#Early Signs of Rhythm

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Audio: Art Feynman Returns with Funky "Early Signs of Rhythm"

New Audio: Art Feynman Returns with Funky "Early Signs of Rhythm" @westernvinyl @pitchperfectpr

Over the past few months, I’ve written a bit about Luke Temple, a singer/songwriter, visual artist, producer best known as being the creative mastermind behind the genre-defying recording project Art Feynman. Up until recently, Art Feynman has been strictly a solo thing, a way for Temple to explore surprising sonic landscapes without the burdens of identity. His forthcoming Art Feynman album Be…

[edge-oftheworld]

when I was in high school there was a tendency whenever there was an attractive boy to simply fan over him. in a way that talked over everything he might say for himself and created a narrative that completely ignored, the fact in some cases, that he was really struggling—or if he was struggling, to pin all the blame on the girl he’s dating and completely ignore the thousands of other factors (no it can’t be mental illness or unaccommodated disability or systemic abuse or exploitation and if he is in an abusive relationship we won’t ever consider the factors that put him at risk for that)

and I’m not saying this fandom is like that. I get the need for privacy around some things and how in public conversations sometimes it’s a lot more respectful to stick to the positives (everyone who does that, I admire you) or even the struggles that are talked about publicly, show respect by not reading too far into them. there’s a time and place for that. but sometimes I feel like our only options are shitty and ableist gossip or totally ignoring the systemic and structural issues we know exist in something like the music industry until someone dies and then we’re looking for someone to blame. friends, there is a point where the respectful thing is to listen to what someone says and come together to make things better. and you can learn how to have that conversation respectfully. please do

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Continuation to This Post :]

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It was always so strange to hear adults argue.

Grown up fights never seemed quite the same as the trivial spats her and Dipper sometimes had. They were similar in some aspects, yes; Adults and children weren't as different as people liked to think. Mabel had seen adults verbally lash at one another with vicious words just as low hanging and petty as the ones she'd sometimes see kids the same age as her use. Adults arguing was essentially just a louder, angrier version of children fights.

And yet, there was somehow... more to it. Grown up arguments always seemed to weigh so much heavier in the air, and for so much longer than she'd ever thought possible.

Sometimes, the weight would leave quick and early, practically gone by the next morning. However, occasionally, the weight would stay; and grow heavier, and heavier over the years. Until it came to a point when the weight was nothing but a choking, stifling presence that seemed to fill every room in the house and buzz deafeningly in your ears like an unpleasant static that made your head pound.

Then, one day, the pressure would burst with a loud yell, a slam, and a bang, and start building up all over again. It was a cycle Mabel was much familiar with.

Her Grunkle Ford's "Mystery Shack" didn't have that air.

The shack's air smelled like burnt out candles and cheap discount Halloween fake blood, with a hint of real blood underneath the stinging scent of old wood and aged parchment. It wasn't necessarily a very nice air, certainly not in any way the fresh, crisp, clean air of the streets of Piedmont, but it smelled more like home than she'd ever felt back in California. It just smelled like... Grunkle Ford.

She liked her Grunkle Ford. He was super weird; with an even weirder Uncle as his roommate. He checked her and Dipper's arms and legs every morning "just in case someone broke in at night to steal a sample of their bloods"; he despised overly sweet foods (baffling, truly); and he had exactly 27 locks installed on the front and back door respectively that he could unlock all in under a minute with his really fast extra fingers. He reminded her a little of Dipper on some occasions, no matter how much the latter liked to deny the similarities (although, bar the demonic obssession).

However, last night, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Grunkle Ford had a fight.

Mabel hadn't heard it, and she hadn't seen it, but she knew there had been one. She was an expert recognizing the signs; she could always tell.

When she had awoken that late morning, the stuffy summer air had taken an even more sour note than usual, and had become a touch heavier than it should have been. Either that meant Grunkle Ford had just recently finished up a ritual, or a particularly rowdy argument had taken place; and Mabel knew that Grunkle Ford only performed his rituals between 2 to 4 AM, when he thought the twins were well asleep.

It was strange, to feel that same heavy air push down upon her temples and pound that same painful rhythm of a mounting headache as it used to do so often back when Mabel was in California. It had already happened a few times at the shack, but this one felt... heavier, than usual. She didn't think she would have to encounter the discomforting weight again this summer, away from her parents. Yet here she was. Aching.

She knew Gunkle Ford and Uncle Bill fought and bantered. With Bill being a permanent resident trapped within her Grunkle's mind, she couldn't imagine how they wouldn't. She didn't think even she could keep her cool if she had Uncle Bill as her brain roommate 24/7.

In any case, their interactions in front of the twins were mostly a mixture of exasperated resignation, or irritated tolerance, mostly from Grunkle Ford. Their occasional volleying exchanges of vitriol doused insults and words were short lived, and brief most of the time, especially when in front of the kids. They were nothing like the long, loud ones that could go on for hours back at her house in Piedmont.

Even so, there were some times when Mabel would see Grunkle Ford late in the evening, red faced and tight fisted, stomping down to the basement and disappearing into his lab there with a deafening slam of the rickety wooden door. She recognized that slam. He didn't want the twins to hear the argument.

Even if they could hear anything, what little they could glean always seemed to be only side of the argument, with Grunkle Ford yelling curses at Uncle Bill inside his head. She always did wonder what happened inside Grunkle Ford's head. Although, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. She couldn't imagine the state of the mind of someone who sometimes forgot to eat or sleep for almost a full week until someone reminded him.

The entire day passed with that same, tense air choking the atmosphere. Dipper had dragged Mabel and himself to some adventure in the forest, but it seemed to her that he was just trying to find excuses to stay out of the shack for the time being. Even he seemed to feel the unnerving heaviness of the air.

That night, underneath her sheets, Mabel pulled out the worn and well used wooden art mannequins Dipper and Grunkle Ford seemed to keen on using to summon Bill rather than their own shadows. With her trusty golden glitter pen (that she knew Uncle Bill loved despite what he claimed), she gently drew a closed eye upon the blank wooden face of the little model.

The eye opened, and she spoke:

[thedenerts]

The baby is coming!

X-ORIGINS LOGAN X FEM!READER

Summary: your water broke when logan was out with his lumberjacking work

Tags: reader is preggo 9 months, logan and reader are married, reader is 27 and logan is 33, newborn's a baby boy, childbirth, labor

Word Count: 2.8k+

Notes: Hello! Donut here! Here to give you my second fan fic on wolverine (again). I was not expecting the first one that i had made a smut on got that many attention. I've noticed that some of the readers there doesn't like the way i describe y/n on it and i deeply apologize for it. I simply didn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings on that as i DID NOT KNOW that the word was a slur.

SMUT LOGAN FAN FIC HERE: https://www.tumblr.com/thedenerts/766686508900139008/love-isnt-red-its-blue?source=share

Extra notes: Trollers or the people that had a problem of me putting mdni on the first pic, i had my rights to put it as to not cause uncomfortable situations.

The early morning sunlight seeped through the wooden slats of the bedroom window, painting the room in soft, warm hues. Logan stirred beneath the thick quilt, his eyes still heavy with sleep. Stretching his arms out, his large hand brushing against the empty space beside him. He glanced over to find you lying on your side, your rounded belly rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. You swollen feet peeked out from beneath the blanket, a silent reminder of the life they had created together.

Leaning in, Logan gently kissed your forehead “Mornin’ darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with love. Your eyes fluttered open, a soft smile playing on your lips as you spoke. “Morning, Hun,” you whispered, your hand reaching out to rest on his cheek. The baby in your swollen belly kicked again and you winced slightly, “Seems like little man is eager to join us, huh?”

Logan chuckled, his hand sliding over the mound of your stomach. “Well, guess we know where he got that feisty attitude from. He’s got his father’s impatience, that’s for sure,” he teased, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. Your smile grew wider as you watched your husband get out of bed, his muscular frame moving with the ease of a man accustomed to hard work. You then slowly sat up on your bed, your own body protesting with a gentle groan. The baby’s kicks had become more frequent and stronger over the past few days…*a sign that your little miracle was almost there*.

Both Logan and you got up from the bed to start their day, excited to know that the baby might come today. The two of you ate breakfast together before eventually Logan went off to work for the day. Another day another job as a father who is a strong, handsome and a protective, loving husband.

“Logan, maybe you should stay home today…” you suggested, your eyes filled with concern. “I just have this feeling…” Logan paused in the act of pulling on his boost, looking over his shoulder at you. “You’ll be fine, love. It’s not your first time.” He tried to keep his voice light, but the truth was; he was just as nervous. He had promised to be there when your son is about to be born and he didn’t want to let you down.

“I know.” you nodded with your hand resting on your stomach protectively “But something just feels different-“.

Logan stood, walking over to you with his axe slung over his shoulder and the keys jingling in his hand. He bent down and kissed you again, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. “I’ll keep my phone close, I promise.” he said firmly. “Call me if anything happens alright?”

You nodded, trying to push your anxiety aside. “O-okay…” you managed, your voice quivering slightly. Logan squeezed your hand reassuringly before heading out the door, the sound of his boots echoing through the quiet house as he made his way to the garage. You watched Logan from the window in the house behind the curtain, before he could even enter the car, he gave you a flying kiss and nodded. Then entering back into the car and drove off to his workplace.

Alone in the house, you went about your morning chores with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The baby’s room was already prepared, the crib filled with plush toys and blankets, and how the nursery walls were painted a soothing shade of blue. Oh, you still remember that day when Logan founds out that you were pregnant to a baby boy. A baby boy! You chuckled to yourself as you move around the house. Your belly felt heavier with each step around the house. The occasional kick from within reminded you of the impending arrival, bringing smile to your face despite the fears.

The morning passed quickly filled with the mundane but yet comforting tasks of laundry and cooking. As noon approached, you decided to make lunch for both you and Logan; expecting him back shortly. You then reached into the fridge, the cool air providing a momentary relief from the heat outside when suddenly you felt a sharp pain and a powerful kick from the baby. Your hand flew to your stomach as your eyes widening in shock. This wasn’t just a kick; it was different…more *intense*.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to stand up straight, your knees buckling slightly. Another wave of pain hits you and you gripped the counter for support then accidentally knocking over a glass of water. The shattering sound echoed through the house, the cool liquid pooling at your feet. Panic began to set in as you realized that water had broken. The baby was coming…the baby is coming! And Logan was still out at work.

With trembling hands, you reached for your phone on the kitchen counter. Your mind racing with thoughts of what you needed to do next. You quickly dialled Logan’s number, your heart pounding in your chest with each unanswered ring. “Pick up…pick up…” you whispered then squeezed your eyes in desperation.

“Hello?” Logan’s gruff voice finally came through the line, the sound of chainsaws and distant shouts of his co-workers in the background.

“Logan!” as your voice was strained with urgency. “My water broke! The baby’s coming!”

On the other end of the line, Logan’s heart skipped a beat. The cacophony of the lumberyard fading away as he processed your words. “Shit.” He breathed, his eyes wide with panic “I’m coming home. Now.” He hung up without waiting for a response, sprinting away towards his El Camino car that was parked at the edge of the worksite. Leaving behind his work duties, unlocking his car and enters inside and the car roared when he turns the engine on. Immediately step on the gas. He growled to himself wishing he could just be there in a split second.

Back home you leaned heavily on the counter, your free hand clutching your swollen belly. The pain was coming in waves now, more intense and closer together. Taking deep breaths as you were trying to calm yourself and your baby. Your eyes flickering towards the clock on the wall. With each minute felt was like an eternity as you waited for Logan to come home. The roar of the Chevrolet’s engine grew louder when it approached the house.

Logan’s boots thudded against the porch, and the door flew open. His eyes searched the room, finding you standing in the kitchen, a puddle of water around your feet. “Oh, God…darlin’…” he murmured, his own fear palpable. He rushed to you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, supporting your weight.

“We gotta go, now.” He said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from crying out as another contraction hit. Logan helped you to the car, his eyes never leaving yours as he opened the passenger door and gently helped you inside. He could see the pain etched on your face, the sweat beading on your forehead and it only served to fuel his urgency. Logan quickly runs to the driver seat not caring about locking the house door as he started the engine again. Pressed hard on the gas.

The drive to the hospital was a blur of speed limits broken and red lights ignored. Logan’s mind raced with thoughts of what could go wrong, his knuckled white on the steering wheel. Your hand was clutched tightly in his, your nails digging into his skin with each contraction but he didn’t flinch. He focused on the road ahead, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror every few seconds to ensure no one was following too closely.

“Hold on, darlin. Just breathe,” he murmured to you. His voice tight with anxiety “We’re almost there just hang on.”

Your eyes were squeezed shut, teeth gritted against the pain. Each bump in the road sent a jolt through your body but you knew you had to be strong for the baby. You and Logan’s baby. “Okay,” you panted, the grip on Logan’s hand was like a vice.

Logan’s jaw was set, his eyes never leaving the road ahead as he drove with a speed that was both necessary and terrifying. He knew every inch of these backroads like the back of his hand, but this today, they seemed endless. The hospital was just outskirts of town, but the distance felt insurmountable.

“How are you holding up?” he asked you, his voice tight with concern. You look at Logan, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. “Not a perfect timing to ask if I’m ok or not, Hun!” you managed to say, though the pain was written all over your face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. We are almost there,” his eyes never left the road ahead as he sped through the deserted streets, the engine of his 1965 Chevrolet El Camino roaring like a beast.

You nodded with your eyes clenched shut, breaths coming in short, rapid gasps as you tried to focus through the pain. Each contraction was more intense than the last, the pressure building like an unrelenting storm inside you. “I can do this.” You murmured to yourself, your knuckles white on the armrest.

Logan’s heart was racing but he kept his face calm, his eyes never leaving the road. “You’re so strong,” he said with his voice thick with emotion. “Our little boy is going to be so lucky to have you as his mama.”

You managed a small smile, your breath hitching as another wave of pain washed over you. “And he’ll have a pretty cool dad too,” you said, squeezing his hand. Logan could see the hospital just up ahead, he stepped on the gas making it go even faster as they approached the hospital to the emergency gate.

As you together arrived at the hospital with a screech of tires, Logan throwing the car into park and jumping out to rush around to your side. He opened the door and helped you out, his arm around your waist as you took tentative steps towards the emergency entrance. The sliding doors parted with a whoosh, revealing a flurry of activity inside.

“We need help! My wife! She’s in labor!” Logan shouted over the din, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. Nurses looked up and their faces were a mix of concern and urgency as they quickly approached the both of you.

You leaned heavily on Logan as they moved through the emergency room, the pain in your eyes stark. A nurse leads you both to a nearby gurney, instructing Logan to help you onto it. He lifted you gently, his movements a stark contrast to the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The cold metal, a reminder of the gravity of the situation, but you managed a grateful smile as you lay down, your hand gripping Logan’s.

The medical staffs swarmed around you both, a flurry of blue scrubs and concerned faces. A doctor then appeared, his eyes flicking between your medical file and the monitors now attached to you. “How far apart are your contractions? Mrs Howlett?” he asked calmly.

Your breathing was ragged. “They’re close…Too close,” you gasped out replying to the doctor.

The doctor nodded and his expression were calm but focused. “We’re going to get you prepped for delivery,” as he said, turning to give the orders to the nurses.

Logan’s heart felt like it was in his throat as he watched the medical team work around his wife. He felt useless, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He could feel his adamantium claws itching its way out. He wanted to do something, anything…to ease your pain.

“You can come with us,” one of the nurses said gently, noticing his distress. “But you need to stay calm for her alright?”

Logan nodded, swallowing hard. He followed them into the elevator, the doors closing with a metallic clang that seemed to echo in the quiet space. The ride to the delivery room felt like an eternity, each moment stretching out as they ascended floor by floor.

Inside; the room was a whirlwind of activity. The doctor was speaking in hushed tones to the nurses, who moved swiftly and efficiently around the bed, preppy in for you. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of fear and excitement that clung into Logan’s skin. He took his place by your side, his hand in yours and tried to offer comfort as the contractions grew more intense.

“Breathe, darlin’.” He murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just breathe.”

Your eyes flew open, the pain a living, pulsing entity in the room. You nodded, your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you tried to focus on Logan’s voice, his warm, strong presence beside you. The contractions were coming faster now, each one stealing your breath and leaving you gasping for more.

“I’m right here,” Logan said, his voice a lifetime in chaos. “You’re doing so well, darlin’.”

Your grip on his hand tightened as you pushed, the doctor’s calm instructions a soothing rhythm in the background. Your body was a symphony of pain and power, each push; a crescendo that brought you both closer to meeting your beloved newborn son. Logan watched in awe, his love for you swelling with each contraction.

“Almost there,” the doctor said, his eyes never yours. “You’re doing it.”

Logan leaned in closer, his eyes on the doctor’s face as he felt his wife’s hand tighten around his. The room was a blur of activity, but all he could focus was the woman he loved, fighting through the most intense moment of her life. The pain on your face was matched only by the determination in your eyes, and he knew that you were going to give it everything you had.

“One more push,” the doctor urged, his voice firm and steady. “You’ve got this.”

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, nodded, drawing on the strength you knew he had in abundance. With a final, guttural scream, you pushed with every ounce of energy you had left. Logan felt his heart thunder in his chest, his eyes never leaving yours.

And then, amidst the beeps of the monitors and the rustling of the hospital gowns, they heard it; a tiny, squawking cry. The doctor held up your newborn baby boy, a mess of blood and vernix, but the most beautiful sight Logan had ever seen. His eyes filled with tears as he watched the nurse quickly clean him and wrap him in a warm blanket.

The doctor passed the baby to you, who took him into your own arms with a tremble. His tiny face screwed up in a wail, his little fists flailing. “He’s perfect,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from the effort. Logan leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss onto his newborn son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, lil’ bub.” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at you, who was now holding the child they had created. Both Logan and your hearts swelling with love and fear and wonder.

You looks at Logan and chuckles tiredly while holding your baby. “Are you going to name him then? Lil’ Bub might not be the best when he grows up, Hun.” You said with a tired smile.

Logan’s eyes never left the baby as he thought for a moment before saying, “How about Jimmy, Jimmy Howlett? A nickname given by you if I remember correct, darlin’.” (i know I suck at naming, shut up and I took the word Jimmy from dofp ifykyk)

Your eyes filled with tears as you nodded. “Jimmy,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the baby’s cries. “Jimmy Howlett…it fits him.”

The nurse took the baby for a quick check-up while Logan helped you adjusting your position in the bed. He gently brushed the hair from your forehead, his eyes filled with admiration and love. “You did it, baby. You’re amazing,” he said, his voice cracking.

You managed a wearily smile, your eyes glaze with the exhaustion of labor. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” you murmured as your gaze drifting to the bundle of joy in the nurse’s arms. Logan felt a fierce pride swell within him, his eyes never leaving his son.

The nurse finished her checks and brought little Jimmy back to the both of you, placing him gently in his mother’s arms. His cries had quieted to soft whimpers, his tiny body seeking warmth and comfort. Logan watched as your expression softened, your entire being seemingly focused on the new life you held.

Logan leans down beside with his arm over your head and the other smoothly and gently caressing his son’s head. Not wanting to make him cry even more. “I’m here too buddy,” he whispers to Jimmy, his voice gentle rumble… ”I’m your daddy.”

There you go folks! I hope you enjoy reading this and if you have anything just ask me anything. Might do request soon in the near future (who knows, might be hugh next?) <3 (dividers by @chachachannah)

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (1)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 2.8k

Chapter Warnings: jungkook is kind of an annoying jerk in the beginning, but we still love him. as of now, i have no warnings, but i will mention them when necessary as the series goes on.

A/N: hello, welcome to my very first series. i've been reading fics for as long as i can remember and i've always wanted to start a blog of my own. please read through this and let me know if this story is worth continuing <3

my blog is still "work in progress" and i have many ideas and plans that i wanna give life to, so please stay tuned. your opinions, constructive criticism and suggestions are always welcome.

thank you.

part 1: throttle and stem

The quiet hum of the early morning filled your flower shop as you stood by your workbench, your hands deftly arranging a vibrant bouquet of stargazer lilies, queen of the night blossoms, and delicate sprigs of baby’s breath. As you tied off the bouquet with a soft ribbon, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your apron, glancing at the screen.

"8:09 am."

You sighed to yourself, shaking off the early morning grogginess that still clung to your mind. The air around you was sweet with the mingling fragrances of the flowers, an invisible balm for the weariness you hadn’t quite shaken.

The shop was your sanctuary. Its walls were adorned with climbing vines that had been lovingly nurtured over the years, and its shelves were lined with terracotta pots of miniature bonsais, fiddle-leaf figs, and succulent terrariums. It wasn’t just a workspace… it was your rhythm, your peace. Here, surrounded by blooms and greenery, the world felt like it moved just a little slower.

You turned towards the bay window, where golden sunlight poured in, illuminating an assortment of hydrangeas and snapdragons on display. It was the kind of morning you cherished… peaceful, predictable, and entirely yours to savor.

Shifting closer to the window, your gaze naturally drifted to the storefront beside yours. The faded "For Rent" sign, hanging crookedly in the glass, caught your eye like always. Ever since Mrs. Lee shut down her cozy little bakery and moved away with her husband, the space had remained lifeless, the once-welcoming aroma of fresh pastries replaced by silence and dust.

You couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia as you remembered the way the scent of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls used to drift into your shop every morning. Now, the vacant building had become an eyesore you had grown used to ignoring… a dull, empty reminder of what had once been.

Turning away from the window, you wandered through your shop, watering the orchids in their clay pots and adjusting the arrangement of lavender sprigs by the counter. You opened sharp at 9, but these quiet moments before customers arrived were your favorite. It was a time to bask in the stillness, to let the beauty of your flowers fill every corner of your mind.

You settled back at your workbench, pulling another bundle of roses and eucalyptus stems from the cooler. Your hands moved automatically as your thoughts wandered, appreciating the rare silence that surrounded you. Most of the shops on your street wouldn’t open for another hour, leaving the block in a peaceful lull.

The quiet wasn’t just comforting, it was necessary. It was the space where you could breathe, think, and just be.

And just when you were basking in the silence you oh so appreciated, your train of thoughts are harshly interrupted by a sharp growl that tore through the air, so ridiculously loud that it startled you into dropping the shears you were grasping in your hand. The noise grew louder, rising and falling with an almost deafening rhythm. Engines revved outside, followed by the sharp, repetitive beeping of trucks reversing.

Frowning, you stepped towards the window, peeking out from behind a display of yellow roses. Two enormous moving trucks had pulled up in front of the vacant building, their engines rumbling as a group of workers began hauling furniture and equipment onto the sidewalk.

Your chest tightened as you took in the scene: huge wooden crates, motorcycle frames, and oversized toolboxes haphazardly scattered across the pavement.

The stillness you were treasuring just a minute ago was shattered in less than a second by the disgusting sound of chaos arriving at your doorstep.

Still confused, your eyes suddenly fall on the huge stack of oversized toolboxes placed on the sidewalk, partially blocking the entrance to your shop. You scoffed, your mind unable to wrap itself around this bizarre situation.

Before you could fully process what exactly was happening, your feet carried you towards the front door of your shop and you stepped outside, breathing heavily. “Hey!” you called out, trying to dodge around a burly man carrying a huge box labeled FRAGILE. “What’s going on here?” you question, still looking around, trying to take in the state of your surroundings.

The closest person to you wasn’t a mover or a worker. You could easily conclude that just by the way he was leaning lazily against one of the trucks, scrolling through his phone as if oblivious to the commotion. A thick leather jacket, adorned with intricate patches and scratches that told untold stories rested on his left shoulder.

Tattoos crawled up his toned forearms, disappearing under the ripped sleeves of his black t-shirt. A loose silver chain around his neck glinted as he shifted his weight, and when he glanced up, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mix of curiosity and disinterest.

"What's going on here?" you ask again, this time trying to sound as civil as possible. Your fists are balled and you regulate your breathing as you observe the man in front of you. “Moving in.” he simply answers, his voice smooth but laced with indifference. “What’s it look like to you?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by his audacity. You're generally a calm person, that is, until someone provokes you in the weirdest ways. “It looks like you’re turning the sidewalk into an obstacle course.” you snapped, unable to remain civil like you had previously planned. “My customers won’t be able to get into my shop!” you added.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, the kind that instantly made you think, this was someone you would never get along with. “What customers?” He chuckles, glancing theatrically up and down the empty street before meeting your gaze again.

Your blood boiled as you heard him mock you. “Excuse me?” He stepped closer, the faint scent of leather and motor oil lingering in the air between you. “Relax, sweetheart. We’ll keep it tidy. Don’t get your roses in a twist.” he says, eyeing a bouquet he was able to spot through the window of your store.

You bristled. “First of all, don’t call me sweetheart. Second, those are lilies, NOT roses.” You jabbed a finger towards the bouquet in the window. “And third, I don’t need your promises. I need you to move your chaos somewhere else and not disturb my business!”

He tilted his head, clearly amused. “You really care about those flowers, huh?” he asks. You can easily tell he thinks nothing of your business. “Of course, I do! Unlike some people, I actually respect my work and the space around me.” you argue.

The man rolls his eyes, and that only drives you more mad. His nonchalance and his lack of empathy itches your brain the wrong way. “Whatever.” he casually shrugs, turning away as he hears one of the men call out to him. “Jeon, where do you want the bike stand?”

Jeon? You realize that's probably his surname. “Right here.” he replies, pointing towards the storefront. Without sparing you another glance, he strode over, his gait relaxed and confident, as if he hadn’t just ruined your morning.

You stood there, fists clenched, watching as the chaos unfolded further. The reality hit you hard—the quiet, vacant space beside your shop was no longer empty. It was now home to this infuriating, leather-clad biker who had just walked into your life like a hurricane. And somehow, you knew, your peaceful little flower shop would never be the same.

//

The rest of the morning passes in a haze of irritation. Every time you tried to return to your flowers and reclaim the peace you once cherished, another burst of loud noise would jolt you out of focus. The metallic clang of tools, the rumble of engines being tested, and the shouts of movers unloading endless boxes were relentless. Even the cheerful chime of your shop door opening, signaling the arrival of your first customer, couldn’t lift your mood entirely.

“Busy morning out there, huh?” Mrs. Park, one of your long-time regulars, quipped as she admired a bouquet of tulips on display. You forced a smile, standing up from your workbench. “You could say that.” you answered, looking back at the window that gave you a view of the happenings next door

She chuckled, picking up a small pot of baby succulents. “Looks like someone’s finally opening a business there. Hopefully, it’s something good and the owner is nice. I miss Mrs. Lee’s bakery, though. Her strawberry tarts were divine.” she says, walking towards the counter with the pot she had just picked out.

You bit back a sarcastic retort about how this newcomer was something way from from “nice” and nodded instead. “I miss her too. But yeah, we'll just have to wait and see what the new business is going to be about.” you sigh.

//

By the time the clock struck noon, the chaos outside had died down enough for you to risk stepping out again. Boxes had been cleared from the sidewalk, though a few crates still lingered near the entrance of your shop, their presence a glaring reminder of the morning’s disruption.

You spotted him immediately—Jeon. He was crouched next to a sleek black motorcycle, his hands busy adjusting something near the engine. A few workers milled around, chatting, but this man seemed entirely absorbed in his work.

You purse your lips and stepped back on the sidewalk to get a better view of the building. The sign "Throttle and Torque" hung up high, right beside yours that read "Garden's Grace."

You look back down at the man, who still seemed so immersed in whatever the heck he was doing. Against your better judgment, you marched over, fueled by lingering frustration. “Excuse me.” you say, waiting for him to respond. He didn’t look up. You stepped closer, crossing your arms as you tapped your foot impatiently. “Excuse me!” you snap.

This time, he glanced up, wiping his hands on a rag before standing to his full height. Up close, he was even more infuriatingly confident, his dark eyes glinting which barely concealed any sort amusement. “What?” he asked, completely unbothered. You gestured towards the lingering crates. “Your stuff is still blocking part of my entrance.” you reply, trying your level best to keep your voice at a respectable volume.

He glanced at the crates, then back at you. “Looks fine to me.” he shrugs. “It’s not fine. It’s in the way.” you argue, fighting the urge to just run and kick the crates away from your entrance. His lips curved into that maddening smirk again. “You’re really particular about your space, huh?”

“Unlike some people…” you pause, taking a deep breath “I respect boundaries.” you state. He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly casual. “Alright, alright. I’ll move them. Don’t blow a gasket, sweetheart.” he says causing you to roll your eyes at the nickname but you bite your tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your temper again.

As he turned to call out to one of the workers, you noticed something—a small, intricately designed patch sewn onto the back of his leather jacket that he was wearing. It depicted a phoenix rising from flames, the design bold and vibrant against the black leather.

Shaking yourself out of the observation you had just made, you look around and finally question him. "What exactly is your business?"

He doesn't answer, still busy with the worker as he guides him on where to place the crates. But as you stood there by yourself, you feel the realization dawning on you as you took in the scattered parts and tools. "Is this a motorcycle shop?" you ask again. He glanced over his shoulder, finally nodding. “Custom bikes. Repairs. The works.” he answers, his tone still the same, low and unbothered.

Of course. The universe had gifted you a neighbor who was the exact opposite of everything your flower shop represented—loud, chaotic, and disruptive. “Just great.” you muttered under your breath, feeling yourself get a headache as you imagine the wild things that you will have to go through with a store like this right beside yours.

“Something to say?” he teases, as he looks at you, finally taking in your appearance. His eyes roamed over you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the effortless beauty you carried. There was something captivating about the way your long, dark hair framed your face, the sunlight catching in the waves and adding a soft halo around you. The earthy tones of your apron only highlighted the warm glow of your skin, and the faint blush on your cheeks gave you an endearing, almost ethereal charm.

You don't say anything and just stand there, trying your best to stay calm. "I'm Jungkook, by the way." you hear him say. You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to introduce yourself to him, but you think that might be a little immature. "Y/n." you simply say, avoiding his eyes.

"Didn’t realize such a pretty flower came with so many thorns." he comments, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he crosses his arms, observing the way you tried so hard not to throw hands. You rolled your eyes, brushing off his comment. “Didn’t realize bikers had this much trouble respecting other people’s businesses.” you retorted, matching his tone.

Jungkook chuckled, clearly unfazed. He leaned against the wall beside him, his dark eyes gleaming with something between amusement and challenge. “Well, sweetheart, I guess we’re stuck with each other now. Might as well get used to it.” he says, almost like he's challenging you.

You huffed at that stupid nickname again, your fingers tightening around the hem of your apron. “I would REALLY appreciate if you wouldn't call me sweetheart." you pause, slightly stepping forward. "And for the record, being neighbors doesn’t mean I have to put up with your... chaos. My shop values tranquility, something your—” you pause again to gesture towards the motorcycles and tools scattered around, “whole vibe seems to be allergic to.”

Jungkook tilts his head, pretending to consider your words, though the teasing smirk never leaves his features. “Tranquility, huh?” he echoes, his tone mocking. “I can see why you’d like things quiet in there.” His eyes flicked toward your shop window, where the vibrant display of flowers created a stark contrast to the metal and oil-laden aesthetic of his business.

You cross your arms, as you firmly stand your ground. “Exactly. Garden’s Grace is a place where people come to find peace and beauty. Something your Throttle and Torque doesn’t exactly scream.”

He snorted, looking genuinely amused for the first time. “Peace and beauty. Cute. I’m more about the adrenaline and grit side of life. Opposites, huh?” You frowned, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Maybe opposites, but that doesn’t mean you have to make my life miserable.” you said, glancing pointedly at the workers still unloading equipment nearby.

“Alright, alright.” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll make sure my guys clear out your entrance. We wouldn’t want to scare off all those peace-seekers now, would we?” he says, in a tone that irks something ugly inside of you.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to come up with something but you know it would be of no use to argue with someone like him. “Thank you.” you breathe out curtly, turning on your heel to head back to your shop, not wanting to deal with him anymore because you clearly had a business to get back to.

“By the way…” he suddenly calls out, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder with a brow raised. “Those flowers in your display…” he said, jerking his chin towards the window. “Whatever they're called... they’re pretty. You’ve got an eye for detail and beauty.” he admits.

The unexpected compliment threw you off guard, and for a moment, you couldn’t find a snappy comeback. Instead, you muttered a soft, “Thanks.” before disappearing into the safety of your shop.

Inside, your heart thudded a little harder than you cared to admit. You shook your head, pushing the moment aside. “Nope, not falling for that.” you mumble to yourself, bringing your focus back on the vibrant bouquet in your hands.

From the corner of your eye, you glanced out the window one last time. Jungkook had gone back to his motorcycle, but there was a faint smile on his face now, one that didn’t carry the same teasing edge as before.

You sighed and shook your head, determined to forget the way it made your stomach flutter. "It’s just day one..." you reminded yourself. "I can survive this." you affirm.

Little did you know, this was only the beginning of a storm neither of you saw coming.

part 2 ->

series masterlist

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

A Christmas Gift | G.W.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

feat. George Weasley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to pick out a Christmas gift for your ailing little brother, who adored the shop (and the twins) before he became too ill to go. You find a gift and so much more than you ever dreamed of.

CW: this is really emotional, i’m sorry, but i pinky promise that it has a happyish ending. fred is dead, grief, hurt/comfort, hospital visits, sick sibling/children, some swearing, but also some fun and lightheartedness, plenty of christmasy fluff, first kisses

AN: last Christmas fic of the season!

The early morning snow buffeted at your back as you stepped into Weasely Wizard Wheezes. The store had just opened, you saw someone turn the sign as you finished your breakfast at the Three Broomsticks, but you wanted to beat the holiday rush so you could really take your time.

The smell of cinnamon and woodsmoke, plastic toys and what could only be described as joy, welcomed you inside. An enormous Christmas tree hung upside down from the ceiling, decorated in orange, purple, and gold, with handmade ornaments over every branch and popcorn strings strewn around it. Every shelf was stocked and festively decorated, and soft Christmas music played from the speakers.

You stopped in the doorway, tears welling in your eyes. Your brother would love this. You had hoped that he’d be having a good day today, that maybe, by some miracle, he’d be well enough to come with you. But he’d spiked a fever late last night, and was going in for some imaging today to ensure he hadn’t caught pneumonia…again.

“Morning,” a voice called to you, and you looked up, hastily wiping tears on your sleeve. George Weasley, a man you’d never met but would recognize anywhere, was halfway down the spiral staircase, a cup of coffee in hand. He was dressed in the iconic pinstripe suit, his copper hair a little longer than the last time you’d seen him two years prior, not that he’d remember.

The only reason you remembered was because of your brothers obsession with the Weasley twins. He’d asked to have his hair cut and dyed orange that same afternoon.

More tears welled up, and you cursed yourself, turning away to hide your face. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled, trying to take a deep breath. “I promise I’m not insane.”

You heard him move the rest of the way down the stairs, then approach you, his tall frame taking him across the store in a few strides. He had a bright purple handkerchief in his hand, the triple W embroidered on the corner.

“That’s okay, we like a little insanity around here. What’s your name?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Y/n.” You accepted the handkerchief with a watery smile and dabbed your eyes.

“George. Are you alright, y/n?” he asked.

You sighed, twisting the fabric in your hands. “The holiday’s are just hard.”

He nodded, his jaw flexing, eyes averting from your face to the floor. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment before. You noticed then the dark circles under his eyes, the air of heaviness around his shoulders. “Can I help you find something?” he asked, pivoting quickly.

“Yes, actually. I’m, uh, looking for a gift for my little brother. But he—it has to be something he can play with in bed. Nothing too loud or messy.” Your heart ached as you said it, knowing he would actually love something loud, messy, destructive, as little boys do, but such things weren’t allowed at St. Mungo’s.

George raised an eyebrow. “Strict parents?”

You shook your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “He’s in hospital,” you murmured, hating saying the words aloud.

George’s face fell. “Oh—Merlin, I’m really sorry.”

A flicker of understanding passed between you, your broken hearts beating at the same rhythm for a moment. You knew about the death of his twin, Fred, everyone did, and now he knew your pain as well. That knowledge weaved an invisible string of connection between you, forged in empathy.

“We can absolutely find something for him,” George said, his voice painfully sincere. He offered you his arm and you accepted, needing a bit of steadiness. “What kind of things does he like?”

You started to walk through the store, looking around the towering shelves, at a bit of a loss. “Well, he loves Whizz-bangs, and your Pyrotechtrix.”

George smiled, chuckling to himself. “Fun, but not exactly suitable for a hospital.”

“Exactly. But honestly, anything you recommended, he’d absolutely adore, so long as I told him you recommended it.”

“Oh yeah?” George raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you.

Saints, he’s handsome.

“Yeah, he’s a big fan. He used to beg us to stop in every time we came to Diagon Alley so he could watch your demonstrations.”

George’s smile widened, a flush creeping up his neck. “Well, ah, that’s really—” he scratched the back of his head, clearly flustered by the revelation. “That’s very kind,” he managed with a breathy chuckle.

The door jingled as another customer came in and you tensed, George’s eye flicking towards the new customer, then back down to you.

You moved to slip your arm from his. “I can look around, you go ahead—”

“Oi, Ron!” George shouted, a hand cupped around his mouth, his arm tightening around yours so you stayed put.

“What? I’m sorting inventory!” Ron Weasley shouted back, appearing from the back of the store with arms full of boxes. His eyes quickly scanned over you, your joined arms, then back to George, who was nodding his head towards the door. “Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” Ron turned greeted the customer, dropping the boxes where he stood.

You chuckled, leaning a bit closer to George, grateful that he didn’t abandon you.

“You’re my first priority today,” he murmured to you, close enough that you could smell his amber cologne, and you felt your anxiety unspool for the first time in weeks. For this one thing, this small, Christmas gift hunt, you weren’t alone.

You spent the rest of the morning with George, wandering through aisle after aisle as he talked you through every product you showed an interest in. At first, he seemed reluctant to talk about products with stories tied to Fred, like prodding a sore wound, but eventually he was telling story after story, grinning and laughing at the memories of their countless antics.

He encouraged you to share about your brother as well, and by the end, you were both in stitches from laughing, cheeks sore and eyes watery with tears. It warmed your heart to see him light up at the his brother’s memory, to see the love between them still very much burning, and soothed a bit of your fear.

No matter what happened, the love and the memories would remain.

You finally settled on an Aviatomobile and a few muggle magic tricks, nothing explosive, sticky, or illness-causing. George carried the items to the counter, setting them gently on surface, but hesitated when he reached for the register.

He turned, grabbing a gift box from beneath the counter. Carefully, he wrapped each item in branded tissue paper and nestled them into the box, then rearranged them once, then twice, before finally placing the lid and tying an orange bow around it. Then, he grabbed one of the paper ornaments from the counter, where kids could write little messages or drawings to hang on the gravity-defying Christmas tree, and scribbled something on it before securing it to the bow.

“There we go,” he said, pushing it towards you with a sheepish smile.

You reached for you wallet. “How much do I—”

He shook his head, waving you off. “It’s on me. Least I can do for an avid supporter.”

Tears burned behind your eyes again, caught off guard by his generosity. “George, I can’t—”

“Please, just—let me do this for your brother.” George’s eyes held yours, soft around the corners. “It’s what Fred would do.”

You nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat.

“Would you want to, uh, maybe get a drink later? Or coffee?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck, freckled cheeks flushing pink.

You smiled, your heart flipping in your chest. “I’d love to. We could get ice cream at Fortescue's?” You offered.

He smiled back. “Perfect. 7 o’clock?”

“Perfect,” you repeated, fighting a nervous giggle. “I’ll see you later, then.” You hefted the box in your arms and waved goodbye, hurrying out before you said anything embarrassing, or melted into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Halfway down the street, you finally glanced at the paper ornament George attached to the gift.

Sorry, mate. No explosive’s. Sister’s orders. But I’ve got a stash in the back waiting for you when you’re ready. Merry Christmas. - GW

You were fizzing with excitement as you approached the ice cream shop, a soft flurry of snowflakes dancing int the twinkle lights strew across Diagon Alley. Vendors were at every corner, selling steaming beverages, candied nuts, and fried dough. Shoppers wandered from glowing door to glowing door, bundled in thick coats and arms laden with bags. A choir sang Christmas carols on the steps of Gringotts, toads wearing Santa hats cradled in their arms, and you paused to listen while they sang “Carol of the Bells”, trying to collect your scattered mind.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about George for a moment, so wound up that you started getting ready three hours early for a simple ice cream date. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so giddy, so hopeful.

“I like this song,” a familiar voice murmured in your ear and you looked up, finding George standing beside you watching the carolers, the lights reflecting in his brown eyes. He was dressed in a brown wool coat with a Gryffindor scarf around his neck, a white, cable knit sweater and jeans underneath, patches on the knees.

“Me too,” you replied, biting your lips to stop the grin threatening to rise. “How was your day?”

“Chaos. I left Ron to deal with the stragglers. We were supposed to close around six…” he trailed off, his eyes catching on a group of wizards. You followed his eye, and were appalled to find them muttering and pointing at him. And when you looked around, you noticed several groups were doing the same.

Instinctively, you moved closer to him, as if you could shield him somehow.

His fingers twined with yours, warm and calloused. “It’s alright,” he said, turning you to face him. “M’used to it.”

“It’s not alright,” you said, raising your voice and directing a pointed glare at the noisy folks. “It’s rude!”

He chuckled, tugging you away from the carolers. “Easy, love. It doesn’t bother me much anymore. Don’t give them any of your attention.”

You sighed, falling into step beside him, hands still clasped together. “I’m sorry they treat you like that,” you said, glaring daggers at anyone that even glanced in his direction while you walked towards Fortescue's.

“It was worse when we first reopened the shop.” His thumb swiped back and forth across yours, soothing the irritation itching under your skin. “They would come in just to get a look at me. Like my grief was some kind of spectator sport.”

“I can’t imagine having that kind of loss broadcast to the entire world,” you said, glancing at a newspaper stand plastered in the Daily Prophet.

“It’s inhumane,” he replied, stopping in front of the ice cream shop. “But, I’m grateful for it too.”

You raised an eyebrow, facing him in the warm glow of the window.

“Everyone knows how amazing he was,” he murmured, his voice thickening with emotion. He looked down at your joined hands, playing with your fingers. “He’s a hero.”

You squeezed his hand, prompting him to look up at you. “So are you, George," you said, inflecting as much sincerity as you could into your voice. "Y’know, I was there that day, when you and Fred left Hogwarts?”

His eyes widened. “You were?”

You nodded. “I was two years under you, we wouldn’t have crossed paths,” you said, trying to assuage the needless guilt that crossed his face. “But I’ll never forget that moment, watching you guys reclaim the magic that makes Hogwarts, well, Hogwarts. You inspired all of us left behind.”

He gave you a sad smile, his eyes shiny with unshed tears, and brought your knuckles to his lips, brushing a kiss across them. “Thank you for telling me that,” he whispered. “You didn’t get burned, did you?” He asked, worry suddenly creasing his brow.

You giggled. “No, no. No one was hurt besides Umbridge's ego.”

He exhaled, flashing a relieved smile. “Okay, good. Because that would have been a terrible first impression.” He opened the door to the ice cream shop, gesturing for you to step inside.

“My first impression was when you turned Ms. Norris purple during the Halloween feast,” you said, stepping past him and into line, the smell of waffle cones and caramel wafting over you.

George barked a laugh, his head falling back with the force of it, and you smiled. “Better, I suppose.”

“It’s not like I made a great first impression on you, weeping like a sap as soon as I stepped into your store,” you joked, too busy gazing up at his smiling face to notice the line move forward without you.

He shook his head, still chuckling. “No, it was a perfect first impression.”

You ordered your bowls of ice cream, Peppermint Marshmallow Mayhem for George and Gingerbread Dreams for you, and sat at a corner booth by the window, talking about nothing in particular for awhile while you ate.

“So, how’s your brother doing today? You mentioned he had some imaging this afternoon?” George asked, genuine concern creasing his brow.

“He’s doing well, actually. No pneumonia, by Godric’s grace, and his fever broke this afternoon. Still not sure what caused it, but hopefully nothing of concern,” you answered, you heart lifting at his relieved smile.

“Good, I’m really glad to hear that. Now, let me try your ice cream.” He waggled his spoon and you laughed, sliding it towards him. He took the tiniest spoonful, flipping it over to lick it off, and your cheeks warmed at the way his tongue caressed the curve of the spoon.

You knew you were caught when he smirked around the utensil, but he let it slide.

“Here, try mine.” He dug a spoonful out of his bowl, holding it out for you to take a bite with a borderline sinful look in his eye.

“George Weasley,” you teased, shaking your head. “You are such a flirt.”

“Can you blame me? I’m sitting across from my dream woman,” he replied, grinning.

Now your cheeks were really warming, and you leaned forward to take a small bite off the edge of his spoon. Sugary peppermint and creamy marshmallow coated your tongue, and you moaned.

“Good?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Delicious,” you giggled, watching as he ate the rest of the spoonful, and wondered how it would taste on his tongue.

After ice cream, you continued wandering around Diagon Alley, peeking in all the shop windows and sipping warm butter beer, until your noses were pink from the chill, your hair full of glittering snow.

You stopped outside of his shop, the sign flipped to ‘closed’ and only a few lights on inside along with the exterior holiday decor, presumably left on for George.

“I have a confession to make,” he said, stepping a little closer to you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a thrill of excitement pulsing through you. “What?” You asked, picking invisible lint of his lapel just to have something to do with your hands.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw you watching the carolers,” he murmured, sliding his glove off and reaching out to cradle your face, his touch gentle, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You leaned your head into his large palm, gazing up at him, freckled, flushed, and starry-eyed. You’d never seen someone look at you with adoration before, and it made your soul sing.

Instead of saying anything, you rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his, a quick, airy peck. But when you went to move back, his hand held you in place, lips just barely touching.

“Again,” he breathed, his other hand coming around to rest on your lower back. “Please?”

You gave the tiniest nod, feeling like your heart might burst out of your chest, and his lips connected with yours again in a slow, languid kiss, the taste of ice cream and butter beer and him making your head go a little fuzzy, your right foot popping up behind you as you leaned into his embrace.

His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth, but he didn’t push further, just a small tease before winding the kiss down until it ended the way it started, with a few barely-there pecks in reluctant departure.

You sighed against him, lowering back onto flat feet, and he smiled, drawing you into his chest for hug. You slipped you arms under his coat, feeling the softness of his sweater and the warmth of his body envelop you.

“Thank you for this,” you murmured. “I really, really needed it.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tight around your body. “So did I. Can we do it again tomorrow? Breakfast? Sunrise picnic?”

You chuckled, tilting your chin up to rest on his sternum. “Breakfast sounds great.”

George beamed, dropping a warm kiss to the frozen tip of your nose. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“It’s a date.” You stole one last kiss before slipping away, practically skipping.

You and George saw each other every day for the next week, whether it was to wander around Diagon Alley, looking at the lights and festivities, or grabbing a quick cup of tea between busy shifts. Neither of you could stand being apart for more than a few hours at a time.

Tonight, George invited you to his flat for dinner and muggle Christmas films, and you were dressed in the ugliest Christmas sweater you could find. With a timid hand, you knocked on his door.

It opened under you fist, revealing George on the other side, wearing a maroon sweater with a giant ‘G’ on the front of it and a sauce splattered apron.

“Hey, love.” He tugged you inside, pressing an eager kiss to your lips before ushering you down the hall, his deft fingers unraveling your scarf from your neck and peeling the coat from your shoulders. You laughed at his haste, spinning and hopping as he removed your boots. He stopped only when he finally saw your sweater. “Oh, darling. You look ravishing.” His hands fell to your waist and he pulled you into his chest, a mischievous grin on his face. “Very fashion forward.”

“Thank you, baby,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hadn’t called him that before, but it just rolled right off your tongue, natural as breathing.

He loosed a pleased hum, leaning forward to capture your lips in another, slower kiss. “Like hearin’ you call me baby,” he mumbled against your mouth.

The oven beeped loudly, startling you both.

“Hungry?” He asked with a shy smile.

“Starved.”

He showed you to the dining room, a round table with a vase of flowers at the center, candles strewn on every surface. He pulled a chair out for you and you sat, accepting a kiss on the cheek before he dashed back into the kitchen.

You looked around, having been too caught up in his frantic greeting to take in the space. The rest of the flat was sparsely decorated, purely functional, besides a sagging bookshelf in the living room, and a few photos along the hallway. Not a Christmas decoration was in sight.

George returned with two glasses of wine, the bottle tucked under his arm. “Here we go, a little Pinot Noir for my gorgeous girl.” He set the glasses down then finally sat down in his chair.

“Thank you, baby,” you teased, and he smirked, withdrawing his wand from his apron and waving it towards the kitchen. A moment later, a giant bowl full of pasta, a basket of bread, a salad bowl, and two plates came hovering out of the kitchen, arranging themselves neatly on the table.

“Bon appetite.” He raised his wine glass, a shy little smile on his face, and you raised yours to cheers, so charmed you could cry.

Two hours later, you were curled up on George’s couch, half enjoying Home Alone, half enjoying the feel of each other’s skin under your sweaters, the rich taste of wine on each other’s tongues.

“How come you haven't decorated for Christmas?” You mumbled between languid pecks, his soft lips moving to trail over your jaw.

“Didn't much feel like celebrating this year,” he replied, kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing your pulse.

“And yet here we are, watching corny holiday films,” you chuckled and felt him smile against your neck.

“Things changed.” He lifted his head, capturing your lips in a heavy, open-mouthed kiss that made your blood warm, your heart beat a little quicker in your chest.

Suddenly, something slammed against the window, a frantic scrabbling against glass that had George springing up like something electrocuted him.

“Errol?” George moved toward the window. “No, what the fuck—”

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?!” You cried, jumping up and throwing open the window. Your family owl flew in, landing on the back of the couch. Fear pumped through you and you snatched the letter from his beak, rougher than the poor bird deserved in your panic.

“What is it?” George rested his hands on your hips as you tore it open.

The words on the card made your heart stop.

Mungo’s now, Mum

“George,” you whimpered, sagging against him as terror rocked through you.

He took the letter from your hand and skimmed it. “Go get your coat on, I’ll take you.”

“I—” You were frozen, darkness pulsing at the edges of your vision.

His hands came up to hold your face, shaking you gently. “Honey, we have to go. I’m going to be right here with you, okay? We’re going together. But we have to move now.”

You nodded, clawing through the sludge of fear and clinging to the thread of stability he offered. He helped you into your coat and shooed the owl out, not even bothering to lock up before he was ushering you into his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he ordered, and you did, and suddenly the world was sucked away, a dizzying, horrible tornado of space, and then it spit you back out on the front steps of St. Mungo’s.

“Holy shit,” you gagged, clutching onto George and he held you upright.

“Sorry, love. Never apparated before?” He asked, rubbing your back.

You shook your head.

“Y/n!”

George stiffened, his hands tightening on you, and you looked up.

“Mum!” You cried, rushing to her.

“Oh, hun. I’m sorry to frighten you, he’s okay. Just a scare. I’m so sorry, darling,” she cried, clinging to you.

“Sh, no, it’s alright. I should be here,” you soothed, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. “What happened?”

“He couldn’t breathe, his lungs—pneumonia again,” your mom hiccuped, wiping at her cheeks. “Who’s that?” She asked, looking over your shoulder.

George was were you had left him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes bouncing from you and your mom to the strangers mingling on the sidewalk. You could tell his hackles were raised, some protective instinct roused when he’d been startled by the owl.

You waved him over. “Mum, this is George Weasley. George, this is my mum.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” George said, offering her a hand and a shy smile.

She clutched his hand hard and you both winced. “I-you-Weasley—The George Weasley?” She gasped.

“Just George is fine,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“Oh my, I just can't believe—”

“Mum, can we go see him now?” You interrupted, anxious to see that he was well yourself. “I promise you'll have a proper introduction later.”

“Yes, of course. This way.” She released George and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the hospital.

George hesitated, until you reached your hand out to him. He immediately threaded your fingers together, falling into step with your frantic mother.

A few moments later, you rushed into your brother's room, finding him upright and smiling, some new tubes in his little nose, but all together looking well.

“Mum, I said to leave her alone!” He argued, crossing his arms over his reindeer pj's.

“Hush you,” you scolded lightly, wrapping him up in a hug and kissing his forehead, noting his lingering fever. “How are you feeling, darling?” You asked, pulling back to hold his face.

“M'okay. They let me have some ice lollies earlier!” He chirped, sticking out his neon blue tongue.

You grinned. “I see, that's excellent.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then you saw his eyes widen, mouth falling open in shock. You turned to see what he was looking at and realized it was George, who was loitering in the doorway.

“Is that—” your brother started, and George looked up. “Wizard—Wizard Wheezes!”

George’s solemn expression shattered into a wide smile as he stepped into the room, his energy shifting instantly. “Hello, mate! I’m George. Heard your not feeling so good?” George reached out to shake his little hand, and he took it, his fingers dwarfed by George's palm.

“No, no. I'm fine!” Your brother replied, shock melting into excitement. “What are you doing here?”

George glanced down at you. “Your sister has been telling me all about you, and how strong you've been lately,” he said, crouching down beside the bed. “She loves you a lot, y’know?”

You stepped out of the way, tears starting to burn behind your eyes. Your mother slipped her hand into yours, watching the interaction with a hand pressed to her mouth.

“I know, but she worries too much,” your brother answered, and George burst out laughing.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

“I’m big like you, I don't need protecting!” He argued.

George nodded, pressing a hand to his chest apologetically. “I can tell. But that doesn't mean they don't want to try anyways. And big guys like us have to protect them in return, yeah?”

Your brother nodded, puffing up his chest. “I'll never let anything happen to my sister. I promise!”

You blew him a kiss, and George gave him a high five.

“That's my buddy. Now, let's see if I've got anything special for heroes like you.” George fished around in his pocket, making dramatic faces while he rummaged in what you thought was an empty pocket.

But then he withdrew what appeared to be a toy airplane that would in no way, shape, or form fit in that pocket without magic. Your brothers face lit up when George threw it in the air and it started to fly, ducking and whizzing around the room.

“Hm, that wasn't what I was looking for,” George said with a dramatic frown, and you giggled. He glanced over his shoulder at you, breaking his frown to smirk at your reaction, and started fishing around in his pockets again.

He pulled out a bouncing ball, then a rubber chicken, a set of chattering teeth, a stuffed teddy bear. Item after item came out of his pockets until your brothers bed was covered in toys and gag items, and a dozen nurses were watching in amazement from the hallway. You and your mom were fighting through silent tears, your heart so big you felt it might explode out of your chest.

Most importantly, your brother was ecstatic, playing with this and that and chattering away at George about the different products and teaching him how to do magic tricks George himself had invented.

But half an hour later, your brother’s nurse came in to administer some of his medication and get him ready for bed. He tried to protest, but his new best friend, George, managed to talk him into not only compliance, but eager acceptance of his medicine.

You stole George away into the now quiet hall, Christmas lights illuminating the dark corridor, and threw your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, needing to feel him close, to ground you through the onslaught of emotions.

He wrapped his arms around you, his head turning to kiss your temple. “Need some air?” He murmured, and you shook your head no.

“Just need you,” you whispered, holding him tighter.

He let you cry into his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles onto your back and murmuring reassurances into your hair. When you'd exhausted yourself, you pulled back and he reached up to hold your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“Thank you for doing that,” you sniffled, sliding your hands down his chest, his sweater soft beneath your palms.

“It was my pleasure, love,” he replied, looking you in the eye. “You—him—this, I needed this. Needed you,” he breathed, voice tightening. “I forgot why we did it all, what all the sacrifices were for, and you reminded me. He reminded me.”

You rose on your toes to press a kiss to his lips, not knowing how else to express how you were feeling that wasn't, well, insanely soon.

He kissed you back, passionate enough to steal your breath, but released you when the door to your brother's room opened.

“Darling—oh, I'm sorry. Darling, would you like to come get a cup of coffee with me?” Your mother asked, clearly fighting a grin at discovering you.

“Sure, mum,” you exhaled, reluctantly stepping away from George. “You okay for a minute?”

“Absolutely, I'll keep an eye on him.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles before releasing you to your mother, a soft smile on his face.

When you returned twenty minutes later, you found George stretched out in the arm chair pulled up right next to your brother’s bed, Rudolph on the television.

“—Fred managed to get the deer into the kitchen with some carrots and loaf of banana bread, and kept him distracted while I tied bells and ornaments—mom’s favorite’s, of course—to it’s antlers.”

Your brother was giggling, curled up with the stuffed bear George conjured earlier, his eyes heavy as he fought to stay awake to hear the story.

“But then we ran out of banana bread and Fred tried to give it some cookies, but by then the deer had discovered the Christmas tree in the corner, with the popcorn strings and cranberries and salt dough ornaments, y’know? So the deer started eating the bloody Christmas tree and we cannot get it out of the house now. It’s found the best sodding snack on earth. So by the time my mom get’s home, half the tree is gone, there’s shi—dirt all over the house, dishes are broken, holes in the walls—”

“What did she do?” Your mom asked, laughing. “I would have sent you out to live with the deer and it’s family.”

George grinned. “We ate nothing but carrots and banana bread for a week. Even for Christmas dinner. It was torture,” he chuckled, turning back to your brother, only to find him sound asleep. “That boring, huh?” He joked, rising from the chair so your mom could take it. But instead, she pulled him in for a hug, surprising him.

“Thank you for doing this, and I’m so sorry about your brother. But I know he’d be so proud of you today,” she murmured, and you saw George’s eyes well, his jaw flexing as he tried to fight it. Your mom pulled back, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then smoothing away her lipstick with her thumb. “You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, George Weasley. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

He nodded, a tear streaking down his face. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s very k-kind.”

Your mother passed him to you, his hand gripping your tightly as he fought to keep his composure. “Goodnight, mum. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your mother nodded, waving you away while she kissed your brothers cheek.

You led George out of the room and down the hall, finding an empty room to slip into. As soon as the door closed behind you, he sank to his knees, great, heaving sobs wracking his body. You lowered yourself to the ground with him, pulling his head into your shoulder and rocking him back and forth, his tears soaking through your sweater and shaking your whole body.

“I miss him,” George gasped like he was in pain, his grip almost bruising around your body.

“I know, baby. I know you do,” you said into his hair, holding his head against your chest. Your own tears began to spill then, for him, for you, for your family, and his, and you clung to one another as the overwhelming grief took it’s pound of flesh.

Slowly, he began to settle, breathing labored, but his tears subsiding. He lifted his head, looking at you through tear-brightened eyes, his lashes dark and spiked with moisture. You leaned forward, kissing away the droplets on his cheeks and jaw, until you felt him start to smile.

“I-it’s been so long since I—” he cleared his throat, reaching up to cup your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I was numb for awhile, so long I sort of forgot what anything else felt like. I meant what I said earlier, you reminded me of what I’d lost, but in the best way.” Tears welled up again, but he smiled through them. “He would have been so fucking jealous that I got you. But Merlin, he would have loved you so much.”

You huffed a laugh, lower lip trembling as your heart soared. “George,” was all you could manage, and he leaned forward to kiss you, rising onto his knees and pulling into into his chest.

Then, that wild spinning sensation enveloped you again, and in a blink you were back on his couch, exactly as you were before, the credits to the movie rolling on the screen, your glasses of wine exactly where you left them.

“Stay with me tonight,” he asked, trailing kisses down your neck as you reoriented yourself. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, we could spend it together.” He lifted his head to look you in the eyes, and you nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing as he rained kisses over your face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you have the most wonderful holiday season and start of the new year <3

[bearforcecaptions]

The spell worked, sort of, but not how I wanted. I did have the body of my dreams – I was Garrett now, but I didn’t realize the catch was that I wouldn’t be able to control what I’m doing unless I’m totally alone. And Garrett, or, me, I guess – I’m nearly never alone! The frat house pretty much always has someone in it, and I’m super popular, too. I thought being Garrett would be fun and easy, but stuck like this, it’s torture!

I figured out the ritual from this old book I found at that occult shop downtown, thinking it would be a quick way out of my boring life and into something… well, something way more interesting. Garrett had it all, or so I thought. Girls loved him, he was in the best shape, and everyone wanted to be his friend. But nobody told me about this weird restriction, or maybe I just didn’t read that part carefully enough. I guess the idea was I’d “experience” Garrett’s life, but it’s like watching a movie, except I’m the star and I can only move on my own terms when no one else is around.

And god, my roommate, he’s actually so stupid. When I can’t control my actions, we bro out all the time, but he’s so vapid. I guess I’m not much better, but it’s actually infuriating. You’d think we could have a conversation that’s not about girls, parties, sports, or video games. But no, every time he starts talking, it’s like Garrett’s body just falls right into the rhythm of it, responding automatically. I tried fighting it at first, but it’s like this autopilot takes over, and I’m just... stuck.

I’ve been scouring the room whenever I get a chance to control things, like right now, looking for any sign or clue on how to undo this. There has to be something I missed. I rummaged through his messy closet, which is packed with clothes, gym stuff, and random junk, none of it useful. The guy keeps his stuff in total chaos, and I feel weirdly exposed, like I’m actually pawing through my own things.

Shit, no, is that the door jangling? I thought I would have a couple of hours to try and figure out how to fix this. Who the hell knows when I’ll get another chan-

Fuuck, bro. Why’s my roomie home early? Thought he went to his ‘rents for the weekend. I was just about to jerk one out too. Ah well, maybe he’ll be down for some Call of Duty or something. I could use a beer.

“Yo, dude, what’s up? You back already?” I say, grinning like an idiot as I lean against the door frame, flexing a bit without even realizing it. Dude probably thinks I’m just chillin’, but nah, I’m feelin' like a boss.

He laughs, dropping his bag by the door and shrugging. “Yeah, man, got bored at home. Figured I’d head back early. Parents were driving me nuts.”

“Oh, for sure, dude,” I nod, grabbing a can of beer from the mini-fridge by my bed. “Parents, am I right? They just don’t get it, bro.” I crack it open, chugging half of it in one go, feeling the cool rush. Damn, that’s good.

He slaps my shoulder, laughing. “Dude, I swear, it’s like every time I go back, it’s the same speech about responsibility and blah blah blah. Like, whatever, right?”

“Oh, totally, man,” I laugh, shrugging it off. “Why they gotta be like that, y’know? We’re just out here living, they don’t get it.” I toss him a beer, feeling that chill vibe kickin’ in, like nothing in the world matters but just hanging with my bro. This is what it’s all about – no worries, no drama, just cold beers and good times.

“Bro, I’m feelin’ a COD sesh,” I say, grabbing the controller off the couch. “You down?”

He grins. “Hell yeah, let’s wreck some noobs.”

We crash down on the couch, controllers in hand, beers in easy reach, and it’s like all the worries in the world just melt away. I’m trash-talkin’, throwin’ down taunts, and we’re both laughing so hard my sides hurt. I don’t even remember the last time I felt this alive.

“You’re so bad, dude,” I laugh, jabbing him in the ribs as I get another kill. “How are you still this bad?”

“Shut up, bro!” he shoves me back, laughing too, and I’m grinning like an idiot.

Fuck, life is good, I think, as I take a gulp of my beer. I got my bros, I got my beer, and I got my games. What more does a dude need? Life’s good.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Speech Development

Several stages of development have been distinguished in the first year, when the child develops the skills necessary to produce a successful first word.

FIRST 2 MONTHS

Apart from the cry patterns associated with hunger, pain, and discomfort, the first 2 months of life display a wide range of primitive vocal sounds reflecting the baby’s biological state and activities – as in the ‘vegetative’ noises heard while eating and excreting.

Some of the most basic features of speech, such as the ability to control air flow and produce rhythmic utterance, are being established at this time.

BETWEEN 6 & 8 WEEKS

There emerge the sounds generally known as cooing, produced when the baby is in a settled state.

Cooing sounds do not grow out of crying; rather, they develop alongside it, gradually becoming more frequent and varied.

They are quieter, lowerpitched, and more musical, typically consisting of a short vowel-like sound, often nasal in quality, and usually preceded by a consonant-like sound made towards the back of the mouth.

Strings of cooing noises soon emerge, and the sounds become more varied, as the baby begins to develop a greater measure of control over the muscles of the vocal organs – especially over tongue and lip movements and associated vocal-fold vibration.

BETWEEN 3 & 4 MONTHS

Cooing sounds begin to die away, to be replaced by sounds which are much more definite and controlled, often repeated, and produced with wide pitch glides.

It is a period commonly called vocal play, because the baby seems to take great pleasure in producing these noises, especially those made with the lips.

But it is perhaps more accurate to call it a time of vocal practice or experimentation.

AROUND 6 MONTHS

Vocal play gives way to babbling – a period of syllable sequences and repetitions which can last most of the second half of the first year.

To begin with, the consonant-like sounds are very repetitive:

Example: "babababa"

But at around 9 months, the babbling moves away from these fixed patterns.

The consonants and vowels change from one syllable to the next, producing such forms as [adu] and [maba], and there is a wider range of sounds, anticipating the sounds of the accent of English to be learned.

The utterances do not have any meaning, though they often resemble adult words – and of course adults love to ‘hear’ such words (especially mummy and daddy) in the baby’s vocalizations.

But babbling does not gradually shade into speech; indeed, many children continue to babble for several months after they have begun to talk.

Babbling is perhaps best summarized as a final step in the period of preparation for speech.

The child, in effect, ‘gets its act together’; but it has yet to learn what the act is for – that sounds are there to enable meaning to be communicated in a controlled way.

With the production of the ‘first word’, this final step is taken.

NOTE

However, the first word is not the first feature of adult language to be acquired.

From as early as 6 months, there is evidence that the child is picking up features of the melody and rhythm of the adult language.

Certainly by 9 months, strings of syllables are often being pronounced in conversation-like ways which adults interpret as communicative:

‘He/ she’s trying to tell us something’ is a common reaction to a piece of ‘scribble-talk’, and such speech-act functions as questioning, commanding, and greeting are ascribed to babbled utterances.

The melody and rhythm of often-used phrases, such as "all gone", are also likely to be heard long before the vowels and consonants are clearly articulated.

It is these prosodic features which are the first signs of real language production in children.

Prosody - the linguistic use of pitch, loudness, tempo, and rhythm; the study of versification

Source ⚜ Notes & References More: Children ⚜ Children's Dialogue ⚜ Childhood Bilingualism

[pucksandpower]

Rosso Corsa

Lewis Hamilton x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton has been called the GOAT by many … after he becomes your brother’s new teammate, you learn firsthand that being the greatest of all time extends to quite a few other aspects of his life as well

Warnings: 18+ content

Special thanks to @struggling-with-drivers for being an amazing friend and source of feedback who experienced today’s crazy whirlwind of news with me

You stand on the balcony of Lewis’ penthouse overlooking the harbor in Monaco, watching the rain pour down. The raindrops beat a steady rhythm on the metal railing as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Lewis says as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. You relax into his embrace, still not used to how affectionate he is with you.

“Morning,” you reply with a small smile. “The rain woke me up early.”

“Hmm, I hope it didn’t disturb you too much,” Lewis murmurs as he nuzzles your neck. You bite your lip to hold back a pleasured sigh.

“I don’t mind it. I’ve always found the sound of rain soothing,” you say.

Lewis hums in response as you both stare out at the stormy sea. The rain is coming down hard now, large droplets splattering on the balcony floor.

“Shall we go inside where it’s warm and dry?” Lewis asks after a few moments.

You nod and let him guide you back into the open living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows provide a stunning view of Monaco even in the gloomy weather.

Lewis busies himself making a fresh cup of tea while you settle on the large sectional sofa, tucking your feet under you. Your mind wanders as you watch the rain streak down the windows.

You’ve been staying with Lewis for almost two weeks now, only a few months after he signed with Ferrari as your brother’s new teammate. You grew up in these very streets with Charles, the two of you extremely close in age and personality. He was your fiercest protector, shielding you from the realities of life in the spotlight.

But now you’re an adult, and Charles can no longer shelter you entirely. Especially not from someone as charming and persuasive as Lewis Hamilton.

You suppress a shiver as you remember the first time you met Lewis while joining your brother in Maranello. His warm brown eyes lingered on you as Charles introduced you. He took your hand and held it a beat too long, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles. A secretive smile played on his lips, sending your heart racing.

Over the next few days, Lewis went out of his way to talk to you, compliment you, make you laugh. Whenever Charles was preoccupied, Lewis found an excuse to steal you away, guiding you by the small of your back or brushing his fingers against yours.

You knew you should keep your distance. Lewis had a reputation, and Charles would be furious if he knew how Lewis was pursuing you. But you couldn’t resist his allure.

So when Lewis invited you to stay with him instead of in your empty apartment while Charles was away, you said yes despite your better judgment. And now here you are, growing more attached to Lewis each day.

You’re drawn out of your reminiscing when Lewis sits down next to you, switching out your rapidly cooling coffee for some earl grey with a splash of oat milk.

“What are you thinking about so seriously over here?” He asks, his tone playful yet gentle. He runs his fingers lightly up and down your arm, raising goosebumps on your skin.

You take a sip of coffee to buy yourself a moment. “Oh, just remembering when we first met,” you say, aiming for nonchalance.

Lewis smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ah yes, I remember it well. I took one look at you and was completely enthralled.”

You blush and avoid his gaze. “Lewis ...”

“What? It’s true,” he says earnestly. When you shyly meet his eyes, they shine with warmth and affection. “From that very first moment, I wanted to get to know you, protect you ...”

He trails off as he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your cheek. Your breath hitches at his touch.

“Why me?” You whisper.

Lewis shakes his head in amusement. “How could I not be drawn to you? You’re beautiful, charming, intelligent … anyone would be lucky to capture your attention.”

You stare down into your coffee, overwhelmed. No one has ever spoken to you this way before. Looked at you the way Lewis does, like you’re the most captivating person in the world.

“Hey, look at me,” Lewis murmurs. He tips your chin up until your eyes lock with his. “I mean every word. From the moment we met, all I’ve wanted is to get closer to you.”

His thumb strokes your bottom lip as he speaks. You’re helpless to pull away from his intense gaze.

“I know your brother wants to keep you locked away from reality,” Lewis continues seriously. “But you’re an adult now. You can make your own choices.”

His eyes flick down to your lips. Your breath catches in anticipation. Slowly, giving you time to pull back, Lewis leans in.

When his lips meet yours, you let your eyes drift shut. The kiss is soft and undemanding at first, Lewis letting you set the pace. As you respond tentatively, he pulls you closer, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Kissing Lewis surrounds you in warmth, makes you feel desired and cherished. You let him deepen the kiss, chasing the delicious sensation.

After long, blissful moments, Lewis gradually slows the kiss. He presses light, sweet pecks to your lips as he pulls back just enough to meet your dazed eyes.

“Wow,” you breathe, eliciting a delighted chuckle from him.

“I’d say so too,” Lewis says, smile crinkling his eyes. He brushes his thumb over your lower lip again. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long now.”

You bite your lip as you study his handsome face. Your heart is racing but you’ve never felt more secure than wrapped in his strong arms. Still, a niggling thought won’t leave you alone.

“Lewis … what about Charles?” You ask uncertainly. “If he finds out ...”

Lewis presses another soft kiss to your forehead. “I know, I know. We’ll have to be careful.” He strokes your hair soothingly. “This can be our secret for now. I don’t want you to worry, love. I’ll take care of you.”

His sincerity and confidence settles your nerves. You nod and cuddle into his broad chest. Lewis’ arms come around you as he drops a kiss to the top of your head.

“Why don’t I make us some breakfast?” He suggests. “We can spend the day inside, just the two of us.”

You smile up at him. “That sounds perfect.”

Lewis smiles and steals one more lingering kiss before heading to the kitchen. You settle back against the plush cushions, heart full.

The rain continues to fall steadily outside. But here, wrapped in Lewis’ affection, you’ve never felt warmer.

***

You pace back and forth in Lewis’ driver’s room, nerves making your heart flutter. The deafening roar of the crowds just outside echoes in your ears.

Lewis did it. He won his first race with Ferrari today. You watched with pride and excitement as he stood on the top step of the podium, rosso corsa vivid against the grey skies as the champagne poured down.

Now you wait for him to finish with the press and the team, bouncing anxiously on the balls of your feet. You smooth your hands down your dress for the tenth time, wondering if you’re making a mistake.

Finally the door opens and Lewis steps inside. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, his sculpted chest straining against his fireproofs underneath. He breaks into a huge grin when he sees you.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says warmly, striding over to fold you into his arms. “What a lovely surprise.”

You hug him back tightly, relieved laughter bubbling out of you. “I’m so proud of you! Your first win for Ferrari.”

Lewis kisses your temple before holding you at arm’s length, hands gentle on your waist. “Today has been incredible. But coming back to find you here waiting … that’s the best victory of all.”

You blush under the sincerity of his gaze. Reaching up, you run your fingers over the stubble on his jaw. “I wanted to celebrate with you privately first, before the team party.”

Lewis’ eyes darken with desire and he pulls you flush against him. “I can think of a few private celebrations I’d like to have with you,” he murmurs suggestively.

Your breath catches but you place a hand on his chest. “Wait. I have something to tell you first.”

Taking his hand, you lead him over to the small sofa along the wall. Lewis sits and pulls you down next to him, studying you intently.

You take a deep, steadying breath. Your heart is racing for an entirely different reason now.

“Lewis, I … I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” You keep your eyes locked on his, willing him to understand the depth of your emotions.

“I know we have to hide this from Charles and the team. But I’m tired of hiding how I feel.” You reach out to cradle his face in your hands. “I’m yours, Lew. In every way. If you want me.”

Lewis’ eyes flare with a mixture of desire and affection. He turns his head to press a fervent kiss to your palm.

“Are you certain, my love? We can wait until you’re ready,” he says seriously, though his body vibrates with pent up longing.

You smile tremulously and nod. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Needing no further encouragement, Lewis crushes his mouth to yours. He kisses you deeply, holding nothing back. You moan into his mouth, your hands twisting in his race suit.

When you finally break apart both gasping for air, Lewis rests his forehead against yours. His eyes blaze with arousal but his touch is gentle as he caresses your face.

Lewis lays you down gently on the bed, his body blanketing yours. His hand slips into your hair as he kisses you deeply, with restrained passion.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing hard. Lewis trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at your pulse point in a way that makes you gasp.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he rasps, his voice rough with need.

You shake your head, arching into his touch. Your hands grasp at his shoulders, feeling the strength coiled under his shirt.

With deft fingers, Lewis begins unbuttoning your dress, exposing more and more of your flushed skin. He pauses when he reaches your bra, meeting your eyes questioningly. At your tiny nod, he reaches around and unhooks it, sliding the straps down your arms.

You flush as he reveals your bare breasts for the first time. Lewis groans low in his throat, eyes raking over you hungrily. Slowly he lowers his head, watching your face for any hesitation. When you bite your lip and nod for him to continue, he closes his lips around one taut nipple.

You cry out at the sensation, back arching off the bed. Lewis lavishes attention on your breasts, licking, sucking, kissing every inch of the sensitive skin. You’re mindless with pleasure, grasping at him desperately.

After an eternity, Lewis begins trailing hot kisses back down your stomach, hands unzipping your dress the rest of the way. He slides it down your legs tantalizingly slowly, caressing each new bit of exposed skin.

When you’re left in just your panties, Lewis pauses to admire you. “So beautiful,” he murmurs reverently before capturing your lips again.

His hands explore your body with new urgency, stroking along your sides, grasping your hips. You tentatively slide your hands under his shirt, feeling his muscles flex. Lewis groans and sits back just long enough to rip the Nomex over his head.

The feel of his bare chest against yours makes you dizzy with need. You start fumbling with his briefs until Lewis gently stills your hands.

“Slow down, love. We have all night,” he rasps, though his eyes are dark with desire. He kisses you languidly until you relax again, melting into his touch.

Only then does Lewis trail his hand down between your legs. You gasp against his mouth at the intimate caress, even through the fabric of your panties. He rubs you in slow circles until you’re mindless, pleading for more.

With utmost care Lewis slides your panties down your legs. His fingers return to stroke you directly and you cry out, arching into his hand.

“That’s it darling, let go for me,” Lewis coaxes. He watches your face raptly as he brings you higher and higher until you shatter around his fingers with a sharp cry.

As you float back down, Lewis kisses you tenderly. “You are so perfect, my love,” he whispers.

When you’ve caught your breath, Lewis stands just long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. The sight of him bare above you makes you flush anew, but you boldly meet his heated gaze.

Lewis settles between your thighs once more, the evidence of his desire pressing insistently against your core. He braces himself above you on one arm while the other hand caresses your face.

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” he says thickly. You nod, heart pounding in anticipation.

Lewis reaches down to position himself at your entrance. He watches your face intently as he begins to press inside you. Despite his care, you gasp at the burning stretch. Immediately Lewis stills, face taut.

“Keep going,” you plead breathlessly.

Jaw clenched, Lewis pushes forward inexorably slowly until he’s fully seated inside you. He drops his head to your shoulder with a guttural groan.

“Oh god, you feel incredible,” he grits out.

You cling to him, overwhelmed at the new sensations. The fullness, the intimacy of being joined so completely.

Lewis is trembling with the effort to keep still above you. You trail kisses across his shoulder, silently telling him you’re ready.

Tenderly Lewis begins to move, rocking into you with gentle thrusts. The slight ache soon disappears, replaced by waves of pleasure. You wrap your legs around his hips, urging him deeper.

Lewis gradually increases his pace, unable to hold back any longer. His eyes burn into yours as he moves within you.

“I love you,” he gasps out. “Love you so much, Y/N.”

You cry out his name as the pleasure crests and breaks over you. Lewis follows seconds later with a low groan, burying his face in your neck.

You cling together as you float back to earth, hearts thundering in tandem. Lewis trails feather-light kisses over your face as you bask in the afterglow.

“Thank you for trusting me with this gift, my darling,” Lewis eventually murmurs.

You smile up at him radiantly. “I’ll love you forever for this night.”

Lewis’ eyes shine as he draws you impossibly closer. The crowds and thoughts of your brother seem lifetimes away. There is only you and Lewis and the sweet passion between you.

And as your bodies join in intimate unity, you know you made the right choice entrusting yourself completely to this man. For Lewis holds not just your body, but your heart.

***

The morning light filters into the bedroom, rousing you from sleep. You shift under the sheets, pleasantly sore, as memories from the night before come rushing back.

A smile steals over your face as you recall Lewis’ tender passion, the way he whispered his love to you again and again. You’ve never felt closer to another person.

Strong arms tighten around your waist from behind as Lewis nuzzles into your neck. “Good morning, my love,” he rumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

You roll over to face him, heart skipping at his rumpled hair and warm brown eyes. “Morning,” you whisper back, suddenly shy.

Lewis’ hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “How are you feeling?”

You lean into his touch. “Wonderful,” you say honestly. At his delighted grin, you add, “Last night was … incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“Mmm, neither have I,” Lewis says seriously. “Making love to you was the greatest gift you could have given me.”

He kisses you sweetly, then trails his lips along your jaw. “I can’t wait to explore more with you,” he murmurs, making you shiver.

Over the next weeks and months, Lewis takes great joy in broadening your horizons in the bedroom. With endless patience he teaches you the intricacies of pleasure, guiding you through new experiences you once only dreamed of. Under his patient guidance, you blossom from an innocent novice to a confident lover.

He delights in watching you come undone under his skillful hands and mouth, praising you for being such an eager student. Your nights together are filled with ecstasy, whispered endearments, and an ever deepening bond.

“That’s it, darling. Just like that,” Lewis groans as you learn to use your mouth on him. He gently guides your rhythm, fingers tangled in your hair. His throaty praise urges you on until he finally spills over with a ragged moan.

Other nights, he focuses solely on you. Lewis maps every inch of your body with lips, tongue and fingers until you’re trembling and oversensitized. Only then does he finally sink into your eager body and take you apart completely.

“So perfect, so responsive,” he rasps in your ear as you claw at his back, his deep thrusts pushing you higher. “You were made for me, love.”

Your muffled cries ring out as ecstasy crashes through you. Lewis follows moments later with a guttural groan, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips.

The end of the British Grand Prix finds you waiting nervously in Lewis’ driver’s room, heart swelling with pride at his victory. When he strides in, sweaty and exhilarated, his entire face lights up to see you there.

He sweeps you into his arms, kissing you passionately. “Another win, my darling. Will you give me my prize now?”

You smile coyly up at him through your lashes. “Happily. I’ve missed you.”

Lewis groans and reclaims your lips. As your kisses grow heated, he murmurs, “You’re the best motivation any driver could ask for. My favorite part of winning has become knowing you’ll be here waiting for me.”

You make quick work of removing each other’s clothes, too impatient for slow seduction. Lewis lays you back on the couch, eyes blazing with desire.

“I love watching you experience new pleasures,” he says thickly. “Let me show you something exquisite today.”

You nod eagerly, ready for whatever he wants to teach you. Lewis trails hot kisses down your body until he’s kneeling before you. He looks up at you with dark eyes.

“Just relax and feel, my love.”

When his mouth descends on you, you cry out in shocked rapture. He wasn’t exaggerating about showing you something exquisite.

After, he gathers you close, pressing kisses to your temple. “Winning used to be my greatest joy,” he confesses softly. “Now, knowing you’ll be waiting to reward me is the only thing that matters.”

You smile and kiss him tenderly. In Lewis’ arms, you’ve discovered passion and intimacy beyond your wildest imaginings.

When asked about his dominance this season during interviews, Lewis just smiles secretively. “I’ve found powerful motivation,” is all he offers.

You watch from the shadows, heart swelling with love and pride for the man who’s brought you such fulfillment. You know that no matter what happens next, you'll never regret giving yourself so completely to Lewis.

***

You stand against a wall, watching Lewis take pictures with his side of the garage after a hard fought victory, unable to keep from smiling.

When he catches your eye, his lips quirk up. The heat in his gaze makes your cheeks flush.

You’re so distracted you don’t notice Charles until he’s right beside you. “Enjoying the celebrations?” He asks with a nudge to your shoulder.

You jump. “Oh! Yes, it’s quite exciting.”

Charles’ sharp eyes sweep between you and Lewis. “Hmm. Well I’m heading out for drinks with the team if you’d like to join.”

You grasp for an excuse. “Oh, um, I’m pretty tired actually …”

“She already has plans with me tonight.”

You freeze at Lewis’ voice over your shoulder. Dread pools in your stomach as you turn to see him watching Charles calmly.

Your brother goes rigid, eyes darting between you and Lewis. “Plans? What plans?” He asks, voice dangerously level.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Lewis steps closer, hand coming to rest on your lower back.

“I’m taking your sister out to dinner to celebrate properly,” he says smoothly. His thumb strokes your spine comfortingly.

Charles’ eyes zero in on the intimate touch, nostrils flaring. “Is that so,” he states flatly. His piercing gaze bores into you. “And does this happen often?”

Your mouth is dry as dust. You look helplessly up at Lewis.

He meets Charles’ glare steadily. “Your sister is an adult. Our relationship is no one’s business but our own.”

“Relationship?” Charles’ voice rises sharply. “How long has this-this thing been going on?”

You wince at his accusing tone. “For most of the season,” you whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just-”

Charles holds up a hand, looking ill. “I don’t want to hear it. My own teammate, Y/N? Are you trying to ruin me?”

Indignation flares through you. “For once, this isn’t about you! I lov-” you break off, tears stinging your eyes.

Lewis wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. “That’s enough, Charles,” he says quietly but firmly. “I understand you’re upset, but don’t take it out on your sister.”

Charles’ mouth twists bitterly. “Oh so now you’re going to lecture me about my own family?” He takes a step closer, eyes blazing. “Stay away from my sister, Hamilton, or I swear-”

“Enough!” Your shout echoes through the suddenly silent motorhome. You pull away from Lewis to stand tall, glaring at your brother.

“You don’t get to make demands, Charles. Not about this.” Your voice doesn’t waver even as tears spill down your cheeks.

“I’m in love with Lewis. And he loves me. This is real.” Your tone softens. “I wanted to tell you. But I need you to understand that this is my choice.”

Charles looks stunned, anger fading into hurt. “Y/N …” he reaches for you but you step back, shaking your head.

“I just need some time. Please try to understand.” With that you turn and hurry away, ignoring the tears clouding your vision.

You don’t stop until firm, familiar arms come around you. Lewis tucks you into his chest, stroking your hair as you finally let the tears fall.

“Shh it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. He continues holding you until the storm of emotion passes.

Finally you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “What do we do now?”

Lewis caresses your cheek gently. "We’ll figure it out together. I meant what I said, I’m not giving you up.”

You manage a watery smile. Whatever comes next, you know you and Lewis can weather it as long as you have each other. Leaning up on your toes, you silence anymore words with a soft, sweet kiss.

It takes a few weeks, but finally Charles seeks you out.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted, petite soeur. It was a shock, but that’s no excuse.” He takes your hands in his. “I just want you to be happy. And if Hamilton — if Lewis — is who you want, then … I can accept that.”

Relief crashes over you. You fling your arms around Charles, tears pricking your eyes again.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his shoulder. “That means everything to me.”

Charles holds you close for a long moment before pulling back to give you a rueful smile. “Just promise me I won’t have to see anything too lovey-dovey between you two.”

You laugh through your tears. “I promise.”

Charles has never been able to resist when you turn your puppy dog eyes on him. And deep down, he wants nothing more than your happiness — even if that’s with his teammate.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Roxette - The Look 1989

"The Look" is a song by pop duo Roxette; Sweden's second-best-selling music act after ABBA. It was released in early 1989 as the fourth single from their second studio album, Look Sharp! (1988). The album was an immediate commercial success in their home country, spending seven weeks at number one on the Swedish Albums Chart. "The Look" was written by Per Gessle as an exercise while learning how to operate the Ensoniq ESQ-1 synthesizer he had recently purchased, using a repeated A–G–D bass line as the song's core. The track's sixteenth-note rhythm was inspired by the work of ZZ Top. The original title was "He's Got the Look", with the lyrics using male pronouns. Gessle said this was done because he initially wanted Marie Fredriksson to sing the track. Both he and EMI Sweden had chosen to highlight Fredriksson as Roxette's lead vocalist. However, when recording the demo, Gessle realised the song "didn't fit her style that well, so I had a go and it sounded OK."

The singles from Look Sharp! at the time were only released in Sweden, Germany and France. However, an American exchange student from Minnesota named Dean Cushman returned from Sweden and gave his copy of the album to his local Top 40 radio station, KDWB-FM in Minneapolis. The station's program director Brian Phillips initially ignored Cushman's request to play a song from the album, leaving the CD unplayed in his office for several weeks. Phillips eventually listened to it after learning Cushman had come to the office requesting the return of his CD. Immediately impressed by the album's opening track, "The Look" was played by the station for the first time on US radio less than an hour later, and the response from listeners was overwhelmingly positive; the station immediately began receiving phone calls to replay the track.

KDWB began distributing the track to their sister radio operations, sending 500 copies to other stations throughout the United States. EMI America promptly signed the duo to a recording contract as a result of the airplay. The label had previously rejected Roxette as "unsuitable for the American market". The song had already entered the top fifty of the Billboard Hot 100 before official promotion began, peaking at number one on the chart eight weeks later. This made "The Look" the third number one single by a Swedish act on the Billboard Hot 100, following Blue Swede's "Hooked on a Feeling" (poll #152) in 1974 and ABBA's "Dancing Queen" in 1976.

The track went on to top the charts in 25 countries. It spent three weeks atop the New Zealand Singles Chart, and six weeks at number one in Australia, where it was certified platinum for sales in excess of 70,000 copies. It also topped the charts throughout Scandinavia. The song spent five weeks at number one in West Germany, and an additional five weeks at number two. It was a massive success in Spain and Switzerland, spending eight weeks at number one in both countries. It reached number seven on the UK Singles Chart.

"The Look" received a total of 80,5% yes votes!

[rip-quizilla]

Jinx

Janitor!Eddie X Teacher!Reader

700ish words

It was your first year teaching at Hawkins Middle School, and you’d already failed to establish a respectable work-life balance. 

You were new to this career field, eager to prove yourself a capable educator. You always arrived early, always left late. Often, you wound up leaving after everyone but the administrators had already gotten home, undoubtedly to prepare dinner for their families or take care of household chores. You had no one waiting for you at home but your cats, so heading home around 5pm was the norm for you. 

Today, you sat grading papers at your desk while Van Morrison played through your headphones. You’d finally settled into a rhythm, methodically bobbing your head to the beat as you drew check marks and X’s with a pink ballpoint pen when suddenly, something in your empty classroom moved out the corner of your eye.

You let out a startled yelp, joined by a twin curse from the ponytailed custodian who’d intruded upon your quiet room. He looked just as surprised as you were, eyes wide with headphones blasting what sounded like the screech of metal guitar from around his neck where he’d quickly shoved them off his ears. 

“Shit-” he breathed, chest letting out a heaving breath, “-Sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“I didn’t see-” you began at the same time as him, apologies spilling out of you both simultaneously. 

“I shouldn’t have been-”

“My headphones were-”

“Should’ve been paying more-”

“Wasn’t paying attention, I’m-”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

You spoke as one voice, that last word filling the empty classroom. Slowly, an amused smile broke out across the custodian’s features, his idle hands stuffing themselves into the pockets of his black work pants. His eyes flicked over you at the speed of light before he broke the silence.

“Jinx.”

You chuckled quietly, pausing your music and setting your own headphones down on your desk. 

“Guess I owe you a soda.” you retorted, your smiling voice made small by the overpowering after-hours quiet.

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “I never say no to a soda.” Then he got to work, grabbing the small plastic garbage bin from where it sat by your door and pulling the thin plastic lining from it. 

You returned to your grading, but left the headphones off your ears out of respect for the presence in your room. You didn’t want to appear rude, after all. 

The custodian did the same, leaving his headphones around his neck as he performed various routine tasks around the room. Even from the opposite corner of the space, you could hear his music singing out at top volume from where it rested across his decolletage. Harsh screams and rage tore through the soft-looking spongey speakers, and you were struck by how much they were contrasted by the pleasant air that followed this man who was currently sweeping up crumpled notebook fringe from beneath a wooden desk. 

You peered a little closer at his gray uniform shirt where a little embroidered patch sat stitched to his breast pocket. Eddie, it read. You committed the name to memory.

The two of you continued your work wordlessly until he finished, and just before he exited the room he shot you a friendly smile accompanied by a nod of his head.

“Have a good night.”

Those eyes were breathtaking; they were unwavering in their contact with yours. You nodded and grinned, trying not to sound quite as charmed as you felt. 

“You too.” you said. 

The next day, you’d needed to leave as soon as the final bell rang. Eddie had been slightly disappointed to find your door closed with the light off when he’d gotten to your classroom, but when he’d unlocked the door and flicked on the light to reveal a sweating glass bottle of Coca-Cola on the desk closest to the door, he could’ve sworn his heart did a backflip. 

A pink post-it note sat stuck to the surface of the desk next to the bottle.

Eddie, soda’s all yours.

P.S.-per the rules of jinx, I can’t talk until you say my name.

You’d signed your name at the bottom, and Eddie admired the way the ink from your pen bled into a little starburst where the condensation had pooled into a drop at the base of the bottle and dripped to your note below. He peeled the note off, folding it carefully into a small square and sticking it in his pocket. He opened the bottle, lifted it to his lips and drank. It tasted sweet and bright, bubbly and full of unexpected possibilities. 

[loganhowlettsmybf]

I feel like when don't use the nightmare trope enough even though he is plagued by them 😭

Maybe comforting him during after a nightmare maybe he gets handsey(in a bad way) and like pins the reader down(again in a bad way) claws out ready to fight until you softly kiss his hand and then he calms down.

Soft Smut or soft cuddles after depends on how you feel

Sorry this is all over the place I hope this inspires

a/n: so true we don’t have enough of them😭

warnings: nothing just fluff

the night was unusually still. you lay beside logan, his deep, even breaths a constant rhythm in the silence. he had been unusually peaceful tonight, and you allowed yourself to relax, to drift into the comfort of sleep.

but then, somewhere in the early hours, that peace shattered.

logan stirred beside you, a low growl rumbling in his chest. you recognized the signs immediately. it wasn’t the first time you had been woken by his nightmares. they were frequent, relentless, haunted by memories of his past.

you reached out instinctively, your hand hovering just above his shoulder, unsure if you should wake him. but before you could make a decision, logan jerked awake, his eyes wide with terror, his breathing erratic.

“logan…” you whispered, trying to soothe him. but he didn’t hear you. he wasn’t really awake, not yet. he was caught somewhere between the past and the present, in a place where everything was a threat.

suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a grip that was almost painful. you gasped, trying to pull back, but his strength was overwhelming. in the next moment, you were pinned beneath him, your back pressed against the mattress, his weight holding you down.

“logan!” you called out, louder this time, hoping to break through whatever was holding him in this nightmare. but his eyes were wild, unfocused, and his claws extended with a metallic snikt, the sharp adamantium gleaming in the dim light.

you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. his claws were so close, inches from your face. but you had been here before, you knew this wasn’t him—not really. this was the fear, the anger, the pain that he carried every day, bursting forth in a moment of vulnerability.

very slowly, you moved your free hand, bringing it up to his, careful not to startle him. his claws trembled, and his eyes were wild, searching, lost.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soft, soothing. “logan, it’s me. you’re safe.”

he didn’t seem to hear you. his grip tightened, and you could feel the sharp tips of his claws grazing your skin, just on the verge of breaking through. but you didn’t flinch. instead, you leaned up as best as you could, your lips brushing against the back of his hand.

“logan,” you repeated, your voice barely more than a breath, “i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

the kiss was gentle, almost imperceptible, but it had the desired effect. for a moment, logan went completely still, his breath catching in his throat. his eyes met yours, and you saw the recognition slowly filter back in, pushing away the shadows that had gripped him so tightly.

his claws retracted with a soft click, and his grip on your wrist loosened until he let go entirely. logan’s shoulders slumped as he sank back onto his knees, the realization of what he had done—or almost done—hitting him like a physical blow.

“god…” he murmured, his voice rough with guilt. “i’m sorry… i didn’t—”

“shh,” you interrupted him, sitting up and reaching out to cup his face in your hands. his skin was cool, damp with sweat, and you could feel the rapid beat of his pulse beneath your fingers. “it’s okay, logan. it’s not your fault.”

he shook his head, his eyes dark and filled with self-loathing. “i could’ve hurt you… i could’ve—”

“but you didn’t,” you reminded him, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “you stopped. you came back.”

logan stared at you for a long moment, as if he was trying to convince himself that you were real, that you were safe. slowly, he brought his hands up to cover yours, holding them against his face as if he was afraid you would slip away.

“i don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “not after everything…”

you felt your heart ache at the pain in his voice, at the way he always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. you knew his past, the things he had done, the things that had been done to him. but to you, none of that mattered. all you saw was the man in front of you, the one who had been hurt so many times, and who still managed to protect those he loved.

“logan,” you said softly, leaning in until your forehead rested against his, “you deserve to be loved. you deserve to be happy. and I’m not going anywhere.”

his breath hitched, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. for a long moment, the two of you sat there in the darkness, the only sound was the quiet rhythm of your breathing.

finally, logan opened his eyes again, his gaze softer, more grounded. he looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time, and a small, grateful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “for staying. for… everything.”

you smiled back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “always.”

carefully, you guided him back down onto the bed, your hands gentle as you pulled the covers over the both of you. logan curled into your side, his head resting on your chest, his arm draped over your waist. you ran your fingers through his hair, soothing him with soft touches until his breathing evened out, and he relaxed fully against you.

“sleep,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “i’ve got you.”

logan sighed, a sound of contentment, and within minutes, he had drifted back into sleep. this time, though, it was peaceful, his nightmares chased away by your presence.

[scarletwinterxx]

thank your stars all you want but I'll always be the lucky one - choi seungcheol scenario

hellooo~ i am soooo not done with the proposal scenarios😅 this one is a request, hope i did it justice. and yes I did cry again while writing this. Happy new year!🤍

you can listen to your universe by rico blanco for maximum feels. this was insipired by this song🥺

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The soft glow of morning sunlight streams through the windows of Seungcheol’s apartment, the familiar scent of his cologne lingering in the air. You stretch lazily in bed, savoring the warmth of the cozy blankets and the faint murmur of the city outside.

It’s a routine you’ve grown used to after nearly seven years together—his home has become yours in every way except officially.

Seungcheol had left early for the gym, promising to grab your favorite smoothies on his way back. The two of you had settled into this comfortable rhythm, a dance of affection and understanding that made your friends tease you mercilessly. “You’re practically married already,” they’d say, rolling their eyes at how well you two knew each other’s quirks.

Still, in the quiet corners of your heart, you sometimes wondered why he hadn’t taken the next step. Not that you were in a rush—you loved him, and you knew he loved you. But the idea lingered, like a melody waiting to be completed.

Mid-morning, a knock at the door pulls you from your musings. You pad to the door, opening it to find a delivery man holding a small, nondescript package.

“For Choi Seungcheol?” he asks.

“That’s him,” you reply, signing for the box. It’s light, plain, and gives no indication of what’s inside. You place it on the kitchen counter and send Seungcheol a quick text: A package came for you. Should I open it?

His response is almost immediate. Don’t open it! I’ll deal with it when I’m back. Thanks, babe.

His urgency makes you chuckle. It’s rare for him to be this insistent. Shrugging, you leave the package untouched and go about your day, but curiosity itches at the back of your mind.

When Seungcheol returns, he’s casual—too casual, you think. His eyes dart to the counter where the package rests, and he quickly sweeps it up. “Thanks for letting me know,” he says, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Sure,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s in it?”

“Just some gym stuff,” he lies, his tone a little too breezy. You know him well enough to catch the slight shift in his demeanor.

Over the next few days, you notice odd behavior. Seungcheol becomes extra cautious, sometimes darting out of the room with his phone or quickly closing drawers when you walk in.

It’s adorable but also maddening. You’re good at sniffing out surprises, and whatever he’s hiding, it’s big.

The breaking point comes during dinner one night. The two of you are seated across from each other, candles flickering between you. He’s unusually fidgety, his fork clinking against the plate as he tries—and fails—to make eye contact.

“Seungcheol,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him as he pokes at his steak. His fidgeting is driving you insane. “Spit it out.”

“What?” he replies, looking up with wide, innocent eyes that you know all too well aren’t innocent at all.

“You’re acting weird.” You lean forward, pointing your fork at him. “I can tell you’re hiding something. Just say it.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he insists, but his voice cracks slightly. “Can’t a guy just enjoy dinner with his girlfriend without being interrogated?”

“Not when he’s sweating bullets,” you deadpan, crossing your arms.

He laughs nervously and takes a big gulp of water. “It’s just… I’m thinking about work stuff.”

“Liar,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it’s gym stuff,” he says, grinning in that way he does when he’s trying to distract you. “I’m planning a new workout routine.”

“Seungcheol, I know every workout routine you’ve ever done. Don’t test me.”

He groans, dropping his fork onto his plate and dramatically rubbing his face. “Can you trust me on this one? I promise you'll love it and will hate me if I tell you right now. I’ve been working very hard on, can you be kind enough to spare me for now. I pinky promise you'll know soon enough"

You blink at him, stunned by his sudden honesty.

Then, a small smile creeps onto your lips. “Fine,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “But I’m only letting this go because you look like you might combust if I keep pushing.”

He lets out a loud sigh of relief, muttering a quiet, “Thank you.” standing up from his seat to go to you, giving your head a kiss.

The rest of the evening is pleasant, even though you can’t help but notice how Seungcheol keeps stealing glances at you, a secretive smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It’s enough to make your curiosity burn, but you keep your promise and drop the subject—for now.

A week later, the snow falling heavy covering the streets with sheets of white. You love the snow, you've always love cold weathers more even though your body doesn't. Anything below 80° makes you shiver.

Your boyfriend knows this, he learned early on your relationship that you get cold easily so he always brings a jacket for you. Now you own his hoodies, a shared asset.

The air outside is crisp as Seungcheol insists on taking you on an evening walk through a quiet park. It's all covered in snow making the whole scene look magical.

Winter lights hang from the trees, casting a warm glow over the snow-dusted path. He holds your gloved hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he leads you to a secluded gazebo overlooking a frozen lake.

“Why here?” you ask, smiling at his excited energy. “It’s freezing.”

“It’s romantic,” he replies, winking. “Just trust me.”

You shake your head, amused. “I’m starting to think you’re up to something.”

“Me? Up to something?” He grins mischievously

You look up at the sky, it's dark enough to see the stars. Living in the city, it's a rare sight so you close your eyes and send a quick wish to the heavens like you always do when you see a star. Meanwhile Seungcheol watches you, a smile forming on his lips and his heart thumping hard in his chest

With your eyes still closed, you feel Seungcheol lean closer to you. He kisses your cheeks eliciting a giggle from you

“You’re being extra sweet tonight, did you do something?” you tease

“I’m always sweet,” he counters, feigning offense.

He seems restless, though, his leg bouncing slightly.

“Are you cold?” you ask, concerned.

“No, no. Just... thinking.”

You narrow your eyes. “About what?”

He looks at you, his gaze so intense it makes your heart skip. “About how lucky I am to have you.”

You roll your eyes with a laugh, nudging him playfully. “What’s with the cheesy lines tonight?”

He chuckles but doesn’t answer, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple instead. Then another on your cheek. And one on your lips. His kisses grow deeper, hotter, until the cold around you feels irrelevant.

“Cheol,” you murmur against his lips, half-laughing, half-serious, “what are you doing?”

“Loving you,” he whispers, his voice low and warm.

Despite his sweetness, you’re still clueless about his plan.

When he finally pulls back, he takes both your hands, holding them tightly. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

You tilt your head, your curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

He drops to one knee in front of you, and your heart stutters. “You don't know how hard it was to keep this from you, every time you ask I almost wanted to tell you but I wanted everything to be perfect” He pulls a small velvet box from his coat pocket, opening it to reveal a glittering diamond ring.

Your mouth falls open, your breath caught in your chest.

“You are my everything,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “The one who makes my world brighter, warmer, better. Whenever I think about the future, I can only see us. You. Stealing all of my hoodies, cooking breakfast for us, me bringing home your favorite smoothie on the weekend. To be honest, I don't really need any wishes because I'm already the lucky one. But will you make me the luckiest man and let me be your husband?”

Your lips jut out, quivering as tears fall down your cheeks. You can't even form words right now so you just nod frantically, unable to speak. He slips the ring onto your finger, and you throw yourself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you whisper as he kisses you again, deeper this time, stealing the breath from your lungs.

He smiles against your lips. “I take it that’s a yes?”

“Of course, it’s a yes,” you reply, pulling him closer. “You big, cheesy romantic.”

He laughs, his forehead resting against yours. “Told you, you'll love my suprise”

And you do. With the stars above, the quiet of the snowy park, and the warmth of his love, you know you’ve found your universe in him.

[minswriting]

in your Spencer Reid nsfw alphabet, under oral, you mention that Spencer would be down for 69ing. and I agree. the thing is, I have never seen a fic with it before. Do you have any recommendations? Are you willing to take it as a request? 👀

omg you’re so right. i need to write this

nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader | 69, oral (f & m receiving)

It started with a simple statement. Spencer had come home from work relatively early because it was just a paperwork sort of day. After you two had dinner and were just sitting on the couch as you both read silently together, Spencer broke the silence with “I want you to sit on my face while you suck me off,” while closing his book. Let’s get one thing clear, Spencer usually wasn’t so direct when it came to sex. So this, this had certainly been on his mind for a while for him to be so direct.

So of course, you agreed.

Which is what ultimately led you both to the bedroom with Spencer underneath you as you sat on his face in reverse cowgirl style. He didn’t hesitate to use his tongue on you, moving the appendage all over your cunt as he took in your juices. Eating you out was one of Spencer’s favorite things to do and he would gladly die between your thighs if you suffocated him. Spencer held your thighs to his face, burying his tongue inside of you.

You moaned as you leaned down, your face stopping right in front of Spencer’s cock. You took a second to relish in the pleasure Spencer was giving you, a hand on his torso for support. After a few minutes, you brought your other hand to Spencer’s cock, guiding it to your mouth. You swirled your tongue across the tip at the same time Spencer sucked on your clit. The both of you moaned at the same time, adding to the pleasure. You began by just sucking on the tip and teasing it, causing Spencer to pause what he was doing and breathe heavily, the hot hair hitting your pussy.

“Fuck,” Spencer moaned before diving his tongue back onto your cunt.

You eased your mouth down Spencer’s length, using your hand to jerk off what couldn’t fit. The two of you got into a rhythm. You bobbed your head up and down at the same time as Spencer ate your cunt. Both of you were moaning against one another, feeling each other’s pleasure. You could feel yourself getting close as Spencer sucked on your clit. Just as you could feel Spencer stiffening in your mouth, a tell-tale sign that he was getting close.

It didn’t take long for either of you to finish. You came with your thighs clamping around Spencer’s head at the same time that he finished in your mouth, bucking his hips as he did so. The both of you were whining and moaning. When you were finished, you crawled off Spencer, lying opposite him, where your feet were next to his head. The both of you were breathing heavily, taking in what had just happened.

“We’re doing that again,” You said breathily, tilting your head to look at Spencer.

He let out a small chuckle, nodding his head. “For sure.”

[yourmomsawh0r3]

expecting

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

The soft morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow across the grand bedchamber. Y/N stirred beneath the covers, her mind slowly rousing from the depths of sleep. She stretched her hand to the other side of the bed, expecting to find the familiar warmth of her husband, but instead, her fingers brushed against cold, empty sheets. Benedict had already risen, most likely absorbed in his work within the confines of his study.

She lingered in bed, her thoughts muddled by the lingering remnants of slumber, until a sharp pang of anxiety tightened in her chest. For several days now, a persistent worry had taken root within her, growing with each passing hour. She hesitated before throwing back the covers, her heart heavy with apprehension. Y/N’s gaze fell upon the bed linens, scrutinizing them with bated breath.

The sheets were immaculate, untouched by the crimson hue she had half-expected, half-dreaded to see. Her heart sank, frustration welling within her as she realized the implications. Another morning, another check, and still no sign of her monthly course. The absence of blood was both a blessing and a curse, for she knew what it likely meant.

They were still newlyweds, just months into their marriage, and while they had spoken of starting a family, Y/N had envisioned more time to enjoy their youthful union before the responsibilities of parenthood descended upon them. The thought of carrying Benedict’s child filled her with equal parts joy and trepidation. Was it too soon? Would he be ready for such a change, for the duties and demands that would come with fatherhood?

She rose from the bed, her movements languid as she wrapped her robe around herself. The silk fabric felt cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth she yearned to feel. Y/N padded down the long hallway, her feet silent on the plush carpet as she made her way to Benedict’s study. She could hear the familiar sound of his pencil scratching against parchment, the melody of his creative process.

She paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her husband. Benedict was bent over his work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched, utterly absorbed in his task. Despite the seriousness of his expression, there was an undeniable gentleness about him that made her heart swell with love.

For a moment, Y/N considered turning away, letting him remain in his world of art and imagination, but she knew she couldn’t delay the conversation any longer. The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she needed to confide in him, to share her fears and hopes.

“Benedict,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up immediately, his features softening the moment his eyes met hers. A warm smile spread across his face, and he set his pencil aside, rising from his chair to greet her.

“Good morrow, my love,” he said, his voice filled with affection as he crossed the room to her. “I did not intend to wake you so early.”

“You did not wake me,” Y/N replied, attempting a smile as she stepped closer to him. “I simply found myself alone in our bed and wondered where you might be.”

Benedict wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. “My mind was alight with ideas,” he explained, his tone light and teasing. “I had to capture them before they faded away like the morning mist.”

Y/N rested her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. The steady rhythm soothed her, but the anxiety in her own chest remained. She knew she couldn’t keep her secret any longer. “Benedict, I must speak with you about something of great importance.”

He pulled back slightly, concern flickering in his blue eyes. “What is it, dearest? You seem troubled.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her hands gripping the lapels of his dressing gown as she gathered the courage to speak. “I have missed my monthly course,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “It has been late for several days now, and I believe I may be with child.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate truth that had the power to alter their lives forever. Y/N braced herself for Benedict’s reaction, her heart pounding in her chest. She feared he might be taken aback, that the prospect of fatherhood might overwhelm him, especially so soon after their marriage.

But to her surprise, Benedict’s expression changed not to one of shock or apprehension, but to one of pure, unadulterated joy. His eyes widened, and a broad smile broke across his face as he processed her words.

“You think…?” he stammered, his voice laced with wonder. “You believe you carry our child?”

Y/N nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the happiness unfold across his face. “I did not know how to tell you… I feared it might be too soon, that you would be unprepared…”

Benedict’s hands cupped her face, his touch tender as he gazed down at her with all the love in his heart. “Too soon?” he echoed, his voice filled with emotion. “My love, there could be no greater news in the world. You have just given me the most precious gift I could ever receive.”

Before she could respond, Benedict swept her up into his arms, spinning her around in a joyful circle. Y/N’s laughter mingled with his, the sound of their happiness filling the room. When he finally set her down, he held her close, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, “We are to be parents, Y/N. I can scarcely believe it.”

Y/N’s tears spilled over, but they were tears of relief, of joy, of overwhelming love. She pulled him into a deep kiss, pouring all of her emotions into the tender embrace. When they finally parted, she looked up at him, her heart full to bursting. “I love you, Benedict,” she whispered. “And I am so grateful that we will embark on this journey together.”

Benedict’s arms tightened around her, his voice a soft murmur in her ear. “I love you more than words can express. You will be the most wonderful mother, and I will strive every day to be the father our child deserves.”

As they stood there in the warmth of the study, wrapped in each other’s embrace, Y/N knew that whatever fears she had harbored had been unfounded. Benedict’s love for her was unwavering.

A few weeks had passed since Y/N had first shared the news with Benedict, and their excitement had only grown with each day. Though they had reveled in the secret together, they both knew it was time to share the joy with their families. The Bridgerton clan was nothing if not close-knit, and such news was sure to be met with elation.

The day was sunny, with a pleasant breeze that made the leaves rustle in the grand trees lining the estate. The entire Bridgerton family was gathered in the drawing room of Aubrey Hall, the laughter and chatter filling the air as the siblings exchanged stories and playful jests. It was a rare occasion when they were all together, and Benedict couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth as he looked around the room.

Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting in his, their fingers intertwined. She was calm on the surface, but he could sense the slight tremor in her hand, the only sign of her nerves. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, meeting her eyes with a smile that spoke of all the love and support he had for her.

Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, Benedict cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. “If I may have your attention, everyone,” he began, his voice carrying a note of seriousness that was unusual in their light-hearted gatherings.

The room quieted, all eyes turning to Benedict and Y/N. There was a mixture of curiosity and concern in their expressions, each sibling wondering what news might be so important.

“We have something we would like to share with you all,” Benedict continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. He glanced at Y/N, his gaze filled with encouragement. She nodded, and together, they turned back to the family.

“We are with child,” Y/N announced, her voice soft but clear.

For a moment, there was silence as the words sank in. Then, as if on cue, the room erupted in a chorus of exclamations, cheers, and laughter. Daphne, ever the nurturing one, was the first to rush forward, her face alight with joy as she embraced Y/N.

“Oh, Y/N! That is the most wonderful news!” Daphne exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine happiness. “You are going to make such a wonderful mother.”

The rest of the siblings quickly followed suit, surrounding the couple with congratulations and hugs. Even Anthony, who often took on the role of the stern eldest brother, couldn’t hide the smile that spread across his face.

“Well done, brother,” he said, clapping Benedict on the shoulder. “You’ve managed to outdo yourself this time.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” Benedict replied with a grin, knowing that beneath his brother’s teasing exterior, there was deep affection.

Violet, their mother, had tears in her eyes as she enveloped Y/N in a warm embrace. “My dear, I am so happy for you both,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You are bringing such joy to this family.”

Y/N felt overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support. She had known that the Bridgertons would be thrilled, but the reality of it was even more touching than she had imagined. Benedict stood beside her, his arm around her waist, his pride and happiness evident in every gesture.

The rest of the day was filled with celebration. The family insisted on toasting the couple’s happiness, and there was much talk of the future, of names and nurseries, of the roles each sibling would play in the life of the new addition. Colin, ever the joker, made a grand show of predicting whether it would be a boy or a girl, while Eloise teased that she would teach the child all the ways of mischief.

As the evening drew to a close and the family began to disperse, Benedict and Y/N found themselves alone in the garden, the quiet night a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of earlier. The stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, and the soft rustle of the leaves provided a gentle melody to their solitude.

Benedict turned to Y/N, his expression tender as he took her hands in his. “Are you pleased, my love?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

“More than I could ever put into words,” she replied, her heart full to bursting with the love she felt for him and for the family they were building together.

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “We are going to be wonderful parents, Y/N,” he murmured against her skin. “And our child will be surrounded by so much love. I cannot wait to begin this new chapter with you.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, not of sadness but of overwhelming joy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close as she whispered, “Nor can I, Benedict. Nor can I.”

And so, beneath the canopy of stars, they stood together, holding each other close as they looked forward to the future, their hearts filled with the promise of the life they would share a life of love, of family, and of unbreakable bonds.

[kiwicopia]

Did you get 2 requests?

The first one is "NSFW headcanons of his female s/o spanking ZZZ Wise, and Lycaon"

The second one is "NSFW headcanons of his female s/o spanking ZZZ Lighter, and Anton"

Thanks! Please take your time though!

Anton

"You wanna do... what?"

There's slight apprehension towards the idea, at first, but give him some time to think about it. Anton will, eventually, come around to testing it out in bed, and bed only.

With a safe word in place, and after the first three smacks, he's silently questioning himself on why he didn't try this with you sooner. Admits in passing, after the session, that he enjoyed it enough to try it again.

Won't admit early on about how he liked the way each smack on his ass made his cock throb with need, but there were signs. Anton prefers the rhythm being out of sync. Not knowing when a slap is coming just ups the anticipation of the impact, and it just might make his cock throb again. It absolutely does.

Lighter

"Mm, 'kay."

He confused spanking with something else, at first, but that first slap sent a sudden jolt through his body, causing his cock to ache for another. Lighter tries to keep his cool with each repetitive smack against his ass, but he fails miserably.

Soft curses fall from his lips each time your hand makes contact with his ass, and he can't help it when the word "harder" slips out. He's used to enduring pain in battles, but this is different. The red-hot sting leaves him craving more.

Will eventually bring up using a paddle. It isn't that he opposes your hand, because that's not the case. He's just slightly curious to feel the difference between the two. If anyone mentions hearing anything, he's just silently denying it all.

Von Lycaon

"I beg your pardon?"

Apprehensive at first, but eventually gives in after some coaxing and reassurances that this isn't because you're mad at him. The first smack has him groaning, claws digging into the sheets while his tail gives a little wag.

It shouldn't feel good to be spanked so harshly, but he can't help that it makes his cock twitch. Give his tail a little tug while smacking his ass and it gets him going, causing his hips to hump against the bed.

Call him a "good boy" during a session of spanking and he's creaming all over the sheets. Will try and deny that he likes it. Can't beat the good boy allegations here.

Wise

"Seriously?" ... "You're being serious."

He thought you were kidding when first mentioning it, but Wise is a "try things for the first time" type of dude, so he gave it a go. It felt silly for him to be bent over against the bed, but all of those thoughts left his mind after the first two smacks. He liked the way his body jerked forward and how his dick rubbed against the edge of the bed.

A bit vocal with grunts and groans, but he'll throw in the occasional beg here and there when he's close to spilling. Likes it when you keep a steady rhythm and will especially enjoy it if you incorporate a paddle or a whip. A bit of a guilty pleasure for him.

Wise secretly likes the marks that are left on his skin. Won't make eye contact or even answer when someone points out that he's walking a bit stiffly. He just sat in his chair for too long. Not like he was bent over it moments prior.