#so I asked my mum to write down the recipe for them and their family for PERSONAL USE

[marchessa]

Still wondering if I should include my recipe in my fic

[totaly-obsessed]

hey i couldn’t find a rules list of what to ask so feel free to ignore this if it’s outside your comfort zone!! could you do a mary x reader where an anniversary of reader losing someone (or just anything bad that could’ve happened if you don’t want to write about that) and they are feeling kinda numb and just need mary to comfort them, which of course she goes above and beyond to make them feel as loved and safe as possible

Anniversary

Mary Earps x reader request

-> Mary helps Reader get through the anniversary of her mother's death

-> Talk of death and grieving

-> I hope this is okay, @ anon!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Mary knew that today would be hard. A heavy red ‘x’ in the calendar marks the day. It had been one year since your Mum had tragically passed. She had been healthy, some would even call her active or fit for her age. She had been fine – until she wasn’t. A stroke during which she fell down the stairs.

You were the one to find her – picking her up for your usual Saturday stroll around the market in the town square.

It wasn’t even needed to step in – she was just lying there in the middle of the hallway when you opened the front door. Shocked you called an ambulance after checking for breathing. There was none, also no heartbeat. She was cold, her skin a pale blueish color.

You still couldn’t get the picture out of your head.

It had been a hard year. The middle of November, being very close to Christmas, meant that the first holiday without her came fast. Your birthday was just as hard – a usually loved day by you, passing like any other.

But today marked one year without her. And while you thought of her every day, today was especially hard. Mary knew that you would put on a brave face, trying to force yourself through the day – but she wouldn’t allow you to do that, knowing that you would hate yourself for it later.

She truly was a saint. Mary – your Mary. The goalkeeper had been your rock through the incredibly tough grieving process. She never got frustrated with your way of coping but she tried to help you do it in a healthy way instead of ignoring your own health.

Your girlfriend had taken the day off from training, even though you had told her not to. She wanted to be there for you – she needed to be.

Working in a good environment meant that your boss insisted that you had some time off, ignoring your pleas to let you work.

The morning was weird. While Mary was usually the first one up and starting the day, she couldn’t find you anywhere – your side of the bed was already cold. But it didn’t take the blonde long to find you on the couch. You weren’t doing anything, you just sat there, staring at a dark TV.

A gentle kiss to your forehead ripped you out of your daze. “Good morning my love, let’s make some breakfast, huh?” She pulled you up by your hands as gently as she could, nudging you into the kitchen. Mary handed you an assortment of fruits, gesturing for you to wash and cut them, while she made pancakes.

Your Mum’s favorite breakfast.

After your very controlling dad had left the family when you were younger, your mother enjoyed her newfound freedom and meal choices, opting for pancakes with tonnes of sirup and fruits every Sunday. It had become your little tradition over the years, and Mary understood that. She understood that it was your thing so she usually made oatmeal for breakfast.

But today was different. Today was already emotional and in honor of your mother and her rituals, she made pancakes – even using the recipe that your mum had given her when you started dating. It brought tears to your eyes, seeing your favorite football player taking such care of you.

Breakfast was spent in silence but you could feel her concerned eyes burning a hole into your head. You knew that she was just concerned, but it was still unnerving, being watched like this. There was barely a dent in your pancakes but Mary coaxed you into eating a little more – rewarding every bite with a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Usually joined showers were giggly with Mary spraying water into your mouth whenever you wanted to speak, making her laugh so hard that she could barely breathe while you pouted, trying to get all the shampoo out of your hair. But as with many things, today was different. Your girlfriend took her time, gently massaging your head as you stood in the water stream with closed eyes. It was as if your body was there, but your mind was not – it complied with moving however Mary wanted you to, but you didn’t really notice anything.

By noon both of you were dressed in warm clothes, ready to go on a walk that would ultimately lead you to the cemetery your mother was buried in. You stood on the porch for a second, waiting for Mary to join you when a bouquet was extended towards you. “Oh Mary….”

She could see the thankfulness in your eyes as they teared up once again, struggling to get the words out. “They were her favorite.” She had remembered how you insisted on getting Asters instead of Lillies for the funeral because your mom loved them so much – so here she was, with a pretty blue and purple Aster bouquet.

Quiet conversation occupied most of the walk, Mary telling you a story of something that had happened at an England camp not so long ago to lift the spirit when you got closer and closer to your destination.

The gates of the Manchester southern cemetery seemed daunting as you stood in front of them. “When do you want me to join you?” A couple of weeks ago, when you were still able to cope, Mary made a deal with you – you would enter alone, do your thing, and after that, she would join you. “Maybe ten minutes?” With a soft kiss and a squeeze of your gloved hands, she lets you go – flowers in hand.

Ten cold minutes later, your girlfriend started her walk to your mother’s grave, finding you kneeling in front of it. With gentle hands she helped you up, dusting off some loose stones from your hands.

While this wasn’t the first time being here, as you took care of the grave every two weeks, it was very different. It was like you could feel your mother watching over you as you cried.

“M’sorry baby, I can’t stay.” Your girlfriend understood as you left her standing, making your way back to the gate.

It took her a couple of minutes to gather the courage and sit down on the ground as she pulled out a little box out of her jacket pocket. “I’m gonna ask your daughter to marry me. I know I already asked you last year, but I figured I would just do it again. You mean everything to her and-“ Now she started to tear up as well, trying to be strong for you when she was sad as well, was hard. “And I just wanted to make sure, that you knew. I wanna ask her in March – she loves spring, you know?”

The footballer felt a little crazy talking to a grave – but she wanted to make sure that your mother was okay with the two of you marrying, even if she had given her (very happy) okay before she passed.

Walking back to your joined home was a slow process, stopping every now and then to hug Mary, who tried her best to wipe the never-ending tears that streamed down your face.

The rest of the day was spent in bed, watching you and your mother's favorite films, while Mary went above and beyond to make the day go by as well as possible but all you really needed was her and her cuddles.

[jacksgreysays]

Prompt: The Jashin cult incident did not result in the Gardens universe, but rather caused some wibbly wobbly time space stuff to happen, resulting in the hammerspaces of various AU Shikakos to merge/converge. A young Shikako now has access to the hammerspace of Shinobi War veteran Shikako. Her teammates are baffled by her seemingly bottomless supply of water scrolls and explosive seals.

So, here’s the thing: I’m not actually doing an ask box event at the moment. But I’m also not going to say no to a cool prompt, with the understanding that once you send something to me they are up to my (wild) interpretation on how/if to fill them. All that being said, letmebeawalrus, I do think this prompt is super cool. I also, immediately, went sideways with it for several reasons which I will list under this tiny ficlet:

~

This is not the first time she has used the Space.

When she was younger, she would reach into the Space and pull sweets seemingly out of thin air for herself and her brother and her friends. Whenever she misplaced a pen, there seemed to be an endless amount available to her with a twist of her hand. For cloud watching sessions turned stargazing, she could provide blankets to make those times last longer.

This is also not the first time she has put something into the Space.

Motivated she may be, she was still Nara through and through, and carrying things was so much easier when she could stash it away without bothering with pockets or pouches. Food maintained its temperature, flowers never wilted, everything forever fresh in there. She’s the undisputed best at hiding things.

This is not even the first time she has felt compelled to put specific things into the Space.

It’s funny how much the Academy teachers twitch as they see her make explosion tags during classes but can’t figure out where they go—not knowing that she’s making them for the Space, for other versions of herself who don’t have as much free time as she does. She asks Mum if she can borrow the camera, promises to be careful, takes pictures of her family, her friends, the deer herds, clouds, and other serene things. Mum has also gotten used to making twice as much gyoza, bemusedly but indulgently watching her daughter stash away four for every one she eats, and even writes out a recipe card even though they always make them together.

But this is the first time that the Space has needed something so much more… challenging. Shikako knows, without any words, that she is the youngest with access to the Space: she has the kindest, least stressful lifestyle which means she has more opportunities to contribute to the Space than the others. And as the youngest she also knows she is the earliest in the timeline, which means that she may be the only one who can get this for the Space, for the other versions of herself that needs this.

So she will do it. She will. It just sucks that it involves talking to strangers and asking them for a bizarre favor for which she can’t explain. The first step is not too bad, theoretically, it’s just talking to Sasuke: they’re not friends, necessarily, but ever since she knocked him out during taijutsu class, he seems to respect her more.

That will probably go down the drain after this.

“I need to meet your cousin Shisui.”

~

So, letmebeawalrus, my brain actually wanted to do a twist on your prompt. Although perhaps it’s just the B-sides of your prompt rather than a twist. Of course it is still very impressive that young!Shikako has access to endless water scrolls and explosive seals and other things which she should have access to (perhaps at one point she pulls out the Sword of the Thunder God, just says whoops, and then tucks it away into the Space) but I kind of wanted to look at it from a “what does young!Shikako bring to the Space.” Because she does have the most free time—and I think it’s been established that she figured out explosive tags in the Academy—so SHE could be the source of the endless explosive tags for all the other Shikakos who don’t have the time (and you can’t tell me Shikako isn’t constantly multi-tasking during the more academic lecture-based classes.) But then I also thought about how, young!Shikako has in addition to free time, access to people that the older Shikakos wouldn’t. For feels, I wanted to throw in the camera and the qyoza (because there are some Garden Shikako who have been stranded from a Konoha that resembles home, they may have found a Konoha, but not one that has her family and friends in it, alive and unharmed) but then in a strategic way I also realized young!Shikako may be the only one with access to a living Uchiha clan. The Space compelling her to put stuff in is largely benign—and I think because of spacetime wibbly wobbliness, it’s not as if she has a counter to get the thing, just that she has to eventually get the thing (as far as other dimension Shikakos are concerned, they don’t perceive how long it takes between needing a thing and pulling it out from the Space—it’s basically a crowd-sourced version of the Jacket of Useful Things except that crowd is herself from multiple dimensions.) I only ever witnessed this in fanfiction form, but I know there’s a fantasy book (series?) of… not Practical Magic, but sort of adjacent in that the protagonist kind of has an urge to collect things with the vibe that at some point someone will need this thing and that they will be able to give it to them and it is considered magic I think? I also couldn’t find the fanfiction that I encountered it in, so I can’t even link that. But that’s the vibe. I THINK, there is a version of Shikako that needs something from a living Shisui—or, perhaps, if we want to get more complicated there is a version of Shikako that needs something from a living Uchiha clan in a decade, so in order to make sure that will be available, the Space is compelling young!Shikako to intervene such that there will be a living Uchiha clan in a decade? But I don’t think the Space can reach that far--and so young!Shikako who is the only one pre-Uchiha Massacre is the only one who can get it. What that thing might be, I have no idea. Anyway, letmebeawalrus, hope you enjoyed.

[ughgoaway]

Dying to know what you would write for y/n’s first Mother’s Day with Matty and Annie

this is so so interesting to think about!!!!

so I think for the first mothers Day when you're with matty, nothing out of the ordinary happens. or nothing out of the ordinary happens to you anyway.

you ask matty a few days before how Annie feels about it, and he casually says, "Oh, she doesn't really mind. she knows it's coming, and to her, it's just another day!" So you treat it like that too.

you don't go out of your way to comment on it or make a big deal. You just get on with your day! the same cannot be said for matty...

he doesn't think Annie feels any way about it, seemingly like her normal bubbly self. But just as he's taking her to bed- she says something.

he feels strange the whole day. this is the first time he's had a girlfriend that annie knows about, and it's an actual serious relationship.

he knows it's way too soon, and you're not Annie's mum, but it kind of feels like you are?? and he's not sure how to feel.

"Did you have a good Mother's Day, Daddy?"

matty pauses and looks at Annie confused before slowly saying, "... yes, I did, sweetheart. why do you ask?"

"You were being weird around y/n allllllll day," Annie answers, organising her toys carefully as she speaks.

matty decided not to share this internal monologue with Annie and simply said, "Oh. I didn't mean to be. I'm just worried about you i think munchkin"

oh.

had he been? matty thought he'd been pretty normal, casual, and cool. but if Annie had noticed- he definitely had not been.

fuck he hope you didn't notice (you didn't, too distracted by trying a new banana bread recipe lol)

"Why?" Annie said with a scrunched up face, matty had to stifle a laugh at her confused face.

"I know it must be hard on days like this because your mummy isn't in our lives. I just want to make sure my best girl is okay. " matty strokes Annie's head as she lies down to sleep.

"I'm fine, Daddy." she says nonchalantly, "Plus, y/n is like my mummy now anyway, so maybe next year we can all have fun"

with that, she drifts off, leaving matty in stunned silence. he truly is just 👁👄👁 for 10 minutes.

he doesn't mention it to you, but he does think about it INTENSELY.

////

now cut to a few years later, you and matty are going strong (perhaps even engaged...) and it's rolling up to mothers Day again.

and this year- you both feel odd.

you really had become Annie's mum. you sent out family cards from the 3 of you, you go to her parent's evenings (when you can slip away from doing them yourself lol) and you have lived with them for a while.

you do everything for Annie and love her endlessly. She feels like your own child.

matty stirs awake and sees you lying there, voice heavy with sleep he asks, "Are you alright, baby? why are you awake?"

so you bring it up to matty.

One night, you're lying in bed awake, and it's far too late, but you're just staring at the ceiling.

in your sleep deprived state, you don't hesitate to get straight to the point, "Am I Annie's mum?"

Well... that was NOT what matty was expecting to hear. this wasn't a topic he thought he'd be tackling at 3am on a Wednesday but, fuck it! here he goes.

"...what brought this up, babe?" matty asks tentatively, pulling you into his chest. you rest your head on him and sigh heavily before speaking.

"Um... I think that really depends on how you and annie feel. from my perspective? yes?" matty sounds unsure as he speaks, feeling like he's walking on egg shells

"I don't wanna scare you or anything, but you are practically her mum." matty pauses for a reply, but you stay silent, the only audible noise being your joint breathing.

"I don't know, with mothers Day coming up, it's just been on my mind. I feel like a mother, I act like a mother, and I do everything a mother does. but am I a mum? I didn't give birth to her, and I wasn't here from the start, so it feels selfish to call myself one and-"

matty shushes you and cuts off your rant before it goes too far, "its not selfish, sweetheart - it's realistic." matty pauses and takes a breath before continuing.

"If it helps, Annie said you were already her mum that very first mothers Day you spent with us. so I wouldn't think too deeply about it. " he shrugs as he speaks and turns the bedside lamp off.

matty had assumed this would calm you - it did not.

"Don't worry about it, babe. I'll do it," matty says, bringing you back down and wrapping the duvet around the two of you.

"WHAT." You pull up and look at matty wide-eyed, leaning over him and flicking the light back on

he looks back confused, and you really have to take a moment to realise hes not being intentionally dumb.

"Why did you only just decide to tell me this??? it's been years, Matthew!!! oh god, this changes everything. I have to talk to her about it. fucking hell-"

"really?"

so he did! it was the day before mothers Day, and you were out shopping with charli. she needed a new dress for a fancy date george was talking her on, and you were more than happy to help!

"of course"

///

Annie was peacefully sat on the sofa watching high school musical 2 with mayhem. He was peacefully snoring in her lap as she sang along to fabulous (the best hsm movie and the best song, btw)

"So... Annie, how are you..."

fuck. Why would he ask that?? what a shit way to start.

Annie pauses and looks at matty weirdly before responding, "okay i think?"

"Good, good... can we talk?"

"Do you want to do anything for mothers Day this year? for y/n, i mean. not me or anything. that would be weird." matty stops himself going off on a tangent and coughs awkwardly and waits for a response.

Annie pauses the movie and nods tentatively, matty sits next to her and can't help but jump straight in.

his nerves were ruining any chance at a coherent thought.

5 seconds feels like 5 hours, but he couldn't be more relieved when she excitedly says, "Yes!!! oh, please, can we!?! I want to get her flowers and chocolates!!"

matty sighs a breath of relief and nods. He grabs his keys and says, "Definitely. let's go to tesco then, cmon!"

///

the next morning, matty is up early... suspiciously early.

you wake up to whispered voices and hear a tray clanging slightly,

annie and matty saying "surprise!!" wakes you up fully, and you are shocked to see them with a tray of pancakes, coffee, and a bouquet of flowers.

immediately you tear up, but you have to ask to make sure you're not misinterpreting this.

"Oh wow! what's all this???" You say sitting up as matty puts the tray next to you on the bed.

"Happy mothers Day!!!" squeals Annie excitedly, "Dad said I was finally allowed to give you presents today!" she smiles big as she finishes, almost looks anxious awaiting your response.

tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you pull Annie in, squeezing her so tight she loses all the air in her lungs.

"Oh, Annie. thank you so so much. I love you, sweetheart." You pull back and wipe your tears, and Annie can't look happier, gummy smile and bright eyes staring back at you.

shyly, she says, "You're welcome. i love you too"

"You want to share my pancakes, sweet girl?" You ask, already cutting it up for the two of you.

"yes!!!" Annie says bouncing on the bed.

matty might as well not be there, but that is honestly exactly how he wanted to feel.

you don't need him. you're Annie's parent now too.

[strictlybecca]

Hey I love you!! Have you considered writing Donna Noble organizing 14th doctor’s first official family birthday party? What about Joe and Nicky cooking together? Buck and Eddie clothes sharing?

hi bb i love you!!!! 💕 thanks for filling my brain with all the best thoughts, you are the goddamn best. here's the doctor's first birthday with the noble-temple crew:

It’s honestly the look on the Doctor’s face when he steps into the back garden and sees old friends and new (he and Ms. Tabitha from down the road have taken to sharing gardening tips and shortbread recipes) and the darling little bunting Rose made to loop around the pergola and the carrot cake Shaun baked that afternoon with fourteen sparkle candles sticking out jauntily. (Crookedly, Donna thinks, but knows the Doctor will think they’re perfect.)

Donna rather hates that she’s become a happy crier, but seeing her little family so ridiculously pleased and smug, seeing the Doctor beaming his stupid little face off - it’s all a bit too much. She pretends she’s just futzing with her mascara but waves her mum off when it looks like she might come over to pester her. Instead, she lets herself just look.

Rose is grinning madly with her arm linked through the Doctor’s as Shaun claps him on the back and gives him a good shake. She can’t hear what they’re all saying, but they all break into the kind of giggles that are so common in her house these days. (“Oi,” she’ll end up yelling up the stairs, hearing their laughter from a floor away, “Can we cackle as we wash our hands? Dinner’s ready and it’s getting cold!”)

“You,” the Doctor says accusatorially, when she finally wanders over, his face twisted up in her favorite of his little boy gleeful smiles. “You did this.”

“I helped,” she allows with a shrug, looking self-satisfied and not trying to hide it in the slightest. “But it was Rose’s idea. And Shaun insisted on the surprise bit. I’m mostly shocked neither of them spoiled it.”

“They have been running around furtively for the past few days,” the Doctor agrees. “I just assumed they were trying to hide something from you.”

“Pfft. They know better by now.” They fall into a comfortable kind of silence that comes easier these days, watching as Mel and Wilfred share a grin over some glasses of lemonade and as Sylvia and Shaun bicker lightly over how to cut the cake. “Still good, Spaceman?” she asks quietly, nudging him with her elbow. She’s not asking about the party, but she knows he knows that.

It’s been about a year since he came to stay and although she’s loved every second of it - though teaching the Doctor to do laundry was a nightmare none of them ever want to repeat - she still worries. (Eyeing Sylvia fussing over Rose halfway across the yard, she sighs. She comes by it honestly at least.)

“Oh Donna,” he says, turning to look at her directly, his face in a kind of helpless grin. She can tell he got a little too much sun last weekend at the beach and there are freckles dotted across his cheeks that she’s not sure she’s seen before. His eyes crinkle up at the corners and there’s a spot on his jaw where he missed shaving. He looks a little like a nutter, to be honest, in his suit vest and slippers, but she loves him unreasonably. “It’s the best.”

“Of course it is,” she sniffs, cracking a smile only when he loops an arm around her shoulders and drags her in to his side. They watch the party like that for a little while longer, knowing they have all the time in the world to stand and let their wobbly blue planet spin and their days slip idly by.

[wonderfilworld]

Kitchen Table - F.W.

Fred Weasley x reader where they have some alone time at the burrow.

a/n: this is for a request: “Can you pleasee write a fic about fred x reader(fem) and they are at the burrow making brownies or something (lots of fluff in this part) but then it gets segsy..?”

word count: 2.4k

warnings/contains: NSFW!! smut: unprotected sex, slight mentions of exhibitionism, yeah he fucks you on his kitchen table lol; kissing; cursing; food. As always, if there’s anything I left out please let me know!

Masterlist  

It was a sunny, summer day, and the majority of the Weasleys had decided to make a day trip to Diagon Alley while you and Fred opted to stay in. Staying at The Burrow meant absolutely no privacy, so when Molly asked if you wanted to join them on their outing, Fred wrapped his arms around your shoulders and politely informed his mother, I think we’ll stay here and bake brownies, mum.

Molly thought that was a lovely idea and that you should make plenty for everyone to eat for dessert tonight. So, here you and Fred are, mixing ingredients the muggle way because you insisted it’s so much better this way.

It’s a new recipe you’re trying out, the both of you wanted to do something different so you abandoned his family recipe as you copy another one you found in one of his mother’s cookbooks.

“I wonder if it tastes any good,” he says as he dips a finger in the bowl of batter and brings it to his lips. You watch as his cheeks hollow around the digit, and you raise an eyebrow as he hums, “Pretty good.”

You laugh, “Yeah?” 

He nods as he dips the same finger in the batter and you scold him, “Fred, quit putting your germs in the food, everyone will be eating those.”

“I’m related to ninety-nine percent of the people in this house, one of whom has the same DNA as me, I think it’ll be fine,” he says. He gets tired of waiting for you to open your mouth, so he puts his finger on your lips and swipes the batter on them. You roll your eyes as you stick your tongue out, licking all that you can to the best of your ability. 

“You missed some,” Fred tells you, but instead of bringing his hand to clean it off as you expected, he leans in and plants a kiss on your open mouth. 

It’s sticky but you close your eyes anyway, bringing your hand to his face. You expected just a little peck, but what you don’t expect is to feel Fred’s tongue licking at your lips, cleaning the remnants of the brownie batter.

He pulls away, and you give him an irritated look as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Gross,” you say. 

Fred snorts and dips his index and middle finger into the brownie batter once more, brings it up, and smears it across your cheek. 

“Fred Weasley!” You shout, slapping his shoulder. He’s laughing now, and you can’t help but join in. “I hate you,” you say, but you both know you don’t really mean it. 

He calms his laughter down as he puts a hand to your neck, “Here, let me get it for you.” He leans in, and you put a hand to his chest, stopping him. 

“Don’t you dare lick me.”

Fred smirks, “You’ve never seemed to have a problem with my licking before.” 

You scoff, and before you can say anything else, Fred’s tongue is licking along the trail of batter he left on your face. 

You groan in annoyance before Fred leans back and grabs a towel from the counter. He uses it to clean the rest of the sticky substance off your face before saying, “There, as good as new.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Don’t be like that.” 

You shoot him a look of displeasure as you reach for the pan, “Let’s just get these finished already.” You stick them in the oven as Fred sets a timer.

“Well, well, well; how will we ever pass the time?” Fred wiggles his eyebrows at you as he removes his apron and throws it across one of the kitchen chairs. He approaches you and places his hands on your waist. “Any ideas?” 

“Nope,” you say. You know what he’s insinuating, but you’d rather play oblivious. You want the same thing he does, but with the brownie batter stunt he pulled earlier, he’ll have to work for it. 

“Come on, princess,” he says as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your body flush against his. You wrap yours around his neck as he speaks again, “We have the whole house to ourselves for the first time in days, and you’re telling me there’s nothing you want to do?”

“I’d like to get a shower that lasts longer than ten minutes.”

“Oh, you think you’re funny?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” you retort, and you cup his face in your hands as you lean up to kiss him. 

His kisses are slow and sweet at first - they always are. Fred loves the sensualness of kissing; loves the way you whine into his mouth when you want more of him. You’re already gripping his red hair between your fingers because he had a point - you haven’t really had any alone time. Fred is very physically affectionate, and the lack of physical affection he’s been getting lately has become a problem. 

He breaks away from the kiss, and you’re already chasing after his lips again when he stops you, “Where’d all that attitude go, huh?” 

You tug his hair and you whine, “Kiss me.” 

“Princess, I’ve been waiting to get you alone for ages, ‘m gonna do a lot more than just kiss you,” Fred says as he drags his lips across your jaw. “Gonna make you feel so good, hm?”

“Please,” you whisper. You’re needy now, don’t feel like teasing anymore and you just want to have your boyfriend again - with you, on you, in you. 

Fred’s lips are leaving a wet trail of kisses down the side of your neck and you tug his hair again. He leans back, looking at the way your neck glistens with his spit as he speaks, “Stop doing that,” he growls. 

He reaches down and slips his hand under the waistband of your pants, fingers finding your clit as he rubs you over your panties. He can feel how wet you are, and he leans down to capture your lips once again. He kisses you for a minute or two longer before he pulls away.

He smiles to himself as he looks at you, your eyes are closed as his fingers toy with your clit. They’ve slipped under your panties now, and the feeling of his rough fingers rubbing the most sensitive part of you has you squirming. “You know, your dripping pussy doesn’t exactly scream ‘I hate you, Fred’.” He says, mimicking your disapproving tone from earlier. “But maybe that’s just me.” 

He slips his middle finger into you then, thick finger stretching your cunt. You drop your mouth open and let out a quiet moan. You open your eyes and can see the way Fred watches your face as he fucks you with his finger. He takes in every time your eyes widen when he touches the spongy spot inside of you; every time you gasp when his thumb rubs your clit. 

“You want it?” He questions, and you have to close your eyes again as he presses his thumb against your clit, as he pets the sensitive spot inside you. You nod your head before you lean forward to rest it on his shoulder. You watch as his fingers start to move again, can see how his hand moves beneath your pants and the sight makes you moan and your hips start to move in time with his fingers.

“Beg for my cock, baby. You gotta beg for it if you want me to give it to you.” He says, and his fingers speed up, and he can feel the way your cunt tightens around them. 

Maybe it’s because his fingers are moving so fast now, thumb rubbing your clit in tight circles; or maybe it’s the fact that you’re in his family’s kitchen, three feet away from where you all sit to eat every day that impairs your ability to speak. Either way, you can’t respond to him, so Fred pulls his fingers from your cunt, and out of your pants. He brings them to his lips and sucks them clean, the same way he cleaned the brownie batter from them earlier. “Better than the brownies,” he announces with a wink. 

Your cheeks heat up, near burning as you speak, “Please, Fred.” You’re desperate, and you’re aware in the back of your mind that his family could show up at any moment. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Guess you better get to begging then.”

You groan, because once Fred sets his mind to something it’s set in stone, so you know he won’t give you what you want until you give him what he wants. 

“I need,” you start, bringing a hand down to the front of his pants, fingers grazing his cock that’s straining against the material, “for you to fuck me.” You squeeze him gently then and take in the way it knocks the breath out of him when you do so. 

And he realizes that you two are on borrowed time as well, knows that it’s definitely not a smart idea to carry this any further in his fucking kitchen, but Fred’s always been a little wilder than most, and he can’t say that he doesn’t want to lay you down on his kitchen table and pound into you until you’re a crying mess; can’t say he doesn’t want to be reminded of your sweet cunt every time he walks into the kitchen and remembers this moment. 

So, he walks you over to the table and before he picks you up to sit on it he pulls your pants and underwear down, helping you remove them completely. You don’t question him - mainly because the desire to have him is just so overwhelming - all you can think about is the way your core pulses in anticipation to finally have your boyfriend fucking into you after so long without him. 

He sets you on the table and pushes you to lie down, doesn’t even bother removing your shirt or teasing you any longer, and he pops the button on his own jeans and lowers the zipper. He brings his cock out, giving himself a couple of strokes as he kneads the flesh of your thigh. Fred runs the tip of it through your folds, groaning at how wet you are for him. 

He taps his cock against your clit before he speaks, “Say please again.”

You look at him, your hand covering the one of his that’s on your thigh as you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance. Your voice is quiet; timid, as you reply, “Please.”

He pushes in then, mouth dropping open at how fucking good it feels. It really has been too long, and you moan loudly as he settles all the way in, cunt clenching around him as you get used to his size.

Fred suddenly remembers how loud you can get, and while he may be literally fucking you on his kitchen table, he would at least like to prevent his family from hearing you scream his name if they return home early, so he brings one of his hands to your face and sticks two of his fingers in your mouth. He starts a steady rhythm of his hips into yours, and groans as he feels you suck on his fingers, not even questioning their intrusion. You still moan as his cock fucks into you but it’s muffled around his digits as he presses down on your tongue. 

“Gotta stay quiet, baby, you don’t want my family coming home and hearing you getting fucked like a whore, do you?” He asks as he snaps his hips into you. 

You try to shake your head no as best as you can, your hips are moving up to meet each of his thrusts and you know there’s no way you’ll last much longer. 

Fred knows this too, and he’s also aware of how embarrassingly fast he’s approaching his own orgasm. He takes both your ankles and positions your legs over his shoulder one by one. 

You cry out around his fingers as his cock goes deeper, drool is spilling out of your mouth and Fred looks at you then; his hair has fallen onto his forehead, stray pieces sticking to it due to his perspiring form. 

“You like that?” Fred asks, pounding into your cunt almost violently, cock hitting your sweet spot over and over and over. 

You’re moaning loudly around his thick fingers, eyes shut tightly. You try your best to reply: yes! you say but it’s gargled around his digits, and all Fred can make out is the way you go uh, uh, uh, every time his hips slap into you. 

Fred can’t take his eyes off where you’re connected; the way his cock spreads you open and how well you take all of it. “Such a good fucking girl.”

Your body warms with the praise, along with the warmth that floods through you as you get closer and closer to cumming. It’s when Fred brings his hand to your clit, rubbing fast circles with his thumb as he instructs you, “cum for me baby, want you to make a mess all over my cock,” that has you practically screaming around his fingers as your back lifts off the table, and you cunt spasms around his cock. 

It’s the way you get impossible tighter around him that has Fred cumming, fingers pressing harder against your tongue as he helps you both ride out your orgasms. You’re still mumbling incoherent sounds around his digits, his cock still hitting your sweet spot over and over. “That’s it,” Fred sighs as he lazily thrusts, letting every last drop of his cum fill your cunt. 

Your legs fall from his shoulder as his fingers remove themselves from your mouth. Fred pulls out of you then and you grunt as he drops his body on top of yours. 

“Get off,” you say as you try your best to shove him off of you. “You’re heavy.”

He scoffs as he picks his head up to look at you, “Pretty rude thing to say to someone who just fucked your brains out.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, throwing an arm over your face. “Leave me alone.”

He gets up then, puts himself back in his pants as he walks to the counter to grab a wet towel. He cleans you off before helping you get dressed, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“I still hate you,” you lie again, and you kiss him on the mouth.

“Uh-huh.”

[cali-holland]

Hubby- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Requested by Anonymous: Hello my love! can I get a cute request? just super cute domestic Tom and y/n. Because we all know love isn't just about the grand gestures, but the simple moments or giggling together and making faces in the mirror as you brush your teeth, him stealing a slice of veggie off the chopping board as you get dinner ready, him complaining that you like too many cushions on the bed, the little mumbled 'love you' as you both go to sleep. I'm down for reading anything like that . love your writing :)

Prompt: Tom makes even the simplest of days amazing.

Word Count: 4800

Warnings: Swearing, sexual jokes/innuendos, some pain (Tom gets hit in the balls at one point), LOTS of fluff

A/N: this is for the lovely @cunaeparker​ ‘s writing challenge, the prompt is in bold! I combined it with the request because it just went so well with all the fluff!!

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

The familiar sound of a cell phone buzzing drew you out of your deep sleep. With your eyes still closed, you cuddled closer to Tom’s chest, hoping that the phone would quit ringing soon. He shifted underneath you as he tried to reach his phone on the nightstand, but seeing as you two were tangled up on your side of the bed and there was basically a mountain of pillows on his side, he couldn’t quite grab it without moving away from you.

“Just leave it.” You mumbled, not wanting him (a.k.a. your pillow) to move.

“Love, it’s my mum.” He laughed lightly, the vibrations running through his bare chest to your cheek. He pressed a kiss to your head, before you shifted off him so he could get his phone. He picked up the call and resumed his position as your morning cuddle buddy. You wrapped an arm around his waist and laid your head back on his chest. His free hand mindlessly found its way to play with your hair.

“No, you didn’t wake us.” Tom told his mother, but the raspiness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by her. He laughed, “Okay, yes, you did.” He paused and you could hear her voice coming through the phone. Tom looked down at you for a moment, “Are we still on for the barbecue this afternoon?”

“We can be?” You answered. You both knew he obviously forgot to mention how his mother invited the two of you to a barbecue.

“Yes, mum, we’ll be there. What do you want us to bring?” He spoke back into the phone. “Vegetables? That’s not broad at all.” You lightly smacked his chest at his sarcasm, and his free hand came down to hold the hand that just hit him, “Okay, yeah we can do a salad.” There was another pause as she spoke to him before he replied, “Y/N would love to make some dessert.” Hearing him sign you up for food, you playfully glared at him. He said goodbye to his mother and tossed his phone to the side. You sat up and straddled his waist on your knees, your hands falling by his head to keep your face above his.

“Looks like we’re going grocery shopping.” Tom smiled up at you innocently, his hands resting on your hips.

“When were you going to tell me your mum invited us over?” You asked.

“Now, I guess,” He shrugged slightly. With his thumbs drawing light circles on your hips, he teasingly added, “When were you going to give me my morning kiss?”

You shrugged in return, but leaned down to kiss him nonetheless. He smiled into the kiss, moving a hand to cradle the back of your head, keeping you in place to continue kissing you.

“Your morning breath’s shit.” He laughed, pulling away from the innocent-turned-a-bit-heated kiss as you sat up straight.

“Yeah, well you have the ugliest bed head I have ever seen.” You teased, ruffling his hair. He caught your wrist, pulling your hand down to in front of his face.

“I believe this hand’s the culprit of that.” He joked, pecking your open palm.

“You weren’t complaining last night.” You shuffled off of him and got out of the bed. Walking over to your shared closet, you started to plan out a nice outfit for the day. “Come on, we gotta go grocery shopping.”

“Wanna shower together? Save time and save water?” Tom suggested, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

“You get so horny in the morning.” You laughed.

“I’m needy, not horny.” He insisted before pressing a kiss to your neck. “We’ll be conserving water. C’mon, wifey, think of the planet.”

“Alright, go start the shower.” Both of you knew you would cave like almost every morning, but it didn’t stop him from letting out an excited cheer. He pecked your cheek and left to go warm up the water.

Once you two were showered and dressed, you went to make some bacon and eggs for breakfast while Tom made you both a morning cup of tea.

“Bacon,” You stated, holding out a piece of bacon from your spot by the stove as he fixed you some tea at the island. He leaned over and ate the bacon from your fingers.

“Tasty.” He hummed, turning back to his task.

“It’s bacon, duh.” You laughed, eating a piece of bacon yourself.

“Shit. We don’t have any more milk.” Tom sighed, looking at the blank spot in the fridge where the milk would normally sit. He looked at the two mugs of tea and the bowl of sugar on the counter; without milk, it just wouldn’t be right.

“Did you finish it off?” You asked, knowing he made himself a cup of tea late last night before you two went to bed.

“Damn it, I did.” He let out a groan.

“So we need milk.” You noted, taking out your phone to create a legitimate list for the store; it’d be too long for you to remember everything. “What do we want for dinner tomorrow?”

“Wanna try that lamb recipe you found last week?” He suggested.

“Yeah, can you check what we need for that?”

“You got it.” He nodded and pulled out his phone. You’d sent him the recipe just last week, saying that it looked good and that you two should try to make it sometime. He’d never made lambchops before so he was a bit skeptical, but agreed with you nonetheless. He walked through your kitchen and pantry, searching to make sure you had all of the ingredients, while you continued to finish cooking the eggs and bacon.

“Breakfast done yet?” He asked, finishing his search.

“Yep,” You replied as you dished up the food.

“You’re the best, darling.” Tom beamed, giving you a quick kiss. You grabbed both plates while he gathered the silverware and you both sat down at the small table in your kitchen nook.

“If only we had milk.” He pouted, eating a bite of the eggs.

“Hey, you drank the rest of it.” You reminded him.

“If I remember correctly, you said it was the best cuppa I’d ever made and you drank a good half of that.” He corrected you, but you just shook your head. “Wanna make that chocolate cake for dessert? I know Harry and Sam are going to be expecting it.”

Homemade chocolate cake- your ‘signature’ dessert that all of the Holland boys loved. In fact, it was that very cake that made Tom fall in love with you. The way to his heart was truly through his stomach.

“Why isn’t Sam making anything? He’s the chef.” You laughed, thinking about how Sam was insistent on being the head chef of the family.

“I think he’s actually making bread with some sort of dip.”

“Sam’s making us bread?” Your mouth was already watering at the thought of fresh homemade bread.

“We should try making bread sometime.” Tom offered. You nodded in agreement, you’d never made bread before but it’d be interesting to attempt it with Tom.

With breakfast over, Tom started to load up the dishwasher with your plates and the frying pans while you made your way into the bathroom to start on your makeup. By the time he’d finished and come into the room, you were just about to start your mascara.

“Can I do it?” He asked, an eager smile on his face.

“Don’t poke me in the eye, Holland.” You said, trying to sound threatening. You sat on the bathroom counter with your legs spread so he could stand between them. You handed him the mascara tube. He had done your mascara a couple times before (because he just really really wanted to try to do your makeup) so you trusted him to do it, for the most part. As long as he didn’t stab you somehow, then you were fine. You sat still while he applied the makeup to your lashes.

“There. Does that look good, wifey?” He stepped back enough for you to turn and look in the mirror. It was even, you had to give him props for that, but it was almost nonexistent. He was still trying to find the happy medium between applying too little and applying too much.

“You did great.” You gave him a quick kiss and hopped off the counter to full face the mirror again. You applied some more mascara on your lashes quickly and he shook his head.

“I’ll get it one day.” He stated, getting out the toothbrush as you laughed lightly at him. Tom grabbed your toothbrush and his, running them under the sink before applying toothpaste to them.

“Thank you,” You smiled as he handed you your toothbrush. 

“Can we get bananas and macadamia nuts too?” Tom asked, half muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth as he stopped brushing. You spit out the toothpaste into the sink, looking at him through the mirror.

“You want me to make banana nut bread again?” You questioned, before continuing to brush your teeth.

“It’s the best.” He nodded.

“Okay, we’ll get the stuff for it.” You reassured him. He pulled out his phone, looking at a text he’d received as you eyed him through the mirror. Even when doing something as simple as brushing his teeth, your boyfriend was just breathtaking and you felt so lucky to have him. He noticed your gaze and pulled a funny face- well, as best he could while brushing his teeth. You laughed and leaned over the sink, spitting out the mixture of toothpaste and saliva in your mouth as you coughed. If it was anyone else beside you, you would’ve been embarrassed by the unattractiveness of the scene, but it was Tom, your loving boyfriend of four years.

“God, you’re making me choke on spit.” You laughed, cleaning off your toothbrush under the faucet.

“Spitters are quitters, babe.” Tom teased you and you playfully elbowed him in the torso, causing him to yelp in surprise. You stepped aside so he could use the sink. After spitting into the sink and rinsing out his mouth, he turned to you with a cheeky grin, “I know, I know. I of all people should know you’re not a spitter.”

“Fuck off.” You rolled your eyes at him, spraying some of your perfume onto your neck. Your collection of perfume sat in the corner of the bathroom counter, right next to Tom’s own collection of cologne- ironically (but it was totally expected actually) he had more.

“By the way, my mum asked if we could host the barbecue here? Apparently my dad forgot their barbecue was broken.” He asked you as he put on cologne.

“Did you forget to tell me that too?”

“No, no, I swear she just now texted me about it.” He insisted, slipping on a watch while you put on some jewelry. The two of you maneuvering through the bathroom easily in your morning routine.

“That’s fine if we host, but that just means you’re helping me clean.” You stated.

“When do I not help you clean?” He smiled at you innocently and you narrowed your eyes at him. You both knew exactly how much he helped you clean. In all honesty, he would genuinely help you clean for a solid hour, but it was around hour 2 of cleaning that turned into a dance party for him, which turned into him distracting you from cleaning. “I can always ask if Harry could host it, but then Harrison would be there.”

“Oh no, definitely can’t handle Harrison showing up.” You sarcastically rolled your eyes. It was a running joke between the three of you that you and Harrison were competing for Tom’s attention. Harrison was like a brother to you, and there really wasn’t any competition going on, but it was still funny to joke about. “Your mum probably invited him already.”

“She probably did.” He laughed. He shoved off the numerous pillows on his side of the bed, except for the one he actually sleeps on at the head of the bed, “Do we really need that many pillows?”

“They’re comfy!” You insisted, pulling up the bottom sheet on your side as he mirrored your actions across the bed.

“I’m your pillow, you don’t even use them.”

“You’re not wrong, but we’re keeping them.” You smiled while the two of you finished making the bed.

After you two went to the grocery store (and Tom just about dropped most of the groceries while unloading them because he was carrying like ten bags between his two hands since “multiple trips are for the weak, love”), he put away the groceries while you started the laundry. While it wasn’t something his family would actually see when they came later, it’d been piling up for days and you just really needed it to get done.

“What do you want to listen to?” Tom asked as you came back into the kitchen. He sat perched on the kitchen counter with his phone in hand, small bluetooth stereo sitting beside him. Just as you opened your mouth to suggest an artist, he cut you off with a grin, “No One Direction.”

“Shawn Mendes then?” You teased, stepping between his legs.

“Nope.” He shook his head.

“Why’d you ask me then, hubby?” You laughed, taking his phone from his hands and stepping away from him.

“Hey, that’s mine!” He jumped off the counter, trying to grab his phone back.

“Too late.” You smiled as the familiar opening to “Steal My Girl” played over the speakers. You queued a few more random songs on his Spotify and handed his phone back over to him, “Now, you’re on vacuum duty.”

“You said ‘duty’.” He giggled like a schoolboy.

“Thomas,” You sighed. 

“You lined that one up for me!” He gave you a quick kiss. You shook your head at your crazy boyfriend as he wandered off to the closet where you kept the vacuum.

“Everybody wanna steal my girl, everybody wanna take her heart away,” Tom shouted along to the chorus from the other room. “Couple billion in the whole wide world, find another one ‘cause she belongs to me!”

You sang along to the song while you worked on the cake. Once it was in the oven, you started on cutting the array of vegetables for the salad. You weren’t far into the process of washing and cutting the different vegetables before Tom came into the kitchen vacuum in hand.

“Do I get some?” He asked, spying the cucumber you were currently cutting up. He walked over to you, mouth open wide wanting a slice. You gave him a piece of the cucumber and he hummed in content. He cracked open the oven slightly to smell the cake baking in there, “Damn, I should wife you up, you’re great in the kitchen.”

“Uhuh,” You laughed at his comment. While you two called each other wifey/hubby and make “wife me up” jokes, neither of you really were ready for marriage and neither of you felt any pressure to get married. “I left the beaters out for you.”

Tom smiled as he grabbed one of the chocolate covered beaters, licking it like a little kid with a lollipop. The song changed to “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” and your boyfriend wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Don’t go breaking my heart,” He started singing into the beater (that had been mostly licked clean by that nice tongue of his), nodding at you encouragingly to keep singing.

“I couldn’t if I tried,” You sang back, unable to hide your smile at his antics.

“Oh honey, if I get restless,”

“Baby, you’re not that kind”

He set the beater aside to take your hands in his, pulling you in to dance with him. Your little impromptu dancing and singing party ended when the song changed and you pulled him back to the reality that was cleaning. While Tom finished vacuuming the house and cleaning the tables outside, you completed the salad and cake and cleaned the kitchen.

“Wanna watch something until my parents show up?” Tom asked you from his spot on the couch in the living room as you began to move the laundry.

“Sure, just fold these.” You said, walking into the living room. He frowned, hoping he was done with household chores. Seeing his reaction, you emptied the laundry basket of clean clothes on him.

“Hey, I’m layin’ here!” He did in his best overdramatic New Yorker impression.

“Fold the laundry, Dustin Hoffman.” You shook your head at him before leaving to finish moving the laundry around. You called back to him from the other room, “When is your family coming?”

“About twenty minutes?” Tom replied, checking his phone quickly to look at the time.

“Did you see if Haz was coming?” You asked, coming back into the room to help him fold the clothes.

“Why? You wanna see Haz that desperately?” He joked.

“Oh obviously. What’s the point of moving in with you if I can’t show off to Haz that I’m winning?” You teased. Tom threw a sock at you, shaking his head with a laugh. 

“Yeah, Harry said he’s coming. We’ve got an even number for football now.” He smiled, ready to play against his brothers.

“I’m so going to kick your ass after what happened last time.” You stated.

“Darling, you know that was an accident.” Tom insisted, still feeling a bit guilty about the incident. Last time you were playing football with him, his brothers, and Harrison, he accidentally kicked the ball in your face while you were even on the same team. Luckily, there was no mark, but Tom was even clingier than usual as he felt incredibly guilty about it. It occurred a month ago and you were ready for payback.

“I’m just teasing.” You smiled, leaning over the pile of laundry to give him a kiss. The two of you worked silently on finishing up folding the clothes until Tom’s eyes landed on your lacy black underwear, cheekily smiling at you while he held it up.

“Your boyfriend must be so lucky to see you in this.”

“Oh those? Didn’t buy ‘em for him.” You teased, taking the underwear from his hands and putting it aside. Tom’s hands grabbed your waist and he pulled you into his lap.

“I’m so lucky to have you. You’re my favorite person.” He said as you rested your forehead against his.

“You’re my favorite person, too.” Your hands rested at the back of his neck as you leaned in to kiss him. With your fingers scratching the nape of his neck lightly as they played with his hair there and his hands bringing you even more tightly against him, you two started to get caught up in the moment; nothing lustful, just passionate and romantic. You broke the kiss, your nose resting against his as you looked into his eyes, both of you a bit breathless.

You jumped hearing the doorbell ring. His family was here, and that meant the laundry needed to be off the couch and hidden in your room. As Tom went to answer the door, you hurried to move the laundry to your room, quickly folding the last few articles of clothing.

“Smells clean in here, must be Y/N.” Sam teased his older brother as he walked into the house with Tessa at his feet. He held a container of the freshly baked bread while his parents and Paddy came in behind him, bringing in the uncooked main course. Tom rolled his eyes at Sam’s comment, leaning down to give Tessa some well deserved love. You had lived with Tom for almost two years now, and his brothers still loved to poke fun at how organized and well-decorated his house is. Harry and Harrison trailed shortly after them, holding a ball for later and a case of beer as their contribution for the evening. You came out of the bedroom, having put the laundry away enough for now, and greeted your second family.

“Were we interrupting something?” Harrison snickered, spotting the underwear you had accidentally left on the couch.

“It’s laundry day. Get your head out of the gutter.” Tom quickly grabbed the offending undergarment and haphazardly threw it in your room before closing the door.

“Gross.” Harry gagged.

“So no sitting on the couch.” Sam laughed.

“Don’t sit anywhere then if you’re so concerned.” You smacked your boyfriend for his teasing comment that wasn’t completely untrue. Though you loved the Hollands and they loved you, you still weren’t comfortable with the sex jokes in front of his parents, that’s just never a good topic.

“Sam, that bread smells heavenly.” You told him, effectively changing the topic.

“Thank you. I tried a new recipe to make the artichoke dip to go with it.” He explained as you all moved out of the house to the outside table. He set the container of the table and opened it up so you could see (and smell even more) the bread.

You got wrapped up in a conversation with Sam and Nikki as you pet Tessa, who sat happily at your feet. Tom and his dad got the barbecue together while the other three boys started to kick around the ball on the grass.

“Wanna be on my team, wifey?” Tom asked you, walking up behind your chair and resting his head on your shoulder, letting his hands fall to your lap.

“Hell no, I told you I was getting payback.” You replied, making Sam laugh while his older brother pouted.

“Pwease?” He grabbed your hands in his, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Too late, she’s on my team.” Sam piped up, despite the fact that teams hadn’t even been discussed yet.

“We’re stealing your girl.” Harry said, kicking the ball over to Tom. You unwrapped yourself from Tom’s arms to stand up as his pout grew bigger.

“Aw, you’re breaking his heart. Does this mean I’m the favorite now?” Harrison asked with a hopeful smile. 

“Only if we win.” Tom stated, picking up the ball and walking over to the far side of the yard with Harrison and Paddy.

“So that’s a no.” You smiled at Harrison. Tom set the ball between the two teams, in the middle of the two ‘goalposts’ (a.k.a. the cones Tom set up on either side of the yard months ago).

The game began and Harrison was doing his best to block you from getting the ball (and keeping Tom from getting distracted by you). The Hollands were, of course, getting a bit more physical than regular football, kicking each other and shoving a bit, as brothers do. The game was 2-0 with you and the twins winning. When Paddy passed the ball to Harrison, you managed to swipe it from him. You sent it over to Sam and Tom basically slide tackled his brother to get it.

“That’s a foul!” You shouted as Sam landed on the grass with a soft ‘thud’.

“Nope!” Tom exclaimed, kicking the ball through Harry’s legs and into the goal. He cheered with Harrison and Paddy while you helped up Sam, who was fine and used to the physicalness of it all. This time, you started off with the ball and Harrison tried to steal it back, but you were too fast in swiftly kicking it to Harry, who Paddy was trying to block.

“Elbow him!” Tom called out, running about in front of Sam to block him.

“Tom,” Nikki said in a warning tone when he started to push Sam back a bit.

“I need to win!” He replied. Harry passed the ball back to you and you dribbled it down the makeshift field.

“Go away!” Sam shoved his older brother, trying to get him out of the way.

“Fine!” Tom huffed, running over to you. Harrison took it as a sign to go block the open twin.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” You asked your boyfriend as he attempted to kick the ball out from your feet, but your movements were too quick for him. You nutmegged him, sending the ball straight through his legs to Harry. Your perfect pass was defeated by Paddy stealing the ball from him. Before you could move to block him, Tom picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“Go Pads!” He cheered, holding your waist as you kicked your feet in the air.

“Tom, put me down! This is cheating!” You shouted. You felt Tom’s hand shift subtly more to your butt than your hip, making you slap his back. With you caught up with Tom, Paddy scored the goal easily.

“Hey, now, no inappropriate touching in front of the Padster.” Harry teased, seeing his brother’s hand placement.

“Shove off!” Paddy threw the ball over to his curly haired brother.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tom chuckled, setting you down.

“You’re going to regret that.” You told him, before Harry kicked the ball to signal the game was back on. Knowing his distraction would most likely not work again, Tom switched places with Harrison, going back to beating up Sam.

“Food will be done in two minutes.” Dom announced and you all knew that meant this was the speed round. The stakes were high with both teams tied. After a few minutes of Tom basically playing keep away when he finally got the ball, he kicked it over to Paddy. Harry elbowed his brother and sent the ball to you. Not even stopping it to gain control, you kicked it straight at their open goal.

It would’ve gone in and you would’ve won if Tom hadn’t jumped in the way to save it.

“Ah, fuck!” He shouted, grabbing himself while the rest of the boys grimaced and laughed. Even you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing a little at his mistake. Seeing an opportunity to make a goal with everyone paused, Sam kicked the ball in and he and Harry cheered- you won.

“Baby, you alright?” You asked, going over to Tom who was still bent over in pain.

“God, you really were going for payback.” He groaned, but nodded that he was okay.

“We won!” Sam and Harry cheered as everyone sat down around the table with Dom serving up the food.

“I’m sorry you got in the way of my glorious kick.” You told Tom, holding his hand in yours.

“Yeah, it was a really good kick.” He winced a little.

Dinner and dessert with the Hollands + Harrison (the honorary Holland) went on without any more injuries (unless you count Harry shoving a piece of cake in Paddy’s face as a joke). Goodbyes went all around as they left later, and Tom did the rest of the dishes while you cleaned outside.

“You feeling better?” You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, once you finished outside. He stopped his work at the sink.

“Better. I thought you broke it for a few minutes there.” Tom laughed, washing his hands and drying them before turning around in your arms.

“Oh no, we wouldn’t want that.” You teased, “I’d have to go find another dick until it healed.”

“Is that all I am to you? A dick appointment?” He asked with a small laugh, pulling you in closer to him by your waist.

“No, you’re my favorite person in the world.” You smiled at him tenderly as he ran a hand through your hair and rested it on your cheek.

“You’re my favorite person, too.” He leaned down to give you a soft kiss.

The romantic, sweet moment was cut short by his next teasing comment, “You know, that kick was really great. I’m still impressed. You really know your way around balls.”

“Shut up and kiss me, hubby.”

[griavian]

the 36 questions that lead to love

x <- read on ao3

dream finds a list of questions that can supposedly lead to two people falling in love, so him and george try it out on stream. turns out, they don't really need all 36.

“Come on, George. It’s just a couple of questions.” Dream pleaded into the call, making George roll his eyes. He’s been trying to end stream for the past 15 minutes, but Dream always convinces him to go “just a little longer!”.

“36 questions is not just a couple of questions, Dream.” George glances at his second monitor to make sure his green screen was still black and to check a few discord messages. He had no intention to fall into Dream’s trap for another hour of streaming.

“But it says it’ll lead to love!” Dream says, exasperated. He googled ‘questions to ask your friend’ earlier and found a list of them that apparently lead to falling in love. To George, it was bullshit.

“That’s such bullshit.” He expresses.

“You’re no fun.” Dream’s voice lowered, and George can feel the pout Dream has plastered on his face. He can already predict what the next 12 hours would be like with Dream: silent treatment and being a general dickhead. George was used to it when they lived an ocean apart, and even found it amusing, but it was a totally different experience living with him. Dream would mope around, go into George’s room randomly just to not talk to him, and go as far as to blast sad music from his own room across the hall while George was trying to finish up some editing. Sure, it was all light-hearted jokes, and Dream would stop his act in a heartbeat if George was truly annoyed by it, but George still dreaded it.

“Fine.”

Dream immediately cheers up and starts typing on his keyboard while George watches his chat fly by, seeing a lot of emotes and positive messages.

“Okay, um- first question. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom,” Dream mocks the formality, “would you want as a dinner guest?”

George’s nose crinkles. “How is that gonna make me fall in love with you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know! The queen?”

“That’s a stupid answer.”

“What!” George screeches and Dream barks out a laugh. “You’re so dumb.”

“You gotta give me a better answer than that, or else we won’t fall in love with each other.”

George rolls his eyes, but decides to think about his answer. Truthfully, he wouldn’t want anyone special as a dinner guest. “Um. My mum.”

George eyes his chat as it’s filled with “aw”s. He almost scoffs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” George wants to punt Dream into another universe.

“Alright, who would you want as a guest?”

“Tom Brady.”

“That’s the stupidest answer ever!” George yells, his eyes wide, perhaps offended that Dream picked Tom Brady out of anyone else in the world.

“Question two!” Dream ignores, “This one is kinda dumb, but would you like to be famous and if you do, what for?”

George hums. “Probably don’t want to be famous-famous. Maybe being well-known for being the first person to invent IRL-VR. I want my body to be submerged in the Minecraft universe.”

“That’s sick. I dunno what I’d want-”

“You’re already famous.”

“Shut up. I don’t even- I don’t even want to be famous, really. I just want to make whoever knows me smile.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet, Dream.” George teases and he knows Dream waved him off. George has his habits practically memorized.

“Whatever. How about you ask some questions?” Dream sends a link on discord and George reads through them.

“There’s no way these can make people fall in love. What even is this question? Before making a telephone call, do you rehearse what you’re going to say and why?”

“Trust the process. I mean, I do that. I don’t want my brain all jumbled up, I guess. Words are hard.” Dream answers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I wing it.”

“That’s very you. Next question.” Something about Dream saying that made George smile the tiniest bit, made the serotonin flow through his brain.

“What’s a ‘perfect day’ for you?” George reads. It’s quiet for a moment.

“Hanging out with you,” his voice is sincere, “You and Sapnap. Recording, streaming, anything like that. What about you?”

“Hm. Me too.”

George isn’t one to show his feelings often. He remembers being asked if he did, and he answered with “not ones that matter”. It still rings true to this day. His walls are still built up and that’s okay to George. Mushy feelings aren’t important, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say his heartstrings were playing a beautiful melody during this moment.

The questions and answers fall easily after that. George knows it’s around 1 am, and he should go to sleep, but answering the questions was kind of addicting.

“Do you have a hunch on how you’ll die?” Dream reads the question with a chuckle. “That’s such a weird question to ask someone you wanna fall in love with.”

George tries not to read in between the lines.

“Heart failure. For both of us.”

“You know how I’ll die?”

“We’re Minecraft streamers, Dream. We’ll probably die at 40.” They share jokes and giggles of scenarios where they die and what they’d do, and something about it feels a bit too honest.

“I’ll die the day you die, George. Emotionally and physically.” Dream says, dramatic as ever. George only huffs, and they leave it there.

“Name three things you and your partner have in common. Dream, do you have a secret girlfriend?” They start to bicker back and forth, because of course they do.

“It doesn’t mean romantic partner, you dumbass. Like- it’s like a science partner,” Dream sighs, “Well, we do have a lot in common. We have the same job, we care about the same things, and we love each other! Easy.” Dream answers.

“Who said I loved you?”

“You literally did last night.” George had closed chat a while ago, already prepared for what was to come. He can only imagine what they’re saying.

“They’ll never believe you.” George says with a sadistic grin.

“Ugh. Okay, what are you grateful for in life? You have to answer this.” George can hear Dream get a little closer to his mic, almost anticipating George’s answer. Dream knows how much he doesn’t like to express any feelings, and probably expects him to skip the question overall. George prevails.

“You. Obviously,” and before Dream can get out an aww, George says, “You made my career, dummy, and I’m grateful for that. And my friends, family, all the normal things. Chat! I’m even grateful for chat.”

“Well, I’m incredibly grateful for you especially.” Dream’s voice is soft, almost loving. George rolls his eyes. He could’ve guessed Dream’s answer, but it weirdly hurts him when it was spoken aloud. He doesn’t know whether it hurts because it might be a fun little joke or if it’s because someone might care about him that much. George decides to stop thinking.

They answer more questions, from taking four minutes to tell each other their life stories (“There was no reason to add that detail; you’re so gross, Dream.”) to what significant quality they would want to wake up and suddenly have (“You’re already good at code shit, George. That’s the saddest answer ever.”). They move onto section two of the list, which are deeper questions.

“Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing but haven’t yet, and why haven’t you?” George asks. He knows about Dream’s unfinished projects. There’s probably a million answers to the question, and George would listen to every single one.

“Uh, well. You know I was writing a book, yeah? I was halfway done with it, and I can’t make myself finish it. It’s probably writer’s block, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” George frowned.

“You can’t finish it with that attitude, silly. You’re annoyingly amazing at everything.” George says with a snort, “I don’t have an answer to this. What did you say that one time? Your future is my future? Well, your dreams are my dreams, then.”

George cringes a little at what he said. He doesn’t know his viewer count, but knows that at least a million people will watch that clip out of context. Dream doesn’t say anything back and moves on to the next question.

“What is your most treasured memory?” Dream asks, and George immediately laughs.

“I definitely know your’s.”

“Do tell, George.”

“Our first Christmas together. Sapnap insisted on getting a real Christmas tree, and when we started decorating the stupid thing, Sapnap sees a spider and screeches. Then, our neighbors come knocking on the front door and you had to explain to them that nobody was being murdered, it was just your roommate being a big baby. And as if it could get any worse, I got tree-sap all on my fingers and clothes and you couldn’t help me because you were laughing too hard.”

“Pretty sure I almost choked on my own spit.” Dream adds, and George scoffs. “But no, that’s not my treasured memory.”

George sputters. “What? You’re telling me I told that to thousands of people for nothing?”

“To be fair, you were all soft on Christmas morning, so our first Christmas might be your treasured memory. Anyways, remember the first time you helped me with a code?” George stays silent, giving Dream the answer. “Well, that was the first time we had a real conversation. I made you laugh, then I started to laugh because you laughed, and we didn’t get the code done. It sounds dumb, but I always smile whenever I think about it.”

George’s face falters a bit. God, he just wants to hug Dream; he wants to make a beeline for his room and attack him with affection and make sure he knows that George loves him, platonically or romantically, George wants him to know.

He just can’t express it with words.

“That… sweet.” George’s eyes travel down the following questions and panics, seeing how personal the questions are. He fakes a yawn. “As mushy and stupid this thing is, I’m really tired.”

Dream doesn’t say anything. It almost scares George, but he deafens on Discord and bids farewell to his viewers, who were completely freaking out. George doesn’t blame them. He’s abruptly leaving after a sweet moment? That’s a recipe for disaster, and George knows better. Yet, he clicks the end stream button.

The door to his office swings open instantly and startles George. It was Sapnap, someone he didn’t particularly want to see.

“What the fuck was that?” His roommate whisper-yells.

George groans and slides deeper into his chair, covering his face. “I don’t know,” he muffles.

“Are you even trying to hide your feelings at this point?” He can hear Sapnap close the door and flop on his office’s couch. “You might as well buy a billboard that says ‘I’m in love with my best friend! His name is Clay!’ with a big ass picture of your dumb face beside it.”

“I know,” George whines. “Do you think he knows?”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about knowing. I’ve told you a million goddamn times that he’s too whipped to notice. I’m worried about the fans. They’re gonna go fucking bonkers because of this stream. Clips are gonna be shared. People are gonna speculate.”

George uncovers his face and narrows his eyes at his friend. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he deadpans.

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, dude. I know you’re very deeply in love with him in the gayest of ways, but you gotta be careful in front of the fans.”

“Oh my God. I know, Sapnap! I know. I forgot we were even streaming. It felt like it was just the two of us, and I got too comfortable. And it was so nice. I can’t even do anything about it now, so it doesn’t even matter.”

Sapnap sighs and pulls himself from the couch. “You need to talk to him before this gets out of hand. You know I love ya, and that I’m here for you.” George cringes out of habit, but nods. It reads as ‘I love you too, I guess’.

Sapnap leaves without another word, and George is left alone with his thoughts. It’s not long before he sluggishly makes his way back to his bedroom. He opens the closed door, enters, and shuts it. He turns around, only to be greeted by a familiar person in his bed, and yelps.

Dream laughs. He’s wearing blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair looks messed with, and his cheeks seem to have more color to them. George can’t help but stare.

“Well? Aren’t we gonna finish it?”

George cocks an eyebrow.

“Finish what?”

“The questions, dummy. You don’t… you don’t have to. I mean, it’s kinda stupid that I want to do it in the first place, but…” Dream trails off. George hops on his bed and grins lightly.

“Go for it.”

They answer questions they skipped, like what is your most terrible memory (“My, uh, grandma. She died when I was about 14. It was… hard on me.” “Oh, George…”).

The overhead light was off at this point, the only light coming from a lamp on his desk and the stars shining through the window. The two are on their sides, Dream on the right of the bed and George on the left, facing each other, occasionally looking at their phones to ask the questions.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” Dream asks, his voice softer than ever. George can almost not answer. He doesn’t know.

“I’ve never been a super affectionate person, so I don’t know. I’ll give you guys quick hugs of course, but with really close relationships, I don’t know what to do.”

Dream looks as if he’s searching for something in George’s face, and George can’t tell what he’s looking for. His movements are hesitant, George sees.

“Do- um. You wanna maybe,” Dream pauses, closes his eyes,and scrunches up his face. “Try?”

“Try what?”

“Affection.” Dream lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “Affection is my strong suit, afterall.” His mouth forms into a teasing smirk despite his eyes showing nervousness.

“Um. Take the lead.”

It’s slow. So, very slow. Dream’s hand raises up and lands itself on the dip of George’s waist. He’s whispering instructions, and George listens. His hands are hung around Dream’s neck, and their legs are starting to tangle together. They laugh when they realize how far apart they are, and Dream pulls him closer. George can feel his heart beating out of his chest as he lays his head where Dream’s right shoulder meets his neck.

“Do you want me to ask the rest of the questions, sweetheart?” It sounded like a coo, and George is surprised at how effortless the pet name comes out of Dream’s mouth.

“Was that okay?” Dream whispers after a moment of George going still. He perks up.

“Yeah! Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dream pulls George closer and rests his left hand on his back. He starts rubbing up and down in slow motions.

George simply melts.

The questions and answers go by slower, and their voices become gentler. Dream announces that they’re on section three now, and to state three true “we” statements. Dream goes first.

“We… are cuddling?”

“Obviously, idiot.” George chuckles. “We are really tired?” Dream hums.

“We meant everything we’ve said tonight.”

“We are going to mean everything we say tonight.”

“You can’t just steal my answer.”

“Just do your third one.”

“We will be ‘Dream and George’ forever.”

Forever is a long, long time. And yet, Dream’s statement is still true.

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Very vague.”

“Next question, Dream.”

“Alright, alright. Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone whom I could share…’”

Without a second thought, George replies, “My emotions with. Your turn.”

George swears he felt Dream squeeze him.

“My everything with. Every single little thing. Physical, metaphorical, emotional.”

“Even Patches?”

A laugh.

“Yes. Even Patches.”

“Next question.”

“Tell your partner what you like about them and be very honest.”

“Your voice. It’s like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Does it get you going, George?”

“Shut up. I definitely don’t like your smart-assery.” George can feel Dream lean down into George’s shoulder and smile. “I like how you act around people. It’s always different depending on the person. Different with me.”

“I like how you act around people too. You’re almost always bubbly, even though you like to say you aren’t. And, God, your laugh. It’s so overwhelming, but in the best way possible. You have no idea how many times I’ve said the stupidest shit just to hear your little laugh.” George digs his head deeper into Dream’s shoulder. “I also… really like it when you say my name. My real name.”

George raises slightly, gaining the tiniest bit of confidence. “Clay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that.”

“Clay,” George whispers.

“George.” Dream sounds weak. So, very weak. George gets closer to his ear.

“Clay.”

George can’t tell if he’s joking.

“You’re gonna kill me, George.”

George’s lips brush against the outer of Dream’s ear, and his friend shivers. He decides this isn’t a joke anymore. He thinks the invisible line they had drawn in the sand many years ago has been kicked and stomped on to the point where neither of them remembers the line being there. George goes further.

“Clay, Clay, Clay,” George is still whispering, slowly brushing his lips across Dream’s jaw, and the hands around his waist get the littlest bit tighter.

George finally raises his head to meet Dream, who was a mess. His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are almost bloodshot. His breath is labored and his hands are shaky.

“Calm down, love.” George whispers and raises his right hand to meet Dream’s cheek, who leans into the touch.

“Kiss me.” Dream begs quietly, as if saying anything louder would shatter the moment in little pieces.

An adrenaline rush fills George’s veins. “Anything you want,” he says, and closes the gap.

The kiss is soft. Dream is maneuvering their bodies to be more comfortable, meaning George is pulled on top of Dream. Their lips didn’t part once.

They move together in harmony, both in the kiss and their bodies, putting everything they got into it. It was unsaid feelings and years and years of thoughts, and George felt every single one of them. George is straddling Dream’s middle and Dream is leaning up to meet George’s touch. His hands are rubbing up and down and squeezing George’s hips and George’s hands find their way into Dream’s hair. It’s perfect and imperfect and everything George has been waiting for, yearning for.

They part, and Dream pushes their foreheads together. George assumes they look dumb, but how could he care in this moment?

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Dream says, his breath tickling George’s mouth. He lets out a breath and breaks out into a smile. His hands start brushing through Dream’s hair and George backs away to get a good look. Dream is staring back.

George lunges forward and wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, sending him flat on the bed with an “oof”.

“Jesus Christ, George. A warning would be nice.”

“I love you. I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-” George couldn’t get enough of saying it. George’s dam cracked when Dream held him and fucking exploded when they kissed. He doesn’t have to hold back anymore, so he doesn’t.

“Slow down, baby.” Dream says through a chuckle. He makes George lean up with tans hands on pale cheeks and a lot of eye contact. “I love you, too.”

George’s breathing slows down to a normal, less-adrenaline-filled pace, and Dream kisses him again. George forces his head back up.

“What does this mean for us?”

“Isn’t it a little obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Boyfriends, George. We’re dating now.”

“How do you know I wanted to even be your boyfriend.” George narrows his eyebrows in faux-suspicion.

Dream’s stare is blank. “I mean. You’re- well- you know, um-”

George dismisses this shortly and confirms, “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Dream sighs in relief. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” George slides off Dream’s waist and lays facing him. Dream turns as well. “Was that question the last question?”

“No, actually. There were a few left.” Dream blinks, then muses, “Guess we didn’t need 36 questions after all.”

“That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said and I hate you for it.”

“You wound me, George. You wound me.”

George makes up for it by letting himself be engulfed in Dream’s embrace, and feels tiny kisses on the top of his head. George nuzzles closer.

Yeah, everything was going to be fine.

[manonblaqkbeak]

How We Met

here it is, my last fic for rowaelin month! thank you so much to everyone that’s read, liked and commented on my fics, it’s been so much fun reading and writing these last four weeks! i’m glad to know that i’m not the only one that is in dire need of more rowaelin content (srsly, i would pay sjm a truck load of money for a strictly rowaelin book bc i miss them sm)

here’s part 4 for the little series i had going on. i was so tempted to make this an angst piece but held back lol.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

cw: none

1.8k words

enjoy and thank you again!!! :) 💕💕💕💕

Gathering the ingredients for the cake that she and Ophelia were going to make for Rowan, Aelin plopped them down on the kitchen counter and tied her and her six year old daughters hair back. Even in the kitchen light, Ophelia's hair was a vivid shade of silver and when she turned to look at her mother, the golden ring in her eyes were just as bright.

“Up, mama!” Ophelia asked, pointing to the step ladder that Olive made for her little sister in her woodshop class at school. Getting it off from atop the fridge, Aelin and Ophelia started their baking session for today. It wasn't often that Aelin baked cakes from scratch but it wasn't every day that her firstborn turned sixteen—not that Aelin could really comprehend that her Olive was sixteen—but Aelin wanted to do this for her, wanted to make something special.

She hoped that it wasn't going to taste as bad as the last cake she baked. Rowan had been sick afterwards and didn't go to work the next day.

That was five years ago, so surely with gaining wisdom as people said when others got older, her baking skills grew too.

“Where did everyone go?” Ophelia asked, her little tongue poking out as she helped Aelin sift the flour.

“To get dinner for tonight. We're having Ollie's favourite.” Which was cuisine from the Southern Continent, there was a restaurant that specialised in the spicy food, and Aelin couldn't wait—she and Rowan often tried to recreate their favourite recipes, but it was never right, so Olive wanted to have the genuine stuff for her birthday and not her parents shoddy attempts.

Not that Aelin could blame her.

They continued making the chocolate cake, Ophelia babbling on about her day at school, when her little one asked, “How did you and papa meet?”

Aelin blinked at the sudden question, but answered it nevertheless. “At the grocery store.”

Ophelia furrowed her brows, and with the way her nose scrunched up, she looked so much like Rowan that it made her heart sing. When Aelin first realised that she was pregnant, she was nervous, they had only been married for seven months and while they spoke about having a child of their own, she didn't think it would happen so quickly—but Rowan's enthusiasm melted away her fears. She would never forget his tears of joy when she showed him the pregnancy test, his beaming smile when they heard her heartbeat for the first time. Aelin would walk through hell, as long as Rowan was by her side, or waiting for her at the end.

It wasn't always perfect, however, they had their ups and downs like every long-term couple, they had moments where it felt like they were walking on tightrope, either because of their own personal issues or marriage issues, or when Egan was fourteen and completely lashed out at Aelin, accusing her of replacing his mother—but she worked with her son, telling him that she had never intended to do that, that Lyria would always be the woman that brought him into the world, and that Aelin was raising him. Her heart broke in two at his pain, but she understood, he grew up with photos and stories of Lyria.

Or when they had the awkward conversation when Olive was eleven and asked why she didn't look like Rowan, and Aelin had explained her story, about Sam being her biological father, but he had given them space for Rowan to raise her instead. That had lead to brooding silences and confusion, but otherwise, Olive still saw Rowan as her dad, but she did ask from time to time about Sam, what he was like and what he was doing (the last update Aelin received from him via email that his wife was pregnant with their second child. Aelin was so happy for him that he was able to have a family, a feat that was made easier since Arobynn had been dead for years by this point) and that she would like to meet him properly one day; Aelin had kept that to herself, not wanting to tell Sam in case Olive changed her mind—Aelin hoped that she wouldn't.

Overall, their life together was what she needed, she went to bed each night loved and fulfilled. It was better than what she might have had with Chaol all those years ago, she was fairly certain that if she had married him, it wouldn't have been a long marriage.

“How did you meet at the food store?” Ophelia asked, her brow still furrowed as she and Aelin stirred the cake batter. It surprisingly smelled good.

“I needed something from a high shelf,” Aelin said, “and I couldn't reach it. Your papa was only a few feet away from me, so I asked him to get it for me.” She might have also subtly ogled him as his shirt exposed his tanned skin, and Aelin had damned near swooned at the sight of his six pack.

“Did you get married at the food store?”

Aelin laughed at the question. “No, we got married at the beach. And then you arrived not long afterwards.” Sometimes they wanted another, but things financially were going so well that they didn't want to jeopardise that by adding another mouth to feed.

“Can you have another wedding?” Ophelia asked, looking at her mum with wide eyes. “So I can go? Please?”

“I'll talk to your daddy about it, but I like the sound of that.” Kissing her daughters forehead, they continued. Just as they were putting the cake in the oven and the icing mix in the fridge, the front door opened and three booming voices infiltrated the house and the mouth watering goodness of food.

Aelin's eyes widened at the amount of food that Rowan piled on the table. It looked like they were feeding a small army and not a family of five.

Ophelia helped her older brother set the table, Egan ruffing her hair as he recounted their little adventure to the restaurant.

As they sat down, Aelin mentioned Ophelia's request. Rowan pretended to mull it over as their daughter pleaded, giving her best puppy dog eyes. It didn't take for Rowan to relent—he really had trouble saying no to her—saying that a second wedding was a great idea.

Ophelia squealed in delight and squealed even more when food was placed in front of her (she was very much like Aelin in that regard).

“How did the conversation of another wedding start?” Rowan asked as they all started eating.

“Phia here wanted to know how we meet.”

Olive snorted. “Yes, the ever romantic story of meeting in the toilet paper aisle.”

“It was not the toilet paper isle!” Aelin protested. “It was the cereal aisle.”

“At least you kids have inherited my manners,” Rowan said, “your mother didn't even ask nicely. She just came over to me and said, 'You're tall, could you get that box for me?'” It had taken him a moment to realise he had been spoken to, too focused on deciding what box of porridge to get when Aelin showed up, wearing a faded band shirt and shorts, pointing to the box of cereal that had far too much sugar to be healthy. He had said 'yes' because it was the nice thing to do, and had stayed behind, talking to her for so long in the aisle that his vanilla ice cream had started to melt.

It was the best decision in his life back then, he never thought he would have gained a friend in the grocery store—and that the friend would become his wife.

“I have manners. I said, 'Excuse you' first before I told you what I needed.”

“That's not really using manners there, ma,” Egan said, smiling as poked her tongue out. He looked so much like Lyria that it was almost scary—he still loved flowers and plants too, and was currently studying to become a florist and then one day horticulture. The backyard was full of flowers and plants thanks to him, making into a little wonderland instead of the barren plain it used to be.

“I did say 'thank you' afterwards.”

“You said 'thanks',” Rowan interjected, laughing as Aelin threw a chunk of her flatbread at his head. Ophelia's cute laughter rent through the air.

“It's the same thing!”

“If you say so, love,” Rowan muttered, his lips twitching. Aelin rolled her eyes in the dramatic way Rowan was used to, but he saw the mirth behind the movement.

“Like I said Phie, it's very romantic,” Olive said drily, sounding very much like Rowan. She had even inherited his scowl, which she was wearing now as she sniffed at the air. “Is something burning?”

Aelin had never run so fast as she did right then, the kitchen filling with smoke as she took in the blackened cake. Swearing viciously under her breath, Aelin chucked the cake into the bin, apologising to Olive as she did so.

“It's okay, mum, dad got me an ice-cream cake earlier today anyway.”

Aelin narrowed her eyes at her husband, who simply gave her an innocent smile in answer.

Rejoining her family, they talked well into the night, helping Aelin to forget her failed baking attempt. Ophelia asked more questions about their time in the grocery store and how that moment lead to friendship, to pining for the other without realising it, to a life together.

And to think, Aelin almost didn't go to the grocery store that day.

Rowan thanked the gods that he had remembered at the last moment that he had no porridge left, otherwise, he might not have met Aelin at all. Might not have had this life, this family. Part of him would always be sad that things had gone so wrong with Lyria, and he would always miss and love her. But he learned in therapy that it was good to have a life, and Rowan was glad that he heeded that advice.

He thanked the gods all the time.

And thank the rutting gods he did right now for the umpteenth time that Aelin deemed him tall enough to get her food for her, to stay in that aisle with him as they got to know each other.

Rowan was a very happy man indeed as he and Aelin went to bed that night, the smiles still on their faces at Olive's unrestrained joy at the sight of the car they spent weeks looking at second-hand dealerships at, hunting for the perfect car for their daughter.

Thank the rutting gods for all those moments in the past, present, and future.

Rowan couldn't wait to marry her again, and neither could Aelin.

Life was good.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 11)

<<Previous part Masterlist   Next part>>

Warnings: Cookies and idiots. You might get diabetes.

N/A: I'm on a family trip right now so I'm being a little unactive but I'll do my best to be still updating on here. Thank you so much to everyone who reads and comments, you truly make me want to write twice as much.

The Dark Team: (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @the-departed-potato, @jesuswasnotawhiteman, @idontknow296, @beksib, @spythoschei, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7 @shadowolf993 @toe-vind-ek-jou @joscelyn02, @t00-pi )

“Are you sure that’s how you should be sending those?”. His nosy ass telling you how to do your job in your midgardian electronics was just amazing, truly. “It would be faster for them if you send it with that link instead of…”.

“Listen, Mischief”, you interrupted his unnecessary corrections “I don’t tell you how to levitate, what about you don’t tell me how to do this?”.

“I don’t levitate”.

“Not the point. This is my deal. Besides, since when and how do you know how to handle midgardian tech?”.

“I… I’m bored”.

“Do I look like an entertainment to you right now?”.

“What do you mean right now? Are you planning on entertaining me later?”.

“I will choke you if you keep doing that”.

“Do you promise?”.

"Yes, my dear".

"Can't wait, then", he smirked. You rolled your eyes, about to answer something snappy, but the work was more important at the moment.

Your phone beeped, pulling you out of the very one sided discussion. You went back to your work in silence, getting your full focus and concentration on it. If it weren’t for Loki, you would’ve already done a thousand more other things. But, as a bug on the lenses, he was stuck to your side. It seemed like you were babysitting him.

Peter was staring at the roof from the couch. A pile of homework laid by his side, untouched, and his unlocked phone seemed to be waiting for him to make a call he didn’t want to. Loki observed him, unsure if it was a good idea to ask. You looked at his uncertainty from over your shoulder, and watched him finally give up on the idea of socially interacting with the kid, sitting down by your side on the big, big (and, exaggeratingly pointing out, big; yet he sat in the nearest chair from you) table.

The compound certainly was a boring place when uninhabited, and the sun was already teasing with coming down, making the common room’s lights turn brighter and warmer. Maybe it was automatic, maybe it was Friday. You couldn’t care less, for you were too distracted by Loki’s gaze on your work.

“Loki, for fuck’s sake, would you stop staring, my dearest?”, you asked, imitating his tone of voice, hoping it’d make it less aggressive and a bit more fun. He rolled his eyes and smirked, understanding your intentions. You sounded as tired of him as you were.

“I’m...”.

“Bored, I know. What about you go entertain Pete? He looks equally, if not more, bored as you. And you’re interfering with my work, which I do not appreciate very much”.

“How am I supposed to entertain him? I’m not a clown”, he argued, slightly offended but just wanting to make time and conversation. You sighed.

“Then why do you act like one?”.

“What is that supposed to mean? Is that a midgardian insult I’m not aware of, pancake?”.

“Stop calling me that, it’s not derogative”.

“It wasn’t intended to be deroga…”.

“I’d kill for some pancakes”, interrupted Peter, trying to pull you two out of your quarrels. “Or something sweet”.

“Oh, the kid got peckish. This is perfect; you can go get him something sweet and leave my workspace alone”, you said, patting his back with an exhausted grin.

He rolled his eyes, but walked down to the kitchen looking for whatever could satiate Peter. There wasn’t anything. One would think that a billionaire would have the fridge full of chocolates, wouldn’t you?, he thought, exhausted by the idea of having to actually leave the compound to get him something. Last time he tried to buy something in Midgard, he accidentally paid three salaries to the workers in the name of Stark. He was so embarrassed, he said it was on purpose and called it an act of mischief. But it was, in fact, pure and raw unawareness of midgardian’s use of money.

“What about we bake something, Mr. Loki?”, proposed Peter, with a flaming interest in seeing what those magic hands could do with food. You chuckled, pretty sure they could do nothing; he had been a prince for over a thousand years, when could he have learnt to bake by himself?

Loki lowered his gaze, confronted with both thoughts of his companions, and their respective expectations. Truth was, you were right. But he couldn't disappoint the kid like that, he had to at least try. Peter's eyes shone brighter than ever, and you wondered if Loki was actually enjoying his company. They looked fine. And, finally, you had some space to work without distractions.

“In normal circumstances I’d reject you, spider boy, but since y/n seems to be about to hang me by the neck on the tip of the tower, might as well do this”, he said, stealing a glance at you and smirking.

“It’s an honor you decide to spend your last moments baking with me, Mr. Loki”.

“Sure, let’s go, child”.

“I’m not a child”.

“Alright”.

And just like that, they left the working area and moved to the kitchen. Both rooms were connected by a huge glassless window and a counter, so you were able to peep in and make sure they didn’t actually burn down the compound (which was the only rule Tony had) and work peacefully at the same time.

After what seemed like an eternity, they still couldn’t accept they were failing miserably, and kept stirring the mix in a bowl. Flour formed clouds around them as Peter sneezed it away, and Loki’s hair had some cream on his (now not so) impeccable hair. Peter laughed at Loki’s commentary and poor baking skills, and Loki playfully mocked how his stickiness wasn’t helpful at all.

“Have you ever baked before, Mr. Loki?”.

“I haven’t but I’ve seen people bake, I figured I could imitate them”.

“Your mum, right? I used to bake with my aunt May a lot, but just now I realize maybe she was doing everything and I was eating the dough by her side”.

“That sounds more like it”, he chuckled. The mixing bowl trembled in his hand as he got distracted by the flying eggs coming at him, and it slipped out of him, smashing near half the mix onto the floor. “Oh, fuck”.

“It’s fine, we can use the one that’s left!”.

“Your positiveness astonishes me, spider boy”.

“Spider man”.

“Right, apologies”.

“We have already put in the flour, the sugar, the eggs, the milk… What else is in the recipe?”.

“I’m trying to remember, let me see”, he closed his eyes and muttered to himself “they used cinnamon, I think. And maybe butter? Yes, and chocolate chips”.

“Who?”.

“Ah, this recipe isn’t my mum’s. She didn’t bake either, you know, Queens don’t get their hands dirty” he laughed. “It was my companion’s”, he spat and suddenly realized what he had said. He lowered his head and sighed.

“Your companion?”, asked Peter. “As in partner? A spouse?”.

“Not spouse, just… you know, I’m just realizing I shouldn’t be talking to you about it”, he brushed it off, absolutely regretting it. Because Peter, unlike any other person, lacked filters.

So he would ask and ask and not realize where to stop. And at that point you could say Peter had become some sort of a weakness in Loki’s roughness. Peter was the softest, purest and better intentioned person he had ever met (or at least that’s how he saw him; of course, Loki had never seen him in action, fighting crime), and Loki was incapable of actually denying things to him. It didn’t matter how much Peter insisted on not being seen as a child, Loki was a thousand years older.

“No, please do. Now you’ve caught my attention”, he insisted, trying to clean some of the dough from the floor. Loki sighed, watching how the kid begged him to tell him more from his feet. “Please, Mr. Loki, I swear I won’t tell”.

“Well, my lover was the one who used to cook for us”, he explained as if he was telling someone else’s story. He clearly was trying to disengage his own emotions in order to tell them out loud. “And they’d usually bake some kick-ass cinnamon cookies”.

Peter had to grab the counter to steady himself from laughter, and you couldn’t help to snort at the conversation you were indiscreetly eavesdropping. Loki smiled.

“Then we have to replicate them, if they’re so kick-ass to make you say a midgardian expression”.

“We must, but I can’t remember quite well the next steps. It’s all sort of a blur now”.

“Can’t we ask them?”.

“No”, he said quickly. The air tensed, and untensed as fast as he realized. He especified again, trying to sound less affected by it “we can’t”.

“Oh”, Peter sounded so disappointed, Loki’s heart broke a little. “Are they dead?”.

“Oh my God, Pete, you can’t just ask…”, you intervened, trying to save Loki from further discomfort.

“It’s okay, they’re… well, they’re gone”, he said with a soft voice, raising his eyebrows as who tries to explain to a little kid why their fish is upside down, leaving to the imagination the typical trace of sadness that would follow. His eyes focused on the mixing bowl, reminiscing another time, another way. Eyes of someone who tries his best to never forget the little details from someone who’s not here anymore, because memories are all he has left. He immediately snapped out of his thoughts and tried to play it cool. “But guess who’s not gone? This dough on the floor. Let’s clean it up, kid”.

“Gone as in dead?”, insisted Peter, who had a very poor self control. You would’ve grabbed your face with eight hands if you could.

“Peter, don’t…”.

“Yes, they’re dead. Inside a coffin, rotting, getting eaten by worms. You know”, said Loki, this time jokingly, trying to scare off Peter. But it didn’t work, since Peter just kept asking about it. Loki was already too tired of having to take his brain yet again to places he didn’t want them to be.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Loki. Must be very painful”. The empathy in his eyes gave Loki the hint that he was not only being sincere, but curious about Loki's life. Interested, engaged. Not just morbidly curious, but wanting to get to know him better. Unfortunately, Loki couldn’t allow that. He would have to get the mission done, not make any friends, and go back to Asgard as alone as he came. It was the deal, the price he had to pay, the invisible handcuffs, the imaginary rope tying around his neck. Tightly, tightly, tighter.

“It’s alright, it was long ago”.

“Was they Asgardian, like you?”.

“I’m not actually Asgardian. I was raised there, but I’m from Jotunheim”.

Loki managed to move the conversation further than his lover (which he regretted highly to have brought the subject in the first place), and Peter got more and more interested in confirming how many of his mythology stories were true or not. The kitchen was the warmest place in the whole compound, and something started to smell like burnt sugar.

“So you did actually make Sif, Thor’s wife, bald? And did he make you go get her a wig in Svárthelfeim?”, he asked at the speed of light, and Loki laughed.

“Lady Sif’s not actually Thor’s betrothed. And no, I didn’t make her bald”, he said, and then muttered “she just happened to have a very low quality shampoo”.

“Ah, the cookies!”, Peter turned off the stove and took them out carefully, as to not get burned (again).

Loki peeped through the window to check on you. Your head, laying tiredly over your hands, seemed to be about to give up on you out of exhaustion. You haven’t slept properly since the mission started, and you couldn’t get your head off work for a moment. He approached you from behind and left a fresh cup of coffee and a couple of warm cookies by your side. You smiled at him gently and thanked him. If it wasn’t him you were talking about, you could’ve swore he blushed.

You have gotten so tranquil after one simple gesture, you hoped to get all your nerves down before going to sleep. Maybe it wasn’t that bad to have been stuck with them in the compound. They seemed to be having a good time, and Loki had nothing on his mind more than to have a rest after such hectic days.

“How long until you finish there?”, he asked with a low voice, a raspy, almost groany voice, that made you want to shut your computer down and throw it out of the window. You didn’t, instead, you checked your clock.

“Very soon, I’ll join you guys in a bit”.

[theoreticslut]

The Truth that you Deny // Part 4

pairing: fred weasley x reader x george weasley

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 

word count: 2,394

warnings: none, fluff

A/N: Okay, so this is the second to last part of this story and I’m not sure if I’m ready. I know people are still reading it, but are you all still enjoying it? I know it might seem kinda drawn out, but I couldn’t help myself. I like the way its turned out, but i mean I’m posting it so hopefully others can enjoy it too. It just makes me really nervous. Either way, the next part is the last part that I’ve written. I might potentially be willing to do another bit of a drabble continuing on with it if people are interested, but you have to let me know.Thank you to everyone who has been reading it, liking it, commenting, and even reblogging! It means so much to me!!  Anyways, here is part 4! I hope you like it! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist as well! I’d like to start a general one for any writing I post myself, so let me know if you’d like to be added to that as well. thank you Xx

Taglist: @justmesadgirl @xuckduck @yikesyikesyikes95 @filipi-yes @aestheticwh0r3 @siredkai @matsuno-nadeshiko @msmarklee1213

“Did you still need help, Mrs. Weasley? I got talking to Ginny.” You say when you finally make your way back downstairs.

“No worries, dear. If you don’t mind, I could use the help.” She smiles at you.

“Of course. Where do you want me to begin?”

As she explains what she wants to make and shows you the recipe, you find yourself happy to be back here. As you had told George, this is your favourite place aside from hogwarts.

You were so amazed the first time you were here back in your second year. Even though it was a bit of a smaller house for such a large family, it was extraordinarily comfortable and welcoming. You almost immediately felt at home and cared for, which was quite the contrast from your family.

You were an only child to Wizarding parents that were rarely home, and when they were, they spent their time belittling you. You never seemed to be enough in their eyes even though you had never acted out and were always in the top of your classes.

You never could figure out why they treat you the way they do. That first year at hogwarts, you had nearly cried when you had to go back home because you would be right back to no one caring about you.

When Fred had invited you to Christmas at the burrow in second year, you were nervous, sure, but you were also thrilled to be spending the break with at least two people you knew cared for you. Then when the rest of the weasley’s accepted you...you really did cry because you had never known a family.

“You got it?” Mrs. Weasley asks, having finished explaining the recipe.

“Yeah, thank you.” You smile which she reciprocates.

You both work in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before the twins come down and start talking to you.

“Mmm, what are you guys making? It smells amazing.” George asks as they both lean against the table that your working at.

“Your mum’s working on dinner.”

“Ooh, what’re we having?” Fred asks, going to lean over his mum’s shoulder.

“You’ll see when you sit down to eat, won’t ya?” Mrs. Weasley quips, shooing her son out of her way.

“Fine,” He pouts. “What about you?”

He peers his head over your shoulder, resting his chin as he watches you work.

“I’m trying to make a pie for dessert,” you say trying to look at him while he’s still resting his chin on your shoulder.

“What kind?”

“You’ll find out later. You’re making it awfully hard to work.” You frown, wiggling your shoulder to hopefully get him to move.

“You sound just like mum.” He frowns, walking away and sitting across from you as George had.

“It’s a natural reaction to you two. You find a way to always be in the way.” You chuckle.

“It’s odd to see you in the kitchen. It doesn’t seem like something you’d do.” George says, watching as you mix things together.

“What is something I would do then?” You ask, chuckling at his statement.

“Play quidditch. Study. Work.” Fred points out.

“You two do realize that I had to do this every night before hogwarts? My parents were never home so I had to cook and clean and take care of the house.”

“And you shouldn’t have had to do that. Not that young.” Mrs. Weasley interjects. You smile a bit sadly as she looks over at you, silently affirming that she cares. Out of all the Weasley’s, her and Ginny are really the only ones who know what your life was like before hogwarts, and even then, Ginny doesn’t know nearly as much as her mum does.

“It wasn’t fair to you in the slightest, but I know you’ll make a good wife someday.” She smiles, winking at you and looking over her two sons.

“Oh, uh. I hope.” You chuckle nervously, a blush rising to your cheeks.

“Oh, I know you will. You’re smart, talented, hard-working. You’re gorgeous. You know how to handle yourself and others, not to mention you know how to keep a house running. Whoever ends up marrying you is going to be a lucky man.” Mrs. Weasley states, matter-of-factly.

You’re blushing furiously now, looking down at what you’re working on to try to hide your face. You glance up at the twins only to receive a couple shrugged shoulders.

Neither Fred or George knew what to say because they didn’t really feel like commenting on whether you’d be a good wife with their own mother, but the thought of you as their wife was nice to think about. It’d be absolutely wonderful to wake up next to you, to hold you anytime they want, to help you in the kitchen, to have you to laugh with for the rest of their lives. Even having a family with you. Now, that would be a dream.

“I’m actually surprised none of you have gotten together yet. With how close you all are, I would’ve figured that by now one of you would have asked her out if not both of you.” Their mother continues, furthering your blush but now causing them to as well.

“Mum.” They both groan, looking at you, but looking away soon after in embarrassment.

“What?” She asks, turning to look at the three of you, noticing all of your red cheeks but ignoring it.

“Why don’t you two go and find something to do while y/n and I finish up.”

“Fine.”

“We’ll be upstairs.”

You let out a breath of air and try to rid yourself of your tinted cheeks.

“Boys, they get so embarrassed when their mum talks about a girl with them.” Mrs. Weasley chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Y/n, dear. You like them, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. They’re my best friends and -“

“You know what I mean, y/n.” She tuts, turning to face you.

You sigh, not really wanting to talk about it, but knowing that out of anyone she would understand it the most.

“Yeah. I do. I really like them both.” You smile.

“But?” She asks, setting down the towel she had had over her shoulder to wipe her hands on.

“But I don’t want to ruin anything between us. We’re all each other’s best friends and I don’t want to make anything awkward by admitting that I like them. And that I like them both! I suppose it’s slightly better than liking only one of them if they both like me as well. The last thing I’d want to do is hurt either of them.” You explain to which Molly nods.

“I know that, dear. You care for both of them deeply.”

“I do. I really do, but it’s odd to date two people at the same time, right? I’d hate to have to choose between them, but I’m not fond of the idea of people looking at us funny if I were with both of them.”

“I’m just really confused, Mrs. Weasley. I don’t know what to do.” You sigh, looking back at her and leaning against the table.

“You’ve been thinking about this for awhile, haven’t you hun?”

You nod, sniffling slightly because you really just don’t know what to. It hurts you to think about hurting either of them.

“C’mere.” The older lady waves you towards her where she pulls you into a hug.

“It must be hard to not have a mum to talk to about this. As awful as it sounds, this truly is just the beginning of a lot of pain and tough decisions in your life. You can come to me at any time, okay? I promise you that. You’re like a daughter to me and I’d hate to see you suffer in silence. Just owl me or come visit me, whatever works for you, okay?”

“Thank you, mrs weasley. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Now, about your situation, you just tell them how you feel. Tell them that while your worried it might make things awkward, you had to get it off your chest. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod. A small smile forming on your lips.

~.~

It’s been a few days since your conversation with Mrs. Weasley and it’s finally Christmas Eve so the burrow is buzzing with excitement.

You have yet to find the right moment to tell Fred and George how you feel, but you figure it can wait a while more. You’ve been able to maintain a fairly regular relationship with them, keeping your conversations playful and away from any feelings. As long as you didn’t think too much about how attractive or caring they are, you could go on pretending everything is the same.

However, as the days progress it becomes increasingly more difficult for Fred and George to pretend that everything is normal. Unbeknownst to you, they had overheard everything you said to their mother that day in the kitchen. While they were more than happy to hear you say that you liked them, they felt terrible that you had been having an internal war between your head and heart.

It was becoming impossible not to notice how adorable you were even when you weren’t doing anything. They’d caught you reading a few times without disturbing you and couldn’t help but observe all the little details of you. Like how you’d bite your lip and smile when you read something that made you happy or how you’d even try to cover your mouth when you’d get smiling a lot. Either way your eyes would show just how happy you were.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Weasley’s! Merry Christmas Eve, Harry!” You smiled as you came down for breakfast.

“Merry Christmas Eve to you too, dear.” Mrs. Weasley smiled, setting a plate of pancakes down in front of you as you took your spot in between Fred and George.

“Is there much we need to do today?” You asked after taking a sip of your coffee that George had made for you.

“Oh, no. Nothing you need to bother help with.” She smiles as she sits down herself.

“Y/n, I was wondering if you’d be willing to go to diagon alley with me? If it’s alright with you, mum? I could really use y/n’s help getting some last minute gifts.” Ginnny asks, looking from her mother to you.

“Of course I would, Ginny. Would that be okay with you, Mr and Mrs Weasley?”

“It sounds lovely. I doubt either of you get much girl time with all these boys around all the time.” Mrs Weasley smiles.

“Perfect! Thank you, mum. And thank you, y/n!”

~.~

“So what gifts did you need to get, Ginny?” You ask as you both walk diagon alley.

“Well, actually. I was hoping to find one for Harry, but I have no idea what to get him. I’d also like to get something for Hermione as well since she’ll be over tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay. No problem, let’s start with finding something for hermione, okay? She’ll be easier to get something for.”

After a couple hours of looking around and finding a gift for hermione, as well as some extra for her family, you both decide to take a short break.

“Thank you, again, for coming with me today, y/n. I knew you’d be able to help me.” Ginny says, smiling and blushing ever so slightly.

“Of course, Gin. I love spending time with you and it’s even better when I can help.”

“Well now it’s time for me to help you, do you have any gifts for my brothers?” She asks, leaning forward and folding her hands together.

“Of course I do, Ginny. I have gifts for all of you.”

“What did you get Fred and George?”

“I have a few different things for them. You’ll have to wait and see just like them.” You smile.

“Come on, y/n. I’m trying to help you.” Ginny sighs.

“Why? Are you afraid that the gifts I got them aren’t good enough?” You joke.

“No, I’m sure what you got them is wonderful. I just know one of the gifts they got you and it’s reeeally nice.” She emphasizes.

“They did? They know I don’t need anything expensive.” You frown, now worrying what it is they got you and how much it was.

“You’ll really like it though. I promise you.” She smiles and that makes you even more nervous. What could they possibly have gotten you?

~.~

You both finally got back to the burrow late that afternoon after it had started snowing and just kept on picking up.

“Thank heavens you both got home safe. We’ve been watching it snow for the last half hour and it just kept picking up.” Molly said when you both came in the door, shaking off the excess snow.

“Looks like you both had fun.” Fred smirked, nodding towards the few bags in each of your hands.

“We did, thank you very much. I don’t get nearly enough time to hang out with your sister.” You say, setting the bags down to take off your coat and scarf.

“So what did you get?” George asks, trying to peek in the bags as he hands you a mug of cocoa his mother told him to make when she saw the car headlights down the road.

“None of your business.” You chuckle, swatting his arm to get him away from them.

“Ooh, do you have gifts in there?” Fred asks, excitedly.

“Would you both knock it off? What did you think we went out for today? Obviously it’s gifts you dummies.” You chuckle, picking up the bags so they can’t get into them.

“Aw, c’mon. We just wanna see what you got everyone.” Fred pouts, George joining him when you look over at him.

You chuckle and shake your head at the pair. They were definitely something.

“Thank you for the cocoa, George. I’ll be enjoying it upstairs as I wrap these gifts away from you two.”

They pout but can’t help but smile when you walk away shaking your head and smiling at them. They were getting more and more anxious by the minute to give you their gift that they spent days trying to figure out. They only hoped you would like it as much as they thought they would.

[ithebookhoarder]

Could I get something for valentines day to do with the Shelby gang? I really don't mind what or who. I just feel like I need a little love for the day...

Valentines Day Head-Canons for the Shelby Family

A/N: Of course you can, anon! Hope you have a great day, whether you’re celebrating or not. It’s just a day, really, so I hope this cheers you up ;) Sending so much love x 

Masterlist:

Arthur: 

This man would be nervous as hell that he’d mess up valentines day with you. He’s not exactly known for being the romantic of the family, nor does he have the sophistication of his younger siblings. In fact, he’s sometimes surprised you’re even with him at all. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, though. Oh no, this man is going all out for the day and nothing is too much for you. He’ll have asked everyone, and I mean everyone, for advice about what to do to make the day special. 

He’s not a many of many words so he lets his actions do the talking for him, giving you a massive bouquet of flowers as he comes to collect you for the evening. 

“Arthur, they’re beautiful. You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me. I mean, you even got orchids - my favourites. How did you know?”

“I remember you told me before, eh? When we were at that place down in London. The one with the fancy window displays.”

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

But that’s Arthur. He’s utterly head over heels for you, which is probably why he turns bright red as you kiss him on the doorstep before hurrying back inside to put them in some water. 

He’d also make sure to open every door for you the entire night, refusing to let you even lift so much as a finger. 

In fact, he even pulls your chair out for you in the restaurant he’s taking you to, glaring at the waiter who was going to do it, in a clear sign to back away if he wants to escape with his life. 

“Arthur. I saw that. Behave.”

“I’m on my best behaviour, love. Promise.” 

“Oh really? What a shame, as I had kind of hoped you wouldn’t be, considering that I’m wearing your present underneath this dress.”

Arthur almost combusts there and then. 

Screw dinner - he wants to devour you and only you. Maybe that’s why he practically drags you out of the door at the end of the night, making you laugh as you hurry after him, the two of you fumbling with each other like horny teenagers.  

Needless to say, you spend the rest of the night wrapped in a tangle of limbs, lost in an haze of pleasure as you gift one another with your bodies. 

John:

Now, considering his kids and the fact they are more than a handful, he knows just how important time spent with just the two of you is. That would be his first and biggest gift, getting one of the family to agree to watch the hell spawn long enough for you two to spend some time alone together. 

It’s just you and him for 24 hours of uninterrupted bliss, with no crying children or screaming babies to think about. 

True, it would be weird at first to have the house so quiet, but that’s exactly what you need for you and John to just talk to one another about anything and everything you’ve missed over the past few weeks. After all, he’d probably have been so busy with work he feels like he’s hardly seen you recently. 

He’s also remarkably in-tune with you and knows exactly how to spoil you rotten. 

“You do so much for me and the kids, it’s the least I can do, right? You deserve the world, but I guess I’ll have to do, eh?”

Who knew John Shelby was such a softie?

He’d have the day mapped out down to the finest detail: Breakfast in bed? check. A hot bath with wine and candles? Check. That new dress you had your eye on when you last went into town? Check. Making love for hours on every surface of the house? Triple check. 

He knows how lucky he is to have you and would spend all day making sure you knew. 

“At this rate, we’ll be having another little one to be bribe Polly to watch next year.”

“John Shelby! I swear to god I am not having another baby-“

“So you want me to put my clothes back on and not fuck you again?”

You wisely say nothing and kiss him instead. 

“As I thought.”

Tommy: 

Considering how busy he normally is, the only gift you could ever want from him was that of time. Time away from the stresses of the company or his family and their never ending messes. 

It’s why you’re eager to subtly remind him about the date every chance you get in the weeks preceding it. 

Little do you know, he’s perfectly aware of the day. In fact, he has plans of his own cooked up for the both of you… you just didn’t need to know that yet. 

It makes the surprise all the more satisfying as he wakes you early the morning of, peppering you with kisses and encouraging you to get dressed. 

“I thought people usually tried to get people undressed on Valentines day?”

“Patience, love. It’s worth it, I promise.”

You laugh and trust him, unable to deny him anything when he looks genuinely happy for once. That in itself is a gift, as is the chance to spend the day riding with him around the estate you called home. 

Tommy is happiest on horse back, and you grin as you eye him clambering on his horse out front. 

You’re quick to follow, not surprised to see he’d had your horse readied too. He really had thought this out, down to the route you take. 

“This way, there are no phone calls or fucking distractions,” he explains, relieved at the utter delight in your eyes. “Not unless one of the staff want to grab a horse and come find us. Good luck to them.”

“They’d need it, especially if they’re stupid enough to risk me shooting them for disturbing us. They’d be idiots.”

Tommy laughs. 

Eventually, he’d stop you both, just on the edge of the woods, revealing the next surprise as he pulls out a blanket and basket (prepared with Frances’s help, of course). 

“A picnic, Tommy?” 

“I told you it was a surprise.” 

It’s the best surprise as you both sit there, drinking and laughing as the sky turns dark. 

That’s when he lights a fire for you both, letting you huddle close by the flames, eyes gazing at the stars above you. 

You listen to him telling you all about the constellations and the stories he learned as a child. The sound of his voice is heavenly and you could easily listen to him all night. 

So much so, you’re quick to wish the night would never end, letting you two stay like this, wrapped peacefully in each other’s arms forever. 

Finn:

This literal angel is sweet as hell. Like, you better be prepared for the hand made card he’ll have made you… with Polly’s help, of course. He isn’t a hundred percent sure his spelling would have been right otherwise, but for you he’s willing to make the effort to try and write it for you. After all, you’ve more than likely been trying to help him learn to read and write since you started seeing one another. 

“Aunt Pol… is heart spelt with two t’s or one?”

“One, Finn.” 

“And does angel have a j in it?”

“No, Finn.”

Everyone else thought it was adorable and proof that he truly does love you. They’ve never seen him work so hard on anything in his life. 

Your own card is much simpler, because you wanted to make sure he could read it without too much difficulty. You also may or may not have got a bit carried away with drawing hearts and other sketches to fill it instead of trying to use long and complicated words about how much you loved him. 

However, neither one of you seem to care. You’re too happy with the cards you receive to care about your own possible mistakes. 

You’re also too busy admiring how much of an effort each of you made with your outfits for your date. Sure, it was just drinks and dancing with some of the other teenagers in Small Heath (basically Isiah and his girl) but you’d both gone full out for the occasion. 

“Is that suit new?”

“Maybe… John helped me pick it out. Why? Does it look stupid?”

“No, Finn Shelby. You look incredibly handsome,” you beam, toying with his lapels before linking his hand with yours. “I’ll be the luckiest girl there tonight.”

“And I’ll be the luckiest man.”

Oh yeah, you two are reals saps, just as most young lovers are. You’re all nervous glances, laughs and touches as you two dance the night away. 

It would also be the night Finn kisses you for the first night, summoning the courage to do it as he drops you off back at your house, just a little after curfew. 

It’s worth the risk and as you kiss him back he swears he’s flying the rest of the way home. 

Micheal: 

Micheal has had his plans in place for weeks, making sure every little detail would be perfect for the two of you. He’s honestly looking forward to it, enough to welcome his mother’s advice as she throws suggestions and tips at him the week before. 

“Women like to feel special, Micheal. What about getting her a necklace? Or some chocolates? Fancy ones from France or something.” 

“Mum, thanks, but I’ve got it covered. Promise.”

“Are you sure?”

Micheal laughs and tries not to be offended at her obvious doubt. Then again, he’s not always had a track record of being the most romantic or thoughtful with women. Still, he really cares about you and he’s determined not to mess this up. 

It’s why he’s chosen the perfect place for you two to spend the evening together: your place. 

He’s determined to spend the time just the two of you, and what better way to impress you than cooking dinner for you? 

With the bottle of champagne he brought and your favourite records playing in the background, you’re quickly at ease, grinning as you watch him effortlessly chop, dice and season the dish he’s chosen. 

How is peeling a potato so sexy when he does it? 

It’s honestly impressive, but also because he’s putting so much effort into it which is a nice surprise. As is the way he dances around the kitchen with you whenever there’s a pause in the recipe or a particularly good song comes on. 

You’re surprised at his soft singing voice as he holds you, humming along. It’s rare he allows himself to be seen in such a way, relaxed with no one to judge him for being soft or a little off key.   In front of the other Shelbys he’s normally desperate to impress them, trying to be tough and nonchalant.

However, you know deep down he’s still the country boy you fell in love with when he first arrived in the city.  

By the time you’ve finished dinner, the candles have almost burned out and you know where the evening is headed as you both start to scurry off to your bedroom. 

Ada:

Ada is probably the most relaxed of all the Shelby bunch when it comes to special occasions. This is Ada we’re talking about. She’s also probably the most sane of the bunch, so she knows how to act like a normal person. 

She doesn’t need anything big or fancy as a gift or some elaborate plan to make her fall head over heels. 

A day in the park, with Karl holding both your hands as you walk to the duck pond, is enough to make her look at you with utter adoration in her eyes. She loves how well you both get on, becoming a little family of you own. 

It’s why it’s no surprise you all have dinner together, with Karl helping to serve you as your two favourite people spoil you rotten. You normally eat together most days, even if Karl doesn’t normally wear a suit or call you ‘madame’ every time he passes you something like a mini waiter. 

Ada smirks at the sight, informing you it’s all Karl’s idea - as is the card he thrusts upon you.

“I made the card myself!”

“You did? Wow, Karl. Look how amazing it is. I love the glitter on the heart.” 

“I knew you would. Mum didn’t think so but I won.”

The look Ada gives you makes you want to laugh until you cry as you clearly sense the frustration she must have suffered in the pursuit of Karl’s artistry. It also explains why you’ve been finding glitter everywhere all week. 

“Well, I love it. Thank you - both.”

You press kisses to both of their cheeks, grinning as Ada purred something about giving you her card later once Karl’s in bed. You’re eager to return the favour, impatient to give her your own card and gift. 

It’s a framed photo of you all, taken one day when you’d all been at the local fair. 

The sight of it is enough to make Ada watery eyed as she gives you yours, watching as you unwrap it and gasp in delight. 

The book is the next in a series you’d recently started and fallen in love with. However, you were pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be released yet. 

“What can I say? Perks of having a librarian girlfriend with exclusive access to advanced copies we’re supposed to be holding on to until next month. I borrowed one and I’m sure they won’t notice.” 

“Ada Shelby. You stole a book for me?”

“Borrowed. Not stole.” 

You don’t care, too overwhelmed to do anything other than kiss her passionately. 

[thora-jane]

Twin-Way Mirror Pt. 1 (Weasley Twins/Reader Love Triangle)

Series Summary: You've been friends with the Weasley twins since your first train to Hogwarts, but as the three of you start your 6th year, you start to question if your feelings go beyond friendship.

Summary for Pt 1: as Summer draws to a close, some old friends come to take you off to the Quidditch World Cup

Warnings: none, I don't think. Maybe some tension between you and your parents.

Word count: 2,200

female!reader, 2nd person POV

Summer Holidays were special, you supposed, what with everyone taking a break from classes and unwinding for a couple months. You personally hadn’t been as big of a fan since you started Hogwarts. You were a Muggleborn, and Hogwarts was the first time you felt you actually understood school. You had been a horrible student in muggle school and consistently got terrible marks, but at Hogwarts? You were the brightest witch of your year. Even before your first day of classes, you had poured over every book cover to cover, examined your wand and robes for hours on end, and it took everything inside you not to start making potions.

Summer holidays were just the months in between. The time when you would lie to all your muggle friends about your new school (a private school, meant to reform students doing poorly in the academics department), and hold your breath amidst the tension of your muggle parents heavily encouraging you to continue to study muggle subjects and go to a muggle university after you graduate (“Come now, (y/n), you can’t possibly think you can just live out your life as a witch, do you?”).

A silver lining to all of this were the letters you would get from your friends. Once the sun had gone down and you could release your pet owl, Eros, with a letter or two strapped to his foot. In the morning, he would fly back with a letter or package before falling asleep in his cage. The letters would be from a few different friends every once in a while; Angelina would write to you about the latest news in Quidditch, always assuring you that this would be the year you make it onto the team, Hermione would send you newspaper clippings as your parents didn’t want you subscribing to a wizard newspaper, even Oliver would write and tell you about how his summers were going since he knew you didn’t see your friends much. And of course, there were the letters from the Weasleys.

You were in the same year as the twins, Fred and George, but no one could ever be friends with just a few of the Weasleys, it was always all or nothing. Ginny would write to you about quidditch (also assuring you you’d make the team, though you never did), Mr. Weasely would write and ask for common muggle objects, or with a whole laundry list of questions about muggle life, Mrs. Weasely would write asking you if you were being taken care of, sending you recipes and craft patterns, knowing how much you loved to cook and work with yarn, even Ron and Percy would write you, though mostly because Mrs. Weasley made them. Percy never let on as he scribbled about ministry business, but almost all of Ron’s consisted of “How are you, I am fine, mum wants me to write you. The twins miss you. xoxo Sorry, that was Fred and George.”

Ah, the Twins. Their letters were always your favorite, filled with page-long jokes or stories of their epic pranks and escapades, sometimes with a chocolate frog or some other sweet taped to the inside of the letter. Of course, when they mentioned making a line of pranking sweets, you were a bit hesitant to eat some of the things they sent. But you always seemed to walk away from the experience with all your teeth and toes, so you figured you wouldn’t get pranked unless they were there in person.

You kept all the letters and souvenirs and clippings sent, and even hung some up on your bedroom wall. Of course, none of the letters sent to you went unanswered, there would be days on end when you would write and craft responses to them, especially when one of the twins sent you a letter. You always closed out their responses assuring them that the three of you would see eachother again soon, and that next term would arrive before they knew it.

Granted, when you said this, you didn’t expect anyone to show up on your doorstep one day.

You were up in your room, writing out a response to George’s most recent letter and scrounging around for one of the candybars you had bought for him after finally convincing him to try muggle candy. It was then that you heard the doorbell ring. You paid it no attention, and chalked it all up to one of your mum’s friends stopping by for a coffee.

This of course, was not the case. You heard a few different voices, besides your mum, one or two of them belonged to who you assumed were women, but the others sounded much deeper. Then you heard thumping footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. The next thing you knew, there was a loud pounding on the door.

Then there was silence.

You weren’t quite sure who was there, but you hadn’t heard anything from your parents about company. And if there was one thing you’ve learned at Hogwarts, in these past few years especially, is that you always need to be on your toes.

You drew your wand out from your tied back hair and, holding it at the ready, opened up the door.

You weren’t quite sure who you were expecting, but not a second later two messes of red and black hair came flying towards you as Harry and Ron yanked you into a half-hug, half-tackle.

“(y/n)!” Harry laughed, moving your hand holding your wand so it didn’t stab him in the face, “the look on your face!”

Ron almost snorted, “Bloody hell, the twins would have paid galleons to see that!”

It took you a moment to recover your breath, but once the two boys stepped back from their hug, you managed to stutter out a question.

“Why are...uh...what are you doing here? And where are the twins?” You turned to Ron, who had walked over to your desk and started looking up at all the letters tapped to the wall, he started talking, but you could tell he was much more absorbed in all the papers and pictures and doodles.

“We’re here to pick you up, you’re all packed, aren’t you? The cup is in a few days and-say, were you going to eat this?” he interrupted himself, holding up one of the candy bars.

You walked past your bed and yanked a pillow out from Harry, who had seemed to make himself comfortable before you hit him with a pillow, then did the same to Ron.

“No, you may not eat that, that isn’t for you. And what cup? What do you mean all packed?” You tossed the pillow back onto your bed, and it landed on Harry’s face with an ‘oof’ before you pulled your trunk out of the closet and started tossing some of your cleaner and folded laundry in there, “Ronald I have no clue what you’re talking about. Harry, what does he mean?”

Although neither of you were in the Weasely family, you and Harry treated each other like siblings. Maybe not close friends, but the two of you were close enough that talking to him wasn’t too difficult.

“The Quidditch World Cup. Ron, didn’t you tell her?” He sat back up on your bed, looking over at Ron with his brow furrowed, “Your mum had you write her about it the other day, yeah?”

Ron smacked himself in the head, “I knew I was forgetting something! (Y/n), Dad got enough tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and you’re coming with us. Now, mum thought I wrote you and you’re supposed to be packed for school too, we’re taking all your stuff to the burrow and dropping you off at the Hogwarts express with the rest of us.”

“You’re only just now telling me?!” You tried not to shriek as you started packing faster, racking through your brain for all the things you’d need. You hadn’t gotten the list of books yet this year, but you intended on going before the year started. After running to the closet again and tossing your school uniform into the trunk, you ran over to the desk and shoved Ron aside to grab your box of letter writing things and some of the magical books you thought might be useful this year. While hastily stacking the boxes and books into your trunk, you ordered Ron and Harry from over your shoulder, “Ron, my potions kit should be under the bed. Harry, run to the bathroom and grab the small bag with butterflies on it, it should have my toothbrush, soap, shampoo, makeup -bathroom stuff. Well?”

The two boys nodded, a little intimidated at the speed you were packing. As Harry Ran to the bathroom, you turned to Ron.

“Do you remember the extra thing on the list this year? Fourth years and up needed…?”

“Don’t remind me. Fourth years and up need dress robes. I hate mine, they’re bloody awful,” he sighed, looking morose as he handed you your cauldron full of potion tools, “I’ll look like an old lady in them. What about you?”

You ran over to the closet, rifling through the jumpers and other clothes, tossing a Mrs.-Weasley-Handmade-Jumper into the trunk, “My mum took me out to get a dress a few days back, it should be...ah yes, here it is,” You pulled out a dress with see-through billowy sleeves and a skirt that went almost to the floor when you wore it, “You think this is good enough?” He raised his eyebrows, nodding.

“It looks nice,” You could tell he wasn’t too interested and agreed only to be polite, but you appreciate the sentiment as you carefully tucked it into your trunk. Harry came back and tossed the bag to you and you added it to your trunk before closing the lid and placing Eros’s cage on top. Sticking your wand back into your hair and slinging your yarn bag over your shoulder, you looked back at the two boys.

“Where are the twins? I thought they would have wanted to come pick me up?”

Ron tossed you the candy bars on your desk before walking to the other side of the trunk and helping you lift it, “Well, mum needed Hermione and Harry to help us get to a muggle house, and I tagged along. They wanted to come, but mum said she wanted to make a good impression on your parents and the last time they picked someone up from a muggle house dad had to go to at least a dozen ministry hearings.”

You chuckled, remembering how back in their third year they stole the car to pick up Harry from his aunt and uncle’s, “That sounds about right, Harry, could you get the door?”

Harry picked up Eros’s cage and held the door wide open as you and Ron waddled the trunk out of your room, stopping as you got to the edge of the stairs.

Your mum, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley turned at the sound of you making your way down the hall. The two witches waved, their faces lighting up as you greeted them, then Mrs. Weasley pulled out her wand and waved it gently, “Let me help you with that, dearie,” She smiled as your trunk delicately floated down the stairs.

“(y/n), Mrs. Weasely and Miss-” She looked over at Hermione for a second, before Hermione answered. “Granger,” She smiled politely.

“Yes, Miss Granger just explained to me that their family was going to take you to a...Wizard Football match?” She smiled a little, puzzled by the own words coming out of her mouth, “they offered to have you stay at their house,” She glanced at your trunk and the wide grin on your face, “I take it you’re interested in going?”

You nodded vigorously before pausing, “Is...Is that alright with you?”

She smiled, though it looked a bit forced, “Yes, yes it is. Just make sure you brush up on your real school subjects, please. And do mind your manners.”

You practically squealed, your hands shaking excitedly as you ran to grab your normal shoes (school shoes and dress shoes had been packed in the trunk).

Mrs. Weasely thanked your mum again and the boys and Hermione helped carry your trunk out to the car. Once you had all settled in and started to drive off, Mrs. Weasley looked at you through the rearview mirror.

“Your mum seems like a wonderful lady, but she isn’t too fond of magic, is she?” She asked gently, and you noticed the whole car go a bit quiet.

“No, she isn’t. I think she’d rather I focus more on traditional muggle subjects than magic,” You answered shyly, looking down at the yarn in your bag.

“Ah well, I wouldn’t fret too much over that, dearie. Muggles can be like that sometimes, but she’ll come around,” She offered a smile through the mirror again. Before you knew it, you were back to talking with your younger friends, excitedly asking about their summers as the five of you made your trip back to the burrow.

[cornholio4]

How Oblivious Is She?

@segasister I suggested it to this idea and I liked my idea so much I decided to write it, also on fanfiction and ao3

At Hexside School of Magic & Demonics; Gus Porter and Willow Park were at the lunch table waiting for their friend Luz Noceda as they shared a look, "Hey guys!" Luz greeted them as she seated herself across from them at the table. She was in an especially good mood as she was able to convince the cafeteria workers to make use of the recipes that she had provided to them for the human food that she liked.

"Hey Luz, we have been thinking and we can't help but noticing that... Well... How much that Amity likes you..." Gus said trying to find the words but Luz looked that that she didn't quite have gotten the hint.

"Of course she likes me now since we have gotten to the friend stage and everything after everything we have been through... Restoring your memories Willow and finding the cause of what happened between you both years ago... Being her dance partner for Grom and helping out in the Grudgby game..." Luz replied as Willow and Gus shared a look before sighing.

"That is not what we meant; you know that drawing of you that she did in art class?" Willow asked thinking it would be best to lay the clues out for her slowly to see if she gets the hint.

"I think that she got my good side well!" Luz replied with her smile staying there.

"The story that she wrote for the library's contest?" Gus brought up.

"The one where a human girl ended up in a magic land falling for a witch who was forced into a role by her controlling parents; I think that I had better watch out i she decides to drop her dreams of being in the Emperor's Coven to be a writer." Luz replied thinking at how good the story was.

Gus and Willow started to look frustrated as they decided to be a bit blunter.

"We think that Amity is falling for you!" Guy said forcefully as Luz's face held an unreadable expression for a minute as they became tense for her answer.

"I will be sure to catch her." Luz replied as Willow and Gus just had their mouths wide open silently asking that Luz couldn't possibly be this oblivious. Then they heard yelling and then there was Edric and Emira Blight smiling coming up to Luz with a piece of paper with Amity running with an angry look on her face screaming to get it back.

"This fell out of Mittens' book and so we thought that you should have a look." Edric said with a smile as Gus and Willow gave them a disappointing look. They all agreed together to let Luz know about Amity's feelings towards her but this was a bit too far.

"I don't know guys; invading her privacy was bad enough and ended worst at the library but..." Luz said but stopped when she saw that Amity had written 'AMITY NOCEDA' inside a love heart shape. Her mouth was open wide with a shocked look as she looked to Amity with her face red; the Blight twins were grinning as Gus and Willow had hopeful looks on their faces. They may not like this method but this could be the results that they were looking for.

"I don't believe it Amity; is this true... Do you really feel this way?" Luz asked slowly as everyone around them was waiting with glee in anticipation for this moment as Amity put her head down. "Don't be like that Amity; I am all for this!" Luz said with a smile as the four around them had their grins growing larger as this was better than they had hoped; this was going to a moment to remember!

Amity hesitantly asked if she did and Luz said "of course I am... I would be honoured to have you as my sister!"

A stunned silence followed as the grins became mouths wide open as Luz continued on "I mean I heard from you about how terrible your parents are to you and I can understand wishing to have different ones and I have to say that my Mum would love you! Emira and Edric, I hope you don't take it personally that Amity wants to be adopted by my family?"

"Are you for real; how you can not see the signs..." Emira and Edric said at once before the both of them as well as Gus and Willow bursted out in screams of exasperation and irritation. Luz and Amity looked on but hesitantly finished their food and they left as the staff came to get them to calm down.

A few minutes later Luz and Amity were hiding in an unused classroom staring at eachother before they bursted into laughter, "I for one think we pulled that off better than expected; the practice I made getting that piece of paper to fall out of my books for my siblings to pick up worked well." Amity said with a smirk.

"You should have been there with Gun bluntly told me that you had fallen for me and I was like 'well I will be ready to catch her'! You know I was being honest when I said that my Mum would love you." Luz told her and Amity smiled.

"I think this was Eda's best idea yet..." Amity said:

Luz had invited Amity over to the Owl House where she had finally confessed her feelings towards to Luz and she replied by saying that she had time to think it over and was able to place the hints together. Amity was stunned but Luz smiled and told her that she felt the same way as they shared the same kiss.

Eda had caught them to their embarrassment and made an offhand comment about why let their friends know about this right away; why not have some fun at their expense by having Luz exaggerate how obliviousness she had been to Amity's feelings.

Back to the present (curse tumblr not allowing italics)

"Now that we had our fun, do you think that we should now let them know about us?" Luz asked but Amity told her girlfriend not yet. "Are you certain Amity?" Luz asked as Amity now had the biggest smirk imaginable in response.

"I am positive about this; Edric and Emira for 14 years have been having all their laughing and games at my expense and now I finally have my chance to get payback. I want to milk this for all it's worth." Amity replied with a hint of vindictiveness to her voice and Luz smiled in return. They went back as Luz whispered about some other ideas that she had for this...

[unnuevosoltransformalarealidad]

Traditions

Title: Traditions Summary: Henry makes his personal mission to make you feel at home again Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader Prompt: #14 “What do you mean, you have never spent Christmas in the snow?” Warnings: Fluff, Christmas, Traditions Word Count: 983 This was written for the Christmas Writing Challenge of @toomanystoriessolittletime  A/N: Prompt is bolded and in italics. Mistakes are on me, English is not my mother tongue and I’m still learning. Enjoy the reading!

^

You were supposed to be happy, enjoying the Christmas shopping with your boyfriend, but your reality was different. While he was shopping, you were in his apartment tucked down between the covers crying. You were supposed to spend the holidays with your family on the other side of the world, by the end of the world to be exact. But life sometimes gets hard and makes everything impossible to keep promises. And this was one of them.

Five years ago, you made a promise to yourself that you were going to leave that stressful life you were having and made a new start in another country. It took you two years to save enough money to set that goal. Three years ago, after celebrating New Years’ with your family, you took a plane to England with a job offer, an Airbnb ready for you, and dreams to come true. The second promise you made was that you were coming back home once a year for the holidays. You were able to keep that promise for two years, except for this year. For different reasons, you weren’t able to travel and it broke your heart when you told your mother. You didn’t know what to do, so in order to make you feel surrounded by family, your boyfriend Henry thought that spending the holidays with his family was going to help you. You accepted because he was the only person you trusted enough to celebrate these special holidays for you. 

You loved Henry’s family, they were your family too, after almost a year of dating and living together for a few months now, you were a Cavill as well, but nothing filled that hole like your family. Henry wanted this to be extra special, mostly because you were homesick. He wanted to make you feel at home in England.  That day when Henry got back from shopping, he found you the same way when he left.

-Babe, come on, I know you’re sad because this year is different. Would you think your mom wanted you to be like this? -Probably not, but I’m sure she is behaving like me — you smiled a little at the thought -There’s my girl — he said hugging you -Hen, what are we supposed to bring for dinner? — you asked him  -What do you mean? -To eat for dinner, on Christmas — You explained — with your family. We should prepare something to bring that day -Don’t worry about that, love. My mum is going to take care of that -And what we were supposed to do? We should bring something -What do you want to cook, love? I can talk with my mum -I don’t know, Hen. I’m still learning things from here. -Let me talk with her and we will see — he said kissing your temple

A few days later, Henry’s mom invited both of you to have tea and to have that little talk for the Christmas party. Henry explained to her that you were a little sad this year because you weren’t with your family and that he wanted to make sure to make you feel at home. He also explained that there were a few things you wanted to do but you didn’t want to be “rude”

-Sweetie, you don’t need to worry about anything — she told you -I know. Henty has been saying the same thing for the past week. But I feel like I should bring something to share. I feel like I’m being obliged to do it — you explained sincerely -She feels like that, because that's what her family does for the holidays — Henry commented -I understand. So, considering that, what would you like to bring, Y/N? — Henry’s mom asked you -Uhmm… I don’t know, I was hoping you could help me with that. It’s the first time that I spent the holidays with snow, so I don’t know exactly what I should cook. I'm used to prepare fresh meals for the summer — you giggled -What do you mean, you have never spent Christmas in the snow? — Henry exclaimed -Hen, love, I’ve lived most of my life in Argentina, they are in summer now -I know that, but — Henry interrupted you -Why do you think I hate winter? Where I used to live it only snowed twice in like 200 years, and the winter is not as cold as it is in here — you cut him off -Well, then it’s my personal mission to prove to you that the holidays during the winter are way better — he said with a smile -We’ll see about that — you said

The conversation continued gracefully. Henry’s mom taught you some British traditions and you explained to them some of yours, she even lent you some recipes you could try to make for the dinner. You were really grateful for them to understand you, this wasn’t easy for you and they were trying to make you feel at home. Henry spent hours doing research on what you’ve told him about your traditions, he wanted to surprised you. The first thing he did was giving you a box of alfajores* as an early Christmas gift. That little gesture melted your heart. He indeed did his personal mission to make you feel at home, you couldn’t be more grateful for how thoughtful he was  -You didn’t have to do this, love -You mean the world to me Y/N, and I know how scary can be this time of the year. I may not be able to bring your family here, but at least I can bring some of your traditions to make you feel at home again — he told you and you kissed him -You’re my home Hen. I love you so so much — you said and he kissed you back

*[The alfajores are a sweet treat that are made of two cookies with dulce de leche (it's like salted caramel but a little bit thicker and sweeter) filling sandwiched together, covered in icing sugar or chocolate]

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added) @iguessweallcrazyithinktho | @void-hoechlin | @mrspeacem1nusone | @thevelvetseries | @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem | @caplanbuckybarnes | @littlefreya | @viking-raider | @maya-the-cute-ass-bee

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part  2

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Smut Word Count: 2768 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

Part 1

December 24, 2020

“Smith!” he bellows way too early and cheerfully as he pounds on my bedroom door. “Happy Christmas Eve! Come on! Let’s go for a jog.”

“Arrrrggggghhhhh,” I growl. “No.”

“If you hike the Hastain Trail with me, I’ll spring for coffee afterwards.”

“Go away, Styles.” Drawing the pillow over my head, I try to block out the sound of his voice. 

“Fresh air will be good for you.”

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” 

“Not on your life. I hate hiking alone.”

“Fine!” Throwing the covers off, I don my newly cleaned leggings, sports bra, and a t-shirt before opening the door and marching past him in my tennis shoes. “Bully,” I accuse. 

“You’re mad that I’m forcing you to take care of yourself?” Although he sounds offended, that smirk is back. 

“Whatevs, Styles. Let’s go.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

He sets off at a brisk pace, and I trail behind him slightly. After all, I’m still waking up. 

“Keep up, Smith!”

Just to be ornery, I slow my stride, taking my time examining the plants next to the path. When I next glance up, Harry is a solid quarter mile ahead of me, and I contemplate turning back, finding a picnic table and taking a nap on it until he’s done. 

But no. That’s not to be, as he turns and jogs back to me, keeping his legs pumping as he moves backwards. 

“You’re going to trip on something,” I caution. 

He grins. “You care about me!”

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I swear I can see my own brain. “No. But I care about Glenne, and she would be mighty upset if I had a part in damaging you.”

“Mhm.” The smirk is back, and as hard as I try to keep a sour look on my face, it’s challenging. “Where was Christmas supposed to be?” His question is casual, but it causes me to flinch.

“Indiana,” I snap off the word like one would a twig on a dying tree. Immediately, I feel guilty. “Sorry.” My mumble is quiet, but loud enough for him to hear and nod in silent acceptance. “You don’t deserve rudeness. What about you? London?”

“Holmes Chapel. With my mum, my sister, and her boyfriend.”

“Ah. Is it cold there this year?”

“Fairly mild. And Indiana?”

“Cold, cold, cold. Maybe even snow still on the ground.”

“Yeah. Christmas in Los Angeles is quite different.” Harry gestures around the trail, and I smile. 

“Definitely.”

“What are your favorite traditions?” 

By the time we loop back around to the start of the trail, we’ve exhausted the topic, and I realize my mood has improved tremendously. 

“Thank you, Harry.” The words are soft, and I try to insert as much authenticity as I can into them. 

I have the pleasure of watching his eyes soften as he observes me over the top of the car. “Coffee next! And a trip to the grocery!”

“Grocery? You’re cooking?”

“WE are baking and then cooking.”

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re going to create a mashup of our traditions.”

“No fucking way!” I exclaim, excited at the prospect. Sitting up, I search for a piece of paper and a pen. “I didn’t bring my purse, Styles. Give me your phone.”

“My phone?” Confused, he gazes at me while at a stoplight. 

“I need to write down the ingredients we need to buy. Let’s see. We can’t make some of the cookies we each like because I don’t know if Glenne has cookie cutters in the right shapes. So how about some ginger biscuits?” 

When he nods, I gesture for his phone. “Come on, Styles. I need to look up recipes and make sure we get the right ingredients.”

Reluctantly, he unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “No snooping,” he warns, shaking his finger in my direction. 

“Puuuuuuullllllleeeeeasssse. As if.” Using his browser, I search for a recipe for the ginger biscuits for him as well as one for thumbprint jam cookies, copying the ingredients into his Notes app. 

“Now, for dinner,” he begins, and my fingers pause as I wait for his next words. “Mum used to do a roast, but I don’t eat meat anymore. Just fish. And your family always does turkey. How do we compromise on a protein?”

“Scallops? Salmon? Both delicious and something I would consider fancy enough for a holiday meal.”

“Excellent!” Harry declares. “And can we agree on brussel sprouts and yams?”

My whole being is excited at the prospect of this meal with Harry. Suddenly there’s a silver lining to spending my favorite holiday away from my family. 

As he turns off the engine, I rest my hand on his wrist until he twists to look at me. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You already said that.” He rolls his eyes, but the crinkles send a different message. 

Less than 30 minutes later, we’re back in the car with the trunk full of groceries, including prosecco. After stopping for the promised coffee, we return to Glenne and Jeffrey’s house, unloading the food. 

“Mind if I take a shower before we start?” I ask, looking down at my clothing. “I feel dusty still from the trail.”

“Let’s both shower --” He stalls at my shocked expression “-- in separate bathrooms, Smith. Then let’s see who can put together the worst Christmas outfit from whatever we can find in the guest bedroom where we’re each sleeping.”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, you’re going down, Styles!” Rushing out of the room, I’m confident that my ears are playing tricks on me because I think he responds with “I would love to go down on you.” He must have said something completely different, and I shake my head to clear the thought. 

When I emerge later, I’m wearing my grey sweatpants which I’ve pinned garland to along with one of my green hoodies and a giant wreath draped around my neck like a necklace by a red ribbon. Arriving in the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Harry wearing a skirt of wrapping paper over his also-grey sweatpants, along with a variety of bows stuck to his Green Bay Packers hoodie. 

He shrugs, “Apparently they use that guest bedroom for storing wrapping paper.” 

I laugh as I pluck one of the bows off his hoodie and place it on my chest after removing the wreath. 

“You win,” I concede. “I’m surprised there’s so much Christmas stuff in their house.”

“Eh. The Azoff family celebrates everything.”

“Lucky us, then.”

Side by side, we create the dough first for the ginger biscuits and then for the thumbprint cookies. After he slides the first pans into the oven, Harry crosses his arms. “Scrabble while we wait for them to bake?”

“Oh, it’s on!” I agree, and we settle at the dining room table to play the game. 

“Fine. You win,” Harry pouts over an hour later as I play my final letter which manages to be on a triple word score tile. 

“Woo hoo!” Stuffing one of the ginger biscuits in my mouth, I chew thoughtfully. “These are pretty good. I might make them again next year.”

“Same for these,” Harry grins as he chews on one of the thumbprint cookies. Crossing his arms on the table in front of him, he leans toward me. “Now how about you tell me exactly why you turned down my account when Glenne offered it to you?”

Shock courses through my body, and I freeze, knowing my face is likely turning into a candy cane red. 

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me! I had specifically asked for you, so I was a bit heartbroken when she told me that you refused.”

His word choice makes me raise an eyebrow. “Heartbroken?”

“Devastated? Wrecked? Disappointed? Take your pick, Smith.”

Swallowing, I make eye contact with him. “I’ll tell you why I turned down our account if you’ll tell me why you call me Smith.”

His tongue darts out and wets his lips as his green eyes bore into me. “Because you remind me of a Granny Smith apple.” Confusion must sweep across my face, as he continues talking. “You’re tart at first, but you can be sweetened. I’ve witnessed it in the past as well as just the last two days.” His face colors, but he continues speaking anyway. “Plus I suspect you’re incredibly juicy, and I would love a sample.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had Harry Styles just made a very obvious overture? Yes. Yes, he had. My eyes float over his face, searching for any indication that he’s lying, but the sincerity is striking. 

First I look at my entwined hands, and then I decide to show the same courage he has exhibited. “I turned down your account because I couldn’t possibly work for you when I’m this attracted to you. It’s bad form to want to --” I can’t decide on the appropriate word, so I settle for “-- jump your client.”

The smirk is back, and it’s followed by an uproarious laugh. “This is too rich! To think that we could have been having some sort of relationship all this time is mind-numbing.” Rising, he holds out his hand. “How about we consummate our mutual attraction?”

“In the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Eve?”

“You got a better idea of how to spend our time?” 

“Swimming?” I tease. 

“Smith?”

“Yeah?”

“Take my hand.”

His words and tone make it clear that he’s interested in moving forward with this. My own body’s response is in sync with his. Gently, I place my hand in his as I rise from the table. Twisting his body, he also shifts his hand, leading me in the direction of…where? A bedroom seems too rushed. Not that my hormones would agree. 

But no. We walk down the two steps into the living room where he turns on the Christmas tree lights before settling on the couch and tugging my arm so that I join him. “Oh, wait.” Rising, he approaches the sound system, and soon the strains of Christmas music fill the space. Returning to my side, he settles with his arm around me. 

“Smith…” His words are a whisper, and I rotate my head in his direction as he brushes his finger over my cheek. When our lips meet, I swear I can hear the angels sing. His mouth is soft and tender, and I twine my fingers through the hand draped over my shoulder as I open wide to allow him to enter. Our tongues tangle in heat and dampness that also seems to pool between my legs. He tastes of the lemon curd thumbprints we had jointly made, and I relish the flavor, wanting more. 

Shifting closer to him, I tilt my head to provide greater access, and his hand drifts to my sweatpants. Withdrawing from me, he examines our clothes. “Mind if I remove this garland?”

“Not at all,” I purr. “As long as I can get rid of these bows.” The wrapping paper skirt had already been ruined when we sat down for the Scrabble game. 

Rather than unpinning the garland, though, he hooks his thumbs into my waistband and draws the sweatpants over my hips. “Up, Smith.” I lift my bum as he removes my bottoms, leaving me in my panties. 

In return, I inch his hoodie up his chest and off, tossing it over my shoulder, heedless of the bows that seem to desire to stay attached to the musician. Can’t say I blame them. 

“Hmmmm,” he murmurs before capturing my lips again. 

When we come up for air, my hands have managed to roam his chest, tweaking his nipple and wrenching a moan from his mouth. For his part, his hand has drifted over the small piece of cloth separating my treasure from full access. His thumb rubs a pattern over the fabric, and soon I’m panting. 

“Fuck,” I mutter as we separate. 

“Yes please” is his cheeky reply. 

“Dork,” I indict.

“Mhm. Take off that hoodie. Please.” 

Willingly, I oblige. Before the material has hit the floor, he’s capturing my nipple in his mouth, and I throw my head back as fire stokes through my body from my tits to my core. “Shit,” I proclaim. 

His fingers return to the scrap of cloth covering my center. As his thumb teases my clit through the silk, a finger slips underneath and into me. Without thought, I cry out, my lower body rising from the bed to get closer to heaven. 

“Been a while?” His voice is rough, sounding like sandpaper as he dislodges from my breast. 

“Too long,” I pant, “but you’ve always had the power to bring me to the brink just with a look.”

“I see,” he smirks, and normally I would want to smack him, but this time, I find it endearing. 

“I want --” I gesture to his sweats, and he grins. 

“If I refuse?”

“Then my treasure box can close pretty quickly if I don’t have something in my hands.”

Harry laughs. “Fair enough.” Shucking his sweatpants over his hips, I find that he’d chosen not to wear underpants as his cock springs upwards into my waiting hand. 

“Shit. I need lubricant.” I complain. 

We gaze at each other, the lust clear. Jumping up from the sofa, we race together to Glenne and Jeffrey’s bathroom. I scour the lower cabinets while Harry throws open the linen closet. “Got it!” he announces, holding the bottle over his head. 

“Thank God!” My relief is real. Grabbing the bottle from him, I find I can’t move. Now what? Where do we go? We can’t very well do the deed in their bed. 

Grabbing my hand, Harry once more takes the lead, and we end up in his guest bedroom. I gesture at the bed, and he strips off the duvet before lying down on his back. Crawling onto the mattress, I settle between his thighs, tilting the bottle of lube and squeezing a fair amount into my hand. Relaxed, I hold my hand over his cock, allowing droplets to fall. His eyes plead with me, and I grin at him. 

“Impatient, Styles?”

“Desperate for you, Smith.”

With that pronouncement, I wrap both hands around his length, allowing my fingers to glide gently along his shaft. One hand falls underneath where I can tickle his balls playfully. When his hips start bucking, I withdraw from him completely -- albeit slowly with a final few long strokes. 

His eyes fly open, and he pats the bed next to him, so I lie there. 

“Smith…”

“Shhhh. Hush, Styles.”

Miraculously he doesn’t say anything, but he does reach out and shift aside the fabric over my vagina before he delves a finger inside. I know I’m wet. Hell, I can feel the dampness. 

His finger teases me, and I writhe under his attention. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m gonna…”

“Do it!” he orders, and my lower body creates a bridge as my hips rise into the air while my thighs tremble in ecstasy. 

As I land back onto the bed and earth itself from my recent visit to heaven, Harry carefully removes my panties and throws them over his shoulder. 

“Condom?” He inquires.

“IUD. You clean?”

“Yep. Got tested not long ago. You?”

“Fuck me, Styles. We deserve this.”

“Indeed,” he grins just before he plunges into me, and I cry out at the feel of his length inside me, filling me and touching every part of me. 

“Shit.” My breaths come in short spurts as he pumps into me. I can’t seem to catch my breath as my second orgasm starts building. “Shift to the left, Styles.”

“You got it, Smith. Can you scratch at my back?” 

“You bet.” 

The communication is nice as we guide each other to what pleases us the most. As much as I want to take our time, it’s not nearly long enough before I feel my insides begin to clench in a familiar way. 

“Fuck, Styles. I’m coming!”

“Me too, Smith! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkk!” He stretches the word into multiple syllables as I feel his seed squirting into my womb, stopped only by my birth control. His fingers reach between our bodies as he manipulates my clit until I see stars and arch my lower body to become closer to him. 

Collapsing on top of me, his breathing is as uneven as my own. 

“Merry Christmas, Smith,” he murmurs while we’re still joined. 

“Merry Christmas, Styles,” I reply, hugging his body tightly to mine. No telling if we have a future, but this holiday is going to be one for the books. 

A/N:  This short story is dedicated to those who aren’t able to join family this Christmas due to the Coronavirus.  Be safe.  Be healthy.  Make the best of the situation. Sending you BIG HUGS!