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Summary
“You could win an award when it comes to making my life so hard,” Bellamy complains, the hard line of his shoulder bearing uncomfortably into her belly as he makes to carry her down the hallway, “I literally do not understand. You hire me to help you balance out your magic, but you also do everything in your power to make everything harder on yourself. Which also means making everything harder on me.”
“It’s not my fault,” Clarke groans, blanket-wrapped feet slung awkwardly atop the air, precariously missing accidentally kicking down the atrocious amount of artwork lining the hallway, “Christmas is my busiest season- I can’t not work.”
Bellamy sighs, the rattling breath of passive frustration slipping into the soft muscle of her own belly, the uncomfortable position slung atop his shoulders cutting into the narrow expanse of her diaphragm. “You don’t have to not work, you just have to sleep. For once.”
or;
the holiday witchcraft au | fic song