12 Days of Christmas - Day 7 - Calliope & Lola Explicit Version (Patreon)

This is F/F. IF YOU DON'T LIKE EXPLICIT F/F. DON'T READ IT! You're just gonna hurt your own feelings. I'm a little rusty with the girl parts anymore (in every aspect of my life 😭) so its probably not as scandalous as I used to make it, so go easy on me. Again, if you don't like F/F just skip it and read the other version. No harm, no foul.

If it sucks, I beg of you, please never tell me. This is unbeta'd/unedited so ignore any typos and screw ups.

Yes, I'm nervous.

Calliope groaned at the sound of the alarm going off—Stray Kids telling her to just Do It. She didn’t know what it was, but she was going to pretend it meant rolling onto her stomach and kicking her feet like a toddler. So she did, adding a loud, dramatic whine just for some extra spice.

She flopped once more for emphasis, face mashed into the pillow, before finally admitting defeat. She wanted to be a morning person so badly. She wanted to pop out of bed like Lola, all bright-eyed and ready to manifest a great day but the sun was her enemy. So she had resigned herself to faking it til she made it. Maybe with enough early mornings, she could trick her body into thinking it liked being up before brunch hours started. 

She finished her morning tantrum, then slapped at her phone until it shut up. She rubbed her eyes, blinking against the gray winter light seeping in around the edges of the curtains, then threw off the covers with a heavy sigh. She’d thought her forties would have made her feel like an adult—or at least an adultier adult. But most days she still felt like a kid playing dress-up, pretending she had her shit together.

Maybe that was just the curse of their generation, raised as latch-key kids on dial-up internet and existential dread, now expected to own property and have opinions about grout. Okay, she had opinions about grout, but she had opinions about everything. So, that didn’t make her an adult, just annoying. 

The wind whistled outside, low and constant, rattling against the old farmhouse in a way that felt familiar now rather than threatening. It was colder than a witch’s tit out there, no question about it. Lola was likely already up, already moving, already getting the coffee going with that quiet efficiency that made Calliope both deeply grateful and mildly resentful before caffeine. Most mornings, Calliope stumbled out of bed looking like a kitten someone fished out of a storm gutter while her wife looked like she belonged in a commercial for glossy women’s vitamins or expensive granola. 

It seemed like a waste to take a shower when she was just going to get messy in the barn feeding the animals, but she needed to shake off sleep and warm up from the inside out. The cold had a way of settling into her bones lately, and hot water was one of the few things that could chase it away completely.

She stripped down as she let the water heat, catching her reflection in the fogging mirror. She took a second to really look at herself, at the body she’d earned. She’d put on about thirty pounds over the years, but they’d settled in the right places, softening her in ways that felt earned rather than accidental.

As a teen mom to a budding psychopath and a hacker to Thomas Mulvaney, she’d lived on ramen and boxed mac & cheese for a very long time, every extra dollar shoved into savings for Dimitri. Just in case. Just in case the world collapsed. Just in case she needed to run. Just in case her son needed something she couldn’t predict yet. Like bail money and a solid defense attorney.

Survival had been the priority back then. Comfort came much later.

Now she had her own place. Land. Goats that screamed like demons and chickens with more personality than most people. She grew her own food, baked her own bread, fortified her home with firewalls and physical barriers in equal measure. And she was going to enjoy the fruits of her labor, damn it. 

She stepped under the spray and groaned, shoulders sagging as the heat soaked into her muscles, washing the chill away inch by inch. Steam curled around her, the scent of soap and clean water filling the space. She knew she needed to actually grab the soap, but for a long moment she just stood there, eyes closed, letting herself exist without thinking.

Down the hall, a very pregnant Cricket was still sleeping. Lola was probably cooking. Dimitri was likely eating while Arlo begged Lola to let him help, offering suggestions and immediately apologizing for them.

Calliope smiled to herself.

It was kind of ironic that the boy who’d started her entire journey with the Mulvaneys was the same boy her son ended up with. A strange, circular kind of fate. The universe loved its loops, apparently.

She was so deep in her head that she jumped when the shower door slid open and Lola stepped in behind her, warm hands settling on her hips like they belonged there. Because they did.

Calliope turned, startled breath turning into a soft laugh when she took her in. Unlike Calliope, Lola didn’t have a single wrinkle. Not one single crow had stepped foot on her gorgeous face. Her ebony skin was smooth and satiny, catching the light in a way that made it look like it glowed even through the steam. The bright orange shower cap protecting her twists made her look like some kind of Senegalese goddess who had decided, inexplicably, to marry a feral hacker and move to a farm in the middle of bum fuck nowhere.

Calliope reached for her automatically, palms sliding over familiar curves, grounding herself in the simple, undeniable fact of her wife being right there and all hers. 

“Where are the others?” Calliope asked.

Lola smiled. “Why? Do you want to invite Cricket to join us?”

Calliope rolled her eyes, but smiled too. “I don’t think we’re her type.”

“I don’t think anyone is her type,” Lola said dryly.

Calliope pressed Lola to the wall, who hissed at the cold tile kissing her bare skin. Lola glowered at her, but there was no real heat behind it, only familiarity, the kind that came from years of knowing exactly what the other was about to do.

“I’ve got my hands full with you,” Calliope murmured, her mouth finding Lola’s.

Lola hummed into the kiss, lips parting, tongue sliding inside in a dance they’d performed thousands of times. It was muscle memory and comfort and want all tangled together, easy in a way that only came from trust. She’d taken one look at Lola and had claimed her like she was a Mulvaney. If Lola had agreed, Calliope would have had a Uhaul outside her house before she could finish saying yes. 

She’d been all in on day one. No, minute one. 

Lola, on the other hand, had taken a little time to come around. 

She’d liked the sex just fine. She’d liked it enough to fly back and forth from the West to the East coast just to get it. But she’d enjoyed being a bounty hunter too, chasing down bad guys, sometimes fucking those same bad guys. She hadn’t wanted to settle down or give up the life she’d built brick by brick. Calliope hadn’t cared whether she stayed a bounty hunter or not. She’d just wanted her to stay close. 

It took a series of very fortunate events for that to happen, the first being Lola’s only friend–Aiden–moving home to finally be with Thomas. But it wasn’t until Lola agreed to donate her eggs to Felix and Avi and Calliope had agreed to act as a surrogate for Thomas and Aiden, that they’d gotten close. Living-in-the-same-house close. Injecting-hormones-every-day close. Learning-each-other’s-breaking-points close and eventually Calliope-going-through-morning-sickness-in-her-late-thirties close. They’d had to lean on each other in ways no man would ever understand.

They’d been through a lot together.

They kissed lazily for a bit, hands roaming, the steam curling around them as the water beat a steady rhythm against the tile. But when it started to edge toward something heavier, Calliope pulled back with a soft groan.

“If I don’t stop now, we won’t stop,” she said, resting her forehead against Lola’s. “And I still have to feed the animals. Including the one I birthed.”

As if summoned, Dimitri’s voice echoed down the hall. “Stop making out with your wife and make me breakfast—ow. Ow—please.”

Calliope and Lola both laughed. The sound cut through the steam like sunlight, easy and warm. Arlo had no doubt slapped or pinched him for talking to her like that. That was why Arlo was her favorite. Not really. She loved them both equally. She was proud of them both. They had both come so far.

“These kids have the worst timing,” Calliope said with a sigh.

“If it makes you feel better,” Lola said, reaching for a towel, “I already fed the animals.”

Calliope blinked. “You didn’t have to do that. It was my day.”

“I know,” Lola said. “But I was already up, and it’s Christmas Eve, and I wanted to do something small for you.”

Calliope shook her head, smiling as she leaned in to steal another lazy kiss. “I don’t know how I ever dated men when there were women like you around.”

“To be fair, you hadn’t met me yet,” Lola said. “Besides, I slept with my fair share of undeserving men before I met you. And what do you mean ‘women like me?’ There are no other women like me. You scored an original. I’m one of a kind, bay-bee.”

“My very own 24 karat gold Labubu,” Cricket teased in a grating British accent.

Lola rolled her eyes, wrapping the towel around herself. “I’m gonna start confiscating your laptop at night. You’re starting to sound a little too ‘chronically online’ for my taste. And Labubu’s are ugly. There I said it.” 

“But mom, you can’t take my laptop,” she whined, eyes dragging across her wife’s perfect breasts which were currently spilling over her blue towel in a way that had her wanting to lick her lips. “I need it for my homework…and porn.” 

“I hope you never looked at your mom the way you’re looking at me right now,” Lola murmured. “And I’m not sure I’m ready to explore that particular fetish. Especially when you’re older than me.” 

Calliope clutched her chest. “Ouch, and I was gonna make you breakfast and everything.” 

Lola stepped into her space, crowding her against the counter. Heat shocked through her. Sometimes she forgot how assertive her wife could get, and how much bigger she felt when she was peering down at her like she wanted to eat her alive. 

“Is that so?” Lola asked. 

When her lips settled over Calliope’s this time, the kiss was far dirtier than the ones in the shower. Strong arms came around her, picking her up and setting her on the counter. 

“Yeah,” Calliope said breathlessly, her heartbeat throbbing between her legs. She tugged the shower cap from Lola’s head, letting her beaded hair spill around her shoulders. “Anything you want to eat.” 

Lola’s voice dropped to that low seductive tone, the one she used to unravel Calliope like a cheap sweater. 

“Anything I want to eat?” she asked, soft hands firmly separating Calliope’s thighs, palm sliding up, up, up until she gasped, her whole body jolting.  Lola pulled back to look her in the eye as her fingers slipped inside. “The only thing I’m hungry for is right here. It’s hot and everything.” 

If anyone else had said that to her, she might have rolled her eyes, but those words dripping off Lola’s tongue with her clever fingers touching her just how she liked it, had her whimpering. 

Her arms slid around Lola’s neck, pulling her back in, hooking her legs over her hips to give her better access even as she said, “We can’t. The kids are right outside.” 

Lola didn’t stop, her lips brushing her jaw before dipping lower to kiss over her fluttering pulse. “How many nights have we endured them fucking in our spare bedroom?” 

Her fingers twisted, her thumb sliding between her folds to settle right where she needed it most. Calliope’s breath caught, her eyes rolling back behind half-closed lids. 

She had a point. 

She had a very good point.

 An excellent one, really. 

She fell back on her hands, her hips rocking forward of their own accord. “Oh, fuck.” 

“You’re so easy,” Lola taunted, her voice practically purring. “Think I can make you come on my fingers before your son is screaming for breakfast again?” 

Calliope’s gaze caught hers, biting her lip before she said, “I thought you said you were hungry.” 

Lola arched a brow. “Oh, it's like that, huh?” 

She sank to her knees before she could respond, beckoning Calliope closer until she was not so much perched on the counter as resting against it. Lola lifted Calliope’s leg, placing it over her shoulder as she mouthed along her thigh, tongue dragging along the wetness already clinging to her skin. 

“You always taste so fucking good,” Lola said, her breath hot against her. “You smell good too.” 

Calliope swallowed down the sound fighting its way out her throat as Lola traced her tongue between her folds with excruciating precision, dipping lower with each pass, giving her just enough to tease, but not enough to satisfy. 

Calliope made a noise of frustration.

On the next pass, Lola probed deeper, her nose pressing against Calliope's swollen clit as her tongue slipped inside, like she couldn't help herself. Calliope gasped, heat surging inside, greedy and insistent, cunt throbbing with her need for more.

“Baby, please,” she begged. “We don’t have much time. You know what I want.” 

“So demanding,” Lola chastised as she pulled back, gazing up at her, breathing labored like a diver resurfacing. When Calliope pouted, her wife took pity on her, pressing a kiss to her pubic bone before diving back in with purpose. 

“Oh, sweet fucking hell,” she gasped as Lola’s lips closed around her clit, sucking insistently. Calliope’s toes curled, squirming beneath her. “Oh, yeah, do that more,” she panted, her hand resting on Lola’s head, not pushing, just needing to touch her somehow. “Please, please, please.”

Lola hummed, the vibration making Calliope gasp, her belly clenching, aching for more, her hips rocking forward, her body acting almost against her will. Lola liked to tease, liked to play, liked to draw things out, edging Calliope until she was in tears, so far gone she'd do anything.

But not today.

There was no time. 

Lola reverted back to lapping at her clit with that broad steady pressure, the tempo better than any toy she’d ever had. It was maddening. It was heaven. She was drowning in a pool of her own longing.

Every touch of her tongue set off a chain reaction in her body until she was biting her lip just to stay quiet.

But the longer it went on, the less she cared about who was on the other side of the door.

Fire licked at her insides. Her thighs tightened as she fought to stay still beneath her wife’s nimble fucking tongue. After a while, she couldn’t stop herself from pressing into her mouth, greedy for the climax building with every pass. 

Lola ate her like she was starving, like she was ice cream, dripping and sweet, until Calliope was panting, hips rolling as she tried to put the pressure just where she wanted it. But Lola never let her take control, forever steady as a metronome, letting Calliope only have what she was given. 

Fuck. Fuck.

She couldn’t take much more. If they were alone, she would have been begging, pleading, offering up anything for Lola to just give her what she needed. Instead, she was holding it in. Her thighs were shaking, her body hot all over, but not from the shower or the steam of the bathroom, from Lola's sensual torture.

But no matter how much she whined or whimpered or quietly begged, Lola’s tongue never faltered, not even as she slid three fingers inside, applying just the right pressure from all sides. 

“Jesus Christ,” Calliope whispered, her hips grinding down against her will, her knee threatening to buckle. "Baby, please."

She fought the scream climbing up her throat as Lola picked up the pace of her thrusts all the while never easing the relentless pressure on her clit. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. How are you always so fucking good at this?” she asked, her voice climbing.

She was losing herself, unable to stop her low cries or the way she fucked herself on Lola’s fingers while she tried to grind herself onto the soft muscle of her tongue. 

“I’m so close, please don’t stop,” she begged, her nerves lighting up like fireworks.

Lola crooked her fingers, switching from that persistent licking to deep sucking.

That was all it took. 

Calliope sank her teeth into her own palm, spine arching, her cunt clenching around Lola’s fingers as her release pulsed through her, her whole body shaking as she fought to stay quiet. Lola removed her mouth, but kept her fingers there, letting her ride the waves of the aftershocks that twitched through her, planting chaste kisses on her hip, her belly, wherever her mouth could reach. 

By the time her hand slipped free, Calliope’s legs felt like they were made of jelly. 

Lola stood, face damp, eyes bright, towel just how she’d left it, regal as a fucking queen. 

Calliope drew her in, kissing her slow and deep, sucking the taste of herself from Lola’s tongue with a quiet moan. When they broke apart, she found Lola looking at her like she was the lucky one and not the other way around. 

“Fix your face,” she teased gently, pushing Calliope’s wet hair behind her ears. “You look wrecked.” 

“I am wrecked,” she admitted. “You wrecked me. You always do. Every time.” 

Lola smiled, kissing her slowly once more before asking, “Want me to blow dry your hair for you?” 

Calliope let her eyes rake over her wife’s towel clad form. “You don’t want me to return the favor?” 

“Oh, I do. But later, when we’re alone in our room at Thomas’s, where the walls aren’t made of hopes and dreams,” Lola said. 

“”Should I dip into the toy box?” Calliope offered. “Pack some extras?” 

Lola nodded. “Mm, surprise me.”  

Dimitri’s voice cut through their afterglow like a samurai sword, sharp and final.  “Mom,” he called again dramatically. “Please, it’s Christmas Eve and we’re starving.” 

“We are not,” Arlo called after him.

“Well, maybe a little,” Cricket added…from somewhere. 

The walls were too thin in this place. 

Calliope made a sad noise as Lola slipped her fingers free, locking eyes with her before sliding them into her own mouth, sucking the taste of her off her fingers. 

The deliberate slowness of it felt cruel in the most intimate way, a promise dangled just out of reach.

“You’re evil,” Calliope said, swallowing loudly, her pulse still racing, heat curling low in her belly.

 “You’re delicious,” Lola countered with a wink, unrepentant.

 “To be continued,” Calliope muttered, half a threat, half a plea.

“Oh, most definitely.”

They left their bathroom, both of them dressing while staring longingly at the other. The air still felt warm and damp, scented faintly with soap and skin, clinging to them like an echo. Calliope now uncomfortably horny and unsatisfied, Lola smug and gloating.

She groaned when Lola dropped her towel, bending down to slide on a pair of red panties that showcased the swell of her hips and her generous ass. The sight alone was enough to make Calliope’s hands twitch.“Stop being such a tease.”

Lola’s laugh filled the space like church bells, bright and utterly unapologetic.

They dressed quickly, easy and practiced, bumping into each other in the small bedroom, stealing one more kiss before putting on their clothes. It was the kind of casual intimacy that came from years of knowing exactly how to move around each other without thinking. 

Calliope donned a pair of black sweatpants and what was almost certainly Dimitri’s hoodie, the sleeves too long, the fabric soft and lived-in. Lola dragged on a cropped Christmas sweater and a pair of faded denim overalls. They had hours to go before they needed to get ready to leave for Thomas’s house but Lola looked festive enough to make Calliope’s heart do a little dance behind her ribs. She loved this time of year. She loved her life. She loved her family. Everything. She was just…happy.

“You’re so hot,” Calliope said without thought, gaze still caught on her wife, the words slipping out unfiltered and sincere.

Lola rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just telling the truth. Don’t blame me. Blame your insanely good-looking parents and their impeccable genetics.”

Lola laughed once again, the sound rich and unguarded. She leaned back against the wall, eyes warm as she took Calliope in, like she was memorizing her in pieces. Like she always did, as if Calliope were something precious and finite. 

“If I’d known all it took was a farmhouse and a hacker wife to reach my final form, I would’ve retired from bounty hunting a lot sooner,” she said teasingly. 

Calliope snorted. “Liar. You loved that life.”

“I loved parts of it,” Lola corrected gently. She reached out, tucking a damp curl behind Calliope’s ear, thumb lingering there. “I loved the adrenaline. I loved knowing I could take care of myself. But I didn’t know I could have this too.”

Calliope felt that settle somewhere deep in her chest, heavy in the best way. Calliope hadn’t known she could have this life either. Any of it. The quiet mornings. The shared showers. The goats screaming bloody murder because one of them thought another was getting fed first. The digital fortress hidden behind farmhouse walls. The people they’d gathered around themselves, every single one of them chosen, stubborn, feral…loyal.

“I didn’t ask you to give any of that up,” Calliope said quietly, the old fear surfacing for just a second.

“No,” Lola agreed. “You didn’t.” She smiled, softer now. “You just made yourself available to me in any way I’d have you and, before I knew it, I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving.”

They stood there for a moment longer, breathing each other in. Outside, the wind rattled the old windows again, a low warning hum that felt more like background noise than danger.

This place was solid. 

Fortified.

Loved.

“Okay,” Calliope said eventually, clapping her hands once, breaking the spell with practiced ease.

“I’ll make breakfast. Cinnamon french toast?”

“I suppose it will have to do,” Lola said, dropping a chaste kiss on her lips. The kind of kiss that promised more later, once the house stopped feeling like a hostel. “At least until these people get out of our house.”

“I’ll cook. You wrangle the children.”

Lola raised a brow. “Which children?”

“All of them,” Calliope said. “Including my son.”

“I couldn’t wrangle that boy with spurs and a lasso,” Lola said fondly. 

“Don’t put images of you in cowboy boots in my head,” Calliope whined. 

Lola laughed, shaking her head as she left the room. 

The farmhouse was already awake in its own way. The hum of servers came from behind a disguised panel near the stairs, the quiet heartbeat of the digital defenses Calliope maintained even on holidays. 

The kitchen smelled like strong coffee, like warmth and intention. This was her favorite place in the house. She never felt more at peace than when she was in there. It reminded her of better times, of being little, of baking with her grandmother, her hands dusted in flour and her laugh larger than life.

Dimitri was at the table, exactly where she expected him to be, demolishing a bowl of cereal while Arlo hovered nearby with a mug of coffee, looking as angelic as ever. The contrast between them never stopped amusing her, chaos and calm in perfect balance.

“Morning, menace,” Calliope said, pressing a kiss to Dimitri’s hair as she passed.

“Morning, mother,” he replied sweetly, then added, “Make it French toast.”

She shot him a look. “Demanding.”

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you,” she said haughtily. “And I was already going to make french toast for my wife but if you’re nice to me I’ll make some for you too.” 

She paused just long enough to make him sweat.

She made her way to Arlo, kissing his cheek. “Now you, you I love.”

Arlo smiled at that, small and sincere, blushing to the tips of his elf-like ears. It still amazed her how easily kindness landed on him. Java lay at his feet, chin on her paws, watching Calliope with sleepy devotion.

“Wooow,” Dimitri said, but he was smiling.

“How’s Java?” she asked, crouching down to pet the dog briefly. 

“She nervous for her procedure?”

Dimitri snorted. “We gave her enough Benadryl to take down a water buffalo. Or Gary Busey. I don’t think she’s gonna care about anything for the foreseeable future.”

Calliope stood, going to the sink to wash her hands before she started breakfast. “But you can pick her up later tonight?”

Arlo nodded, his anxiety about his dog palpable. “Yeah.” 

Lola slipped in behind her, looping an arm around Calliope’s waist. Her chin rested between Calliope’s shoulder blades, familiar as breath. “Hello, boys.”

“Hi, Lola,” they chimed in unison.

“Creepy.”

The voice didn’t come from Lola but Cricket who waddled in wearing what looked–to Calliope at least–like a circus tent. It was a dress–maybe?–or a muumuu? The fabric strained valiantly around her belly, patterned in red and white vertical stripes that made her impossible to ignore.

“Damn, Crick, who designed that dress? Barnum & Bailey?” Dimitri chimed, smirking at her over his coffee cup.

“I can and will stab you with your own fork and they’ll let me off,” Cricket said pleasantly. “I’ll just claim the pregnancy hormones drove me to it.” 

She smiled like she meant it.

Dimitri picked up his camera and took a picture of Cricket in her Ringling Brothers nightie and fuzzy bunny slippers, catching her mid-scowl with her hair standing on end like she’d been electrocuted by the holiday spirit. Then he showed it to her.

“This right here will be the only thing the prosecutor needs,” he said solemnly. “This is a crime against fashion. Felix would have a stroke.”

“Cricket, honey,” Lola said gently, resting her elbows on the counter like she was bracing for impact. “What are you wearing?”

Cricket huffed, then flopped down in the wooden chair opposite Dimitri, the chair protesting her dramatics with a faint creak. “The only nightgown that fits me right now.”

It was a nightgown. Thank God. Calliope didn’t care what she wore, but if the other Mulvaneys got ahold of that dress, Cricket probably would be going to prison for mass murder. She was at that point in pregnancy where she had zero patience for stupid-ass questions like you haven’t had that baby yet? or how many babies are in there anyway? Her poor ankles had disappeared entirely, her face was puffy, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. She looked like someone who had reached the end of her goodwill for the human race.

“French toast?” Calliope asked, already knowing the answer but asking anyway because it felt like kindness.

“Please,” Cricket said.

Calliope smiled. “How many slices?”

“Is half the loaf too much?” Cricket asked wryly. “I’m starving today.”

“You can have anything you want until that baby makes an appearance,” Lola promised, voice soft but absolute.

As Calliope started pulling out bread and eggs, she glanced toward the window, watching snow drift lazily across the fields. The world outside looked hushed, wrapped in white. It felt like the calm before something—not ominous, exactly, just… full. Like clouds before rain, or that niggling sensation she got right before something big happened. The kind of feeling she’d learned never to ignore.

Dimitri appeared behind his mother, hooking his chin over her shoulder as he watched her coat bread in eggs. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla was already starting to bloom.

“What did you get me for Christmas?”

“Some manners,” she shot back. 

Dimitri made a noise of disgust. “I was kinda hoping for a PS5.”

“Then maybe you should’ve sat on Santa’s lap,” Calliope said without looking at him.

Lola snorted, pulling out the Christmas dishes that went with their Santa coffee mugs. “For a PS5, you should have given him a lap dance.”

“That’s not fair,” Dimitri said, pointing accusingly with his spoon. “Y’all are rich and you live out here like Mennonites. What could you possibly need all that money for?”

“For Arlo’s gifts, of course,” Calliope said benevolently, shooting a smile his way.

“I don’t need anything, Mom,” Arlo said, voice earnest in that way that always made her chest ache a little.

Lola leaned into his space and snuck another kiss to his cheek. “And that’s why we spoil you. You’re grateful. Unlike some people.”

“I can’t help it,” Dimitri said, pooching out his lower lip. “I was born this way.”

“So was August,” Cricket said dryly. “But he’s always gracious.”

“I’d be gracious too if I was a billionaire,” Dimitri shot back, his voice rising in pitch at the end. “Give me some money and I’ll prove it.”

Calliope shook her head. He used to be such a somber kid. Watchful. Measuring. Always assessing the room before deciding who he needed to be in it. He was an excellent actor. He’d faked his way into the cool kids’ clique in high school, had charmed the admissions board at his university, was one of the only freshmen who’d been actively sought out by his fraternity. He’d learned early how to perform likability like a survival skill. But when he wasn’t performing, he’d always been kind of quiet. Still. Coiled. Waiting.

That was what had always worried Calliope, that feeling that at some point that spring would snap. 

All that changed when Arlo came back into his life. It was like someone had flipped a switch, gave him permission to just…be.

“You’d be a monster if you had money,” Cricket countered. “There would be documentaries made about what a humongous cock-weasel you were—songs, ballads, limericks, true crime podcasts—”

“Nobody likes you when you’re pregnant,” Dimitri said, fake pout firmly in place.

“Nobody likes you ever,” she shot back, making a face before sticking out her tongue.

Dimitri snorted. “Untrue. Everyone loves me.”

“Everyone loves Arlo,” Lola said with a smile, patting Dimitri’s cheek. “They tolerate you.”

“Why is everyone defending her and attacking me?” Dimitri demanded. “She called me a cock-weasel—whatever the fuck that is. When are they gonna go in there and extract that little parasite anyway?”

It was a testament to how exhausted Cricket was that she let that slide, only saying, “Hopefully soon, since my son seems to think I’m an elephant and not a human. If they don’t get him out soon, be prepared for another fourteen months of me being an absolute thundercunt.”

“Did someone give you, like, a creative insult-of-the-day calendar?” Arlo asked, eyes wide with genuine curiosity.

“No,” Dimitri said solemnly. “It’s the demon inside her taking over.”

She flipped him off. He returned the gesture with interest. She rolled her eyes. He made a face. It was like watching two raccoons fight over a shiny object.

Calliope shook her head, exasperated but fond. “Enough. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

They acted like siblings. Chaotic. Unfiltered. Loud in a way that only came from deep comfort. It was so strange the way all their lives had intersected. They were close enough in age, far closer than either of them were to Calliope or Lola.

“So,” Dimitri said, appearing over her shoulder once more, “what did you get me?”

“What did you get me?” she countered. “Hm?” 

“Uh…” 

“That’s right. You don’t know. Because Arlo does all the Christmas shopping and you just slap your name on it.” 

“Mooom,” Dimitri whined. 

She set down the spatula, grabbing a wooden spoon before turning and poking him sharply in the ribs. “Go sit down right now or I will not let you open gifts after breakfast.”

“Ugh, fine,” Dimitri huffed, trudging to the table and flouncing into his seat.

Beside her, Lola hit a button on the remote and Christmas music began to float softly through the speakers, low and warm. Arms wrapped around Calliope from behind, lips pressing gently to her neck, 

“Better?” Lola murmured.

“Much better,” Calliope said, leaning back into her without thinking.

Now it felt like Christmas Eve.