#winter coats for newborns

[mini-kids-clothing-shop]

Personalised Baby Giraffe Robe

♥Comfort & Style for Kids - Discounted Clothing Sale!♥👏Hey there, fashion lovers! Personalised Baby Giraffe Robe🎁 Price Only 👉 £13.00👕👚 Visit - https://www.minikidz.co.uk/products/personalised-baby-giraffe-robeDEALS & OFFERS - Get Up To 15% Off When You Spend £15 + Free Shipping Over £25.Keep your baby warm and cosy in this elephant robe. With elephant patch embroidery on the front and face on the hood.Personalise with a name of your choice - up to 10 characters.Please note the thread colour for name is blackMachine Washable.100% Polyester Soft Plush Fleece.Matching Tiny Baby Size AvailablePlease be aware these items will be made especially for you, so they can only be returned if they are faulty, do not fit their description, or do not meet your instructions. 🏬 Shop now! 👕👚 (Please note:All prices & promo code are subject to change without notice and are not guaranteed.)

[reiding-writing]

sweet Spencer realizing he has feelings for cold!Reader? I'm obsessed

OH NO. [ONESHOT]

/oʊ noʊ/

Spencer makes a (rather terrifying) revelation in relation to his ice-hearted coworker, who might not actually be all that ice-hearted.

WARNINGS: fem!reader

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff?? || 2.3k || series masterlist!

a/n: based on the fact that it was 1°C when i left my house yesterday and i was freezing

main masterlist!!

Sometimes, Spencer Reid hated living in Virginia.

The temperature always felt colder than it did back in Vegas, no matter whether it was in the dead of winter or in the middle of summer, and for someone who didn’t have the best temperature regulation already, that just spelled extra issues for Spencer to deal with on top of everything else.

It was March for god’s sake, why was it only 40 degrees?

He walks into the office bundled up like a newborn baby, with a shirt, a vest, and a coat on, with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and knitted gloves on his hands.

He sits down in his desk chair with all the grace of an elephant trying to do ballet, the chair squeaking under his weight as he basically throws himself into it.

Morgan starts laughing almost immediately. “You look like you’ve just stepped out of Antarctica-”

“It’s cold,”

“It’s not that cold,”

“Those who have issues with temperature regulation are more susceptible to extreme temperature fluctuations when the weather changes,” Spencer rubs his hands together through his gloves in the hope that the kinetic energy will spread through his hands and warm the rest of his body.

“And let me guess, you’re one of those people?” Morgan raises his eyebrow with a smirk.

“Yes Morgan, I’m one of those people,” Spencer’s exasperated response is enough to send Morgan over the edge into laughter.

“Will you quiet down, it’s 8 in the morning for god’s sake,” Your arrival is announced with your usual snark, tiredness still lacing your tone as you walk around the two to reach your own desk opposite Spencer’s and pull a white beanie from your head to stuff it in the pocket of your coat.

“Sorry-”

“Not you Reid,” Despite the fact that you’re dismissing him as the recipient of your annoyance, it still sounds like you’re angry at him.

“Someone’s chipper this morning,” Morgan nudges Spencer like he’s speaking to him privately, but is raised enough that he knows you’ve heard it too. “You would’ve thought she’d be elated, she’s in her element now the temperature’s dropping,”

“I can hear you.” you scoff out your words as you unpack your bag on your desk.

“Oh I know, it’s more fun when you can hear me,” Morgan takes a sip from the mug in his hands with a smirk, leaning back in his chair once he’s decided you’d endured enough of his teasing for now.

You spend the next ten or so minutes in silence as everyone sets themselves up for the day. Everyone except Spencer evidently, who is still sat with all of his outerwear on despite the office being internally heated.

“Will you stop shaking?” Spencer turns his eyes away from his frozen hands at your question, although phrased more like an instruction under your usual tone. “I can see it in my peripheral vision and it’s distracting,”

“Oh um- I’m sorry,” Spencer clutched both of his hands tight together in an attempt to forcibly stop them from shaking.

“Don’t apologise, go make yourself a cup of coffee or something, those gloves aren’t doing anything to help you,”

“Right- Yeah,” Spencer takes your advice with a nod, standing up from his desk to practically run over to the kitchenette like your word was law.

“I know what you’re doing Ice Queen,” Morgan tilts his head knowingly at you as you watch Spencer scamper around the corner and out of sight, and you don’t turn your gaze towards him even after Spencer leaves your field of vision.

“I’m not doing anything,”

“You care about Reid’s well being,” He throws a balled up post-it note in your direction, hitting you in the side of your head and acting as an incentive to look in his direction, shooting daggers at the bridge of his nose. “You can’t hide it from me sweetheart, your icy façade is melting as we speak,”

“Whatever,” You roll your eyes as you stand up from your chair, exiting the conversation with a scoff as you walk around the bullpen and disappear into the unisex bathroom.

You still haven’t returned by the time Spencer walks back to his desk with a steaming mug of coffee cradled in both hands, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly at your empty desk chair as he took his seat.

“She just went to the bathroom genius she hasn’t disappeared off the face of the earth,” Morgan laughs in amusement at Spencer’s expression, staring at your chair like his gaze will magically will you into existence.

Then his vision goes dark, and he can hear Morgan’s laughter escalate. He’s not sure exactly what’s happening at first, but as his wind-chilled ears begin to warm and his eyelashes catch on something as he tries to open his eyes he realises that his vision has been physically obstructed by something.

He pulls up on the material covering his eyes, and like a magic trick, where your chair was empty before you are now sitting in it, head lowered to hide behind the screen of your computer monitor as Morgan continues to chortle at the two of you.

It’s a quick realisation that what was previously covering his eyes was a hat, specifically the white beanie that you’d walked into the office wearing this morning.

“What did I say?” Morgan gestures outwards with his hands like he’d proved some point to you that Spencer was clearly ignorant to.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll pull out all your teeth and do it for you,”

“Ooh I’m so scared, Reid protect me from this absolute monster,” Morgan presses his hand to his chest dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a smirk etched onto his face.

Spencer doesn’t so much as spare Morgan a glance at his comment, blankly staring in your direction as his brain computes what exactly had just happened. He was wearing your hat now? You’d put your hat on his head? You’d walked over, taken your hat, and physically put it on his head?

Under normal circumstances he’s sure he’d die of embarrassment at so much as the thought of having something that personally belonged to you in his possession, let alone be actually wearing something the belonged to you and invaded his olfactory neurons with your scent.

Yet here he was, so absolutely dumbfounded by your actions that he didn’t even have the mental capacity to be embarrassed.

“Reid,” Morgan nudges his shoulder, and Spencer turns to him with wide eyes and a half-absent expression.

“Huh?”

“Wow, look what you did to him, he’s completely shut down,” Morgan throws another balled up post-it in your direction, hitting you in the shoulder this time, and you bite your tongue as you turn your head up to look at the two boys across from you once more.

Your eyes are narrowed as you glare in Morgan’s direction, but he takes no notice of it whatsoever as he gestures towards Spencer with his head, smirking all the while.

Your gaze is substantially softer once your eyes flicker over to the boy sitting opposite you. The hat really seems to complete the whole ‘just stepped out of a blizzard’ look that Spencer’s outfit seemed to radiate, and the bright red of his cheeks seemed to amplify that look tenfold.

“Are you still cold?” You ask the question like you’re annoyed at him, and he takes it as your irritation from Morgan’s constant teasing bleeding into your speech rather than you genuinely being irked by him. After all, you had gone out of your way to help him warm up right? Then again that could’ve been because you just didn’t want to watch him shiver anymore. You did say it was distracting-

“Reid.” He turns his eyes up towards you as you speak his name with all the conviction of an aggrieved high school teacher.

“Yes? I mean- Not ‘yes’ I’m cold- ‘yes’ like I’m paying attention- You know- Uh-” You hold up a hand to stop Spencer from spinning into a spiral as he tries to elaborate on what his response meant.

“You’re not cold anymore?” You keep your eyes trained on him as you ask the question, emphasising it a way that indicated you wanted a straight answer from him and not some half baked explanation of why he was/wasn’t.

“No… Well, my hands are-” Spencer stops himself prematurely with a shake of his head. “No- No I’m not cold anymore, I’m okay now,”

“Your hands are still cold?”

Spencer nods, looking down at his hands sheepishly as if they've betrayed him.

You watch Spencer's hands for a moment before making a decision. With a resigned sigh, you reach into your coat pocket and pull out a small red hand warmer, holding it out over the divide between your desks to offer it to him without a word.

Spencer's eyes widen in surprise as he takes the hand warmer from you, a sinking feeling shooting through his chest as your fingers brush his. But it wasn’t the kind he’d grown accustomed to when speaking to you.

There wasn’t a shred of intimidation or lingering insecurity, it didn’t send a chill down his spine or make him feel the need to curl into himself, it instead left a strangely comfortable warmth in it’s wake, one that was quickly proving to be more useful at warming him up than the gel packet held between his fingertips.

It was a sensation he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually felt before, and his mind couldn’t make up whether it’s origin was the temperature difference in your hands as they brushed each other and the inherent warmth of your hand graced his, or whether it was an internal situation where your silent act of consideration was literally tricking his body into believing it was warmer just as a result of your actions.

Either way, he suddenly felt very warm.

He fumbles with the warmer for a second before tugging off his gloves and snapping the small disk to start the chemical reaction. "Thanks," he murmurs, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Don't mention it," you reply, turning back to your computer screen with complete nonchalance in your tone.

Spencer nods softly at your response, rolling the packet between the palms of his hands as his eyes linger on your face even after you look away.

Spencer’s beginning to be increasingly distracted from his files by thoughts of you. Your hidden kindness, your wit, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way you chew on the end of your pen when you're concentrating, the way your nose scrunches up when you're deep in thought-

He realises, with a jolt, that he's falling for you.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, he's paralysed with a mix of astonishment and fear. How had he not noticed it before? He's never been good at relationships, maybe that’s why. He didn’t exactly know what constituted as real feelings for someone.

Morgan watches the exchange with a smirk, but there's something softer in his expression as he looks between the two of you, specifically towards the puddle of Spencer’s emotions showing all over his face. He clears his throat, breaking the momentary silence.

"Well, now that everyone's warm and cozy, shall we get to work?" he says, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

Spencer nods, already diving into the case file on his desk as a means of desperately trying to get the image of your face and the feeling of your fingers brushing against his hand out of his head. You follow suit, the warmth spreading through the bullpen as you all settle into your routine.

He tries to focus on the case at hand, but his mind keeps wandering back to you. He remembers the feeling of your hand brushing against his, the way his heart had fluttered in his chest at the contact. It's a feeling he can't quite shake, and he's not sure he wants to. That was the worst part.

Oh no.

[hiiikiko]

𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 | 𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕜𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘

tlou m.list

it was your first christmas with your girlfriend, ellie, so you wanted to make is special of course! so, like the sweet girlfriend you are, you scored tickets to a nearby ice skating rink.

“babeeee, guess what i got,” you giggle, hiding the tickets behind you’re back as you approach your girlfriend, who’s meticulously crafting a gingerbread ‘house’…. if you can call it that.. it looks more like a gingerbread demolition scene…

“hm?” she hums out as she licks a bit of icing off her thumb and glances up at you.

“ta-da!” you giggle, waving the tickets in front of her face, her eyebrows narrow and a small pout forms on her face.

“what’s this?”

“tickets to that ice skating rink a town over, remember? jesse and dina told us about it,” you pout as you take a seat across from her, scooping some icing off the house and licking it.

“I don’t know about this,” she sighs and swats your hand away from taking another lick.

“ughhh, come on,” you plead, “it’s our first christmas together! i wanna make it memorable.. then every christmas after this we can look back at this..”

ellie’s ears perk up, “every christmas after, huh?” she smirks, quirking her eyebrow, “so you plan on having me stick around for more than one christmas?”

you playfully roll your eyes, “we’ll have to see how this one goes first, wont we?”

And that’s how the two of you ended up at the skating rink.

Hopping our of Ellie’s old ford and running over to the edge of the rink as she followed closely behind felt like a dream. The sound of children laughing, the smell of hot cocoa and the crisp winter air, the frosty breeze nipping at your cheeks, causing blood to rush to them and dust a soft pink over them.. it was all so ethereal. What made it even more so, was how your girlfriend was dressed, wearing a grey hoodie with a carthartt jacket over, black straight legged jeans, and a beanie you had given her for her birthday. Your outfit was simple: a scarf Ellie had given you earlier in the year when the last few blizzards were still sticking around, a white skirt, pink winter coat, knitted leg warmers, tights, and a matching pink beanie to go with your scarf.

“come on,” you giggle as you pull ellie over to the shack where you get your ice skates.

“ugh, you’re so energetic,” ellie laughs, letting you pull her along.

after getting your skates, the two of you walk over to a nearby bench and put them on.

“here, let me,” ellie mutters as she gets down on her knee and begins to lace them for you, her eyes fixed downwards.. you could practically count each one of her eyelashes..

“thanks,” you smile as she helps you to her feet.

the two of you made your way over to the rink, wobbling the entire way.

you clutched onto the railing for dear life, your legs shaking like a newborn calf. you glance around, not seeing ellie anywhere in sight.

traitor, did she skate off?

just as you’re about to let out a huff, you turn around to see ellie doing the very same. your usually coolheaded girlfriend has a painfully nervous expression on her face as she clutches onto the railing, her legs shaking as well as she tries to straighten herself up.

you let our a laugh, “you don’t know how to skate?”

she shoots a glare up at you, “what? no! wh-why would i?! i thought you knew how to skate, that’s why you invited me!”

you fall into a fit of laughter, losing your grip on the railing and falling on your ass, yet, you could not stop laughing.

ellie attempts to make her way over to you, only for her to fall on you, the only thing stopping you two from head butting each other is her arm clinging to the rail.

your faces mere inches apart, your hot breath forming a small cloud of fog as you stare into her pretty green eyes.

“this making for a memorable christmas yet?” she murmurs, her eyes flickering down to your lips.

“it’s not the way i pictured it but.. yeah, it’ll be memorable for sure,” you giggle as she presses her forehead against yours.

“merry christmas, babe,” she whispers before closing the gap and laying a tender kiss on your cold, soft lips.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ you find a thong on Joel’s backpack and you don’t know what to think, turning things awkward just before the holidays.

warnings_corny Christmas pick up lines, AGE GAP (20s/50s) but not specified, smidge of angst (reader’s fault) , fluff, chill mom!reader, pervy hubby! Joel, Christmas shit and a silly argument. NO PROOFREAD YET SORRY

notes_ fallacy family having their first Christmas together omg, it’s almost two years since I started the series and yet here we are, brb I’ll go cry.

• Fallacy series m.list (recommended to read)

♫ ♪ Pedro playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆ ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎‧*❆₊⋆

Celebrating the holidays in the apocalypse was not easy. In fact, the world had forgotten about holidays. For twenty years, days like Christmas or New Year’s Eve had no longer meaning.

But not in Jackson. Right after thanksgiving, the town would start preparing for the lovely event. According to Maria, children received a little present and a big dinner was made. In the previous weeks, the town dressed up with ornaments, mistletoe everywhere and the smell of ginger and mint was all around. Almost like outside the world hadn’t change. But for you and your family, that came from a lot of suffering, you would not allow them to complain.

You had picked up your decoration’s box. One was given to each house of Jackson, to add more personal decorations. However, you picked up yours a little late, since it was your first Christmas in town.

You finished teaching early, giving you time to arrive home, meet your daughter and decorate the house with Ellie.

Cerise was about to turn three months old, she was growing, getting curly hair like her father, but she remained tiny, fussy and adamant. She kept doing the famous newborn scrunch and Joel often made fun of her farts, making you roll your eyes and criticize him for making fun of his daughter.

“Ellie, you’re home?” You asked taking off your boots and coat, placing your bag in the entrance. “Yup, Maria left like ten minutes ago”

Ellie appeared carrying Cerise, who was sleeping. The teenager handed you the baby and you smiled at her.

“Thanks. Hey, I got the decoration for the house, Wanna help me?” Ellie was not excited for Christmas but you could tell she loved being around you and Cerise.

“Sure”

“But-!” Then she rolled her eyes. “You must show me your costume for the charity”

“Oh f- you, y/n” you started laughing, trying to remain calm to not disturb Cerise “I look like shit in it!”

“Please!”

It was past midday when you were done making dinner. A warm soup made the whole to smell like winter and tranquility. Cerise had taken a bath, even Ellie was already in pajamas. It was then, while cleaning the kitchen, that you found Joel’s lunchbox in the little shelves you had beside the refrigerator.

“Silly man” you mumbled to yourself, grabbing the lunchbox.

In the living room, Ellie was reading a comic while Cerise was in her little baby gym.

“I’m dropping this to Joel. Mind if you stay here with Cerise?” The girls shrugs, eyes never leaving her comic. “Yeah, go on”

“Thanks, Ellie. I’ll be quick”

…

That day, Joel was working to build a new layer for the gates that protected Jackson. The team started the new layer before summer ended, even before Cerise was born. And now, near Christmas, it was almost done.

At the sight of your old man, you smiled. He went back to his short hair, just like when you met him in Boston. His belly was gone and his back pain diminished. Joel was in his best form, shape and condition.

“Hey, Texas!” You called him, making some of his buddies to look as well.

At the sight of you, the youngest started doing silly things to make your husband uncomfortable but truth is, Joel was only smiling at the sight of you. But soon turned worried.

“Whatcha doin’ here?” he asks, taking off his thick gloves, offering you a playful smile. “Are you alright? Cerise and Ellie?”

“We’re fine, dear. You just forgot your lunch…”

You brought him a sandwich and cranberry juice, it’s was cold and since your old man couldn’t get up early because he was so warm under the blankets with you, he missed his lunch.

“I thought- never mind. Thanks, baby”

Joel sighed, relieved. He grabbed the lunchbox and looked at you so lovingly, that it made you chuckle.

“What now, Texas?” You ask rolling your eyes, crossing your arms.

“God, I just want to get home, shower a you to give me a blowjob”

“A snowjob!” He glares at you with disdain and rolls his eyes before chuckling, catching the Christmas reference.

“Good lord, shut up” he had grown used to the age gap, but sometimes he remembered how full of life you were compared to him.“C’mere, baby”

He kissed you as usual because nobody was around. He would never hide his feelings for you again, but he remained reserved and preferred to be private when it came to you. Either way, everyone in Jackson knew he married you and had a baby together.

Cerise was a famous baby after all.

“There’s soup and flourless biscuits for dinner. I’m almost done with the Christmas decorations. I’m just saving the tree because I want to do it with you” Joel smiled, something you genuinely loved.

Ever since you gave birth, Joel had changed drastically, being open towards you and very understanding. Things had never felt so good.

“I’ll be at home before the sunset” you nod at him, standing on your tip toes, which he immediately understands and leans over to give you a big kiss. You felt relived and happy. Lucky you to stick along a grumpy unstable senior that turned out the most humble and loving husband.

“Don’t be late, Texas” he rolls his eyes to then kiss you again. “I won’t, baby”

As you walk away, you hear some chattering from Joel’s workmates, probably making fun of him for being a sweetheart towards you. And you don’t miss the female laughter calling him.

There is no reason to mistrust. Joel would never. The last time you both had a similar argument was when Freya, the town’s nurse, actively tried to make some moves on your already husband.

Either way, there are some days where you feel that too much positivity has a price. Like it’s not normal for you to be completely happy and in peace. Perhaps it’s the years of suffering and misery that remain haunting you. Making you believe that Joel would one day walk out, towards complete freedom like he once wanted.

…

Well, Joel was late indeed. You got mad and you started eating with Cerise and Ellie. You placed a plate with a big portion of food for Joel and then you sent your kids to sleep. As you were cleaning the dishes, you didn’t think too much about Joel being absent. Anything could happen at work, your take was that they had finished the new layer and decided to take longer than needed just to be done.

Whatever, you kept cleaning the dishes and didn’t hear your husband was entering the warm house.

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner. We finished the layer…”

Bingo.

“That’s okay, honey” you simply say without looking at him. “I thought of it…”

“Let me eat and then we can decorate the tree” Joel says, trying to make it up for his absence, standing behind you and softly caressing your shoulders.

“Just eat, Joel. You haven’t eaten anything after I dropped your lunch…” your hands finish cleaning the dishes, you dry up and finally face your man. “You sure? I’m up for the Christmas tree…”

“No, I’m tired. Let’s go get warm in the bed…” he nods, smiling at the sight of his wonderful wife. The same woman he met years ago, yet, so different.

“Hmm, then I’m up for a holly jolly

“Yeah? stuff my stocking with your big North Pole, Joel?” he bursted in laughter, trying to be quiet but miserably failed, making you start giggling as well. “Joel, shut up!”

“Well, baby… You’re bein’ a flirt” rolling your eyes, you had to go straight to hug him.

“Get my backpack, please…” you nod at him, approaching the entrance of the house, where Joel’s backpack was discharged in the floor.

You bend over to grab it and the soft sound of a box of band-aids falling makes you sigh.

“Close the fucking backpack, Joel” you try to be quiet while he distantly says sorry. And then you spot a sparkly red ribbon tangled in a zipper. When you pull it out, you realize it’s not a ribbon.

It’s a thong. And lurking from the inside, there an egg nog powder mix.

You have so many questions. You could’ve laughed. But you didn’t. Instead, your head starts questioning why he had a thong on his backpack.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You ask when he arrives at your side. “You have a whole festive fucking pack in your backpack?”

“Darlin’, Are you bein’ serious now?” He asks tiredly, which makes you sigh. “What? Do you think this is not for you and belongs to somebody else?”

“I don’t know!” You spit out frustrated, crossing your arms and realizing you had snapped. “I’m sorry, Joel. I just don’t know how to feel about it…”

You knew it was stupid getting mad over something so silly and immature. It could’ve been a joke from a mate, perhaps Joel actually got it for you. But why slip it like that?

That night you leave your husband all alone in the darkness of the living room wondering what he did wrong.

He stares at the empty Christmas tree and sighs, rubbing his eyes.

…

The next morning, it was Christmas Eve.

Joel got up only to find out kids had school. It was a short day and basically an excuse to gather all the kids and avoid interruptions for any final details to work on. Joel did not have any problem with having Cerise the whole morning. In fact, it made him slightly forgetful about the argument with you last night.

Ellie was gone, Joel heard her cursing as she was leaving, saying how shitty she looked with her elf costume.

Cerise and Joel had a good morning together. He made breakfast for her, then he bather her to avoid getting her later with lower temperatures. Then he paid Tommy a little visit to ask for advice and finally felt confident to face you and ask questions.

He felt hurt by your reaction and was eager to understand why you took things in such way.

He pushed the stroller carrying a sleepy Cerise through the streets of Jackson. Everyone seemed ready for the holidays, happy families everywhere. It made Joel to feel a bigger urge to run towards the little school. There was no point in having a silly fight during a special night.

So when he arrived with Cerise at the school, children were walking out, everyone holding a handcrafted ornament, others had snowflakes, others tried to do paper ginger-man cookies. It made Joel to think how would Cerise be in a couple of years while attending school.

When he entered the old building, he saw that there only were four classrooms. Only one was open. And as Joel pushed the stroller through the hall, he was able to see that the open door was decorated with little stars that had the name of some students. In the center, a baby pink paper that said “Mrs. Miller” and it made Joel’s heart to melt.

Everyone knew that kids loved you. The youngest always said hi or even hugged you, asking if they could see Cerise.

When he entered the room, it was empty, only you sitting in your desk. When you looked up to see, you quickly had to stand up upon seeing your husband and baby.

“Is Cerise okay?” You ask worriedly. “She’s fine, y/n. I just needed to pass by”

You nod, already understanding what he meant. You stare at his red sweater, the color resulting foreign on him, yet, welcoming.

“It was silly and-“ you try to start saying but Joel shushes you. “I’m the one talking darlin’…”

“Earlier in the morning, Tommy and I went to the mall” you only can tap your index finger against your desk, starting to feel completely embarrassed. “We passed by the store and thought it would be silly and fun to grab a pair of festive underwear along the eggnog. I also grabbed a pacifier for Cerise….”

“Now what the fuck? I completely overreacted” you admit avoiding his gaze.

“Do you really think I could possibly cheat on you?” he asks, sounding very hurt, which made your twist in remorse. “Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough to just fuck up everything for nothing?”

Your eyes water and you have to look down, ashamed.

“God, I’m so sorry, Joel. I know it was stupid…” He sighs, crossing his arms, also looking away, to the window of the little classroom. “I normally feel so confident about us and our life here. But occasionally my mind goes back to the beginning and it terrifies me that someday you’ll get tired of everything and just be free. But alone…”

Joel eyed you as you were speaking, and it broke him. Sometimes he forgets you also went through traumatic experiences along the way. You love him unconditionally, yes. But that doesn’t mean sometimes those traumas will not try to arise. And it’s okay to have doubts, the world was broken.

But Joel would give his life to never see you broken as well.

He pulled you closer, holding you tightly. His chin finding a home at the top of your head. And it made you feel safe. Like you weren’t insane for causing nonsensical arguments.

“I’m sorry” you repeat and he shushes you softly. “Having doubts is valid. But I can promise you, my darlin’… that I would do everything again if I had know since the beginning that my reward was you. And I will never get tired of it…”

“Intrusive thoughts aside, everything is perfect. I will let you know whenever I’m feeling odd and hopefully we’ll talk” he nodded, making you feel even more safe. “Of course, baby”

“And I love you, Joel. Like you have no idea” you hear him chuckling, then kissing your hair. “Oh, I think I do. I think we both know we’re down bad for each other”

“Even Cerise knows it. She stares back and forth between us whenever we start talking and she’s fully awake” at the comment, Joel chuckled, looking aside where he left the stroller, noticing there was movement inside.

“I think she’s already doing it” you say smiling.

Joel uncovered the stroller and indeed, Cerise was fully awake, her chocolate eyes scanning the place before landing on her parents. And upon looking at you and Joel, she started cooing.

“Aww, my baby, come here” it would never be not amusing for Joel to finally seeing you as a mother. As you peppered Cerise’s face with wet kisses all over, she seemed to be laughing. The moment the three of you started sharing were foreign, a little over a year ago, everything was so different. Joel was unable to admit that he loved you, you were extremely insecure, Ellie was a stranger. You had zero hopes of a family.

The odds were in your favor. Very much.

“I think she’s growing your nose” Joel said, softly pinching one of the baby’s cheeks. Cerise was in heavy, sandwiched between the warmth of her parents, in a red onesie that had a reindeer in the center and stars in her tiny foots.

“Well I think she’s growing your hair. Messy and curly…” Joel smirked and then kissed you.

“Let’s go home. I want to try that eggnog mix even if it kills us”

“I don’t think syrups and fake powder will kill us, y/n” he took your hand and lead the way out of the school.

…

It was very cold when you got out of the shower. The smell of turkey and butter was filtering through the small gap of your open window. At the dinning hall people were slowly gathering to share a meal and celebrate the night prior to Christmas. And as per usual, you were slightly late.

You had a brown dress that you carried since Boston’s QZ. You had never worn it and you had a second pair of boots reserved for special occasions, which were waiting for you at the foot of the bed along your coat and some thick black thighs. It wasn’t elegant, just classic. An outfit that even in the apocalypse seemed decent or fair.

“Cerise is ready…” Joel says entering the room. His smile grew at the sigh of you, which made you blush and shyly look away.

“No, don’t look away, darlin’. You look like a little doll” he hurried to give you a little spin and kiss your cheeks.

“Calm down, Texas” he steadies his hands around your hips, smiling again “Now, gimme that nasty thong before I change my mind”

“What?” Joel completely forgot about the thing. But soon he went to the basket of clean clothes and handed it to you.

The asshole had washed the thong.

Under the lamp of the room, you were able to appreciate the details of the thong. It was bright red, with some lace details in the crotch, shiny beaded sequins and a fine embroidery.

You slipped into the fabric, hunching the dress around your stomach. Joel let out a little gasp after finally seeing you with the lingerie.

“Merry fucking Christmas” you had to laugh loudly after seeing him almost poking out his tongue, then, you are pulling down the dress and sitting on the bed to put on the thighs.

“That’s lewd, Joel”

“Shut up. I’m getting what I deserve after dinner”

“Your first present to unwrap” you say rolling your eyes.

It is then when you look at Ellie passing by the door and after hearing you burst out laughing, she huffed, standing on the doorway.

“Can you please stop?” The girls asks, but it’s very funny to see her with the elf costume and silly hat.

“Why I was forced to do this?”

“Because you are a pain in the ass for Tommy and Maria” she rolls her eyes.

“Okay, it’s getting late. Let’s go, everyone” Joel leads the way downstairs, where he picks up Cerise from her baby gym and wraps her in blankets before getting her into the stroller.

When he approaches you to help you put on your coat, you can’t stop smiling at the sight of him.

And he notices it, offering back another smile.

Ellie walks out with Cerise in the stroller and turns back to ask who was the keys, but rolls her eyes after seeing you two lost in each other’s eyes.

“HEY!” Both of you snap out of the moment and turn to look at Ellie. “Yeah, yeah, we all know both of you are so in love. But who has the keys?”

“Joel” you reveal, chuckling at the girl’s words and moving away.

Joel locks the door and walks out to the street. He follows closely bu he prefers to savor the moment of you and Ellie making Cerise to babble and coo from inside the stroller. With all the Christmas decoration and the snow falling, Joel wants nothing but a camera to capture the moment. But his old ass would always remember that type of moments.

__________

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 15 — Ice Skating

↳ Summary: A cheesy little date for you and your fiancé.

↳ Word Count: 714

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

With a timid push, you left the side of the ice rink behind, your arms stretched out for balance, legs tense. George’s hand found one of yours with a small chuckle, helping to keep you steady on your skates. 

“You know, when you said you were shit at skating, I thought you were exaggerating.” he stated lightly. 

“Don’t laugh at me.” you grumbled, voice weak as you were more so focused on not falling on your ass in the middle of a crowded ice rink. 

“I’m not laughing at you.” George assured you, finding his place beside you so you could skate in time, hand in hand. 

You moved painfully slowly under the twinkling Christmas lights that were hung over the outdoor rink, your rented skates already hurting your ankles before you even got very far. George was patient with you, just appreciating the moment to slow down, to spend time with you. Now that the season was over, he had his chance to properly give you all the attention he wanted — you; his fiancé. What a lovely word. 

When it started to lightly snow upon the outdoor ice rink, he looked up to the inky night sky with a calm smile, stating, "This is pretty romantic, right?" 

You hummed in reply with a flat and concentrated, "As long as no one falls on their face."

“I think that’d still be romantic. Then I can help bandage you up and kiss you better.” he shrugged cheekily. 

“Hey,” you frowned playfully over at him, “Who said I was the one who was going to fall?”

Right at that moment, your feet slipped from under you and you barely caught yourself, George’s impressive reflexes darting out to grab you around the waist to keep you from falling completely. Held in his arms as he made sure you were steady, you were face to face with him and his cocky little smirk that he tried to bite back.

“Not a word.” you warned, although there was no real heat behind your tone. 

Your gloved hand fit in his so nicely, like it was meant to be there. If it was any other circumstance, you might have found yourself staring at him in his dark blue trench coat and scarf beside you, the slight flush of cold sparking a pretty rouge across his cheeks and nose. But, instead, you were far too focused on not publicly embarrassing yourself and him by your lackluster ice skating skills as you slowly moved around the rink. 

Strangers whizzed past you at speeds that almost had you toppling over right into George. His warm chuckle and the tightening of his hand in yours grounded you and kept you on your feet as you successfully made a lap around the rink. You slowly started to get the hang of it, pushing against the ice in timid motions to propel you forward at cautious speeds. George was patient and kind and he stuck to your pace, just appreciating the time spent with you. 

However, one mis-glide on his skates had George tripping over his own feet and falling straight down the ice, his hand in yours accidentally yanking you with him. You flopped on top of him with a surprised gasp, the impact between his initial fall and then your entire body weight landing on top of him immediately after had him groaning. 

“Fucking…Christ…” George grumbled with a wince as he started to push himself up into a sitting position.

You struggled to get off him, your skates slipping and sliding on the ice ungracefully and making it incredibly difficult to get any sort of traction, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” he muttered, “Glad I broke your fall.”

“You pulled me down with you.” you protested with a giggle. 

“Yeah, yeah…” he let out a strained chuckle in reply, trying to stand up with limited success, looking like he was a newborn giraffe trying to familiarize himself with his legs. 

“Honestly, you’re right.” you commented as you watched him struggle for a moment longer, his dark trench coat dotted in white clumps of ice now, and you reached out to brush some off. Then, you finally offered a hand to help him balance, “This is still romantic”

He shot you an unimpressed yet unserious side-eye. 

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[charliedaltonswife]

My one and only claim about Henry is that he's a yapper. We know it from the books. So why not make it sweet? I would find it endearing (and just so slightly comical) to have Henry, the ever stoic, leaning against the bathtub in which you've planned a relaxing, wine-accompanied bubble bath. To have Henry chat quietly, mindlessly, of whatever topic first reaches his mind, knowing you might not even listen, but nit exactly caring, simply because he wants to be close to you.

Oh, and how even sweeter would it be for him to wash your hair...

A Bath to Ease The Soul

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

nonnie, oh did this get my creative juices flowing, i got so carried away writing this at like 3am after just drinking a coffee. i think this is my longest one yet.

Summary: read the request

Warnings: mother pushing very traditional domestic views

master list found here

You hated - and I mean, hated - visiting your mother. You tried to tell yourself it wouldn’t be so bad this time. Just dinner. Just a few hours. You could handle that. But as the car pulled into the driveway, the sight of your mother’s perfectly manicured front lawn and the pristine wreath hanging on the door filled you with the same quiet panic it always did.

Your mother greeted you with her signature smile, the one that looked genuine to the untrained eye but always carried the sharp undertone of appraisal. She kissed you on the cheek, her perfume clouding around you like a fog, and ushered you inside, where the unmistakable sounds of domestic perfection were already in full swing.

The living room smelled faintly of cinnamon, a carefully curated holiday scent despite it being weeks past the season. Your sister sat on the couch, her newborn cradled in her arms, the picture of serene motherhood. She looked up as you entered, her face lighting up with genuine warmth that made you feel both loved and uncomfortably exposed.

“Sissy” she said, shifting the baby to one arm so she could wave. “You’re here!”

“Of course,” you said, forcing a smile as you dropped your coat onto the nearest chair. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Your mother appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of neatly arranged hors d'oeuvres, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. “You’re late,” she remarked, her tone light but not without its sting.

“Traffic, snow on the road” you said simply, knowing better than to offer any further explanation. 

“Well, come in, come in. Don’t just stand there.”

You followed her into the dining room, where the table was already set with the kind of meticulous care that made you vaguely nervous to sit down. The china on the table was worth more than everything in your kitchen combined. 

The evening started innocuously enough. Your sister talked about the baby, her sleeping patterns, her favorite toys, how she already had your brother-in-law wrapped around her tiny fingers. Your mother listened intently, occasionally chiming in with advice or anecdotes from her own experiences raising the two of you. And you waited, you knew what was coming. 

And then, inevitably, the conversation shifted.

“So,” your mother began, her tone casual but her gaze sharp, “any exciting news from you, Y/N? Any boy special in your life?”

You felt the question land like a stone in the pit of your stomach, your carefully constructed defenses threatening to crack under the weight of her scrutiny.

“No, nothing like that,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Just busy with my classes, you know.”

Your mother frowned, a delicate crease appearing between her brows. “Education is fine, but it’s not everything. Don’t you want more than that? A husband?”

You felt sick at her words. Your mothers words felt like you had travelled back a couple centuries. 

Before you could respond, your sister chimed in, her voice annoyingly gentle. “Mom, leave her alone. She’s fine.”

Your mother sighed, clearly unimpressed. “I just worry about her. She’s not getting any younger, you know.” 

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to take a slow sip of your wine instead of responding. It wouldn’t do any good to argue. It never did.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced smiles and shallow conversation. Your sister’s baby cooed softly, her tiny fingers grasping at the air, and your mother looked at her with the kind of adoration you’d long since given up trying to earn.

By the time you finally escaped, the night was fully dark, the stars hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. The drive home felt longer than usual, the silence somehow made your mother’s words replay louder in your head.

Your apartment greeted you with silence, that particular stillness that always felt both a blessing and a curse. You dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes without bothering to line them up, and sighed. The wine you’d downed at dinner buzzed faintly in your veins, not enough to soften the edges of the evening but enough to make the ache in your temples feel slightly less personal.

You flicked on the lights and surveyed the mess of your living room with the vague dissatisfaction of someone who’s been out of the house long enough to forget what they left behind. A half-empty mug of tea sat abandoned on the coffee table, its contents now a murky swamp of regret.

Well, you thought to yourself, at least no one’s here to judge.

Not like your mother, who had practically appraised you at dinner like you were a loaf of bread she wasn’t sure was worth buying. Not like your sister, who didn’t have to say anything at all because her glowing, perfect existence spoke volumes louder than words. And she was younger than you. Although, she barely finished high school before she fell pregnant. So, in some ways, you felt you had it better than her. 

It was absurd, really, how the evening had played out exactly as you’d known it would, and yet you’d still come home feeling like you’d been hit by a truck. You were too old to still be doing this, subjecting yourself to their quiet disapproval, hoping against all evidence to the contrary that this time, things would be different.

Maybe next time you should just send a cardboard cutout of yourself you thought, toeing off your socks and heading for the bathroom. The bathroom was blissfully cool, the tiles smooth under your bare feet. You turned the taps, the sound of rushing water filling the small space and drowning out the hum of self-doubt still rattling around in your head.

The steam rose quickly, curling in lazy tendrils, and you reached for the bubble bath you kept stashed in the cabinet, the one you only used when you were feeling particularly indulgent, or particularly wrecked. Either way, you deserved it. 

As the scent of lavender filled the room, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. You paused, studying your reflection with the detached curiosity of someone examining a stranger.

Your hair was a little too messy, your makeup slightly smudged from where you’d rubbed at your eyes during dinner. 

“It’s no wonder,” you said aloud, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You look exactly like someone who spent the evening being reminded of how woefully unaccomplished they are.”

The bath was nearly full now, the bubbles threatening to spill over the sides. You turned off the taps and leaned against the counter for a moment, letting the heat and the lavender and the soft gurgle of the water settle your nerves.

This was what you needed. Not validation from your mother, not the approval of a sister who had never once doubted herself, but this. A quiet room, a hot bath, and enough time to wash away the feeling of not being quite enough. The lavender in the air was soothing, but the cigarette in your hand did the real heavy lifting. You had perched yourself on the edge of the tub, still in your clothes, holding the cigarette between your fingers like it was the only tether to your sanity after a hellish day. You didn’t particularly care that the bathroom was filling with steam or that the cigarette. This was your time, and that was that.

You exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling, watching it swirl and dissipate into nothing. 

Just as you were leaning back against the counter to savor another drag, the door creaked open. Henry stepped in without so much as a knock, his sharp, calculating presence contrasting with the languid heat of the room.

“You know,” he began, his voice as matter-of-fact as ever, “smoking indoors is a sure way to ruin your walls.”

You didn’t bother looking at him. “So is being condescending, but you keep showing up.”

He huffed softly, a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same faint amusement. “At least open a window,” he said, crossing the room to the counter where the small sliding window was barely cracked. With an exasperated look, he shoved it open further and glanced at the cigarette in your hand. “Do you even have an ashtray?”

You gestured vaguely with your free hand. “Does it look like I have an ashtray, Henry?”

He sighed, the sort of sigh that implied he thought you hopeless but didn’t quite mind the fact. “Stay there,” he said, disappearing back into the hallway.

You took another drag, waiting. The bath gurgled softly, the bubbles popping against the surface in tiny, irregular bursts. A full minute passed before Henry returned, balancing a small ashtray and a wooden chair in his hands.

“Improvised, but it’ll do,” he muttered, placing the ashtray on the edge of the counter before setting the chair beside the tub. He sat down without ceremony, his long legs awkwardly folded in the cramped space, and rested his elbows on his knees.

The chair looked absurdly out of place in your bathroom. You snorted, finally turning your attention to him. “Are you planning to stay?”

“That depends,” he said, his expression impassive but his voice just warm enough to undercut the dryness of his words. “Will you allow me to indulge in some company, or are you going to sulk in silence all evening?”

You didn’t answer right away, flicking ash into the tray and watching him out of the corner of your eye. He had his head tilted slightly, studying you with that particular intensity that always felt a little invasive but not entirely unpleasant.

“Fine,” you said at last, leaning back against the counter and exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “But if you start lecturing me, I’m throwing you out.”

Henry smirked faintly, his mouth curving in that small, rare way that made you think he might actually be human beneath all the precision and logic.

“I’ll restrain myself,” he said. “Though, you won't believe what Bunny told me today, he claims someone landed on the moon.”

You stared at him for a beat, and then a laugh escaped before you could stop it. “Yes, and?”

“Word for word,” Henry replied, leaning back in the chair with an ease that didn’t match his usual rigidity. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s ridiculous that you learnt a dead language yet you didn’t know of the moon landing,” you said, your smile lingering as you stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “Although I’m not sure what’s more ridiculous, that or you sitting on a kitchen chair in my bathroom.”

Henry’s brow arched slightly. “Would you prefer I left?”

“No,” you admitted, surprising yourself with the honesty of it. “I’d rather you stay.”

He nodded, as if the matter were settled, and leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees again. “You seem off today,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I take it dinner didn’t go well?”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the question. “It went about as well as it always does. Mom asked me when I was getting married, and my sister reminded me that I’m failing at womanhood because I don’t have a baby attached to my hip.”

Henry tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “That seems like an odd metric for success.”

“It’s not odd if you’re them,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “It’s tradition, Henry. Marry young, have kids, spend the rest of your life baking pies and judging your neighbors. I’ve apparently failed on all counts.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you like he was trying to untangle your words and find the truth hidden beneath them. “And do you care?” he asked finally.

“Not really,” you said, though your tone betrayed a flicker of doubt. “I mean, I care in the sense that it’s exhausting to have them constantly reminding me of what I’m not. But I don’t care enough to change who I am just to make them happy.”

“Good,” he said simply, his voice firm in a way that made your chest ache a little.

You looked at him, surprised. “Good?”

“Yes,” he said, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Because you’d be miserable living a life that wasn’t yours. And, frankly, you’re too interesting to waste on something so banal.”

The words hung in the air between you, unexpected and heavy in their sincerity. You swallowed, unsure how to respond, and finally settled for a quiet, “Thanks.”

Henry leaned back again, his shoulders relaxing as he shifted in the chair. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice softer now. “Though if you’re planning to spend the rest of the evening wallowing, I’d suggest getting in the bath before the water goes cold.”

You blinked at him, startled by the shift in tone. “You’re really going to sit here while I take a bath?”

“Why not?” he said, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. “I have plenty to talk about, and you seem in desperate need of distraction.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you stubbed out the remains of your cigarette, watching the faint curl of smoke spiral upward. Henry’s gaze flicked toward the ashtray, then back to you, as if assessing whether you were finished sulking or simply pausing for dramatic effect.

“Fine,” you said, standing with a soft sigh. “But if you’re staying, you’re making yourself useful.”

“I already fetched the chair and ashtray,” he pointed out dryly, standing as well. “What more could you possibly require?”

“I don’t know,” you said, unbuttoning your shirt as you walked toward the bath. “Hand me a towel. Keep me entertained.”

Henry didn’t roll his eyes, you doubted he was capable of anything so undignified, but there was a faint quirk of his brow as he picked up the towel you’d tossed haphazardly onto the sink. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours briefly before retreating back to the chair he’d claimed.

As you sank into the steaming water, the tension in your shoulders began to dissolve, though the sight of Henry leaning back in the wooden chair, his legs crossed neatly at the ankle, was a small distraction.

“You’re going to sit there and stare at me the whole time, aren’t you?” you asked, settling against the curve of the tub.

He tilted his head slightly. “It depends. Would it make you uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, though the heat creeping into your cheeks suggested otherwise.

Henry hummed softly, clearly unconvinced. “Then I’ll avert my gaze,” he said, his voice tinged with mockery as he turned his head toward the window. “There. Better?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, instead letting your head fall back against the tub. The warmth of the water soaked into your skin, easing away the frustration of the day, and you closed your eyes, content to let the silence settle.

It didn’t last long.

“You’ve been reading Proust again, haven’t you?” Henry asked, his voice cutting through the stillness.

You cracked one eye open, frowning at him. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’ve been quoting him under your breath,” he said simply. “And because you always fall into this particular mood after reading Swann’s Way.”

You blinked, caught between annoyance and a begrudging sort of admiration. “Do you keep notes on me or something?”

“Of course not,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped between his knees. “But I notice things. Like how you always reread the section about the madeleine whenever you’ve had a bad day. Or how you defend Swann’s obsession with Odette, even though you claim to despise sentimentality.”

You groaned, sinking lower into the water. “Can we not analyze my reading habits right now?”

“Would you rather discuss yours or mine?” Henry countered, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

“I’m not sure I have the energy for either,” you muttered.

He ignored you, leaning back in the chair as he laced his fingers together in his lap. “I’ve been revisiting Montaigne lately,” he said, as though you’d asked. “His essays on friendship, in particular. There’s a passage where he writes about how true friends are mirrors to one another. That their souls are so intertwined that they become one.”

“Very romantic,” you said, your tone laced with sarcasm.

Henry gave a small shrug. “It’s not about romance. Montaigne was writing about companionship, the kind that transcends any notion of love as we understand it. The kind that’s rare and profound, and ultimately irreplaceable.”

You glanced at him, his profile lit softly by the dim light of the bathroom. There was a weight to his words that made your chest tighten, though you weren’t sure if it was the content or the way he said it, with that quiet, almost unintentional reverence that made you wonder if he was speaking about something specific.

“Well,” you said after a pause, “if Montaigne had friends who talked as much as you, he must’ve been a very patient man.”

Henry chuckled softly, the sound rare and fleeting. “Patience,” he said, “is a virtue.”

“Not one of mine,” you replied, shaking your head slightly and letting your eyes drift closed again.

Henry didn’t argue, and for a moment, you thought he might’ve taken the hint and decided to let you relax in peace. But, of course, that was wishful thinking.

“Do you ever think about the way writers immortalize people?” he asked suddenly.

You cracked one eye open, staring at him. “What?”

“Think about it,” he said, leaning forward again. “Proust wrote Odette into eternity because of Swann. Dante canonized Beatrice. Even Montaigne’s essays are filled with reflections of his closest friend. It’s a kind of madness, really, to believe you can preserve someone forever in words.”

You frowned, unsure where he was going with this. “What’s your point?”

He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Do you ever wonder,” he said quietly, “what someone might write about you.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unexpected.

“Hopefully something better than ‘she smokes in the bathroom and sulks in the tub,’” you said, trying to mask the sudden tightness in your throat with humor.

Henry’s lips curved slightly, though his eyes remained serious. “I think,” he said, his voice low, “they’d write about how you find humor in the absurd. How you’re more than anyone expects you to be.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his tone. “That’s very poetic Henry,” you said finally, your voice quieter now.

“I’ve been told I have my moments,” he replied, settling back in his chair. For once, you didn’t argue.

Henry stood from his chair without a word, his long shadow stretching across the bathroom tiles as he stepped toward the sink. He reached for the bottle of shampoo sitting on the counter, flipping it open and testing the consistency between his fingers. You watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

“What are you doing?” you asked, though the question was half-hearted.

“Washing your hair,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What in God’s name- I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He placed the bottle on the edge of the tub and rolled up his sleeves with deliberate precision, exposing the sharp planes of his forearms. It was such a Henry gesture, that you couldn’t help but laugh softly under your breath.

“Do you even know how?” you teased, tilting your head back to meet his gaze.

He gave you a look, one that was equal parts amused and vaguely condescending. “It’s not that difficult,” he said, crouching beside the tub. “Tilt your head back.”

You obeyed, leaning your head against the curve of the tub as he cupped his hands to gather water, carefully pouring it over your hair. The warmth seeped into your scalp, and you let out a soft sigh, your body sinking deeper into the water.

“This is absurd,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

“You can thank me later,” he replied, his tone dry as he worked a small amount of shampoo into his palms.

His hands were gentle as they worked through your hair, his fingertips massaging your scalp with a kind of practiced ease that made you wonder if he’d done this before. There was a certain tenderness in the way he handled you. Something that made this feel intimate. You sure wouldn’t want Bunny or Richard barging in. 

“Have you always been this bossy?” you asked, your eyes closed as his fingers traced careful patterns against your skin.

“Only when necessary,” he replied.

“And you think this is necessary?”

“I think you’ve had a long day,” he said simply, his voice softer now. “And I think you’re too stubborn to admit you need someone to take care of you every once in a while.”

Your lips parted to argue, but the words died on your tongue as his fingers moved to the nape of your neck, kneading the tension there with a skill that left you momentarily speechless.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “You’re already proving my point.”

You groaned softly, though it was more out of reluctant enjoyment than genuine annoyance. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“I’ve been called worse,” he said with a faint smile, rinsing the suds from your hair with another careful pour of water.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the soft lapping of the water against the tub and the rhythmic motion of his hands in your hair. It was... soothing, in a way you hadn’t expected, and you found yourself relaxing in his presence in a way that felt oddly vulnerable.

“You’re quiet,” Henry remarked after a moment, his tone almost teasing. But you didn't respond, slightly scared you were going to wake up from a dream or something. 

He hummed softly, his hands moving to smooth the strands of your hair back from your face. “You know,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “I was reading something the other day about rituals. About how they can make the mundane feel sacred.”

You opened one eye, glancing up at him. “And this is your idea of a ritual?”

“Perhaps,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Though I doubt Montaigne had bubble baths in mind.”

You snorted softly, the sound cutting through the quiet. “You really can’t turn it off, can you?”

“Turn what off?”

“That incessant need to intellectualize everything,” you said, though there was no real bite to your words.

Henry’s smile widened slightly, and he reached for the towel he’d set aside earlier, draping it gently over your shoulders. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I’d argue it’s part of my charm.”

You rolled your eyes, but the gesture was half-hearted. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed your words.

His voice low and amused, “But here you are, letting me wash your hair.”

Henry’s hands stilled, resting lightly on your shoulders as he adjusted the towel, tucking it more securely around you. The air in the room shifted, the playful tension dissipating into something softer, quieter. You leaned back against the curve of the tub, your eyes drifting shut, the warmth of the water lulling you into a pleasant haze.

The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but companionable, filled with the faint dripping of water and the occasional rustle as Henry shifted in his seat. He didn’t leave; you’d known he wouldn’t. Instead, you felt him settle against the edge of the tub again, his hand brushing against yours briefly as he adjusted his position.

You opened your eyes just enough to catch him gazing at you, not in the sharp, calculating way he often regarded the world, but with a gentleness you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. It was disarming, that look, as if he were seeing parts of you that even you didn’t know existed.

“Comfortable?” he asked quietly, his voice low and soft, as if he didn’t want to disturb the stillness.

You nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “More than.”

He gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied, and leaned back slightly, his head tilting against the wall. “Good.”

For a moment, you thought he might lapse into silence again, but then he started talking, quietly, almost absentmindedly, as though the words had been waiting to spill out all along. He spoke of a poem he’d been reading earlier in the day, his voice steady and soothing, weaving the verses into the air between you. He recited a line here and there, translating the meaning, tracing its cadence like a finger over parchment.

And then, as if the poem had unlocked something in him, he moved seamlessly into other topics. He talked about a book he’d been meaning to recommend to you, about a theory he’d read concerning the relationship between mythology and memory. His voice was unhurried, lilting, each word delivered as if he were sharing a secret meant only for you. You listened, not to every word of course, but to the rhythm of his voice, letting it wash over you like the water pooling around you.

Without thinking, you shifted slightly in the tub, your hand brushing against his where it rested on the edge. You expected him to move away, to pull back into himself as he often did, but he didn’t. Instead, his fingers curled around yours briefly, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but one that spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of the heater kicking on.

“For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“For staying,” you said simply, the words carrying a weight you couldn’t quite explain.

He didn’t reply immediately, but his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture that felt almost instinctive. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Always.”

[daytaker]

Hello, it is I, Family Anon, the anon who requested headcaons about MC’s family reacting to the brothers showing up and I have yet another request for ye, May we get some headcaons for Papa MC showing the brothers MC’s childhood photos? Them as a cute chubby baby, scribbling all over walls, getting braces (I saw a headcaon that was about them freaking out at the concept of braces and I just thought it was hilarious ), playing sports, their date for prom, and finally highschool graduation pics, Mama MC still doesn’t like any of them and is glaring at her husband for letting his guard down while MC is just rotting into the couch in embarrassment lol.

[ Related: "Mom, Dad, meet seven of my boyfriends" | "Mom, Dad, these are my other four boyfriends and my son" ]

"Mom, Dad, please stop showing my seven boyfriends pictures of me in the bath."

...is what you would have said if Dad hadn't already moved on from that picture to one of you with your face covered in Spaghettio's. Your dad is sitting on the couch between the twins, the five older brothers all huddled behind them as he flips through a photo album. It's only been a few days since he met the brothers, and while he was openly hostile towards them at first, he's quickly come to appreciate the fantastic sounding board they are for his ramblings on his beloved child. They're engaged, curious, and they ask all the right questions.

"Maybe we were too judgmental about that cult," your dad said to your mom the other day as you rubbed your temples. You've given up saying that there was no cult. You hardly even believe yourself anymore.

Mom has been glaring at Dad since he took out the family album he'd brought with him, but it had done her about as much good as glaring at him had done me.

Now, for a trip down memory lane...

You as a Newborn Baby

You, freshly out of the womb, with a red face contorted into an ugly sob.

"What's that?" Beel asks as he squints at the photo of the squirming infant that barely resembled a human.

"That's a baby, Beel," mumbles Lucifer.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing is wrong with it. Babies are just ugly when they first come out," Belphie explains.

"MC wasn't ugly when they first came out," Beel argues with a frown.

"Beel," Levi sighs. "That is MC."

"....Oh."

You with your Baby Sister

You're almost two and you're leaning over your mother as she holds your newborn baby sister.

"What is happening here?" Satan asks, perplexed. "There are two infants."

"Sure are," Dad says proudly. "That's MC, and that there is their little sister. You met her, didn't you, Derek?"

Satan says nothing, but still somehow manages to sound moody.

"She's our wildchild. Or, she was. Turns out MC has a bit of a crazy streak too. Isn't that right, MC?"

You say nothing. You're a little moody yourself.

You Crying on a Pony

You're about two years old at some autumn festival, your face frozen forever in a pitiful shriek of terror while you sit on the back of a docile pony while your dad walks beside you.

"Did that animal make you cry?" asks Belphie.

"As you can see from the evidence in this photograph, yes."

Belphie mutters something under his breath about making it suffer.

"That's from over 20 years ago. It's probably dead by now."

"Good."

"Belphie!"

You Taking a Bath

You're about three years old, and you and your sister are in the bathtub, naked as the day you were born, playing with bath toys.

"Humans have rubber duckies?" asks Levi.

"Humans?" Your dad gives him a funny look.

"Haha! Oh, Levi. He meant *Americans*. Sure we do, Levi!"

"It's strange that they let you take photos of them in the bath. I don't think they'd let someone do that anymore," Asmo sighs sadly. "MC, where did your sense of playfulness go?"

Trying to explain to these people that small human children are fundamentally unlike human adults is like talking to an especially inflexible brick wall.

You Dressed for Winter

You're standing in a thick coat, scarf, hat, mittens, snow pants, and snow boots. Your arms are practically stuck in the air at your sides.

This seems excessive, comments Lucifer.

Winters can get pretty cold in this part of the country, your dad explains.

Nonetheless, this seems excessive.

This was entirely normal outerwear for a six-year-old child going outside in the snow in January.

Nevertheless, Lucifer says, it seems excessive.

You remind Lucifer about the booties and doggy jacket he dresses Cerberus in when it snows in the Devildom and he stops making such judgmental statements about your parents.

You with Braces

It's a school photo. You're about thirteen. years old, and you're sporting braces. It's a painful memory.

"What happened to your mouth? Asmo gasps in alarm. "Who did that to your teeth?!"

Those are braces, Dad tells him.

"Braces?"

They straighten out your teeth bit by bit over the course of a long stretch of time.

And who did this to Asmo's precious MC?

The orthodontist, your Dad tries to explain, but Asmo is so disgusted he can barely stand to look at the picture.

You and your Prom Date

You're about seventeen, standing beside a boy around the same age, smiling into the camera. You're both dressed in formalwear and you both look vaguely uncomfortable.

"Hey, why's that kid lookin' so cozy with MC?" Mammon narrows his eyes at the photo album.

"That's Sam Jorgenson. Hey MC, you remember Sam Jorgenson?" your dad asks you.

Yes, you remember Sam Jorgenson, your on-again off-again high school boyfriend. You were always breaking up because of some stupid thing or another, and you were always getting back together over even stupider stuff.

"Why's he holdin' onto you like that?" Mammon asks accusatorially.

"Why are you looking at me like that? That's probably from my senior prom." You aren't looking at the photo, but you can guess which picture it is. "He was my date."

Mammon looks kind of devastated. Like he had expected to be the first guy to ever be your date to anything.

"Listen, Mammon, you're my first lots-of-stuff, but I had a life before I came to...um. Virginia. I wasn't saving myself for some hypothetical... 'backpacker' during my teenage years."

Mammon seems to feel like he barely knows you anymore.

You tell him that's just too damn bad, but Sam Jorgenson had a PS4 and beautiful blue eyes so you're not really that sorry.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 79 (Winter is Here and Ash Has Another Sibling!)

Brindleton Bay's first snowfall of the year was picturesque, but the light dusting of white on the ground was merely a tease. The snow didn't stop once winter had begun and it wasn't long before the coastal town was coated in thick white powder.

Ash loved hanging out in the snow, and he and Conrad loved to make snowmen while Heather took care of his baby sister.

They wanted to get to the city to visit Heather's sister, Holly, who had recently welcomed her second daughter with her husband, Kris. In keeping with their commitment to fish names, Tetra's little sister was named Betta.

(Tetra Daisy and Betta Cecilia Bell, for those interested!)

But newborns in both households made it difficult to travel, so they settled for sharing updates by phone and made plans to spend time together in the city for the upcoming Winterfest holidays.

Genius Ash wasn't all that interested in the crying, stinky baby who now lived in his house, and with one sister at home in Brindleton Bay, Ash met his other new sister, Bridgette, on his first weekend at his dad's after she was born.

"What do you think of your new sister, there, Ash?" Geoffrey warmly embraced his grandson, while Malcolm was prouder than he thought he'd be to introduce his son to his new daughter.

"Lavender and Bridgette don't do much," Ash complained. "But they're pretty cute, I guess."

"What sort of name is Lavender, anyway?" Nancy scoffed and Geoffrey shushed her.

"Where's Bridgette gonna sleep when she's out of her bassinet? I sleep on the pullout bed when I'm here, but there isn't room for two pullout beds in the living room!"

"Your Gramma and I used to talk about adding a third bedroom, but we never really needed the extra space before now."

Nancy forced a grin in front of her grandson. "And we decided adding another room to the top floor would disrupt our morning view, Geoffrey."

"We've got enough views," he said. "I'd rather see our grandkids well-rested and happy."

"You are always complaining that you can't turn your music on when Ash is asleep in the living room," said Miko sweetly. "Ash, would you mind sharing a room with your sister when you visit?"

"If she cries a lot, I might, but I'm almost used to Lavender. I bet I can get used to Bridgette's crying, too!"

While the Landgraabs set to work finally building Ash a bedroom at the penthouse, he bonded with his second little sister. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: The boujis medieval cc crib I downloaded for my UDC and haven't deleted appeared randomly but is honestly perfect for a Landgraab princess. And technically the lack of a bedroom for Ash is my fault. He was small and wasn't there that often so I could stick a toddler bed wherever, and it took me a while to figure out where to build the third bedroom in the Spire Tower suite without gutting the layout, which is my nightmare. But they needed that third bedroom and I figured it out. I'll debut it once Bridgette is an infant, because when I took photos of it that's how big she was.

ALSO at Heather and Conrad's he technically has his own room but he's sleeping in the guest room. I'm waiting for Lavender to grow up a little before renovating some spaces! I think they'll lose their guest room but I haven't decided yet. So we can give Nancy hell for this, sure, but it's redirecting wrath that should actually be on me. 😂

[wh0re43van]

Baby fever Pt 3 (Evan Peters X Reader)

Summary: Theres been tension between you and Evan for months due to your struggle to conceive. You guys decide to go out for a nice dinner to get your mind off of things.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: mentions of wine?, small argument?

A/N: I’m sorry guys I thought I uploaded this like two hours ago 😭 this will probably be the last part of this little series <3

Pt1 , Pt2

It’s been about three months since Evan and I have started trying for a baby. We know that it takes time, but that doesn’t take the sting out of the 10 negative tests we’ve gotten.

I sigh, resting my head on the window glass as I see the elementary kids at the bus stop awaiting their ride to school. A few are chasing each other, a pair of kids are sat down on the sidewalk as they share the same set of earbuds, and one kid stands quietly as they hold their backpack close to their chest. The warm hues of the morning sunrise cascades down on the group of tiny people. Orange and pink sun rays bounce of their coats, hats, and laughs that come out as puffs of condensation.

I smile to myself as I hold my herbal tea up to my lips, the steam coming from the beverage fogging up the cold window. I imagine what Evan would look like as he walks our child to the bus stop. What kind of silly dad pajama bottoms and stained hoodie set would he take our child out in. The image of Evan holding our little one’s hand makes my heart swell.

The click of the deadbolt unlocking grasps my attention. I turn to see Evan walking through the door with a few bags of groceries. He gives me a small smile as he sets the shopping down on the table.

“I still think it’s a bit early for grocery shopping,” I giggle as I pull him into a loose hug. He rests his head on top of mine, his hand instinctively twirling my hair.

“I know. I’ve been up since 5:00 am so I figured I might as well get up and do something,” he sighs. Evans been more beaten up about this than I imagined. I’ve tried to explain to him that it takes time, and you have to wait at least 3 weeks before you can get a positive result, but he doesn’t care much to listen. He’s just so ready to be a dad; to have that little bundle of joy in his arms. He already has so much love for a child that hasn’t yet been conceived.

“Would you like some coffee?” I ask as I look up at him with a small smile.

“That would be very nice,” he grins, leaning down to place a small kiss to my lips. I turn, reaching for the coffee grounds as he unloads the groceries.

“What did you get?” I ask curiously.

“Oh just some staple foods we were running low on: peanut butter, bread, butter…” he explains as he put each item away in their rightful home. “Oh and I found these pregnancy tests that let you know a week early!” He beams as he shuffles over to me, pulling six ‘Clear Blue’ pregnancy tests out of the canvas shopping bag.

“Evan,” I giggle, looking at him in confusion. “Why did you get so many?” I ask as I pour the fresh brewed coffee into his favorite mug.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. Just want to be prepared I guess,” he shrugs before turning back to the shopping bags. “Oh y/n look at this,” he says excitedly. I turn, handing him his coffee when I see the little bear onesie in his hand. “Isn’t this just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” He asks genuinely, the biggest, goofiest smile on his face and pure joy glinting in his eyes. This man melts my heart.

“It’s adorable,” I giggle, walking over to examine the outfit. It’s a brown, fleece, hooded onesie with bear ears and bear feet attached. I notice that its size newborn, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that even if I were pregnant right now, the baby would get here in August and we would have no use for this winter outfit. I just smile to myself and kiss him on the cheek before walking back over to the coffee pot to prepare my own drink.

“Woah! Is that caffeine free?” Evan asks urgently as he sets his mug down, spilling a bit before he rushes to me.

“Uh, no?” I look at him confused. He takes the coffee out of my hand.

“I read online that you shouldn’t consume caffeine while pregnant,” Evan explains. I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Okay… well I’m not pregnant yet,” I try to laugh it off and grab the pot out of his hand. He yanks it back, holding it up and out of my reach. “Y/n I’m serious. It’s not good for you or the baby,” he furrows his brows. I can feel my blood pressure start to rise out of anger.

“There is no fucking baby, Evan! I took another test a few days ago, and guess what? It came out negative just like all of the other ones! So please give it a rest!” I shout, surprising myself at how aggressive that came out; I guess I was holding that back for a while. Evan takes a step back, betrayal creeping into his face.

“There is no need to shout,” he says lowly, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t break eyes contact with me as he sets the coffee pot down. I know I’ve angered him. He has this calm demeanor when he’s pissed off; He never raises his voice or puts his hands on anyone, but when he’s mad the look in his eyes will strike the fear of god into you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I furrow my brow back at him. I’m not sure where this sudden anger came from, but now I can’t stop it. Now that I think about it, there’s been a bit of tension between us after the first few negative tests. It’s almost like he gets upset with me every time we find out that I’m not pregnant. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it that way and that he doesn’t blame me for our struggle to conceive, but I can’t help the thought from creeping in.

“You’re the one that snapped on me out of no where,” he says sternly, clenching his jaw. “Come on, what’s your problem? You’ve been cold towards me for months,” he asks seriously. I scoff, feeling my ears burn red.

“Me? Evan you’re the one that won’t talk to me for the rest of the fucking day every time that goddamn stick only has one fucking line!” I scream, not believing what I’m hearing come out of his mouth. He steps closer to me, intimidating me with his proximity. There’s no need for him to shout; He knows his glare speaks much louder.

“I’m going to our room. Come talk to me once you’ve calmed down,” he says through tight lips before silently walking away. I let out a frustrated sigh, pushing a box of frozen waffles off the counter as I flop down on.

‘I’m a fucking idiot’ I kick myself. We needed to talk about these feelings, but it’s just been so tense between us. The past few weeks I’ve been so emotional and there’s just been a tension hanging between Evan and me.

I sigh, standing up straight then finish putting the groceries aways. I decide to make Evan pancakes from scratch as a poor apology.

About an hour has passed and I’m taking the last pancake off the stove as footsteps sound down the hallway.

“You never came to talk,” I hear Evans’ sad voice as he comes around the corner.

“Well, I thought I would make you breakfast first,” I give him a small smile. Guilt rushes over me when I look into his eyes that are glistening with sadness. ‘How could I have yelled at him like that,’ I think to myself as he looks at me like a disappointed puppy. “Evan I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I’ve just been so on edge lately. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that… I know you’re just excited for the baby, but I feel like I’m disappointing you,” I sigh I pull two plates out of the cabinet. Evans hands quickly wrap around my waist, pulling me into a hug.

“You could never disappoint me, y/n,” he says sweetly, placing a kiss on top of my head. “I just got a bit carried away, I’m sorry. All I’ve been thinking about is starting a family; I don’t mean to put any pressure on you.” he says genuinely as he rubs his hands on my back.

“I love you, Evan,” his words make tear up but I keep my head pressed against his chest so he can’t see. He always manages to melt my heart with his kind words.

“I love you baby,” he pulls away to look at me. “Why don’t we go to that Italian place you like for dinner? We can have a nice night out to destress,” he offers with his award-winning smile. I sniffle, nodding my head.

“I’d love that,” I say with a grin. He grabs my hand, placing a kiss on top before helping himself to the pancakes on the table.

•

•

The rest of the day went pretty smooth. We didn’t speak of the baby at all, just spent some time together; it was lovely.

I get ready for our date, picking out a simple black dress. I slip it on and examine myself in the mirror. A frown creeps onto my face when I see my reflection, suddenly feeling insecure. As if on cue, Evan walks into the room sporting nothing but a pair of black slacks.

“You know, that’s one of my favorite dresses on you,” he says sweetly. I watch him through the mirror as he lays down on our bed, propping his head up on his hand to admire me.

“I was about to change. I feel like you can see how bloated I am in it,” I scoff, turning to look at him. He sits up from the bed, drawing his brows down.

“Y/n you look stunning. What the hell are you talking about?” he asks in disbelief. I trudge over to him, plopping down and resting my forehead on his bare shoulder.

“I don’t know,” I sigh honestly. “I just feel like I’ve been swollen and bloated for the past few weeks and it’s not even time for my period,” I groan into his arm. He chuckles, placing a warm hand on back.

“You need to be nicer to yourself. You look just as beautiful-if not more- than the first time I ever saw you,” he says softly before placing a kiss to the top of my head. I sit up, looking at him with awe.

“How do you still make me blush, even after all these years?” I giggle as my cheeks burn pink.

“I just have that effect on women,” he laughs as he stretches his arms above his head, purposefully flexing his biceps. I roll my eyes.

“Whatever,” I laugh as I stand from the bed. “Get dressed, Casanova,” I tease as I walk to the bathroom. He stands up without saying anything then gently slaps my ass. I can’t help but laugh to myself as he runs out of the room like a child who’s just stolen a piece of candy.

•

•

The car ride was full of jokes and positive energy. Now we sit in this lovely restaurant with a live orchestra and decorative fountains. It’s a bit flashy for my taste, but the food and service are so good that I can’t complain. Evan sits across from me in his signature formal wear: a white button-up and black slacks. He took the time to slick his brown curls down and away from his face and trim his beard and mustache a bit to better fit in with the black-tie atmosphere.

The waitress soon approaches our table with a bottle of wine (which looks much more expansive than any bottle that I pick up at Target) then sets the glasses on the table and opens the wine. Evan speaks up, asking her to leave the bottle as he wants to pour it himself. She smiles before walking away.

“I got this especially for you,” Evan laughs as he picks up the glass bottle. “So if you don’t like it, you owe me $500,” he teases as me pours me my drink. I almost choke on my breath.

“Evan are you crazy?” My eyes nearly pop out of my head. He chuckles at my expression as he pours his own serving.

“Crazy for you,” he winks, knowing that was insanely cheesy. “Plus, I’ve been kind of persuading you not to drink and eat certain things incase we conceive without realizing it, so this is my apology for trying to control your body,” he grins sympathetically, holding his glass of wine out. With a smile, I grab my glass and meet his with a clink. He takes a drink, but when I hold the earthy liquid up to my mouth, I pause. I consider his words about possibly being pregnant. I took a pregnancy test just a few days ago and it was negative like always. I shrug it off taking a sip of the bitter drink.

The night goes on, lovely as ever. It almost feels like an anniversary date with our reminiscing and sharing of old pictures, the high class atmosphere, the expensive wine. The night was perfect, honestly. Evan seemed to have been stressed because he drank nearly the whole bottle of wine on his own in less than an hour.

“God, you’re just so- and you’re such a… and kind! You’re so kind Y/n!” he stammers out with boyish giggles as he pauses every few words to manually sort through each of his thoughts. I laugh at the wine drunk man slouched in his seat

“Thank you, Ev,” I place a hand on his face from across the table.  He leans into the touch as he closes his eyes, his lips curling into a small content smile.

“Hey how come you didn’t drink yours?” he queries as he picks up my mostly full glass of wine, sloshing some of the dark liquid out of the vessel onto to the stark white tablecloth.

“Evan!” I whisper, snatching the glass from him. “Well, someone has to drive you home,” I giggle, shaking my head at the 36-year old child in the seat across from me. I give him the excuse of being the designated driver, but it was actually almost instinctual as to why I haven’t had much to drink. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time to go home,” I raise my eyebrows at Evan who’s got the wine bottle up to his eye, searching for more of the rich liquid. I snatch the bottle out of his hands. He stands from his seat trying to grab it back, but stumbles backwards into his chair. “Jesus Christ, Evan! You aren’t supposed to get trashed in a place like this,” I scold him as I motion around at the elegance of the building. He just shrugs his shoulders.

“Hey! I paid to be here just like everyone else,” he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist, snapping his fingers.

“I hate when you get wine drunk,” I sigh, shaking my head at the pure sass radiating off my husband. He just smiles at me with droopy eyes. I laugh, then call for the check.

•

•

After arriving home, I force my drunk husband out of his dress clothes so he can put his pajamas on. Evan is standing in the middle of our room in just his boxers as I sort through our dresser for his sweat pants and an old t-shirt. I carry the clothes over to him, then he suddenly grabs my hips pulling me into a kiss, swaying a bit on his feet.

“What if we try again tonight?” he asks lowly in my ear, catching me off guard, his energy now much different from his giggling self.

“I think maybe we should just get ready for bed,” I whisper back as he places small kisses down my neck, his strong hands pulling my body closer to his.

“That’s no fun,” he looks at me, frowning.

“Come on Ev. You’re drunk and I’m still sore from the other night. Let’s just get you in bed,” I smile, leading him to the mattress. He begrudgingly allows me to dress him before he lays down on our bed. Once he’s settled, I head to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

As I reach over the counter into the cabinet to grab a cup, I see the bag of the fancy pregnancy tests that Evan bought. I get my water and take a few sips while staring at the bag, contemplating whether I should use one. I shrug, taking one up to the bathroom with me so I can get ready for the night.

I set the box on the bathroom counter before taking off my makeup. As I walk to the toilet to use the bathroom, my eyes glance back over to the blue and white box.

‘You’re supposed to do it in the morning, it wouldn’t be accurate right now anyway,’  I think to myself as I pull up my dress, sitting down on the toilet, but in the same breath I think, ‘Evan bought like half a dozen, wasting one won’t hurt,’ I convince myself to hop up, reaching for the blue and white box, reading the directions quickly. I do as directed and allow the test to sit for two minutes. I turn away, brushing my teeth anxiously for the longest two minutes of my entire life. ‘I don’t know why I’m so worked up this time. I know it’s going to be negative,’ I think to myself as I put my tooth brush back in its holder. My heart drops to my stomach when I see the result of the test. I turn the other set of lights on in the bathroom so I can see it clearly. I blink my eyes as I hold the plastic closer to my face. I don’t believe my eyes.

‘pregnant’ is staring back at me in the small digital window of the pregnancy test. I smile, holding it to my pounding chest.

‘This could be a false positive. I’ll have to take another one in the morning,’ I rationalize in my head. ‘Should I tell Evan? If it’s a false, he’ll be crushed,’ I frown. As if Evan knows every time I’m thinking about him, he stumbles into the bathroom.

“Holy shit baby why do you have the LED’s on,” he hisses as he covers his eyes, trudging to the toilet in a drunken stupor. I stand still, just staring at the test in my hands, unsure of what to do. Evan yawns as relieves himself in the small room that the toilet is in.

“This could be false,” I start as I look at his backside. “But this test is positive,” I say quietly, unsure if he can hear me over the gallons he’s pissing. “Jesus, Evan,” I raise my eyebrows at how much he’s going.

“What?” he asks after a pause while turning his ear towards me, seemingly unsure if he heard me correctly. I wait for him to finish. Once he adjusts his pants and turns around, I take a deep breath before handing him the test.

“Now this could be false but-“ I begin as he tries to focus his tired, drunken gaze on the small letters on the test.

“Pregnant,” he reads aloud slowly. He looks up at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw before pulling me into a tight hug.

“Now like I said Ev, it could a false positive,” I remind him as I giggle against his chest.

“No way,” he looks at me with tears of joy streaming down his face. As soon as I see his tears, my own roll down my cheeks. He places a gentle hand on my stomach, using the other to wipe his eyes.

“How long until we can feel it kick?” he asks genuinely with pure joy glinting in his eyes. I giggle at his eagerness.

“It’s gotta grow legs first,” I snicker as he rests his forehead against mine. He laughs when he realizes how silly of a question that was before placing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“Lets get you to bed, Mama,” he picks me up, seemingly much more sober now, to carry me to our bed.

[after-witch]

Was thinking about your spirirts all having the same darling and then i saw this quote on pintrest. Fate!

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.

fate!

--

At the edge of these familiar woods, the solid pure snow and shimmering ice are all turned to slush, an awful grey and brown. Each step of your boots is an unpleasant squelch that makes you consider standing still forever.

But. You don't stand still forever. You can't, and neither can he--anymore than the rest of them, fading in and out throughout the year, sometimes more violently than not.

The winter did not pass violently this year, but oh, it did try to hang on--to stretch itself too far into those early spring days when the air should have been warm enough for a flower to blossom.

Which they still managed, now and then, when the sun was highest in the sky. Only for an icy air to kill them in the night, for frost to harden the grass, for a sudden snow squall to kiss your cheeks in the morning.

But it wasn't possible any longer. Winter may try to last forever, but eventually, it must yield. The snow and ice must trickle down the mountains and the newborns must venture out into the first warm air of their lives and everything must grow and grow and grow.

Spring must come, and you must go with it.

Not to freedom, but to him--to the spring spirit whose link is next in your chain, every year, for always. Every season will shift, and you will go with it--go with them.

You glance back at the edge of the woods, watching the wilted visage of your winter keeper hiding in the trees. He is like that mushy snow, you think--all tinged with the wrong colors, frowning, his hands clinging to the branches that are no longer coated in glassy ice.

Well then.

You turn your back on that frown and you won't deny the pleasantness of being enveloped with the warm spring air, the scent of new flowers finally drifting in the breeze, as you walk out of the woods and into a meadow.

Ages ago, you would hope to run through the meadow and escape. Find some farmer or some traveling merchant who would let you hide in their home, hop onto their cart, and get away before he finds you.

Now, you do nothing more than embrace a few moments of freedom before a familiar visage walks over the hill, bluebells already wound in his fair hair, an eager, youthful smile on his lips.

"Robin," you mutter, curtseying, and he laughs so sweetly that you hear the bluebells ringing even from a distance.

Whatever winter still clung to you at the edge of the woods drops like a warm cloak to the earth at the sound.

[mini-kids-clothing-shop]

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[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

December 27 - Skating | word count: 861 | @wolfstarmicrofic

Snow drifts lazily from the sky, falling in soft blankets across the park. Even though Remus hates the cold, he does enjoy the sound of winter silence. The muffled noise of everything, the muted scents, the sleepy feeling that seems to slow everything down, even the snow. It’s like the world is on pause; you can take a moment to breathe; you can take a moment to slow down and relax; but most importantly you can take a moment to settle down with your loved ones, and enjoy a peaceful moment.

Right now, the park is deserted. No screaming kids, no wayward dogs, nobody to interrupt this peaceful moment between him and Sirius. Sirius however, doesn’t seem to be in the mood to embrace the winter spirit. He is wearing a puffer jacket that is way too large for him, he has a scarf wound around his neck even though his shoulders are already scrunched up to his ears, and his hat is pulled down passed his ears. In the middle of the bundle is Sirius’ bright red nose, practically the only visible part of him.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Sirius keeps both hands wound around the fence post, both feet planted firmly in the snow.

“Muggles do it all the time.”

Remus carefully steps onto the ice. When he turns back to face Sirius however, he almost tips right over and is forced to grab the fence post to keep upright.

“But is it safe?”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m not sure you are. The Sirius I know jumps into danger blindfolded.”

“Remus…” Sirius says through clenched teeth.

“Trust me, okay?” He starts to skate away, leaving Sirius no choice but to follow behind. Well, he could simply stay behind, but lately Sirius has taken to following Remus around like a lost puppy.

Even coated in a layer of powdery snow, the ice is slick underfoot, which Remus should have expected, but for whatever reason, he was convinced the skate blades would negate most of the slipperiness. He watched some kids out here the other day, they danced across the ice like they were on solid ground. He, on the other hand, nearly tumbles every few feet, only managing to stay upright thanks to his cartwheeling arms. It’s embarrassing, honestly. The only consolation will be watching graceful and sophisticated Sirius become too overconfident and fall on his face.

“You should know, that if the ice breaks, I don’t know how to swim.” Sirius calls from the shore, tracing just the tip of a skate across the ice.

“It’s not going to break.” Remus turns to respond over his shoulder, and almost falls again.

While Sirius decides whether he is going to take the leap, Remus tries to figure out how to move around the ice without keeping his arms to the sides for balance. Even the young kids trying for the first time had been more successful than he is. It takes him a full minute just to turn around, and he slips at the very end, crashing to his knees. Well, if Sirius is just going to stand on the shore the entire time watching Remus fumble around like a newborn, he is going to admit defeat and head home.

But when he turns, Sirius is skating toward him as though it is simple as walking.

“You have joking.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve done this before, and you thought you could get a laugh about it.”

“What? No, I didn’t even know these things existed until you gave them to me.” Sirius says gesturing toward his skates.

“But—oh that’s not fair.”

Sirius reaches him, but instead of stopping, he keeps his feet moving, twisting around Remus. He glides like it is the easiest thing in the world. His feet don’t slip, his body stays upright, and his arms remain tucked in his pockets.

“How are you doing that?”

“I don’t know.” Sirius shrugs. “I guess all those ballet lessons will finally amount to something.”

“Ballet lessons?”

“My mother had both Regulus and I take lessons.”

“Oh…” He had assumed ballet was a notoriously female activity, but maybe things are different in the wizarding world. If Walburga “obsessed with gender norms” Black had her sons take ballet lessons, then it surely is an ungendered activity. For all its faults, the wizarding world is more inclusive than the muggle one in many ways. “I think it suits you.”

“Oh… thanks.”

Sirius does a few more looping circles, somehow managing to coordinate his legs with his momentum, not once tripping over his feet even as they twist around each other. Not once does the ice get the better of him, and not once does he show a slip of control.

He is ethereal. Floating over the ice like an angel. Remus always thought Sirius didn’t belong in this world, burdened by human needs and constraints, this is only confirmation of this. First time on the ice and he manipulates it to his will.

And while Remus had been ready to leave only moments ago, he settles back and watches his angel dance.

[pensiveriiots]

When I showed up to have a part of my heart scrapped out from inside me

A man outside the clinic told me he’ll pray for me & my baby

He’ll get on his knees for my sins

Ask God to forgive me for sparing a lamb from slaughter

by gutting it’s mother

before the winter starves them both

Then he’ll stand on all ten when his God tells him our hunger is a test of faith

But I know empty stomach & bruised knees are not virtues

That pleading for peace isn’t how you find it

I know hoping something saves you

only distracts you from figuring out

how to save yourself

Do you pray for incubation beds & affordable newborn caskets in the nicu

For full meals in group homes or large balances on food stamp cards

Do you pray for children who burn in their parents spreading flames

Who know their worth is always up for debate

Spend lifetimes selling parts of themselves to earn it

Do you pray for girls who have babies that look like their rapist

For boys who try to love their sons without hurting them but don’t know how

When you pray

do you picture orphans faces

Do you hear their mourning

Do you see a mother tightening her child’s belt loops

After crying her former dreams into the shower drain

Do you smell the booze in the breastmilk

Do you recite the postpartum suicide notes

Do you even change your child’s diapers or is it your wife’s job

Did you pray for my mom the first time she got pregant at 15 after she was raped

Did you pray for her when she was forced to do the same thing

I have the privilege to choose

Did you pray when my father poked a hole in my moms destiny

Is it still divine if only one of them knew I wasn’t a surprise

Did you pray for me the first time he hit me

Or the first time a boy didn’t give me a choice either

Did you pray for my soft heart while my upbringing coated it in a hard shell to protect me when no one else could

Did you pray when I prayed for death at 13

When I was jealous of my unborn older sibling because they were spared

Did God know what was gonna happen when he sent me earth side

Did he make a plaything out of all this irony

Did he know my family’s sins take the shape of nails

That every generation needs someone to lay themselves on the cross

Did Jesus know his death could never be enough

That rebirth can be as painful as dying

Did the Holy Spirit also not make a mother out of a broken maiden without asking her

Would Mary have aborted Jesus if she knew he was gonna be sacrificed for others sins anyway

If she knew his father would write his purpose as a fix for his mistakes

Mothers birthing babies just for them to become martyrs

Just to see their mothers in their children before they see them in the mirror

Just to discover there is no running

Only facing it all head first while avoiding your child’s ever watching gaze

If I have this baby & they grow up to be an abomination to the Bible

Will their life’s worth suddenly be up for discussion

I can kill my child for disobeying God

But not for invading my life before I got to live it

Before I healed from the things that had me clutching a rosary until my palms bled

Do you pray to God for your own sins

Do you think he doesn’t see you making exceptions for yourself

God’s soldiers are killers too

Only they choose which death is righteous

I wish he knew this was a form of death for me too

That part of me was also ripped out & put to rest on that table

That I bled out & crossed my chest hoping if the rest of my body is empty I won’t feel the hole dug into my womb

But that we can both be reborn

Me, a person who believes I’m worth being alive

Them, an angel reminding me of the other side

Both of us at peace knowing our relationship across the veil is more bountiful than it would of been in the flesh

I wish he knew that I prayed for us too

That I love this baby more than he loves his beliefs

That I am willing to change for a child I’ve never met & he can’t change for the people he can embrace

I worship this sacrifice & promised it wouldn’t be in vain

And that’s why I let go

I’m sorry sir

Welcome to the unanswered prayers club

I sent that baby back up to the sky

I would rather them fly with angels in another realm

than drown with me in this one

Every time I pray I talk to my child

who knows God more than I do

And they always show me mercy

For the first time I see God everywhere I go

[madameaug]

Piercings

Pairing: Jungkook x Jennette (ft. Peanut)

Synopsis: Story of Peanut getting her ears pierced.

Jungkook was more than familiar with the procedure for piercings. He was becoming the poster child for body modifications. At this rate, he would run out of area to get tattooed or pierced.

His influence even spread to Jennette. A couple months ago she got an industrial and flat piercing. Jungkook was this close to convincing her to get a matching lip piercing. But she turned him down talking about "professionalism."

Had Jungkook been going to his piercer alone, he wouldn't be contemplating turning back to speed off in his car. The little person in the car seat he was carrying was staunchly different from his typical appointment. His peanut cup was getting her ears pierced. At the request of her mother and aunt (mostly her aunt though).

Jungkook, drawing the short end of the stick, had to take Peanut to get her ears pierced. As he chickened out on taking Peanut to her vaccination appointment.

He couldn't help it. Watching his peanut cup in pain gave him heart palpitations, which led him to wonder how he was going to make it through this appointment all by himself.

Jungkook's leg bounced as he sat on the stool in the back of the piercing/tattoo shop. His piercer, Gus, sterilized the needle. Oblivious to Jungkook's panic. Peanut was waking up from her nap. Bubbles were around her mouth as she did the adorable newborn scrunch.

Jungkook smothered her cheek in kisses. Embracing the natural warmth she possessed in the winter temperature.

"Ready, boss?"

No.

Jungkook nodded his head. He was already chewing on the inside of his cheek. Placing Peanut on his lap, Jungkook secured her head in his hands. Peanut was calm as ever, looking around at the new environment. Her fist became tasty as she lodged it in her mouth.

"It'll be quick. In and out. You don't have to fret baby." Jungkook spoke out loud. Unsure if his prep talk was for Peanut or for himself. Taking his cue to get this process done, Gus walked to Peanut's left side. The infant watching the man get closer. Not visibly uncomfortably, but definitely keeping track of his every movement.

"Give me a countdown," Jungkook asked, his voice sounding small. His eyes already closed tight.

"One, two." Before getting to three Gus injected the needle through Peanut's lobe. Prepared with the small stud jewelry to add to her ear.

With one eye open, Jungkook braced himself for the horrific cry. Tears of his own brewing at the waterline. Peaking down to look at Peanut, her expression was emotionless. Fist still in her mouth, saliva strands dripping down her winter coat.

"Like a soldier." Gus complimented, going to the other side. "This should be a piece of cake then."

Giving Jungkook the same countdown, Gus finished the piercing on the right ear. Unlike the other ear, Peanut started to whine. Fist came out of her mouth to touch the recently pierced ear. She whimpered, turning her body away from Gus.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jungkook whispered to Peanut. Bouncing her in his arms. Finally, standing up. Still not happy, Peanut gently rubbed her ear.

"Thank you for squeezing us in." Jungkook paid with his Apple Watch, refusing to place his sniffling baby.

"Any time man."

Jungkook sat in the driver's seat. His phone dialed Jennette's.

"Oh my baby, well, my big baby." Jennette was graced to see Jungkook's red eyes while holding Peanut.

"I take it things went well." She had a teasing smirk on her face.

"I'm never doing this again." Jungkook wiped the stray tears falling down his face.

"Can I see my actual child? I can check up on you later."

Peanut faced her mother. Eyes just like her father.

"I'm so sorry, mama." Jennette blew kisses to her baby, who rested her head on her father's shoulder. Her sniffles eased as the pain went away in her ear.

"Jungkook, bring my baby home."

[edogawa-division]

ARB Birthday Special 2024: Yuriko Kuromiya

~~ December 22nd ~~

“Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.”

Login Lines:

“It’s quiet today…too quiet. I've forgotten something major. I know it. What on earth is the question-hm? Oh, it’s you. What is it?”  

“A gift? ….Ah. That explains the feeling I've been getting all day. Well, thank you. I do appreciate it.”

Voice Lines:

“Everyone is telling me how they can’t believe that I’m turning 36 years old and how I look no older than my mid-20s. I honestly don’t care for their words but I suppose I can’t blame them. I’ve aged better than most have over the years.”

“If one more person asks me when I’m going to settle down I’m going to snap. I don’t give a damn about this so-called “time limit” I have and how my window of having biological kids is getting shorter and shorter each year. I’m content where I am with no partner, plus Kaoru and Kanra are enough as it is. A newborn would only make my life more chaotic.” 

“I had planned on going to work today, but the coroner’s office called to tell me that I had the day off since it was my birthday. I’m afraid I’m unsure what to do today with all this free time. I’m used to being constantly busy one way or another. It’s quite an odd feeling.”

“Father…I wish you were still here some days. I’ve long made peace with your death, but sometimes I wonder what could’ve been. I’m sure you would've enjoyed meeting those two gremlins I call daughters. Perhaps you could have taught them a trick or two.”

“Are you still singing that song, Kaoru? Uh-huh…and how many times have you seen “Wicked” since it came out? I can’t believe you would…no actually, I can believe you would do that. We’ll talk about your new obsession later, but speaking of gifts, what do you have for me this year? I want to hope that it’s nothing insane but knowing you I shouldn’t expect that.” 

“This is surprisingly tame for you, Kaoru. Oh no, what did you do to it? Dammit, I knew I should’ve expected another deranged gift from you. Only you would think to coat a person's nail in a dangerous fatal poison Kaoru. One question, though, why green? Why not black or violet? The colors I normally wear. Kaoru…stop watching “Wicked” I beg of you. *sighs* …There she goes, I truly can’t with her sometimes.” 

“Hello there, Kanra. Your gift wouldn’t happen to be as manic as Kaoru’s would it? Just a touch, dear. I love her but sometimes I wonder if she was dropped on her head as a baby. *snorts* Can’t lose what was never truly there. Oh, you should know I’d love any gift from you Kanra. You’re my sweet girl after all. ” 

“I’m an albino Kanra I can’t help that light and I do not mix but it is a lovely gift. It’ll be especially helpful in the summer so I don’t burn. Just thinking about that time makes me wish it could stay winter forever. Oh, hush you we all have our preferences. Yes yes, lead the way dear. Your cakes are to die for.”

Kaoru Lines:

“Popular~! You’re gonna be popular~! Sorry! It’s just really catchy even if I like Elphaba over Glinda. Just 2 okay maybe…22 times. It’s such a good movie you wouldn’t understand, but enough about that, it’s your special day! Happy birthday, Yuriko! I got you a little gift to celebrate! So here! Hope you enjoy it!”   

“Oh, you should know by now, Yuriko, that I’d give you something more than some simple nail polish. First, I made it myself, and second, it contains a deadly fast-action poison that'll kill anyone in minutes if you scratch them. Hm? Why green? Oh, I got the idea after seeing Elphaba’s nails. Like they’re such a stunning shade of green, and your nails are pretty long, so I thought it was perfect. Nope, I'm riding this obsession until the very end, Yuriko! Anyway, I’m off to recreate Glinda’s bubble now since I’m done with Elphaba’s broom! Bye!” 

Kanra Lines:

“Happy Birthday, Yuriko-san! Did Kaoru go crazy with her gift again? Sounds like her and it doesn’t help that I heard her laughing from her lab all week. I think she’s finally losing her sanity. If it makes you feel better my gift is way more tame than hers. It’s not much but I think you get better use out of it than Kaoru’s.” 

“I know you don’t like the sun or any type of light, actually, so I thought you’d like a parasol. Considering how you burn in the summer sun I can’t blame you for not liking the season but stay in winter? It’s too cold for me. I already sleep with 4 blankets. Hehehe yeah, I like spring more. Now come on! I have your cake already made and it’s tea-flavored too! So hurry up!”  

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 1: The Abandonment

Every chapter will be uploaded to the Masterlist linked in my pinned post on my account 💖

*50 days until Competition*

The ice had always been home.

From the moment she laced up her first pair of skates and wobbled like a newborn fawn on slick ice, Elain Archeron knew she found her future passion.

It all started when she was nine years old, residing in a place called the Village with Mama, Papa, and her two sisters. It was the last month of the year, and school had ceased for winter break just as the fluffy white snow began to coat the ground. Everyday on their trek home from classes, Elain and her sisters Nesta and Feyre passed by a secluded lake, sparkling blue in the spring and beautifully frozen in the winter. This time, however, the lake was occupied.

The girl had been no more than twelve years old, twirling with the grace and poise of a veteran skater. Each intricate twist and turn captivated Elain’s attention so much that she had tugged her sisters’ hands to stay and watch, gasping in delight when the girl launched herself through the air and landed precisely back on the ice. Little Elain had never beheld something so magnificent.

She’d run right home in the snow to beg Mama and Papa for her first pair of ice skates. What little money they’d had was already being put toward art classes for Feyre and dance classes for Nesta. While she'd been disappointed at first, Elain was always resourceful. Her free time was spent helping the elderly in her Village prepare their gardens for the harsh winter. After a few weeks of laying mulch down, wrapping larger plants with plastic covers, and moving small plants inside the homes, Elain had saved up enough money to finally buy herself a pair of pink ice skates, her most prized possession.

And she practiced. She practiced Axel jumps and Biellmann spins until her leggings were ripped, her muscles were sore, and her feet throbbed in anger. She studied videos, and even joined the girl on the lake, who she finally discovered was named Yoona. It was fitting, since Yoona’s skating was just as elegant and graceful as her name.

Sometimes Elain skated alone, when she needed a moment to clear her head. Other times, she showed off her skills to Nesta and Feyre, who smiled from the sidelines and urged her to “Be careful!” when she tried to land a new jump.

Even if she was not the best skater to grace the ice, she fell in love with it anyway. Everything about figure skating was exhilarating. The artistry, athleticism, the emotion, was incomparable to any menial task she’d ever done. The rush of adrenaline–the feeling of free falling and flying–was simply unparalleled. And maybe Elain believed she had a talent for it, (and was content not to pursue it further) but according to Mama, it wasn’t enough to shine on her own.

Figure skating had at one time been a hobby for Elain, a way to destress and escape the pressures of reality. She’d wanted to keep it that way, but Mama had other plans. Across the Village was a small piece of land called Prythian, where seven territories respectively named after the seasons and solar phases, competed at an annual event to showcase the best skaters in each region. The top scoring team was rewarded with accolades and a monetary achievement.

Mama caught wind of this shortly after Papa’s death. Whether the plan made sense or not didn’t matter to Mama. The prospect of potential fortune was so enticing that she hadn’t wasted a moment selling most of Papa’s trinkets and other belongings, and relocated the family to Velaris, a charming city in the heart of the Night Region.

Velaris had everything. Kind residents, delicate shops, mouth watering food, and to Elain’s sheer delight, it was in very close proximity to the Snowspell Ice Rink in Winter Region, the largest ice rink she’d ever seen and the only one in the entirety of Prythian, as far as anyone knew. Even along the main strip of Velaris was a newly renovated dance studio and an up and coming art classroom, both of which piqued the interest of Elain’s two sisters.

But it was Elain’s hobby that Mama controlled. Feyre was already being requested to paint wall murals in mansions for some of the richest families in Prythian at just sixteen years old, and nineteen year old Nesta had snagged the lead choreographer position in the dance studio. Children from all Regions traveled just to take one of her classes.

In short, the two sisters were making a name for themselves, willingly, standing out amongst others on the societal ladder. Elain wasn’t. And Mama did not take lightly the fact that Elain had preferred a quieter, simpler life, one filled with multiple hobbies and a surplus of happiness, over one that brought the Archeron family wealth and recognition.

Within the first few months of moving Mama had made friends with a man and woman from the Autumn Region, Beron and Lucia Vanserra, during one of the days Mama accompanied Elain to the rink in Winter. Beron was a commanding presence, with an air of arrogance and flaming temper. On the other hand, Lucia was a quiet woman, timid yet sweet in nature. Their youngest son, Lucien, was also a talented skater, perhaps the best throughout the Autumn Region.

Mama and Beron had a vision, one that only Elain and Lucien could accomplish together: wealth, status, fortune, fame. (Even though the Vanserra family needed none of those things. Beron was simply blinded by greed.) And so they were thrust together as partners at the age of seventeen, forced to skate together to bring honor to their families, all the while losing what drew them to the craft in the first place.

They competed against some of the best skaters in the nation, on a mission to claim the top spot on the podium, yet always falling short to pairs like Viviane and Kallias of Winter, Cresseida and Varian of Summer, or Morrigan and Azriel of Night. The couple from Winter excelled in chemistry and emotion, always bringing the judges close to tears with their routine. The siblings of Summer were coordinated and aesthetically pleasing to the eye, flowing in sync like parallel streams. And the best friends of Night excelled in athleticism and pure skill.

Each competition loss was met with insults disguised as corrections, harder routines, and longer days of training. She could not exist without living and breathing the ice, yet not in a way that fulfilled her. Elain had considered quitting at one point in time, but even after Mama’s death when Elain had turned twenty-two four years ago, she couldn’t bring herself to hang up the skates. Everything that Mama stood for had been ingrained in her brain. Wealth. Status. Recognition. Honor.

She had not succeeded when Mama was alive.

She wouldn’t fail her in death, too.

Twenty minutes past their allotted practice time, Lucien casually strolled into the Snowspell Ice Rink with the nonchalance of a man who did not appear phased that the competition was only a month away. Elain quirked a brow at his unusual tardiness and lack of skates, readjusting the fuzzy pink leg warmers around her calves, matching perfectly with her sweater.

“We only have the ice for an hour,” she reminded him as casually as she could, though her forehead crease was evident. “The Ice Warriors have practice at five.”

Being the only rink in Prythian came with one major con. While it was beautifully constructed and in pristine condition, ice time was divided equally between figure skaters, hockey players, and those who simply wanted to enjoy a free skate. Arriving on time was imperative to ensure everyone had equal usage of the ice.

Whether Lucien sensed her annoyance, he didn’t let on. Instead he stared at her, face uncharacteristically passive before saying, “I’m pulling out of the competition.”

Elain blinked. The ice beneath her feet thawed, and she felt like she was falling. Were her cheeks red from the cool air or from the absolute panic that shocked her body? “You–what?”

Lucien huffed, digging the toe of his boot into the ice. “I’m dropping out of the competition,” He reiterated, a twinge of indignation to his voice. Lucien did not possess the same temperament as his father, but every now and again his straight red hair would glow a bit brighter when he was on the cusp of irritation.

“I don’t understand,” Elain answered with a shake of her head, arms splayed outward in protest. “The competition is a few months away. Not a year, not six months. We’re supposed to perform Ode to Joy and–.”

“We don’t have a shot, Elain,” Lucien hissed, jaw clenching. “We’ve been partners for almost ten years with nothing to show for it. I don’t know if it’s me or you or–or us–but something isn’t working. Each year we seem to perform worse than the last.”

The ringing in her ears grew louder with every word that fell past his mouth. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. The competition–her duty–Mama–.

“We have to do this,” Elain said quietly. Her heart hammered frantically in her chest. “I have to do this. Your father–my Mama–Lucien I can’t quit. We must figure something out. We’ll practice more, or have your father pay for higher quality lessons, just–something other than pulling out of the competition.”

“I don’t think it’s a skill issue,” Lucien replied with a half hearted shrug. “Not for me, at least. I've been Autumn’s best skater since I was a child. I was skating before other kids even learned how to walk.”

Elain scoffed, if only to hide the prick of tears at her eyes. He may not have had Beron’s temper, but maybe he inherited a bit of his arrogance and condescending tone. “So, it is a skill concern. My skill, or lack thereof, it seems.”

“Listen. You’re good, Elain. I know for the first part of your life, you were self taught and that’s not your fault. But we’ve been training for years with some of the best figure skating coaches money can buy and you haven’t improved enough to even boost us from fifth place to fourth. You are good. But being good doesn’t win competitions.”

Every word, whether insulting or true, pierced through her heart. Shame washed over her bones. Lucien’s words were eerily similar to the ones Mama said a long time ago.

Lucien bit his lip, contemplating, “And it’s not just that. We’re not–compatible. I don’t know if we ever have been. Be honest, would you have chosen me as your partner, had our parents not been consumed in their own scheme to force us together?” He challenged, arms folded across his chest. “Willingly, with no outside pressure or familial obligations, would you have chosen me?”

Elain’s silence was answer enough. Because no, she wouldn’t have. Competitive skating had never been on her radar. Being Lucien’s partner, as awful as it sounded, was never something she considered. But she hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Feyre was a child prodigy. Nesta waltzed as easy as breathing. Both had Mama’s love, affection, and approval. Without ice skating, Elain had nothing.

Lucien sighed, tan fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled the tension from his body. “I wouldn’t have chosen you either. No hard feelings, I promise.” He stepped forward then, thrusting a chilly hand into his pocket. “My timing is terrible, I know. I’m sorry. I just think this is the best choice for me, Elain. And for you, too. You won’t have to worry about disappointing your mother–again–and I won’t have to work harder for the both of us.”

She reeled, almost as if she’d been slapped. Her lack of skill had been holding him back. The time, energy, training, tears, and aching muscles had been for nothing. She had failed to live up to expectations, again, disappointing her now ex-skating partner and deceased Mama in the process. Her lip trembled.

“Take care, Elain. I’ll be seeing you.” Lucien reached out, hesitantly squeezing her shoulder before stalking off the ice. She watched him leave in stunned silence, the only movement on her body being furrowed brows as she caught glimpse of a second figure in the distance, too blurry to fully grasp who had accompanied Lucien for what was probably moral support.

She didn’t have time to process that forty minutes had come and gone before a heavy thud hit the ice. Elain hastily brushed the tears from her cheeks just in time to see Cassian, defenseman for the Velaris Ice Warriors, greet her with a smile that was still somehow intact with the exception of one or two missing teeth. After all, he was notorious for goading other players into spats on the ice.

“Hey, Elain! So listen, what do you think is the best way to ask Nesta to go out with me–.” Cassian froze, eyes bulging out of his head. “Wait. What? Why are you crying? What the fuck happened?”

It was then she felt the presence of two more hulking hockey players behind her. Exhaling a shaky breath, she skated back a step to glance at the three teammates.

Cassian, number 26, top defenseman in the league in points and penalty minutes. Wherever Cassian skated, chaos and blood were sure to follow. While leading the league in points as a defenseman was certainly an achievement, he preferred throwing punches on the ice, specifically in Eris Vanserra’s face whenever Nesta’s name left the redhead’s mouth.

Rhysand, number 35, captain of the Ice Warriors and the best center to play the game. His ability to create plays for his teammates was unmatched, racking up the most assist points out of every player on his team. His impressive hockey IQ and innate ability to be a leader earned him the title of captain. When he wasn’t leading his team to victory, Rhys was spending time with his dog, son, and wife, Elain’s younger sister Feyre.

Elain swallowed, eyes shifting to the third teammate.

Azriel, number 54, right winger with impeccable speed and a lethal wrist shot. His ability to glide around the ice undetected has fooled his opponents time and time again, unable to defend against him as he buried the puck in the back of the net. He was calculated and strategic, using his sculpted body to block shots and only brawling when necessary.

Azriel, the former skating partner of Morrigan, representative of the Night Region in seven competitions, placing gold in five. Her teenage rival, whether he was aware of it or not. Who was now staring at her with a hardened expression.

“Elain?” Rhys asked, gloved hand squeezing her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elain mumbled tearfully, fingers gripping the end of her sweater. She prayed the tears wouldn’t slip past her lashes. “Just that I have to live with the realization that I’m a complete and utter disappointment.”

She skated off the ice before any of the men could get another word in. Had she looked over her shoulder, Elain would have noticed how Azriel’s jaw set, and how his eyes tracked her every movement as she glided across the rink.

The thought had hit her the moment she saw him, and she’d done everything she could to keep it out. She didn’t want to, she really didn’t want to, but it was one hell of a good idea and she couldn’t convince herself otherwise.

She stood in front of a black door in a pair of warm fleece leggings and a crew neck that was two sizes too big, albeit comfy.

Pushing against her brain screaming to Run away now, Elain, she tapped four times on the door, holding her breath. She almost choked when the door swung open a second later.

Behind the door stood a shirtless Azriel with a fluffy blue towel secured around his waist. Water droplets clung to every part of his body, brightening the black ink swirling across his shoulders, neck, and chest. Elain only realized she was staring when he gently cleared his throat, shooting a half smile her way.

Squaring her shoulders, Elain proclaimed, “I need your help.”

ARTWORK FOR THIS CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: HERE

DIVIDERS BY: @saradika-graphics