#fic: bliss

[taegularities]

Hey can you write a Drabble for Bliss ?

JK: I didn't know we'd have to walk so far. OC: It's Disneyland. The bus isn't very likely to stop right in front of the entrance. JK, lifting Jinha who keeps slipping in his grip: There better be good food inside. This damn heat is hell.

Jinha, clutching his shirt, eyebrows kissing and lips pouting; she got that gaze from her father: Daddyyyy. JK: What? What did I do? OC, sighing: You said *whispers* hell. And damn. JK: Ah. Did your kindergarten teacher tell you that? Jinha nods, doe eyes staring at him: She said those are bad words. JK: Right. She's not wrong. Jinha, patting his chest; all her r's sound like w's: But don't wowwy. I still love you. JK, smirking, mumbles: You're growing up way too fast. You walk for another two minutes before Jinha suddenly screeches into Jungkook's ear. JK: Jesus Christ, I– Jinha, kicking her feet, gesturing around until Jungkook finally lets her down: Look! Look, it's Goofy! OC: Ah yeah. I remember when I'd get excited about Daisy. And Cinderella. JK: You haven't changed, though. You'll love seeing them today just as much. OC, giggling, shrugging your shoulders: Not untrue. JK: Come here. Jinha. Don't walk away with us. Hand? Jinha reaches out her hand, still jumping around because of the costumed figures running back and forth. She lets out a shrill laugh when Goofy looks into her direction, waving enthusiastically. She imitates him, out of breath. OC: Oh, she's gonna love it here. An hour later, you've found a place to eat, much to your pleasure not as crowded as the rest of the amusement park. Jungkook is wiping Jinha's mouth, laughing when she opens her mouth to tease him. JK: Stay still, sweetheart. But she doesn't. Instead, he dodges his hand, continuing to chew her pizza in tiny pieces. Jungkook gives up when she starts swaying in her seat; dancing when a particular bite delights her taste buds with some extra intensity. OC: Just do it when she's done. JK: Figured. She won't let me anyway, right, munchkin? JK tickles her a little, his eyes glowing when she giggles away: You behaved today. *frees her eyes from her fringe* Well done, baby. Jinha, grins at him with pizza crust between her teeth, and Jungkook can't resist but grip her chin and leave a smooch on her cheek. She wipes at it with a high-pitched laugh. Never gets enough of his affection, and how he adores her. And you... you never get enough of leaning back, watching, falling in love deeper with every second and minute and hour of the day.

– omg did you read bliss today !!! this was so fun to write tbh, thank you !! 🥺 lemme know what you think <3 –

ask my characters! <3

[medusagorgongirl1]

Wanna know what I want to see more of in the Timkon Fandom? Good boyfriend Tim. I'm not saying fics that are 'Kon going through shit, and Tim is just there to be the 'good boyfriend that you could replace with literally any fucking character'

Im talking about Tim recognizing his anti social, pushing away the people he loves tendencies and realizing that he cannot act that way to Kon. I want Tim to realize the way the Kon love, and that he needs to put effort into making Kon feel loved. Like a lot of people that ship these think that they could just get together and tgat would be it, but like they would both have to effort into maintaining the relationship, and making the other feel loved and wanted.

Like I want Tim to start showing Kon more casual affection. Like throwing in the occasional pet name, holding hands more often, being more tactile, etc. Because kon thrives off of being reminded that he is loved. But like Kon would be thrown for a fucking loop every time Tim does something like that, because he knows that Tim is doing it for him, and that makes it 10 times more important. But like also vice versa with Kon acknowledging that sometimes Tim will throw his entire being in a case or project, and that's just how he is. Like I want Kon to understand that Tim is obsessive, like that's just a part of him and sometimes he just needs a bit of space to finish something before he can be a regular human again

It just, it annoys me that a lot of people that ship them don't think that their contrasting personalities and behaviors would ever cause any issues in their relationship. Like I wanna see more domestic timkon, where they have to work for their shared happiness

[samuelsdean]

Who Needs Time Management When I Have You?

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: one of the many perks of having a boyfriend with flawless memory is that you do not have to remember stuff—he remembers them for you.

genre: tooth-rotting domestic fluff

word count: 1.5k

author's notes: i wrote this because domestic!spencer reid is a guilty pleasure of mine. i can definitely picture him as an attentive boyfriend because aside from the fact that he has flawless memory, he's an overall caring guy. with that said, i hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing this!

ONE OF THE MANY PERKS OF HAVING A BOYFRIEND WITH FLAWLESS MEMORY IS THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE TO REMEMBER STUFF—HE REMEMBERS THEM FOR YOU. Do you have a dentist's appointment at 9? Covered. He will be waking you up at 7 with breakfast in bed. Your sister’s birthday is coming up. No worries! He has already ordered a bouquet ready to be sent on the day. It is amazing, and you thank your lucky stars for him every morning when you wake up and see him cozily sleeping beside you.

However, you were out of luck on the boyfriend angle today. You had your monthly—or if the BAU is free—girls' night scheduled tonight. As much as you enjoy having girls' nights with the BAU girls, Spencer also likes to spend some time out with the guys for a nightcap or something, whatever the men at the BAU enjoy when there is no case. And that means, your boyfriend is busy getting ready to go out as well. Although Spencer has never forgotten a thing in his life—even when he is on the brink of life and death—you do not want to stress him out even more by asking him what you think you have forgotten to prepare.

So, today when you were running around the house like a madman trying to collect the stuff you need to bring to Garcia’s for girls' night, you have no one else to blame but yourself. You have depended on your boyfriend to remember stuff for you that you always leave the preparation at the very last minute. At the moment, you believe you’ve never hated yourself as much as you did now, which is quite the feat considering that you’ve hated yourself a lot before for chickening out on confessing your feelings to boy wonder—your boyfriend, Spencer Reid—only to find out he shares the same feelings.

Scratch that, you hate your boyfriend right now more than you hate yourself.

Currently, that same boyfriend has been snickering nonstop at you dashing left and right and gathering the things you need to bring. Face masks? Check. Wine? Check. What else were you forgetting?

“You know, there’s this study that says only 82% of people have a time management system.” 

Your ever-loving boyfriend, Spencer, decided to share. You were about to chuck the throw pillow at him because you could hear the I told you so in his voice, but you knew his fact-sharing and nagging was his unique way of saying, “I love you, but you could’ve remedied this problem by preparing the stuff you’ll need the night before.”

“No, I don’t, Spence. But, do tell.” 

At this point, you’re pretty sure Spencer was sporting a shit-eating grin and was probably holding in a laugh at the strain in your voice from recalling whether you’ve got everything so you can head over to Garcia’s. You’re pretty sure Garcia is about to talk your ear off if you’re running late. You missed out on the last girls' night after you bailed on them, wanting to spend the night with Spencer, watching Star Wars, and eating takeout.

“There's a survey done recently which revealed that 90% of people say better time management can lead to increased productivity.” Spencer started explaining, hands waving around as if to demonstrate the numbers in front of him. “However, only 18% of people have a proper time management system.”

“And?” 

“Well, it just reminded me of you.” Spencer pursed his lips now, as he tried to explain his thoughts without annoying you. “If you just had a proper time management system like a to-do list or a planner. You could save at least..” He stared at his watch and did the math, “You could save at least one hour and forty-three minutes of your time instead of panicking over whether you got all the things you need for girls' night.”

“I don’t need that when I have you. Don’t you think so?”

This made your boyfriend blush, and you giggled, heading towards his direction, so you could wrap your hands around his waist and bury your face into his chest. You were the luckiest person alive for getting to date someone as wonderful as Spencer.

What you just said would not have made anyone flush and nervous, but Spencer was different. You knew he’s never been in a formal relationship with anyone before you. Thus, from time to time, he still gets embarrassed by your antics which you’ll always be endeared by. You live to see your boyfriend getting flustered because it gives you a reason to shower him with affection like now.

“I love you too, Spence.”

You looked up at your boyfriend, who looked like he was about to burst from your directness. You and he may deal with a lot of blood and gore during work, but he can be the most fainthearted person alive when it came to your affections.

“B-but I didn’t say I love you..” He trailed off, confused as to why you were suddenly proclaiming your love for him. You grinned even more as you pinched the tip of his nose.

“You didn’t have to, Spence. I know your nagging is one way of you saying you love me, and I love you for that.” 

Spencer scrunched his nose and rubbed the back of his neck out of shyness. If you could keep him in your pocket for safekeeping, you would. He’s just too precious for this world.

“But, as much as I love you, I know just as much that Penelope will have my ass kicked by Emily if I get to her house late,” you broke free from your boyfriend’s comfy arms, checking the bags you packed while doing so. “I have to go, baby. I think I got everything I need.”

Picking up your bag and care package, you ruffled your boyfriend’s brown locks, which made him frown a bit and sigh. You snickered at his reaction and proceeded to walk towards the front door. You were about to reach the staircase just outside your shared apartment when you realized something. 

You forgot your car keys.

Berating yourself in your head, you were certain once you entered that door, Spencer would be on your case like a mother duck. He can be too fretful when it comes to you. Oh well, that is one thing you love about him. Huffing, you slowly turned the doorknob and found Spencer leaning on the wall just inside the door with his arms crossed, looking at you smugly. You rolled your eyes.

One thing about Spencer Reid is he can be a cocky little shit when proven right. And that happens most—if not all—the time, with his IQ of 187 and eidetic memory. Unfortunately for him, he also happened to date a cocky little shit—you—who likes to fluster the living lights out of him. And right now, you just thought of the perfect way to get back at him.

But first, your car keys. Spencer next.

Once you have retrieved the pesky item—like it’s the car keys’ fault, you forgot to get them—you turned towards the door, not paying any attention to your boyfriend, who was already cracking up at you. Only when you’ve reached the door, your back towards Spencer, did you smirk. Oh, he’ll never know what’s coming to him. You did a U-turn and 

“Forgot something, sweetheart?”

“Why, yes I did, Dr. Reid,” you stated plainly, beelining towards him, making him take a few steps back until he ended up with his back against the wall. He's so easy to fluster. "I forgot to do this."

You slanted your head and pressed your lips against his. Your bodies were snug against each other as you kissed heatedly against the wall. You could feel the flutter of his long lashes against your cheeks as he parted his lips slightly to kiss you deeper. You could taste your shared breath, smell his faint perfume, and feel the slight scruff of a stubble about to show up. Warmth blossomed in your chest when you felt Spencer caress your face as if you were fine porcelain.

Kissing Spencer Reid never gets old in your books. Despite his lack of romantic experience and being the eager researcher that he was, Spencer was an eager lover—he would kiss you every chance he'd get to know how to please you, which paid off, by the way. This may be a biased opinion but you think the best kisses you have shared were with Spencer.

However, like all good things, kissing Spencer has to end, or Garcia will have you banned from her house for running late.

You pulled away from Spencer and grinned at him, to which he returned with a stunned smile. You chuckled when you noticed your lipstick smudged on the corner of his lips and brushed a finger to erase it. You wouldn't want your boyfriend to be the subject of Morgan's teasing once they're together after this. Noticing the daze your boyfriend is under is about to wear off, and he was about to say something, you beat him to it by pressing a smooch on his nose and pulling away completely. 

"I gotta go, Dr. Reid. Don't miss me too much!"

You scampered towards the door and shot a wink at your bewildered boyfriend—who was now sputtering in indignation for interrupting what he was about to say. He is so cute.

[trappolia]

GALLAGHER── while you were sleeping, i fell in love

he finds comfort in you in the waking world the same way people do in their dreams.

sleep comes easier in penacony. the reverie where locals and outlanders alike seek some semblance of escape from their truths and the hedonistic what-ifs that can become reality in the dreamscape is simply gallagher's "daytime" job ─ the meticulous dream-to-dream routine of maintaining peace and some semblance of order in a world where it is so easy for one's perceived reality to warp. those in the dreamscape prefer it to the rigid frame of the waking world, but gallagher knows all too well that the warping images of an illusion so easily influenced by the slightest shift of one's mood is anything but a utopia.

so, really, it's no surprise he finds such dear solace in your arms.

"you're back!" you beam, so sweet and darling when you catch sight of gallagher dragging his shoes past the drunken revelers ─ who will no doubt be stumbling back to their rooms where their dreampools lay, the portal to even more hedonistic pleasures and drunken revelries.

"that i am," he grunts, sliding onto an empty barstool just as you slide him his usual drink over the countertop. the gin burns through his throat, just enough to warm him up some. gallagher doesn't care how much dreamers fawn over the aesthetic of dreampools and the further bonus of their purpose. he's not fond of waking up in anything other than a bed, no matter how dreampools have been designed to offer the semblance of one. dreampools mean work, and he's had quite enough of that for the next 24 hours or so.

but stars know he won't be so lucky.

"tough time at work?" you offer him a sympathetic smile, wiping a glass with a clean rag. your customers at the bar had begun to dwindle, the few that remained idly chatting with their companions or indulging in their drink in personal quiet.

gallagher sighs ─ straightens his shoulders and tries to look less disheveled; he's here and out of work to enjoy some time with you, not to bitch and moan about his day. "sorry, darlin'. it wasn't that bad, 's just─"

he sighs again, not wanting to think about how the pillars that are supposed to uphold the dreamscape and his work seem to be crumbling every time he goes back to sleep. gallagher hasn't been on the scene yet, but he's heard reports of stuff that might be going on, and if they were true, then he was going to have a hell of a field day and a bunch of paperwork to do.

"i get it," you say, reaching over the counter to squeeze his hand. it's been hours since your shift started, and you smell of something akin to cinnamon and spice, the undertone of brandy and whiskey underneath. he thinks it fitting ─ you're so sweet, such a darling, so that must have translated into the drinks you brew even in the waking world, where the taste of one's mix relies simply on ingredient and skill.

gallagher manages a smile ─ one that doesn't strain at his lips and makes him feel like he's cosplaying in someone else's skin ─ and brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the soft skin of your knuckles. the metal of your wedding band is cool, but fills his blood with heat and his heart with warmth. "i don't deserve you, honestly."

"now i think that's just the gin talking," you tease, pinching his chin playfully.

"gah," gallagher feigns annoyance ─ badly, if the amused grin on his face is any indication but ─ and swats your hand away. "'s your shift ending soon?"

"mhm," you nod, giggling as you pull back from him and retreat back into your personal space ─ and gallagher misses you already. god, maybe the gin really is getting to him.

"what do you say we head back to our room and catch a nap after this?" gallagher asks, idly tracing his finger along the edge of his empty shot glass. the band on his finger ─ the mirror of yours ─ glints in the hazy yellow light of the bar. "or i can tell you about the day i've had and you can doze off because of how boring it is."

you give him a cheeky grin. "hard pass. your stories always keep me up at night. tell me about that masked fool who gave you a nightmare about me divorcing you."

"never again," gallagher deadpans, and when you burst into laughter, he's convinced that no sort of illusion a masked fool or xipe themself can conjure could ever compare to you ─ his very own dream come true.

© trappolia 2024

[my-pjo-stuff]

Okay hear me out, has anyone ever thought of dark/possessive Camp Halfblood x brainwashed Luke ?

‘Cause like, I HAVE and it’s been giving me brainworms.

Camp Halfblood is all but filled with a bunch of heavily traumatized and most likely love and attention starved demigods. So it wouldn't be too weird to say that they could have easily gotten overly attached to Luke.

How couldn't they have? He was pretty much everything most of these kids wished for in a caretaker. Caring, strong, gentle, smart, responsible- Luke was all of that to camp.

And then he betrayed them. He got up and left, just like that. That must have fucked up some of them, right?

Luke was supposed to be theirs.

The one person they could always rely on. And now he’s just gone? Vanished? Betrayed them because he wants to overthrow the gods?

Unacceptable.

Simply unacceptable.

Luke is supposed to be theirs.

And no one else's.

Anyway, fast forward to TTC where Thalia has Luke at spearpoint- instead of begging for his life Annabeth begs for his capture.

Luke’s actually a bit more injured from the fight here than he was in canon, so he doesn't immediately attempt to start a fight again, giving Annabeth and Thalia time to talk.

Thalia of course argues against it at first. But Annabeth insists. Saying that camp found a way to make sure Luke would never leave them again.

But first they’d need to capture him.

Against all odds, Thalia obliges after a while. And with Luke weakened from the fight he doesn't even have the power to really fight as he’s taken captive.

He’s brought back to camp by Annabeth while Percy and Thalia go to talk to the gods.

Now that’s where the REAL dark stuff starts.

Because the camp still wants Luke. Just not the Luke he is right NOW. They want the old Luke.

The caring Luke.

The Luke who was always there for them.

The Luke who’d never even think of leaving them.

And what do you do when you want a specific version of a person back? Easy, you make them that specific version of themselves.

Yeah, they are pulling the brainwashing.

That guy’s mind is SCREWED with.

Luke’s basically turned into a declawed cat.

He doesn't remember who Kronos is. Neither does he remember ever betraying them in the first place. Memories of the world outside of camp are fuzzy at best.

Luke’s being put in a sort of daze. Constantly blissed out and happy. All he really cares about anymore is lounging around with other campers. Talking, cuddling, doing anything really.

He doesn't even have the mind anymore to really fight against it. The campers made sure of that.

The other campers justify it by saying that Luke’s much happier like this. They HAD to do this to him. Luke is theirs, even if he’s too blind to see it on his own.

The gods allowed it to happen with Hermes heavily vouching for it (it’s better than Luke possibly dying otherwise in his eyes)

Better have him be at camp than with Kronos, no? Not to mention that having the leader of Kronos' forces back at camp might demoralize the enemy forces.

They also see it as a sort of punishment. Luke being stuck at the place be betrayed and wanted to leave to desperately. Forced to serve as the plaything to the children of the gods He wanted to overthrow. Unable to ever even think of leaving again.

There were rules of course. He wasn’t allowed to hold any weapons anymore. Neither was Luke allowed to ever hold any position of power like Counselor or Sword Instructor ever again.

But that was fine.

Camp didn't care.

They made Luke a lot more affectionate. More domestic. He didn't need to fight anyway.

All he needed to be was their Luke.

Everyone's perfect, loving older brother.

And now that they finally have him back, they’d make sure he’d never leave them again.

[ot3]

We need an ao3 filter that lets me only look for fanfiction written by people older than 22

[tsartistry]

I absolutely love your Niobe kidnaps Lester au!! In a post you said that Niobe was dating Circe, so I'm just wondering that since Circe is a witch, would she teach Lester some witchcraft? (Other than the ones you have to be born with)

No, at least not at first! Lester's brainwashing is a continuous process. There are times when Circe needs to cull memories that bubble up from time to time. If she teaches Lester how to practice her witchcraft, there's a small risk that he might realize she's been using magic to mess with his memories.

Since Egyptian magic is different from Circe's brand of witchcraft, she and Niobe are a little more comfortable with him learning it.

[exhaustedcatte]

Marauders Code

“We’ve got each other’s backs, no matter what,” the four wizards chanted as they performed a blood-binding oath illegally in their dormitory.

Remus was sent straight into McGonagall’s office, where she stared at him from behind her eyeglasses.

“Mister Lupin,” she raised a brow. “Sit, please.”

He sat, weary and suddenly tired of everything that had happened.

McGonagall exhaled sharply. “What’s this about you breaking a nose, then?”

Remus lifted his left shoulder listlessly, “He was being a dic– berk to Sirius and. Well. Yeah.”

He didn’t disclose that the three boys had spent the morning cheering up Sirius after the awful, long winded howler he’d gotten from home. And just when the boy had begun to laugh, that stupid fucking idiot Yaxley had come and rained over their progress.

But Remus’ pre-moon jitters had slithered down his arm, which shot out at the older boy’s nose, breaking it upon contact.

In the four years his friends had known him, Remus’d always been mild and patient. It helped his self-esteem to be something other than a monster, but exceptions, he’d come to learn, had to be made. Quite like Sirius Black.

James and Peter had stared at him with pure admiration and Sirius gaped at him with wide, grateful eyes.

“S’alright,” he’d said awkwardly when he retrieved his arm, unscathed, from a yowling Yaxley’s face. “Worth a detention.”

“Damn right!” James hollered, tackling Remus carefully, aware of his pre-moon pains, despite his excitement.

“Moony,” Peter breathed, “You’re brill!”

Remus offered a half smile as he followed a prefect down to McGonagall’s office.

That was fourth year.

In fifth year, Sirius was the one who was laden with detention.

He’d been skidding down the stairs using a dandy charm that him and Remus had been practising for a prank.

Sirius slid down the marble steps directly into a gossip session.

“He’s such a peacock,” one of them groaned.

“Gosh, I know! And did you see how he kept babying Pettigrew in Transfig? Like he’s some kind of genius, what a git!”

Sirius frowned. Peter? James was the one who partnered with—oh.

He listened closer, sneaking up on them from behind. And of course. Evans, MacDonald, McKinnon, Fortescue.

“Potter’s inflated ego–”

James had been assisting Peter with the lesson, one that Peter had read up on with Remus but while Remus had succeeded in his second try, Peter was struggling in his twenty second.

He was reassuring a boy who needed to be reminded that sometimes things take time and that was quite alright. That it didn’t speak to your intelligence or your capabilities. These girls, who hated James purely because he was smarter than them (okay, so Sirius knew James could be a right twat, but not this time), could go straight to hell.

Sirius grinned.

He followed them behind a Disillusionment charm that he’d perfected over the winter-break at Hogwarts and spelled every staircase they took to bring them back to the same hallway. After several attempts of them running away but landing right in front of the same charms classroom, he gave in and appeared in front of their frazzled beings.

“That’ll teach you not to speak on what you don’t know,” he said coldly.

Needless to say, McGonagall was furious at him for making them skip class and gave him a week of scrubbing trophies in Filch’s office. They became fast friends after that incident though, so no harm done.

James was running late.

He had to take notes for Remus, who was lying stock still in the infirmary, Skele-gro working on his bones. Sirius was keeping watch, having dropped Herbogy in their sixth year; he had Os in every subject, he could drop anything he wished.

James dashed into the Greenhouses right behind Sprout, barely squeezing in as the glass doors slid shut. Peter waved from their spot in the corner.

Their lesson was not very fun since they were with the know-it-alls. Ravenclaws were either amiable, or they had claws.

“You’d think he’d handle plants better, with how much he eats them,” Billy whatsit sneered at Peter.

Peter wilted like his Aconite. James felt fury rise in his throat.

“Gluttony,” one girl simpered cruelly.

“Look at those love handles on him,” a third one said. “I don’t understand how he’s a Marauder.”

“Pity friendship, I think. One would think he’s a Squib,” Billy gurgled.

James rose to his feet. “Professor Sprout? I think Billy Blabbermouth and his lackeys are having trouble here.”

The class turned to them.

He hexed the trio publicly. It was a silly one, helped jog your memory, repeat your previous words (he’d used it plenty on Sirius when he was fumbling around Remus like a shy maiden).

Billy and his friends looked aghast as their disgusting words came pouring out at Sprout’s face. She took a hundred points off them, and handed detention for the next two weeks.

“Thanks James,” Peter whispered.

“Of course, mate.”

James also got detention for hexing a student in class, but he took it happily, Remus was minding that detention as Prefect anyway.

In their last year, Remus had come back with a long wooden cane, much to his chagrin.

His body couldn’t carry his weight right after the moons, so he’d been forced into a magnificent cane with a golden lion at the head. They had tried to make him feel better about it but Remus was a creature of self-reliance, of pride.

Remus hated it, Peter knew.

It happened on their way to breakfast.

Peter was behind the other three boys, voted as the one to lie to Mary about their Halloween plans (they were planning on transforming all the beds into pumpkins; no, they weren’t going to be creepy about it—mirror charms, duh), when Davey Smith traipsed past them and tripped Remus.

Remus fell down like a bag of bricks, red-faced and irate, unable to retaliate after the moon and otherwise (monster, monster, Remus chanted to himself to prevent himself from snapping, Peter knew).

Sirius and James helped him up, jaws locked with anger, as their first priority was to check on their friend.

Smith jeered. “Feet useless, cane broken, face cut up. What kind of an ugly invalid are you, Lupin?”

Davey Smith, jealous of Remus simply because he’d been asked out by Davey’s crush. What a piece of work.

“Sirius, no. James, put your wand down,” Remus sighed. “Smith, kindly get lost.”

Peter smiled. He’d not been warned. “Sorry, Mary, duty calls!”

He turned into Wormtail behind an armour and scurried up an unsuspecting Davey’s pant leg.

Wormtail bit into the Hufflepuff’s flesh.

Davey howled.

McGonagall swept into the hall, took one look at Remus, at the anger tinged faces of James and Sirius and Peter’s self-satisfied expression. Then she noticed Davey, who was flopping about the hallway embarrassingly.

“Mr Pettigrew,” McGonagall ground out tightly, “I don’t know what you’ve done, but his thigh is bleeding! Detention for the week. And Mr Smith, we will have a Talk after Madam Pomfrey is done with that gash. No Hogsmeade for the rest of the term for you.”

Peter smiled benignly. “I’ll be there, professor.”

She whisked Smith away, scolding him for hurting her kids, no doubt.

“Pete! That was fab!” Sirius laughed and James thumped his back. “Wish I could’ve given him rabies, but you might’ve done me up with plague.”

Remus was rolling his eyes, but a smile was hooking his mouth up in the corners, “I should know better by now, eh? Of course one of you will rush to defend my honour.”

“It’s what you deserve Moony,” Peter said, smiling.

Really, they’d always have each other’s backs. Until the very end.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Ok ok ok that last Angel/Devil Steve and Eddie oneshot was just *chefs kiss* perfect, but what if we take it to the beginning where reader just found out about Steve and Eddie and is refusing to masturbate or have sex cause she feels watched so their sexual tension just builds and they get sooo stressed and horny that Steve and Eddie are just like “yeah no this isn’t healthy for you let us take care of you” all flirty and hot and stuff.Also clearly this is smutty or just suggestive if not smut

A/N: omg please! i love that they just go yeah no, we quit! we can’t take it anymore! and then just takes matters into their own hands. also, i’m gonna finally use this idea, an image, that’s been floating around in my brain since the beginning of this au…

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | devil & angel AU masterlist

“Told you this was what you needed, baby,” Eddie groaned harshly as he withdrew his hips, letting you finally suck in a gasp of air once more. 

Bending down to cradle your dreamy face in his hands, his thumb brushed over your messy lips, “look at you,” you jolted in his grasp as Steve’s sharp thrusts rocked your entire body, “fucking putting your own needs aside,” he smeared your saliva into your skin, “basically hurting yourself, just because what, suddenly you can see us?” his mocking tone was accompanied with a playful slap to your cheek, making your eyes roll back.

“Did you really think you’d stay innocent when we now have the ability to touch you?” he straightened up once more, his throbbing cock already tightly wound in his fist, “we both know what a little slut you are,” he kept a hand rooted on the back of your head, as he stroked himself and sporadically tapped the heavy tip against your blushing face, “what a little whore you can be for us now that we have you…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble

[taegularities]

I also read Bliss and what I want to say is.. Jungkook will you marry me? 🥺

All the Jungkook characters you wrote give the vibe of 5SOS songs 😍 It's a band I've been enjoying listening to lately, and I'd love to make a few suggestions.. If you want too? I will be happy to inspire you 💕

AND HOW WAS YOUR DAY DEAR RID? 💕

hehehe bliss jk is already married to you !!! 🥺 and oh, wait, i've gotten 5sos songs recommended before, but i'm open for more 👀 i do like quite a few songs by them !! <3

my day was okay, love. spent it relaxing, so that was nice... how have you been? 💕

[canarydarity]

(Thought a little bit too hard about Romeo and Juliet ranchers...)

Keeping his head low and his tread light, Tango ducks from tree to tree under the cover of dark from the canopy, protecting him from the spotlight of the moon and therefore his discovery. Behind his back, leftover laughter from Skizz and Etho drifts further away; the volume of Skizz’s last protests, however, remains annoyingly the same as it continues to plague his mind, as does the memory of Etho’s agreement that Tango was—for lack of a better word—fucked. 

Louder than all of that, though, more insistent, more pressing, was the ghost of Jimmy’s lips against his. The sole force of it drove him on, his heart tripping in anticipation when around the trunk of a tree he’d glimpse the stone of the house of Solidarity, or through a break in the leaves he’d catch a glimpse of light from a brazier. 

Voices draw near just as the treeline breaks at last, and Tango ducks behind the nearest trunk as two servants meander by, following a worn path toward the back of the manor; his courage returns to him as they fade, and as if pulled by some rope falling taught or some string being coiled, Tango draws as close as he dares to the base of the stone without giving up the shade of the last tree. He kneels.

Now that he’s here, he must admit, his mind draws blank of any possible plan for continuing on. It’s not like he can wander the house of Solidarity unattended, making it clear in every way that he did not belong, and, on top of that, with one of Verona’s most recognizably unwanted faces. 

Idiot, Skizz had called him; blinded, his friend had laughed. Always the most cautious of them, Etho had recalled that even a masquerade hadn’t been enough to conceal his presence from Grian. 

And Tango hadn’t really until now heard a word. 

Movement in the far window, the unmistakable shifting of the curtains, drawn by an imaginary force—the manmade wind of someone passing through. After a moment, a more permanent form takes shape, and Tango finds himself wondering how he could have stayed still for so long, how the sun could possibly have risen while he had been unaware. 

But it of course is not the sun. He blinks and darkness is restored around him as his eyes adjust to the sight. 

Jimmy, framed in beiges and creams and white—the masonry, the curtains, his blouse—fair as any portrait, as any bolt of silk, as any fine jewel. The slightly damp flop of his hair, the color like spun gold; the curve of his shoulder, the tan glow of skin shimmering beneath the cotton—he’s breathtaking, breath-robbing, even at such distance away, and Tango wobbles enough in his stance that he places a hand on the ground for stability. 

How clear it is that this is a setting in which he doesn’t belong; how envious must be the moon for how dull it shines in comparison. Its colors—silver, the cool tones it usually accompanies—they were despicable in their wrongness. Tango thinks he’d be suited more enveloped by heat; in open fields of flowers, stranded in miles of wild wheat and tall grass, in places without trees, without shade, without reprieve. 

The masquerade, Tango thinks, was not to foster intrigue amongst the guests, but to shield them from such raw beauty, to protect them from its temptation. 

Jimmy’s chest bellows with what Tango imagines a sigh, and he continues on, momentarily disappearing from Tango’s view only to appear again in the following window, and then the one after. Tango follows, and they walk together along the length of the manor, albeit separated by its walls.

Bound, tethered, Tango’s heart tugs him along. 

A corner is turned, and instead of a further row of windows through which to watch, Tango finds a balcony jutting out of the stonework, grand and open to the air. He swallows as Jimmy steps out onto it; stares, enraptured, as Jimmy wanders over to the railing, balances his elbows on top of it, and then drops his head into his hands. 

Through the stillness of the moment comes an unmistakable and truly inspired groan, and Tango startles and glances around expecting to be caught by a rather resentful servant before realization alerts him to its source. 

Jimmy drops his hands and sighs again, and this time Tango can hear the puff of his breath as he exhales.

“Stupid,” he mutters, “so incredibly stupid. Why did I…” He shakes his head and decides better than finishing the thought, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if he can will the arrival of more to a complete halt with just enough concentration.

Tango is familiar with this method, and, he’s gotta say, it is not as successful as he’d like it to be. 

Jimmy’s lips move again, but too little sound comes out for any of it to be heard, and Tango finds himself wandering closer before he can arrive at any of the reasons why he absolutely should not—too distracted by the thought of those lips touching his mere hours before. 

Just as he’s braving closer ground, Jimmy’s voice rises to exclaim “Tango!” and Tango’s foot finds false purchase over a well-placed root and he slips, catching himself on the cool dewy grass. His head raises slowly, ready to be forever expelled from the grounds—or more likely stuffed and made to decorate Grian’s quarters—but Jimmy’s gaze remains safely away, off into the distance beyond. “Why did it have to be Tango?”

Tango does not dare move. 

Jimmy grabs the balcony railing with both hands and leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. When he opens them, he draws himself back in and lets his arms go slack. His brow furrows in thought, his nose forming a little scrunch by the action, like his tutor’s just posed him a particularly troubling set. “But…it’s not Tango that’s the problem, is it? It’s just his name…Tek.” 

Should he be listening to this? Tango doesn’t bother thinking about it, he already knows the answer; not that that stops him, or compels him to turn around and proceed the way he came—for how could he when he’s hearing the echo of his own musings? An utterance of reciprocation for the feelings to which he’s fallen victim? Shared dismay at the grandeur of their circumstance?

“Maybe…maybe if he weren’t Tango.” 

Even before Jimmy drops his head in defeat, Tango knows that line of thinking is for naught. Maybe if he wasn’t Jimmy, maybe if his cousin wasn’t Grian, maybe if his name wasn’t Solidarity and his very existence meant to be an offense. Maybe if the sun didn’t shine, or the moon didn’t beam, or resentment didn’t flow through the streets like blood spilled. Maybe did not stand the test of time nor outlast the memory of a grudge. 

“Perhaps, should I not call him Tango, but assign him some other name…”

If only Skizz was there to witness Tango blurt out, “You can call me anything you’d like.” Idiotic and blind would not have been the only adjectives he was assigned if he had. A few immediately come to Tango’s mind himself—stupid, insane, absolutely and completely screwed. 

He has no memory of deciding to speak, but the words have undeniably come out of his mouth, and there’s no hope of them not having been heard based on the way Jimmy rises to attention. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” Alert and understandably perhaps a little frightened, Jimmy's eyes scan the treeline in which Tango dwells.

Intelligently, Tango replies, “uhh.”

“Who are you?”

Tango flounders, his voice raising a dozen octaves, becoming high and stringent as he at once wheezes out, “God, why has that question become so complicated all of a sudden?”

Jimmy shuffles to the corner of the balcony, his waist pressed against the perpendicular juncture of stone as he leans over the railing to squint into the orchard. “Wait—Tango?” 

Tango is left with no other option than to abandon his haven of trees and shade and step into the torch light of the Solidarity’s garden, lest he’d rather Jimmy lean so far over the balcony that he falls. He catches the moment that Jimmy sees him—the softening of his features, fear being overtaken by the more welcome feeling of surprise, the nervous tightening of his jaw, the biting of his lip. 

If he thought revealing his presence would mean less of Jimmy’s precarious balancing act, then he thought wrong; Jimmy doubles over more, if possible, and Tango throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes is universally interpreted as stay put while some sort of alarmed squeaking comes out of his mouth. But Jimmy just fervently whispers, “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?!”

“Are you?!” Tango whisper-shouts back. “You’re giving me a heart attack here, lean back wouldya?”

Jimmy thankfully returns his upper body to a standing position safely behind the balcony’s edge, but his voice gets no less intense, his words no less urgent. “They will kill you if they see you here, you know that right?” 

In return, Tango can only nod as if this realization has only just, for him, come to light. Of course, it hasn’t—Skizz and Etho had been trying to tell him since they left him outside the Solidarity’s walls, and by instinct alone he knew to hide if he suspected someone walking too close by, and yet. His frantic nodding does not cease as he says, “You know, I hadn’t really thought about it…to be quite honest.” 

“You hadn’t thought about it?!” Jimmy grabs at his hair, incredulous, and Tango is momentarily distracted for the amount of time it takes to imagine doing it himself and wonder at what it would feel like. “I can’t believe this.” 

Shaking his head, desperately trying to restore function, Tango delivers the only defense with which he’s come equipped. “I just—I had to see you!” 

Once more, Tango curses the moon for its inadequacy, for what must be its deliberate hindrance to the wonder of this scene. Because, though it’s too dark to really tell, firelight falling much to short, Tango swears that Jimmy begins to blush. 

Since he can’t completely be sure, he’ll have to make due with admiring this: the way Jimmy tucks his head down, closer to his shoulder, the shifting of his weight from one foot to another; how his eyes seemingly impossibly get a fraction of an inch bigger, wider. 

He doesn’t quite look back at Tango when he says, “You really mean that?”

Tango smiles, “I do, I swear it.”

Whatever modesty was held in his expression before disperses and Jimmys face holds room for little more than mirth when he turns back and demands, “On what?”

“On…” Tango draws his shoulders higher, his hands raising with them as if attached by puppeteers string. They suspend there momentarily, waiting to be released by the arrival of a coherent thought that unfortunately never comes. “I don’t know…” 

Tango bites the inside of his cheek. “What would you want me to swear on? Name it and it’s done.” He holds his hands up in pure complacency, a promise and an offer; take me, im yours.

Jimmy laughs at his near madness, and Tango swears that it moves like wind through the orchard, rippling across all the branches and leaves of all the trees; he sways on his feet to the music of it, doesn’t bother to curb the urge to smile harder at it—his face a perfect mosaic of every feeling he’s every felt. 

With a shake of his head, Jimmy admits, “I dont know either.” 

“Ah, an impasse.” 

Though his head doesn’t move, Jimmy’s eyes duck away again, seeking safer purchase as he instills the night sky with his reply. Tango doesn’t mind, for it’s easier then for him to continue to to watch. “Maybe just…say it again then. Instead.” 

“I came because I had to see you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s eyes dart back and then away again, needing to see Tango to truly be sure, but needing privacy to be able to comprehend. “Alright…” He glances back into the room behind him, whatever is beyond the curtains that are all Tango can see. “They’ll come looking for me soon, you really should go.” 

Playfully outraged, Tango sputters, “What! That’s it, I don’t get anything in return?” 

The dramatics earn Tango an eye roll, but Jimmy also begins bouncing a little in place—resevoired anxiety that lets Tango know he was serious about the chance that someone would soon seek him out. Whatever stolen time they had managed to accrue was fleeting and not a second more. 

Even so, Jimmy plays along. “And what am I supposed to give?”

“I don’t know, something!” 

“You’re very helpful, has anyone ever told you that?”

Tango laughs, “A fair hit.” He watches as Jimmy turns around again to assure their privacy once more, understands for both of their sakes the importance of not overstaying his welcome, and his hands tucked behind his back, comes up with, “alright, just tell me this: are you glad I came?” 

Jimmy turns back to him, and this time Tango is absolutely certain of the blush present on his cheeks by the way Jimmy raises a hand as if to feel his own temperature on instinct, or to hopelessly pat it away with the back of his hand. He’s smiling, but it’s clear he’s trying not to, and that’s all the answer Tango needs. 

Before Jimmy can, in his bashfulness, form a verbal reply, from inside a voice does indeed call “Jimmy?” 

Bliss turns to panic in an instant, and instead of earliers soft tone Jimmy near hisses when he says “Tango!” 

If he was smart, he would heed the warning and go, but Tango is still drunk on their proximity alone, on the events of the night—all of which were set in motion by the taking of a chance on an innocently shared kiss. He figures if this is where one chance has gotten him, then he can stand to risk another. 

“I mean, I’m perfectly content to wait, Jimmy.” Tango steps to the nearest tree and leans against it like he’s planning to stay for some time, tries not to laugh as Jimmy’s eyes practically bug out of his head. 

“You—” Jimmy’s head swivels back and forth, caught between the harmlessness in the tease and the actual realistic harm in its consequences if Tango legitimately followed through. Of course, he isn’t going to—the second Tango sees another silhouette in the window he’s out of there, blending back the way he’d come into the trees—but where was the fun in it if there wasn’t just a little bit of real life pressure? “You’re insane,” Jimmy berates, but before he turns and disappears behind his walls that are meant to keep out Tango and Tango specifically, he whispers, “Yes, I’m glad you came.” 

Jimmy’s already gone, but when Tango says, “That’s all I needed,” its more to himself than anything as he turns to go back the way he’d come. 

He did not imagine when the night began that he’d find himself betraying the one rule his family had ever demanded he follow, nor did he expect to feel little concern for himself in spite of this fact, but he did know he’d be helpless but to do it again had the situation started anew, because Tango doesn’t know what greater purpose he could have than to love this man. It wasn’t just the remembrance of a kiss that drove Tango to Jimmy’s window, but the sense that it was only the first, and where there was one would come more. Of this, Tango was certain: attending the masquerade, glimpsing Jimmy through the party-goers, risking following him through the crowd and delighting in that first, perfect kiss had set off more than the events of tonight, one singular night, but rather of whatever was in store for him—for them—all the rest of their lives.

(gonna put "can translate Shakespearean English into gamer speak" on my resume under special skills. [read on ao3 here])

[lunarharp]

into the deep end - 30k T orufrey fic, focusing on memory trauma, disability, and romance.

the sweet oblivion of the victim, the poisoned freedom of the other.

for one moment - it had felt like two parts returned - the needed reunion of two disparate halves. no more secrets, no more pain.

the moment you get to give back what you never wanted to take. that moment, under the night-blooming flowers, when they had both let out the same single broken sigh of relief.

but they were never whole to begin with, were they?

qifrey swore he wouldn't say 'sorry' to this man any more if he could help it - sorry is cheap now. he didn't want to be in a position ever again where you only have 'sorry' left. so he just looks down into the threads of his blanket, strains his eye until it hurts, feeling his insides - his throat, heart and head - burn with pain. he expects more, but olly says nothing.

olly says nothing.

[hearts-hunger]

can i keep coming back to you? || danny wagner x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Danny comes home to you after a long day, and you show him the decorating you've been doing. | Standalone in the Four Weddings universe

Pairings: Danny x Reader | Genre: domestic fluff | Word Count: 2k | Warnings: none!

A/N: Besties, I admit this fic is 100% gratuitous self-indulgent fluff. I just want to decorate my house for Halloween in August, and I want to do it with Danny. Enjoy! ♡

“Don’t get scared, sunny.”

You turned, careful to put one hand on the bookshelf to keep your balance, and saw Danny coming in the door.

“What do you mean?” you asked. From your vantage point perched atop one of your dining room chairs, you looked around for something he might be hiding. “Scared of what?”

He smiled. “I just meant don’t get scared of me coming in,” he said. “I didn’t want to startle you and make you lose your balance.”

“Oh,” you said with a laugh. “Thanks.” You turned back to the shelf you were decorating, straightening a picture frame once you had the little pumpkin lights arranged just so. “Don’t you love this picture?”

He crossed to stand by your chair, looking for a long moment at the picture of the two of you from your trip to the beach in the spring. His hair was longer in the picture, tangled by the breeze, and his smile was big and bright as you kissed his cheek.

“Yeah,” he said fondly. “I do love that picture.” He put his arm around your waist and looked up at you. “Doing some redecorating, sweet sunny?”

You gave him a bashful smile and draped your arms over his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I know it’s not even September, but... I went a little crazy in the Halloween section at TJ Maxx.”

He chuckled. “I kinda figured from all the pictures you sent me. Did you end up getting the sheets with the skeletons and pumpkins and whatnot?”

“Yes!” you gushed. “And I got a blanket to match. You’re gonna love it.”

“I'm sure I will, sweetheart.”

“Do you want to see all the other stuff I got?” you asked, already knowing the answer. You were very grateful for the way Danny so generously indulged your love of decorating; no matter the holiday, you were given free rein to decorate anything and everything in your house, and Danny always complimented the changes you’d made with genuine interest and sincerity.

He smiled. “Of course I do.” He looked up at you with a tired sort of patience and affection, and you put your hands on either side of his face.

“I haven’t even said hi to you,” you scolded yourself. You gave him a kiss. “Hi, baby. I’m glad you’re home.”

He smiled against your mouth. “Me too.” He hugged you and rested his head on your chest as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

“Long day?” you asked.

He hummed in agreement. “Your boys couldn’t quit fighting long enough to play through a whole song. We didn’t get anything done.”

You huffed a laugh, thinking of ‘your boys’ and how every once in a while, they’d get into a mood where they couldn’t seem to do anything but bicker.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Hopefully everybody just needs a good night’s sleep. You guys have been burning the candle at both ends lately.”

You brushed your fingers over his necklace, the permanent chain that apparently would stay on until the day he died, or the day you went crazy for him and found a way to get it off.

“This still isn’t driving you up the wall, huh?”

He looked up at you with a grin. “No, but I think it might be driving you up the wall. You don’t like it?”

“I like it just fine on you,” you said. “But say the word and I’ll get a pair of bolt cutters and take it off for you.”

He laughed. “That seems excessive, but I appreciate it.”

You cradled his face and kissed his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, enjoying the novelty of being taller than him for a moment.

“You look tired, sweetheart,” you said gently.

He nodded. “I am tired,” he admitted. “But I still want to see all your new Halloween trinkets.”

You gave him a beaming smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sunny.” He scooped you up to carry you, and you giggled as you put your arms around his neck. “Where to?”

“Depends,” you said. “Are you going straight to bed, or do you want some dinner first?”

“Dinner,” he agreed.

“To the kitchen, then.”

He carried you in and set you on the counter, right next to the candle holder with four little ghost candles perched atop it.

“Hey, those are cute,” he said.

You sighed. “Here’s my dilemma with them.” You picked one up and ran your thumb over the waxy surface. “They’re candles, obviously, but when I got them all set up — ”

“You didn’t want to burn them,” he said with a smile. “Isn’t that right?”

“Oh, I just couldn’t.” You held it out to him, and he held it for a moment in his big palm. “They’re just so cute! I couldn’t melt them.”

He chuckled and put the ghost back with its companions. “I understand, sweetheart.”

He patted your thigh before he went to the fridge and pulled out a Corona. “You want one?”

“Sure.” You hopped down from the counter and started to get things set out for dinner. “I tried a new crock-pot recipe, so I hope it’s not awful. It’s some kind of chicken taco casserole something or other.”

He lifted the lid of the crock-pot. “It smells good,” he said agreeably. “I’m sure it’ll be great, honey.”

You were too distracted to respond, trying to figure out how to get the plates you wanted from the top shelf. You knew you could just ask Danny and he’d happily get them for you, but you didn’t want to bother him, and you stood on tiptoes and tried to reach them.

He gave a soft laugh. “Sunny,” he scolded lightly. He handed you your beer and reached above you to take down the plates.

“You know you have a really tall boyfriend to get things off a high shelf for you,” he said. “You ought to put these long limbs to use.”

You smiled. “Thank you. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“Helping you is never a bother, sunny.” He kissed your nose. “Now tell me what else I can do to help you, please.”

You enjoyed the bashful butterflies he still gave you as he followed your directions on setting up for dinner, and the two of you sat catty corner at the table for a long time after you finished eating and talked about how your days had been. After dinner, Danny washed and you dried, and you shared a bowl of ice cream at the counter.

“Are you at the studio all day tomorrow?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, and his tone was apologetic. “I know you had some errands you wanted to do together, but...” He absently toyed with one of the ghost candles, distracted and tired. “If those errands can wait until this weekend, I’ll just move my golf thing and we can do them then.”

He looked over at you. “Unless they can’t wait until the weekend. Then I’ll ask the guys if I can step out for a little while to get them done.”

You brushed a few curls from his face. “They can wait, but I don’t want you to have to cancel with your dad.” He and his dad had planned to golf together on Saturday, and you knew Danny had been looking forward to it.

“I’ll just go tomorrow by myself,” you said. You didn’t really need Danny to go with you, but both of you preferred to do boring errands with each other to make them less boring.

“Are you sure?” he asked. He washed your ice cream bowl and set it to dry. “I can talk to the guys, see if I can leave for an hour or so. Maybe we can get coffee or something.”

“I’d love that,” you said. You laced your fingers with his as he came back over to you. “We’ll figure it out. I just feel like I haven’t seen you a lot this week.”

“Yeah, me too. I miss you, sunny.”

You smiled. “Aw, honey. I miss you too.” You tilted your face up for a kiss, and he leaned close and obliged you.

“Come in the shower with me,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth.

You grinned. “Okay, but only so I can show you the new shower curtain I got.”

He chuckled. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

He did end up liking the shower curtain with pumpkins and black cats on it, but you guessed he probably would have been happy with any kind of shower curtain just so long as you were behind it with him. He wasn’t interested in showering as much as he was interested in simply being close to you, and you happily indulged his desire for long, slow kisses and gentle touches. You washed his hair for him and enjoyed the way he relaxed under your hands as you washed the worries of his day away in a soft lather.

He was a little more energized after your shower, and when both of you were in your pajamas with your hair bushed and your skincare done, he sat on the bed and waited for you to show him all the things you’d bought. He put on some music, and you hummed along to First Aid Kit while you fished your trinkets and tchotchkes out of their bags.

“Look at this guy,” you said, holding up a little cauldron with moons and stars around the rim.

“Candy bowl,” he guessed.

You laughed. “Yeah, candy for one person, maybe.”

He looked thoughtful as he wrapped your new pink Halloween blanket around his shoulders. “Um... we could use it as a bowl to hold keys and stuff on the table by the door.”

“That’s actually a great idea,” you said. “Okay. Key bowl.”

You held up the next thing, a light up crystal ball held in gold skeleton hands.

“Okay, that’s cool,” he said. “We should just keep that out all year round.”

You hid a smile at his real interest in this particular decoration. You knew he didn’t mind all the things you’d picked out, but he was sort of indifferent to them; mostly, he was just happy to enjoy them if they made you happy. Every once in a while, though, you’d find something that really sparked his decorative interest, and it seemed like you’d hit the nail on the head with this one.

“Watch,” you said, and you flipped the switch at the bottom that made the crystal ball light up and swirl with glitter.

His eyes widened. “Dang, sunny. You should go to TJ Maxx more often.” He took it when you offered it to him, watching it like a kid with a shiny new toy. “This is some real wizard shit. We should get one for Jake. He’d love it.”

“Okay, but fair warning — if you let me go back, I’m gonna end up getting more decorations we don’t need.”

He smiled and handed the crystal ball back to you so you could put it on the dresser. “I like it when you go shopping for stuff like this.” He nodded to the bags you still had at your feet. “What else did you get?”

When you’d given him a show of the rest of your baubles, he convinced you to leave them strewn about your room in a state of disarray with the promise of helping you set them up later. When he opened up his blanket cape and invited you in for a hug, you gladly accepted, and he held you in his lap all cuddly and snug.

“You were right,” he said. “I do like this blanket. You’re a genius.”

You giggled as he hugged you tighter and made sure you were wrapped in the blanket with him.

“My sweet sunny,” he said, resting his head against yours. “You’re so good at making our house cosy and fun and beautiful. Thank you for making it a home.”

Your heart wobbled. “I’m glad you like it, Dan.” You pulled back just enough to see his face. “It’s all for you, honey.”

He smiled. “Thank you. And thank you for sharing it with me.” He kissed you and snuggled you close, rocking you gently to the music. 

“Did I ever show you this album?” he asked.

You smiled. “We listened to it the day it came out,” you reminded him. “We went on a drive and listened to it all the way through.”

“We sure did,” he agreed. “I remember.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking of that early-morning drive with the cool breeze and one hand on the steering wheel with the other hand in yours.

“That was a pretty good date,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I do. We should do it again sometime.”

He hummed along to the song for a moment. “This song makes me think of you.”

You didn’t know it well enough to know the lyrics, but you knew it was a compliment. “Oh yeah?”

He hummed in agreement. “I’m gonna love you ‘til the moon don’t shine,” he sang. “I’m gonna love you ‘til the waters run dry. Oh, you, can I keep coming back to you?”

His voice got a little muffled towards the end as you pulled him down for a kiss, and he smiled as he tried to keep singing and kissing you at the same time.

“Can I keep coming back to you, sunny?” he asked.

“You are simply not allowed to go anywhere else,” you replied.

He laughed and kissed you again. “Yes ma’am.”

danny taglist:@tearsofbri@busybeingtrash@myway-late@gotavansleep@gretavanbri@stardustchxrds@pxppylove @bajabule69 @radmads-gvf@sunnykiszka@audgeppp @ageoffleeet @stardustjake

gvf taglist:@malany-gvf@spark-my-nature@eearevee@madneedshelp@demonrat444@josh-iamyour-mama @honeyandsweettae @mydarlingdanny@gretavandann@sacredjake@myleftsock@joshskittytickler21@hellowgoodbye@watchingovergvf2@fearfulspirit@mywaysoon@carbondancingthroughtime@caprisunsister @eraofstardustchords @sacredthefran@shesawomaninadream @serendipiti @demonrat444@wildflowerxx-x @tearsofdanny @iluvjoshkiszka @jordie-gvf-admin @demolitionndann

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[foreverdolly]

summary: you get pregnant while in australia, your husband still in the process of filming for the elvis biopic. this series follows you and austin as you both navigate being first-time parents whilst in the public eye.

pairings: dad!austin butler x mom!reader

status: complete

warnings: !brief mentions of covid! this entire series is just tooth rotting fluff. austin is the best dad and thinks that you hung the moon and all of the stars.

word count: 8.7k

chapter index:

chapter one ⋆ baby butler- you get pregnant while in australia and your husband still in the process of filming for the elvis biopic. you have yet to make any kind of announcement about the fast approaching birth of your son, so when the paparazzi begin snapping pictures, you panic. austin, being wildly protective of you and his unborn child, does a little more than just put his foot down

chapter two ⋆ baby bliss- it's austin's first interview since the birth of his son, and he can't keep from gushing about you and your new bundle of joy. will he regret it later? most definitely. did it feel good? oh, absolutely. will he ever hear the end of it from you? probably not.

chapter three ⋆ baby fever- a whole year later and austin is sitting across from the same interviewer who officially broke the big news about the birth of his first child. austin's ready to gush some more about his little family.

playlist:

these are all the songs that austin played for you during your pregnancy. he loves making you playlists!

moodboard:

wanna set the mood? look at this board to help you with visuals!

[metalhoops]

Steve never liked the cities. 

They were always too crowded, too noisy. He liked Hawkins. He liked a quiet life in the suburbs. It was part of the reason he’d never gone to college, that and having to worry about his adopted band of misfit kids and the hell dimension that opened every year. Yet, somehow he found himself on a weekend trip to Chicago.

It was all Eddie’s fault. He had to pick some things up from a music store in town for the band, he’d mention strings or amps. Steve only half understood. It was an excuse for Eddie to take his van to Chicago. Steve had been surprised to find himself invited.

“You never leave town since Vecna went dark, dude. How are you going to travel around with six kids and a Winnebago if you never leave Hawkins?” Eddie asked, somehow managing to convince Steve to join him. 

They took turns driving Eddie’s van.  Eddie’s choice of music was questionable, but his version of road trip games was even more worrisome. They’d been travelling behind an old truck for the better part of an hour when Eddie kicked his feet on the dash and questioned,

“What do you think would be the worst way to die right now? Because I’ve spent the past half hour watching that guy’s toolbox rattle around and I’m convinced a nail gun to the head would be a killer way to go.” 

Steve should’ve known better, but he’d give anything for a distraction from the long stretch of road. 

“Probably getting set on fire at a pump while you insist you need a smoke the second we pulled over at the last gas station,” Steve noted, switching on his indicator and passing the vehicle, using all the horsepower the poor-beat up van had. 

“And here I was thinking I had a twisted imagination,” Eddie spoke, before listing off a series  of more gruesome scenarios. 

By the time the two reached their motel, Steve felt strangely lighter. Whether it was the distance from Hawkins and the trouble it had caused him or because he and Eddie had spent an hour listing out worst-case scenarios until they felt comical and absurd instead of real and imminent threats, he didn’t know. Being trapped in a town with a rip in the fabric of space and time had a way of making you always feel on your guard. That night the two slept quickly and soundlessly. 

It was when they walked through town Steve remembered why he hated cities. He was left shuffling through unfamiliar streets, elbow to elbow with strangers, trying desperately to keep up with Eddie as the man weaved and ebbed with the crowd as Steve used to slice through water. Eddie was one with the city. Steve was apart from it.

Without thinking, Steve reached out, grabbing onto the hem of Eddie’s jacket, letting himself be guided. Eddie showed him where to step, how to move. He kept his head down and followed Eddie’s lead to the music store. Much to his surprise, when they were all done, and once more ready to head back into the fray of the foot traffic, Eddie offered the crook of his elbow for Steve to hold onto. 

“Hey, it’s easier than you almost tugging a hole in a perfectly good jacket. You don’t have a good track record, Harrington,” Eddie teased. He had a point. 

He hadn’t meant to make a habit of it. Yet the small action of latching onto Eddie to keep him at arm’s length followed the two back to Hawkins. 

The thing about hanging out with Eddie was that the man was surprisingly hard to keep up with. He was always rushing places at the drop of a hat, jerked one way or the other by whatever flight of fancy caught his attention. 

He’d be beside Steve at the Family Video store one minute, then darting to the horror section driven there by some tangential conversation, which then of course, would lead him to remember some old sci-fi film and send him running to the sci-fi section, only to find it lacking. That would lead him to Robin and their extensive movie catalogue on the computer, all the while, he’d still be talking to Steve. He found it easier to keep up with Eddie if he had a hold of him. 

He’d find his fingers tucked into the crook of Eddie’s elbow, hooked in the chain of his jeans or clinging to the cuff or hem of his shirt and trailing in the wake of him. 

Contrary to popular belief, Steve wasn’t an idiot. Not when it came to social situations. He knew being extra touchy with Eddie was something he could only do in certain situations. He was hyper-aware of it when he’d made the mistake of hooking his thumb into the back pocket of Eddie’s jeans in the arcade. The two had driven the kids there and were wasting time bouncing between watching the kids and playing pinball. 

A group of teenagers had been gawking at the two already, likely trying to work out what twist of fate had landed the former king of Hawkins High and current school Freak together. With the action, the mumbled whispers turned into slack jaws and less favourable words muttered just loud enough for Steve to hear. 

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He knew what it looked like. He would be lying if he said he didn’t want it to be like that, not that he’d voiced any of it. Not yet. He needed to do it in a town where people didn’t know his name, so people wouldn’t talk if he was reading Eddie all wrong. He didn’t think he was, he was good with reading people. 

In a crowd, holding onto Eddie was okay.  On their increasingly frequent trips to the city, Indianapolis, Chicago, and Fort Wayne. When no one else could see, that was okay. In small-town Hawkins, in broad daylight, it wasn’t. 

Steve suddenly understood the appeal of the city.  

[cr3sswellsgf]

matching jammies - nejiten week '24

day 2 - gezelligheid (dutch) A convivial, cozy, or warm atmosphere. The warmth of being with loved ones, or seeing a friend after a long absence.

The snowstorm outside didn’t seem to be willing to relent anytime soon, but that wasn’t all that unusual for late December in Konoha. Blankets of pure white snow coated the streets and slicked the windows, creating the idealistic picture of a winter wonderland. It was the perfect setting for creating snow angels or having a snowball fight, Tenten thought, but with them coming up on the coldest month of the year, she couldn’t imagine getting pelted in the face with snow in these particularly frigid temperatures would be very comfortable.

Which was particularly why she’d insisted on everyone staying inside that day, much to her twins’ absolute and utter dismay.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Tenten murmured, brows furrowed, and bit down on her bottom lip. Her eyes flicked up to the clock once again, almost instinctively, and she was again met with the fact that Neji was supposed to be here hours ago.

Despite the world being fairly peaceful, the Fourth Great War having ended five years ago (along with the whole ‘let’s blow up the moon!’ thing from three years ago), shinobi were still needed, and especially capable Jōnin like Hyūga Neji. This time, he was tasked to lead a team of two Chūnin on a mission in the Land of Silence. She didn’t know anything past that, though— he wasn’t allowed to share any specifics with her, but she imagined she had a basic idea of the objectives.

Tenten knew he could take care of himself and of those with him, she trusted him implicitly, honestly, but whenever he was late coming home from missions, she still couldn’t help but worry.

What if he was hurt? What if his subordinates were hurt? What if they encountered—

“Mamaaaaaaa,” a sulky voice came from behind her, little feet padding on the kitchen floor and cutting her train of dreary thoughts short. She could practically hear the pout that was surely on her two year old daughter’s lips. “When’s Papa coming home?”

Ah, yes. And then there was this little munchkin. Tenten had accidentally fallen pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl, two years ago, around this time. Thankfully, it was a fairly easy pregnancy.

Too easy, in fact, to the point where they didn’t find out until around seven months in. By chance, at that. Was quite the way to celebrate Neji’s twenty-first, that one.

(And then it was even more surprising when they went for their first checkup and found out they were having, not one, but two children. But that’s a story for another day.)

The brown-haired woman sighed, picking her adorably sleepy—though Hibari was vehemently insistent on denying this—daughter up. “Soon, baby.” She planted a kiss on Hibari’s cheek and fixed her sweater, absently wondering if she should turn the heat up a little more. “Are you cold?”

Hibari shook her head, tiredly nuzzling into Tenten’s neck. “Can we play in the snow, at least?” Unlike her twin brother, Hibari was very vocal. Sakura told her that they were both incredibly advanced for their age, speech-wise, but Hibari was a lot more outgoing than Hao, and therefore a lot more chatty.

If there was someone who did not let her terrible grammar and weird conjugational habits (like exclusively using the word ‘talk’ in the past tense, no matter what) stop her from speaking her mind, it was Hyūga Hibari.

“It’s too cold right now,” Tenten responded, repeating that same explanation for what seemed like the millionth time that night. And then, in a playfully chiding tone, she said, “And it’s too late now, anyway. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Hao was already asleep on the couch, wrapped up in Tenten’s knit throw blanket, having gotten too tired to stay up waiting for his dad. It was a valiant effort, and Tenten didn’t blame him— it was just past midnight by now, and she frankly wished Hibari would just let herself sleep, too. And, well, he was also two years old.

“You sure you’re not sleepy?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?” Tenten walked back to the living room and folded herself on the couch next to Hao’s sleeping form. Hibari nodded again and nuzzled into her mom’s chest.

A tell-tale sign that she was about to surrender to sleep.

Smiling, Tenten reached over to grab the second throw blanket they had draped over the couch, and adjusted it over the two of them

“Wanna watch a movie?” she asked, voice quiet so as not to wake up Hao. Tenten’s master plan was to put on a Christmas movie, have Hibari utterly entranced and engaged for, like, thirty minutes, before she would inevitably fall asleep. Worked every time.

When Hibari replied in the affirmative and Tenten put the movie on, she was finally free to fret over her husband once more. 

And so they sat there; all three of them on the couch next to each other, Tenten and her two chunky two year olds, bundled up in cosy Christmas pyjamas and warm knit blankets. It was a sweet sight.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

When Neji quietly unlocked the front door of his house and walked in, absolutely and utterly exhausted from that week-long mission abroad, he was surprised to see that warm, yellow light coming from the living room.

Hm. It was probably one of two things: either Tenten was still awake, probably reading or watching a movie (she did that sometimes after the kids went to bed, taking advantage of any alone time she could get), or Tenten was reading or watching a movie, and ended up falling asleep on the couch. Also a likely possibility, and usually an inevitable consequence of the former.

With a small, amused huff, Neji took off his cloak and hung it up by the door, and stepped over the threshold. “I’m home,” he said lowly, if only out of habit rather than out of a real need to alert his wife. As expected, no response came. He made his way to the living room, where a large, prettily-decorated Christmas tree sat in the corner, dimly illuminating the room along with the fairy lights Tenten had strung around. The only other source of light was the television, which was playing one of Tenten and Hibari’s favourite holiday movies (Hao found it a little too scary), The Nightmare Before Christmas. The volume was very low, though, and the credits had started playing at some point before he walked in.

And again, as expected, Tenten was asleep on the couch.

Her long, brown hair was unbound, falling in waves over the back of the couch, and her lips were slightly parted, making way for quiet huffs of air. What surprised him upon walking closer, though, was the toddler laying on her chest, and the other one asleep next to her thigh. All in matching red and white pyjamas, by the way.

He sighed, exasperated but without any real annoyance. He should’ve known they’d wait up for him. Or, well, try to wait up for him.

It was touching.

One of Tenten’s hands was automatically patting Hibari’s back, as if by muscle memory—which meant she mustn’t have fallen asleep that long ago—while the other was holding the remote. Silently and with the easy grace of a seasoned shinobi, he grabbed the remote control from her lax grip (which, okay, wasn’t difficult whatsoever), and turned the television off, before walking to the corner of the room and turning both the decorative tree lights and the string lights off. He was starving and in desperate need of a relaxing bath, but he would carry all three of them to bed before making something to eat. They’d gone through the trouble of trying to stay up and welcome him home, but the mission had unexpectedly dragged on, and with the snowstorm outside, it had all delayed their travel plans. So the least he could do for them was to tuck them in.

“Neji?”

He turned around at the whispered proclamation of his name.

“I’m home,” he said simply, smiling tiredly at his wife. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to dispel the sleepiness, and gently set Hibari down. “I’ll come to you,” he said hurriedly, noticing how tired she was and not wanting her to get up. It was fine that she’d woken up, he supposed—he could still carry her to bed regardless. At the last second, he decided to keep the fairy lights that were strung behind the television on. Despite his words, Tenten still got up and quickly made her way to him, meeting him halfway.

“Welcome home,” she murmured into his chest once she was close enough, having all but thrown herself at him. Her hands grabbed onto the back of his shirt, as if of their own accord. She exhaled, “I missed you.” Immediately, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, and he basically crushed her to him.

“I’ve missed you more than you can imagine, my love,” Neji breathed tiredly, inhaling her sweet smell, and both of them were content to stay in that embrace for a long moment. She could feel the tension leave his body—the way his toned muscles relaxed under her touch and his shoulders drooped. And Tenten honestly would’ve been content to stay like that for the rest of the night, practicality be damned, but much to her dismay, Neji’s arms loosened around her. She pouted at the loss of contact, and made a sound that was much more fit for her daughter to make than it was for a twenty-three year old woman. He rolled his eyes, amused, and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I probably smell. I’ll hug you all you want after I shower; I promise.”

Tenten braced her hands against his chest and stood on her tippy-toes, promptly kissing his scruffy cheek. “You really don’t,” she said honestly. “Smell, I mean.” And it was true—even after a week-long mission with no access to his nice soaps and fancy shower products, Neji still smelled nice. Because everything else wasn’t enough, he just had to add ‘always smells good’ to his résumé, apparently. With a yawn, she said, “I’ll go put the kids in their beds and then I’ll heat up your food while you shower and change into something comfortable.”

He covered her hands with his, rubbing gentle circles across her knuckles. “You don’t have to do that,” he argued softly. “You can just go to sleep, darling. Really, I can do the rest.”

She hummed. “I know I don’t,” she yawned again, “but I want to.” She had already turned around and started gently extricating the blanket out of Hao’s grip, and the look she gave him over her shoulder dared him to argue, and while the refutation was at the tip of his tongue, he let it die.

“Thank you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He spoke so sincerely, brushing her ear with his lips, “You’re incredible.”

She grinned at him, and with an adorable little wink, teased, “I know.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Once she heard the water shut off, Tenten started heating up Neji’s share of their dinner that night—homemade herring soba. This would’ve been so much better fresh, she thought, a touch sadly. She’d gone through the trouble of making everything from scratch (save for the smoked fish, of course), and she would’ve loved if he had gotten to taste it right after it was done. Oh, well. It wasn’t like she regretted putting in the effort regardless— she didn’t have much to do today anyway.

Soon enough, Neji walked out of their room in a matching pyjama set in his size and a towel around his neck. Once his eyes found her and then fell on the bowl of noodles in front of her, it was like his whole body softened. His gaze softened, and his shoulders dropped. 

This girl, he thought, was sure to be the death of him.

“C’mere,”

She obliged, pushing herself off the table with a small smile. The moment she was close enough, he pulled her into a rough hug, lifting her off the ground. Over the past few years, Neji had, not unlike some of their other friends, grown considerably in height. When they were teenagers, he’d had some two inches over her, but now, at the age of twenty-three, that difference had increased to what must’ve been something like nine, if she had to guess. His body had filled out considerably, too. (The wonders of testosterone, am I right?) After the War and his fatal injury, he had had to spend upwards of a year recovering and recuperating, and then he had to spend the next year regaining his strength and training, little by little, but he managed. It was a miracle he’d survived in the first place, though.

The curse mark had disappeared, removing any doubts that he could’ve been alive, but somehow, medics found a very weak pulse, which was enough for them to work with. It was so on brand for him, though—denying the odds so intensely. 

Tenten squeaked gleefully, the noise dissolving into giggles when he pressed his lips to hers. “You,” he was saying between bruising kisses, “are not real.” She looped her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his middle, giggling into the kiss but unable to come up with a witty comeback of any kind. “God,” he groaned, “I love you so much.” 

Ah, there it was.

She grinned against his lips, and mustering up her most annoying, smart-alecky voice, she interjected, “Um, the name is Tenten, actually, but thanks—”

Neji rolled his pretty eyes spectacularly, without any real annoyance (when had he gotten so mushy?), and he scoffed a laugh. Of course she’d say that. “Oh, shut up.” 

When she giggled again and nuzzled her face into that spot in his neck, he allowed himself to fully enjoy this moment, letting go of that knee-jerk guilt he felt whenever he got something good, for once.

And when, after a moment or two, she murmured a very quiet, “I love you, too, Neji. I’m glad you’re home,” into his skin, he let himself think he deserved it.

--

thank you to my lovely oomfie @lubdubu for letting me borrow hibari & hao LOVE YOU DEARLY!!!