#sweet tooth fic

[punkishtoxtricity]

hi gay people in my phone the tiger x bear fic has been started i’ll post when i get it up. gonna be post season 3 kind of just an “if tiger made it out alive and had ptsd from yk seeing all her friends die”

[lazinesswrites]

WIP Wednesday

It's technically Thursday now, but whatever.

So. Yesterday, I sat down with the intention of working on one of my WIPs - Down of the Heavens, a Shadowhunters wing-fic, Malec of course - because someone replied positively to a post I made about it. I... did not manage any actual work on it. Just to reread the first part of the series. I did, however, write almost seven pages of notes for a different fic.

The document name for that one is "SH-TW tough guy sweet tooth" which tells other people absolutely nothing except that it's a Shadowhunters / Teen Wolf crossover, and that someone is a tough guy and someone has a sweet tooth. I'll tell you a secret: It's the same guy.

I did not mean to write this fic. It was one of those stories I tell myself as I go to sleep, or cook dinner, or walk to the store. It was never meant to see the light of day. But then I had some ideas about how I would write it, if I ever did, and then I figured, hey, it's just two or three scenes, I can just jut them down quickly. Foolish, of course. It was not two or three scenes. Because the thing I'd forgotten was that the parts I'd been thinking about right then were maybe only two or three scenes, but all the background stuff that has to happen to get to those two or three scenes... would also need to be explained, at least a little. So, uhh. There's gonna be a prologue. And then... at least four chapters beyond that? So. Yeah. That's... coming. At some point. (Don't wait up.)

A teeny-tiny sneak-peek:

“What?” Stiles asks.

“What?” Derek asks back.

“You got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“That look, it’s kinda constipated? But like, a frustrated constipated, instead of your usual angry constipated.”

Derek scowls at that, because of course he does. Though, Stiles isn't sure if the scowl is less severe than usual, or he's just been properly desensitized. Either way, it doesn't faze him.

[softmangoes]

how the LIs kiss

18+

pure!sydney's kisses are sweet, mouth soft and his tongue warm. he kisses you in the same way he savors the hard candies you'd slide over the library counter, slipping them into his hands just so your fingers could brush. when he pulls away, his glasses are foggy, a nervous smile on his face. "was that..." he says, blushing. "was that alright?"

corrupt!sydney's kisses are hungry. he's got his hands under your shirt and his tongue deep in your mouth. he's been waiting so patiently, after all, and now he finally has you to himself. "you taste divine, beloved." he says, fingers slipping under your waistband. when you sigh against his mouth, he smiles. "but i think it's time i have my dessert."

whitney's kisses hurt. they're full of teeth and bruises and blood and his nails digging crescents into your skin. whenever he crushes his lips to yours, he always makes sure to leave you aching. and like every fight you've had against him, you never come out unscathed. "there," he says, marveling at the fresh marks blooming along your neck. "now everyone will know whose slut you are."

kylar's kisses are desperate. his hands roam your skin as his mouth murmurs endless promises into the hollow of your neck. "we'll be together forever," he says, drunk on the scent of you. he presses his body to yours, eager to get closer, to envelope you in his embrace. to never, ever, let you go. "nothing will ever change that."

eden wastes no time when he kisses you. he has known the lean months of winter and the lonely days of fall. you cannot deny him the sweetness of spring. he bites into the curve of your neck like the first fruit of warmer days, licks at your lips to drink in your sweetness. but a hunter is always hungry, always wanting. "it's been a long day," he growls, deepening the kiss. when he takes your shirt in his hands, the fabric rips apart easily. "too long without you."

robin's kisses are warm. they're fingers running through your hair, a smile against your mouth. sunny days and lips that taste like fresh lemonade. he always laughs when he kisses you, like he can't believe he's doing this. like he can't believe he's yours. when he kisses you, the world is a little brighter. softer. "it's a beautiful day to be with you," he murmurs after he pulls away, pressing a peck to your cheek before taking your hand in his.

there is no way you can truly describe how the ivory wraith kisses you, but there is a note of familiarity to it. your mind conjures memories of kisses whispered in passing, of lips locked in darkened halls. "as sweet as ever," he hums, licking your lips with his cool tongue. "as sweet as always." the passing of centuries have done little else but make him yearn. the wraith, with his great and terrible beauty, kisses you like he's been waiting for you all this time.

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- exploratory

it’s giving anakin and padme in the fields in that one scene from attack of the clones except add in smut 💐

warnings: smut, virgin!reader, loss of virginity, missionary (also yes i am aware that this is fantasy and theres no protection here, she's not gonna get pregnant from this time because i say so lol i make the rules!)

Under the vast expanse of the open sky, the gentle clip-clop of hooves resonated through the serene countryside. You and Ghost rode side by side on your horses, the wind playing with your hair as you explored the winding trails and rolling hills of Kastron. You were rarely let out of the castle, so this little day trip with Ghost was meaningful to you. You were excited to see the natural beauty of Kastron. There was an air of freedom around you, the two of you escaping your responsibilities just for today, finding solace in the beauty of nature. 

As you rounded a bend, the landscape before you transformed into a breathtaking sea of color. A ginormous flower field stretched out like a living painting, petals swaying in the breeze like waves on a tranquil sea. Your eyes widened in awe, a delighted gasp escaping your lips. You reined in your horse, a large grin forming on your face. 

“Simon, look at this!” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with excitement. 

Ghost pulled his horse to a stop beside you, his gaze following your pointing finger. The corner of his lips quirked up as he studied your reaction, his normally stoic expression softening in the presence of your sheer delight. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice warm.

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling. “I've never seen anything like it! I’m going to see it up close.” You slide off the saddle, patting your mare before turning to face the fields. 

"Of course," Ghost replied, his tone holding a hint of amusement. He sits high atop his horse, studying your form. 

The scent of flowers filled the air, wrapping around your body as you entered the field. The world was a carousel of colors – vibrant reds, delicate pinks, and radiant yellows, – all coming together to create a rainbow. 

Unable to contain your enthusiasm, you let out a joyful whoop, throwing your arms up in the arm. You spin around, your arms outstretched, face upturned to the warm sun. Your laughter blended with the rustling of greenery in the breeze. Turning your gaze to Simon, you found him watching you with an affectionate glint in his eyes. Your elation mirrored his expression, and a comfortable silence settled between you.

With a mischievous grin, you whip around and take off running through the field, your feet sinking into the soft earth with each step you take. Simon’s gasps for a moment, watching you take off. He jumps off his horse, following you as you twirl and skip amidst the flowers. His heart swells in his chest at your joy, in your simple infatuation with the fields of flowers. You’re dozens of feet ahead of him, your dress whipping in the wind as you frolick. 

Yet, as you looked back to see where Simon was, you stumbled over your own feet, your laughter mixing with a surprised yelp as you fell to the ground. Simon’s heart lurches, and he breaks out into a sprint towards you, his concern immediate. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asks, chest heaving, falling to his knees beside you on the ground. 

You roll over onto your back, your hands hiding your face. He can’t tell if you’re laughing or crying. 

“D- don’t cry,” he says gently, hands hovering over your form. 

You bring your hands down over your mouth, and he sees your eyes are filled with mischief. 

You burst into laughter, unable to contain the amusement bubbling within you. As your eyes meet his concerned gaze, you can’t help but laugh even harder, your mirth contagious. 

“I- I’m not crying, Simon!” you manage to get out between fits of laughter.

Simon blinks at you, clearly confused by your reaction. Relief starts to mingle with his confusion as he watches you laugh, and then his lips slowly curl into a reluctant smile. 

“You scared me for a moment,” he says, letting out an exhale. He looks at you, your smile, your beautiful face, and it suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. He rips his balaclava off his face unexpectedly, catching you off guard. You look up at him, mouth slightly agape as your laughter dies down. 

Suddenly, he straddles you, swinging his legs on each side of your body. He presses his hands into your shoulders, fingers gently squeezing your soft skin. You gasp at the feeling of his body on top of yours, and you bring your hands up to hold his wrists. You grin up at him, your eyes dancing with amusement. The flowers you’re laying in surround you like a colorful crown. The sight of you laying amongst them makes Simon’s heart pound. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just clumsy…” you murmur, brushing his tousled hair with your fingers.

He just looks at you. Your eyes flit to his mouth, his lips slightly parted. He hovers over you, unspoken desires hanging in the balance of the moment.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do all day,” you whisper, trailing one of your hands up his chest. 

Before he could respond, you closed your grip on his tunic and gently tugged, pulling him down towards you. The surprise in his eyes turned to a mixture of warmth and anticipation as your lips met in a soft, tender kiss. 

He groans quietly into your mouth, his hands drag up from your shoulders to cup your face. 

As you pulled away, Simon’s lips curved into a genuine smile. "That was worth tripping for."

You chuckled, your fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of his tunic. "Definitely worth it."

He kisses you again, pressing his hulking body on top of you. He slides his tongue into your mouth, his hands cupping your cheeks to deepen the kiss. You gasp into the kiss, eyes instinctively screwing shut because you’re so full of anticipation and your body has gone to jelly because Simon is engulfing your senses, so big and strong, so perfect, as he kisses you. 

The warmth of his body against yours ignites a fire within you, the moment intensifying as he gives you more, more, more. Every touch, every caress means something more than it ever has before.

He breaks away from the kiss, panting with his face flushed. He licks his lips, pupils blown as he stares at you with nothing but adoration. 

“Si, please.” 

That nickname, the breathy please that fell from your lips. 

It was over for him. 

In an instant, he’s latched onto your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along your skin, hands running down the sides of your body. He presses his hands into your sides, squeezing your soft curves. He lifts his head up from your neck when you let out the quietest, breathy moan. He looks down at you, your mouth slightly agape, his eyes search your face. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You lick your lips, nodding your head.

“No, no, darling, I need to hear you. Use your words.”

You shudder at his words, at his implications. “Yes, I trust you.”

“Good girl.”

He delves back into your neck, sliding his hand behind your head to push you closer to him. 

“Wanna make y’feel good,” he mumbles into your neck between kisses, nipping at the sensitive skin. Warmth floods your face as he speaks, your core growing wet with arousal. You press your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the growing pressure in your core, your clit throbbing as he kisses you. 

Your hands brush over his broad shoulders, swallowing as he works on your neck. Suddenly, he starts sucking hard at your skin, putting pressure into the curve. He kisses a trail from your neck, up to your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You gasp quietly, and he pulls away, admiring his work. The feeling of his feather light breath on your skin makes you shiver ever so slightly, arching your body up into him. He lets out an amused huff, running his fingers through your hair. 

“What do you want, lovie?” he coos, twirling your hair in his fingers. 

“Everything,” you moan lightly, your fingers finding their way into his hair, pulling him close to you as your heart races. 

He nods once, then tilts his head to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. He’s so gentle with you, methodical and patient in a way you’ve never experienced or expected from someone like him. 

“‘M gonna take my time with you,” he says gently, searching your eyes. “Tell me, please, tell me if it’s ever too much at any point.” 

You cup his face with your hands. He flicks away a stray flower petal that fell into your hair. 

“I trust you,” you smile at him, stroking a thumb along his cheek. 

With that, he slowly makes his way down to your legs, hands pressing into your ankles as he starts to lift your legs over his shoulders. He starts to bunch up the skirt of your dress, pulling it up ever so slightly to give him access to your dripping core. 

“Wait, won’t someone—”

“No one will see, I promise,” he says firmly, giving you a reassuring squeeze before delving under the skirt of your dress. “Besides, there's no one around here for miles,” he chuckles under your skirt. 

The anticipation nearly kills you as you feel his hot breath on the insides of your thighs, your pussy throbbing for pleasure. He peppers light kisses on the insides of your thighs, calloused hands gripping onto your supple skin with purpose. One of his hands cups your clothed sex, a finger tracing the thin cotton of your panties. You’re so wet already, and he had only kissed you.

“S’ wet already,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.” 

You gasp, hands reaching out to your sides in the earth as he slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulls your panties down your legs and around your ankles. 

And then, as soon as he fully pulls your panties off, his mouth is on your core, licking a single stripe up your wet pussy. A light moan slips from your lips as this newfound sensation, grasping the grass and flowers around you, pulling at the flimsy stems for support. Simon starts to run his tongue in circular motions around your clit, applying pressure into it as he expertly explores your pussy. You moan louder now, more freely, as he applies pressure, thighs quivering as he sucks on you, lapping your wetness like a man starved.

You can’t take it anymore, you pull your dress off his head, raking your hands through his hair as he laps at your sweet cunt. You watch as he delves in and out, watch as his nose presses against your clit just right, his tongue pressing into your hole ever so slightly. Your back arches as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, tugging his hair as you moan. Simon flits his eyes to you, still lapping at your pussy with an eagerness as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. That cheeky bastard. 

“Si,” you whimper, a plea for a moment to take in what you were feeling. You make another sound, a mix between his name and a moan, all high pitched and breathless, and he groans, his pants feeling extra tight and restricting. He exchanges a groan into your core as he holds you tighter.

“Taste s’ good f’me,” he grunts against you, “such a beautiful girl."

His groans are muted but dripping with desire against your wet cunt, pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You writhe under him, moans freely slipping from your lips, pressing your core up against his face as you arch your back into him. You can feel him salivating against you, worshiping you like a man starved, like you were the most precious thing in the world. You are to him, though. You’re everything and more to him.

The coil deep within you starts to build towards a climax, your muscles tightening as he works on relaxing you, on helping you reach the pleasure that you so highly deserved.

“Let go,” he says against your clit, squeezing your thighs in encouragement. The huskiness of his voice, the way his tongue expertly explores your core is enough for the coil in your abdomen to unravel, and you cum on his tongue. You moan breathlessly, muttering his name, chest heaving as you let go. 

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he breathes as he pulls away, licking your dripping wetness from his lips. “Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You keen at his praises, tugging at his hair harder as he lifts up from your core. His cheeks are flushed, lips swollen. You’re panting, heart racing, staring up into the sky, blissed out from your first orgasm. You whimper as you watch him lick his lips, and you reach your hands out for him to come to you. He immediately obeys, and as he hovers over you, you can see how his cock is straining against his pants. You push yourself up onto your elbows, eyeing his bulge for a moment before he kisses you, hard and deep. He shoves his tongue in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“So good,” you say in between kisses. Your hands dragging up to the collar of his shirt. You start to paw on it, wanting him to take it off. 

“Take this off, please,” you beg, fingers sloppily moving to the buttons of his shirt. 

The way you say please so prettily, he’ll do anything for you. Anything.

He doesn’t wait to unbutton each of the buttons of his shirt, so he rips the shirt off, popping the buttons off as he rips the shirt off. 

“Ohhh-kay,” you whisper, taking in his bare chest. This wasn’t like when he fell into the lake, no, no, this was better. You run your hands over scars littered across his coarse skin, feeling him shudder under the touch of your soft hands. He lets you just, touch him, feel him. It’s quite nice, honestly, he thinks. He studies your face, your eyes growing wide as you run your hands across his chest and up to his broad shoulders, and squeeze them tightly. 

Absent-mindedly, Simon reaches up by the side of your head, plucking a rather large wildflower from the ground. Slowly, he slips the flower behind your ear, pushing away stray strands of hair from your face. 

“So beautiful, darling,” he sighs contentedly, his voice confident and full of pure affection. 

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade away. A warm blush creeps onto your cheeks as you smile at Simon, your heart fluttering in your chest. His touch is gentle, and his actions speak of a tenderness that leaves you breathless. You find yourself lost in his deep, brown eyes. 

“I’m yours, Si,” you murmur, as you start to slip the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders. “All yours.”

He watches, entranced, as you pull your sleeves down lower and lower, and immediately he reaches up to help you. He takes the fabric of your gown into his hands, and he shimmies it up and off your frame, casting it to the side. 

His breath is caught in his throat as he takes in your naked form, eyes unabashedly raking down your body. You swallow the lump in your throat, the nervousness once taking a hold of you dissipating as he looks at you with nothing but adoration and devotion. His hands trace down your shoulders to your breasts, an animalistic desire to take you then and there strong. But no, no, he was going to take his time, be gentle, focus solely on you. 

“You really don’t understand what you do to me,” he says, kneading the pillowy flesh of your breasts in his hands, tweaking your nipple, pulling a string of light moans from you. 

He lowers his head down, latching onto your nipple with a contended hum. His hand grazes from your side, past your thigh, and down to your dripping core. His fingers tease your clit, and you gasp with a jolt. He chuckles against your breast, mouth moving to your other. His finger traces down from your clit to your entrance, and just before he pushes a finger in, you gasp out. 

“I– I’ve never—”

He raises his head immediately, looking at your flushed face. You bite your lip, eyes looking away with embarrassment. Simon’s face morphs into a gentle, reassuring smile. 

“Shh, shh, I understand. Let me take care of you, darling,” he coos, stroking your skin. “Relax f’me.”

With a breath, you nod your head, and try your best to relax your muscles, breathing in and out steadily. You stare up into the sky for a moment, grounding yourself, watching passing clouds casting shadows all around. 

He agonizingly slowly plunges a single finger inside you, stilling for a moment as he feels you adjust. You shudder for a moment, your mouth open slightly as you take in his thick digit.

“Good, good girl,” he encourages, slowly pumping his finger inside you. Your back arches involuntarily, your hand sweeping in the flowers, plucking some out of the ground from your grip.

Simon grabs your hand with his free hand, allowing you to squeeze it as he works his way into you with a second finger. He starts curling his fingers inside you, reaching places you never knew existed. You let out breathy moans, gripping his hand as he picks up the pace, fucking you with his fingers. 

“So perfect,” he mutters, pressing his thumb into the thumb of your hand, massaging it slightly. 

“Simon, feels good,” you manage to spit out, your eyes fluttering closed as you just feel. Your wetness is gushing around his fingers.

“That’s it, lovie,” he encourages, voice sickeningly sweet. “Just one more.”

He plunges a third finger in, and you have to hold yourself back from screaming. 

“My perfect girl,” he praises as you take in his third finger, now reaching deep inside you. A deep set moan releases from your throat as you take in three of his fingers, wincing just a bit from the large adjustment, but feeling pleasure nonetheless.  Simon remains the embodiment of thoughtfulness and care, taking you in as you are, knowing that he has the privilege of being intimate with you. The way he stares at you in amazement, in awe, in affection has something growing even deeper within him. He loves the way he can make you come undone, the way he’s the only one who is allowed to see this side of you, the way he’s the only you trust fully and completely like this.

And with that, he can’t hold back anymore. He kisses you deeply, his fingers working in you slowly, methodically. 

“Simon, please,” you beg, panting between kisses, your core aching for more than just his fingers, “need you.” Your clit is throbbing as he presses into it, building up another orgasm. The way your fingers flutter around his fingers makes his cock jump, suddenly painfully aware of how badly he wants to be inside you right now. 

“I know, darling,” he soothes, yanking his pants down, his aching cock springing free from the confines of the fabric. You start to feel your muscles pulling, your wetness building up as his fingers hit a spot inside you, beckoning you to cum.

“Cum on my fingers,” he grunts, the pressure of your velvety cunt around his fingers making him move faster, reach deeper. You swallow heavily, your hips bucking into his hand a few times before cumming, soaking his fingers. 

“I need you, Si,” you’re practically crying, pawing at his chest for more. Your clit is throbbing, cunt aching for his cock. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he says again, sucking your slick off his fingers with a satisfied hum. You watch him, mouth agape. 

“Please,” you groan again, wrapping your legs around his waist, beckoning him towards you. 

In a rush, he’s checking you over, making sure you’re comfortable in the plush grass before lining the tip of his cock up with your entrance.

Slowly, he pushes the tip inside you, letting you adjust to the size of his cock for a moment. Your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head as he barely pushes his way inside you, but this feels better than his fingers. Much better. The stretch wasn’t without some pain, but you bear with it, gripping onto him as he starts to push himself inside you further.

“I know, I know, you’re nearly there, sweetheart,” he coos into your ear, his deep voice rattling your eardrums.

He lets out his own moan, feeling the way your pussy squeezes him just right. Your back arches at the sensation, a gargled moan slipping from your lips, encouraging him to slide the full length of his cock into you.

“F– fuck, lovie,” he moans, his voice high-pitched and husky. “So perfect—”

He finally bottoms out, hips meeting yours as you both pant, the stretch feeling so fucking good. He stills for a moment, relishing the way you squeeze and flutter around him, relishing the way your face is contorted into nothing but pleasure. 

“Fuck me,” you plead, hands reaching to his shoulders as he hovers over you.

He grunts and thrusts himself into you as deep as he can. And it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. You can barely breathe as he sets a pace, slow yet not teasing. He works his way into you with a reigned fervor, his hands gripping onto you like you could break into a million pieces. You feel like you’re floating on air, your back arching, pressing into him as he pumps inside of you. Your eyes are half-lidded, your vision being taken up entirely by Simon. His eyes meet yours and for a moment, you swear he falters. He’s taken with you entirely, your eyes on him is all he needs to be happy in this world, he decides. 

He hisses as you drag your fingernails down his back, holding onto him as he starts to move faster, harder. 

“My beautiful, perfect wife,” he grunts, rocking into you. He beckons you to wrap your legs around his waist, yanking you closer to him. 

“So soft, so soft,” he groans, lips meeting your neck in an open mouthed, sloppy kiss. “S’ happy you’re my wife.” 

Your face flushes at his words, too flattered by his words to say anything. Pure bliss courses through you as he praises you, fucking into you like a man starved. He hits a region deep inside you, and you moan abruptly. 

“That’s it,” he groans, his own eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head as he watches you intently. A coil builds faster by the second, your stomach muscles clenching.

“Si—” you manage to moan, your hands moving up from his back to cup his face.

Tears blur your vision as you stroke his cheek, and he almost stops thrusting in you at the sweet action. In a flash, he’s moving faster, the colors of the flowers around your body becoming a blur as his vision narrows in on you, you, you. 

His hands slide down to grip your waist, his hold on you tightening. Your hands move to clasp around his neck, pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck, your movements sloppy as he fucks you so nicely, so perfectly. He has to will himself to stay upright on top of you, wanting to pass out from how fucking beautiful you look, how fucking perfect you are to him. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, my perfect wife,” he moans, trying to express just how much he fucking loves this, how much he holds you in high regard. 

“I love you,” you blurt out, yanking him down on you. And then he’s pulling all the way out, just to slam into you again, and he can’t even find the proper words to respond, just absolutely fucking you into the flowers. 

“I love you,” he strangles out, bucking his hips helplessly into yours, and you press a kiss on his shoulder. “I love you, I love you,” he groans, letting you pull his face towards yours as you give him a deep, sloppy kiss. 

“I’ve loved you–” you try to say, your mind foggy as you leave open mouthed kisses along his face and neck, going down to his collarbone as he ruts into you. Simon mewls, his head dropping to your neck as you work on his skin. The coil within you is about to snap, your wetness coating his cock perfectly.

“Let go,” he says, pumping into you deeply, hitting a point that his fingers couldn’t even reach. “Let go, sweetheart.”

With that, you let out a garbled moan as you cum on his cock, clenching your eyes shut as you ride out your orgasm, the world fading away as if it's just you and him. His cock twitches inside of you as your walls flutter around him, his cock pulsating and throbbing, pent up from fucking into you. He breathes heavily, cumming into you with no remorse. God, you think you see stars as you feel him fill you up, moaning lightly as he slows to a stop. Simon is hovering over you, his hands planted on both sides of your face. 

“I love you,” you say again, wrapping your arms around his neck, prompting him to lay on top of you. He stares at you, mouth agape, blinking slowly.

“I thought I dreamt you saying that,” Simon says quietly, before letting himself drop on top of you. You grunt as he lets his full body weight rest on top of you, but you didn’t mind. It felt good. Felt so good having your husband laying on you like this, after the most intimate moment you’ve ever shared with him up until this point. 

He turns his face to press a kiss to your cheek. He picks more flowers from the side, stuffing them behind your ear, pushing stray hair out of your face so he can see you clearly. 

“I meant what I said,” you whisper, voice hoarse. You brush some stray grass out of Simon’s hair as he goes to lay his head down in your neck. 

“I know you did,” he whispers back, inhaling your scent.

“I love you, too,” he says, leaving a gentle kiss on your pulse. 

. . . 

After laying together for a little longer, he begrudgingly gets up to slide his pants back on. He goes over to your dress and undergarments, again, begrudgingly helping you get dressed again. You blush as he slides your panties back on your legs, breath seizing in his throat. When he finally pulls up the sleeves of your dress, you take his hand in yours. 

“Si, I honestly don’t think I can ride my horse back home,” you blush, securing the flowers behind your ear. 

“Ah,” he nods, looking down at you with a small smirk. “Of course.”

Suddenly, he scoops you into his arms, carrying you as though you weigh nothing. You let out a small yelp, fastening your arms around his neck securely as he makes his way over to the horses, both grazing on some grass a while away. 

As he approaches his horse, he sets you down for just a moment, reigning in your mare. With a lead, he attaches your mare to his horse. You watch him for a moment before he’s back on you, lifting you up so you can sit side saddle on his horse. With a grunt, he swings on behind you, gripping your waist so you can sit steady. 

“Thank you,” you smile, leaning your cheek on his chest. 

“Anything for you,” he says, motioning the horses to go home. 

You didn’t notice the bouquet of flowers he had shoved in his back pocket.

A souvenir to remember this day by. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[shebunie]

What if reader had a little too much sake and Mizu has to take care of them and reader goes on a tangent about how beautiful they are and how much they love her. It’s silly but I think it can be so sweet to see mizu loved like that!

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗗𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗮𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗵𝗼𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝘁- 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟵𝟯𝟳 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗜 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗴𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗺𝘆 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗰𝘂𝘇 𝗜'𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗯𝗮𝗱

“y’know wha- i’ve alway thought you were th’prettiest person around.” you slurred. Mizu raised a skeptical eyebrow, a rare crack in her usual stoic demeanour. The dimly lit room seemed to shimmer a bit as the effects of the sake intensified for you. With an awkward stumble, you attempted to express your admiration more coherently.

Mizu couldn't deny the warmth that blossomed in her chest, touched by your tipsy admiration. “You're like a beautiful flower. A flower in a world of... water,” you stumbled over your words, your enthusiasm evident despite the alcohol-induced haze.

"Eyes, like a calm lake under the moonlight, dark hair, like the night sky. A masterpiece, Mizu," you declared with a tipsy grin.

Mizu sighed, torn between irritation and a subtle hint of amusement. She found herself caught in a situation she never anticipated – nursing a drunk companion who seemed determined to shower her with affection. As you continued your heartfelt monologue, she couldn't help but notice the sincerity behind your words.

"I never knew you had a poetic side," Mizu remarked, her eyes softening just a fraction. "But you need to sober up. That’s enough for tonight.”

Undeterred, you clumsily reached out, attempting to cup her face with unsteady hands. "No, no,  stay with me please."

Mizu's stony facade wavered for a moment as she gently pushed your hands away. "You're not in your right mind. Drink some water," she suggested, trying to redirect the conversation.

But you persisted, your intoxicated enthusiasm unwavering. "Water won't change how I feel about you." Mizu, accustomed to being the strong and silent type, found herself caught off guard by your declarations. She guided you towards a glass of water, a subtle rosiness tinted her normally composed expression.

As you rambled on about love and beauty, Mizu discovered that even the most stone-cold hearts could be stirred by unexpected warmth. Between your slurred words and giggles, she discovered a deeper connection, one that went beyond the usual interactions.

The first light of dawn painted the room in soft hues, Mizu settled you into a makeshift bed, tucking you in with a care that contradicted her usual tough exterior. "Sleep it off. We can talk about this when you're sober," Mizu whispered, her fingers brushing through your hair. 

The vulnerability at that moment was a shared secret, a bridge between two souls who had unexpectedly found solace amid intoxication. Eventually, as the effects of the alcohol began to wear off, you drifted into a peaceful slumber, leaving Mizu to reflect on the whimsical and endearing moments of the night. 

Sitting beside your peacefully sleeping form, Mizu's eyes traced the details of your flushed face. She found herself captivated by the vulnerability in your slumber, the chaotic charm that had surfaced in your intoxicated state. For a moment, her stoic demeanour wavered as a faint smile played on her lips.

Gazing down at your exposed shoulder, Mizu felt a strange mix of emotions. She raised an arm to adjust your clothing to keep your decency. Until a hand grasped hers, Mizu froze, your fingers gently closed around hers. The warmth of your touch sent a subtle shiver down her spine, and for a moment, she hesitated. Her stoic façade wavered as she met your gaze, searching for any sign that your mumbled words held a deeper meaning.

A soft smile played on your lips as you stirred, your eyes half-lidded and filled with a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity. "I love you so much, you'll stay with me right?" you repeated, the question carrying an unexpected weight.

Mizu's blue eyes, usually as serene as a still pond, betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. She considered the unspoken implications of your words, the subtle shift in the air that seemed to hold the promise of something more intimate.

A moment of silence lingered between you, the room bathed in the soft hues of dawn. Then, Mizu nodded, her fingers gently intertwining with yours. "I'll stay," she replied, her voice a whispered assurance that held a depth beyond the surface.

As you settled back into a peaceful slumber, Mizu remained seated by your side. The room, once filled with the remnants of drunken revelry, now transformed into a sanctuary of quiet intimacy. The dawn light painted soft patterns on the walls, casting a warm glow on both of you.

Mizu found herself studying the contours of your face with a newfound tenderness. The lines that had surfaced in your sleep added a layer of authenticity to the moment. It was as if the sake-induced confessions had paved the way for a connection that transcended the usual boundaries.

Unspoken emotions lingered in the air, and Mizu couldn't help but acknowledge the subtle shift in the dynamic. The touch of your hand had breached the walls she had carefully erected, inviting a closeness that went beyond the camaraderie.

In the quiet intimacy of that morning, Mizu realized that sometimes, unexpected moments held the power to rewrite the scripts of our lives. As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting a warm embrace over the room, Mizu committed herself to staying by your side, not just in the aftermath of a drunk night but in the unfolding chapters of a story that seemed destined to be written in shared glances, whispered words, and the gentle entwining of fingers.

[its-jaytothemee]

A Blanket of Bear

Read on AO3

Word count: 1,098 one shot

Tags: Halsin x reader, fluff, fluff without plot, ear nibbles, soft Halsin

Summary: Halsin refuses to take a break since the two of you returned to Thaniel's Realm. Luckily for him, you always know what he wants without him needing to ask.

A/N: Just some more Halsin fluff that nobody asked for but you all definitely need. A quick one shot from a prompt in a discord server. Enjoy some tooth-rotting marshmallow fluff and ear nibbles.

Bedtime must have been an ordeal tonight.

You sit in your bed, book in hand, waiting for Halsin to finish his nightly rounds with the children. Normally, you’d be there helping but he insisted you get the evening off. The past week or so had been a long one. Two of the old buildings in Reithwin were crumbling beyond repair, causing a significant delay in rebuilding. On top of that, a couple of the children dared each other to eat spoiled mushrooms, causing a fever to spread through many of them. Then today, you found out that the new berry patch you had started a few weeks ago had been infected with a blight and had to be burned away.

You’d really hoped to have fresh berries to top the honey cake you planned to make for Halsin’s birthday.

Over the sound of the fire crackling in front of you, you hear the soft clack of your cottage’s door opening and closing. The familiar sound of his footsteps causes you to mark the page you were reading before setting it to the side. Not a moment later, Halsin is standing in the doorway.

“My heart.” He has a tired smile on his face, his eyes look heavy, and his shoulders are drooping.

“What is it, love?” You hold your hand out, inviting him closer.

“Just the fatigue of an old druid trying to keep up with eighty-some children.” He takes a deep breath before coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Then you should have let me help you.” You reach out and gently stroke his back. “You know, I could always give you an evening off as well. I’d say you more than deserve it.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. Besides, I shudder to think what chaos the children will cause should I fail to deliver a bedtime story.” His affectionate chuckle makes you feel warm from head to toe. He would never admit it, but he was tired. As much as he adored the children in their care and how much he believed in their cause of building this community, he just wouldn’t admit that the past months had also exhausted him to the bone.

“I can tell stories! I’ve told many, you may remember.” You cross your arms, a playful scowl clouding your face.

“Yes, usually with my help if I’m not mistaken.” He smiles that perfect smile at you, the one that makes your heart flutter, and your cheeks redden.

“Well, you do have the best voices for the monsters, my love.”

He leans over and presses his forehead to yours before placing a light kiss on your lips.

“You’re so sweet to worry about me, my heart. But this task was one I decided for myself, for us. I owe it to you and everyone else here to see it through.”

“Halsin,” you reach up to tuck a runaway hair behind his ear, “you don’t have to be everything for everyone every second of the day. You’ve spent more than enough time feeling responsible for others. Let someone take care of you for once.”

“Well, that’s what I have you for, is it not? The only person in a century to give me the chance to sit and enjoy nature once again.” He kisses the back of your hand before staring back into your eyes. Those gorgeous, hazel eyes have seen every part of you, loved every part of you.

“Of course.” You smile back at him, knowing exactly what he wants right now, although he’s never willing to ask it of you.

You scoot back in the bed to lean against the headboard, a pillow propped behind your back for comfort. A knowing grin tugs at his lips from the movement. You hold your arms out, inviting him to come lay against you. He turns his back to you, snuggling himself between your legs, laying his head on your chest.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting your hands rest on his chest. He takes a few deep breaths as he relaxes into your embrace. With every stroke of your hand across his torso, he melts further into you. You slowly trace your fingers around his shoulders, the lines and grooves memorized from your nights together. He mirrors the light touches on your thighs, sending shivers throughout your body.

Halsin nestles himself further in between your legs, his warm body a comforting weight pinning you down. You know that if you can get him to relax just a little further, he’ll easily drift into a trance in your arms.

You continue your gentle massaging, easing the tension in his muscled shoulders and earning you soft, content sighs. When you run your hands through his hair he leans further into your touch.

“My heart?” He asks with the tired tone of a child fighting a nap.

“Yes, my bear?”

“Would you…” He trails off, still not willing to ask for anything for himself. You smile to yourself, thankful that you know what he wants without him needing to ask.

You pull him closer to you, once again wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Despite his size, he always feels so much smaller when you hold him like this. Like he shrinks himself down to fit into your embrace better. You lean forward a little so you can press a kiss into the skin where his hair meets his neck, just behind his ear. Slowly, you move your lips to his ear, grazing them up and down the edge, every now and then pausing to nip in the spots he liked – the pointed tip, the lobe. Your gentle nibbles cause little bumps to rise up all over his skin. You let your lips wander up and down his neck before coming back to his ears, those perfect kissable ears. Alternating between kissing and nipping his earlobes and nuzzling your face into his hair and neck, you hear his breathing slow down and you notice his eyelids have stopped fluttering.

 “I love you, Halsin.” You lean forward just a little more to whisper the words to him.

A small murmur escapes his lips, cutting through his trance to make sure you know he feels the same. “I love you, my heart.”

He may not be willing to take an evening off yet, but you can sleep soundly next to him knowing how relaxed he is in your arms. Knowing that at least for tonight, he’ll rest.

And how lucky for you to fall asleep with your loving bear as a blanket.

[littleplantfreak]

'When', not 'if'

("I'm not a romantic" I cry and scream before dropping the most sickening thing i've written to date. Blame @stunie because i did tell her i would write the most ume thing ever and maybe this is it. The title in my docs for it is 'Fucking disgusting' but i figured i better not title it that here because I'd be seeing it in my notifs lmaoo)

SFW/no cw unless you hate fluff

When you wake up from your nap, one of your slippers is gone, and there's a blanket on you that wasn't there prior. Looking at the clock, it's been about an hour since everyone had left your apartment once your birthday party ended. The day as a whole had been chaotic, your boyfriend shoving you out the door with a note to go see Kotoha.

The note took you farther than that, though, as it seemed Umemiya created a whole scavenger hunt for your birthday that had you running into all of your friends, having dessert at your favorite cafe, and eventually ending up at your shared apartment to find that all that time spent around town was a distraction so that he could set up the space for your party. After it had ended, you were banished to the couch because princesses aren't allowed to help clean up their own birthday parties, which had you huffing and falling face down into the chicken shaped pillow affectionately called Mr.Clucky.

It was a product of your boyfriend's endless cycle of hobbies when he took up sewing. A little lopsided and overfilled with stuffing, you complained to and into Mr.Clucky with your face pressed into him. Apparently, he was soft enough to fall asleep on because before you knew it, you had been drooling on him the entire hour. Prying yourself off the couch took more effort than was almost worth it before your eyes fell on the reason you were so tired to begin with.

Hajime smiles and hums looking at your bleary eyes. "Good morning sunshine, I was just about to take you to bed," he says, folding a dish towel over a chair. You toss off the blanket and grab on the slipper that fell under the living room table before padding up to him. Dipping your hands under both of his arms to lock them together behind him, now your face is in his chest instead of the chicken, which is entirely preferred.

"Don't wanna go to bed just yet," you muffle, sinking even deeper into him when both of his arms wrap around you in support. He smells like dish soap and birthday cake, and you turn your head to hear the heartbeat in his chest.

"What do you wanna do lovey? You know I'd give you the world if you asked," you can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest with your pressed ear. He's cheesy, but half asleep, you feel just as much, if not cheesier.

"I have the world if I have you, they're one in the same. So just you is more than fine." Your eyes are closed, but you feel him shiver a little. "I wanna dance with you, though," you say, voice still soft and kinda raspy from sleep.

"Dunno if I can top what you just said even when I propose," he chokes out a laugh, or at least you think it's one. He shifts his hold a bit and starts leading you both in a lazy sway that starts near the toaster and ends next to the potted plant at the back door before starting over.

"When? Not if?" You tease him, a hand going to scratch the nape of his neck lightly.

"I'll never meet another you, so I'm pretty set on When."

"I'll say yes." Because you will. You can't imagine a life where you wouldn't.

"And I'll still cry when you do." You can tell he's crying now because it comes out shaky and his hold tightens a bit, before you lean back, stopping your impromptu waltz. Both of your hands come up to cup his face and look at his teary grey eyes before cooing at him.

"You big baby! Save those tears for When please. You'll be congested and sniffley all night if you don't stop." You start cleaning off his face with your sleeve, but he stops one of your hands and starts peppering your palm and wrist with small kisses. "I think I'm ready for bed now. Princess's orders," you say, dragging him towards your bedroom. You'll have to figure out tomorrow just how soon When is going to be, but for now you can hear the slow thumps of Hajime's steps as he follows behind you, squeezing your connected hand. It's not pressing in the least, you think, because it feels like there will be plenty of tomorrows too.

-----

When you wake up in the morning, it takes you an hour to realize Hajime had put the ring on your finger while you were asleep.

It takes you five minutes to run through town in your pajamas, barefoot to find and full on tackle him in front of the place he was about to get your breakfast in.

And it takes about two minutes of unintelligible blubbering on both your parts before anyone understands what is going on.

No one timed it, but if they did, it would've taken less than ten minutes for the whole town to find out via texts, calls, and yells down the streets and through windows that you're engaged.

[aventurineswife]

May I request a Dan Heng x sick reader where Dan Heng is taking care of reader who's sick because of a cold and Dan Heng offered to help clean reader's snots from running under their nose with a handkerchief but reader refused at first cause they fear that he would be disgusted to do it but Dan Heng said he doesn't mind and reader eventually accept his offer?

Idk, the thought of someone helping to clean their loved one's snots without caring that it's usually deemed as disgusting is just so sweet, cause it means that even if ur in a vulnerable and messed up state, the person would still care for you (and I think that scenario would fit Dan Heng's character)

A Gentle Helping Hand

Summary: You're sick with a cold, and Dan Heng quietly takes care of you. When he offers to help clean the snot running from your nose with a handkerchief, you're embarrassed and hesitant, but Dan Heng reassures you that he doesn't mind. His gentle care shows how much he truly cares, even in your most vulnerable moments.

Tags: Dan Heng x Sick!GN!Reader, Established Relationship(Can be ready platonically too), Sickfic, Fluff, Comfort, Tender Moments, Vulnerability, Caring Dan Heng, Soft Dan Heng, Stoic but Gentle, Domestic Fluff.

A/N: This so cute!! 😭💚 Thank you for requesting this! I hope this reaches to your expectations!! 🤞 (Perfect fic too because I've been sick lately too)

The soft glow of the Astral Express dimly illuminated the room. You lay curled up under the blanket, sniffling as the cold that had taken hold of you left your body weak. Your head ached, your throat was sore, and the stuffiness in your nose made it nearly impossible to breathe properly. Yet, there was something that soothed the discomfort—a quiet, constant presence by your side.

Dan Heng sat nearby, his usual stoic expression softened as he watched over you, occasionally glancing up from his book. Even though he often kept his distance from others, you had always felt a certain warmth in his gaze when he looked at you. Right now, that warmth was a comfort as you lay there, miserably fighting off the symptoms of your cold.

You reached for a tissue to wipe your nose, only to realize you had run out. Of course, your body picked the perfect moment to let a trail of snot escape, slipping under your nose. Embarrassed, you sniffled loudly, quickly turning your head away, hoping Dan Heng hadn’t noticed.

But he did.

Without a word, Dan Heng set his book aside and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a neatly folded handkerchief. He leaned forward, his calm expression unwavering as he held it out towards you.

“Here,” he offered softly, “let me help.”

You blinked, staring at the handkerchief in surprise. Surely, he wasn’t suggesting what you thought he was. Clean your snot? With his handkerchief? You immediately shook your head, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“N-no, it’s fine,” you mumbled, turning away even more. “You don’t have to… That’s gross. I don’t want you to—”

“It's not gross,” Dan Heng interrupted, his voice steady but gentle. “I don’t mind.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard. You hesitated, looking back at him. His expression hadn’t changed. He wasn’t disgusted, not in the slightest. In fact, there was a kind of quiet reassurance in his eyes, as if to say that nothing about this moment would push him away. Even when you were at your worst, he would stay by your side.It made your heart ache, not from the cold, but from the tenderness of it all.

Still unsure, you fidgeted under the blanket. “Are you… really okay with this?”

Dan Heng gave a small nod, his lips curving into the slightest of smiles—a rare sight, but one that spoke volumes. “Yes. Let me take care of you.”

The words were simple, but they carried so much weight. Slowly, you nodded, giving in to his offer. You couldn’t deny how much you wanted to be cared for right now, even if it was in such a vulnerable state.With careful, deliberate movements, Dan Heng moved closer.

He gently pressed the handkerchief against your nose, dabbing at the snot with such tenderness that it almost made you feel self-conscious again. But the way he did it—with such patience and care—dispelled any embarrassment. His touch was delicate, his focus entirely on you, making sure you were comfortable.

“There.” he said softly once he finished, pulling the handkerchief back and folding it neatly again, as if it wasn’t something he just used to clean snot.

You blinked, staring at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling a little silly for how much this simple act meant to you.

Dan Heng leaned back in his chair, his expression returning to its usual calm demeanor, but his eyes lingered on you with a softness that made your chest tighten.

“It’s nothing.” he replied, as though this act of kindness were the most natural thing in the world to him.

And maybe, for him, it was. Dan Heng wasn’t the type to express his feelings with grand gestures or flowery words, but in these small, quiet moments, his care spoke louder than anything else. Even with all the walls he had built around himself, he let them down for you, showing you that no matter how vulnerable or ‘gross’ you felt, it didn’t change how he saw you.

You leaned back against the pillows, feeling a little lighter despite the cold still gripping your body. Dan Heng returned to his book, but you knew he was still keeping an eye on you, ready to help the moment you needed anything.

And in that moment, wrapped in the warmth of his quiet care, you realized just how much you meant to him. Even in your most vulnerable state, he was there, unbothered by the messiness of it all—just as steady, just as loyal.

Dan Heng would always be there, taking care of you, no matter what.

[punkishtoxtricity]

how cringe would it be if i wrote one shots from the pov of my animal army ocs and maybe one from my totally not self insert

[wangxianficrecs]

into bloom by andreanna

into bloom

by andreanna

T, 2k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian groans. “Lan Zhan, urg, it’s so embarrassing!” He brings his arm down enough to look Lan Wangji in the eye. “And I’m sure you already know.” “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again. Lan Ping interprets this one as tell the healer. Kay's comments: Short and sweet outsider POV on Wangxian finding out that Wei Wuxian is magically pregnant post-canon. Really loved the healer's POV and how he views both Wei Wuxian and Wangxian's relationship. Just really cute. The second chapter is beautiful fanart and the story is part of a series, but can be read as a standalone. Excerpt: Lan Ping doesn’t know the details, but the gist was that Wei Wuxian had taken a tumble down a hillside and landed poorly. He’d sprained his ankle, taken multiple contusions and lacerations, but the shoulder was most pressing. Someone had tried to reset it without success. It needed to be popped out and then popped back in again. The trauma of the fall alone must have been miserably painful. Then, add a failed reset. Lan Ping always tries to prepare his patients for having a joint reset. They typically yell and then cry. Lan Ping explained to Wei Wuxian that it will take two steps, twice the misfortune, in order to settle the joint correctly. Wei Wuxian merely nodded his assent. Each step must have been excruciating, but Wei Wuxian hadn’t given any sign of pain beyond gritting his teeth and wincing. He’d laughed when the arm had finally settled properly in the socket, reflexively testing it out. “Much better!” he’d said, flashing a smile. When Lan Ping tried to offer him pain relievers, he’d laughed at that too.

pov outsider, post-canon, established relationship, pov outsider on lan wangji/wei wuxian, fluff, short & sweet, mpreg, pregnant wei wuxian, fanart, medical, no angst, tooth-rotting fluff

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[climbthemountain2020]

Solstice Gifts

Baby's first Feysand! | Ao3

[Feyre loves buying Solstice gifts for her family, but this year she might have been outdone.]

Eternal thank yous and forehead kisses to @tunaababee @cauldronblssd and @witch-and-her-witcher for just being the most wonderful humans and beta reading and encouraging me to post this.

Solstice in Velaris was the most lovely time of year, and no matter how much time Feyre spent here, she doubted she’d ever grow tired of it.

The snowy streets were covered in faelights, all twisted into beautiful shapes and hanging from the signs and light posts. There were long strings of them criss-crossing over The Rainbow and casting all the snow and shops in an ethereal glow. Complex smells of cinnamon, clove, freshly baked breads, rosemary, and mulled ciders cascaded from the storefronts, their windows decked in boughs of holly and fir and their doors hung with mistletoe.

Feyre was hurrying back to the River House, late as usual, with the last of her gifts.

She’d been mostly organized this year, but Nesta’s gift had ended up taking longer than expected, and of course today was the first time she’d been able to sneak off to grab the little Illyrian leathers with space for wings that would fit an almost-four year old.

She’d gone a little overboard on gifts this year, but it was hard to not spoil those she loved now that she had the means. Old habits die hard, and she too-vividly remembered the years that she and her sisters had stoically ignored the Solstice happening at all, not even a candle lit in the windows to be spared. So now, when things had changed so vastly in the last seven years, she would fully use every bit of means at her disposal to shower everyone with gifts they would love.

Nyx was six now, somehow, the years flying by in a rush that she tried and failed to stop like grabbing whitewater in her hands. Rhysand reassured her constantly, a laugh on his lips, that though time was flying, they still had centuries together, and there was no need to beg for more. Another thing she had trouble letting go of in her immortality–the idea that things were good now, and there was no time limit on it. Things could be happy and productive and peaceful like this for centuries more. But Feyre still had trouble allowing hope for good things to bloom in her heart, despite feeling beyond blessed in all ways.

She shuffled the bags in her arms–she’d had to stop for some last-minute pastries, too. What good was a solstice birthday if she couldn’t eat whatever she wanted? The smells on the way to the leather-smith had been too good to resist, and she was crazed for the pistachio croissants with the bergamot filling that the bakery beside Rita’s had this time of year.

She quietly snuck the front door open, hoping to slip in quietly and unnoticed by her houseguests. Mor, draped in her normal gorgeous finery, strode through the foyer, lifting a brow that surely must be genetic, and before tipping her head back to laugh at Feyre.

“You’re just as bad as Rhys, you know? I saw him coming back not twenty minutes ago.”

Rhys, that weasel.

Feyre wondered what he’d been off plundering after amusedly lecturing her this morning about sneaking out last minute for more presents. She ran the bags upstairs, ditched her coat, and wrapped the leathers quickly in the celebratory packaging she’d picked up last month in their guest bedroom before scurrying back down the stairs. She’d arrived just in time, everyone present in the sitting room as Nuala and Cerridwen announced the dinner was ready. Luckily, she’d had the foresight to prepare before going to grab the gifts, her long midnight-blue dress swaying luxuriously around her feet, the gossamer sleeves like a soft embrace along her arms. She’d definitely gotten used to wearing pretty clothes in the time she’d spent in Velaris, though most days, she still dressed for comfort. She’d left her hair down and lightly curled, compulsively tucking a strand behind her ear as she entered the dining room. Elain had helped prepare the Solstice meal and cake, as she insisted she do every year, and Feyre had to admit it all looked mouthwatering, as always.

Rhys pulled her seat out for her as she walked up, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her head as he pushed her in.

“Last minute shopping go well?” He murmured against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine and goosebumps down her arms. He knew it, too, and she turned to scrunch her nose at him as he laughed.

“I hear you’re one to talk, hypocrite.” He held his hand to his chest feigning offense, then sent her an absolutely world-shattering smile as he moved to take his place.

A crash in the hall sent Feyre’s eyes to the doors, followed by Nesta’s bellowing.

“Hey! Wings closed indoors! You know the rules.” Giggles abound as Nyx and Aife came into the room, leaning into each other and cackling as they took their seats. They were only two years apart and thick as thieves. Though Nesta and Feyre would never admit it aloud, seeing their children close as they’d never had the opportunity to be as children had healed something between the two of them that had once felt depthless.

Nyx pushed midnight-black hair from his eyes as he looked to Feyre.

“Mom, can we go play with our presents after we open them tonight? I promise I’ll go straight to bed after.”

“I don’t see why not. Nesta, are you all staying the night tonight?” Nesta looked to Cassian and nodded.

“I think so. Aife and Nyx are going to be here all day tomorrow anyway during the snowball fight. We might as well.” She gave a pointed look to Cassian, who grinned wolfishly. Feyre could hear Aife whispering to Nyx.

“Who’s going to win this year?”

“Uncle Az. It’s always Uncle Az. He says our dads are old now.” They both giggled and Feyre cracked a smile, shooting the conversation down the bond to Rhys, whose eyebrows lifted as he shot her an amused smile as if to say we’ll see.

They tucked into the great feast, a large roast the centerpiece, surrounded by offerings of ham and turkey and too many sides to reasonably name. Feyre loaded her plate with the most buttery mashed potatoes she’d ever tasted, one of Elain’s specialities that Feyre always requested for special occasions, as well as a basil and tomato tart, baked to crisp perfection by Nuala.

She remembered a time when she’d hated her birthday, and while she still wasn’t entirely comfortable with all the attention, she surely would celebrate now if only for the delicious foods she got to have. She couldn’t beat the company either, her blood and chosen family all seated around the table, laughing and loving and enjoying themselves in her home. A decade ago, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who’d tried to describe this possibility, and it wasn’t lost on her how much luck and fate had stepped in to make things as they were.

++

Stuffed to the brim and with the gift exchange behind them, Feyre slumped onto the couch. The kids had been spoiled beyond reason, the piles of gifts higher than the chairs surrounding them.

Nyx and Aife had begged Az, Cass, and Lucien to bring them outside to practice with the new bow and arrow sets, courtesy of Elain and Lucien’s recent trip to the Day Court. As the official “Uncle Troupe”, as they’d so ridiculously named themselves, they felt it would have been in poor taste to decline. Feyre pulled her feet up onto the couch and laid her head back. It had been a busy few months, though things were finally, blessedly beginning to smooth out. They’d been able to delegate a bit more recently, and it certainly helped their workload.

Elain had gone back to the kitchens to help clean up and exchange gifts with the twins before they took off for the evening, leaving Feyre to relax for a bit while Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor sat at the table with sweets and coffees chatting. Amren and Varian had skipped the party this year in favor of a trip to Summer, as they now alternated holidays between courts. While she’d never taunt Amren to her face about it, Feyre secretly loved how domesticated she’d become in the time she’d known her, settling down while still claiming that ancient power hummed through her veins.

She felt Rhys sit down by her feet, his presence always noted by her magic immediately twining with his. At any given time, she could feel where he was, the power soaring back and forth between them like a current. The depth of love between them was fathomless and deep, and she’d never quite get over the fact that she had him all to herself, hers and hers alone, for the rest of her life.

He picked her feet up in his hands, shuffling them over to his lap and giving them a squeeze.

“Tired, darling?” His voice was a low rumble as he leaned against the back of the couch, settling in.

“Exhausted. I love the holidays, but I would also love a solid two days of sleep.” He laughed, his smile lighting up the room as she lifted her head to peek at him. “Did you enjoy your Solstice gifts?”

She’d bought him a device she’d found at one of the shops in Day Court on a summer visit to Elain and Lucien months ago. Duty had them back and forth between courts now, and Feyre couldn’t deny the love she had for any excuse to get to the shimmering beaches of Day. She’d found it nestled in the back of a tinkerer’s store–a handheld device that rolled over clothes, enchanted to remain sticky, and pulled any lint or fuzz from them.

“It’s only my favorite thing I’ve ever owned,” Rhys quipped immediately. She laughed, closing her eyes again and poking him in the side with her toe. He gripped it in his hands and threatened to tickle her. “How about you, love? Get everything you wanted?” Feyre paused, but didn’t open her eyes. She should say yes. She should feel like she had everything she wanted, but there was just one thing missing, and unfortunately it was something she couldn’t have.

“Hey lovebirds, we’re heading out!” Mor called across the room, her arm around Emerie’s.

Feyre sat up to say goodbye. “So early?”

Mor chuckled and Emerie elbowed her in the ribs. “Solstice plans of our own,” Mor said, waggling her brows at Rhys and giggling as he rubbed his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright, then.” He slapped his palms on his thighs, laughing and ending the conversation as Emerie blushed about ten shades of red, still not quite used to the way this family spoke so openly about things. Feyre stood to hug them both.

“We’re so glad you came. Feel free to drop in any time tomorrow. We’ll be here all day.”

Gwyn and Nesta had gone to join their mates and the children out on the illuminated training ring in the yard, leaving Feyre to slip back down onto the couch, this time scooting closer to Rhys and leaning her body against his. He was always so warm and solid, her touchstone in times both trying and lovely. He always smelled like oranges and the sea–the smell of Velaris, of home, tied intrinsically with his. She nuzzled closer, his arm finding its way around her waist as he settled too.

“Everything okay, darling?”

She hummed noncommittally. She hated that even with all this joy, all these gifts, all this family, she still couldn't shake the thought that something was missing, incomplete.

“Can you believe this is Nyx’s sixth Solstice?” She felt Rhys soften beneath her, realization creeping down the bond from his end, followed by a burst of soothing love and affection.

“He's incredible, isn't he? What are we going to do when he learns how to use that bow accurately?” She laughed.

“Truly, it's the inaccurate use I'm more worried about.” His breath ghosted her ear as he chuckled, sending those light shivers scurrying back along her spine.

Things got quiet, then. She knew it would take very little for Rhys to understand what she was thinking, if he didn't already intrinsically know. Even without the bond, even without the daemati powers, there was really a moment he wasn't able to read her like a wide open book.

“He's so big now…” she let her voice drift off, trying to hide the hurt in it and failing miserably. As always Rhys filled in the gaps.

“He’s wonderful. We made a really wonderful child, Feyre. He’s everything I never even dared to hope for for myself. I never thought such joy was possible for someone like me. You know that he’s the greatest gift you ever could have given me, right?” She felt the tears burning behind her eyes, and she took in a deep breath as she felt him press a kiss to her temple.

“I know.” Her voice was just a wobbly whisper, quiet in the room.

“And if he’s the only one we ever have, it’s more than enough for me. I need to know you know that, Feyre.” She nodded furiously, the big tears slipping down her cheeks now, burning hot tracks as they descended.

“I can’t even explain it. It just feels like someone else should be here.” He pulled her tightly against him, resting his chin on her shoulder and rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

“And maybe, someday, they will be. But if the three of us are all we ever have, it’s more than enough. It’s everything to me.” She couldn’t hold back the sobs then, turning to bury her face in his chest as she cried.

It had been two years since they’d decided things had evened out enough that another child was even an option for them. They’d been casual about it at first, enjoying themselves and giggling in the dark under covers as they talked about the possibilities of the future. She missed Nyx’s tufts of baby curls, that new infant smell that seemed to cling to him always then faded abruptly away after he hit one year. She missed the snuggles and the closeness, and her heart ached to watch how wonderful he was with his cousin without knowing if she’d ever be able to give him that gift as a big brother.

Realistically, she knew all the logic. It could take fae decades to have a child. It wasn’t always going to be as quick as it had been with Nyx. He’d come quickly, but the consequences, as everyone remembered, had been disastrous and near-fatal. She’d never even considered the possibility of it being a problem again when Nesta informed her she’d changed their anatomy, but she’d never considered that she might be the one having the problem. Part of her wondered if the absolute massacre of her body bringing Nyx into the world was responsible–her tissue mangled and her blood spilt and her spirit eking into the ether, only to be yanked back and mended together at the last possible second. Could it have damaged her irreparably, the anatomy be damned?

“Nothing is your fault, love. Not one bit of it.” He held her to his chest as her cries subsided. “And it’s okay to be upset about this. You don’t have to hold everything in all the time. There are no prizes for stoicism.” She snorted at him, and he huffed amusedly at her.

“Pot, meet kettle,” she shot back wetly. He smiled softly as she sat back to look at him, a little of the life returning to her as well.

“You’re a lovely mother, and our boy thinks you’ve hung the stars and moon above Velaris, even if he is getting old enough to wield a weapon. A little sibling won’t ever change that. Plus, I get the impression Aife isn’t going to be his only cousin.” She sighed, nodding, as he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“It’s just hard not to feel like I’ve done something wrong. I know how badly you want another, how badly I do. It’s hard not to wonder.” He took his hands in hers.

“I meant it when I told you that you and Nyx, you are the gifts. Our family is absolutely lovely the way it is now. If we’re meant to grow it one day, we will, and if we aren’t, believe me when I tell you I am absolutely over the moon for the way things are now.” She couldn’t help but kiss him then, the stars reflecting in his violet eyes taking her breath away, as they always did. “Plus, I never mind practicing with you.” She smacked him across the chest as he grinned broadly and wickedly at her, hauling her into his lap in response as she yelped.

If anything, Rhys knew how to chase away her tears better than anyone else ever had or would.

Just then, the parlor doors opened and Elain stepped through.

“Oh, just the two I was looking for! I’ve got one last gift for you both, but I wanted to wait until the right moment.” She ducked back through the doors momentarily, reappearing with a small, neatly wrapped parcel as they stood. She flounced lightly up to them, setting the little bundle wrapped in delicate yellow paper in Rhys’s hands.

“Elain, you didn’t need to get us anything else. You already gave us such lovely gifts and you made dinner.” Elain blushed, still the demure lady after all this time.

“Consider it a double gift.” She whispered as she leaned in conspiratorially. Rhys pulled back the paper and pulled out the tiniest, knitted pink blanket.

One beat, two. The silence hung in the room as Elain smiled wide.

“I just saw last week, but I wanted to make you something to let you know in a way that was special.”

Feyre’s hands shot to her stomach, and Rhys began to cry, turning to her and holding her close while still looking at Elain.

“Now?” Feyre asked, incredulously.

“Probably only about a month along.” Elain smiled again. “I knew with the wings and everything last time, you’d want to get in to see Madja as early as possible.”

Feyre was sobbing into Rhys’s chest again, his tears dripping down into her hair. Feyre felt him reach out to Elain and pull her into the embrace.

“Thank you, Elain. Thank you so much.” She pulled back, laughing lightly again.

“I’ll leave you both to it then. I gotta get little lady’s cousin and uncle home safely.” She put a hand to her own stomach, winked, and went towards the back to grab Lucien before Feyre and Rhys could even register her news. He grabbed her face in his hands, pressing kisses to every inch of her face.

“I love you, more than anything.” Feyre laughed, the sound breathless and airy. She couldn’t take her hands off her stomach, the joy pulsing through her veins with every beat of her heart.

A daughter.

“I have one more gift for you, too, actually.” He reached into his back pocket to withdraw a small, navy velvet box, pressing it gently into her hands.

Her eyes shot to his. “You didn’t need to get me something else.”

“Open it.” His smile was wide open, his entire heart spelled across his face like stars across the night sky.

Feyre cracked open the box and couldn’t help the flood of tears that began anew. Nestled in the soft velvet was a silver necklace, a charm of a large crescent moon with two small stars dangling down off of it.

“You knew?”

“I suspected.” He smiled. “You’ve been getting those pistachio pastries all week that you liked so much last time. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared with one more last minute gift.” She took it out, turning to let him put it on her. He let his hands graze across her neck as he dropped them while she turned in his arms.

“Beautiful.” He murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, Rhys. I love it. It’s been the best Solstice ever.” Her smile was broad and teary, but she felt the joy all the way down to the very fibers of her immortal heart.

“Thank you, Feyre. For all of it.”

And nothing in all of Velaris could hold a candle to the joy radiating back and forth down the bond between them in that moment as their lips met quietly again this Solstice.

[cecilyv]

New Fic (9-1-1) - What's with today, today?

The 118 is a library and Buck is the children’s librarian; Tommy’s the man behind on Stuffie Day at the local fire station. No stuffed animals were harmed in the writing of this fic.

This is the fluffiest fic in flufftown.

@liminalmemories21 sent me links and omg, y'all, I want my local library to do this. She asked for the fic, so we wrote it, because that's what friends do. I'm the one who injected the Empire Records flavor text.

"Maybe they had a call," Ravi says, but Buck knows they always leave a man behind on Stuffed Animal Day. It's in the joint city calendar -- he made sure of it this year. He calls out again, and a man emerges from the back, scrubbing a hand over his face and yawning. He stares at Buck, Chris and Ravi and the wagon of animals, and (mostly) under his breath, mutters, "I thought they were fucking with me.” Ravi hisses, gestures at his phone. "This is for the kids! It's on video! Come on, man."

Buck will not deny that there is a decided spring in his step when he walks into the library. The sun is shining, there wasn’t a line at the coffee shop, and he even got there in time to grab the last of Hen’s favorite muffins. 

Hen eyes him over the top of her computer, when he hands the muffin to her. "Buck. You're bouncing.” She peers into the bag and grins. “But you’re forgiven.” 

He considers asking her to cite her sources on that, and then just shrugs. "Stuffie Day."

She smiles at him.  “Stuffie Day,” she agrees before she goes back to her email, taking a giant bite of the muffin. He doesn't take it personally. The hour before the library opens to the public is the only time she has to catch up on the Reference Inbox.

He nods good morning at Chimney. "Stuffie Day."

Chim gives him a long-suffering look. "I am aware. Everyone in a 10 mile radius is aware." Then softens, "Maddie's bringing Jee in later this morning."

He waves at Bobby, already ensconced in his office. "Stuffie Day, Bobby." 

“Good morning Buck,” Bobby calls.

Ravi's already downstairs setting up, holds his hand up when Buck sticks his head in the Makerspace. "I know, I know, Stuffie Day. I haven't forgotten."

Buck nods. “It's the most wonderful day of the year!"  Ravi rolls his eyes, and Buck ignores him. Nothing can dim his mood on Stuffie Day.

Buck doesn’t actually personally have a lasting attachment to a stuffed animal; he doesn’t have one hanging around left over from childhood – didn’t have space in the jeep when he’d left and wouldn’t have wanted the reminder anyway. Honestly, he’s not even sure he remembers having a favorite. He should ask Maddie sometime.

But that doesn’t mean that Stuffed Animal Day at the library isn’t his favorite. Since he took over the children’s room at Branch 118, it's definitely become a day to look forward to — the joy on the kids faces, the complete hilarity of the gobsmacked faces of the folks at the fire station where he takes them over for their adventure.

Read the rest at Ao3.

[nightwanderers12081]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Shadow the Hedgehog/Sonic the Hedgehog

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog

Additional Tags: Cuddling & Snuggling, Sickfic, Depression, Mental Health Issues, Comfort, Fluff, Feelings Realization, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Awww Yeah Baby SONADOWW, This turned out to be more fluffy than I intended but im NOT complaining, Chicken Soup, Falling In Love, Grits teeth. I love them so much., VERY fluffy fic. Tooth rotting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Maybe OOC, But I dont care..., Self-Worth Issues, No beta we die like Maria

Summary:

Shadow smiles, a breathless laugh trickling from his maw.

“You barge into my room, give me soup, get under the blankets with me, start cuddling me and now you ask to see my paws?” Shadow hums, tilting his head down so their noses touch. Quietly, he slides his hand out from Sonic’s. Pulling away from the blue menace’s forehead, he takes off one glove, then two, dumping them both on Sonic's face. He huffs and throws them to the bedside table, ears fluttering up and face burning as Shadow replaces the hand on his cheek. He slides one ungloved paw behind Sonic's ears, using his claws to delicately scratch.

OR

shadow gets depressed and sonic has just the solution!! chicken noodle soup and cuddling ;;

new comfort fic this is so cute n so sweet aaaa

[th3archivisst]

Thinking about Dream and Hob again!! It's dreamling week so my previous posts are getting attention and that has reinstated my feelings about them. Therefor, lil ficlet I'm making up as I go because they are very sweet

-

A week after meeting his mysterious stranger for the first time in far too long, Hob is still giddy with happiness. His students see it, he knows, and it's impacting how well his lectures go, but he can't bring himself to care.

His thoughts keep drifting to that smile, the damn smile that erased any and all resentment he may have felt for being stood up in 1989.

So naturally, his dreams have drifted in a more positive, if dark and mysterious, direction. He dreams of his stranger almost every night, whether he remembers it or not. The times he does remember lighten his step for hours on end, contentment buzzing in his heart every time he remembers that his stranger said they would meet again soon.

And meet again soon they do, although not how Hob envisioned it.

He had picked up lucid dreaming quite a while ago, so any dreams he had tended to be a reflection of whatever he had thought about before bed. This time is no different.

The bed underneath him is warm and soft, the stranger in his arms relaxed and smiling. They're both still dressed, unlike some other dreams Hob has had, but he's content with that. The closeness is enough, more than enough.

Conversation isn't particularly prevalent in these dreams, the man and the miracle happy in the quiet moments they carve out for themselves. The few sentences they do exchange are ones Hob treasures more than the life he so cherishes. This time is no different.

Really, Hob should've caught on sooner.

Brown eyes gaze into diamond that had softened into coal, and his stranger spoke.

"You still do not know my name, Hob Gadling."

Hob tilts his head.

"No. You've always seemed a bit beyond names." He smiles, a similar tug pulling at his dear stranger's lips.

"Dream." The man murmurs, a vulnerability Hob hasn't seen before painting the words with light. Confused, Hob chuckles.

"Yes, I'm quite aware I'm dreaming."

His stranger shakes his head.

"My name, Hob."

Hob blinks.

Then narrows his eyes and sits up.

"Wait, I'm dreaming. So did my brain just... make up a name for you? I mean, it fits, but it's not real, is it?" His confusion only amplifies when he sees the amusement in his stranger's - Dream's? - eyes. "What?"

"There is no such thing as 'just a dream', Hob. This isn't imaginary, I'd have thought you knew that by now."

Before Hob can formulate a response, Dream leans up and presses their mouths together gently.

The smile he gives Hob is so fond that his heart hurts. What hurts more, however, is the sound of his alarm as it jerks him from his slumber.

Needless to say, the next time Hob Gadling will dream of his Dream, he will have very many questions.

[toupee-or-nottoupee]

Very random but what sort of sweets do u guys think the Company likes? like i 100% think Fíli is a chocolates sort of guy

[lupine-trees]

learn me, love me, let me know

[something, something, learning as a love language. dedicated to the mundane bits of falling. a drabble in three parts.]

word count: ~1,550, rating: t

I.

The routine dictates: Thursdays are for new recipes and bad movies.

Draco stood at the stove, hovering over a saucepan. I want to try to make something for the gnocchi, he’d said, like an absolute fool.

He’d gone rogue, recipe-less, and this was what he got for it.

“Something’s not right,” he called to Harry, who was poking at a puzzle spread across the living room coffee table. “Here,” he said, scooping up a spoonful and carrying it over, a careful hand cupped underneath. He lifted the spoon to Harry’s lips.

Harry tasted, nodded, thoughtful, knees tucked under him on the rug. “Salt.”

Draco huffed. “I added salt.”

Harry grinned up at him. “More salt.”

Draco went back to the kitchen, and Harry, with sudden realization, rose and followed behind him.

“Wait— here,” he called, reaching up to the potted plant on the windowsill and plucking a few sprigs of chive, pulling a pinch of parsley. He made quick work of them on the cutting board while Draco stirred at the sauce, sprinkled in more salt.

“Alright.” Harry passed the board to Draco, who slid the herbs into the pan.

“It’s still—”

Harry reached over him to one of the myriad jars on the shelf, poured just a bit of the powder over the mixture.

“Cornstarch,” he said, a smile easy on his lips. “It’ll thicken. Give it a minute.”

And sure enough.

Draco took a spoonful, warm and fragrant, tasted it, and nearly moaned. Cleared his throat.

“So?” Harry said, leaned back against the countertop.

“Delicious, of course. You’re unbelievable.” The annoyance was put-upon, a convenient cover for an inconvenient truth.

“I think you mean, ‘Thanks, Harry, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’”

“I assure you, I do not,” he murmured, small grin sharp, crowding into Harry’s space, pressing him back against the counter, one hand splayed over his hip.

“Go on, try it,” he said, placing the spoon again at Harry’s lips.

Harry did, and he had no such qualms about moaning.

II.

This part was definitely not routine.

Draco’s flat— once Harry was finally permitted to visit— was, somehow, smaller even than Harry’s own, and more bafflingly, he had crammed a piano into it anyway.

“Are you even allowed to have this here? Surely it’s too heavy. There’s gotta be, I dunno, building codes or something.”

Draco gave him a belabored glance. “That’s what magic is for, Potter.” He gave the piano a gentle shove, and it slid. “Featherweight charm.”

“Oh,” Harry answered, carefully pulling the piano back into its place. “Y’know, I always wanted to learn to play one of these.” He plunked a finger down on a key, trailed a few notes.

“Did you?”

“Mhm. They have one at the Burrow, an old upright heirloom. I could play Jingle Bells, but, well. Doesn’t really count, does it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Here.” Draco lifted the bench seat, pulling out sheets of music, settling them on the stand. “Sit, sit.”

Harry sat. Draco slid in beside him. “Put your fingers here,” he said, placing him at rest on the keys.

So, it went like this: The afternoon was long, bleeding into evening, the music clunky. Harry definitely played Jingle Bells upward of twenty times. Draco might’ve taken the opportunity to lean cozily on his shoulder, to place his hands atop Harry’s for teaching purposes.

“Your neighbors are going to hate you,” Harry murmured, softened by the bottle of wine they’d kipped into about an hour in.

Draco laughed. “You’re unbelievable.” He gave a tug at his magic, and the walls lit up with the delicate web of it. “Silencing charms. Wizards. Magic school. Ringing any bells?”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, eyes trailing the soft golds, the cool blues of the trace magic patterned over the wallpaper.

“Play again,” Draco said, bustling him, their shoulders flush.

Harry let out a sound of protest, his cheeks a pleasant, dusky pink. “I can’t. You play.”

“Alright. You pitiful thing.”

And he did, play, and it was lovely.

But anyway, it wasn’t about the music, really, was it?

III.

The routine didn’t really have a say in the weather, but if it did, it would typically be indifferent to rain.

Unfortunately, the tire had gone out on the Corolla, which meant they were left like so: stranded road-side, with the jack and the spare, but a bit tragically, with none of the requisite experience or education necessary to make use of them.

All this and the rain, which had picked up from a steady patter and was dropping buckets rather insistently.

Harry was holding his best umbrella charm— best being the operative description. The raindrops were sneaking through in patches to where Draco’d laid out the spare blanket from the backseat. He was flat on his back, slid under the car, trying to position the jack, to make it lift, to do something.

The ground, though, was hard and cold and wet. The jack slipped again, dropping the car the few inches it had risen, and Draco shrank back, startled, and swore.

He clambered inelegantly from beneath the car, abandoning the rear passenger tire, the nail jammed into it, flat flat flat.

“Alright?” Harry called over the downpour, offering him a hand up.

Draco accepted, then dusted at his dampened trousers. “It’s no good. I’ve got no bloody clue. The cursed thing won’t stay put, and I—” He felt the frustration crawling up his neck, and left the sentence unfinished, tossing his hands in the air.

“We’ll figure it out,” Harry assured.

“Oh, we’ll figure it out. Brilliant. My favorite plan, the kind that doesn’t actually even exist.”

“We can apparate into town, then come back—”

“I’m not leaving the Corolla,” he said, stubbornly, knowing it was stubborn as he said it, unreasonable.

Harry’s voice was raised, shouting over the torrent of the rain, which his spellwork was doing little to deflect. “Draco, I get it, but the car will be fine. We need to—”

“I know the car will be fine,” Draco interrupted, a hiss, “because I’m not leaving it.” He stalked back to the driver’s side door, pulled it open, hard on the hinges. “And your umbrella charm’s shit,” he flung over his shoulder, before climbing inside and slamming the door shut.

The regret was almost immediate, mingling with anxious irritation and the rain drops sliding cold down his spine, plopping from his hair and onto his nose. The rain was louder, too, inside, pinging off the roof and the windshield. Draco fretted at Harry, standing out there still, nudging at the tire, undoubtedly soaked to the bone.

The minutes stretched, and the tension wilted. Draco folded into the steering wheel, knocking his forehead lightly against it. Just as he found the resolve to go back out, to make it right, to try again, the passenger door opened, and Harry dropped into his seat. His curls were plastered to his forehead, and his glasses fogged in the sudden heat of the car.

“Alright,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “It’s my fault. The car. This whole ridiculous idea.”

He reached for Harry’s glasses and wiped them clear as he could (rain-damp shirt given) before returning them to the bridge of his nose.

“And I’m sorry. For snapping. It’s not fair.”

Harry reached for his hand. “Thanks. But I like the car. And I like the idea. And I… like you. So.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Stop that, now. Try the car.”

“What?”

“Drive it. Just a few metres. To try something.”

“Alright.”

And the car moved, and nothing horrible happened, and really, you couldn’t even tell there was a flat. They stopped, hazard lights still blinking.

“You changed it?”

Harry laughed, low. “Not exactly. Fortunately, though, my levitation charms are less shit than my umbrella ones.”

“You’re… levitating the car?”

“Sure. I mean, we need to get to an auto shop, because I don’t know how long it’ll hold, but I think we’re only about 12 kilometres—”

Draco practically leapt across the console, the need to kiss Harry an absolute.

“Mmph!” Harry muffled against his lips, startled, but he had no further protests. The kiss was clinging, hands all wrapped in hair and around one another, damp and desperate and delighted. They pulled apart, breath heavy, and Draco laughed.

“You’re brilliant. You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe you. I love you. I— oh.” Draco stopped short, a blush creeping sudden up his neck.

“Oh,” Harry breathed, and smiled at him, and Draco wanted to sink into his seat.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” he murmured, slowly, careful.

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “I did.”

“What?”

“I meant it. Before. I love the car. And I love the idea.” He reached for Draco’s hands again, holding him steady, the way he did.

“And I love you.” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Mostly that one,” he said, dimple flashing, devastating.

Draco’s heart pattered with the rain, and he leaned forward, the grin on his lips barely contained.

“You’re completely absurd,” he said, all fondness and irrepressible warmth.

“And you love me,” Harry whispered.

“A madman.”

“And you love me.”

“Absolutely shit at umbrella charms.”

“And?” Harry said, hopeful and plain, unexpectant.

Draco closed the little distance left between them. “And I love you.”