#1: I love this fic

[lunatih]

I want to shake him like a rattle

Link, (finally) realizing something (I hope), from The Curious Minds by @allthegoodusernamesaretakenagain

[asexualasshat]

Anyone else Thinkin about how Steve was 100% the subject of Eddie cafeteria rants during Steve’s senior year?? Maybe a jibe about how Nancy was right to leave him? She’s too good for him??

And it hurts cause he’s a lil raw but it’s mostly like “yeah I know” so it mostly brushes past him. He’s doing his best to be a decent person.

And so now after seeing Steve bite the head off a bat and also be kind and respectable? He’s like “woah. Steve is good. So good. Maybe the best. Deserves so much love.” And obviously that’s rapidly growing crush. But he doesn’t quite pick up on it so he’s like “this surely means he’s at least good enough for Nancy. I need to encourage them to get together because Steve is so good and deserves the best”

So he encourages it and Steve kinda explores it and he’s quickly like “hmmm no. She’s the best and we’re buds and will never kiss again.”

And Eddie is a lil crushed that Steve isn’t happy and in love. No he’s fr feeling very sad for Steve.

It’s like a month later, with Steve leaning against him while they watch a movie, that Eddie’s like “hold the phone! I don’t just want him to be happy and in love! I want him to be happy and in love with ME!”

Thus followed by Eddie’s bumbling attempts because he doesn’t really think he’s good enough for steve

But what he doesn’t know is that Steve sped through a sexuality crisis and had been ranting to Robin about how Eddie wasn’t picking up on his flirting (Robin says he’s too subtle) so he doesn’t know what to do. But oh man, he recognizes flirting coming at him with no question. Even if it’s so deeply awkward. So once he sees Eddie flirting??? Game on. Come to Stevie

End rant

[choccy-milky]

part 3 to my modern AU 💞🍺 (part 1 / part 2)

[tinseltownie]

I died btw

[rafeandonlyrafe]

proper thank you

words: 600

warnings: 18+ only!, stepbro!rafe, sending nudes, stepcest, kinda dumb/baby reader???

“carry me up to bed rafey?” you coo at your step brother, fluttering your lashes as your pout turns into a giggle when he sighs, unable to resist your pleading face.

“you're the most annoying little sis ever.” rafe says, calling you the nickname just to tease you as he leans down, scooping you into his arms. he carries you like you weigh nothing, so easily slotting into the good older stepbrother role when your parents married, despite him being only a few months older than you.

“thank you rafey.” you say sweetly as he walks you up the stairs, your arms holding him around the shoulders, head leaned against his broad chest.

“yeah, you gotta give me a better thank you than that.” rafe rolls his eyes as he carries you into your bedroom. only once the door is closed do you press a wet kiss to his cheek as a proper thank you.

rafe plops you down on the bed unceremoniously. “there ya go.” he waves as he walks away, knowing it's not actually goodnight as you let out a whine.

“tuck me in?”

rafe hides his smirk before turning around, putting on his slightly annoyed act like he always does when you ask him.

rafe pulls the fluffy blanket out from under you. it's slightly weighted so it naturally tucks around your body anyways as rafe covers you, but his hands still move slowly, feeling your body as he pushes in the blanket until you're stuck tight underneath it.

“anything else? want me to tell you a bedtime story?” rafe says it as a joke, but with the way your eyes light up, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, recounting three little pigs from memory the best he can.

“alright, you gotta get to bed now.” rafe glances at the clock on your nightstand as the hour hand ticks closer to midnight. “goodnight.”

“goodnight rafey.” you smile softly before letting out a yawn. “ill give you a proper thank you soon.”

rafe isn't sure what you mean until he makes it back to his room, scrolling aimlessly through his phone until a text message appears from you.

he clicks it to open up the image, his eyes widening and dick swelling as he sees you in a silky nightgown, the swell of your breasts clearly visible, nipples poking through the fabric. he recognizes the nightgown from a few days ago, but you clearly got further undressed.

rafes eyes bulge as the next image loads, the same pose, now sans nightgown, tits bare and thighs clenched together to make a delicious looking v that rafe wants to dive into.

a proper thank you ;) reads your text, along with one last image, this time with your legs spread, smile on your face as your cunt is on clear display. you took the marker tool to add to your lower stomach “property of big brother.”

rafe is in your room untucking you from your bed before the clock reaches midnight.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

[flwrstqr]

₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ ENHYPEN WHEN THEY'RE THE ACTOR TO YOUR POP STAR

﹙ 𝓹𝐥𝐨𝐭 ♡𝓹𝐫é𝐜𝐢𝐬 actor!enha hyung line x pop star fem!r. 𖥔fluff, ot7 works one shot wordcount` 700. 𓈃 ◌⠀⠀˖ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𓏵⠀

𝐋���𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 (이희승)

you’re backstage at heeseung’s movie premiere, sitting in his lap while he scrolls through your latest music video on his phone. “i can’t believe this is my girlfriend,” he teases, kissing your temple. you giggle, brushing your fingers through his hair. “you’re the one on the big screen tonight, mister hollywood,” you tease back, nudging his shoulder. he smirks, pulling you closer. “still can’t get over how talented you are, baby,” he whispers, voice low and soft, sending a shiver down your spine. you playfully roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way his hands rest on your waist, but your heart flutters anyway. “let’s just focus on your moment,” you say, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “fine,” he sighs dramatically, “but only if you sit like this the whole time.” you laugh, knowing full well he means it.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 (박종성)

jay’s been at every single concert of your tour, and tonight is no different. you’re backstage, still buzzing from the energy of the crowd, when he pulls you into his arms. “i don’t know how you do it,” he murmurs, his voice soft against your ear. “you’re incredible every single night.” you smile, burying your face in his chest. “you’ve seen it all by now,” you tease, looking up at him. “aren’t you tired of following me around?” he shakes his head, eyes warm as he brushes a thumb over your cheek. “never. i love watching you up there, and besides, it’s the best part of my day.” you laugh, pulling him closer. “what’s the second best part?” he grins, leaning in just enough to make your heart race. “this,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “every single time.”

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 (심재윤)

jake leans against the doorway, watching you from across the room as you scroll through your phone on the couch, completely unaware of his gaze. "you know, it's not fair," he suddenly says, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. you glance up, confused, and tilt your head. "what's not fair?" you ask, sitting up. "that i have to share you with the world," he teases, walking over and sitting beside you, his hand casually resting on your thigh. "oh, please," you laugh, rolling your eyes, "mr. hollywood heartthrob, you're the one who’s always on screen." he chuckles, leaning closer, his face inches from yours. "maybe, but i’m the one who's lucky enough to have you off-camera." his voice drops slightly as he presses a soft kiss to your lips, making your heart race. “how is that fair?” you whisper, grinning.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 (박성훈)

you’re lying on the couch, scrolling through tiktok when an edit of sunghoon pops up. it’s from his latest movie, and the comments are full of people saying things like, "god, he's so fine!!!" your eyebrows furrow a little, feeling a tiny bit of jealousy bubble up. sunghoon, who’s sitting beside you, glances over and smirks, easily catching on. "thirst trap edit really?" he teases, wrapping an arm around your waist. "well, guess they don't know i got a pretty talented singer as my girlfriend." he presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment, and you can’t help but smile. "maybe they should know," you tease back

[hyperballart]

HEAR ME OUT!!!!!

being the beverage cart girl at a golf course that dilf!art frequents… the first time you came around to offer him something from your cooler he’d been a bit stunned—you’re a pretty young thing he hasn’t seen around before. he politely declined and you went about your way shortly after with an, i’ll see you around mr. donaldson! you make your rounds for weeks and weeks and always stop by him even if all you get is a no thanks, i’m good sweetheart. you try to hide your flustered state with a small nod before speeding off in your golf cart, if it were any other man at the course you’d be crawling out of your skin. but you think he might be the most beautiful man you’ve encountered—sharp jaw always working a piece of gum and blue eyes that maintain firm contact with you during interactions. and art knows the age gap between you both would be frowned upon if he let his desires take control, so he keeps you at a distance. the fact that he fucks his hand thinking about you in your cute little skirts and tight tank tops, watching you bend over to retrieve drinks from afar, and seeing your smile while interacting with other players is between him and god only. he always finishes on his stomach with an echo of your voice in his head, need anything mr donaldson?

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Postcards ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Summary: Quirky postcards are a tradition. Lando and you make sure to uphold it.

➨ ln4 x reader

➨ fluff

masterlist ☾☼

you loved attending lando’s races. it was a different atmosphere, charged and electric. you would hang out with lando and oscar before they would have to leave. you would wish them both luck with gentle kisses on their cheeks, and whispered i love you’s between you and lando. the team would make sure that you were comfortable with headphones on your head that lando had insisted that you wear at all times because of the loud environment. you would be there before, during, and after, and nothing made you happier.

ever since the two of you had begun dating, lando had made sure to add an additional day or two for travelling. he knew how much you loved it, and how much you craved to see new places. honestly, though, if you had asked lando to sign over his life to you with your big, beautiful eyes, he wouldn’t even hesitate.

lando and you would walk around the city, finding and visiting new places, trying different cuisines, and whatnot. you loved interacting with new people, and learning about their lives. if people had thought that lando was a yapper, wait till they saw you. it was one of lando’s favourite things about you. you managed to have a conversation with anyone and everyone, always with a smile on your face and bright eyes.

lando would follow you around like a puppy (as he should) while you dragged him into every shop you found interesting. you would look for the quirkiest postcards you could find, asking lando for his opinion on whether he thought it was funny or if the two of you could find something better. it was a joint effort, and it was a tradition that was close to your heart. whenever you found a postcard that made the two of you laugh, or smile, you bought it. and then, later, lando would get a photo of the two of you printed from his camera, and stick it on the back of the postcard.

it had become a practice between the two of you ever since the first race you had attended within the first two weeks of you two dating. lando had desperately wanted you to attend, and you agreed, on two conditions: you should be hidden from the media until you felt comfortable, and you wanted a day or two added for exploring the city.

lando had agreed. of course he did.

back in your apartment, you had a box full of all the quirky postcards you and lando had bought. it made you so much happier to share something like that with him.

though, when you had to miss races because of your university and internships, you couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened that the two of you wouldn’t be able to buy postcards anymore. of course, you would watch the races, and you would text lando throughout. you would even try and visit the races that were closer to home so that you didn’t overwork yourself. lando was grateful for all of it, but he knew that having you there in person was different than having you there through the phone.

the first race that you had missed, you had cried and apologised to lando for not being able to attend. lando had reassured you that your work was equally important, and that he wouldn’t want you to give up your passion to support his. he understood your need to make a name for yourself, and he was there to support you throughout. he knew that while you had felt a little better, you weren’t completely feeling good. to cheer you up, lando had decided to uphold the tradition, and the day after the race, he dragged oscar to look for a quirky postcard for you. after finding one, he would find a picture from his camera from during the race weekend, attach it to the postcard and mail it to you.

the first time you had received it, you had been so happy. you had facetimed lando, thanking him, and he told you all about the backstory of the photograph. you would laugh, and lando would laugh, and everything was okay again. it was the first time you knew that you loved him and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

that became the new norm.

any race that you couldn’t attend, lando would find a postcard, print a picture from his camera, and mail it to you. you would talk to him whenever you received it, and then you would store them in your box. certain postcards that were your favourites, whether for the picture he had sent along with it, the story, or even the postcard, you stuck them on your fridge with a magnet.

eventually, years later, after the two of you had moved in together in monaco, you and lando had a brilliant idea. it was going to be a lot of work, you two knew that, but it was going to be worth the effort.

it had taken an entire day, but you guys had settled on the floor of your new bedroom with the box of postcards, and an album book. there were four years worth of postcards for the two of you to sort through. there was music playing in the background, snacks laying around, and a wine bottle that you two shared. lando and you sorted through the postcards, setting aside your most favourite ones and adding the others in the album. the two of you danced and giggled, and sang along to the songs playing in the background. the two of you recounted stories, smiling and also crying a little bit.

after the album was done, lando picked up the box with the remaining postcards, and followed you to the living room. you and lando stood in front of the plain wall, which lando had originally planned on painting himself, before he had decided on a new plan. after a half hour of measuring and failing terribly at doing calculations, the two of you got to work. grabbing postcards from the box, you began sticking them to the wall.

it wasn’t completely stuck. you could always flip it over to look at the picture, and you knew that lando and you would switch some of the postcards in the future to add new favourites.

carlos had asked about the postcards when the f1 grid had come over for a housewarming dinner, along with your friends and lando’s friends.

he stood in front of the wall, staring at the postcards, when he finally asked, “what’s the deal with the postcards?”

“flip them over,” lando said.

carlos did as he asked, and realised that there were pictures in the back. he flipped through some of them, finding pictures of him and lando as well.

“i remember when lando used to drag me to every possible shop in whichever city we were in to look for a postcard quirky enough for y/n,” oscar said, laughing.

“we didn’t go to every shop,” lando whined, while you giggled.

“no, lando, we did. every shop he saw tourist-y stuff, he would drag me there, and then ask me if it was quirky enough for y/n. those were his exact words,” everyone laughed, because of course lando went to every shop looking for the perfect postcard. even then, he loved you so much that he wanted the best for you, and anyone and everyone around them could see that from the start.

later that night, when lando was washing the dishes, you came up to him. fitting under one of his arms, as he continued to wash dishes, you hugged him.

“thank you for finding me the best postcards,” you whispered against his chest.

lando kissed the top of your head, “always the best for you, love,”

stupid postcards went and made you fall in love.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

im not sure if i love this, but i really liked the idea, and i really wanted to try and write it! i've also got a link for my taglist that you can find here!

[fiendishartist2]

guy who doesnt dance x guy who will drag you onto the dance floor

[thatskindarough]

I’m not sure about anyone else but I personally have a pretty hard time finding Aziraphale centric fics. Crowley centric fics are really easy to find, stuff that splits C/A evenly is also pretty easy to find.

So I think we should start a thread of Aziraphale centric fics (or at least ones where he gets to take a major role in.)

I’ll go first:

These are the Soul by Mikripetra—This is my comfort fic I love it with my entire being.

Starmaker and Starlight by Nohaljiachi—This one just made me very happy then very sad. It focuses on Aziraphale before the beginning, coming to be friends with the starmaker (angel Crowley)

Prax In Terris —by Oatmeal Addiction I love this one because it captures the spirit of good omens perfectly. Genuinely if s3 was a fanfiction this (and the other fic in this series) is what I’d want it to be. Now it is not exactly Aziraphale centric, it does split time pretty evenly with Crowley and Muriel, but I love Aziraphale’s role in this, and he gets to be really interesting and stubborn. (Maybe not for all readers who dislike face value interpretations of the FF though.) It’s a wip about the second coming and I’m very curious where the author is gonna take it.

If you want, please feel free to add any Aziraphale centric fics to this post and also please shamelessly self-rec your own fics

(Edited to add the author names and also to say thank you for everyone recommending things, it makes me and I’m sure other Aziraphale fans very happy!)

[peoplesprincessgeorge]

galex + txt posts = true <3

[hercarisntyours]

you don't understand how badly I need mockumentry sitcom transformers

(edit: for the people now seeing this I am making a tfone the office au!! (and taking suggestions for scenes lmao!!)

[teethkid67]

PAYDAY

aka a valentine for the lovely @itsnotmystic / @corvids-calling - fanart for stars fic of the same name, which you can read here !!! i really enjoyed this concept and wanted to do some art for it :3 hope you like it because i REALLY loved your work & i hope this shows that !!! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY !!!!

this is also a loose love-letter to the wonderful @arginnit 's crazy background-drawing-ability and style/skill at portraying environments . wadds your stuff is insane and i love it

happy @mcyt-valentines exchange !!!!

[0anonnymouslyours0]

hi there!

maybe a fluff with my favourite James Potter? i was thinking something about reader leaving a lipstick mark on James..

enjoy writing, kisses:*

james my beloved, i want to kiss him all over <3

james is technically supposed to be leaving for quidditch practise... technically. but, instead, you've distracted him. i mean, how could he not kiss you, when you exit the bathroom, ready for the day- with your lips painted a perfect red.

how could he not pull you over, begging for a kiss. of course, you oblige, because how could you resist james potter. its sweet, hes all giggly, cheeks flushed as you kiss. his hands are firmly placed on your waist, pulling you tightly against him.

"okay.. practise jamie, you have practise." you giggle, pulling back and resting your hands on his shoulders.

"i know.. but-" he says, squeezing your waist.

you giggle, leaning in and kissing his cheek, leaving a lipstick print.

"off you go." you say, neglecting to till him of the mark you left on his cheek. and patiently waiting to hear the reaction of his teammates when james arrives at practise.

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

My entry for a prompt week we organized on the SatoSho Discord Server. The prompt was Soft Touches

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"