Fem!Grimmjow x Playful Ichigo: Sausage, miso, mackerel, and bread: it wasn't breakfast until he kissed her, then he was supple within her hands. It wasn't breakfast until she wore him and found him somewhere on her lips.

When date night's a club night and nostalgia is in the air, it's hard to believe 14 years is how long they've been together. Especially when some things never change - the dancing has gotten worse.

It took less effort to wear a smile than to frown, or Ichigo had heard: not that fewer muscles were involved, but it was easier, a habit — but a workout, nonetheless. Gravity was pretty heavy; it ached him when he tried. And still, he carried it unlike a burden: when was the last time he felt this light?

If peeling oranges was easy, then the sunset was child's play. Especially when he gnawed it, really worked it between his teeth, chewed it to submission, and had it stained around his mouth. That his laughter, his smile and the rosiness in his cheeks begged the question of what was love, if not sheer insanity?

Destruction (noun): it's a promise and distraction that once you find it, you're ruined. It would break you without a doubt; you'd barely notice how it happened, and not in Hell or high water would you ever be the same. Because you're ruined, you're done for, this destroyed you — him.

At a quarter until six, there was no need to get up. There was no need to grab car keys or guzzle a thing of toothpaste, brush with a mug of coffee or pat-down for a muffin. Not when Ichigo was behind him and in front of him while he hugged, nestled to his shoulder, buried to his throat.

Reaching for his pencils or a nub of fresh charcoal, Toshiro steals a glance. Then another — again and again — while shading how the light has enveloped who he loves. That the shadows and their absence on the cats and Ichigo have him falling and falling fast into the sublimity of what he's found.

A ball of yarn and twin needles pearled this very moment: the sunset, the notches, the fabric at his throat and the threaded, little waff of Harry's fingers and a thumb kissed him and nosed him with a sweet, summer's breath.

Captivation was a fancy word for self-induced confinement. For Tom was a captive to his own heart when he found Harry before the sunrise. Peering softly from a shoulder and through his eyes, he caught himself: crooked as an arrow because Merlin, he wasn't straight. And yet he hit rather well if his target was the same.

Harry's the parts of him that were dormant, hardened and lost. But the innocence and joy — well, he found them in his arms. That it's hard to be annoyed, his frown trailing off. It's hard to sound peeved; his sigh is nothing rough. It's hard because he feels so gentle and soft, endeared with where he is, while Harry holds him like a gift.

Same Year AU, Harry & Tom attend Hogwarts together Chocolate isn't his favorite flavor, but occasionally Tom makes an exception. And he does when there's a smidge of it near the corner of Harry's mouth.

7th Year AU Crackish Tom's jealous of the earth because it doesn't how to woo Harry to fall for it When Harry's caught between the gravities of his boyfriend and the planet, the only way Tom could steal him was to have him fall into his heart.

AU - Tom & Harry attend Hogwarts together During a Hogsmeade winter date, Tom's appalled by two things: he's softer than he thought and thinks that blushing is unbecoming. He's overcome with emotions because Merlin, he loves Harry.

Canon Missing Scene Set 2 weeks after 31 Oct 1981 In the cupboard beneath the stairs, there was a little, orphaned boy. Tucked with anything but a blanket made of cotton or that of wool, unraveled above a cot that one of the dogs had outgrown. It was a gift from Aunt Marge from the first time she ever met him.

Bright behind the knuckles and like a backbone to this palm, callused and heavy yet light and warm, were the fault lines and the valleys and the ditches of Harry's touch. That a continent — or perhaps, a country — was the best way to describe it.

Parseltongue worldbuilding friendship/married AU It started with an earnest, and it's how they ended here — from the library to the bedroom and all the years in-between — with Harry trading hisses for kisses where he wants as Tom holds him like the world and with a dopey, little grin. Hissing softly, 'Where next' when Harry tells him, 'Come here.'

He noticed Harry — long before the other graced him with his lips. Before he pawed at the blankets until they tumbled to his waist, before the weight of him caught the mattress when Harry knelt with a pure reverence, and before he tiptoed from the carpet and caught the sight of him still asleep.

Soft Smut He had done to Harry what winter could only dream of doing to summer: he pressed him fiercely until his back was then synonymous with the wall, textured and rucked while slathered between the stones. He bruised him with a harvest and unwound him with just his mouth, as no one else was at the table, and he couldn't leave him untouched.

On the first practice of the season, you could say some Slytherins were aghast. Their Head Boy was imperio'd or kidnapped to a closet, missing a few hairs because someone had stolen them, as there was a boy of his likeness surrounded by Gryffindors — fraternizing with the enemy and playing with a tie. Neither green or silver, but bold to their eyes.

Sickfic Steadily throughout the evening and still as warm as it was earlier, this mug of chocolate was never empty as Harry savored his every sip. Because the sweetness of its kisses and the murmurs he felt were proxies of his husband's when Tom refilled this with a glance.