#its perfect for knitting background noise

[starswallowingsea]

411991691

^^ i had to remake my r1999 account so add me on my new one!

[knoepfl]

A Quiet Christmas Away

Part 3 and I'm excited to bring my boy Nubbins in it! He deserves the world and the special present he receives^^

3/24

Characters:

• Y/N (Reader): A kind and nurturing individual who provides a quiet, safe space for Nubbins to escape the chaos of his family.

• Nubbins Sawyer: A chaotic yet endearing man with a childlike curiosity, who finds comfort and warmth in the holiday spent with you.

Trigger Warnings:

• Mild references to violence and chaos (Sawyer family background).

• Emotional vulnerability and themes of love and belonging.

Masterlist

Words: 1248

The old house you inherited from your grandmother stood tucked away in the woods, far from prying eyes and the noise of the world. It had been a while since you’d been back, but it was the perfect place for the peaceful holiday you both craved.

---

The snow fell softly outside, covering the world in a pale blanket of stillness. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded the Sawyer family, but tonight wasn’t about them. Tonight was just for you and Nubbins.

Nubbins, dressed in a slightly too-big sweater you’d convinced him to wear, sat cross-legged on the worn carpet by the fireplace. He poked at the flames with a stick he’d insisted on bringing inside, watching them crackle with a childlike fascination.

“You know, darlin’, this place ain’t half bad,” he said, his Texan drawl soft as he glanced at you. “Kinda cozy-like.”

You smiled, setting a steaming mug of cocoa in front of him. “It’s nice to have a little peace, don’t you think? No yelling, no chainsaws, no… well, you know.”

Nubbins laughed, his crooked grin lighting up his face. “Yeah, they don’t really go for this kinda quiet. Always gotta be somethin’ goin’ on back home.”

You sat beside him, wrapping a blanket around the two of you. The warmth of the fire and the gentle hum of an old Christmas record playing in the background filled the room. For once, there was no blood, no screams, no chaos. Just you, him, and the soft glow of Christmas lights strung haphazardly around the room.

Nubbins leaned against you, his head resting on your shoulder. “Don’t reckon I ever had a Christmas like this before. Kinda nice, ya know? Feels like... like somethin’ outta one of them picture books.”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his unruly hair. “Well, I’m glad you’re here to share it with me. It wouldn’t feel right without you.”

He looked up at you with those wide, slightly wild eyes that always managed to soften when he was with you. “Ain’t no place I’d rather be, sugar. You’re somethin’ real special, y’know that?”

Your cheeks warmed, and it wasn’t just from the fire. “You’re pretty special too, Nubbins. Even if you do scare the mailman every time he comes around.”

He cackled, a sound that could have been unsettling to anyone else but was music to your ears. “Ain’t my fault he don’t appreciate good ol’ Texas hospitality!”

The two of you sat there, the night stretching on as the snow continued to fall. You exchanged small, thoughtful gifts—he’d carved you a little wooden heart, rough around the edges but made with care, and you’d given him a scarf you’d knitted yourself, though it ended up tied around his head instead of his neck.

Later, as the fire died down and the room grew darker, Nubbins pulled you closer. His arms were surprisingly gentle, his usual manic energy replaced by something tender and calm.

“Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Merry Christmas, Nubbins,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his temple.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and love, far away from the madness that so often defined your lives. It was perfect in its simplicity—a quiet Christmas, together.

---

As the night deepened and the snow thickened outside, you reached for the final present you had carefully tucked away under the small, scraggly Christmas tree. The moment you brought it out, Nubbins’ eyes lit up with curiosity.

“What’s that, sugar?” he asked, leaning forward with an almost childlike excitement.

You grinned, holding the small wrapped box toward him. “This one’s for you. Open it.”

His hands, rough and calloused from years of working with tools, carefully peeled back the paper. He muttered under his breath about “fancy wrappin’,” but you could tell he was savoring the moment. Finally, the box was revealed—a sleek, black camera, shiny and new.

Nubbins froze, staring at it as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His fingers hesitated before picking it up. “Is this…? Is this for real?”

You nodded, your heart swelling at the look on his face. “It’s yours, Nubbins. I know how much you love taking pictures, and I thought… well, maybe it’s time for an upgrade from that old Polaroid.”

He turned the camera over in his hands, inspecting every detail with reverence. “This… this is somethin’ else, darlin’. I ain’t never had somethin’ this nice before.” His voice cracked slightly, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to cover up the emotion.

You reached out, touching his arm gently. “You deserve it. I’ve seen how much you love capturing moments, even the messy ones. Now you can take even more pictures—ones we can keep forever.”

Nubbins looked up at you, his eyes glassy. For a man who thrived in chaos, he was rarely vulnerable like this, and it made the moment all the more special. “I… I dunno what to say, sugar. This is… this is the best damn Christmas I ever had.”

He fumbled with the camera for a moment, figuring out how to turn it on. When the screen lit up, he let out a gleeful laugh. “It’s got a little window! Look at that! I can see stuff real clear, like magic!”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “It’s called a viewfinder, Nubbins.”

He adjusted the settings clumsily, holding the camera up to his face and pointing it toward you. “Alright, darlin’. Gimme a big ol’ smile. Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” you said with a giggle, striking a playful pose as he snapped the photo. The camera clicked, and he pulled it away, staring at the screen.

“Hot damn, you look even prettier than I remembered,” he said, his grin spreading wide.

You felt your cheeks flush, but before you could respond, Nubbins turned the camera toward the window. “I’m gonna get me some pictures of that snow. Ain’t never seen it look so pretty like this before.”

He got up, practically bouncing as he moved to the window, snapping photos of the snowy landscape. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn’t help but watch him with a fond smile.

After a while, he came back and plopped down beside you again, camera still in hand. He turned it off and set it carefully on the table before pulling you into his arms. “You’re somethin’ special, y’know that? Don’t think anyone else in this whole damn world woulda thought to do somethin’ this nice for me.”

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “You’ve done plenty for me, Nubbins. You make me laugh, you make me feel safe… even if you do have a bit of a wild side.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Reckon I got lucky, findin’ someone like you.”

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other and the quiet warmth of the moment. Outside, the snow kept falling, and inside, the fire crackled softly.

For once, the world felt like it was exactly as it should be—just you and Nubbins, together, celebrating a quiet Christmas far away from the madness. And as he held you close, you knew this would be a memory he’d carry with him forever—captured in his mind as vividly as the photos he’d taken that night.

---

[archivistofnerddom]

Bad Batch Headcanons — Soft Romance and Some Dating Stuff

I can’t get these thoughts out of my head. SFW and safe for all ages. Anyway, here you go:

Hunter

This man is the master of braiding hair. (Have you seen his hair? Of course he is.) Hunter is tactile person, a byproduct of his heightened senses. Braiding your hair (for events, before bed, or whenever) is a quiet thing between you and a little ritual.

Cuddles on a porch swing together in summer time (listening to the cicadas in the trees and watching the sun set) as you unwind from the day.

Enjoying a thunderstorm rolling through while counting the seconds between lightening flash and thunder clap to guess the distance. It’s always a game to see if you can guess the closer distance by counting the seconds versus Hunter using his advanced senses.

Dates at ice cream parlors and cafes are always entertaining. Hunter has opinions on the flavor combinations. (It’s adorable.)

Crosshair

Quietly sitting together in front of the fire in the evening. Maybe you talk, maybe you don’t. Just being together without any pressures is nice. If you wind up slowly snuggling together under a big soft blanket, he doesn’t mind. Crosshair likes having someone around who doesn’t have insane expectations of him.

Charcuterie boards and bottles of wine while you read together or listen to music. Snarking about and commentating on the other’s genre choices inevitably happens. (His humor is dry and very specific.)

Paintball target practice (some punk kids at the local range as “voluntary” targets are optional). You don’t need to be as good as he is with the paintball gun. Just record him gleefully (and mostly playfully) merc-ing his targets and laughing at the reactions.

Concerts and movies in the park are go-to date options. He likes not worrying about high pressure situations. Plus, you both get to people-watch while you’re at it.

Tech

Documentary marathons, book festivals, and museum tours are regular date events. Tech has a pathological need to learn things. He also takes into consideration things you might enjoy as well when planning these outings. (It’s sweet of him, really.)

Hanging out in the driveway while he works on your cars. Making sure your car is running at optimal levels is one of his love languages. You’re there to remind him to eat and/or take a water break on occasion, provide shade, and pass him tools as needed. He likes it when you put together an interesting music or podcast playlist for background noise.

Swing dance classes — a surprise, I know. He knows that dancing is a traditional romantic thing, so he leans into taking classes as a way to romance you. Somehow, swing and its numerous stylistic sub-groupings are right up both your alley. Turns out Tech has a decent sense of rhythm and enjoys using dance and movement as a way of silent communication with you.

Crafting is a team project now. Tech is good at planning the layouts for quilts apparently. He also agrees with you that knitting and crocheting is very meditative and relaxing.

Wrecker

When you bring up cooking and baking together, he is on board. Food and sharing it is one of his big love languages. Wrecker loves being in the kitchen with you, either as your sous chef, cookie decorator, or test taster. Eventually, he starts finding more recipes that you can try together. Building out a binder of recipes you like is a testament of your relationship.

Perfect date night — big picnic spread in an open field at dusk followed by sparklers and fireworks. He loves food and things that go boom. Combining them together makes Wrecker so happy. (That fact that you put them together in one date — that’s the best and biggest declaration of love anyone has anyone has ever given him.)

Hanging on the couch in comfy clothes while playing video games together. Wrecker is the reason the household has a wide selection of thematic oversized adult onesies. Those always get broken out during Mario Kart tournaments or when playing Pokémon or Legend of Zelda together.

Wrecker is a Dungeons and Dragons nerd and a surprisingly good DM. Acting out a story is right up his alley. He gets so happy when you want to learn about the game and join his group.

Echo

Projecting movies into a sheet in the backyard while chilling on cushions and blankets and eating popcorn — simple and low pressure. Sometimes, Echo needs that when his prosthetics are acting up. (He also likes that you always wind up curled up next to him on these nights. It feels nice, no matter whether or not he has his prosthetic limbs on.)

He’s a great pub crawl buddy. Seriously, Echo somehow knows people who work in every bar you walk into, and that is an impressive thing. You get free drinks and fun cocktails wherever you go.

Sunday mornings are for farmers markets. Walking through the stalls, buying fresh bread and produce, and buying assorted other wares is fun. Echo finds your enthusiasm endearing and engaging. (Guess who invested in one of those two-wheeled carts for your haul? This guy.)

Road trips to thermal hot spring baths and a nice little B&B are the go-to romantic weekend trips. Soaking in a hot spring bath does wonders for Echo, especially when he gets to have a hearty dinner with you afterwards.

[dangerous-fellowz]

zombie infested romantic walk with lawrence

mainly fluff and comedy tbh, however tw for mentions of death in a joke.

it was a casual monday evening, and you wanted to stretch your legs for a bit. so you ask lawrence if he wants to go on a stroll, march, prowl, promenade, hot girl walk, whatever he wishes to call it, you just want out of the house.

"promenade? are you bored enough to start reading the dictionary?" he asks, turning to you in his spinny desk chair.

you correct him and say you've been reading the thesaurus. which he rolls his eyes at in an amused fashion.

"ok, ok, sure. i'm almost finished writing the meal plan for this week anyways."

he gets up and pushes the chair in, before putting on the jacket you hate so much with its horrible orange color. you just slide on your shoes and reach your hand out for him to take.

he grabs both it and the safety kit as you both head out the door. you both bask in the setting sun like vitamin d deprived dogs. it was comfortable out, a nice breeze ruffling your lovers hair.

it feels so nice to just be you and him, the zombies don't count as people. they are simply background noise to the day. this has become your normal. dare you even say you are no longer surviving, but instead, thriving. life has never been better for you both, even if you do still mourn the ones you've lost (which you are alone in.)

lawrence points to an old drug store, that looks free of zombies. "do you want to do some shopping?"

"oh but, i don't know if i can afford it right now. everything is so expensive anymore!" you say jokingly, which goes right over his head.

he tilts his head like a puppy, smiling gently with his eyebrows knit together. "but... its free. we liv-"

"i'm going to steal it all." you threaten.

well now he looks concerned. "i mean really its foraging because we don't really have anyone to pay, let alone an economy to-"

"lawrence i'm so excited to steal all the lipgloss. all. the. gloss." you continue, which makes him catch onto the joke.

"well, the only thing you stole so far was, my heart." lawrence said, with an goofy grin. he wasn't good at this, but it made you love him more.

you both walked inside, picking up items and pretending as if times were normal. trying on those cheap sun glasses, lawrence picking you out a really sweet card, picking out nail polish for each other, lawrence putting an annoying toy on the top shelf so you can't reach it. you know. zombie date things.

you two reach the lip product area, and you pick up an shade of bright pink lip gloss. you turn to lawrence and say, "you know. scharlette did look drop dead gorgeous in this color."

which makes lawrence laugh so hard he has to sit down. yandere humor is typically a big hit or miss with him. this time it was an home run though.

when he collects himself he picks up an pastel pink tinted lip stick. "when i was young, i'd play with my mothers make up. i don't know why, i guess i wanted to be pretty." he says with an shrug.

you are pocketing different shiny glosses and just say, "yeah no, i can see that for you." and simply nothing more, which gives him an mini crisis before he notices hello kitty bandaids near by.

he stocks them in the safety kit, which now held: a knife, rubbing alcohol, some snacks, a note lawrence left you about how to clean a wound that was oddly lovey dovey, a lighter, plenty of water, and now cute bandaids. "lets head home before it gets too dark." he suggests, packing it up carefully.

you poke his cheek and smirk, "oh, is it grandpa hours? time to sleep the second the sun sets?" you ask, before he kisses your cheek.

"is it so bad to want to cuddle up next to my partner?" lawrence asked with a playful huff.

you blankly look at him. "you're just tired of holding the bag, huh?"

he looks away. "...no." so yes. you grab it as you two walk home.

the zombies are just background music to you two wandering back home. life may not be normal, but you both found a love that doesn't require a normal life. it's perfect just the way it is.

[hobbitsnapes]

E-girls are ruining vinnies life

Vinnie Hacker x Reader

Warnings: smut, +18, NSFW, kinky sex

A/N: this is my first vinnie writing, and my second smut. Please go easy on me (unlike vinnie...)

Never in his life did he think this would happen. In the short time he’s been on social media, he’s kept his relationship life private. Fearing the criticism the pore girl would inevitably get. He had seen it countless times to his friends, as soon as they’d announce they had found someone, instant hateful words would flood not only their comments, but their partners. He swore he wouldn’t ever outright publicly show his girlfriend, or announce that he was finally taken. That was, until he met her.

Surprisingly, very little hate or criticism came for them when he announced it that fateful day.

He had posted just a short video, a few seconds of him laying down, with her head resting in his neck. Her face being hidden by her hair. He had posted it to his second account, testing the waters there rather than his main account.

After a few days, and many people speculating, asking who she was, some trying to figure it out, even some claiming it was someone, when it never was. Even some claiming they weren’t dating, just friends. He never responded to any of the questions or comments.

Days had passed, with relatively good reactions to it, they both decided to take it to the next step, by officially posting it to his main account, outing them completely to the world.

He had decided to use the yellow trend to do it, thinking it would be a perfect trend for the purpose.

The first few pictures were of his friends, some from shoots they did, to some when they went skating, to just candid pictures. But after about 3 pictures with his friends, came a photo of her. She was sitting in the grass, a lone dandelion in her hand as she smiled shyly for the photo. Next was a photo of them standing in front of the mirror, she was in front, with his arm securely around her. Next was them standing in the same mirror, only he was dipping her slightly as he bent down to kiss her. A few more pictures of them flashed in the video, ending with a small video he took the night prior. They layer in bed, faces being only lit by the brightness of the phone as he laid on top of her. Their lips only centimeters apart, as he whispered I love you. Both smiling as he leans in, connecting their lips as the video ends.

Love was flooding his comments, so many saying how beautiful she was, saying how happy he looked, and how happy they were for him.

The other side, was people asking who she was, nobody being able to figure it out.

That was due to the fact that, they wouldn’t be able to find out. Because in the world of social media, she didn’t exist.

Early on she told him she wasn’t a social media person. She never had an Instagram, a Facebook, Twitter, nothing but a YouTube account that she’d never post on. Only there to watch videos and play music.

They met by pure luck, at the skatepark. She was sitting by herself, reading a book that engrossed her. She didn’t notice his eyes trainer on her the entire time, fully captivated by the pages.

He finally built up the courage, and being pushed by his friends, to go sit with her.

He was a nervous wreck, barley being able to compose himself enough to say hello and his name.

She thought it was cute, how he stumbled over his words when he talked to her. It was endearing, seeing just how flustered the very attractive man was.

To this day he wonders how he didn’t screw up. But he hadn’t, getting her number an hour after talking. Promising to take her out that weekend. And the rest, was history for them.

Over the next few weeks, he would randomly post a video of them together, usually on his second account. They both would sit and laugh at some of the comments, finding it Hilarious how crazy people were getting at trying to figure out who she was. Some came to the conclusion that she didn’t have any, with most begging her to make one.

It had been a relatively uneventful day, some might even call it boring.

Vinnie had been out most of the day, informing her of the plans he had with some of his friends. Promising her to be home that night, sealing his promise with a chaste kiss to her lips as he ran out the door, her heart thumping in her chest as he walked away.

She laid on their shared bed, her legs bare as they rubbed against the soft blanket.

Only odorning a black tee shirt that covered her panties, barely shielding her from the cold outside. Thanking the heavens for the hearing system as she laid there, contemplating.

Agoraphobic played in the speakers as she laid there, drowning out any and all noise. She had grown a strong liking to the artist corpse, finding herself playing his music or humming the lyrics through the day. Vinnie would sometimes make fun of her, saying that she loved him more than her own boyfriend. She would scoff, kissing his plump lips, reminding him the love she had for the curly headed boy.

The song finally ending, changing to the next in her playlist. A smile disarming at her lips when she heard it. While agoraphobic was her favorite, there was just something special when she’s hear e girls are ruining my life. Vinnie would joke that this song was meant for her, how it reminded him of her each time he heard the lyrics.

She held her phone to her chest, looking up at the bright led lights above her. ‘Fuck it’ she thought, pulling her phone from her chest, going to the App Store, and downloading the one app she swore she’d never use.

One video she thought, just one. She looked at his videos first, reading a few of the contents, her heart thumping in her chest. An outcry of people asking him to have her make an account, some even begging him.

It wasn’t that she hated social media, it was just it had never crossed her mind as something she wanted to get into. She knew how popular vinnie and his friends were, having seen them when he would show her. She had especially been worried about making one when she first started dating him, fearing someone would find out and out them before they were ready.

She was even more fearful in a way when they announced it, fearing the ridicule she would face if she made one. But the amount of love people were showering both them and her in each of the videos, made her heart soar in her chest. Finally making her decision, she got to work.

His phone was vibrating in his pocket, confusion filling him. It wasn’t a phone call, no, it was notifications going off.

He pulled his phone out, seeing a plethora of tags from his friends flash over the screen. His brows knitted together in confusion, not understanding what was going on. Why was he being tagged and sent this one tiktok?

He got his answer when he opened a link sent by Jordan. He red the text from him, even more confused when he did. ‘You have to see this.’ The text red, seeing a link sent right after.

Shock filled him when he watched it, questions filling his mind as he sat there, eyes glued to the screen.

It was a video posted by his girlfriend, from her own account. It was simple really, well, that’s a bad word for it.

She sat on the floor, leaning against their shared bed. A mirror proper in front of her, showing her and their empty bed.

He had the mirror installed in front of the bed a month prior, contemplating on having it placed above the bed.

It was a surprise for her, having it done the day of their 5 month anniversary. Worry filled him that she wouldn’t like it or find it weird, but he was proven wrong that same night. It was one of the greatest nights they had, finding every way to fuck in front of it, their pleasure heightened with being able to watch as they both came undone.

Since then, they used it every time. Being able to sit in front of it, with her facing it as he makes her watch as he slams into her, loving being able to pull her hair back as moans slip from her lips as he makes eye contact through the mirror.

She sat on the floor, only wearing one of his black shirts, barely covering her clothes core. She was sitting there, a chuckle making its way out of him when he heard the song. He knew if she ever made an acount or video, she would use one of corpses songs. She loves his music, barely being able to deny the fact due to how much she’d listen to him. E girls he knew was one of her favorites, finding her humping the lyrics on the daily when she’s being going the most mundane things.

His eyes bulged out of his head when he looked behind her, his heart thumping in his chest even worse. His cock throbbing in his pants when he saw it.

There in the background, was a pair of handcuffs secured on their headboard.

Having used them only the night before, his cock grew almost painful Ashe thought of the memories.

The sounds of her moans ripping out from her as she tried pulling free her hands as he rocked harshly into her played in his mind. Making it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything beside her and the memories. And the thought of what was to come when he got home.

His heart pounded in his chest when he looked at the comments, one sticking out. People had caught on to the handcuffs, not many, but the numbers were rising. But one comment, had one reply. ‘ARE THOSE HANDCUFFS I SEE 👀’ it red, being highlighted by being liked by the creator, with a reply by creator. ‘Like my bracelets? 😊’

His footsteps echoed throughout the large home, barley being able to hear them due to his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel the blood coursing through him as he bears his door, hearing nothing from the other side.

He opens up the door, instantly his eyes trained on her like a hawk. There she laid on their bed, again, only clad in his shirt.

Her eyes met his, a smile forming on her face. “Hey lovey.” She chirped, getting up from their bed, a pep in her step as she neared him.

She got up on her toes to reach him, him bending his head down, connecting their lips in a sweet kiss. She could feel the need in his lips as he wrapped his arms around her torso, feeling him tighten his grip ever so slightly.

He opens his mouth slightly, darting his tongue out, licking her lip lightly. Her granting him access as they stood there in each other’s arms. She pulled away with a chuckle. “What’s gotten into you?” She asked, a teasing smile on her face. “Take a wild guess.” He grunted, crashing his lips to hers again. She pulled away again, chuckling at his grunt of frustration when she did. “I don’t know? Tell me?” She teased, making his grip on her tighten even harder. “Maybe, it has something to do with that little video you posted. Maybe it might also have to do with the fact that you hadn’t hid those handcuffs. Now everyone will know.” He grunted, tightening his arms even harder around her.

She could feel his cock pressing hard against her stomach, excitement growing inside her.

He leaned in to crash his lips with hers again, but she out her hand in the way before he could. He looked at her questionly, making her chuckle. “Before we do anything. I need your help with another video.”

It took every ounce of sheer willpower for him not to bend her over and fuck her right there when they recorded it. His cock throbbing even worse the longer it took. But in the end, even he had to admit, it was worth it.

Same song as her last one, only this time, the video was entirely different.

She had the camera facing her side profile, her facing him and not the camera. Him discreetly out of the frame.

As the lyrics started, he reached his hand up, grabbing her by the throat as she lip synced the lyrics, his hand having a firm hold on her delicate neck. As the song continued, he moved his hand up, pulling her bottom lip out, sticking his thumb between her reddened plum lips.

She gave a simple caption, one they knew would make everyone who watched it go insane. ‘The other version.’

A groan rips from the back of his throat, her hands tangling in his curls harshly. Their tongues battled as they pant, neither one wanting to pull away from one another.

His hands held tightly to her thighs, gripping the soft flesh as a moan rips out of her. His rings axing to the sensation as she pulls his hair even harder.

He pulls his lips from hers, letting out a chuckle when she chased his lips momentarily. He duped his head down into her neck, running his lips along the skin, until he felt her legs wrap around him as a moan slips past her lips. He starts sucking harshly on her skin, feeling her trembling under him.

He widens her legs, looking down between them, letting out a grunt. He can see the wetness through her panties, nearly smelling her desire. He pulled them down her legs, watching in amazement when she opened up her legs to him. He had seen her naked plenty of times, but it still caught his breath every time he saw her core.

He went back to her neck, sucking on the bruised skin. He ran his hand down her thigh, feeling her tremble as small whines slipped past her lips.

He pulled his head from her neck, hovering his lips just enough over hers. A smile broke out on his face as his fingers finally met her core, a large moan breaking through her.

His fingers rut harshly through her velvety walls, making her yell out. His cock throbbed in his pants as her core sucked his fingers inside of her, making him want to replace his hand with his painfully hard cock.

She can hardly breathe as his fingers hardly pound inside of her, waves of pure bliss engulfing her at the feel. His rings adding a level of chill, making her shake as he speeds up.

He dips his head back into her neck as he bites her skin, rutting his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the pain.

As if it couldn’t get better, she feels him thrust his fingers even faster, making her jump when he hits that one spot. It’s been his mission, every time they had sex, he had to hit it each time. Whether it was with his cock or hands, he had to.

He feels her walls tightening as her moans grow louder, feeling her walls quiver slightly. He speeds his hands up, adding his thumb to rub her clit harshly, making her cry out. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl.” He whispers, making her cry out. “God I love how your walls just squeeze my fingers, wishing it was my cock. Wouldn’t you love that? To feel my cock pound inside of you? To have it suck me dry as I make it mine forever?” “Yes! Please!” She yells out, making him chuckle. “Then cum for me sweet girl.”

A large groan breaks out of him when she lets out a yell, thrashing around as he feels her release, feeling her core tightened and suck his fingers inside of her even more. A cry breaking past her lips as it all grows too much.

She pulls his pants from him, eagerly trying to rip them from his body.

They both lay naked, chests flushed together. He feels his heart hammer against his chest, feeling hers beat in the same rhythm.

A groan slips past his lips as her hands glide along his shaft, making his arms shake as pleasure courses through him.

He grabs his cock in his hands, lining himself up to her entrance. A hiss breaking past him as his painfully hard head slips between her lips, the wetness of her core nearly making him explode.

He lays his forehead on hers, both taking in a deep breath as he eases himself inside her. They both shudder in a breath as he enters her, both shaking as his cock slides inside her. “Fuck I love your pussy baby.” He groans out, kissing her sloppily. He momentarily doesn’t move, stealing his breath.

He did this every time, always giving her a couple of seconds to get used to the feeling of his cock stretching her. Always easing into it slowly, rocking his hips at a slow place, gradually increasing his speed of his thrusts.

He wasn’t much of a speed guy, he always would go slowly but hard, not growing in speed till they both neared the edge.

He pulled out slowly, slamming himself back in hardly, moving her and the bed back as a cry rips out of her. He feels her walls close tightly around him as he thrusts inside of her, making him groan out. She pulls his hair harshly, pulling his head back as he hisses out. Making him slam into her harder.

They both can’t help but yell out as time passes, making it nearly impossible to stay quiet. His cock slamming into her harder, a cry ripping out of him when her nails take down his back. Making him arch into her. His hand slips from her thighs to her neck, pushing on the sides as she struggles for air.

Their lips collide in a sloppy kiss as his thrusts speed up, his hair sweaty and dangling in her face.

Knots grow in their stomachs as they feel their release approach, making him speed his trusts more. “I-I wanna cum. Please vin, fuck please.” She moans out, making him grip her hip even harder. He bends his head back into her neck, biting the skin harshly as his thrusts grow sloppy. “Hold it.” He grunts into her ear, making her cry out as she tries to ward off the impending orgasm.

He feels her wetness seeping down his thighs as he slammed even harder, making her cry out as she shakes, trying her hardest not to cum. “Fuck vinnie I can’t, fuck please I can’t.” She sobs out, tears streaming down her face as she shakes, using every last strength inside her to hold it. She feels it breaking as it approaches, nearly breaking as tears stream from her eyes. He gowns out in her neck, feeling her walls tighten and shake as he tries holding on. “Cum for me.” He groans out, a groan breaking through him as she screams out. Wave of pure Ecstasy take over her body as she squeezes him inside her, making her cry out as she violently thrashes.

He can’t hold it any longer, feeling himself break as he yells out a deep groan as he cumsinside her, making both shake as her walls suck out every drop he lets out, making him shake as waves of white hot pleasure rake over one another.

They both lay there, his arms giving out as they shake. Their arms grabbing onto one another as they try calming the aftershocks of their orgasms. He uses all his strength to lean up, connecting their lips as they pant.

Feeling themselves sink into the soft mattress, they both lay on their sides, his clock still buried inside her, making both their eyes grow heavy. Before they fall into a deep slumber, they connect their lips.

[delwrites]

Akaashi being your Roommate would include...

otherwise known as another episode of me projecting <3

you guys are roommates from strangers, being housed together on a whim of panic of not having anyone else to go to

best choice ever

okay so we all know how perfect this man is

bestie it doesn't matter how messy or clean, loud or quiet you are, this man is gonna love you.

he finds cleaning really therapeutic, so if you are messy and have a messy room, this man will definitely find solace in helping you clean it, viewing it as the best bonding exercise there is

if you're loud,, no worries baby, Akaashi absolutely adores the background noise of you talking, singing and being your beautiful self,, he enjoys the comfort of knowing he's not alone

if you can cook, he really enjoys time spent cooking with you, if you don't however (join the club), he will insist on teaching you

and he would always try his hardest to eat with you, no matter what

mans just needs to make sure you eat :((((

he cooks you breakfast every day oh my gosh what a god

he just sees how tired you are in the mornings due to the lack of sleep the previous night, bubs is just trying to help you :((

and once he finds out just how bad your sleeping schedule is, he starts reading you to sleep, insisting the sleep is very important for your health (even if he barely sleeps too)

this man is lowkey a sugar daddy like just look at him

USES YOU FOR ALL HIS ART PROJECTS PLEASE LIKE PHOTOGRAPHY, PAINTING, DRAWING YOU NAME IT

if you can bake oh my gosh get in his pants

he'd absolutely love any little treats you'd make specifically for him

you cannot tell me he doesn't have such a sweet tooth

watching horror films with him is the best, he enjoys it so much just because he gets to comfort you fjbfuy32fj0j9c

please for the sake of my delicate sanity please hang up his pieces of art that you can tell are his favourites, just around the apartment, in hallways and the living room, I promise you, he will cry.

I see Akaashi as someone who cries a LOT,, just only in front of selected people

he doesn't like to cry in front of Bokuto, don't get him wrong, its not that he doesn't trust him, its just that he doesn't want Bokuto to worry for him :((((

so when he cries in front of you for the first time, bestie just hug him and let him sob into you please you just mean so much to this beautiful man <3

this is my favourite ninoencoiniof but Akaashi secretly writing a poem about you :((((( and keeping it hidden under his bed in a locked box (beside his diary because bestie you just know he keeps such an aesthetic diary) :(((((

and every time he feels himself missing you, he gets it out and reads it over, maybe even adding more :((((

for your birthday/ Christmas, after you two are so tight-knit, he gives you the poem :(((( that's how much he trusts your pretty ass

this man has such calming music taste, he feels most content when he may be listening to a gorgeous classical piece, maybe Winter by Vivaldi, or maybe the soundtrack to a ballet, such as None but the Lonely Heart by Isaac Stern, playing with your hands as you both lay snuggled up to one another on the sofa, waiting for the cookies you'd just prepared together to finish baking in the oven, the smell nostalgic to him

you'd also go on dates that aren't quite dates so often, like once or twice every week, he'll treat you to a "hang" at the cinema, then a few days later he finds himself asking you to a new candle lit restaurant that just opened up around the corner of your apartment complex

yet he still decides to tell himself that he insists on taking you because he's never felt so close to someone else before, in a different way from Bokuto (and wHY MIGHT THAT BE AKAA-)

this man plays the violin. so. well. try tell me im wrong. go on. pm me. tell me how the fact I just told you is incorrect. you'd look stupid <3 when you both get closer, he'd give you private performances in the living room. bae if you don't appreciate them and hype him tf up-

the best four am therapist there is

it takes a while for him to confess to you, because he has trouble admitting his feelings to himself. he doesn't mean to, its just that this god has trust issues, and its difficult for him to believe he could have such intense romantic feelings towards you. just give him time bestie, give him time

is definitely a romantic, so to confess, he writes a little monologue to recite to you, during a home made dinner that he was to surprise you with once you got back home to him,

he had set the table perfectly, singular rose matching the bouquet he had bought to gift to you, candles scattered around as well as one placed next to the rose on the centre of the table

he had worked so hard on it, put so much effort into it

and you just know his confession shall be wonderfully worded and elegantly executed

when you say yes to him asking to be your boyfriend (not if, when), he wraps you in a loose hug, not wanting to startle you with any overwhelming physical attention (poor overthinking bby) and mumbles a sincere thank you in your ear.

this man is a keeper <3

this man makes me weep and he should make you weep too.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

[toiletwipes]

not to be a softie but, reader knitting argbur a sweater or something cause they want to make sure he's warm and cozy is just *chefs kiss*

I don't know anything about knitting but yes. Yes.

And he doesn't know because he's gone all day but you're still on the couch, three large glasses of water and one redbull in your stomach, having stayed there all day to finish this.

The movie on the television is just background noise as your labor comes to mean something, a sweater slowly evolving from strings of yarn.

Blues fade into purples that fade into black. It's lovely in its own weird way and you can only hope he'll like it as you finish it and rest your cramping hands. That's when you get frantic knocks on the door. Opening them, he pushes past you and rubs his hands together as he tries to warm up, giving little thought to his roommate.

"Um, Will, I um, well I spent all day on this but I uh- well I made you a sweater," you choked on your words but pulling the sweater gently from where you had stuffed it in the couch, his eyes bulge. Bigger than his torso, definitely, and it definitely looked warm. Or at least, it was made from, quite possibly, love.

His eyes rake over you as you ramble about the process but he takes it with a gentle touch, heading to his room to change into it. Takes five minutes because he's staring at it before even taking anything off of himself.

And when he slides it on, it's warm. It's so warm it melts him, and it's all he can take to hold himself back from tackling you into the couch. With a shaky breath, he heads out of the room and finds himself with a sight that's nearly as warm as your sweater. You're on the couch with a cup of what looks like hot cocoa and and and you're patting the space beside you, the blanket lifted up so he can join you and cover himself with the blanket too.

He sits beside you and you pull out another cup from seemingly nowhere and hand it to him.

His own cup of cocoa.

And when he sips it, finding it the perfect temperature, you smile at him.

"Warm yet?" And it's not the cocoa or the sweater that makes him overheat. It's your smile and your kindness.

Makes him want to do something for you. But what exactly, is the question.

[jostepherjoestar]

An Educational Favour VII

ENDING! 

NOTsfw // FEM! reader & pronouns

warnings/notes: 18+ content, minors dni, risotto x reader alone finally, interc0urse, soft, romantic, intimate, face riding, scent kink? a little, squirting (kind of), ris is a service top don’t @ me, aftercare with ris, u can read into what risotto is trying to say/do readers 👀

part 1- 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

PART VII: 🖤Risotto🖤

It took some time to finally assess what you’d learned over the span of time since starting your educational adventure with your colleagues. After every session you had been left with your own thoughts, albeit in a haze, but it gave you time to relax and reflect. Illuso taught you to be confident and ask for what you want and shy Pesci made you put those communication skills to good use as you received one of the most intense orgasms you’d ever experienced. Damn that man has some great skills; it still makes you shudder to think back to your thighs clamped around his face, trembling in pleasure. Ghiaccio showed you how fun it could be to be hammered into the mattress while also desperately trying to make your capo feel good. Unlike Formaggio, who let the slow tempo take over and took his time to make you feel amazing. Then Melone who wasn’t afraid to get involved with Risotto as well, to let inhibitions go and indulge together. And your last, Prosciutto, showing you what it takes to handle being an obedient sub, which may or may not have gone just as rough as you had hoped. It had been very educational to say the least but it also made you realise how much you appreciated Risotto’s care. He’d been there the whole way through, getting his needs met in a different way, building up even more patience and strength. Maybe that’s what he’d taught you: sometimes the wait is worth it. And oh God did you want the wait to be over! It had been a month since your last lesson, the roughest so far, and you ached to be intimate again. This time with the very man you’d been craving since the start: Risotto.

For a while you pondered if you should just ask one of your teammates to help satiate that yearning, but it felt unfair. Everyone’s had their fun with you, except Risotto. So you remained patient, sure that your broody capo was very busy and trying to find the right time to squeeze you into his packed schedule. But the days kept dragging on, every call for a meeting squashing your hopes and desires when its subject was merely a new hit.

Over the few weeks you had been waiting you tried your very best to go the extra mile; willingly taking on a big chunk of paperwork so Risotto didn’t have to work such long nights, cleaning up his office, bringing him drinks and snacks throughout the day. It didn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated but his thanks were never more than just the word and a nod. He tried to hide his usual broody manner from lifting when you were around. His shoulders would relax and the tight grip on his pen would ease up, that little crease knitting his lovely brows together becoming ever so slightly less dented as he could breathe a soft sigh of relief with you near. Of course he won’t tell, or rather show you just how much he appreciates all you do for him; at least not yet.

If Risotto was truthful to himself, the wait wasn’t a planned one. Work kept piling up and your tired capo needed every bit of rest he could grasp. Knowing how good and obedient you had been with Prosciutto, Risotto knew you could handle it; well at least a bit. Your dark eyed superior wasn’t planning on anything as extreme as the former session, quite the opposite actually. He needed it to be perfect: the right day, the right mood and the right time.

And if your capo was being even more truthful to himself, his thoughts were starting to turn on him. He would be your last lesson. And the last of his men that had already quite successfully showed you how well they could indulge that eager curiosity. The final. The pressure of having to somehow top all other orgasms, top all other deep thrusts and caresses… it nagged at his mind. Pulling at the smallest insecurities that he’d freeze up when he finally had you all to himself. That he won’t be as amazing as your depraved fantasies had conjured him up to be. Even your lovely smile, your eyes that glimmered and had fireworks sparking behind them with every quick glance could only ease his mind so much.

The great Risotto Nero doubted his own expertise. The imposing, brooding, domineering capo fighting his very own powerful battle under that silly little jingly hat. Oh, what have you done to him?

--

For once you weren’t busy, lounging on the couch in the shared living room resting next to Melone. He’s become a bit of a confidant since your night with him, lending his ears so you could air any of your worries and more than gladly airing his own to you. Along with lots of jokes and talks late into the night, the whole ordeal had brought you closer to the usually more emotionally distant man. He’d opened up a lot more which you greatly appreciated since he’d already known so much about you.

At the moment you were just enjoying your rest, the tv in the background offering ambient noise as you nearly drifted off from the relaxed atmosphere, still a bit tired from your previous hit that strained your body. Melone idly talked about anything and nothing, the cadence of his smooth voice bringing you closer and closer to sleep. Your eyes fluttered shut for what felt like mere seconds but as it turns out you’d been taking a nap for a little while.

You were roused from the comfort of slumber by strong arms holding you close to their owner’s chest which felt well built and defined. They felt somewhat familiar in your haze, not sure if it was Melone. Too tired to really care you mumbled some indiscernible babbling, trying to thank whoever it was that so kindly laid you down on your bed.

Wait. This wasn’t your bed, the covers felt satiny, too soft and slippery to be your own thick comforter you liked to huddle in. It smelled completely different too. It smelled like… Risotto. You turned and breathed into the soft pillow, moaning in satisfaction as his smell engulfed your senses making your head feel even foggier. If you could bathe in it, you gladly would. Drenched in the most wonderful essence that clouded your thoughts in a hazy bliss.

“Mhh Ris? S’that you?” you mumbled sweetly as you came up for air, slowly opening your eyes again to assess the room you were currently in. You sat up a little, supported on your elbows, blinking at the darker hues of his surprisingly monochromatic interior. Furniture remained a dark stained wood, nearing a cool black while the walls were kept a light grey offering a lighter feel to the heavier placements of his blocky closet and bed. It was simple and straightforward, offering a seeming simplicity that contained more than it let on.

The room only lit by the soft light of the setting sun that streamed through his thinly veiled windows. As you scanned the room for any sign of him you felt a large figure loom right next to you, a little ways past the square bedside table. “Oh there you are.” A small smile gracing your lovely features, eyes meeting his darker ones that glistened with a certain excitedness you hadn’t seen before. Risotto was getting easier to read as time went on, small hints becoming clearer to his mood and thoughts, leading you to connect the dots on your own.

“All my meetings got cancelled for the day. Our boss had a sudden personal emergency.” his voice rang out even deeper than usual, the sound shivering through your core and straight into the slick building between your thighs. There was a certain relieved salacious hint to his tone, indicating it was finally time to get ravished. The long wait was finally over.

Heat rushed to your cheeks in abandon as the realisation set in. Risotto moved from his previous spot to cage you in his form, denting the mattress further with his added weight. His domineering figure offered no way out from under him, a dark gaze glued to yours as he drank in your expression. So cute and flustered, eyes wide in anticipation, a single touch could melt you. Risotto’s previous anxieties and insecurities were hushed and silenced by your innocent little stare, reminded of just how much he wanted you. Somehow you had still retained a sliver of chasteness, even after your trail of debauchery.

You swallowed thickly, too intoxicated and mesmerised by the realisation of the situation to initiate any further action. Even now you’d gladly wait for your patient capo to strike. “Wh-what are we doing today, Risotto?” Throat starting to feel dry under his continued glare, afraid to lick your plump lips to wet them again.

Risotto inched closer, his beautifully angular jaw relaxed of any previous stress moving ever closer to meet you just a breath away. Lingering over your lips he breathed in gently, as if sniffing his favourite cabernet sauvignon, basking in its essence but only for it to be yours. The one he’s smelled over and over but could never fully take in, for it was never yours alone, there was always another muddling your true essence.

“So sweet…” he mumbled, his breath tickling your lips that ached to meet his, to finally get engulfed by the man you’d craved for so long. Deciding to take a sip, sampling his sweet summer wine, his lips finally met yours. They were soft, softer than expected. Even more unexpected is how carefully he moved them against yours. For a moment he roamed cautiously as if to make sure this was really happening. You were glad he kept his pace slow, his deep kiss nearing a full short circuit of all your brain functions.

Never had you felt this before, an act so common making you feel like you’d entered the gates of heaven itself to be engulfed by anything you’d ever dreamed of. You matched his tempo, letting his tongue linger between your lips, offering a way in if he so liked. And he did, moving it with similar care and motivation, tenderly taking the lead but only to please you further. A moan escaped into his mouth, vibrating through him while your hand reached up to caress the side of his face, into his hair. He’d already forgone his usual hat, letting his silvery locks roam free. He leaned into your touch, gently rubbing a small thumb across his cheekbones and jawline. Mapping out his features in case you’d ever forget.

It made him break his kiss, slowly letting your head fall back into the pillow, admiring how plump your lips had gotten and how he’d love for them to never leave his again. No words were needed to communicate, your bodies told stories and iliads by themselves like they had been doing it for ages.

You both regained your breaths, continuing to drink up each other's flustered expressions. He looked so at ease, so at home, it made you wish he could feel like this forever. As if you weighed nothing more than a feather, he curled his arms beneath you and hoisted you up into him, cradling you and letting you wrap your legs around his hips.

To your surprise he fell onto his back, returning to his lustrous dark satin sheets with you resting on his hips. He never for a moment looked smaller or any less in charge, leading the way of your movements, knowing just what to do and how it could please you. You felt yourself get more and more excited as time went by. Your core feeling ready to explode before much was even done. You rested your hands on his chest, feeling his large length strain against his trousers, a reminder of your final challenge.

Your cheeky streak never left you, not even in this thick heavy fog of desire that seemed to permeate your very beings. You shifted in your seat to rub your clothed wetness against his aching length. The movement alone made him slightly hitch his breath, eyebrow twitching up in a playful manner to ask if you knew what type of game you’d gotten yourself into. You smirked back to let him know just how ready you’ve been to start, commencing once again with a snap of your hips. The move itself making you shiver out a moan as his girth slid perfectly between your folds, rubbing deliciously against your sore clit.

It was as if the sound awakened a new sense of hunger in the man underneath you, his eyes glazed over in lust knowing that his cock made you mewl so sweetly. That only he could truly satisfy that hunger you’ve been trying to satiate with his teammates. The thought alone made his cock twitch, springing him back into action with a great need to hear you whimper out his name.

He lifted himself up to meet your cute little face again, a sit up so casual like it caused his muscled core no effort. You couldn’t help yourself, bringing your lips back to his for a hurried kiss, a quick one to settle the craving. “Get undressed, you’re riding my face.” he demanded, kissing your jaw. His voice so closely against your neck sending yet another jolt of pleasure straight through you. Walls clenching around nothingness and awaiting his tongue.

You quickly undressed, discarding your clothes as fast as possible while trying not to look all too desperate, which was quite difficult because of his previous order to ride his face. He took off his top slow and deliberate, letting you gawk at his muscled arms and torso as they contorted. Risotto bathed in the attention, normally not one to overtly want people to stare or to crave others’ attention that much. But watching your eyes rake over his torso, your eager little glint shining brighter than any light in the room only made him want to indulge you more.

For now he’d keep his trousers on, taking in your lovely form that sat on his hips. Your plush thighs spilling over him so invitingly, the curve of your sides leading the way to your breasts that lay sweetly against your ribcage, nipples stiffened from all the excitement. He wanted to cherish every single bit of you, give every patch of soft skin the attention it deserved. If he was lucky enough he’d get the time today, and many times after to complete that wish.

It didn’t feel embarrassing to let him stare at you, his crimson eyes were so gentle when they took you in, engraving every curve and mound into his memories. Surprised that there could be even more appreciation for you than previously thought. 

Risotto’s large hand reached for your hip, taking in your shape and giving it a soft knead, as if to feel how pliable you were. His touch made your skin tingle, heated sparks spreading in pools around his digits. His other hand moved parallel, assessing the very handles he’ll be holding onto in a minute. “Come on then.” he smirked up at you, his dimple presenting itself so cutely. You felt like you could pass away at how adorable his smutty request was and how casual it felt to talk to your capo in such a way. Any shame or embarrassment just simply not invited to this party.

You did as you were told, positioning yourself right above his face, caging in his head like you’d done before to dear Pesci. Maybe today you’d writhe and moan in such pleasure again, the naughty thoughts sinking you down without Risotto even needing to guide you. It made him chuckle deeply into you as his mouth met your dripping folds, the ripples of his voice tickling you.

He began to lap at you, drinking up all of your sweet essence like it was his last glass of beloved cabernet. His tongue moving with the same care as before, tracing around your clit before giving it a suck with his lips, the aching bud of nerves already hardened with pleasure. You moaned at his ministrations, clamping your thighs while he worked you, bucking your hips rhythmically; setting a comforting pace. Risotto moved in tandem, holding onto your hips like before but gripping them tighter with his large palms, fingers digging into your gorgeous form. Hot breaths swiped at your mound, a dragon breathing steam out of his nose while he softly grunted into you. You felt even more slick trickle down, glad to hear him let go like he has before and not be afraid to be heard. You loved hearing how much he was enjoying himself.

Just like many times before, heat started rising, orgasm near and bringing in tsunamis of pleasure that crashed wildly at your insides, your head reaching new heights of haziness. “Fuck Risotto-” you got out the words between ragged pants and mewls, feeling your walls tighten around his tongue that would dip in from time to time to skillfully work inside. “M gonna come sh-it!” you hunched over to grasp at the sheets for any semblance of support, no place to hold onto the bed frame since it was just out of reach. As you snapped your hips a few more times, Risotto focussing all his attention on working you into a dizzying orgasm, you came on his face. A new sensation washing over you along with the pleasure of your peak, a gushing of sorts that made you moan out his name even louder while your legs trembled around his head.

The silken fabric was too soft, not giving you any grip whatsoever, having to support yourself on your hands while sparks rippled through every crevice of your being. And Risotto had no plans of stopping, keeping up his pace and gladly licking up all your juices, having felt him growl into you when you gushed over his face. You had stopped rocking now, too focused on remaining seated; panting and trying your best not to collapse into the mattress as he kept eating you out.

Risotto ingrained every single bit of your movements and the way he could make you squirm and tremble under his attention. How you yelped out his name during worn breaths, how your thighs and core were overheating from pleasure. He was making you feel this way and no one else for once. At this moment his only job was to make you come again, knowing how quickly you could be urged into your next orgasm if he just kept going. You weren’t the only one learning stuff on this educational favour.

With another strong swirl and suck on your overstimulated clit, your second orgasm was brought on. It made you fall onto the mattress, twitching as you lifted your hips away from his face to catch your breath. The cool air offering some sort of relief while your walls anxiously clasped around empty space. Risotto could finally breathe properly again, not that he wished to be doing anything other than servicing you, cursing his lungs for needing air. His chin and mouth were completely covered in your abundant slick; something he took in pride.

You slowly moved off of him completely, chests both rising and falling deeply. The only sound filling the room was that of your combined heavy breathing. For a moment laying there, relishing in the ambience of pleasure, realising that you were getting what you had wanted. You felt relieved, thankful that he’d made you wait because somehow it made it all the better. And getting in some experience certainly helped too.

“Please fuck me.” you plainly said, reminded of the first time you’d asked him and how nervous you felt, all of that gone now. You heard him breathe out a chuckle, making you turn your head to see why he thought it so amusing of you to ask such a thing. “What’s so funny Risotto?” you asked, smiling at his glistening lower face, wiping off the remainder with his sheets. You’ll just wash them later.

“You still think I’ll just fuck you.” he replied as casually as you’d asked. His facade did not let on any sort of humouring which made your stomach sink and eyes widen. What? Was he not going to fuck you? Your thoughts started spiralling into a panic, propping yourself up to question him further. But you couldn’t even do so, with one swift move he was back on top of you, caging you underneath him with that crimson glare boring through yours.

“I won’t just fuck you gattina.” he intoned, delicately moving a strand of hair back in place while speaking. He leaned back in close now, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he breathed out. “We’re going to make love. It’s your last lesson.” he purred, starting a trail of soft wet kisses from your jawline all the way down to your neck and collarbones. You still remained shocked, at least glad that he didn’t mean to reject you.

You were stumped. All that was somehow still a very smooth move despite scaring the actual shit out of you. You huffed out a relieved laugh now too. “You scared me for a second, Ris!” He was steadily working his way down to your chest, letting him take one of your breasts into his hand to knead it and sucking on the pert nipple of the other. His grip was strong but still careful, making sure to massage them just enough to hear your breath hitch. “I’d never leave you hanging high and dry. Unless you’d want me to.” you could feel him smile against your skin; the mischievous bastard. You playfully tugged at his silver locks, dark eyes shooting you a gorgeous smile that pierced right through you and melted your heart. He really was a bastard!

Your heart had settled back into its place, ready to continue and forget all about the short little panic he’d caused you. Guess that was just a bit more payback for testing his patience and strength throughout the sessions.

Risotto halted his succession of pecks right above your ribs, planting a trail where your bra usually made its home and planted a few more wet kisses over the indents that still marked your skin. Like his lips would make them fade and replace them with a loving memory of his touch. You could only stare at his deliberate movements, enamoured by the way he gently held onto your sides while he kissed you sweetly. You were squirming under him, trying your best to not ask him again to plow you into the mattress because by now you knew better; he’ll get to it. Eventually.

You sighed in satisfaction when he stopped, his thick fingers now moving downwards just above your mound. He ghosted over the area, digits barely felt which made goosebumps rise all over, a small yelp leaving your lips at the soft graze. He moved further down, dipping between your soaking folds carefully, avoiding any touch to your overworked bud which still ached to be stimulated again. A single finger slid inside your amply drenched hole now, pumping in and out of you at a slow pace.

Risotto looked up at you, meeting that expression he so loved to see. Lips slightly parted, a soft wet sheen over your forehead from your orgasms, cheeks that remained heated and puffy from arousal. With every thrust he heard a soft moan escape, eyes crinkled shut while he hit further and deeper inside of you with every push. The way your eyes shot open again as he entered another finger, the thickness of them stretching you open further. It felt amazingly tender to have him take all the time he needed - you needed- to adjust to his size.

Your soaked walls clenched and squelched around him, accepting more and more, ready for the precise thing you had been waiting to receive. He hadn’t been paying your sensitive clit any mind, the only focus on working you open. But the way his fingers curled, now three of them joined inside, tickling the most pleasurable spot nestled in your walls you let go and groaned loudly as he made you near another orgasm, head heavy and lost in a thick fog. He didn’t let you come however, feeling how your walls had quickened their grasp on his fingers and how your chest heaved and how those moans and groans sounded so desperate.

He moved himself out of you slowly, creeping up closer over you again and letting his coated fingers rest on your lips. Your eyes met again, glazed over in lust and a deeper craving to be even closer to him, those dark ones so trained on every small contortion and crease of your expression. You opened your mouth to receive them, suckling at the digits and lapping up your own juices with determination. Even propping yourself up a little to better your licks and sucks, eager to work him clean.

Risotto felt like he could burst, your tongue working with a focus that you couldn’t offer last time you had your mouth wrapped around him; too busy being fucked into oblivion on both ends. Satisfied with your cleaning he took them out of your mouth and kissed you again. Deeply and tenderly, tasting each other and your essence on his lips as tongues danced around. It was enrapturing to indulge so much but you were both ready to finally have his large leaking cock inside of you. He promptly discarded his trousers, his leaking head and impressive shaft bobbing as he got ready for you. The image alone never failed to surprise you, making your mouth water in anticipation.

“I’ve waited for this so long. Please don’t hold back, Ris.” you sighed as he kept you on your back, legs being spread open and moved up and wide with your knees bent closer to your chest. More than enough room to accommodate the man and his daunting length, the air no longer fresh or cooling; too heavy with the scent of lust and the heat of the moment. Risotto clasped both of your wrists in one of his hands, his large palms comfortably holding them and reaching them above your head where he held them pressed into the mattress. He leaned over you now, once again capturing you under him in a way that felt so protective and safe, the place where he’d take care of you and cherish every single moment pleasing you.

The familiar tip of his leaking member grazing just outside your hole, leaning at the entrance. Somehow the feeling made you tremble, the fires burning between your thighs lapping flames against him. “Oh I won’t hold back, you’re going to feel every single inch of me.” his wordiness surprised you, the way his deep voice carried making you weak.

His other hand supported his weight beside your head, letting his hips do all the work of carefully pressing deeper into you. The intrusion made you gasp, his head welcomed by your previously stretched walls. Wailing as he slowly inched further and further. He stopped every couple seconds, groaning deeply between heavy breaths, so vocal in how good you fit around him; so warm and inviting. “Cazzo you feel so good-” he muttered under his breath, starting to pump in and out of you, not even fully sheathed yet.

Being so stretched out, hitting every single spot and hidden pleasure-centers made you see stars, eyes pinched shut and squirming under his firm grasp on your wrists. It felt even better than you could ever imagine. He was perfect, made just for you and you for him. The final puzzle piece clicking in place.

When he finally buried himself inside of you, a thrust paced and calculated as to not hurt you in any way, his tip brushed against your cervix sending shivers down your body as you yelped at the sensation. He paused again, letting you pulse around him, feeling every contortion of your core. “Please keep going Risotto, please-” you whimpered, opening your eyes again to beg with a pleading gaze. Of course he can’t deny you, he’s never been able to.

Set back in action he started a steady rhythm, hips rolling his cock inside you with ease. Every single thrust brushing against your g-spot sending wave upon wave of pleasure through you. At this point no one was being quiet, much to your delight. His deep grunts and moans awakening a need to hear them on repeat every single day of your life. It only egged him on to hear you wailing, tears starting to prick the corners of your eyes while he continued. Completely lost in ecstasy, not a single thought in either of your heads other than this moment.

You felt your orgasm earn footing again, his cock reaching so deep and right. Feeling you clasp around him so often only made him twitch, getting close too and all too focused on making you come again before he can spill. “Touch yourself, I want to feel you come on my dick- You’re so beautiful.” He groaned desperately when you clenched even harder around him, his words affecting you greatly. He freed your wrists, letting his other hand support himself as well, letting him deepen his thrusts even further with the added grip.

You toyed your clit with vigour, your folds soaked with your slick letting you increase your pace. Desperate for your orgasm to wash over you while Risotto increased his speed as well. Chasing your peaks together, you reached it first. You could only mumble something that vaguely resembled Risotto’s name at this point, over and over like a mantra that lead your orgasm on. You felt yourself gush over his length again, dripping down onto his already soiled sheets. As you pulsed and writhed riding the waves of it to shore, Risotto followed suit. With a loud guttural groan you felt him tense up and twitch, releasing inside of you with languid spurt of his warm come. His thrusts slowed and sputtered as he kept coming. For a man of his expertise and experience, this was the first time someone had made him come this hard. Well, it was the first of many things he’s experienced with you.

Both breathing heavily as he stopped, resting above you and eyes opening again to adoringly stare at each other's satisfied faces. His eyes held a certain emotion he hadn’t let himself show before; he needn’t use words. You smiled back at him, that goofy satisfied one he always looked forward to seeing after a session, communicating back that you shared his sentiment. 

As soon as he pulled out you felt so dreadfully empty again but never have you felt more full on a different level. That hunger that gnawed at you before now finally satiated (even if just for tonight). You had gotten what you wanted and so much more. The look on Risotto’s face told you much the same for him as he laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms where you nuzzled his sweaty chest. You placed tired kisses on him, basking in his soft caresses over your shoulders and into your neck where he gently massaged your scalp. You melted into his touch, sighing deeply and feeling your sleepiness settle in again. “Thank you Risotto. For everything. I… I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.” you admitted, listening to his heartbeat settle with your head pressed against it, drawing circles into his biceps with your finger.

“I wasn’t sure at first but I’m glad we did it. All of it. It might be strange to say but-” he sighed as he planted another kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m proud of you.” he felt relief wash over him for finally having said what he’d wanted to for so long. It may have been such an unusual thing to have gone through together but he really was proud of you. For always being open minded and learning along the way, for getting what you wanted and even bringing the squad closer together since commencing the journey.

--

Sat between his legs, enjoying the warmth of the water and letting small bubbles fizz at your skin while you let Risotto massage your scalp. He worked the shampoo through your locks with care and purpose as you sat there, eyes closed, head tilted back, fully enjoying the moment. Having him with you as you regained your senses felt so wonderful, usually doing it by yourself as Risotto retreated in the past. But now was his turn to take care of you like he’d wanted. He washed your limbs, running the washcloth soaked in your favourite scented body wash over every plane of skin. Giggling as he paid extra attention to your breasts. “They need cleaning too.” he mumbled playfully. It was like you’d opened up a whole other side to your capo, finally showing slivers of his more vulnerable side, not afraid to let you in.

In return you washed his hair too, scratching and circling every spot that made him putty in your hands. You don’t think he’s ever been this relaxed before. You traced the lines of his muscles, mapping out dividing routes and connecting them again only to break off and discover new ones.

Perhaps staying in the bath a bit too long as you both pruned up, digits crinkled like raisins. Dressed back in the most comfortable clothes you owned, Risotto and you went out into the shared headquarters again. You felt renewed and somehow a bit changed since last walking through these halls. Everyone was seated at the long dinner table that faced the kitchen, talking loudly and passing plates and scooping up helpings of pasta and sauce. Their noise dissipating once you and Risotto entered, eyes now pointed towards your direction and following as you both took your usual seats.

You remained quiet, a smirk gracing your lips as you tried to contain your laughter at the curious stares of your colleagues. “Good nap?” Melone quipped, a salacious smile covering his face, he knows he’ll get all the details later on. “Uhu!” you nodded happily as you held out your plate for Illuso to fill it with pasta, who did as asked with a quirked eyebrow. “Learned enough?” Formaggio asked next, wolfing down his food and basking in the moment of openness. “One can never stop learning.” you replied politely, watching as your plate got handed to Pesci who had turned as red as the sauce he was ladling onto your plate. “Got good grades?” Prosciutto asked, letting himself join in on the questioning with a minuscule smile curling the corner of his mouth upwards. “Top of her class.” Risotto interjected, letting his dimple return as he started his meal. “I might do some extra credit, just in case.” and with that you began your dinner, happily twirling the pasta around your fork and letting your colleagues figure out how you will ever be satiated.

[wlntrsldler]

where’s my love (fred weasley x malfoy!reader)

PROMPT: Y/N Malfoy is allowed back to live with her family in Malfoy Manor after spending 6 years studying at Ilvermorny. She’s the black sheep of her family and now that she’s attending Hogwarts, she’s doing everything in her power to drive her father mad. Nothing else drives her father crazy than a Weasley, so why not date one? (fred weasley x malfoy! reader; fake dating au)

WARNINGS: none for now. 

WC: 2K+

where’s my love masterlist

HP Masterlist

-

PROLOGUE

“My dear,” your mother, Narcissa gasped, walking over to engulf you in her arms. She hugged you tightly, the tears from her eyes falling slowly on your exposed shoulders. “I’ve missed you terribly.” 

“I’ve missed you too, mother,” you confessed, dropping your bags to the side of your feet to return her gesture. You pulled away, wiping the tears still streaming down her face. “Six years is a long time.” 

Her face dropped at your words, looks of guilt and shame taking over her features. She knew that six years away from your family must’ve been difficult for you. You knew that if it was up to her, you would’ve stayed at home with her and Draco, and studied at Hogwarts as planned. But it wasn’t up to her. 

“He doesn’t know you’re back,” she whispered, her smile reaching her eyes. She squealed in delight, happy that both of her children were now home and for the moment— safe. “He’s going to be so excited.” 

“Do you think he’ll still like having me around?” you asked, nervously chewing on your bottom lip. “Like I said, six years is a long time and he’s a teenager now. What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?”

“Nonsense, he begs us to visit you every winter,” she took the bags from your hands, ushering you to go up the stairs. “Second door to your right.” 

You nodded, swallowing your fears and apprehensions down. You took in a deep breath, listening to the way the floors still creaked under your feet like when you were a child, running up and down the empty corridors with a young Draco behind you. You smiled fondly at the memory, remembering the giggles of a lively boy with the blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Draco was your best friend, your baby brother, the one you swore to protect. 

You knew even from a young age that your family was involved with Dark Magic, a practice you were never truly fond of. Your father hated your disapproval of your family’s history. He saw it in the way you were as a child and he hated the way you tried to get Draco as far away from his birthright as much as possible. 

To Lucius, that was enough to send you off and away from the Malfoy name. 

You stopped in front of the unfamiliar door, heart in your throat. Softly, you knocked on the wooden door, waiting for a response from the other side. You heard an incoherent noise from the other side, taking it as a sign to enter. 

Draco was sitting at his desk, back turned from the door. In his hand was his quill, the ink gliding flawlessly on his parchment. He had a drawer opened beside him and from where you stood, revealed piles and piles of sealed letters. You watched him silently, admiring how grown up your brother had become. He was definitely taller now and his features were more defined. He looked like a perfect mix of both your parents, the perfect Malfoy. You wiped your tears from your eyes, your chest growing heavy as you realized just how much you missed your baby brother. 

“Dray,” you whispered, holding yourself together. Your knees grew weak when he dropped his quill, spilling his ink all over the piece of parchment. 

Only one person called him by that name. He turned around, not believing who it was that called his name. When his eyes saw your figure, leaning on his door frame, he stood up, knocking his knees on the top of his desk. He scrambled up to you, halting quickly in the middle of his bedroom. His bottom lip quivered, “Y/N? Is that really you?” 

Shyly, you waved, not even bothering to wipe your tears rolling down your cheek. You approached him slowly, afraid of his reaction. “Hi, Dray.” 

Draco fell apart, rushing over to you. He towered over you now, wrapping his arms around you as he sobbed into your shoulder. He shook viciously, reminding you of when he was a child having panic attacks after his lessons about Dark Magic with your father. Young Draco would rush into your bedroom, looking for comfort from his big sister who always fought off the darkness with her light. You pushed your own fears aside, an instinct you never lost all those years, and cradled Draco in your arms. 

“I-I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he sobbed, pulling away from you. 

“You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” you teased, holding him by the shoulders. He chuckled at your attempt to ease the tension. You walked over to his desk, staring intently at the now ruined parchment. “Sorry bout that.” 

“No, no,” he reassured, pointing at the opened drawer of unopened letters, “This was actually for you. I’ve been writing to you since you left. Father has never let me send any off so I was going to send them when I became of age.” 

Your heart ached, realizing that the letters you wrote to your brother most likely never reached him. You reached down to retrieve some letters, eyes blurring again once you realized he’s written so much over the years. You placed the letters on his desk, walking over to give him another hug. “I missed you, brother.” 

“I missed you too,” he knitted his eyebrows together, soon becoming confused as to why you were suddenly allowed back home after all those years. He watched as you walked around his room, staring at the pictures on the wall. You took notice of his Slytherin robes hanging proudly in his closet. You stopped in front of the picture of the two of you, smiling at the camera when you were younger. You could almost hear your mother’s voice counting down in the background. You touched the photo with your fingers, cherishing the roughness of the material under the pads of your fingertips. 

He thought back to the final moments of last school year, after the Triwizard tournament, after Cedric’s death, after the Dark Lord’s rumored arrival. He began to remember the harsh murmurs and criticisms that people said about Harry— how he was lying about the rebirth of the Dark Lord and how it was all a part of an elaborate plan by Dumbledore to gain more power. He believed the whispers— of course, he would never pass up an opportunity to make fun of Potter— but now that you were standing in front of him, his sister that he hasn’t seen for six years, he knew that it must be true. 

After a while, Draco spoke up to confirm his suspicions. “Do you know why you’re here?” 

You shook your head, confusion evident in your eyes, “No.”

Draco merely nodded, turning his head to the side, unable to look you in the eye knowing that he’ll be fighting with the side you tried to help him escape from all those years. He didn’t know how to tell you that he'd accepted his fate. He’s accepted it for a while now. The dark forces that you taught him to fight against were now a part of himself. How does he fight a battle from within? 

-

There was only one thing Fred loved more than pranking and jokes— his family. He didn’t mean to walk into their conversation, nor did he mean to sneak around and listen to his parents talk about their struggles. He simply wanted a glass of water in the middle of the night. He stopped on the final step of the stairs when he heard his parents’ hushed whispers from the couch. 

“I don’t know how we’ll be able to afford everything this year,” Molly sighed, leaning her head against Arthur’s chest. The fire crackled in front of them, engulfing them in its warmth. “Ginny needs new books this year. The old ones are too worn out to be considered books. We’ll have to dig into our Christmas funds to afford it.” 

Arthur tightened his grip around her, “I’m sure they won’t mind that they’ll have to settle for scarves and vests instead of sweaters this year.” 

“Oh, I know,” she fussed, “Our children will always be grateful but I just wish they were able to have a good Christmas.” 

“We always make it work, don’t we?” Arthur reassured her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out this year too.” 

Fred tiptoed back up the steps, careful not to make much noise. On his way up, he couldn’t help but start to doubt himself. He and George began to talk about the possibility of leaving school next year in order to start a joke shop. It seemed like a great idea at first, how could it not? It was their biggest dream to start one. But now after Fred heard his mother’s hushed concerns, he couldn’t help but second guess himself. 

Where would they get the money from? How do they know they’ll even be successful? What if outside of Hogwarts their pranks were considered boring and immature? What if they’re meant for nothing else but for the corridors of their school? 

Fred pushed the door to his shared bedroom with George softly, cringing as the hinges squeaked. George stirred in his sleep, an annoyed groan escaping his lips. He was always a light sleeper. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, “Any louder, Freddie?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, tucking himself back in his bed— only he didn’t lay flat on his pillow. He sat up, wondering, guessing. 

George took note of it, copying his brother’s actions. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising one eyebrow, “Well, what’s on your mind?” 

Fred sighed, looking curiously at his twin, “What if we just stayed at school and worked for the Ministry?”

George let out a snort, laughing quietly in the dark. He froze after realizing Fred wasn’t laughing with him. He gulped, “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he stated, shrugging. Even in the dark, unable to make out the expression on each other’s faces, George knew his brother was afraid. Fred continued, “I mean, would it be so bad? At least we’d make a decent living, right? Help out mum and dad?”

“I suppose.” 

“Then it’s settled.”

“But can you see us working in a cubicle for the rest of our lives, Freddie?” George asked. “Because if you say yes then I’m inclined to believe that you’re actually Percy who drank Polyjuice potion to look like my twin brother.” 

“I’m me, you git,” Fred threw a pillow at George, laughing slightly at his comments. “I just… I don’t know, Georgie. I want to help mum and dad, not add on to their plate.” 

“Believe me when I say that they’ll get a load off once we move out of here.” 

The two boys chuckled at the statement, knowing it was most likely true. They did hog the food, leaving virtually none for Ginny and their parents. However, Ron also ate for a village so in all honesty, it’s not all their fault. A comfortable silence fell upon them, the creaking of the stairs an indicator that their parents were finally turning in for the night. It made Fred smile knowing that they were finally going to get some rest. 

“Georgie?” Fred broke the silence after a while. A half-asleep George mumbled into his pillow. Fred took it as a sign to continue, “You reckon mum and dad would still love us if we started our joke shop?”

“Mate, I reckon mum and dad will love us regardless of what we do.” 

Fred was content with that answer. He moved down to rest his head on his pillow, closing his eyes as he began to drift away. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would start to come up with new Weasley products to sell next school year. New batches and new designs to start the year off strong. He and George will make money, enough to save for their lot at Diagon Alley, and enough to sneak into their parents’ Christmas fund. Whatever it may take, Fred will somehow find a way to provide for his family. He solemnly swears. 

-

A/N: AHHH here’s my fred fic!!! i’m so excited for this fic. this fic will be very heavy on family name/ reputation. also, draco is good in this fic (kinda) he’ll still be canon asshole draco but deep down he’s a good guy (as you can see in this prologue) 

also, this fic is based on where’s my love (acoustic) by syml

i’m tagging everyone who expressed excitement for this fic but i won’t tag you in the next part unless you let me know directly that you’re still interested! thanks guys!

@cappsikle @you-make-children-cry @bonkyboinkybucky @lionlikewolflike @britishspidey @girlbabyvelez @pillowjj

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Knitting You a Home - 1

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: Besides a storm, none. Maybe a few editing mistakes.

Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

June 2018…

The wind howled while rain pelted your house as the storm refused to let up. You softly groaned, scrunching you nose up as you tugged the warm blankets tightly around your body, burying your face into the pillow. It was a weak attempt at trying to fall back asleep, but it was necessary since you had to be up to open the shop at nine in the morning.

It was silent in your house with the exception of your room, where you had a playlist of instrumental music playing. Absolute silence unnerved you and the music served to help sleep at night when the shadows haunted you as you slept. Tonight however, the soothing notes of the violin did nothing to ease you back into your dreams.

You squeezed your eyes shut as thunder rumbled overhead, wishing once again that you hadn’t woken up during the storm. Living on your own had its perks, but going through storms all alone wasn’t on that list.

Lightning cracked in the midnight sky, lighting up your room briefly just as your phone vibrated against the nightstand. Groaning, you forced yourself to roll over, blinking until you were able to read the numbers glowing from your alarm clock. It was almost four in the morning. Why the hell was someone calling you?

It took a few tries, but after fumbling around you nabbed your phone and successfully swiped the green icon.

“Hello?” Your murmured, huddling back under the blankets.

“Thank God you answered; I need your help.”

Frowning in confusion, you lifted the phone up, squinting as the bright screen came back on. The number wasn’t one you recognized. “Who’s this?” You asked instead.

“It’s Luna,” the voice answered. In the background there was rustling and multiple voices talking over each other. “Listen, I know it’s wicked late, but I’m at the Homeless Center and I have a huge favor.”

You turned the lamp on as you sat up, pulling your knees up to your chest as you tried to listen easier. “Luna? What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the Homeless Center for Hybrids,” Luna answered, raising her voice to be heard over all the noise. “This is probably me asking too much, but I have a hybrid here and with the storm we don’t have much space left. I was thinking and I thought you had a spare bedroom but I couldn’t remember…is there any way you’d be willing to let a hybrid stay with you? It wouldn’t be forever.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” waving your hand as if she was here, you leaned your head back against the headboard. Outside, lightning flashed again making you flinch. “It’s four in the morning Luna.”

There was a bang and at first you thought it was just another clap of thunder, but on Luna’s side you heard whimpering. Her voice was hushed as she reassured someone that it was going to be okay. “I know, but I wouldn’t be calling unless I thought it was important.”

It was insane to be going outside during the storm. Glancing out your window, it was obvious that it wasn’t letting up anytime soon. The best thing to do was to just stay inside where it was safe. That was the sane idea.

“I’m leaving now,” you said instead. Throwing the blankets off, you hurried to your closet to throw on some warm clothes as Luna informed someone, most likely the hybrid, that you were coming.

Time was on the line so you hurried to dress in the jeans and sweater that was thrown over the chair in the bedroom. Despite the lack of information you were given about this hybrid, you nabbed some towels and two umbrellas. In a matter of a few minutes your rain jacket was even thrown on.

“This is absolutely insane,” you muttered, rushing back to your room for the purse that you forgot contained your car keys and everything else. But even as you thought that, you tied the bag that you had stuffed the towels in so they wouldn’t get wet, and after throwing up the hood on the jacket, hurried out to the car.

You didn’t live in the center of town and with the storm still going wild, you were forced to go slower than usual, but it gave you plenty of time to think. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Luna to call you during the middle of the night, sometimes when it was extremely important you would wake up to her banging on the front door until you answered. Out of everyone she knew, you were the only person who would answer her calls, even if it was at a time like this. When she did give you a heads up though, you were sure to have coffee or tea on the stove by the time she arrived.

It wasn’t unusual for her conversations to turn to her place of work, but this was the first time that she called you to let a hybrid stay at your place. Shaking your head, you increased the speed of the windshield wipers and glanced at the tall pine trees, hoping that the lightning wouldn’t hit any of them. Luna would explain once you got there.

When you entered the Homeless Center for Hybrids, you didn’t see Luna anywhere. Instead, various of Hybrids filled the building as the staff ran around. It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was a result of the storm, which wasn’t unusual and typically everyone was prepared for times like this, but never before had you seen it this wild.

Cots were everywhere in the building, and not just in the large open rooms they typically had set up for Hybrids to sleep in. The waiting room and hallways had cots lined up everywhere with names written on makeshift signs to show that they were taken.

Nobody spared you a second glance as you tried to find the office. Hybrids who were soaking wet with towels draped around the shoulders and dry clothes in their hands were heading to the locker room to change, and staff workers were rushing around with arms laden with various supplies and Hybrids in tow.

“Hey!”

Spinning around, you spotted Luna standing in the middle of the room, a stack of blankets in her arms as she waved to catch your attention. You raised your hand and gave a little wave, watching as she made her way to you, passing out blankets to Hybrids she passed along the way.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Luna greeted you, a tired smile appearing on her face when she finally reached you.

Nodding, you looked around when the sound of a baby crying filled the room. “So, where’s this hybrid?” You asked, looking at her.

Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and the shoulders of her shirt were wet. Despite how early in the morning it was, Luna was wide awake. “He’s in the office. All the noise and smells were overwhelming him.” Gesturing for her to follow you, she led you through a hallway passing Hybrids who glanced up from making their cots. “That’s why I called you. You live away from the center of town, which is perfect for him, and it’s quiet so he’ll be able to relax.”

“What kind of hybrid is he?”

Luna glanced over shoulder, slowing as you stopped in front of the office. “He’s a wolf Hybrid.” She didn’t give you a chance to answer before softly knocking on the door a second before poking her head in. “Hey there, is it alright if we come in?”

You didn’t hear a reply, but apparently it was okay because Luna was walking into the office, holding the door open for you. The office was small, with only one desk in the corner with a computer on it, a row of file cabinets labeled A-Z, a mini fridge in the other corner, and along the wall to the left of the door was a green couch.

He was sitting on the couch, silently watching as you carefully closed the door behind you.

“Namjoon, I want you to meet my friend. You’re going to be staying with her for a while.” Luna smiled as she introduced you, not minding how quiet Namjoon was.

Softly smiling at Namjoon, you waved as you stood next to Luna. He didn’t say anything else, simply glancing at you before his eyes focused on the bag in your hands. “Oh,” you said, opening it. “I wasn’t sure if you had been caught in the storm or not, so I brought towels.”

When you looked up however, the words died out. Namjoon had raised an eyebrow and looked down at himself, more specifically, his clothes. His jeans had dirt stains on them and his once white sneakers were grey. His white t-shirt was in the same state as his jeans with the addition of a few holes in odd places, and the leather jacket was well worn out. But he was completely dry.

“Namjoon came here a few days ago,” Luna answered. “But with this storm, it’s been so chaotic and loud…”

You nodded in understanding, glancing at Namjoon’s Hybrid ears. They were twitching and flickering back towards the hallways. The door only muffled everyone’s voices. You could only imagine that if it was loud for you, it had to be painful for him.

“Alright,” you breathed out, gaining the attention of Namjoon. “If you want to stay with me at my place, I think we should leave soon. I don’t know how it was here, but the lightning was bad up by my place, and I really don’t want to get halfway home and find a bunch of trees knocked down.”

Luna settled a hand on her hip, smiling at Namjoon like his silence wasn’t unusual. “Like I told you earlier Namjoon, I wouldn’t have suggested staying with her unless I one hundred percent knew you’d be safe. I trust this girl with my life.”

Rolling your eyes at her joke, you ended up grinning anyways. “You’re just saying that because I make you stuff.”

“Don’t you try and steal my thunder here.”

You giggled, but when you looked back at Namjoon, you were startled to see that he was already staring at you. It was a little odd, but you mentally shook it off. He came to the Homeless Center for Hybrids, and from the lack of a collar around his neck, anything could have happened to make him suspicious of humans.

“Namjoon, do you, want to come with me?” You gave him an encouraging smile, hoping that it would help him to feel more comfortable around you. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but you’re more than welcomed to come home with me.”

The spot between his eyebrows crinkled as he frowned, his lips parting for a second before he pressed them together. He looked back at Luna, who gave him an encouraging nod.

“We’re not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” Luna softly answered. “Here, Hybrids have free will. You, get to make the decisions for yourself Namjoon. Not me. Not my supervisor or boss, and not my crafty friend here. It’s up to you.”

It hurt to hear Luna explain that, but it was common around here. Hybrids came in from all different backgrounds either finding their way here on their own, or were abandoned by owners who no longer cared or loved them. When it was cases like that, the road to moving on and trusting another human took a long time.

With the two of you watching Namjoon, it didn’t go unnoticed when he stood up with a nod. There was a rip in the green fabric of his backpack, but he slipped it on his shoulder and focused on you, waiting for you to lead the way.

Opening the bag, you handed him an umbrella as you zipped up your jacket. “I parked as close as I could, but it’s raining like cats and dogs out there.”

He didn’t say anything, his face remaining neutral and unwavering, but his hands were gentle as he accepted the umbrella. For a brief moment, his eyes softened when his fingers brushed against yours, only to become guarded once you took your hand back.

“Well then,” you said, unaware of how that touch had affected him. “Let’s go home Namjoon.”

[bandaigaeru]

heliotropes and headphones - lee felix

→genre: neighbor au (but felix is kind of a flower nerd, so there are some floral themes i guess) →synopsis: you thought that he was just another loud neighbor, but he has his complexities →word count: 6.8k →pairing: felix x gender neutral reader →author’s note: sorry this took so long. i had two drafts of this and was stuck between which one to upload! 

i.

Green Noble. The dilapidated brick building down the street from the infamous Hwang building. Its red clay diluted from the years of harsh nature. Marked neatly by the metal sign grounded by stakes on the small, square front lawn with a brownish background and a single green tree on the right. 

This is home. In all its cobwebbed glory. With its graying walls built too thin. And its ridiculous utility prices. 

“Why don’t you just move in with me?” your best friend inquires, his voice crackled by the distant connection. 

You sigh, distractedly folding laundry and tossing it into corresponding drawers. “I’ve told you, Chan, I want to be close to work.” 

The boy releases a deep sigh, masking the distant television mumble for a moment. “I only live a couple of blocks away.” 

“Those blocks matter when it’s pouring rain and public transport is shut down for the night,” you counter rather quickly. 

You wonder if your neighbors can hear the conversation. Probably so. You might be this week’s gossip highlight. Gasp: the person in C11 has a boy who wants to move them out? Absurd. 

Chan is defeated, left to quickly assemble another conversation. You distantly listen, focusing more so on ironing your business casual wear. Dark, earthy tones creased to near perfection. Emphasis on the ‘near’: you never quite got the hang of ironing. 

“And then I told him that he cannot just sneak into my house in the middle of the night because he wants to talk about squirrels,” Chan continues. 

But you cannot bring yourself to listen. Nor to quirk up and add that this is another reason you refuse to move in with him. 

In the apartment beside you, a more intriguing conversation unfolds. 

“I don’t think we can keep living here,” the feminine voice attempts to whisper. 

You instinctively inch towards the wall, abandoning your phone (whose audio still rings a distant Chan) to press your ear on the cold wallpaper. 

“I’m pregnant,” the girl admits. Voice slightly drained and you can picture her pressing a palm on her stomach, slightly swollen against her cotton shirt. 

Looks like you might not be the highlight this week. 

Defensively, you take a step back, eyes widened as if you just heard someone unexpectedly confess to murdering your entire family. In a way, it feels like someone has. These neighbors, on the left end of your apartment, are no ordinary neighbor duo. Loud family gatherings are always followed with the young woman delivering freshly baked goods or a scarf she knitted as compensation. 

They are one of a kind in this hellhole of dramatized conversations and reality show drama. You have the right to be upset. Inevitably, in their place, will come some insolent douchebag with no regard for how loud his headboard bangs against the wall. 

Chan calls your name, muttering to himself if maybe you fell asleep. You let the end-call noise ring in your ears as you sit in a silent stun. 

Hey, if all goes wrong you can just move in with Chan. 

ii. 

You hear the neighbors before you see them. Loud conversation rings in the hall, the blatant reminder that they probably weren’t briefed on the paper-thin walls. You drowsily turn your back to the wall, pulling a blanket above your head. Only to marinate in the stuffy warmth for a few moments. 

The clock reads 8:10 A.M. Too early for Chan to be awake, so you can’t even bother him with the headache that lingers. 

So instead, perhaps to supersede waking Chan, you step into the hallway with only your pajamas and bedhead to represent you. Nothing screams, “Welcome to Green Noble!” quite like sloth pajamas. 

You expect to stalk a little closer to the door before, abruptly and inevitably, colliding with the ones with bells clinging to their clothes. But alas, leaning on the partitioning wall between your apartments, is a freckled boy. His head leans against the wall, thick strands of hair laying flat on his forehead. White earbuds are pressed into his ears, likely playing a threatening chorus of words, for his dark clothes suggest it. 

“Hey,” you say, waving a hand in front of his shut eyes. As if the air current will snap him out of whatever emo music video he thinks he’s in. 

Though, queuing a sigh to slip over your lips, he does not budge. Continues to lightly tap a melodic tune against his door frame with his fingertips. 

With the tip of your slipper, you nudge his black Converse. 

You have awoken the sloth. Eyelashes slowly part, revealing tired eyes to greet yours. 

Your lips part to begin the neighborly spiel when you realize his headphones are still in, and he’s making zero effort to pause it. Awkwardly, you make a gesture to them. His eyes dart to the ceiling, unamused, as he pulls one out. He leaves it to dangle at his side, beside his hand that continues its tapping. 

“Hi, you must be the new resident. I’m Y/N, over in C11,” you nod to the apartment whose door remains cracked, a single wedge of  a shoe keeping it from locking you out. 

He presses his lips together in a measly attempt of a smile. Curtly, he nods. “I’m Felix.” 

His voice takes you by surprise. Oddly, despite its overwhelming depth, it echoes in your ears with an addicting honey like consistency. Certainly, it will stick in your head, even if this is the only moment you talk to him. 

“Welcome to Green Noble,” you smile, instinctively raking fingers through your rat’s nest of hair. 

iii. 

It creeps through the walls, oozing in the air like thick humidity. That booming laughter, almost mocking. You roll over, pressing a pillow to your ear. Another burst. You roll over again and repeat. 

These voices, you know, do not include Felix’s. Hell, if you were going to have to listen to these neverending storytimes about some dude named Changbin, it should be his. That honey voice, you begrudgingly think, lulling you to sleep. 

Life cannot give you an easy break like that, though. 

You’re left to stare at your ceiling, counting all the discolored splotches of water damage. You even listen to those amusing stories that garner such laughter. And it’s not eavesdropping, because the voices are crystal clear in your ear. 

Perhaps Chan will allow you to spend some time at his apartment, where walls are thicker than molasses and secrets are left at that. 

But then again, is it worth it? With all the stuck up neighbors and even higher rent (it’s miraculous Chan can pay it on his own). 

Can’t you die from sleep deprivation, though?

These conflicting thoughts ricochet off the walls of your mind until the early morning, when your alarm screams you awake. 

You’re not sure if you truly slept, but when you return to your senses, the neighboring giggles have vanished. 

All you are left to do is prepare yourself for work in a thick, tired haze. Cigarette pants and a muted green shirt, tied together with a blazer and fancy shoes that never fail to leave your feet throbbing. 

As you’re locking the door behind you, a bagel secured between your teeth, you stare at C10. The bleached oak staring back, sealing away all of the questions you have with a finite period. 

You’re shaken from your trance by the barking down the hall. The boy wielding her leash tries to hush her, but the Husky continues. He glances around, as though he’s about to perform a mystical trick that cannot be seen by anyone, before picking the excited puppy up and walking to the stairwell. 

With a smile, you follow after him. Behind closed doors, you can hear bacon sizzling and drowsy ‘Good morning’s. As you’re passing C4, you hear a yelp of joy. She must have gotten the job. And when you’re waiting to board the elevator, an unknown man steps out of C1. Large mounds of purple trailing his neck. He awkwardly stands beside you, arms pressed deep across his chest. 

You expect nothing less from Green Noble. 

iv. 

You’re beginning to think that Felix was a figment of your imagination. A month has trailed in dreary blinks. Loud nights. Long days. A sparing nap in the breakroom. But not once have you passed the intimidating, freckled boy in the halls or stood in the elevator with him. 

Oddly, you miss his aura. The one that struck you like lightning. 

“Do you wanna spend the night?” a voice returns you to the cracked sidewalk. The cicadas trilling in the distance. 

You look over to the boy beside you, his lips pursed as he focuses on his shoes. Regimenting each and every step. “Nah. I think my mom’s supposed to call me,” you lie, as though it was a reflex. As soon as the words tumble from your lips, you wish to spoon them back in. Subconsciously, you’re scared that the moment you’re not there, Felix will appear.

“Eh, that’s fine,” Chan shrugs. “Jisung will probably come over again and hog the TV.”

You fight the innate remark climbing up your throat with a wry laugh. Jisung is a faceless figure whose name has plagued your conversations since you began working with Chan. Nearly ten months. In your head, he’s a sweaty couch-surfer who constantly rubs his nose with the back of his hand. 

Similar to the neighbors with faceless voices, you realize. At this point, you should be marketed as part of their friend group, with all your knowledge of their affairs. A Changbin who nearly fell onto the train tracks because he was drunk. A Jeongin who dropped out of college because he preferred sleeping. A Minho, whose name sounds vaguely familiar, who adopted yet another cat. 

You find yourself dawdling on the sidewalk, listening to Chan’s quiet story about a coworker, and wondering what drama you’ll unintentionally learn about tonight. Perhaps a new name. 

“Do you think the lack of sleep is starting to get to you?” Chan cuts in, nudging you gently with his elbow. 

You hum, glancing up at him with widened eyes. Chan doesn’t directly talk like this, normally. 

“You seem,” he hesitates, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, “detached.” 

Sheepishly, you look at your shoes. Inside those tight walls are your feet, throbbing like always. “I’m not sure. I don’t feel much different.” 

Chan releases an abrupt breath that sounds adjacent to a laugh. “Just try to get some sleep. Talk to your neighbors if you need to, I’m sure they’ll understand.” 

Oftentimes, it appears that people do not realize they’re breaking until one calls them out. Like this. Suddenly, your eyes feel heavy. Shoes scrape against the sidewalk, little energy offering their will. 

“Maybe I should talk to them,” you sigh as your apartment building enlarges with each step. 

Chan leaves you at the steps of Green Noble after a quick inquiry to assure you could get home safely. He’s good like that, you drowsily think as you input the code to the door. You can feel his eyes on you until the door forces a barrier. 

Green Noble’s lobby is like what anyone would expect; cheap linoleum and a few chairs bought secondhand. Behind the counter is the mastermind of this complex. Her cheeks sag from the harsh years, her eyes forced into a permanent squint from habit. 

“Hi, Mrs. Kang,” you say as you pass. 

“Oh, Y/N,” she calls when your finger is just about to press the arrow of the elevator. 

When you turn to her, she is staring into the greenroom. You take a few steps back to match her gaze. A familiar boy, earbuds and dark clothing, stands before a tall Madagascar Dragon tree, playing with the spiky leaves carefully. 

“He’s cute,” Mrs. Kang says, her voice wielding a proud smile. 

“He’s my neighbor,” you admit. You contemplate telling her of the late nights left to stare at your ceiling in your ruthless drowsiness, yet you don’t. You can’t, because she’s urging you to go talk to him about some plant-based lifestyle she had heard about when buying the recent additions to the garden. 

You stand next to him for a moment, staring at a particular cactus bud. Bright pink, yet so small you might miss it. 

It reminds you of a lost fairy tale your mother had whispered to you during your former years. A young boy lost in the wake of an avalanche, abandoned after a family trip gone wrong. He sits beneath a wavelike rock, shivering and shouting for help. There’s this two-seater plane flying overhead, and a distraught lady looks out of the window and sees his yellow coat. 

Felix turns to look at you, his fingers still pinching a leaf. You meet his eyes. Like you had on that first day, you gesture for him to remove an earbud. But instead, he says, “I can hear you.” 

It takes you by surprise, pricks awakeness in your eyes. “Um,” you stutter, “Mrs. Kang wanted me to ask you if you’ve heard of a plant lifestyle. Using a bunch of plants in your-”

“I’ve heard of it,” he cuts you off. “I’d never be able to pursue it, though. Shit’s expensive here.” 

He has an accent, you realize. You want to ask about it, even part your lips to begin a question, when he barges back in. 

“Do my friends bother you at all?” he asks, shifting his gaze behind him. He walks over to the flower bin, kneeling to pluck a wilted petal from a rather lively purple flower. 

You say, slightly louder, “Why do you ask?” 

His shoulder twitches in a shrug, “You have eyebags. They’re loud. I can add two and two.” 

Well, since you’re here, you might as well tell him. “If you’re asking if they’re the reason for my eyebags, or maybe assuming, then yes. Since you’ve all moved in, I’ve lost a bit of sleep.” 

Then, when he glances over his shoulder to meet your eyes, you exasperatedly add, “But it’s fine.” 

The corners of his lips upturn, and you catch a glimpse of his glimmering teeth as he shakes his head. “They’re not paying rent. I can talk to them.”

Your heart flutters as you thoughtlessly say, “Really?” 

Perhaps too quick. And perhaps too eager. 

His features soften as he stands up. He brushes his palms against his black jeans before approaching you. “Did you feel like you couldn’t talk to me or something?” he inquires, readjusting his headphones. 

Warily, you slowly nod, though you’re unsure if that was the reason. Maybe you were just nosy and begging for the knowledge of lives not yours in exchange for no sleep. 

His laugh vibrates along each square inch of your skin. No doubt, it brings heat to your cheeks. “Well, really, they’re not roommates or anything.” 

“What are they then?” you ask. 

“Friends desperate for a distraction,” he says with a shrug, as though the answer is obvious. 

Your feet do not move, even after he passes with his promise still at the forefront of his mind. In your mind, he glows with an orange aura. As though the sun is his backdrop. 

His clothes, you realize, do not define him. And now you wonder what he listens to. 

v. 

Your arms keep the imprint of your sheets when you get up for work the next day. Record breaking: you fell asleep before midnight. Even more so: you slept the whole night. Not once were you awoken by a neighbor dropping anything or a midnight conversation that they think is merely between them and the stars. 

You’ll have to thank Felix again. Whenever it is he appears again. 

The hallway is a ghost town. Cold air snugs against your skin. Behind doors, you hear nothing. Perhaps you shouldn’t think much of it, since it’s only inching towards eight A.M.

Hyunjin, your coworker with the blessing of blood relation in the work hierarchy, meets you halfway down the street. He offers you his extra americano, regarding it as an apology for dumping his editorial on you. 

“It’s fine, Jin,” you say as you bring the straw to your lips. 

“Still, I feel bad. My dad’s just been so up my ass lately and I really needed a break-”

His words dissipate as your mind begins to wander. What exactly had Felix said to his friends? “Hey, the neighbors can hear all your dirty little secrets.” Obviously, he had to have said something to scare them a little. That’s the only way you can get people, let alone men, to listen. 

All is relinquished from your mind when you come in contact with the dark haired boy you had ditched yesterday. Dark bags cling to his eyes and his white button up is crookedly buttoned, as though he got dressed in the dark. 

“Woah, who fucked you last night?” Hyunjin snickers. 

Chan shoots him a lazy, tired glare. “Jisung would not shut the fuck up about some National Geographic show. And when I tried going to bed, he just put it on max volume.”

You fight a laugh. 

He turns to you with fiery eyes. “This could be settled if you would just move in with me.” 

“How?” your eyebrows jump in curiosity. 

Hyunjin reaches out for the large glass door of Hwang Publishing. He holds it for you and Chan, whose stomping steps guide you to the elevator. 

Finally, after he’s pressed the up arrow, Chan huffs. “Jisung is scared of new people.” 

You stare at him. “That’s only, what, a two-month solution. He’ll get to know me eventually. And then what?” 

Hyunjin intervenes, “No, I don’t think you realize how introverted Jisung is. He’ll treat you like a friend upon meeting you and then completely disappear for months. It took me a year to learn anything about him!” 

Still, you think this is a temporary solution for a long-term problem. “Chan, you just need to tell him you’re a working man who needs his sleep.” 

Chan’s eyes dart from the floor to meet yours. “Do you think I haven’t tried?” 

The elevator dings. You file in. Hyunjin stands at the back, while you and Chan take either side. You press your back against the metal rod, hands grabbing onto it when the elevator shifts beneath you. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to that. 

“Would you like to spend the night at my apartment for a few days?” you offer. 

Chan’s face twists. “Don’t your neighbors keep you awake too?” 

“I don’t think that’s a problem anymore,” you admit. “I talked to the guy who’s renting. They’re just his friends who don’t live there.” 

“Freeloaders,” Hyunjin scoffs. 

You tilt your head at him, feeling a quick urge to defend them. “Not really.” 

Chan shrugs when you look at him again. “If you wouldn’t mind me staying there. I’ll tell Jisung I’m going out of town or something.” 

You nod as the elevator comes to a stop. “It’s a plan.” 

“That’s like a cute, prolonged sleepover,” Hyunjin comments as you’re leaving the elevator. 

You and Chan share a look. The best friend kind of look that speaks louder than words and leaves you biting your lip to muffle a laugh. 

vi. 

He grunts as he falls back onto your couch. 

“Don’t do that,” you mutter, hand wrapping around the fridge handle. 

“Why?” His head is thrown onto the back of the couch, his eyes closed in a peaceful naplike view. 

“I don’t want my neighbors thinking I’m fucking some random dude,” you scoff as you grab two bottles of water. 

Chan’s eyes widen in offense. “I am not some random dude.” 

You sink into the cushions beside him. “They don’t know that.” 

The thing about Chan is that he’s always working. Volunteering to man the charity event, promising to cover someone’s editorial, offering to take the intern to lunch because he knows how hard it is. So when you glance over at him, halfway through the movie he had been raving about, you’re not surprised to hear little snores drifting past his lips. 

A small smile claims territory on your lips. 

The time on your phone reads 7:19. Maybe you should go get dinner. You can stop by that Chinese place he loves. 

In your wake, you leave a small note detailing your whereabouts. But the moment you’re out of your apartment, pulling the door shut behind you, you know you are about to be sidetracked. 

Black jeans, a black graphic tee with a duck in the center, and the trademarked black Converse. This time, he only has one earbud in. His back is pressed against his door. Fingertips play a harmonious tune. 

“Are you locked out of your apartment?” 

He jumps. The look of shock on his face, you don’t think you can ever recreate it. 

“No. I was, uh, waiting for you.” 

“Huh?” You didn’t expect him to flip the script like that. 

“I know you have a boyfriend, but I was wondering if you want to hang out sometime. I hear the music from your apartment sometimes, I guess when you’re getting ready for work, and I think we’re a bit similar.” 

Perhaps laughing was not the instinct you should have acted on. His face dips in a funk of disappointment. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” you manage between bursts, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“Who’s the guy then?” he asks. 

“Chan? He’s just one of my friends from work,” you clarify with a nod. 

When a painful, excruciating silence blankets you, you add, “I’ll take you up on the offer.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” Felix reassures. 

This only makes you want to accept his offer tenfold. 

When you part ways, his phone number nestled in your phone as though it has found home, a prickling heat graces your cheeks. Halfway down the hall, it hits you. Spinning on your heel, you shout to the boy, “Thank you for getting your friends to quiet down!” 

He returns a smile that only stabs the heat deeper. 

vii. 

Chan stays a few days. His ‘vacation’ can only cure so many eye bags. 

“Text me about your date,” he waves as he starts for the door. 

“It’s not a date,” you rush to say. 

He glares over his shoulder. “You sure?” 

No. You’re not sure. Nodding, though, seems easier. 

He leaves you in a pool of blue. Cold, uncertain. You could see Felix in that way, but could he? Maybe he could, since his disappointment punctured his entire aura. 

You do not realize how long you’ve been staring at the water damage until a text pierces your thoughts. 

[12:00 P.M] Felix: You free?

Those two simple words ignite a hellfire on your skin. 

[12:00 P.M] Y/N: Yes

[12:01 P.M] Felix: I guess the better question is can you be ready in ten minutes?

You rush to the body mirror hanging from the back of your closet door. It’s doable, those sweatpants and hoodie. 

[12:03 P.M] Y/N: Depends, what are you thinking?

Rather than receiving a text, there is a knock at your door. It’s a single knock, though, so you’re unsure if your brain decided to mess with you. 

But then, after another minute, comes a storm of knocks. 

You rush to answer the menace behind it, certain that it’s the Kim boy from down your hall. Instead, you meet crinkled eyes and bright teeth. He quickly scans your outfit before shrugging, “You look fine.” 

Fine means you should change. No boy ever says you look fine, with little intonation, and think it a good thing. 

“Give me two minutes,” you mumble, shutting the door in his face.

On the other side, he continues, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that it was good for what we’re going to do.” 

His voice grows distant as you shut yourself in the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes. He’s talking about some floral cafe he visited with his friend as you’re grabbing your keys. 

When you open the door again, his lips come to a halt. The edges of his words dip into a small sigh. “You look great.” 

That’s better, you think as you push past him into the hall. It’s only when your gaze is set to your feet that you allow yourself to smile. 

viii. 

Dogs stick their noses up at you, sniffing curiously as you sip your latte and listen intently to Felix’s interesting, to say the least, friendship dynamic. The dog cafe was his idea. And though you reluctantly agreed, you’re glad he brought you here. 

Who can say no to cute dogs with floppy ears glancing at you excitedly while a freckled boy tells you about his life? 

The accent is Australian, you’re proud to conclude. Answering your unspoken questions about him without even having to bring them to light is a different sense of relief. It’s brighter, more vivid. 

“Changbin has been my best friend since I moved to Korea,” Felix admits, a hand pulling back from a furry head to push back his hair. “You’ll know him when you hear his voice, I’m sure.” 

A smile inches up your lips. “Are you gonna introduce me to them?” 

His eyes meet yours in a relaxed, breezy manner. He shrugs. “If things go well.” 

Which begs the question again: is this a date?

“Anyway,” he continues with a shake of his head, as though he were dismissing the same thought (you can never truly rid yourself of a pesky thought like that). “Changbin is always at my apartment. He even has his own mini-fridge he keeps in the guest bedroom. Full of energy drinks and shit.”

His laugh emerges with an abrupt abrasiveness dashing goosebumps along the back of your neck. 

“I feel like I’m stealing the spotlight,” he admits before taking a sip of his coffee. “Tell me about your friends. Or your likes. Whatever you want.” 

“Well,” you start with a jumping glance to the ceiling, still a little shaken from his laugh, “I only really have Chan and Hyunjin. We work together down at Hwang Publishing.”

“Oh, sweet. Are you an editor or something?” 

Your shoulders tip up in a tense shrug. “We focus on editorials, mainly, but we do peer editing a lot, so I guess you could say that.” 

Your eyes meet his again when words morph into a glob of unintelligible nonsense on the tip of your tongue. 

“You’re not like what I expected,” he admits. His tone is just above a whisper. 

“I’m sorry,” you look deep into your coffee. If you stare long enough, you think you can catch the miserable reflection of your eyes. 

“Not like that,” he offers a chuckle. “It’s a good thing. My first impressions normally make or break relationships, but I’m glad I’m taking time this time.” 

Your heart skips a beat at those words. Actually, it must skip a few because your chest feels like it’s on the brink of explosion.

“Is this a date?” you abruptly ask, confidently meeting his eyes. 

He flinches. Small, imaginary darts flying past his ears and leaving him speechless. “Is it?” 

Then, after his words have evaporated into the air, he adds, “I like to think it is.” 

“Me too,” your smile clings to your words, transforming them into a breath of icy air. 

ix. 

That night, in the safety net of your apartment, you discreetly listen to the hum next door. For once, a deeper blend is present among the voices. 

“What kind of flowers do you offer someone who you don’t really know a lot about?” 

“Why? You dating someone?” 

There is a silence that falls. You can picture darting glances. 

“No fucking way,” someone breaks the quiet. 

A barrage of teasing is thrown. He’s probably blushing, you think as you bury a smile into your pillow. 

It’s good to know that Felix is putting in effort for you. A warm feeling, that is. You don’t even need blankets when you sleep that night. 

An alarm pierces into your dream of fuzzy pillows and a boy with freckles. You roll over with a whine as you blindly search for your screaming phone. 

Three missed calls. 

Five texts waiting to be acknowledged. 

A new group chat made in an attempt to wake you. 

“Shit,” you mutter, jumping up to get ready. So focused that you ignore the blotches of black in your vision. So determined to get to work that you disregard the way you subconsciously lean forward. 

In record time, you are at your door, snatching up your keys from the small table. 

A small barrier is in your way when you start into the hallway. Down at your feet is a small container of brownies, the lid complimented by a neon sticky note. 

I had the urge to bake these for you. Sorry if this is too cheesy. 

Cramped along the margins: P.S I’m assuming you heard our conversation last night, so that’s why you’re getting brownies instead of flowers (the art of surprise). 

Then, signed at the bottom: Yours, Felix. 

Momentarily, you are paralyzed with the overstimulating spark traveling your skin. 

You shake your head back into reality. Scooping up the container, you continue on your way. To the elevator. Out the door. Past the Green Noble sign. Down the street. Into Hwang Publishing. Up the elevator. To your desk. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you set the glass tupperware on your desk with a hollow clunk. 

“Don’t do it again,” your boss calls out as she passes to the conference room. 

Chan peeks his head over the cubicle divider. “He baked you brownies? Is that why you’re late?” 

“Did you get to third base?” Hyunjin quips. 

“No. I overslept. These were just outside my door when I opened it,” you say, offering Hyunjin a side eye. 

“He signed it ‘yours’?” Chan tilts his head to read it. 

You hide the instinct of a smile. “Yeah,” you whisper, slowly lowering yourself to your chair. 

When Chan and Hyunjin have dispelled all of their oddly personal question, to which you greet with ‘disappointing’ answers, you sneak onto your phone. 

[9:21 A.M.] Y/N: Thank you for the brownies (btw there is no such thing as too cheesy)

“Stop texting him, Y/N,” Chan scolds. 

Heat rises to your cheeks in the way they used to as a kid. Embarrassment, though linked to an endearing smile. 

x.

On your way home from work one day, you take your time glancing into the shops. Through the glass barriers and at the people inside. Couples are more around you than you ever took to realize. 

Felix has forced you to realize this. Because each time he’s with you, all you can ponder on is whether all love feels like this. So you’ve taken to people watching. Staring until you can see smiles light up faces or catch a hand clutching another while they laugh. 

You’re down bad for this boy. 

When you’re about to pass the coffee shop, your feet come to a halt. Sitting atop a stool by the window, his signature earbuds snugly tucked into his ears, is Felix. He sips from a hot drink occasionally, though his eyes are glued to his phone. 

Maybe you should text him. Would that be creepy? “Hey, I’m currently watching you from the sidewalk!” It would be worse to say nothing. 

As you’re reaching for your phone, his eyes dart to you. 

A grin gradually finds its home on his lips and he waves. You slowly raise a hand back. 

He quickly gathers his things, saying something to the barista behind the counter, before meeting you. 

“Hi,” he breathily says. You note that he’s plucked the earbuds out, and that they’re now dangling from his coat pocket. 

“Hi,” you smile. 

“Are you coming back from work?” 

“Where else would I be coming from all dressed up?” you joke. 

“Maybe you’re cheating on me or something, I don’t know,” he laughs. 

Oh? You never made it official.

“Not that we’re like that,” he quickly adds. Then, under his breath, he adds, “yet.” 

You gently punch his shoulder. “Yes, I’m coming from work.” 

“Hey, I gotta question for you,” you quickly start. It’s been bugging him since you met him.

“Hey, maybe I got an answer for you,” he mirrors. 

“What are you always listening to?” 

He wraps a quick arm around your shoulder to guide you closer to him as the sidewalk crowds. “Classical, mainly. I don’t really like listening to anything with lyrics.” 

“How come?” you look up at him. 

His eyes meet yours for a split second before he closes them, leaving you to stare at his eyelashes. “I’ve never been able to relate to any.” 

For some reason, you thought Felix would be able to relate to many things in this world, with how much he’s lived. But maybe you were wrong. 

“Who are your favorite classical artists, then?” 

He opens his eyes again and glances ahead. The Green Noble sign quickly coming into view. “Wagner, Vivaldi. Oh, I also like Joe Hisaishi.” 

A man of taste, you decide. Though, you think you already knew that. His brownies are phenomenal. And he has an innate interest in flowers, which even Mrs. Kang is impressed with. 

His phone begins singing from his pocket. He glances at the name and his arm quickly falls from your shoulder. “Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot I have to meet up with Changbin for one of his side job things. I’ll see you later?” 

You nod. “Sure.” 

“Text me when you get home.” 

And he disappears the way you came. But not before he places a quick, almost habitual, kiss to your forehead. 

You can still feel his lips pressed on that spot by the time you get to your apartment. 

xi. 

The empty tupperware has sat on your counter for nearly a week. Felix has been busy doing whatever Changbin has been forcing him to do, so you haven’t seen him. It leaves a nagging loneliness in the air, but you understand. 

Next door, the hum of conversation builds. If Felix isn’t home, his friends certainly are. 

It’ll be quick, you tell yourself as you pick up the pyrex. The note is safely kept in a shoebox full of letters and cards you could never bring yourself to dispose of. 

Jitters climb all over your skin as you bring a balled fist to knock on the door. The conversation drifts, a certain individual’s voice coming closer. 

The door swings open abruptly, and you hide a flinch. “Can I help you?” the boy asks. 

“Um, I just wanted to return this,” you extend the container to him. 

“Holy shit, are you the one Felix cannot stop talking about?” the boy inquires, slowly taking the Tupperware. 

You stare at him with widened eyes. “I guess so?” 

He claps a hand on your shoulder. “Thank you. You actually have him listening to music other than that boring piano shit.” 

“What?” Your voice is quiet, it’s a miracle he can even hear you. 

“He’s listening to things with lyrics,” he clarifies. 

You think your heart is about to beat out of your chest. 

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” the boy says, slowly beginning to close the door. Just as it’s about to connect with the latch, he opens it again and adds, “I’m Jeongin by the way. We’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other.” 

“Y/N,” you return in a quiet, still stunned, voice. 

He offers a smile before shutting the door. 

Well, you were right. It was a quick affair. Too quick to comprehend.

The temptation to be cocky floods your veins when you fall back onto your bed. You reach for your phone. 

[1:13 P.M.] Y/N: You listen to lyrics now?

Thinking of the look on his face when he reads that is so satisfying. Those parted lips and slightly widened eyes. It brings a smile to your face. 

[1:18 P.M.] Felix: Well this is embarrassing…

You laugh. Loud and without a single care for your neighbors. 

[1:18 P.M.] Y/N: It’s cute

[1:19 P.M.] Felix: I’m done with this job in like an hour if you wanna hang out or something. 

[1:19 P.M.] Y/N: Of course I do.

If orange was a feeling, you felt orange. Blindingly light and resting comfortably on the peak of a mountain. Peeking through the trees with your aura and shedding a tint onto little niches of woodland creatures who turn their nose to the light with upturned lips. 

And it’s all thanks to Felix. 

xii. 

He knocks on your door, though you’ve already told him he can just barge in. 

“Come in!” you shout. 

The doorknob slowly turns before revealing a freshly showered Felix. “Sorry I’m kinda late. I’m sure you didn’t want to smell my work.” 

You release a pent-up giggle. “That’s probably for the best.” 

After he carefully shuts the door, he comes to join you on the couch. 

“So,” he starts, releasing a heavy sigh. 

“What kinda music do you listen to now?” you intervene. Reaching the important answers first. You lean closer to him. If he whispers, you’d be able to hear clearly. 

Instead, he laughs and gently pushes you. “That’s confidential information, babe.” 

“Babe? We’re there now?” you continue to tease. The sudden certain feeling, some may deem it as influencing cockiness, has certainly changed you. 

Felix rolls his eyes, though a simper grows on his lips. “I hate you.” 

“That’s not what Jeongin said.” 

He snaps his eyes back to you. “He what?” 

“Nothing,” you hum.

He sighs, leaning back into the couch. “You’re diabolical.” 

Felix’s presence does some weird things to you. The jump in heart rate. The sudden necessity to be as close as possible. 

He reaches out and wraps his arms around your shoulders. You press your ear to his chest, carefully listening to the beating of his heart. 

“I think I fell in love with you, but I’m not sure when,” he whispers. 

“Me too,” you admit. The confidence melts away suddenly, leaving you a stripped being. If his arms didn’t withhold your body heat, you think you might freeze. 

After a drought in silence, he mumbles, “You remind me of heliotropes.”

You break your cheek away to look at him. “What?” 

“Heliotropes. They’re a flower.”

“Why do I remind you of them?” you inquire. 

He shrugs. “It’s just your energy.” 

You know he’s hiding something. The true reasoning. Yet still, you just nod and return your cheek to his heart. He can tell you when he wants, if he wants, and you’re okay with that. You won’t even sneak to Google it when he’s not looking, even though it’s extremely tempting. 

xiii. 

His head rests comfortably on your pillow. Blankets are pulled to his chin. Small snores escape his lips as you carefully step over piles of laundry begging to be folded. 

Of course you would have to part to go to work. It was a given. But why is facing the inevitability so hard? 

He sits up the moment your hand envelops the doorknob. “Are you going to work?” 

You turn to him. “Yeah. You can sleep here if you want.” 

But he gets up anyway. He crosses the room and wraps secure arms around you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you smile into his shoulder. 

He lets go after a few seconds, reaching to open the door for you. “Don’t be late.” 

You step into the hall. 

“Come home safe,” he demands, eyes still a little swollen with sleep, as he points an accusatory finger at you. 

“I will,” you laugh. 

And he closes the door. You stand there for a second, waiting to hear him plop back into bed before you start off for work. With a hidden smile on your face, you dig balled fists into your coat pockets. Though, your right hand immediately comes in contact with a piece of paper. Certainly you hadn’t left anything there. 

When you smooth it out, the pen markings are still a little smudged with creases. You’re unsure when he found the time to write this (maybe when you were in the bathroom or something), but its content holds sincerity that a rushed note usually doesn’t hold. 

Dear Y/N, it reads. You remind me of the softest flower on Earth. Delicate around the edges, but with a sufficient way of living. I admire you for that. Continue being my flower, okay? 

You smile to yourself as you walk down the hallway. Maybe Green Noble isn’t too bad.

[willowbird]

Hello! Can I request andreil Christmas morning with the foxes? Or just them?

Yes, yes you can <33

(Technically I have one more prompt before this one, but consider this my contribution to your asks for happy things~)

-----

Sleepy, cozy mornings were a new thing for Neil. Not that he’d never been tired in the morning, or had never been warm and comfortable. There was a difference. Sleepy, for one, implied a certain level of inherent safety and lack of urgency that even throughout his entire first year with the Foxes he had never had the luxury of. Similarly, cozy was a foreign notion to him that carried a downy reassurance of safety he’d never been privileged enough to even consider. 

Right now, though? Right now he was basking in what was decidedly a sleepy, cozy morning. 

Light was filtering through the slatted blinds of Andrew’s bedroom in the house in Columbia like ghost-breath, pale and ephemeral in the early morning. Neil’s eyes were open, but only just, and his mind was so peacefully blank that he spent what could have been ten minutes and could have been a full hour just watching the light steadily warm and brighten, igniting the floating specks of dust like tiny fireworks in a celebration of such unfathomable ease. Behind him were the low, steady cadences of Andrew’s breathing against his shoulder and his heartbeat against his spine -- a duet that Neil idly thought he’d be happy to play on repeat for the rest of his life.

So yeah, he was cozy. He was sleepy. He was... happy. And he was content to bask in that for as long as he could. Stray thoughts filtered through the haze of his only half-awake mind, none of them sticking, none of them elevating his own heart rate above its slow, relaxed beat. It was more that he just... noticed things, then let them go. He noticed the shifting of the light, he noticed the creaking of the house, he noticed that warm, pleased feeling that pulsed in his chest and spread all the way down to each finger and each toe when Andrew sighed and nuzzled his face against his shoulder, the arm around his waist tightening slightly. 

He allowed himself to wake slowly, and when he did feel alert and fully conscious, he remained in place to bask just a little bit longer anyway. 

“Hn..”

Behind him, Andrew made a small, sleepy noise of his own and tightened his arm around him again, fully hiding his face against the back of Neil’s neck. Since Andrew couldn’t see him anyway, Neil didn’t bother hiding the smile the action conjured. 

“Morning,” he offered in greeting, knowing the difference between Andrew’s unconscious movements and signs that he was actually awake but resisting it.

“Too early.” Andrew’s response was muffled, grumbled as it was against Neil’s skin, but decipherable. 

Neil shifted slightly, and Andrew instantly loosened his hold so that Neil could roll onto his side to face him. As much as he enjoyed being held by Andrew sometimes, it was still his favorite to lay facing him. He liked to be able to look at him, to watch his face and see the way light brought out new hues in his hazel eyes. They were almost green this morning, but flecked with brown that flashed gold when he narrowed his eyes into a glare. 

“What?” Andrew accused. 

Neil debated telling Andrew that he was beautiful, that getting to see his face first thing in the morning was his favorite thing about waking up in Columbia, that if it was the last thing he saw he’d count it worth it every single time. 

Instead he shrugged and said, “Nothing.”

Andrew’s glare narrowed and by the accusatory glance at Neil’s mouth, Neil supposed he must be smiling or making some other offensive expression that he knew Andrew must either like more or even less than he said, considering how often he would kiss it away.

Not this morning, though, which was preferable. Neil loved kissing Andrew. He did not like the particular vintage of ass that occurred first thing in the morning before either of them had a chance to brush their teeth. 

By the annoyed sigh Andrew made, Neil supposed he had come to the same conclusion. He didn’t resist when Andrew put his whole hand on Neil’s face to push it into the pillow, only humming in an amused way that he knew would annoy the other man. Andrew was already rolling out of bed when Neil heard the scoff that told him he’d succeeded on that point. 

Pleased with himself, Neil took an extra few moments to stretch, burying his face into Andrew’s pillow and inhaling deeply, allowing himself to go a little light-headed on the rush he got when his senses were flooded with Andrew’s scent. Andrew was gone by the time he’d fully roused himself and was back by the time Neil had changed out of his pajamas and into some lounge pants and a fresh t-shirt. They didn’t have any real plans for the day that he knew of and he was planning to hold onto this cozy feeling for as long as possible even if the sleepy bit had faded. 

Andrew was waiting for him in the hallway when Neil got out of the bathroom, holding a red bundle of knitted fabric in his hands. When Neil only raised an eyebrow, Andrew shoved it at his chest and said, “Nicky’s stupid tradition.”

Neil might have asked, except that he could now see that Andrew had pulled on a sweater over the shirt he’d been wearing when Neil had entered the bathroom. It was dark green with a gold and white tree on it, loopy knitted lettering proclaiming ‘Happy Holidays!’ with aggressive cheer. Now he knew he was grinning, and he didn’t even press a hand to his mouth to hide and cover it, because it felt nothing like his father’s smile. This was something entirely different, born of shock and awe and humor and affection in a combination Neil didn’t think he’d ever actually experienced before. 

“Put yours on before you come down,” Andrew ordered with a flat expression Neil didn’t believe for an instant. “I do not want to listen to Nicky’s whining.”

Then he turned and marched down the stairs, where Neil realized he could hear the sounds of quietly chipper holiday music and the rustle of bodies moving around. 

Neil looked down at the bundle in his hands and shook it out to see the design. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan at the image, which was probably the ugliest-looking rendition of a reindeer he’d ever seen in his life. Neil would never say that he had an eye for fashion or art, but this was just... sad. The shade of the nose was just slightly darker than the background of the sweater and he was pretty sure the animal was cross-eyed. 

Ah well, it wasn’t like he’d have to look at it if he was wearing it. With a shake of his head, he tugged it on and turned to head downstairs. At least it was warm. It was also big on him and knitted with something soft, so if Neil were to call it anything, he might say it was... cozy.

“Neil!” Nicky cheered from the stove when Neil entered the kitchen. He was wearing a bright green sweater with an elf on it. Or at least, he thought it was an elf. To his knowledge, elves didn’t wear purple eyeshadow, but hey -- he wasn’t here to judge. “You wore it! I knew it was the perfect sweater for you.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and tugged on the sweater, looking down at it. “Huh. It’s that Christmas deer, right? Randolph?” he asked, full well knowing the correct name. He’d lived on the run for half his life, not under a rock. 

Nicky made a pained, whimpering sound. “Dead. I’m dead. You’ve killed me. Neil, don’t... don’t tell me you’ve never heard of... of Rudolph..?”

Neil looked up at him and affixed something between innocence and confusion on his face. “Isn’t that the guy who makes that snowman. Uh. Freezy or something?”

“Frosty! No, he--”

“Nicky, he’s fucking with you.” This from Aaron, who had no right to ruin his fun when he was sitting there with (a distinctly cross-eyed) Santa Claus on his own sweater. Why did all of these characters have a vision impairment?

Nicky looked from Aaron to Neil, who just shrugged and moved to make himself a cup of coffee. 

“Aww Neil, you asshole,” Nicky whined, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the grin on his face as he turned back to the stove, where he was just finishing up the bacon. It appeared to be the last thing on the menu, because the table was already laden with every single breakfast food Neil could fathom. Three different kinds of eggs, toast, waffles, sausages, biscuits -- it was a regular feast and Neil’s stomach rumbled at the sight. 

“Wow Nicky, what’s with the spread. Did I forget someone’s birthday or something?” Neil asked as he took his usual spot next to Andrew, who’d been watching the whole previous exchange over the rim of his own coffee cup. 

Nicky turned around with the plate of bacon in hand, his expression stricken. “Neil you.. you do know what today is... don’t you?”

Aaron sighed and opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and glared at Andrew, who must have kicked him. Neil bit back a smirk and frowned instead. “Uh... December twenty-fifth? Probably?” He looked toward the fridge, where Nicky’s calendar hung. The twenty-fifth was circled in green and red marker with two smiley-faces and at least six exclamation points. 

“Shit, it’s your birthday isn’t it? Sorry Nicky, I forgot. I’ll make it up to--”

“It’s CHRISTMAS, Neil! Christmas!!” He set the plate down, like he needed to get it out of his hands before he dropped it. Or maybe so he could fee his hands to gesture emphatically at the sweaters they were all wearing. And the paper snowflakes in the window. And the Christmas lights strung around the cabinets. And the little snowman figurines arranged in various places around the kitchen (even the salt and pepper shakers were a Mr. and Mrs. Snowman now).

Neil followed each gesture obediently, then met Nicky’s eyes. “Oh. Is it?”

The sound that came out of Nicky was something between a scream and a sob. Neil reached across the table and pilfered a piece of bacon, munching on it as the twins also started to fill their plates and Nicky pulled himself back together again. 

This time, it was Andrew that took pity on his cousin. 

“Neil knows what and when Christmas is, Nicky.”

Nicky looked from Andrew to Neil, then to Aaron (who rolled his eyes and took two extra links of sausage), before finally settling his gaze back on Neil. 

Neil blinked at him, then smiled -- because.. well, he couldn’t think of a reason not to, and wasn’t that a weird reason to smile? Instead of commenting on any of that he stole two sausages directly off of Aaron’s plate and put them on Nicky’s, ignoring the affronted cursing from the other man. 

“Merry Christmas, Nicky,” he said pointedly, then went about loading his own plate. 

Neil had never thought much about Christmas before, it just hadn’t been anywhere close to his list of things to worry about. But now... now that he was able to think about things that, well, that weren’t worries he thought that maybe it was something he could kinda get used to. Maybe it was something he could like -- especially if it meant sleepy, cozy mornings and times like this, where he could be so comfortable, so happy, in the circle of his family.

[rucbarthatbowtiesarecooldw]

Saturday Morning Session notes

The Morning Breaks

Arise O God and Shine

Choose the Right

 President Russell M Nelson

The Lord directs the affairs of His Church

He will hasten His work in His time

The strength of the Church lies in the efforts and ever-growing testimonies of its members

With the Saviors help we can remove the old debre in our lives – it is a gospel of repentance, hope, healing, progress, and joy

 Elder Dieter F Uchtdorf

God is among us and is personally involved in our lives and loves His children

He offers to all His children something unimaginable – to become hairs of God and joint hairs with Christ

He has not duped His children to stumble through mortality without hope for a bright and eternal future - He has provided instructions for a way back to Him

Instead of dwelling on them and feeling hopeless, we can repent

Our failures do not have to define us – they can refine us

Mistakes do not disqualify us. They are part of our progress.

The Savior always teaches timeless truths – his message is and will always be one of hope and belonging

Love thy God and serve Him

Seek God - Jesus would teach us to open our hearts to God and reach out to others.

Let us not love in word but Love in deed and in truth

Keep searching with Faith and Patience – ask and ye shall receive, knock and it shall be opened unto you

God is Among Us

 Sister Joy D Jones

To our HF children have never been secondary – they have always been primary

We value children and we do all we can to combat the evils of abuse – their care is primary to them as it is to us

“we have the greatest opportunity to teach the young

“We have the greatest opportunity with the young. The best time to teach is early, while children are still immune to the temptations of their mortal enemy, and long before the words of truth may be harder for them to hear in the noise of their personal struggles.” – Eyring, The Power of Teaching Doctrine

Teach these things freely among your children – the fall of adam, the atonement of Jesus Christ

We need to have caring conversations with our children so they can understand what they believe as well as why they believe

We need to teach them what to do when they are tempted (by the things which could hurt them)

Children are to be taught by word and example

Help them be equipped with faith, courage, and confidence

Eternity is the wrong thing to be wrong about

 Elder Jan Eric Newman

Everyone deserves to learn – to deepen our conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ

How can we teach more like the Savior

1 learn all you can about the Master Teacher

2 home centered church supported gospel learning

3 remember that conversion must come from within

Come Follow Me is the springboard that allows each of us to dive deeply into the living waters of Christ

Provide a nurturing environment free of thorns

Parents cannot pass on their testimony (you can’t give your immunity to covid to anyone else, they need to get their own vaccine)

Conversion is a personal journey

 High on the Mountain Top

 Elder Gary E. Stevenson

Rabbits?????

Even if you receive the exact same thing as someone else  - the exact same learning, understanding, etc. you will turn out differently than everyone else because of your experiences

The relationship made the difference

Kindness as a fundamental healing gospel principle – one that can heal hearts emotionally and spiritually, and even physically

Hearts knit together in unity and love

Power maintained with kindness and gentleness, not force

We have a primary responsibility to be role models of kindness, inclusion, and civility is important especially in these times

Loving kind tolerant and benevolent to everyone

Prejudice, racism, and violence have no place in our communities

Use compassion and generosity to help everyone live through this stupid pandemic (my interpretation ahah)

We are under the care of a compassionate caregiver who extends Himself in kindness

The Lord is MY shepherd

 Elder Gerrit W Gong

He welcomes all with room in His inn

The Good Samaritan

Be a good Samaritan like Christ

1 we come to the inn as we are with our imperfections

In Him we find clarity, not dissonance

He trusts us to help make the inn the place He needs it to be

In [Christ], we find cause to be good, reason to do good, and capacity to become better. 

We mourn, rejoice, and are there for each other

2 Make this a place of space and grace with room for all

3 perfection is in Jesus Christ, not of the world

Our savior Jesus Christ knows everything about us we don’t want anyone else to know. And he still loves us.

4 we become part of a gospel community anchored in Jesus Christ

5 rejoice that God loves His children in their different backgrounds and circumstances – with room for ALL in His inn

Disciples of Jesus Christ come from everywhere in every shape, hue, and background

Waiting for the Lord upon His blessings is a holy position. It must not be met with pity, patronizing, or judgement, but instead with sacred honor.

Shall renew their strength like the wings of eagles

Miracles occur when we care for each other as He would

 Teach Me to Walk in the Light

 President Henry B. Eyring

In the temple you can receive revelation

What is your greatest motivation for being worthy of temple experiences?

Unable to see by the power of the holy ghost if you go to the temple unworthily

The temple is where you can be assured about eternal families

What can you do more in the temple?

Build a desire to go to the temple

The Spirit of God

[idreamofplaid]

The Gift

 Summary: It started with a gift, and the end result was something extraordinary.

Characters: Sam x Reader x Dean

Word Count: 2561

A/N: This was a request from @akhuna01 during a Christmas past. I had the greatest time writing it. This girl is greedy. She has so many orgasms it’s hard to keep count (but who wouldn’t with Sam and Dean in their bed?). I’m am completely jealous of her!

A/N 2: Happy Half Christmas! Day 4 All the Info Here

It was supposed to be a joke, but no one was laughing. Sam looked at the green knitted object he was holding. He lifted his eyes in your direction, eyebrows raised with a questioning expression. Dean was holding a similar gift you had made for him. His was a bright, merry holiday red. You noticed him swallow; his mouth fell slightly open, and he bit his lip. Sam's eyes caught Dean's briefly. Dean shoved his present back in the box and stood up quickly. He asked, "Anybody want eggnog?" 

 Sam and Dean disappeared in the direction of the kitchen leaving you alone to look at the boxes on the table and wonder what happened. Your knitting skills weren't the greatest, but you thought it would be funny. After all, it was something you were pretty sure neither one of them had ever had before. Had they? Handmade cock socks weren't something you would give everyone, naturally, but you had known Sam and Dean for a long time.  They helped you out with a little poltergeist problem a few years back; you'd kept in touch, and you considered both of them to be close friends. To be perfectly honest, you had thought of dating both of them. Problem was, you really couldn't make up your mind.  Add to that the fact that neither of them ever asked to help you break the tie, so nothing came of that idea. 

Your relationship with both of them had always been comfortable before, but now you were feeling pretty awkward and regretting your decision. Particularly since you had exaggerated the size of the socks to something most would consider to be extra large at the very least. You put your hands on one of the boxes briefly and shook your head  then got up to join the boys in the kitchen. The night was spent drinking eggnog, catching up by sharing stories, and pretending the present thing had never happened.

Later That Night

You were sitting at the desk in one of the bunker bedrooms brushing your hair preparing yourself for bed. You were no longer trying to figure out what had happened earlier; you were just relaxing, enjoying the holiday mood.  This year you actually felt like celebrating for the first time in a long time. Christmas music played in the background, and it put you in a dreamy mood.

You'd never had a perfect Christmas, never had anything close to the one that lived in your mind, the one with snow falling gently outside the window, a crackling fireplace, a tree sparkling with lights, and homemade cookies on the coffee table. What fantasy, Christmas or otherwise, would be complete without strong arms around you? You closed your eyes to picture it, and you could almost smell the cologne he was wearing.  The scent was woodsy with a touch of warm comforting musk. The man in your fantasy was tall and muscular; his voice was deep. He nibbled on your ear and whispered all the things he planned to do to you. They were wonderful, naughty, sexy, delightful things. 

You took a deep breath and slipped your hand down into your panties and moved your fingers slowly through your damp folds. You imagined the touch of much bigger fingers than yours, long fingers that were thick like Sam's. You parted your legs wider to get better access. Your fingers brushed over your aching clit; it had been too long since anyone else had done it for you, and your hand moved in ever quickening small circles. Your breathing became more rapid, eyes still closed. You were so involved in moving ever closer to your climax that you didn't even hear the door open. The deep voice from your dreams became a reality, and you heard Sam say "Am I interrupting something?" You quickly pulled your hand from your underwear; your eyes popped open, and you turned toward the sound of his voice. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your walls clench around the emptiness. Sam was standing before you completely naked but for the green, knitted, very special Christmas gift you had given him over his erect penis.  You had made it so huge as a joke, but the fit was snug. He looked like something that had fallen from Mount Olympus; he was a god. You stood up stuttering,  "Sam, Sam I… ."  He walked toward you taking the ends of your hair in his hand and gazing intently at your lips. You had imagined him naked many times, and undressed him with your eyes almost as many. He hadn't noticed, or at least he pretended he didn’t. His hazel eyes caused your heart to flip in your chest. It was pounding so hard you couldn't think; you couldn't breathe. You couldn't form words. 

He brushed his thumb across your cheek. "Do you want me to finish what you started?" All you could do was nod. There was absolutely nothing funny about this now. "Would you help me thank you for putting so much time and thought into my gift?” Sam tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I'd really like it if you took it off." 

Your eyes didn't leave Sam's as you reached out and wrapped your hand around his impressive length. The yarn was soft, but what lay beneath was rock hard. You pulled the sock from Sam's body earning you a moan that came from deep in his throat. You were totally aroused now, past aroused. Sam lifted your night shirt over your head and leaned in to take one of your tight nipples into his mouth. He sucked on it gently and swirled his tongue around it in tantalizing rings. Your core pulsed longing to be filled. He moved his hand to your other breast pinching, pulling, and rolling the firm little nub.  His mouth sucked your other nipple while his hand made its way down into your panties right to your throbbing little bud where your own hand had been just minutes before. His fingers felt so much better. 

Your hands grabbed onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady. Your orgasm was already close. "Sam. Sam, please take them off."  

He leaned in close to your ear.  "Not yet.  There's plenty of time for that later."  He moved his fingers faster, taking them away from your clit down to your opening and back again. He pushed the tip of his finger inside you, and pumped it a couple of times before going back to your throbbing clit. He was watching you; you could feel his eyes on you as your climax built in the pit of your stomach. Your nails dug into his shoulders; your nipples hardened, drawing tight. 

"Sam. Sam. Sam. Gonna come. Please, please. God." He pushed two fingers inside you and quickly pulled them out again pressing them against your clit, fingers swirling. He alternated his motions driving you crazy. "Sam, I can't take anymore." He kept you right on that edge.  "Please let me come. Please. I'm so close. Sam, I'm so close."   It was building to the point of bubbling over.

 You were panting out of control now. "I want to hear you say my name, Y/N. I want to hear you say it over and over. I'm gonna make you come so many times."  Your orgasm swept over you in a huge wave, and you said nothing but Sam's name exactly like he wanted. Sam talked you through it. "You're so perfect, Y/N.  It's going to get even better. I promise. Just let it all go. You are so beautiful when you come.”

"Yes, yes, yes!" You screamed his name again squirting all over his fingers.  Sam eased his hand out of your underwear. He picked you up and placed you back down on the bed. You were still shaking from the intensity of your climax. With a swift movement, he pulled your panties all the way off. Before you came all the way down from the orgasm, his tongue was inside you. He thrust it as deep into you as he could, bringing you quickly back to your peak.  This orgasm went on and on. You looked down and saw Sam moving his tongue over you.  His fingers pushed in and found your g-spot.   “Sam!"  Your legs were spread wide, and he was making the most incredible noises. It was unbelievably sexy watching him flick his tongue over your little bundle of nerves.

 Sam's eyes found yours.  "Come again, Y/N." It was the sound of your name, the slide of his tongue, the curl of his fingers inside you. It was too much for you to hold back even though your last climax had hardly subsided. Your juices gushed from you again covering his face. 

"Oh, my God.  It's incredible, Sam. I can feel it. I feel it. It's happening." 

"Nice show."  Dean's voice rumbled low from the doorway.  Sam was still licking you and fucking you with his tongue. He didn't stop.  Dean was watching you come while his brother ate you out with his hand around his own dick encased in his bright red, merry holiday cock sock. He pulled off the sock to reveal his gorgeous erection. You dropped your head back against the pillow. Things started to go dark. Then you heard Dean's voice again. "I think she passed out, Sammy." Dean was holding the side of your face in his hand. "Hey there, sweethear. Are you with us?" You kissed his hand.

 Sam kissed the inside of your thigh. His fingers were still deep inside you; he added a third stretching you, pulling you open. Your words weren't frantic anymore; they were quiet. "Inside me. Please don't make me wait anymore." 

Dean brushed his knuckles down your cheek. "Who do you want inside you, baby?" 

You looked into his deep emerald green eyes. They were filled with a soft intensity. "I want both of you... at the same time." You'd thought of them both individually but never that way.  In that moment, you knew with all certainty that was exactly what you wanted. You didn't want to choose.  Sam licked back down your inner thigh to your core and gave you a chaste little kiss as he moved out of the way so Dean could settle between your legs.

 Sam moved around behind you and rested his back against the headboard. Your body lay back on his chest.  Dean took his cock in his hand and slid it up and down between your folds teasing you before thrusting in all the way with one stroke. Sam's mouth was next to your ear. "Do you want to come for Dean?" Sam's arms were on each side of your body, his hands holding your thighs down and your legs open. You took in a breath and let it out through your mouth. "Does he feel good?"

Your eyes rolled back into your head.  Dean was so deep. He was pumping in hard, stretching you wider than you'd ever been stretched before. You moaned and said yes. Sam's voice was husky with arousal.  "Where do you want me, Y/N?" Do you want me next to Dean, our dicks touching while we thrust into you together? Do you want me in this pretty ass of yours? Has anyone ever been inside that hole? Do you want me there?" That idea was too much for you to take. You were coming again; your hands reached for Sam behind you. Your arms wrapped around his neck. Sam brought his hands to your breasts to knead them. He bit your neck, marking you, and you pressed your hips up against Dean. Sam's fingers pinched and rolled your nipples while the sound of Dean's grunts filled your ears as he continued to thrust into you. 

Sam spoke promises against your neck. "We're going to do so much more to you. You're going to come until you can't come anymore. We're going to make you come until you're too tired to beg. I know it's what you want; it's what we want too, Y/N." You were moaning loudly; Sam moaned in answer. "Come for Dean, Y/N.  Come for him like you did for me."  It felt so damn good.  This orgasm was the most intense one yet. Dean was filling you up; Sam's hands were still working your nipples. 

"Kiss me, Sam."  Sam's tongue twisted and wrapped around yours. Dean maintained a steady rhythm with his thrusts."Unhhh." You moaned into Sam's mouth and tightened around Dean's dick coming in spasm after spasm. Sam moved his hands from your breasts and placed them flat on your stomach. You couldn't come completely down from your climax with Dean still thrusting inside you. You were deliciously trapped on that edge, not able to get enough. "I want more. Please. Sam?"

 Sam eased his tongue from your mouth. "Are you ready for us, Y/N?" You nodded. Sam kissed the corner of your mouth before he lifted you up to face Dean. Dean took you in his arms and leaned back far enough to expose your ass to Sam. Sam gathered some of your juices to use as lube then slipped a fingertip into your hole. He gave you time to adjust before pushing it in deeper. You started rolling your hips, and Sam put a second finger inside you. The angle was perfect for your clit to rub against Dean. Sam scissored his fingers back-and-forth.  Then, when he added a third,  you came again clenching around both of them. 

Sam pulled his fingers from inside you and placed his cock against your entrance. He pushed in slowly, just the tip. It burned, and he waited. Sam kept completely still. "Are  you okay, Y/N?" 

You had closed your eyes when he first entered you. You kept them closed and put your hand over his where it was resting on your waist. "Yes. Give me more, Sam." He did as you asked and started to move. The burn gave way to pleasure.  Both of them were holding you and moving inside you. When Dean pulled back, Sam pushed in. Your orgasm was building. You felt so full. Sam was filling your virgin hole; Dean's mouth was on yours. Sam played with your nipples just the way you liked. He could read you so well. 

Dean's mouth was hot; he tasted like whiskey and mint. You felt like you were splitting open, impaled on two enormous cocks. Another orgasm was building. Both of them were calling out your name. You came screaming; they shattered you completely. Dean came soon after you. His dick throbbed, and he released his load into you. You melted into his arms. With just a few more thrusts, Sam spurted his hot come into you. 

Sam pulled out and lay back on the bed; Dean guided your body down to the mattress. You turned in toward Sam and put your head on his shoulder. He nuzzled against you and kissed your forehead. Behind you, Dean kissed your shoulder. He put his arm over your waist bringing you close. You could feel the entire length of his warm body. "Sleep, Princess." That's exactly what you did between the two men who hadn't made you choose.

Everything Forever: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @67-chevy-baby​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @terrarium-jpeg​ @emoryhemsworth​ @crashdevlin​ @heycasbutt​ @jules-1999​ @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sammyimpala-67​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @timelordy-fangirl2​ @sweetness47​ @hobby27​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @gh0stgurl​ @becs-bunker​ @sandlee44​ @supernaturalgrandma​ @lonewolf471​ @sea040561​ @dawnie1988​ @maddiepants​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @iknowwheremytowelis​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​

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[orbitariums]

happy together | ransom drysdale

anon asked: Hey! I was wondering if you write for Ransom Drysdale? If you do could you write something where he’s married but bc of his relationship with his family, none of them know &when the questioning takes place he unwilling tells everyone about it and how he couldn’t have done it bc he was with the reader the whole time yet they don’t believe him so the reader shows up and backs him up by showing the detective a video of their activities that took place that night and he’s super cute with the reader?      

note: so i saw knives out when it came out and i had to freshen up a bit!! ransom is not a fav of mine for obvious reasons BUT i can appreciate a good ransom imagine, and i think this is one. i wasn’t quite sure how to write it at the beginning but it became so fun throughout. a short and sweet read. thanks anon!

word count: 1.8k

     "He doesn't even have an alibi!" screeched Joni.

She wasn't the only one screeching - everyone's voices overlapped one another's in the living room where the family questioning was taking place. Ransom was the target of the hour and he was slouched uncomfortably in a classic grandfather chair, trying to maintain his stoic calm as his family griped at each other and specifically him.

He really didn't want to have to come to this point - but it was either that, or getting accused for murder. So, he would have to go to that point.

     "I couldn't have been there," Ransom muttered, first quietly because he was trying to keep calm under the pressure.

    Meg rolled her eyes,

   "What was that? Speak up Ransom, you always seem to have so much to say!"

A raucous chorus of agreement ensued, and Ransom took in a deep breath, this time speaking louder, but calmly, effectively hushing the crowd,

     "I couldn't have been there, because I was at home with my wife."

He locked eyes with the detective, who simply glanced at him, eyebrows quirked just slightly. Meanwhile, his entire family went beserk, bewildered by his statement. But of course he wouldn't have told them of his marriage, and they wouldn't have known to begin with. No one was invited to the wedding. It was private, just the two of them and a wedding clerk. And that was just how Ransom wanted it - no crazy family drama to interrupt, no noses in his business. Just him, and you, his lovely wife. Much sweeter than him, but still a perfect match for his demeanor. So, while everyone took in the sudden news, Ransom tuned them out, although his face grew hot and his jaw grew taut. No one was supposed to know, at least for as long as he could keep it a secret. He wasn't planning on telling anyone, and he wasn't willing to. But again, the circumstances were dire.

    "Hm," Detective Blanc nodded slowly, taking in the situation.

    "Well- you're not just gonna believe him, are you detective?" stuttered Walt.

Detective Benoit Blanc seemed to be thumbing over Ransom's options in his mind, to prove his own statement true. Finally he spoke, silencing the room in that magnetic way of his,

    "Bring your wife. Tell her to bring evidence that you were there that night, and evidence that you're married of course. Now, let's break, shall we?"

| | |

    You instantly knew what you had to do, the moment Ransom called. You had insisted that you join him to support him during the questionings, but he refused, wanting to keep this a secret until he simply was unable to. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate you greatly, or want to show you off - just not to his family, for reasons he'd explained in depth ever since you started dating. But now that he called you, you were ready immediately. What better way to reveal yourself to the family than with great triumph, as you proved your husband innocent?  

    A hush went over the room as you entered. No one had ever seen you before, and your beauty and grace as you stood tall and resilient despite the hectic circumstances encapsulated everyone. And there was no doubting that you were Ransom's wife - the way your eyes glowed cold and belittling, shooting daggers at everyone in the room without even looking at one person in particular. Not unlike Ransom, you weren't too fond of his family either, from what he'd told you.

     Though you'd always imagined that maybe one day you would meet under better circumstances, when Ransom had perhaps patched things up with his family, and you could put on a very wide smile and network your way through one of their famous dinner parties, cold hand in another cold hand as you introduced yourself: "Hi, I'm YN, Ransom's wife." But that wasn't the way you would be meeting, and thank god you got to skip past the sickly sweet drama of it all. What better way to meet the family than in this way?

    You turned immediately on your ankle boot heel to face the detective, Ransom gazing at you with pleading eyes. You wore a trench coat length leather jacket over your shoulders, and a cable knit turtle neck top that matched Ransom's.  In your manicured, unbattered hands you held a crisp manila file folder tight to your chest, which contained legal documents officiating your marriage with Ransom, and video evidence that proved his alibi. It was all down to you.  You were his saving grace.

    You spoke steadily and calmly, just like Ransom would, except you spoke in a poised, eloquent way, truly unbothered by the glares and stares of confusion that you were getting from his so-called "family."  Their stares burned hot like knives in your back, and yet you persisted. Your husband was innocent.  You would be the one to prove it, fully and completely, within thrall.

    "Detective," you finally spoke, your voice smooth and just the right amount of husky. "I'm Y/N Drysdale, wife of Ransom Drysdale. I understand I've been called here to vouch for the innocence of my husband, who I can assure you, has no business being here among such - well, if I may be honest - insipid bastards."

    You turned to face the family on that last part, turning them to stone just with the undeniable spite in your eyes, even earning a gasp from Joni. You turned back immediately as if nothing had happened, and on Ransom's face creeped a victorious smirk. Attagirl, he thought.

     "But I digress," your heels clacked against the wooden floor as you walked directly in front of the detective, and passed him the folder full of evidence. "I understand you'll be wanting this."

    The detective, amused by your film noir act, took the folder with grateful hands, and nodded. He sifted through the documents, you sitting down next to Ransom and holding his hand all throughout, giving it a squeeze. The detective made pleased humming noises as he sifted through the documents - so the marriage was legit. Now all that was left was a video tape, showing the time stamp in which Ransom had been at home with you, the thing that would prove him innocent.

     "A movie," Detective Blanc joked, only gaining laughter from himself. "Let's see, then."

He put the tape in, and the activities of that night unfolded - in embarrassing, unfittingly cute time.

    "Ransom, really, I can't be bothered!" despite your pleas, you were laughing giddily as Ransom hugged and tugged at you from behind, distracting you from your tax of stirring up homemade chocolate cake mix.

    "Really, because you seem to like this," Ransom laughed, so carefree and happy - unlike him. He was teasing you, as always, something his family would never even expect to see. But it was happening so clearly on video, him holding you and caressing you, biting joyfully at your neck.

    "You're going to make me waste this unborn chocolate cake, is that what you want?" you squealed as he picked you up, nevermind the fact that you were carrying a bowl of creamy chocolate cake mix.

      "I can think of better things to eat," he cooed.

Skip.

    "Ha! That's three games in a row I've won, pay up!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air in victory.

    Earlier, you and Ransom had agreed that if you won three games of Uno with him, he'd give you a foot massage. He didn't need a bet to agree to that, but he thought it was cute how you were up to the challenge.

    "Sure. But I would've done it anyway," Ransom reassured you, standing up to get the stuff he needed.

     "Mhm, I know. You adore me, of course you would!" you exclaimed, laying back on the couch and propping your feet up in a very Hollywood actress fashion, flipping your hair as a smile took over your features. "But I like beating you."

    "Game of luck," Ransom retorted, coming back into the room with a full massage kit.

    "Game of strategy. Which I see you have none of," you teased him, and Ransom let you, a full lipped smile on his face.

    "You know I'm letting you bask in this, right?"

    "Oh, believe me, I know."

Skip.

    It was just before your bedtime, but you and Ransom were sharing a glass of evening wine, sitting across from each other on your couches. You were dressed in a darling, expensive silk robe, and Ransom had on his best loungewear. Being rich had its small perks like that.

    You sighed into your wine glass, then taking a big gulp.  

    "Must be hard not being around your family, huh?" you asked, easing into the conversation, the deep blues and oranges of the sky outside setting the tone.

    "Not really," Ransom shrugged. "It's better without them, honest. It's not hard to not see them. It's great not to, in fact."

    You chuckled bitterly,

    "I hear that. I love my family, but they can be-"

    "A pain in the ass," both you and Ransom said at once, and you ended up shaking your heads with knowing smiles.

    "Cheers to that," Ransom offered, leaning across to clink his glass with yours. You obliged, and then you both took big sips.

    "Hm... I'm going to tune out soon. Care to join me?"

    "It's all I ever want to do."

Skip.

    It appeared that you were in the bathtub, Ransom kneeling on the floor next to you, your entire body covered with soap and bubbles while he reached a bath cloth in, gently rubbing the cloth against your soapy body, while faint music played in the background.

    "Uh- this won't be necessary, will it?" Linda's voice cut into the video.

She was definitely more concerned than you were - as you were watching the tape with a mischievous smirk, knowing exactly where this was heading.

    "Who has security cameras in their bathroom?" Meg snorted, making a snide comment. 

Barely turning your head to face her, you responded,

    "Hmm, you would think that you would. To get video evidence of all the shit that comes out of your mouth."

    "Well, I must agree. That is enough. And judging by the time stamps-" Detective started, and you simply sighed, rolling your eyes - what a waste of precious time, proving your obviously innocent husband innocent.

    "He was there. With me. Enjoying lovely time with his lovely wife, his hand in marriage, his eternal partner. And obviously, he's innocent. Now, may we please be dismissed? It reeks of simple minds in here."

    And in that moment, Ransom had never smiled so genuinely in front of his own family. All thanks to you.