I told myself I was going to do another giveaway thing at 1500 if I ever got there but I had stopped checking until recently, so- I love you all lots and super appreciate your awesome rays of sunshine beaming into my darkness :]
My giveaway this time is going to be;
- two free basic hannigram idea doodles (like above) for two re-bloggers
- two dvd’s of a re-blogger's choice from this list pertaining to Hugh or Mads: Blood & Chocolate (Hugh), Clash of the Titans (Mads), The Jane Austen Book Club (Hugh), or The Hunt (Mads).
- and last but very least because I don’t really share that I do like to write, a ficlet with your prompt choice for a reblog - with a scribble doodle to go along
This giveaway thingy starts September 17 (Sunday), ends September 22nd (Friday)
You pulled your blanket tighter over your tired shoulders, bunching its hem in your palms. Tonight was a cold night, one of the first nights of December, and it managed to reach you through the countless layers of fabric encasing you. The stinging chill of winter jolted you in and out of sleep, bringing you to a steady shudder as the night progressed. Your toes curled in your socks, knees tucked against your chest, as you began to drift.
And then there was the sharp rap on your window, the soft hum of your name from behind the glass. Your eyelids heavily opened, eyelashes sticky with exhaustion, broken sleep painting your irises.
That rap came again, impatient, demanding, warm against the night.
After recuperating from your daze of confusion, smeared with sleep-deprivation, you lifted your head to turn to the window. You turned because you knew it was him, in this deep of a night, in this chill of winter, he was there. Of course he would be there. Just what you needed.
And sure enough, there crouched a shuddering Peter, cheeks pink in need of warmth and breaths stained white with the icy air. He wore a large, navy sweatshirt, his “Stark Enterprises” hoodie, that he claimed to be his most prized possession. Sweatpants covered his legs, bunching at his hips from his stance. His hands were tucked under his armpits in a cross, his body shivering softly, untamed coffee curls falling over his forehead. He flashed a bright smile when you met his eyes. Bright and warm against the night and ice.
Scratching a clammy hand against your scalp, you uncurled your body and inched your feet over the side of the bed, socks brushing against the December-stained sheets. Just his presence helped you get to your feet, his warm eyes bubbling happiness in your chest.
With rigid fingers, you hoisted the window up, the breeze splashing against your cheeks. Instantaneously, Peter was hopping through the gap, fitting himself and his sweatshirt through the glass, slipping into the familiar room. Your room.
“Hey,” he breathed, sigh shaky. His hand reached and slammed the window shut, cutting off the circulation of the cold air outside. “Why is it - why is it so cold in here?”
His hands ran themselves up the back of his arms, attempting to rid his goosebumps. Brows furrowed, he observed your sleepy smile.
“The AC went out this afternoon,” you began, bringing a hand behind you to rub your neck, “and since it’s still partially working, our landlord refuses to fix it.” You shook your head in an annoyed laugh, voice raspy with exhaustion.
“Seriously?” Peter huffed, nose tugging up in disbelief. “Dude, that’s awful.”
You gave a small nod, crossing your arms tightly against your chest. So cold.
“But, uh,” you began, stuttering slightly, “why are you here? It’s like,” you gave a quick glance at your alarm clock, “4 o’clock.” Peter chuckled lightly, a small blush rising to his cheeks as he observed the ground.
“I just, uh, wanted to see you.”
And there was that smile again, pulling at his lips across a tightly clenched jaw, bringing a glow to his honey eyes. It was infectious, too, as it always had been. Your heart smiled along with the boy, your chest smiled, your eyes smiled, your lips smiled. He was just happiness.
“It was really cold, and I missed you,” he stammered, breathless, gaze breaking from yours. It was adorably flattering how giddy he was, how nervous, how excited, even now, after so long. This was Peter, had always been Peter, this was happiness.
With a light laugh, you moved towards him, freezing toes catching warmth as you neared. Resting your head in the crook of his neck, shoulder against his chest, arms still tightly bunched against your chest, you smiled into him. His arms gently wrapped themselves across your back, hugging you tighter and warmer and happier. He was warm, even though he was cold, he was warm. His touch was balmy and comforting and happy.
“It’s so cold, Peter,” you huffed, laughing lightly against the Stark logo.
“I know, I know,” he whispered into your hair, chapped lips catching small strands, arms running up and down your back in an effort to warm you. It worked; the blood was soon rushing through your limbs again, melting away the icy exterior that had been painted over you.
“But you know what?” you smiled, peering up to look at him. You rested a hand softly against the neck of his hoodie, palm pressing against the fabric.
“Hm?” Peter questioned, gaze dropping to meet your eyes. A messy smile laid on his lips.
“You’re pretty hot.”
You laughed, watching his cheeks heat with a light pink, watching his eyes grow a little wide with admiration, watching his chest lift as he inhaled a slightly deep breath than before. He broke into a light chuckle, flattered at your goofy remark.
“Uh, thanks,” he grinned, gripping your shoulders against him. He never, ever believed you when you complimented him on his looks, and you could tell that he didn’t entirely believe you now, with his jaw still tight, but it made him feel good. You knew it made him feel good, and bringing him the same happiness he gave to you was what you strived to do.
“You’re pretty cute, too,” he smiled, returning the compliment with sincerity. He laid a small kiss on your hairline, before pulling you closer and rocking you in his arms. You could feel the smile on his chest, in his arms, dancing along his fingers. You could feel his smile, his happiness.
You swayed for a moment, soaking each other in. Relishing in the warmth, in the breathing, in the admiration and hope and love and longing. Because this was Peter, this was just what you needed, this was the heat to warm off the chill.
“Hey, uh, do you think I could crash here tonight?” His voice was soft and hesitant, kissing the air.
You nodded your head against his neck, nose brushing his Adam’s apple.
“Thanks,” he mumbled into your hair, bringing his chin to rest on the top of your head. “I kind of don’t want to go back outside. It’s freezing.”
“I don’t blame you,” you sighed, closing your eyes and breathing him in.
“And I wanted to cuddle.”
His soft words brought that genuine contentment back to your thoughts and a bubble of laughter broke between your lips, tickling against his neck.
“Of course you do,” you breathed. “You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, just to cuddle.”
He laughed at this, the honeyed sound of his happiness summery in the icy air. He mumbled a small “yep”, chuckling against you.
And then you were both climbing into your bed, after Peter clumsily kicked his shoes off, folding the blankets over your limbs, coaxing the warmth out of each other’s cold bodies, snuggling tightly in the sheets. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tight, his sock-covered feet tangling with yours. His balmy breaths fanned over your neck, slowing as he drifted into a light sleep. You held his hand in yours, running soft circles on his palm.
His chest was flush against your back, strong and comforting. His feeling was buttery and honeyed and warm and happy, surging waves of rolling contentment through your veins.
“This is perfect,” you muttered into your pillow, biting the inside of your cheek. So happy.
Peter hummed softly, agreeing, nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck. His curls were spreading over you, the dusty brown mixing with your strands, his eyelids pleasantly closed.
“You’re perfect,” the boy sighed, the words tickling your neck, sending radiating surges of happiness, of Peter, down your collarbones, dripping across your chest, down your legs, and to your toes. His voice was sleepy and comforting and raspy and you relaxed beneath the heavy weight of his arms. You inhaled deeply, breathing in the moment, in his compliment, in him. Breathing in the cutting happiness of Peter against the frosty aroma of the air.