text that I would write some of this in return. Then @charlottekath made vegan cheese from scratch and put it in a pie with whiskers on it and well… how could I help but be inspired?

Also I'll level with you, I wanted to finish all of Ships and post it all on Xmas day but the next chapter is proving really difficult so I couldn't get it done. So… you can have this one.

Merry Christmas!!!

(also this is completely unbeta’d becuase I didn’t want to disturb my beta at the holidays) [AO3 Link]   [Tumblr Masterpost]  

The glass is still there the next morning. He shouldn't have expected it to be gone but there it is. Freaking out tends to do funny things to his brain, like he's viewing them all from a distance or it happened to someone else.

He doesn't know whether he's grateful for the potentially dangerous reminder that Dan had turned up at his flat, or not.

He keeps his promise early morning, setting the phone to ring on loudspeaker while he tries to clear up shards of glass from a mildly wet floor using the smallest dustpan and brush ever created.

He narrowly avoids cutting himself, but he does avoid it.

When PJ answers he's reminded that not everyone has taken to bed for a week and are consequently up really early. He's reminded that some people have normal sleep patterns where their thoughts don't keep them up late and wake them early, filled with a jumble of everything, everything, everything and how much of a mess it all is. The world has continued outside of his bubble and that feels unwelcome, somehow.

"Hello?" PJ's voice croaks.

"Peej," he says, jostling the plastic bag and the brush and the dustpan and all of it threatening to end up back all over the floor anyway.

"What the hell, Phil? It's eight in the morning."

"I'm er…" He ties the top of the bag and sits fully down on the floor, facing the phone, legs crossed, still talking into the loudspeaker because it's nice to have noise in his flat. Sort of. "Calling."

"I know that."

"No I mean… you know. Calling. I need…"

He hears the rustle of bedsheets and he feels, for a moment, that sinking sensation of guilt that always comes when he's burdening someone with all of his mess. When he's this close to letting it spill over he feels the urge to build that wall back up, to keep everyone at arm's length for their own good. But this will never be solved if he does, and he needs to somehow sort out the jumble of thoughts and confusion and mistakes he's made over the past few days. Besides, he'd made a promise. And on this occasion that's enough to make him take action. Once upon a time it might not have been.

He's acutely aware that may mean he's gotten better, that he's somehow stronger than last time but he doesn't exactly want to test that theory.

What is it they said? There's strength in asking for help, too.

"I'm here," PJ says, louder, clearer, like he's stepped into a different room. Gotten out of bed probably.

Phil sighs, picks up the phone. He's still on the floor, legs crossed in the middle of his hallway but he turns off the loudspeaker and presses the phone to his ear.

"I don't know how to… ugh. This is so stupid honestly."

"What happened?"

Phil doesn't know where to start, the words spin away from him. How does he explain the horrible sinking feeling he'd felt when Cat and Tyler said what they said, the drag of fear when Dan had turned up at his door. How does he describe the suspended hope of something. Something. It's carved out of the solid weight of his uncertainty. He wants to believe, can feel where the belief would fit in his chest, but it hurts. It lays heavy, thick, weighted and uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to carry hope, it's nothing like he's used to.

He can't even find the words to confess that he's been hiding for a week.

"I haven't been in touch lately," PJ says, his voice is kind of muffled as if from behind his fingers and Phil can imagine the guilty expression on his face, like him texting could have at all prevented whatever the hell it is Phil is going through.

"I… it wouldn't have… mattered. If you had. I'm--"

He stops, because he's so lost in it all he couldn't even define what he was. What word exists for this? Sad? Confused? Hopeless? Nothing feels right, maybe it's all of that, or none of it. Explaining it has always been the hard part. Feeling it… feeling this way has never been difficult. He manages that with ease.

"Coffee," PJ decides for him, not waiting anywhere near long enough for Phil to come up with right words. "I can come there."

"I need to go outside," Phil says, staring forlornly at the tied up bag of glass, hazard now contained but not yet disposed of.

He doesn't want to go outside. He wants to stay where it's safe and familiar but, coping mechanisms aren't always productive.

"We can do that, Starbucks?"

Phil thinks of Dan pressed up close to him on a couch, thigh pressed to thigh in a steam cloud of caramel-flavoured caffeine. "No, um, the other place? The one with the crappy sandwiches?"

"I know which one you mean," PJ says, "I can be there in an hour?"

"Yes. Please."

Something on his voice must sound desperate because PJ is quick to follow it up with a, "Everything will be okay. I'll be there soon."

Phil is the one to hang up once they've said goodbye, like PJ is afraid to terminate the call if Phil still needs him. Phil suspects PJ would stay on the phone with him the full hour it takes them to get ready to meet in person if needs be. He's a good friend like that.

-

He doesn't get his usual order when he gets there. He picks a plain coffee and adds a little milk and sugar and huddles in a corner seat until PJ gets there. He's flushed a little red when he does get here, like he's run all the way and Phil is mildly guilty that he's messed up his day already.

"Hey," PJ says, coming straight to the table before ordering his drink.

"Hey."

PJ is hovering. He's doing that thing where he really wants to ask if Phil is okay but he knows that might be the worst question in the world to ask right now. Phil knows it isn't fair, he hates doing this to people because he can't expect them to act in all the right ways. But PJ has always tried so hard, and everything he does is with the best intentions but all the expression on his face is doing is making Phil's stomach twist up more and more with the overwhelming shame of having to go through this time and time again.

"I'm okay," Phil says, answering before PJ asks because he can at least offer him that, "Go get coffee."

PJ looks a little uncertain for a second but he does drop his bag, turn around and go to get coffee.

Phil busies himself with his phone but he can feel PJ staring him out of the corner of his eye, tracking him even as he waits for his coffee to be made.

Once he's back in the seat opposite him, Phil has to put down his phone and look at him directly.

"What happened this morning?" PJ asks.

"Not this morning," Phil says, clearing his throat. "It was… ah… a few days ago."

PJ nods curtly but his eyes narrow. "You didn't call a few days ago."

"No."

"Have you spoken to anyone since then?"

Phil shakes his head.

PJ sighs, like he wants to say something more. Admonish Phil maybe, insist that he should have called? He knows it isn't that easy.

"So what happened a few days ago?"

"Um…"

Phil takes a sip of his coffee and is surprised to find his hands are shaking slightly.

"It's okay," PJ says, "Take your time."

Take his time. Phil is always taking his time and stumbling over everything and he really needs to get out of the habit of running away all the time. He'd called PJ, hadn't he? He'd been the one to ask for this meeting, because he knows he needs help sometimes. He needs to learn how to ask for it better, and how to accept it when it's being offered.

"I went to a party with Dan."

"What did he do?"

PJ looks mad. He's put his mug back down on the table and he's sat straight up, poised for action, as though he would spring right over to Dan's flat and give him hell if Phil so much as implied he'd done anything wrong.

"He didn't… well, I'm not sure if he… it might all be in my head. Or it might not. It might all be completely true."

"Okay… what might?"

Phil shuffles down in his seat, his shoulders shrugged almost up to his ears, trying to make himself smaller. He wants to block all of this out but it isn't helping, hasn't helped so far, so he might as well give this a try.

"Some people at the party implied that Dan… that he was only... f-friends with me to boost his YouTube career."

"Friends?"

Phil looks down into his coffee and watches the light glint off the still top of it. It ripples as PJ leans forward in his seat and bangs the table.

"Phil… did you… are you and Dan…"

Phil nods his head, still not looking at him. "We… after the Google thing. I... "

PJ doesn't say anything. Maybe he has no words for how stupid Phil has been, or maybe he's just letting Phil find his own way around all of this. Either way, Phil has to look up at him finally to try and navigate the conversation.

"It was… Peej it wasn't like, well it wasn't like anything else. I know, I know, I don't want to go into detail, I know you don't want to hear it but… it had me believing it. It was different. It was… good."

It was good. The rarity of it, how special it had felt, like it wasn't something thrown away, not just a singular moment in time they'd both forget afterwards. It was something else. But then it wasn't.

"But then afterwards?"

"Then there was the party and people saying things and… I just don't know what to believe. How can I trust anything he says?"

"You just have to look at everything, Phil. You can't judge it based on this one tiny incident… I know I was cautious too. I didn't want to see you get hurt."

Phil remembers. He remembers how unsure PJ had been when they'd played games at his house, how he'd looked scared and unsure on Phil's behalf when they'd left Google.

"But it wasn't because I thought Dan wasn't serious." he continues, "It was only because I thought… well, I didn't know if you'd want to be in another… situation with a YouTuber."

Phil bites down on his bottom lip hard, leaving teeth prints in it.

"I thought so too… I mean, I don't want to be. I don't." Phil shakes his head, "at least I don't think so."

"Phil."

"Yeah?"

"Do you… honestly now… do you really think Dan is faking all of that? Could he have? After everything you've told me…And well, after everything he's been out there doing… doesn't that prove something to you?"

Phil doesn't know. Nothing makes sense any more. He wants PJ to tell him want to do, to give him the answer to every question that he has but he knows that's not how it works.

"He came to my house yesterday."

PJ nods, "He did? What did he want?"

"Mostly to tell me off, maybe. But I also accused him of everything. He denied it of course. He said the reason he tweets and stuff so much is because… well, not for the reason I thought."

"You were mad at him about the tweeting?"

Phil nods, "Yeah. I think… well it's one of the main reasons why I'm inclined to believe he's full of shit."

PJ frowns. He looks so confused, lines appears on his forehead, but Phil really doesn't understand why.

"You know," he clarifies, "He tweets whenever we do anything and he's always replying to people and… did you know there's a ship name now? It's ridiculous. It's just Phan. It doesn't even work out loud, like you have to write it down."

"But…"

"No, I know." Phil says, "That doesn't prove anything. But I guess I just thought that he was showing off, using my name for views."

"For views?" PJ says, that perplexed look still on his face, skin between his brows all bunched up. "But… Phil, what he's been doing on Twitter isn't helping him any. If anything, there are some people who think responding to all of Charlie's drama actually makes him look really petty."

Phil's coffee sloshes over the side of his cup as he sits up quickly, shuffling to the edge of his seat and bumping the table in the process. There is a small creeping puddle of coffee on the wooden table top, seeping towards the edge of it, threatening to drip onto his jeans.

"What Charlie drama?"

PJ brushes his hair out of his face. It's a little wild this morning, a huge mass of waves sitting fluffy and huge around his face. It's always a little crazy but he's been in a rush this morning, Phil knows, so it is quite untamed.

"You… oh God."

"What?"

"You really don't know."

"Peej… what the hell are you talking about?"

The coffee puddle has spread and Phil has to lean over, pluck the haphazard pile of napkins from this coffee tray and swipe the edge of the table. All the while, PJ is sat with his mouth parted, tongue rolled forward to his front teeth as if trying to find the words to say.

"Jesus Phil, I mean I don't know if I should be the one to… if you don't know."

"Tell me!" Phil says, his voice a little louder than he intends so that the people at the next table look up at him. He shoots them an apologetic look and lowers his voice, "please. Look… just tell me what's going on. I'm so confused. I need to make sense of it all and if you know something--"

"Ok, ok." PJ rubs the back of his neck with one hand, "Let me just… I need to figure out where to start."

"Okay."

Phil sits back in his chair, takes his mug with him so that it is cradled between his hands.

"Do you have Charlie blocked on Twitter?"

That comes out of nowhere. Phil hasn't thought about that in a while but he remembers sitting on his hospital bed, bag packed and finally back in his own clothes. He remembers staring at his phone as he waited for his parents to get there and deciding to finally put an end to it, resolving to start over.

"Yes."

"Okay. Good. I mean… That'll be why you haven't…" he sighs, "I guess I just thought Dan might have mentioned it."

Phil feels his palms go sweaty around the cup. He isn't sure if it's the heat of the ceramic or the mention of Charlie's name and the inference that he's back in his life, causing trouble.

"Mentioned what?"

He feels sick. The bottom of his stomach drops out and it's like he's dangling over a precipice, seconds away from disaster.

"Right." PJ picks up his cup, blows out over the top of it to cool it slightly, but he doesn't take a sip. "Charlie has been on Twitter. I guess he saw interactions between you and Dan and… well, he's been…"

PJ trails off and instead digs his phone out of this pocket. He taps around on it for a while before passing it over to Phil. Phil puts down his cup, wraps his fingers around PJ's phone and brings it close to his face.

He can barely look at first. Just a glimpse of that familiar username and a slightly updated profile picture is enough to make his chest feel tight and his breathing snag in his chest. He has to do this, he needs to see.

danisnotonfire: OMG senpai noticed me?!?!

Charlieskies: @danisnotonfire don't waste your time

Right from the beginning. It's all the way back to the beginning, to the point where Phil first engaged with Dan on Twitter.

He can't breathe, it's too much. But he can't stop, his thumb moves up the screen, scrolling down to see more and more, every time they've interacted, every time they mentioned each other, he's there.

danisnotonfire: #phanimalfacts is trending @AmazingPhil what have we done?

Charlieskies: @danisnotonfire good luck, we all know he likes to hide everything, don't be surprised if it doesn't last long

Charlie is still up to his old lies, still touting that old story out. How long has this been going on? Is it just Dan, or does he still drag it all out at regular intervals? Phil can't escape it. He's tried.

He wanted to start over, to put all of this behind him, to stop it all in its tracks. That's why he'd blocked Charlie in the first place.

But it hasn't had any effect at all. Charlie is still out there, never letting it die, never letting him be free of it.

danisnotonfire: your fave nerdy british boys met irl finally are you hyped? @AmazingPhil

Charlieskies: @danisnotonfire seriously, get out while you still can, he's not a nice person

He'd warned him off. Phil closes his eyes for a second before reading onwards, he can't do this. He doesn't want to see it.

But his thumb moves up anyway, and soon, it isn't just Charlie tweeting at Dan.

danisnotonfire: @AmazingPhil tweeting is not resting dont make me confiscate your phone

Charlieskies: @danisnotonfire did he tell you how I used to take care of him when he was ill?

danisnotonfire: what is it you are getting out of this exactly?

He hadn't sent it while he was with Phil. It was afterwards, when he went home.

Charlieskies: just looking out for you mate, you should learn from my experience. I know what he's like

danisnotonfire: jealousy doesn't become you

danisnotonfire: and I'm not your mate

Charlieskies: no need to be hostile

danisnotonfire: you haven't seen hostility yet i care about him so if you carry on i'll show you hostile

Phil lets the phone fall to the table. It clatters on the wood and he drops his forehead into his palms. They are warm, slightly clammy, he sucks in a breath and tries to steady himself.

There's more, Dan fighting his corner, telling Charlie to stop. Phil can't look at any more

"He's been…"

"Yeah."

"And Dan…"

"Hm."

"Shit."

If PJ is surprised by the language he doesn't let on. Phil drags his fingers down his face and looks up.

"Why?"

PJ shrugs. "I don't know. But… Well, he wouldn't be doing all of this if… if any of what you're so scared of was true."

Phil looks at it from that angle. It's true. Dan going off on Twitter isn't doing him any favours so why is he doing it? What would be the point? Unless…

"You think he's being genuine."

"I've only met the guy a few times, so I'm not going to sit here and tell you that he definitely is. But Phil… the way he looks at you. The way you are with each other. That's not fake."

Phil looks down at the phone again, screen faded to black. He slides it back over the table. He's seen enough.

"And he knows about... " he swallows. "Charlie."

PJ cocks his head. "He's been there since the beginning Phil. He's watched your channel and commented on everything you've ever done. Did you think he missed it?"

"No… just… he's never said anything. About… well like everyone had an opinion on it didn't they? Whether they believed him. Dan has never said…"

"Do you think he would? If you didn't bring it up?"

"I don't know."

He thinks about them sharing secrets. He think about Dan coming out and Phil telling him about his anxiety. He hasn't shared everything. Not even close. But Dan has never pushed him to, not once.

PJ picks up the phone and slides it back in to his pocket. "I think he cares about you Phil. I think he saw it all and he cares about you anyway. But maybe you owe him the bigger story… the bits everyone didn't see."

Phil shakes his head automatically because part of his whole starting over routine was vowing never to talk about it. He's made that final pact with himself to stay closed off from it all, to shove it all down and try and pretend it didn't happen. It was the only way he could move on.

But that isn't working any more. Still, the idea of telling Dan everything… it's scary.

"I need to talk to him, huh?"

"Yeah… I think you do."

[sgtbellamyblake]

not a very good santa claus

Summary: Bellamy deals with the responsibilities of being Santa Claus.

Word Count: 1,655

A/N: Hi again! So I decided to write another Christmas drabble one-shot thingy because I couldn’t get the idea out of my head and the lovely Emily made a really cute moodboard for my other Christmas one-shot and it really inspired me. I’ve had a rough day and these holidays have certainly not been the best for me but writing these little things have really given me something to work on, something to feel productive about… I don’t know maybe this is dumb but it’s been a distraction for sure. I’ve written about the kids once again, really excited to keep writing about them! Already kinda know what they look like and everything… working on the personalities. I love me a good family fic can you tell? Sorry for rambling. Merry Christmas!

[AO3]

For the first time in a while when Bellamy wakes up he feels well rested. There isn’t an annoying alarm clock, no cold little feet pushing against his ribs and when he turns to lay on his back in bed he realizes there’s also no Clarke. The room is bathing in sunlight streaming through the window and when the smell of cinnamon, sugar and vanilla hit him he remembers it’s Christmas Eve.

With each step he takes down the staircase he can hear there’s a lot going on, but then again when isn’t there? He can hear a familiar film playing on their TV, high pitched voices talking over each other and his wife’s trying to create some sort of order and peace amongst the cheerful caos.

He tries to peek into the kitchen quietly to watch them from the outside for a bit longer but two year old Levi shrieks as he sees him. “Dada!” He lifts his arms up, one of them holding a soggy cookie and Bellamy lifts him up from where he sat on the counter. Clarke breaking her ‘no sitting on the counter’ rules on Christmas Eve… as if they haven’t sat on the counter and done worse things before.

He kisses the little boy’s dark curls and leans over to peck Clarke’s lips before she’s turning around to look at the clock on their oven. “Almost eleven in the morning. That’s a record… at least for Bellamy post-kids.” She raises her eyebrows. He used to be a heavy sleeper until he became a dad. Sleeping in on the weekends nowadays meant seven in the morning, eight at most.  

“Merry Christmas Eve, Daddy!” Rory smiles enthusiastically and he kisses hers and Jack’s head. It still astounds him how much she looks like Octavia when she was Rory’s age.

Said little girl and five year old Jack are quick to jump in and try to show him all he’d missed while he was asleep, starting with the mess of green, red and white frosting all over their hands, scattered throughout the counter top and clumsily scribbled over the gingerbread man and tree-shaped cookies.

“They’re for Santa Claus.” Jack says as he licks his fingers. “And we’re watching The Grinch.” He says, pointing his food coloring stained finger at the TV playing in the living room. It’s Bellamy’s favorite Christmas movie.

“And you couldn’t wait for me to watch it?” Bellamy argues playfully and Levi giggles. “You’ve watched it like a million times, Daddy.” Rory tells him and Clarke chuckles.

“Fine, fine. I’ll let it slip this time… but only because it’s Christmas Eve.” He says.

“We’re also tracking Santa.” Rory tells him, dropping her makeshift piping bag and running over to the dinner table where Clarke’s laptop is set up. Jack follows right behind her and Bellamy has to put Levi down so he can toddle behind his siblings. He follows them everywhere now.

Just when Bellamy’s about to wrap his arms around Clarke she trails behind the kids and he’s left on his own.

“Okay, let’s clean our hands before touching the computer.” She grins nervously and hands Rory and Jack baby wipes before leaving Levi with his cookie in hand, otherwise he’ll scream his head off. He isn’t going to touch the computer anyways, or so they hope. Kids and technology these days…

Bellamy’s drinking orange juice straight from the carton when Clarke comes back into the kitchen and catches him red handed.

“Bellamy!” She scolds him and he shoves the orange juice back in the fridge. “Shit, sorry.” He laughs lightly and pins her against the counter before she can say anything else, peppering her neck with kisses as she tried to push him away. “Bell, I love you too but the kids are right there.” She tells him, and he shrugs. “They’re busy following Santa…” He’s quiet for a moment after that, as if trying to figure out how to word the next question. “Why gingerbread cookies, though?” He frowns. He’s not the biggest fan of gingerbread cookies.

“Because they wanted to make those.” Clarke smiles and turns to start putting the cookies on Santa’s designated plate. “This was my last job as Mrs. Claus.” She whispers. “Yours was to wrap the presents and later tonight eat these cookies.” She reminds him and Bellamy freezes in his place. Wrap the presents. Santa has to wrap the presents because Santa doesn’t have elves to wrap them for him. His three little elves believe Santa’s real so they can’t wrap their presents themselves and Mrs. Claus had bought all the presents already. Her job’s done. His isn’t. Santa’s screwed.

Clarke’s wiping the counter and talking to him when he focuses on her again and has to shake his head. “Sorry?”

“The kids are calling you.” She repeats.

“Right,” He nods and walks out of the kitchen to Jack and Rory hovering over the laptop, the Santa Tracker on the screen. He had no idea that was even a thing. “He’s in Australia right now, Daddy.” Rory tells him and Jack speaks up. “But why? It’s not time for bed yet.”

“That’s because depending on where you are in the world the hours of the day change because Earth is turning. Right now our side is facing the sun so it’s daytime for us but Australia’s side is facing the moon so it’s nighttime for them.” Bellamy tries to explain as best as he can to the five year old. At least he’s not in Australia right now. It’s still not even midday… he can manage to find some time to wrap the presents.

____

So he doesn’t manage to find the time to wrap the presents. It’s kind of impossible when he’s got a house full of kids and a wife who thinks he’s already done the only job he had. He couldn’t possibly sneak off, not even for half an hour. Not that half an hour would be enough for all the presents he had to wrap but it was something.

Then they have to get the kids and themselves ready for dinner at Octavia’s and actually go to Octavia’s. The whole time they’re there he can’t stop thinking about the bags full of unwrapped presents hiding in their closet. What if they don’t have enough wrapping paper?! Or tape?! Octavia gets him some tape just in case, and he still hasn’t told Clarke about it because she’ll freak out. He’ll wait until she’s asleep to get to work.

They leave Octavia’s after spending the evening with her, Lincoln and the kids and arrive home with a sleeping toddler and two half asleep kids, who aren’t ready to give into sleep until they change into their Christmas pajamas, track where Santa’s currently at and lay out a glass of milk and cookies for Santa, carrots for the reindeers.

An hour later Clarke and Bellamy are lying in bed and Clarke’s putting up an alarm for one in the morning to put the presents up under the tree. He panics because he’s not sure he’ll be done by then but he prays she falls asleep fast. It doesn’t take her long, never does (mother of three) but she’s a light sleeper. Getting out of bed feels like mission impossible but when he manages to he slips into the closet and gets to work.

He wraps Clarke’s presents first just in case she wakes up and then starts on the kids’. He’s halfway through Levi’s when he hears someone clearing their throat and he feels like a deer in headlights.

“What are you doing, Bellamy?”

Bellamy takes a deep breath and speaks “First of all, it’s Santa Claus and second of all, I can explain.” He raises his arms up in defeat.

“You forgot.” She crosses her arms over her chest and he nods. “You should’ve told me. It was unfair of me to leave them all for you to do.”

“No, I could’ve done it. I just forgot and I didn’t wanna-“

She doesn’t let him finish before she’s leaving him in the closet alone. Yikes, he’s not gonna hear the end of it in the morning. He keeps wrapping in silence and a few minutes later she’s back… with a bottle of wine and two glasses in hand.

They toast to another Christmas together and spend the night wrapping the kids’ presents. ____

“You have to eat at least one and a half so it looks realistic.” Clarke whispers, as she finishes setting up the presents under the tree. She snaps a quick picture of the lit up tree in the dim living room while Bellamy sits in front of the plate of cookies. “You’re Santa Claus and you forgot to wrap the presents so at least do this.”

“I told you it was an accident. And why do I have to eat them? Can’t we just… hide them away and then you can eat them some other time?”

“No, they’ll get gross.”

“They’re already gross.”

“The kids made them with love.” Clare tells him and he stops arguing.

“Just do it! At least one cookie!” She adds in a hushed voice. “And half a carrot.” ____

They’re woken up barely a few hours after they went to bed and had a little too much wine.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Rory shakes his arm and he feels two other little humans crawling over the covers. “Santa came!” The seven year old tells him and even if his eyes are closed he can hear the smile in her voice.

“And he ate our cookies!” Jack cheers and Clarke turns in bed to look at her son. “Santa ate all of the cookies?” She asks groggily and he grinned with a nod. “All of them!”

Clarke raises an eyebrow and shifts to wrap her arm around Bellamy’s back. “Santa ate all of the cookies?” She whispered, kissing his jaw.

“All of them.”

[geekmama]

Surprising

A belated entry for Day 6 of Molly Hooper Appreciation Week, in the same “All Holiday” series I’ve been pursuing lately...

Birthdays at “the cake place” -- Marcelline’s, a ten minute walk from 221B -- had recently become an established tradition for the small, bemused coterie of persons privileged to call themselves friends of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock had still been on the mend from his latest foray into drug addiction when he’d been the first to be honored, polishing off a slice of Triple Chocolate Gateau with an alacrity that had astonished his minders, accustomed as they were to his finicking (or nonexistent) appetite. A few weeks later, Sherlock, John, and Molly had treated Mrs. Hudson on her natal day. She had, as was proper, declined to share her true age, but she had thoroughly enjoyed the Mango and Blackcurrent Mousse she’d chosen from the menu and startled them once again with a few offhand remarks about her unconventional history. Then, about a month after the Sherrinford debacle, it had been Greg Lestrade’s turn (Strawberry Tart) -- a surprise gathering arranged by Sally Donovan. Sherlock and Sally’s interactions on that occasion seemed to indicate they’d more or less buried the hatchet, and if he and Molly had felt a bit awkward, Greg had only been unabashedly thrilled. 

Molly had noticed that Greg’s joyous reaction to the unexpected event had intrigued Sherlock, but she was unaware of the exact extent of his interest and the reason for it until her own birthday rolled around. 

The morning started out in quite an ordinary fashion. She’d somehow failed to ask for the day off, so she’d actually had to work, and it turned out to be exceptionally busy. By the time her shift was ending, she was so tired that she almost decided to text Sherlock and beg off coming to Marcelline’s at all. He would understand. He was, after all, a great part of the reason for her weariness, having kept her up half the night before again in the most delightfully devastating fashion. 

This had happened all too often in the several weeks since the events following Meena’s Hen Night, events that had finally altered her relationship with Sherlock in the best possible way, a true testament to the efficacy of drunkenness and forcible debauchery as he’d later observed with a cheeky glint in his eye. She could hardly argue with that, or with his apparent determination to make up for lost time. His zeal was admirable, if exhausting, and since his bent for observation, deduction, and scientific inquiry were leavened with a wonderfully tender regard, she hesitated to voice even the mildest complaint. However, it was becoming obvious to her that a regimen of love-making interspersed with light dozing until three or four (or five) in the morning would not do, at least not on work nights. 

She changed her mind about texting him, though. Once she left Barts, got outside in the rain-washed air of that early spring evening, she felt a great deal better. A short ride on the Tube, an easy walk through the familiar Marylebone streets, and she entered Marcelline’s with a smile of pleasant anticipation. 

And then a roar of “Surprise!” echoed through the cake-scented air, and suddenly she really was wide awake. 

It was the biggest gathering yet: John and Rosie, and Mrs. Hudson, with Mr. Chatterjee hovering near; Greg Lestrade with Donovan, Anderson, and Hopkins; Meena and her new husband; and several colleagues from Barts, including Mike Stamford, his wife, and the three oldest of their five children. 

Sherlock was the first to come toward her, saying,, “I tried to get Mycroft to come, too, but Alicia is out of town at present and seemed unable to guilt him into it via text.” 

She laughed, saw that he was holding out his hands and took them in hers. “You did this?”

“Do you like it?” 

She wanted to leap up, wrap her arms about his neck and snog him senseless, but she only had time to squeeze his hands tight and reply, “Yes!” before they were surrounded and she had to let him go to turn and greet everyone else.

 *

 “I’ve never had a surprise party before,” she said to him later as they walked along, her hand tucked in his arm. They were headed over to Angelo’s, just the two of them now, looking forward to a light post-cake supper. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Sherlock said with a smile. 

“It was such an inspiration to invite Mike’s children. They were adorable when they took Rosie under their collective wing.” 

“Mmm. They didn’t seem to mind being relegated to the Children’s Table. I always hated that, when I was growing up, but I can certainly see the advantages of it as an adult.” 

“Oh, yes. And eating dessert first, that’s another advantage. That lovely little salad with the shrimp that Angelo makes will be perfect to follow. And it was so kind of Mrs. Hudson to offer to take my gifts back to Baker Street so we could walk to Angelo’s. Everyone was too generous!” Molly sighed happily, remembering the beautiful silk scarf she’d received from Mrs. Hudson, Mike and Betty’s Amazon gift card, the NSY crowd’s big tin of Milk Caramel Praline Sea Salt Truffles from London’s most prestigious chocolatier, Charbonnel et Walker, and the pretty new jumper from John and Rosie (“Another fruit-based cardigan?” Sherlock had muttered, to which Molly had replied, “Hush, you! I love it!”). 

But now Sherlock had fallen oddly quiet, and presently Molly looked up at him. 

He glanced down at her, not quite smiling, then looked away again.  But then he said, “I… I have a gift for you, too.” 

“Oh! I thought the party itself was your gift!” He’d arranged for everything, reserving the whole shop and paying for everyone’s choice of cake and other refreshments at what she knew must have been considerable expense. 

“Well, that. But I have something else for you.” He slowed, stopped, looked undecided for a moment, then pulled her over to the entrance to an alley -- a fairly clean, respectable one, running between Petersham’s Books and the back of a gourmet food shop. There were shadows, as it was growing dark -- a few stars could already be seen between breaks in the clouds -- but there was a light by the back porch of the food shop that cast a pleasant golden glow. 

Still: an alley! “Can’t this wait until we arrive at Angelo’s?” she asked as he reached into an inner pocket of his coat. 

“No,” he said firmly, though it was obvious to her that he was tense, troubled. “Open it now. I… I’m not certain… well… here.” 

And he drew out a small, flat, brightly wrapped parcel. 

She did not take it at once. The wrapping was a shiny red, and it was tied with silky black yarn, and there was a tag. 

It looked exactly like her gift to him on that terrible Christmas Eve so many years before. 

She looked up at him, suddenly wary. But his lips were set in a firm line, and his eyes were… afraid. This was no teasing joke, then. There was some serious intent behind it. 

She steadied herself, and solemnly took the box, happy to see that her hand did not tremble. 

The tag read, as she’d known it would, 

  Dearest Molly Love, Sherlock x x x

 Her lip quivered, very slightly. 

“Open it,” he said, his voice intense. 

She slipped the silken tie off the corners and carefully loosened the paper from around the box. He took the wrappings from her and shoved them in his pocket, and she found herself holding her breath as she drew the lid off and looked inside. Two narrow envelopes lay there. The kind that held tickets. 

Her Christmas gift to Sherlock on that long ago night had held only one envelope: two tickets for the London Philharmonic, with Itzhak Perlman performing Vivaldi. 

Memories swirled through her head, old pain once again brought to the fore: climbing the stairs to 221B to deliver some body part to him and for the first time hearing him play his violin; gathering her courage to try once more to make an impression on him, allow him to see what he meant to her, hoping he would understand that it was no infatuation (well it was, but it wasn’t only that); agonizing over what to wear, and then throwing caution to the winds entirely with that black dress, heels that were too high, earrings that she’d thought festive but realized later were simply ridiculous. Her hair. Her make-up. God, she had tried so hard… 

She bit her lip, her eyes stinging. Picked up one of the envelopes and drew out the tickets… so many… good heavens… 

“What… is this the whole season?” she gasped, looking up at him. 

“Molly, please don’t cry,” he said softly. 

She forced a laugh, and sniffed, blinking back tears. “No. Sorry. But Sherlock--” 

“Eleven performances. For you, and for… whomever you like.” 

She pursed her lips. “For you, too, then, obviously.” 

He smiled just a little, but then grew solemn again. “I know my apology that night was not enough. I… I didn’t even open your gift until days after Christmas, and then… did you really have to work the night of the concert?” 

She flushed a little. “I had Mike rearrange the schedule. On the off-chance you’d ask me… and you did! But… I couldn’t bear it.” She sniffed again, and bit her lip. 

“Molly!” he whispered, and gathered her against him. 

She hugged him fiercely. Thinking how very far they’d both come since that night. 

And then the box slipped from her fingers. 

“Oh! Sherlock, I’ve dropped them! Let me go!” 

He laughed, releasing her, and together they bent and picked up the tickets, many of which had come out of the too-stuffed envelopes. 

Finally she stood up and carefully counted them. “I think I have them all. Twenty-two?” 

“Yes. Mostly symphonies. I think you’ll enjoy them.” 

“I know I will. Did… did you enjoy the one I gave you? Was Itzhak Perlman brilliant?” 

“According to all reports. I… er… gave the tickets to Mrs. Hudson and she took Mr. Chatterjee.” 

“Oh, Sherlock!” she exclaimed, frowning. 

“Molly, how could I go and enjoy it after… everything. If you had been willing to go…” 

“So it’s my fault!” But she almost laughed. 

He smiled crookedly. “You’ll get some good use out of that black dress, now.” 

She frowned again, with narrowed eyes. “I gave it to charity at the first opportunity.” 

“Oh.” He hesitated, then blurted, “You did look lovely--” 

“Sherlock!” 

“--except for the earrings, they were a bit much.” 

She sighed, shaking her head, suppressing a chuckle.

He said, suddenly inspired, “I could take you shopping!” 

“No!” 

“No?” 

“Well, maybe,” she conceded. “I have a couple of dresses that would work, but I can’t wear the same things to eleven performances -- not with the kind of attention you get from the media. But give me a chance. I may surprise you.” 

And at that, he finally grinned and pulled her close again. “You’ve always surprised me, Molly Hooper,” he said. “In the best possible ways.” And he kissed her.

 ~.~