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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

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Hearth.

A/N: I dunno if I've got any desi/brown/poc readers but if you're reading this I love you so much and you (us) deserve the same validation and representation others get.

Here's a blurb as to what it feels like celebrating Eid with Harry! Enjoy!

Warning: none — just loads of fluff.

More Inspos, Masterlist, Let's Talk

The night's pretty with murky clouds and thick layer of moon's brightness as Y/N cleans her flat, from scrubbing her Persian rugs to deep cleansing her vases back from her homeland. The flame evaporating from her candles scented like springs of Kashmir, flickers from her blowing sheer curtains due to the zephyr flurring outside.

She feels content, at peace waiting for Harry who promised that he'll be at her place by 11. He always comes an hour early helping her in setting the table before the iftari, they've been doing it together since the start of ramdan until today when he texted her he's busy along with a sad smiley.

It was fun. He fasted with her once or twice and would make sure she's hydrated enough once they break it, his love for rooh-afzah (it's a drink red in color made from essence of roses and some sweet herbs) will never fail to make her giggle as he'd demand for more after gulping two glasses already.

Then showing her his tummy along with his food pregnant jokes.

Her classes are online so it gave her time to experiment some cooking. They'd make samosas together and she always had an urge to hold back her cooes as his tongue used to poke out in concentration everytime his diligent fingers folded the samosa sheets skillfully.

"Did a pretty go'job here, innit?" He'd grin raising it like a summat trophy.

The moment he used to leave her flat (ofcourse after giving a tight hug before doing so) they both missed eachother terribly, y/n doesn't like the way her home falls into an abyss without his presence.

He's like a sunshine that warms her insides up.

The whistle of kettle and several raps of knocks on her door drags her from her fond memories of them together, she slings her feet down from the coffee table rushing to open it.

"Angel."

Harry says breathlessly prolly because he climbed three flight of stairs to get to her or that he's utterly flustered.

Her eyes remain struck at the thingies piled in his arms, a box of chocolates, many brown bags and stems of freshly blood ripped roses tucked between his knuckles.

He bought all of these gifts for her.

To make her feel like home.

To be her home.

What the fuck, nobody has ever done that for her —-- she just mighty cry.

Her mouths gupples like a fish too overwhelmed to react her emotions out and he gives her a sweet smile kicking the door shut with his feet -- gestures her to wait when she almost jumps like a cub to hug him and puts everything on the sofa knowing the things inside them's too delicate.

"C'mere, baby." He grins and she doesn't waste a moment falling in his embrace. Her cheeks smashes against his taught chest and she fists the hem of his shirt smiling too hard for her own sake as he sways them with his own rosy cheek squished against her temple.

"I love you so much, thank you." She murmurs gazing up at him with glinting eyes -- arms still lopped around his waist and his chin doubles adorably as he gives her his signature bunny grin kissing the tip of her nose, "Love you too bubba ... don't want ya homesick, at alllll."

The aggressive whistle of kettle parts them away, "Cuppa cha? Then we'll unwrap these pleasanteris." She points at the paper bags.

He nods flopping onto the floor cushions beside the large oak window of the balcony where they could bathe in moonlight.

"Thank you." He quips, kissing her fingertips while slipping his fingers under the handle of mug and takes it from her as she sits infront of him. He admires her for a second —- fawning over how she's looking so soft and cuddle-able wearing a baggy mauve kurta and some mismatched shalwar.

The tearing open of the stuffing tissue brings him back to focus --- this, he wanted to see this happiness dance over her features as she clutches the ethnic traditional dress he bought for her infront of her and when lifts it down he's met by overly excited eyes.

It's ethereal with golden details, handmade wire work and sheer fabric.

"It's gorgeous, pups." She squeezes his hand and he takes the sip of his cha smiling against the rim of the mug shyly, "Wasn't s' sure -- Sarah helped me in collecting stuff." Sarah's Y/N's bestfriend who was the only desi/brown in her filming class.

"No wonder she was being a lil sneak." Y/N chuckles already rummaging for what comes next.

He wanted to make sure he gets her everything they do traditionally in her culture and ate Sara's ears off to help him buy the most special thing and it's right there creating sweet noise when they touch eachother, dangling from her fingers.

"Churiyan .... " She whispers bitting down a smile. She loves glass bangles. Their colourfulness cheers her mood up and she'd always go with her Nani a night prior eid to select the most flamboyant pair of them from a bazar (market).

"This -— " She gestures to the gifts scattered around them, " —-- all of this and you, means alot to me." She sighs giving him a wet smile and he smoothes his thumb against her cheek like she's the most fragile thing to exist.

He watches her in a tad confusion when she stands up with a giggly squeal putting everything away and comes back with a tube of henna in her hand.

"It's chand raat t'night 'cos tommorrow is eid -- usually I spend it with Sarah and we apply henna to eachother, we're horrible at it honestly but now she isn't here 'm gonna bite yours ears —-" He cuts her off. Ushering her to sit back on her spot. He couldn't be more glad to spend all of his time with her whether it's just watching her make designs on her hand with henna.

"Your cha's waftin'." He shakes his head bringing it to her lips, "It's hot." She tells him drawing a circle on her palm and filling it with beautiful darkness of henna.

"Okie then ... " He blows at the hot beverage to cool it down and again brings it to her lips, "Now." He croons softly to her. She holds his wrist taking a sip from it -- he tucks the strand of her hair back and she smiles up at him making him chuckle when she takes a huge sigh as if her soul just woke up.

"What do we d'tommorrow?" He asks. Knowing most of the time they went to Zayn's house on Eids his mother used to fill the whole table with delicious dishes and the whole day was spent having fun.

"We do nothing but have loads of nice time -- I already made a dessert 'cos I know I'll be too lazy in the mornin', and invited your friends if that's okay?" She glances up at him done with her left palm.

"Perfect then," He nods, "D'ya need help with the other one?" He asks grabbing her right hand and the tube of henna from her.

"Yes, please." She shows him her hand covered with with henna and since it's wet she could do one thing wait or let him do it. The second options sounds more good.

"Not on me if it gets messed up." He warns her nonchalantly following the same pattern of her left hand. Stealing glances of her attractive face every now and then, dotting her moles with his intense gaze, he just thinks her brown eyes look more intricate – it's specks as if the forests soil on the first rains when they dilate with her racing heartbeat.

They're like an open book to him and at the same time mysteriously dark that he feels like burning a match to melt in them.

"You did it way better than me," She snorts examining it closely and turns the other way round to lay down on the carpeted floor and rest her head in his lap. He wipes his own hands watching the dark henna leaving a swipe of color on his fingertips.

He pets her hair, dimples milking into his cheeks when she raises her both hands infront of him -- blocking the moonlight that's falling on her, "When I was small I always used to end up getting it on my face and lemme tell ya. Having a yellow blotch isn't even a tiny bit fascinating on the only day you could dress up fancy."

His chest rumbles with giggles and he brings her hands closer to her lips blowing raspberries at them to get them dry early.

Comfortable silence envelopes them in to the point where they could hear crickets singing outside and moonlight sparkling on their skin —- she breaks it cuddling up into his chest.

"I really appreciate this, Harry." Her voice hushed whisper and her cherry stained lips couldn't resist but to patch kisses where his heart lays and she could sense it kicking a pace, "The fact that you did so much just for me -- is beyond my thought. I really feel like home." He let her speak. Squeezing her shoulders to convey the fierceness of his emotions he holds for her. His silken lips pressed to her temple and his eyelids flutters with each spurt of breath she inhales.

"I'll keep making you feel like home, till the day you'll allow me." Today. He for actually felt that his home was never a building or the luxurious furniture adorned inside it, but her. It's always gonna be her.

Because the moment he gets lost in those eyes all he come across is their shared laughter, their moments spent on this balcony right outside sipping onto their chas and watching the city wake up infront of their eyes, going to places he has never been to before, doing things he never thought he'd do in hundered years —- he isn't a big fan of spices but he still pretends like a big boi infront of her while eating pani puri she's oh so obsessed with.

The times she was never embarrassed to introduce him to her community or her friends, and getting soaked into rains even though they could've just used his car, having days planned to make him try new desi dishes, going to buy candles of many scent and shapes with him but then never feeling like leaving the store until he warns her that he'll throw her on his shoulder infront of everyone.

Going to Turkish markets together. He's a bread lover and so all this time he doesn't feel like leaving the shops filled with different kiln and tandoori breads. Eating Simit and drinking black tea in the amardu cups sitting outside the cafe –- he likes it with cheese while she might sound bland she just likes a bit of butter.

Them deciding for hours and hours which Persian rug to buy -- but never buying it apologising to the shop keeper.

Giving eachother head massages from the organic rosemary Morrocon oil that one of her friend gifted her, (Y/N) thinks she's one hell of a masseuse but Harry thinks otherwise —- though he would never ever break her heart so it's better keeping it a secret.

His nose creates a purring sound while he sleeps leaning against the wall, he doesn't even remember when he fell into the deep slumber with his large hand still wrapped around her wrist in a protective manner to keep her from moving.

It's cute.

Though when she stirs to regain consciousness with the birds chirping outside she feels remorseful finding him sleeping in such an uncomfy position just because of her and he wakes up with a loud wheeze —- blinking rapidly to see what just happened only to visibly relax back when she shushes him gently.

"Baby .... shit." He grogs out, knuckling at his eyes pointing at her jaw which's covered into a orangish streak, "Don't tell me." She groans bumping her head against his bicep.

A moment later they burst into fits of hoarse giggles and chuckles. She'd try to suck in air to not to snort and would do it nonetheless driving them more into belly aching laughter.

"Eid Mubarak, I guess?" He cackles loudly. Dimple coveting in to his velvet of skin. Rubs the tip of his nose against her's affectionately and swoons her in his arms to hug her warmly.

"Now -— go 'n dress up, c'mon." He cups the nape of her neck playing with the baby hair there and she whines smushing her face against his chest, "No. Lemme sleep some more."

"Heyyy none of that, c'mon sleepy girl you'll regret it later." He boops her nose smiling down at her fondly and she grumbles mumbling something in between you're so annoying or you're being so much like my mum.

He waits for her laying on the sofa with his arms folded and eyes closed. Prolly took a mini version of nap only to perk his head up grabbing the back of sofa when she returns with wet hair, soft clean face and lips tinted cherry wearing the dress and bangles he bought for her.

An enchantress from head to toe, he wouldn't even complain if she bewitches him.

He needs someone to pinch his bum because he thinks his eyelids might have struck. He takes a dramatic breather mischievously, pupils dilated cutesly and heart shaped lips parted with the sweet loving words in praise of her beauty burning at the tip of his tongue.

His fawning gives her butterflies. Expanding her chest with warmth and she does a three-sixty when he spindles his nimble in the air demanding her to show herself from every angle.

Her head falls back. An echo of happy giggles resonating in the room when he smacks his hand against his chest and flops into heaps of sofa cushions.

"You're fuckin' beautiful, a total knockout." He walks towards her with his hands spread open and takes her's to kiss the inside of her palms, "So are you." Her voice small with shyness. He sits on her on sofa and stays beside her with his chin perched upon his knuckles staring at her like she hung the moon -- as if she's a prayer come true.

"Did you get me ready to d'nothing?" She turns towards him. The curled up fringes kissing the apples of her cheeks same as his fingertips are dying to do so.

"I might sound selfish but it was a trap to get you ready early so I could admire you till everyone squeeze between us ... " He smirks and she huffs sinking deeper into the sofa throwing her limbs in air and his breath hitches when her bangles clanks together producing a beautiful noise.

"Harry!!" She whines.

"Okie, time to fill some grumpy kitten's tummy." He announces standing up to head to kitchen and she shakes her head with a silly smile trailing behind him.

All she knows is that. This Eid she'll have the best time of her life, as she could already feel his energy and love radiating in every corner of her home.

@harryforvogue idk why but everytime I'd sit to write this blurb you'd pop in my mind, hope so you're not hiccuping wildly.

#harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x y/n imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurb #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles dirty imagines #harry x reader

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theateared · 4 years

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You’re a Terrible Liar. ❜

Summary: A long time ago, before he truly embraced his identity as a God, Raku was merely a child with a friend.

Warnings: None. Just very short fluff establishing a connection between Raku and the dear friend in his scripture. More in-depth, story-driven drabbles are coming later as I develop it.

_____ 【 ★ 】 _____

His memory of how he and Alastor’s relationship began was hazy to the deity. All he knew was that they were friends-- the dearest of friends.

“What’d I tell you?” the man asked, spinning in a circle with his arms outstretched. Raku did likewise, floating form twisting slowly as he took in the cavernous space. Alastor’s house had always surprised him; it was a shack in an oversized tree, very reminiscent of a person’s childhood playhouse, but inside was a different story. It seemed bigger once the front door was opened, the rickety ladder to it almost serving as a bridge to another realm rather than a meagre hut. Under no circumstance could he comprehend the sheer space he had to roam. It shouldn’t have been possible-- especially while nestled neatly in this monument of a tree, its foliage enough to shield them from the blazing sun despite them being directly beneath it. “All we needed was a good spring clean to feel good as new for the new year.”

As much as he didn’t resonate with cleaning, Raku had to agree. The place is gleaming. It makes me happy to see Al so content with his living space.

“And you know, this year, I think I’m really gonna see about this bridge. I’d like to pick the fruit from higher up without the risk of breaking my neck.”

Though he knew it was nothing more than a crass comment, the God didn’t like to think of him in any kind of pain-- especially not pain as severe as breaking his neck. He’d been talking about this ‘bridge’ for a while now; it was more so a series or ladders and ropes that led him to different segments of the tree, a web of convenience when it came time to pick fruit and get back to solid ground. Ever since he had taken up residence there, Al’s harvests had been much more bountiful.

“Why don’t you just let me get it?” Raku asked, stubby feet coming to settle on the ground as he peered up at the man. A hand settled atop his head, rubbing gently between his tall ears.

“You know why,” Alastor replied with a chuckle. He knew not of Raku’s true identity-- he just knew that the strange creature was undeniably small, and though he housed power he hadn’t seen before, he was still reminiscent of a child. The idea of him climbing up anywhere that high set alarm bells off in his head.

“It’s much more dangerous for you,” the deity retorted, cheeks puffing up as he began to float once more. “Besides, I can float!”

“Hm. And I can work hard.” The man was nothing if not diligent. In fact, as dead and quiet as this patch of land currently was, not yet touched by a guardian despite his silent arrival, the few people around could vouch for his integrity as a working man. Alastor did everything himself, and he did so with all of the determination of a child that thought themselves invincible. Whenever he faced hardship, it didn’t seem to get him down for long. He was honest, transparent with the way that he felt, and stopped at nothing to do what he felt was right. As powerful as Raku was, he found that it didn’t matter; he still admired his caretaker far more than he did creatures of his own status. “Besides,” he started, a finger tapping Raku’s nose gently. It scrunched up, jade-tinted eyes screwing shut before peering up at him once more. “The fruit probably wouldn’t make it back if you were to get it.”

“Hey!” Despite his indignation, he wasn’t sure if he could argue confidently or not. He just couldn’t help himself when it came to food. It was all so good… he couldn’t help but be a glutton. “I absolutely could control myself enough to bring it back!”

What followed was a silence full of chagrin and candid innocence. Suddenly feeling as if he’d been put on the spot, Raku broke his gaze free, a pale green flush rising to his white cheeks, long ears folding back. He was more animal-esque than human, and it showed in the way he reacted to things. Even though he was bipedal, and even though he spoke like a person, there was a wild quality to his appearance that would likely never be tamed.

His friend snorted suddenly, the sound playfully derisive as he pat his head once more.

“You’re a terrible liar, Raku. Just terrible.”

The God huffed quietly, short arms folding over his fluffy chest. It didn’t take long for a smile to appear though. Even when he couldn’t win, he still vastly preferred this quiet existence to a life of meaningless splendour. What’s the use in a cult following if all you want is peace and quiet?

He turned his head as Alastor moved, the wooden planks firmly nailed together beneath them creaking quietly as he did. A handmade basket resting beside the door was retrieved, a lone glance over his shoulder tossed towards his peculiar companion.

“Are you really that desperate to come?”

Eagerly, Raku nodded. “Mhm!”

He watched as the man mulled it over, gaze cast on the floor as he did, before he looked up at him again. “Fine. So long as you stay close, you can come. But no jokes! I think I’d die if you even pretended to fall from so high up.”

A bright, beaming smile consumed the deity’s face as he flitted towards him, floating near until he could settle atop his head. He was weightless, really, unless he stopped hovering for some reason, and Alastor couldn’t see him doing something so counterproductive when they were so high up. He couldn’t help the smile at the familiar feeling of him atop him; tiny hands curled into thick copper locks, clawed feet balanced on his broad shoulders despite the fact that he was levitating. You’re such a bizarre entity. I wonder what you are.

“Okay, Al!”

#☆ — i never promised you your dream boy. ❜ ( main. )#☆ — i'm just here to destroy. ❜ ( ic. )#drabble *#/ i don't have a raku tag bc he's not really a muse so :flushed:#BUT THIS IS JUST TINY AND CUTE TBH

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lisinfleur · 5 years

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Bonita

Author’s Notes | Hey, dear anon! Thank you for the challenge! This is the first time I risked to write for a Hispanic Reader and I really hope it is well written! I would really like to thank my sweet friend @honestsycrets for the help with the details from her beautiful lands! May the gods bless me one day with the sweet chance to know and hug you in person, Bonita... Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Hispanic! Reader, Modern AU, requested by anon for 5CW5 Words | 1699 ⁑ Warnings: None

"What a damn lucky bastard you are!"

Hvitserk knew exactly what Ommar and Knut were talking about with those elbows hitting his ribs.

"She's fucking great, bro. Legit curves from Puerto Rico's fire, man!"

Hvitserk took a sip from his drink; the taste remembering him from the first time he saw her and how he was just as idiot as those two assholes beside him now.

He could remember he sighed at the sight of her curves, thinking she was the sexiest woman he ever saw in his life. Her skin was caressed by the sun and her traces seemed to be hand painted by an artist with his brush sliding in a single line to draw the suavity of those curves and circles and forms of her body. The beautiful lips smiled at his face, colored like the berries of autumn, adorning the face framed by the beautiful dark curls of her hair, cascading through her shoulders, down to her waist. She was the day and the night in a perfect marriage as if the sun had kissed her skin from the morning until the moment the moon decided to embrace her with the cloak of the dark sky, locking stars into the two dark lagoons she had in her eyes. A piece of art he couldn't avoid admiring, stunned by such unique beauty he never saw before in the lands he came from.

He giggled, remembering how innocent and stupid he was. She was so much more... But at that moment, he lost completely the attention to the menu card in his hand, the reason why she had approached him in the first place: He had the biggest number of wrinkles in his forehead she ever saw someone show while reading that thing, so, she thought she could help the foreigner with the obvious confusion about her language.

"May I?" she pointed the card and Hvitserk kinda woke up from his trance, remembering he wanted a drink, looking at the menu once again.

"Ah... Yes... Please... I..." he giggled, remembering how the words simply escaped him completely, despite the fact that there were a bunch of stupid ways to hit on her dancing in his mind.

At least, he had the good sense to avoid all of them. But in the end, he ended up looking even more like a silly tourist, babbling in front of her.

However, she was used to dealing with silly people like him and her smile opened once again, like the sunrise in the sky.

"Here, this one is made of..." she started explaining every single item of the menu for him, translating the words with that beautiful accent in her voice, so melodic.

Hvitserk remembered how he wanted that card to have a thousand items so, he could hear her voice forever.

But the list wasn't that long, and when she finished, he smiled back at her gentleness.

"What would you recommend for me?" he asked, trying to have more of her attention.

And she kindly pointed the number three of his card, smiling.

"Try the Don Q Limon with Cranberry Juice," she said, causing his lips to curve in a smile. "It's a local brand of rum. You may like the experience," she suggested, gentle.

Hvitserk took a new sip from his cup, remembering that moment. The drink became his favorite, just because it tasted like a good memory. One of the best of his life, he had to admit.

At that night, he paid not one, but two cups of that drink, offering a drink to the beautiful girl who was so kind to the foreign stranger. She accepted his drink and his company and the two of them had a long conversation, even laughing together, sharing not one, but various drinks before the night was too high and she said she had to go. And only then, at the time of her departure, the two of them noticed they had forgotten the simplest part of that interaction:

"Sorry..." Hvitserk said when messing with his phone to ask for her number. "But... What is your name?"

The two of them laughed together of that for weeks... And this was the reason why she still called him "Frowny" sometimes, such as he gained the habit to call her with one of the firsts words he discovered from her language... Bonita.

That night, Hvitserk remembers they exchanged messages until the dawn and through the morning on. Laughing emojis had replaced the laughs of the night and he said several times he wanted to see her again. They meet each other dozens of times and she showed him lots of places in her town, always playing about how he looked like a tourist even when he was trying the most to mix with the locals and not to seem so foreign.

He discovered the flavor of coconut water, some steps of her dance and notes of her music; she showed him how to speak some of her words and jokes from her people; stories, traditions, parties, kisses... With Y/N, Hvitserk discovered the magic of that place was too much more than just the beautiful women and beaches.

He discovered she worked on a family shop, selling handmade souvenirs and some dishes from the local cuisine - his absolute favorite kind of store: beautiful things and delicious food. Hvitserk spent hours there with her, learning from the flavors to the histories behind the Vejigante Masks her mother and her produced to sell at the store. He even brought one - red, white and black! - to his mother. He could remember how fascinated she was by the handmade piece that was now exposed in a wall of her corridor, proudly hanging at the wall.

To go back home after the first time was painful. And for a time, Hvitserk remembers he thought his Bonita would forget him. Silly boy... The one who was, at the first moment, planning to have a delicious and lustful night with a woman he would completely leave to his memory in the following morning; was now completely fallen for her sweet words, spoken to his ears at the airport, when they exchanged one last kiss before his departure.

"Vuelve pronto, mi Frowny," she said, nuzzling her nose to his neck, near his ear shell. "I'll miss you."

He came back.

Not one time, but two, three... Whenever he had the chance, he came back to be received by the true fire from Puerto Rico he discovered had nothing to do with the sex appeal of those beautiful women and men from that place.

The true fire was into her heart, enlightening her dark eyes whenever they landed on his image coming from the airport into her arms once again.

Hvitserk could remember lots of things from her. The first time he brought his mother to meet her - and how sweet her family was, receiving them as if they were a part of the house. The way she used to help him with the terrible heat of those lands - and how good it was to share the shower with her, shivering satisfaction under the cold water, against her skin; or simply lay down on her bed, the bare feet touching each other, pretending to fight for the air of the floor fan. He could remember the nights at her balcony, her body sitting in the middle of his legs, her back against his chest and her sweet lips kissing his neck while his eyes were looking at the beautiful sky over them both, full of stars.

However, what he couldn't remember was when his heart changed that way. When she became the blood of his veins or his skin became so addicted to her presence that his homelands weren't attractive anymore. His own apartment was cold, the places were sad, the sky was grey.

Hvitserk wasn't spending his vacations at Puerto Rico with her. He felt like his soul was living with her, in those heated lands, while his body was spending work time in the cold places where he came from.

What was a chance for a one-night stand girl became the reason why he became passionate for planes and never again he spent a single vacation in his home unless he could bring her to stay with him and warm his nights.

"Try not to get burnt on those flames, buddy!" Ommar's voice kinda woke Hvitserk's mind from the memories.

This time, the friends from his land wanted to come with him since he was the one who knew about the customs and language from the place they wanted to know. Hvitserk rolled his eyes. If she was flames, then he was a moth already taken, burnt to ashes long ago. And he liked this way.

He liked the way her spirit was free like the fire he was now so habituated to understand. The fire his foolish friends were too blind to really contemplate.

She was this fire. Her spirit, her curves, her eyes, her smiles, her words...

Her love.

Hvitserk left the empty cup over the table and smiled at his friends.

"I would be happy to burn, my friend," he said, pulling the small velvet box from his pocket, causing Ommar's eyes to become large and Knut to gasp with his drink before Hvitserk could smile.

It was funny to see how foolish he was one day. Good to notice he had grown into someone so better than before.

And it was all because of her.

"But this fire is not for everyone, Ommar. It has to accept you. To want you. And I'll be blessed if those flames decide I'm dignified enough to become one with them".

Holding his velvet box in his hand, he walked towards the dance floor. His precious Y/N so beautifully lost in the music...

"Hey... Mi Bonita!" he called, smiling.

From the iced lands of the Vikings, he came to know her flames. And maybe, if he was really as lucky as Ommar and Knut and many others before then said, then he would be able to play with her a song of ice and fire...

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