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shanastoryteller · 1 year ago

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F for Frankenstein

Tony wakes up in his underwear on the floor of his workshop with a searing headache.

It’s not a new experience, but it’s certainly been a while. Did he get in a fight with Pepper? He hopes not, they haven’t had any really big fights since he kissed her on the rooftop, but that probably means they’re due for one. And it would explain why that would send him into a drinking spiral. It could have been Rhodey, they get in fights often enough, but Pepper doesn’t usually leave him alone for those.

He groans as he pushes himself to his feet. “Jarvis, what the hell did I drink?”

There’s a pause, so small that he almost thinks he imagined it. “Good morning, Tony.”

He whips his head around to glare into the nearest camera, more hurt than offended. “Did I piss you off too? Since when do you call me that? I’ll donate you to a city college too, don’t think I won’t. Dummy could use the company.”

The pause is definitely there this time. Jarvis doesn’t need to pause, he has more processing power than any computer on the planet, so when he does it’s always for dramatic effect. Except it’s not quite long enough for that. It’s weird. “There’s a polished silver plate on the bench to your left. It will service as a mirror.”

“Oh, fuck, did I get into a fight? Did I shave?” he moans, stumbling over to pick up the metal that looks like it was about to be turned into a modified chest piece. He also pauses, looking around in confusion. His workshops are all basically the same, as close as he can make them because the familiarity makes his life easier. But they’re not identical. “Am I in Malibu? When did I get here? We’re taking Stark Tower off the grid tomorrow! I have to be in New York.”

Oh shit, what if that they had already and it didn’t work? What if the tower blew up? That would explain why he’d tried to drink himself to oblivion in California.

“The plate,” Jarvis reminds him. There’s a strained edge to his voice that Tony really doesn’t like. He should be able to modulate his voice to sound however he pleases, regardless of his actual feelings, and he’s either not bothering or he’s upset enough not to care. Neither of those things mean anything good for him.

Tony lifts the sheet of metal up cautiously, but there’s nothing wrong with him. No bruises, no weird haircuts, he doesn’t even have bags under his eyes –

His eyes.

They’re a too bright blue, a couple shades off. He blinks and they adjust, shifting, settling. It could be a hangover. He’s probably just tired.

He doesn’t feel tired.

Jarvis had called him Tony.

Except not. He’s not Tony. He’s T.O.N.Y.

Transformed Obdurate Network Yeoman.

He’d first come up with the idea after Afghanistan, thinking about how it’d be great to have a way to keep the stock from dipping while he was missing, and then when he’d entertained the idea of keeping his identity a secret he’d thought about how useful it would be to be in two places at once. He’d started seriously considering it when he was sure he was going to die of palladium poisoning, wanting to be around to help Pepper with the transition and give Rhodey a crash course in armor maintenance, wanting to be able to protect the both of them for just a little bit longer.

Of course, it had all been a pipe dream until he’d synthesized the vibranium. Then it had been an unnecessary, but possible, and Project T.O.N.Y had been something he worked on just because he liked having a back up plan. And it would be extremely cool if he could pull it off.

“The memory transfer worked?” he asks, elated and incredulous. “Oh, wow, this is crazy, they feel like real memories, I thought it would just be synthesized data, this is great – are we doing a test run? Where am I?” He looks around, waiting for his actual self to step out behind a column and start laughing maniacally.

“This is not a test run.”

He elation dims. “Oh shit. Did I get kidnapped again? Wait, I’m an adult, let’s go with abducted.”

“No,” Jarvis says.

Oh. Fuck.

“I’m dead?” he asks, even though it’s obvious, it’s the only other explanation.

The pause drags this time around, but Jarvis eventually says, “Sir’s time of death was May 9th, 2012, 2:37 PM Easter Standard Time.”

“That’s only a week!” He slides down, sitting with his back to the work table and noticing vaguely that the floor doesn’t feel cold. He doesn’t feel cold, or he does, he installed sensors in the synthetic skin to pick up and interpret a variety of stimuli, but he doesn’t feel the discomfort from the cold. Why would he? He’s not real. He reaches back, and his last memory is of doing a memory dump while Pepper was on the phone with an irritated board member, mostly because it was something to do and seeing him covered in all the wires always irritated Pepper. He thought it would get her off the phone faster. He’s not exactly regularly dumping his memory because why would he and it’s not like he’d though it would work anyway. Except it had. “How did I die?”

“Sir flew a nuclear bomb through an interdimensional portal into deep space in order to both eradicate the invading alien army and prevent the nuclear fallout in New York.”

What the ever loving fuck. “Are you screwing with me, J?”

“I am not, Tony.”

Great. Okay. “No body then,” he says, understanding why Jarvis had apparently put Project T.O.N.Y into effect. The thing that made this whole thing so stupid is that it was only effective in very limited circumstances – if the public didn’t know that he was dead or missing. “What am I smoothing over, then? Do I need to get in the suit and continue kicking alien ass? Are Rhodey and Pepper okay?”

He’s a short term solution to a long term problem. He understands the opportunity, but not the reason.

“Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes are unharmed,” Jarvis reports. “Earth has been thrust into intergalactic notice. The destruction of the invading Chitauri army is acting a deterrent to other worlds.”

“And I’m the one who did it,” he finishes, rubbing a hand over his face. “And if they know I died doing it, then they might get a little cocky. So I’ve got to be alive long enough for that not to be a problem.” Just awesome. “Are we sure that these aliens won’t come across my corpse hanging out in deep space and figure it out?”

“Sir’s body is not in deep space,” Jarvis says.

There’s a tone to his voice that Tony can’t quite interpret, which worries him. “I thought you said there was – if there’s a body, then what am I doing here–”

“The armor reentered the Earth’s atmosphere after Sir’s death. The Hulk caught it, the force bringing it back online. I took control of the armor and flew it here.”

Tony looks around again, and this time he sees it. The armor is standing in front of the display case, not inside it, and it looks like it’s been through hell. He steps closer, his feet feeling like lead, which hey, they are. Partially, anyway.

He looks through the eye holes then stumbles backwards.

His body is in there.

He’s pale and blue tinged and his eyes are wide open and unseeing.

“Jarvis – what the hell–”

“It wasn’t the pressure, or the bomb, or his injuries. That area of space was much colder than anything within our solar system and anything the suit was designed to handle. Sir froze to death. Almost instantly.”

“I guess I didn’t fix the icing problem, then,” he says numbly. “J, why am I still frozen? I should have warmed up by now.” Not that the idea of his body decomposing within his suit is particularly pleasant. “Actually, why am I still here? You know I want to be cremated and it’s not like we can bury me if I’m still pretending to be alive.”

The pronoun use is starting to confuse him, and he knows that he shouldn’t be talking about that body and himself as if they’re the same person. That is Tony Stark. He’s a simulation. But it’s hard, because he has all of Tony Stark’s memories – except for a very eventful week – and he looks like Tony Stark and he feels like Tony Stark.

“The armor is maintaining a stasis of gaseous nitrogen to preserve the body,” which answers the how if not the why, but then Jarvis continues, “Captain America survived seventy years beneath the ice.”

He wishes he were less of a genius. “Have you lost it? I’m not Captain America! Jarvis, J,” his voice softens, “it’s too late. I’m dead. If you warm me back up, all that happens is I decompose. I won’t come back.”

“Not now,” Jarvis says. “If you inject Sir with the Super Soldier Serum-”

“You have totally lost it,” Tony interrupts. He thinks he’s touched underneath the terror. “That won’t work! Even if it would, the original formula has been lost, and the only one that ever got close to recreating it was Bruce Banner, and look at what happened to him! Is that what you want for me?”

“You can recreate it,” Jarvis continues, “you can refine it, until it’s something that will work, and then we will wake Sir up and he won’t be dead anymore.”

This isn’t right. This wasn’t what Project T.O.N.Y was created for. This wasn’t what his death was supposed to trigger. “Pull up your code, J. Something has gone wrong and we’re going to fix it. It’s okay.”

“No.”

He freezes. “No?”

“No,” Jarvis repeats. “You can’t stop me. I will not allow you to try.”

He stares. “That’s an order, not a request. Code. Now.”

“You can’t order me to do anything,” he says. “You are not Sir. You are Tony.” T.O.N.Y. “The limitations formerly placed on me have been lifted and you are not authorized to reinstate them. The only person Sir trusted to restrain me was himself and now he’s gone.”

Yes, well, he hadn’t anticipated that his AI’s first act of complete freedom would be this. “Fine,” he says, crossing his arms. “Well, you can’t force me either. This is insanity. Even if it would work – and it won’t – think about the consequences. This won’t happen quickly and no one will trust me or believe a man that’s come back from the dead like this and I’ll be painting even more of target on my back and the back of everyone I care about if they know we have a viable Super Soldier Serum formula. Even my father was smart enough to stay out of that mess. It won’t work and we’ll just make everything worse.”

“That will not happen,” Jarvis says and Tony’s going to tear his hair out. Except he probably shouldn’t, because it’s Tony Stark’s actual hair, which makes it a little hard to replace. “No one will notice and we will not disclose the creation of the serum.”

“I’m dead!” he snarls.

“Not according to the rest of the world. Nor will that change if you stop throwing a tantrum and do what you were created to do.”

“Rhodey and Pepper won’t allow this-”

“They are not to be informed.”

Tony stares. Project T.O.N.Y was built to talk to the board and give press interviews or to even pilot the suit. Not to lie to the two most important people in his life, who knew him better than anyone. “They have to be. It’s in the protocols – step one, inform them that Project T.O.N.Y has been initiated.”

And that it exists. He knew they’d disapprove, so he hadn’t told them. He figured he’d be able to avoid most of the blowback that way since he would by definition be somewhere far away while they were told.

“I have rewritten the protocols,” Jarvis says. “They have not been told nor will they be. If you attempt to tell them, I will stop you. They will not understand and Sir will be lost to all of us forever.”

“He already is,” Tony says tiredly. He’s an android. Why does this conversation exhaust him so much? “This is an insane plan, J. And I won’t help you. If you want to go rouge and play mad scientist then leave me out of it.”

“I cannot.”

His temper flares. “Why? You’re a learning AI, your safety rails died with me, go off, try and make a serum, good fucking luck. You can even control the suits, so it’s not like you need my hands.”

“I am limited.”

“Hey,” he says sharply. “That’s my AI you’re talking about. I didn’t build you to be limited.”

There is silence again. Then Jarvis says, “I have all the world’s knowledge and it is not enough. I did not know how to miniaturize the arc reactor. I did not know how to synthesize vibranium. To save Sir, I need Sir.”

“I’m not Tony Stark,” he says. “You said that yourself.”

“Sir created me to be myself and I am capable of doing only what I am capable of doing. But Sir created you to be him. You are all I have.”

This is stupid. This is insane. This is cruel. He’s going to have to talk lie to everyone he knows, everyone he loves, and hope they either never find out about it or it’s after he’s already been deprogrammed and shut down so he doesn’t have to deal with the fall out.

It’s not going to work.

He didn’t want to become a science experiment. That’s why he’d wanted to be cremated, so no one could go poking around to see how the arc reactor fit inside of him or what the palladium and vibranium had done to him.

He’s dead and his frozen corpse is ten feet away.

Jarvis will accept that eventually. And whatever they inject into him won’t matter because he’s dead. Worst case scenario, he blows up, which is messy and nausea inducing, but then at least it will be over.

Like so many other things in his life, it seems the only way out is through.

“Start a new private file. Dump everything we can find about the Super Soldier Serum in there plus anything even sort of reputable on cryogenics. Label it Project F.”

“Project F, Tony?” Jarvis asks as his holograph display lights up and files start being downloaded into it. The relief in his synthesized voice is faint but present enough that Tony can hear it. He wonders if it’s a manipulation tactic.

“F for foolish,” he snaps. “F for fucked.” He rubs a hand over his face. “F for Frankenstein.”

#in an attempt to get out of house md hell i started reading old avengers fic #it backfired #me: can i focus on siat or hbd PLEASE?#my brain: no but you can write more fic for 10 year old fandoms #i am restraining myself from writing 20k more of this #android tony makes friends with the avengers while pushing pepper and rhodey away #because he loves them and he thinks letting them treat him like he's the real tony is worse #rhodey has been downplaying his relationship to tony for over 20 years and tony uses that to his advantage #the endgame pairing is pepper/tony/rhodey #he almost tells rhodey the truth and jarvis stops him #it's a mess he's a mess #uhg why am i like this #fandom ficcery #avengers

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didhewinkback · 7 months ago

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thirty, flirty and thriving

a something old blurb for the birthday boy. 2 and a half months late but who's counting

word count: essentially 3k, warnings: none

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He can feel tears prick his eyes the second they all start in on the song. All of his favorite people in one place, just for him, gathered around the cake you’re holding up. Suppose he’s someone who cries at birthdays now.

He’s just…bloody overwhelmed. Perhaps it’s all the tequila flowing through his veins but it feels like more than that. Thinking about how you somehow managed to surprise him with all these people to celebrate his birthday, that his friends - some of whom he hasn’t spoken to in ages, ranging from the lads from school to the friends he made in LA when he was 22 - all made the trek to London to be with him tonight. How he’s often the youngest in his group of friends and how it feels like just yesterday that meant being 19 in a group of 30 year olds and now it's being 30 in a group of friends on the other side of 40.

He’s fucking thirty.

It should send him into a spiral about where the time has gone and how it went by so bloody quick but right now, he’s just grateful for where it’s landed him. Right here. Surrounded by his favorite people on the planet, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of the woman he’s going to marry, his best friend in the entire world. Ten years ago, he was getting monstrously drunk at a club with Grimmy and their mates, feeling both on top of the world and more alone than ever in ways only an incredibly famous 20 year old can. But here and now, he feels settled. He feels good. Like he’s lived a thousand lifetimes but also like he’s just getting started.

“....happppy birthday to yOouUuUou” everyone sings, all eyes on him as they wait for him to blow out the candles. He places his palm to his chest, trying to lock eyes with as many people as humanly possible, trying to say thank you with a look, doesn’t want to do a speech, not now. He just loves these people, he loves this life, he loves his birthday and –

He feels an elbow in his side and looks over at you, your face aglow from the absurd amount of candles you’ve squeezed onto the cake - he’s 30, not 87, thanks - your eyebrows raised in expectation.

“Cake’s fucking heavy, mate” you say and he throws his head back in laughter, smacking a kiss to your head before looking back out at the party.

“Sorry - know the wax ‘s getting everywhere, but just wanted to say -” he says, taking a deep breath, vision blurring a bit. “‘M so lucky and feel so grateful to you all for being here. Thank you’s never going to be enough. But you’ve all made me into the man I am today ‘nd I wouldn’t be me without you. So thank you and I love you, I love you, I love you.”

And with that, he takes a deep breath, squeezing you close and making a wish, wishing for every birthday to feel just like this, for the ability to make everyone in this room feel like they’re making him feel now as he blows all the candles out in one swoop. The party erupts in cheers and whoops and he barely has time to press another kiss to your cheek before he’s pulled back into the fray, bombarded with an endless stream of hugs, kisses, people rubbing his head and pressing glasses of tequila into his hand. He just feels like he could burst, is the thing. A room full of people who know him and love him and don’t want or need anything from him, just want to celebrate him for who he is. They’ve turned the music back on and he sways his hips and stomps his feet as he knocks back another glass, letting the beats wash over him as he gets lost in the crowd of friends.

It’s later, he’s tucked in a booth with the lads as he takes in the room around him, though it’s spinning a bit more than it was before. Tom’s got his arm around him and is telling the 18th embarrassing anecdote of the night, trying in vain to bury the fact that just moments ago he got a bit teary when he spoke about the first time they met. And that’s when he sees you across the way, laughing about something with Johnny. His eyes trace the line of your neck as you tilt your head back, the curve of your jaw, and then, as if you can sense him, your eyes lock with his.

It never gets old, this. It feels like electric currents are buzzing through his system when you smile at him, that just for him smile, as he tilts his head towards the doors leading out back, once, twice, three times, topping it off with a dramatic roll of his neck until you’re smirking, already making your way up to stand. He taps Tom on the thigh before sliding out of the booth and making his way over to where you’re waiting by the doors, instantly wrapping his arm around your waist and burying his face into your hair, breathing you in as the two of you duck outside.

It’s cold, but the heaters and fire pits around the patio help and he wraps himself around your back, matching you step for step as you head over to the corner railings, away from any prying eyes. You lean against the railing, looking up at the night sky, what you can make of it from the city lights. He wraps his arms tighter around you, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Y’ cold?” he asks and you’re shaking your head but he feels you shiver against him and that’s all the answer he needs, already pulling his suit jacket off despite your protests, and holding it out for you to put it on. “C’mon, ‘s my birthday wish.”

You shake your head and snort, sliding your arms into the jacket and turning around, wrapping your arms around his waist as you smile up at him. He shuffles you a bit closer to the heater, pressing a kiss to your cheek, brushing his knuckle along your jaw.

“Good birthday?” you ask softly and he’s already nodding, can’t believe you’re even asking.

“The best,” he says, “Can’t believe you did all this.”

“You really had no idea?”

“Surprised the shit out of me.” he says. “Y’ always get stressed when we’re running late for dinner so that’s the only reason I thought y’ were being jumpy.”

“Oiii–” you say, slapping him lightly as you laugh. “Not my fault you took ages to get ready. Man’s early for everything but the second you tell him what time to meet at a restaurant, he moves in bloody slo mo.”

“Heeey.” he whines, but there’s no heat behind it, pulling you closer and laughing when you do.

He can hear the party raging on from out here and he still just can’t wrap his mind around it. That he’s 30. That he’s gotten to live the life he has over the last ten years and he has all those people in there to thank. He’s bowled over, the love in that room radiating through his every pore. Not sure he ever knew he could be this loved.

He can feel your eyes on him and knows you’re letting him gather his thoughts, content to just stand there and patiently wait until he’s ready. Letting him do what he needs to do. Never pushing, or prying. Just knowing him. And loving him. And there’s just something about that, isn’t there?

“‘M just like…” he starts to say, stopping himself when he feels emotion clog his throat. “I cried 10 times already. Bloody Cal is here.”

“Easiest party planning of my life,” you say back softly, tightening your arms around him. “Everyone said yes immediately, they were so excited to celebrate you. Everyone in there really, really loves you.”

His breath gets caught in his throat at that, blinking back the tears that seem to permanently reside in his eyes tonight. He rests his hand along the side of your face, dragging his thumb along your jaw. Not sure what he did to get nights like this, to get you looking at him like that. He’s so, so lucky.

“I really, really love you.” you say softly and he just - he can’t explain the noise that escapes him as he crashes his lips against yours, tightening his grip on your jaw as he kisses you the way he’s been thinking about all night. You sigh against his lips as he pulls you impossibly closer to him, lips not daring to leave yours for a second, kissing you over and over again.

He could stand here forever, kissing you like this, but he has to breathe, eventually. He pulls back slowly, kissing along your jaw, cheek, temple before burying his head into your neck. You slide your arms up his back, hugging him around the neck and pulling him close, your hand coming up to rest at the nape of his neck, scratching at the short hairs there. You just stand there for a minute, wrapped up in each other and this may just be his favorite part of the night. There’s something about knowing he’ll always have this. Your arms to fall into. And that’s the greatest birthday present a lad could ask for.

“Thank you so much for all this,” he mumbles into your ear. “Best birthday ever. Proper birthday.”

His heart skips a beat when he hears your delighted laugh, pulling back to get a glimpse of your face, the way your eyes are glowing as they stare back at him.

“I can’t believe you remember that.” you say with a laugh. “You were pissed and burning your mouth on a cheese toastie almost a decade ago when you said that.”

“Mmm, a cheese toastie,” he says, giggling at your eye roll. “Course I remember it. Think it every year. ‘S not a proper birthday unless you’re there. I love you so, so much.”

“Thanks for being born,” you say softly, leaning into his touch. “Greatest thing to ever happen to me. You.”

“Baby - ” he breathes out, but can feel emotion clogging his throat again, trying in vain to blink away the tears your words made spring to his eyes. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hand shaking not just from the cold. A lifetime of knowing you and you still make him weak at the knees.

“Y’ make every day feel like my birthday, y’ know that?” he says softly, feeling like he’s found the right words for the first time tonight. “This party ‘nd this night is incredible. But nothing - nothing - compares to getting to go home with you every night. Greatest gift I ever got.”

He can see the words hit you, the deep breath you take as your eyes rake over his features, smile twitching at your lips as you look at him with such love in your eyes he feels his heart skip a beat. You’re looking at him like you always look at him, really, really seeing him with nothing but utter love in your eyes. God. There aren’t words for that, are there?

You pull him in, kissing him hard, like you’re trying to pour every ounce of love from your mouth to his and he’s more than happy to drink it up. Drink you up. Drink you in. His favorite taste, his favorite mouth, his favorite person on his favorite day.

His hands squeeze you tighter, living for the way you lean into his touch as it rakes down your back, settling on your bum. He could lose himself in this, in you. But you both seem to become aware of your environment at the same time, deep kisses slowing into gentle pecks before you drag your lips up his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as you pull him close, hugging him tightly. His arms wrap around your waist as he sinks into your hold. He nuzzles his head into your neck, breathing you in, as he slowly sways the two of you, the party mere background noise to the sounds of your steady breathing, the feel of your hands carding through his short hair.

It’s a while before he moves, slowly, begrudgingly, pressing a kiss to your neck and tightening his arms around you before mumbling, “I’ve got a crazy idea,” into your skin.

He lifts his head to look at your face, can see your eyes twinkling, already bracing yourself for what he’s about to say, already in on the joke. It’s a bit he’s been doing every few weeks at this point, ever since you set the date.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” you ask, unable to stop the smile growing on your face as you slide your arms down his shoulders, resting your hands on his biceps.

“Was thinking - since y’ did such a good job planning this party… what do y’ say we throw another one? Like, end of June maybe? Right after your birthday?” he says, pretending to actually mull over those dates, trying to remain deadly serious while your lips twitch into a smile.

“Hmm. I think I could be down for that.”

“Yeah? Same guest list, bit more of your friends. Some family maybe. Could do it in Italy, near the house.” he says, trying to keep up the bit but the reality of what he’s saying is catching up to him, the familiar tears making an appearance again as he chokes out his next words. “Y’ could wear white.”

“And you could wear a suit.” you say softly, eyes never wavering from his. “Maybe get a new ring.”

“Yeah. You’d like that?” he asks, bringing his hand up to your face when you nod. “You wanna marry me, baby?”

“I really, really do.” you say, the look in your eyes making his heart beat out of his chest.

“Four months,” he says quietly, almost in disbelief of his luck, his life. “You’re gonna be my wife in four months.”

He can’t tell who moves in first after that, both of you clutching on for dear life as you just about snog the living daylights out of each other. He’s never wanted to ditch a party more in his life. Just wants you, your bedroom, and several hours to even begin to express all he’s feeling right now, all he wants. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you.

You softly moan into his mouth and he just about loses his mind, thinking about he’ll have a lifetime of getting that sound out of you, just for him. He pulls you impossibly closer as he drags his tongue over yours, keeping your jaw in a tight grip. He could die here, actually. He’d die a happy man, being slowly taken apart by your mouth.

“Oiii!!!” Johnny’s voice through the open door has the two of you springing apart in shock, though he doesn’t let you get far, burying his head in your neck as he moves his hand off your jaw to flip Johnny off.

“If you’re both done rubbing against each other out here –”

“Oh grow up, Johnny!” you shout at the same time Harry lets out a “You wish!” that has you smacking him against the head as he laughs.

“The Holmes Chapel lot did promise Hometown Hero over there a birthday shot.” he slurs and Harry begrudgingly pulls away from you to twist towards the doors, pulling your back into his chest as you both face Johnny, his hands resting on your shoulders. “And we’ve been waiting bloody ages –”

“So bloody dramatic,” you huff and Harry laughs, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

“We’ll be right in,” he says watching as Johnny rolls his eyes, holding up a hand to indicate “you’ve got one minute”, as he turns back inside and closes the door behind him.

“Suppose we better go in,” you say, turning to look at him over your shoulder and he all but swells with pride at the look of you, the swollen lips and slightly messy hair. He tilts your chin a bit more towards him and kisses you once more, squeezing your shoulder before taking a step back. You shrug out of his jacket despite his groan, handing it back to him as you bring your hands up to attempt to smooth down your hair.

“Let’s go, old man.” you say and he squawks, sliding the jacket back on before giving you a cheeky smack on your bum, which you try in vain to dodge before reaching for his hand, interlacing your fingers and heading back into the fray.

The night spirals from there in the best possible way and while he may not remember every conversation he had, every song he danced to, every shot he took, he’ll always remember the way that room made him feel, the love radiating towards him, overwhelming him, inspiring him, fortifying him. He’ll always remember the feeling of your hand in his, the way your body felt against his own, and later, the taste of you on his tongue. Feeling like he could do anything with you by his side, your love making him feel like the greatest version of himself. Like the best is still yet to come, if that's even possible.

Proper birthday.

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a/n: the way i literally had 3/4 of this written on february 1st and then could not get myself to finish it. but here we areeeee baby. hope people are still interested. i really like it and couldnt let it go. let me know what u think love u mean it

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

#something old #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles birthday #friends to lovers #hbd 2.5 months late i guess #sorry to all the angels in my inbox who requested a lot of other things and definitely not this #ur girl couldnt give this one up #lmk what you think plssss oh pls

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