#but the yarn seems soft enough

[nauusicaa]

first step in my “wash, prepare and spin an entire fleece” project is done 🎉 i wanted to do just a little bit at first to see how it would turn out and wouldn’t you know it, i have yarn! i’m excited to get through the rest of it now that I’ve had a little practice but there’s just so much fleece lol

[vashti-lives]

I impulse bought a full bag of this yarn last week when it was on suuuuper deep discount and in an unusual move for me I’m honestly regretting not buying a second bag. It’s still enough for a sweater as-is but having double the yardage would honestly be nice.

[headspace-hotel]

i'm discovering the sublime joys of natural plant fibers. literally don't know how to knit or crochet or anything and barely know how to sew but extracting and spinning fibers is apparently like the golden ratio of physical and mental activities for me. It's so much fun I will lose hours at a time just HONED in on my yarn and stuff.

Milkweed is so awesome as a plant oh my god. It produces ultra-soft seed fluffs that apparently can be spun if you're careful, the fibers are so smooth they can easily pull apart but making three strands and spinning them into a three-ply yarn seems promising, seems like it would be strong enough to work with. The seed fluffs were historically used widely as stuffing for jackets and pillows and the like, which they are amazing for. Milkweed fluff is way warmer than wool apparently? And on top of it, it has this gorgeous silky sheen. It's SO pretty and it's SO soft.

But the milkweed stems also have bast fiber which is very strong and is obtained by taking the dead stems and beating the crap out of them until the woody stuff is all broken and the fibers separate. This stuff is strong and soft and also has a nice sheen to it and I'm excited to see what could be made from it

Altogether it's a shit ton of usable material per plant, all of which is harvested after the plant dies back for the winter, not affecting its ability to regrow the next spring. With common milkweed, the stems can be greater than 6ft tall and the seed pods are big and each containing a lot of fluff. I filled a whole plastic grocery bag with seed pods, easy, just by walking through a field with lots of milkweed.

Apparently an old common name for milkweed is "wild cotton" which strongly suggests that the seed fluffs have been used for textile purposes

I've also learned from browsing foraging sites, the Myaamia ethnobotanical database and various books that Milkweed has an insane amount of culinary uses. It must be cooked because of the poisons in it that discourage munching by predators, but you can eat the leaves, the flowers, the underdeveloped seed pods (apparently they are compared to cheese?! And the flowers color drinks pink??)

like whoa! so much benefit from one single plant!

I'm working with Dogbane (Apocynonum cannabinum) bast fibers right now and they're sooooo great. Not only is beating the fibers a ton of fun, the fibers are a really beautiful shiny chestnut-blonde sort of color and very strong and fine and soft.

Dogbane fibers also have this lovely fragrance that is like a blend of cedar and forest soil and old books. Milkweed has its own distinct fragrance, very subtle, that I struggle to describe and don't like as much, but it's cool to notice that it has a smell.

[moondirti]

sorry to the soft simon lovers but i am fixating on the idea of him being too abrasive for greater society. no, hear me out. he can't be normal after what he’s been through. after what he's done.

cw: dead dove. sadism. inferred sexism and stalking. punitive harassment. idk guys he's gross. 18+ MDNI

he's just a little too odd, grim, ugly, cruel, rude. he stares too long and makes jokes that strike the wrong chord in most. he's into things that are not as sexual as they are humiliating to his partners, and can not be satisfied by any relationship his therapist would deem as healthy. even physically, he's torn in all the wrong places. his scars aren’t rugged but almost painful to look at. his hands are huge and calloused and 60 grit sandpaper against soft skin. his nose is crooked. his hair is shorn short. he has a mean smile, watery eyes.

the one thing keeping him from being completely ostracised is the flag on his arm, the one he fights for. but it's like putting a tarp over some horrible, disfigured mess – you can still see the general shape of it underneath. most shrug it off as fine, go figure. you teach a soldier to kill and they cope by being killers. it's funny because simon's issues began way before he enlisted – he spoors it back to conception, when his father gave him a part of himself that can never be scoured clean. the military is just where he resides to conceal the stink of miasma he'll never rid of. piss over piss. putting a reason to the barbarity.

for a while, it's enough. he sticks to the corners. for all his sadism, he's not keen on subjecting the general public to his complications. he's smart enough to separate good from what makes him feel good. he only interacts with others like him – price, mostly, who's better at playing pretend but has issues that bury their roots just as deep. or maybe he's able to see simon for what he really is, and the novelty of not having to bite his tongue is enough to form a gossamer bridge of friendship. he sleeps with masochists who don't know what's good for them, all of them men (though it never pays when they're into what he's inflicting). in between missions, he'll disappear to his shitty apartment that he pays for in cash and drink himself to oblivion as he scrolls through a deprecating XXX site.

if he gets inebriated enough, he'll open up tinder and swipe through the birds advertising themselves, as if he were the holy arbitrator of what's attractive. safe because he made it so that no one would match with him; his profile is blank. no bio, no age. Riley as his first name and a picture of a shutterstock german shepherd because having one photo was a requirement.

the lifestyle probably exacerbates his problems.

maybe that's why he reaches a point of no return when he gets a text late one night. he doesn't give his number to anyone, so the only app it could be from–

your dog's cute. what's his name?

it's to his sloshed astonishment that someone swiped right on him. not even him, but a barebones, dodgy profile he curated to keep everyone at arms length when he chooses to indulge in his destructive habits. you're cute too, suspiciously darling and a whole open book – five pictures, a colourful description and your city of residence. you cannot be short of options, certainly not enough to drive you to a point of desperation, so there's no mistaking what this is.

you're setting up a little pet project. something to bat at like a cat does a ball of yarn, with no intention to commit or ever see him in real life. perhaps you chose him because there’s nowhere to go but up. or because his disinterest seems glaringly obvious, and a simple risk assessment told you that you wouldn't suffer an obsessive stalker if you ever chose to ghost him.

unfortunately for you, that couldn't be further from the truth. that simple question is enough to push him over the edge.

he's tired of holding back.

[multimilfs]

Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader: Gaudium In Finem

Summary: Death, upright; growth, change, new beginnings. Luckily for Lilia, she has the perfect guide to help her navigate the unknown.

AO3

Included: Mentions of death, allusions to smut, fluff and comfort, found family

Words: 2.7k

A/N: This is my love letter to Agatha All Along and to the group of people I'm fortunate enough to call my own coven. I'm sad to see the show end, but excited to see where it leads. It has been so much fun playing in the fandom sandbox every week with you all <3

Tag List: @emiliaisdead @kenzie-floops @nightmare-of-homophobes @thepotatoislost @mckiejames @women-are-so-ethereal @galaxydreamer468 @thoroughly--confused @angeliccss @goldenautomaton @asolitaryrose3 @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld @macnbriee @liliastriangle @im-a-carnivorous-plant @allseingeye

Lilia loved being a witch. 

Loves. 

Loved? 

“If you think about it too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.” A voice calls from behind her. 

She turns, startled to find herself staring back down The Road. Her feet are bare, the leaves rough against the bottom of them, hair a wild mess of curls. She can smell the mud on herself, but mercifully seems absent from it on her person. 

The familiar weight of her own clothing startles her. She runs a hand down the sleeve of her cardigan, feeling the slight differences in texture between the yarn. Years ago, in a fit of fancy, she’d made it herself; it has been one of her most prized possessions since, and she’s relieved to have it returned. 

Lilia pauses at the sight of you. You lean against one of the gnarled trees, smiling in that fond way time had robbed her of remembering. There’s a welcoming energy surrounding you that she remembers, though, and finds herself drawn back into your orbit. 

Loved it is, then. 

“How are you here?” Lilia asks, breathless. 

“Where else would I be, my Lilia?” The accent lilts off your tongue just as she recalls, too. 

“You know what I’m asking.” She says, “How are you here—how am I here? I fell.” 

You tilt your head. Though the look you offer is curious, calculating, the warmth doesn’t ebb. It makes her feel lighter than a feather. 

“Death, upright.”

The words make her flinch. She can still feel it; the weight of the deck in her palm, the eyes of her coven on her, the encroaching doom of the swords aiming for all of them. And that final card—the destination—sealing the fate she had known since stepping into the trial. 

Death, upright. 

Your eyes are expectant, waiting. 

It clicks for Lilia, “New beginnings, transformation, and growth.” 

“Death is only a new beginning, and The Road is Death.” 

The Road is Death, yet she has never felt more alive. She feels the reliable weight of her magic still in her veins. Her heart is light at the sight of your smiling face and loving eyes. She itches to take your hand in her own again. 

As if sensing the desire, you extend your hand, palm up. She closes the distance to take it and finds herself pulled into a kiss. It’s sweet and slow, but brimming with centuries of longing. She pulls back and presses a kiss to your palm. 

“My Lilia, how I’ve waited for you.” You whisper, cupping her beautiful face between your hands. She looks back with soft, glassy eyes. “Come, I have so much to show you.” 

--- The Road is much more subtle in death than it was in life; or, at least, it is more casual about the changes it weaves in. The wild forest thins on either side, trees growing more sparse, or pushing back away from The Road as homes pop up alongside it, from victorian-style to mere cottages.

She can witness scenes through the windows, families caught in images of domesticity she doesn’t care for but they must find joy in. Others are outside tending gardens or enjoying the endless existence sprawled before them upon their porch. It’s peaceful, beautiful. 

Lilia is warmed by the fact that almost everyone offers a greeting. She regards you from the corner of her eyes when every soul regards you with recognition.

Before she can question the behavior, the two of you come upon the edges of a city. 

Old, worn stone in gray rises into buildings that blot out the eternal moon. Buildings she finds matches for in the back of her mind. She can hear the water lapping at the shore even from here. Eager in a way she’d forgotten, she pulls you along the streets, ignoring the glances of everyone around, until she finds that old stone staircase. 

Not a rock is out of place, nor has the water weathered anymore of the sand than she remembers. The waves are dark blue—purple, even, where they meet the shore. White moonlight bounces off the crests. 

“Care for a dip, like old times?” You ask. 

When Lilia turns, you look just as you did, then; so young and joyful, elaborate skirts bunched up in your hands. She nods. Stepping down the staircase, she finds she, too, is clad in the skirts she wore, having to hold them lest she trip. 

Lilia is one-hundred-and-two again, not appearing a day older than a mortal twenty-five. Her hair cascades in thick, loose brown curls around her shoulders and down her back. Her skin is smooth and sun-kissed and her eyes twinkle with the remaining joyful youth she possessed then. But when she sheds her dress to bare herself to you, she isn’t shy. 

You sink to your knees as you did then. The moonlight traces every contour of her form that you’re eager to bring your lips to. And you do, mouth winding a path up her leg when a hand in your hair stops you. 

“This isn’t how the memory goes, darling.” Lilia tuts. 

Your eyes are pleading, “A little embellishment couldn’t hurt, could it?”

She shakes her head. Her hand moves from her hair to cup your cheek. 

“I love the scene as it is.” 

“Then that is how it will remain.” You press a kiss into her palm. 

Lilia steps fearlessly into the waves and beckons you. You shed your layers and follow, desperate and eager for her after such a long separation. Somewhere between touches and caresses, your bodies return to their wiser, more lived-in forms; the past remembered and honored, but made anew, as Death tends to do. You kiss Lilia hard. 

--

Varying paths shoot from The Road. Some are made of stone, winding uphill and into towering cities that are archaic in appearance. Others extend until they vanish into treelines. It is none of these that bring Lilia to a stop; the one that does can barely be referred to as a path, but rather a pattern of spots where the grass has been weathered away permanently. 

It is plain. Worn. The patches of exposed dirt reveal divots in the earth that are small enough to resemble thousands of footsteps. She stares along its length in search of answers. She feels herself tempted. 

Lilia looks over her shoulder to you. 

“Wherever you lead, I will follow.” 

“But is it safe?” She presses. 

“There is nothing that can harm you in Death. I swear it.” 

The first step onto the path prompts something to unfurl in Lilia’s chest, like that of a loosening fist. Her feet match the steps of her formers, bending, molding into the divots and taking an infinitesimal piece of the earth with her. 

Each moment moving away from The Road brings change; past the treeline looming ahead, there’s a whisper of music. Muffled voices in the hundreds or thousands rise in harmony. 

Closer, she nearly pauses, the melody hitting her like a train. It only makes sense that The Ballad should have made it into the afterlife. Her hand reaches for your own, gripping tight. Faces pass behind her eyes; Jennifer and Alice and Agatha and Billy. 

Her coven. Oh, how she misses them—loves them, even now that Death has stolen her away. Some things never leave a witch. 

The two of you come to stand in a wide field, an impossibly large stage near the back edge. Lorna Wu is center stage, microphone pulled close by one hand while the other gestures and weaves. She is lost in the music, moving in a whirl of color and flowing fabric; she’s a goddess straight out of the seventies, just as the pictures portrayed. 

Alice’s resemblance is strong when Lorna throws her head back and smiles. Lilia’s not sure she’s ever seen evidence that the woman could smile; but given her goal in life, it’s no surprise that her peace would be found in Death. It comforts her to know Alice is here somewhere basking in the glow of her Mother’s joy. 

Thousands of witches mill around the stage. No two groups look exactly the same—some, she thinks, may even be older than she. Others are young, taken before their power could manifest. Her heart aches, yet there is a levity in knowing they’re all together, free to traverse the existence after life, absent of hurt. 

“Would you like to join them?” You ask. 

Lilia takes in the crowd, a rebuff poised on the end of her tongue. She’s far too old to dance like a girl amongst her sister-witches. Yet, she doesn’t give voice to her denial; because despite her age and her feelings on what would be proper, Lilia wants to be among them. 

“More than anything.” She answers instead. 

Your face spreads into a beautiful smile. Offering your hand to her with a flourish, “Well, then allow me, my lady.” 

The two of you work your way into the center of the crowd. Lilia doesn’t miss how people part for you, every single one offering a nod. But your attention is focused solely on her and it’s heavier than she remembers, with more behind it. 

Lorna has worked away from The Ballad and into Red Haired Woman. Witches on either side move as the music bids them, limbs fluid and wild. The air is thick with smoke and cedar and lavender. She tilts her head back and breathes deep. She can’t claim to know what it is that takes hold of her spirit, but she allows her limbs to move of their own accord, finding your own as the two of you dance with abandon.

--

“Darling?” Lilia murmurs, watching you. 

You’re focused hard on the fruit presented in front of you. Hands hover, unsure, painfully intentional in the piece you want to pick for her. It reminds her of the early days in Romania, years before you—she pushes that thought away. 

The witch that has plucked each piece to sell watches your process. Her lips curl in amusement, leaning against the stall, waiting. There is familiarity in how she regards you and it is this that sets Lilia’s mind running. 

Your hand comes to hover over one of the oranges and you snatch it up as if it would be taken from you. 

“Thank you.” You say to the owner, who only nods. Then you turn on your heel and offer the orange to Lilia, “For you.” 

Lilia takes it with a smile. She walks at your side as the two of you weave through those within the marketplace. You’re careful to keep a steady pace, so Lilia doesn’t get swept away in the crowds. 

Her fingernails dig into the soft flesh of the orange, repeating, “Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lilia?” 

A black cat weaves its way through your legs and nearly trips you up. It runs off, a child no more than seven running after it. 

“Who are you to the dead?” She asks. 

“A guide.” A loose term, really, “I aid the newly dead in letting go of life and embracing the after.” 

Lilia wonders for a moment if that is what you’re doing now, but she knows that isn’t the truth. You waited for her same as she has longed for you. Not one moment spent together has been out of something as simple as duty. 

“They all know you, as if you’ve been around for eternity.” 

“Something like that.” You shrug. 

She eyes you with that look that means she expects an explanation. But the way this place works—the way Death works is difficult. It would take years for even the most enlightened witch to understand it. Well, years being a filler term, anyway. 

You sigh. Words come to mind, only to be banished, labeled unsuitable. Finally, you weave together the concept as best as you can, and open your mouth to speak. 

“Death is eternal—past and present and future. I’ve been here for eternity, same as I’ve been here only a couple of centuries.”

Lilia seems to have no trouble grasping the concept, “Death winds outside of time.” 

You nod. Of course Lilia would understand, with her experience of living outside the linear path; your Lilia, winding out of time, who saw the true sequence of existence in the fact that there is no sequence—things just are. 

“By your logic, all beings are eternally dead.” 

“They are. In a way.” 

Her head tilts, “Yet you said you waited for me. If a being is eternally dead, I would have always been here.” 

“My position grants me… unique insight into the illusory flow of time seen in life. I exist here, where time doesn’t live, while being aware that souls still remain on the linear path. I did wait for you, for so long—because my seeing both existences cemented your path in the linear.” 

Torture of the truest sense; knowing, rationally, that she should be with you in the existence after, only to glimpse into that illusion of life and find her cemented there, far out of your reach. You could have clawed away at the timeline and brought her home to you, but you knew she needed to find what existed there; so she would find what makes Death more than just an end. 

The mere reminder of the torturous existence without her has you stopping in the center of the crowds, uncaring for how they have to weave around you two. You pull her into a loving, intense kiss. She responds in kind. Her hands fist in the fabric of your shirt and pull so not a whisper can exist between the two of you. 

When she pulls back, her lips are swollen, eyes dark, “Where do we go from here?” 

“Wherever home is.” 

“Helpful. Thank you very much, darling.” Lilia deadpans. 

“Home is wherever I have the pleasure of seeing you happy, my Lilia.” You say, endlessly affectionate, your hands on either one of her cheeks, “I’m merely following you to where that may be.” 

“Some guide you are if I’m the one doing the guiding.” 

You laugh. Her eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief. Despite her spoken misgivings, though, she takes to the role well. Lacing her fingers through your own, she begins to pull you back down The Road as it winds. You follow, just as eager as she is to figure out where home is meant to be. 

--

Home isn’t what you expect. 

You anticipated an ancient place—like the homes you shared in Italy and Romania—or at least somewhere more rooted in nature; this is neither. The two-story house is right out of a modern sitcom. It’s somewhat plain, absent of the wizened flair you’ve come to associate with Lilia. 

Lilia, who stands on the porch, hands hovering over the door as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Lilia, who had picked up speed the second she saw the house in the distance. Lilia, who is looking back at you, tears in her beautiful brown eyes. 

A bark of laughter from inside is muffled by the door. You raise your brows. 

Lilia’s smile is incandescent. You’re not sure the door was unlocked, but she turns the handle and it opens all the same, the voices dying down inside. Then you hear the sound of hands clapping together. 

“Finally.” A voice calls, “I was beginning to think you lost your way, Dory.” 

You recognize the voice and hide a laugh behind a cough. Lilia glares, but there is no heat. 

“Agatha, seriously?” Jen sounds utterly exhausted. 

“What? You were all thinking it.” 

“They weren’t, actually.” 

“No one asked you, William.” 

Standing just a step behind Lilia, you watch the interaction with a smile. You understand now. They’re broken and a little peculiar, but they fit in an odd way. 

Agatha’s poring over something at the kitchen table while Jen sits at the other end, mixing furiously. She does look up to offer Lilia a fond smile. Billy rests on the living room floor with Scratchy in his lap while Alice is sprawled on the couch behind him. 

It’s a hodgepodge of personalities that should never work, but they do. Better than anything you’ve seen in a very long time. 

“Darling,” Lilia says, taking your hand, “come meet my coven.” 

You ignore the fact that you’ve already met every one of them—with the exception of Agatha, who Death had been very intense about handling personally. The door closes behind you. In the back of your mind, you thank whatever forces have led you here; home, winding outside of time. 

[aventurineswife]

“Both your hands in the hole of my sweater” | Part 2

Summary: While your partner was away on a work trip, you, as their beloved partner, spent the time knitting them a sweater. Upon their return, they’re met with the surprise of a handmade gift.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Robin x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Topaz x Reader, Numby Fluff, Knitting Sweater for them, Domestic Fluff, Handmade Gifts, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Soft Moments, Fluff and Comfort, Found Family Vibes, Tender Moments, Gift Giving, Wholesome Fluff.

Part 1, Part 3

Dan Heng

You spent hours knitting a dark blue sweater for Dan Heng, mirroring the serene, star-streaked nights you both spent watching on the Astral Express. When he finally returned from his trip, he was tired and stoic as always, but his eyes softened at the sight of your gift.

“It’s… for me?” he asked, voice almost a whisper. His fingers brushed the yarn as if it might dissolve under his touch. A faint smile crept onto his usually impassive face. “Thank you.” he murmured, slipping it on over his usual tunic. It fit him perfectly, cozy yet just snug enough.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he glanced at you and said, “I’ll wear it often. It reminds me of… home.” And for once, he seemed truly at peace, holding onto a warmth beyond the fabric.

Robin

You chose a soft, lilac-colored yarn, matching the hues of Robin’s cascading hair. As she entered the room upon her return, you presented her with the delicate sweater you’d knitted, woven with a gentle star pattern around the sleeves.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she gasped, green eyes bright with genuine joy as she ran her fingers over the intricate stitches. She slipped it on, twirling gracefully, the fabric flowing in tune with her elegance.

“It feels like a comforting hug, a piece of home I can carry wherever I go.” she whispered. She then looked at you with a teary smile, touched beyond words. “I’ll treasure it always… and sing a song of gratitude just for you.”

Argenti

You chose a deep crimson for Argenti’s sweater, with golden accents reminiscent of his armor—warm, rich colors that represented both his valor and the beauty he saw in the world. When he returned, you offered it to him, suddenly unsure if he’d appreciate something so simple.

But Argenti’s reaction was instant and profound. He took the sweater from your hands with reverence, tracing each stitch as if it were a masterpiece. His eyes shone with admiration and something deeper, something devoted. “This… you made this?” His voice was soft, his usual confidence tempered by awe.

“Such dedication,” he whispered, studying the gentle waves and patterns in the fabric. “To think, each thread was woven by your hands… It holds a beauty unmatched by jewels or stars.” He slipped it over his armor, the fabric draping him like it had been crafted by divine hands. He looked down at it, then back at you, eyes filled with a rare vulnerability.

“You’ve taken the simplest of things—yarn and time—and turned them into something… extraordinary,” he murmured, as if still in disbelief. “Your love is in every fiber, every loop.” He placed his hand over his heart. “It’s not just a gift; it’s an embodiment of beauty, pure and true. I will wear it always, a reminder that true art is made with care, and beauty lives in all that we cherish.”

Stepping close, he took your hands in his. “Thank you, my love,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “In this, I see the beauty of our bond—a beauty I am worthy of, but one I vow to honor with all that I am.”

Topaz

For Topaz, you picked a rich, ruby-red yarn with accents of gold—a color as bold as her spirit. When she returned, you handed her the sweater without fanfare, but she gasped, eyes widening in surprised delight.

“You knitted this? For me?” she exclaimed, and she held it up to her chest as if imagining how it would feel. She quickly put it on, looking down with a satisfied smile. “Perfect fit.” she grinned.

“You’re really thoughtful, you know that?” she said with a chuckle, but her eyes sparkled with genuine appreciation. She gave you a light punch on the shoulder. “Guess this means I owe you one, huh?”

!BONUS!

Numby

You'd had a feeling Numby might be a little more difficult to knit for. They were small, always moving around Topaz’s side, eager and full of energy, sniffing out anything they thought held value. Still, you thought they deserved something cozy and sweet—a little sweater that would match Topaz’s.

When they finally noticed the tiny, bright red sweater you'd carefully made, Numby froze. At first, they sniffed at it cautiously, circling it as if trying to understand why you’d given them this odd little garment. You knelt down, coaxing them closer with a gentle hand. "Here, Numby, I made this just for you."

After a moment of contemplation, they gave a small, excited hop and nudged their head against your hand, as if in understanding. Gently, you slipped the sweater over them, adjusting it so the red bowtie around their neck still peeked out, like a cheerful splash of color against the new warmth.

Numby made a little trill, hopping in a tiny circle as they took in their new attire in curiosity and delight. They looked over at Topaz as if to say; Look what I have now!

You couldn't help but laugh as they bounced around happily, shaking with joy. For a creature that usually hunted treasure, Numby seemed to consider this simple sweater a rare and precious find, something even more valuable because it was given with care.

[zeedist]

LEAF SPROUT .ᐟ — ALHAITHAM

handmade gift﹕you crochet a little gift for your boyfriend. sfw !! fem!reader x alhaitham, academic setting, short + sweet. word count: 0.7k proofread: yup.

“What’s that?”

You feel Alhaitham’s ashy hair brushing the sensitive skin of your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, eyes looking at the bundle of matcha yarn in your hands. He bends down so far it almost seems ridiculously uncomfortable, but the need to feel you skin to skin outweighs everything —he's missed you too much during the day, none of your lessons aligning in the morning. 

“Oh, it’s a little leaf!” 

Squinting his eyes, he tries to make out the shape of the so-called 'little leaf' but all he sees is a ball of tangled string. Had you been ripped off again? With his chin resting on you, his voice sounds funny as he mumbles, “It looks cheap. Where did you buy it?'"

“I... I made it,” you say slowly. “For you.”

You can feel him tensing up, as if someone dumped cold water on him. His hands placing on the side of your arms, head lifting and peeking closer. Alhaitham tries, racks through his brain to come up with anything to make this better, but he is an awful liar. 

“It is... Quite... Fun-shaped.”

The more he looks into it, the less sense the clustered mess of light green yarn makes. And it makes him feel so terribly bad, for not being able to find the shape you mentioned in the gift you handmade for him. He swallows, mustering up an apology on the tip of his tongue. 

“I’m sorry my dear, I-I am terribly blind—”

It takes all of your control to hold back a giggle, placing a hand over one of his nervous one as you look up to his frowned face and reassure your poor panicked partner: 

“Haitham, I am trying to untie yarn to crochet it. I haven’t even started.” 

He inhales, breathing once again, feeling how his heart starts beating again. With a soft plop, he sits besides you in the bench and rests his cheek on your shoulder, like a grumpy cat at your little trickeries, grumbling into your skin, “I was scared for a moment there.” 

You let out the loveliest of laughs, a sound from heavens, he thinks. In the warmth of the crook of your neck, he finds comfort. As your fingers work through the yarn, he closes his eyes and listens to your pulse —his favorite melody of all, one he couldn’t listen to with his signature headphones. Indulging in your presence was his favorite activity of the day. Your existence alone comforts him enough to almost doze off, lazy pale teal eyes only opening when you exclaim: 

“Haitham, look, look.”

Ah, how he adores your excitement.

“It might be cheap-looking but I tried my best.”

Ah, how he hates you rubbing it in your face. 

Arms crossed over his chest, he leans forward to see the small sprout-shaped item, woven carefully by your pretty fingers. He smiles, affection in his voice, “It looks cute.”

Alhaitham debates whether he should keep it in his wallet for good luck, or if to add it to the box of gifts he has received from you —one saved carefully in his closet. Either of them, tempting. 

As if you read his mind, you decide for him, taking his headphones from their spot in his bag and carefully tie the little crocheted sprout in the middle of it. It makes it look as if a small plant grew from his headphones, like that leaf emoji besides his name in your contact list.

It is the most precious thing he’s ever since, second only to you. 

“It looks a little childish…” You murmur at his silence. “We can take it off if you want—”

“No, I love it,” he stops that idea as soon as it rises, stealing his item back. He admires it as if it were a masterpiece, smile not fading for the rest of that week. 

You made this, with your very hands, for him.

Next thing you know, your face is peppered by a series of soft kisses as appreciation, the next being more tender than the firsts. Over your cheek, your forehead, your jaw, your nose, and your lips —every inch of skin he could reach while besides you, as if his whispered ‘thank you, my dear’ weren’t enough to express how much this meant to him. His fingers trail over the patterned new accessory you made for him. 

From that day on, the little green sprout has been in your boyfriend’s headphones. 

[milliesfishes]

hiiiiiiiiiiii millie mouse!!!!! hope you’re doing good bb :) i’m craving some billy fluff :( could you write up a lil something about billy babying reader a lil, maybes she upset about something? i just need some good old millie’s billy :(

-🧸🎀

ofc lovey! also oh millie's billy made me smile <3 <3

౨ৎ꣑ৎbilly babying you౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Shutting the door behind you and dropping your bag, you fled into the bedroom, flopping down face first atop the sheets you’d painstakingly straightened this morning. You could hear Billy in the other room, likely just coming in from a day outside, but you didn’t make a move. After today, you wanted but a few moments of peace before having to explain yourself.

It was always something when you went into town. Some apparent wrong move or gesture or word that stemmed from you, all criticized no matter what. You tried to be kind. All you ever wanted to be was kind. But it never seemed to be enough. You’d observed the other townspeople and tried to mimic them. After all, you weren’t born and raised here like so many of the other women, so maybe it was that you didn’t understand the dynamics yet.

But still nothing worked. You were shunned, even spoken cruelly to. Today, when you’d been purchasing a spool of yarn, you had complimented the dress of the woman ringing you up, and had been met with a frosty glare, a snipped one word answer.

All the way home you’d held it together, gripping the reins of your horse and trying not to cry over something so stupid. It wasn’t their fault- maybe you needed to be nicer, do some of the same activities they did. Still, tears poked at your eyes, and you didn’t let yourself cry until you were inside, even though there weren’t any neighbors for miles.

There was a wet spot in the bed where your tears had soaked in, and you burnt with shame over it. Covering it with your arms, you buried your face into them, back trembling as you let out everything suppressed from the second you stepped into the store. You hated that you were upset over this when you were the one who’d done something wrong. The only problem was that you couldn’t figure out what it was, and the frustration only made you cry more.

The bedroom door was opened, and you tried to slow down your crying to no avail. There was one set of footsteps, along with the pitter-patter of four paws on the floor. A weight was deposited on the bed, soft fur rubbing against your head as a throaty purr started up. When you felt a second tail brush against your back, you realized Billy must have carried one cat in while the other followed.

When his big, warm palm settled on your back, you sniffled, another bout of tears welling up. He gathered your hair, smoothing it carefully and pushing it to the side so he could rub your back. All the while, the two cats purred and nuzzled at your head, causing you to look up, lips twitching when you saw Willow’s pretty face and sleepy eyes. She must have been the one Billy carried in. Fish only teamed up with him when you were in distress, and even then that courtesy did not extend to picking-up privileges.

Billy continued his stroking as you sat up, leaning into him and wrapping your arms around his neck. The material of his shirt was worn from years of use, but you found comfort in familiarity. His hair was a mess from being under his hat, and one set of your fingers found the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He held you gently, starting to rock back and forth. It was a go-to when you were upset, and for a reason. Your tears began to slow down, softened by his love.

“Thought the cats might help,” he murmured into your hair, and a little laugh escaped you.

“They did,” you said, muffled by his chest. “You all did.”

Pulling back, you looked up into his eyes, seeing them brimming with worry the way you knew they would. He caught a stray tear with his thumb, smoothing over your cheekbone. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you promised, and he visibly relaxed, just a little. Reaching up to hold his wrist, you could feel it all at the tip of your tongue, about to spill over. He had that effect on you, where you wanted to tell him everything. Billy softened the protective walls you’d built, found a key to your locked doors and asked if he could use it. But you found yourself letting him in anyways every time.

“I want them to like me,” you whispered, cheeks going rosy as you looked down. It was such a silly thing to cry over, but he didn’t act as though he thought so. “The people in town. I don’t know what I did wrong-“

“Nothing.” Billy cut you off, cupping your cheek as Fish rubbed at your side, prompting you to give him a scratch under the chin. “Baby you couldn’ta done anything wrong. Look at you.” He lifted his other hand, giving it a home at the other side of your face. “My perfect girl…couldn’t do bad if you tried.”

A weak smile lifted your lips. “I must have.”

His expression grew somber, and he exhaled softly, searching your eyes. “Honey…ain’t nothin’ you did, alright? If I know you I know you’ve been sweet as can be.” Billy brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, returning his hand to your cheek. “But some folks don’t like that I’m around.”

The pang in your heart stilled you for a moment. Just by the look in his eyes you knew he was telling the truth, but it wasn’t one you wanted to hear. He was trying to tell you it wasn’t your fault, but now you wanted it to be. It would be so much easier if it was something you could fix.

Reminders that not everybody loved him the way you did came often from all directions, and you avoided them at every turn. Refused to believe people could be so cruel, so critical of someone they hadn’t even met, who hadn’t done any wrong by the law for several years now. But it caught up everywhere you went, driving you to move around wherever the wind blew, hoping this would be the town where nobody had heard of him.

He’d promised this place would be special. That this was a place for staying. You’d settled in happily, believing him the way you always did. Billy avoided town as much as he could, so you had been positive that there wasn’t any reason to be cruel towards him. But now you’d been proved wrong. Even sparingly, they would always find a way.

Seeing the realization in your eyes, Billy pulled you in again, holding you tight to his chest. He dropped his lips to the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. “It’s not you, darlin’. Never you. They can’t get to me so they figure you’re the next best thing. It ain’t right, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Your tears fell silently as a rush of shame washed over you. He was guilty because you hadn’t been able to handle yourself over one person’s unkindness. Slumping against his chest, you let him pull you onto his lap as he settled on the bed, the telltale thump of his boots hitting the floor as he nudged them off. Billy scooted back against the headboard, hauling you up under your arms and setting you back on his thighs, face hidden in his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be punished for lovin’ someone,” he breathed, fingers bunching up and down over the space between your shoulders. “For seein’ good in every damn person. That’s just who you are and you should be praised for it. Not shunned. I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Shaking your head, you clung to his collar, nuzzling against his neck. “It’s not your fault.”

“Shh,” Billy soothed, laying another kiss to your hair. “It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s okay.” His thumb rubbed a relaxing path over your shoulder as you melted into him, calming as you became consumed by his presence.

The problem surrounded your bubble like a storm cloud, but you ignored it, choosing to revel in what you had. The man you loved, comforting you, letting you lean on him when you were upset. And it was bothering him too, you could feel the tension in his body, swept under the rug in favor of keeping you relaxed.

Fish and Willow curled up around you both, their sleepy purring only helping you further calm down. Billy kept you laying against his chest, his voice dropping to a whisper with the last of your tears and sniffling. “I know baby, I know.” He shifted slowly so that you were lying down on top of him, body between his lazily spread legs. “Shh, it’s okay.”

And it was. It all melted away as you snuggled into his chest, everything the world thought of you and him suddenly nothing.

There was only him and you and your cats, safely stowed away where nobody could touch you.

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

The Cardigan

Pairing: Hokage!Kakashi x f!Reader

Summary: You put a chunk of time into your husband's birthday present this year, but... your surprise gets revealed early.

W/c: 1.4k

Warnings: Swearing, sexual element toward the end, reader's lowkey a housewife

A/n: My first piece in a little bit, so lmk how y'all feel about it - also, this is the lead-up to the actual Kakashi-birthday post I wanna do. This is the cardigan I was using as a base.

Masterlist💿

Things seemed so goddamn bright every time you looked away from the hook and yarn in your hands, and your fingers burned from the friction, while they cramped harshly.

The time in your day that you would usually reserve for reading, eating, showering, or doing itsy-bitsy chores, was now spend on the crocheted cardigan. Of course, you still kept-up with larger chores, otherwise; and you just ate, read and showered with your husband, when he finally came home after his long work days. It wasn't that he minded, but you knew he was getting suspicious around what you spent the day doing.

It was all for a good cause; your husband's birthday.

For three weeks, you had worked on this present - working like there was a gun to your head, in the day; stashing it like a precious diamond, in the night - and it was finally becoming perfect.

There was no room for mistakes in this cardigan - you were not going to let your husband accept something poorly made. Everything had to be perfect; from your stitch tension, to the pocket placement, to the measurements. Sure, he might just wear it around the house, but you put every ounce of effort you had into it. 

As you put the final pin through the soft, navy blue cotton, piercing through the massive piece of cardboard you had found in the back corner of a candy shop, you hoped Kakashi would honestly like the cardigan.

Would he put it on immediately, or just let it be forgotten as he hugged you? Would he appreciate the cardigan for how nice it looked, or because you had spent so much time on it? Would he-

"Honey, I'm home!"

Fuck.

Fuck, no, no - what time was it? Like, half past three? Since when does Kakashi get to leave his office before five?

"Sweetheart?" Kakashi's velvet voice was a little softer now, but still loud enough for you to hear from the bathroom as you threw your piece of cardboard into the bathtub, coming to a kneeling position abruptly.

You could heard your husband taking off his sandals, and you mulled over your options.

Quickly, you put the damp towel, that you had just used on the cardigan, over it. You rose to your feet and pulled the shower curtain closed, listening to nothing, but knowing Kakashi was coming.

You couldn't hide from him, and you could never hear him coming.

"There you are, honey bunny," he hummed in satisfaction, standing in the doorway of the bathroom with no fanfare. "I thought you were taking another nap."

"No," you replied gently, coming over to your masked husband as his arms reached out to hold you.

"So, what are you doing in the bathroom, then?" He chuckled, gripping your hip with his left hand while his right wrapped around the dip of your waist.

Turning him around inconspicuously, you smiled up at him and popped up on your toes. You placed a kiss to the fabric covering his nose, then to his cheek, using his broad shoulders as your stabilizer. With a slight shake of your head, you fibbed, "Cleaning."

"Now, I know your lying," Kakashi said with an amused lilt, coming to a halt in the doorway.

Schooling your features into a look of confusion instead of excited-anxiety, you huffed, "I beg your pardon?"

"You're only short with me when you're mad, or you're lying," he explained, pulling you closer to his body. "And you're clearly not mad."

"I'm not being short with you," you defended futilely, trying a last-ditch effort to get your husband to ignore the bathtub, though he was backing up, and backing up... "Darling, I'm just tired, from all the cleaning, swear. C'mon - let's get a pot of tea going, and you can tell me all about your day, yeah?"

"Yeah, after I see the sparkle of the tub faucet," Kakashi insisted, getting all the way to the tub despite your efforts to pull him away.

His hand raised to the shower curtain and your hand came to his wrist. Kakashi looked into your eyes, and you looked into his, pleading, "Don't. Please, don't."

A look of consideration goes over Kakashi's face, but you both knew that the jig was up.

He was never known to change his mind after it's already made.

He pulled back the shower curtain and you tried moving to cover his view. It didn't work, as his hold on your waist was still present and vice-like. You both stared at the black towel, poking up in odd places, while cardboard edges stuck out from under.

"What..." Kakashi looked at you as he leaned down, hand extended to reveal your little secret. You gave him a weak smile, just nodding toward the covered present, giving him a silent permission.

In a swish of black as he stood, the blue cardigan was revealed, and a short gasp fell from Kakashi's lips.

The majority of the cardigan was navy blue, with white hemming and sleeve cuffs. The pockets were white granny squares with blue hearts in the center. It was made of drunken granny stitches, though they weren't properly blocked yet, so it looked a little wonky. Loose yarn ends hung out of the cardigan, yet to be sewn into the stitches.

It was perfect, but it wasn't done yet.

But, as you shyly looked at your husband, you were shocked to find his eyes with a watery gleam.

"Darling," you grinned, turning closer into his hold, which he tightened instantly, almost unconsciously. Kakashi's eyes were pasted to the cardigan, sitting in the tub, and your nerves started to build. "Do you... like it?"

"Do I like it?" He laughed with a certain rasp.

With a sniff, Kakashi pulled his mask down with his free hand and started blinking like a crazy person. A grin from either ear was etched onto his face, his lips parting and closing gently, over and over. His head stuttered as he tore his eyes away from your handiwork, sniffing again like he was an emotional aunt at a wedding. He nodded, first slowly, then with a rapidity, turning his head to look at you with a broad smile on his beautiful lips.

"You made that, for me?" Kakashi asked, his voice cracking slightly. 

You nodded bashfully and Kakashi's smile deepened impossibly. His freehand came to the side of your face, cupping it gently as his thumb ran across your cheekbone. Glossy charcoal eyes searched yours, seemingly going straight to your soul, and you couldn't help but blush just a tad.

An uncontrollable laugh bubbled from his throat and Kakashi brought you close, hugging you flush to his warm body as he murmured, "I love you; I love you, so much."

"It's not done yet," you mumbled into his chest. "It'll be perfect on your birthday, so you'll have to wait 'til then."

"How can I hold out for three whole days, when I know I'm under the same roof as this bit of personalized artistry?" He chortled, squeezing you once before you brought you away. "You've been working on this cardigan, all this time?"

You shrugged a little, replying, "For the last few weeks, yeah."

"Oh, I've been so worried," Kakashi sighed happily, his head ducking away for a brief moment.

"Worried about what?" You asked with a small chuckle.

He shook his head, looking back into your eyes with a smile, "Worried about you; you've been so cagey. I figured you were hiding something, but..."

"But, what?"

"But, I was scared of the answer," he exhaled. Kakashi drew a sharp breath, shaking his head again and gesturing toward the cardigan. "But, now I've just ruined the surprise you've been working so hard on."

"Oh, please - you haven't ruined anything," you giggled, lacing your fingers behind your husband's neck. "I'm just glad you like it."

Kakashi looked deeply into your eyes and grinned, "I like it so much. You're incredibly talented, sweetheart, and I consider myself beyond lucky to be the one you choose to spend your talent on." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "I don't deserve you, my sweet darling angel from the stars." Ghosting his lips over yours, Kakashi murmured again, "I love you, so fucking much."

Smiling like a fool, you pressed your lips to your husband's, feeling his smile grow into the kiss as well. You couldn't handle all of the praise, not when a beehive seemed to have broken open in your stomach.

Collapsing onto the bathroom floor, you and Kakashi spent close to an hour on the tile - indulging in the pool of love that swelled within both of your hearts; expressly deriving pleasure from the other's bliss - not even a meter from his birthday present that you had worked callouses into your hands to make.

You were excited for his actual birthday, if this was merely an amuse-bouche.

[ahqkas]

♯ HIS LOVE’S CREATIVE HEART ; mattheo riddle

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! the love of his life was a creative soul and who was he to deny your nature? (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 3.3k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, kissing, crafty reader, muggleborn reader, lovesick mattheo

NOTES! reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated <3

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

YOU'VE ALWAYS LOVED THE ACTIVITIES OF CREATIVITY. From a young age, you found joy in the simple act of making something with your own hands. Crocheting, with its interesting patterns and soothing repetition, was one of your earliest passions. There was something oddly satisfying about watching a ball of yarn transform into a cozy blanket or a delicate sweater under your fingers. Each loop, each stitch is a small act of creation. The rhythmic movement of the hook, the texture of the yarn slipping through your fingers, and the memories of your Grandmama were too cherished by you to forget them.

Baking, too, became a beloved creative outlet you shared with the sweet old woman. The kitchen was your laboratory, a place where you could freely experiment. You relished the process of measuring and mixing, the way simple ingredients like flour, sugar, and eggs could be transformed into a mix of flavors and textures. The smell of freshly baked bread or cookies wafting through the house was a comforting reminder of the magic you could create by your own hands. The process is both strict and freeing; one must follow certain rules, yet there is always room for imagination. A pinch of spice here, a dash of flavor there, and suddenly, a simple recipe becomes his personal favorite.

Painting, on the other hand, offered you a different kind of creative fulfillment. With a blank canvas before you and a palette of colors at your disposal, you felt a sense of freedom that was really exciting for your young heart. Each brushstroke was a gift of your inner world, a glimpse into your thoughts and emotions. Whether you were capturing the vibrant hues of a sunset or the delicate details of a flower, painting allowed you to see the world through new eyes and share your unique perspective with others.

In all these activities, you discovered not just hobbies, but a way of life. Creativity became a pair of sunglasses through which you viewed the world.

Your grandmama always believed in the magic of your creativity. From the time you were old enough to hold a crochet hook, she supported your talents with a guiding hand. Together, you spent countless afternoons creating intricate patterns and baking delicious treats in her warm home. Her kitchen became your comfort place, the rhythmic hum of the oven and the soft clinking of your crochet needles made you unbelievably happy. She celebrated each finished piece, every golden-brown loaf of bread, and every delicate painting as if they were masterpieces. 

When your Hogwarts letter arrived, the old woman was overjoyed. As a muggleborn, you were stepping into a world she could only imagine. "Think of all the magical things you will create," she had said, her eyes sparkling with pride. Though the idea of leaving her was haunting you, her open love made the thought easier. She promised to write often, and you did your best to send her letters filled with detailed descriptions of your magical adventures and the new wonders you were creating with your wand.

But letters could only do so much, and as the years went by, you missed the simple joy of her daily encouragement and the warmth of her presence.

Six years passed in a blur of potions, spells, and problem making. Your creative spirit never died, but the absence of your grandmama's physical presence was a constant ache that seemed to linger in the depths of your heart. It was around this time that Mattheo Riddle entered your life. He saw the passion in your eyes, the same spark your grandmama had always seen. At first, he was fascinated by your creativity, watching with awe as you seamlessly blended magic with your muggleborn talents.

01 - CROCHETING

The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the flickering light from the fireplace casting dancing shadows on the walls. The warmth of the fire created a comforting atmosphere, slushing off the chill of the evening. You and Mattheo were nestled on a plush, overstuffed couch, its worn fabric bearing the marks of countless cozy evenings like this one. The air was filled with the soothing crackle of burning wood and the occasional 'pop' of a log as it settled deeper into the flames. Evenings like these were your favorite. 

You sat cross-legged at one end of the couch, your crochet hook moving rhythmically through a skein of deep blue yarn. Each loop and stitch seemed to flow effortlessly from your fingers, years of practice and the love poured into the new project. Your eyes were focused, yet relaxed, as you followed the intricate pattern in your mind, your hands working almost of their own accord.

Mattheo sat at the other end, his body turned toward you, one arm resting along the back of the couch. His gaze was soft but concentrated, his dark eyes following the movements of your hands with a mixture of admiration and fascination. He loved watching you create; there was something almost magical about the way you transformed simple yarn into beautiful designs. It was a side of you that he cherished deeply, a glimpse into your soul that he was privileged to witness.

The common room was quiet, save for the sounds of the fire and the occasional rustle of yarn. Mattheo shifted slightly, leaning closer to you. "What are you making this time?" he asked, his voice low and warm, filled with genuine curiosity as his irises never left your movements. 

You glanced up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's a blanket," you replied, holding up the growing fabric for him to see. "For my dorm. I thought it could use a bit more color and warmth."

Mattheo reached out, his long fingers brushing lightly against the soft fabric. "It's beautiful," he murmured lowly, his eyes meeting yours. "Just like everything you make." 

Heat crept up your cheeks at his words, and you looked back down at your work, your smile widening. "Thank you." 

As you continued to crochet, Mattheo's gaze never wavered. He was captivated by the way your fingers moved, the delicate dance of the hook and yarn. He loved these quiet moments with you, where time seemed to slow down, and the outside world faded away. Everything was okay for once again. 

After a while, Mattheo shifted again, moving closer until his knee brushed against yours. He reached out and gently took one of your hands, his touch warm and reassuring. "Can I help?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You laughed softly, the sound a sweet melody that mingled with the crackling fire. "I don't know," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "Have you ever done this before?" You knew the answer, but you wanted to mess with him a little bit.

His lips stretched into a grin at your words and his hand squeezed yours lightly. "I think I can manage. Just show me what to do."

You shifted closer to him, the blanket pooling in your and his lap. "Alright," you said, holding out the hook and yarn toward him. "First, you need to make a slip knot." You demonstrated the simple loop, your fingers deftly moving with practiced ease. Mattheo watched intently, his brows furrowed in concentration as he mimicked your movements.

"Like this?" he asked, showing you his attempt. It was a bit loose, but it held.

"Perfect," you praised the Slytherin boy, eyes sparkling with encouragement. "Now, hold the yarn like this and make a chain stitch." You showed him how to wrap the yarn around the hook and pull it through the loop. He followed your instructions carefully, his movements tentative but eager.

With each new step, you guided him, your hands occasionally covering his to correct his grip or adjust the tension. "You're doing great," you said, watching as he completed a row of chain stitches. "Now, let's try a single crochet."

Mattheo's initial awkwardness gradually gave way to a steady rhythm and his confidence grew with each stitch. He glanced up at you, a mixture of pride and joy in his eyes. "This isn't so bad," he admitted, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. Although his side of the blanket was a little more messy than yours, it was adorable to see him trying out your activities. 

You laughed, the sound filling his chest with warmth. "See? I told you. And it's even more fun when you get the hang of it."

The two of you continued working together, your hands moving in sync as you crocheted side by side. As the night wore on, you and Mattheo fell into a comfortable silence, the rhythm of your work and the steady crackle of the fire lulling you into a peaceful state of mind.

02 - BAKING 

It was well past curfew, and the usual bustle of Hogwarts had given way to a hushed stillness.

 You and Mattheo crept through the hallways, stifling giggles and casting glances around to make sure you remained unseen. Finally, you reached the entrance to the kitchens, a place where the house elves bustled about during the day and night, cooking and baking the delicious meals that filled the Great Hall every day. 

You tickled the pear in the portrait, and the entrance swung open to reveal the warm, inviting space of the Hogwarts kitchens. The room was a hive of activity by day, but now, in the late hours, it was quiet in here. The house-elves, always so helpful and friendly, had agreed to let you use their space for your baking adventures. Their big eyes (they were the size of a tennis ball!) and cheerful smiles greeted you as you entered, and a few of the elves lingered to offer assistance if needed, but most retreated to give you privacy, seeing you had arrived with your boyfriend, hand in hand.

The kitchen was vast, filled with long wooden tables, towering shelves stocked with every ingredient imaginable, and gleaming copper pots and pans hanging from hooks on the walls. The scent of spices and baked goods from the diner lingered in the air. The hearth, usually roaring with flames, was now a gentle glow, casting a warm light that added to the cozy atmosphere.

You and Mattheo set to work. "Alright, Chef Riddle," you said with a teasing grin on your face, helping him to tie an apron around his waist, "let's see if you can keep up."

He shook his head at you and offered you an arrogant smirk, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Just try to keep up with me," he retorted, grabbing a flour sack with a dramatic flourish.

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you began gathering the ingredients for your chosen recipes. Tonight, you had decided to bake a variety of treats: cookies and pastries that had been on your mind for weeks. The house-elves had thoughtfully provided fresh ingredients, and the counters were soon laden with bowls of flour, sugar, butter, and eggs.

The first task was to prepare the dough for the cookies. You measured out the ingredients, your movements practiced and efficient, while Mattheo attempted to follow along, his competitive nature driving him to match your pace. 

"Don't forget the vanilla," you reminded him, adding a splash to your own bowl.

He nodded, carefully measuring out the extract. "Got it. How do you know so much about baking anyway?" he asked, his tone curious but impressed.

You shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips. "Years of practice with my grandmama. She taught me everything I know."

As you mixed the dough, the rich, sweet aroma filled the kitchen, mingling with the lingering scents of past meals. You stole a glance at Mattheo, who was diligently working beside you, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands, usually so busy with his wand, were now covered in flour and sugar, a sight that made you giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked, feigning offense but unable to hide his smile. There was no way he could. Your smile brought out the best in him. 

"You," you replied, leaning over to swipe a bit of flour onto his nose. "You're a natural baker."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Just don't expect me to start wearing one of those frilly pink aprons."

With the cookie dough prepared, you moved on to the pastries. Rolling out the dough, you instructed Mattheo on how to fold in the butter to create flaky layers. He listened intently, his usual loud temperament now tempered by a genuine desire to learn by your side. You worked side by side, your hands brushing occasionally as you passed ingredients and tools back and forth.  The house-elves had left a pot of hot cocoa on the stove, and you poured two mugs, the rich, velvety liquid a perfect complement to the cozy atmosphere.

"Cheers," Mattheo said, raising his mug to meet yours with a wink. 

"Cheers," you replied, clinking your mug against his. The cocoa was rich and creamy, warming you from the inside out.

As you wiped your hands on a towel, Mattheo’s deep gaze lingered on your face. "You’ve got a bit of flour . . ." he said softly, leaning in. His fingers brushed against your cheek, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. 

His hand lingered there for a moment longer, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips. The playful atmosphere shifted, and the well-known tension filled the space between the two of you. Time seemed to slow as he moved even closer, his breath mingling with yours. Before you could fully process the moment, his lips were on yours, soft and warm, tasting faintly of cocoa and the sweetness of the evening.

You responded instinctively, your hands reaching up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. He deepened the kiss, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, pulling you even closer than you were. The kiss was both gentle and urgent, warming your soul and mind. 

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. The kitchen, with its warmth and golden light, felt like a different world, one where only the two of you existed. Mattheo’s dark eyes searched yours, a mixture of vulnerability and affection hidden in his irises.

"That was..." he began, but you silenced him with another quick kiss, smiling against his lips as your fingers gripped the hair at the back of his nape. 

"Perfect," you finished for him, your heart full to bursting.

In that quiet, golden-lit room, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the comforting presence of your sweet boyfriend, you knew you had found something truly special. The baking, the laughter, the stolen kiss – it all came together to create a moment of pure magic, one you would cherish forever.

03 - PAINTING 

The art room at Hogwarts was a hidden gem, tucked away in a lesser-known corner of the castle not so many students knew about. It was a spacious, high-ceilinged room filled with the scents of paint and canvas, the walls adorned with student artwork from years past. The large windows let in the afternoon sunlight, casting a warm glow over the space. Easels stood ready with blank canvases, and tables were laden with paints, brushes, and palettes.

You and Mattheo had decided to spend the afternoon here, taking a break from the usual hustle of school life.

"Alright," you said, setting up your easel and arranging your paints. "Remember, every five minutes, we switch."

Mattheo nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Got it. But don’t expect anything too impressive from me. I can barely draw a straight line."

You laughed, squeezing a bit of blue paint onto your palette. "That’s the fun of it. Just go with the flow."

With everything ready, you both took your places in front of your easels. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the soft rustle of brushes on canvas and the occasional clink of paint jars. You started with broad strokes, laying down a wash of color to form the background. Your movements were confident and sure, years of practice guiding your hand.

Mattheo, on the other hand, approached his canvas with a bit more trepidation. He dipped his brush into the paint and made his first tentative strokes, glancing over at you occasionally for inspiration. You smiled reassuringly, giving him a thumbs-up. Despite his self-professed lack of skill, there was something endearing about the way he threw himself into the task, determined to make the best of it.

The first five minutes flew by, and soon it was time to switch. You moved to Mattheo’s easel, examining his work with a thoughtful smile. He had started with a simple landscape, a few rolling hills under a blue sky. It was basic, but it had potential. You picked up a brush and began to add your own touches, blending colors and adding a bit of story to the scene.

Mattheo moved to your canvas, eyes widening at the intricate swirls of color you had already laid down. "Wow," he murmured, "how am I supposed to add to this?"

"Just do your best," you replied, a playful challenge in your voice.

The next five minutes passed in a blur of color and creativity. You found yourself getting lost in the process, enjoying the way your styles melded together. When it was time to switch again, you couldn’t help but laugh at the changes Mattheo had made to your painting. The Slytherin had added a few playful touches, turning a serene sky into a playful scene with cartoonish clouds.

"Nice touch," you said, grinning at him as you moved back to your easel.

He shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. "I figured it needed a bit of character."

As the afternoon wore on, Mattheo grew increasingly confident. With each switch, he added bolder strokes and more imaginative elements to the paintings. His hesitation gave way to a sense of pride and enthusiasm that was too difficult to not return. You found yourself enjoying the challenge of working with his unpredictable thoughts, the paintings slowly turning into mosaics of your combined efforts.

By the time the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the art room, you both stepped back to admire your work. The canvases were a glimpse of color and creativity, showing the teamwork you put into it. The landscape Mattheo had started was now a dreamlike scene, with white clouds and pretty flowers woven into the hills and sky. The painting you had begun was equally transformed, full of charm and ideas. 

Your boyfriend crossed his arms, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Not bad for a guy who can’t paint, huh?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not bad at all. I’m impressed."

He tilted his head with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe I’m more talented than I thought. Perhaps I missed my calling as an artist." 

"Don’t get too full of yourself, Riddle. But I have to admit, you did better than I expected," you rolled your eyes playfully at him. That was your man, after all. 

"Better than expected?" he repeated, brows furrowed as he brought a hand to his heart. "I think you mean I was brilliant."

You reached up to brush a stray bit of paint from his cheek, your fingers lingering for a moment. "Alright, Picasso. I’ll give you that. You were brilliant."

His eyes softened, and he leaned in closer. "Thanks for teaching me. I had a lot of fun."

"Me too," you replied, giving his hand a squeeze. "We should do it again."

He nodded, his gaze lingering on your face. "Definitely."

[alwritey-aphrodite]

cozy sweaters with jamie tart PLS!!!! <3 ur amazing

2024 Fall Blurbs

As much as you love Jamie, you’re of the opinion that his fashion taste could use a little work. You know that he puts time and care into buying pieces and putting together outfits, and you love that he knows the styles he feels best in, but there are only so many expensive matching sweat sets and tracksuits you can look at in your closet before going insane. He knows how to clean up well, has an extensive repertoire of date night outfits and clothes for events, as well as more casual outfits, but you wouldn’t be upset if all of his puffer vests magically disappeared.

“I got you a present,” you say as you enter the kitchen, throwing your shopping bags onto the table before turning to Jamie with a grin. “Ok, it’s really a present for me, but the physical object is for you.” You’d been doing some window shopping, with the desire to find a few pieces to spice up and update your cold weather wardrobe, when you’d stumbled into a shop you’ve never heard of, drawn in by the colorful knitwear in the window.

The whole store was full of sweaters and vests and scarves and hats, any sort of knit object you could imagine, in an array of decadent, rich colors and yarn so soft it seemed obscene. You could have spent hours in there, inspecting every single piece twice over, when you managed to find the most beautiful sweater imaginable. It’s a rich, deep green, perfect for the fall and winter months, and while you’d expected it to be at least a little scratchy, slipping it over your head was like entering a cloud. You’d barely looked at yourself in the mirror for a second before you made up your mind about purchasing it, certain you’d regret your decision forever if you left the store empty-handed.

As you made your way to the register, you passed by the men’s section, and you were so excited you could have squealed when you saw the same sweater you were currently holding, only this time in Jamie’s size. It was as if your hands were moving on their own accord as you snatched up the second sweater and marched towards the checkout, coming to outside the shop with two new sweaters, one for you and one for Jamie.

“Just try it on, ok? And keep an open mind?” You ask as you hand Jamie the shopping bag with his sweater, your matching one tucked in with the rest of your purchases. You can tell that you’re freaking him out a little, and that any normal item of clothing wouldn’t come with so many caveats, but he leaves the kitchen all the same, giving you just enough time to throw on your own sweater before he reemerges.

It takes him a few seconds, staring at you as your grin threatens to split your face, but then he’s laughing, doubling over with the force of it.

“Babe, this is ridiculous,” he says once he can breathe again, crossing the kitchen to wrap you in his arms.

“I know, that’s why I bought them,” you explain, rewarded for your joy with a kiss to your forehead.

“We’ll have to wear these tomorrow, when we go out for dinner,” he proposes, resisting the urge to laugh again.

“It’s like you read my mind.”

[eldritch-spouse]

Imagine how scary it would be to not only be kidnapped by a plushie that was given to you, but to be taken to a monster who doesn’t even speak the same language as you 😭 like I would be so confused tbh. Tristalis can still get it tho

[It's just a mess from start to finish.]

It was just a silly yellow thing.

You remember the stupid plush exactly how he was given to you. A rather large but very charming yellow demonoid, with dotted white, red and blue patterns on its horns and bifurcated tail. Those salmon cross eyes and that teal smile bore right into your heart. It was so cute and so silly that you ignored everything else.

Ignored the fact that a three-headed stranger had just sat beside you on the bus and awkwardly tried to incite conversation in spite of a glaringly obvious language barrier. He kept... Well, one of his heads kept staring at you. You didn't even know what kind of monster he was, it was meant to be a quick trip, people never usually bothered you on the bus. You just tried pretending to get up and call someone, when he grabbed you by the forearm.

You were going to scream.

If he hadn't put that plush in your hands.

You begrudgingly fished for your wallet, just wanting it all to be over, when the strange monster stopped you.

" Nuh-uh. " " No. " " Yours. "

" Pretty doll- " " -for- " " -pretty girl. "

The stranger stressed, the most successful communication attempt thus far, as well as the first flirt that actually kind of landed.

And God damn you. Free plushies are hard to resist.

You're no fool, however. As soon as the two of you had parted ways, you searched the thing up and down. Jostling the crocheted doll revealed no odd noises or suspicious weight. It was sewn well, didn't exude smells- You even checked for a possible camera on its little collar. Nothing. Part of you was tempted to open it, just to be sure, but you wouldn't be able to close it on your own afterwards.

Point is, throughout the days that you had kept this doll, nothing seemed amiss. You've rewinded, time and time again, all the moments you've had it, and there was never any indication that the plushie was anything other than just that.

So how?

How are you currently being held hostage by a creature that looks exactly like a giant, monstrous version of it?! In your own home, no less!

The stupid thing doesn't even understand you!

Everytime you scream at their doughy yellow face, all they do is pat your hair and offer you different belongings around your bedroom, as if you're some bored toddler throwing a tantrum.

Given enough gesturing, they understand things like needing to eat and take care of other necessities, but everything else is either willfully ignored or simply met with a vacant stare.

The plush kept carrying you like a safely secured baby as they stared out every which window in your home, seeming lost and vaguely stressed at times. You get the strange feeling it wants to take you somewhere but doesn't feel confident enough. Maybe because it's plain daylight, and a scene would surely be guaranteed.

At some point, against all better judgement, you tired of trying to escape from the hold of the yarn creature and dozed off in their soft arms.

The language barrier persists, but when you wake enough to see a three-headed, star man looming by your doorway, you think he understands you're cussing him out all the same.

[roamingleaf]

"Maximum Occupancy"

TW: Bukkake, R@pe, Public, Freeuse, Fauxcest(BroXSis), Gangbang, Degrading, Dirty Talk, Blackmail

"Stop taking pictures with your phones." She shakily protested. As a tinted rosy flush started to simmer under her summer rain soft cheeks. What was the cause of the crimson imprinting steaming away at such an unblemished, marble face? The fact that her school mandated navy blue skirt that was expected to be prim, pressed, and presentable at all times was lazily crumpled up and cast into some obscure corner of that florescent flooded linoleum bathroom.

There, exposed before the eyes of a few delinquent boys was her pale, plush, plumped thighs which seemed as if they had been woven into the very fabric of her mesh black stockings. With that guiding roadmap on full display those devilish glares walked their way up to her itty-bitty, raven, almost yarn like thread she swore where panties for a mere peak at that hidden oasis. This horrendous, shameful endeavour couldn't be made any worse could it?

Sadly, it could. one of those four hooligans to have cornered this innocent lass was her own brother. Even as our Ivory bunny pleaded for the snaps of those cameras to cease, he would be the one to brazenly lead the charge of ignoring it and continuing to treat her like their personal model.

"I told you she'd do it." He proudly bragged to the group of gawking boys. All but astounded by his rash, bold, forthrightness that they too continued to snap away.

Her protest would not cease however, with one of her slender hands she tried desperately to keep that sacred shrine out of the eyes of such devils. "I'm serious Issac...stop taking pictures with your phone."

But again, her quiet riot was met with deafening silence before Issac himself stepped closer to address this perceived bratty behavior. "Ya'll want to see something cool?" He posed to the peanut gallery before firmly reaching out and grasping her flowing, golden locks between his fingers. With such a sturdy hold upon her only such a dark wish could await. Suddenly as if thunder erupting a crashing clap could be heard echoing through that small confinement. He had done the unthinkable in front of these gazing glares. Issac had reddened her flushed, ghostly cheeks.

Unfortunately for this frightened, petite, doll that clap seemed to be the signal for the circling vultures to descend upon her with the speed of the winds. One of the boys helped Isaac push this porcelain statue up against the wall securing her tightly. All while a second boy was sure to slowly unbutton her school embroidered shirt. Those emerald eyes of hers couldn't help but fall upon Isaac as his gleeful grin was all the support he would give back.

"Don't let them do this Issac, I'm your si-"

Before another word could be uttered in defiance Isaac's lips met his sisters. This love drunk embrace was so misplaced. Nevertheless, that shocked the other boys. They themselves couldn't help but enjoy the show as Isaac's tongue slipped between her cherried, treasured lips. What grunting, groaning, resistance she had before was all but melting away between the steaming embrace of their lips locking.

This sullied display of sin was more than enough to call the final boy into action. Moving in next to the second boy they both pulled her matching black bra down to reveal her precious, rolling hills. Like the hungry creatures they were both of them started to suck, nipple, and squeeze the breasts that were in front of them. Only as her enchanting, symphony started to leak from between Isaac's embrace did they finally break for air. He pulled himself from her lips to watch as his friends started to defile his own flesh and blood with their teeth and tongues.

"Isn't she such a little slut? I've trained her well." He boasted again. Implying this was far from the first time he had tried his hand with her frame. Now, the first boy wanted a taste of her lips as well. Seeing his chance with the hand that was free her head was tilted to the left where another pair of lips locked with hers once again. There would be no need for too long of a break for her sadly.

Issac saw this as the perfect opportunity to switch with his friend. Maneuvering his lumbering frame in front of hers Issac would waste no time taking that well shaped, juicy, pale peach into his palms and lifting her up off the ground. With ease her brother and some stranger kept her suspended between their grasp. "Make sure you get a good angle." He reminded one of the boys who still greedily had their phone out. "Are you ready for me whore?" He taunted softly into her ear as his javelin-like shaft made its way into the awaiting, glistening, cove of hers.

By this point her mind was already struggling to stay afloat in that hazy, lust fueled daze her senses were thrown into. The only response she could muster was a booming, entrancing, moan as her greedy hole gobbled her big brother's cock in front of these nobodies. "You're so much tighter today, what's wrong? You love an audience you filthy doll?"

Taunt, after taunt was hurled in her face to match the steady rhythmic thrusting he was starting to establish. The boy who had been helping prop this petite portrait up could not help but let his wandering hands lead down towards her jiggling chest for a handful. He too would soon find his own rhyme. A deadly mix between groping, grasping, and squeezing her breast all while his tongue would trace shapes along the fringe of her ear. How could this be happening? Yet, that thought would have no time to settle in her mind through this vicious ravaging.

Oh, but who could forget those two other monsters waiting eagerly in the wings both with phones in hand to capture this private pornography. Unfortunately this was far from the end. Issac hungered to present his pretty portrait in every way he could think of. Pulling himself from deep within her soiled, creamy, cove he eased her down to her knees while calling forth the boys to gather with a mere wave of his hand.

"Open your fucking mouth." Issac barked. And like the timid, touched, tulip she listened. Her dripping, tongue happily slithered from between her lips as everyone who had not unzipped, quickly stepped to catch up. Beneath that dim humming light her hands and mouth were filled with cocks. Stroking them in time with her oddly soft yet, firm grip while her mouth was used by Isaac. The last boy, knowing he would not get something was swift to shift to the side of Isaac, aligning his shaft near her bobbing head in some desperate plea to be next.

It wouldn't be long from here till the shaft in her left hand abruptly erupted onto her glowing, blonde locks and between the crevices of her fingers. Which seemed to cause a chain reaction as the one in her right hand followed suit. This time, marking more over her cheek and chin. The runt of the litter saw his chance and quickly pounced. Taking both of her hands to wrap them around his shaft, he would thrust between them as if he was trying to impregnate her very palms.

Issac laughed as he saw this as a race to the finish. Who would be the last to add their part to this pretty portrait? Due to Isaac's tightening grasp upon his dear little sister's head he could become twice as violent with his reshaping thrusts into her throat. That once soothing moaning symphony was quickly turning into a gargling, haunting, orchestra of corruption. Neither one of them seemed ready to lose, that was when Issac freed himself from the coils of her breathless throat to plaster his seed precisely upon her elegant tapestry face.

Having to be the last finished, the runt was sure to take advantage. Moving his shaft out from her hands, he was the first to use her squishy, pillowy hills to encircle his cock. This must have been the piece of the puzzle missing, for not too long between them did he too, erupt. Spilling himself amongst her snowy white mountains.

"Good man, now bend her over." How could Issac still want more after this depraved scene left in their wake? Yet this call went heeded with tenacious speed.

This filthy debauchery continued until the sun dropped below the crest of the horizon--On that cold, disgusting, ceramic tiles of the bathroom did her exhausted, exploited, leaking canvas lay after they had finished each painting her as they saw fit.

-🪶

[02chois]

MISSED YOUR TOUCH

pairing: ex-boyfriend! soobin x fem! reader

summary: bumping into your ex was the last thing you had expected today. but you never would have thought that encounter will bring you back together stronger than ever.

word count: 3.2k words

content warnings: porn with (little) plot, profanity, big dick soobin, light size kink, soft dom! soobin, sub! reader, usage of pet names like sweetheart and princess, inaccurate way of knitting (I tried making it realistic ok)

author's note: my entry into the smut section of moaland in this site. I tried my best I hope you like it &lt;3

Snow.

Snow danced in the light, a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. As you watched your eyes grew a tiny bit wider, as open as when you were but a child who saw snow for the first time.

You shoved your mittened hands into the pockets of your coat and continued walking, bright eyes wandered around the street. You watched as snow slowly fell upon the park bench as if it were a feather cushion, soft and warm. It covers the rich, deep wood in perfect white.

The market turned out to be filled with people shopping for gifts and trinkets to decorate their homes with. You hadn't expected it to be this crowded early in the morning—well, early in the afternoon. You made a beeline to the store between familiar fruit stands. The crunching of snow underneath your feet filled your ears as you walked, hurriedly opening the mahogany door and soon greeted by a wind chime hanging on top as you stepped inside.

Your shoulders relaxed, the warmth enveloping your trembling body. It was such a relief that the quaint shop has a fireplace near the registrar and it was enough to warm up the entire place.

You brushed the excess snow caught on your coat right before you made your way to one of the aisles. You searched the label for the basket with yarn written across it, then your gaze darted from one to the next. But to no avail you couldn't find it no matter how much you looked around.

You went to another aisle and at that moment you froze. Your eyes landed upon a familiar blond haired man, his tall frame towering over a small basket filled with colorful yarn.

"Soobin…?"

You were about to turn on your heel when the wooden floorboard squeaked beneath your feet, you looked up only to be met by those eyes of his. His lips slightly ajar from shock.

You locked eyes for a moment and stood there in silence. The faint sound of the crackling fire from the fireplace filled the room.

Soobin's gaze lingered on your face as if he were trying to memorize every single detail. You could feel the heat rising up to your cheeks right under his scrutiny. Why does he have to stare so intensely?

"Um… do you—do you need any help?" You spoke up, your voice soft and could be mistaken as a whisper. "What are you looking for?"

You were sure that your stutter had vanished long ago, yet you found yourself stuttering in front of your ex-boyfriend. He changed. A lot actually. You share the same friend group and because of that you often see each other whenever they gather in one place after your break up, but oftentimes, you'd only greet each other with a polite bow, or on rare occasions give each other a polite smile. Aside from those greetings they've barely spoken to each other as the two of you try and avoid the awkward situations between exes.

He gave you a small smile then turned his head to the basket, his right hand holding a small ball of yarn. "I can't find a specific yarn."

You stepped forward and kneeled on the wooden floor right in front of the basket. You looked up and gestured to him, he responded by lowering himself alongside you. He was so close he could smell the scent of your hair products. Peaches. He used to really love this scent.

"The one you have seemed to be used already." You held up a larger red ball of yarn like an offering. "This will be better to use rather than what you have right now. It will allow you to create longer scarves or…"

You cleared your throat and Soobin watched as you handed him the yarn. You caught his eyes and averted your gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm talking too much."

Soobin placed the smaller yarn with the others and shook his head. "Don't be! I'd like to learn more."

He was being a little too polite. You're not used to the way he spoke so formally towards you, mostly compared to those times when he teased you. You couldn't help but smile at the thought. You missed him a lot.

From your kneeling position, you gently rose to your feet and turned to face the other shelf that had knitting needles. They vary in sizes, types of wood, and some are separated to a different group of knitting pins. Personally, you prefer the wooden pins.

"You'll need a pair of knitting pins for you to start. What size would you like to have?" You turned to him with a pair in hand, showing him the same pins you had at home.

"What do you recommend?"

His question was short and sweet. You purse your lips into a pout, your eyes trailed down to the pair of pins you had in hand. If you don't know what he's planning to knit, you wouldn't know what size would be a good fit for him.

"Ah, Soobin, what will you be knitting? The size of the needles affects the length of the stitches and thus your finished product. It's important to think hard about the needles you'll be getting."

Soobin remained silent for a short while before turning his gaze away to think. You watched him with great curiosity. What will my beloved make? You wondered. Wait… beloved?

"A scarf sounds like it would be the easiest." He said, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time to observe how you react. He determined that his suggestion was a suitable garment to make when he noticed how your eyes softened.

Before turning your attention back to the shelf in front, you nodded and gave him a small smile. "Scarves are the perfect first knitting projects for a beginner. They're easy to make and do not require any difficult stitching techniques."

"I'm still a beginner. What do you suggest we do?" Soobin finally asked, implying something from his choice of words.

You mulled over his words. "Well… I can offer you my assistance in knitting. It's difficult to start without any guidance."

"That'll be lovely."

You smiled and followed him to the counter.

You opened the door and stood aside to let him in, the kitchen welcomed him immediately as soon as he stepped inside. A small potted plant sat on the island countertop along with several herbs and spices, some condiments stored with them, and a bowl of fresh fruit at the side. Other plants were tucked in different places. On your hanging pot holder, you hung only about two utensils, the rest were ropes of garlic and bean sprouts in small plastic bags. Your refrigerator contained three small magnets; a sunflower, basket, and rice cakes. Soobin felt at home and he was glad to be back.

He stood there while you closed the door, then removed your winter boots and set them aside in the shoe rack. As you led him inside a large window that sat across the small living room greeted him, and there a single sunflower faced the sun. A small round table was right next to the window accompanied by cushioned chairs that sat across from each other. The scattered knitting supplies on the table drew his attention, there an unfinished red scarf laid there. The stitches were clean, professional, and clearly the work of skilled hands.

He slid beneath the thick cover of the table, exhaling a sigh of relief as the heater stopped the chill from trying to run up his spine.

"I'll prepare some warm drinks."

"Thank you." Soobin murmured.

Your lips quirked at his words. You went to one of the cupboards to pull out a jar of hot chocolate powder, it was half empty. You took a mental note to restock soon. You fill the mugs with hot water and the powder before setting it in front of Soobin and your other end of the table. You placed your unfinished scarf and the knitting materials on top of the table and motioned for Soobin to do the same.

Soobin watched you. He fixed his gaze on your hands, trying to mimic the way she handled the knitting needles. His left hand was tense as he moved, his brows furrowed, and his lips formed a deep frown. His fingers carefully applied enough pressure to the needles to allow him to hold it with ease. Curious to see how you would react, he looked up from his hands.

You were watching his every move. You gave him a small nod in approval as you felt his gaze on you.

"Good. That's a nice start."

He smiled at your words and, using the only knitting procedure he was familiar with, tied a knot with the yarn around the end of his needle.

You followed suit by enclosing your fingers around the yarn and wrapping it around your thumb. You looked at his work to decide whether or not to continue, slipped the tip of the needle into the loop you had created, and drew the yarn back to firmly fasten it. Although his left hand had some difficulty with the delicate yet complex movements, he was a fast learner. He's stubborn enough to overlook his left hand acting up, which is a relief to you. Though had you ever questioned him about his decision to take up knitting?

"Repeat these steps until the scarf is your desired width, and then we'll start casting on so you can start adding length to it."

You turned your attention to his face; his pretty lips formed into a pout and his brows were furrowed. He looked so adorable. Soobin continued, his eyes serious and focused, his fingers moving slowly but meticulously.

No one ventured to strike up a conversation as the room was filled with the subtle humming of the heater and the sound of fabric shuffling as their arms moved. You didn't feel the need to initiate any conversations with him, which is something Soobin appreciated because he preferred to keep to himself over awkward exchanges.

You put the example aside to continue knitting the red scarf you had put away for so long. Lately, you hadn't felt like continuing the scarf. While you neglected the scarf, the same thought plagued her mind, but Yeonjun's advice this morning gave you a little motivation to carry on. You just so happened to meet Soobin at the store, but it was only now that you realized you had forgotten to purchase a second ball of yarn because of your sudden encounter with your ex-boyfriend. You'll try to visit again tomorrow.

Your mind began to drift. You have doubts that he'd return your feelings. The last time Soobin spoke to you was a year ago and the fact that he was back definitely surprised you. If you knew what he would say, why did you make this scarf in the first place? It was only a bridge you will use to start a conversation and hope that Soobin will entertain the idea of getting back together. But the chances of him wanting to be with her again is low.

He might see you as a friend now, yet you still hold onto that small hope that he might see you the way he used to a year ago. Your break up was abrupt, after all.

Why does love have to be so difficult?

You sighed and tightened your grip around the needles. Soobin across from you briefly took a glance at you, pausing what he was doing.

Soobin took the initiative to push your mug after noticing that you were preoccupied with your thoughts. He brought the needles down, the sound of wood hitting wood shook you out of your reverie. You lowered your gaze, your gaze followed the movement of his hand. He carefully pushed the mug in front of her again.

"You should drink."

Soobin appeared to have finished the first section of his work, the width wasn't too wide nor too small. It was the perfect amount of thickness for a scarf. He was waiting for your next instructions.

"Thank you," you murmured.

"I missed you," Soobin suddenly spoke up. "I missed you so much that I still keep our photos even after we parted. I can't forget you and I don't allow myself to do so."

You lowered the mug that you were about to drink into, and so you slowly put it down on the table. You're careful as the drink was still hot and you don't want to get everything onto the blanket. The confusion was visible across your face as you were not sure how to react to his words. It was the thing you were getting worried about a while ago.

"I'm so glad that we ran into that store earlier. I knew that you like knitting and I hoped that I could see you again if I came there, and I did see you. I want us to talk about our relationship and just… just ask if you want us to be—"

"—In a relationship again?" You cut him off.

And this time Soobin remained quiet. He gave you a small nod, and there you saw a glint of hope in his eyes.

"I missed you too."

You're not sure how you ended up on his lap. The conversation was quickly thrown out of the window and you were immediately on him as soon as the both of you had given permission to touch each other. He had his hands all over your body, his voice low as he repeatedly whispered missed you so, so much with his lips latched onto your hot skin.

Soobin pulled away from your neck to look at you, his lips curled into a smile as he let out a breathless laugh. "A year. It's been a year and I want you so bad."

"Can I kiss you?" Soobin asked and you gave him a low yes with the voice you have left. That was all he needed before he leaned forward to kiss you.

He wanted to devour you. A moan threatened to leave his lips at the feeling of those plush lips of yours, trying to press himself more against you that left you whimpering. He wants to feel you more against him, to feel your skin on his and your hands on his body. His free hand gripped your thighs, his nails digging into your jeans clad thighs in desperation. He was trying to get a taste of you as much as he could, enough to make up for the year you've been separated. He could feel your thighs shaking underneath his palms.

When the two of you broke away from the kiss, a string of spit was connecting your lips. You quickly made a quick work of your pants and unzipped them, the soft shade of your panties greeting him. He helped you with your pants as you stood in front of him and pulled them away from you, tossing your pants somewhere around the room. You didn't have the patience to move to your bedroom and the curtains were not opened that wide anyway. No one will see.

He unzipped his own pants and pulled them down to his mid thighs and quickly you sat on his lap and straddled him with your legs on either side of his hips. You had your hands on his shoulders for support and pressed yourself further to his growing bulge. A sight left your lips from the contact, but then his hands got a hold of your hips and began to move you against him, earning a surprised moan from you. He was breathing heavily and he needed more than this right now. But he wants to satisfy you, and so he entertains what you want.

His gaze was focused on the way your hips moved, his bottom lip between his teeth. He moved his hips upwards, amused when you moaned from the friction against your clit. He could feel the wet patch from your panties on his underwear. You're so wet and you haven't even noticed the mess you've made.

He timed his pace with yours, feeling a bit generous for you tonight. "Did you miss me that much, hm?" You leaned down and hid your face in the crook of his neck, shying away from his question. "You're so cute. I miss the way you look whenever you're so desperate for me, and I love the way you make me feel so wanted. Fuck, I love you so much."

He turned his head, his lips close to your ears. "What do you want me to do to you?" His voice was hushed, breathy and lower than usual, and it sent a pleasurable tingle throughout your body. It's been a year since you've taken him, the mere thought of having him inside you had you clenching around nothing. God, he's so big and you're not even sure if he could still fit inside you. And yet you still want to feel his cum inside you, to feel it slide between your thighs, you want him to fuck you and ruin you 'till sundown.

His arms were now around your waist, roughly grinding his hips against yours to get a reaction out of you."I asked you a question, sweetheart." He knew that you loved his lower register so much and he had to take advantage of that weakness.

"Fuck me. Please Soobin." You whined, shifting your hips and felt him thrust his hips against you. The outline of his cock sent you into overdrive, desperate to put it inside you, you brought your hand between your bodies and under his boxers' waistband. He cursed as he felt your cold fingertips wrap around the tip of his cock, slowly spreading the bead of pre-cum around his tip. "Need you so, so much." You coo, muffling your voice on his hoodie.

Soobin pressed his lips on your neck, pulling your hips upwards to move your panties aside. His other hand pushing his boxers down to his thighs, pumping his cock before pushing you down against him. You sink down on him all the way, he was impossibly deep in this position, stuffed full and slick from your juices. You didn't expect yourself to take him in that easily despite his size. Your pizza was that eager to have him again, but the sting was still there as you stayed still to breathe.

"Shit… you're so tight for me." He groaned, barely hanging on. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clenching around his length as your legs failed you. A shaky breath escaped your lips when he began to grind his hips against yours, taking you to another level of deep, releasing a choked moan from your throat.

You tried to move, your ass bouncing on his thighs as you brought yourself up and pushed yourself down until he was buried deeply inside. "I want you to fuck me until you can't anymore, want you to cum in me. Please."

Soobin let out a breathy laugh, his chest heaving from breathing heavily. You felt heavenly around him.

"Anything for you, princess."

[lqveharrington]

Birthday | A.W.

summary: it’s your birthday, so of course aaron and your daughter have to go all out.

pairing: dad!Aaron Warner x mom!reader

includes: MAJOR FLUFF, suggestiveness toward the end, that’s pretty much it

a/n: warner is actually the loml. like i always like the blonde men (with the exception of a couple of brunettes and dark haired men 😝)

Every year, both you and Warner went all out for your birthdays. You knew of his past and he knew of yours; This meant that all future birthdays had to be ten times better than the last. However, there has been one factor that prevented some birthday festivities. For the last five years, both your birthdays have been spent with your daughter. She kept your days busy, but still enough to have dinner and cake during important days.

But given both your pasts, you and Warner chose to cherish your daughter’s birthday far better than your own childhood birthdays. For her birthdays, Warner would wake up every morning to make chocolate chip pancakes whilst you made beautiful paper crowns for her when she woke up. It became a tradition for your family to do so, but your daughter adored the day more than you and Aaron ever did.

It wasn’t until your current birthday that Warner and Lana decided to turn the tables and celebrate your birthday with such traditions.

“Baby, we have to be quiet.” Warner pressed a kiss to his daughter’s cheek, letting her add the chocolate chips to the batter. Snagging a piece himself, he let the candy melt in his mouth as his daughter munched on the chocolate. “You don’t want mommy to wake up before we can surprise her, do you?”

She gasped with a hand reaching out like it was the worst news she ever received. “Daddy no!”

He chuckled at Lana before helping her down the counter, giving her a small twirl and taking the bag away. He watched her take quiet steps toward the breakfast nook to finish up her birthday card and crown for you, freezing when she heard feet pattering against the floor.

“That’s just Honey, you can move, baby.” Warner glanced over his shoulder at his daughter while petting the golden retriever’s fur; Clicking his tongue when she tried to bite the chocolate. “You’ll get sick, Honey Bee.”

“Daddy, I need string.” Lana called out to her father, admiring her handiwork. She adorned the paper crown with stickers, jewels, and dried out flowers, creating a charming design that would soon be bestowed atop your head.

Warner adjusted the stove’s heat as he poured a fresh batch of pancakes onto the pan, guiding their dog to follow toward the other side of the kitchen, away from the chocolate and cooking batter. Pulling the designated junk drawer open, he found multiple colors of yarn that were used for this particular reason.

“What color yarn do you want to use, Lana?” He held two different colored yarn balls up, knowing both were your favorites and you wouldn’t care which was chosen.

She looked between the two and back at her crown before tapping her nose in revelation. “The pink one.”

He tilted his head in a dopey manner at his daughter’s action, knowing you would do such a thing when you figured something out. Warner balled the remaining yarn together and tossed it in the air. “Catch, sweet girl.”

Lana caught the yarn and giggled when the fuzz hit her cheek, her blonde hair partially covering the view. “Thank you!”

Warner let a soft smile take over as he went back to the stove, letting Honey run out the kitchen and back to the rest of the house. He loved the family you and he created. He loved that he was able to make up for all his misguided actions for his own family. And he especially loved moments — such as these — that remind him that he’s exactly where he needs to be:

In the loving home of his doting family.

“Aaron?” You mumble sleepily, arm patting around his side of the bed. Typically, you were up bright and early to make breakfast and check in on Honey, but it seemed as if you were up late with the disappearance of your husband. It was unusual for Warner to be out of bed before you were up. More so when you knew you were given many kisses on the morning of your birthday. So when you found that he was gone, it only left you frowning with the question of ‘why?’

Sitting up, you glanced at the clock before looking back at your bed. It was only six in the morning and Aaron was already up and gone. You were sure he would leave a note, but you found none in the area. Pursing your lips, you tug on your silk robe and shuffle out your bedroom. Across the hall, your daughter’s bedroom door was wide open. Your mind started to wander. What the hell did those two have planned today?

However, all thoughts stopped when your golden retriever ran up the stairs and started pawing at your legs. You creased your brows at the action, taking her paws in your hands. “What’s gotten you all riled up, Honey?” She barked up at you, making you frown again. “Let’s go outside then, okay? I don’t know if Lana and daddy are still sleeping somewhere.”

She nudged your knee with her nose as she followed you down the steps. The morning had gotten more unusual at each passing second. And with your family missing from their rooms, you didn’t know what to expect for the rest of the day. Honey kept shooting looks back at you and the hallway toward the kitchens, continuously pushing the back of your legs toward said kitchen.

“Honey Bee, what’s wrong?” You stop all movements and kneel in front of her. Sadly, you had stopped right before the kitchen. She whines, licking your hand as if she was asking you to keep moving. You rubbed her head in confusion and worry, “We’re almost outside, it’s okay.”

Barking again, she runs out of your arms and into the kitchen with loud stomps across the tiles. You sigh as you stand and dust the invisible dust off. This was not going the way you expected your birthday to start. Taking a step into the kitchen, you call for your dog before another voice interrupted.

“Honey—“

“Honey Bee, please stop barking.” Warner tried to calm his dog down while flipping pancakes. “Lana, can you play with Honey for a second? I’m almost done.”

Your eyes widen at the sight. He was making the traditional birthday breakfast for you. A faint smile graced your face as you tilted your head and shifted your gaze toward your daughter. She seemed to be working on the crown and the card before Warner asked to play with Honey.

“Honey, come here!” Lana pulls a treat out of the bin and waves it in her direction, gaining the attention of her dog. Honey sits patiently in front of her, tongue out in anticipation. “You can’t bark because mommy is gonna wake up, okay? Daddy is almost done and he’ll be upset if you bark again.”

Honey puts a paw on her leg, making Lana giggle. “Here you go.”

A small laugh left your lips as you leaned against the doorway. There wasn’t a young girl around that was like your own child. And knowing her, she’ll be just as amazing at anything like your husband. She was the epitome of your existence and you would change that for the entire world.

Your eyes snap back to where your husband stood as he flips the last pancake on the plate in front of himself. Even the plate was decorated with your favorite flowers in a small vase. Warner shut the stove off and made his way to soak the pan, calling out to his daughter.

“Lana, can you grab the juice from the fridge so we can bring mommy her breakfast?”

She nodded and happily walked over to the fridge before her eyes widened in surprise at your presence. Her mouth open in shut in response before asking for her father. Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Mommy’s already down here.” She whispered in slight disappointment as the surprise was ruined.

You let an amused smile take over your face at your daughter’s sudden shyness. Slowly, you walk over to her and take her into your arms. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

“Good morning.” She mumbled into the crook of your neck. “You’re supposed to be sleeping still.”

“I know, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” You press a kiss to her cheek and tuck a blonde lock behind her ear. You meet her bright eyes, rubbing soft circles onto her cheek to help soothe her. “But everything smells delicious. Did you help daddy make the pancakes?”

She nodded, “I added the chocolate…”

“That’s my favorite part.” You spoke softly, running your fingers through her bed hair. You nod your head toward the breakfast nook, “Did you make a crown for me?”

“Mhm! I made it all different kinds of colors.” She got excited again, pulling you up and tugging you toward the table. She shuffled up on the bench, sorting throw the papers to find the crown. “But I made sure the string was pink because it’s your favorite.” Lana took the crown and attempted to balance it atop your head. “See!”

“I do see.” You kiss her forehead, taking the crown from her. You thumb the paper crown as you watched her throughly explain her process, nodding when she looked over at you. Your heart practically melted at the sight, but soon started beating faster when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist.

“I thought you would still be sleeping, my love.” Warner pressed a kiss to your cheek before resting his head in the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses down toward your shoulder.

You feel him squeeze your waist gently as you turn your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze and lips eagerly. “One, I always wake up early.” You grin against his lips before continuing. “Two, I can’t sleep when you’re not there.”

“Did we surprise you though?” He left one last kiss to your lips before taking the crown and tying it around your head.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting it.” You take your daughter into your arms again, balancing her on your hip.

“Mommy, you look like a queen!” Lana held your face in her hands, giggling as you peppered kisses onto her face. “So daddy would be the king!”

You give her a bright smile and nudge your nose onto her cheek, “And that would make you a princess, baby.”

Warner brought over the pancakes and juice, cutting pieces for Lana. He kissed her cheek, “Do you want to make a crown for yourself?”

She looked over at you, waiting if she could make one even if it wasn’t her birthday. You nodded your head, setting her down on the cushions to sit properly for breakfast. Lana took her fork and took a piece, humming at the deliciousness hitting her tongue.

Warner pulled you to his chest again, lowering his voice so only you could hear him. “I owe you your favorite birthday present, love.”

You flush pink at the thought, smacking him in the chest. You tilt your head up to meet his eyes, finding them filled with amusement and lust filled thoughts.

“What about Lana?” You murmur, resting your hands delicately on his chest.

“What about her?” He put a finger underneath your chin and placed a light kiss to your lips.

You smile before pulling away, whisper-shouting toward the blonde. “Aaron, I’m serious!”

Warner chuckled before turning to Lana, squatting to watch her reaction. “Baby, is it fine if mommy and i leave you here for a bit? We’ll be back, we just have something to discuss.” He asked the young girl who was kicking her legs joyfully at the pancakes.

“Mhm.” She answered, mouth full of pancakes.

Aaron quickly spun around toward you, making you raise a brow. “What?”

“The little princess won’t bother us.” He pressed open mouth kisses onto your shoulder, slowly backing you out of the kitchen and tapped your thigh.

You wrap your arms around his neck, humming. “You’re positive— Aaron!”

He picks you up and takes the stairs two at a time. You throw your head back and laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You press your lips onto his, threading your fingers through his hair. “I just love you.”

Warner smiles, “I love you too.”

And for the first time in years, you had three major birthday gifts. One given nine months afterward.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[solarmorrigan]

For the fanfic mash-up prompt list, what about 2. Historical and 73. Stranded due to inclement weather?

Me, a history minor, upon reading this prompt: I've never learned anything about any period in history ever in my life

But! After drawing a blank for a while, we've got some vaguely Great Depression-era Steddie

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 1. Historical AU + 73. Stranded Due to Inclement Weather

cw: brief assumed infidelity (not actually, though)

-

The drifter is handsome, beneath the smudges of road dust he’s picked up from traveling; his long hair is tied back from his face, revealing a soft mouth, high cheekbones, and eyes you could get lost in. He’s carrying a guitar on his back and not much else. He isn’t dressed nearly warm enough for the weather as it is, and certainly not for the snow that the heavy clouds above are threatening.

Steve already knows he’s going to invite him in.

“I don’t give handouts,” Steve says, mostly for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t a soft touch.

“I’m not asking for a handout,” the drifter says. “I’m more than happy to work for a meal.”

Steve pauses, like he’s thinking. There isn’t much left to the Harrington farm these days; they really only have the house, the barn, and enough land to keep some livestock – mostly chickens. (Robin loves the chickens; when they eat one, she makes sure they thank it by name, which Steve personally thinks is weird, but whatever helps her part more easily with them, he guesses.) The chores don’t take long, usually, but with Robin gone for the week, visiting her mother a few towns over, there are still a few things that need doing.

“Guess I could use a hand,” Steve says, and the drifter smiles at him, bright and dimpled, and Steve can practically hear Robin tutting at him – such a sucker for a pretty face.

At least the imaginary Robin in his head is easier to dismiss.

The drifter—“Eddie,” he introduces himself with a firm, calloused handshake—stores his guitar in the kitchen and gets to work helping Steve around the farm (such as it is). He doesn’t seem to have much familiarity with farmwork specifically, but he’s a hard worker and a good listener, and he slots in right alongside Steve with surprising ease.

He’s a bit of a talker – a storyteller, more like, spinning all kinds of yarns about his travels, half of which Steve is sure can’t be true, but which have him hooked anyway. Eddie seems to like him that way: his attention so focused on Eddie that he almost forgets what he’s doing several times throughout the day.

The hours fly by; the wind gets stronger, and you can almost taste the snow on it. Steve gives the animals one last check, makes sure everything is ready to weather a storm should it come, and then he and Eddie hurry inside the house. Steve cooks while Eddie washes up, and they eat sitting at the kitchen table like Steve and Robin usually do; there’s no one to impress by sitting in the overwrought dining room that had always intimidated Steve as a kid.

Snow is falling thick and fast by the time they finish eating.

“I’m not enough of a bastard to send you back out in that,” Steve says, twitching the curtains aside to look at the way little drifts have already started to collect against the fenceposts. “You’re welcome to stay, if you want.”

“Well, I’m not enough of an idiot to turn you down,” Eddie replies, sending Steve a sly grin. “Anything you want me to do around the house to earn a bed for the night?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods towards the living room. “Keep me company by the fire for a while?”

It’s a bit of a gamble – if Steve’s read Eddie wrong, this could end very badly, but Steve doesn’t think he has. He’s always been good at gauging a person’s interest, and he’s certain he’d caught Eddie’s eyes wandering more than once when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention.

Eddie spends a long moment regarding Steve. “I’ll do you one better,” he finally says, and reaches for his guitar.

Eddie’s voice is rough and low, not always in key, but sincere and achingly soulful. He plays like he was born with a guitar in his hands, pulling music from it a hundred times better than anything Steve’s ever heard on the radio. If he’d been distracted by Eddie before, he’s absolutely enraptured now. He doesn’t even realize he’s been steadily drifting closer to him on the sofa until their knees are brushing.

“It’s getting late,” Eddie says, glancing towards the clock on the mantle. “Am I going to bunk in the barn?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in the house.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s grin is slow-spreading as he watches Steve. “It’s pretty cozy down here by the fireplace. Sofa’s nice.”

“I could make you up a bed on the sofa.” Steve nods. “Or – there’s plenty of room in my bed, upstairs. Much cozier up there.”

Eddie’s grin is positively wolfish now. “You’d have me in your marriage bed?” he teases, and Steve shakes his head.

“My wife and I don’t share a bed,” he says (this is largely true, except when they have unavoidable overnight visitors, or when it’s very cold).

“No?” Eddie asks.

“We have an understanding,” Steve replies.

“Do you, now?” Eddie still looks like he isn’t quite sure whether to laugh or to eat Steve alive, but Steve only nods.

“She doesn’t mind if I have the occasional man around, and in return, I don’t mind if she has the occasional lady,” he explains softly. “And we keep each other safe.”

At that, Eddie’s grin softens, becomes warm, almost fond. “And who’s keeping you safe now? Inviting a complete stranger up into your bed." He shakes his head, still trying to tease. “I could be anybody. I could be a murderer, for all you know.”

“You aren’t,” Steve answers with full conviction.

The sincerity seems to give Eddie pause. “What makes you so sure?” he asks, and now he seems almost serious.

“Your eyes,” Steve says readily. “They’re too kind for you to be any kind of bad person.”

Those eyes go wide with surprise. “Well,” Eddie says slowly, “you’re one of the few people who thinks that.”

“Well, maybe other people need to pay more attention,” Steve says. “But if I’m wrong, and you do kill me, at least the last thing I see will be something beautiful.”

And that seems to do it. Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve, his lips chapped and warm against Steve’s.

“You might be the killer here, actually,” Eddie murmurs when they pull apart. “You’re gonna knock me dead with those lines, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. Steve likes that.

“Better come upstairs with me and give me something else to think about, then,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t need to be told again.

The snow continues through the night and into the next day. Steve and Eddie go out first thing to check the animals, to make sure everything is holding against the wind and the snow, and then head back to bed, where they spend the remainder of the day. It seems unkind to send Eddie away in this weather, after all.

In fact, it’s still so cold by the time Robin comes back from her visit that Steve hasn’t yet had the heart to send Eddie away. And if he and Robin talk it over, and if Eddie is still around by the time the warm spring weather comes, and if Eddie just stays and stays, the only thing people in town ever really wonder about is how the Harringtons found the money to hire a hand for their tiny piece of land.