#may your days be filled with warmth & hope & endless love and happiness from now on 😭

[orions-tears]

Yours Truly - Ominis Gaunt [Final Part Ver. A]

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem!Reader

Themes: Fluff, 18+ Smut

A/N PLEASE READ!: So I know a lot of you love the fluff in this fic and I had a craving so smut it was but I'm completely happy to make a fluff only version if you all want it. It'll be a bit different, obvi, but just let me know :)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and the Fluff version of this are linked :)

"I think it's cute!"

Ominis leans back in his chair. He put the letter in his pocket and sighs. "I don't know anyone who likes poetry."

You shrug and cross your legs, smiling at him. He often puts on a face when he's thinking and Merlin it's cute. You like to watch him when he's like this and wonder what's going through his head. 

"Who do you think it is?" he asks, turning to you.

"What?"

"The person sending the letters? Who do you think it is?"

"Oh I don't know," you reply, forcing back a smile. "Could it be Imelda?"

He snorts and laughs, shaking his head. "Imelda could only hope to speak so nicely to someone."

You laugh and nudge him. "Don't be mean." You're silent for a moment, thinking of another person. "Must be Sebastian. He does keep trying to get you to tell him what's in it. Besides, it landing in his food? A lie, must be."

He straightens and looks at you, smile dropping from his face. "You don't really think..."

You tilt your head, looking at him. "What's wrong with that idea?"

You shake your head. Why are you putting ideas in his head? Imagine if he actually likes Sebastian and you ruin your chance. He stands, grabbing his wand. 

"I have to go."

You watch him leave and sigh. Sebastian's going to give you an earful for this one.

***

"Are you in love with me?" Ominis practically yells. He'd found Sebastian sitting in the library. Everyone turned to look, a few laughing and whispering to themselves.

Sebastian looks up, bursting out in laughter. "What?"

Ominis holds up all of the letters he's received and tosses them onto the table Sebastian's sitting at. "Are you the one that made these?"

Sebastian looks at the letters and back to Ominis. "You're joking, right? Why would I write you love notes?"

Ominis folds his arms. "I'm serious, Sebastian. Is it you?"

Sebastian grabs the papers, standing and putting them back in Ominis' hands. "No, Ominis. Unfortunately for you, I'm not in love with you."

Ominis frowns, taking the letters and putting them into his pockets. "Not unfortunate. This isn't funny. I want to know who it is."

Suddenly, an owl flies overhead, dropping an envelope onto Sebastian's head. He winces, yelling at the bird and picks the envelope up from where it had fallen on the floor. He holds it out to Ominis, scoffing.

"Another one for you. Not sure I would have an owl drop it on my head if it were mine in the first place."

Ominis sighs and opens it.

My one and only Ominis,

I've heard rumor that you long to know of my identity.

I hope one day for this to come to pass but for now I must keep

myself a secret. For you to discover me without my knowledge that 

you feel the same would be my ruin. I hope you enjoyed the poem.

I long to experience such an endless love with you but I fear you

may never requite my love. Just know how I care for you. How

your very being infects my mind. I think of you, day and night,

and wonder if you think of me. I long to hold your hand. To feel

your warmth near me. To feel a gentle kiss. I do my best to push

away my thoughts of what you must taste like but they plague me

even now.

I feel the need to apologise, but I find it important to

relinquish these thoughts from my mind. I close my eyes and

I wonder how I would feel when you touch me. Would you be

gentle? I imagine how you would feel inside of me as I touch myself,

picturing you with me. I think of how it would feel for you to

fill me completely and if my moans and my breathless

whispers would lead you over the edge. As I write this now,

the thought of this pushes me closer. I want you, Ominis.

I want to know what you feel like, what you sound like.

I want you to want me like this.

I think I ought to send this now before I get cold feet.

Eternally yours,

Anonymous

Ominis swallows hard, gripping the pages. He feels his face burning. His eyes are wide and he hears Sebastian laughing.

"Please, that must be the spicy one."

Ominis shifts, feeling the bulge in his trousers and turns away from his friend. "Why do you say that?"

Sebastian shrugs. "Just based on your face. You look embarrassed."

Ominis shakes his head, quickly leaving the library and running to the nearest restroom, hiding in a stall. He leans against the wall, folding the letter into his pocket and unbuttoning his trousers, running his hand over his growing length and groaning. He hadn't checked to know if he was alone but he didn't care. He released his cock from the restrictive fabric and sucked in a breath as he began pumping himself, sloppily. He leaned against the stall wall and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes. He tried to clear his mind, to get it over with, but for some reason he could only picture you. He leaned forward, his free hand bracing himself on the opposite wall and imagined you, your mouth around his length, the feeling of your tongue. He imagined the noise you would make as you gagged around him, the way the tears would run down your cheeks, how obedient you would be as you swallowed his come. The thought sends him over the edge as he groaned, slowing his movements. 

Fuck...he though to himself. He really hoped you were the author of the letters. If not...he's in big trouble.

***

"Have you gotten another one?"

He spins around as he hears you skip up. He'd been avoiding you the whole day, hoping not to face you and hesitates, nodding. "How'd you know?"

You shrugs and smile. "I was just curious. I'm invested, you know."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "This one was...umm...different, to say the least."

You step closer and he steps away, flushing red. You laugh and put your hands on your hips. "That bad? I don't even get to hear it?"

He nods and turns away. He can't stop thinking about earlier. He covers his mouth and shuts his eyes. Not in front of you...not now... You lean around and look at him, concerned.

"Ominis, are you alright? Are you going to be sick?" you ask, genuinely worried.

He shakes his head and wraps his robes around himself. "I'm sorry, now isn't a good time..."

You nod as he apologises again and quickly leaves. You watch him leave and grin. He's getting off on the letter, isn't he? You walk back to your dorm room and sit down. One more letter. One more and you'll be satisfied.

***

He'd just finished pleasuring himself again to the thought of you when Sebastian walked into the dorm room. He scrambled to hide behind the curtains, face burning, and pulled his trousers up, buttoning them in haste.

"Shameless..." Sebastian drawled, walking to his own bed.

"W-What?" Ominis stuttered out, still hiding himself.

Sebastian laughed and flopped down on his bed. "As if I don't know why you reacted like that. Must have been one filthy letter, I'd say."

Ominis groans and sits on his bed. "I don't exactly need you in my business, forget it."

"I'd love to forget it," Sebastian retorts, sitting up quickly, "but look at what I found!"

He gets up and tosses an envelope onto Ominis' bed. Ominis picks it up and turns his head up to him. "In your food again?"

Sebastian shakes his head. "Technically it wasn't in anything of mine. I couldn't find my potions textbook anywhere so I took yours. It was in there."

Ominis sighs and shakes his head, opening the envelope. "I really wish you'd ask before taking my things."

Sebastian laughs. "What kind of friend would I be then?"

Ominis, my forever love,

I hope my previous letter did not scare you away. I feel,

simply, that you should hear how I truly feel about you. 

I feel, now, that you may know something about me. I love

music. My father would bring me to the shops in London to

listen to phonographs. How I adored our time together. I

feel that my most favourite song must be Camille Saint-Saens

Symphony No 2 in A Minor. I wonder if you have heard it before.

It brings me such joy and makes me feel free.

I adore the colour yellow. It reminds me of the sun. It

reminds me of whins. My house used to be surrounded by

bushes of whins. Butterflies and bees would swarm and I

loved them greatly. I never much cared for the color blue

but when I look in your eyes I feel a great fondness for it.

My favourite flowers are Bluebells. Ironic, I know, but

I find them to be quite adorable. I love their shape,

how their petals flare, how they hang from the stem.

You don't see them much near Hogwarts, and I miss them

dearly, but I hope to see many more throughout the valley.

I wonder if you care to know these things and if you've

even read this letter. I guess I just want you to feel

closer to me, to enjoy who I am. I do love you so.

One day I hope to hear you say the same to me.

I will write to you no more, to quell my need for you.

I pray you will find me and hold me in your arms.

Eternally yours,

Anonymous.

Ominis sat in silence, fingers holding over the closing of the letter. This is the first time they she had mentioned anything about herself. He stands, quickly folding the letter into his pocket and leaves the room to find you.

When he does he runs up, grabbing your sleeve. You had been potting some dittany in the greenhouse and almost drop your pot when he latches on.

"Ominis!" you shout, catching the pot and setting it down. You laugh and turn to him. "You can't run up on me like that, I almost lost my plant."

He swallows and straightens, letting go. "If I read this," he says, pulling the papers from his pockets, "can you tell me if you know anyone that it could be?"

You nod and lean against the table. "Go ahead."

He read the full letter to you and sets it on the table, waiting for a response. You're silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Ominis, I truly can't think of anyone."

He sighs and kicks the ground. "No one?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm sorry."

You hate lying to him, especially since you're really just pushing yourself away, but you don't have to confidence to admit it to his face. He slowly picks up the letter and frowns. He thanks you and turns, leaving the greenhouse, downhearted.

***

A few days later, you walk into the library and hear music. Not usual, especially if Madam Scribner is about. You walk towards the sound and finally recognise it. Camille Saint-Saens Symphony No 2 in A Minor!

"I love this song!" you sing, walking over.

You see Ominis sitting next to a phonograph in the corner. He perks up and turns to you.

"You...you do...?" He turns back to the phonograph. "This usually sits in here, untouched, but I convinced Madam Scribner to let me play one piece."

You sigh happily and sit down next to him. "My father used to take me to London to hear this played in shops. He always requested it."

He's silent and stares in your direction. "Your father..."

You nod, smiling. "I miss him dearly."

"You wrote the letters."

The smile drops from your face and you look at him. "What?"

He stands and pulls the letters from his pocket. "You wrote these. It's you. You've been saying you don't know but you've been hiding the fact that it's been you the whole time."

You stare at him, mind blank for moment and take a breath, looking down at your hands. "Yes..." you whisper.

He reaches out for you and you lift your hand to his. He takes it and moves in front of you, kneeling down. "Why would you lie?"

You feel a lump form in your throat and look away, face red. "I was afraid..."

He chuckles and lays his head on your knee. "This whole time...I've hoped it was you."

You gasp and look at him. He lifts his head back up to face you and smirks. "You've touched yourself to the thought of me," he whispers.

You feel your face burn and swallow hard. 

"I've done the same with you," he says, softer than before.

Your eyes widen and you smile. "You have?"

He nods and stands. "Would you like to answer the questions from the letter?"

You giggle lightly and nod. "Yes."

He takes your hand and pulls you up, taking his wand in his free hand, and guiding you to an empty classroom in the Dark Arts Tower. You feel your face burn and look at him.

"H-Here?"

He smirks and leans against a desk, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you between his legs. "Anywhere else would be too safe." He pulls you closer, pressing his lips to yours as you run your hands up into his hair. You whimper as he bites down on your bottom lip and you can feel a bulge growing in his trousers. He stands, pulling you into the spot where he sat and rests his hands on your thighs. You shrug your robe off and he runs his hands up your torso, quickly unbuttoning your shirt and throwing it to the side. You tugged at the waistband of his trousers but he shakes his head.

"Not yet, my love..."

He kneels down, running his hands over your thighs and pushing up your skirt. His hands quickly find your heat as he presses his fingers against your clit, eliciting a moan out of you as you grip the edge of the table. He smirks and moves your underwear aside, finding your wet entrance and pushing a digit inside as you gasp. He adds another finger, quickly pumping into you as you clamp your hand over your mouth, muffling your loud moans. He pulls his fingers out, just for a second, to remove your underwear, and gently lifts your legs onto his shoulders. He brings his fingers back into you, leaning in and pressing his mouth against you, running his tongue over your swollen nub. You gasp loudly and grab his hair, holding tightly, the other hand supporting yourself on the table. The suction on your clit and his fingers curling into just the right spot are pushing your closer to the edge. You shut your eyes and tilt your head back, letting the moans escape. You can feel the arousal running down your legs and open your eyes for just a moment, looking down at him. Seeing him, eyes closed, tongue working you over, makes you tense as you pull his hair, orgasm taking over your body. You whimper and curl in on him. 

He pulls away and grins, licking his fingers clean. You feel your face burning and look away, smiling. He stands and you can see the bulge in his trousers.

"Turn around," he demands.

You nod and stand, turning around and leaning over the desk. You hear him unbutton his trousers and pull them down. He pushes your skirt up and grabs your hips, running his length over your dripping entrance and pushing inside you with a groan. You gasp and grab onto the end of the table as he thrusts into you, his grip on your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He leans over you as he hits you hard and deep, thrusts growing sloppy as he reaches his climax. You feel a pressure building up in your stomach as you reach your own and close your eyes, reaching back to grab his arm. He takes your hand, resting his other one on your back. You whine as he thrusts into you, feeling yourself fall over the edge, contracting around his length. He gasps at the pressure and leans into you, groaning and pushing deep into you as he finishes. You gasp at the sensation and he pulls out as you lower yourself to the ground, breathing heavily. He pulls his trousers back up and kneels down next to you.

"Are you alright?" he says, worried.

You nod and smile. "Yes..."

He smiles and touches your face, leaning in and kissing you gently. "Is it what you hoped for in the letters?" he laughs.

You nod, giggling. "Yes..."

He helps you to your feet, retrieving your clothes and helping you dress before anyone sees what happened.

"You know, Bluebells are my favourite as well," he hums.

Tag list!

Let me know if you want to be added or removed! Also let me know if you want it for a specific fic or all :)

@blueberrydinosaur @kuukimeioo @sometimesidreamthaticanlevatate @thenerdysimp @sarahskywalker-amadala @amatchasky @lonadane @sugaringheart @nekee-lilac02 @gh0stgirl333 @amelliss @scarlet--raven @m0xyl @roouh @wwdits-luver @fanboyluvr @belladonna6-6-6 @elvenbloodmoon @brain-has-left @raveduck @zyuyea @nox-ceur @somethingiswrongwithme

#hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy #ominis imagine #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fluff #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt smut

[blakeswritingimagines]

Dear Y/n

The words I have written before this line, and any I will write after it, may never come close to describing what I feel in the depths of my heart for you. Every moment I think of you is a moment of joy, and every moment you shine your light toward me is a moment of pleasure I treasure. You are truly beautiful, N, and I am thankful for your grace and attention to me. Your very presence brings me so much joy.

I’ll say this for now. My love for you burns brighter than a thousand stars. It leaves a burning ache in my chest. I want you more than anything. More than life itself. You have a way about you that is simply… incredible. You always know exactly what to say to cheer me up. I’ve never been able to find a better companion. Your laughter is soothing… and contagious. It fills my heart with so much joy that I can barely breathe, and the laughter flows out of me naturally as well. Your smile is like an angel's. It fills me with so many feelings I can’t even begin to describe them all. Simply being alive when you are around, is a blessing.

You are… the light of my world. You take my breath away, each and every time I see you. There is not another like you in all of the Seven Kingdoms. As sweet and kind and beautiful as you are, I do not deserve to have you in my life. Yet nonetheless, you stay with me. And I am forever thankful. I have come to love you my darling. I hope you will return the sentiment. I have come to care for you deeply, perhaps even more deeply than my own life. I hope you will do me the honor of allowing me to join our houses and join me in my reign as we rule together, in bliss and in love.

My love the first time I laid my eyes on you, I knew that our fates were interwoven as if they were one. You were like no beauty I have ever seen before. You captivate my every thought and every waking hour. If you will have me, I would propose to you, under a field of wildflowers and beneath the shade of a great oak tree, and I will give you every ounce of my love, every ounce of my soul, for all eternity. You grace this world like the sun graces a cold winter morning. Your very presence fills me with warmth. Your eyes draw me in like the night sky. They are like gems reflecting the light of the moon and the stars. From the first day we met, I was enchanted by your charm and wit. I feel like I could look into your eyes for days on end. If this was the only time I ever saw you, I could die a happy man. I would gladly fight a score of foes and conquer a hundred castles to bring you just the smallest token of my affection.

You are beautiful. The kind of beautiful that leaves no eye able to look away, no heart that won’t beat at the mere mention of your name, no lips that won’t form a smile when you look at them. For you could look at the stars or the heavens itself, and find them lacking in comparison to your beauty. You are the love that binds the Seven Kingdoms together. I would give everything I have just to be with you. I love you.

My dear Y/n, I love you more than life itself. You fill my day with joy and my nights with hope. Your hair smells like summer, your laughter is infectious and your eyes shine like diamonds whenever I look into them. I cannot even begin to attempt to put all the love I feel for your into these words. You are my sun and the stars in the sky, my love, and I hope you are happy to know that I could have never imagined how wonderful life would have been with you. I love you. So much.

I am in love with you. Deeply and truly in love. I would do anything for you, and I would go to the end of the world and back, just to see your face. You fill my life with warmth and love and I don't know what I would do without you. My love for you is endless, and my loyalty to you is unbreakable. I will always love you and I will always be yours. You are more valuable to me than the iron throne. You’re more valuable than the Seven Kingdoms. To me, you’re more valuable than anything in the world. You are my everything, my love. Without you, I am nothing. I don’t know how to explain it. But you are my person. You bring color to my world. You bring love to my heart I hope you know that.

You are the greatest gift I could ever have. That I get to wake up and see your beautiful eyes every day for the rest of my life, that I will get to see all of our future children grow up around me fills me with a feeling of fulfillment that I have never known before. Being with you is the greatest gift in the world, my love. I love you for all your wonderful qualities. You are generous and kind and forgiving. You are a joy to be around, and you make me feel so happy and comfortable. I love you for your wit and humor, and the way you make me laugh. I love you for the way you make me feel special and loved. I love you for all the little things that make you who you are, and I love you for being my own beautiful and loving queen. I cherish you for all you are. 

The way you speak captivates me and so does your voice. The tone of your voice has a way about it that makes me feel as if I want to stay around forever so that I can hear it. Your voice is like music. It is so sweet and so soothing. It makes me feel as if I would like nothing more than to sing your praises. You are truly as beautiful as you are interesting. To know you is a joy that I am grateful for. If I were to tell you every little thing I love about you we would be here all damn night. Every moment, I think of you. You fill up my every thought, and fill up every dream that I have. You are everything my love, you are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I love you with an intensity that has never and will never be matched. Every single day, every moment, every minute that we spend together is so special to me.

-Aemond Targaryen

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #love letters

[kittykittyanon]

Kitty kitty bo bitty banana fanna funfetti!! 🎉🌟 Woooo!! *pops a whole bunch of edible party streamers!! [psst! they taste like creamsicles and chocolate! 😋🍊🍫]*

Aaaaaaa, so. Folds hands in front of me like a businessman ladden with a suppressed genre of woe. i missed the timeframe of your birthday wishes, and I feel sads about it :(( but mostly 💢annoyed💢 because as aforementioned:

🗣i had an entire coded date reminder of it in my calendar. and that b didn't GO OFF.🗣

maybe it's these motorola phones mayne,,, i'm bouta switch over to Samsung–

BUT ANYWAYSSSUUUHH. Never mind that :') I'm here now!! Let's talk about the real star of the show here. Gazes upon you fondly, tangerines and little bubbles and hearts suddenly surrounding my aura as I take in your existence. 🧡

Oh my Kitkat, no words can begin to express the absolute adoration in which I hold for you. I know we haven't known each other long! But the familiarity and warmth you have displayed to be and continue to really makes it feel like we've been friends for five-ever!! [*leans in and whispers* because that's longer than forever /silly!! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )]

I never expected to become friends with such a baby face angel such as yourself, but that's usually how the bestest friendships are forged, no? By spontaneous combustion!! We're a heartbeat explosion of starry stuff and soul sister love in the endless sky!! ໒꒰ྀི ๑ ´ ˘ ` ू ꒱ྀིა

What I'm saying is, I love you and everything you stand for. And I am squishing you in every cinnamoroll hug you could ever feel, ever!! Thank you for coming into my orbit, and I can only hope on all the stars in the universe that my own has even a sliver of a positive and love-filled impact on yours as it did mine. 🫶🫶

/) /) (\ (\ ( . . ) ( . . ) ( づ♡⊂ ) 🫧💗✨ <<< look!! it's us!! yay!! (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭🫂❤️

You're just a sweet little wonder and I am so so endlessly grateful to call you my friend. My sweet little baby sis!! Just know that I love you so so much!! I love you!!!! Happy happy birthday, cute little orange blossom cupcake! And cheers to one of the greatest days in the history of EVER!! 🧡🥂✨

🌟。💕。🤗 🍀 。🎁 。🎉 🍾 🌟 ✨。＼｜／。🌺 🎉 Happy 🥰 🎈 🍸 Birthday ! 🥂 💜。／｜＼。💎 。🍀。 🌹。🎉。 🌟。 😊。 🎶

♥♥♫♪Happy Birthday to you ♪♫•¨•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•¨•♫♪ Happy Birthday to you ♪♫•¨•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•¨•♫♪ Happy Birthday dear Kit Kit!!!!! ♥♥♫♪ Happy Birthday to you!! ♪♫•¨•.¸¸♥ ♪♫•¨•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•¨•♫♪ ♪♫•¨•.¸¸♥ ¸¸.•¨•♫♪

[oh! and that cute little orange divider is courtesy of one @plutism !! it's so you, is it not? ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ got major ' you ' vibes from it. tho it may just be me!! teehee 😚😁]

((uwah!!! this was sent 10th february!!!!! i saw it but i didn't have time to respond (つω`｡)))

AW FUCK YEAH EDIBLE STREAMERS LETS GO!!!!! (briefly, you watch me jump to eat them out of the air. ...i miss, several times.)

[ueueueee!! IT IS LONGER THAN FOREVER!!]

[omigosh!! it's literally us!!!!!]

AWWWHWHAGAWSAEEWEWWWWW THE INTERWEAVING OF SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTIONS TO REFERENCE MY EXPLOSIVE TENDENCIES WAAAHHHHH I LOVE YOUUU!!! UWOOOHHHH YOU REALLY THOUGHT OF EVERYTHINGGG!! 。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

and just to put the silliness away for a bit,, you never ever EVER have to hope you had an impact on me!! because undeniably,, you did. and you still do.

never doubt that you've had a positive influence on me, zeep. i have never, and never will regret meeting you. (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

*whisper whisper* c'mere,, c'mere!!! i'll tell you a secret,, but you gotta keep it TIP TOP PRIVATE okay soldier!?!??!! i love you. like,, genuinely. i am proud and absolutely delighted to call you my friend. legitimately, no joke,, just thinking of you makes me happy. the impact of your words and your interactions and even your very presence in and of itself is something i will never be able to put into words. you fill the little hole in me,, oddly shaped like a sister and a close friend all mixed up into a cacophony of something utterly fond and incomprehensible in the best way possible. i cradle you close to my heart and smooth my hand over your head,, you brightened up my life without even knowing it. and me, personally,, i think that just goes to show how amazing you are, filled with joy and determination and courage i can't and couldn't seem to see the end of, even if i tried. it'll be okay, zeep. you are funny, and smart, and a sunshine in every sense of the word, even when you're not doing anything at all. you don't know how loved you are. may that little fire in you keep burning for the rest of however long you want it to, may life bring you good things. because you deserve them. all of them.

i wish for the best for you,,, and that you'll get everything you've ever wanted in the whole wide world,, that you'll get loooaaaads of *totally not stolen /j* money,, that you'll get to live the life you want and sleep well at night!! may you be covered in friendly purring cats and many, many oranges you sweet soul!! RAAAAHHHH!! *okay whisper over!!*

thanks for letting me bump into you like a silly jellyfish in the middle of a deep sea exhibit,, zeepie!! I LOVE YOU TOOO!!! (≧◡≦) ♡ (≧◡≦) ♡ (≧◡≦) ♡

[OOOOH!!! it's so silly!! very bright and verrryyy orange!! considering my whole blog theme is a mix of warm colors leaning on orange,, i get that!! very silly,, very kitty!!!!!]

love,, the kitty kitty anon that invaded your inbox ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

#zeepie beepie!!! zeepie deepie!!!! #kittykitty treasures #MY BIRTHDAYYY!!! #kittykitty interactions #kittykitty asks

[reaverzine]

AN ORAL HISTORY OF YTV IN THE 1990S.

Will Sloan, the co-host of two movie focused podcasts, The Important Cinema Club and Michael & Us, but more importantly, the man banned from Twitter for seven days for hoping baby Yoda would die painfully, has re-released his 'Oral History of YTV', but this time on Amazon in book form.

"Some years ago I wrote an oral history of the beloved Canadian children's TV channel YTV. It's sadly no longer online... but now exists as a chapbook and ebook." - Will Sloan via Twitter

Before I write anything else please visit the following Amazon links to purchase said book. Canada: http://Keepitweird.ca USA: https://a.co/d/ium1Ion

As an enthusiastic listener of The Important Cinema Club, I find myself filled with anticipation at the mere thought of being able to read and reminisce about the fun times I had watching YTV.

As a child of the 90s, there's one thing I can confidently say: YTV played a paramount role in shaping the upbringing of myself and my friends. Fond memories flood back as we recall tuning in eagerly to catch our favorite shows. It was a magical experience where every viewing promised an unforgettable adventure.

YTV was more than just a television channel; it was a gateway to happiness and endless entertainment. For kids of that era, including myself, it was a cherished part of our daily routine. From captivating animated series to hilarious live-action shows, YTV never failed to deliver on its promise of providing a good time for its viewers.

Each show on YTV offered a unique and imaginative world. Samurai Pizza Cats took us on action-packed adventures with heroic feline warriors. Reboot, with its groundbreaking CGI animation, transported us into the captivating realm of Mainframe, where Bob and his friends fought viruses and protected the digital universe. Nanalan' enchanted us with its adorable puppetry, and Stickin' Around had us laughing with the misadventures of Stacy and Bradley. These shows not only entertained us but also ignited our imaginations and made us feel like we were a part of something extraordinary.

As the years passed, YTV continued to evolve, bringing new shows and fresh memories to subsequent generations. The nostalgic pull of this beloved channel remains strong, connecting 90s kids and beyond through a shared love for the iconic shows of that era. Even now, as we reminisce about the fun times we had watching YTV, we can't help but feel a sense of joy and warmth in our hearts.

While the focus here has been on relishing the past, there's something worth mentioning about preserving the legacy of YTV for future generations. The influence of this cherished channel on Canadian culture and the hearts of its viewers is undeniable. For those who may not be familiar with YTV, it's essential to introduce them to the magic it once brought into our lives.

If you're a Canadian who grew up cherishing the wonder of YTV, or if you simply want to experience a piece of Canadian television history, I urge you to check out this book. Delve into the nostalgia, reminisce about the shows that filled your heart with joy, and let the magic of YTV transport you back to a simpler time.

Order your copy today, and let the journey down memory lane begin anew.

Canada: http://Keepitweird.ca USA: https://a.co/d/ium1Ion

#YTV #The Zone #PJ #Canada #Canadian #TV #Television #Network #Will Sloan #Reaverzine

[haruwrites21]

Lights and Laughter: 50 Christmas Wishes to Share with Friends

As the twinkle of Christmas lights brighten up our homes and the cheerful peals of laughter grace our get-togethers, there's no better time than now to express our joy and gratitude to our friends. The ones who stuck by us during the tumultuous waves of life, who added sunshine to our rainy days, and helped us to create a treasure-trove of delightful memories.

So, this Christmas, let's use the power of words to spread joy and festive cheer among our circle of friends. To lend you a helping hand with this, we have compiled a selection of thoughtful and uplifting Christmas wishes to friends that you can share with your friends, bringing an extra glimmer of happiness to their holiday celebrations.

Here goes the list:

"This Christmas, here's wishing you a heart full of warmth, a home full of love and a season full of laughter."

"May your stocking be stuffed with joy and your heart overflow with laughter. Merry Christmas, dear friend."

"Wishing you a Christmas that's merry, bright, and filled with delights. Enjoy each treasured moment this festive season."

"May the spirit of Christmas kindle the fire of love, joy, and hope in your heart. Rejoice in the company of your loved ones."

"May your holidays twinkle with unforgettable moments, laughter, and cheer. Merry Christmas to my amazing friend."

...

"May this Christmas be a season of endless joy, peace, and love for you. Thanks for being a friend that I can always rely on."

"Wishing you every joy and happiness this Christmas and throughout the coming year. Your friendship is a beautiful Christmas gift."

"May you have the spirit of Christmas in your heart, the joy of Christmas in your eyes, and the love of Christmas in your home."

"Here's to the twinkling lights, snowflakes, gifts under the tree, and the magical spirit of Christmas. And most importantly, here's to you my friend!"

"Your friendship is the star at the top of my Christmas tree - illuminating, precious, and always in style. Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a year full of blessings and laughter."

Remember, the most endearing messages are the ones laced with love, sincerity, and personal touch. Enlighten the hearts of your friends with these warm wishes or draw inspiration from them to create your own.

This holiday season, switch on the lights of love and camaraderie. Pop in a spectacular Christmas movie or slide into your comfy holiday attire. Don't forget to scoop a handful of candy canes while you dive into writing these heartwarming Christmas wishes. Let's fill Christmas with lights, laughter, and messages of love that add a sprinkle of magic to the lives of our friends.

Because, indeed, it is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air. Merry Christmas!

#wishes #christmas

[muthaz-rapapa]

~ September 18th ~ 誕生日おめでとう, 秋穂！ Happy Birthday, Akiho! 💙💙💙

#my baby girl my sweet little Alice #may your days be filled with warmth & hope & endless love and happiness from now on 😭 #b/c I will throw hands with Ohkawa on top of Tokyo Tower if she doesn't! 😠😂 #if I could art or do a gif collage I would but alas I have no drawing skills and don't own photoshop #please admire a lovely selection of the Akihos I've gif-ed so far <3 #shinomoto akiho #my YunaAkiMomo gifs #🕰️🌾🐇

[imthebadguyyy]

maybe something like interviewer asking her sexist questions and the boys stand up for her , after that interview she feels insecure and the boys comfort her . that's just an idea you don't have to write it !! <33

I hope you like it, and I'm so sorry about the delay 😭 I couldn't find my footing with this one, and I hope it's what you wanted ! Have a lovely day 💙

The One Where They're There For Her

Pairing - One Direction x Reader (6thmember!female!reader)

Fandom - One Direction (Directioners)

Summary - A particularly sexist interview decides to reduce you to just a sexual being and makes no effort to hide his misogyny. But the boys are there to support you.

Warnings - sexualization of the lgbt community, sexist comments, swearing, (honestly I hated myself for writing some of the comments here,and I'm so sorry)

Being a part of the biggest band in the world comes with certain responsibilities. Not responsibilities that come along with signing a recording contract, but those that a person deems themselves responsible for. For example, as the only female in a boyband, a female with a fanbase as large as yours, you took it upon yourself to always stand up for what's right, and to be an ally for the causes close to your heart.

That meant that your social media was often flooded with information about important causes, or your opinions on issues like feminism. Was it always well received? Heck no. There were people filled your feed with hate and comments calling you the most horrible names and labelling you a 'man hater' and a 'bitch' But you didn't let it get to you. On most days. On days like today, it was all you could do to keep it together. It had been a tiring few days, touring, recording, performing and doing an endless amount of interviews and photoshoots. It was safe to say you were on the last of your nerves, having battled your way through a makeup artist who had insisted on pointing out your flaws and had used a shit ton of makeup to cover them up. You had battled a photographer who had not hesitated to tell you that if you didn't look more feminine people would think you were turning into a man.

Before you could retaliate, Paul had dragged him away and told management to cancel the photoshoot, and find another photographer before grabbing the six of you some sandwiches and had let you all go back for a quick power nap at the hotel. Then in about half an hour he had woken you up, to get you ready for another interview. That's how you were here, in a white jumpsuit and a black blazer jacket, paired with black heels. Another day, another interviewer that got on your nerves. But this one, this one was different. This interviewer was different, but also the same. Another misogynistic man who thought he was entitled to stare at your ass and cleavage, and eye fuck you as you settled into a seat in between Niall and Zayn.

Settling in, you crossed one knee over the other, plastering a fake smile onto your face, as the man leaned back in his chair, throwing you a sleazy smirk. Noticing the look, Zayn shifted so you were out of view of the interviewer, but in view of the audience. It was in moments like this that you were a 100× more grateful to have your boys. They were well aware of how sleazy some interviewers could be, having had plenty of experience with them, and Zayn and Louis in particular were very protective about the way you were treated. Squeezing your thigh softly, he leaned back a little, lips settling into a thin line as he looked at the interviewer with a cold look. A little behind, Louis threw the interviewer a dirty look.

"So, One Direction! Congratulations on the album, as you all know its out on November the 22nd, with eighteen new songs, including the singles Night Changes and Steal My Girl Speaking of stealing girls, do you think I could steal your number Y/N? And may I mention, you look ver, very hot in that outfit" The interviewer joked, throwing you what he thought was a sexy smirk. (P.S - it wasn't) Answering with an awkward laugh, you shook your head, as Niall tensed up beside you. "Aww come on, your'e a pretty girl, I'm a handsome guy, let's go out sometime" he pressed on, ignoring the growing anger in Harry's eyes. "That's umm, nice. But no thanks, I'm not going to go out with you" was your answer, as you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Picking up on your nervous tic, Zayn moved his hand to rest on your knee, stopping it from bouncing up and down.

"Aww come on baby, what is it? You like girls or something? Because I wouldn't mind being a part of that action either" the sleazebag chuckled, ignoring the disgusted look Liam sent his way. "That's rude" Liam said, while Zayn tightened his grip on your knee. "Oh come on lads, are you telling me the idea doesn't appeal to you? Two women together, mm, makes me all excited just thinking about it, especially if one of them's Y/N" That comment was all it took for Louis to stand up, turning to the man and saying in a voice much rougher than his usual voice, "Alright, that's fuckin' enough, what the fuck is actually wrong with you?" he was backed up by Liam, who stood up, going to tower over the interviewer, whose eyes had lost some of the sleazy look in them. "All you've done since we walked in here is make those disgusting comments about Y/N, and it's sickening. Have some fucking respect" he practically spat.

Behind him, Zayn took your hand in his and pulled you to your feet, noticing the slight glossiness in them, leading you back to the dressing rooms, while Niall, Liam, Louis and Harry stayed back to continue to snap at the interviewer. "That is no way to treat a woman, and not only are you disrespecting her, you also made those god awful events about seeing women together. Your'e a shame to every single person in this room by talking like that" Harry continued, glancing over his shoulder to check if you were okay.

"And no, it doesn't excite us, because we are not assholes, and you are, a disgusting sleaze who does not deserve the job he has. Fuckin loser" Niall chimed in, standing up and storming out. Louis stood up as well, turning to directly face the cameras and the cameramen and sound technicians, who had all looked shocked when the man had made his comments towards you. "I sure as hell hope you have that on record, so you can see just how fucking sexist this industry is to women. Y/N does the same job as us, works just as hard and has the same number of awards, nominations, and records and yet you decide to only focus on her body, clothes, love life and sexuality. Get a fucking life" he spat at the camera, before walking away himself, eventually followed by Harry and Liam, who apologized to the outraged fans before leaving themselves. As they made their way to the dressing rooms they could hear the audience telling the interviewer to apologize to you, their anger at the way you were treated echoing through the building.

Walking in, Harry caught sigh of you curled up in one of the armchairs, with Louis sitting beside you, while Niall and Zayn talked to a furious Paul. "He had no damn right to treat her like shite, and you need to make sure that he knows those comments were un-fuckin-acceptable" Niall was saying, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. "And to make those sickening comments about wanting to get action? Can't we sue him for something?" Was Zayn's reply, glancing over his shoulder at you to make sure you were still okay. "We can't sue him, atleast I don't think we can, but I'll have someone let the smug bastard know that he needs to learn how to respect a woman" Paul said, before leaving the room to give the six of you some time together before you had to head back to the hotel.

"How're you feeling darling?" Louis said, moving over and patting your knee so you moved. "I'm okay" you mumbled back, letting Louis settle in next to you, leaning back to rest on his chest. "He had no fuckin right to say any of that, and don't you let it trouble you for a second" Zayn added, pouring out a cup of tea for you and for Louis and Harry. "I don't care about what he said, I couldn't care less, but it was just so frustrating, sitting there and listening to him just sexualize a whole community of people. You've got to be in a really sad place to think of shit like that. That's what annoyed me. You think I give a damn about what he said about my clothes or wanting to take me out on a date? It was the way he was talking, like he was sure any woman would be glad to have him that irked me. He's really tiresome" was your reply, as you reached forward for a sip of your tea. "That's the right attitude love. Haters gonna hate" Harry said.

"I know that. But I just wish I could punch him once, which sounds mean, but he does kind of deserve it" Niall said, earning a laugh from you. Niall was never usually aggressive, and even now, he wasn't particularly rude but it was rare to see him wanting to punch someone. "It's okay Niall, you don't have to. I can do it myself, but I won't" you replied, leaning up to squeeze his hand. "Besides, Ni, if you went and punched him, I'd do it too, and then we'd all go to jail" Liam chimed in, scrolling through his twitter. "Twitter isn't happy either babe. #stopsexualization and #Y/Ndeservesbetter is trending already" he added, showing you his phone. "If it means some of these sexist asses get their heads out of the sand, I'm happy. But I dont want to to think about it now" you replied, cuddling closer to the warmth radiating from Louis's body.

"Okay, we won't talk about it. Do you want to go back to the hotel?" Harry asked, standing up and walking to the door "No I want to go to Nando's. Anybody else hungry?" You asked, to nods of assent from the boys. "I'm starving. Those stupid sandwiches didn't fill me up at all" Zayn said, standing up to grab his coat and wallet. "I know and I'm craving some hot Peri Peri chicken with some fries. Do you think they'd let me put the lemon and herb sauce on the fries?" You asked, standing up yourself, earning a laugh from Louis. "Your'e an international superstar babe, I think they'd give you some lemon herb sauce" Liam joked.

Laughing, the six of you made your way to the car, with Harry and Niall squishing you in between them, as Louis sat in the back with Liam, and Zayn sat in the front with Paul (he was driving thank GOD) "I'm proud of you darling" Harry chimed in suddenly. "I am too" Niall added. "You know I am" Louis said, before Liam added "Always babe" and Zayn turned to smile at you before adding, "We are all proud of you, and we always will be, not only because you do a damn good job of not listening to the haters, but because you do what you think is right" "Awh come on, your'e gonna make me cry" you mumbled, leaning into Niall's shoulder. "Almost makes me feel bad for teasing you about having an extremely low spice tolerance the last time we were at Nando's Haz" you smirked, earning a roar of laughter from the boys.

"That chicken was spicy love!" "It was lemon and herb with no peri peri!" "And it was spicy!"

And just like that, you were back to messing around with each other. Sleazy interviewers would come and go, but your boys were always there to support you. Always.

-------

A/N - Thanks for reading ! I'd also like to apologize on the behalf of this fictitious interviewer I made up, I felt so bad while writing some of this 😭 anyways, I hope this is what you wanted! Enjoy !

Tags - @zaynkissbot @gucci-hazza @bxtchboy69

#one direction x reader #one direction x sixth member #one direction imagines #one direction fanfiction #one direction #harry styles x reader #liam payne x reader #louis tomlinson x reader #niall horan x reader #zayn malik x reader #imthebadguyyytags #harry styles #niall horan #liam payne #louis tomlinson #zayn malik

[beels-burger-babe]

Familial Attachments

***Awwwww, I'm so happy that you're enjoying my blog! This request warms my heart and I am WEAK for soft big brother Lucifer. I hope you enjoy @lorkai! - B*** Summary: MC keeps favouring Lucifer. It baffles the other brothers. Lucifer is intrigued by the behaviour and slowly begins to open up to them.

No one really noticed it when you first arrived. You were new to the Devildom, and so much was foreign and scary around you. So you following orders without question and lingering near Lucifer, the strongest of the demons living with you, could've been passed off as a survival technique. But after a few months of you staying in the House of Lamentation, Lucifer thought the initial fear would wear off, and yet you still continued to follow him around like a little duckling. Still, Lucifer hadn't really clued in that there was perhaps sentiment behind your behaviour until he had walked in on a discussion between you, Mammon, Beelzebub and Leviathan. He had approached your bedroom door and raised his fist to knock when he heard Mammon's annoyingly loud voice. "I'm just sayin'! There ain't no reason for you go followin' mean old Lucifer around like that! He's old. He complains a lot. He never has any fun. You should be spendin' time with me! I'm supposed to be your protector ya know!" Lucifer huffed in annoyance and was about to barge in when he heard your giggle. "I'm hanging out with you now, aren't I?" "I don't know MC. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Mammon has a point." Levi pipped in. At this point, Lucifer cracked open the door and peeked inside. You were sitting in Beel's lap as he munched away on a bowl of popcorn. Mammon was standing, punching harshly onto the buttons of the remote he was holding, while Levi sat playing with the ease and skill of the pro-gamer that he was. He didn't even look away from the screen as he spoke to you. Lucifer made a mental note to talk to him about conversation manners. Leviathan continued. "You're always hanging around Lucifer. You only spend time with us if we specifically ask you to, or if we arrange it ahead of time," Levi shifted uncomfortably as he pressed a button on his remote; Mammon cursed as a result. "I-I-Is he your favourite or something?" Lucifer couldn't help but perk at the question. He wasn't aware that you were spending particularly more time with him than the others. Sure, he noticed that you would listen to him much better than any of his brothers ever did (and that alone made him warm up to you), and you always seemed to smile when he was around. But he thought that was just the kind of person you were; happy and compliant. Much to his, and everyone in the room's, surprise, you nodded. "I guess he is." Chaos erupted inside the room.

Beel dropped his popcorn. Levi sputtered and actually looked away from the game to gape at you. Mammon threw his remote and whipped around to face you. "WHAT?!?! You mean you prefer that old bat to the GREAT MAMMON?!?!" to Mammon's defence, he looked genuinely hurt by the confession. "But I'm your first! I thought we were pals, MC?!" Levi tensed and sniffed before turning back at the game. "I'm not that surprised really. Makes sense that you wouldn't l-like a slimy gross otaku like me." Beel remained frozen and quiet. A frown etched on his face as his hands tightened around you. Your eyes widened at everyone's reactions. "Woah, woah, woah! Who said anything about not liking you guys? I love hanging out with you three, and I do see you as my friends," you looked directly at Levi. "Otaku or not. I treasure my time with you." Levi pouted and refused to look at you. "Then what does Lucifer have that we don't? Why does he get the title of your favourite?" Lucifer was shocked to see your expression soften as you smiled gently at just the thought. "He reminds me of my big brother in the human realm," everyone went quiet and looked at you. "I-It was hard being ripped away from everything I knew and be forced to live in a world that I didn't even know existed. When I saw Lucifer and got to know him a bit, I noticed how much he acted like my brother. It was comforting to have just that little bit of familiarity amongst all the chaos of the Devildom, you know?" The eldest brother's heart warmed at the statement. It stroked his pride in the best way possible. He loved his brothers, but none of them were very affectionate with one another with the exception of the twins. To hear that someone cared about him and saw him as an older brother was...touching. His younger brothers seemed to agree as, with a little irritation, they settled back down into their game. Forgetting what he came for, Lucifer smiled and went back to his office. Since that day, he was notably kinder and more vulnerable with you. If you saw him as an older brother then he was determined to be the best older brother you could ask for. He gave you a pat on the shoulder or ruffled your hair every time he saw you. He always made sure to congratulate or acknowledge your accomplishments, no matter how small they were. He asked you how your day was and allowed you to come to him with any troubles (which he would promptly take care of the moment you left the room). Every night he would invite you into his office for some tea and a round of chess before bed. It felt like in no time, he had begun to see you as a little sibling just as much as you saw him as an older brother. Lucifer did his best not to let his brothers catch on to how soft he was around you. He tried to compensate by teasing you a little more whenever they were around. Or pretend that he was taking you into his office to scold you when he really was going to look you over and make sure you weren't hurt in the most recent incident. The result was an endless amount of taunts and ridicule from his brothers on how he was a better sibling to you than he was them (which was mostly true), that you had thawed his ancient icy heart (which he would never admit), and that he couldn't say no to you (which he tried to prove wrong but inevitably failed, much to his embarrassment). Still, the bond between you two was one that was strong and pure. When it was finally time for you to go back to the human realm, you were in tears and refused to let go of Lucifer. Lucifer held onto you tightly. It was obvious to everyone there that he was just as reluctant to let you leave. "You have to go know MC. Your real big brother is up there worried about you, I'm sure," his voice was steady and firm. He refused to cry; no matter how badly his heart ached at that moment. You sniffled and buried your face deeper into his chest. "I know. But you've become just as much a brother to me as him, a-a-and I don't want to leave you. What if I never get to see you again?" Lucifer inhaled sharply at the thought.

He looked over at Diavolo. Something in his eyes must have given away the hurt and inner turmoil he was feeling, for Diavolo's eyes widened in shock before he smiled softly at his friend. "You may take your D.D.D. with you, MC, to stay in contact with the brothers. Perhaps, on occasion, we can also organize visits. This will not be goodbye forever." Lucifer chuckled as you held him tighter and ran a hand through your hair. "See? You'll see me and everyone else again. But for now, it's time for you to return home." You shakily nodded and reluctantly pulled away from his arms; Lucifer felt his chest tighten as coldness filled the warmth where you once stood. Still, he refused to cry or show vulnerability. He would not become a blubbering mess like Mammon. He was better than that. He clenched his fists as you went around giving everyone final hugs goodbye. He held his breath as you picked up the bag the two of you had put together full of keepsakes from the Devildom. You took a step towards the portal. "MC, wait!" Lucifer rushed towards you, damning his own pride and reputation to hell, as he pulled you into one final tight hug and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He held you there; closing his eyes and allowing himself to pretend for just a moment that he didn't have to let you go. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. "I love you, MC. I will miss having you here." Suddenly you were sobbing again. The two of you held each other for several minutes, as Diavolo had Barbartos escort the others out to give the two of you some privacy. Finally, he let you go, and within a second you were gone and back to your true family. Lucifer went home, and sat in his office, wondering what you were doing with your real big brother and if you were as happy up there as you were with him. ***HOW THE FUCK DID I MAKE THIS ANGST AND END UP CRYING WELL WRITING I AM SO SORRY I SERIOUSLY MEANT FOR THIS BE FLUFF GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! *Wipes tears* Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this no matter how accidentally painful it was. Thank you for the lovely request @lorkai! I was touched by how personal it was!***

#obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #started out as fluff #Ended up crying #Woops #obey me lucifer #gn!mc #gender neutral main character #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me angst #obey me fluff #Is one or the other? Who knows #Not me #My writing #bumble 🐝 #bumble b #obey me #soft lucifer #Good brother lucifer #demon brothers #obey me demon brothers

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide! #I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

[itsallyscorner]

For Tom x

Pairing: Tom Holland x singer!reader

Summary: You have a surprise for Tom:)

Warnings: none, just pure teeth rotting Fluff:)

A/n: Hello my loves! This is literally a rewrite because I accidentally deleted the original version of this story on Tumblr RIGHT before I was gonna post it😭 Anyway here it is, I hope you all like it! Ally x

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

look at my sunshine🥺

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

Your giggles filled the hallway as you lead Tom into your makeshift studio. Since you were quarantining with him and his mates in their shared home in London, you were miles away from your crew and studio. Which, yes, made it difficult to record an entire album on your own—but it did give you the creative freedom to do whatever you pleased for the album.

The boys had their own creative outlets; for example putting together a puzzle or having a movie marathon. While you found those activities enjoyable, the inner singer in you couldn’t stop thinking of beats or coming up with lyrics in your head. You needed the studio—you needed to bring those beats and lyrics to life before you could forget them. So with the help of the houses’ tech lord himself, Harry made it possible for you to have your own little studio in the spare guest room of the house. There, you spent endless days writing and recording things like harmonies and building melodies. Little did you know that this would lead to the creation of your sixth album. Now a couple months later, your latest album is currently in its final stages and would soon be released to the world.

Tom adoringly watched your figure, which was drowned in one of his oversized jumpers, excitedly skip towards the guest room. As soon as you were both inside, you rushed to close the door and eagerly pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What have you been up to, lovey?” He teasingly asks you. He knew you were up to something, he just didn’t know if it were bad or good.

Your figure was bent over the desk where your laptop was located. Turning over your shoulder you tell him, “It’s nothing bad, I promise!” You’re met with an amused grin on his blush pink lips.

Gathering your laptop into your arms, you move to sit beside Tom on the bed. He curiously leans forward, trying to get a glance at what’s on your screen.

“Nuh uh, it’s a surprise, Thomas.” You playfully scold him and gently push his face away from your laptop. He responds with a pout against your palm before pressing a kiss onto your skin. You continue to click around on your laptop, looking through your documents for the specific file.

Meanwhile, Tom shuffles further up the bed, getting comfortable. He notices the new distance between you and him and decides that he’s unsatisfied with the additional inches. He choses to snake his arms around your waist and lifts you up, happily placing you on the empty and lonely space on his lap. Laying down on his back, he takes a moment to admire the way you look in his jumper. It was a few sizes bigger than you and stopped right above your knees. The jumper may have looked good on him, but it looked absolutely perfect on you.

“You look so cute in my jumper.” He hums, hands lazily rubbing up and down your thighs. Your nose scrunches up as you lightly slap his chest; your silent way of saying “shut up” whenever Tom would say something that made you blush.

You finally find the file you were looking for and place your laptop on your lap. You nervously glance at your screen, biting down on your lip out of habit.

“Ok, so I did something.” You started. Tom squints his eyes at you, “That sounds like the beginning of a really bad something.”

You huff, “I just told you it wasn’t anything bad! Do you want your surprise or not?”

Tom chuckles and grasps onto your thighs, “Yes—yes, sorry, keep going.”

“So you know how I’ve already finished my album?” You question him. Tom nods, staring up at you while you sit on his thighs.

“Well, I wrote a few more songs that were supposed to be on the album. But I don’t know, I felt a bit greedy and decided to keep them for myself.” You explain. Tom raises a brow at you, “Baby, you don’t have to feel guilty about keeping songs to yourself. If you don’t want to share them, you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s just that, they’re about you.” You pause, staring down at your fingers that fiddled together. “Like I wrote them specifically for you to listen to. I wanted to include them on the album, but it just didn’t feel right to share something that was meant only for you.”

You place your laptop on the bed and turn it so the screen is facing Tom.

“So...as a solution, I made you your own album.” You were too busy avoiding his stare, that you missed the twinkle in Tom’s coffee colored orbs. He carefully sits up, his arms around you getting tighter, as he pulls you closer into his chest. Tom ducks his head down to yours, nudging your nose with his to get you to look at him. When your eyes finally meet, the lopsided grin on his features grows wider.

“You made me my own album?”

“Yeah.” You shyly answer. Tom softly coos at you, cupping your face and pressing a chaste kiss onto both of your cheeks.

“You are the most precious thing in the world, sunshine, I swear.” He squishes your cheeks together and began to cover your face with butterfly like kisses. Sweet laughs erupt from you, the sounds making Tom’s heart swell.

You stuff your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, using it as a place to hide from his lips. Instead, Tom opts to lay his kisses along the side of your face, your neck, and your shoulder.

“Lemme kiss you!” He whines. You chuckle at him, finally moving away from his neck. His attention darts towards your lips more than once, prompting you to lean forward and connect them with his. Tom’s lips were soft against yours, like clouds or cushiony pillows. The kiss was short and sweet; though it didn’t prevent you from feeling the adoration and passion he felt for you in that moment. In fact, he felt it all the time, but right now, his love for you was coursing through his veins.

He finally pulls away, leaving the taste of him linger in your mouth. “Can I have a listen?” He motions his head towards your laptop beside him.

“Go ahead.” Tom’s arms unravel from your waist, the area they once occupied left cold and yearning for his warmth. He uses one of his elbows to hold himself up and the other to control the touchpad. His eyes scan the file.

For Tom x

someone like u

test drive

worst behavior

main thing

He glances at you, “I start with ‘someone like u’, right?” You reply with a quiet “mhm”.

Tom clicks on the link. The opening notes of ‘someone like u’ begin to play followed by your angelic voice. You hear him release a content sigh, making a small smile to form on your lips. His arms make their way around you again, this time holding you closer against him. He rests his head on your chest and sneakily presses a kiss onto your neck. You fondly run a hand through his curly hair and rest your chin on the top of his head, listening to the songs you’ve made for him.

The two of you listen through the album in one go with no stops. You found joy in Tom’s reactions towards every song. Sometimes he would make little comments or sounds of shock whenever he heard you hit a certain note. He nodded along to the beats of ‘test drive’ and ‘worst behavior’, dancing around in his seat and making you join him. This time, you didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes when he listened closely to the lyrics. ‘Main thing’ got him the most, leaving him with a goofy-lovesick grin plastered onto his face.

When ‘main thing’ came to a close, the room became silent, leaving Tom enough time to process the four songs you wrote about him and the meanings behind them.

You were the first to speak, “So did you like it?” You scan his face looking for any signs of dislike.

Tom’s eyes widen, “Are you kidding me? That was bloody fantastic—that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard! I’m obsessed with it, oh my god!” He expressed, arms moving around as he spoke.

His face was radiating with happiness, “You are the most talented and loving woman in the world. And I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you or your love—but I just love you so fucking much.”

“I love you so fucking much too, you dork.” You laugh, pecking his lips.

“No, but seriously, thank you so much. I know you’re used to writing songs, but the fact that you actually took the time to write songs about me means a lot. They’re just a bunch of songs, but they mean the world to me and I cherish each and every one of them.” He admits, taking one of your hands and placing it onto his heart. Your palm feels the faint rhythm of his heart beating against his chest.

You tilt your head at him, mirroring the smile on his face, “I’ll always write songs about you. You somehow manage to inspire them anyway.”

Tom smirks, “Well I am Tom Holland.” You snort and roll your eyes at his humble brag.

“You’re still a dork, Tommy.” You comment.

Tom shrugs, “I’m a special dork because I’m your dork. Therefore making me superior to the other existing dorks—there’s a difference, darling.”

“And where did you come up with this hypothesis, Mr. Holland?” You question him, playing along with his antics.

“It’s Tom’s Theory.” He answers with feign seriousness. You burst out laughing, “Oh is it?”

Tom leans down to your laptop and restarts his album. “Yes, and now Tom’s Theory, believes that we should listen to the album again until I learn all the lyrics to every single song.” He proclaims.

“Babe, you don’t have to—” Tom stops you, “I’m dead serious.”

It was going to be a long night.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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Tom Holland + characters Taglist

↪︎ @lovableparker @aprettyfleur @sunwardsss @dummiesshort @thotforcriminalminds @cuddlykoala101 @itstaskeen @whoslili @white-wolf1940 @tomsirishgirlx @roseke @kaylans-imagines @spideyspeaches @slutforsebstan

General Taglist

↪︎ @quxxnxfhxll @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @thegirlwiththediary @agustdowney @bi-lmg @rqmanoff @sesamepancakes @stardustofreading

#tom holland x singer!reader #Tom Holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #Tom Holland fluff #tom holland headcanon #avengers #tom holland drabble #mcu #tom holland blurb #marvel #tom holland one shot #ally’s request #thomas stanley holland #Tom Holland one shots

[xhanisai]

List of my fics that have Marichat in it cos it’s Marichat May!

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2019 - Five times he got flustered and one time she did 

"Cool? Yes. Handsome? Correct. Hot? Most definitely. But CUTE? No. No way! Not at all!"

Chat Noir doesn't like being called cute. She and the world took advantage of that.

Adrien Agreste doesn't like being called cute. She and the world took advantage of that.

As for her...?

(Humour, comedy, tooth rotting fluff and romance- perfect for readers who like to see Adrien be simultaneously appreciated and embarassed by his loved ones.)

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2019 - Disconsolate

She never really saw the colour white and blue the same way again.

She never wanted to see those colours again.

(Angst, hurt and comfort, happy ending, romance, minor PTSD- a meal for readers who absolutely loved the episode Chat Blanc and are eager for a happier ending between Adrien and Marinette.)

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2019 - Selfish Touch

Everyone's soulmarks are completely unique. Some have markings on their skin, some have telepathy, some even have the red string tied around their little finger. The weirdest ones stray from tasting whatever your soulmate's eating to seeing their reflection in the mirror instead of yours. No two pairs are the same.

However, Marinette and Adrien are fated with a bittersweet destiny instead. After all, every time they touch, they end up in excruciating pain.

(Slight angst in the beginning, romance, some humour, fluff, AU- quite a change from your usual soulmate AUs but still incorporating canon’s events and the lovesquare has already sailed.)

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2020 - Only idiots try to woo those who are already in love with them

"So...Marinette Dupain-Cheng Noir, huh?"

Oooh, Adrien wasn't going to let her get away with that so easily. His lady seems to have a crush on him, Chat Noir him! And there's no way in hell he's going to let that go. However, he has a plan and he refuses to go off tangent.

"Personally, I think Marinette Agreste has a nicer ring to it, don't you think?"

(Comedy, humourous, romance, slight angst and blood- a feast for fans who enjoy Adrien bringing out his inner Chat Noir after figuring out who exactly his Lady is.)

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2020 - Wo Ai Ni!

Plagg thought that having his holder moon and squeal about Ladybug this and Ladybug that was utter hell.

.

He should have realised from day one that it was absolutely nothing compared to his babbling adoration for the heroine's civilian identity and now, his waxing poetry for the raven haired girl as he finally shattered the whole 'She's just a friend' delusion and accepted his feelings for her.

(Comedy, humour, fluff, tooth rotting fluff and romance- those hungry for hot mess Adrien, smug little Marinette and their class playing cupid, come get yo food.)

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2020 - Without you, what is the point?

The relief was instantaneously doused with ice cold water, freezing Ladybug from head to toe as Noir asked the question that has been eating him away since he woke up. "I want the truth, and the truth only..."

.

"Who the hell was that white monster?"

( One second Ladybug and him were fighting a brutal akuma; a malevolent, broken person whose powers enabled you to experience the most traumatising memory the person closest to you have suffered (an absolute insane method to enforce empathy), the next second, he was...

Here.)

(Angst, hurt and comfort, romance, emotional and happy ending- perfect for the masochists who enjoy reading the endless possibilities for if Adrien were to find out about Chat Blanc.)

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2020 (Ongoing) - Blanc Noise

It first began with the feeling of being watched and the flicker of shadows.

Then along came missing items being returned in the most odd places.

Soon it was the glimpses of blue eyes in the darkness and a silhouette of white that haunted her.

Marinette thought she saved him, that she saved her Chat Noir from the dystopian timeline.

She was wrong...oh so wrong...

(Horror, suspense, supernatural, romance, angst, mutual pining, hurt and comfort and emotional- readers with a love for horror and Chat Blanc will find this ongoing feast both filling and terrifying~)

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202(?) - Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we’ll still have each other

Thunder roared in the background one last time and the rain intensified, slapping the surface of the umbrella like stones and soaking their feet. The nearby lamp posts that illuminated the streets gave the scene a golden hue, one in particular behind Marinette gave her a celestial glow whilst the rain looked like exquisite diamonds in the background. A moment worth photographing and exhibiting at a famous museum. However, Chat Noir chose to be selfish and instead branded the scene into his mind only for his eyes to see over and over again. 'Mon Dieu...I’m in love...'

(Romance, fluff and rain- let’s be honest here, Chat Noir falling in love with Marinette all over again under the rain. It’s a meal!)

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202(?) -  And maybe it's true I'm caught up on you, Maybe there's a chance you're stuck on me too

"I’ve been waiting hours upon hours, days after days, weeks after weeks, wondering where on Earth you have been." The hero pretended to faint like an overdramatic lady during the medieval times, the back of his hand against his forehead whilst the other clutched his heart. "You had me so worried! I was THIS close in scouring the city for you, Marinette!"

As the cogs started to turn in her head, Marinette finally understood her mistake and she smiled sheepishly which only egged the vigilant on.

(Humour, fluff, romance, sweetness- aren’t we all the equivalent of flustered damsels in England from five centuries ago when it comes to Chat Noir being a silly, clingy boy with Marinette~?)

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202(?) -  Baby I'll tell you all my secrets that I'm keepin', you can come inside

The shrill screams from the fleeing civilians and the furious rants from the raging akuma a few streets away snapped the duo apart in an instant, waking them up to the harsh reality.

That’s right...

Chat Noir was the first to arrive at the scene beforehand, quick to save Marinette from the line of fire heroically. Before he knew it, the smirking, devious girl grabbed him by the bell and pressed her lips against his with a softness that he's never, ever felt in his entire lifetime, pooling his entire body with a warmth that turned his insides into goo.

(Romance, slight comedy, cheeky and sauciness- kISS KISS FALL IN LOVE!)

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And that is all I have so far~ I hope you enjoy lads!

#my writing #my fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #ladybug #some of the fics have more than one side of the square incorporated #but they all do include marichat #gotta show mah loooooove

[laurore-stormwitch]

BEWARE THERE ARE ROW SPOILERS IN THIS FAN FICTION

So, I did something. Rule of Wolves left me in tears. But I felt we were missing an epilogue, and that’s my take. We can see a little of Nikolai courting Zoya, his proposal and the wedding. I poured all my love into this, all of how much these characters mean to me. I hope it can bring comfort and a smile to all of you who love them as much. I don’t say it much, but this is one of the things I loved most writing, and I hope you’re gonna enjoy it. I send a big hug to whoever has taken this grishaverse wild ride  word count: 4953 you are my endless summer - ao3 

“Is this strictly necessary?”

Zoya asked, faking more annoyance than she felt. She wondered what kind of crazy idea had come to Nikolai’s mind this time, as she stumbled through the woods with a strip of cloth tied on her eyes. Nikolai was guiding her, holding her hand and her elbow to steady her through the fallen branches on the ground. He didn’t answer, but she could swear she could hear the smug smirk on his face.

“I already know where you’re taking me. You’ve kept me away from the garden for two months, I kind of figured out what you were doing.”

“How cunning you are. That’s why I love you.”

She nudged him on what she hoped was his stomach, eliciting a laugh from his side.

“Humour me Zoya, please. What kind of a surprise would it be if I let you see?”

“The kind where you don’t end up being a pile of smoking dust.”

Nikolai laughed again, a crystal-clear sound that made her heart twitch. The threat was not that far from the truth. Nikolai had been entertaining himself way too much with this idiotic courting thing he had decided to pursue. She thought back on when she believed she could have a quiet romance with him. A quiet romance with a man who has a double identity as a privateer and wears a ridiculous teal frock coat. Great thinking, Zoya.

The first hint of how much not quiet Nikolai was going to be had been the absurd deal of public flirting he engaged in, knowing damn well how Zoya was used to propriety. And bitter and ruthless words, at the very best. Not even under torture she would admit how endearing it had been instead; better to keep scolding him. However, as usual, Nikolai saw right through her pretence, caught the gleam of amusement and desire in her eyes. That had only made him become more daring and blatant. Nothing could compare for him to the satisfaction of leaving Zoya speechless. Zoya had tried to match his bold attitude, but she had to admit she was not half as good as him. To this day, he was still rubbing in her face the time where she had almost caused a diplomatic incident due to the shock of his shamelessness. He had just got back from a trip to Ketterdam, right after the coronation. They were waiting at the palace’s gates to meet with the Shu delegation, coming to pay their respect to the recently crowned queen. Nikolai had chosen the moment where their newly acquired allies were emerging from the carriages to lean into her ear to whisper, ignoring the fact that they were surrounded by soldiers and dignitaries, and not just Genya and Alina like last time; Nikolai loved an audience as much as he loved himself.

“I see you’ve resorted back to your kefta”, he had muttered in a casual tone.

Zoya had cut him a quick glare, saying something she would regret later. “Did you like the coronation dress better?”

“Oh no, not at all. If I remember correctly, I suggested you get out of that.” The Shu delegation was getting closer. Nikolai had lowered his voice even more, starting to smile at them. “I stand to my suggestion. There are several outfits I like better on you than a dress. Namely, your kefta, which I'm happy you got back.” She had kept her eyes trained in front of her, ignoring him. “Or the rough spun clothes you use when we are on the Volkvolny.” He had plucked a non-existent dust from his sleeve, keeping the nonchalant attitude of someone who was speaking about the weather. “Your nightdress, the one that looks like a starry night and has a shockingly small amount of fabric.” He had waved a hand in Ehri’s direction, who by that time had been a couple of steps too close to them for Nikolai to keep talking. But the man did have a tendency to risk his life. “But you with nothing on would definitely be in first place.”

Zoya had widened her eyes and a violent rush of blood had tinged her cheeks, while Nikolai had sprinted on to welcome her guests and she stood there like an idiot, trying to catch back her composure. After that, she had quickly understood just how much Nikolai appreciated a challenge. And when he understood just how much Zoya hated to cause a scene, that had been the end for her. At least it seemed like they were alone right now. Better to be safe than sorry, although.

“Nikolai, please at least tell me you’re not about to stage another of your embarrassing public fit.” She asked him now, half pleading and half threatening, as they made their way through the woods.

Nikolai chuckled. “Not this time. And do not lie to me, I know you’ve enjoyed my scenes.”

“I have not.”

“Not even a smidge?”

“You should thank the Saints you’re still breathing after all the stunts you pulled.”

“The Saints and your infinite love for me, I suppose.”

“My love may be infinite, but I assure you my patience is not.”

Zoya tried to keep the smile from her voice, failing miserably. Nikolai had a way to overwhelm her with a now familiar lightness and serenity. Their bickering, his hand in hers, his scent in the air. It all felt like home. So much so that she had found herself subtly pressing on him to get married, eager to have him forever with her. It was a feeling of certainty she wasn’t willing to let go of. It was a treasure she wanted to protect. And she didn’t really care about grand gestures, about big declarations. As far as she was concerned, she could find a ring on her nightstand and they could be married in secret. Nikolai knew that, always seemed to know exactly what kind of attention she needed. He left her his little wire boats everywhere to be found, he concocted small and useless inventions just for the sake of amusing her. He placed hidden notes and drawings in her drawers or under her pillows. He courted her in a way she had never been courted before, dedicating his clever mind to making her feel loved and safe - a task in which he was succeeding brilliantly. 

But the privateer in him came out every now and then. Apart from the flirting, which she could admit she had been enjoying, he had picked up the unnerving habit of pretending to be about to propose to her in the middle of all sorts of gatherings. The first time he had sank down on one knee had been during one of their evenings with the rest of their friends. Everyone had drawn a sharp breath, falling silent and still. But the idiot had simply picked up one of her earrings that had fallen on the floor, winking at her while she narrowed her eyes at him from the upside down. Then he got bolder and bolder. The next time, he had clanked his glass at the end of a state dinner, saying he had a declaration to make for his queen. Zoya had glared at him from her seat, shifting uncomfortably, praying to all the Saints for him to shut up. But the worst had been during the ball they threw last week in honour of some Saint or occurrence she could not even remember. They were dancing, spinning around the ballroom. Nikolai was indeed a very gifted dancer, so she usually let him guide her. It was a strange feeling, the safety of being carried by his arms.

“Your hand is nowhere near the level of propriety, Nikolai”, she had whispered with a playful look, noting the fire on her skin as he had brushed her lower back.

He had smirked. “Let them envy me. I’m dancing with the most gorgeous woman in the room.”

“The one that’s going to step on your foot if you don’t behave yourself.”

Nikolai had nudged her closer, skimming his lips on her jaw. “Want to give them something else to watch?” And then, without preamble, he had kneeled in front of her, right in the middle of the ballroom, holding one of her hands in his. The music had stopped, the room had been filled with ecstatic murmurs. Zoya had caught Genya giggling on the other side of the room, but she could only hear her heart thrumming in her chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

One beat had passed. Two beats, and that delicious grin of his had erupted on Nikolai’s face. He had cleared his throat and turned to the people assembled around them.

“Pardon me for the interruption, but I believe it’s time for the Queen to give her speech!” He had joyfully declared, getting back up on his feet. She had looped her arm on his, seething under her breath.

“I am going to smite you where you stand.”

From that moment on, every time he had tried to garner the attention in public endeavours, she had been terrified to see him cause another scene. Deep down, Zoya knew he was not going to ask her like this. He was way too much of a romantic soul to do this. Sure enough though, he was immensely enjoying himself. She supposed she could let him have his fun. As long as she was his, and he was hers, she didn’t really care how many times he would embarrass her. There was nothing on earth that could compare to the feeling of seeing him beaming with happiness. Not even the dragon, in all his lifetimes, had known a warmth like this. Zoya loved him enough to let him have his way at times.

The creak of the garden door distracted her from her thoughts. Finally, Nikolai stopped. She heard him move behind her and place his hands on her hips, while his lips brushed on the skin of her neck. 

“You can look now.”

He murmured against her skin. Was she imagining the slight tremble of emotion in his voice? He sounded thrilled, nervous. Slowly, she pulled the cloth from her eyes, caught back by the light that was flooding the place. Whatever she had thought she was going to see, it was nothing compared to what Nikolai had built. The breath was knocked out of her lungs, the beating of her heart racing up like it was about to take flight. It was her garden, but it was so much more. The structure Nikolai had designed was an engineering marvel of glass and wrought iron, twisting toward the sky, looking like the dome of a chapel. A perfect combination of his brilliance and a most expert Fabrikator’s craft. The whole building was transparent; Zoya could see the sky beyond, the clouds, the ray of sun warming up the place and shattering through the glass in a rainbow of colours. The flowers hadn’t been touched; new pots had been placed, new space to fill. The thorn wood still ran on the sides, around the bricks and the lanterns. But the wall had been painted with every sort of wonder; there was a dragon roaring through the sky, a ship that looked like the Volkvolny sealing a storm-swept sea, with a two-star flag added to Sturmhond’s one. A fox emerged from the bushes on the wall nearer to the door. The Grisha colours and symbols were all over the place, a flash of blue, red, and purple blossoms; waves, fire and lightnings ran throughout the murals. 

“Alina painted them.” 

Explained Nikolai, whispering softly when he noticed she was looking at the walls. Zoya took two steps in front of her, tilting her head up. There weren’t words she possessed right enough for this moment, none of the languages she knew was fit to describe this. The wrought iron was shaped like quince and gusts of wind that towered over the place in a million branches, spreading on the lines of the glass dome.

“Every panel of glass can be opened in the summer. They’re closed now, so that the heat stays in and the flowers can blossom in every season.”

Nikolai’s voice was still soft, still stumbling a little, like he was holding his breath to wait for her reaction. He had poured all of himself into this extraordinary building. This is what love does. If only Lilyiana could see her now. If she could see what she had found. Let love pour through, my little girl. Let your golden hero carry you home. You are safe. Zoya was shaking. Breathing was hard. She turned to him, feeling a suspicious prickle behind her eyes. Nikolai had once again got down on his knee amidst her wildflowers; she caught the sparkle of a jewel in his hand. Zoya smiled, too stricken with emotions to concentrate on anything that wasn't him.

“I hope it’s the last time you kneel to me.” Zoya tried to muster some wit, but her voice came out croaked, her throat sore. Nikolai was undoing her.

“Do shut up, Your Highness. I believe it’s my turn to speak.” The too-clever fox smirked, a clear and expectant look in his gleaming hazel eyes. “I had a speech - honestly it’s hard to remember it right now.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been wanting you for so long, and I’ve been believing for so long that there wasn’t a future for us, that it seemed impossible to have this.”

He opened his mouth again, clearly about to correct himself, but Zoya was quicker. “Improbable”, she added, unable to restrain herself. Another smirk curled his lips.

“Improbable”, he conceded, immensely satisfied that she had picked up on his favourite line. “I know I’ve kept you waiting. I would have asked the first time you kissed me. I would have asked that night in the cargo hold. But I said something else that night, something I wanted to live up to.”

Zoya watched him carefully, trying to see through him, to wrap her head around what was happening. She felt like her heart was about to burst in her chest.

“There were things I wanted to do before asking you. I wanted to gift you something ill-suited for war, something precious. That’s why I built this.” He gestured to the structure around them. “Because your garden need not be just a monument to grief anymore, but one to life. To the way you make everything around you blossom.” Nikolai paused, his gaze intense and fierce on her. “And then there were other things I told you I would have done for you, once I could.”

“You wanted to give me a crown.” Zoya said, with surprise in her voice. She had started to figure out where he was going with this, had started to grasp his words from the memory of that night, carved inside her. 

“That was the first thing. I believe it worked splendidly. What else did I tell you?”

“You wanted to show me the world from the prow of your ship.” 

She brought her fingers to her lips, as if she could not believe her own realization. Her voice was trembling too, now. She remembered. She remembered when Nikolai had insisted they took a couple of days at sea, during their mission in Os Kervo. Zoya knew Nikolai wanted to travel with her, but they simply had not had the time to do it properly. Zoya had promised him they would, someday, when peace was secured. Nikolai had pressed her on that trip to sail on the Volkvolny, even for a little while. She had not questioned him, thought he was only being nonsensical as usual and had obliged him. He had told her something, on the railing of the ship, as the sun was setting in front of them. That’s why I like the sea, he had said to her, because when you look out at the horizon, you see everything beyond. Look, Zoya. You can see the whole world from here. It’s all ours for the taking. She had laughed, tilting her head to the sun. You gave me Ravka, Nikolai. It’s enough for me. She had been wrong. Nikolai had not just given her Ravka. Here, in the silence of her garden, she knew he was giving her so much more. 

“And then there was one last thing.” Nikolai encouraged her. Zoya drew a sharp breath, catching the ring in his hand into focus. 

“You wanted to give me a sapphire, the size of an acorn.”

Nikolai took her hand and placed the ring in it. The band was made of white gold, in the shape of a dragon curled around itself. Between its tail and its head, it held a glowing sapphire, the colour of a midnight sky. She peered at him under her lashes, too overwhelmed to say anything. His hands were shivering.

“I know it’s not the size of an acorn. We are still slightly broke, and, well - I thought you would have liked it better like this. It’s more elegant, it suits you more.”

Silence enveloped them. Zoya felt his warm uneven breathing on her skin, his nervousness, the sheer truth and love behind his actions taking her like a tide, filling the well inside her that had once protected her grief and caged her heart.

“I wanted you to understand that I’ll always be true to my promises. I don’t know when I started loving you, but I know I’m lost now. I searched for you for a lifetime. I still want you all the time. I want to lay beside you every night, wake up with you in my arms every morning. I want to build the future with you, I want to watch you scowl at people and be the brave and ruthless leader you are.” Nikolai inhaled a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “You've been my general. You are my friend, the woman I love. I would have chosen you before, I would now and I always will. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?”

Zoya didn’t try to hold back the tears. It didn’t matter. It didn’t because she had never felt safer in her life than she was feeling now, held in the dome that protected her garden, in the hands of the man that had always protected her. What he was telling her now, it had an echo to so many other things he had told her in the past, scattered throughout the moments they had shared. It told the story of how they took care of each other for so long, of their longing, of their strength. How they had found each other at last. She gently kneeled in front of him, folding her hand over the one that was holding the ring. All around them, the flowers had sprouted, their scent clouding them. She placed the other hand on his cheek, locking their eyes together. It took all her might to find her voice within the emotions swimming in her chest. Zoya had never been sentimental like him. She had never tried to be, maybe she could never be. Yet, she wanted him to know now; to know even a fraction of how much her love for him ran deep in her veins.  

“You made me believe that impossible really is just a word.” She tried, wavering, gaining more confidence with each word she brought out. “You made me believe again, Nikolai. You are the hero of every story I have ever heard. And yes, I’ll marry you.”

He opened in an astonishing expression of relief, leaning in her touch. Nikolai slipped the ring on her finger, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Turns out you can be romantic too, when you want to.” He teased, getting up and bringing her with him, circling her in his arms. As she leaned on his chest, she heard the rhythmic pounding of his heart, quick as the flapping of a bird’s wings. 

“It’s hardly a match between the two of us. I know how much you enjoy it, so I let you take all the credit.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop kneeling in front of crowds?” 

“I think so. I will not stop with the flirting, though. It’s a compulsion.” 

Zoya went on her toes to press a kiss on his mouth. 

“Do keep up with that. I like it.”

She tucked her hand into his pocket, closing her fingers on the blue ribbon he kept on him all the time. Zoya pulled it out, unfurling it in front of them. 

“I believe I’ll need this for the wedding day.”

The smile that lightened up his face was worth a thousand wars to wage. A thousand years to wait. 

 ***

To say that the wedding was grand, would have been an understatement. Genya had outdid herself, both with the decorations and the dress. If Zoya had thought she had made a great work with the coronation, what she had managed to create on this day put everything else to shame. Zoya didn’t remember much of it. It had been a whirlwind of colours and voices, people kissing her hand and offering their congratulations, dancing, and music and mostly a lot of drinking on their part. The ceremony had been long and complicated, but as usual, Nikolai had made everything more bearable. Somehow, he had managed to make her feel like they were the only two people standing in the chapel, the same one that held such awful memories and was now a place of celebration. 

She had chosen not to wear gold, and they all went with it. Once had been enough; silver was more fitting for a dragon queen that commanded the storm. Being a queen had its advantages in terms of breaking with traditions. Nikolai had walked the aisle with her; he had never left her side, he had never left the grip on her hand. Zoya could feel his intense desire to make this day joyful for her. She would never stop marvelling at his selflessness, at how good and pure his heart was. To her surprise, he had chosen to relent the traditional Ravkan wedding vows in favour of the ones spoken by Grisha. They applied a lot more to them than any other oath they could make.

We are soldiers. I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace. I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return. I have seen your face in the making at the heart of the world and there is no one more fierce, passionate, and unbreakable.

There was not much else to say; everything they needed to tell each other, they had already done in the quiet of their intimacy. Everything they needed to share about what it meant to have each other, they already knew. But Nikolai had added something, lowering his voice to a whisper, only for her to hear. 

I will always seek to make it summer for you.

He had spoken the words in Suli. A ridiculous Suli, with an accent as thick as Zoya’s one and probably quite the number of mistakes. Zoya didn’t care. She didn’t know much Suli either, but she had understood. She had felt the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless, all these people be damned. Instead, she had murmured her answer to him, searching in her childhood for the words, hoping his knowledge of the language was broader than hers.

You are my endless summer. 

Nikolai’s eyes had sparkled, his lips trembled when he had kissed her, knocking her off his feet, and she knew he had understood too. The first half of the party had been slightly tedious. Her dress was heavy, the crown hitched on her head. But as the night went on and the brandy had started to flow, she had found she was enjoying herself much more than she thought. Nikolai’s presence glowed in the room, equally as handsome as her. It was well past midnight when people had started retiring, saying their goodbyes to the newly wed royal couple.

At last, they found themselves alone at a table with all their friends. Tolya was astoundingly drunk, much to their amusement. He was trying to convince Adrik to stand on a chair and recite some poetry with him. Adrik, who was incredibly smiling, seated next to Leoni who wore her usual thousand sun merry expression. Adrik had taken Zoya’s position in the Triumvirate, while Leoni held the post for the Materialki now. She and Genya were deep in an argument about some sort of poison used to make people sleepwalk. Genya was laughing, her head thrown back, a glass of honey tea in her hand. Seeing her happy was a sight for sore eyes. Zoya knew they were all missing David more tonight; her eyes wandered on her friend’s kefta, which stood a little too tight around her stomach. The bump was starting to show clearly right now, four months into the pregnancy. She was beaming. It takes a village, people said about raising a child. This child would definitely never be alone. Alina and Mal had retired earlier, eager to return to their kids. She had held Alina in an embrace a little longer than usual, trying to convey how wonderful her gift to Zoya had been, how much comfort the paintings in her garden would bring. In the middle of the room, Tamar and Nadia were still dancing, or trying to at least, missing every rhythm of the music. Tamar stopped abruptly when she saw Zoya watching them. 

“I can’t believe you two pulled it off, at last!” She made a toast in their direction, making Nadia stumble. 

“I can’t believe Nikolai pulled it off”, Genya smirked, toasting back to Tamar with her tea. 

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders. “I’m known for always choosing the hardest quest.” 

There was little hope to ever make them stop with the teasing. Turning her gaze, Zoya caught sight of Nina and her prince, who had traveled all the way from Fjerda to be here tonight. Nina was stunning as usual, in a dress that hugged every curve of her, stacking on a pile of pastries and forcing Hanne to taste each and every one of them. The reckless Heartrender didn’t miss the chance to weigh in on the conversation, popping a pastry in her mouth. “And to think Zoya was the one to bash me about falling in love with Fjerdans. It backfired right in your face.”

Zoya clicked her tongue. “At least I take care not to let people walk in on us having a private moment.”

“That’s on you”, Nina grinned, “But I guess now you know that the thing about Fjerdans being cold it’s just a myth.” 

“Definitely a myth", confirmed Nikolai, winking at Nina. Leave it to the two of them to be inappropriate.

Tolya downed another glass of whisky. For a giant, he didn’t have a good resistance to alcohol. “Good luck Zoya, he’s all yours to suffer now.” He managed to mutter. “At least he’s not moping around about you anymore like a lost puppy.” Tolya, the most respectful soldier she knew. He really was drunk. 

“I’ll still mop around about her, don’t worry.”

“I can manage, I think", Zoya answered to Tolya, curling her lips. 

She sighed happily, tightening the hold on Nikolai’s hand next to her, while she watched the people who were now her family filling the air with their laughter. He put the glass down, gazing at her with amusement. His golden hair were ruffled, his elegant shirt crumpled, his skin heated. His eyes were filled with awe, a smile dancing on his lips. She felt her breath itch at the sight of him. Nikolai leaned closer to her, bringing her hand up to his mouth. His look turned soft, affectionate.

“You survived today wonderfully.”

Zoya fell silent, watching her golden boy. This is what love does. You fight for it, and it saves you. You build it, brick by brick, and it stays. The dragon spread his wings inside her. 

“You built me a home.” 

She told him, and cocked her head to the side, making some strands of hair fall from the elaborate updo Genya had weaved. Nikolai rushed to tuck them back into the ribbon that held them in place, the one she had taken from his pocket when he had proposed. 

“You gave me something to build it for. Someone to fill it with.”

Zoya knew, in that moment. She knew that every blow, every pain, every loneliness she had endured had been meant to take her here. It had been meant to make her worthy of him, to make her believe they could have this. She knew every loss and every battle had forged her so that she could let herself love him. And Nikolai made everything possible. The weight of his hand in hers felt sacred. 

“We will go on, you and I. We are going to be fine.” 

It wasn’t a question. It was the strongest belief she had ever had. It was hope. After an eternity of fighting and suffering, the stone tumbled inside her, coming to rest. Nikolai nodded, closing his eyes and sighing. The world felt easier. It felt warm, and sunny, full of his light.

“Yes, we are.”

And they would. For years to come, they would be fine.

#Rule of wolves spoilers #row spoilers #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoya and nikolai #zoyalai #the courting we never got to see #the proposal #and the marriage #yes i did make myself cry #the epilogue we were missing #the king and queen of ravka #they deserve this and so much more #im still in tears over row #i really hope this makes you all happy #fan fiction #my writing #Grishaverse #the triumvirate #genya safin #tolya and tamar

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

Gwynriel- when Gwyn confesses to Azriel about being in love with him but he thinks he isn't good enough for her so he runs away, but while he's gone Gwyn gets injured and then he confesses too

It's been a couple weeks since I got this one but I finally got around to it. I hope you enjoy it and please stick around for the ending it's my favorite part. also if anyone likes it and wants to send me more prompts my inbox is always open

‘hold me until we are all but dust’

“Azriel,” she held his hands in her own, gripping them as she looked into his eyes. “Azriel, I think-no I know you are my mate. And I know that you struggle with conveying your feelings so you don’t have to say it back, but I couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t know that,” She felt her eyes begin to water and she huffed out a laugh. “That I love you, and I didn’t think it would ever have been possible for me to feel this way after what had happened to me. And god did I want it, but only in my wildest dreams and fantasies did I think that even a fraction of how I feel now, was possible. But you, my shadowsinger, have exceeded any expectation I could have ever hoped for and I know there will never be anyone else who can make me feel as safe, has been my friend, challenges me, and infuriates me as much as you do.”

“Gwyn,” he breathed.

She delicately cupped his face in her palms, gently wiping a tear away. Gwyn whispered, “you idiot I love you.”

“Gwyn,” he said again. So rarely was he at a loss for words but it seemed he could say nothing more than her name. The words were there, screaming at him to be voiced, pleading, begging, and yet he could do nothing. He didn’t deserve her, in what world was this beautiful, spirited female allowed to love him. Everywhere Azriel went, he hurt and destroyed but he would not hurt her. Gwyn deserved to thrive, to grow, but he was all darkness, shadows, and endless voids. He was where light and warmth went to die. “Gwyn,” he said one last time and opened his mouth to voice every incoherent thought he had, in his mess of a mind. But once again no words came.

“Hey.” she forced him to look at her. “Hey. I am not asking for you to say anything back and when you are ready you will tell me but I just needed you to hear it. Ok?” she turned away from him but not before he caught the slight look of disappointment. She didn’t look back.

Azriel stood there minutes after Gwyn had left, stunned. He had hurt her, he had let her down and the thought of ever doing that again left him hollow and with an urge to break something.

Subconsciously he felt his shadows begin to wrap and weave around him, folding Azriel into his own darkness.

He opened his eyes to find himself at the gates of rosehall. The house was in a corner of the night court where few lived. Outside the limits of velaris, but far from the horrors of the court of nightmares. Azriel’s mother loved it but he knew sometimes she felt suffocated from the simplicities of what life had become. His mother craved adventure and excitement, the domestic life was one she still wasn’t fond of.

Az hadn’t been planning a visit but might as well see his mother since he was here. He knocked on the gates, the magic recognizing his own, and opened.

She was sitting on a rocking chair, knitting and quietly humming to herself. She was only a few centuries older than himself but illness caused her to look much older.

She sighed not looking at him. “What did you do?”

“Can’t I just want to see my beautiful mother every once in a while?”

She rolled her eyes seeing through his bullshit. “You do see me, sometimes I think you’re here too often. So I ask again, what did you do?” Maybe it was magic, some gift, maybe it was just mother’s intuition but somehow she always knew.

He kissed her on the head and began to make way to the room he kept in the house. “The sickness is finally getting to you, you’re making things up.”

She snorted, “Hunny you’ll know the day this thing beats me but it sure as hell won’t win without a fight.”

“Of course mom.”

“It’s alright I’ll get it out of you eventually.” She winked at him as he winnowed to his room. Azriel heard her mumble “won’t even use the damn stairs anymore.” and he chuckled softly.

Within seconds Azriel collapsed on his bed, closing his eyes to ignore the tug he felt within him. He wasn’t running, he was doing what was best for Gwyn. That’s a lie, the subtle hiss sent shivers up his spine. Azriel shut his shadows out too. She didn’t need him and he didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t sleep, when he slept he was drowning in nightmares. For five days he cared for his mother, catching up on the occurrences of each other's lives. Azriel was careful to avoid Gwyn in his recaps. And every day he could tell his mother was growing more and more concerned. He desperately wanted to be with her, he could feel the pull in every inch of his body but Azriel had always been stubborn, so he stayed with the knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing.

He felt his mother watching him, studying him until finally, she spoke. “Az is this extended visit about that girl.” she paused trying to think. “The redhead? For the love of god this stupid illness, I can’t remember her name, Gwyn? Was it?”

Azriel’s eyes flitted away giving her confirmation her guess was right. His mother sighed, grabbed her cane, and began to stand. He got up to help her only to be met by a dagger-eyed glare that said you help me and I cut your arms off. She was several inches shorter than him but as his stubborn mother hobbled over to him, she held out an arm for him to take. He took it without hesitation but the question remained on his lips.

“We are going for a walk.” she beat him to it.

They walked in silence, ever so often her arm clutching his tightly as if she were about to fall. Memories flashed of his mother before she was sick. When she could not stay still for more than a moment, even centuries-old and still she had carried a youthfulness with her that could not be replicated.

As if she could read his thoughts she raised her eyebrows, “I’m fine.”

“I would never suggest you weren’t.” Although they both knew she wasn’t fine, denial was bliss for those with limited days. His mother studied Azriel as he looked around at the plethora of roses covering the entirety of the gate.

“I hate them.” she scrunched her nose in disgust at the bright flowers as Az snorted.

“Then why don’t you do something about them.”

“They were here before me and they will be here long after me, what right do I have to disrupt them from their home?” She paused. “To the displeasure of my eyes and nose, I will not be moving them.”

They continued their leisurely walk until they finally reached a well. It was a considerable distance outside the boundaries of what was her home. She began to fill up the bucket with water from the well. It was a slow process for his mother's stubbornness forbade him from helping her. When she was finished she grabbed the pail and walked away from him leaving Azriel behind.

“Wait-”

She turned to face him. “Close your mouth, my dear, you wouldn’t want to swallow a fly,” and kept walking.

“Are we not-” he fumbled for his words. “Going to talk about her.”

“Well, I came out here for some fresh water.” She looked at him innocently. “Would you like to talk about her?” His damned mother played him. Her gaze softened.

“I may be sick but I know how to get my son to talk to me even when his own stubbornness refuses.”

He sighed. “I will never doubt you again.”

She sat down on a bench a few feet from the well and motioned for him to join her. “Now tell me what happened.”

He was quiet for a second before he spoke. “Gwyn, she, she told me she loved me.”

“And do you love her back?”

Without hesitation, Azriel responded softly. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then why are you here with me and not with her.” Azriel looked away. “Is this female your mate?” He nodded. “And you’re in love with her?” He nodded once again. “The female you have been looking for your entire life wants to be with you and you ran away?”

Azriel ran his fingers through his hair. “It is more complicated than that.” “Why?”

“Because- because I don’t deserve her. Gwyn, she’s full of this light and she has a spirit unlike anyone I have ever met and I know that I cannot give her what she needs.”

His mother appeared speechless for a moment before bursting out into a fit of laughter. He scowled at her. “You men are fools.” It was Azriel’s turn to be speechless. “Listen to me, is she worth it?”

“God yes.”

“Then it is not your place to decide what she needs. I have never been one to sugar coat and I won’t start now, there is a chance that this may crash and burn. But you have to decide if the possibility of pain and rejection is worth letting yourself be happy. Gwyn is telling you that she wants to take the leap with you and that regardless of whatever you may think, she believes you are worth it.”

Azriel stared straight ahead as his mother spoke. But she forced him to look at her. “Azriel, it’s not selfish to want to be happy. And this female makes you happy.”

At that moment Azriel felt a lurch in his chest. A tug stronger than any he’s felt. It was intense, it was dizzying, it took over every one of his senses. “Gwyn. it’s Gwyn she needs me.”

His mother gave him an incredulous look. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Go to her.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. Azriel didn’t think, he just let his shadows wrap around him and instinct took over.

He opened his eyes and looked around. His eyes caught a flash of red, he bolted and found Gwyn laying on the ground limp. She was bleeding. No No No. Too much blood. His heart was a drum in his chest. Azriel, as gently as he could, lifted her into his arms. There was an arrow sticking out of her chest, just barely missing her heart. “gwyn. Gwyn. GWYN.” Finally, her eyes opened slowly. Her lips were purple and her skin was a sickly shade of white. He ripped off his own coat and wrapped it around her.

“Az” she croaked and let out a groan of pain. “It seems the Illyrians don’t like me very much.” She whispered each word a struggle to speak. Her eyes drifting closed.

“Shhh don’t speak don’t speak. Gwyn, my love, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

“Take it out.” she huffed.

“If I do that you’ll bleed out and I need you to live.” In his mind, Azriel screamed for Rhys. Over and over he thought the words. Gwyn’s bleeding out I can’t move her, we’re deep in Illyrian territory please come quick.

Seconds passed and it took every inch of concentration for Gwyn to keep her eyes open. Azriel watched her internal struggle, knew the feeling of being on the edge, how it would be so easy just to close your eyes. To rest.

“Please Gwyn” his voice broke. “I need you to- I need you.”

He just barely heard the words. “Why?”

“Because-” Azriel took a deep breath. “You make every moment better. Because I have lived 500 years and yet you still find ways to surprise me. Because I have never known what it meant to love and be loved as fiercely and absolutely as we love each other. You never gave up on me, not once, because you are stubborn and determined and I could walk this world for millennia more and I know without a doubt in my mind I could never find anyone like you. Even if you weren’t my mate they would never and could never compare to you.” He took another breath. “And I know that I hurt you but I need you to live to be mad at me, live to scream at me for all the things we both know I did wrong, live to hurt me as I hurt you, I don’t care just please Gwyn. I need you to live.”

“Say it.” Azriel laughed a shaky, desperate, nervous laugh.

“You idiot, I love you.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers, and held her close to him. Azriel had never been religious but in that moment he begged and pleaded and prayed to the mother, to the cauldron, to whoever was up there watching that this was not the end. This couldn’t be the end.

#gwynriel #gwynriel one shot #gwynriel I love you #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyn x azriel #I had fun writing this #these two istg #but I love them in all their stupidity #I'm looking at you shadowsinger

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

#Tony Stark #tony stark fluff #tony stark angst #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #iron man #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #tony stark fic #iron man fic #wow sad dizzy hours

[colorseeingchick]

Period Pains (Atsumu, Akaashi, Sugawara)

Periods. Suck. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. But maybe they can make it suck less.

A/N: Y’all can probably guess how my week has been :D. So this is mostly self indulgent and has definitely made me fall in love with all these boys much more. I may or may not stan Miya Atsumu now but we don’t talk about it (yet)

Warnings: None really! Fluffy and domestic wholesomeness. Post-timeskip.

Miya Atsumu 

Atsumu starts to stir from his sleep when he hears a loud prolonged groan next to him. 

He presses his eyes closed when the lights suddenly turn on. Ugh.

He opens his eyes to see you waddling away to the bathroom with your hand pressed to your stomach. Hmm?

He looks down and sees a relatively large splotch of red staining the sheet. HAH!

Suddenly, Atsumu is very alert.

“Babe what happened! Did you get hurt?”

Mans throws (I mean THROWS) himself out of bed and pulls a pair of shorts on as he stumbles to the bathroom to check on you.

“Baby are you-” 

He sees you by the sink, washing your shorts, the water discolored as it runs off. 

Ohhhh yeah! You were on your period. 

Headass’s mind blanked while in a sleepy haze.

You sigh. “Yeah I’m… fine-ish. I guess.”

He smirks and comes up behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist, one hand gently rubbing over your long sleep shirt, right over your lower belly. 

He presses a slow kiss into the side of your head and rocks you side to side while you continue to wash. 

“Did ya wake up cuz of the pain, babe?” 

“Mhm. And I saw the stain then too. Ain’t my luck just great?”

He groggily laughs and presses more kisses along the side of your face and holds you tighter. 

“You got this, babe. I’ll bring the sheets here, yeah?” 

“Kay.”

This, in its own way, is enough to make you feel… less bad. 

You were far from feeling okay at this point, but Atsumu knowing the drill and nonchalantly helping out at 2 am made things feel less apocalyptic than they were in your head.. 

Atsumu strips the bed of all its sheets, rubbing his eyes as he tries to keep awake. 

Handing the sheet to you, he leans against the wall as you washed out the immediate blood stains. 

Once you wash it out, he takes it from you.

“Clean yerself up babe.” 

He takes the sheets downstairs and throws them into the washing machine. 

He goes to the kitchen and grabs a banana and some dark chocolate (because we healthy in this household).

And some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet.

And runs back up to find you coming with new sheets in hand. 

Putting your snacks down on your bedside table, he helps you pull the fresh sheets over your bed. 

Sitting you on the bed, he hands you the food and sits next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder while you munch. 

He gives you the medicine when you’re done. 

“30 minutes- not bad. I think that’s our new record.”

He shuts off the lights and crawls into bed, opening his arms as you slide your legs under the comforter. 

Snuggling into him, he nuzzles your forehead as he holds you close. 

“Feelin better, babe?”

“Yeah… I’ll probably fall asleep in a bit or something.”

“Well, if ya wanna press up against me if that’ll make you feel better, ya can. And wake me up if ya need anything.”

“I will, Atsumu. Thanks.”

“G’nite, sweetheart.” 

BONUS: you wake up late the next morning, Atsumu still holding you flush against his body. 

Now that you slept well (thanks to the meds and Atsumu) and woke up without pain, you’re suddenly in a very affectionate mood. 

Wiggling up, you find your way to Atsumu’s face, giving him a couple of soft pecks to his lips. 

He stirs in his sleep, kissing you back. 

But even after you had pulled away, he kept kissing at the air, trying to find your lips in his sleepy haze.

It was pretty funny. 

He’s a headass, you’re not gonna lie. 

But he’s your headass! And that’s all that matters. 

Akaashi Keiji 

Before even coming home, Akaashi knew you were going to be on your period today. 

Your period tracking app was synced to his phone, so he knew when to prepare for your worst days with snacks, supplies, and lots of affection.

He hated how busy he was, that he couldn’t be home to take care of you. So making sure you had everything you needed was the best he could do. 

But when Akaashi comes home and can’t find you anywhere, he starts to worry. 

Where were you? You would usually always greet him when he came home, even when you were on your period.

He gets his answer when he hears sniffles and hiccups coming underneath the lump of blankets on the couch. 

Akaashi knows that if you were ever fully underneath the blankets, there was something really wrong. 

Taking his jacket off and throwing it over a chair in the kitchen, he rushes to your side and pulls the blankets delicately off your head. 

“What’s wrong, darling.”

“H-hi Keiji. I’m s-sorry I didn’t m-mean to *hic* hide from you I j-just don’t feel too g-good.” 

Your breath was so shaky and Akaashi’s heart shattered watching you. 

“Please, tell me what’s wrong, dear.” Akaashi asks you in a whisper. 

“My tummy just hurts so so much and it won’t go away I-” your sobs begin to rack through your whole body. 

“Did you take medicine? Heating pad?” He asks gently as he runs his hands through your hair and wipes the tears off your face. 

“N-no… I hate taking medicine Keiji you know that. But I took a hot shower and I hoped it would help and it didn’t.” You attempt to stifle your cries to talk coherently, misery wrapping around your soul. 

“Alright then, give me a second, darling, and I’ll do whatever I can.” 

After changing, Akaashi comes back downstairs to the couch and makes his way over to you. 

He pats your head gently, “can you sit up for me?”

He swings his legs up onto the couch and opens his arms and legs so you could place yourself between all his limbs. 

Crawling up to him, he turns you so that your back is pressed to his torso. 

Immediately, Akaashi’s hands snake around your waist and find their way to two sides of your lower stomach.

His fingers gently message you, moving around to try and find which spots need his attention, all while he coaxes you into being relaxed.

“Shhh darling, you’re okay. I’m here and I’m going to shower you with my love. Just relax and let me take care of you, okay dearest?”

You nuzzle back against his chest, letting his words, touch, warmth, and smell fill all your senses. 

“Keiji… how was your day?” You murmur, tilting your head back in an effort to look at him. 

He smiles, warmth spreading through his body as he realizes even while in pain, you still want to carry on your daily check-in on him post work. 

And so Akaashi tells you all the stories from the day- his new assignment, how panicked he got midday when the office went into crisis, a surprise visit from a certain owl during lunch time.

You listen attentively, but your hands subconsciously move his larger hands to the center of your lower abdomen, where he starts to gently rub, leaving your skin tingly and chest lighter. 

“Do you feel better, Y/N?” after sitting in comfortable silence for a little, he decides to ask. 

But when he got no response, he cranes his neck to check on you. 

You had fallen asleep in his embrace, a sweet smile slowly creeping across your face. 

He smiles too, overjoyed to know that he was able to relieve you of some of your pain. 

“Goodnight, my love.” He whispers to you, his eyes slowly shutting, arms still on your stomach. 

BONUS: at around 2 am, Akaashi wakes up, realizing he was still on the couch. 

You, however, were nowhere to be seen. 

Getting up, Akaashi heads to the kitchen to grab water, assuming you were already in bed. 

Instead, he found you in the kitchen too, the smell of pancakes flooding the space. 

“Keiji! We never ate dinner. I’m sorry I made you fall asleep without eating.”

A small smile appears on his face and he rubs his sleepy eyes. 

“It’s okay, dear. I’m just glad you could sleep some.”

“Do you want pancakes?”

“I would love some.”

Sugawara Koushi

Like Akaashi, Suga knew what was about to happen when he got a phone call from you as soon as he was leaving school.

Regardless, hearing you sniffle over the phone activates every protective instinct in his body.

“What’s wrong baby?”

“Koushi, do you love me?” 

A dumb question, obviously. Suga showered you with affection and endless praise on a daily basis for you simply just breathing. The most supportive of boyfriends!

But alas, insecurity still creeps up at times. And Suga gets it. 

“I love you more than anything else, Y/N.”

“Can you come home, Koushi? I miss you.”

“I’m on my way, love. Give me 10 extra minutes, okay?”

Suga hopped into his car to head home, stopping by the store to pick up a few things. 

He grabbed a pint of your favorite ice cream, your favorite chips (because do you want sweet or savory today? Only time will tell), and some flowers before heading home. 

The moment he steps through the door, you throw your hands around him and groan out of frustration, pain, and just general dejectedness (don’t @ me for projecting I swear). 

Suga smiles down at you, knowing that he can bring you some peace, and pulls you against him, flowers and bag still in hand. 

“Let me go change, my love. These are for you.” 

Your generally miserable disposition shifts as your nose is filled with the aroma of fresh flowers. Sweet and gentle scents always managed to lift your spirits, and Suga knew that. 

“Mkay.”

Once Suga came downstairs, he headed to the kitchen to warm up some water to pour into a water bottle. 

“Sweet or salty?”

“Salty.”

He grabs the warm water bottle and the bag of chips and makes his way over the couch where your eyes were begging him to shower you in love (which he was more than happy to do). 

Sitting down and opening his arms, you pull yourself against his side, hugging him tightly and nuzzling against his chest.

He rubs your head before sliding his hand down, soothingly rubbing circles onto your back. 

His other hand goes to place the warm water bottle on your lower abdomen, which you hold in place by pulling your legs up to your torso. 

“Koushi, why do you love me?” You murmur against him. “I’m so whiny and clingy and annoying and insecure and you’re perfect… you deserve the best. You shouldn’t have to put up with someone like me-”

“Hey.” Suga gently but sternly cuts you off. 

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about, and I don’t appreciate you talking about her like that.” He looks down at you and melts as he sees your puppy dog eyes staring back up at him.

“Koushi, I’m not wrong though. I am all those things.”

“And? I love you for it. I love that you whine for me and cling to me- it makes me feel wanted. I wouldn’t call you annoying, that's not your call to make. And insecure? That’s natural, my love. Everyone's a little insecure. I’m a little insecure. You’re not perfect and neither am I. And that’s okay. I don’t wanna love perfect. I want to love you and only you, okay?” 

Tears prick your eyes but you feel better with Suga’s words of reaffirmation. He’ll tell you no matter how many times you need to hear it. “Thank you Koushi, I love you so much.”

“Shh, my love. Don’t cry. I love you, too.” 

His grasp on you tightens as you relax against him, your breathing synchronizing. 

“You wanna watch some TV?”

“Yes please.”

“Chips?” 

“Mhm.” 

Single word exchanges and the warmth of Suga’s sweater keep you connected as you allow yourself to forget your physical and mental pains.

Suga always knew exactly what you needed to hear, and never hesitated to tell you. No matter how ‘out of the blue’ or random it may have felt, he was always there for when you needed him. 

BONUS: you guys settle on watching a romance movie, Suga feeding you chips while popping some into his own mouth as well. 

But once the movie got to the really sad part, you started crying (sometimes movies just made you cry, but hormones made it so much worse).

“Baby, don’t cry, it’s just a movie.” 

“But Koushi, you’re crying too!” 

In honesty, Suga’s face was very tear-streaked as well, his sniffles hushed. 

“Okay fine, we can both cry together.”

And so you did! Both of you cried, emotions fully invested in the movie, chips still being munched on while sobs shook your bodies. 

It would have been a goofy sight to any onlookers, but it was the pinnacle of your relationship- emotionally vulnerable, intimate, and domestic. True perfection, if you were to ask me.

#haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyuu!! #haikyu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyu headcanons #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu headcanons #atsumu fluff #haikyu atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi headcanons #akaashi fluff #haikyu akaashi #haikyuu akaashi #sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi x reader

[hiinnys]

i buried a hatchet (it’s coming up lavender)

(hello! it’s been a minute! sorry, i’ve unfortunately been trapped under work’s capitalist foot!! but how are yall? MAJOR happy birthday to harry james! thank you for being my comfort character <3 anyways, hope you enjoy harry’s little 22nd party, which is also on ao3!) 

the planning starts in may. it’s nearly three months early, but may brings bad memories molly’s always tried to avoid. it’s a simple question about cake flavors pointed at harry and ginny, their birthdays always planned in tandem, but harry freezes nonetheless. it’s nothing anyone would notice, but ginny does because she’s ginny and harry’s always been what she’s good at. so when they’re alone later and she asks about it, he’s not surprised.

“it’s stupid,” he says, shaking his head in that way he does that makes him seem so small ginny’s heart aches.

“harry,” she pushes this one, feels like she has to.  

“it’s just…i’m twenty-two this year, aren’t i?”

“yeah?”

“i’m always gonna be older than them now,” he almost whispers, like it’s a crime to even speak aloud. he sits down on the bed just then. the bed in his flat that he’s been too scared to ask her to share with him. he wonders briefly if his dad was ever as scared to ask his mum something so easy; wonders if his dad ever got the chance to be, or if that was just another thing war took away from him.

“harry,” she sits next to him, body angled towards him so her legs are pushed up against his side. “talk to me.”

it’s a simple request; ginny’s like that, takes only the smallest pieces of him because she thinks everyone else takes too much. he wants to tell her that she can take as much as she wants, it’s all hers anyways, but he doesn’t know how, so he settles for giving her what she’s asked of him.

“it feels…wrong, i guess, to celebrate it,” he sighs, tries to quell the storm in his chest, in his head (doesn’t succeed). “it feels like i’m celebrating their deaths.”

she’s silent for a moment, like she’s thinking it all through, weighing the merits of what he’s said, and he can’t quite express how grateful he is that she gives him this - her respect, her thoughtfulness, her whole self, each and every time.

“i get it,” she finally says. “but you can’t live the rest of your life avoiding your birthday. i think you’ve already missed too many in your parents’ books.”

he knows she’s right, thinks about his years with the dursleys, about how he didn’t even know his birthday until he was five and a teacher at primary told him. he nods his head.

“but-,” he starts.

“just not this one,” she finishes. “yeah, i get it.”

the next time they’re at the burrow, ginny casually mentions that she’s actually surprised harry with a weekend trip for his birthday, seeing as he never takes time off otherwise, and if the family would like, they could do a joint cake at ginny’s birthday dinner.

***

she actually does surprise him with a trip, something that he wasn’t expecting, but she suggests they bring teddy along and harry reckons the kid’s due for a holiday. she doesn’t tell him where they’re going to start, just piles the three of them in harry’s car and tells him to drive (she’s yet to pass her driver’s test, but ginny’s one of the few people who genuinely enjoys the tube so she’s not in any rush).

it’s when they’re less than halfway there that harry realizes she has them set out for shell cottage.

“really? you thought bringing me to your brother’s place would be a nice birthday surprise?”

“first of all, you said yourself we aren’t celebrating your birthday, and, second, bill and fleur aren’t home. they’re in france, so i asked if we could borrow the place for the weekend and they said yes.”

“fair enough.”

***

teddy’s antsy for the water as soon as he sees it, so they only go as far as throwing their stuff in the sitting room before taking him down to the shoreline. he splashes happily through the calm water, and his clothes are soaked to the brim, but his laughter fills the air, so harry lets it be.

“harry!” the five year-old shouts, holding up a distinctly purple piece of coral. “look! pretty!”

“you wanna take it with you?”

“YES!” he screams, eyes wide with glee, and harry can’t help the rush of love for his godson. he exaggerates tucking the coral into his pocket when teddy hands it to him, just to affirm ted’s desire to keep it safe. when he turns around, ginny’s smiling at them from her place on a rock, jeans pushed up to her knees, feet in the water and red hair blowing in the wind, and harry finally feels peace settle into his heart.

***

the rest of the day passes rather quietly. when they finally make it in from the beach, the day catches up with teddy, leaving him exhausted and irate, so harry gives him a quick bath and settles the boy in for a small nap. when he gets back down, ginny’s changed and sits on a bar stool in the kitchen, picking at the last of the snack plate harry had made earlier in lieu of a proper lunch.

“hungry?” harry asks and, at her nod of affirmation, starts looking through the fridge to figure out what dinner can be. they sit in an easy silence for a bit, harry washing and cutting vegetables and ginny watching. over the years, he’s learned she likes to watch him cook, and though the reason for it doesn’t make too much sense to him, he likes having her there, so he’s never questioned it much.

“thank you for this,” he finally says.

“for what?”

“bringing us here. i’ve been in my head about it all too much, i think. the whole twenty-two thing. it’s nice to not have to think about it for a bit.”

she studies him for a minute, like she’s trying to look right at the core of him, so he puts down the knife he’s been using to chop the vegetables and gives her all of himself.

“you never have to thank me,” she says after a minute.

“i know.”

***

teddy “helps” harry clean up after dinner that night, which really just means that ted sits on the counter next to the kitchen sink and rattles on about something or the other while harry does the dishes. every now and then, harry blows some soap bubbles on the boy and basks in the glow of the laughter it brings out of him.

an hour later (and well past his bedtime), harry finally manages to get teddy to stay beneath the sheets, but it’s only when ginny reads him babbity rabbity twice and swears on her life that they’ll go back down to the water tomorrow that teddy settles in for the night.

“harry!” he whispers as harry’s switching off the light.

“yeah, mate,” harry stage-whispers back, his eyebrows raised for ginny’s amusement.

“happy birthday!” teddy murmurs tiredly.

“that’s tomorrow, mate.”

“still,” the boy whines.

“thanks, ted,” harry responds, gentle smile on his face.

when they finally make it into their room, harry places a quick silencing charm on the door. at ginny’s raised brow, he says, rather simply:

“for good measure.”

ginny snorts.

they’re silent as they get ready for bed, and harry lets himself sink deep into the warmth of it. they don’t get this too often, the pair of them; ginny’s spot in the harpies takes her across the world and, when harry’s not in some obscure town somewhere tracking some homicidal maniac or the other, kingsley has him on diplomatic missions across the continent. it grates at harry sometimes, how little he gets to be with his girlfriend, but ginny has games to play and championships to win and harry has people to catch and (every now and then) laws to change, and neither has any desire to stop anytime soon so they live with it. in his opinion, they’re pretty good at it. they know their limits. they carve time out for each other, always. harry makes it to all the big games, the ones she’s nervous about. ginny makes it to every stupid ceremony and the endless galas that make harry want to claw his eyes out. she keeps him going; he keeps her sane, and the rest they take as it comes, together. always together.

“harry,” her voice, light as the sun, breaks him out of his reverie. “where’d you go?”

“sorry,” he whispers back. “just in my head a bit.”

“that’s okay. it’s a nice head.”

“it’s a nice head?” he grins at her, knowing she’s caught. ginny rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face, and when she’s done feigning her annoyance, she pulls him in for a kiss. it’s calm and confident and everything that is ginny and when they fuck, they look into each other’s eyes the entire time, and he’s reminded, with each thrust, of just how much he loves her.

***

when he wakes up, the room’s dark, the spot next to him is empty, and he can hear voices coming from below. his heart clenches for a minute, a piece of the war he’ll never be able to let go of, but it eases when he sees ginny’s wand, still on the table, still next to his.

he gets out of bed silently (mentally thanking his auror training) and makes the short walk down the hallway towards the stairs when he sees teddy’s door open too. before he has the chance to panic this time, though, he hears the boy’s laugh followed by ginny’s own giggle. there’s a smile on his face now that he knows ginny would tease him about if she could see it, but he honestly can’t help it. not when he’s in this house, full of a warmth that he’s finally, blessedly, allowed to be a part of. he spots them in the kitchen, but from their angle, he knows they can’t see him. ginny’s leaning against the counter, mixing something in a rather large bowl, while teddy’s sitting on the counter next to her, weirdly, waving a strawberry in the air.

“we gotta put it in!” he whispers, in the way five year-olds do, which isn’t much of a whisper at all. “harry loves strawberries!”

“strawberries in a birthday cake? i’m afraid you may be a genius, ted,” ginny announces in a quiet voice, while harry’s eyes fill with unshed tears. he stays glued to the spot for a bit longer, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he’s ruining their surprise, but not being able to turn away from his family. eventually though, he does. he climbs, silently, back up the stairs and slips back into his and ginny’s bed. when he falls back asleep, it’s with the ghost of a smile on his face and a feeling he doesn’t think he’s known until this moment.

***

he’s woken up in the morning by teddy trying to pull his arm off.

“wha-”

“come on,” the boy whines. “it’s breakfast!”

at that, harry wakes up instantly, feeling the guilt wash over him at the idea of leaving teddy without food. it’s only then that he smells the coffee in the air and realizes that ginny isn’t next to him. he breathes just then, quickly realizing that teddy isn’t hungry; he just wants harry awake.

“sorry, mate,” harry smiles at him guiltily, voice a bit rough with sleep. he lets ted drag him down stairs, the boy practically bouncing the entire way down. when they get to the kitchen, he’s met with ginny - long hair in a knot atop her head, eyes still a little sleep tired - grinning around a piece of toast.

“morning,” she smiles up at him and he gives her a lopsided grin in return.

“ginny, ginny, ginny,” teddy bounces next to her. “we’ve gotta do it now!” he whispers.

“we should probably let him eat first,” ginny whispers back.

“no! we gotta do it now!”

“alright, alright,” she responds. “harry,” she gestures to a seat, which harry takes, brows furrowed though he thinks he knows what’s coming. sure enough, ginny and teddy disappear for a few seconds, then come back with a slightly lopsided cake adorned in strawberries, a single candle lit in the middle. he beams the minute he sees them, which turns into an all out laugh the minute teddy starts up his rendition of ‘happy birthday’ which usually involves a lot of lyrics that never stay the same and none of them ever know. when ted’s done, ginny tells him to make a wish and harry asks teddy for help blowing out the candle.

they skip actual breakfast, choosing to tuck into the cake first. it’s sickly sweet and makes teddy smile from ear to ear, frosting covering his cheeks.

“like it, mate,” harry bemusedly asks. all teddy manages is a quick nod between bites, and harry knows he’ll regret letting the kid have two slices later on. but that’s later and this is right now and right now, he’s sat at a table with the two people he loves most in the world, eating a cake they made for him. right now, he’s celebrating - in his own, admittedly, small way -  a birthday his parents’ never got to. right now, he’s doing everything they wanted for themselves and him. right now (and everyday after), he’s their son, the same as he’s always been, keeping them alive with every breath he breathes, every birthday he celebrates. right now, he’s sat with the woman he loves, laughing as he watches his godson attempt to fit an entire strawberry in his mouth, so completely and ridiculously happy.

happy birthday, ginny mouths from over teddy’s head. harry smiles easily at her, love shining through his eyes, lighter than he’s ever been.

#hinny #hinny fic #happy 41st harry! you deserve nothing less than all the love in the world #i realize canon says harry should be a dad at this point so this is definitely not canon-complaint #oops #okay ill shut up now #hope you've all been good <3333 #goes without saying but fuck jkr