Jamie pulled up to the trailer just as the sun was beginning to set. She set her motorcycle on its kickstand and headed inside, shaking off the cold as much as she could. She peeled off her gloves, and removed her jacket, hanging it up alongside the other occupied hooks. Eddie just took a cup of hot chocolate out of the microwave when sheâd come in. He smiled, setting the mug down and walking over to her.
âHow fared your quest?â He asked with that fantasy-esque tone he used when they did dramatic bits like that. He pulled her against him, trying to help her warm up.
âI have retrieved your prize, my love.â She responded in kind, always content to be so close to him.
âYour travels have taken such a toll on you, my heart. Your skin is like ice under my touch.â He peppered gentle kisses over her cheeks.
âAnd yours is like fire by comparison.â She tried to hide exactly how off-guard it caught her. Even when they were doing the over-the-top medieval speak, he had no fucking right to have that effect on her. But he did, every goddamn time.
âI have something that may yet cure your ails.â He pulled away, taking a few quick steps to grab the cup of hot chocolate and hand it to her--trying desperately not to spill it as he did. Jamie let the heated ceramic warm her hands before she took a long drink of it, letting the feeling spread.
âThanks, baby.â She smiled softly before remembering why she was out in the first place. âOh, and I got that movie you asked me to rent. One more to watch, too.â She pulled Silent Night, Deadly Night and Gremlins out of her bag as a delayed trade for the cup. âI know you said it doesnât count as Christmas-Horror, but I think it does.â
âThatâs because itâs not a Christmas movieâŚâ He appraised the two cases, looking back at her. â...but Iâm not gonna say no to spending more time with you.â
âIt literally takes place during Christmas.â
âIâm not arguing with you about this. Again. We are losing precious time we could be spending watching those movies. OrâŚmaking out on the couch?â
âOh, come on, thatâs such a dick move. Donât make me choose, you know Iâm indecisive!â
âOnly when you want to be, princess. You seemed pretty sure of what you were doing last night. Itâs a bit convenient that now, suddenly, you canât choose.â He teased, enjoying watching her get a bit nervous and blushy from the loving callout.
â...we can do both.â
âWhich one? Last-night-both or movie-and-makeout-both?â
âMovie and makeout.â He smiled at her answer, taking the cup out of her hands, placing a quick kiss to her lips, and taking her hand to guide her to the couch. âBut I wouldnât say no to doing both âbothsâ.â He set the cup on the small end table and very lightly pushed Jamie onto the couch. She grabbed onto his arm, clinging to him to try not to fall. He held onto her so she wouldnât trip before she was ready to. âNo! Do not betray me like this! I fetched your treasure, and this is how you repay me?â She slipped back into that fantasy bit.
âYouâve served me well, sweet thief, but I merely promised to reward you as you deserved. Now, perish!â He let go of her, and she fell onto the couch, crossing her arms over herself as if dead. He grabbed the plaid blanket from the side of the couch, unfolding it and laying it on her like a funeral shroud. She pulled the blanket off her face somewhat.
âCan I continue the campaign with a new character?â She whispered.
âWhat?â He whispered back, moving closer to hear her. She repeated. âNo, no, itâs okay. I am incredibly well-versed in necromancy.â Eddie smiled, leaning close and kissing her neck.
âThat is not what necromancy is!â
âIt is now! Sucks to suck.â She gave him a slight disappointed look. He sighed, his victorious expression softening. He kissed her properly, taking her hand. âIs that better?â
âYeah. A lot better.â
âGood.â He kissed the back of her hand and got up to get the movie ready, putting Silent Night, Deadly Night in first. âBut I canât fucking believe youâre complaining about me kissing your neck.â
âI am not!â She moved to her usual spot on the couch, getting the pillows arranged for her own âpillowâ to be comfortable when he was done setting things up.
âI told you I was good at neck-romancy. I donât know what you want from me.â He was trying to keep a straight face, but couldnât. Not with her laughing at his jokes, and not when he laid on the couch beside her. It was impossible for him to not feel comfortable when she moved to be close to him, legs tangled, her head on his shoulder, an arm around her waist, one draped over her his stomach. He didnât expect to stay in that position for too long, if she was as serious as he was about getting distracted part way through--but with the blanket over them making it all the more comfortable, it was a perfect place to start. âAre you warming up yet, sweetheart?â
âYeah. Iâm warm enough. This is perfect.â She tightened her hold on him, settling in as the movie started to play its intro.
Monicaâs shift at the diner always left her exhausted and wanting nothing more than to lay on the couch and rot for a while. Walking up the stairs to the apartment she shared with her boyfriends, she dug the keys out of her coat pocket and unlocked the door. The space was half-way a mess. Three boxes open and scattered around the tables, tinsel garlands strung out over furniture, half untangled string lights carelessly strewn about the floor. The microwave was still beeping, and Eddie was arguing with Venom--but she could only hear one side of it. She quietly shut the door, setting her bag on the kitchen counter. The arguing stopped, and he looked around the corner.
âShitâŚâ He murmured out of surprise. âHey, baby! I thought you worked until midnight.â He closed the distance between them, pulling her into a tight hug. She returned the affection.
âThat was last night, Eddie.â She pulled away, placing a kiss on each cheek. A tendril extended, Venomâs face appearing on it.
âI told you that was what she said.â He head-butted Eddie somewhat lightly, trying not to hurt him and still get his point across. He moved closer to Monica, leaning his head against hers before retreating back to âfloatâ beside his host. She glanced between the two for a moment before feeling an ounce of the tension from the day fade.
âRough day?â He asked, letting go of her so she could set her purse down on the counter.
âYeah. A regular brought a bunch of his shitty friends in today.â She explained, putting the keys on the rack and her nearly dead phone on the charger. âSoâŚwhatâs going on here? You two seemâŚbusy.â
âThat? Oh, uh, yeahâŚwe wanted to surprise you by decorating for Christmas.â
âIt was my idea.â
âIt was our idea.â
âRightâŚand howâs that working out for you two?â She teased, knowing exactly how it got with them when it came to decisions.
â...Iâd say itâsâŚfine...â He gestured around as if it was finished and put together. The only piece of light strand he managed to hang up fell off the nail--it wasnât like they were getting the deposit back, anyway.
âIt is not fine!â Venomâs tendril reached for the microwave, pulling it open. âHe does not listen to me. I have the superior design input.â He grabbed the cup inside, hissing at how hot the ceramic was, setting it on the cart that functioned as their kitchen island. The liquid inside sloshed over the edge, dotting the counter with small clumps of chocolate powder. âI put this in the microwave for five minutes to make sure it was indeed hot chocolate.â He explained.
âThank you, hon. What about you? Did you not make one for yourselves?â
âNo, he wanted to make it for you.â Monica nodded, thinking something through.
âWhy donât you two take down what youâve got up while I make you a cup, and weâll decorate together?â Eddieâs expression softened at the idea of all three of them doing something like that, the three of them.
âBut weâve already made so much progress--â He cut himself off, feeling the warmth that spread through his hostsâ heart, the way his pulse quickened. That feeling, he understood. âOkay.â He retracted into Eddie, the two setting about getting the apartment ready. Monica got the powder packets out to make her partners a cup. The other two were quickly undoing hours of work--a few fake candles, a wreath over the bed, and the singular string of lights that fell. She made sure the hot chocolate wasn't scalding by putting it in for only a minute or two--using the spoon to break up the chunks in her own drink and mix it in properly. She brought the cups over to the coffee table when they were done, taking his hand and pulling him into a kiss.
âThank you for trying to surprise me. Iâm looking forward to doing this with you two.â She smiled as she pulled away, grabbing the lights to untangle them. âYou think you can reach up a bit higher to hang the lights.
âI canât, but--â
âI can!â Venom grabbed a hold of the lights, and a nail. He poked a hole in the wall, splitting the twisted wires just enough to hold it onto the spot.
âThank fuck one of us can reach. Holy shit.â Eddie mumbled, taking a sip of the hot chocolate.
After spending the better part of the week so busy with work it nearly drove him mad, Raphael was relieved to finally be done with his little âprojectâ, and have a day to relax. Of course, it would only be a matter of time until he had something else to attend to, but tonight was well-earned. Shutting the book on the desk with the papers within it, he stood, stretching. His wings flexed with his movements, a slight breeze coming from them as they settled back into their usual resting position. He left the study, heading for the boudoir. There was a bath in the center of the room, mist rising off the hot water, candles sitting near the edges of it, and two goblets of wine left somewhat abandoned. It told him before he even saw them that the bath was occupied by his wife and their incubus. Haarlep was leaning over Eris, trapping her against the stone, whispering to her something he couldnât quite hear; sweet nothings, sweeter promises. Their scratched back was dripping a bit of blood--her impassioned handiwork--with every moment spent in the water mending the markings up without a trace. Whatever theyâd been doing was recent.
âI see the two of you have kept each other busy.â Raphael teased, pouring himself a goblet of wine. They paused, with her looking over their shoulder.
âYouâve returned.â Eris smiled. âI was beginning to think you would not come to bed tonight.â
âI had a rather productive evening, my sweet.â He always found her general energy towards him endearing. âAnd I would like to unwind.â Raphael took a generous drink of his wine. âAh, but I mustnât interrupt. You two were quite busy, were you not?â He continued with his banter, walking away from the bath. The two looked at each other, as if debating in silence. The deviless and the incubus both got out, with her pausing to grab her goblet of wine and finish what was left of it. Haarlep, who had not bothered to get dressed, was already halfway across the room to the bed at the other end of the boudoir. Eris, following, had slipped a bit on the water-covered stones between the edge and the carpet lining the walkways.
âDesperate, are we?â They chuckled.
âMust I cast a hold spell on you?â He continued.
âYou are both cruel.â She rolled her eyes, pulling her robe onto her and joining them in bed, getting under the covers. He was, as usual, in the middle, with the other two on either side. He set the goblet on the bedside table, wrapping one arm around them, and the other around her. She shifted onto her side, laying her head on his shoulder, while they traced over where they could reach. She tried not to get their horns tangled as she kissed his cheek, settling into the comfortable embrace.
âI know exactly how to make you unwind.â They teased, stealing a proper kiss.
The snow had begun to fall outside as the sun set. Steve had come over to spend time with Melody. The fireplace was lit, the house decorated, and the two baking cookies and making hot chocolate in the kitchen. He had just finished mixing the cocoa powder into the pot of milk on the stove, setting the whisk aside to let it. He loved being able to do this with her, in a romantic context. Theyâd visited in the season to bake for three years, when he didnât want to feel completely isolated after his break-up, but the last two had been together as a couple. He preferred it like this, to see Melody standing across from him as she beat the eggs, stealing glances at him. It made him feel wanted, and comfortable.
âHey, sweetheart? This sideâs almost finished, can you flip it?â She asked, referring to the cassette tape.
âI got it.â He assured her, placing his hand on her waist as he moved past her. He took the opportunity to kiss her cheek as he did. He took it out and flipped it, setting it to play, with Little Saint Nick by The Beach Boys starting off the B-side. He smiled, picking up the index card next to the case that sheâd written the tracklist on, seeing some pretty standard stuff: Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, a couple of one-off songs from The Ronettes, Perry Como, Brenda Lee--but what was more interesting was the one he didnât recognize all-too-well: âLast Christmas by Wham!âŚ?â He asked, looking over at her with a slight sense of betrayal.
âWhatâs wrong with it? I know itâs super recent, but itâs good.â
âYeah, but itâsâŚI dunno, it just feels wrong to listen to on any day except Christmas.â She paused her egg-beating to look at him.
âWhy?â
âWell, I mean, itâs just not something that could be a carol, yâknow?â
âA carol?â
âAre you going to go door-to-door to sing it to people, honey?â He asked, chuckling. She resumed her work.
âI could, to prove a point.â She teased. âNo, I just think carols are more broad than that--nobody goes door-to-door anymore.â Melody pointed out. âI think it means whatever you sing or listen to thatâll get you in a Christmas-y mood.â Steve moved over to the stove to take the pot off the heat, now that it was warm enough, pouring it into two cups and bringing one to her.
âHere, let me take over for you for a sec, your armâs gotta be tired.â He took the whisk with a smile, continuing where she left off. âI just think itâs weird to listen to it before. Ever since itâs come out, Iâve tried to not hear it until the day of. Do you really think itâs so weird?â
âA little, but cute-weird. Itâs very âyouâ.â She took a drink of her hot chocolate. âThis is so good. You always make the best.â She leaned over, kissing his cheek. âI think the eggs are done, and we can add in the other stuff.â She put the mug down beside his and grabbed the dry ingredients she measured out earlier. She carefully poured it in while he mixed, enjoying the proximity. If he wasnât holding the bowl while he mixed, he wouldâve wrapped an arm around her waist. Once the batter became dough, they both measured them out, put them on pans, and put them in the oven to bake. Last Christmas came on, and she chuckled. âI think you lost your streak, baby. Sorry. Better luck next year?â He sighed, melodramatic.
âI hope so.â He mumbled, setting the timer and taking her hand. âCome here.â Steve pulled her closer, feeling her arms wrap around him as they swayed to the beat.
Billy stood at the edge of the frozen lake, taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling the smoke, looking over the snow-covered surroundings. He looked over his shoulder at the dark-dressed figure rummaging through his trunk, looking for the ice skates sheâd tossed back there. Itâd been hovering around 15 degrees for a couple of days beforehand. But it had warmed up a lot more, not enough to really melt the snow noticeably. She left the trunk open and got in the car, backing it more towards him so it wasnât so far from the ice. She returned, sitting on the edge of the open trunk, grabbing the skates and removing her pointed boots. He finished his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, snuffing it out with his boot before heading over to sit beside her.
âYou sure your brotherâs skates will fit me?â He asked.
âWhy, because heâs taller than you?â Willow replied, earning her an offended huff from her boyfriend. She gestured to the pair next to where he sat.
âBabe, come onâŚScotty isnât that much taller than me.â He insisted, kicking off his shoes. âAre you going to wear all that out onto the ice?â He asked, gesturing to the rings, layered necklaces, and stacked bracelets. âJust saying, if you eat shit while youâre out there, youâll probably lose a piece or two.â Willow laced up her skates, looking at her hands and wrists, considering his point.
âYouâll complain the metal is cold when I help you up after you eat shit.â She removed the ankh ring first, turning away to quietly ask for him to help remove her necklaces. He didnât need to pull her hair away, considering how teased up that batsâ nest was. His hands worked quickly to unclasp the necklaces as she removed her bracelets. When each of them were off, he smirked, realizing he was in the perfect position. He leaned down and kissed her neck, snaking one arm around her waist. He chuckled when she leaned back into him.
âWe could justâŚget back in the car, yâknow.â Billy joked, knowing that she probably wouldnât go for something like that.
âIâll meet you on the ice.â She pulled away, not actually upset.
âDamn, youâre a frigid bitch. Not much has changed, has it?â
âNot as frigid as your bedâs going to be tonight if you donât get out here.â She shot back, snickering. He gave an overly offended look, finishing with the laces and following her out, trying to keep his balance. His were hockey skates, stiffer than hers. She held her hand out to him, which he eagerly took--whether for closeness or balance was unclear. âEasiest way to stop is to angle one foot like a TâŚâ She made the motion, with him copying. âPerfect. Outside of that, itâs pretty much like roller skates.â Willow moved beside him, not letting go as they started forward. It took Billy a moment to get used to it, but he adapted pretty quickly, almost losing his balance a few times before being able to really move.
âSo, what, are you some kind of figure skater? Scottâs got hockey, whatâs your excuse?â
âI picked up a couple things. Iâm not really that good, just enough to get by without falling. It was just a hobby I had for a bit.â
âUh huh, right.â He raised an eyebrow, not fully believing her, but he dropped it in favor of enjoying the moment. The sun reached the noon height as they headed out from the edge just a bit before circling back. It was like he had a shadow with him when he was in the sunlight. âCome on, I know youâve got one of those fancy spins they do in the Olympics.â He let go, trusting himself to stand on his own.
âOh, I donâtâŚâ She blushed slightly, shaking her head. âFine, but only because I know youâll keep bugging me about it.â She half-joked, skating a bit to gain momentum before angling herself into a tight spin. He grinned, that smug look he got when he was proven right or she gave in. When she stopped, she gave a little curtsy. But the glaring sun, warmer day, and concentrated movement had weakened the ice beneath her, and it broke. It wasnât too deep, but it was shoulder height, enough to soak her clothes and scare them both. âFuck!â
âWillow!â He fell forward as he tried to catch her, but managed to not fall in, himself. He took her hand and helped pull her out. âI got you.â He assured her, helping her stand--even if he was a bit shaky, not fully knowing how to with the skates. He practically ripped his pair off the moment they got back on the land and, in his socks, guided her to the car. He draped his jacket over her shoulders as he got her into the camaro.
âBut Iâll get water on the seats--â
âThatâs what youâre worried about, right now?â He tossed the skates in the back seat and got in the car, turning up the heat as high as it would go, slamming the car out of park and heading back towards Willowâs as fast as the pedal-to-the-metal would take them. He took her freezing hands, rubbing the back with his thumb to try and warm her up just a bit. âHey, just so weâre clear: that didnât count as eating shit.â He joked, trying to ease her tension.
âGood. I was starting to spiral about it.â She returned the banter. It wasnât long before they got to her house. He brought her inside, and up the stairs. Sheâd begun to head for her room, but he gave her a look.
âWhere are you going?â
âTo get in bed?â
âNo. Fuck, no, not like that, youâre not.â He pulled her to the bathroom. âYouâre soaked--â He snickered at the phrasing. â--and freezing your ass off. No way Iâm letting you get into bed like that.â He turned the hot water on in the shower. âYouâre going to have to let me take care of you, sweetheart. Youâre stuck with me. Got it?â He kissed her cheek, loving the slight smile that formed on her lips.
âGot it.â Willow undressed, tossing the wet clothes in the sink to deal with later. There were so many layers, no wonder she was so cold, but the water was the right temperature--hot. He got in after her, holding her close to him. His touch helped ease the feeling, and she warmed up more than enough. They had to make it quick to not burn through the hot water so quickly, but the shower had been enough for them to detangle the batsâ nest, for both to get clean, and get warmed up. Returning to her room, she tossed him a couple of things he kept there to wear, getting dressed in a Cure shirt and black lounge pants. He put on a mixtape for them as she got into bed, under the covers, and moved over for him to join her. Billy pulled her against him, his arms settling.
âWarm enough?â
âGetting there.â She kissed him softly. âThank you, baby.â
âI still canât believe you thought Iâd worry about you getting water on the seats.â
âI wasnât thinking.â She tried to defend herself, but he was laughing.
âI love you.â He pulled her more snugly against him, adjusting the blanket.
âI love you, too.â She replied after a moment, almost comfortable enough to fall asleep on the spot, now that she was warm enough.
London had always been too chaotic, too loud, and too disconnected for Meredith to find peace within it. But that was nothing a strong cup of mugwort tea couldnât fix. The fire in her room was beginning to die out, leaving behind the smell of wood-smoke that she enjoyed. Removing the corset and changing out of her chemise and into her sleepwear, she practically fell into bed and got comfortable under the blankets, allowing the warmth to envelop her, lulling her into a comfortable sleep. The next time she opened her eyes, she was nearly blinded by the sunlight. She sat up, feeling something other than the soft grass of her typical scrapped-together-from-memory meadow. It was powdery snow, cool to the touch, but not cold. She stood looking around. The snow shimmered in the light, and evenly blanketed the area as far as the eye could see. It had been quite some time since she had seen snow that hadnât been tainted by the muck in the streets or by the smoke of the London sky, so it might have been brighter than it should have been. The snow was undisturbed, save for the stream that separated the banks, the large tree where the branches were covered in a thin layer of ice, and a set of footprints just at the edge of her vision. Outside of that, she knew by the shift in the air that she was not alone. But that didnât frighten her, it had been an open invitation to begin with. It always had been, for him.
âI hope youâre not here for the reason I suspectâŚJames.â She called gently. âYou neednât hide. I know your energy. I still recall, even after all this time.â She turned to see him standing parallel to her, shirtless, pants tied loosely at his hips. The tattoos were new to her. Decidedly tribal, they suited him.
âYou and I have not spoken for quite some time.â He responded, tilting his head slightly. âI didnât think it fair to approach you in such a way until weâd had a chance toâŚspeak.â
âYou and I have not seen each other for quite some time, either. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?â She bowed, more as a joke rather than to mock him.
âI did not have time at the funeral, so I am making time now.â His eyes glanced over her as she decided how to react. She didnât know if she was annoyed, upset, relieved, or what--but the happiness at seeing him again won out. She approached and hugged him.
âI was terrified you had died.â She admitted as she felt him hesitate. Meredith went to move away from him, but he pulled her in at the last moment, placing a kiss on her forehead. âNot a day went by that I didnât think of you, and wish for your safety. I burned so many candles for your protectionâŚâ
âI know. I felt it.â His expression was unreadable, but his voice wavered just the slightest. His hold on her tightened.
âWhy here, why now? Why after all this time?â She asked, looking up at him.
âI cannot tell you tonight. There is much work to be done.â He caressed her cheek. âThe feelings I have for you have not diminished, Meredith.â
âNor have the ones I hold for you. But ten yearsâŚdoesnât go away so easily.â He tilted her face up by the chin.
âIt clearly can, if I have owned your heart for so long. You do not pull away from me, you do not banish me from your realmâŚâ His lips brushed against hers. âYou left the door open for me. Ten years can be mended, if you only let me.â It wasnât much of a debate for her. She nodded.
âWe can begin again, mo ghrĂĄ.â He smiled.
âMy love.â He repeated. Her eyes fixed into his, her pulse quickening.
âYouâŚyou remembered.â
âIt is not something I would easily forget.â She responded only by pressing her lips to his in a soft, almost tentative kiss. A welcome return, a reunion ten years in the making; marked by a growing fervor, a desire to not break the connection, to hold one another closer.
And to make up for lost time, in any way possible.
It was the first night beyond the githyanki crèche in the Rosymorn Monastery. Most of the others were huddled around the fire, desperate for warmth. But not Yoltoordiiv, who stood at the edge of what was safe, allowing the chill to cool her scales. Though she wasnât alone for long. It was like Karlach had a sixth sense for when the fighter was a bit too deep in thought.
âCopper for your thoughts?â She asked, greeting her. The dragonborn looked back at her and smiled.
âIâm just thinking about the best way to navigate through thisâŚdark forest.â Despite the creeping darkness of the shadow-cursed lands, Karlach always lit up whatever conversation there was to be had. Yoltoordiiv had been spending plenty of time around the tiefling, and had grown to enjoy her company. Her jokes, her disposition. Everything. âI am not sure how we are supposed to find our way to Last Light Inn with these conditions. Iâm just hoping that these âdeeperâ parts of the curse donât overlap our path. We only know where, not the way.â
âWellâŚweâve come this far. There isnât that much of a difference between hordes of goblins and shadow curses, are there?â She joked. Yoltoordiiv smiled, the tone in her voice warming her like mead.
âTheyâll be felled all the same. Could do with a challenge.â The dragonborn yawned, a thin fog escaping her lips.
âYou alright? You look like youâre about to breathe fire.â
âIâm fine, Iâm just breathing.â She smiled. âYouâre doing it, too.â
âI am? Well, Iâm not exactly shocked, given this thing in my heart. But I guess I didnât notice.â Karlach exhaled slowly, watching the steam rise, laughing. âWe look like dragons!â Yoltoordiiv chuckled.
âShit, we do.â She exhaled, copying the tiefling. She let just the slightest bit of fire loose to joke around. She adored her laugh. She desperately wanted to hold her hand, but she was too hot, even for her own draconic fire resistance. She would find a way to fix Karlachâs engine
âI think Iâm going to head back to camp. Get myself more of Galeâs soup. Will you be out here long, or will you join me?â
âIâll be there, soon. But before you goâŚ?â She turned to her, looking into those orange eyes. She quickly kissed her cheek, lightly burning her scaled lips.
âWh--donât burn yourself! I rather like those lips, and I donât want you to lose them.â
âIt was worth it.â Yoltoordiiv grinned at Karlachâs blush. âIâll be right behind you.â
Rune rolled over onto his side, his hands searching to find the bed empty. His amber-gold eyes opened after a moment. Heâd hoped to wake up to his lover by his side, but he knew she got busy--Avengers shit, he never minded, just missed her. Sitting up and running his hands through his dark hair, pulling the blanket off of him in an effort to get up, the immediate cold hitting him. He snatched the sheet back over his lap, looking over the floor to find a pair of sweatpants. He dressed and headed down the hall as he heard the door unlock. He smiled, but noticed she was being secretive, keeping the contents of the bag out of sight.
âGood morning, my darling.â He greeted, taking her hand and kissing it. âHow fared theâŚâ He looked over the bag, trying to see what sheâd been doing. â...Walmart?â
âWalmart was good, found those chocolate oranges I told you about.â She took the box out of the bag. He tore it open, box and plastic within. âHit it on the table--gently.â She explained, remembering his Asgardian strength. He did as she asked, and she unwrapped it after, showing him the separated âslicesâ. He took one, trying it.
âThis is unlike anything from my realm. But I like this. Thank you, my love.â She took a slice for herself.
âDonât mention it.â She placed the unwrapped foil on the counter, returning to her bag to retrieve more supplies for their weekend in. Boxes of popcorn, packets of hot chocolate mix, those types of things. But there was one thing left in the bag. âI picked up something I thought we could do together.â She shrugged.
âAre you going to tell me, my love?â She stared at him, crossing her arms, like she was waiting for something. He smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips.
âFine. Here.â Natasha smiled, taking the box out and handing it to him. âI was hoping we could try this out. Iâve never done this before. ItâsâŚnot like my job can afford much, uh, downtime.â It was a gingerbread house kit. âItâs got most of the stuff in it, already, weâd just need to put it together and decorate it.â
âThatâs what you were so secretive about?â He teased gently. âI would be honored to spend the time with you, as I always am.â She smiled, taking the box to the kitchen island and taking things out. âHow are we meant to attach the walls?â He asked, looking over her shoulder. âForgive me, I am not familiar with many Midgardian candies. OrâŚany of this, really.â
âThe icing.â She gestured to the piping bags. âAnd thatâs alright. If we fuck it up, we can just eat it instead.â They set about planning the gingerbread house, getting the knives theyâd want to smear the icing, cutting the tips off the bags. âIâll hold it, you ice it.â She directed him, holding two walls together.
âI am not exactly a stonemason, my love.â He chuckled, despite the slight feeling of nervousness: he wanted to make it perfect for her.
âYou like woodworking. Youâll do fine.â He nodded at her encouragement, lightly squeezing the bag to thinly âglueâ the two sides together. It stuck together perfectly, and they managed to get the rest of the house together, and began piping the decorations onto the roof. Natasha added the sprinkles, and squished the gumdrops on top of the roof where the two pieces met, but pushed too hard and caved the roof, cracking one of the pieces. They looked at each other for a moment.
âWho needs to be gentle now, hm? I am glad you are not a thatcher.â He teased, taking a piece of the roof and taking a bite of it. âThis is incredibly sweetâŚâ Natasha wasnât paying attention to the question that followed, looking at the bit of frosting that was on his lip. She cut him off with a kiss. He placed his hand on her waist.
âIs it?â She asked when they parted. âI couldnât tell, but that mightâve been because youâre just as sweet.â She was doing this to fluster him on purpose, to get back at him for teasing her.
â...has anyone told you how truly wicked you are, my heart?â
Loki had been reading a book on the couch, curled up in front of the fireplace, enchanted to produce everything but the heat. Cassandra was in the kitchen, not allowing him in as she prepared a small basket with a bottle of wine. She wrapped up some bread, a bag of almonds, a few slices of jarlsberg cheese, a bundle of grapes, and a small bag of blackberries--all of it wrapped up inside the basket. She came out after a bit, standing behind the couchâs arm, setting the basket on the coffee table. She leaned in a bit, kissing the top of his head, her hand resting on his shoulder and gently massaging it. He looked up at her, leaning into her touch.
âAnd what are you planning inside that head of yours, my love?â He asked, setting the bookmark between the pages of the tome and reaching up to trace the back of her hand.
âJust a little evening out, thatâs all.â Cassandra answered, trying to remain cryptic. It was always a hassle to keep anything from him. Mostly because she was too excited to want to keep things from him, and partially because he knew how to read her like one of his books.
âYour plans for an evening out typically do not require you to bar me from the kitchen. Itâs quite the opposite, usually.â He paused for a moment. âAlthoughâŚI have been impressed by your dedication to your secrecy, as of late. Bringing us so far north beyond New AsgardâŚâ He was somewhat trying to seduce the answers out of her, kissing the palm of her hand, trailing up to her wrist..
âMaybe I wanted to do something a little different this time.â She grabbed his hand properly. âCome on, hon, letâs go.â She smiled. There wasnât much resistance from him as he got to his feet. He smiled at her eagerness to get to whatever it was that she had in mind. He grabbed a cloak and draped it over her shoulders, taking care to pin the brooch that held it together.
âYou seem to be in quite the rush, my sweet.â He teased lightly, pulling the red braid that had been caught in the cloak out.
âCan you blame me? Iâm just excited. I think tonightâs going to be something special.â He sighed melodramatically, grabbing his own coat as they ventured off into the star-illuminated forest. It was a good walk from the cabin, through the snow, to a small clearing overlooking a valley. She set the basket down, just a bit behind them, rather than in between. Loki sat beside Cassandra, leaning back slightly to look at the basket, reaching his hand beneath the lid to try and catch a glimpse, but she moved it out of the way. He gave her a mock-offended look before settling properly, looking up at the sky.
âDid you bring me out here to have a meal and star-gaze?â He asked with a chuckle. âHow utterly romantic of you.â Green wisps streaked across the sky, but went unnoticed for the moment. âA lady after my own heart.â He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. When she returned his affections, he slipped his hand into the basket anyway, grabbing the bottle of wine. The kiss parted, and he conjured up two goblets, pouring them, but he offered her the cup first. She couldnât find it in herself to be annoyed, no matter how lighthearted, and took what was offered. He grabbed his own, taking her free hand in his. By now, the green wisps had grown into full sweeps, painting the night sky in a vibrant shade of green, in pale blue waves that made it seem like an entire galaxy was suspended above them. His gaze softened with realization, with memories. He looked at her.
âWe were pretty far north, I figured we couldâŚwatch the northern lights and have a light meal together. Unless youâre just here to star gaze, I mean, we could justâŚgo back down south.â She smiled.
âI suppose I can compromise with this.â He took a small sip of his wine. âThis is quite close to what we used to do on Asgard, is it not, darling?â
âIt is. I know itâs not anywhere near as good, but I--â He turned to her, squeezing her hand.
âPlease, do not start comparing the two. I prefer this. Itâs moreâŚpersonal. I get to share this with you as a lover, rather than as a friend. That alone is worth more, to me.â He rested his forehead against hers, pressing a kiss to her cheek. âNow, I suggest we have our meal, watch the skies, and I willâŚrepay your romantic gestures upon our return home. With all the dedication I possess.â He murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
âThatâŚsounds like a good fucking plan.â She chuckled, trying to hide her blush by drinking her own wine.
Content is mainly fluff, does have deadpool-typical sex mention/suggestive content, but doesn't focus on it
Honestly? Having to work the week leading up to Christmas fucking sucked. All these entitled sickos thinking now was the perfect time to buy their inexperienced just-got-their-license crotch goblins a brand new car, and making it everyone else's' problem. It made it impossible to get anywhere and made his job a living nightmare. He thought Peter was joking when he said the holidays got slammed. But heâd thankfully gotten his wish, clocking out and biking towards home. Wade had partially zoned out, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the window of a thrift store and nearly crashed. On a mannequin was a white shirt that had a pine garland, decorated with small bulbs, sewn onto the sleeves. A large red bow hung over the chest. The mannequin was positioned with one arm over its head to show the fact that the sweater turned into a wreath.
âWhat the shitâŚ?â He decided to take the little detour, locking his bike and heading inside to look around. This place looked like a complete wreck, picked clean by people desperate for last-minute gifts. But the racks filled with the âugly sweatersâ seemed miraculously untouched. He looked through them, unsure if heâd find anything as insane as the one he saw in the window, but he knew the plot was compelling him to keep looking. Among the homemade and downright impossible to wear ones, he struck fucking gold. He gasped, pulling it off the hanger. It was a pink-and-blue Golden Girls sweater, with white snowflakes scattered around white dots. âNo fucking way. Youâre coming home with me.â He laughed, realizing there were dozens more to look through. Coming home with a sweater just felt right. It was the perfect weather, perfect timing, and he loved how often Maya wore sweaters. He knew it was the perfect Fluffcember gift. Wade pulled out his phone to call her, pinning it between his shoulder and his head so he could keep looking.
âMadame Ricochet's, where both guns are taken care of. Will you be wanting a load or a reload?â She answered, trying to make her voice sound sultry. Goddamn it, he loved her.
âBoth guns? Promise?â He asked, chuckling. âHi, baby.â
âHey! I didnât think your shift would be over, yet. Where are you?â
âIâm buying clothes. At the soup store, too. Anyway, what size are you?â
âMyâŚ? Sweetheart, you know my size.â
âIâm not asking for your bra size, sugarplum. Shirt size.â He moved the hangars, the screeching scrape of metal on metal making him cringe. âThen again, judging by how small your tits are and the way you wear oversized sweaters, youâre a medium, right?" The other end of the line was silent for a moment.
âSometimes the way you say shit weirds me out.â
âI canât help it, youâve just got small tits.â
âWade.â
âOkay, okay, Iâm sorry.â He was trying not to smile as he corrected himself. âI canât help it, youâre just in love with me.â She hung up on him. But he knew her well enough to know it was all in good fun. âYou better not screw me over with that one, author. Iâm choosing to trust you...â He kept searching. A majority of the sweaters were truly ugly, he didnât find the name an exaggeration. He saw one that was made out of bows, one that was covered in knitted candy cane, and all sorts of random shit. Until he saw the one. It was a green sweater with red, white, and blue bows on the sleeves, and a tinsel-like garland in the middle with poinsettias across the chest, ornaments hanging from the garland, and a gold trim at the bottom. It was loud, it was hard to wear, and it was the right size. It was like a sign from the contrived writing gods. He had to have it for Maya. He took it, along with his own sweater, and went to the cash register. With a bit of patience, and a lot of lazy writing, he got back to the apartment. Before he even knocked on the door, it opened. âYou know you freak me out when you do that shit, right?â He entered.
âWeâre even, then.â The brunette responded from the couch, flicking her wrist to shut the door. She was scrolling through her phone when he came in, but set it down when he was putting the bag on the coffee table in front of her. âHow was the soup store?â She asked, getting up to hug him. He beamed, wrapping his arms around her.
âPretty good. I found something for you, pookie.â He motioned for the bag.
âAw, you didnât have to.â She reached in, pulling out the pink-and-blue sweater, before it was quickly taken from her.
âFuck, sorry, thatâs mine. The other one is for you.â Maya nodded, pulling out the second sweater. She looked at him with a bit of confusion for a moment. âAh, ah--before you say anything, just know: someoneâs grandma fought her arthritis to make this, and the sad-sack ungrateful little shit that didnât understand the magic of Christmas threw it away. I donât know if I can forgive you if youâd do the same.â
âNo, no, itâs cute!â She chuckled, putting it on. âDonât make me be the only one. Come on.â He smiled back, putting his on. She hugged him tightly. âThank you, sweetheart.â
âIt looks good on you--so not fair.â He kissed her forehead, his other hand resting on her waist. âCould you wear only that the next time you ride me?â He mumbled, snickering. She gasped, acting scandalized for a moment.
At the end of an Elturian autumn, there was always a cold snap. It only ever lasted a few days until warming back up for a short while before the winter fully hit, but it always made the conditions for an afternoon of riding through the heartlands interesting. Halfway through their ride, a heavy rain had begun to fall, soaking through their cloaks and making the end of the ride a race to get home. Of course, despite the biting cold that had finally gotten to them, the priority were the horses: removing the tack, picking the mud and smaller rocks out of the hooves, and brushing out the coats. It was warm enough in the stables that they wouldnât have to worry too much. Zevlor wrapped his arm around Aveline and quickly guided her inside. She removed her boots and cloak, hanging them by the hearth as he set about starting the fire. She traced over his shoulder as he worked, untying his cloak to hang it. He looked over his shoulder and smiled, murmuring a thanks. Despite the house beginning to warm up, he was not satisfied on her behalf, watching her sit and try to warm herself in front of the fire. The tiefling left the room and drew the water they had stored for a bath, casting Produce Flame. He first used it to light candles to place around the bath to set a certain ambiance, to get a particular type of warm lighting that he had been envisioning for their moment, and then to heat the water. He looked around on the shelves, glancing through the bath oils, and felt the patchouli one was the more fitting of selection. He poured it in, and stretched his hand over it to feel the warmth rising off the surface. After a moment, she appeared behind him, both curious and missing his presence.
âWhat are you doing, my love?â She asked. He stood, taking her hand.
âThe fire didnât seem like it was much help, so I drew you a bath.â He chuckled, tracing her knuckle with his thumb. âAlthoughâŚâ He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it with a smile. â...Iâd hoped to join you.â
âHow could I leave you to freeze when youâve done so much to spoil me?â She kissed his jaw in return, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of his golden-brown hair back behind his horns. âDo you truly think I am so cruel?â
âNever. I know you would not treat me that way.â He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. She traced up from his side to the laces on his shirt, pulling them undone. He shrugged out of the shirt, shuddering slightly at the cold air. He did the same with her, undressing each other; every inch of newly freed skin met with a reverent caress. Zevlor couldnât stop staring at her form. She pulled away for a moment to tie her red hair up, looking back to find his soft gaze settled on her.
âYou stare as if you havenât seen it a thousand times before.â She murmured, a little embarrassed.
âCan you blame me? You are my wife. Iâll see it thousands upon thousands times more before I even begin to tire of it.â He responded, kissing her forehead. Aveline melted into the affection as he guided her to the bath, getting in first to lean back against the wood. She got in after, sitting in front of him, between his legs. She leaned back as the warmth from both her husband and the water began to make her comfortable, to chase away the chill that had stuck to her skin. âIs it hot enough for you?â He asked, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, one arm wrapping around her waist.
âYes, my heart. Iâm perfectly comfortable. The patchouli was a nice touch.â She tilted her head back onto him, looking up. âAre you?â
âI could do with you being a little closer.â He pulled her in a bit more, keeping her back pressed against his chest. She reached over to the side, running her fingers along his leg, just wherever she could reach. He did the same over her hips, taking care not to scratch her. He kissed the top of her head, adoring the way the smell of wood smoke clung to it. âAnd now Iâm completely content, my love.â
Sierra had stopped by the bodega on her way back to Peterâs apartment. Standing there in her costume from her patrol as Blackout, she looked at the wall of cold medicine, looking for something specific. A frigid dark mist radiated off of her cloak, dissipating when it hit the floor. She grabbed the bottle of Nyquil, approaching the counter. The hood and mask obscured her face, but the man ringing her up didnât seem bothered. Like it was none of his business, or people in New York were just fucking weird. She paid, left, ducked into an alleyway, and let the costume dissipate. She headed over; up the stairs, into the apartment. She lingered to greet May before heading into the war-zone that was Peterâs room. His aunt had made soup, and she got a bowl to bring to him. Sierra quietly entered. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, and the room was pitch dark in the middle of the day, save for the blue-tinged golden glow of the TV screen he had left on. Heâd paused the game, left it on the Pip-boy screen. He was laying under two blankets, the box of tissues laying within reach, and a damp cloth over his eyes.
âHey, baby, Iâm back.â She greeted softly, setting the bowl on the bedside table. Peter groaned, reaching up to remove the cloth, a small smile breaking through the haze at the sight of his girlfriend. âHow are you feeling?â She already knew, but still felt like it was the right thing to ask.
âHey.â His voice was a bit scratchy. âIâmâŚfine.â
âIâm sorry I took so long. The patrols wereâŚinterestingâŚwithout you there.â She helped him sit up, tossing a second pillow behind him. âHow are you, really? Don't give me that 'I'm fine' bullshit. I know you're not, but I want to know so I can help you.â
âI feel like Iâm dying.â He mumbled, taking her hand and pulling it to his forehead. He definitely had a fever.
âYouâre not dying. Men just have weaker immune systems.â Peter sat up just a bit, giving her a pointed look, annoyed. She stared back, unbothered. The moment of prolonged eye contact was quiet, almost tense, but the tension quickly dissipated as quickly as it came, with her holding up the bottle of Nyquil she bought for him. âYou wanna do drugs?â He couldnât keep his annoyance up for long. He took the bottle and started chugging it. Sierra sat beside him, tracing over his leg with her hand.
âThank you.â He cleared his throat, relaxing slightly.
âItâll kick in, soon.â She assured him, getting up and crawling into the bed beside him, laying her head on his shoulder. âIâm sorry I got you sick.â She murmured, squeezing his hand.
âIâm sorry Iâve got a weak immune system, apparently.â Peter joked, shrugging. âI know you didnât want to go on the patrols alone, but thanks for taking over for me, baby. Did you catch anyone?â
âJust a couple thefts, nothing too crazy.â He wrapped his arm around her waist. âWhat have you been up to?â
âFallout. I just started Old World Blues. I have no clue whatâs going on, and I probably wonât remember playing it tomorrow.â She chuckled.
âDid you at least save before you started it?â He nodded, starting to fall back asleep. âThen you can just go back. You lobotomite.â She teased, brushing the hair out of his face. âOh, by the way, your aunt made you some soup. I brought it for you.â He sat up, pulling away from her.
âWhy didnât you start with that?â Peter smiled slightly, grabbing the bowl off the nightstand, finding it having cooled off enough to be edible.
âOh, excuse me, I wanted to get you some meds before anything. You want me to play a little bit of Fallout so you have something to watch, or do you want me to find a YouTube video?â She offered.
âFuck yeah, soup and content from my favorite streamer.â He settled in beside her, watching her pick up the controller and play until he finished the soup, felt the Nyquil kick in, and fell asleep leaning against her. She didnât play Fallout after he fell asleep, but muted the TV and switched over to playing her own save of Skyrim, not moving an inch otherwise.
After a long day of trudging through the desert, the blistering Sonoran sun finally descended towards the horizon, the desert beginning to cool off--though it wouldnât be long before it fell to freezing, or at least what felt like it. There werenât any proper nearby ruins to camp in, so anything theyâd do would be a little risky. But there were a few bits of debris sticking out of the sand beside where they walked. Deciding for both of them that theyâd make camp in that exact spot, Cooper stopped walking, slinging his pack off his shoulder and onto the dry ground. Danica looked over her shoulder, not having realized heâd stopped. Giving him a mildly annoyed look, she walked the short distance back to him.
âYou couldâve said we were stopping.â She reminded him, setting her bag down and crouching to rummage through it. He only grunted in reply, dragging the heel of his boot across the ground to mark where he wanted the fire. He examined the debris, somewhat pleased it was wood, even more so that it wasnât pine. Itâd do for tonight. He wrenched what seemed to be table legs out, breaking them into smaller pieces and setting them on the marker. Danica pulled her knife, cutting dry brush to make kindling. He tossed her his lighter, and she made the fire. He sat down with a quiet groan, eager to get off his feet. Danica retrieved a flask from her bag, offering it to Cooper, who took it with a nod.
âYou got ânymore of them prickly pears?â He asked.
âYeah, if you donât want to save âem for later.â She tossed the woven bag to him. âCanât remember the last time my bagâs been this full.â She muttered. They had found a relatively stocked Super-Duper-Mart that day, but it wasnât safe to stay there. The shelves had things sheâd never seen before, but it felt like theyâd been watched the entire time they were in there. She started taking things out and placing them between the two. Her box of various Mojave forage, the couple of boxes they picked up on the way to where they were now. They each added a few things out of some twisted nostalgia, like the Cheezy Poofs, or the Sugar Bombs. But Danica had picked up something sheâd never seen before: a bag with small white cylinders inside. Cooper looked over to her, curious.
âWhatâs all that?â
âI dunno. I found them in the store.â She held them up. âThink theyâre still good? I mean, theyâre sealed.â He looked at them before chuckling.
âThose? They wonât rot, but I dunno if theyâre good.â
âWhat are they?â
âCamp Shmallows. The fuckers who made Sugar Bombs sold âem.â He cringed at the brand name. âTheyâre marshmallows. Used to put âem in hot chocolate.â He clenched his jaw at the thought, a bitterness that he tried to bite back.
âWhereâd the âcampâ come from?â Danica asked, opening the bag and taking one out. She marveled at the slight give to them, the squish.
âFolks used to roast âem over fires when they went out campinâ.â
âWhat, like when people lived in houses and lived like us sometimes for fun?â She asked, a glare crossing her features, but it wasnât towards him. Never was.
âYeah.â He sneered, understanding her reaction. âCâmere.â He motioned for her, mostly to hand over the bag. He took his knife out and cut a thin stick in half, burning the ends of them to clean them. She moved over to his side, handing him the bag. He took two marshmallows out, spearing them on the sticks, handing one to her. He motioned for her to copy him, holding the marshmallow above the fire. She tentatively followed suit. âI doubt theyâd be fit to eat if we didnât do this, considerinâ how old they are, yâknow?â It was a half-joke, stated flatly. But Danica chuckled. Cooper could never tell if she found him funny, or was justâŚhumoring him. He wasnât sure if he cared, either way. The marshmallows crisped up into that elusive golden brown, and he removed the stick from the heat. He pulled the coating off, eating it. She did the same, her eyes widening slightly.
âThisâŚis really good. A bit too sweet, but good.â She put the stick back over the fire to toast the next layer. She was used to fruit being the âsweetestâ sheâd have, but this was a lot. âYou want me to go back to looking for a radio station?â Danica asked with a smile, pulling the radio she had attached to a leather strap from over her shoulder. He groaned, clenching his jaw.
âIf you turn that fuckinâ thing back on and I hear that goddamn fiddle, or any fuckinâ static, Iâll break it.â
âFine, fine. Fuckinâ fine. Be that way.â She chuckled with a shrug, focusing back on the fire. He relaxed after a moment and looked over to her, seeing how the firelight danced across her skin, over her red hair--but quickly looked away, focusing on his own marshmallow stick. She glanced over to him, and smiled slightly. There werenât many moments of contentment they were able to claim for themselves, but roasting these sugar cylinders over their fire felt something resembling it. They could get used to this--not that they could afford to.
Taken from the fluff prompt "bedsharing". I have a feeling I'm not actually going to get to write any of this into a fic and I kinda want to test the waters a bit so have a thing <3
Content: Fluff, cuddling, time accurate music references, Billy being annoyed at the radio, one (1) sex joke, sleepy people
Word Count: 1,333
After getting off the phone with an unsurprisingly busy Melody, Willow realized that she would be having a quiet night alone. That was just fine with her. After cleaning off her makeup, removing her jewelry, and getting changed into something comfortable, Willow decided that she had put off reading the next chapter of The Two Towers for too long. Drawing the curtains shut, she lit some candles and put some music on, adjusting the volume; unsure if she wanted it quiet for background noise or loud enough to be the vibe she wanted. Willow settled on it being comfortably loud, as it would end up fading to the background, anyway. She pulled a blanket around herself and grabbed the book from the bedside table. The moment she opened it, she got lost in the descriptions of Middle Earth--which she had accidentally abandoned for a week or two--all over again. The music, as predicted, faded into the background as she became almost fully absorbed.
Though she was oblivious to the passage of time, her boyfriend wasn't. He wanted to get out of the house, but nothing seemed interesting enough to keep his attention. It was just his luck that he left all the cassettes in his room--and there was nothing good on the radio. He couldn't stand the sound of that one song that the stations seemed to have such a love affair with. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go by Wham! played on every station. It had to be some sort of fucking conspiracy. He chose one that sounded like the song was almost over, so he hoped. A moment of relief, a moment of not having to hear that grating and upbeat bullshit. It was over, and he sighed to himself. But too soon. Like A Virgin by Madonna started playing, and he'd had enough. A bit frustrated, he smacked the dial to turn off the radio. He should've done it earlier, but he hated driving without music. He would've preferred--what was the name of that band she showed him?--Xmal Deutschland with Willow. Even if he couldn't understand the German lyrics, his girlfriend enjoyed the music--he had to admit, it had a beat, and the way that she danced to it was enough. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, lightly pulling at his hair to fix it, trying to figure out what he should do. He realized he could just drop by Willow's. Yeah, she could use the company. He slammed on the brakes, turning to the other side of the road and speeding off.
He got to the house and knocked on the door, quickly stopping. He saw that there weren't any lights on downstairs, but the dim lighting from the second-story window told him the house wasn't empty. He climbed up and moved onto the small overhang. He tapped on the glass, assuming she'd be able to hear it over the music. He gave a somewhat annoyed sigh, tapping the window again. The first time she noticed was when there was a quiet moment in between the tracks. She thought she was hearing things at first until there was a second, much sharper tap. Placing the Queen of Spades between the pages and placing the book on the corner of the table, she got up, pulling the curtains back.
"Billy?" She hesitated, caught off-guard. "Oh, shit--" She quickly opened the window, moving the boots out of his way for a bit of room. "Hey, I'm so sorry." She offered her hand to him. "I didn't know you'd stop by tonight."
"I've been out here for five minutes. What the fuck?"
"Loud music. Couldn't hear you. And I was distracted...I wasn't exactly staring at the window, y'know." She chuckled, a bit embarrassed. Billy lightly batted her hand away, opting to less than gracefully clamber in on his own. Not that he couldn't climb, but trademark tight jeans didn't allow for the best range of motion, and he half-tripped on the windowsill, slipping. Willow caught him, trying not to laugh.
"Shut up." He saltily mumbled.
"I offered a hand." She pointed out as he shut the window behind him. After shaking off the embarrassment--not that he would admit he was; he rolled his eyes and reached behind her, leaning close. She could smell his borderline intoxicating cologne as he shut the curtain behind her. He let go, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, and lightly brushing the hair out of her face. She stretched beneath his touch, blushing faintly. "You're not mad at me or anything, are you?" She asked, trying to deflect.
"No." He replied, leaning in and kissing her. Willow, caught off-guard, blushed and kissed back. He pulled away after a moment, now with that familiar smirk. âYouâre adorable, yâknow that?â
âYou're just saying that so I don't feel self-conscious about not having my makeup on.â She looked away. His smirk drifted into a small smile, his eyes glancing over her again
âYeah, sweetheart, but not because of the makeup." Billy took off his jacket and tossed it onto one of the chairs. "It's because I know what Iâm saying is a fact.â She rolled her eyes, shaking her head--he chuckled at her reaction. She pulled the blanket off the bed so he could sit.
âSo why are you here?" Willow deflected, changing the subject. "I thought you were going out on your own.â
âDo I have to have a reason?â
âI was just curious, babe. No need to get so defensive.â She tilted her head somewhat. Billy sighed, laying back, taking the opportunity to kick off his boots and make himself comfortable.
âIf you have to know, I got bored. And I wanted to see you. Is that so fucking bad?â He asked, looking up at her.
âWell, youâre in here, arenât you?â
âYeah, yeah. Donât make me regret it.â He gave one of those half-smiles.
âAs if I would ever do that.â Willow shifted slightly, sitting beside him and kissing his cheek. Smiling to himself, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Why the hell didn't he do this earlier? His hand rested on her waist, just at the edge of her hip. She hoped it wasn't too obvious that she felt flustered, still new to the whole 'relationships and affection' thing. But this was so comfortable for them both. He stretched, subtly pulling her closer.
"Do you mind if I crash here tonight?" He half-whispered, almost as if actively trying not to fall asleep. Not that he'd admit it, but he couldn't help it. The warm lights and the atmosphere just made it too comfortable.
"If you let me up so I can blow the candles out and turn the music down, yeah."
"I have a better idea. You could turn up the music and blow me instead." He yawned before starting to laugh.
"Babe, we can't fall asleep with the candles still lit." She had a soft expression, starting to get up. He pulled her back, not wanting to let go. "Sweetheart, I'll be like three seconds." Billy gave a heavy sigh and let go.
âGod, youâre so fucking demanding.â
âAnd yet you still put up with me.â She put out the candles, lowered the volume, and grabbed the blanket that had been carelessly piled onto the corner of the bed.
âWhat, am I not enough to keep you warm?â He asked as she got back beside him.
âMaybe I want you to be comfortable. Ever consider that?â She rolled her eyes with a chuckle, draping the blanket over them both; wrapping her arm around him. Billy brushed the hair out of her face, kissing her again. She kissed back, relaxing at his touch. He broke the kiss, laying back somewhat--he didnât want to crowd her.
âTry not to keep me awake.â He mumbled--sort of glad she couldnât see the smile on his lips at that moment.
