Gaz with a baby. Gaz holding a soft little potato in his hands, Gaz celebrating their first little curls popping up, Gaz rocking his child against his chest with firm little butt pats when they won't go the fuck to sleep. Gaz standing a toddler on his shoulders, tucking a ten-year-old into his lap when they insist they're too big now for a cuddle, his arm over a lanky teens shoulders at a football game, a proud smile on his face.
Gaz welcoming his child home with gray in his hair, laugh lines creasing his cheeks, the corners of his eyes behind his glasses.
Gaz standing in a hospital room, over a bassinet nearly the same as the one he'd stood over three decades ago. There's a little wrapped bundle in it, another soft, sweet potato of a baby, this one with a little name card propped up on the side- with Kyle John printed carefully out, that makes Kyle step away for a second with his hand over his eyes, the other gripping the side of that bassinet so tight his knuckles ache.
Need you to know that I still have a bunch of spicy prompts sitting in my ask box that I WILL complete at some point. I just need to figured out what angle I approach it best from.
So I’m gonna write more kissing stuff to figure it out 🙂↕️🙂↕️
Marco’s eyes lit up with an almost mischievous glint as he reached for Marc’s hand, his excitement practically radiating from him. “Come on,” Marco urged, his voice filled with infectious enthusiasm. “Let’s go out in the rain!”
Marc paused, a mix of amusement and reluctance crossing his face as he peered through the front door at the torrential downpour outside. “Marco, ricitos, I love you, but it’s really coming down hard. We’ll be completely soaked, and I just spent ages washing my hair.”
Marco’s grin widened, clearly unfazed by the prospect of getting drenched. “That’s the fun part! It’s just water — you can wash it again.”
Marc’s resistance began to wane under Marco’s cheerfulness. Despite his concerns, he felt a tug of excitement at Marco’s enthusiasm. Before Marc could voice any more objections, Marco had already pulled him through the door and into the rain.
The moment they stepped outside, the relentless downpour enveloped them completely. The rain poured in sheets, soaking them through in seconds. Marco’s laughter rang out joyfully as he spun around in the rain, his arms outstretched as if to embrace the storm itself. His unrestrained delight was almost contagious.
Marc, though initially hesitant, found himself unable to resist the pull of Marco’s joy. Despite shaking his head in amused exasperation, a smile slowly spread across his face. He stepped closer to Marco, letting the rain hit him as he watched Marco dance and revel in the sheer exhilaration of the storm.
After a few moments of taking in the downpour, Marco’s laughter gradually faded into a shiver. He pulled Marc close, seeking warmth in his embrace, trying to hide the realization that this was no longer as fun as he thought.
“Alright, alright, let’s get you inside before you catch a cold,” Marc said, his tone now laced with concern.
Back inside their warm home, Marc guided Marco into the bathroom, his concern evident despite the gentle way he handled the situation. He quickly slipped Marco's shirt off then grabbed a large, soft towel and wrapped it around his shivering frame. “You’ll get sick if we don’t get you dried off soon,” Marc said, his tone a mixture of scolding and care.
Marco, still dripping and smiling through the droplets of water, looked at Marc with playful, puppy-like eyes. “I guess I didn’t really think about that,” he admitted, his voice warm with affection.
Marc shook his head with a fond smile tugging at his lips, though his eyes betrayed a hint of worry. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he said, trying to suppress his laughter.
With practiced care, Marc began to dry Marco’s wet curls, his hands moving with gentle efficiency. “You could have really gotten sick out there, or worse, what if you had slipped and hurt yourself?” he scolded softly, the concern evident in his voice. “You need to be more careful.”
Marco looked up at Marc, his eyes full of warmth and sincerity. “I just wanted to have fun with you,” he said quietly. “Even if it meant getting soaked.”
Marc’s expression softened as he continued to dry Marco’s hair, his touch tender as he brushed away the last few droplets. “Well, I do appreciate the thought,” he said, his voice gentle. “Just try not to make a habit of it. I’d rather have you healthy so we can enjoy more moments like these.” He hummed, turning to kiss the Italians temple softly.
Marco responded by pulling Marc into a gentle, affectionate hug, his voice murmuring against Marc’s shoulder. “Mhm, but I'd still do it again. It was fun, even if just for a little while.”
Marc wrapped his arms around Marco, holding him close. “You're like a puppy, impossible to train,” he said with a soft chuckle.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
IT IS HERE. This chapter felt like it took an age and a half to write, but it is the first of a series of bridge chapters to get to the next big event in the story!
Also it is more light to allow lovely readers to collect their feels XD;
Isethari squinted from where she lay on her bedroll, the sun starting to peek over the horizon. Daybreak. Ugh. She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes and squeezing them shut even tighter. She hated mornings, hated daylight. For as long as she could remember she'd always had more of an affinity to evenings and to night. This whole sleeping through the night and then moving during the day was atrocious for her schedule. Or what she'd hoped it could have been joining the wardens. The one silver lining, perhaps. Yet here she was, rising with the sun and hating every second of it.
She sighed, lifting her arm just enough to peer to her side and see if Rylee was still sleeping. The mess of red hair splayed every which way, along with the soft rhythmic breathing, indicated she was. Another sigh. Rolling onto her stomach, Isethari now draped her arm over Rylee's midsection and buried her face against the other elf's shoulder blade. This stirred Rylee just a little, just enough to break her deep breathing. She didn't move much though, muttering indiscernible words under her breath.
"Ir abelas," Isethari whispered.
"Huh?"
"Sorry."
Rylee waved vaguely and halfheartedly, taking Isethari's arm and pulling her closer against her.
"I don't want to get up either," she murmured into her other arm. "Think Princess will let us sleep in today?"
With another sigh, Isethari lifted her head a bit and kissed the back of Rylee's shoulder. "I doubt it."
"Bitch," she complained. "Not like there's an archdemon anymore."
"We need to go to Amaranthine." Isethari trailed more feather light kisses along Rylee's back, now reaching her neck.
"I don't fuckin' care. We deserve a damned rest."
"And you've had one." Eleri's voiced wafted over the quiet of the camp. Both elves groaned. "Now get up already, we need to get moving."
"I'm gonna kill her," Rylee muttered.
"No you won't, vhenan." This time when Isethari went to kiss her, Rylee turned in time to catch her lips instead.
"I might," she insisted when they parted.
"No, you won't. Maybe when we get to the keep we can have more time."
