#do you have wool socks. here wear a second pair. take my boots. my good coat. heres my alpaca shawl for under the coat hood. are you wearing

[chadlesbianjasontodd]

pushing my cold-weather gear on my roommate like i'm armoring her for battle

[aellynera]

Enumerate (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

ENUMERATE

(hey hey. this is one of my submissions for @wasicskosgirl​ and her 800 follower celebration! congrats on your milestone, lovely! i wrote this in one sitting, which i rarely ever do, but the idea was immediate and persistent so this happened. i just made some final edits, and it was a lot of fun to do and i hope you all enjoy it!)

Word Count: ~1750 

Summary: You have a question for Nathan. He wants reasons. You have a secret weapon.

Warnings: Some language. Innuendo. Smooches. Nathan Bateman. No actual plot, just a thing. Hopefully decently proofread. Superheroes.

with the prompt - “Don’t give me that puppy dog face. How am I supposed to say no to that?”

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Nathan Bateman glares at you over his glasses. Or, he would if he bothered to actually turn his attention away from the monitors in front of him, which, of course, he does not.

On the other side of the room, you’re stretched out on the bed, on your stomach with your legs bent up and ankles crossed behind you, lazily flipping through a magazine.

For once it’s not a technical journal; you’d finally put your foot down a few months ago, told Nathan you’d had enough of the esoteric mumbo-jumbo he kept all over the house, and after a few pleas and a little please, he’d caved. He might make a case that, until now, these celebrity gossip rags were a worse idea, but he can’t bring himself to do it. As a thank you, you always make sure to hand him his favorite one when you’re done with it.

You briefly debate arguing that building an AI and pissing it off so much it thought it had no other recourse than to try to escape and then stab you in the chest is probably a worse idea, but you don’t want to actually fight with him. And you’re not mean.

“I don’t know, I think it would be fun,” you call back to him.

The clicking of the keyboard never stops. He gets so involved in his work sometimes - okay, all the time, if you’re being honest - that nothing else seems to matter. You knew it isn’t really true; the fact that you’re on the bed wearing nothing besides one of his old, soft henleys and a pair of wool socks proves that. The ability to occasionally engage him in actual conversation while his mind blazes through lines of code is rare.

“I’m pretty sure we have different definitions of that word.”

“Hmm, I’m pretty sure they more than occasionally overlap.”

He scans your voice for any hint of sarcasm, any tinge of facetiousness. When he can’t detect any and can’t determine your actual intent, his eyes narrow.

“Enumerate.”

Well, sort of actual conversation.

You toss the magazine aside and sit up on the bed.

“And for every step you take towards me, I want a good reason, not some bullshit half-answer,” he continues. Still typing away, still staring at his screens.

“How do you even know I was going to walk over there?” you mutter.

“I know your operating system, kitten,” he says, “so. Enumerate. And count those steps for me. I know you’re good at counting.” If he’d bother to look at you, you’d see the slight smirk on his face, but it doesn’t matter. You hear it in his voice. You know he’s mostly teasing you.

Then again, if Nathan bothered to turn around to look at you, he’d also see the giant, exaggerated steps you’re taking on the path to his desk. It isn’t very far from bed to desk. Nathan is nothing if not efficient, and one never knows when inspiration or insomnia will strike or you might need quick data access.

But you have a secret weapon and you are going to deploy it with as little delay as possible.

The secret weapon has never failed you before.

You roll your eyes. Smug asshole. “One. It gets us out of the house.”

“We have everything we need right here. Hardly a compelling reason. Try again.”

Another giant step. “Two. A little human interaction, other than verbally sparring with me and taking me on every imaginable surface of this house, would do you some good.”

The clicking might pause for a split second. You can’t be sure because it picks up and keeps going just as it had before, as Nathan replies, “False correlation. I hate most people, in large part because they can’t keep up with me. Not like the way you do.”

You smile, even though he can’t see you, and open your mouth to keep going, but he’s not quite done. “And, if I remember correctly, and I always remember correctly-” you swear you hear his eyebrow arch “-that other part does us both some good. You haven’t had any complaints thus far, and a few of those surfaces were actually rather un-imaginable. You gotta try harder, baby.”

Damn him.

Another step, another reason. “Three. It’s what normal people do.”

The clicking finally stops and Nathan spins around in his chair. He takes you in - one foot as far out in front of the other as possible without you falling over, arms held out awkwardly to keep your balance, wearing only his shirt and your fuzzy socks, hair still a mess from the evening’s previous activities - and gives you a pointed look. “That’s what normal people do?”

You giggle, then straighten your face. You take another step. Now you’re almost in his lap. “Four. You’d look really, really hot in some spandex and a cape.”

Nathan growls and pulls you into his lap. “I said no bullshit.”

There’s your opening. Secret weapon time.

You bite your lip and give him the widest, saddest looking eyes you possibly can. You think of lost puppies and kittens, the ending of Casablanca, that song in Coco that had you bawling. And you blink once, very slowly, just for dramatic effect. Not that you need to. Your trap is set.

Nathan groans and drops his head to your chest for a moment, and then looks back up at you, scowling under his glasses. “Don’t give me that puppy dog face. How am I supposed to say no to that?”

You grin down at him. “You’re not.”

“God damn it.”

“Nathan, it will be fun,” you insist.

In response, he stands suddenly, scoops you up and tosses you back on the bed, his body caging you underneath him.

“You really want me to go to, of all the fucking things in the entire known universe, a comic con with you.” It’s not a question.

“Well, I mean, you did already buy me the tickets.”

“Beginning to regret that decision,” the resignation in his voice is strong, but you can also hear some amusement. And maybe something a little more.

You pout at him. “And my sister can’t go with me now because of some stupid emergency work thing.”

His brow furrows. “Like I don’t have actual work to do?”

“And it would be a shame to waste them…,” You blink at him a few more times.

“I’ll donate them to a children’s charity or some shit.”

You smack him lightly on the shoulder, then your arms wrap around his neck as you lean forward and whisper in his ear. “And I still say you’d look amazing in a super suit.”

“Bull. Shit,” he leans up and nips at your neck.

You smack him harder this time. “Hey, those are good reasons.”

“Will it make you happy?” he sighs.

“Yes.”

He pauses for a few minutes with his face buried in your neck, then pulls back to look at you. His stern expression cracks, ever so slightly, at the hopeful smile on your face. And those damn puppy dog eyes. “You do make a compelling argument.”

You squeal in delight, holding his face and kissing him firmly on the lips.

“But...people. A lot of people. In public,” Nathan grumbles, narrowing his eyes and giving you the fakest stern look he’s ever given you.

He knows you know he was never going to say no to you. He can’t. He may know your operating system, but his own systems fail when you run this particular subset.

And the secret weapon never fails.

You smirk back, your grin and the light in your eyes threatens to throw his brain completely offline.

“That’s where the costume comes in, Mr. Fantastic.”

Nathan scoffs. “If I have to wear a costume, it is not going to be Mr. fucking Fantastic.”

“So you’re saying you will dress up.”

“No, but...there’s better options than that.” A lie. He was serious about being seen by thousands of people in public, and at this point, he’s not above wearing a ridiculous costume just so no one actually sees him at a fucking comic con.

“Isn’t he, like, the smartest superhero though?”

He pretends to think about it for a minute, lazily tracing a finger along your jaw. “True, but. What else does he do? I mean I know I’m flexible but…”

It takes every ounce of willpower you have to not burst into a fit of laughter as you stare back into his deep eyes. “Okay, fine. What about Wonder Woman? I’d do almost anything to see you with some golden wings. And those boots? Damn, that would be hot.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a menace.”

“You haven’t had any valid complaints thus far.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, then sighs. “Almost anything, huh?” His hands have dropped down your torso, and his fingertips are gliding over your smooth skin under the hem of his shirt.

You can see the wheels start turning. Your lips purse and a smile forms. “Don’t change the subject,” you chide him. “What are your other better options, then?”

“Xavier. You could push me around for the day, it would serve you right for even asking me to do this.”

The laughter rises fully and bubbles over. “Even you’re not that lucky.”

“Or maybe Iron Man. I know I could make a working suit, and that would be pretty fucking cool,” he states, matter of fact. You’re honestly not sure if you should be amused or a little worried that he’s not kidding.

“Those are definitely better options than Mr. Fantastic,” he says softly.

You raise your head up to catch his lips, but stop just before you make contact. He makes a small noise of protest, but you just shake your head ever so slightly.

“Hmm, I’m not convinced,” you whisper, your breath fanning across his mouth. “I need some good reasons. No bullshit, Bateman.”

Nathan’s groans are silenced as you surge forth and capture his lips, kissing him fiercely and thoroughly. But his silence is only temporary, and the groans return when you pull away and hook a leg around his hip.

He stares down at you as you look back at him with the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen, and you smile innocently and bite your lip. He bites his own as you softly issue one more word into the air around you.

“Enumerate.”

~end~

Taglist:  @anetteaneta @autumnleaves1991-blog @be-the-spark-flyboy @deeandbobbymcgee  @itspdameronthings @jitterbugs927 @nathan-bateman @poedjarin @rosemarysbaby13 @sergeantkane @spider-starry @woakiees @writefightandflightclub @veuliee2 @yourbucky084 @waatermelon-sugaar

Nathan taglist:  @millllenniawrites​

>>taglist form available here<<

[forasecondtherewedwon]

With Zero Power

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 3382

For @spiderman-homecomeme, with the following prompts:

winter power outage

holiday smut

“I can think of one way to warm you up.”

Summary: Peter and MJ return from skating to find their apartment not quite how they left it. Between the warm fuzzies of the evening they've spent together and the holidays right around the corner, it isn't hard to find a little romance in the situation.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t beautiful,” MJ insists, “but think how much lighting a tree that size costs. With the number of homeless slowly starving in this city? With the number of children below the poverty line who are going to school in this weather—” The arm she waves is instantly layered in thick, wet snowflakes that glisten as they pass beneath a streetlight. “—without winter coats and boots?”

“With the number of college students trying to make rent with only their girlfriend to live with because their three previous roommates staged a mutiny and forced the couple out because the volume of their nighttime activities was, quote, ‘obnoxiously loud and unprecedentedly lengthy’?”

She sighs in exasperation.

“I’m making a point.”

“I agree with your point,” Peter says. “Completely. I already told May I’m volunteering with her all next weekend, and I’ll call Pepper tomorrow to see where she’s committed Stark Industries’ holiday donations.”

“And ask her to triple the amount.”

“I can suggest it,” he laughs, “but I’m not her financial advisor.”

“Mmm you should be though,” MJ says, shifting from holding his gloved hand to pulling his arm around her. “You’re so sexy when you’re redistributing the amassed wealth of a late billionaire.”

There are icy crystals glimmering in her eyelashes. She’s beautiful. He could walk the borough with her all night, live in a loop where they’ve always just disembarked from a late bus, disoriented to step from its stark light into the soft glow of the snow on sidewalks that aren’t cleared with the same diligence as they are in Manhattan, around Rockefeller Center, where they’ve spent the evening skating. That would be a nice life—tonight, with her, forever.

Peter halts them for a moment and wraps his other arm around her too, pulling his girlfriend in to kiss her. He sways them as he does it, smiling against her mouth, her cold nose pressed into his cheek.

“Did you have a good time though?” he asks. MJ nods and her face rubs against his.

“My rental skates were a little tight, but I did wear two pairs of socks, so it’s kinda my fault.”

He has a new pair of skates for her, exactly the right size, but they’re wrapped in red paper featuring dogs with candy cane antlers, waiting to be snuck beneath her tiny artificial tree on Christmas morning. A totally outrageous gift—figure skates in immaculate white leather, like she wears in the pictures he’s seen of her at childhood skating lessons—but he hates it when all his money goes to rent. This might finally be the gift to make her cry. He’s cracked the bottle that stores his girlfriend’s tenderest feelings before, making her eyes shine the winter he knit her a terrible, uneven scarf (she’s wearing it now), and he’s certain the skates will be the thing she really loves. She’ll cry with joy, she’ll say they’re too much, he’ll carry her from the little tree to bed and keep her there until she’s begging for more instead of less. The thought makes Peter grin now.

“Take a bath when we get home. Your feet will feel better.”

“They’d feel better if you carried me,” MJ suggests slyly.

But she screeches when he jerks her against him and, in the relative darkness of their street, looses a web, swinging them both into the air. They pretend it’s still a secret how much she’s grown to love the sensation of sailing through the night with him. What Peter is far from secretive about is how much he loves the way she clings to him, trying not to feel too guilty when he remembers he should attribute some portion of her grip to the time he dropped her. Ah well, it’s in the past. His girlfriend’s laughing shakily as he lands them on the roof of their building and crawls deftly down the wall to the fire escape.

“Cute,” she says, shivering with the aftereffects of cold winter air whipping around her face. The tone is both complimentary and accusatory. “But we have to climb down now, unless…”

MJ’s eyes narrow.

“I… might’ve left the window unlocked?” he asks, because asking implies someone else has the answer, that there is a buck to be passed, as much as he would simultaneously like to hang on to any spare bucks during this expensive season.

“Peter, you can’t do that. You know break-ins are more frequent during the holidays.”

“Yeah,” he allows, edging the window open, “but who’s gonna climb up to the twenty-second floor to try to get through our window?”

He dives inside, then helps her through. The proof that she had a good time tonight is that she lets the window thing drop. Peter shuts and locks the window as loudly as possible behind them.

“Didn’t we leave a light on?” she asks.

“I’m not—”

“When I say that,” MJ cuts him off, dropping her voice to a hiss, “I mean I know I left a light on.”

Instantly, he’s stepping around her, keeping his arm out to hold her behind him. She has a bad habit of going rogue in dangerous situations. More likely than not, she’d grab a kitchen knife and end up stabbing him by accident as they checked every room for intruders. Safer for him to lead.

But it’s not a break-in.

“It’s cold in here,” he realizes.

As they moved through the small number of rooms that make up their hideously overpriced apartment, they left the lights off. Now, MJ smacks at the closest wall switch. Nothing happens.

“Aw, come on,” Peter begs the overhead light. He tries a lamp. Click-click, click-click. Nothin’. “Man!”

“Fucking Rockefeller Christmas tree,” his girlfriend accuses, though it’s not possible that even an energy-suck of that size could drain their building, way out in Queens. “I’m not having a bath now. I’ll be freezing when I get out.”

“Ok. Let’s get some candles first.” Peter starts to walk away from her, down the hall. “MJ, where are the candles?”

With his enhanced vision, he can see her well enough to catch the eyeroll. Fair.

By the time they have a dozen candles lit, it smells like every holiday scent at once. Vanilla smudges cloyingly across the sharper sweetness of candied orange peel, the heaviness of pine battles the richness of milk chocolate, and the cinnamon that seems to have been included in every candle is giving Peter a headache until they agree to space their light sources out. The room is darker with the candles far apart, but the smell is bearable. He also doesn’t mind how the flames catch in MJ’s eyes when she blinks, how a streak of gold will dart across her throat when she turns her head to watch him watching her.

Peter’s mouth is dry when he stammers out, “Y-you look incredible,” like they’re sixteen again and he’s got his gaze fixed on her legs because it’s 90° and she very reasonably wore shorts to school.

“How I feel is cold,” she admits with a small smile. She stirs under the blanket that’s draped across both of them. He strokes her shoulder over her wool cardigan. “I really was looking forward to that bath.”

And because the way she says it sounds nothing like how a person might casually look forward to anything, Peter swells a little in his jeans and shifts his legs closer to hers.

“Were you?” he asks.

MJ’s gaze goes from his mouth to his eyes as she smirks subtly. She knows she’s got him. When does she not have him? The complaints of their former roommates were undeniably valid. It’s a miracle he and MJ accomplished enough in undergrad to even get accepted into grad school. If she hadn’t been the responsible one, he would’ve been pretty damn content to spend those four years in bed with her.

Innocently, she rests her head on his shoulder. He swallows thickly.

“Mhmm. I was looking forward to getting out of my cold clothes. I was looking forward to grabbing a big, thick—” She grips his thigh suddenly. “—towel from the closet to wrap myself in when I was done. I was looking forward to using my cranberry bodywash in the tub. That one smells really good, right?”

Peter nods because forming a sentence in this moment is beyond him.

“And it foams up really well,” MJ continues, tilting her face, passing her lips lightly across his earlobe. He’s hard. He’s so fucking hard so quickly. “So, I was looking forward to popping those bubbles when I ran my hands all over my body to work it in.”

“Fuck,” Peter groans. He digs his fingers into her waist, through the sweater, blood pulsing in his groin.

She shrugs, abruptly nonchalant.

“Mostly, I was just looking forward to being warm.”

“I can think of one way to warm you up,” he pledges.

Trust me, he mentally urges. Right now. Trust me like you trusted me to keep you on your feet on the rink when your legs wouldn’t remember how to skate right away.

“Good, because I need you.”

“Say it again?” Peter requests, hand on the back of her head as she raises it from his shoulder.

“I need you, Peter.”

MJ’s hand jumps from his thigh straight into his lap and squeezes him through his jeans. He crushes their mouths together, the two of them breathing in hot pants like they can warm each other that way. Making to move over her, he’s pushed back instead, winded from more than the shove as his girlfriend straddles him with the practiced efficiency of a quickie before Spidey patrol or as an incentive between study breaks. When she rolls her hips against his… shit, she might observe Christmas on the 25th, but the friction of her grinding on his dick is the only Christmas he’ll ever need to celebrate. He plunges both hands deep into her hair to seal their mouths together and slumps into the couch, offering maximum opportunity for her to rock that beloved place between her legs along his erection. He’s already feeling warmer.

“No,” she yelps when he tries to push her sweater off. She snatches it back on and pulls the blanket up over her shoulders. “I’m still cold.”

“Ok. Let’s work on that.”

Peter tilts his chin up in invitation and repositions his hands on MJ’s ass. When she kisses him in a slow brush, he begins forcing her back and forth over his lap. He groans into her mouth to feel her angle her hips just right and shiver. Not letting her back down, he grips her and drags her across his erection repeatedly, until she can’t kiss him anymore, until her forehead’s pressed hard to his and she’s hissing his name. The oscillation of her hips in his hands is hypnotic, even with his eyes closed. He’s groaning and trying to hold back, having a hard time concentrating on an idea of what to do next to get his girlfriend off before he reaches that point himself. He wants her warm skin against his when he sinks inside her, not a sudden gush in his jeans.

Still grinding, MJ sits up straighter. She doesn’t take her sweater off, but she pulls down the front of the camisole she wears under it and tucks the material below her bared breasts. Peter’s happy to enjoy the visual while he rubs her over his dick, but she grips the back of his neck and compels his head forward.

“What do you want exactly?” he teases. “I’m a little confused.”

Eye narrowed down at him as she pants, MJ plucks one of his hands from her ass and guides it up to her face. It fucks him up pretty good when she folds down all but two of his fingers, sliding those into her mouth; she sucks with that almost-angry gaze locked on him before bringing his wet fingers down to circle her nipple.

“Ok, ok,” Peter says desperately.

“Just helping.”

A laugh pops out of his mouth, but then he touches his lips to her breast, kissing lightly as she sways. Her hand twitches on the back of his neck. Ok, he thinks again, pulling her nipple between his teeth. MJ moans blissfully and heat floods both Peter’s face and his groin. He jerks roughly against her and clutches her body close when she comes, cradling his face to her chest. There’s still something of the briskness of their walk home to her smell as he inhales against her skin, but also wool and the smoke that’s clung to her after lighting the candles. Her scent is rich. He feels rich, with his arms wrapped around her.

She shimmies her shoulders and the blanket drops. When she slips out of her sweater, Peter rushes to tear his hoodie (and the t-shirt caught up with it) off. MJ halts him in the act of flinging them away; right, candles. Gotta aim for a spot where he won’t start a fire. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans as quickly as he can, gasping in relief at the sudden extra room for the erection bulging beneath his boxers. His plan, as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband, is to yank his clothes down only as far as necessary, then guide MJ back on top of him as soon as she’s out of her sweatpants and pick up where they left off with her first orgasm. But, bottomless, his girlfriend settles on his lap before he’s ready. She shuffles forward, rubbing herself against him, making his boxers damp. Peter closes his eyes as they roll back. His hands skim blindly up her arms to fiddle with the slipping straps of the camisole she still wears—if the way it’s clinging to her from only below her breasts to her navel can be called ‘wearing’.

She kisses his cheek.

“Peter.”

He opens his eyes and watches her tilt her head to speak quietly near his ear. Candlelight seeps over and through her hair. He kisses where it pools on her naked shoulder and her soft breaths form words.

“I want you to bend me over.”

Peter turns his head and groans into MJ’s neck.

Running her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Is that a yes?”

“’Chelle, you say, ‘jump,’ I ask, ‘how high?’” he promises.

He whips a condom out of his pocket. She draws back and smirks at him, eyebrows raised.

“And how did that get in there?”

“I might’ve grabbed it while I was looking for the matches.” When his girlfriend continues to stare at him, he adds, “It’s dark! You were lighting candles! I dunno, MJ, it seemed kinda romantic. Why are you still looking at me like that?”

“You’re cute when you babble.”

“Stop talking,” Peter interprets with a sheepish smile. “Got it.”

She climbs off of him and stuffs the blanket into the corner of the couch while he stands and whisks his jeans and boxers down his legs. He almost trips peeling his socks off because MJ waggles her bare ass at him very unfairly.

“Come on, I’m getting cold.”

“I’m—” he starts, struggling with the condom. “I am… I’m going as fast as… there!”

Peter bounds onto the couch and catches MJ’s face in his hand, kissing her lovingly. Then desperately. Then sloppily pulling away to sneak a hand under the back of her top and press her down until her elbows rest on the arm of the couch. Taking a deep breath, he strokes his other hand from the back of her neck all the way to her ass. This is kinda hot with her shirt still on. He’s glad that, for as much as they discuss and debate things like the misuse of municipal funds on holiday decorations, they’re still in their hasty days. Still young, still eager. He grips himself and flexes his fingers as he traces the head of his dick through MJ’s arousal.

“Getting cold,” she repeats.

“Spider-Man is here to help, ma’am,” he jokes, pushing inside her.

Fuck. Peter works his hips gently forward and back, building up to plunging deeper the same way he tiptoes out into the water when they visit the beach too early in the year. But this isn’t like the chilly springtime ocean because she’s warm as she takes him—so, so warm.

“Uh, MJ? Baby? Sweetheart? I thought you said you were cold,” he grits out.

She presses back against him as he finally thrusts all the way in.

“I always keep the home fires burning for you.”

“Well, that was raunchy. You’ve been living with me too long.”

“How could I ever move out with perks like a December power outage?”

Grinning, Peter begins a loose swing of his hips, gazing down MJ’s back at the shadows and light sliding over the rounded edges of her neck, her shoulder blade, her ear as she tips her head to let her hair hang to the side. When her low moans start, he repositions his knees on the couch cushions and digs in with his toes. The wet smack of driving into her is loud in their little sanctuary. He takes her by the hips as she bows her head to her crossed forearms, moving faster, gliding in and out with more grace than he has when navigating an ice rink with skate blades on his feet. MJ spreads her legs wider and drops her head even lower. She is graceful, with the steep slope of her back that Peter can’t resist pressing a hand to. At his touch, she bends even further and he chokes on an already raspy inhalation.

“Faster, Peter,” she requests.

Not loud, not demanding. She knows he can hear her because he’s always listening for her voice. It coaxes him onward from beneath the urgent slap of his thrusts.

He hunches over her, wrapping one arm around her waist as they buck together, his other hand diving between her legs. She’s soaked and her hips are jumping in time with his, so it’s hard to keep his fingers on her swollen clit. Suddenly, MJ has her hand over his, directing his fingers. Reality grows hazy as pleasure creeps into his thighs and trickles invisibly down his stomach, like the phantom touch of his girlfriend beneath him. Peter squints against the light of their candles and so much feeling, flicking his fingers over the sensitive nub that has MJ’s legs quivering. He kisses her spine and scrapes the edge of her camisole with his teeth. She’s shaking too hard to thrust back. Groaning, Peter bucks in a quick burst, holding her body up as she threatens to slump flat.

“You warm yet?” he huffs. “Show me you’re warm.”

“Peter… almost.”

Abruptly, he sits back on his heels, hauling MJ with him. Sweating now, Peter bounces her on his lap. His hands squeeze the smooth skin of her hips. She gasps before moaning deeply and reaching up to wrap an arm behind his neck, arching against him.

“God,” he mutters, looking down over her shoulder to watch the jiggle of her breasts and the tension of her stomach, “I already want you again.”

Because of his words, or his hands, or his cock slamming up into her, she climaxes, clenching around him and stuttering over his name. Peter buries his nose in her hair to avoid the overpowering scent of the candles as his senses sharpen to the finest point; he’s learned this only happens when he’s lost in either the pain of a grave injury or the satisfaction of releasing into MJ. He pulses, hips snapping, hugging her against his chest, flushed with warmth from the top of his ears to where his toes grip the couch.

“Bath?” Peter pants in her ear, dick still twitching inside her. “I swear I won’t let you get cold.”

Just like that, the overhead light and the lamp on the end table blink on. Huh. Power’s back.

“Or maybe you don’t need me to,” he says.

MJ turns her head and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t be stupid. I’ll grab the candles. You hit the lights.”

[nanamikeento]

insouciant || din djarin x f!reader

Summary: It starts to rain outside the Razor Crest as you wait for Din to return. Worries about the decision you both took a few weeks ago start to come up in your mind. 

edit april 25th, 2020: i changed the title of the story, but it’s still part two of redamancy

a/n: decided to write a part two since the idea of comforting another during a storm wouldn’t leave my mind. this is just a blurb, I was feeling soft and wanted to continue to write for this universe. whatever. feedback is always welcomed, my askbox is open.

Warnings: slight nsfw, soft content, Din takes the helmet off

Word count: 2.3k

tagging: @loljulie @vercopaanir

part i | series masterlist | masterlist

insouciant (adj) free from worry, concern or anxiety

The rain drops echoes inside the Razor Crest as they fall on roof of it, making a soothing noise that calms you. You fumble with the wiring under the console, trying to fix the problem you’ve been having with one of the levers for a while. The Child slept peacefully in this cradle that settled on one of the copilot’s seat, while Din was out looking for a quarry. He had offered you to come, but you refused arguing the kid couldn’t be alone. Deep down you just wanted to stay in today. So you did, doing domestic things like cleaning and taking care of the little one.

It’s been a while since he’s gone, the night has already fallen, but you’re not worried. You know he’s going to be fine, he always is. You’re just worried he’s going to catch a cold out there in the rain. Even so, with little preoccupation in your heart, you can’t sleep until he arrives. It’s just something that started happening since you started staying in with the kid. You just can’t sleep without him, you’ve tried many times but it just won’t happen unless Din is in the ship.

A spark comes out of the wiring you’re trying to fix and it burns your finger; you hiss withdrawing your hand from the wires and cursing softly. Blood starts to prick out of your skin and you’re quick to put it in your mouth, sucking on the red substance. Standing up, you sigh and walk towards the ladder to the hull with the intention of bandaging your finger.

The hull is cold and you shiver as you fumble with the first aid kit in the storage cabinet. It’s always cold when he’s not here, somehow. Suddenly, you start to miss him. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, for sure, but this time it’s strong and bold and you feel empty inside. You’re tempted to send a message via comlink, but you don’t want to distract him from the job.

You suddenly remember the first time you met him. Back then, you had been assigned to catch a gambler with him and, no matter how many times he’d told you he worked alone, you insisted you’d just worked together this time.

“After this, you won’t have to see me ever again.” You had told him, then.

That was, obviously, not the case.

You didn’t want to admit it, but he intimidated you. You remember thinking he was so big and you thought you were so little. You had the privilege of working beside one of the best bounty hunters in the Galaxy and it made you nervous. So you have him your best, keeping your guard up and fighting beside him.

Din on the other side… He thought you were beautiful. Mesh'la was the first word that came to his mind when he first saw your face. You looked so pretty and innocent, it was hard to believe you were as vicious as him. After watching you fight with the quarry and save his life in the same night, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even after he left, even days, weeks after, you wouldn’t leave his mind. He couldn’t afford the luxury of looking for you, the job calling him to different planets in short periods of time. But he had found you, accidentally, weeks after your job together, in a planet called Yavin 4.

He was looking for supplies in a fair market when he landed his eyes on you. You were crouched in front of a kid who had tears on his eyes and watched you attentively as you performed magic tricks to him. The kid was lost, for sure, and you were trying to distract him and calm him down. Din observed as the boy cracked a smile to you and you laughed, taking his hand into yours and starting to look for his parents. For a moment, your eyes settled on his and you almost smiled if it weren’t for the kid’s parents who showed up just in time. They had tried to offer you credits in exchange for taking care of the boy but you refused politely.

“New helmet?” You had asked when he went to your encounter. Din just tilted the helmet towards you and that’s when the story of both of you began.

The sound of the hatch opening pulls you out of your thoughts and you watch as Din walks in the ship, soaking wet. You smile at him when he looks at you, a sympathetic smile when you see he’s alone.

“No luck?” You ask him as he presses the button on the wall to close the hatch. He sighs, then shakes his head as you finish bandaging your finger. “Maybe you’re just getting old.”

A modulated chuckle echoes the hull as he removes his wet gloves. “I’d like to think you were not there to help.”

You smile as you walk towards him, helping him remove the armor. “You’ll get them tomorrow.”

“If they don’t leave tonight,” He replies, removing his helmet. You just shake your head and chuckle, removing his chest plate. He catches your hand and looks at the bandaged finger with a frown between his brows. “What happened?”

“I was trying to fix that lever in the console.” You shrug. “You know, that one that never works.”

“On your own?” Concern masked his tone, his cold fingers tracing circles on your injured hand. He brings you hand to his lips for a moment, pressing a kiss on your skin.

“Yeah, I can handle myself.” You beam at him.

“Apparently not.” A playful smile curves the corner of his lips and you smack him on chest, lightly.

“Shut up.” You laugh. “Go take a shower, you need some rest.”

You start to make your way to the cockpit but he grabs your wrist before you can walk away from him.

“I missed you out there,” Din confesses and you know what he means. You know that after he decided to go back for the Child, back in Nevarro, things changed. Before, you’d go bounty hunting with him and it was fun, you loved working beside him. But, now, you stay in, looking over the kid.

“We can’t leave him alone” You missed it too, you realize, your heart goes heavy. Biting your lip, you look away from him as a thought came to your mind.

“What is it?” He asks, softly, putting your hand flat on his chest.

“If you’re serious about having another baby, I–” You let out a shaky breath. “If you really want this–”

“Hey,” He pulls you closer and cups your cheeks with both hands. “I want it. Do you?”

You nod, tears blurring your vision. “It’s just… Our lives are never going to be the same–”

“I know.” He touches your forehead with his. “If you’re having second thoughts–”

“I’m not!” You’re quick to say, taking his hands in yours and looking into his eyes. “Are you?”

“No, I want this.”

“Good.” You try to smile. “I’m just… Scared. That’s all.”

“Come here.” He pulls you to a hug and you groan, feeling the wetness of his clothes on you.

“Baby, you’re all wet!” You cry out and he laughs.

“That’s my line.”

You look at him with pure shock on your face and smack him again on the chest. “You pervert!”

Din smiles at you and kisses your lips. “Let’s just go to bed, okay? You need to sleep too.”

“You know I can’t rest until you’re back.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You head back to the cockpit to check on the Child, feeling your own eyes getting heavy. Letting out a yawn, you sigh at the sight of the green bean sleeping peacefully just like when you put him to sleep. Rubbing your eyes, you walk to your quarters, the one you share with Din.

Undoing the lace of your boots, you yawn, finally letting tiredness take control of your body. Now that Din is home, you could get some rest. Your shirt ends on the middle of your thighs after you take off your trousers and you don’t bother to put a nightgown to sleep, but you do pull a pair of wool socks from the drawer under the bed and put them on to warm your feet. The thick grey wool goes up to the middle of your calf and you sigh at the sensation.

A low thunder sound rumbles in the distance as Din enters the small room, watching as you rest your head on the pillow. 

“Are those my socks?” He kisses your forehead as he lays beside you, his hair still damp from the shower. He’s shirtless, wearing a dark pair of sweatpants and you sigh at the view.

“Yep.” You turn the bed light off.

“How’s the little one?” He asks, pulling you closer to him.

“Sleeping like the baby he is,” You smile with closed eyes, enjoying the feeling of his warm hands on your hips as they pull you even closer.

The only sounds are the low thunders and drops of rain on the roof of the ship for a moment, until Din whispers your name in the darkness. You hum in response, eyes still closed.

“You wanna try it?” He asks, and you know exactly what he’s referring to. You open your eyes and seek his in the dark, almost smiling.

“Now?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah.”

You plant a kiss on his lips. “We have to be quiet.”

Din’s lips travel through your cheeks and jawline making you sigh quietly as his mouth reaches your neck. His hand slips under your shirt, massaging the soft skin on your waist and cupping one of your breasts. He leaves wet kisses on the sensitive skin of your neck and you bite your lip to suppress a moan, already feeling yourself get wet. Your fingers tangle in his soft hair as he lets go of your breast and tugs at the waistband of your underwear, slipping his hand inside and touching your cunt. You shiver at the cold touch as he starts circling your clit; your mouth seeks his and as you deepen the kiss, he starts moving on the bed, getting on top of you. You let out a tiny groan as he inserts a finger inside you, opening your legs for him to settle in between them. Your hand cups his bulge through the sweatpants and you feel how hard he is already.

A loud thunder rips in the sky, making the walls of the Razor Crest tremble and you jump gasping and letting go of him, startled by the sound. He tenses too, obviously being taken by surprise with the very loud noise. A beat of silence passes and you both chuckle at each other, feeling your hearts go back to their normal pace. Din kisses your lips again and moves his fingers inside you.

A small whimper coming from the cockpit interrupts you both and he sighs, burying his face on your neck. You smile, also disappointed as your lay a hand on his chest.

“I’ll get him,” You say, softly as he withdraws his hands from you and rests his back on the mattress. “You rest, okay? Gotta catch that quarry tomorrow.”

Din smiles at your back as you leave the quarters and head to the cockpit. The chill air in the room raises goosebumps on your skin; you walk towards the cradle on the copilot’s seat and take the child into your arms. By now, he’s fully crying, ears flopped down and tears in his big eyes.

“Did that loud noise scare you?” You ask him, softly as you let him nestle on your shoulder. His tears soak your white shirt but you don’t care. “It’s okay, baby, it’s just a noise, it won’t hurt you.”

The kid whimpers once more, and looks over your shoulder, sensing his father’s presence in the ship. He looks at you with hope in his eyes, silently asking you to be in Din’s arms.

“Daddy’s too tired right now, green bean,” You whisper to him. More tears flood his eyes and he starts crying again. You press your lips on his forehead and rocks him a bit, trying to make him fall asleep again.

“Here, I got him,” Din’s soft voice echoes in the cockpit behind you. You look at him and, at the sound of his voice, the Child immediately stops crying and stretches his little arms towards him.

“Din-”

“It’s okay,” He interrupts you and takes the baby from you and brings him to his chest.

The Child always wants his dad when he’s scared and you don’t blame him. Din does give a sense of protection, a feeling of security you’ve never felt with anyone. You watch as he rocks the baby to make him fall asleep again. Deciding to give them privacy, you stroke his ears once more and squeeze Din’s shoulder after.

“Be there in five, cyar'ika,” He says as you make your way to the quarters.

Taking one look back, you see him nestling the kid on his shoulder and murmuring something in his ear. You smile at the view and get back to the room, sleep now completely taking control of you.

Several minutes later, when the Child was finally asleep, Din tucks him in and gets back to the quarters, hoping you both could finish what was started moments earlier. However, he finds you curled under the covers, snoring softly. He smiles at himself as he lays down beside you, getting under the covers and pulling you close to his chest. It could wait. Now you both need sleep.

He wasn’t the only one who needed rest, after all.

[thecassadilla]

Anything For You

Pairing: Kristanna

Word Count: 3,688/AO3

Summary: Anna agrees to go camping despite her uncertainties, but Kristoff has a few tricks up his sleeve to make their experience more comfortable.

Author’s Note: Hi all! Here I am, once again writing about a topic that I know nothing about. I’m sure I got something wrong haha. I’m also the most indecisive person on the face of the earth, so I couldn’t decide how to end this. I don't even know if any of this makes sense tbh XD I hope you enjoy it regardless! 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kristoff sighed.

“I wish I could stay, but we both have work in the morning and I have to drive home.” Anna wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” he said sheepishly, before pulling away and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “You didn’t actually plan to do anything except hang out this weekend, right?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Well, I was hoping to go camping. I haven’t been in a long time - since before we got together - and I’d love for you to come with me,” he explained, before hastily adding, “But only if you want to, of course.”

“I’ve never been camping before,” she responded, feeling a bit uneasy about the idea. Any vacations that her family had taken had always been to some kind of fancy resort; the thought of camping had never crossed her mind as a thing people really did until she was a teenager.

“I know, and I know it’s probably not something you’re thrilled about, but it’s only for two nights. I really want to go hiking and fishing before it gets too cold out.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“Really?” he asked, his face lighting up. 

“Of course! Don’t be silly.”

“This is going to be so great,” he smiled. “I wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but I’m really glad that you’re willing to come along.”

“I’d do anything for you, Kristoff,” she promised, giving him another hug for good measure. “I’ll let you know when I get home, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay, drive safely.”

“I will.”

She spent the entire twenty minute drive agonizing over what the weekend would be like; she knew nothing about camping. In her head, all she could picture were tents and sleeping bags in the middle of the cold, dark woods. She was so focused on her thoughts that she had no recollection of the actual drive; with a sigh, she made her way inside, taking notice of the fact that the lights were still on, which could only mean that her sister was awake. She kicked her shoes off in the entryway and texted Kristoff before venturing in. 

“Hey,” she called out as she approached the living room.

“Hi,” Elsa responded, not taking her eyes away from the book she was reading. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Anna responded, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “I’m going camping this weekend.”

Elsa looked up at her younger sister and blinked a few times in disbelief. “You’re going camping?”

“I know,” Anna cringed. “But it’s something that Kristoff really likes to do, and it’s not like I’ve ever done it before, so I don’t really know that I’m going to hate it.”

“I don’t know, sleeping on the floor in the middle of the woods sounds very unappealing to me.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be in a tent.”

“What about bugs? Or bears? Or the countless other wild animals that lurk in the woods?”

Anna shrugged, a bit of anxiety rising in her. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“And what will you eat? Where will you go to the bathroom?”

“I don’t know, Elsa,” she answered exasperatedly. “Look, I’m going to go and if it’s really awful then I’ll just request that next time we get a camper or something. But I don’t want to disappoint Kristoff and say ‘no’ off the bat because he does everything that I want to do.”

Elsa nodded thoughtfully. “That’s really nice of you. I don’t know if I would be willing to do the same.”

“I have a feeling that you’ll feel differently if you ever love someone,” she muttered under her breath, sliding off of the couch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go figure out what on earth I’m supposed to pack.”

She headed upstairs to her room, and sat down on her bed before grabbing her laptop and logging on. After a few minutes of research, it became clear that she didn’t have most of the things that were required to go camping in the fall, and amidst her anxiety returning, she decided that a quick call to her lifeline wouldn’t hurt.

Kristoff answered on the first ring. “Hey, Anna.”

“Hi, honey. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m trying to figure out what I have to bring with me this weekend, and I’m having a bit of a hard time because I don’t really have any of the things this website says I should have.”

“Like what?”

She squinted at the screen whilst reading off some of the items to him. “Waterproof boots, a rain jacket, a sleeping bag...sleeping pads? I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s like a cushion that you put down so you aren’t sleeping on directly on the hard ground,” he explained. “It’s also an extra layer of insulation.”

“Gotcha,” she remarked. “Will we have time to stop somewhere so I can get these things?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”

“I have total faith in you, I do - but unless you have a pair of boots in my size laying around somewhere, we will have to stop and get them.”

“It’ll all be taken care of,” he assured her.

“You know what? I’ll go to the mall and buy the stuff I need before we leave on Friday.”

“I don’t have any issues with stopping,” he promised. “You don’t have to rush out and go buy a bunch of stuff.”

“Alright,” she said, cautiously. “Can you text me a list of clothes I should pack? And what type of bag I should pack them in.”

“Absolutely, but you really won’t need as much as you think you do.”

“That’s easy for you to say; you’re a human furnace. It’s probably going to be very cold at night and everything I’ve read says to wear lots of layers.”

“Just...trust me,” he breathed, in a rather content tone. 

It was both comforting and alarming to her. “I trust you.”

“Please try not to worry about it, it’s going to be great.”

She smiled to herself. “I’ll try.”

“Good, now try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“And don’t forget to send me that list!” she called at the last second, and she heard him laugh before the line went dead.

Her phone buzzed a minute later; she glanced down at the text that read, Warm clothes, toiletries, backpack. Don’t overthink it. Love you.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes; it was the opposite of helpful. Regardless, she sent back a message thanking him, setting her mind to doing more research and getting the necessities at the mall.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A trip to the mall after work on Friday was not enough to quell Anna’s anxiety about the camping trip; she still felt wholly unprepared, even as she was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, folding her clothes and allowing her mind to race. A soft knock on the door brought her back to reality. She looked over, and Kristoff was leaning against her doorframe.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were here already!”

“I texted you, but it’s not a big deal. Elsa let me in.”

“Sorry, my phone is charging over there,” she said, pointing to her desk.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and watched as she hurried to throw her clothes into her backpack. “Is that my hoodie?”

“Maybe.” She shoved the sweatshirt into the bag and changed the subject. “I went to the mall today.”

He cocked his head. “I promised that we would stop to get the stuff that you needed.”

“I know. We still have to stop at the camping supplies store for my boots. The sporting goods store at the mall was all sold out and I need them.”

“We’ll get them. What’d you get at the mall?”

“I bought wool socks. And a puffer vest and a fleece jacket. I already had a hat and a scarf and mittens, of course.”

“That sounds good, you won’t feel cold wearing all of that.”

“I had to go on a wild goose chase for leggings, though, because all of the Victoria’s Secret leggings I have are made of cotton and that’s not a good material to wear while camping, apparently.”

“You did a lot of research about camping, huh?”

“I had to, my boyfriend was being intentionally vague,” she remarked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I wasn’t being intentionally vague,” he corrected. “You’re not an avid hiker and camper, you don’t really need special camping-only clothes.”

She zipped up her bag. “But you like camping, so this is probably not a one time thing - unless you plan on going without me after this.”

“You’re always invited,” he assured her. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I feel a little unprepared, though. Are you sure that I have everything I’ll need?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “It’s going to be fine.”

Anna stood up and unplugged her phone and it’s charger, stuffing them both into the side pocket of her backpack. She slid one of the straps over her shoulder. “Ready.”

He followed her down the stairs and to the front door, where Elsa was waiting. 

“Be safe,” she said, pulling Anna in for a hug.

“We will,” Anna assured her. “See you on Sunday.”

“Have fun!” Elsa called from the doorway as they walked out.

They climbed into the car, which was parked at the end of the driveway, and Anna set her backpack on the floorboard near her feet. Kristoff started the engine, then leaned over the center console to reach something in the backseat. Upon turning back around, set a box on her lap. “Here, these are for you.”

It was a shoe box. She flipped open the lid and inside were grey hiking boots with purple accents and laces. Her breath caught in her throat. “You bought me boots?”

“Yeah, you said you needed them.”

“You remembered my shoe size?”

“...Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Was I not supposed to know?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I only dragged you shoe shopping, like, once so I didn’t think that you knew what size I wore.”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” he corrected. “It’s just something that I paid attention to. I know for a fact that you know my shoe size even though I’ve never bought shoes in front of you.”

“I do,” she nodded, looking down at the box again. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Anything for my girl,” he grinned, shifting gears from park to drive. 

The drive up to the campsite went by fast; the roads were empty and they were able to enjoy each other’s company and talk as they made their way through the mountains, as well as stop at a diner for a quick meal. After an hour on the road, Kristoff pulled into a parking lot surrounded by lush green pine trees.

“This is the place?” she asked, a wave of anxiety rushing over her. The sky was overcast and it was a little foggy, and on top of that she couldn’t see any visible trails or signage from where she was sitting. She figured that there had to be one around here somewhere.

He nodded, parking on the far end. “This is it.”

He climbed out of the car and went around the back to open the trunk. In the meantime, she opened her own door and twisted so her legs could hang out and she could put her boots on. She toed off her sneakers, and slid her foot into the first boot, realizing for the first time how heavy they were.

Kristoff appeared in front of her. “You need some help?” 

“No, I’ve got it,” she answered, tugging the laces through the hook eyelets. When they felt tight enough, she tied the ends onto a knot and started with the other boot. When she finished, he held out his hand and she took it before hopping out of the car. 

“Put your sneakers in your backpack,” he recommended. “You’ll be dying to take those off when we get to the site.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She did as he said, squeezing the shoes into the bag and then slid her arms into each of the straps. She closed the door and walked back to the trunk, growing concerned when she realized he hadn’t brought that much stuff along with him. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“It’s right here,” he said, patting the duffle bag. 

“There’s no way that that’s everything we need for two nights.”

“Everything’s in here,” he assured her.

“You’re joking, right? Where’s the tent? The sleeping bags? Food and water? They can’t all possibly fit in that tiny bag.”

He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “Anna, relax, you’re working yourself up over nothing. I’ve got it all covered, okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, exhaling shakily. She wasn’t quite sure if she believed him, but he was the camping expert. 

He removed his hands in order to close the trunk, and then took her by the hand. “Come on, we’re going this way.”

He led her toward a densely packed area of trees, no path in sight. She gulped. “We aren’t going to be following a trail? We’re just going to...walk in the woods?”

“Yup,” he answered.

“That doesn’t seem very safe,” she remarked. 

“I know these woods, we’ll be fine.”

Although he was trying to be reassuring, it was not helpful in the slightest. Her mind was wandering - what would they do if they encountered a wild animal? Or if they got lost - how would help find them? Would they starve to death or freeze to death? Meanwhile, Kristoff was as cool as a cucumber, forging ahead and seemingly doing so without a care in the world.

They walked for a long time, much longer than she had imagined they would. The woods were damp and cold, with lots of ups and downs in the terrain. A slight separation formed between them, and she trailed behind him, struggling to keep up. They kept the talking to a minimum, until she recognized the area that they were in.

“Hey, haven’t we passed these trees before?”

“No.”

She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. “Are you sure? Because I swear that I’ve seen this fallen tree.”

“It’s your mind playing tricks on you,” he assured her. “Just keep walking, don’t pay too much attention to the trees because they all look alike.”

She threw her head back in a moment of frustration and groaned, but did as he said and kept walking. She kept reminding herself that he knew a lot more than she did, but it was incredibly difficult to not worry about their safety. Her feet were starting to ache from wearing the unbroken-in boots, and carrying the weight of her backpack was getting harder and harder on her back and shoulders with each step. When it had started to become noticeably darker, and they were still walking, she spoke up again.

“Kristoff?” she called, a little breathless from the thin mountain air. 

He turned around. “Yeah?”

“Shouldn’t we stop somewhere soon? I know that you’re the camping expert, but it’s getting dark out and we still need to set everything up.”

He stopped for a moment, allowing her enough time to catch up to him before they continued. “The site is just a little bit further ahead, we’ll make it.”

“I trust you, but you’re making me a little nervous.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” he assured her, in a sincere tone.

She stopped dead in her tracks regardless. “No offense, but that’s something a serial killer would say.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you just accuse me of bringing you out here so I could murder you?”

He reached out to take her hand and she took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s just a little too convenient. I may be a lot smaller than you, but I could kick your ass if I have to.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he chuckled, motioning for her to continue following him.

She did, though she tried to keep a safe distance in case she had to run. “You’re just acting so...strange.”

“You’ll see why as soon as we get past this cluster of trees.”

Suddenly, the land in front of them cleared into a wide open space. He pointed to a rather large campground that was not populated by tents, but rather by a few wood cabins. “There. That’s where we’re staying.”

Her heart was racing, now. “But those are cabins.”

“I know.”

“Wait, are we not sleeping in a tent?”

“We’re not,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Surprise.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m so confused.”

“Look, I know that you’ve never been camping before, and I really wanted you to come along, but I knew that you were a little uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping outside.”

“You did this for me?”

“Of course,” he said in a low voice, before pressing a kiss to her temple. “You agreed to come because you knew it would make me happy. The least I could do was make sure that you would be comfortable.”

“But I just…accused you of being a serial killer. And I threatened to beat you up.”

“Because I spent an hour and a half leading you in circles around the woods and deflecting your questions to throw you off.”

She blinked a few times, unable to slow her pounding heart or her racing mind. “I don’t know what to say.”

“How about we go check it out?”

“Okay,” she nodded.

The walk across the field was much easier than their trudge through the woods. 

“My truck is actually parked right over there.” He pointed to the right, and though it was hard to see, there was a parking lot just past the furthest cabin on that side. He then pointed to the furthest cabin on the left. “We’re staying in that last one on the left.”

“How did I not see any of these?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Because I parked on the far end and took you through the woods, behind the cabins. If I had wanted you to see them, you would’ve.”

“This isn’t technically camping, you know,” she pointed out. 

“It’s glamping,” he smirked. “Besides, we can’t have you freezing to death out there.”

She frowned. “I just feel bad that you got jipped out of a real camping trip.”

“I didn’t get jipped out of anything,” he promised. “We can go hiking and fishing, we can build a campfire right outside of the cabin and look up at the stars, and best of all, you’re here with me - that’s the most important thing.”

In no time, they were walking up the stairs to the small deck of the cabin, where two chairs and a small table sat. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door before leading her inside. It was much nicer than she anything she could’ve expected; a large, comfortable-looking bed in the far corner, and a couch near the front door. It was cozy and quaint, and the absolute opposite of sleeping in a tent in the middle of the woods. 

“It’s not fancy, but there’s a bed, and a bathroom, and a kitchenette,” he said, pointing out each of those areas as he said its name. “I already stocked up the fridge, and look! We have electricity and heat, but there’s also a fireplace and we can keep a fire going.”

She was at a loss for words, and frankly, a little disoriented. The boots, the cabin, it was all so unexpected and so...thoughtful. So romantic.

He glanced down at her face and squeezed her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just a little shocked, that’s all,” she answered, her voice soft and shaky.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I totally wasn’t expecting this and I’m a little overwhelmed, but in a good way.”

“Do you need to sit down?”

“No, no,” she said, frantically waving her hands around as she spoke. “It’s just that I agreed to come camping to make you happy, and even if I absolutely hated it, I’d still do it again because I know you love it and I love you so I want you to be happy all the time, of course, but then you turn around and do this amazing thing to make me happy, and even though I’ve known for a long time that you’re the person I want to be with for the rest of my life -”

“You want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“More than anything,” she breathed. “I’ve never been so certain about something.”

“I feel the same way,” he cooed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I want a lifetime with you.”

“I didn’t even know that loving someone this much was possible,” she mumbled, reaching up to his face and gently brushing her thumb against his lips before settling it on his cheek. He leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I really can’t believe that you did this.”

“You make me so unbelievably happy,” he confessed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him; she closed her eyes, taking in his smell. He smelled vaguely of pine and body wash and sweat, and she was sure that she smelled the same. His leaned down, his breath was warm on her face when he whispered, “I’d do anything for you.”

She softly pressed her lips to his before leaning back to meet his gaze. “How about we make good on that promise, then?”

[dahliawolfe]

Something More

CSI NY fanfic

Danny Messer/OFC

The buzzing of her cell woke her. Grunting, Nora reached for the phone and flipped it open.

“Hello,” she rasped.

“Nora, we’ve got a case,” Mac Taylor said, no preamble.

“Gotcha, Dad. Text me the address, please,” she swung her legs over the side of the bed and snapped the phone shut, throwing it onto the nightstand. She hurried into a pair of jeans from the floor and turned to look back at the bed. “Yo, Messer! Up and at ‘em! We got a case,” she demanded, throwing a balled up sock at Danny’s head. She and Danny had been fooling around for a few weeks now. When a case was stressful (and they usually were) they met up and blew off steam. She’d known Danny for nearly 6 years, and he was her best friend. It was strictly no strings attached when they hooked up.

“Lemme sleep,” Danny begged tiredly. They had been up until after 2 a.m. working on finishing up a case. It was now a little after 6.

“No can do. Boss man called himself.” She slid into her lace black bralette and grabbed the first discarded t-shirt she could reach. She shoved her feet into her boots and stood. “Lock up, will ya? See ya there.” Danny gave her a limp wave from the bed, and she snorted. She threw her leather jacket around her shoulders and made her way down to her Tahoe.

…

The Crestmont loomed in front of her, and Nora took a second to peer up. This place had always given her the creeps. Shaking herself, she made her way inside, flashing her badge at the patrol officer out front. She made her way to the elevator, taking it all the way to the 15 floor. She could smell the latex and print powder as she stepped out of the doors. She smiled. It smelled like home. Even before Nora became an investigator herself, her dad had been doing the job, and he always came home smelling like the tools of the trade.

“Nora, over here,” Flack called, waving her over. She nodded and made her way carefully across the penthouse suite.

“What have we got” she questioned, grabbing gloves from her kit and snapping them on.

“Alexander Trenton. He was a judge. On his way to the Supreme Court.” Nora whistled and stooped to take a look at the body.

“Looks like a through and through. Execution style,” she remarked, standing up.

“Is that Danny’s shirt?” Flack questioned, wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

She froze and glanced down at herself. It was indeed Danny’s shirt.

“Oh, yeah. I spilled coffee on myself last night. He lent it to me, and it was just what I threw on this morning on the way out the door.” The lie was easy enough. She needed to be more careful.

“Hmm. Well, you might wanna change before Mac gets here.”

“Where is Father Dearest, anyway?”

“Mayor wanted a word.” Nora rolled her eyes.

“Of course.”

“You guys start the party without me?!” Danny demanded, coming out of the elevator carrying 3 coffees.

“Fashionably late, as always,” Nora teased, grabbing her camera to document the scene.

…

Nora was leaned over the desk in the print lab when someone spoke behind her.

“Detective Eleanor Taylor?”

“Nora,” she replied, placing her file down and turning around, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the light table.

“We would like a word,” replied the man; obviously a federal agent of some sort.

“We can talk in my office,” Mac replied, coming out of nowhere. He led the two agents and Nora to his office, where he shut the door.

“What’s this about?” Nora asked. She didn’t have time for their bureaucratic crap.

The second agent pulled out a file and passed it to Nora. “We believe you know this man.”

Nora opened the file and felt her stomach tighten. “Jared Weston,” she said, the words threatening to choke her.

“Yes. You attended North Peak Academy with him, did you not?”

“That was years ago. Why are you here? I haven’t seen him in 7 years.”

Another file was handed to her. She flicked through it briefly, spotting bloody crime scenes and pages of notes on victims. “Okay?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“In the last 6 months, 6 judges, 3 military personnel, and 4 police have been murdered from Virginia, to Boston, to Delaware. The M.O. is all the same. And all evidence points to someone with a serious grudge against the government.” Nora felt the blood leave her body. She thought he was just an angry kid. Mad at his parents. She never thought he’d do anything like this.

“If you know all of this. And you have evidence against him, why are you here?”

“We’re always one step behind, but we got a lead on his next victim.”

“Judge Trenton?” she questioned, feeling the pieces fall into place. The agents shared a confused face.

“We thought he was a possible target, but Detective Taylor, we think you’re his next target.”

“Me?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Weston has it out for you. We found his manifestoes on our last case. He talks about how you betrayed him. And how you’re worse than any of the others.”

“Betrayed him how?” Mac asked, speaking for the first time.

Nora swallowed against a dry throat. “I need a minute,” she croaked, slamming out of the room, and making her way as quickly as possible to the roof, bending over, roughly hugging herself in a demand for oxygen.

“Nora!” came the call, as Danny joined her on the roof. “Hey. Hey. It’s ok. What happened?” he demanded, pulling her into his chest.

“We were kids! We were scared! And we were pissed that our parents sent us to a fucking military academy! That place was hell, Danny, and he was the only bright spot of it! How the hell does this happen?!”

“Ok. Ok. Shhh. It’s ok. I’m right here. I gotcha.” He held her close, rocking her gently until she could breathe again. When he deemed it safe, he pulled her away a pushed a stray curl out of her face. “Now, tell me. What happened in there.”

“Jared went to North Peak too. And we bonded. His mom and dad were both in the military. And he hated them for sending him away to be trained to be like them. And I was mad and Mac for sending me away to a military school upstate. I felt like he didn’t want me. Like I was a fuck up and he wanted to get rid of me and have something better. So, we would sit behind the bleachers and smoke cigarettes and drink beer and rage against the machine. I thought it was all just angsty teenage bullshit. Then the towers were hit. And Claire was gone. And I was devasted. She was the only mom I’d ever known. And she was gone. And I was scared. I was so angry, Danny. I remember just screaming at the stars and demanding to know why any of that bullshit had happened to us. And Jared, Jared sat with me all night and screamed too. And the next morning, Mac came and took me home to finish my senior year at St. Agatha’s. And I never saw Jared again. Truth be told, I didn’t want to. He reminded me of how ungrateful, and angry, and hurt I was, and I didn’t want that. But then I became a cop. And I betrayed him. I left him. And I don’t know what happened to him. But now he kills people, Danny. And he wants to kill me. And hell, maybe I deserve that.”

“Hey! Look at me!” Grabbing her chin, Danny forced her to look up at him. “You do not deserve that. You were a child! And he was sick! And none of that was your fault! You did not do this! He did! You hear me?!” He pressed a firm but gentle kiss to her lips then her forehead and pulled her close again.    

…

“We want to put you on 24-hour protection detail,” the FBI agent informed her, once she had relayed her story to them.

“We can do that in house,” Mac stated, folding his arms over his chest. He knew his people could protect his daughter better than the feds ever could. She was one of their own, and they took care of their own.

“I’ll do it,” Danny quickly stated, jumping into the conversation. He’d followed her back inside when she’d finally gained the courage to come in.

“Ok, who else can take a shift?” the agent asked, raising a brow at Mac.

“No, I mean I can be with her 24/7 until we catch this guy,” Danny said, standing straighter. The agent snorted, but Mac nodded.

“Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Roger, Boss.”

…

Nora tossed her keys into the bowl by the front door and kicked her boots off. It had been a hell of a day, and she needed a drink and a hot bath.

“I’m making myself a rum and coke and I’m gonna sit in a hot bath for an undetermined amount of time. Make yourself at home,” she informed, stripping her tee off and throwing it somewhere to her left.

“Pizza tonight?” Danny asked, leaning over to look into the fridge.

“Sure. Extra cheese.”

͠

By the time Nora made it to the bathroom, she was down to her underwear. She had a cold glass of Bicardi and coke, which she sat down beside her claw foot tub, turning the water on, making sure it was hot enough, and adding some mint soak. After putting some music on her record player, she slid into the warm bubbles, sinking up to her neck. She sighed, feeling at least some of the day’s tension melt away.

͠

Danny peeked into the bathroom, admiring Nora. She looked like a goddess, head laid back, surrounded by bubbles, singing softly to the Frank Sinatra playing in the background.

“See something you like, Messer?” she teased, opening one eye and raising her brow at him.

“Very much so,” Danny replied, coming in to kneel by the tub, dipping his finger under the water. “But, pizza’s here.”

“Mmm. Good, I’m starving. Give me five, and I’ll be out.”

“Sure thing.” Before leaving, Danny leaned down and gave Nora a deep kiss. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he urged, heading back to the living area.

͠

When Nora emerged, she was wearing nothing but an overly large Led Zepplin t-shirt and a pair of black boyshorts. Danny had already set up the tv to reruns of The Golden Girls and had the pizza box open with a beer bottle on each side of the table. He gave her a grin. “Your feast, ma’am,” he joked, bowing for effect.

“Why thank you, sir. Truly, you do provide.” Nora took a seat on the couch, snagging the blue wool blanket from Danny’s end, snatching a slice of pizza, and hooking a beer with her ring finger and pinkie. Danny settled in close, lazily slinging his arm over her shoulder and sitting back with his own slice.

͠

“Fuck, Danny! Don’t stop!” Nora moaned, looking down to catch Danny giving her a cheeky wink, delving even deeper into his ministrations. And Nora was almost there, but then someone knocked on the door.

“Nora, it’s Flack!”

“Fuck!” she hissed, pushing Danny away from between her legs. “C-coming, Flack!”

“Two words you don’t really wanna hear when going down on your girl,” Danny commented, wiping his face off on the duvet. Nora frowned.

“Shut it, Messer. Your girl?” She huffed, standing to locate her discarded underwear, tossing Danny his jeans and making her way to the front door. She checked to make sure Danny was decent before unlocking the door and opening it.

“Flack, what’s up? It’s late, man?”

“Nora, there’s another vic. Mac wanted me to come pick you guys up.”

“Shit. Ok, let me get my pants.”

͠

“Jeffrey Conrad. 57. He’s an ex-homicide detective from Brooklyn,” Mac informed the second Nora got out of Flack’s car.

“Conrad? Why does that name sound familiar?” Nora questioned, grabbing a pair of gloves, ducking under the crime scene tape. Mac handed her a picture. It was of a greying man in a uniform. “Wait, Conrad. There was a kid at North Peak. Tyler…Tommy…”

“Trevor?” Mac replied.

“Yes! That’s it. Trevor, he was in our class. He killed himself a couple of years ago, I think.” Nora sighed, rubbing her temples. “He was always telling anyone who would listen how much of a bastard his dad was. I guess Jared blamed Trevor’s death on his dad.” Mac frowned. Nora could see that this case was wearing at him too. She tried not to give him a hard time. He was a single dad just trying to do what was best. And she knew he loved her, but she also knew how hellish North Peak had been. She gently touched her father’s arm. “Hey, listen. I know why you sent me to North Peak. I’m fine. Those other kids, their parents were terrible to them, but you weren’t like that to me. You and…” she gulped. “And Claire, you guys gave me a lot of good opportunities. You did your best. And I…I don’t blame you for anything.” Mac gave her a sad smile and nodded.

“I shouldn’t have sent you away. I’m sorry, Nora.” She gave him as soft smile.

“Mac! Nora!” Stella called from across the room. Sharing a brief glance at each other, Mac and Nora walked quickly to her side.

“What did you find, Stella?” Stella handed her a sealed envelope.

“It has your name on it.”

[ring-my-dang-doo]

I’m just as illiterate as Abigail but decided to write a goofy fanfic? Sorry in advance for littering this site with Micah smut 🤷🏼‍♀️☺️

Tw: sex, fighting, kidnap, lack of syntax and grammar, Micah.

Word count: 7384 (hefty)

“Fuck!” The girl spat bitterly into the frigid air, her bow was in her right hand and the elk that she had just shot was way over a hundred metres away with one of her arrows still lodged in its shoulder. She was about eight miles from home already and was very reluctant to move further away on her new horse, he was trying his best, she could tell but he’d get spooked by elk and up and bolt for no reason at all with the girl still on his back, holding on for dear life.

She thought about her cupboards back at the cabin, she’d ran out of any salted meats and she couldn’t leave the mountains in this weather. Pressing on, further through the mountains, she found herself struggling to find any type of life, there was no elk, no deer, not even a moose in the white abyss. There wasn’t even a chance that she could track anything as the snow just continued to cover any type of track, not that she knew much about that anyway. She put her head down, despite wearing a balaclava to shield herself from the bitter cold, her eyes were streaming and needed that extra protection, her horse rode on for another few minutes, while she rested.

She heard it before she saw it. She sat up as straight as an arrow on her saddle and immediately locked eyes with it, it was a bighorn ram. Almost as soon as they had time to register each other, he darted away.

The girl nudged the horse slightly with the heel of her boot, he took off galloping. The girl drew an arrow from her quiver that rested on her hip and set it on the nook of her bow, she pulled the arrow back and waited for the right moment to arrive.

As her horse began to tire, so did her arm, she knew it was now or never and released the arrow. It hit the ram and she gasped in relief when the creature didn’t get up again.

The girl was soon to dismount and scrambled over to the fresh corpse.

As she went to reach for her hunting knife, a gunshot rang out in the air, it was as clear as a bell and it made every part of her seize up- she was frozen there for a second, incredibly similar to the ram that had been stood before her a few moments prior, she refused to have the same fate as the sheep though, that wasn’t even an option. She began to back away slowly from the corpse, her father always told her to, in these types of situations, just put your hands up and comply and so she began to back away from the carcass and shuffle closer and closer to her horse, who was bucking and whinnying.

Then, once again, seemingly out of nowhere, there was another gunshot, she saw it hit the snow this time and it landed about two feet in front of her. The horse reared and immediately took off running, if the person on the other end of the rifle wanted to kill her, then they would have already and so she continued to hold her hands up and wished to disappear into her hood, her breath was unsteady and she felt extremely exposed.

Three horses made their way down from Mount Hagen, they kicked up a trail of powdery snow behind them and made their way over towards her. They must have been the men that shot at her, they certainly didn’t look too friendly and so she quietly prayed under her breath, hoping that she wouldn’t die and that this was all one big case of mistaken identity.

The men approached and she continued to hold her hands up, her bow was stowed on her horse and so other than her hunting knife, she had absolutely nothing to defend herself with if anything were to happen. “You fucking idiot” she cursed to herself, too quiet for them to hear.

They all dismounted their horses and made their way over, there was a tall man with dark hair that hung by his crooked cheekbones, a slightly shorter, skinny man with thinning hair and last to dismount his horse was a medium build man with shoulder length blonde hair and a handle-bar moustache, each of the men wore hats, casting a shadow across each of their faces.

“It’s good to finally meet ya, ya bastard” The short man growled, he spat on the ground in front of her, “I’m gonna enjoy this!”

Before the girl could even apologise, the man grabbed her by her shoulders and threw her to the snowy ground, he began bombarding her with punches. Was she being robbed? The girl grabbed one of the stray jabs and punched him back, she got him right in his hooked nose and he backed away, groaning and clutching his face. The girl scrambled to her feet and stood waiting for the next attempt at a fight.

“You’re gonna regret that, you son of a bitch!” He growled, the punch she threw wasn’t enough to make his nose bleed, but it did give her a minute to get her bearings, everything that her daddy taught her about compliance in these situations had gone entirely out of the window.

While she got ready for the skinny man to continue the fight, she glanced at the other two men, the taller one seemed ready to get involved, he was very tense, while the blonde one was standing with his hands on his either side of his hips, clutching his belt with a stupid grin on his face,

“Punch that half-pint bastard, Cleet!” He yelled.

The man, who she assumed was ‘Cleet’ started towards her, the girl quickly removed her gloves and threw them in the snow beside her, hoping that she’d pack a better punch without the soft leather to pad her already soft fists, and it worked.

As soon as he tried to strike her, she slapped him with her backhand. Which caused a stir in the blonde man who was watching from the distance, “You hit like a little bitch!” He sneered, Cleet didn’t think so, his cheek immediately turning red from the smack and quickly made up for it by socking the girl straight in the jaw. She felt tears pricking her eyes slightly, getting punched was definitely as unpleasant as she remembered.

The girl realised that there was no way that she was going to win this fight with her slapping him to death, although the thought did amuse her slightly when it really shouldn’t have, so instead she waited for him to get ready to punch and she tackled him, he immediately fell to the floor with a grunt and she pummelled his face with punches.

The punches were not regular punches, they were erratic, hammer-fisted blows to his entire face.

She’d totally forgotten about the men behind her, when she suddenly felt a strong blow to the back of her skull, she lurched forward and staggered to her feet, stepping on Cleet. She turned around and concluded that the taller man had kicked her in the back of the head. It seemed as though Cleet wasn’t getting back up and his friend decided to step in instead, it was apparent that the blond man was steering clear from any of this.

The man towered over her, there was no way that she could win this fairly.

The girl quickly reached into her knife sheath and pulled out her hunting knife, before swiping furiously at him, cutting a sizeable slice into his cheek. The man cried out in pain.

“Micah, gimme your knife.” He grunted, the girl backed down slightly, contemplating turning around and sprinting away, but then realised that it was a ridiculous plan because these men had horses and guns.

The blond man, who she assumed was Micah scoffed slightly, “You can’t even handle a man half your height? What the hell is wrong with you? I’ll finish it myself.”

‘Man?! What a pair of clowns’ she thought, still clutching her knife with white knuckles. The taller man fell back whilst the louder, blond man stepped towards her.

“You ain’t so tough, half-pint” He snarled, flipping and catching his knife. She scowled at him, ready to cut him whenever he wanted to advance. Then, he ran at her, it was so quick she had no clue what to do, she stood upright with her legs apart to steady her balance and tried to counter whatever he threw at her.

He took a few swings at her with the knife, all of which she managed to get away from.

As she readied her knife to sink it into his right side, he brought his foot up and kicked her, right in between the legs, she grunted slightly, it was a very hard kick- it hurt a lot but any man would have been incapacitated by the blow. Micah looked down at her, wide eyed by her lack of any reaction,

“What the hell?” He cried, she took the opportunity to try to take the knife off of him. She grabbed his hand and began trying to pry it open to get him to drop it, he refused and got around the back of her, he scooped his arms under her shoulders and held her close to him, restraining her from any sort of movements, she struggled in his grip and she kicked and grunted but he was not letting go, she stopped struggling and lay her head back, it fell against Micah’s chest, she was much shorter than him, there was no way she could get out of this hold without being killed.

“Joe, come finish this bastard off.” He ordered, waving his knife around, the taller man sauntered over, he had a stupid grin on his face and he snatched Micah’s knife.

“He cut my face up, Micah. Where am I getting this bastard first?” Joe spat. Micah chuckled darkly in her ear and went to place a hand on the left side of her chest, her face burned red under the wool balaclava that she was wearing, as instead of the flat pectoral he was expecting, he instead clutched her left breast.

“Right he-“ he paused for a minute “what in the hell?!”

Joe stopped in his tracks as Micah let the girl go and threw her down on her back it knocked the air out of her and she sputtered slightly. Micah was quick to straddle her,

“What the hell is going on here?” He muttered under his breath, he brought his hand up to her hood and yanked it down and then peeled off her balaclava.

The apples of her cheeks became rosy with the sudden exposure to the cold and her breathing became shallow as he laid eyes on her, properly. He had a look about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something cruel and plotting.

As soon as the blond man had taken her balaclava off, his eyes had lit up, the way that her hair painted the snow behind her head like a halo, the way that her eyes burned with anger and frustration and how her lips were so full and inviting.

“Look at what we have here, Joe.” Micah purred, he put a hand to her cheek, her skin was soft to the touch, like a flesh coloured velvet and a small trail of blood was leaking from her right nostril. Joe’s ugly head came into frame, and he sneered at her,

“He’s a girl?!”

Micah glared at him, “Yeah she is, a mighty fine looking one, too. Women are different to men, Joe. They’re much easier to get information out of”

The girl scowled at him, she’d play along with his stupid games, for compliance sake.

The golden haired man acknowledged her look of disgust and smirked ever so slightly,

“I’m sorry, Miss. What’re you doing all the way out here?” He asked in a tone so nice it came across as sour. He wasn’t going to believe anything she said, either way.

“I was out here hunting.” She squeaked, “I killed a bighorn, it’s over there.”

He shook his head and shushed her,

“If you were hunting bighorn, you’d need a horse and a gun. You don’t have either.”

She felt her blood boil in frustration,

“This bighorn is right over there and you shot at my horse, he ran away!”

Micah shook his blond head,

“Now now, missy, don’t raise your voice. As far as me and joe here are concerned, you’re a dirty Pinkerton, you only came here to spy on us, you’re gonna have to come back with us. Joe, go grab that bighorn!”

He saw her shoot the bighorn, after all, he was the one to take the shot at her horse, originally he did think that she was a Pinkerton but this did all add up to him.

Joe walked away from them and out of the girl’s line of sight. Micah grabbed a slack piece of rope that hung from his waist and pulled it straight, he maintained eye contact with the girl while he did so, “Now look, you’re coming back with us and I don’t want a fight from you, or else you’ll end up like the bighorn, do you understand?”

The girl took a deep breath in and thought about the compliant approach that she’d need to take, how that was the only way she’d be able to escape from this situation.

“Yes sir.” She breathed, the man barked with laughter, making the girl jump and he began tying her wrists together,

“I like that. I like that a lot.”

The binds on her wrists were tight, so tight that they sort of burned, when he was finished he stood up, scooped her up over his shoulder and began to walk back in the direction that he came from, she looked up at Joe who was a few feet behind them and was carrying her ram carcass,

“What’re we doing about Cleet?”

Micah suddenly leaned forward and the girl was back on her feet again, he gestured towards the horse and she scrambled to get on, which was proving difficult without the use of both her arms but she managed.

“Wake him up, we don’t have time to be loitering” he barked, “Me and the woman are heading back to camp, I’ll meet you and Cleet back there.”

Joe stowed the ram and sighed, a visible gash in his face from the fight that had broken out a few minutes prior.

Before the girl even had time to think about where he was taking her, the horse began to gallop away, she wobbled slightly as his riding was erratic but she steadied herself and he carried on.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” His tone had entirely changed since he’d realised that she was in fact a woman. She paused for a moment, she can’t say she felt comfortable with handing this man her name but at the same time she had to comply to get out of here and she knew that this man was not very patient and so she lied. It was a stupid lie, not a very believable one but it didn’t register to the girl how stupid it was until it left her mouth.

“I don’t have one.”

She cursed herself, internally but to her surprise, the man seemed indifferent,

“I’ve got a few names in mind for ya.”

“So, lamb-chop, your cute little ass was out huntin’ all damn day? Why didn’t your big, strong husband go do it for you, instead?” Micah’s speech was slurred, he had a slight pink glow to his cheeks and he reeked of bourbon and cigarettes.

The girl scowled at the back of his head, hoping that somehow she’d get through his dense skull,

“Look Mister, I don’t have a husband, I live out here alone!”

The words tumbled from her lips and she immediately wished that she could put them back, she couldn’t be certain but she was sure that she felt Micah chuckle slightly. The girl had no idea where they were, the thick blanket of snow totally knocked any bearings that the girl had. The girl straightened her back up and checked over Micah’s shoulder, a camp stood. There were three wooden buildings that stood a few hundred yards before them and a campfire, “It’s been a while since the boys in camp have seen a lady, I hope for your sake that they behave.”

The girl shuddered, there were more of these men? It had never even crossed her mind that men as toxic as this could congregate in such large groups.

Micah hitched his horse in camp, she’d elicited no reaction as of yet from the men gathered around a larger campfire. Micah helped her off the horse and led her over towards the campfire by the binds between her wrists. There were about a dozen men shivering around the fire, 24 sets of teeth chattering away in unison. The girl wanted to turn around and sprint away from the scene, one million and one scenarios running through her head.

A few heads turned as the pair approached the glow of the burning wood and Micah paraded her around the outside of the campfire, “Don’t any of you even think about touching her, she’s nobody’s business.”

He pulled the girl over to an unused hitching post behind the fire and pushed her back against the post. The pair stood inches away from each other for an awkward moment of silence and she finally got a good look at him, her eyes glazed every part of his face- he was oddly good looking, despite his loud mouth and his bad attitude. Micah’s eyes were like nothing she’d ever seen before, they reminded her so much of the frozen lake near her cabin, they were pleasant to look at but the contact their eyes had was terrifying, she felt that if she stared any longer that she’d crash through the ice and drown. His face was pale but he had a consistent pink glow to the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, in fact if she wasn’t in this situation, she could see herself being quite infatuated with him.

He must have picked up on her staring and furrowed his brows at her, “What do you want? You look scared stiff” His voice was cold and mocking and she retorted by quickly tearing her eyes away from his features. Micah chuckled slightly, placing a gloved hand on her covered shoulder and caressing it ever so slightly,

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have that effect on most women.”

Micah’s idea of flirting was interrupted by a shout from the other side of camp, he looked over his shoulder at the commotion and then looked back at her,

“Looks like Cleet’s back and he don’t look too happy, sweetheart.”

The girl had hoped she’d killed him, honestly but alas here he was, trudging angrily through the snow towards the pair.

“Where is she, Micah?!” He growled, his hands balled into fists. Micah removed his hand from her shoulder, leaving a warm print of where he had been and stood in front of her, turning to face Cleet head-on.

“Cleet, go sleep it off, you backed her into a corner, she’s a fine woman.” The flattery in his voice was almost cringeworthy however he continued to shield her from Cleet, who had poked his head over Micah’s shoulder to get a better look at her,

“You’d better watch yourself, you stupid little bitch.” His voice was a sharp hiss that made her try to back off slightly, but he soon gave up and angrily huffed over to the fire. Micah turned back around to the girl who stood with her back pressed against the hitching post,

“Look.” He started, nothing he said sounded authentic to her, it all sounded so disingenuous and taunting, “We ain’t good men, we’re bad people and honestly, the Pinkertons showing up is not something I want to happen right now. If you’re honest about you just hunting, then the Pinkertons shouldn’t show up and you can go free tomorrow morning.”

The girl processed what he said and nodded,

“Yes sir, thank you.” Micah brought his hand up and squeezed the girl’s cheeks in between his thumb and forefinger,

“You’d better not be crooked, Girl because I wouldn’t take any pleasure from putting a bullet between those eyes.” He spoke in a purr, his accent a sultry drawl, he produced a knife from his sheath and to her surprise cut her ties, “Now come drink with us, the boys won’t bite!”

The girl sat beside Micah at the campfire, the evening was creeping up on them, the sky had turned from a stone grey to a warm orange colour. The girl sat and stared at the sun setting below the horizon, maybe this would be the last sunset she’d ever see. The girl felt a cold pressure against her thigh, she turned her head to Micah who had a slight smirk on his lips and a bottle of whisky resting on her thigh, “Drink up, sweetheart. It’s good whiskey!”

The girl took the bottle from him and brought it to her lips, the contents didn’t go down too well, it was a harsh taste that made her grimace. As she handed the bottle back to Micah, Cleet and Joe sat on the logs opposite them.

“You boys doin ok?” Micah queried, the girl felt all confidence built with Micah crumble as soon as they’d sat and she shifted her view away from any particular person and to the snowy ground.

Joe grunted in affirmation, whereas Cleet piped up, “I’m fucking freezing, Micah. My face aches, thanks to that little whore and I’m stuck in this frozen shithole.” Micah had to admit, he’d never seen Cleet so heated up in the entire time he’d known the man and he turned his attention to the girl, she kicked the snow beneath her feet, seemingly indifferent to the cold as she found refuge in her warm, sheepskin coat that was as sexy as a potato sack. Micah kicked her gently in the shin, not to hurt her, just to get her attention.

“Take your coat off.” He barked, the girl was quick to protest but was cut off by Micah, “You hurt Cleet pretty bad, least you can do is lend him your coat!”

Reluctantly, she began to unbutton it, she felt the silent, judgemental gazes from the rest of the camp as she slipped it off her shoulders and held it out towards Cleet, who quite happily took the coat and wrapped it around his slender frame. Micah wasn’t looking at Cleet, he was much more invested in the girl, she wore a frilly chemise that carelessly slipped off of her shoulders as her arms wound around herself in a futile attempt to protect herself from the cold, he’d cupped a generous handful of her full chest while the pair were scuffling, however he had no idea that she was so well formed. Micah shook the bottle in the girl’s direction and she was hasty to get another burning shot down her throat.

“It’s nice to see a docile young woman like yourself put away her liquor like it’s nobody’s business” His voice back to the same sickly sweet tone. The girl shrugged and offered him back the bottle. The blonde haired man was drunk, he swayed from side to side on the log, wrapping his arm around the girl’s waist and shuffling slightly over towards her.

The girl felt Micah edge closer and she didn’t mind it, the whiskey had warmed her cheeks and brought a dizzying veil over her vision but the rest of her was cold and Micah was an extra source of heat for her. Joe put down his bottle and groaned at the display,

“I’m sorry Micah, this doesn’t seem safe.” It was the most she had heard him say, her head raised slightly to look at him talk, but Micah had already cut in,

“What doesn’t seem safe?” He slurred, tightening his grip around the girl. Joe exhaled through his nose, the girl could tell that he really didn’t like any confrontation between himself and Micah,

“She doesn’t wanna be here, you’re all over her right now but what’s to say that she won’t just run away?” He was totally right, that’s what the girl wanted to do.

“She ain’t gonna run, Joe. Look at her, she’s a scared little lamb, if you stand within a foot of her you can hear her fluttering little heart in that... superb chest”

“I understand that she’s meek, but I really don’t think we can just let her drink with us. She’s probably a Pinkerton.” Joe was far more cautious than she’d first thought, she thought that there wasn’t much going on behind his dead eyes, but turns out there was a whole lot of paranoia.

“She’ll do exactly what I tell her to, Joe. As I said, she’s a lamb”

Micah got up real close to her, the closer he got, the more she turned her head to get away from him, he gripped her face in his hands and turned her head to face him,

“And you know exactly what that makes me, don’t you little girl? I’m a god damn lion and you are nothing more than a lamb. Is that understood?”

The total change in behaviour towards her straightened her back up, his words were replaying in her head over and over, she was prey to this man, “uhuh” she grunted in compliance.

He tutted and gripped her thigh in his other hand, “I thought you knew better than that, sweetheart... Say it again, properly.”

“Yes sir.”

Micah exhaled, a smile playing on his lips, he loosened his grip of the girls waist and took another swig of whiskey, men on the other side of camp had begun to head off to their lodgings one by one, eventually it was just gonna be her and Micah and the thought of that terrified her. Micah handed her the bottle,

“Wrap your lips around that, lamb chop or else the cold will get to ya”

There was a small amount left in the bottom of the bottle that she finished off, letting the empty bottle drop to the snow. Micah chuckled slightly, “I’ll go get us another one, don’t you worry your pretty little head, lamb chop.”

Micah managed to pry his hand from her waist and stumble away towards the cabins, leaving the girl alone, aside from the two rat-men opposite her. She wasn’t looking, but she heard the footsteps approach from opposite her, when the feet came into her view, she saw the fur trim of her coat, it was Cleet.

He sat down beside her, where Micah had just been and she reluctantly looked up at him,

“It’s a shame you had to go and punch me.” He hissed. The girl furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side,

“What do you mean? You would have killed me”

Cleet scoffed, “I was just roughing you up a bit”

The girl shook her head. She could have died and yet he was acting as though nothing was ever wrong.

“I was!” He assured, “If I’d have known you were a... Lady, I’d have never.”

She squinted her eyes at him, the alcohol must have been giving her some kind of a second wind as she laughed in his face, it wasn’t the type of laugh you would do in the company of a friend, it was a scornful cackle.

“I’m serious! You obviously don’t like Micah so stop being a bitch and come and drink with me, instead!” He was trying to flirt, the desperation was painful to watch and she found herself not wanting to laugh, but feeling herself getting angrier, her blood began to boil and she finally managed to spit her words out,

“I may not like Micah, but at least he’s not a leech like you, you’re a total parasite, you can’t fight, you can’t flirt and you sure as hell wouldn’t be alive without Micah because I’d have broken your skull open back there without him.” Cleet huffed out a laugh in disbelief and stood up, he walked back to Joe in silence and she thought that was going to be the end of it, that is before Cleet pulled out his revolver and pointed it in the direction of the girl.

“Ok, I can’t flirt, I can’t fight but I’ll tell you what, I’ll do more than a good job when I’m cleaning the pieces of your skull out of the snow.” The girl honestly thought that that was going to be it, she was going to die on Mount Hagen, that was until she felt an arm snake around her waist and the strong smell of bourbon filled her nose.

“Cleet... How disrespectful.” Micah breathed it right down her neck, goosebumps instantly littered her arms, “You’d draw on an unarmed girl?”

Cleet’s face contorted into an angry bunch and he spat into the snow.

“You best watch where you step, girl.” Cleet pointed his gun at her for a few seconds more before returning it to his holster and storming off. Micah moved his hand up and clutched her bare arm.

“You’re freezing. Too bad you didn’t bring a coat.” He hissed, his eyes glistening as though chaotic fireworks were going off behind them, she met his tease with a small smile and took the bottle of bourbon from him. Joe shot Micah a steely look and shook his head before making a swift exit in the same direction as Cleet. Micah found himself grinning at the scene that his men had made, he gestured back to the makeshift bench that the pair were just sat at. The girl didn’t budge, he turned his attention from the campfire back to the woman in his grip, she was staring at him once again, he’d notice her do this once before, her brows were knitted together and her cheeks and nose were dusted with a rosey tint.

“What’s the matter, lamb chop?” He tightened his grip on her waist and felt her scoot slightly closer in an attempt to escape his crushing hold.

“I’m freezing, can we not go somewhere warmer?”

Micah chuckled deeply and licked his lips, before leaning into the girl and trying to get as close to a whisper as possible:

“Are you implying that you wanna come back to my room?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at the blonde man and smiled slightly,

“If it’ll get me out of the cold, then I suppose I am.”

Micah felt a small chill up his spine and noticed his hands becoming clammy, he often felt the need to make a scene in order to hide such weaknesses, but showed restraint for a reason that even he wasn’t too sure about. “Come on then, lambchop.”

The pair trudged through the snow, around the campfire towards the large cabin. Thoughts of freedom ran through the girl’s head, while Micah drowned in thoughts of anxiety. He knew that his quarters was no place for a lady, his bed was unkempt, he’d have been better off asking to use Joe’s camp, not that he’d have allowed him to.

He did the honours of opening the door for the girl, he pushed her indoors, swiftly and followed her in, bolting it behind her.

It was the first time in a while that she had been free from Micah’s arm around her and so she gingerly approached the beds to the left.

“Which one’s yours?” She queried, turning to look at her captor. He was removing his leather coat with his back to her, upon asking the question she watched him flinch and he glanced at her over his shoulder, his anxiety was apparent. He plucked the hat from his head and threw it on the impromptu table in the centre of the room, this also housed a hunting knife and a book of “the American inferno” by Evelyn Miller, this caught the girl off guard, he didn’t strike her as a philosopher.

Micah pointed to the far bed and the girl made her way over. She snatched up the canvas bedroll and wrapped it around her bare arms. She was looking at her boots, but she could hear him sauntering over and felt the weight shift on the bed. She looked up at the man who now sat beside her, he wasn’t hiding beneath the shadow of his hat and she found herself strangely charmed, his hair wasn’t the honey-blonde that she’d taken it for, although she was sure that it once was, it was a sweptback greying-blonde, matching his moustache. As she admired his facial hair, she noticed a deep scar on his chin.

“Where’d you get that scar?” It was the alcohol talking, she didn’t often ask people about their scars or where they got them, but the words found themselves falling out of her mouth. He brought his hand up to his jaw and ran his thumb along the damaged tissue,

“Where’d you learn to ask annoying questions?”

The girl scoffed and took a swig of bourbon.

“Same place you learned to shave” The girl watched his face contort into a scowl, before smiling and placing a hand on his knee, “I’m kidding.”

His shoulders dropped and he faked a laugh,

“Very good, Lamb chop.”

She tightened her hold on his leg and drank some more bourbon,

“I’m not a Pinkerton.” She offered him back the bottle and he gladly took it, a smirk hidden beneath his facial hair.

“I can believe that, but it’s late, I couldn’t have a girl like yourself getting lost in the snow....” his tone made her hair stand on end, he leaned in close to her ear, his breath was heavy and his moustache tickled her soft cheek as he gently trailed off in a drunken drawl “...There’s a lot of men out there who’d do terrible things to you.” The girl found herself smirking, her chemise fell from its shelf on her left shoulder with help from Micah’s groping hands. Micah pulled away from her ear, his eyes were narrow and his gaze was fixed on her own. Despite his offensive exterior, she felt herself gravitating towards him, she knew exactly why he was making her stay, he had a one track mind. His lips collided with hers, her lips were so plump and soft in comparison to his, his rough facial hair catching her upper-lip, slightly. He tugged at her wrist, guiding her hand down to his crotch. The girl was inexperienced, although this wasn’t her first time, the thought of touching a man in such a lewd area made her cheeks burn. She rubbed him through his jeans and she felt him stir beneath the fabric, and he ran both of his hands up her legs under her chemise, working his way up. The fingers of his left hand dug fiercely into her hips, while his right hand played with what he was there for.

As soon as he pressed his thumb against the small knot of nerves, a small parcel of shock escaped her throat and developed into a moan. His lack of awareness as to how rough he was being shocked her more than anything else. He smirked, his eyes twinkling with malevolence,

“You like that, don’t you, lamb?” His thumb began to move: cruel, torturous movements, the girl’s eyes were wide and her mouth was agape at his unrefined technique, he was thrilled with her expression- what was once a shy girl he had turned into a dripping-wet mess. With his thumb still in place, he ran his middle finger down until he found the opening, she was saturated, Micah’s unbearably rough method somehow worked. Denied of her orgasm, Micah ripped his hand away from her sex and began hurriedly unbuckling his jeans, as though he was under some time of time constraint, his jeans dropped as far as his knees would allow them too before he awkwardly shuffled them down his shins, the only sounds were the faint noise of the camp outside, a rustling of fabric and Micah’s heavy breathing.

By the time he was finished drunkenly battling with his pants, he was stood up, he let out a loud sigh and looked at the girl, who was eagerly awaiting his return. He crawled up the bed, a hand on either side of her, their faces parallel to each other, his mane of gold and silver hung from his head. His hand was busy fumbling down below his belt, his arm moving in an erratic way as he prepared himself.

“I’m ready for you, princess.” He was breathless already and as he pulled her chemise down and grabbed her breast, she took note of how clammy his hands were. Micah cursed himself mentally, the girl was bored and he could tell, her eyelids grew heavy and his window was very slowly closing.

Without warning, he slid the tip of his member up her entrance, the warm, welcoming wetness of it felt like a Utopia next to the tundra that they were stuck in. He looked down at her, with eyes full of lust and her lip bitten, she waited in sheer anticipation for him to slowly ease his way into her entrance, there wasn’t much light from the near-extinguished lantern, but the little that there was showed him all he needed to see, her breasts were soft and her nipples erect from a combination of arousal and sheer cold. Micah looked directly into her eyes, his gaze almost as cold as outside and he suddenly thrust his entire length into her.

Instinctively she cried out, it was one of the most arousing and beautiful symphonies that he’d ever heard in his life, the way that her walls clung to him snuggly, with every thrust it felt like she was pushing him out and he loved every moment of this struggle. He carried on forcing his way through, with every thrust she felt her insides cry out. Micah’s thrusts were anything but regular, these were strong, painful and unpredictable rams that hit her deep. Micah grunted as he carried on, he’d developed a sheen on his forehead, she could just about see his face in this low light, his pale blue irises contrasted with the dark circles that stained the skin around his strangely pretty eyes.

“Like what you see, lamb chop?” The blond huffed rhetorically, between breaths. His thrusts were getting stronger and deeper now and his breaths were shallow grunts that alchemized into dreamy clouds of fog due to the harsh weather.

Her head spun and with every thrust of his, she felt a strange sensation deep within her, an odd numbness, similar to pins and needles but far less painful, her short breaths had slowly but surely gotten louder and turned into little moans. Micah leaned in closer to her and chuckled quietly, “You’re close, lamb chop.”

He cupped his left hand on her corresponding breast and wrapped his right hand around her throat, his deep, unpredictable pushes had turned into quick jabs, each one hitting her deeply. At this rate, he was forcing the moans from between her lips, the numbness was ringing out throughout her entire womanhood now, every nerve ending singing at the mercy of Micah’s length and then it was upon her: like nothing she’d ever felt before, she just about managed to cry out a strained “Micah” despite his grip on her throat, before her legs began to twitch and her walls collapsed around Micah’s shaft.

Micah released his grip from her delicate throat and raised his hand to her face, he cupped the girl’s cheek and bit his lower lip, slightly swollen from the chill,

“There’s a good little lamb, but don’t forget, I’ve still gotta finish, too.”

The girl nodded, “Yes sir.” She whimpered, she was being overstimulated and toyed with, his thrust was still strong and ruthless and he loved seeing the pathetic, helpless little look on her face as he continued to stir up her insides. Micah groaned deeply, she began to claw at the blankets beneath her, he was unsure if she was writhing or drowning in pleasure, but he knew that he loved it.

Moans began spilling out, desperate, pleading moans, they sounded intoxicated with pleasure as the writhing mess before him began to clutch at what she could of Micah, the girl weaved her fingers into his greying hair and Micah, in turn brought his face closer to her own.

“You alright there, lamb chop?” His voice a hiss, he knew exactly how good this must have felt for her, he just wanted to hear it for himself, her eyes latched to his and he felt his heart flutter slightly, like he’d ever admit it; her eyelids were heavy, she parted her lips slightly and her eyes quickly fell, despite everything he was doing to her, she was still shy. Then she spoke, quiet as a mouse, she breathed:

“Like nothing I’ve ever felt...” As soon as he heard it, he pushed his lips up against her own. The kiss wasn’t an ounce passionate, it was cold and lustful, his teeth lingered on her lower lip and he bit down reasonably hard, coaxing a muffled sound from within the girl.

His thrusts had become harder, slower and more deliberate, he was close and he wanted to savour every moment that he spent inside of her, as he pushed deeper and harder, he’d find himself trying to hold back the curses from under his breath. As he felt himself reaching the end of his tether, he gripped a handful of the girl’s hair which was greeted with a small Yelp,

“Now, missy. I’m gonna use you for what you’re good for.” He purred, his voice a total drawl, “You’re gonna take my seed, Lamb chop and you’re gonna take it like a good girl.” She went to protest, but all that managed to escape was a moan: a back arching, feminine moan that made the hair on the back of Micah’s neck stand on end and managed to push him over the edge.

Micah’s release wasn’t anywhere near as audible as the girl’s was, but the small growl he summoned behind his gritted teeth was just as real to her, his release was more than either of them could have expected, it immediately spilled out of her and dripped onto the bedroll beneath her. Micah, although out of breath and very drunk, sat back to see what he’d done and almost immediately a smile tugged at his lips,

“And they said Arthur was the artist of the gang...” He scoffed, before laying down next to the girl,

“Who the hell is Arthur?” She pressed, a smile on her face to match his, Micah shook his head as if to say ‘forget about it’.

His chest was far too inviting to her and so she rolled over and rested her head on the right side of his chest, he was warm and strangely comforting which was unexpected. The girl looked up at him and he smirked slightly, eyes not leaving her’s, “You’re such a good, obedient girl, lamb chop…” he breathed, putting his hand up against her head and holding her close to his chest, “and to think that I was just gonna kill you and rob you.”

The girl’s blood ran cold at the thought of it, Micah laughed it off once more and then yawned loudly.

“You’ve really took it out of me, lamb chop” He said, groggily, it honestly surprised the girl how quickly he managed to get to sleep, it was almost instantaneous, but there she was stuck, truly a lamb in the arms of a lion, a snoring, drunk, old lion.

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars | xiii

Read the full story here...

xiii: two strangers in the bright lights

I wish I knew you when I was young,

we could’ve got so high.

Now you’re here it’s been so long,

two strangers in the bright lights.

-The Revivalists, “Wish I Knew You”

The revelry of the races last night helped bring Jon a sense of normalcy. As though they’d never traveled south and all of the revelations and situations were just fever dreams. However, they shouldn’t have stayed out as late as they did. When he awoke at his habitual time, the world felt heavier. He still pulled himself away from his bed so he could finally go on his run without the threat of anyone intruding.

He stuck to his usual route, a few laps around the exterior castle walls so he could keep in sight of the stationed guards atop. It was easier than being trailed through the Wolfswood. Running alone allowed him to hold off the bigger issues plaguing his life and focus on the small details; the way his feet fell on the frost covered grass, the rhythm of his breathing, the way the chilly morning air bit at his face.

Wanting to steer clear of the Great Keep as much as possible, he entered through the Hunter’s Gate on the west side of the castle when he finished. What awaited him was person number two on the long list of people he was trying to avoid. His father being number one at the moment.

The Princess Daenerys was seated at the little wooden table where kitchen staff took their breaks, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She looked up when he entered. 

“Good morning,” she said, her voice even.

It made Jon pause. He was expecting a little more resentment and coldness.

“I didn’t take you for an early riser,”

“I’m not usually,” she admitted, “But I try to make it a habit.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear before carefully sipping from her mug. She pulled her knees up to her chest and Jon saw the fuzzy socks patterned like tabby cat paws on her feet. Matched with her red and black flannel pajama bottoms and green Braavos Titans sweatshirt, she looked more like an absent minded eccentric than a polished princess. She looked more approachable and human.

“Nice socks,” he nodded and leaned against the counter.

“Oh.” The princess glanced down as though she’d forgotten what pair she had on.

“Uh, thanks. Did you have a nice run?”

He furrowed his brows at her.

“You came in here sweaty and breathing hard, so I assumed that’s where you’d been,” she stated, motioning to the obvious sweat mark on the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, it was … a good run.”

A few members of the kitchen staff filed in to prepare breakfast for the rest of the court, who were starting their days too.

Jon knew it was best to get out of their way. While he ranked higher than them, they weren’t afraid to get nasty if he stood between them and their tasks. He sat in the other chair, watching as the workers busied themselves and tried not to stare too long at the foreign visitor and prince conversing.

“Why are you really up this early?”

“I can’t enjoy my coffee in the solitude of an empty kitchen at the ass crack of dawn?” she rolled her eyes at the absurdity of her statement, a light smile peeking over the edge of her mug.

Jon’s face betrayed him with the grin it displayed at her sarcastic comment.

“Actually, I’m trying to enjoy some peace and quiet before Sansa gets ahold of me. I think she’s got every minute until we leave booked.”

At that moment, a very distinct head of copper hair entered the kitchen, gazing over the tops of the workers heads almost frantically. 

“Speak of the stranger,” she muttered, sliding her mug out of the way.

Sansa was by her side immediately, already talking about all that she had planned.

They were on the move before he knew it, on their way to the foothills of the Northern Mountains for the Midsummer celebrations. The huge festival was attended by lords and common folk alike. It had what all the Northerners loved, tradition. Traditional music, food, clothing, and even traditional dancers. Although they were professionals hired by the festival planners, that never stopped a few drunken lords from joining in. 

After her bonding experience with the Starks last night, Daenerys was fitting right in. Jon hadn’t seen the Princess Daenerys since their run in that morning but her and Sansa’s laughter could be heard throughout the castle. The reason for their jovialness was evident when they’d gathered to leave. Sansa had turned the woman into her own fashion doll.

The festival and its focus on tradition meant that Sansa got to break out the traditional dress. The woolen skirt she wore was starched white with lines of grey and pale green criss-crossing over it, the colors of House Stark. A sash of the same fabric crossing over her blouse and secured at her waist with a brooch the shape of the Stark direwolf.

She’d given their guest nearly the same treatment. She’d dug a similar length wool skirt out of somewhere, but the one Daenerys wore was a deep blue and devoid of any lines of other colors. A safe bet, since it wouldn’t be confused with any other House’s pattern. Her white hair was braided in its usual way but they were woven into a different pattern, forming a shape akin to a heart. If it weren’t for her light hair and odd colored eyes, she would look every bit a true Northerner.

Jon was assigned the task of escorting their guest around the festival and ensuring all introductions went smoothly. He asked Sansa to stick close by just in case, she was a natural at turning any awkward situation out. But they found that her services were needed. Only kind pleasantries were exchanged so far and Daenerys appeared to be charming everyone she met with ease. 

As they were leaving yet another Lord and Lady behind, Daenerys took note of a young girl passing around wreaths made of flowers. When the young girl stopped in front of them, the Princess immediately bent down to meet her at eye level.

“Hello,” Daenerys greeted.

The young girl curtseyed and wordlessly held one of her creations out to the woman in front of her. A wreath of small blue flowers interspersed with white and green, shiny blue ribbons binding the whole thing together.

They weren’t too far from the dancers, Jon noticed. The sounds of pipes and fiddles drifting toward them. 

“For me?”

The young girl nodded again, holding the flowers out further. Daenerys took it from the girl with delicate hands and examined it.

“Did you make this?”

Nod.

“It’s very beautiful but I’m afraid I don’t know how to wear it,” Daenerys frowned.

Jon feared for a second that she was going to return the wreath to the little girl. But she surprised him yet again.

“I would be honored if you put it on for me,” she smiled and gracefully bowed her head.

The little girl placed the ring of flowers atop Daenerys’ braids, her round face growing red.

“Thank you very much.”

The little girl curtseyed again and ran off to find her mother. Jon was floored by this woman, who at one moment was as poisonous as a snake and yet as gentle as a cloud the next.

Similar interactions followed wherever they went. While Jon held onto his belief that she was playing a part that she’d rehearsed so well it was believable, he found his stubborn grasp slipping with each person they encountered.

Jon heard the music change and watched as Sansa grabbed Daenerys’ hand.

“Come on,” Sansa said excitedly, “I want to dance.”

As she was dragged away, Daenerys looked back over her shoulder, a nervous smile on her face. At least there wouldn’t be any introductions for a while.                                                                      

It was later when he found himself talking with the patriarch of Clan Norrey, a tankard of summer ale in his hand. The old reels of the North filled his ears thanks to their proximity to the band. He chanced a glance at the dancers. The professionals were on break, so it was just common folk and lords swinging each other around with the sun burning behind them.

During one of the passes, a flash of white hair caught his eye. He watched as Daenerys was spun by Sansa before switching directions and ending up in the arms of a large man. Jon recognized him as Lord Umber. Who was oddly graceful despite his size, age, and drunkenness. There were words exchanged between them and whatever the Princess said had the GreatJon roaring in laughter before she was spun off. 

The music ended with a flourish and the dancers all bowed to each other, applause and cheers rising into the air. 

“She sure is something, that Southern girl.” Old Norrey commented.

“You have no idea,” Jon replied.

“What would a city girl like her want to come up here for?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out myself,” he lied.

“I hate to say it but I hope she sticks around.”

Another song started up, the laughter of the festival goers rising above the music as they started dancing again. 

“What are you doing standing here talking to me for? You should be out there dancing-”

“I’m not a dancer,”

“-and wooing the next Queen of the North.”

Jon wondered how Old Norrey would react if he told him the future queen was already spinning herself dizzy with the other ladies. And that she was the southern girl he was so impressed with. The old man would probably have a heart attack. Daenerys visiting the North was one thing, but marrying it was a whole other beast.

Jon was about to make another remark about their guest, when she bounded up to him, breathless from the dancing.

“I need to talk to you,” she announced, gravity in her breathless tone.

“Okay…”

She looked at Norrey and back to Jon, “Alone, preferably.”

Jon nodded despite his confusion and led her away from the crowded space, towards the edges of the festival. With less people and less activity, it was more quiet and calm. As they walked, Jon noted the sturdy boots she wore. 

They walked in silence for a while, Daenerys’ gaze fixed straight ahead. She’d taken the ring of flowers from her head, holding it in her hands. He could tell she was trying not to fidget with it. Finally, she took a deep breath.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” she started.

Jon was taken aback, “For?”

“To quote you, being a raging bitch.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and found she was doing the same.

“I was really overwhelmed with everything and I took it out on the wrong person. You didn’t deserve that. And I’d like to apologize for being so stubborn.”

“Really?”

They paused their stroll by one of the several bonfires burning across the stretch of land. The flickering orange light washed over Daenerys’ features, the blank canvas of her hair taking on the lively color.

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that,” she looked at him for a moment.

Sensing her hesitation, Jon said, “Go on.”

“I know I’ve only been here a few days and there’s so much more to see of the North but it’s beautiful here. I’ve spent the last few years running around the world, trying to get away from the Southern Court, when this was right next door the whole time.”

  She looked around the landscape before she started walking again.

“Everyone keeps asking me if I’m actually going to marry you,” she commented.

“Everyone?”

“Well, the Queen, Arya, Theon, Talisa. And my answer was always, I don’t know. This whole treaty ordeal is tricky and my brother will make it happen one way or another, but I thought I could figure a way out. But sometime last night, I started thinking, what would happen if I just bit the bullet? What would happen if I dropped my weapons and stopped fighting?”

“What are you saying?”

“The North is the only place I’ve felt like no one’s watching my every move. No one cares if I swear or talk too loud or slide down the hallways in my socks!”

“Wait, you weren’t allowed to do that?”

“Technically yes. My handlers didn’t want me to feel like I had too many rules to follow so everything was just highly discouraged,” she informed in a stuffy accent Jon imagined belonged to one of her ‘handlers’.

“Got it. So you never did it?”

“Oh, I did it once. Then I got lectured and was too scared to do it again.”

Too scared? Daenerys didn’t seem like someone who was scared of anything.

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

“You were talking about the alliance,” Jon reminded her. 

“Right. I wanted to tell you that I’m saying yes.” she took a deep breath. “I’m agreeing to the engagement.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what to say,”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’ll tell your father and my brother tomorrow morning. ”

Her voice lowered as a group of girls about Sansa’s age passed them by. They whispered excitedly once they thought they were out of ear shot.

“The common folk love you,” he commented.

“For now. Tomorrow, when the alcohol has worn off and the news is released they’ll turn on me. And your court already hates me. No matter how nice their words, I can see their true intentions in their eyes. They dislike me for the same reasons I am loved. Beauty, kindness, and the splendor of a foreign land.”

“But you’re not doing it for the people of the court,”

“Correct. I’m doing it for your people, who have charmed me beyond imagination.”

It wasn’t how Jon imagined a proposal might go. There was no romance to it, though the ambiance was certainly there. No ring, no ‘will you marry me’. He wished he could breathe easier but the previous weight on his chest had only been replaced with another. He’d done what he needed to do and was headed into unknown territory.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” he asked.

“Of course I am. I want to do what’s right, even if it means being married to you for the rest of my life.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, grinning at her own joke.

“Thank you for that,” he said, returning her attitude.

“Oh lighten up!”

“Daenerys-”

“And please, call me Dany, all my friends do.”

[sylvianancy88]

47 Best Gifts for Boaters They’ll Actually Love

If you have sailors among your family or friends, you will know how crazy these people are about their hobbies. For these boaters, what would be a better gift than sailing-related gifts?

But now you may be wondering which sailor type gift you should choose? If you do not have much experience with sailing itself, this task may be difficult.

But do not worry my friend, here I have is an article for you filled with a brilliant list of best gift ideas for boaters that related to sailing, and your boater enthusiast friend would be thrilled to have.

I hereby present to you this inspirational list of ideas featuring the best gifts for boaters. It doesn’t matter if your friend is a wannabe sailor or an experienced one, maybe they have just started sailing, this article has gift ideas for all of them.

Trust me when I say, all the products listed underneath will make your boater friend very happy and they would appreciate you even more. Let’s see if we can get you the perfect boating gift for your sailor friend.

What Would be a Better Gift for this Particular Boater?

While looking for a gift, this is something you need to ask yourself first. There are many kinds of boaters out there. You need to figure out what kind of a boater your friend is at first. What kind of a sailor are they?

Do they sail only on warmer climates? Then maybe don’t give them cold-weather wear such as woolen socks or thermal jacket.

Are they into sailing but don’t like to be an active crew member? Maybe they just don’t feel comfortable in the role of a crew, and they just want to relax. Then get them something fun and relaxing, like a board game or a book, instead of let’s say a sailing knife.

In any case, simply trust your instincts, because at the end of the day, you are the one who knows this better. And they would definitely appreciate your gift.

Best Gift Ideas for Boaters with Different Categories

Clothing Gifts for Boaters

1. Sailing Gloves

For boaters who like to be active crew members and do any kind of deck works, sailing gloves are a perfect gift. When steering the steering wheel, lifting the sails or maintaining the deck, even in bad weather conditions, the correct sailing gloves can keep your hands warm.

2. Sailing Shoes

When the weather starts to affect the crew, the sailors like to show an elegant and stylish appearance, just like on the old marine postcards. Traditional leather sailing boots are one of the best fashions and are also very practical.

3. Warm Socks

When paired with rubber boots, always wear thick warm socks. Preferably, two or three pairs at a time. As I said before, in difficult and stormy sailing, warm feet can maintain a noble morality. If you want to buy a pair as a gift for sailors, please pay attention to the materials.

Sometimes, socks may look warm, but if they are mainly made of synthetic materials such as polyester, it will only cause the feet to sweat. Therefore, look for materials that are naturally warm, such as merino wool. It guarantees warm comfort.

4. Sailing Jacket

For sailors, another basic wardrobe element is a high-quality sailing jacket. Usually, this is the first large investment in this hobby. In general, we can distinguish sailing jackets by waterproofing:

One that keeps the sailor’s body dry in light rain, and occasionally splashes time at sea is shorter; and another one that Keeps your body dry in harsh weather conditions, such as continuous rain and regular splashing for everyday occasional sailing, a lightweight waterproof jacket will be a perfect choice.

5. Rubber Sailing Boots

High-strength rubber boots are life-saving during heavy rain and cold weather of the sea. They help keep the sailor’s feet dry while on duty on deck. Every boater knows that there is nothing worse than wet and cold socks.

When buying rubber boots as a sailing gift, please pay attention to the sole, it should have good adhesion to ensure balance when walking on the wet deck.

6. Thermal Underwear

You should not underestimate the significance of thermal underwear as a practical gift for your boater friend. People sailing in non-tropical climates will definitely enjoy this significantly.

Also, look for durable materials with proven efficiency. Merino wool is great for keeping your body warm. Comfortable and practical underwear is essential equipment for every sailor.

Packaging Gifts for Boaters

7. Compression Packing Cubes

Packing luggage for navigation is a difficult task that requires a high degree of organization. You can help your sailor friend do this by helping with his compressed packaging cube.

After filling such a cube with clothes, zip it once to close it. Then remove it with a zipper a second time to remove all unnecessary air and make the package as thin as possible.

This simple technique helps to pack all the required clothing layers in bags of any size.

8. Laundry Wash Bag

After a few days of sailing, there is nothing better than being smelly. On long journeys, sailors have limited opportunities to wash clothes.

Especially when they are sailing in areas where less popular terminal infrastructures are not yet available. In this case, a wash bag is a perfect solution.

These are pocket-sized portable laundry bag, and they are a life-saving item for washing clothes on the go. Just put the dirty clothes in, add some water and washing powder, then close and scrub.

Perfect help for the inoperable washing machine.

9. Waterproof Backpack

The right backpack is one of the most important parts of a sailor’s equipment. Due to the lack of space on yachts, they should be flexible enough to be stored in a small cabin. When choosing a backpack as a boating gift, please pay attention to the particularity of the boat.

The backpack should be waterproof, without a fixed shelf, and equipped with a practical pocket to easily organize internal items. The washing machine cannot be used to wash this though.

10. Dry Bag

Instead of professional sailing backpacks, large dry bags may be a cheaper option. But it is more suitable for short voyages. Although, small dry bags are ideal for storing smaller items such as electronics and documents.

Compared with standard backpacks, smartphones, cameras, passports, and wallets have much better moisture resistance in dry bags. This is very useful equipment for short trips on small sailboats (especially without cabins).

11. Waterproof Watch

Another good item to wear on-board is a waterproof watch. Many people cannot imagine a day without a watch, so why must a day on a yacht be different? If the watch is waterproof, sailors can soak it without looking after it.

Therefore, this small object will become a companion for sailing, helping you to count the time until the end of duty.

12. Sunglass

We can assume that sunglasses are another must-have equipment on board. It protects the eyes from the harsh sunlight reflected by the sea water. However, when water drops splash from the board, it also helps the sailor to open his eyes.

When you buy sunglasses for sailors, one of the most important tips for you is to choose a floatable model. In case of a fall, there is at least an opportunity to drag them up.

Entertaining Gifts for Boaters

13. Board Games

Board games are always a fan favorite. Who doesn’t like to play a cool board game to pass the time? And especially while sailing on a boat, there might be some quiet days where one would just love to play a board game. You never know.

14. Sailor’s Journal

On the other hand, some people like to spend time alone. It is a very intimate moment to think about the surrounding environment on a boat in the water. In this case, many people like to write down their ideas.

So, what are you waiting for? Get an ocean-inspired diary for your boater friend.

15. Ukulele/Guitar

Surprisingly, a lot of sailors can play musical instruments. But when you imagine the tranquil ocean around you and the warm sunlight above your head, this is completely understandable. The song falls on your mouth without asking. A ukulele or a guitar is a perfect sailing gift for a music cruiser.

Gadgets as Gift for Boaters

16. Waterproof Bluetooth Speaker

However, if you don’t believe in buying a real instrument, then waterproof Bluetooth speakers will also play an excellent role in cruise entertainment. The music in the happy hour on the sailing boat may play an important role.

Be sure to purchase a waterproof speaker to keep it safe from occasional splashes of water. If it can hang it safely on the deck, it can add points.

17. Mini Movie Projector

For the movie fanatics, a miniature movie projector will be an interesting gift for sailing. Sometimes sailors spend hours or even days on the pier. Watching their favorite movies is a good way to wait for the right time to leave the port.

18. Mobile Hot Spot

In many parts of the world, the marine terminals are still not equipped with Wi-Fi. For this situation, it is a good idea to have your own SIM card and wireless hotspot. Elevated hotspots allow access to 4G/LTE networks, high-speed data, and battery operation.

19. Action Cam

For people who like to keep vivid memories on the road, professional action cams are a good idea in other sailing gifts. Action cams can be easily installed in different positions on the ship to capture any kind of extreme scenes. When sitting on the sofa and watching the record safely, you will think of exciting spikes of adrenaline.

20. Drone

If you want to bring more fun to the sailor, please give them a drone. Flying with this toy can take the sailing experience to the next level. Capturing good times is a good way to capture sailing from the sky.

21. Solar Charger

Stable electricity is a major problem on small boats. This is why solar chargers are the perfect gift for boats that like to travel shorter distances without an engine generator. When purchasing this device, please pay attention to its portability, efficiency, and water resistance.

22. Power Bank

Similar to the charger, the mobile power supply can provide useful help when there is no electricity in long transportation time. It helps to charge the battery of the mobile phone so that the sailor can maintain stable contact with family and friends.

Education Related Gift for Boaters

23. Kindle and Audible Books

Under the conditions of the sea, it is great entertainment to spend a quiet moment on the boat, reading or listening to books. Kindle e-readers or audible books are ideal gifts for shipping because they help to spend time on board in a more meaningful way.

24. Online Courses on Sailing

If the person you are looking for a gift intends to grow into a sailor, then education may be a perfect nautical gift idea. On the Internet, you will find some interesting online sailing courses, which may be helpful for learning new skills. You will find courses on navigation, electronic systems on board, etc. here.

 Boat Accessories as Gifts for Boaters

 25. Hammock

After a difficult voyage, finding a calm bay in the rough water is a wonderful moment for the sailors. With the help of ultra-light and compact hammocks, the coolness among the trees near Paradise Beach created the moment we depend on for survival.

If you decide to buy a travel hammock, please note its size to make it small enough to fit the sailing package.

26. Charts

The chart is a friend of any senior sailor. If you want to give someone a plan to travel to distant waters, a chart is an ideal marine gift. They help sailors keep a safe track and swim peacefully from one port to another.

27. Thermos Bottle

Nothing tastes better than the sweetness of the black tea brought to the helmsman by another crew member. Ideally, if this tea can keep warm for a long time.

At this moment, a high-quality thermos will help. Just pay attention to the time to keep the high temperature of such bottles, the time to drink easily, and the quality of the materials.

28. Satellite Communicator

Safety is the most important thing at sea. Stable communication is one of its main conditions. One of the best gifts for ship delivery may be a tested satellite communicator.

These clever devices allow the crew to send and receive text messages through the satellite system. In this way, they can keep in touch with family and friends.

With the correct subscription, it can also access weather forecasts and navigation maps.

29. Travel Coffee Bottle

For coffee lovers, there is no better sailor gift than a travel coffee machine. With this clever thing, sailors can enjoy the taste of fresh coffee almost anywhere. Even in the ocean.

30. Waterproof Binoculars

The waterproof marine binoculars are the perfect sailor gift for two reasons. First, they help the crew to really pay attention to the dangers at sea. Using binoculars makes it easier to analyze rocks, shoals, small navigation route signs or other ships above sea level.

31. Headlamp

Bright headlights make the unexpected work on the deck at night much easier. This simple device is also useful for playing peaceful nights with friends in the wild bay, playing guitar, and having fun.

32. Waterproof Phone Case

This is a great gift idea for rowers who only sail occasionally and are not very advanced in this sport. The waterproof phone case is a perfect sailing gift, ensuring that all smartphones are safe on board. With it, the splash of water will not be scary, and even on rainy days, sailors can use mobile phones.

33. Sailor’s Knife

A solid knife is a practical tool on board. It is mainly used to cut the rope when needed, but it also does a good job when opening food cans. Knives with nails are particularly useful. This thick needle unwinds the tangled rope well.

Boating Gifts for Your Male Friends

34. Sailor’s Tie

This is a gift for sailors, for those who like to have a connection with sailing ships even on official occasions. The exquisite sailing pattern silk tie will definitely be appreciated by elegant sailors. I also recommend choosing silk instead of synthetic materials to make a high-quality wardrobe.

35. Nautical Cufflinks

These are gifts that will subtly remind you of your passion for sailing. The classic cufflinks with marine motifs are original marine gifts for fathers or boyfriends. 36.

36. Sailing Bracelet

If your sailor friend prefers casual accessories, the sailing bracelet is the perfect example of a boating gift for him. This simple decoration will assign him to the elite club of dedicated amateurs.

Boating Gifts for Your Female Friends

37. Boating themed Jewellery

Many women like beautiful jewelry. Any sailor woman likes more jewelry with a sailing theme! You can find various masterpieces of sailing jewelry by local artists online. These trinkets are a gift for her beautiful sailing boat.

38. Sailing Scarf

The scarf is a useful wardrobe, and the sailing scarf is a great item to remind the sailor of her enthusiasm. Silk, cotton or viscose scarves are good nautical gifts.

39. Waterproof Toiletries Bag

A waterproof makeup bag may be the perfect gift for your sailing girlfriend. Here is a tip: choose a waterproof version.

Personalized Gifts for Boaters

40. Customized Engraved Compass

Personalized nautical compass is a personalized nautical gift, but also a very symbolic gift. Not only is it a good decoration, but the engraved text will remind the sailor of home and the people waiting for him to return. This is a sailor’s gift that melts the heart.

41. Personalized Captain’s Hat

Here, we have one of the sailors’ most interesting gifts. The personalized captain’s hat is a good ship gift for your father or any other strong leader among your sailing friends. Of course, this helps to maintain the correct level and discipline on the ship.

Cool and Funny Boating Gifts

42. Ocean’s Bracelet

This bracelet may not be spectacular, but it is definitely important. 4Ocean is a company that rids the ocean from plastic pollution. The rubbish they dragged from the water was treated as a bracelet.

The sales revenue of these bracelets is used to pay for the company’s operating costs. You can learn more about them here. It’ll be a perfect gift for someone who cares about the ocean.

43. Sailing Themed T-Shirt

T-shirts with funny quotes are also great gifts for rowers. Sailors usually like to show their commitment to this hobby, so a T-shirt with funny sailing texts would be perfect.

44. Sailor’s Cup

Just like T-shirts, funny cups are popular gifts for everyone. You can find a lot of funny cups in online shops.

45. Wooden Toy Boat

If you are looking for a gift for a rower, then a wooden toy boat may be a surprising idea. But I’m sure it will melt the heart of any sailing enthusiast, and will proudly stand above the fireplace or on the desk.

46. Boat Adventure Saving Jar

Another cool personal gift for sailors is a jar that saves sailing adventures. You can browse Etsy by yourself or find a beautiful ready-made jar in it. This gift will definitely inspire the sailor to save some money for the next adventure. Who knows, even a boat?

47. Sailing Trip

What better gift for a sailor than the adventure itself? Get them a sailing trip and make them the happiest person on earth, they literally will be.

It might be a daunting task, picking a gift for someone you care about, but don’t share interests with. Articles like this feel like a lifesaver on those times, or at least I’d like to think that they do.

Pick a gift that seems to suit your boater friend’s style and make both yourself and your friend happy.

via WordPress https://ift.tt/3j1z5k8

[fandomsoverlife]

Overtime. (Duncan Shepherd x reader x Michael Langdon) smut

2.7k words. This is smut, and it’s not the best, in fact I’ve done better but this is what I’ve made - it could be made into a business rivals au possibly (ps: @lvngdvns this is for you).

——————

Your evening had started so peacefully.

Duncan and Michael weren’t home yet and you’d worked from home, which was quite possibly Duncan’s doing (your boss was terrified of your sweet, powerful boyfriend) and you were grateful.

Which is why you were making breakfast for dinner. Michael loved French toast and Duncan loved anything you made and usually hated cooking.

So here you are. Cooking in one of Duncan’s many soft black T-shirt’s and colorfully patterned wool socks, your hair tied up messily in one of Michael’s velvet scrunchies (he really loves his velvet), humming some stupid song you’d heard on the radio earlier in the week as you paid zero attention to any of your surroundings and focused on not burning food, which led to nearly smacking Michael in the face with a hot spatula when you felt his hands slide around your waist.

“Good evening darling.” He snickered, pressing a soft kiss just under your jaw. “Did you lose track of time?”

“I didn’t hear you.” You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Where’s Duncan? I thought you guys worked together today?”

“The Shepherd Foundation and the Langdon Cooperation aren’t supposed to like each other, dear.”

“Mm, you say that like you don’t love him with your whole heart Mikey.” You bit your lip, carefully flipping the bread you had started before he interrupted you.

“Not my whole heart, y/n. Then there wouldn’t be enough for me to love you as much as I do.” His hands slid down her waist, casually feeling her ass and squeezing - hard.

“Michael Langdon I am making dinner.” Your stern voice was enough for him to raise his hands in defense and back up, deciding to lean against the counter and help you instead. “Is Duncan working over again?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

You rolled your eyes, nostrils flaring in annoyance. “That’s the forth time this week. It’s Thursday.”

“I know, darling.”

“Do you think we could give him a reason to come home?” You asked, raising your left eyebrow and shooting him a flirty look. “Make him a little angry?”

“You already know the answer to that.” His voice was velvety, as always, groaning quietly as you quickly turned off the burner and gripped the lapels of his red blazer - which was just as velvety as his voice.

“You only wear this when you have someone to impress or when you wanna fuck me until I pass out.” You smirked, pulling him closer. “Should we send our sweet Duncan a video of me sucking you off or-“

“We could send him a video of you riding my face-“

“Send him an audio of us fucking extra loud for the dramatic effect?” You giggled as he pulled you closer by your ass. “Or we could send him nudes.”

“I like the sound of all of them, do you wanna see how much we can send to him before he snaps?” Michael rarely smiled as deviously as he was in this moment and you absolutely loved it. “Let’s see your tits.”

He easily lifted you up, pushing you down until you were laying on the counter and pulling Duncan’s shirt up passed your tits, a loud groan ripping through Michaels chest at the sight of them, the silver bars that pierced your nipples never failed to get him hard.

“He’s gonna be pissed that he missed this.” He hummed, leaning down to suck your right nipple into his mouth and pinch the other one, your soft whimpers only fueling him on as he switched sides, squeezing your breast and sliding the jewelry around with his tongue. “Duncan loves these tits.”

“Mmm, yeah.” Your chest rose and fell quickly, tangling your hands in his hair as he lapped at your tits before sucking hard at the curve of your left breast, biting softly to leave a mark. “Michael, fuck.”

He smirked against your neck as he pulled your leg high up on his waist. “He loves taking you like this.”

“So do you, Mikey.”

He smirked, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Oh I know.”

Duncan was pissed, but he knew he deserved it. He’d done this way too often lately and he knew it but he still didn’t appreciate pictures of your fucking perfect tits and your ass bent over the counter, the lace of your panties (that he chose for you) contrasting beautifully against your skin.

I mean, in any other situation he’d love this kind of thing (he lived for surprises like this and he loved doing it to the two of you, truly) but he hated it when he had no control over the situation. So when the next picture came through of Michael’s head between your thighs he couldn’t take it anymore.

As Michael lapped at your pussy and circled your clit, he couldn’t be the one to answer the call, so you were forced to. “Hi baby.”

“Y/N, what have I told you about doing this shit while I’m at work?”

“Duncan, what have I told you about staying over at work four days in a row?” You mocked his tone, moaning lowly when Michael pushed a finger into you. “Fuck, Mikey.”

“If he doesn’t stop right now you’re both in trouble whenever I get home.”

You couldn’t respond for a moment as Michael wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, only being able to gasp and whine. Catching your breath you grinned. “Oh, Dunc, baby you can’t do anything as long as you’re not home. Fuck!”

“Put me on speaker phone.” She could hear the scowl in his voice.

“And what if I don’t?” Michael slapped her thigh and she giggled before pulling the phone away and tapping on the screen. “Say hi Mikey.”

He gently but her clit before pulling away and taking the phone with his free hand. “Hi.”

“Michael you know this is bad.”

“How can it be bad if it’s making her feel so good?” He was smirking as he pushed in a second finger and held the microphone closer so Duncan could hear the obscene sounds.

While he was leaving his office Duncan was struggling, palming himself and quietly groaning at the sounds coming from his phone, knowing that the sounds you were making meant you were close. “Michael, I swear, if you let this happen you’re in for it.”

“Fuck, Duncan!”

You were a moaning mess and he could tell, he knew you too well, he knew what every hum and hitch of your breath meant. So when your moans went up an octave and got too loud for him to hold his phone directly up to his ear he knew that you had just came. “You’re both in trouble.”

Panting, you pulled Michael up by his hair and smashed your lips against his and keened the taste of your cum on his tongue. “Mm, thank you for that.”

He chuckled, sliding his fingers down to spread your wetness around, still rubbing circles on your clit and biting your bottom lip - pulling back and letting go to let it smack back. “Thank you for tasting so good.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and let Duncan’s shirt fall back into place and pulling your panties back up and slapping your ass to heard you giggle. “Bedroom?”

Duncan opened the door to the apartment and let it slam shut behind him, staring at one of Michael’s many red velvet blazers just laying on the ground, his boots by the door like usual. Your moan coming from the bedroom stirred the heat back up in his stomach. “I swear on everything that is unholy.”

Stalking his way through the shared home he found himself enjoying the sight in the bedroom, the pair of you just making out and grinding on each other - although one of Michael’s hands was down the back of your panties and playing with your clit.

“You two seem to be enjoying yourselves.” Duncan was still angry but now he just wanted to join.

When you pulled your lips away from Michael’s he simply started kissing your neck instead. “Hi Duncan. You missed what could have been dinner.”

He was unbuckling his belt as he walked toward them, his shoes kicked off by the front door like always (Michael was picky about that), dropping it to the wooden floor with a loud thud. “I think one of you has already eaten.”

“I could go for seconds.” Michael groaned as your hand palmed him.

“Hi baby.” Duncan said as he came up behind you, holding your waist and leaning down to softly kiss your lips. “You know I didn’t want to stay over.”

“You know you made that choice.” Duncan’s hand slapping her ass made her gasp. “Four days in a row, Duncan? Really?”

“Michael, don’t you know we shouldn’t indulge in our sweet girl so much? She’s getting spoiled.”

“You love it just as much as I do, love.”

Duncan’s hands gripped your waist and pulled you off of the long haired man, taking in his naked chest and tight pants and kissing him softly. “You haven’t been taken care of. Good. Maybe that will be your punishment for not listening to me.”

There was no fear in Michael’s eyes, only acceptance - until he was told to go sit in the chair in the corner and don’t touch (which made him whine). “Don’t be a baby, Michael.”

His hands slid down your body until he settled on your ass, squeezing it as your lips met in a soft kiss (a welcome home kiss, one that made your toes curl and your heart sing). “You’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

“I don’t think bad is the right wor-“

He cut her off with a glare. “Hands and knees, now.”

You quickly obliged, arching your back and wiggling your ass for him, giggling when he groaned. “You’re a menace.”

“You love me.”

“I do. Count.” His hand came down hard on her asscheek, earning a squeak.

“One!”

Michael was straining against his pants as he watched them, his cock uncomfortably hard as he enjoyed the show, bucking his hips every time Duncan gave a particularly sharp slap.

“Twelve!” You gasped, your wetness soaking through your panties and making your thighs sticky as Duncan spanked you again. “Thirteen!”

He paused to grind his dick against your ass, pulling moans from the both of you before he smacked your cherry red asscheek again and basking in sound of your choked sob. “Fourteen!”

He leaned down to press a careful kiss on the other cheek before standing back up and delivering the final spank. “Fifteen, fuck!”

Duncan leaned over you, whispering into your ear to ask if you were okay and doing well, humming happily when you said you were. “Michael, come here.”

The man quickly stood and joined them on their oversized bed.

“Pants off, please. I want our sweet girl to suck your cock while I fuck her cunt.”

You hummed in excitement, feeling Duncan’s hand slip into your panties to circle your clit and tease your entrance. “If you’re a good boy maybe I’ll let her make you cum.”

Michael hurriedly discarded the rest of his clothes, taking his spot on the bed and stroking his cock as Duncan slid your panties all the way down - your cum and your arousal glistening on your inner thighs and on the mans fingers. “You’re beautiful.”

Your blush said everything Michael needed to hear without you even needing to talk, leaning in to kiss you carefully. Your lips slotted perfectly together, moving slowly and softly until you bit his lip and slipped your tongue into his mouth. Duncan watched for a moment, stroking his hard cock behind the two of you, his heart swelling in his chest at the clear love you had for each other.

“Y/n? Suck his cock.”

You pulled away, pecking Michael on the lips one last time before licking a stripe up the underside of his hard dick and giggling as he groaned. “Sorry we neglected you Mikey.”

Duncan chuckled darkly, slipping two fingers inside your greedy cunt and pumping purposefully. He had a big cock and he loved to tease you, he didn’t need any other excuses to finger your sweet little pussy than those. You moaned quietly, taking the head of Michael’s cock in your mouth and sucking, your hand finding a smooth rhythm to pump the rest of his length at until you took him deeper, about halfway down his cock now.

“That’s right, y/n, suck his fucking cock.” Duncan pushed a third finger inside your tight hole and felt his dick twitch as you clenched tightly around them. “Show is how good of a cockslut you are.”

You were obedient, eagerly taking the rest of his cock down, deep throating him and moaning around him (thank whatever higher power existed for your lack of a gag reflex), your free hand fondling his balls and raking your nails up and down his thigh.

Duncan pushed his cock all the way in with no warning, causing you to pull Michael’s cock all the way out so you could moan for them (they loved when you were vocal).

“Keep sucking his cock, doll. I want him to cum.” He reached around and rubbed your clit so he could feel you clench even more around his thick length.

You groaned as you started sucking Michael off again, his hands buried in your hair and guiding you down his cock in a rhythmic motion that matches Duncan’s thrusts- Michael had been hard for so long that he knew he wouldn’t last much longer, and when you pulled up to suck on the head of his cock and moan around him he lost it, his cum coating your throat hotly, and you sucked it down until he was pushing your face away and leaning up to kiss you while Duncan fucked your cunt like it was the last thing he’d ever do, your moans echoing around your room.

“You’re so fucking tight and so fucking wet, you take my cock so well.” Reaching around you again his fingers swirled on your clit and you felt the coil in your stomach snap as you came around his cock, gushing onto him and making it easier for him to fuck you like he hated you. “Oh fuck yeah.”

With one final push he came, his cum filling you up with warmth as he rode you through your orgasm. “I love you baby. Can you sit on Michael’s face for me? I want him to taste our cum all mixed together.”

Duncan’s fingers teased your slit, gathering the fluids your bodies had made and holding it up to your mouth so you could taste, muffling a groan when you wrapped your lips around his fingers and sensually sucked them, your eyes never leaving his. “Only if Mikey’s up to it.”

“Get over here.”

Michael’s hands on your hips were a great sign, but when he wrapped his lips around your clit you nearly fainted and Duncan sidled up behind you, grinding his cock against Michael’s and pulling the shirt over your head. “Eat.”

His tongue delved in immediately, pushing against your slit and pushing right in, slurping everything that he could out of your cunt while you writhed on top of him, Duncan’s hands gripping your hips and moving them for you on Michael’s tongue.

As your head fell back onto his shoulder, Duncan wasted no time in kissing you, harshly.

It was all teeth and tongue and fire until you moaned into him and couldn’t kiss anymore so he instead squeezed your tits, sliding the bars in your nipples around and hearing you shriek with pleasure as Michael pushed a finger inside of your tight, used hole.

“Let’s make our pretty girl cum, Mikey.” Duncan’s voice was rough and gravelly, his hand sliding down her body and in between her thighs to rub at her clit until she came, clenching around Michael’s fingers and holding into Duncan for dear life while she shrieked, unintelligible mixes of their names falling from her lips.

“Holy fuck, Michael.” Your legs were trembling as you carefully moved yourself off of him and plopped down right next to him with Duncan falling to your other side. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I love you guys so much but we need dinner.”

“Chinese sound good?”

[tinyshe]

Garden Report 20.04.25

I’m going to skip the plant talk today and focus on something many gardeners tend to overlook: gardener care. Young and old and all those in betweeners need care. We tend to forget, dismiss or even disdain self care. Pause. If there is no self care then there is no garden care. You and your family and friends are then impacted as well. Everything is interconnected, the garden, the gardener, the world. Little piece to big pieces. Parts to whole.

The first thing is the hands. Gardening is hard work with overtime on the hands. Think of gardening as a contact sport and get appropriate equipment if you can. Gloves are a tremendous help and protection. I am all for always buying quality when you can. The little cotton gloves you buy will not last you a season. Doe skin is good in the wear and tear but will not give a good grip nor wet protection. I am fortunate enough to have available a glove, Atlas (tm) in their winter grey [ergonomically correct design, latex coated palm, palm and finger coating over a durable knit double napped liner, latex is textured for superior grip and the extra liner is ideal for cold weather environment conditions, it also gives added cushioning]. Because of where I live (I think the average mean temperature is 60F/ 15c) these are pretty much four season gloves for me. If you live in hotter/extremes climes, these would be great for Winter/early Spring (cold/ wet). If you can afford it, get two pairs: one dry if one pair is wet or messy/ lost gloves, have spare! If you are in a place with seasons, do what you can with what is offered but think quality because it will save you money in the end because they will last longer and less in replacement cost. If you forgo gloves, make sure you take extra steps to good hand care and hygiene. Scrap, cuts and punctures can be serious business so be aware and take extra good care. Be attentive to your nails, cuticles and nail bed. I really want to stress gloves though because they are a safety article. Yes, they are clumsy sometimes; with practice it gets better. Take them off it you are pricking out seedlings but please wear gloves for everything else; your hands will thank you. 

Arms, shoulders, neck and back, work in slowly. Build muscle. You think you have muscle? The garden will show you otherwise unless you are really over all fit. Learn to bend and lift properly no matter your age, ability or fitness level. Wear wrist braces if necessary (remember to fit your gloves with braces on or if wearing over gloves get a second set of braces because they are going to get dirty nasty). If you normally have back issues, wear your compression belt/lower back support. Learn to squat more. Work into it slowly and get stronger as you go. Older gardeners (even younger will benefit), a gentle stretch as you tour the garden to loosen up muscles -- don’t just jump right into heavy work. Look, enjoy, plan, observe. If you find you are doing a lot of repetitive motion, give it a break and come back after a bit. No repetitive stress injuries, please.

Feet are another concern. You are on them all day; don’t take them for granite. Keep your feet warm and dry. Compression socks are a benefit to those with feet/ circulation issues. If the footwear is ill fitting, non-supportive and hurt your feet just walking around the house, imagine hard labour in them all day and just say no. I have the habit of wearing old running shoes past their prime which is ok up to a point … and here I have to listen to my feet or pay later. I do have a leather pair of hiking boots for when we are doing construction or heavy work where I need good ankle support, tread to ground contact and toe protection. Rubber boots for winter with wool inserts. Use what you can but know the limits. Learn to listen to your body. ! and I never ever recommend flip flops. I’m sorry, I have seen more accidents with people wearing those. The only good thing is that you can see the mangled foot/toes right off and see the blood quickly to make first aid assessments. Just Don’t Go There. 

Sun protection is necessary. Sun burn and sun stroke are not your friend. Stay hydrated. Stay energized by taking breaks to eat healthy food (stay away from the sugar!). Sit down and rest while you eat. Relax. When you return, gentle stretching will put you in tune with how your body is reacting. Protective clothing is preferred over topical cremes. They offer shade. Long sleeve shirts, once you start to sweat actually start a cooling session as it evaporates under the clothes. I like loose fitting clothes for this reason and also if things fall in (debris) it is easy to shake it out without undressing. Less restriction means more free movement. But you don’t want voluminous covering that can get tangled, stepped on or caught on other objects. Ever see a woman squat down, step on her dress hem then try to stand? No need to be jerked to the ground by your clothing >:) In winter, a hat is still necessary. Winter sun can burn too depending on your skin, conditions, altitude. I like wool in the winter because it breathes, warm even when wet: jumper, socks and hat. If extra cold and I’m extra stubborn, silk long johns are friendly set that also breathes, light weight, non binding and warm.

If you are dizzy, don’t work through it. Sit and figure it out. Is it dehydration, blood sugar, blood pressure/ circulation, allergy, stress, or underlying medical condition (lymes, inner ear, parkinsons, cancer, anemia, thyroid, etc). Sometimes people are bending over a lot and don’t realize that their head is hung low and can get dizzy from that. If you have an underlying condition, just sit back and enjoy what you have accomplished. Taking care of the yourself, the gardener, is just if not more so, important.  I like to sit, squat or if you have the knees, try kneeling. Get garden knee pad (or tiling/cement worker knee pads for heavy duty, cross purpose work) or a garden kneeler/ kneeling pad. You can also make your own kneeling pad as well if you are feeling crafty.

Working in the garden requires energy. Eat healthy foods. Stay away from processed foods, empty calories and sugar (this includes all corn syrups). Be aware that some foods like cheese while tasty, does contribute to inflammation. If you have food issues or are aware how different foods impact you, you don’t need the lecture, you live it. You want healthy foods that will fuel your work all day, not a quick fix. Drinking fluids to stay hydrated is a must. No sugar! Try slices of citrus in a mason jar of water. There are some old fashion recipes for haymaker’s / switchel (no alcohol while working in the garden; it dehydrates you! Save it for after) that are healthy and beneficial to a work out. Fruit juice is ok but realize that it is still sugar; maybe cut it with some mineral water to make a spritzer if you feel the need to drink fruit juice.

After garden care: I love a good Mg salt bath. The Epsom salts are great for the muscles plus you have the added benefit of osmoses of magnesium and relaxing down time to read those garden books (no kindles in the tub! get a book or magazine). After bath, I recommend a good self massage of oil. Simple  grapeseed or apricot kernel are my go to.  You can slip some EO (essential oils) in there as well. I don’t like petro products so I don’t recommend commercial lotions. If you have shea, coco or coconut butters/ oils or other natural product, that is preferable. You don’t want toxins in your garden, don’t put them in or on your body if you can help it. Make sure to do a good self massage to relax those muscles. Get a good night sleep and repeat working in the garden as soon as possible. You are doing more than gardening, you are also doing self care.

[shiro-ai-writes]

Prompt: Finding a baby in your doorstep on a winter morning (Rebirth scenario test)

A spin off with my OCs so that test out scenes for my other more important stories... I call it a prompt but it’s actually all of the research that I had collected in a fun little side story :D

For this one, I have my first ever OC, Aestia Goldlink

Some additional information (that I had marked for my own benefit, but I thought would be fun to add):

Location: a mansion/estate

Scenario: home alone(ish), she's 27+, her place since she's well to do, finds baby when putting out milk bottles

All that said, enjoy.

She squirmed when the pin prick of light peeking through her blackout curtains reached her eyes. She turned, curling into herself and snuggling into the fluffiness that was her rich cotton sheets before sighing in relief. She chased after the sleep that had threatened to escape her but quickly gave up after what felt like half an hour of half-hearted unconsciousness.

She sat up, eyes still closed, stretching her arms far back with her body contorting into quite the tight arc. With a tiny grunt accompanied by an inelegant series of pops and cracks and a sigh, the woman blinked blearily as she slipped off the bed, yawning as she went.

Only to freeze the moment her bare feet touched the wooden panels that was her floor.

In an action that was almost too quick compared to her stiffened state, she jumped onto the thin rug she had by her bed, any last remnants of sleep batted away into space in her haste. Her toes and feet curled into themselves. So cold! She thought, and she scanned the ground for her slippers.

It took a while—partly because she refused to take even a step out of the square that wasn't the winter-chilled floor—but she finally located her slippers, camouflaged brown puffy ends sticking out from under her disheveled duvet. Idly, she debated putting on a pair of woollen socks but decided to leave the thought for after she freshened up.

So she went about as usual and if she soaked her feet in some hot water in the bathtub, no one can fault her.

Settling down on her dresser, she continued her routine of creams and powder. After swipe of lipstick in a decidedly neutral tone of red, she fished out a pair of long socks from the drawers beside her as well as the accompanying calf garters.

She pulled them on and clasped the last garter right when the grandfather clock down the hall chimed nine, telling her that this morning's milk would be here in another quarter or so. Just enough time for her to change and gather up the bottles she had washed the night before.

First her blouse, thick and soft, lightly starched to perfection. Then her skirt, thicker than she would usually have opted for but at her preferred length with no one able to judge her conservative tastes because of how cold it was. She forgot how soft it was—she hadn't had many opportunities to wear it—as expected of merino wool, softest as wools go. It was really warm too. The more she felt at it the more she was fascinated by it. I really should wear this more, she thinks, humming. This grey really goes well with this particular shade of cream. Wonder if it will look as good with my other blouses.

"Oh! Almost forgot." She muttered and rushed to fix herself and grabbed her dressing gown.

She near-dashed—because dashing is uncivilized—down to the kitchens and picked up the basket filled full with five little glasses packed neatly, thanking past her to have had the presence of mind to have done so last night.

From there, she began to stroll to the front gate, where hopefully she didn't have to wait or make the David, hardworking man he is, wait too long in this dreadful weather. She was halfway there when a small breeze blew by and she began pondering if she should have taken a little longer to grab one of her larger coats. Right now all she had against the frigid air was a warm skirt and a thin dressing gown. Not really ideal for facing the weather that decided to instantly become freezing when just yesterday it had been warm enough for short sleeves.

At least it isn't snowing yet, she sighed.

Upon seeing the the cloud of her breath frosted over, she pulled the gown tighter over her shoulders. She sped up, wincing a little as dry leaves crunched under her boot. Internally, she notes down to tell the gardener after to sweep after she returns. Normally, it would be the butler's job to clear the leaves but John was on holiday, a well deserved one and to visit family overseas, so she'll delegate it to the gardener for the time being. The man hasn't much else to do otherwise with all the plants all shed and ready for winter. Goodness gracious, even the ones in the greenhouse were prepping for the chill... Such thoughts and others of a similar vein kept her occupied that she might have gotten herself a face full of metal bars.

Might have.

If it wasn't for what she saw that stopped her.

Sitting there, right on edge of her gate, was wicker basket. She stepped closer, brows rising slowly on her forehead and head tilting unwittingly.

It wasn't a basket.

But a cradle.

And a baby.

Her hands flew to her face, glass bottles jostling as the basket in the crook of her elbow swung. Warm fingers met cold cheeks and she scrambled to unlock the gate. How long has this poor child been left here? The cold metal bit at her palms when she pulled the gate back but she ignored it in favour of grasping at handle of the cradle.

The chill of the wood handle burned her more than the gate bars did. And the cold air burned her throat as she took in a sharp breath, eyes wide and unseeing. The child, its lips, they were so blue. Its face so pale, it was as if it had no blood. Cold. The child must be so cold. She tore off her dressing gown, tucking the thin bit of additional warmth into the basket. Then she realised something.

There was no cloud.

A strong gust of wind blew.

The child, it...

Her hand stuttered as she reached towards under the baby's nose. Deep inside, she didn't want to for fear that she would be met with the worst possible outcome. Her lips pulled itself thinner and thinner the longer she couldn't feel anything on her chill-reddened digits. She was praying to whatever God there was out there that it was just her fingers and not any other dreadfulness. Finally, a tiny tickle of sensation graced her index, one she would have definitely missed had there been even the smallest of winds. She let out a breath she didn't know she held and pressed her fingers down to the small gap between the loose blanket and the child's neck, checking for a pulse.

When she was suitably satisfied by small and weak but consistent thumps, she scooped up the basket and powered back to the mansion for fear of jostling the wain.

Though her gate was left wide open and the basket of bottles laid messily on the ground, that was the last thing she could be concerned with in this moment. David, he's a good man, he can be trusted to exchange the bottles left out. She would just have to take another trip out to collect them later, is all.

When she burst through the nearest door, she was met with a loud yelp followed by the clatter of something fumbling its way down to the ground. She resisted the urge to look towards the noise, instead focused on making her way to the kitchen where she knows has a fire roaring in its hearth, as it does everyday.

"Milady-" the maid started but stopped short.

"Not now." she called out curtly and marched on.

Legging through the door as much as is allowed, she turned sharply trying her best to not shake the basket.

It took a while, even if she was running with all her might, to get to the kitchens, having had to cross several hallways  before she reached. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hasty to get inside the house. But there was a definite change in temperature when she entered so she deemed it fruitful since the child need not stay in the cold for any longer—few minutes or not. She couldn't bear the thought of circling around to the back door of the kitchens she came out of.

Anywho, there it was, the hearth! She quickly put the cradle by it. And slumped down to the ground, huffing and puffing. Only to then realise that she was being stared at by her chefs and a footman.

"M-milady! What is-" the footman began when a second voice cut in.

"Milady Goldlink! What in the world has possessed you! You ran like the devil himself was after you." The maid sputtered worriedly.

"Sorry Pristine," the Lady said sheepishly, still slightly out of breath. She looked over her at maid, whom was living up to her namesake with not a single hair out of place after what? Running from the front end of the building to the back. She wasn't even out of breath. Why, if it weren't for the faint sheen of sweat decorating her forehead, Lady Goldlink would have thought she had just come in from the storage room next door.

Then again, she could argue that she ran more and harder, and it completely was not because she was utterly out of shape.

With a final intake of warm air that felt like honey being smoothed over her cold burned lungs, she continued.

"Could I get some hot water and towels?"

At the quizzical look on her staff's faces she dragged the basket onto her knee as she took a seat onto a stool one of the chefs drug out for her.

"That's... Milady that's... Is it?" the footman stammered, brows knotted together, seemingly having caught on to what her package was.

"Yes, it is."

She flipped open the flap of the basket.

There was chorus of gasps followed by silence.

Then a flurry of motion to get the things she requested and more.

Amongst the chaos, she found that the baby basket had been relieved from her grasp and a warm cup of tea replaced the spot between her hands. She watched as all the servants present halted all they were doing then to bustle about tending to the near frozen child.

She watched quietly as the footman twirled about the kitchen tending to various things at once and chewed on her lip. She couldn't quite put a name to his face for some reason. Maybe he's a new hire? But at the sight of the young man lifting the baby tenderly out of its icy prison made her decide to pursue the thought later.

The child was wrapped in a makeshift cot of cloths and the head chef was pressing wet towels to the baby's face. And oh, was it such a tiny thing, face growing utterly red and painful looking. In the background, she heard the footman coordinate the maids to prepare a place for the wain as well as to send for a doctor. For a new face, he was so well adjusted to lead, she wondered if she give the man a raise or a recommendation for a butler’s position when the time comes. The young man’s ability would be wasted as a footman… And, any excuse for her to pile more work on John was always a plus in her books.

Somewhere along the line, between sips of her sweeter than usual tea, a blanket had been draped over her shoulders and Pristine leaned over her, saying, “We need to get you all warmed up now, drink up Milady, we have plenty more."

Other than that, she assumed the standing orders the Lady of the house had, which were to sit and look pretty as John liked to nag. And oh, would he be giving her a good lecture if he were here, no doubt for leaving the house in unsuitable attire, without an escort or doing menial tasks on her own instead of being waited on.

She simply didn't see the point of having servants for such frivolous reasons. It's not like she couldn't dress herself well enough and she needed a reason to stretch her legs in the mornings. It wasn't that hard to collect by herself some milk—oh right the milk! She had completely forgotten.

It should be by the gate which was wide open since she left it as is in her haste. Seeing that everyone's attention was on the child, she put down the cup and sneakily turned to get off the tiny stool only to come face to face with Pristine squatting beside her, eyes rapt on the chaos. A basket full of milk resting on the ground

Right. Of cour—

"Green room's ready!" A clean voice called over and the baby was swiftly cradled in the arms of one of the maids and hustled off by the footman. All the maids present, of which there weren't many, followed after swiftly. In an instant, the din was replaced by the deafening ring of silence.

Lady Goldlink made to stand up and Pristine—quick as ever—hooked an arm under hers to help. She looked towards the cooks and began,

“Mrs Ramirez, Cora, Bella. I’ve interrupted your breakfast preparations for your help. I thank you sincerely for you readily assistance a-”

A short cacophony of ‘of course’s and ‘always’s as well as a pat on the shoulder from the cook had her grinning brightly. And the dry ‘being all upright and proper doesn’t suit you at all lassie’ that followed sent her giggling hopelessly and dropping her sad attempt at lady-ing.

“Well, I’m glad to be able to enjoy your continued service, my chefs.”

Nodding at their bows, she made her way out of the kitchen.

She started towards the green room but a certain handmaid of hers still had an iron grip on her elbow.

"Now milady," she started, "you don't have anything on your schedule today, but I suggest you get started on some paperwork. John tasked me to make sure you're done on time."

"John... He…" She sputtered.

"Now now, I'm sure it be quick work.”

“Unbelievable!"

And she was dragged, ahem, assistedly brought—with completely no resistance—to her office.

She sighed when she saw the stack in her tray and then again at the sight of a bigger stack beside it.

Damn you John.

[fledermausforstrauss]

Day 11 - Snow

An argument about wine. 1369 words.

Hoping this will cheer up a friend.

-----

Crowley had every imaginable article of clothing on. 

Two pairs of socks, a pair of real, physical boots, long johns, thick pants, an undershirt, a tee shirt, a jumper, wooly gloves, a scarf, and finally, a blue knit toque a certain angel had given him decades before, all wrapped up under a down jacket with the hood pulled tight.

He looked out the corner of his eye at the angel walking next to him, tucking his nose into his scarf to hide a smile as they walked down a tree-lined snowy path. Aziraphale was wearing a scarf and a heavy coat, but Crowley knew both were only for show.

Crowley huffed a laugh behind his several layers of fleece, wool, and down, jealous of the angel’s natural warmth.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, smiling at Crowley.

“Nothing.” Crowley laughed again, his voice muffled by the fabric over his mouth. He pulled his hood back and tugged his scarf down to talk. “What did you think?”

“Of the wine? It was wonderful.” Aziraphale said. “I haven’t been to a proper wine tasting in nearly a decade, and I haven’t been to the Alps in almost a millennium. This trip was a brilliant idea, dear.”

"Figured it was about one we swung through here, and what better way to check on things than to take a wine tour?" Crowley asked. “So, where do Switzerland’s wines end up on your list? Are they a new favourite? You really seemed to like that rosé.”

“Oh, yes, the rosé was good, but…” Aziraphale hummed, looking thoughtful. “...I think France is still my favourite.”

“France? Your favourite is--?” Crowley scoffed. “Tch. Why am I not surprised.”

“Why would you be surprised?” Aziraphale asked. “You’ve seen my wine collection? It’s nearly two-thirds French.”

“I thought maybe they paired well with those crêpes you like so much. Didn’t realize they were actually your favourite.”

“Just what is wrong with French wines?” Aziraphale asked, offended.

“They’re not Italian, for starters.” 

“Italian?”

“What’s wrong with Italian wines?” Crowley echoed Aziraphale’s question.

“France has a long history of wine, unlike Italy. They have higher standards, unlike Italy. And they follow strict traditions that keep their wine consistent-- Unlike Italy!”

“Consistent--? I think you mean boring.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “France knows how to make, like, three wines, and they make them well, don’t get me wrong, but Italy know how to have fun.”

“Three--.” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley’s words, falling behind as his steps faltered.

“Italian wine may not be the fanciest, but it is the best. Less restrictions means more room for experimentation. They have a higher alcohol content.” Crowley started to count on his gloved fingers. “More varieties of grapes, including some exclusive to Italy’s climate. The wine is bolder, brighter, and on all levels, just plain better. And I think you’re forgetting Italy’s history with wine predates France’s by a long shot.”

“Oh, please.” Aziraphale shook his head. “What Italy was making back then could hardly be called wine.”

“How dare you--.”

“Besides, France has Italy beat with sheer quality.” Aziraphale said, a smug look on his face. “Fancy or not, you can’t argue the complexity of a Bordeaux.”

“Can too. Watch me.” Crowley said. “Complexity means absolutely nothing if that's all a wine is. A complex wine is not inherently a quality wine. It could have all the hints of that and notes of this, but if it's bland, its bland! And Bordeauxs are so bland--.”

A shock of snow collided with the back of Crowley’s head making him yelp, flakes falling down the back of his neck, trapped by the folds of his scarf. He turned on his heel to find Aziraphale standing with another snowball already in his hand.

“Bordeauxs. Are not. Bland.” Aziraphale frowned, but Crowley could see a smile tugging the corners of his lips. He wound his arm back as a threat. “You take that back.”

“Only if you take back what you said about Italy's first wines not being wine.” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale chucked the snowball right for Crowley, but he jumped the snowbank that lined the walkway, ducking behind the wall of ice.

“Ohoho.” Crowley laughed, gathering fistfuls of snow in his hands. 

Crowley stood and threw his snowball at the angel, missing him by mere inches when Aziraphale dodged expertly. The angel threw one back without missing a beat, aiming right for his face, but Crowley ducked at the last second. The snowball skimmed the top of his hat, pulling it crooked.

“Alright, angel. You wanna play?” Crowley growled, gathering a large armful of snow. “We can play.”

He stood and raised his arm back with a snowball bigger than his head balanced in his hand, stepping backwards into a lunge, ready to chuck it with all of his strength. 

“You’re going to regret starting this.” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale looked unfazed. The angel lifted his hand, a smirk curling his own lips slowly. He snapped his fingers.

There was a loud crack above Crowley, but before he could look up, he was buried beneath a mountain of snow. 

-----

Aziraphale’s smirk gave way to a laugh as Crowley laid buried beneath the snow that had been sitting along the branches of the tree the demon had unwittingly backed himself against.

“Oh-- My dear.” Aziraphale said between laughter. “The look on your face was priceless.”

There was no response. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Oh, stop your pouting.” He approached the pile of snow and started brushing away the layers. “Just admit you lost and we can get back to the cabin for some Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”

Aziraphale was quick to find the blue knitted hat he had given Crowley, and beneath it, a shock of red hair. He pulled the snow away from the demon’s face to find a shivering form and chattering teeth. The force of the snow had knocked his tinted glasses off, letting Aziraphale see just how tight Crowley's eyes were squeezed shut.

“Oh.” Aziraphale siad, a sudden realization hitting him. "Oh, my dear, I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry." 

Aziraphale pulled the shivering demon out of the snow, wrapping one arm around his waist and pulling him close.

"Let's get you warmed up."

-----

Crowley hummed in contentment, wriggling deeper into thick blankets. A hand was playing with his hair as the crackle of a fire pulled him from his sleep. He opened his eyes to find his head resting in Aziraphales lap. The angel smiled down at him, a hint of guilt in his eyes. He brushed Crowley’s hair from his forehead and sighed.

“I’m sorry, dear.” Aziraphale said softly. “I got a little carried away. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Ss’alright.” Crowley mumbled. “I’m warm now, that's all that matters.”

Aziraphale’s smile twitched and he ruffled his fingers through Crowley’s hair again. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the fire.

“...I got you something.” Aziraphale said, reaching over the arm of the chair and lifting a wine bottle up, holding it out over Crowley’s face and turning it to show the label.

“Masseto?” Crowley sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders with one hand and taking the bottle with the other, inspecting the label. “Is this your apology? I accept.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, popping the cork on the bottle and materializing two glasses in his hands. He held them out for Crowley to pour into and traded him a glass for the bottle to put it on the side table.

Crowley swirled the wine around like the sommeliers had at the wine tasting that morning, watching the way the dark liquid splashed against the sides.

“Do you know why Masseto is the most expensive Italian wine?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley quirked his brow at the angel.

“French grapes, French techniques, and French oak-barrels.” Aziraphale said, trying to keep a straight face and only slightly failing. “It's also a Bordeaux.”

“Shut up.” Crowley muttered, but his scowl was quick to disappear after the first sip. “Oh, that’s actually not bad.”

“Shall we call it a draw then?” Aziraphale smiled.

“Alright fine.” Crowley huffed a laugh, taking another sip of his wine. “It’s a draw.”

[venivivividi]

50 QUESTIONS YOU’VE NEVER BEEN ASKED 

tagged by @revengeisalwaysanoption

(sorry I changed the lower case aesthetic on the questions but it was bugging me out lol)

1. What is the color of your hairbrush? Black

2. A food you never eat? Just from a "I don't like it" point of view, almost every type of mushrooms and legumes, but there are a lot of things I can't eat bc my body is weak like that

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? Well, during winter I'm too warm on public trasportation and too cold outside, during summer I'm almost chilly on public transportation and way too hot outside

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? I was having lunch

5. What is your favorite candy bar? I'm really blanking on this bc I don't  really eat a lot of sweet stuff, but I'd agree that Kinder Bueno was really really good

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports event? No, I have not

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? LMAO it was "Ci sono i fantasmi qui, huh?" ("It seems like we have ghosts in here") and it was a sarcastic remark bc one of my flatmates quickly sneaked in and out of the kitchen very quietly while I was doing the dishes without even say hello. I mean, that seems rude to me but maybe I'm wrong

8. What is your favorite ice cream? I'm a simple gal, I like chocolate, but I also like to pair it with mango, berries or passion fruit. Once I tried salted caramel and it was good.

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? A boring glass of water

10. Do you like your wallet? I guess I do, it's cute

11. What was the last thing you ate? Now I regret doing this right now bc I have to publicly admit that the last thing I ate was.. a formaggino MIO. In my defense, I was still hungry after lunch and I had nothing else! (For those of you who do not know what a formaggino MIO is, it's a type of processed cream cheese very popular here as baby food. I'm pretty sure 98% of italian babies are actually raised on bread&formaggino and pasta&formaggino)

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? I did not. Everything is closed, I have not left my home in forever and I'm not one for online shopping tbh

13. The last sporting event you watched? I think it was some sort of volleyball tournament last December, I'm not sure tho

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? Just salted

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to? @starkgazing​

16. Ever go camping? No

17. Do you take vitamins? I try every now and then but I honestly forget easily

18. Do you go to church every sunday? No, never actually did

19. Do you have a tan? I have not seen the sun in so long I'm not even sure it's still there

20. Do you prefer chinese food or pizza? This is actually hard because I like pizza but I cannot eat it, and when I tried chinese food it was sooo good and it didn't hurt my body the way pizza does lol

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw? No, but I also very rarely drink soda

22. What color socks do you usually wear? I either go very classic (black, grey and white) or buy the most stupid ones in fucsia with a bear that says *hello*, there's no in between

23. Ever drive above the speed limit? I don't have a license but in general I get very anxious when I'm in a car with someone that drives fast

24. What terrifies you? What does NOT terrify me is the real question. The easy and not deep answer would be spiders

25. Look to your left, what do you see? My bread dough raising under two blankets and a rag

26. Wat chore do you hate? Cleaning the shower in particular but in general the fact that I have to climb over random things to clean half the house bc I'm too short to reach anything

27. What do you think of when you hear an australian accent? I like it! I don't really understand it sometimes, but I like it

28. What’s your favorite soda? I'm always confused by what is considered a soda, but I think that Schweppes lemon counts

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? I can ONLY eat seated at a table (and I don't have a car), so i definitely go in

30. Who’s the last person you talked to? My other flatmate (not the ghost one)

31. Favorite cut of beef? I just realised that I actually rarely eat beef if not minced; if we talk about bovine meat, I usually buy veal (the veal sirloin steak is one of the most delicious thing in the world)

32. Last song you listened to? Remedios la bella by Modena City Ramblers

33. Last book you read? I'm trying to read Doktor Živago (It's not going well), the last one I finished was 10 minutes 38 seconds in this strange world by Elif Shafak

34. Favorite day of the week? Probably Saturdays

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards? I tried. No.

36. Do you like your coffee? I was forced to buy a different brand bc I don't want to go to a supermarket far away where I usually buy my fair trade coffee; it's not terrible but it's not my usual strong south american/african/indian blend that is somehow called arabica

37. Favorite pair of shoes? I used to have a great pair of leather combat boots that sadly got destroyed rip

38. At what time do you normally go to bed? I try to be in bed by 11:30 pm and asleep by midnight but I'm not afraid to fall asleep while reading or watching a tv show at 10pm lol or even stay up until 3am

39. At what time do you normally get up? I trained myself to stay in bed until at least 8am now that I don't have anything to attend to in the mornings

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Sunsets

41. How many blankets are on your bed? Well, just one where I live now, but back at home in the mountains last winter I had two wool blankets and two duvets (and a fleece blanket ready on the side just in case)

42. Describe your kitchen plates. Boring white. My sister bought them and I'm very disappointed; luckily I have a small plate for dessert in this great shade of dark anthracite grey a friend of mine gifted me a while ago

43. Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? I like red wine but if we're talking strong ones, I like tequila

44. Do you play cards? It's a holiday tradition with my family. Things can get scary, believe me

45. What color is your car? I don't have a car

46. Can you change a tire? Nope

47. What is your favorite province? I.. don't have one? (I'm not sure I understand the question tbh)

48. Favorite job you’ve ever had? I loved working in the bio-preparation lab. I was not involved in the actual process but still I felt very badass operating the autoclave and all the other sterilizing machines and going around with a cart full of glassware

49. How did you get your biggest scar? An incadescent flatiron

50. What did you do today that made someone else happy? I sent a stupid video on my family's groupchat, I hope I made someone happy at least lol my sister seemed amused

[everlarkchristmasgifts]

Thanks to all the mods putting this Holiday prompt page together! Thank you for all your hard work and contributions to the Tumblr everlark family now and in the past.

A/N: This is part one of a hasty, four-day attempt to multi-part a drabble set for @everlarkchristmasgifts ‘s prompts. It may not get done on time, but they say it’s good to believe in miracles at Christmas, lol.

This part rated G

Thanks to @alliswell21 for giving it a beta read on quick notice.

And… *deep inhale, because why on earth am I trying to butcher one of my favorite stand alone drabbles with a sequel???**… this follows on the events of Pasty White Raisin.

________________________________________________

“Shopping…”

It was twelve days to Christmas. They’d missed Christmas last year. It could’ve been their first Christmas, but Peeta had been too stubborn to let a woman “waste her life” on a washed-up baker twelve years older than her.

She’d won, by the end of the Winter thaw. He’d already been in love, but he’d finally let himself love, and everything that had seemed to mean to him.

Well, everything within the parameters of being a gentleman.

He’d insisted on her making him work for her good favor, and at first it had been a funny game, his insistence that he court her, a delicious, slow romance of soft kisses and interwoven fingers and getting to know each other over conversations, dinners, or during walks. But the game had given him time to reconsider what he might be getting in to.

Which was robbing her of a future she deserved.

So ultimately, he’d come to use the game as a way to buy time to fortify the barriers so strongly she’d be forced to admit she should cut her losses.

And when she’d still refused, he’d cut her losses for her, before the summer heat had waned, with an “I’m sorry, Katniss, this isn’t working for me,” followed instantly by firing her from doing the bakery’s books, which she’d been doing part-time for the low cost wage of a half-dozen cheese buns a week, and refusing to respond to her texts or voicemails.

At Thanksgiving, she’d shown up at his door, asking if they could spend the evening together, talk. Consider reconsidering.

He’d shaken his head and closed the door on her, but not before his face had presented a few moments of unmasked regret and longing.

She’d almost gone to a hardware store for an ax to chop his door off its hinges.

When she’d called her uncle Haymitch in tears from her car, still sitting in the bakery’s parking lot, he’d agreed chopping down Peeta’s door was an acceptable strategy, except there wouldn’t be a hardware store open on Thanksgiving Day.

So this Christmas season— the Christmas that could have been their second Christmas, or at least their first— just a year after she’d chosen him, the rejection had left its mark on her. She couldn’t face flying out west to spend Christmas with her sister and mother. Would not be able to muster the emotional energy necessary to pretend she was okay for a whole evening spent with her friends, despite their invites.  

No, she and Haymitch were going to spend it getting drunk on vodka, eating crock-pot roast and microwaved mashed potatoes, and watching either a marathon of The Profit, or Rocky, depending on which one of them won the coin toss.

So with twelve days to Christmas, Katniss Everdeen decided it was time to say goodbye once and for all.

Well, twelve times, for all.

Twelve ways to say she loved him.

Twelve ways to say goodbye.

Twelve ways to say both at the same time.

Twelve days, twelve gifts.

And it was going to start with a Thursday, lunch hour shopping trip.

“Kat, where you going?”

Odair was the afternoon manager for the restaurant side of the brewery operation where she was a bookeeper. He’d stepped so quickly in her way she almost couldn’t stop before walking into him.  

His hands here clasped behind his back and he was grinning. His up-to-something look.

“Lunch,” she said, guarded.

“Right. It’s treason to buy lunch from somewhere other than here. And anyway, you eat lunch from a brown bag. Every day. You’re so frugal, you probably even reuse the same bag until it’s toast. No, Katniss Everdeen looks like a woman on a mission.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Then it would make sense to get out of my way.”

He studied her as though he could read her secrets if he looked hard enough.

“You off to see that baker guy of yours? Because I would love one of his everything bagels, and Annie likes the peanut butter chip cookies.”

Katniss swallowed and fought off a wave of pain.

“No, I’m going to the mall to do some Christmas shopping.”

“Oh, perfect then,” like magic, his hand was suddenly in front of her face, waving a hundred dollar bill, as though he already knew where she was heading and was just enjoying teasing her about the other, “I need something pretty for Annie. I was thinking a necklace.”

Katniss felt an urge to punch him, but started to step around him instead. He stepped in her way again, grin back on his face.

“Come on, help a guy out. The last time I picked out jewelry for her, it was a total flop, and you remember it.”

“Finnick, the only reason it flopped, was because you thought it’d be funny to give her a used pendant with someone else’s initials on it.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny. That thing was an antique. And it was beautiful, and I knew the emeralds would set off her eyes. And anyway, the first initial matched.”

Katniss just shook her head; his problems were his, thankfully.

“Have to go, bye.”

He snagged her hand, yanking her momentum to a stop and then slapping the bill into her palm.

“Just in case something jumps out at you.”

“You realize how terrible it is to ask another woman to shop for your girlfriend.”

Finnick shrugged. “You’re not another woman, you’re basically family. And anyway, I already have her other gifts bought. I just want a wildcard.”

Katniss scowled.

“Fine, but I’m taking two hours for lunch, without losing the extra hour of pay, and you have to cover in case someone needs a bank run.”

Odair winked, then walked off with a, “Thanks, Katniss. You’re the second-best.”

Katniss shoved the bill into her jean’s pocket, so it could help her debit card burn a hole into the denim.

___

She knew what the first gift for Peeta would be, so she parked near the entrance closest to the woolen shop. Unfortunately, that entrance was the least used, and its parking more like the back forty. With Winter being stubborn about providing snow for Christmas, and the mall neglecting to plow that section, by the time she was inside, her feet were wet and freezing from slogging through patches of standing slush.  There was a small hunting shop just inside the entrance, one of her favorite stores, and the moment she saw a pair of boots she’d been drooling over for six months on sale for forty percent off, she decided that if she was going to loosen up on the financial reigns enough that week to buy herself a sense of closure about Peeta, she might as well give herself that one treat.

Fifteen minutes later, she was stalking to the sweater shop in knee-high, front lace brown leather boots with reinforced heels and toes, all weather tread, and Gortex lined.  And to make it better, her toes were swaddled in thick, high-tech, sweat-wicking winter socks.

She was even smiling by the time she got to her intended destination.

But then as soon as she was inside, her heart sank.

Peeta’s first present was a sweater she’d been eying for him for almost a month, folded on a center display table just inside the entrance. Imported from Ireland, it was a heavy, rough-finish wool sweater, that had a faded quality to its blue.  The first time she’d seen it, she’d wanted him in it. Wanted to see how it contrasted with his light hair, complimented his blue eyes, hugged his shoulders, and layered over the waist of his jeans. Back then, she had still be holding hope he’d snap out of it, that maybe Christmas morning they’d be opening presents together and she’d get to see him in it, run her hands along down his arms to sense the feel of it, rest her palms against the scratchy texture of the wool, but feel the warmth and firmness of his shoulders and chest beneath.

But now, she wouldn’t get that pleasure. He would have the sweater. Hopefully, he would wear it. But regardless, she’d never get to see it.

If things went according to plan, someone else would.

She looked through the stack, finding his size and then laying it out, unfolded, over the rest. Her fingers stroked along the back and inside of the collar, where a beautiful, muted orange line of silky fabric had been sewn in to help prevent the roughness of the wool from rubbing against the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was even almost Peeta’s favorite shade of orange.   

A  friendly young clerk came up, asking if she could be of help. Her bubbling mood was a knife-stab to Katniss’ heart, so Katniss told her she had other shopping to do and was in a hurry. The girl agreed to wrap it and have it waiting for Katniss to pay for and pick up on her way back out of the mall.

The next stop was Eddie Bauer, where she had a clerk box a wheat-colored Henley on a bed of black tissue, hand it over long enough for Katniss to finger press a dog ear into the collar where the top button would normally be, and then finish with the full-on Christmas wrapping treatment.  Her first hour was almost up.

Neiman Marcus covered two more gifts, six depending on how one counted, and fortune favored her in a special find that saved her a side trip to Hot Topic.  Plus, the clerks there were fast wrappers. She had thirty minutes left for this trip, and, for this trip, only two more items to go.

The most expensive.

A boutique, ultra-high end men’s store cost her savings account exactly eight hundred, forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents. The gift wrapping took absolutely forever. But everything about the work, from the paper, to the simple ribbon, to the ridiculously expensive, and large, carry out bag, was immaculate. It almost made her cry.

It did make her cry, actually. Because signing her name to a payment slip that size made it crystal clear just what she had committed herself to do, and that she would not be the one to see the end result.

But she made a quick stop at Zales, saw what she instantly knew was the right call. It was just shy of two hundred and fifty after tax, but today was her day to spend on others, and Annie and Finnick were good friends, so she pocketed the hundred for her piggy bank, and paid for it out of her checking.

_____

“You’re late. Nice boots.”

“What?”

Finnick rooted around in the Zales bag she handed him for the necklace box.

“You’re late. You said two hours. It’s been a hundred and twenty-seven minutes. Did you stop at the bakery and bring us the bagels?”

“I didn’t have time.” Thankfully.

“Then I’m docking you the seven minutes,” he said without missing a beat, and when he finally got the red velvet box open, his teasing fell away into a look of confusion, and then a threat of real emotion. “Katniss, how did you…”  He shook his head and the red headed prankster looked like he might actually hug her.

“Call it fate,” she said, and then started walking back to her office.  “And if you dock me those seven minutes, our next limited run is going to be called Odair Pale, ‘cause that’ll be the vat you’d drown in.”

_____

Katniss was out the brewery doors at 5:00pm sharp.  She managed to stop by the barber shop and the youth initiative before they closed by six, and that left only one purchase to go.

First, a stop at the bank.

Then, her final stop at the pawn shop.

The old man who owned the shop had held the item for her, and all that remained was for her to bring in the cash for it.

He was sitting at the counter like he was waiting for her— a sale like that, she was probably the one single person he was waiting for that day— and produced the item immediately, including the silky box that went with it, dull and stained by time. She carefully counted out the money, and he carefully wrote her out a receipt in his shaky handwriting.

Pawn shops didn’t gift wrap, but since it was raining, he found a used plastic bag from the back and gave her that to carry it away in.

It felt heavy, the plastic in her fingers as she walked back to her car.

Heavy like an ending.

Heavy like time moving on without her.

_____

By seven, the drizzle was threatening to turn to sleet with the evening’s cooling temperature.  Katniss shivered a little, trying to shrink further into her jacket, and was even more glad for her new boots, because the slush in the alley behind the bakery was even worse than it had been at the mall. The windows above her, on the bakery’s second floor were lit; Peeta was at home, no surprise.  He’d be watching television, maybe. Or even finishing dinner. Within an hour, he’d start thinking about bed.

For the six or seven months he’d let her into his life, she’d learned his habits fast.  They’d never shared a bed and never spent a night together, because he wouldn’t allow it— because he was going to ‘do things right’— but they’d spent plenty of time together.  By the Summer, they’d been seeing each other every day. And she’d found so much joy in the not rushing it. It had given them time to fully appreciate the excitement of almost innocent kisses and the silly, mutual attempts to find opportunities for them to be less than strictly innocent, the almost stolen thrill of sitting just close enough knees might touch, or arms might press.  The silences and times where they were just around each other, without having to feel pressure that being out on a date, or on a walk, or going to the bookstore together was somehow really only posturing for a race they were supposed to complete by end of the day.

She knew his hours.

Knew not to text him after seven thirty.

Knew he didn’t actually like texting at all, and preferred a phone call, if a personal visit wasn’t possible.

Knew which corner of his couch he liked to lean into when watching television.  Knew where his mugs were, and his glasses. Knew which drawer had the silverware, which hall closet had the extra hand towels for the bathroom. Knew he recycled cans, but often forgot to recycle plastic. Knew which episodes of Big Bang Theory were his favorites.

Each step up the steel-grate steps up to Peeta’s second-floor entry, brought another ‘knew’ to her mind, digging the knife a little deeper.

But she kept going, careful to duck a little near the top in case he happened to be at the kitchen sink window, and then leaning the box with the wool sweater against his door, with a note taped to it.

—Don’t open until six on Christmas Eve—

Just as carefully, she crept back down and then took up a position in the blackness behind the dumpster. A pocketful of little garden stones served as her ammunition, and she chucked three at his door with perfect aim.  

From the shadows, she watched Peeta’s face appear at the window, and then a moment later, light came flooding out from his doorway.  He saw the present right away, but looked around first to see who was there.

He called her name out and for a second she thought maybe he was able to see her after all, but after a few seconds of him leaning out over the rail and looking both ways down the alley, it was clear he didn’t.  He came back to the present, gave it a look over, and then went back inside.

She didn’t know whether to feel honored or sad that after a gift appeared for him, the only person he thought to call out in question to was her.

[wolfie-dragon-rider]

Bursts of Light, Day 8: Shopping

Hiccup often wished Toothless could talk. It would help with flying, training dragons, and just when Hiccup wanted to vent about something. But right now it would be especially useful. Normally he'd have Astrid to help him with this, but since this was supposed to be a surprise, that wasn't an option.

Snoggletog was just around the corner, and he still had to find a gift to put in her helmet. In previous years he had smithed her new weapons and armor, but by now her set was basically complete. Sure, he could always make her another type of weapon, maybe a warhammer, but she probably wouldn't use it anyway. The pike he had made her two years ago was still gathering dust.

"What do you think, Toothless? Which stall should we check out first?" he asked the dragon by his side, and got only a warble in response. He guessed it meant 'the fishmonger's stall', but Astrid wouldn't appreciate rotten fish in her helmet.

So he sighed, before going to the first stall. It was market day, people eager to buy and sell all kinds of goods before the feast next week, so the plaza was full of stalls. If he could see what each person sold it would be easier, but he supposed he'd just have to ask each one individually.

"Good morning. What are you selling?" Hiccup asked, scratching at his blindfold. The cold air made his scars itch.

"Toys of all sorts! Dolls, figurines, animals on little wheels, and anything else your child could ever want! How old is your girl now, Hiccup? Time to get her a new doll, maybe?" the woman behind the stall said, and he frowned. Nothing here for Astrid, but he should get something for little Thora. She was nearly three now, and while he had smithed her some toys like the moving animals on display here, and Stoick had carved little knights and vikings from wood, maybe she'd enjoy a doll. He should really discuss that with Astrid first, but as he felt some of the soft dolls he was very tempted to just get one now.

"This one… is this a dragon? A Nightmare?" he asked, feeling a plushie toy and marvelling at the soft appendages he guessed were spikes.

"Indeed it is! Let me guess, she's already got a favorite dragon? I've got a whole set of dragons, they're quite popular!" the woman said enthusiastically, and he nodded.

"Do you have a Nadder? She quite likes those. They're fast and full of energy, just like her," he laughed, digging in his pocket for coins. This wouldn't be cheap, but it'd be worth it. Hiccup just couldn't make something like this himself, and neither could Astrid. She was hopeless with sewing, even after years of practice. Repairs and simple clothes like shirts were doable, but not something complex like a plushie dragon.

"Good choice! Though maybe don't give her a real Nadder baby just yet! That'll be ten silver coins," she said, and he winced before handing over the money. The thought of his daughter's squeal when she'd see the gift made it sting less.

He put the toy in Toothless' saddlebag before moving to the next stall. The fragrance made it quite clear they were selling meat, and Hiccup quickly moved on despite his dragon's protest.

"You'll get some more fish when we get home," he muttered when Toothless whined dramatically. The dragon grumbled, but didn't argue.

They passed more stalls, Hiccup mostly avoiding the food, though he stopped at a pastry stall to buy some sugary cakes. Astrid would never admit it, but she had a massive sweet tooth, and they would always make her a relax a little. Especially now that she was pregnant with their second child, she always craved things that gave her energy.

Honestly Hiccup was having fun shopping without Astrid. She was more… responsible with money, and would definitely have protested the cakes and probably the toy as well. He understood why, she had grown up in a household where every coin had to be spent with care. But the Haddocks had a lot more spending money, and he just couldn't get enough of how happy these little luxuries made her.

But a few stalls later his happy mood was draining away again. He was at a jewelry stall, and while Astrid didn't like jewelry whatsoever, he wasn't sure what else to get her. His wife wasn't someone who needed much. She didn't indulge in hobbies that required a lot of supplies, and certainly didn't care for 'things that were pretty but pointless', as she put it once.

Still, maybe she'd like the pendant in the shape of the rune for strength, or the bracelet with the axe symbol on it. Toothless growled softly, and Hiccup sighed.

"You're right, Toothless. She'd hate this stuff. Sorry, mister," he said, putting back the pendant and moving to the next stall. It went on like that for a while, him rejecting books and gems, engineering tools and complicated kitchen supplies. Nothing Astrid would use.

He was about to give up and go home when he reached a clothing stall. This one was interesting. Winter was upon them again, and Astrid clung closely to him in the night. He didn't mind at all, but he hated the idea of her being cold. She shouldn't get sick, especially pregnant.

"What do you have?" he asked the merchant from beyond the sea, and the man chuckled.

"All sorts of smaller items of clothing. Scarves, underwear, socks, caps, gloves, all made from the finest English wool!"

Hiccup frowned, feeling gently. Astrid had complained of cold and aching feet lately.

"What kind of socks? What color?" he asked, lifting a sock while trying to figure out what it looked like.

"We have some plain white ones for two silver coins per pair, but for an extra four silver coins you can get some with special designs, knitted by the finest seamstress in Norway. You can have pictures of dragons on your socks, or maybe you want some other animal. How about a god? Let's see, we have Thor, Odin, I believe this one is Njordr, and Freya of course, she's popular with the ladies," the man said, and with the way his voice became teasing at the last sentence Hiccup had to assume he was winking at him.

"That's perfect! Can I get a pair with Thor, and another with Odin?" Hiccup shouted, relief washing over him. Toothless warbled, nudging him and becoming restless with the long day of shopping.

Alrighty then! That's twelve silver coins, please, and come again! Maybe a nice scarf, eh?" the man chuckled, and Hiccup was fairly sure this was an outrageous price for socks, but these special designs weren't easy to make, so he wasn't going to argue.

"Let's go home to wrap these presents, and then we can go for a flight!" he told Toothless, and the dragon was suddenly eager to go home, not even letting Hiccup put the socks in the saddlebag before running off.

---------------------------------------------------

"Aaaaaah, it's a dragon! It's just like Stormfly! Look, Mommy! I love it!" Thora cooed over the gift from her father, who smiled widely at her reaction. Astrid frowned a little, not entirely happy that Hiccup had bought that without consulting her. It looked pretty expensive, and while Thora's laughter was priceless, she didn't want to spend too much money.

"That's right, it's a Nadder!" she told her daughter, who was already setting up the little knights she got from her grandfather for a glorious battle with her new dragon. Stormfly chirped, looking curiously at the family sitting around the fireplace.

"Now, let's see what you got for me. Looks like it's not a weapon this year," Astrid said as she took the small package she immediately recognized was wrapped by Hiccup. His wrapping skills were… special.

"I hope you like them. I know you like Odin and Thor, so…" Hiccup's sentence was interrupted by her hard laugh when she saw the socks.

"These are supposed to be… HAHAHAHAHAHA, Hiccup! Really? These are Odin and Thor?" she laughed, holding up the crude designs of something she could vaguely recognize as a man with a hammer, and another man with an eyepatch. Honestly they looked more like pirates. Thora looked up, but quickly got bored and turned back to making her new dragon eat the knights.

"The man who sold them said so…" he stuttered, clearly startled by her response.

"Oh, Hiccup. I know you meant well, but please… just don't buy any clothing without someone present who can see?" Astrid asked, and he sighed.

"Toothless was there," he muttered softly.

"You know what I mean. Look, I get that you don't want me there when you shop for my presents. But maybe take your parents, or a dragon rider," she said, reaching down to untie her boots and take off her socks.

"I guess you're right. I just thought… Your feet are always aching, and you said they get cold in the morning, so I figured…" he said, head dropping.

"Don't feel bad! They're really thick, I'm sure these are super warm! I can wear them inside the house, okay? Or when I'm wearing my thick boots," she said as she took her socks off.

"I figured you'd like this more than jewelry at least," he said, and she chuckled.

"Definitely. And they're certainly warm and comfy!" she said as she put them on, already relieved at the feel of soft wool on her aching ankles. This pregnancy was harder than the last one, the child inside her constantly moving, and it was remarkably heavy. So she'd take anything that would make it easier.

"Next year we're shopping together for the children, though. I don't want you spoiling two kids!" she said, and Hiccup laughed. Thora knocked over another knight, and made burning sounds as she mimicked the Nadder breathing fire on a king.

"I can't wait. To meet this little one, and to spoil them rotten," he said, rubbing her belly.