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tj-dragonblade · 4 months

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[FIC] I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 6949 Tags: fluff, sap, most of this only warrants a G-rating honest, the M is for mild and largely glossed-over spice toward the end, esablished relationship, winter, cold weather, christmas market, ice skating, sleigh ride, cozy cabin getaway, mulled wine, hot chocolate, a couple of things from last Fluffbruary worked their way in here oops, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, mild and inexplicit temperature play

Notes: Written for the magnificently talented and absolutely lovely @rooftopwreck as part of the Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange. Surprise, Vi! I hope you like it! You're such a warm and friendly person, a delight to know and talk to and you can always manage to make me laugh. I'm so glad I got the opportunity to write you a fic! Working with your prompts warmth, hot chocolate, and hearth (which I didn't quite get to but there is a fireplace)

Summary: It's winter in London and Hob is interested in sharing various cold-weather human experiences with his distinctly-not-human boyfriend

On AO3

"That's cheating, you know."

Dream turns to peer at Hob beside him as they walk down the street. "'Cheating'?"

Hob gestures broadly at Dream. "You," he says with a warm smile. "Your whole outside-the-bounds-of-humanity thing, just wandering around like the cold doesn't bother you."

Dream turns his gaze forward again. "It does not."

"But you could let it if you wanted to, right?"

"Is there a reason I should want to, Hob Gadling?"

"Well. I mean. You'll stand out less if you're dressed for the weather—"

"I can alter my clothing to blend in if it will assuage your concerns," Dream interrupts. He is uncertain of Hob's purpose in this line of conversation, or what any of this has to do with him accompanying Hob to buy groceries.

"Still missing the point, duck."

"Please. Enlighten me."

Hob blows out a breath, which clouds prettily around his face in the grey winter daylight. "There's a lot of really fun cold weather things we can do, human experiences that I, a humble human, would like to share with my more-than-human boyfriend. Things that just aren't quite the same if you're immune to the cold." He grins at Dream. "And then some other things that are purely selfish—how can I chivalrously offer you my scarf to stay warm if you don't get cold, for instance?"

Dream gives a put-upon sigh. "The weather is so frightfully cold," he intones, little better than deadpan. "If only some kind individual were to offer me his scarf, that I might warm myself."

"See I know you're just faking," Hob laughs, but all the same he unwinds the scarf from about his own neck, stopping to face Dream and drape it about him gently before continuing, shoulders hunching into his own coat. "It's not just about appearances, though. Isn't your sister always telling you to take more interest in humans and the 'human experience'? Isn't that how we met?"

"It is." Dream has buried his nose in the loop of scarf about his neck; it is pleasantly warm with Hob's body heat, whether or not Dream truly feels the cold as Hob does, and it smells enticingly of Hob as well.

Perhaps there is. Merit, to Hob's suggestion.

"Well, then…let me help you have some human experiences?" Hob is looking at him hopefully. "It'll be fun."

"I am quite pleased by the 'human experiences' you share with me already, Hob." Dream lets his mouth curl smugly above the scarf, tilts his head to glance at Hob through his lashes.

"Additional experiences. Cold weather experiences, outside the bedroom." Hob shakes his head, mock dismayed, betrayed by the smile in his eyes that's fighting its way down to his lips. "Can't believe you're making sex jokes outside Sainsbury's. What even is my life."

"I will. Consider your suggestion," Dream allows, as they enter the store, and no more is said on the subject that day.

~~~ When next Dream visits Hob in the waking world, he manifests his form in much greater human detail than usual. He pays special attention to making certain he has the appropriate body temperature and all of the internal intricacies to regulate it; he releases a breath, and it clouds the air before him.

He shivers.

His usual attire is indeed insufficient in this weather. He will trust that Hob can provide him something warmer.

Just as soon as Hob returns home.

Dream could let himself into Hob's flat, or wait for him inside the New Inn even; he chooses instead to wait outside, in the cold, that he might have the full effect of whatever it is Hob wishes him to glean from the experiment.

It is only a short time later that Hob returns, and his eyebrows shoot up beneath the cuff of the hat he wears to see Dream shivering outside the door at the back of the Inn. "Dream? What are you doing out here, you look like you're freezing!"

"Observant," Dream grits out, teeth clenched to still their chattering, arms tucked tight around himself. His mood has soured considerably in the interim.

"You choose the most peculiar times to take my suggestions to heart." Hob moves close, unlocking the door. "Did you miss the part where I mentioned wanting to share things with you?"

"Hence why I am here, waiting for you."

"Bloody obstinate git, you are," Hob chides fondly, opening the door and ushering Dream inside. The warm air is a relief, and Dream unclenches slightly.

"This is. A miserable experience so far," he says, uncharitably perhaps, but 'the experience' was Hob's selling point and Dream has yet to see what so enamours him of the cold.

"Ah, well, being cold is generally miserable, yes. Which is why you bundle up to enjoy the weather, and why you don't stand about waiting outside without a proper winter jacket when there's a nice heated pub right there, you numpty. Or just let yourself into my flat next time, honestly. Come on up, I'll get you sorted before we head out."

Dream is displeased by the thought of going back out, into the cold, but he is. Trying. Very hard, to be adaptable, to flow with change, to be open to whatever joy Hob thinks he might be shown. He recalls the way Hob's eyes had sparkled when he spoke of taking Dream round to the Christmas market, he recalls the dreams he has touched of such things over the centuries and he finds that he is able to muster a modicum of curiosity to see firsthand how they have evolved in the current era.

Most importantly, he does not wish to disappoint Hob.

It is much easier to brave the cold once Hob has bundled him into a jumper that is only marginally oversized (Hob is slighter than he tends to appear) and a scarf that is softer than the dreams children spin of summer clouds, and thrice as warm. Both smell faintly of Hob, which is delightful, and does a fine job of lifting his mood again.

"Hat, or earmuffs?" Hob holds out both options; after a moment's consideration, Dream chooses the earmuffs. A thick quilted overcoat ('puffer jacket', the collective subconscious supplies) and a fashionably slim pair of warmly-lined gloves finish off the ensemble, and Dream is nearly too warm thus arrayed.

It occurs to him as they leave Hob's flat that everything Hob has dressed him in is black, in keeping with his own preferences, and the realization sparks a different, softer sort of warmth in his chest.

~~~ The Christmas market is a lively, bustling affair, bright with voices and possibilities and fairy lights twinkling in the late afternoon dusk, robust with soft snatches of daydreams that twine and brush against him the way a cat might wind itself about one's ankles. There are children dashing about, parents tugged along behind them, flitting from one booth to the next in a flurry of contagious excitement; young couples and old, solitary visitors enjoying the time alone, groups of friends laughing together and Dream finds himself smiling at the wisps of half-formed fancy that reach him in the wake of everyone who passes by. It is easy to understand, immersed in this festive atmosphere, why so many humans have such love for the holidays.

"We're gift shopping for my staff at the Inn," Hob says, "and a few friends at work too. I like just wandering around to see what I can find—easy to make it personal that way." He gives Dream a wink, rakish and cocksure with the smallest edge of uncertainty hiding beneath it. "I know you're ruler of your own realm, unfathomably More Than Human etcetera etcetera, but if you see anything here that strikes your fancy? Just say so." He tugs lightly on his ear where it peeks from beneath his knit hat, glancing up and away for half an instant. "I'd be happy to buy you anything you like."

"A kind and gallant offer, Hob Gadling." Dream lets his smile curl into a smirk, leaning into coquettish charm to cover how genuinely pleased he is by Hob's generosity of spirit. "You would woo me with gifts, with tokens of admiration, when my affections have already been won?"

"Got to keep the romance alive, haven't I?" Hob shrugs, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, mouth curved in a smile that is brilliant in its sincerity. "I'd woo you a thousand times over if you wanted. Eager to please, always seeking for more, you know me."

"Intimately," Dream purrs, leaning in for a kiss. It's soft and short and chaste, as not to scandalize the other shoppers; Dream's lips and nose are mildly chilled, as are Hob's, but his heart is very warm when Hob returns for another peck before they part completely.

They browse the stalls at leisure, Hob selecting gifts carefully for each of his recipients, Dream rifling through what he knows of their dreams to help Hob choose when he has difficulty deciding. The tote bag Hob brought along slowly fills with packages and Dream has no trouble admitting that he is enjoying their evening, despite the cold.

There is a brooch that catches Dream's eye, a pair of poppies masterfully worked in silver and transparent red enamel, set with tiny black and white 'gems' for the center of each. It is a far cry from the sort of jewelry one might expect of his station, but Dream can feel the care, the dreams, the love of the craft that have gone into the creation of the piece, and it is striking. Hob buys it for him, gifts it to him, fixes it to the folds of the wonderfully soft scarf about his neck, and Hob's regard and affection, his care, seep into the brooch as well.

"Suits you," Hob says, dimpling sweetly, warmth simmering in his eyes, and Dream smiles back with equal affection. Certainly he might have simply manifested himself something similar, grander; the value of this piece, however, lies not in jeweled splendor but in the intent that went into its gifting.

~~~ "I am enjoying our time together," Dream says, while the mulled wine vendor is filling their commemorative Christmas Market mugs and adding clove-spiced orange slices for garnish.

Hob smiles, brilliant, beautiful. "I'm glad." He reaches to flick a light touch to Dream's earmuffs. "Staying cozy?"

Dream considers. Next time he will take the hat, he decides; his ears are warm but he has seen now where he would benefit from full coverage of his head. And perhaps thicker trousers as well; his jeans do not hold heat in any substantial fashion. The cold is not so bothersome to his legs as it is to his core and his extremities, but something warmer would not go amiss.

"The cold is far more tolerable when dressed properly," Dream admits, "for which. I thank you. However—" He pauses while Hob collects the prepared drinks, then continues. "I fail to see how letting myself feel the cold enhances the experience. I would be just as pleased with our evening had I not undertaken your suggestion."

"That's fair," Hob allows, contemplatively. "Thing is—" he offers a steaming mug to Dream "—if you weren't bothered by the cold, you wouldn't appreciate this half as much."

Dream accepts, cradling the mug in his gloved hands, letting the steam rise into his face. The warmth is pleasant but the aroma is utterly intoxicating, heady and fruity and laced with an assortment of spices that bloom behind his palette as he breathes it in. He can feel how his pleasure lights his face, and Hob's chuckle confirms it a second later.

"Try it, I promise it's everything you're hoping for there. Mind, it's hot—"

Dream raises the cup to his lips, heeding Hob's warning; he blows gently across the surface and sips carefully.

He makes a sound that is very nearly indecent, eyes fluttering shut for half an instant despite himself. The flavor is exquisite, bright notes of citrus and cloves and cardamom bursting on his tongue, but the warmth—it suffuses his mouth, flows down his throat with the wine, spreads softly throughout his body. He sips again, a careful slurping mouthful, and the soft heat chases through him delightfully.

"Exquisite," he murmurs, both hands wrapped around the cup, entranced with the steam rising softly into his face.

"See?" Hob's grin is bright and wide, eyes sparkling like the fairy lights around them, and Dream cannot even begrudge him the thrill of triumph that radiates from him. "Sometimes feeling the cold is worth it."

"Perhaps," Dream allows, and sips the wonderfully warm wine again.

~~~ Hob takes him ice skating on his next visit; this time, he manifests inside Hob's flat with warm cable-knit leggings, black with hints of silver threaded through, and a slim knee-length skirt that is quilted and layered for warmth. The poppy brooch Hob gifted him at the Christmas Market is tucked into his hand and his usual grey t-shirt is all he wears above.

Hob raises an eyebrow at him. "Got it half-right, at least?"

"I would. Borrow, from your wardrobe, if I may," he explains somewhat hesitantly. "I enjoyed wearing your clothing, smelling you upon me the entire evening. It is. An experience I would like to repeat."

The slow delight that brightens Hob's face as he says it is entirely worth the squirming discomfort of speaking the admission aloud.

"Okay then. You're in luck." Hob beams at him, all but heart-eyed, and goes to rummage through his wardrobe. "Same black jumper as last time, here's the scarf, had them both on for a bit yesterday, aaaannd—earmuffs?"

"Is the hat still on offer?"

"'Course it is. Here." Hob tosses him the hat instead, a black and silver cable-knit thing with a wide cuff and a large and fluffy pom pom on top.

Dream is pleased to have recalled its appearance accurately when manifesting his leggings; they are a perfect match.

He delights in the soft lingering scent of Hob as he pulls on the jumper, as Hob winds the scarf about his neck and pulls the hat snugly down to cover his ears. Dream hands Hob his brooch to pin to the scarf (the delight in Hob's eyes to see it makes Dream doubly-glad he had brought it), and then Hob curls those warm and wonderful fingers lightly around the back of his warmly-wrapped neck and leans in to kiss him, short and soft.

"You look adorable," Hob breathes, and while that is not a word nor an image he cultivates of himself in most circumstances…this is Hob. And Dream does not mind.

"Puffer jacket's in the entry hall," Hob says then, dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Let's get you bundled up and head over to the pond."

~~~ "Have you skated before?" Hob asks, while they are lacing on their rented skates at the chalet.

"I am the king of all dreams and nightmares, prince of stories; I am the entirety of the collective human subconscious. All skills are within my grasp."

"So that's a no, then." Hob grins at him brightly. "That's alright, I'll teach you."

"I do not require instruction."

"Does his majesty know how to skate after all, then?"

Dream opens his mouth for a haughty retort to Hob's impertinence and pauses; certainly the necessary skill is available to him with minimal effort, but the idea that Hob would like to teach him is…appealing. "Perhaps," he hedges, with just enough of a pout to imply that he truly means 'no', and Hob smiles, warm and brilliant.

"Then let me help you out, duck. I promise I'm a very good teacher."

"I did not say that I do not know how," he protests, for appearances, while something in him swoons at the idea of having all the skill that Hob has honed in his chosen profession focused solely on himself.

Hob chuckles brightly. "'Course not. Still. Humor me? Let me feel useful."

"Very well," Dream concedes, concealing his delight, and allows Hob to lead him out onto the ice.

Hob is indeed a good teacher, and Dream basks happily in the casual intimacy of his unnecessary instruction, the focused warmth of his attention. Gliding over the frozen pond with Hob's guiding touch at the small of his back and Hob's other hand clasping his—he feels carefree, lighthearted, happy, and can easily understand why countless stories of young romance have featured this same activity.

Hob leads him about for a good while, offering guidance as he feels appropriate, but even when he deems that Dream has mastered the requisite balance and coordination, Dream is not at all inclined to sally forth on his own. Skating with Hob is the entirety of the appeal, after all; hand in gloved hand they glide and twirl about together, faces rosy with the cold, until the weak afternoon sun slowly relinquishes its place on the horizon to the encroaching evening.

~~~ "Here. Have some hot chocolate; it'll warm you up and the sugar will boost your energy," Hob says, as Dream is tying his boots back on. Hob had taken their rented skates to the return counter and come back with two takeaway cups, one of which he is offering to Dream.

"I do not require sustenance."

Hob rolls his eyes fondly. "Yes yes, I know, but you liked the mulled wine well enough last time, didn't you?"

"Wine is drunk for pleasure, not for sustenance."

"Same with hot chocolate. Well. It's sustenance for the soul, maybe, but not for the body." He presents the insulated cup again, waggling it slightly. "C'mon. Stop being contrary and take it. It's a vital part of the experience."

Dream is being contrary, simply for the pleasure of the way Hob pushes back. He is accustomed to the deference he receives from others as is due his station, but he very much appreciates that Hob treats him no differently having learned who he is. He is both friend and lover first when he is with Hob, and he delights in the many small ways that he can prove to himself over and over again that Hob values him over his function.

But the chocolate does smell enticing, and the memory of how a hot drink warmed his body last time is compelling; he accepts the cup with no further argument.

"It's the common dry-mix stuff, not real hot chocolate, but it's got its charm. 'Specially on the go like this," Hob offers as Dream takes a sip, and he is correct. Dream had tasted what Hob had ordered for them in the back room of the White Horse in 1789; he has encountered enough dreams to know that this is a pale version of the concoction but all the same, it is pleasant enough in its own right. It is a component of the experience he has shared with Hob and is enriched by that association; Hob was correct in this as well.

The warmth suffusing throughout him is as delightful as he recalls.

~~~ "I am. Enjoying, these cold-weather human experiences, with you," he admits as they stroll toward home. He had quietly taken Hob's hand as they left the pond and Hob has made no effort to reclaim it, carrying his drink in the other and sipping from it occasionally. Dream is doing the same, and his admission comes forth with suprising ease.

Hob grins. "It's the pleasure of my sparkling company. I enhance every experience."

"Perhaps," Dream allows with a smile, and Hob's gleeful expression softens.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, love. Thanks for trusting me."

The words warm Dream as deeply as his next sip of chocolate. You are worthy of my trust, Hob Gadling, he thinks, but what he says is, "Of course."

"I've got a great idea for our next date," Hob says then, beaming brightly again. "I'm very excited about it, but I need to make sure—" He squeezes Dream's hand gently. "Would I be able to keep you two days? I mean, I know you don't sleep and you'd probably want to check in on your realm while I'm sleeping instead of just watching me snore but there's an overnight trip I'd really love to take you on, if you're amenable? If it works for you?"

"Watching you sleep would not be the dull experience you believe it to be," Dream says first, which leaves Hob flustered and tongue-tied long enough for him to gather the rest of his words. "I would. Delight, in keeping your company overnight, in spending. More than one day at a time, with you." Lucienne would gladly see to his realm for far longer an absence, he is certain, particularly if she is made aware of why he must be away—her quiet approval of first his friendship and then his romantic relationship with Hob have been a steady source of reassurance as it progresses.

"Fantastic! Alright. I'll get it booked for a couple weekends out." Hob grins, absolutely glowing with his pleasure, and Dream is deeply warmed by the knowledge that he is responsible for putting that happiness there.

~~~ They drive a good long while out of the city when the weekend comes, the heater in Hob's car keeping them warm enough without heavy jackets for the duration. Hob eventually pulls into what looks like a farm in the countryside, and when they exit the car Dream dons the long fur-lined coat that he had manifested at Hob's direction. His boots are tall and fur-lined as well, warm and comfortable; his hands are buried in a cozy fur muff and a warm fur-lined hat covers his head. Beneath it all he has once again borrowed Hob's jumper and scarf, with the brooch Hob had gifted him pinned on, and he deems himself adequately prepared for whatever Hob has planned.

It is a sleigh ride.

They are ushered to a not-quite-traditional one-horse open sleigh, the bed of it still built to accommodate two passengers but an extension in front for a separate driver, allowing for the passengers to simply enjoy the ride. Dream very much intends to do so.

"What other surprises do you have in store for me?" he asks Hob as they settle into the sleigh. The driver flicks his reins and they lurch smoothly into motion toward the open snow-covered field.

"Just a quiet winter getaway," Hob answers, sitting up straight and laying his arm over Dream's shoulders. "We've got an hour or so to ride, and then we'll get to a little cabin in the woods where we'll spend the night. Then we'll catch another ride back late tomorrow."

Dream slouches on the plushly-padded seat just enough to fit comfortably beneath Hob's arm, leans into him with a smile. "You spoil me, Hob Gadling," he declares, soft and sincere, and Hob's laughter drifts away behind them as the horse moves from a slow walk to a lively trot along the groomed trail.

The weak winter sun is making its descent across the watery-blue afternoon sky as they go; the breeze is sharp against Dream's face, but his body is warm. His hands in the thick fur muff are warm, as are his ears and his head beneath the warmly-furred hat. His eyes sting marginally and his nose and cheeks are chilled, which is easily remedied by tucking his face into the folds of the soft woolen scarf Hob had wound snugly about his neck. It blocks the mild wind, holds the heat of his breath quite pleasantly, and most importantly it carries Hob's scent still. Dream inhales deeply, smiling, and leans further into the comfortable weight of Hob's arm around him.

The sleigh ride is uneventful, and quite pleasant for it. It is easy to feel the romantic shape of the story about them, bedecked in such finery, snuggled close against Hob, the air crisp and lively as they move from field to forest on their journey to a cozy private hideaway. There are many stories such as this in the Library, and Dream is unspeakably pleased that Hob would choose this sort of tale to spin anew with him. There will be lovemaking when they reach their destination, Dream is certain of it.

The thought warms him in more ways than one.

~~~ "Here we are. Proper hot chocolate, freshly made," Hob announces, turning from the stove in the cabin's kitchen with two steaming mugs in hand, carefully making his way to the main room. The fireplace is crackling cheerfully, bleeding wonderful heat into the space around it. Evening is falling outside and with it, new snow; Dream, cozy in Hob's borrowed jumper, is only too happy to accept Hob's offering.

The warmth is again exquisite, and the flavor is indeed far richer and creamier than what they had consumed after ice skating. Dream sips at it with relish and Hob settles on the couch beside him, smiling. "A whole night with the Dreamlord all to myself," he says, eyes twinkling. "What sort of cosmic favors does one normally have to offer to lay claim to your attention this way?"

"Great boons of significant value," Dream replies loftily, in keeping with Hob's teasing tone, but he is thinking of former lovers and their laments of his inconstant attention, and how Hob is always welcoming and delighted to see him whether it has been a week or several months. How Hob is considerate and respectful of his duty even when he is irreverent to Dream himself, how he had assumed that this overnight trip might easily involve Dream slipping away to attend to his duties while he himself slept. How happy he had been that Dream agreed to his request.

"And yet you give it to me just for the asking," Hob says then, soft and wondering and utterly devoid of teasing. "I really am the luckiest bloke."

Dream would like to say something equally heartfelt and besotted, but he is overfull of affection, of soft adoration, and his words will not make themselves known. Instead, he sets his mug on the coffee table, unfolds himself from his corner of the couch, lets himself flow into the tidal pull of Hob Gadling until his arms are around Hob's neck and their lips have met.

Hob makes the softest, sweetest sound, sets his drink aside, settles his hands on Dream's hips up underneath the warm bulk of his borrowed jumper. Dream pulls back the slightest distance, brushes his nose along Hob's, tilts his head and takes Hob's mouth again, sweet and cocoa-warm. He brings a hand to cradle the corner of Hob's jaw, licks softly between Hob's lips, kisses him with all of the words that stir silently inside him. Hob wraps him close, touches him with gentle reverence, kisses back with the same quiet intensity; and as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, the warmth between them blossoms slowly and steadily into a familiar and welcome heat.

Dream wants, with intensity, ensconced in Hob's lap and secure in Hob's arms around him; Hob so easily, so often inspires him to such wanting and it would be maddening if he did not know that Hob will always and eagerly provide.

"Got an idea," Hob gasps presently, breathless, when Dream's building tension has thoroughly infused his touches and his kisses have grown fevered and urgent. Hob extricates himself gently from Dream's embrace, slides to his knees on the rug before Dream.

The heat in Dream's core curls sharply and he turns, unfolds so that his thighs bracket Hob's shoulders. "I do not believe the proprietors of this cabin intend for sexual activities to take place on the couch."

Hob laughs, bright and beautiful. "You started it, love."

This…is not untrue. "Perhaps."

"Well, I'll just have to be careful not to spill anything, won't I." Hob winks and pulls Dream's hips forward and Dream lies back, willing and wanting as Hob opens his trousers, nuzzles him through his underwear. Hob sits back and works Dream free, then reaches for his cocoa on the coffee table behind him and takes a sip.

And then he takes Dream into his mouth and Dream jerks at the sheer heat of it, makes a stifled wanton sound as Hob's tongue strokes heavy against him within the cocoon of his mouth. It is not the simple human-sex-warm that he is accustomed to; it is hot with the drink Hob has just consumed and the difference is striking.

"Good?" Hob asks, pulling off, and Dream shivers, delighted, aflame with his wanting.

"Yes. Hob—"

Hob takes another sip from his mug; Dream holds his gaze as he swallows and when Hob's mouth closes around him again after, Hob's eyes steady on his as the heat sinks in, Dream cannot help the whimper that escapes him.

Hob smiles around him and Dream is lost. The next few moments pass in a haze of pleasure, the ebb and flow of Hob's heated mouth, Dream combing trembling fingers through Hob's hair as he goes back down after every drink, the renewed heat bringing Dream closer and closer to his peak. He makes no effort to restrain his voice; Hob has told him repeatedly that he loves to hear Dream's pleasure, loves the affirmation that he is 'doing something right down there'. So he pants and moans, clinging loosely to Hob's head as Hob's heated mouth and clever tongue bring him up to the precipice, cries out as Hob tips him over the edge.

Hob spills nothing, true to his word; when the tension falls out of Dream Hob sits back and swallows, chases it down with the last of his hot chocolate. He then tucks Dream back into his clothing while Dream lies boneless and drifting, awash in the warmth of his satiation and the warmth of Hob's affections and the warmth of the fireplace and he is. Warm. And content.

Hob touches his face, gently, and Dream returns to himself, blinks into the bright warmth of Hob's smile.

"Still with me, duck?"

Dream manages a very loose, very satisfied smile of his own. "Perhaps."

"I will take that as a compliment," Hob grins, and levers himself up onto the sofa, settling into the corner. He reaches an arm toward Dream. "C'mere."

He is beckoning Dream into his embrace, to lie against him, which. Is not the next step Dream had expected.

"Do you not wish—?"

"Later," Hob assures him, smile soft, eyes gleaming warmly in the firelight. "Right now, you're so soft, so relaxed—I just want to cuddle you, maybe read to you for a bit, let you tell me the stories behind the stories and such. And let you finish your chocolate, of course."

And so Dream settles himself between Hob's legs as Hob stretches them the length of the couch, leans into the solid warmth of Hob's body behind him, cradles the mug that Hob passes him in both hands while Hob reaches for the book on the coffee table. It is a collection of poetry and folktales from around the world, and Dream offers anecdotes from his own memories of Aesop, of Hans Christian Andersen, of Bharavi in between Hob's readings. Once he has finished his drink, he snuggles in closer, turns a little, tucks his head under Hob's chin and his arm around Hob's waist. Hob wraps an arm around him in turn, drops a kiss to his hairline, continues reading, and Dream allows himself to simply…drift. The warmth of Hob's embrace, the gentle lull of Hob's voice in Hob's chest beneath his ear, the silence of the falling snow out the window—it is all of it so quietly serene, so comfortable, and Dream cannot recall when last he felt such tranquillity.

~~~ When the book has long been put aside and the fire has burned low, and he has lain in the comfort of Hob's arms for long enough that sleep has crept over Hob some time ago, Dream stirs, and Hob wakes.

"Duck? 'M sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"I do not object."

Hob chuckles. "Naturally the King of Dreams does not object to a little nap."

Dream feels himself smiling and does not resist it. "It is no hardship to lie with you while you sleep, Hob, but your back will not thank you if we spend the whole of the night thus."

"Right you are." Hob shifts beneath him and turns; to Dream's surprise, Hob pulls him closer, wraps an arm behind him and hooks the other beneath Dream's legs before he rises, lifting Dream in bridal fashion as he stands. Dream clings around his neck obligingly, amused and warmly delighted.

"Such gallantry, Hob Gadling," he breathes, as Hob moves toward the staircase.

"Always did wanna carry you to bed properly," Hob grins, and Dream absolutely must kiss him without a second's delay.

He leaves off so that Hob may climb the stairs safely to the loft, where the bed stands laden with a thick fluffy duvet over a velvety-soft blanket and flannel sheets, a sumptuous promise of comfort and warmth. Hob sets him down, undresses them both, ushers Dream beneath the covers and snuggles in after him.

The cabin is cooling down with the fire banked, but that only makes the cozy layers of the bedding and the heat they make beneath them all the more precious. Hob has him slow and languid, ardent and tender and vulnerable in this cocoon of warmth and closeness; Dream holds to him steadfastly, clings fiercely about his shoulders, lies back and lets Hob love him.

For he knows: that is what this is. There is no doubting Hob's affections for him, nor how deeply they run. The way that Hob moves atop and within him, kissing with relentless adoration all the while, stroking reverent fingers through his hair and whispering heartfelt vows and endearments against his lips—it warms Dream through, leaves him grateful and marveling. Hob, who time and again chooses life and living, has chosen him, despite all forewarning that choosing Dream was choosing poorly. Hob loves him, wants him, wishes for his company and his happiness and goes to whatever lengths are needed to ensure both.

Hob, who clings to Dream in his sleep now, after, head pillowed on the dubious cushion of Dream's chest, smile resting soft on his lips, arms comfortably close about Dream's waist and hip. Hob, who waited faithfully when Dream missed their meeting, ensured Dream could still find him when the White Horse closed, welcomed his return without judgment or recrimination of any kind; Hob, who treasures him, warms him, looks to his well-being and wishes to share favorite experiences with him.

Hob, who seeks no power, no boon, has never asked more of him than his company when his duty allows it.

Dream looks carefully at the glowing warmth in his own approximation of a heart, in the whole of his being; tentatively, he names it for what he knows it to be, and trusts that calamity will not follow. He cradles Hob's sleeping form close, strokes through Hob's hair again and again, traces the shape of his smile with gentle fingertips.

Warm, content, he holds Hob and he drifts in his happiness.

~~~ The morning comes slow and lazy, and they are both very cozy in the bed, but eventually Hob must get up to relieve his bladder. Then, with the chill of the cabin made apparent, he starts and stokes the fire before returning upstairs and diving back beneath the covers with Dream. The rest of the morning is decidedly less lazy and quite immensely satisfying, and by the time they leave the bed the cabin is comfortably warmed.

"Shower with me," Hob offers, and Dream agrees instead of simply willing himself clean. The cascading warm water, the simple pleasure of soaping Hob's body and being lathered up in turn, the intimacy of washing Hob's hair, of Hob's fingertips then massaging his scalp and Hob's hands gently tilting his head back into the spray to rinse, these all constitute yet another wonderfully human experience that he can fully appreciate, because Hob wishes to share it.

Hob cooks them brunch once they're dried and somewhat dressed, scrambling eggs and toasting bread in only a pair of low-slung joggers with a short towel draped behind his neck to manage the ends of his damp hair; Dream watches him work, smiling, cozy in Hob's jumper and a pair of fluffy grey socks with his bare legs tucked beneath him on the barstool at the kitchen peninsula.

"Here we are," Hob says, plating him a beautiful omelette laden with spices, peppers, and roasted tomatoes alongside a slice of buttered toast slathered with strawberry jam, and Dream accepts it with equanimity. He does not need to eat in the waking world, it provides no sustenance, but the ritual of sharing meals with Hob is entirely pleasant. Hob goes to great effort to prepare things that Dream will enjoy, and Dream. Is not inclined to see those efforts wasted.

The food is good. Hob's food is always good, and especially when infused with his warmth and love, as this is. Dream savors the omelette, lingers over the sweetness of the toast—Hob has spread it with 'far too much jam' just as Dream prefers—and smiles his pleasure at Hob, who beams back with his mouth full, which is far more endearing than it should be.

~~~ "I'm so glad you let me talk you into feeling the cold," Hob says later, once they've cleared the kitchen and resettled on the sofa. Dream is in Hob's lap, hands stroking through the hair on Hob's chest, bare thighs splayed to either side of his hips. He is kissing up the side of Hob's neck, very much in pursuit of a particular goal; he forewent trousers for a reason, after all. But Hob is still talking. "Gave me a great excuse to ask you here, after all, and I'm very much enjoying all this cozy cabin sex."

Dream draws back and looks at him, amusement plainly evident in his tone. "Hob Gadling. Has all of this, your insistence on sharing cold weather experiences, been merely an elaborate ploy to convince me to come away to the woods with you for 'cozy cabin sex'?"

"Perhaps ," Hob replies, with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows, and then he laughs. "No, love, everything we've done has been for its own sake. Including this mini holiday. I'm…" He trails off, tilts his head and tugs briefly at his earlobe. "I'm really glad you agreed, to all of it. I like doing fun things with you—I like spending time with you, full stop, whatever we're doing. But it means a lot that you've gone along with my plans and suggestions and that you've had a good time too." He grins, bright and beautiful. "The Dreamlord, Prince of Stories, King of all Dreams and Nightmares and Entirety of the Human Subconscious lets me take him on dates. Ordinary mundane cozy little human winter dates, and he even enjoys them. I am truly the luckiest bloke in existence."

His pure simple authentic joy is infectious; it seeps into Dream's body and settles warm around his heart, leaves him aglow in happiness, a soft smile on his face as he leans down into Hob to kiss him again.

He loves this man, fiercely, completely. It is he who is the lucky one.

~~~ The morning passes into afternoon and stretches closer to evening before they deign to part from one another, and then only because their transportation will be arriving soon. They dress, pack, tidy up, and Dream employs a measure of power to ensure the cabin is presentable (and sanitary) for the crew who will be coming in to clean and prepare it for the next guests.

The sleigh arrives as scheduled and Dream shrinks his form slightly as he climbs into it, the better to fit beneath Hob's arm. He settles comfortably in the warmth of his hat and his coat and Hob's scarf, the warmth of Hob's embrace, and Hob cuddles him close, tips his hat up enough to drop a kiss to his forehead and tugs it back down as the driver sets out.

I know what it is, to love Hob Gadling, Dream thinks as they go, but does not say. He is brave enough to accept the truth of it, but not yet brave enough to speak it aloud. He knows, on some level, that keeping it unspoken does not change the fact of its existence, but there is power in words all the same. Perhaps it makes no difference; Hob is technically no longer mortal, their love has existed for some time whether Dream has acknowledged it or not and no disaster has yet befallen them or humanity.

Still. Dream is nothing, if not cautious.

He moves just enough to glance up to Hob's face, and finds Hob gazing down at him with love shining plain in his kind depthless eyes; he smiles, knowing full well the same shows clear in his own face, and settles, snuggles back into Hob's shoulder to enjoy the remainder of their ride back.

The air is crisp, cold, invigorating, in a way that can only be appreciated when one has bundled up properly against it. Hob has ensured that he is, and so Dream can enjoy it.

He is. Content, warm in his love for Hob, warm in Hob's love for him.

Perhaps, one day, one of them will say it.

Then again, perhaps there is no need.

=== Started: 12/8/23 Drafted: 1/5/24 Posted: 1/8/24

Title taken from I Love the Winter Weather/I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm by Tony Bennett, which dovetailed too perfectly with the themes that developed in the writing for me not to use it

I love the winter weather So the two of us can get together There's nothing sweeter, finer When it's nice and cold I can hold my baby closer to me And collect the kisses that are due me I love the winter weather Because I've got my love to keep me warm

#Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #Sandman #Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange 2023 #TJs Fics

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thesistersarcheron · 4 months

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Holding Out for a Hero

A cursed mirror captured the Lord of Bloodshed. Centuries later, the myths and tales of his heroics captured his mate’s heart. Can this legendary Carynthian climb out of Nesta’s novels… and into her bed? A canon-divergent, post-ACOSF Nessian AU for @witch-and-her-witcher and @acotargiftexchange. I have had such a blast getting to know you better over the last few months, Cee! I'm so sorry for all the blatant lies in the chat to (try to) mislead you about what I was doing for the gift exchange, but Merry Christmas! 🎄🎁

See the full description and read this story here on AO3, or check below the cut for a snippet!

A smear of black on the horizon stretched as far as the naked eye could see, signaling the enemy’s approach. An army—the King had amassed an army so large and so fixed on claiming Princess Suri’s lands that it had felled the trees and crushed the boulders in its path rather than redirect its furious route around them. Suri’s pulse pounded in her throat as she watched the swarm creep closer, clutching the crenelated railing at the edge of her mountaintop fortress to steady herself. A century ago, she would have sworn her ancestors’ kingdom would never fall to an invading force. That the lifeblood her great-grandfathers had once spilled to erect Velaris’s wards would always be strong enough to prevent a cruel incursion of their land-hungry neighbors across the eastern sea… But her family’s protections had faltered in the coldest, darkest hours of the previous night, and though the defensive force her general had gathered in the city below was fearsome, it was not nearly formidable enough to survive an assault of this scale. The legions’ numbers had dwindled battling this army all the way from the Court of Nightmares to the city. It did not matter that they were Illyrian—each and every one armed with wicked steel they had been trained to wield since boyhood, a rainbow of Siphons gleaming on their leathers far below Suri’s perch—because they would be decimated in a matter of seconds. Oh, gods. Her heart seized, and she turned away, unable to torture herself any longer with the knowledge that her people were damned to whatever horrors the King decided to inflict upon them. “Suri.” A rough, warm palm cupped her face, a calloused thumb swiping away tears she hadn’t known were falling. “My love.” “You should go,” Suri murmured, turning her face into that work-roughened palm. She pressed a kiss, a farewell, to it. “Take your people and return to the steppes. It will be safer in Illyria than—” “I will not.” Cadmus’s voice was as firm as his body as he wound an arm around her waist, anchoring her to him when her knees buckled. “You must.” She didn’t dare open her eyes. She would lose herself if she met the storm churning in his hazel eyes or bore witness to the protective flare of his great, membranous wings once more. “The wards have fallen, and the High Lord remains trapped in an enchanted sleep. Without his power, we cannot shield the city. Don’t you see? I cannot protect you! I cannot protect them!” “Then let me.” His hand angled her face upward, toward his own. “Let me do the protecting today. I have fought for our Court for one thousand years, princess. I have served three High Lords in my lifetime, and as long as I have breath in me, I will continue to serve. Every skirmish, every war, every wound—all have led me here. To you, my mate, and to this battle. I will fight to protect these people for you until I can no longer raise my blade, if that is what it takes to—

Nesta Archeron groaned as her frustration reached a boiling point. With a roll of her eyes, she slammed her book shut.

For weeks, though she couldn’t pinpoint precisely when, every smutty romance she’d picked up rubbed her the wrong way. Each book inevitably scraped something inside her mind raw, tangling in her last nerve until she left it unfinished on top of a precarious stack of abandoned books.

A stack that was growing at an alarming rate.

If she wanted to fool herself, she might blame the stories themselves. According to Merrill, her taste in literature was a shameful waste of time; her reading list should consist only of the finest high-brow, dusty tomes that the Prythian canon had to offer—and, truthfully, she did read those quite often. After a decade as an assistant in the library below the House of Wind, a recent promotion to a cushy job as a reference librarian demanded that she know the classics inside and out.

Still, once her shifts ended and she returned to the plush couches in the House of Wind’s small private library, she always gravitated toward the steamier paperbacks she bought—two for a copper—from a hole-in-the-wall bookshop on the outskirts of the Rainbow.

But now…

Well, now, Nesta might not know when her books started falling flat like stale champagne at Starfall, but she knew why.

It was the heroes.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar gift exchange 2023 #my fics #a court of thorns and roses fic #acosf

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jostystyles · 9 months

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i can still see it all | qh

a/n: this is my entry for @wyattjohnston summer fic exchange! @wildrangers this is for you love! i hope you love it <3 im so sorry it took me forever, i had covid and other life happenings that set me back. i picked daylight from the list of songs you gave me, and this was born. enjoy love 🩵

They say when you love someone, you’ll know. There will be a moment of realization, a sort of ‘ah’ moment. Quinn has never really had that. Sure, he’s dated girls and thrown out the L word a few times, but he wasn’t really sure he meant it. Obviously, he loves his mom, dad, and brothers. Love, to him, was all black and white. It was all good or all bad. But sometimes, when you’ve been asleep so long in a 20 year dark night, the scream of color can come along and change your life for the better. (Y/N) came into his life in the most obscure way possible. He met her at the bar 5 minutes after he was dumped by his ex. After she laughed in his face and told him she was, she bought him a drink. After that, he doesn’t know when or even how it happened. Suddenly she was in his life everyday, and his friends became hers. Jack and Luke took to her instantly, and his mom liked having another girl to talk to. The one thing he did know was that he fell in love with her. He was starting to understand that love wasn’t quite black and white, but it could be golden. She was his muse, the one thing that kept him going when he felt like stopping. Even if she didn’t know it.

Quinn was always working. It was no surprise, being an NHL star. Between games, practice, charity events, and just existing. It was exhausting sometimes. He loved it, and wouldn’t change it for the world, but sometimes he just needed a break. When summer first hit and he was still in Vancouver, sometimes he wouldn’t leave his apartment for days. He had to take a break, just to recharge his social battery. (Y/N) knew this. Which is why she came over to make sure he made an effort to eat and have some sort of human interaction.

Unlocking the door with bags in hand, (Y/N) stumbled into his apartment. Brock was away on vacation, so Quinn graciously offered to watch Milo and Coolie for a few days. She heard little footsteps running towards her and looked down to see a dog wagging its tail and smiling up at her. “Oh Milo,” She sighed. “What are we going to do with him?” She finished, glancing around the apartment. It was messy, she wouldn't lie. Quinn was a messy person even if he didn't seem like it. Figuring he was napping as he didn’t answer her texts, she began to clean up his kitchen a bit. As she scrubbed the counters of the residue from last night’s dinner, she glanced at the wall of photos diagonal to her point of view. The first one that caught her eye was a family photo from Quinn’s draft day, his crooked smile reflected on the faces of his family members as they surrounded him in his newly adorned Canucks jersey. To the right of that one, was one she took of him, Brock, and Petey at a family skate event a few years back. The last one to catch her eye was her favorite. It was of her and Quinn, taken last summer at the lake in Michigan. She was on his back, both their faces flushed with sun and noses scrunched up in laughter. To an outsider, they could easily be mistaken for a couple.

As she finished cleaning up, (Y/N) began to walk down the hallway, dog in tow and a bag of takeout in her hands. “Knock knock, I’m coming in whether you like it or not.” She exclaimed in a sing-song tone once she reached his room. She couldn’t see it, but Quinn smiled. He loved the sound of her voice.

“I knew you’d show up sooner or later.” He answered, standing up from his bed and grabbing a shirt from the floor.

“Well, I have to make sure you keep yourself alive, don’t I?” (Y/N) giggled. She looked as beautiful as she always did, her sweater falling off her shoulders and her ripped jean shorts hugging her curves in just the right way. Two long french braids fell just past her shoulders. Her tan sandals scraped gently across the floor. She didn't like to wear heels. “They make me feel like a skyscraper Quinn, I’m too damn tall for them.” She always says. Quinn didn't realize he was staring until she finally said something.

“Earth to Quinton. Hello?” She called to him, waving her hands in front of his face. “I’m sorry what, I keep getting lost in you.” Did I just say that out loud? Shit. He thought to himself.

“What?” (Y/N) replied, blushing.

“Nothing. Just forget I said anything.” Quinn said, rushing out of the room into the kitchen.

“Wait! Don’t lie to me Quinn, what did you mean when you said that?” she said, following him.

She wasn’t sure of what she heard when he said it. It gave her a sense of false hope when he said it. Sometimes she wanted to scream out how much she loved him, but was afraid he didn’t feel the way she did. This was one of those times where she thought it to be true that maybe, just maybe, he loved her back. If she was honest, she loved him from the moment she met him. He was an idiot, but a lovable one. She never understood how anyone could stand to break his heart, even on the night they first met. Love, to her, was something that she once believed to be burning red. It ignites a fire in your heart, body, and soul, and burns for that one person. When she met Quinn, she wanted him to be that person more than anything. As they grew closer, she realized he was. But the love she held for him wasn’t the one she always dreamed of. It was different. It shone a bright golden hue, and encapsulated everything about him. (Y/N) was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of Quinn’s voice.

“Can we please just forget that I said anything, (Y/N), please?” Quinn said, turning around to look at her. He began to walk away when she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her. Looking up at him, she said softly, “I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking. You look at me like I’m the only other person on this earth. Don’t you realize that I look at you the same way too?” Quinn was processing what she just said to him, his heart beating a mile a minute. He glanced at their hands intertwined at the side. Neither of them let go. Finally he gained the courage to say something back.

Looking into her eyes, he confessed to her. “I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death. No, scratch that, I know I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you ever since the day I met you. I don’t want to look at anything else now that I saw you.” She didn’t say anything back. She wrapped her free hand around his neck and pulled his face down to her height and kissed him. It was exactly the way they both pictured it would be like. They kissed lasted for what seemed like an eternity, until they finally broke apart.

Their heads were pressed against each other, just looking into each other's eyes. (Y/N) was the first one to speak. “I’m yours.” That was all she needed to say for Quinn to know that she loved him too. And while he was sure of it, there was a part of him that hesitated.

“Are you sure about this? Like, are you sure about me?” He wondered aloud.

(Y/N) stared at him, confused. “I just confessed my love for you in the cheesiest and most embarrassing way possible and you’re asking me if I’m sure? Quinn, I know you’re not that dumb.”

Quinn laughed. “No, it’s just like, I know you love me. And I love you too, but like, I don’t want to fuck this up. I’m not really good at this kind of stuff” he confessed, not making eye contact with her out of embarrassment.

(Y/N) put her finger under his chin and pushed it up. “Hey, look at me. It’s me you’re talking to. You don’t have to try with me. Just being the way you are is enough. Love is weird. But the best part is when you get to love your best friend. And that’s us. You’ve just got to step into the daylight, you know? Let it all go. We can figure the rest out on our own. Just let it go.”

Quinn kissed her again. As he was getting older, he wanted to be defined by the things he loved. And he loved (Y/N). She’s his daylight, afterall.

tagging: @2manytabsopen @lam-ila @laurenairay @comphy-and-cozy @comphyjost @smileysvech @tinyhockey @prettytoxicrevolver @hotanddistraught

#emmie writes #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #summer fic exchange 2k23 #summer fic exchange 2023 #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine

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wolfsbanesparks · 7 months

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Yuletide 2023

Hey y'all!

So I have (perhaps foolishly) been thinking about doing the Yuletide fic exchange again this year and thought that I should share it with all of you!

What is it?

Yuletide is a multi-fandom fic exchange that takes place every year around the holidays. It's for small fandoms with less than 1000 completed fics on AO3. (Find out if your favorite fandom is eligible here!)

When is it?

Nominations are open now! If you are a part of an eligible fandom you have until Thursday September 28 to nominate them. It's very simple, just list the fandom's name and up to four characters from that fandom you would like to see in a fic. You can nominate up to four fandoms if you have multiple that fit the criteria!

Sign-ups to participate happen October 13-21, where you can list which of the eligible fandoms you would like to write for (and which ones you would like your own gift to be from!) Once you're matched up you will have until December 18 to finish your fic!

If you want to know more about Yuletide and how it works go here!

I had a lot of fun doing this exchange last year and would love to have more people join us this year!

EDIT: Here's the link to the rules on AO3 for anyone who isn't sure how to navigate Dreamwidth.

#ask me whatever you want y'all #yuletide 2023 #fic exchange #I never really see much about Yuletide on tumblr so I figured it might be nice to make an info post #Is this low-key a ploy to get other people from the Shazam fandom to participate?#yes it is #but I still think y'all would like it #You can even do just straight up world building fics!

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musketeergarrison · 11 months

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Summer 23 Fic Exchange Assignments

Are go!

All the participants have been sent their emails about this, so if you’re seeing this and thinking “What email?” then please check your spam or send us a message asking for us to send the details to you via tumblr chat or similar.

We’re very excited and it’s not even July yet, let alone 24th!

#Musketeer Garrison Fic Exchange Summer 2023 #musketeers #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #the musketeers bbc #bbc the musketeers #fanfic #fanfiction #fic exchange #fic exchange 2023 #we are the garrison #The Garrison: The Challenge #the garrison server #mod anima

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wild-woofs-press · 4 months

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For the 2023 Renegade Bound Fic Exchange (cc: @renegadepublishing).

Fic: My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend (cc: @drgrlfriend) Words: 49,220

fonts title/chapter titles: 56th Street author name: Arkipelago body: Petrona

bookcloth: arrestox eggplant • endpapers

#fanbinding #ficbinding #mine #2023 renegade bound fic exchange #2023 renegade exchange #marvel #mcu #winterhawk #bucky barnes/clint barton

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sterek-exchange · 10 months

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the hale pack shares three braincells for justanotherbusyfangirl

Five times a member of the Hale Pack (2.0) did not believe Stiles and Derek were in a relationship, and one time someone finally clued them in. (without the canon typical angst and asshole behaviour, thank you very much) OR: the one where Lydia and Boyd (and Cora) are smarter than everybody else.

Summer 2023 @sterek-exchange Event For @just-another-busy-fangirl-writes

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #eternalsterek #stiles/derek #stiles x derek #derek x stiles #derek/stiles #thesterekexchange #sterek-exchange #summer 2023 sterek exchange #summer2023sterekexchange #sterekexchange #sterek fanfiction #sterek fics #sterek fanfic #sterek is eternal

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singsweetmelodies · 3 months

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Piarles Winter Fic Exchange 2023/24 - The Final Round-Up

AO3 Collection Link

After three months of build-up and two weeks of spectacular fic reveals, the Piarles Winter Fic Exchange 2023/24 has finally drawn to its close 💙 Today, it is my honour and pleasure to share with you the results of all of our efforts: an astounding 478 616 words written over the course of twenty-eight brand-new Piarles fics. 🎉

We want to start by saying a MASSIVE thank you to all our incredible creators. You are all so wonderful and so so talented - it has been a delight and a privilege to spend the last few months with you. To laugh with you and to create with you and to share the Piarles joy with you. You are all phenomenal, and we feel so lucky that you chose to spend this time with us. ❤️

I also want to take this opportunity to say a personal thank you to my amazing mod team: @boxboxbrioche, @welightitup, @duquesademiel, @wolfiemcwolferson and @river-ocean. Moderating this exchange with you has been a slightly crazy rollercoaster ride, but I couldn't have asked for better people by my side throughout it. Thank you all, for everything!!

Below the cut we have the final round-up of all our 2023/24 Piarles Winter Fic Exchange gift fics. You are in for a real treat - enjoy!!! And don't forget to show the authors some love in the form of kudos, comments, bookmarks and tumblr reblogs 💘

Thank you all so much again.

Love and kisses,

Katie, Briony, Tia, Sol, Logan & River ❤️💙

you and me were raised in the same part of town by @wolfiemcwolferson | rated M | 11.6k words | tumblr post here

A story of two best friends told through the years in the setting of Charles' childhood treehouse.

damage, destruction by @pinkierre | rated T | 6.7k words | tumblr post here

Pierre Gasly doesn’t win the 2016 GP2 title, and thus he stays in the category for another year with Prema. He’s joined for the 2017 F2 season by his long time best friend and fresh GP3 champion Charles Leclerc. What starts as a dream come true, quickly turns into a nightmare. Fast forward 8 years later and they’re teammates again. At Ferrari F1 team. However this time, they hate each other. How will they cope?

Chasing What’s on the Other Side by @espithewarlock | rated E | 15.8k words | tumblr post here

A Mafia AU where Pierre is immediately obsessed with Charles, the newly-introduced romantic partner of his biggest rival, Carlos. He begins dangerously pursuing Charles, they fall into bed together, and his obsession only gets more real the more he learns about Charles’ history. Meanwhile, Pierre is also trying to keep his business running and figure out exactly what his rivals are plotting. There’s something simmering, and he does not like having a target on his back.

model behaviour by @your-littlesecret | rated T | 8k words

Charles isn't sure what he should be doing here - he is not proud to admit he completely zoned out as Camille was explaining - but the gorgeous guy is just standing there and Charles says fuck it and walks to him, extending a hand. "Hi" "Hello. I am Pierre." His smile is almost blinding and Charles feels like he's never seen someone as beautiful in his whole life - which is very fitting, considering he is a model.

change my mind by @chaesonghwas | rated M | 31.8k words | tumblr post here

When Lance drags him to a Drama Club meeting, Pierre doesn't expect to stay for long, but he meets Charles, brother to one of his fraternity's new pledges, and he decide to give it a chance. After all, Charles seems interested in him too - what could go wrong?

Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You by @crimsonicarus | rated T | 2k words

It was easy with Charles, talking, spending time, being silent. It felt natural, like breathing. Laughing at his awful jokes came from his mouth effortlessly, like another mother tongue.

five january seconds by @fenesacha | rated E | 8.9k words

Charles' phone is on the counter between them, and Pierre reaches out to tap the screen, waking the device up. He spares one second to look at Charles’ new background, a photo of the two of them in their Christmas jumpers, before he glances at the date. There, not changing no matter how many times he blinks: Tuesday, 2 January. What the fuck.

falling Inn love (five years later) by @gaslybottoms | rated T | 17.5k words

“American style holiday inn,” Lando reads from the description, squinting at the small font on the screen. “Family owned and run for the last three generations, the All Pine Inn is located deep in the heart of the South Downs, with picturesque views over the rolling hills of the local area. A step back from city life, the local village is a peaceful respite away from the busy day to day. See Charles, it seems perfect." OR Charles takes a trip to the country for the Christmas holidays, and rekindles an old almost romance along the way.

All The Pebbles Along The Way by @shankyspork | rated M | 17k words

Centering around friendship and grief, this fic takes the slow road through life and its meaningful moments, hoping to bring you to the conclusion that belonging is something innate.

all I ever wanted by @golden-fairylights | Not Rated | 8.4k words

When Charles received the email that Prince Pierre would attend his vernissage, he didn't know that by the end of the night, he would have found his soulmate.

Anything you can do, I can do better by @whatdidwejustdo | rated T | 2k words

In which Pierre and Charles are insufferably competitive mechanics for rival F1 teams (Red Bull vs Ferrari) and their friends (Carlos, Alex, and Yuki) suffer. Endless snark, friendship, and references to decades of F1 lore. Or: "Well.” Pierre’s eyes were sharp and blue. "Have you ever re-assembled Max Verstappen's car in twenty minutes when it was supposed to take forty, and watched him put together a hot lap in the dying seconds of Q2 to make it into Q3 and take pole?"

let's be what we are by @hourcat | rated E | 46.1k words | tumblr post here

Some weekends go better than others, and the only time Charles sees his best friend is at the post-race afterparties that the bigger teams throw. They’ll clink bottles of gross tasting beer and chat with one of the other drivers relegated off to the side this season, and it feels like they’re the karting kids again. Some weekends, though, Pierre is draped along Charles’ back, all but welded together after an early spin-out ended his day, and Pierre will give him what he needs—what they need. (or: pierre, charles, and the consequences of a lifetime of touch.)

Can I just be in my head with you? by @chipsandnuggets | rated T | 7k words

"Pierrot,” he mumbles without thinking, while he separates for a moment from Pierre, but still keeps some closeness. “Can I have you? At least in my head? Can I have you like this, every time I want, in my head?” 5 times Pierre and Charles desire something plus one they finally do something about it.

Le Cheval Cabré by @moonlight0starlighte | rated G | 24.3k words

Charles, a tortured Michelin star chef, returns home for his father’s passing and discovers the family restaurant has been left to him. Though his grief feels stifling at times, Pierre, his oldest friend, is the light that guides him through it all.

Job 37:6 by @mysticalbreadcollective | rated E | 8.3k words

Maybe he can pass it off as a drunken hookup. A one-time thing. They can both forget it ever happened and move on. Pierre doesn’t need to remember Charles whining and panting beneath him. He can bury it down with the piece of his heart that Charles owns always.

take my hand (put yours over my heart) by @duquesademiel | rated T | 37.7k words | tumblr post here

Pierre Gasly has been declared Public Enemy Number One after breaking Charles’ best friend’s heart. Which, honestly, makes working in their charity work together just a little bit too awkward. A Christmas box, a lot of charity work, football matches and flower crowns might change Pierre’s status in Charles’ books - with a little dash of fake dating, of course.

hearts in the byline by @ilspredestinato | rated M | 25.6k words | tumblr post here

“You know,” Frédéric’s hands are crossed in front of him, fingertips tightening after every pause, “there is only one thing that brings stability to a Kingdom without it being a marriage.” Charles draws in a sharp breath—he knows, nodding almost imperceptibly once Frédéric falls into a hesitant silence. A courtship.

The Defenders by @justahappycloud | rated G | 30k words | tumblr post here

You showed me colours I can't see with anyone else by @radiocheck | rated E | 9.5k words | tumblr post here

Metropolis, a city for all kinds of people: good people, bad people, and people with special abilities. Pierre, alias Blue Arrow, considers himself a special person. With the ability to fly like a bird and bend the toughest of materials at his will, he has decided to use these gifts to protect the city he loves. But what happens when a new threat arises that could destroy everything he'd ever loved? To prevent this, Pierre joins a group of other three heroes and an unlikely ally so that they can maybe, hopefully, save Metropolis from the claws of this new powerful villain.

“I really thought you didn’t like me, you know,” Pierre muses. “You were always so… defensive.” Charles smiles thoughtfully. There are small dimples in his cheeks and his hair falls softly over his forehead as he glances down at the table before replying. “It was never that. I think I was afraid I would like you too much, if I let myself.” In which Pierre falls for his roommate's best friend, Lando is never where he's supposed to be, and Charles is a dream in technicolour.

show me who made you walk all the way here by @yukierres | rated M | 36.5k words | tumblr post here

Pierre is being blackmailed by a former lover into coming out, but risks losing his seat at Ferrari if he does. Charles is a prince who is forbidden from coming out until he has a long-term partner. The solution seems so obvious. Pretending shouldn't be that hard, right? Right?

still waking every morning (but it's not with you) by @river-ocean | rated T | 6.5k words

Charles loves being an actor. It’s what he has always felt was born to do. But he hates that it means that he has to spend so many days of the year away from the people he loves the most. He hates that even though he technically lives with his boyfriend, he is still in a de facto long-distance relationship most of the time.

anything, everything by @leclercenjoyer | rated E | 5.8k words | tumblr post here

Pierre and Charles go on a ski trip together, and things don't exactly go as planned. (Or do they?)

They Will Never Know by @effervescentdragon | rated M | 35.3k words | tumblr post here

Most stories are about blood. This story is not an exception. Charles disappeared. As for Pierre, well. Pierre had a very big secret.

Point Non Plus by @boxboxbrioche | rated E | 22.7k words | tumblr post here

brought to Point Non Plus idiom, commonly used in the Regency era 1. to be brought to a situation with no other options. 2. to baffle or confuse someone to the point that they have nothing to say. or: with his reputation in ruins and his options limited, Charles receives an offer from Lord Pierre Gasly that he simply cannot refuse.

like a heart made of dynamite by @vicsy | rated E | 31k words

Maybe all these years they were coming towards each other like a car crash in slow motion. Charles just had to wait for the brakes to fail.

and i long for you to appear by @singsweetmelodies / 17.5k | rated T | tumblr post here

When now-famous actor Pierre Gasly gets himself into a bit of PR trouble, it's up to his childhood best friend to step in and save the day. Thankfully, Charles is an expert public relations manager... the only question is if he'll be able to stop his feelings getting in the way when he finally sees Pierre again after all these years.

hold me in this wild, wild world by @fenesacha & @gaslybottoms | rated T | 2k words

Cross-country skiing isn't Pierre's forte. While he managed to stay upright during their earlier outing, it's done little to shake off his aversion to the sport that Charles seems to love so much - or, rather, his aversion to winter as a whole.

#piarles winter fic exchange 2023/24 #piarles winter fic exchange #pwfe 2023/24 #piarles fic #10 x 16 #❤️❤️❤️❤️ thank you SO much for another amazing winter fic exchange!!!!#see you all next year? 👀❤️

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gargoyleandgremlinpress · 4 months

Text

Renegade Typeset Exchange 2023: All Things Old Are New Again

(Me to my wife: "Does the rabbit in this piece of artwork from a century and a half ago say "I am an immortal cultivator who's been pining for thousands of years for my husband to be reincarnated, and also I like bunnies?" My wife: "Yes... yes it does.")

Because I sometimes don't know when to stop, I decided to do TWO fic for axandri in the @renegadepublishing typeset exchange. I know some people find the typesetting part, formatting the file to be printed, either tedious or stressful. I'm no expert, but honestly, I really do enjoy it and it's probably the part of the process I'm most confident with. (Typeset all the things!!)

All Things Old Are New Again by @thefeelswhale is a fic set in the modern world where immortal cultivator Lan Wangji has been waiting for his husband to be reincarnated. Meantime, struggling freelance necromancer Wei Wuxian has been doing camwork on the side to make ends meet... Yes, it is going exactly where you think it is. Delightfully cracktastic, and with a surprising amount of Feelings, this fic was on my to-bind list anyhow, so I was happy to include it as well.

On the summary page, I used two different contrasting fonts, one the same modern san-serif font I was using for text message in the fic for the part that's from WWX's point of view, and the other was a more historical brushstroke font for LWJ's point of view, to compare and contrast the two.

Bunnies play a part in the plot of this fic, so I leaned into the theme hard for chapter headings and scene breaks. Most of the art is from the public domain section of Rawpixel. Also, I found another piece of art from the same artist with TWO rabbits to use as a title for the epilogue chapters.

#fanbinding #ficbinding #typesetting #renegade publishing 2023 typeset exchange #mdzs fic #wangxian fic #all things old are new again #the feels whale #basically an elaborate fic rec

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massivedrickhead · 4 months

Text

we’re here tonight (and that’s enough)

Words: 2778

Summary: Merry Pitchmas @wordsofmyreality! I’m your secret Santa this year! I hope you like this little bit of Christmas fluff 💖 @merry-pitchmas

Read on AO3

“Chlo’?” Beca called from her spot in the living room, her hands on her hips as she surveyed their fireplace.

“Yeah?” Chloe replied from the kitchen.

“Did you move my stocking?”

“Your what?” Chloe asked, struggling to hear her wife over the sound of the music playing in the kitchen.

“My stocking,” Beca said back, raising her voice so it could be heard over Mariah Carey.

“It’s on the fireplace.”

“It isn’t,” Beca said, staring at the empty spot where her stocking had once hung. Bright red with a golden B embroidered on it. She turned her head to where Chloe’s still hung - bright red with a golden C - and then back to the empty spot where hers should be.

“Huh,” Chloe said, entering the living room, wiping her hands on her apron before resting one on Beca’s back. “Weird.”

“It was here this morning before I left for work,” Beca said.

“Have you checked David’s hiding spot?” Chloe asked.

Beca glanced down to where their dog - named after David Guetta - was curled up. His head lifted at the sound of his name. He did have a habit of stealing their clothes, but he’d never pulled anything down before.

“I’ll look now,” she said. “How’s dinner prep going?”

“I’m almost done,” Chloe said. She gave Beca a quick kiss on the cheek. “Once you’ve checked his spot can you take him for a W-A-L-K?”

“Sure,” Beca said. “You don’t want to come?”

Chloe shook her head. “I’m so beat from work this week, I just wanna go lie in the bath for an hour. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Beca said. “Are you feeling okay? You’ve been tired all week.”

“I’m fine,” Chloe said, smiling at the look of concern on Beca’s face.

“Am I a bad wife for letting you do all the Christmas dinner prep?”

“A terrible wife,” Chloe replied, rolling her eyes as she kissed Beca on the cheek again. “I need to get back in there.”

Chloe returned to the kitchen and Beca watched her go, feeling that pull to follow that she always got when Chloe left a room.

David nudged her leg with his head and she looked down. His tail was wagging, and Beca wondered if he’d somehow learned to spell.

She scratched him behind the ear and then went to the spot in the room where he hid his stolen wares.

Beca had been reluctant about getting a dog all those years ago. She’d always liked dogs, and had always envisioned having one in the future, but she’d still been hesitant.

It was before they were married - before they were even engaged - and they’d only been living together for a few months when Chloe mentioned the puppy that had been brought into the veterinary surgery where she’d worked at the time.

“He’d been abandoned, Bec,” Chloe told her, tears in her eyes as she showed him pictures on her phone. “Left on the side of the road, tied to a telephone pole. He’s just a baby.”

Chloe told Beca about how skittish and afraid he was of them. How he wouldn’t let anyone get near him, except for Chloe. He reminded her so much of Beca, that Chloe just had to have him.

“Comparing me to an abandoned dog isn’t the compliment you think it is.”

Beca had been hesitant but eventually agreed. Now, nearly five years later, she couldn’t imagine their life without him.

Chloe had been right, as always.

Beca scratched him behind the ear again as she searched through his dog toys for his hidden stolen goods.

She found several of her missing socks, a dish towel, and even one of Chloe’s bras, but there was no bright red stocking.

“So you’re not the stocking thief,” Beca said to him. “But we do have to talk about the bra thing, dude. Those things aren’t cheap, you know.”

Once she was wrapped up in her winter coat and had pulled on her boots, she clipped David’s leash to his collar and they set out for his evening walk.

They walked around their neighbourhood, David sticking close to her side instead of running ahead like he usually did.

She supposed he must be able to feel it too, that tinge of sadness that had clung to Beca ever since she found out that - once again - her Mom wouldn’t be coming for Christmas.

Beca had told Chloe she was fine, that she was used to her Mom flaking on her by now, and while all of that was true, there was still a part of her that had hoped for change. It had been years since they’d spent any real time together and, despite her flaws, Beca did love her Mom.

David stopped to do his business, and Beca looked out at the houses in their neighbourhood. The Christmas lights shone through the windows, casting their snow-covered lawns in warm and colourful glows. She wished she could take some of that glow with her and bring it into her own home.

She took a deep breath of cold air and held it in her chest before slowly expelling it, watching a cloud form and dissipate quickly as the air left her body.

David tugged against the leash, pulling her arm back in the direction of home.

“Okay,” she said out loud. “I’m coming.”

The house was quiet when they got back, and Beca was desperate to shift the sadness that clung to her like the cold. She tried to leave it at the door along with the snow she’d kicked off her boots, but it wouldn’t go.

She spent longer than necessary in the entryway of their home, drying David’s paws with the towel they kept in there for that reason.

Chloe was on the sofa fiddling with her phone when Beca finally entered the living room.

Everything felt heavy, and the lack of her stocking on the fireplace seemed to perfectly mirror her lack of Christmas cheer.

She dropped onto the sofa beside Chloe and wasted no time in pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Chloe’s hair was still damp but the familiar smell of her shampoo seemed to ground Beca.

“You’re freezing!” Chloe shrieked as Beca’s cold hands slipped beneath Chloe’s Christmas pyjama top and pressed against her warm skin.

Beca laughed as Chloe batted her hands away. She removed them and placed them over the pyjamas, her hand going to Chloe’s stomach without thinking.

Chloe covered Beca’s hand with her own. “We’ll find out soon,” she said. “I promise. I just… it was our first attempt. There’s a good chance it didn’t work and I don’t want to put a downer on things if that's the case.”

“I know,” Beca said, kissing the side of her head again. The anxiety of not knowing if they would soon become parents mixed unpleasantly with her already lingering sadness about her Mom, and she searched for something to distract herself. Her eyes fell on the fireplace. “How come you stole my stocking?”

“What makes you think it was me?”

“Well it wasn’t David, and it wasn’t me, so that doesn’t leave a lot of options,” Beca said.

“Santa?”

“That’s like the opposite of Santa’s vibe,” Beca said. “He gives presents, not steals them. You’re thinking of the Grinch.”

“Oh, well it must have been the Grinch then,” Chloe said, smiling as Beca’s thumb continued to brush back and forth across her stomach. “Or maybe Santa knows that you can’t be trusted not to peek in your stocking before Christmas morning, and he wants your gift to be a surprise for once.”

“Ah, is that it?” Beca asked.

“It must be,” Chloe replied.

The Christmas stockings had been a tradition that Chloe had brought from her childhood.

Beca had always thought they were a place to put small gifts - ones that weren’t really tree-worthy - but the Beales had used them for the gifts that were more sentimental or special.

It’s how Beca had proposed to Chloe all those years ago, only to find that Chloe had had the same idea, and now Beca couldn’t be trusted not to squeeze the stocking and try to guess what might be inside.

She was fairly confident in her gift this year - a USB full of original songs that Beca had written, sung, and produced just for Chloe - but she still couldn’t stop herself from checking her own stocking just in case Chloe had once again outdone her.

“What time are your parents arriving tomorrow?” Beca asked after a comfortable silence had settled over them.

“Around midday,” Chloe said. “We can do the stocking presents in the morning and save the rest until after dinner.”

“Let’s hope Santa brings mine back in time,” Beca said, the conversation lapsing into silence again.

“You’re sad about your Mom,” Chloe said. It wasn’t a question. Beca could insist she was fine and that she didn’t care, but Chloe knew when she was lying.

“Kinda,” Beca said. “But it's my own fault. I should know by now what she’s like, I don’t know why I expected anything different.”

“You’re allowed to hope for the best and hope that people might change,” Chloe said, turning her head so she could press a kiss to Beca’s temple. “This isn’t your fault.”

“It is what it is,” Beca said. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

“I’ll order pizza,” Chloe said.

They spent the rest of their Christmas Eve curled up together on the sofa, eating pizza, and watching Chloe’s choice of Christmas movie.

Beca had a glass of wine, but Chloe complained of a headache so just stuck to water.

“I hope you aren’t getting sick,” Beca said, running her hand through Chloe’s hair, her nails lightly scratching her scalp.

“I’m just tired,” Chloe said. “Work was crazy this week.”

“Thank you for taking care of the dinner prep,” Beca said. “It really makes cooking it all so much easier tomorrow.”

“I prep, you cook,” Chloe said, stifling a yawn. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

“Let’s go to bed,” Beca said with a soft laugh. “I’ll let David out. Do you want anything for your headache?”

Chloe shook her head. “It’ll pass,” she said. “You go on up, I’ll let him out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Chloe said. “You took him out, I can stand by the door and wait for him to pee.”

As soon as Chloe heard Beca begin climbing the stairs, she withdrew her stocking from where it had been stashed. She smiled to herself as she hung it back on the fireplace, and she hoped that what was inside would do something to help cheer her wife up.

When Chloe reached the bedroom, Beca was lying in bed scrolling on her phone, but she set it down on the charger as soon as she felt the bed dip beside her.

“Are you answering work emails at 10 pm on Christmas Eve?”

“Not anymore I’m not,” Beca said.

“You know if I see you working tomorrow you’re going to be in trouble, right?”

“Does that mean I can’t fake a work call when your dad tries to talk to me about college basketball?” Beca asked.

“If I have to discuss classic literature with your dad when we see him at Thanksgiving, you can handle college basketball with mine when we see him at Christmas,” Chloe said.

“Fair,” Beca said, curling into Chloe’s side as soon as she was settled in bed.

It didn’t take long for Beca to drift off, but Chloe stayed awake for hours. She was full of the kind of Christmas Eve excitement that she hadn’t felt as a kid.

She heard the neighbourhood church bells begin to ring, and it took everything she had not to wake Beca up, wish her a Merry Christmas, and drag her downstairs.

Eventually, she managed to get some sleep and woke up not long after 8 am, Beca still sleeping soundly beside her.

Chloe woke her up and coaxed her out of bed with kisses and promises of coffee and presents.

Beca grumbled but didn’t argue when Chloe took her hand and pulled her downstairs.

“My stocking came back,” Beca said, raising an eyebrow at Chloe as she settled on the sofa, a mug of coffee in hand.

“I told you, Santa must have taken it,” Chloe replied, setting her own mug down on the coffee table before retrieving their stockings from the fireplace. She handed Beca hers, who wasted no time in squeezing the sides, and she sat down beside her.

“You go first,” Beca said.

Chloe reached into the stocking and pulled out two small wrapped gifts.

“Open the bigger one first,” Beca said,

Chloe did, and her eyes lit up as she pulled out a CD case. The cover was a photograph of the two of them from their wedding, and when she flipped it over she saw a list of five song titles that she didn’t recognise.

“Open the second one,” Beca said. Chloe unwrapped a USB drive. “No one really uses CDs anymore,” she said, by way of explanation.

“Bec, is all of this new music?”

Beca nodded. “My next EP,” she said. “All the songs were written for you.”

Chloe squealed and wrapped her arms around Beca. “I love it!”

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” Beca replied, laughing.

Chloe wiped the tears from her eyes and looked back at the CD case.

“I don’t know if that’s the final album art,” Beca said. “But I wanted you to have your own version.”

“This is amazing, Beca. I can’t wait to listen to it,” Chloe said. She looked back up at her wife. “Is it okay if… can I listen to it on my own first? Just so I can really listen and hear it all?”

“Of course,” Beca said. “So, can I open mine now?”

Chloe swallowed and nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

Beca pulled three small wrapped gifts from her stocking. As she always did, she gave them a squeeze and a shake. Two were soft, and one was a box that rattled when it shook. “Which one first?”

Chloe thought for a second, before tapping on one of the softer gifts.

Beca unwrapped it and pulled out what at first seemed like a small red piece of fabric. She unfolded it and saw it was a stocking, just like the one she and Chloe had.

“Is this in case my stocking goes missing again?” Beca asked, laughing lightly but not really understanding the gift. She looked at Chloe, whose eyes were now shining with tears. Something started happening in Beca’s chest. It felt like her heart was starting to beat faster. Like her body knew what the gift meant before she did.

“Open this one,” Chloe said, tapping on the box.

Beca did, her hands shaking though she couldn’t explain why.

Under the paper was a clear plastic box, and it took Beca a second to realise what was inside. She swallowed and looked back at Chloe.

“Two lines?” Beca asked, her voice trembling. “Two means… right?”

“Open the last one,” Chloe said, the tears that had been filling her eyes now slipping down her cheeks.

Beca did, her hands shaking harder than ever.

She pulled out a tiny white babygrow, with the words ‘Baby Mitchell’ printed on the front.

She couldn’t describe the noise that came out of her - something between a gasp and a sob and a cheer - but soon she was sobbing hard, her hands reaching out for Chloe, who eagerly pulled her into her arms.

They held each other and cried until David jumped onto the sofa to try and investigate.

Beca laughed as he wiggled his way in between them.

“I take it these are happy tears?” Chloe asked, wiping her own eyes as they ended their hug.

“The happiest,” Beca said, laughing. “How long have you known?”

“A couple of weeks,” Chloe said. “It’s been killing me keeping this in, but I wanted to wait until after I’d seen my doctor, just in case. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“Don’t apologise,” Beca said, looking down at the tiny babygrow in her hands. “This is the best present you could have gotten me.” She wiped her eyes and took hold of Chloe’s hand. “We’re going to be parents. I’m… I’m so happy.”

“Me too,” Chloe said. “Merry Christmas.” She pulled Beca into a kiss which Beca eagerly accepted.

“Merry Christmas,” Beca replied, between kisses. “I love you so much.” Her hand touched Chloe’s stomach. “I love you both so much.”

“Me too, baby,” Chloe replied. “Me too.”

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