#it's giving friends to lovers

[softquietsteadylove]

Secret Lovers AU???

Heyyy

I just wanted to know if you could write an AU where Thena and Gil have to keep their relationship a secret? In this AU I imagine that Arishem is Thena’s father, and he is very controlling. He keeps Thena in the house all day and has decided that on her 25th birthday she will be wed to Kro. Thena hates this

(Bc she’s already in love with Gilgamesh, Duh)

And she has to sneak out the house to see Gil.

So what do you think?

Tysm Byeeeee 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

"Delivery!"

"Gil!" Thena rushed to the windows, opening them fully for him to climb in and onto her window bench. "I told you not to come tonight."

He just smiled at her, setting down his picnic basket and pulling down the hood of his jacket. "Yeah, but that's when I know you need me the most."

"I thought Father took the lattice down," she frowned as she helped him into her room.

"Yeah, but Karun did us a solid and left the ladder out for me," he chuckled, completely unbothered by her father's efforts to keep them apart. Not that he knew that Gil used it to sneak in. He thought Thena used it to sneak out.

If he knew Gil used it to sneak into her room at night, he would sooner burn down the whole estate.

Gil had been using it for years, though, even when they were just children, whispering about books on Thena's roof under the stars. He had scaled the wall lattice as a pre-teen just trying to get to know his rich and mysterious neighbour. As a teenager, working up the nerve to ask Thena if she'd ever had a boyfriend before. He had scaled that lattice and recited the speech he had memorised from Romeo and Juliet, just to get told that it wasn't exactly Shakespeare's most romantic, despite popular belief.

She had kissed him anyway, though.

"Hey," he smiled, leaning in and kissing her gently. He ran his hands down her arms, "I know you're scared."

She sighed, plunking her forehead onto Gil's chest, laughing when she felt the traces of leaves and bristles from the ivy leaves. "He won't give up on this 'Kro' business, you know. He's determined to marry me off to that monster."

"That won't happen, baby, I promise," Gil attempted to assuage her worries, rubbing her back over her satin robe.

She shook her head, "we got in another fight about it. That's why I told you not to come; if he gets even the slightest idea you're here, he'll have me shipped to the Antarctic."

Gil shrugged, holding her by the waist, "I'd still visit you. Wouldn't have to climb a lattice to do it, either."

She laughed, toying with the strings of his sweatshirt hood. "You shouldn't have to, though."

"I would anyway."

"Gil," Thena insisted, looking up at him, her in bare feet and him still wearing his heavy steel toed boots. "I mean it. I thought now that we were graduated he would have let this go, but-"

But Arishem had only pushed even harder for Thena to form an alliance with his chosen protege and CEO-to-be.

"What did he say?" Gil asked her softly, guiding her to sit with him on the plush window seat, where they'd spent some of the most important moments of their lives, by this point.

She sighed, wilting against Gil's side. "On my 25th birthday he'll announce our engagement to his associates and the whole world. And if I don't go through with it, he'll disown and ex-communicate me completely from the family."

Gil scowled, "that's a bit harsh, hon. I know your dad's a psycho, but we were pretty sure he wouldn't actually kick you out, right?"

She sighed even more heavily, her shoulders dragging down so far it hurt. "Apparently, I thought wrong."

"Oh, Thena," Gil made a sympathetic face, which was all it took for Thena to move closer, clinging to him. He held her just the way she liked. "I'm sorry."

Perhaps she hadn't been hoping that he would suddenly change his mind on things. But was it so foolish to think that he would want his daughter in his life in some way? And he still didn't know anything about her and Gil, and she intended to keep it that way for Gil's safety.

"I shouldn't be surprised," she conceded quietly as Gil pulled her into his lap. "Father has never hesitated to choose his work over me before. I just thought...I thought for once-!"

Gil kissed her temple, "I know, honey, it's okay."

Was it, though? Not that she had any intention of going through with marrying Kro, but her father was far more powerful than she cared to admit. Even if she didn't want to go into the same line of work, she wasn't sure there was any field of society where she could be guaranteed safety from him.

"Hey," Gil whispered again, tipping her chin back to him. "What do you wanna do?"

Thena sniffed, pressing her tears into his shirt and then shaking them off. "I'm not marrying that cretin."

"Great start, babe," he chuckled, and even got a smile for his efforts. He brushed the last of her tears away, "what else?"

Thena inhaled, trying to wrap her mind around things. "I have my own job prospects, although I'm afraid I wouldn't be surprised if Father was capable of rescinding those, given his influence. I might have to start over, maybe even...somewhere new."

This was her most dreaded reality.

They had always known her father would never let her so much as be alone in a room with him, even as children. It was against all odds they had managed to steal what time they did. They had faced being in different classes in school. They had faced Thena's extracurriculars and Gil getting a part time job to help support his family. They had faced her going into university and Gil starting trade school.

They had even faced her being entrapped into a date set up by Kro and her father.

"Okay, where would you want to go?" Gil asked gently. Despite his smiles and joking tones, he was serious. Because wherever she went, he would follow.

"Gil," she shook her head, new tears arising. "Your mom and Sersi are here, you can't move just because I'm getting thrown out."

"They know I'd go anywhere for you."

Thena smiled against his lips as he kissed her again. For all her father's efforts not to let any love into her life, she had been able to sneak Gil her heart, and he had kept it safe for her ever since.

"Really, Thena, you say the word and I'll pick you up, we can go to Mom's until we figure something out," he suggested with a shrug of his shoulders. His tone was light, but his hand on hers was solid. "You don't have to be scared of him, honey."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not scared of Father, or Kro."

"That's my girl," he winked at her.

Her smile faded slowly, but it did eventually. She squeezed his hands, "But I am scared to not be with you, Gil. And if Father has me thrown out and cuts off all my accounts?--I struggle to think of how far I would have to go just to find a firm willing to let me intern."

Gil tilted his head at her, letting himself smile again. "You say that like you like being rich."

She rolled her eyes again. She hated when he called her 'rich'.

"You already don't use any of that money you have hidden away," Gil shrugged. It was him who had told her that if she took out a little at a time in cash and stashed it away that she could use it without him knowing about it. "So, take what you can and get outta here. He's gonna kick you out anyway so just...come with me."

Thena stared at his outstretched hand. How many times had she dreamed of this?--Gil offering to help her run away from her father and her gilded cage of a home. The delusional and romantic notion of running away with the boy she loved (now the man she loved).

"You're your own woman, Thena, you don't need his name, or his money, or anything!" Gil urged, eager to pull her spirits out of the pit he could see her spiralling into in real time. "I always knew you'd be a badass lawyer, whether he wanted you to or not!"

Oh, Father wanted her to be lawyer, but one that would make good money. He wanted her to be a corporate lawyer, or even a criminal defense. Not a divorce lawyer who worked pro-bonos all the time.

She shook her head, "I'm just done law school, Gil. I haven't even taken the bar, yet."

"Which you'll nail!" he shrugged like it was nothing at all. "I always knew you would, and your dad knows you will, too. That's why he wants you to marry that creep! Because you're too badass on your own and you could take him any day of the week."

"I do not want anything to do with either of them," she shook her head and pulled her robe tighter around herself. She looked around her room, immaculately cleaned for her, full of expensive clothes picked for her. It was a very personalised hotel room, as far as she was concerned. "I should pack."

"I'll help you."

"It's okay," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "You came for a date, not to help me uproot my life."

"Actually," he chuckled as she stood and went to her desk. "I came after you told me not to, because I knew my girlfriend needed me."

She attempted to contain her smile but couldn't. She loved it when he called her his girlfriend.

"And because I will always be right here, babe," he finished more softly, kissing her hair as she collected up what little of her possessions she actually cared about. "You wanna leave tonight, we'll go. We can go anywhere, do anything. I'll go downstairs and fight your dad bare handed if you want me to."

She gave Gil a dry look. He was big, and strong in every sense of the word, but her father was like an eldritch horror out of a fantasy book.

"Okay, fine," he conceded, pulling out the bag she'd used to sneak herself over to his house plenty of times before. "What else do you need?"

She shoved her work materials into the bag. Her textbooks she could access online, and it wasn't like she could keep them physically after the bar, anyway. She bundled up her laptop and phone charger. "Just the stuff in the top drawer."

Gil unceremoniously opened her dresser and shoved everything from the top shelf in. "We can get you new stuff, too. You know how mom loves to go shopping with you."

Thena smiled; Gil's family always felt more loving than even her most fond memories of her father. "Yes, she does."

"Cash?"

She turned and smiled. Gil had no discomfort with the idea that he was going into carpentry and contracting while she came from an ivory tower. As far as he was concerned, she could rob her father for all he was worth and then be happy to sneak cheap snacks into a movie for a date. "Underwear drawer."

"Ooh!"

"Gilgamesh," she drawled, needing to remind him to grab what was necessary, and not whatever of hers was his favourite.

"Feels kind of exciting, right?" he grinned at her as she zipped the main section of the bag closed, including the cash that could keep her comfortable while she was literally finding her footing. "Like we're running away together?"

"Well," she raised her brows at him as she grabbed her hairbrush, "we are, aren't we?"

"Always said we would," he whispered before kissing her again. "You wanna put something else on or go like this?"

"And climb down that ladder in this?" she scoffed, gesturing to her silky little night dress, "no."

"Aw," Gil faked pouting before laughing, "I'd carry you down if you wanted me to."

"I know you would," she answered from her walk-in closet. She truly wouldn't miss anything from in here. Anything of hers that she liked and Gil liked was in that top dresser drawer, for all the other times she had left in the night like this.

Karun had helped them many, many times before.

"Okay," Gil smiled as she stepped out in a perfectly normal looking white sundress. "Ready?"

"Ready," she nodded, her resolve continuing to firm up with everything they packed. She looked up, "what?"

Gil shook his head, setting the bag down, "you look beautiful."

How she loved him. Thena smiled down at her feet shyly before slipping on the sandals she kept hidden in here. They were her only decent walking shoes. "Okay, let's go."

"Hey, you need one more thing."

"What?" Thena blinked, going over everything they'd packed. She had been planning this escape in the back of her mind for years, she was absolutely certain she wasn't forgetting anything. She looked at Gil.

He smiled at her, equal parts terror and excitement. His hands were shaky as he reached into his pocket and knelt down in front of her. He pulled out the ring box, gulping. "You'll need this."

[canisalbus]

✦ Freshly ordained ✦

[hairmetal666]

Steve wins the bat plush at a fair when he's seven. He doesn't care about bats, but it's the prize for making all five baskets in the basketball game, so he gets the little bat. Its eyes are a little crooked and one wing is slightly smaller than the other, but it being lopsided sort of makes it cuter.

He and his dad, they're supposed to be going on rides now, but his dad's pager keeps going off. He puts Steve next to a funnel cake stand, tells him not to move, and goes in search of a pay phone. Fifteen minutes pass, and Steve is bored under the flashing lights and tinkling music. He wants to play not sit and wait.

Eventually, he drifts back towards the midway, watches the people rushing by, searches for a sign of his dad's return. His attention is caught by another boy at the basketball booth. He has to be about Steve's age, with a mop of dark curls on top of his head and a jean jacket that's slightly too big, sleeves flopping over his hands as he lines up his shots.

This boy, he's terrible at basketball. Every shot is too high or too short or goes wide, but he's trying. Even from this distance, Steve can see how hard he's trying. He uses up his five balls, fishes into his jacket pocket for more money, and gets five more.

He misses every shot. This time, when he goes back for more money, he comes up empty. Steve thinks he sees his lip shaking.

A man, one in a leather jacket and boots that Steve thinks look mean, comes up to the boy, drops a heavy hand on his shoulder. He's too far away to hear the conversation, assumes the boy asks to play again and the man's response is a shaken head and a tight smile. They walk away from the games, right towards Steve, who slinks back to the side of the midway, not wanting to be caught staring.

"What was it you wanted? That stupid bat? Just another piece of trash you wanna bring in my house." Steve hears as they pass.

The boy nods, but keeps his eyes down and to the side.

He feels bad then. Felt bad before, but now he looks at his own bat, at its funny eyes and poorly attached wings, and wishes he could hand it over to the boy who really wants it. Steve almost does, then, makes to go after them, but his dad appears, dropping a hand to Steve's shoulder and saying, "ready to hit those rides?" And he knows the opportunity is gone, knows his dad will say it's too soft, not what men do.

Steve manages to lose himself for a while in the swirling lights and funhouse music and carnival rides, forget about the little bat in his back pocket and the boy who wanted one so desperately. But then his dad's pager goes off some more, he goes back to the pay phone, and Steve ducks into the low brick building that houses the bathrooms.

His eyes immediately land on the same boy from the basketball game. His eyes are red, face damp, obviously from tears, and Steve just--

"Here." He shoves the bat into the boy's chest.

For a second, the brownest eyes Steve's ever seen widen at him, before narrowing in a harsh glare, the boy's teeth barred.

"Why?" He snarls.

Steve thinks he may regret every choice that led him to this but he says, he says, "Because I want you to have it."

The boy blinks a few times, hand reaching out to gently pinch the bat's smallest wing. "You sure?"

Steve nods and the bat is slowly withdrawn from his grasp.

"No takesies-backsies?"

"It's yours."

The boy looks at the bat in awe, and Steve says, "see? It already looks happier with you."

The boy's beaming smile is cut-off by a voice calling from the door, "you in there,? I ain't got time to be waiting for your boohooing."

"Coming!" The boy carefully tucks the bat into an inner pocket of his jacket. "Thank you," he whispers, eyes big and glistening and happy, before he disappears out the door.

---

13 years later, give or take a few months, and Steve stands in the cracked shell of a bisected trailer, rummaging through what remains of a life well-lived, searching for anything whole. He's already found a few undamaged mugs and clean hats, but this room--it took a lot of damage. The brunt of it, really. Some sick sort of joke, after everything.

It's mostly rubble in here, scraps of fabric; slivers of notebook paper, magazine, poster; crumbled shards of vinyl and cassette plastic. A few times he comes across the disembodied limb of one of those dnd figures, and something weird happens to his throat.

In the far corner there's half of a dresser collapsed into itself, and he shuffles through the debris to see what he can find. There's something, soft and black, just the edge of it, peaking out from under half of a drawer face. He pulls it out, careful as can be and it's--it's a plush bat. It's a little dirty, but unharmed, though its eyes are a little wonky, and one wing is smaller than the other.

He holds it and he stares and he has to brace himself against the wall. It can't be--it's not the same one--but he remembers those big brown eyes and the curls and--

"Harrington," a warm, rich voice calls from what's left of the hallway. "You get lost in there?"

Eddie shuffles in, slow, careful with his crutches. And it--it took so long, months and months of convalesce and physical therapy, still physical therapy, but he's here. He's alive. He's perfect. And the something blooming between them, it's not spoken yet, but it's there, growing, and now, now--

"Oh my god, you found Lilith! I thought she was toast."

"Lilith?" He's still cradling the little lopsided bat in his hands, but moves closer to hand it over to Eddie.

"Yes, Lilith." Eddie takes the bat, presses it to his chest. "The first boy I ever loved gave her to me."

His heart turns over in his chest and when he swallows his throat clicks. Eddie doesn't notice, he's smiling softly at the bat, at Lilith, but then, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"First boy you ever loved?" He says. He thinks he sounds normal.

Somehow, Eddie's smile grows even softer. "Yeah. Roan County Fair, years ago. Tried to win her, but--" he clicks his tongue--"never had great hand-eye coordination. And then this kid just gave her to me out of nowhere. I used to think I was going to marry him."

"And now?"

Eddie laughs. "I grew up, Steve."

And for a second, he doesn't know what to say, but then, "I was right then, huh? That she'd be happier with you."

He stares at Steve, those same big brown eyes, wide and glistening. "Steve that was--Steve?" Eddie presses a hand over his mouth, overcome, before launching himself into Steve's arms. The crutches clatter to the floor, but Steve has him, will always have him, no matter what.

"I can't believe you kept her," Steve whispers.

"God, I carry her everywhere. She's Corroded Coffin's mascot, and you--Steve, I can't believe that was you."

"Surprise," he bumps Eddie's forehead with his.

They hold each other in the center of the destruction, but none of that matters right now, not when it feels like every moment since they very first met as children was leading them to this.

From the other half of the trailer, they hear footsteps, chattering, Wayne and Robin and Dustin, but Steve wants this to last a little longer.

"So, marriage...that still off the table?"

Eddie laughs softly, nuzzles his face against Steve's neck. "Are you kidding, sweetheart? No way I'm letting you go."

[marzghost]

Had to sketch them out. You can't tell me this didn't happen at least once a week while training. Might finish this later since their on my mind and have been steadily taking over.

[introspectivememories]

nah because crofty is genuinely insane because why would you say that about your coworker???? and to his face??? "this man knows lewis hamilton. friends, teammates, childhood buddies, rivals, everything but a lover." hello???? why are you saying that to nico rosberg's face???? why are you, as the lead f1 commentator, writing fanfiction about your coworker???? about him and his ex???? and also, what an insane thing to say about someone else's relationship!!! "everything but a lover"... just show them having gay sex onscreen, it would be less intimate than whatever the hell you just said.

[assiraphales]

wait wait what if crowley is like “oh so you’re choosing heaven over us? you think I’m not good enough if I’m not an angel? then I’ll show you bad. hey shax does that job offer still stand?”

[chandralia]

“for the rest of our lives”

[yantao-enthusiast]

grown ass men pining. what the fuck is this. how yall have grey hairs and file taxes and still be yearning. blushing and shit. that’s so embarrassing for y’all like ur back is cracking, you’re middle aged. just fuckign. make out already. jesus christ what

[jade-len]

i think it'd be funny if someone transmigrated as xin mo. the goddamn evil sword. instead of taking it seriously, they just really fucked around with bingge. and, somehow, ended up having the opposite effect of what it's supposedly rumored to do.

picture this: bingge, on the quest for revenge and power, comes across the almighty xin mo. this demonic sword killed everyone that dared to even try wielding it. and, the few who were lucky enough to have it by their side, eventually succumbed to the swords' will.

it is said that the sword is unlike any other, that it etches into your head and eats away your brain, until eventually it consumes you whole. it whispers, speaking in lust, greed, and hatred. it slowly beckons the wielder into giving in to the worst part of themselves and feeds off of pure sin. but to him, it is no matter; luo bingge will surely tame it.

and then he gets to the sword.

demonic qi practically oozes from xin mo. the aura surrounding it makes every part of luo bingge scream, "run; get away, away from that monster." his gut prods at him, begging bingge that this is probably a really bad idea. it's a little terrifying, how even luo bingge, the determined, vengeful demon, is now getting second thoughts about wielding xin mo from just being in its presence alone.

but luo bingge is too, a monster. so he ignores the screams of plea; pushing every thought of doubt in the back of his head, and tightly grips onto the handle. the world around him seems to spin and shake, tumble and crack, from the amount of force bingge needs to use in order to pull the sword of sin out of its place.

when bingge finally has it perfectly fit into the palms of his calloused hands, he hears whispering. he knows that the sword has accepted him as its new host.

the sword's language crawls up to him, as if it were feeling around his body and mind. checking every nook and cranny for it to settle into bingge's form, truly becoming one with the embodiment of sin. the words flow through his brain like a tragically broken guqin, a melody that holds him in a frighteningly familiar trance - all while simultaneously eating away at his brain in the worst ways possible, akin to a child and their favorite snack. it seems to beckon something, but even with luo bingge's impressive hearing, he cannot make out any words from the tone-deaf musical notes xin mo sings.

and then, it is clear. the land around him settles, and everything is still. xin mo itself seems to be.. content. at least, that is what luo bingge believes.

the language of this wretched sword reflects the state around these two monsters.

luo bingge expects it to demand for bloodshed, for the erotic ecstasy of multiple women, for bingge to steal the last of the finest gems of these horrible, vast lands.

instead, he hears this:

"yoooo damn that shit was crazy. did you see what i did there? man, you know, it feels so fucking good to get out of the dirt. hey, do you know if people can like, feed their swords or something? i'm kinda craving something spicy. we never know, in this wack world! wait, don't hold me like that, buddy. it'll make things real awkward."

but luo bingge is determined to get his revenge, so he puts up with the swords' constant rambling about.. whatever the hell it's thinking.

"wait, dude, did you seriously fuck a dying girl? that's wild. yeah, like i know she was dying but it doesn't sound like you wanted it. yo, listen to me, consent is very sexy."

"HAHA hey, dude, sir, man. you wanna play some 'i spy'? we don't have anything else to do. no? too bad, we're playing it. i spy a loser who doesn't wanna play i spy. hint: he's holding me right now."

"okay i know i'm supposed to be this super evil sword and beg to be used - woah that sounded real wrong - but can you at least clean me when you're done killing shit? if you don't, i'm gonna refuse to respond to you and you'll look like a dumbass trying to wield me."

"i can't hear you lalalalalalala you're not being very it girl right now lallalalaalalalla-"

somehow, this is worse than if xin mo was actually eating away at his brain.

weirdly enough though, as luo bingge starts spending more time with this weird ass, seemingly possessed sword, it starts to become more of a.. comfort to have it by his side than pure annoyance. he finds himself responding to it more, like, actually having full on conversations with it. it puts him at ease, wielding xin mo. the hatred doesn't consume him, instead, it seems to soothe the burning rage (and, admittedly, just replace it with small irritation) that holds onto his darkened heart.

xin mo is actually quite kind and caring, for a sword that's supposed represent and be the literal embodiment of sin. sure, it is a hassle to have it cooperate with him sometimes, and it does just ramble on and on about the most random things ever, not giving a single shit if bingge was in the middle of sleeping with maidens and slaying those who get in his way. for the first time, bingge feels so comfortable around something.

it's.. odd. what was supposed to be the turning point in his life, a big step in his plan for revenge, is now something akin to an... acquaintance. not like mobei-jun, or any of the women he's come across, but an actual, dare he say, friend.

sometimes, he finds himself thinking all of this delusional. is this what people were driven mad by? perhaps they simply could not handle dealing with a talking sword. he understands that xin mo was undoubtedly unbearable to be around at the beginning of their alliance, but it has never actually beckoned for blood, power, and sex. if anything, it does the opposite.

maybe he's the delusional one. maybe this is xin mo's way of getting to him.

maybe, xin mo should be considered a thing. the thought feels terribly laughable, as if he were witnessing a person horribly explain themselves. it also makes his teeth grind together in pure agitation.

"hey, you know, you didn't deserve any of the things they did. it wasn't your fault, binghe. the fact that you're half heavenly demon doesn't make you a monster, or any of that wild stuff.. uh, i'm here for you, okay? i know you don't really like talking about all of this or opening up, but i just want you to know that you can.. talk about it. it's not like i can tell anyone else, anyways.

hey- shit i didn't mean to make you cry! wait, wait it's okay to cry! you need to let it out anyways, i promise it doesn't make you weak. there, there. i don't have any hands, so me patting you on the head with my handle will have to do. there, there.. everything will be alright, you'll be okay. i'll be here every step of the way, even if you want to get rid of me."

xin mo, the demonic sword, is more of a person - a good person - than anyone he'd ever come across.

...and then bingge and the xin mo transmigrator become besties or he falls for the damn sword. knowing him, he probably doesn't even know the difference between platonic and romantic attraction anyways. maybe bingge gets a plant body for xin mo using airplane's wack writing. idk i typed all of this down in one sitting.

(plot twist: it's not that the transmigrator xin mo had the opposite effect, it was literally just a placebo effect. luo bingge thought that, and thus it actually did help him lmao)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 29

Geralt starts giving flowers to Jaskier whenever he seems sad. Buttercups, dandelions, delphiniums, daffodils, begonias, roses, lilacs, lilies, anything and everything. Every time Geralt hands him a single little flower, puny as it is, Jaskier just begins to beam. He'll be in a good mood for days afterward, he'll constantly show if off by wearing it behind his ear, or pinned to his doublet, or pressed in his journal. Geralt decides to start giving him flowers at more regular intervals to optimize Jaskier mood efficiency. And it works! He's always happy now! But then one day he gets sad again, and Geralt panics and gets him extra flowers in order to fix it, and now he gives him whole bouquets every other week or so. But he does it as a friend! Obviously. But then one day Jaskier thanks him for the bouquet by giving him a big fat wet kiss on the lips and suddenly Geralt's rethinking the whole "platonic" thing, because the kiss is quite nice actually. And so is the idea of doing it again.

[bethanydelleman]

I just realized that the great thing about friends to lovers is that you can end the story with a wedding and yet you know exactly how they'll be married because it will be the same as before, just with sex.

Best friends with added benefits

[dlartistanon]

Maybe in the future, but for now...

[didhewinkback]

thirty, flirty and thriving

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

word count: essentially 3k, warnings: none

---

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

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

He’s fucking thirty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really had no idea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Proper birthday.

---

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

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

[microtyalm13]

everything about Gavriil feels suffocating.

how his presence alone can be almost overwhelming, how his massive body cages you everytime without a chance to escape. you wouldn't dare to try anyway, knowing that you don't even have a say against a creature of his caliber. he will find you. in your dreams, in your nightmares. in your room.

how he will be intense and vague about everything just for the sake of it; to confuse you further, to see the conflict of emotions in your eyes merge with arousal. eventually your hesitance turns into acceptance, a desperate need to feel his hands all over you. and he will be oh so grateful to fulfill that desire.

how his thick tongue pushes past your lips and into your mouth, reaching almost the back of your throat, relishing in the muffled little sounds you make. your drool mixed with his saliva drips down your chin, and your hazy eyes look up at him when he finally pulls away, giving you a second to breathe.

how his hips are slamming into you relentlessly, your wetness and lack of resistance allowing him to move almost effortlessly. forced to hold onto him for dear life instead of pushing away. all of your morals and principles are being tossed out of the window every single time he comes to you. he has you where he wants you, and will not stop until he feels like you can't take it anymore.

and how in the morning he vanishes away, leaving you guessing: was it just another wet dream? but the cold stickiness between your legs tells you more than you need to know.

[doobledabbadoo]

got around making some more htf ocs!! i honestly cant stop theyre too fun to make actually

[dumplingsjinson]

Hi! I don't know if you've done this already but will you do dialogue prompts for close friends who start having feelings for each other? Thanks!

List of “so like… I’ve got the feels for you. now what?” prompts 

“This song reminds me of you.” “…It’s a love song.” “Yeah, exactly.” 

“I think I might need to be hospitalised for possible heart abnormalities, or possibly cardiac arrest.” “What, why? Are you okay? You look okay—” “No, because my heart keeps beating the fuck out of my chest when I’m around you and I don’t know what kind of disease I’ve come down with and frankly, I’m really scared.” 

“You’re looking a lil’ different these days.” “Different how?” “I don’t know, I just… You look less shitty?” “…Wow. Thanks a bunch, that’s greatly appreciated.” “No, I didn’t mean it that way, damn it— I’m not the best with dishing out compliments.”

“Is it just me or are things a little awkward between us lately?” “What do you mean, nothing’s awkward between us. Like, at all! We’re, like, super cool buddies. What could be awkward about that?” “Everything about that was awkward.” 

“Is it weird that I’ve been wanting to hold your hand lately or…?”

“Someone’s been slipping notes into my locker and they’re so, so sweet and I wish I knew who has been doing this.” “Oh, yeah? That’s… That’s very nice of them.” “Their handwriting’s a little suspicious, though. Familiar, you know? They look kind of like yours.” “…Oh. Well, uh… That can’t be.”

“Who do you like?” “…You know them very well.” “Usually that’s not a very good sign but with you? That’s… That’s a great sign. Is it me?” 

“You asshole, you’ve stolen something of mine. What the hell? Who gave you the permission? The audacity.” “What did I steal?” “My heart, dumbass.” 

“You know, on second thoughts… I… We could be pretty good together, I think. I don’t know. I could be wrong. Or I could be so fucking right that we end up getting married and I whisk you away into the sunset and to our foreverland. The choice is yours.” 

“Okay, fuck, I’m not flirting for fun. This isn’t me being friendly, either. I’m flirting for real. I’m flirting to get cuffed. And frankly, I want to be cuffed by you.” “…Oh.”