wordcount: 1.4k
content/warnings: fluff, slice-of-life snippet, just isaac being soft for reader, maybe ooc?
an: I don't even know what this is, it is just a random idea I had and wanted to ramble about. It isn't groundbreaking by any means, but it is soft | c𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕦 | 𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥
The snow in Vermont never failed to make you feel like a child again. When the school with its towers and turrets was cloaked in white and the shoveled paths crunched beneath your feet, it was difficult to resent the shorter days. Especially when the lamplights caught the encroaching frost and made everything outside of your dorm room window sparkle.
Being a boarding school, it was, of course, rare for Nevermore to declare a ‘snow day’. The commute to class rarely required leaving the building unless it was botany, but the greenhouses were far too cold for that regardless. That was what made this Friday exceptional: One of the last before Christmas, the day of the winter market in Jericho, the snow so deep in places you were certain you could disappear into it if you fell backward. Only a single student managed to pay attention through the morning lessons; the rest of you were positively giddy, for lack of a better word.
Eventually the teachers surrendered. When the one person who didn’t even need to pay attention was the only one actually absorbing anything, it was hard to justify continuing the battle.
The air bit at your nose as you stepped out into the quad. The fountain had frozen solid, and a few small birds hopped aimlessly across its surface, pecking (fruitlessly, you guessed) to pick at the frozen bugs that had been contained in the top layer. Now, standing a bit closer, it was easier to feel somewhat pitying of them and their cold feet, barely landing on the frozen surface before fluttering back up again.
Their predicament became far harder to focus on, however, with the painful chill that shot through the back of your skull. You could feel the powdery snow escape down the back of your collar, not needing to see it to know that it was either a very well or very poorly aimed snowball now soaking through your hair to your scalp and giving you brain freeze.
The sudden gasp behind you suggested the latter. It was tempting to turn immediately, but the snow piles on the edge of the stone edges of the fountain walls drew your attention, your gloved fingers pressing into the frost crusted powder and curling.
Turning revealed the perpetrator – Gomez’s hand was clamped over his parted lips, his brows raised and eyes crinkled with a mix of amusement and concern. A boy darted from beside you, laughing feverishly – the expected target, you supposed, but Gomez’s eyes didn’t leave yours. His hand lowered from his lips, but rose defensively, hovering beside his head upon spotting your poorly disguised grin.
“It was an accident!” he called, taking a cautious step back. “We can all be reasonable—”
You didn’t let him finish. Your arm whipped forward, sending the handful of snow you’d hidden behind your back flying. It struck him slightly off-center at the shoulder, but a hit was a hit.
His lips curled, cheek creasing under the weight of his growing grin.
“You chose war,” he warned, hands dropping to his sides.
“Bring it on, sparky!”
You both stood worryingly still for a fleeting moment, your friend’s fingers exaggerating their twitching by his side as if he fancied himself some old western cowboy.
It lasted only a moment before you both ducked, fingers scraping into the snow, compacting powder into your palms and scrambling and slipping on hidden ice in your bouts of laughter to avoid the onslaught as you readied your own ammunition. Others appeared to join, rouge snow flying from all directions, accompanied by the muffled grunts of unsuspecting targets.
You darted around the edge of the fountain, the statue offering some shelter to catch your breath if only for a moment.
“This will not end well for you, dear friend!” Gomez’s call only made your grin wider, cold drags of breath burning your lungs and throat.
The easiest response was the silent one, both hands reaching to press as much snow as possible into a tight ball, leveraging it into one palm and swinging, a little shakily around the corner.
It was a hit, the ball disintegrating into powder again, but not, you quickly realised, against Gomez’s face. For one suspended moment you could have sworn your soul left your body, replaced entirely by the frigid winter air.
Isaac stilled completely, snow clinging to his hair, already melting in cold rivulets along his ear and cheek, turning his usually pale skin an irritated red. You weren’t sure which unsettled you more: The tension in his hand, leather gloved fingers tightening around the books tucked to his side, or the slow, deliberate way he began to turn, pivoting on his heel with the kind of controlled calm that set your bones on edge.
“Isaac!” Your hands disappeared behind your back, hiding the evidence of your wet gloves like a child caught in the sweet jar. “I—“
You hesitated as his head cocked, narrowed eyes demanding no further excuses. He knew, obviously, and you had little desire to antagonise him further.
Not one part of you anticipated the direct manner in which he turned again, feet carrying him on his intended path to his workshop, concerningly unbothered. Your attention sought Gomez’s once again, turning back with just enough time to catch the widening eyes and raising finger, the half formed syllables of ‘watch out’ smothered by his cackle. You didn’t even have time to turn.
The avalanche hit you squarely on the crown of your head.
The freezing weight collapsed over you, pouring through every unguarded seam of your clothing, sliding in sharp, melting trails along your skin and down your spine. It stole your breath, your lungs seizing around a gasp of icy air, as you blinked through wet lashes.
One glance was enough. Isaac’s hand was raised lazily over his shoulder, not even granting you the courtesy of looking back.
You could practically feel the smirk tugging at his lips.
“You are unbelievably cruel, do you know that?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the droplets of water gathering at your feet as you stepped out of the old elevator. You were, in a word, sulking, standing as if some sodden tragedy at the threshold.
At last, he glanced up from his book.
“You started it,” he reasoned, pressing his chair back from his desk regardless, the subtle tilt of his head invitation enough to step further in.
“I was aiming for Gomez,” you pressed, very aware that each step was far heavier than it needed to be, echoing sullenly off the stone walls.
“Then you need to improve your aim,” his brow raised as you stopped in front of him, your bag dropping unceremoniously to the floor beside his desk.
You huffed, arms crossing. “I didn’t see you going after him when he was the one who started the whole thing in the first place!”
“While I won’t dispute that,” he said, eyes glinting, “you were the one who hit me. That’s the difference. Now, stop sulking.”
“I have every right to sulk.” You jerked your hand away when he reached for it. His brow arched higher, annoyingly amused. “I am freezing cold and soaked through.”
“You’re exaggerating.” He stood, elongating precisely. When you refused to look at him, his knuckles tipped beneath your chin and nudged your face upward. “But I’ll permit it this time.”
“Permit it?” You scoffed as he stepped past you, rifling through a drawer. “I think—”
Whatever brilliant rebuttal you had died when your wet coat and blazer tugged clean off your shoulders, floating to hang neatly on the hook usually reserved for his lab coat.
“Think what, love?” You’d been so busy squishing water from your hair that you didn’t notice him return until the blanket settled over your shoulders. His hands swept it close around you, arms looping instinctively across your chest and drawing you back into his warmth.
He sank back into his chair again, pulling you with no small degree of physical persistence, with more strength than his slender build suggested, into his lap until you sat across his thighs.
“I think you owe me,” you muttered, though you were already melting against him. “Big time.”
He only hummed, nudging the chair closer to the desk with you settled firmly on his lap. Annoyingly, you gave in far too quickly – the heat of his chest smoothing the tension from your spine, your cheek softening into the curve of his shoulder. You sighed, letting the last of your indignation seep out of you as the warmth of him and the blanket finally began to win, the shivers dulling.
Isaac pressed a warm kiss to your forehead, “whatever you say, dove.”
𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖, 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥, 𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘
[ Christmas banner by my beloved, @pepsipoet ]
Photoshoot 📸🎂! Cakes from the Christmas Menu 2022 strike a pose! This lineup: @lotusbiscoffuk #biscoffcake, chocolate and vanilla #marblecake and @oreo #cookiesandcream cake. Will show the final finishing touches soon 🪄
Marry Me Chicken, is an exciting recipe full of flavors. It is so delicious, tender, cheesy, saucy and creamy recipe that is a perfect choice for lunch or dinner. This is so easy to make with just a few ingredients.
Menu Monday: A suggested Christmas dinner menu from the Princeton Herald, December 17, 1943. Rationing during World War II meant local cooks would have to have been creative. The paper gives a recipe for “Victory Christmas Pudding,” which was a mixture of grated beets, potatoes, orange rind, spices, sugar, and shortening that was steamed for a few hours before serving.
