#wwdilfcember

When Bell was four she accompanied Pero to the tavern once a week, during the day time, to work on fixing up the building in whatever way the owners needed him to. He would teach her how to fix a candle holder to the wall, how to mend a broken table leg, what to clean the rugs with. She listened intently and worked enthusiastically (as much as her small hands could). And afterwards she would run ahead of her father to get home to tell you all about what she learned from her papa that day. It filled Pero with pride everyday that he had such a bright, happy, spirited child. 

Sometimes the tavern owner would see them to a table at the end of their work, place a tankard of mead in front of Pero and a small bowl of pickles in front of Bell. She would pick at her favourites whilst watching Pero take a big gulp of his drink, tankard landing on the table with a loud thump, then belching into his fist. Her giggles would travel through the empty tavern, making Pero laugh with her. And then she’d copy. Taking up her bowl with both hands, having a drink of the pickled liquid, pulling a face at the sourness and slamming the bowl whilst fake burping in Pero’s direction. It was the funniest thing Pero had ever seen.

She did this at home too. Picking up her jug of water at the dinner table, drinking large gulps before producing a fake burp that had Pero’s ribs hurting from laughter.

You pulled him into the kitchen one evening, leaving your daughter to eat by the fire whilst you and Pero washed and dried the dishes.

“You’re going to tell me off?” Pero asked, already moving to distract you from chores by pressing you up against the counter. 

“Would it make a difference if I did?” Your smile is sweet but your eyes are alight with adoration for your husband. 

“Probably not,” he admitted, kissing your forehead, “I cannot say no to her, you know this.”

You kissed him slowly, pulling away only because you have more to say.

“Maybe don’t encourage her to drink mead. She is only four,” you reminded him, turning your head when he goes in for another kiss. Pero grumbled half-heartedly but conceded with a nod, if only so you’d keep kissing him.

-

It took a few days but Pero had an idea that he hoped would keep you from worrying. He set up the dinner table with a child-sized wooden saucer and small drinking cup, and a Pero sized saucer for his much bigger tankard, both filled with water. When Bell entered the room she looked at the set up, confusion and intrigue alive on her face. 

“Come sit. Join me in drinking tea.”

Bell excitedly threw herself into her chair and peered curiously into her cup.

“What is teeeee?” She asked, dipping her finger into the liquid. Pero picked her finger out of the cup and placed it on the table pointedly. 

“Tea. I have been to a place where they drink something that is both sour and floral. And they sit with the people they love and drink this tea and talk.”

Bell thinks this over, then shakes her head.

“But this is water, papa.”

Pero guffawed. 

“Yes, Bell. This is water. But we can pretend.”

“Why?”

Pero picked up his tankard and took a small sip, mindful that Bell watched his every move. He did this slowly, until she copied with her own small cup, carefully placing her cup within the ridges of the saucer. 

“To spend time together.”

“But we do!” Bell exclaimed, arms reaching wide as though it were obvious. “We work! Mend broken things and you take me fishing in the pond. Then we eat with mama. And you tell me stories until I fall asleep.”

Pero nods throughout. He hadn’t realised how much she took into her little heart, all the moments he spent with her meant the world to him but he hadn’t stopped to think that they meant everything to Bell too. He cleared his throat quietly.

“That is all true. But we do not have time to talk because we are always busy.”

Bell nods, then remembers. 

“What about mama? We need everyone we love to drink tea.”

“Mama is usually busy in the day.” Pero looked around, never wanting to disappoint her. “We could invite your toys?” Bell was running into her room before Pero had finished his sentence, coming back with an armful of wooden animals of various sizes and her most important possession, a stuffed cat named Mr Muggles.

“They will join for tea,” she said, placing her toys around the edge of the table, giving them little pretend sips out of her cup.

If he hated the winter, you loved it, despite the fact it made you freeze. You liked the way the city seemed to quiet when snow fell, the honking and sounds of cars muffled under the snow and the persuasive hush of the season. It felt wonderful, different. Calming, and you needed the calm. You tried not to think of the things you’d been saddled with at work. The website you currently slaved over had more glitches and bugs than you could count. You weren’t sure where you and Dieter stood as a couple. Everything felt off, but you could count on winter to calm you down. 

You looked over at Dieter as you walked. Despite everything you wore, you could still feel the wind cutting through you. You wondered how he handled it wearing just a simple turtleneck and peacoat. The peacoat wasn’t even buttoned. You were sure the wind bothered him just as much as it bothered you, but as you walked arm in arm, you didn’t feel him shivering from the chill. He continued on as poised as ever, tugging you along to some unknown destination. 

By the time the fourth city block came and went, you were far too cold to let curiosity bolster you. You nudged him in the side with your elbow as you passed another shop. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“Someplace I think you’ll like.” 

You huffed, feeling that annoyance bubble up inside your chest. You hated surprises. 

“This isn’t a fun date so far.” 

“Baby, I know you’ll enjoy it, but for now, we just need to face the cold.” 

“We could’ve taken the bus or a cab.” 

He laughed, nudging you back gently. “We could’ve, but where’s the fun in that?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Staying warm. That’s what makes it fun.” 

He shook his head, his deep brown eyes shining in the dim light as he looked at you. “I just think you’ve been spoiled, is all.” 

“Hey!” You exclaim as you elbow him in the side. “That’s not very nice.” 

“No, I know it isn’t.”

“But you couldn’t resist, could you?” 

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ playfully, causing you to roll your eyes again. 

But before you could say anything else, he tugged you into a six story townhouse full of old world charm and lined with books on every shelf imaginable. You gasped, not used to the splendor or the amount of books in the space. You were sure your eyes were cup saucers wide as you looked around and took everything in. 

“Holy shit, this place is incredible.” 

Dieter grinned at you, that dimple on his right cheek deepening. Butterflies flapped in your stomach as you watched him. 

“This is the oldest bookshop in New York. Did you know it was founded in 1925?” 

“I didn’t even know this place existed!” You murmured in awe. 

“Now you do,” he said with a playful wink. “Come on,” he began, taking your hand and tugging  you along, “let’s go looking around.” 

You couldn’t believe your luck. You couldn’t believe your eyes. The place was amazing. The smell of ink and paper and leather assaulted your senses, but you’ve never been as relaxed as you were then. It felt foreign to be there, like you’d stepped back in time. You didn’t want to touch anything. You just wanted to breathe in the atmosphere and breathe in the warm, comforting smell, and you wanted to revel in the feel of his large hand enveloped around yours. You’d never quite felt anything like it. Sure, you’ve held your boyfriend’s hands before. You never deprived yourself of that, but his hand just felt different. It felt right. Everything about him felt right, despite the rocky start you both had. 

The two of you rounded around a corner and he tugged you into a kiss, the first of many hidden among the bookshelves, despite the fact that people milled around you both. You didn’t care. You were finally happy, and you liked the way the emotion looked on him, all bright and shining from every pore of his body. It made your heart flutter and your body buzz with excitement. You were finally doing something right. You must be. Or he wouldn’t be so happy, would he?

You stole another kiss, spinning them around and pushing him gently up against a bookshelf. His free hand skimmed over your back. You could feel the grin on his supple lips as you drowned in them. 

His teeth nipped gently at your lower lip. His silky voice murmured against you softly. 

“You’re a little minx.” 

“You should’ve known that,” you whispered back. 

“I did.” He stole another kiss. “Do you want to see something cool?” 

You lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you brought me here to buy books.” 

He huffs. “Yes, I did. But this place has more than just books.” 

He tugs you, squeezing your hand as he does. As you passed a window going up the stairs, you watched the snow spiral in the wind. 

He showed you autographs the store has, antique maps, and leather bound first editions, peppering each title with stories and trivia you wonder how he knows. But you don’t ask. You don’t dare ask. If you ask, you know he’ll clam up and shut down. You don’t want that. This was a date, and that was more important than anything else right now. 

You continued to pass by more and more rows of books when you finally decide to grab one, pulling it delicately from the shelf from the spine and flipping it open. You gasped when you saw the messy scrawl of an autograph.

“No way! No way, this is autographed!” 

He chuckled. “Most everything on this floor is autographed.” 

“This is so cool.” 

“Do you want it?” 

You tilted your head, brows furrowed as you peered at him. “It’s too expensive.” 

“Not for me,” he crooned near your ear. 

You gasp. “No, don’t. Don’t you dare.” 

“If I want to buy something, I can. Can’t I?”

You sighed heavily. You guess he could. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. Not really. You two were boyfriend and girlfriend, weren’t you? You knew that this was all part of the experience. But you tried not to think of your last boyfriend. That relationship crashed and burned. In fact, it’d been the worst boyfriend you’d ever had. Memories of that manchild made your stomach roll sickly, but you pushed back the sickness with a sweeter than sugar smile. 

“Yes, you can.” 

Trying to watch a movie with four grown men turned out to be a more difficult challenge than you ever thought it would be. You sat back and watched the four of them argue over what we were going to watch. Will wanted First Blood, Santi wanted The Expendables, Frankie wanted Lone Survivor, and Benny wanted Sand Castle. You knew in the end the final decision was up to you. When their heads all turn to you, you knew it was time to make a decision. Before any of them could ask you what you wanted to watch you blurt The Expendables. Santi lets out an excited holler and pushes Will’s shoulder. 

“I told you they’d pick The Expendables!” His excitement is contagious and you let out a laugh shaking your head. 

“It was not an easy choice Santi, they were all great choices.” You tell him, your smile growing wider. 

He nods his head and dips down to grab your dvd from its respective place on the shelf and pops it into the player. All of them scramble around like ants trying to find the perfect place to sit. Benny ends up sprawled out over the lounge chair, his long legs hanging over the edge. Santi plops down next to you on the couch and steals your blanket. Will settles down on the other side of you with a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You stare at him for a moment, when did he go do that? Frankie sits on the floor at your feet and props his arm up on your knee. You knew he wouldn’t be comfortable down there for long, eventually you would go and grab him a chair. 

The movie starts and the five of you zone in on what’s happening. You had seen the movie several times, but it was still good each time. It brought you a sense of joy that you only got from specific movies. 

“Oh fuck me!” You all turn your  heads to Benny who sits up in the chair. 

He looked exasperated, his hands pushing into his hair in frustration. 

“What?” Will asks, concerned for his brother. 

“The guy I was supposed to fight just backed out. Now I don’t have a fight before Christmas to make some extra money.” His tone drops at the end. 

“You can make money some other way Benny, it’ll all be okay. Don’t worry.” You tell him.

“Yeah man, maybe we can become strippers for the holidays or something.” Santi pipes in, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

Benny’s eyes light up like he was suddenly considering it. 

“Yeah no, I am not doing that shit.” Will says, making you cackle. 

You see the edges of Will’s lips turn upward. 

“Oh come on! The girls would love you Will!” Santi shouts. 

You shake your head, you knew Santi was fighting a brick wall on that one. You look down at Frankie who sits quietly, unphased by Santi’s chaos. 

“How about we bake stuff or something like that?” Frankie suggests, still immersed in the film. 

“That’s actually a really good idea. And something we can all do without having to take our clothes off.” You tell them. They all let out laughs at that. 

“Well, unless you wanted to, I guess. Maybe we will make more money.” You laugh once more. 

Benny nods his head in agreement. After the movie ends the five of you begin planning your Christmas bake sale and stay up into the early hours of the morning. Laughing and being together and while enjoying each other's company.

Tags- @obiknights @cyroku @all-hallows-evie @iloveyouwhiskey

You’ve pulled Jack out of his mind before but this time is proving difficult. You’re surrounded by strangers in a ski resort halfway up a mountain, curled up on a beat-up, leather loveseat in a secluded corner of the resorts visitor centre. His hands are shaking where they grip onto your winter coat but he’s a lot calmer than he was.

You’d been taking a walk through the resort, Jack saying a cheery welcome to anyone who passed by. You were planning your day; breakfast at the old pub in the village, Jack was going to teach you beginners skiing in the afternoon, then back to the hotel to dress up for a glamorous dinner date at a French restaurant in the evening. 

But something happened before you could even get to breakfast, a curious incident that saw Jack having a panic attack in the middle of the street and you ushering him into the nearest building to calm him down. 

Jack can see the questions on your face, the worry in your eyes that were wet at some point, whether from tears or the snow outside he’s not sure. He wets his dry, cracked lips, thinks about what he’ll say, then settles on the truth.

“I did some terrible things in a past life. In a place just like this one. To good people. And I can’t ever forgive myself.”

You have no idea what he’s referring to, knowing only the minimum when it comes to Jack’s history. 

He wants to tell you everything but is a coward in the face of your almost certain rejection. Selfishly, he never wants you to find out about the version of himself he’s deeply ashamed of. In a perfect world you’re only to know shiny, improved Jack 2.0 who’s learned from his biggest mistakes and knows how to be a better man. He’s aware relationships don’t last if secrets aren’t told, but these aren’t ordinary secrets and he really wants to hold onto them for as long as you’ll let him. 

“Why did we come here if it’s only going to remind you of a bad memory?”

“I thought I was over it. Turns out I’m not.” He sounds disappointed in himself, shaking his head in frustration. 

“Let’s go home, Jack.”

Jack blinks, imagines what home means; safety, a quiet mind, unequivocal peace. He longs to be back home.

“You sure, darling?”

“I’m sure I can’t ski.” That makes Jack laugh, a soft release of air that warms your cold face. You’re still huddled closely together, a few feet away from the reception desk and a disgruntled receptionist that keeps eyeing you both with distaste. You want to be like this but a thousand miles away in the privacy of your home, where you can fall asleep together and wake up in a better state of mind. You think about your hotel room in the village, how you’ll get back there eventually, Jack a little worse for wear but lighter in the knowledge that you’re sticking by his side wherever he goes. 

“Talk to me,” you whisper, “when you’re ready I’ll be listening. But for now, let’s go home.”

It was a busy Friday night. The city’s rowdy businessmen were letting loose after a week of 9-5’s, a hen party had Jake driving from one wrong hotel to another, so it wasn’t until halfway through the night that Jake remembered the flask he’d placed in the passenger side door. A puff of steam spilled out when he unscrewed the lid, warming his face. The chocolate smelled surprisingly strong when he expected it to be sweet. Jake likes bitter flavours; marmite on well-done toast, black liquorice, sprouts, soy sauce. So when you said hot chocolate, he was expecting to be underwhelmed. 

The first thing he noticed was the thickness. He’d seen the watery concoction you’d been given in coffee shops, with whipped cream and colourful sprinkles on top. But this was like drinking a thick and silky dessert. He swiped the excess from his lips and sucked it greedily off his thumb. It was dark, bitter cocoa with a kick of something spicy landing at the back of his throat. 

Jake clicked off the taxi light and sat with his hot chocolate until the stars disappeared, driving home only when the sun began to creep over the chimney tops. 

Arriving at the flat was usually a delicate operation. Jake often crept in, moving slowly, careful not to make any noise that might wake you. He’d undress near the door, tiptoe through the flat until he found a blanket and spent the morning catching up on sleep on the sofa. This night, however, Jake was later than usual. You were curled on your side lying facing the door, sleep-laden eyes watching for his return. 

“I was about to call,” you say, hand lifting from the bed to make a ‘come here’ motion, “is everything okay?”

Jake shucks off his coat in the general direction of the coat stand and leaves his now empty flask on the kitchen counter, all the while making his way over to you. He places his jeans and hat on the bedside table, climbs under the covers and curls his body around yours, heaving a sigh of relief as his body relaxes. 

“Bad night?” you enquire, unsure what to make of Jake’s quiet response. 

“The usual for the weekend,” Jake mumbled against your skin. He moves his head up, capturing your lips in a kiss. You can taste the remnant of chocolate heavy on his tongue. You pull away, smiling proudly.

“You liked the drink I made you?”

Jake hummed in satisfaction, remembering how much he enjoyed it.

“Not just chocolate?” he asked, the kick of something lingering in his throat.

“Chilli.”

Jake smirked, swallowing the aftertaste of spice one last time. 

“You know me well,” he whispered.

You watch his eyes blink once, twice, fighting against his tiredness to spend longer in this moment with you. Jake’s arms loosen their grip around you and before you know it he’s snoring softly, harmonising with the birds waking up outside your window. 

“I’ll make us a tea,” you suggested, patting his knee comfortingly on your way to the kitchen. You made sure you weren’t observed when you typed the catalogues website into your phone and searched for a pyjama set.

-

Neither you nor Richard wanted to make a big deal out of Christmas this year. You both had a couple of days off and you’d decided to spend it with each other at home, watching holiday movies, eating a wide range of food from both your cultures and settling down in the evenings to play games and read in each others company. 

As soon as you were ready to get into your pyjamas, when the sky was becoming dark and the hot cocoa was at the forefront of your minds, you turned to Richard with a content smile.

“I brought you a new pyjama set. Would you wear it for me tonight?” Richard looked at you in surprise. Already beyond grateful for the presents he’d received this morning he couldn’t believe you’d brought him another gift. 

“You are much too good to me,” he kissed you sweetly, pulling back reluctantly with child-like excitement in his eyes.

“It’s on the bed,” you said, prompting Richard to hurry up the stairs. 

Richard was a careful dresser. He secured every button carefully, tied every lace firmly, positioned collars perfectly. So you knew you had time to ready your final present. You reached over the side of the armchair to retrieve the bag you’d secretly placed there a few days before, pulling out the pyjamas you’d brought that matched the ones Richard was changing into upstairs. They weren’t the exact pyjamas he’d seen in the catalogue a couple of weeks ago but they were just as festive. The fabric was good quality cotton, a shade of light grey adorned with red berries and green holly leaves with a silver lining running along the edges of the collar, cuffs and down the front where pearl white buttons sat. The trousers were the same pattern with a red drawstring waist, the bottoms folded over and sewn. It was a beautiful set that you hoped Richard would love. 

You got changed and sat on the couch until you heard his tentative footsteps walking down the stairs. Your heart thumped with both excitement and apprehension. Your breath caught in your throat when Richard turned the corner, his hands nervously flattening the front of the pyjama top over his belly as he looked to you for approval. He was adorable in the pyjamas; the top button was low enough you could see some chest hairs poking over the top, he was walking slightly on the bottoms of the pyjama legs but he’d folded over the sleeves to free his hands. You walked over to hold his hands, giggling softly at how you two must look; silly, but completely in love.

Richard leaned forward to kiss you, underestimating the distance and landing a peck on your nose instead. You didn’t mind, there would be plenty of time this evening for as many kisses as you both wanted.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely with a wobbly smile. You took his face in your hands, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure,” you replied, receiving a toothy grin. “Anyway, I think we look cute.”

Richard nodded, pulling you into a hug.

“He wouldn’t let me carry him. He wanted you,” he replies with a huff. You can’t help but smirk. The kid had quickly grown attached since you met him a little over a cycle ago, saving him from what you thought was a jungle rancor going for a bite of the small creature when actually it turned out he was taming the beast. One exploded rancor later and you ended up following him and his dad on an adventure that never ended.

You fell in step with Din and finally came to the town you were looking for. The snow from earlier had settled thick on the roofs, but there was a clear path through the street to follow. Din leads the way towards a cantina just as a flurry of snowflakes start to fall, making you shiver and instinctively hold Grogu close to your chest.

It’s not much warmer inside. The door’s left open as an invitation to passersby yet the room is empty apart from the Mythrol man behind the bar and a group of travellers in the corner nursing cups of steaming milk. 

“I’ll get you and the kid some broth. Take a seat.” You choose a corner table, hoping the curve of the walls will provide protection from the worst of the falling temperatures. Peaking through the window you can see the snow worsening but the towns children hahaved left their homes to run and play up and down the street. Their cries of laughter and shrieks of surprise when hit with snowballs are muffled through the thick transparisteel, yet they still have you distracted until you hear your name being called with insistence.

Din arrives at your table holding a bowl of broth in each hand, his helmeted head swerving back and forth as if he has a swarm of bees inside.

“What is it?” Your heartbeat has risen whilst your body stills, preparing for a fight to break out or a blizzard of bullets to fly through the cantina.

“Where’s Grogu?”

You frown. But he was just-. You scan the area; where he should be: your arms, the seats, the table; where he was: the doorway, near the bar; where he couldn’t possibly be: the other side of the room, around Din, even the ceiling. You stay calm. He can’t have gone far. Din wasn’t gone for long and the kid only has little feet. You breathe steadily and reach over to remove the bowls from Din, placing them on the table before standing up.

“No one came by the table, I know that much, so he must have wandered off.” You hope you sound convincing. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until you see Din’s shoulders drop an almost indecipherable amount (when you can’t see someones facial features you learn other ways to read their emotions). You nod and start your search, physically going over the areas you glanced over in your earlier panic. 

“Wait,” you hear Din speak, rushing over to the bar where he stands. 

“Why?” you ask, trying to figure out what he’s thinking when you see him point a gloved finger towards the open door.

You can’t see anything at first, but now that you’re looking in their direction you can hear the childrens laughter a lot louder than before. Snowballs fly through the air towards their intended targets, a few children huddle behind makeshift barricades of food crates pushed up against lampposts, others were making people out of snow and giving them scarves and mittens to make them lifelike. 

And finally you see what had gotten Dins attention: Grogu patting the tummy of a snowy creation, with two kids helping to make a snow version of him. They place dark pebbles where the eyes would be, a cream blanket goes around the bottom snowball to make Grogu’s tunic, and over-the-top big triangular paper cones are wedged into the side of the head to make his ears. 

You stifle a giggle as you watch the kids present the finished piece to Grogu who looks at it with a twist of his head, as though not sure what to make of it, before squealing in delight.