#i put chocolate in the top of half of them but it melted weird and it wasn’t smooth enough to like. coat the mold properly lol

[spark1edog]

:D

first attempt at a fun popsicle

[merumis]

your son is watching tv upstairs. something bright and slow that he’s been into recently; you caught one episode a few days ago, watched as the alphabet painted its way across the screen in satisfying reds and blues. it reminds you a lot of the things you watched as a kid—soft music and sweet-voiced narrators.

the sound of a xylophone leaking from television speakers floats its way down your staircase, just loud enough that you can hear it.

you’re sitting at the kitchen counter—scrawling a grocery list underneath the one your husband has already started. fruit snacks, gallon bags, paper towels—not the trader joe’s ones. just above yours, two items of iwaizumi’s catch your eye: dark chocolate, silken tofu. he’s making mousse—the protein kind, obviously, but the one that melts on your tongue and then bites the back of it in that sweetly bitter sort of way.

there’s sets of drawn-on papers to your left. you’ve been waiting to put a couple on the fridge. your son is particularly proud of one, put it right on the top and smiled at you all wide while he did it. a woman in red crayon labeled mom, a man in blue labeled dad, and then a proud, smiling boy in orange between them, labeled me! in all big letters and exclamations.

you run a thumb over the top of it, feel the waxy residue collect on your skin, and then slide the corner of the paper between your fingers. you stand from the stool you were using and, with the drawing, make your way over to the fridge—pinning it with a red postcard magnet that iwaizumi’s mother got you from her most recent vacation.

there’s a jingle of keys at the front door. you turn at the sound, catching the soft swing of the door and the little routine iwaizumi’s made for himself at the end of the work day; key’s hung on their ring, wallet and work badge in the bowl by the door, shoes kicked off onto their shelf. his eyes catch yours and he smiles, softly—more like a greeting than anything else.

“didn’t know if you’d be home yet,” he says, and makes his way over to the kitchen. he slides into the stool you’d been using previously, stretching out his neck and back as he settles in. you lean back against the fridge.

“yeah,” you reply, “got out early, so i picked up the monster.” you gesture upstairs with a pointed finger. “figured he’d rather be at home than daycare.”

he nods, and then taps his fingers out against the counter. there’s this weird beat as he settles, the tap tap of his fingers filling out bits of silence. “either of you eaten yet?” he asks.

“no,” you say, “figured we’d wait for you.”

it’s then that your son comes tumbling downstairs playfully begging for dinner. he says something about hearing dad’s car, and then that he heard his keys, and he runs over and wraps himself around iwaizumi’s leg.

iwaizumi gets this big smile on his face—grabbing your son and pulling him up onto his lap. they exchange something that you don’t pay much attention to. you’re turned already, opening the fridge and scanning what’s in it.

“we could do tacos…” you start, “stir fry, vodka sauce-“

“why don’t we go out?” iwaizumi asks, and you can hear your son’s excitement at the idea, a little symphony—or cacophony, perhaps—of different restaurants he wants to go to filling the air of the kitchen.

“yeah,” you say, “that sounds good—let’s do that.”

iwaizumi lifts your son off his lap, telling him to go clean up himself and his room before you can leave, and he rushes up the staircase again, taking them two at a time.

the two of you have been doing this dance now for a while, you know. you’re pretty sure you both know. pieces of half-conversations spliced between interruptions and affection towards your son; quarter-baked commitments and yes’s that always sound more like maybe’s.

last night, he fell asleep first and you watched the rise and fall of his chest. you traced your fingertips along his shoulders and chest, wrinkling the cotton of his t-shirt between your skin and his.

you could’ve been twenty-one again—your bedroom soaked in the stench of rum and tequila and neither of you caring. him half-asleep, answering questions with closed eyes and mumbled sentences, his laughter warm as it brushed against your cheeks.

instead, you stilled your breath against him. you worried about waking him up, about what he would say if he knew you were up like this—if he would even say anything at all.

you still watch him now. a beat of anxiety hitting as you lean against the fridge. he’s playing with his hands, working his fingers against his palm up to his wrists.

“we need to-” you start, and you aren’t sure you can bring yourself to say the rest of it.

“talk,” iwaizumi says. he sighs. “i know.”

you walk over to the other end of the counter. when you rest your elbows on it, your knuckles brush up against his. you both inch towards each other until your fingers are flush against his.

“i love you.” you say, and you feel your throat start to tighten.

“i know,” iwaizumi replies. it’s quiet, not quite mumbled but just barely more than it.

“but i don’t think we-“ you begin, and you hang your head. you take your hands away from iwaizumi’s, propping yourself up on them, rubbing at your forehead, your temples, your eyes. “i don’t know.” you sigh. “i don’t know if we’re good for-" another breath, you catch iwaizumi's gaze for a second. for the first time in a while, you see the way he's aged in the past few years; sprinkled in grey hairs, the beginning of crow's feet. "i don't know."

you had an argument last week—as you do almost every Friday now, when you work from home and he makes his way back early. you couldn't name the topic of this fight, or really any of them, if you tried. you know you made a snarky comment, and he made one back, and that devolved into both of you yelling across the couch.

you got into an argument last night, too. prior to the late night gazing—because even with the fights, you always insisted on sleeping together. even now. but last night, you were arguing about work, his work and then yours, and maybe the groceries and where your son was going to school next year. you can't remember all the details—you don't particularly want to, either—and the day after it all becomes an abomination of anger anyway.

you're still looking at each other. you keep biting your lip between both sets of teeth, and you can see the way he's clenching his jaw.

"i know," he says for the third time tonight. he sounds so young when he says it, like you're in college and in love and you've just told him you're taking an internship across the country for the summer.

you hear your son upstairs, moving something around his room to clean up for dinner. he's not the best at keeping things clean, but when he does it, he's meticulous about it. you think he gets it from his father.

"i want it to be different," you say. "i don't want this." he shakes his head, gives you that tight-lipped smile.

"i know you don't," he replies, "i don't either, but-"

"but," you repeat.

your eyes flick to the stairs. you can still hear him cleaning up there, but you can't help but worry. when you settle your gaze on iwaizumi again, he's reaching a hand towards you. his fingers wrap around yours, his thumb pressing against the base of your knuckles.

"i won't grow to hate you," he says, "i won't do it. And if we stay married, i don't know how much longer that'll last."

you feel your face heat up, your throat tighten, tears prick at the corners of your eyes. you nod, silently, gripping his hand a little tighter.

"i know." you swallow something down, though you're not sure you could put a name to whatever it was. it feels like a jumble of everything inside of you. "me too."

you push yourself up and off the counter. neither of you say anything as you cross the threshold towards him. you wrap your arms around him, press your lips against his hairline. he raises an arm in front of you, reaching up to pull you closer by your shoulder.

"so this is it?" your voice is thick—hoarse—and still mumbled into his hair.

"yeah," your husband replies. you hear the crack in his voice. "yeah this is it."

your son yells from upstairs. he's ready to go, he says, and he's decided that you're going to his favorite mexican place. despite it all, you laugh into iwaizumi, and when your son comes tumbling down the stairs, you both compose yourselves.

you pull your son into you by the top of his head, ruffling his hair in the process. you can feel iwaizumi's arm around your waist—delicate and cautious and barely there in the first place.

and somewhere, in your chest or in your ribcage itself, you're not sure, you feel something that seems an awful lot like relief. even if it's small.

[lotsoflola]

6:06pm

"stop fucking moving," you muttered, eyes focused as you dragged the brush across your boyfriend's face, the coolness of the face mask causing him to shiver slightly.

jeno let out a soft chuckle, his eyes bending into a smile watching the concentration on your face, your tongue stick out the side of your mouth as you focused on coating your boyfriend's face in a layer of light blue goodness. "remind me what this does again?"

he was teasing you. you had spent about twenty minutes explaining every step of the skincare routine you had created for him, going through the benefits of every product as you gently treated him to a pamper night. his hair was pushed back off his eyes with a soft, fluffy hairband, shirtless with only grey joggers low om hips. you, on the other hand, had one of jeno's hoodies on, massive on you as it went down to your mid-thigh, with a pair of cotton shorts on to keep you warm.

you were perched up on your bathroom counter, bare legs growing goosebumps against the cold china, so you were at eye level with jeno. he was so much taller than you that even when up on the counter you still felt like he was towering over you, standing still in between your legs as you treated him to half your skincare fridge, making him the prettiest princess in the world.

"it's a detoxifying mask," you said for about the twentieth time that evening, still painting on his face, "it's gonna clean out your pores, i've told you this, baby."

"i know, doll," he leant forward, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose, causing pink to flush onto your cheeks, "how long until we can take this off?"

you hopped off the counter, taking your boyfriend's hand in your own and dragging him from the bathroom back into your bedroom, collapsing onto the bed in a dramatic fashion. "about 20 minutes, but you have to let it dry, jen."

"it feels weird on my face," he brought his hand up to touch you, and you quickly yanked it away, jumping up from the bed and pulling him down over you. if it wasn't for his quick reactions, he would have landed straight on top of you, but he stuck his hands out quickly. "guessing i'm not allowed to touch it, then?"

you gently smacked his chest. "just lie down and get comfy, let me put some music on."

you rolled out from underneath him, leaving him to collapse onto his back, watching you as you grabbed the speaker, a soft rnb playlist suddenly filling the evening air. a packet of chocolates was on the side of the dressing table, and you snatched them up before sitting next to him. his arm snaked round your shoulder, squeezing you in tight as you curled up in his side. you popped a strawberry one in your mouth, the sweet taste melting on your tongue. jeno opened his mouth, pinching your shoulder to get your attention, and you complied, placing one on his tongue for him.

"thank you, baby," he muffled, somehow pulling you even closer to his side, "hmm, i love you."

you let out a soft chuckle. "love you too, how you liking the face mask?"

"makes my skin feel tight," he scrunched his nose, the light blue coating wrinkling as he did so, "feels like it's dry though."

you reached out to tap it lightly, the outer layer feeling fully dried down. "stay there, i'll peel it off for you."

"what?!" an alarm expression painted itself on your boyfriend's face, and you couldn't help but laugh, "you're not gonna peel off my skin?!"

"no, baby," you planted a kiss against the top of his hair, "the mask is gonna peel off."

"are you sure?" he grabbed your wrist, stopping you with worry in his eyes.

"i'm sure, jen. let me just-"

and you peeled the entire mask off, most of it in one go, throwing it in the bin by the side of the bed. his entire body was tense as you grabbed a pot of moisturiser, swiping a thin layer over his skin, gently patting it into your skin before planting a kiss against his lips, smiling as your body melted into his.

his arms wrapped around your body, stroking up and down as you got as close to him as physically possible. your hands slid his headband off, nestling in his hair as you became lost in his body, the two of you becoming one.

"thank you, baby," he mumbled against your lips.

you smiled, pulling away to get a look at your freshly pampered princess. "don't you worry, jen."

[fox-bright]

Rage Cheesecake with Oreo Crust, Whipped Chocolate Ganache Frosting, and Home-Grown Tart Cherry Topping

I took recipe-bits from all over and changed them into something that sounded more like what I wanted, so here's what I did today instead of committing a felony!

RECIPE BEHIND CUT

Oreo crust part:

* 25 Oreos

* 5 tablespoons of melted butter

* Pan--pie pan or springform, depending on how deep a cheesecake you want. This makes a nice, not-too-deep cheesecake in a nine-inch springform; it would be Too Much Filling in a pie pan, which would mean you have extra, and that's always fun too. An eight-inch springform is probably perfect.

1. Preheat oven to 350.

2. You may eat TWO OREOS. Crush the remainder. I have the best time with this when I use a food processor, but if you are *particularly* spirited today, this is a good place to take out some aggression. Just pulverize the things, filling and all, until they are all reduced to the consistency of sand.

3. Add melted butter and mix until it's like *wet* sand.

4. Put buttery chocolate sand into your chosen cooking dish. I use a little jar and push push push pat pat pat until it's all nice and level from the center of the dish to the edge and has no holes.

5. Bake for eight to twelve minutes. You want it to still look a little moist. Do not overcook!

6. Remove from oven and let cool. Don't move the pan around too much before it's cool or you risk fracturing the crust.

Cheesecake part:

* Two packages of cream cheese, room temperature unless you like cream cheese chunks in your cheesecake. No judgment, some people are into that.

* 2/3C white sugar

* 3 eggs

* 3 cups of sour cream (this is a very moist cheesecake!)

* Vanilla to taste

1. Preheat oven to 325F, that's 25 degrees LOWER than for the crust.

2. Cream sugar and cream cheese until smooth.

3. Add eggs, one at a time, mix until just blended.

4. Add all sour cream and vanilla, mix until just homogenous. Don't overmix or you get weird dry pillowy stuff instead of nice dense cheesecake.

5. Cook in prepared crust for approximately 50 minutes, until it's set at the edges but a little jiggly yet in the middle.

Note: Properly you'd do this in a bain marie, but I don't have one, so I wrap the bottom of my springform pan in aluminum foil and set the whole kit and kaboodle into a sturdy cookie sheet, put all that into the preheated oven, and pour water into the cookie sheet once it's safely on the oven rack. If the cheesecake starts to overcook on the top before the center is set, cover it with aluminum foil.

6. Remove from oven; let rest in bain marie/rigged pan for ten minutes before removing springform pan to clean towel. Let rest *there* until it's cool enough to put in the fridge. Cover and chill for two to four hours.

Cherry topping part:

* Sour cherries that have been frozen since last year, or a bag of cherries, or fresh cherries, whichever, approximately 4.5 cups which is too many for just this cheesecake but it's nice to have around anyway

* Granulated sugar to taste

* Corn starch

Or just pick up a can or two of cherry pie filling, in which case you can skip this whole step.

1. Defrost cherries. If you don't do this in a pot, there's a good chance that they will leak precious juice all over your clean counter. Don't be me; thaw that stuff in the pot you'll heat it in.

2. Once they're not a singular ice block but instead a bunch of big ice chunks, turn the temperature on low, maybe around a 2.

3. Once the cherries are separate from each other, add sugar to taste. This changes a lot depending on your cherries' tartness; I eventually used nearly two cups of sugar for around 4.5 cups of cherries. Usually I'd use a good bit less, but they're very tart this time.

4. Cook and cook and cook until the liquid is reduced by about a third.

5. Add corn starch. For those measurements I added about a tablespoon and a half. Remember to make it a slurry before pouring it into the pot; you can either do this with a little water, or you can spoon out some of the cherry syrup (don't burn yourself!), mix that into a little bowl along with the corn starch, and then pour it all into the pot. Bring back to a good bubble for four or five minutes, then remove from heat and allow to come to room temperature.

Whipped chocolate ganache part:

* 1 part heavy cream to 1 part chocolate (I just use Toll House. Everyone says not to do that. It's been fine).

1. Put the chocolate in a heatproof bowl.

2. Warm the cream on the stove until it's juuuust about to start bubbling. Stir frequently so it doesn't get a skin.

3. Remove from heat, pour into heatproof bowl over the chocolate.

4. WALK AWAY. I'm serious. Don't touch it. Don't poke at it. Do not, do NOT, attempt to stir it. Walk away.

5. After five minutes, come back and stir, stir, until it's all one thing. It should be like a very good, very thick chocolate syrup. You *can* just eat this, with a spoon. You can pour it over a cake, or dip strawberries in it. Chilled right as it is, it is a dessert on its own.

6. Let it cool to room temperature.

7. Come back and use your hand mixer or stand mixer to whip it up. This should get to a pipeable consistency; if it doesn't, you may need to incorporate powdered sugar. If you add butter and powdered sugar, you'll get a very stable buttercream.

Finishing part:

1. Remove springform edge from nice cold cheesecake.

2. Pipe or dollop whipped ganache in ring atop the cheesecake.

3. Fill the ring with cooled cherry filling.

4. Garnish further if you'd like. I used decorative Sixlets and some more crushed Oreo.

5. Finished!

[lutawolf]

My Beautiful Man Season 2 Episode 4

Hira has such a poetic soul. In some his behavior would be creepy but it's not for him because he has the heart of a romantic and the soul of a poet. While Kiyoi is passion personified. He's learned to make his outside look normal unless he is with Hira, then Hira gets his different levels of flame.

Even when these two are miscommunicating, you always feel the love. You don't worry about if it's going to work out because these two are truly the other half of each other. And poor confused Hira is such a subby sub. That's not something Kiyoi wants to change. You can tell from the way he smiles when Hira says certain things but he doesn't want Hira to treat him as unattainable.

Reunion! I'm so fucking excited!

Right now the gang seems to have matured. Aw, Hira don't break my heart.

Omg! I love them so much. The growth is tremendous. Hira learning to talk and Kiyoi learning when to give support. The way Kiyoi is growing as a Dom. Reading Hira, knowing what he needs to feel fullfilled. Knowing when to degrade and when to encourage. And fuck the growth in communication! I love it.

You guys! The way Hira put his scarf down for Kiyoi to sit on! Ugh!

Yes! Recognize Hira's artwork!

I love that Kiyoi so freely talks about Hira but damn, "He's a weird guy."

Then Hira has to go and prove him right. Yelling sorry at the top of his lungs. I swear, I love him so much your honor.

The way Kiyoi gets excited for Hira. This is when his passion shows. It's so beautiful. Then Hira tells Kiyoi his dream and Kiyoi is just melting because this is all and everything. But Hira is still submissive so he asks if it's okay. That just made it that much more special for me.

"I'm so happy, I'll make it a family heirloom." I swear to all that is unholy Hira, you are killing me. "I'm gonna die. i'm so happy, I could die." 🤣🤣🤣 Fuck me! I love them so much. "How to preserve chocolate." I'm gonna say it again. Heart of a romantic and soul of a poet. And then passion!

I loved that so fucking much! Amazing! 💜💜💜

Post dedicated to @esinegerp I know they were looking forward to hearing my thoughts.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Another round of TP fluff! With all the posts I've been making related to family, plus your post about them being parents made me think of how'd they'd be with their pregnant S/O. I hope these put a smile on your face ^^

Smartass, surprisingly, actually starts to step away from work more and more. For your sake. It starts off slow, such as completely turning away from paperwork when you approach him and start talking to him. Though as the months drone on, you start noticing more and more, such as how Smarty will actually go to bed with you, regardless if there's more work to be done. He'll assign it to Greasy, or say that it can be done in the morning. You and your guys' child are his top priority now.

Even if it may sometimes hurt Greasy's chef soul, you can always rely on him for your cravings. No matter how weird they may be. Sure, he may tease you or cringe to himself as he makes you pickles on mint chocolate chip ice cream, but he will not let you down. Not to mention, his intuition will be a big help in finding out what you want, even before you realize it.

You can tell Wheezy is extremely stressed at the prospect of being responsible for this new life. You know he loves you and the baby, but it's definitely taking a toll on his stress level. He helps you every time you're hurting and stressed, so you're going to be there for him, too. You can't exactly get rid of his fears entirely, but you can help him focus on the good things of rearing a child; you two can sit down together and discuss names, talk about how cute you're certain your baby will be, and all the ways you know he'll be a good father.

It did take Psycho a while to put two and two together; the fact that you two have made a family now. But when he does, he will not leave your side. He'll snuggle up to you on the couch, he'll curl his form around you as if he's trying to shield you and the unborn babe from any danger. The further along you are, the more protective he gets over you. If Smartass tries to pull him away for a job, he better be prepared to get hissed at, and possibly bit.

Stupid can, and will, carry you. All the time. You don't even have to ask. Especially when it starts getting harder and harder to walk around. And if you ever feel overwhelmed, Stupid has absolutely no problem with being your stress teddy bear and hugging you close (imagine this with his BAMF S/O; this hard, badass of a woman just absolutely melting in her big sweethearts arms- and sending death glares at any of the other weasels if the try to tease).

MANNNN THIS HELPED ME SO MUCH! I snuck a look at my phone with like an hour to go at work- i was exhausted- and I saw THIS! I didn't get to read it, cuz I was not supposed to be on my phone actually, and one of our managers took the doors off our crew rooms =_= , but I saw it was from you and I saw the letters TP- so I knew it would be gold and I was so excited and got through the hour XDD

And it was SO WORTH THE WAIT! XD

These are so cute, oh my god 💞💞💞💞💞

Smartass becoming a family man (Honestly that killed me. Imagine if he decided to LEAVE the Toon Patrol because of this??? Oh my god, heartbreaking, but also I'm so happy for him- ) <3 Greasy taking care of his pregnant S/O (Thinking about him getting up in the middle of the night, half asleep and too groggy to be a pervert or manipulative - he's just him, - , his hair a mess, to makie you something disgustingggg.) <3 Encouraging Wheezy about how he's gonna be a good dad (Thinking about him dealing with Psycho and Greasy when they fight like a dad, and you looking at him like... umm?? my love you are already a great father- ) <3 Snuggly animalistic protective Psycho ('and possibly bit' oh my god yeah XDD Also!! Psycho definitely makes a nest for her pregnant S/O) <3 Poor hormonal, BAMF S/O melting in Stupids arms!! (I am o b s e s s e d with this one!! Like, I bet this person gets even meaner when they're pregnant, like people are in peril when she's around, but then Stupid cuddles them and they just turn to liquid. But not so liquid that if anyone giggles at them they will not give them the middle finger behind Stupids head- ) <3 <3 <3

[diary-of-a-ghoul]

What I ate [ Jan 6-7, 2023 ]

I sleep and wake up at really weird times often, so it's hard to do these by date if I'm currently in a weird sleep schedule phase. Also I'm currently staying at my mother's until the Jan 9, so I eat a bit worse than I normally would (like at my own place I don't drink whole milk, don't buy salami usually, I only buy plain rolled oats and not sweetened müsli mixes, I rly only put no fat cream cheese or yogurt on my bread, etc etc etc. I don't cut at many corners at my mother's because I find it wasteful to purchase my own separate food on top of what's here).

I don't weigh my food or count calories. I only drink water, unless listed.

Anyway.

Woke up at around 4pm from a 4-5 hour nap. Had bad dreams so high anxiety; didn't eat until 7pm. Meal 1:

Last two slices of home-made pizza -Dough: Flour, curry spice, salt, a splash of olive oil, water, baking powder. -Base: Ketchup -Toppings: Red onion, two types of cut up salami, cut up chilli peppers, cherry tomatoes, a bit of grated emmentaler cheese. Dried basil, grill spice mix

Cucumber salad -Sliced cukes, sliced onion, vinegar, olive oil, salt

Yogurt bowl -No fat greek yogurt: mixed half of strawberry flavor & half of bluebery flavor, they come in 140g cups. Emco baked müsli with dried strawberries; frozen berry mix on top.

Not pictured: A large mug of coffee with a bit of whole milk. No sugar.

Only ate half of the yogurt bowl, if that.

Napped again. Woke up at around 1:30am.

Meal 2 (snack):

Ate at around 2:00-2:30am. Didn't take pic. Finished the rest of the yogurt bowl. Continuously sipping on a new large mug of coffee with a bit of whole milk.

Meal 3 (snack):

Ate at around 4:20am.

The rest of the strawberry no-fat greek yogurt

125g vat of blueberries - less than that, bcs I ended up throwing like 10 blueberries out bcs they were moldy

4 chocolate banana bites -They're essentially slices of banana in between these two circular biscuit thingies (kinda like ladyfingers but harder/drier and round). Dipped in cooking chocolate melted with milk & a bit of butter and then fridged until the biscuits go soft.

More coffee with a bit of whole milk. Can't wait to have my 2% back T-T

Meal 4:

Homemade: Red lentils w chicken (and some chopped up bacon) with a ton of spices, canned tomatoes & peppers. -On top: Sauerkraut & chopped green olives

Two slices of toasted white bread

Three chocolate banana bites (The last ones, rip)

Three waffle crackers (salty)

Two tangerines

Now this is where I fucked up. Didn't eat this until past 9am, and by that time I was already kinda fainty. The tangerines were a mistake and I should have saved them for later, but since I was so hungry I inhaled all of this in 20 minutes and ended up overeating. I'm way too full and feel like shit :/// Last meal for the day, methinks.

Also yeah. More coffee.

Ghoul out 🤟

[callme-secret]

Uncle Regulus Headcannons

Okay first of all when he first meets Sirius's offspring its picture for picture of that one scene in maleficent where she first meets Aurora

Regulus looks into this crib to see the kid that looks exactly like Sirius, and he wants to hate it, wants to scare it away from the black family. Thinks to himself it would be protecting her in some way.

But then she smiles at him, and he just melts.

Suddenly you cant see Regulus black without the little girl on his hip

Any comment on it will get a quick hex sent your way, but its obvious to every one how much he adores his niece

He calls her his Little Star

He gets one letter from his brother that's vaguely threatening but also asking for him to watch and take care of his daughter

Regulus didnt even need the letter he'd be damned if anything happens to the only good thing that came outta the war

He makes in effort to make the house more kid friendly, less house elf heads, more child proof cupboards

Kretcher begrudgingly also falls in love with her

When she gets older you can often see the house elf as a pirate, or a guest at tea party, whatever her young mind conjures at the time

The tapestry is filled with grim old faces but at the bottom theres his niece filled with hope and a butterfly sticker on her cheek

VISITS FROM REMUS

Of course remus would visit, he might think his best friend betrayed and killed James, but he knows about Regulus's past and he'll be damned if Sirius's kid turns into a death eater

But when he finds this little girl, who is just light and good, and everything he fought to protect in war, have The Regulus Black wrapped around her finger he's lost

Hes never seen Sirius's younger brother so soft

"I like your scars." "Thank you." "Uncle Reg has a scar." "Is that so?" "Yeah! It's got an ugly snake on it, but yours are pretty."

Oh god he couldnt protect Harry, so he has to protect this girl

Calls him Uncle Remus

And suddenly you can see Regulus Black, a former death eater, and remus lupin, a war hero, trailing behind this little girl as she picks flowers for kretcher

Reg isnt too pleased when Remus starts hanging around, but then he sees her put a bow in his hair and pour him imaginary tea, and god he can't ruin that for her

Oh god when she first shows signs of magic it's an Absolute mess

It probably happened during lunch, Remus had come over for the day, and they all sat at the table like a mismatched family

She had insited on pouring the drinks, her chubby little hands parley rapping around the pitcher, and she slips. They all wait for the crash but when they look the pitcher is floating.

Only for a secound before it completely crashes to the ground and shatters.

Regulus spends the next twenty minutes consoling the crying girl as she apologizes profusely

But hes too stunned to even think about the broken glass, (so is remus, so kretcher is quick to clean it up)

His niece just performed magic for the first time!

Remus and Reg dont even think before they cheering and parading the girl around the house

"My niece performed magic!" "She'll be top of her class at hogwarts!" They go on for hours about how excited they are.

Christmas is weird. At first it's sad, both remus and Reg seem to be lost in the past, but then they hear the excited pad of feet across the floor and they remember what they fought for.

This little girl is spoiled beyond belief, between both her uncles.

Remus gets her loads of sweets, mostly chocolate, and a muggle doll he thought she might like

Reg doesnt spare any expense, all the latest wizard toys are horribly rapped in cheesy wrapping paper. (He insited on wrapping them himself)

And she has gifts for them too

A homemade paper ornament for Remus, and a drawing of all of them for Reg

I had to cut this in half, partly because it was too long, but also because if I don't stop now I never will.

[intheticklecloset]

My Hero Academia Sentence Starters #41-50

A collection of the MHA sentence starters I’ve done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories.

~~~

41) Lee Kaminari, Ler Ojiro

“And where are you going?” Ojiro wrapped his tail around Kaminari’s waist, dragging him back to his chest, reaching to scribble in his exposed underarms. “I didn’t say you could leave yet.”

Kaminari squealed. The only reason he didn’t double over was because of Ojiro’s tail around him, but he still wobbled on his knees a little and tried to push the extra limb away, giggling and wiggling all the while. “Nehehehehehehe! No, Ojiro, stahahahahap!”

Ojiro grabbed his wrists and held them firmly while maneuvering his tail to brush lightly along Kami’s stomach and sides. The blonde burst into a fresh round of giggles at the contact. “You can’t walk away from me before I’m done with you, sparky.”

“I’m sohohorry!” Kami pleaded. “Let me gohohohohoho!”

“Nope. Now you face my wrath.” Ojiro kissed the back of his neck gently, knowing the feather light sensation would drive his boyfriend crazy. “My tickly wrath~”

Kaminari gave up the fight and simply giggled hysterically, squirming in Ojiro’s strong grip, his body lighting up with ticklish shock after ticklish shock as that soft tail dragged its way up and down each of his sides, fluttering in his underarms, catching the sliver of bare skin where his tank top had ridden up.

Ojiro chuckled at the sudden lack of protesting. “You like it, Denks?”

“Shuhuhuhuhut up…”

“How rude.” The tail hero’s grip tightened as he let his tail drift down to the hem of Kami’s shorts. “But I don’t mind tickling you into submission, if that’s what you want.”

Kami’s heartrate sped up ten times over. “No! Plehehehehease, not thehehehere!”

But the tail was already brushing, already tickling, already drawing out his most genuine laughter. Ojiro smirked. “Too late~”

*

42) Lee Shinsou, Ler Deku

“You’re not going anywhere,” Deku murmured softly, leaning over Shinsou’s trapped form beneath him with an easy smirk. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Shinsou quirked a brow at him, smiling to cover up the frantic racing of his heart. “Do you, now?”

Deku – thinking the smile was a challenge – didn’t reply. Instead, he gripped Shinsou’s wrists tighter and began gently kissing along his neck.

Shinsou gasped, trying to curl up but only succeeding in brushing his knees against Deku’s back. “N-Nohohohoho, wahahahait, please – thahahat tickles!”

Again, no reply.

“Plehehehehease, Midoriya!”

Deku pressed his lips to the shell of his left ear, and a squeal broke free from Shinsou before even he had a chance to register it.

“Ehehehehahahahahaha! Nohohohohohoho!”

“You’ve got ticklish ears?” Deku teased, kissing the lobe. “That’s so cute~”

“Plehehehehease, stohohohohop!” Shinsou begged through his unstoppable giggles, kicking his legs in the air behind Deku. “I cahahahahan’t – I can’t tahahahahake it – please!”

“Really ticklish, huh?” Deku’s voice was still teasing, but he stopped, grinning down at the purple-haired boy’s now flushed pink cheeks and disheveled look. “That’s adorable.”

Shinsou averted his eyes. “It’s not.”

“Of course it is—”

Shinsou’s uncertain gaze suddenly became a confident smirk. He gently pushed the now controlled Deku away and rolled him over so their positions were reversed, then let him go, giving his boyfriend the chance to register and understand what had happened.

Deku’s eyes widened.

“So,” said Shinsou, leaning down so their noses were practically touching. “What was that about having me right where you wanted me?”

*

43) Lee Deku, Ler Shinsou

“I’m not sulking!”

“You sure?”

“I’m not!”

“Okay.” Shinsou dragged a fingernail down Deku’s bare sole, watching as the green-haired boy dissolved into giggles at the light touch. Shinsou then scribbled all five fingers across the arch and up to his toes. “Well, you’re definitely not now, are you?”

“I wahahahahasn’t to begihihihin with!”

“Oh? So I guess being pouty all day because I won that Mario Kart grand prix this morning wasn’t sulking?”

“Nohohohohoho! Y-Yohohohou sahahahaid yourself it was pohohohohouting!” Deku tried to tug his foot away, but Shinsou only held him tighter and kept scribbling. “Plehehehease!”

“Ah, yes. Pouting. I suppose I did say that.” Shinsou then switched tactics, grabbing Deku’s foot with one hand and scribbling his fingers along his ankle with the other. “All right, so you’ve been pouting all day. Either way I’m here to put an end to it.”

“By tihihihihihickling me?!”

“Obviously. How else would I do it?”

“Thehehehere are other wahahahahays!”

“Yeah?” Shinsou shot him a suggestive smile. “Have any ideas?”

“M-Maybe…a few?” Deku stammered when the tickling came to an abrupt stop, followed by Shinsou leaving his feet alone to crawl up to his upper half.

“Like what?”

Deku flushed dark red. “Y-You know…things…”

Shinsou smiled, leaning down to kiss him, letting him think he was safe for all of five seconds before Deku wrenched his mouth away and shrieked, laughter exploding from him. “NAHAHAHAHA HITOSHI NOHOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!”

Shinsou kissed him again, muffling his laughter, grinning as he kneaded his thumbs into Deku’s hip bones. “Nah,” he mused, nibbling on his neck as well, making Deku give up the fight and surrender to his laughter completely. “I’d rather keep tickling you.”

*

44) Lee Bakugou, Ler Todoroki

“Did…did you seriously eat my cereal, of all things?” Todoroki asked incredulously, looking over at his boyfriend, who lounged lazily on the couch in the next room over.

Bakugou didn’t reply right away. “Uhh…no?”

“You’re lying to me.”

“I didn’t know it was your cereal,” the blonde protested, turning to face him as well. “I thought it was ours. You know, to share?”

Todoroki set down the now almost-empty cereal box and entered the living room. “Apparently I need to just keep buying that chocolate churro stuff you can’t stand. That way I’m guaranteed not to have the sanctity of my breakfast violated.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Chill. Just write your name on the box next time and I’ll leave it alone.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

Todoroki plopped down on the couch next to him, grabbing his side. “Will you really?”

“Y-Yehehes!” Bakugou sputtered out a giggle, reaching to push him away, but Todoroki quickly snatched both of his wrists and held them while he dug into the blonde’s belly button under his t-shirt. “Agh – ahahahahaha! Stahahahahap!”

“Quit stealing my cereal,” Todoroki half-demanded, half-teased, grinning at how his normally grumpy partner couldn’t help but smile and giggle now. “Or next time, I’ll have to tickle you to death for it.”

“S-Stohohop! Todoroki!” Bakugou knew his face was turning pink from all the giggling, but he didn’t entirely care. This was his boyfriend, after all. “Plehehehease, Shoto!”

Todoroki smiled. “Come on, Katsuki. You know you love being tickled here.”

“T-Thahahat’s not the pohohohoint-!”

“Fine.” Todoroki finally stopped, releasing his wrists before leaning down to kiss him. “But I’m serious. Quit stealing my cereal.”

*

45) Lee Aoyama, Lers Kirishima and Todoroki

“You’re acting really weird,” Kirishima hummed, watching Aoyama closely.

The blonde looked offended. “What? I am not.”

“Why do you keep stretching like that, then? You know we can see your stomach every time you do.”

“And my stomach is such a horrible thing to see.”

“No, but it’s going to tempt some people in the room.” Kiri glanced meaningfully over at Todoroki, who – sure enough – was staring at Aoyama’s midsection with a tiny blush.

“No, I…I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, turning back to his manga. “Just fine.”

Kiri rolled his eyes knowingly. Seeing an open ticklish spot like that was like candy to Todoroki, but the poor guy had too much self-control to act on his urge to do anything about it without blatant permission. So Kiri decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.

The next time Aoyama stretched like that, Kiri leapt out of his seat and hooked his arms under Aoyama’s underarms, keeping him trapped. “Here you go, Todo – he’s all yours!”

Todoroki glanced up, saw the now helpless Aoyama, and swallowed. His heart raced. He could see a sliver of the blonde’s tummy, and it was really tempting…

“Well…all right,” he said at last, getting to his feet. The only thing that might have stopped him now was Aoyama’s protests, but surprisingly, the blonde didn’t say a word. He merely watched as the half-and-half hero approached him, then dissolved into giggles when fingers spidered up and down his sides. Todoroki’s hesitation melted away, and he smirked with a sudden surge of confidence. “Does it tickle, Aoyama?”

“Oui,” the blonde giggled, squirming but not really fighting back.

Kiri smirked, too. “Is this what you were doing? Trying to get us to tickle you?”

“N-Nohohoho, of course nohohohohot!”

“Hmm…I think he’s lying. What about you, Todo?”

“Perhaps so.” Todoroki scribbled up into his underarms, making Aoyama squeal and giggle even harder. He smiled. “Well, I’m more than happy to give him what he wants.”

*

46) Lee Uraraka, Ler Momo

“Well, Momo, there’s one thing you can’t make!” Uraraka said proudly, smirking at her friend. “You can’t make me laugh!”

Momo looked at her, frowning. “What? Of course I can. Why would you say that?”

Uraraka hesitated. She’d said it as a joke, but now seeing how hurt the taller girl looked, she thought maybe she’d gone a bit too far. “Come on, Momo – we all know your jokes aren’t really the best. They’re kind of funny, but…”

“I can make you laugh.”

“Yeah? Prove it, then.”

Momo lunged, pushing the smaller girl onto her back on the ground and digging into her ribs just enough to draw out some light giggles. “There, see? You’re laughing.”

“I’m nohohohohohot!”

“Hmm…I suppose these are more like giggles, huh?” Momo contemplated for a moment, then grabbed one of Uraraka’s arms and pinned it above her head, scribbling her nails into the exposed armpit. This time, Uraraka did laugh. “Ha! There we go.”

“Nahahahahahaha Momo! Stahahahahahap!” Uraraka laughed helplessly, rolling around on the ground but going nowhere fast. “Okahahahay, okay, you wihihihihihin! You mahahahade me laugh!”

Momo grinned, releasing her and sitting back. “Is that proof enough for you? I can make anything, Ochaco.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Uraraka beamed, reaching for Momo’s sides. “You’ve certainly made me want to get you back for that!”

“No, wait – Ochaco wahahahahahait-!”

*

47) Lee Kirishima, Ler Bakugou

“Man, you really can’t move around that much, can you?” Bakugou chuckled, watching Kiri’s legs kick frantically as he gently traced the lightest, most torturous circles into the redhead’s thighs, dragging his fingertips from the insides to the backs, making his friend squeal with laughter.

“Bahahahahahahakugou, plehehehehehehehease!”

“Please what?”

“It tihihihihihihickles so bahahahahahad!”

“Not my problem.” Bakugou was straddling Kiri’s torso as the redhead lay on his stomach, focusing his attention mostly on the boy’s lower back and thighs, as both of these were spots he’d learned recently that could turn the normally strong, confident Kiri into a pleading, babbling mess in no time.

Bakugou let his fingers trail back upwards, tugging Kiri’s shirt out of the way enough to lightly drag his fingernails along his lower back near his hips, and Kiri let out a small whimper as his body shuddered from the contact.

“Oh?” the blonde smirked. “Here?” He did it again, and again, and again, and soon enough Kiri was giggling helplessly into the floor, pleading for mercy under his breath. Bakugou smiled. It genuinely made him happy to see Kiri having so much fun like this, even if his “fun” was getting lost somewhere between pleasure and torture like he was now.

Still, he couldn’t help but be a little mean. “Tickle, tickle~”

“Nohohohohoho,” Kiri whined, kicking his legs again. “Dohohohohohon’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“Tehehehehease me!”

“Tease you?” Bakugou grinned, focusing on a tiny spot right above his hips on his sides that made Kiri jump and dissolve into hard giggles that bordered on laughter, pinning him in place so he couldn’t move. “If you insist~”

*

48) Lee Tokoyami, Ler Kaminari

“Wait a second, you giggle?” Kaminari laughed, kneading his thumbs further into his victim’s hips. “Oh, this is too good!”

Tokoyami clenched his teeth in an effort to stave off said giggles, but it was useless and he knew it. He shook his head desperately, grabbing Kami’s wrists, digging his heels into the floor behind the blonde’s straddle. “Plehehehehease, gehehet off…Kahahaminari…!”

“Tickle, tickle, Tokoyami~” Kami teased, igniting his tickle shocks just slightly to watch the boy beneath him twitch and screech before finally giving in and letting out a stream of high-pitched giggles.

“Ehehehahahahahaha! Nohohohohoho!” Tokoyami squirmed helplessly, giggling like a child, unable to do much more than weakly grasp his assailant’s arms and beg. “Plehehehehease, no! N-Noho tihihihihickling!”

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it~”

“I dohohohohohon’t! GAH!!” The bird boy suddenly bucked his hips and arched his back, giggles turning to laughter. “NAHAHAHAHAHA KAMINARIEHEHEHEHE!!”

Kami beamed, pleased to have found a new spot to have fun with. He dug even deeper into Tokoyami’s belly. “Ticklish here? Does someone have a ticklish tummy? I think it’s you~”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

“Tickle, tickle, tiiiiickle~”

Tokoyami collapsed on the ground in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, shaking his head as little chirps and tweets started spilling past his lips as well. He even stared to blush; Kaminari almost couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Aww, is the little birdie ticklish? Yes, he is! Tickle, tickle, tickle little ticklish Tokoyami!”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Tokoyami pleaded, practically wheezing now. “I GIHIHIHIVE!! I GIVE – PLEHEHEHEASE DEHEHEHENKI!!”

Kami grinned but finally slowed to a stop, patting his friend’s chest reassuringly. “All right, no more, I promise. But seriously – hearing you laugh like that was the best thing that’s happened all week!”

Tokoyami groaned, but his lips were still pulled upward in a traitorous smile. “I hate you.”

*

49) Switches Momo and Todoroki

“Sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you.”

Momo struggled in Todoroki’s hold, but his grip on her was firm and his fingers in her side were even firmer. She giggled out her reply as best she could. “I s-sahahahahaid you – yohohohohou hahahahave a c-cuhuhuhuhute lahahahahaugh! Plehehehehease!”

“Do I?” Todoroki couldn’t help but grin, holding her with ease despite her squirming, loving the reactions he was getting from her. “Well, I hate to disagree with you, but I think your laugh is cuter.”

“Is nohohohohohot!”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to be arguing with me?” Todoroki murmured in her ear, sliding his hand to her hip and squeezing. She jolted and laughed. “No? Didn’t think so.”

“Stahahahahahahap! Plehehehehehease!” Momo kicked and squirmed, but his grip was unwavering. In a frantic, last-ditch effort to be free, she blindly grabbed for his thigh and squeezed it, making him yelp and release his grip on her just enough for her to break free and turn the tables on him, pinning him down and going straight for his underarms.

“PFFT-NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Todoroki tossed his head back and laughed openly, clamping his arms to his sides and kicking his feet in the air behind her as she moved to straddle his waist. “AHAHAHAHAHA NO FAHAHAHAHAHAIR!!”

“No fair? How?”

“YOU KNOHOHOHOHOW I’M MOHOHOHOHORE TIHIHIHIHICKLISH THAN YOHOHOHOHOU!!”

“And?” Momo laughed, raking her nails down his torso to his hips and grabbing his thighs again, watching him buck and thrash in satisfaction. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, MOMO!!”

“Please keep tickling you?” she beamed, winking at him when he looked up at her with panicked excitement. “You got it, Shoto.”

*

50) Lee Kirishima, Ler Bakugou

“Again,” Kiri pleaded, his eyes shimmering with mirthful tears and his chest heaving, but obviously having the time of his life.

Bakugou stared for a moment, then shook his head with a laugh. “Wow, Kiri, I knew you liked it, but you sound like you’re dying and you still want me to tickle you?”

“Please!”

“All right…” The blonde pinned his arms by his sides and went back to nibbling his ribs like he had moments ago, sending Kiri into another round of shrieking giggles. When the redhead sounded like he was gasping for air, Bakugou let up, allowing him a moment to breathe. “You doing all right?”

“I – I love it,” Kiri said between breaths, still smiling like an idiot. His eyes were kind of glazed over; it was clear he was reaching some kind of otherworldly plane from all of this intense tickling on his worst spot.

Bakugou hesitated. “Pretty soon you’re not even going to know where you are. Are you sure you still want-?”

“Yes, yes,” Kiri affirmed emphatically, nodding. “Make me forget. I want to forget everything but this.”

“Heh…you really love it, don’t you?”

“I’ve only told you like a million times now.”

“Fine.” Bakugou gripped his arms tighter and leaned down again, smirking at how his friend’s eyes lit up. “Buckle up, buttercup. Because this time I’m not stopping.”

And Kirishima giggled his way into a happy, ticklish oblivion.

[ohheyitsokay]

to date a single father (1/2)

Pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie) x (f) reader 

Warnings: mentions of trauma, drugs, and violence. a little angst? mostly fluff

Wordcount: 2.8k (I haven’t even gotten to the scene that inspired this thought process, guys...)

Part 2/2!

Summary: Frankie has a little girl in kindergarten and you’re the prettiest school teacher he’s ever seen. Being a single dad makes navigating relationships hard, that’s all.

Notes: I don’t really want kids but his baby is a part of his character so I thought it would be interesting to explore. I didn’t know how to put this in the warnings but obviously this topic can be a loaded one for some people, please be kind to yourself. 

>>

You first met Frankie outside the elementary school where you worked. You taught older kids, and they got let out a few minutes earlier to get their little siblings and to spread out traffic.

Most parents were in their minivan’s, on their phones, honking, or chatting through open windows. The sun was shining, sinking into your skin, and the kids were trickling out of the school.

He caught your eye, because he was standing nearby, hovering nervously, looking a touch lost. And maybe in small part because his hair was curling out from under his hat in soft tufts and his eyes were warm and bright.

“Can I help you, sir?” You asked cautiously, eyes still dutifully scanning the pick up area, making sure the students were safe.

He looked startled, then sheepish.

“My daughter’s in kindergarten,” he said, taking off his baseball cap to rake his hair to the side before replacing it. “It’s her first day.”

Ah. That explains his mother hen mannerisms.

“She'll be out in just a moment,” you said smiling at him. You explained the staggered release and noted how the crease between his brows smoothed a little bit.

You got to see parents with their kids often, and you were no stranger to the occasional handsome dad, but when his little girl came running towards him, nothing could have prepared you. His face lit up and she jumped straight into his arms yelling happily. As he spun her around for some wild reason your heart threatened to hammer right out of your chest.

He put her down and she chattered about her first day. As they walked away, he waved at you, and you smiled weakly before tearing your eyes away.

The kindergarten teacher appeared at your side. Her arm casually shot out, causing a running kid to almost crash into it, but effectively stopping him from sprinting somewhere more dangerous. She gave him a look before turning to grin at you.

“What?” you asked, trying to play off your odd behavior the best you could. You definitely weren’t staring at the most handsome dad you’d ever seen being adorable with his daughter. And by no means had you been neglecting your supervising duties to do so. She raised an eyebrow and against your will, your face was flushed.

“I’ve never seen you like this!” she said gleefully, laughing at you.

“There’s nothing to see!” you flapped your hand at her, knowing you were lying through your teeth.

“Isn’t there?” she knew you a little better than would be best in this circumstance. “Hon, I’ve worked with you five years and I haven’t seen a single person - real or from your stories – make you so flustered.”

You shook your head and started to walk back towards the school, calling behind you, “I wasn’t!”

“Would it help to know he’s single?” she chirped after you.

And you hated yourself because you stopped dead, heart pounding, before you walked away just about as quickly as you could.

That night, Frankie hated himself a little bit too, because he couldn’t get the pretty school teacher out of his head.

-

Over the first few weeks of the fall semester, this because normal for the two of you. Frankie kept coming early, and so when your let your class out, you would go stand and talk to him, both falling in love a little bit, and you would then get teased mercilessly by the other teachers. He would go home and day dream about seeing you outside of school, holding your hand, meeting your eyes and not having to look away.

He told the boys about you and accepted their bad advice and excited teasing with stride. You also gave up trying to deny it from your closest friends and they had the best time playing matchmaker for you, even if it was horribly embarrassing.

Every couple of days, your friend would keep his daughter inside extra long to help clean up or something, so you’d have more time to talk. On top of that, the older teachers made of habit of floating by and announcing how pretty you looked or how talented you were, and mentioning you were single with broad winks.

“Our sweet girl is just such a good teacher!” one man said. “I’d love it if she would marry my son one day. If she runs a household like her classroom, I could die happy!”

You felt like you could melt into the concrete. Frankie was grinning, his eyes alight with laughter as they met yours. He tried to ignore the feelings bubbling inside of him at the thought.

The next day, an older woman was apparently feeling protective over you, approaching Frankie and him a hard stare down. He fidgeted, shooting you a panicked look before she began asking him questions rapid fire.

When she was satisfied and moved on you finally turned to him saying, “I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Morales,” and he shrugged.

“I don’t mind,” he turned away from you, eyes searching for his daughter, and you almost didn’t hear him add, “It’s worth it.”

Silently you agreed, but before you could say anything, you saw his little one incoming. Instead of her dotting father, she hugged your legs, catching you entirely off guard. Frankie made a choking sound, his heart having leapt into his throat at the sight of you with his kid. The sky was cloudy that day – but he was feeling warm inside.

You talked to her for a bit before she moved on to him and they walked off waving, leaving you standing there in confusion.

Her teacher, on cue, slid up to your side.

“She’s been talking about you in class recently.”

“What? Why?” you were panicking. Never in your life did you picture yourself hoping a tiny little girl liked you, but here you were.

Her smile was soft as she said, “She thinks you’re nice and likes very much that her daddy has a girlfriend that is pretty because she thinks that means she’s going to become a princess.”

This was overwhelming. “I’m not his girlfriend!” you wailed, “I don’t even know what I’m doing!”

She hugged you tight, and whispered that you would figure it out. She promised you were doing just fine, and despite your anxiety, you half believed her.

-

Weeks later, you still weren’t his girlfriend, but you and him were just about the only people who didn’t think so. You let out class as early as you could most days, and he was always there to greet you as soon as you stepped outside. Sometimes he would have an “extra" drink for you from a nearby coffee shop, and he always got your order right. (He did remember his daughter’s teacher's, and well as hot chocolate for the little matchmaker.) Once, it was raining and the two of your shared an umbrella.

Now, your school was getting a new vice principal, and there was a social evening planned for parents and students to come and meet him. You were jittery with nerves, the thought of seeing Frankie in a new setting putting you on edge. You’d even put on a prettier than average outfit as if it were a date, and your coworkers were beyond excited.

Streamers were hung, pitchers were filled with lemonade, and you settled in a seat along the edge, hoping beyond hope that Frankie would find you and everyone else would leave you alone.

You had no such luck. After the new vice principal had been introduced to the staff, he made his rounds, greeting everyone personally before stopping on you. You made polite small talk, but he didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in moving on, settling next to you.

He began leaning close, mentioning how many good things he’d heard about you and you realized he was flirting with you. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. He wasn’t a bad guy, and maybe a few months ago you wouldn’t have minded so much, but now you just felt weird and uncomfortable. Politeness and politics were part of the job, but you scooted your chair away from his, unable to stop yourself.

When Frankie walked in with the other parents and students, his daughter pointed excitedly at you, tugging his hand. His eyes found you, but jealousy reared inside of him, along with a touch of hurt. There was a new man by your side, and he wasn’t being shy about his interest in you. Frankie didn’t know what do so he pulled his little one in the opposite direction, saying, “Snacks first, yeah?” knowing it would buy him some time.

He watched you out of the corner of his eye, thankful when other teachers seemed to approach the two of you to pull the man’s attention away. There was another roar of jealousy, though, as the man tapped the microphone and introduced himself. Looking at him on the small stage, in a suit and tie, Frankie felt scruffy.

He couldn’t be bothered to listen to him, his mind running. Would you prefer a guy like this? Successful and suave? Baggage free?

He followed his daughter, her attention short, as she ran to play with her friends. He hovered close to keep an eye on them, unable to shake the habit. Some other parents were talking to him, and he tried his best to be polite but he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the man, who was making his way back towards you.

It didn’t take long, however, for Frankie to see how uncomfortable you were, and a small, warm feeling bloomed in his chest in place of the jealousy. He kept the little one in his line of sight as he moved carefully through the crowds and behind the man. He caught your eye, and the warm feeling grew when your eyes widened and you visibly relaxed. Spurred on, he made a little symbol with his fingers over his chest - something Santi often did jokingly. It was an “S" shape, similar to the one Superman wore.

Do you need saving? he mouthed and you grinned, nodding slighting, so as not to betray him to your captor.

He didn’t need to hear more, butting into the conversation politely, but with determination. When the vice principal protested, Frankie confidently wrapped an arm around your shoulders and leveled his eyes at the other man. For all he was a sweetheart in a baseball cap, Francisco Morales could still gaze with the same intensity he had in the military.

The rest of your rescue went smoothly. He guided you back towards where the younger students were playing, and you were still grinning at him.

“Thanks you, Mr. Morales,” your heart was happy, you felt like you were flying. “You really are m- a hero.”

In that moment, Frankie knew he was a goner. To be your hero, and his daughter’s? That was maybe all he ever wanted.

“How can I repay you?” you asked, earnestly, the request and it’s potential making him weak in the knees.

He squeezed you gently.

“How about you call me Frankie?” he said, before taking a shaky breath. “And maybe consider going out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

You froze, your heart beat filling your whole body. He went to pull his arm away, but your hand caught his on your shoulder, keeping it around you.

“I’d love to, Frankie,” you managed.

Frankie found himself in a similar state of speechlessness, happiness flowing off of him, unable to make his mouth stop smiling. He settled for squeezing you again, both of you glowing and too overwhelmed to notice the high fives and quiet cheers from the staff around you.

-

The next 24 hours, Frankie was a bundle of nerves and excitement. He had spent weeks adoring you, seeing how wonderful you were, sharing as much of himself as he could. Now that he finally had the opportunity to take you on a date, he was terrified of blowing it. Calling Santi was almost a waste of time, the other man was too excited and gave him advice that required flirting skills he knew he didn’t have. He wanted to put his best foot forward, after all. He even left his hat home, cursing himself because the little pink brush he tried to use only made his curls fluffier.

But when he picked you up, time slowed down.

The two of you climbing into his truck, making small talk before you said, “I’m sorry you had to get a sitter for tonight, by the way.”

And he was forced to pause, looking at you. Beautiful, in the passenger seat, somehow thinking of him and his life. His mind was running as fast as his heart, and he didn’t have the slightest clue what to do.

“Frankie? Is everything okay?” his eyes met yours, and they were so earnest you knew to wait.

Gently, you put your hand on the middle console, palm up, offering. His hand fit into yours immediately, clinging to it like a lifeline.

“I… I gotta be honest with you,” he said, in a way that made you sure each word was thought out. “I think you’re really something special. But… I’m really afraid of this. I’m afraid of how much I like you. I had this whole dinner planned … but I can’t. I have all this baggage and I like you too much. I’m not trying to scare you off but … but I guess now is better than later?” his mind vaguely realized he self sabotaged, but it was all true. He was in too deep.

You took a breath, waiting a moment to make sure it was your turn. You felt the cool upholstery, the evening sun, and a tremble in his hand.

“Frankie… I can’t promise you I’ll want to stay, once I know it. But I really like you too,” his eyes met yours and you ran your thumb over his knuckles. “Please, just give it chance? Give me a chance to make that choice? I promise I’m in this just as deep as you are and I’m not perfect either but maybe we can get burgers, and just… just talk? Figure it out together, now?”

He would have squeezed your hand but he realized he was already gripping it too tightly. You knew he agreed though, because his eyes told you, and the two of you drove off.

You ordered bunches of extra fries along with your meals, and he parked a bit outside of town, where the two of you could see the sun beginning to set.

And he told you all of it as the two of you ate. The breeze was warm, running its fingers through the fields as he talked. He hadn’t expected his secrets to pour out of him but once he started, it felt as though a dam had broken.

He told you about his missions, the Delta Force, his friends. The drugs, the rehab, the back slides. The other woman, his baby, the heart break. Even the trauma, the therapy, and being a single dad.

You listened and in turn, told him about your life. Your hardships, your secrets, as forthcoming and he was. You were honest about how scared you were at the prospect of becoming a mother figure for his daughter. About how unprepared you felt for those hurdles. And when you were done, the two of you sat in silence, looking at the rising stars. Eventually, you spoke again.

“Francisco Morales, I still really like you,” you smiled at him, shrugging a bit. “If you’re okay with it, I’d really like to try this thing, with you.”

There was nothing more wonderful than the hope in his eyes at that moment.

“Yes, please,” his voice was a bit raspy. He took a couple of slow breaths. “I have to get home soon but can I be honest with you for just a little bit longer?”

“Of course,” you said, confused.

He hopped out of the truck, jogging over to your side and helping you step down. The door closed behind you but he moved closer instead of backing up.

“I had all these plans to take this slow, do everything right,” his voice was soft, and he was gently pushing into your space, allowing you to stop him at any time. “You deserved it, and I wanted to show you I could do it. But,” his hands found your body, one of them tugging your hips into his and the other settling on the back of your neck, half in your hair. “But I’d really like to skip some steps,” his forehead was on yours, gaze steady, his voice deep and warm.

“Can we skip to the part where I can kiss you? The part where I can tell you how much you mean to me, and hold you?”

You aren’t sure if you managed to say yes before his mouth was pressing against yours, kissing you for all he was worth.

[pascalpanic]

‘Nilla Bean (Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x gn!Reader)

Summary: A cowboy in your coffee shop is not the way you’d expected your morning to go, but you’re not complaining; especially not when he’s as attractive as he is.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: talk of food/eating, brief allusions to alcohol, lots of flirting, sexual innuendos, I think there’s like a single use of fuck

A/N: okay I’ve been thinking about this FOREVER but I finally went ahead and wrote it!!! hope u guys like it, I’m a sucker for a coffee shop AU as a barista myself :) thx @theteddylupinexperience for helping me name it and motivating me to write it lol

When you started your shift this morning, you’d groaned as you tied the apron around your waist, expecting an uneventful day. Most were. If you were lucky enough to see someone you knew or to have an especially nice customer, you’d consider it a good day. You didn’t know when you walked in that it would be the good day to end all good days: nothing could top this one.

Weekday mornings in the fall aren’t particularly busy. The majority of your customers come around the morning rush, and the remaining ones are usually retirees or house-spouses and their young children. It’s enjoyable, days like these, that don’t require you to dash about the shop.

The only problem, really, is having nothing to do. You clean the coffee grinder, wipe down tables, wipe down everything else, then do it all again. Restocking, usually an endless chore, isn’t even an option; no one’s using anything in the first place. You and your coworkers chat, deep-cleaning the coolers, washing the blender stations, and doing the dirty work. When a customer comes, you’re the lucky one who gets to go take their order and put your task on hold first.

It seems like you’ve done every task twice, even when your manager introduces yet another idea for you to deal with. To bide your time, you prep coffee for later, rearrange the case of pretty little pastries that sits next to your register, and doodle on your station with a paint pen, humming to the soft music playing in the shop.

People come and go, some picking up mobile orders and some ordering from you, some choosing to eat inside and some taking their food to go. You sip your drink happily between customers- a white mocha with caramel.

At one point, you’re in the back and washing dishes when a coworker peeks his head into the back. “Hey, you got someone up front!” He informs you, and you nod and wander out through the swinging doors.

Well. That’s certainly a sight for a Tuesday morning.

The man standing at the register is wearing a painfully well-tailored suit jacket, with gray tweed and patches on the elbows. Beneath it is a white top and a black tie, and the man wears jeans on the bottom half. Interesting.

Perhaps more interesting is the large cowboy hat perched atop his head. The man’s face, below the brim of his Stetson, is incredibly handsome. He has an aquiline nose, a neatly trimmed mustache that wouldn’t work on anyone else, and warm brown eyes that make you smile softly.

“Hi,” you comment as you log into the register. “Are you a part of our rewards program?” You ask as part of your regular spiel.

The man furrows his brow then shakes his head. “Uh, no. No I’m not. Can you sign me up now?” He asks, and his voice makes your chest flutter with the tone. It’s rich and smooth, with a beautiful southern twang.

Looking at your register and back at him, you shake your head. “It’s just an app on your smartphone, really easy,” you tell him.

“Ah, damn,” he groans and pulls it from his pocket. “I’m shit with technology. Why don’t you just… type it in here?” He says, handing you his phone with a notes page open. His thick fingers accidentally lock the phone as he hands it to you.

You tap the screen to wake it and find the background to be a picture of a cute little pig all covered in mud. “Uh, you locked it,” you chuckle. “What’s the password?”

The man looks down shyly. “1-2-3-4. Don’t make fun’a me, I’m like a grandpa with these newfangled phones.”

It’s endearing, you have to admit, and it makes you giggle. “Not a problem. I’m not here to chide you on your security choices,” you shrug. You type in the code and find the app, starting the download for him before handing back his phone. “Can I get a name to start your order?” You ask as you look up at him.

His eyes hold a warmth there, radiating off of his smile. “Whiskey.”

“Your mother named you Whiskey?” You tease as you type in the name, returning back to the main page of beverages. “Some kind of legal name.”

The man shakes his head. “Nah, that’s just what I go by at work.”

Whiskey likes conversation, you notice, and it makes you chuckle a little. “You got a real name then?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow beneath your visor.

The man tips his hat. “Jack Daniels, at your service.” He says and offers you a hand, which you take and shake.

“That’s a lie. You’re telling me your nickname is Whiskey and your real name is a type of whiskey?”

The man shrugs. “My momma had a real funny sense of humor, I guess. My daddy loved the booze so they went with it. I work for Statesman, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

“Ah, the distillery,” you nod with a smile, not grasping the depth of what Statesman actually does. How could you? “Well then, Jack,” you say with an honest grin on your face. “What can I get you to drink?”

Whiskey, Jack, whatever his name is, looks up at the menu, scanning the different beverages. “Well. That sure is a lot of choices. I’m new to the area, so I don’t know the menu yet, and I don’t know the first thing about coffee other than how to make it in a machine,” he admits to you. “What would you recommend, sugar?”

Sugar. Your heart beats a million times faster at the man’s words. You’ve had lots of weird and creepy men call you different things, but you’ve never been flustered and enjoyed it. This man is getting to you, quickly. “Well, how strong do you take your coffee?”

He thinks about that for a second, fiddling with the button on his suit jacket. “Pretty strong. A little sweet, with cream. I usually take it Irish style,” he admits with a chuckle, tapping a belt buckle that you realize is a tiny flask. Jesus. That’s not cheesy.

“Well, we don’t serve alcohol,” you laugh and look down at your screen. “We have all kinds of flavors.” You list them all off, off the top of your head, now staring at the ceiling to recite them all. “And our seasonal drink is pumpkin spice.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Wonderful and all, but what do you like? You seem like you’ve got a good taste, darlin’, tell me what you’d recommend.”

God, these names are going right to where they shouldn’t, especially not when this handsome man is leaning on your counter and flirting with you as he orders his coffee. “I like vanilla.” You shrug.

The man laughs and stands. “I hate to say it, sugar, but I’m not a very vanilla man,” he says, his head tilting down and his dark, sultry eyes peeking out at you from just below the brim. His voice is seductive, implying something else other than the flavor.

Oh fuck. “Oh, not like that,” you laugh as your face floods with warm blood, anxiety coursing through your veins. “Not vanilla in that way.” Fuck, that’s even worse, you think and grip the counter so as to not physically cringe at your words.

“Not like that, huh?” His words are still so seductive and flirtatious it makes you want to combust. Maybe you will, if he keeps this going.

“N-no,” you stammer, looking down at the menu screen again. “I mean, I just think it’s underrated. People dismiss it as boring, but it’s really just as interesting of a flavor as anything else. It tastes really good with our espresso.”

Jack tilts his head to the side, a smirk on his face. His lip pokes out just slightly to wet his lips and you shiver involuntarily, your skin pricking up all across your body. God, you hope he can’t see it. “I’ll trust you on it, ‘nilla bean,” the man drawls and stands up straight again. “Triple espresso with vanilla and cream.”

You nod and ring that in. God, if he keeps going with the nicknames, you’re going to melt into a puddle here and now.

“What are these?” He asks as his fingers trace over the drawings on the counter, lifting them and finding the pink and green powder of the dried paint has transferred to his fingertips.

God, he makes you nervous, but in a good way. In the best way possible, a way that makes you want to knock that cowboy hat off his head and find out if his lips are as soft as they look. “I draw when I’m bored. It’s been a slow day,” you chuckle as your own fingers trace the crawling vines and flowers you’d painted there. “Sorry about the transfer,” you chuckle and your fingertips brush his, making you involuntarily shudder again at the contact. His fingertips are calloused and radiate warmth.  “Uh, can I get you anything to eat?” You ask and gesture at the bakery case.

The man inspects it for a moment, looking at the various foods lined up under the soft white light. “I’ll take one’a these,” he says and pokes a finger towards the chocolate chip cookies through the glass. You nod and take one out for him, putting it in a little paper sleeve and handing it over. “How much is this gonna hurt my wallet?” He asks, pulling it out from the back pocket of his jeans.

“Give me one second.” You type in your code for your employee discount, which takes a moment.

“What’re you typin’ there, ‘nilla bean?” He asks, brow furrowing.

Looking up at him, you push your visor up your face and smile a little. “Oh, I’m giving you my employee discount. It’s ridiculously priced here.”

Jack frowns. “You don’t have to do that for me, sugar. I’m just a regular ol’ customer.”

It’s your chance, you realize, to say something or stay silent forever. “Well, I like you,” you admit and take the credit card he hands you, swiping it through the machine. “And I’m hoping you’ll at least become a regular. I’d like to see you more,” you tell him with a grin.

The man’s face lights up, even beneath the shadow of his brim. “I’d like that too,” he nods and pockets his card when you hand it back.

A beat of silence passes as the two of you smile at each other, both of you lovestruck immediately. “Uh, your drink will be right up over there,” you say and nod to the other end of the café. “Are you going to drink that here or take it to go?” You ask.

“Oh, here,” he nods.

“Perfect,” you say with a small smile. “Then I’ll just bring it to you when it’s ready. Nothing better to do today,” you shrug and wander down to the other end before Jack, Whiskey, whatever can refute you.

You take the cup from your coworker, humming to yourself as you put some vanilla and cream in the cup, pulling the espresso shots. When it’s ready, it barely reaches the halfway mark of the small cup, so you top it with a little whipped cream. You suspect the man has more of a sweet tooth than he lets on.

Pocketing a pink paint marker, you put a lid on the drink and walk out to the dining room, setting the coffee down across from him. He’s munching on the cookie he’d ordered, looking up at you with unintentional puppy dog eyes. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” you smile and pull out the chair across from him, sitting down and pulling out the paint pen. “I put a little extra whipped cream on top. I thought it would go well with the espresso, make it a little creamier or something.”

As you uncap the paint pen, Jack’s brow furrows as he watches you. “Whatcha doing there?” He asks as you bring his cup closer to yourself and write something on the top.

“Being brave,” you chuckle and cap the pen, sliding it back. “I gotta head back. Enjoy it,” you say as you stand and pat him on the shoulder.

Only as you walk back to the register does Whiskey comprehend exactly what you put on the top of his cup. It’s your phone number, in that chalky pink paint, and a smiley face beneath it.

Jack may not be great with technology, like he told you, but he immediately pulls out his phone and takes a photo. Then he enters the number into a contact, filling out the name: ‘Nilla Bean.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain

[novelconcepts]

Hi there could you please do #25 for dani and jamie ❤

playfully biting someone

The best part of a new relationship, Jamie reflects, is in all the little details. The strange quirks of a person you might never see until you begin dating them, until the hours spent in their company twist from nine to five to all bets are off. Getting to know someone’s body is grand; getting to know them, the heart of them, the truth of their day-to-day, is better.

She maybe hadn’t realized that, until Dani--but Dani is teaching her with every passing day just how much is waiting beneath the surface. There is, it seems, an endless supply of bizarre details to file away, each wreathing Dani in more charm than the last.

Dani, she’s learned, doesn’t like to drive--she’s tried exactly once, and spent the entire thirty-minute stretch drawn tight as a bowstring--but loves rolling down her window and letting a hand dangle in the breeze. She is great with a map, almost pathological at remembering radio stations, but frequently gets distracted by conversation and forgets to point out a necessary exit ramp. She is untrustworthy when left on snack duty in gas stations, constantly inclined to pick up a coffee or a bottled orange juice over water, but always seems to find the best chocolate in any given state.

Food, in general, proves particularly interesting. Dani thrills at the opportunity to introduce her to terrible fast food (”We have this,” Jamie says pointedly, as they pull into their first McDonald’s; “Not even close,” Dani says gleefully, and proceeds to order her a Happy Meal for the sheer joy of it). She is perhaps too invested in what sort of pizza Jamie considers the right kind (”Dunno,” Jamie says in a helpless tone, unaware that there are options. “The kind with, uh, sauce?”). There is, it appears, a right and wrong answer to crust width, cheese ratio, and toppings; the first time she orders pineapple, Jamie almost can’t bring herself to take a bite, she’s laughing too hard at the intense expression on Dani’s face. 

(“You are,” she proclaims, “ridiculous.”

“It’s good,” Dani insists, and there is no sign of a beast about her smile as she watches Jamie try the pinapple-and-bacon monstrosity and, grudgingly, admit defeat.)

She learns that Dani prefers movies at home to the theater, but makes an exception whenever a new action film comes out. Dani likes dancing, but doesn’t love strangers being able to see her do it; she’s self-conscious about her questionable rhythm, at least until Jamie leans close and murmurs that rhythm hasn’t been a problem yet, from where she’s standing. Dani likes old bookstores, new flea markets, ice cream parlors run by elderly couples who compliment her earrings. Dani likes America, as it turns out, with all its many oddities, and Jamie finds that affection infectious. She is rapidly coming to like America, too--at least, the America she’s offered through Dani’s eyes.

Dani is effervescent by daylight, chatting with strangers, eagerly returning stray footballs that land near her in the park to laughing children. She turns thoughtful when the rain rolls in, always at her moodiest when the sky grows pregnant with clouds that refuse to break open. She feels weird, she says, when the moon is nearly full, and she misses constellations whenever they pull up to a city, and there’s something about Midwestern manners she can’t seem to shake whether they’re in Miami or Detroit. 

She’s fascinating, and she’s complicated, and the good days hold just as many facets as the bad. Jamie is growing to love them all--the way Dani shrieks with laughter when tickled, and the way she grows somber at particular Paul Simon songs for no reason Jamie can understand. She loves the way Dani slips a hand beneath the hem of her shirt and holds on for dear life on long drives, her fingers skimming the edge of Jamie’s jeans. Loves how Dani can’t shower with the door closed, can’t sleep with it open, can never figure out the window latch in any given hotel room.

And she loves how Dani behaves with her alone. Not the sex--though that’s only getting better, Dani finding more confidence each time they come together; Jamie’s started to find herself pressed up against doors with unexpected strength, pushed down onto beds with her head spinning and Dani already getting to work--so much as the intimacy. They’re different, she’s learning. Different tiers of the same cake, maybe. Can’t have one without the other, not if it’s good, not if it’s with Dani. 

Sex comes easily, though it’s taken a little while for Dani to open back up again. When she does, the transition is absolute--no fear, no hesitation, her hands and lips and voice winding together to explain, If it’s just today, if I only have now, I need to be here. She doesn’t want to miss a moment, she says. Doesn’t want to let anything slip by. She wants to experience every inch of Jamie, and every inch of this country they’re exploring, and every inch of time won back from an unfair universe.

The intimacy--the way her hand always seems to find Jamie’s pocket, the way her forehead leans against Jamie’s back, the way she lets her foot press against the side of Jamie’s boot under a restaurant table--comes from the same place. That need to remember. That need to be here. If only for today, if only a little at a time, she can’t resist. 

Which brings her to the part of Dani Jamie thinks she likes best:

Dani’s absolutely unexpected need for attention. 

“Did you just--” She hesitates, wondering if she’s hallucinated. It’s such an odd little thing for Dani to have done, sprawled beside her on a motel bed. Such an odd thing, both of them with books open against bent knees and no conversation between them for half an hour. 

And still, she’s almost certain. More so, when Dani gives a guilty grin. 

“You bit me,” Jamie says, wonder in her voice. “Really?”

Dani doesn’t look particularly apologetic. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” Jamie says, unable to restrain the laughter in her voice. “You could, ah, initiate whenever you like.”

“Wasn’t about that.” Dani shrugs, small and clean in a post-shower sleep shirt and very little else. Jamie lays a finger between the pages of her book, closing the cover. 

“Was it a food thing, because I have never seen someone put away a burger that size, but I could always order--”

Dani laughs. “No, I just--wanted to.” She shakes her head, looking as though she’s surprised herself as much as Jamie with the simple act of leaning over and sinking her teeth gently into the curve of Jamie’s shoulder. “Didn’t even think about it. Just...felt like getting your attention.”

“You have it.” She always does, even when Jamie’s reading, or starting to doze off, or thinking about tomorrow’s leg of the journey. Somewhere underneath it all, the reliable heartbeat powering her day, she’s always thinking of Dani. That should frighten her. That should worry her very much--and yet, somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

“I won’t do it again,” Dani says, “if you didn’t like it. It was weird, wasn’t it? Weird thing to do.”

“Very weird,” Jamie agrees. “You’re a bit of a weirdo, Dani Clayton. Dunno if I’ve pointed that out.”

Dani jostles her, shoulder to shoulder, and Jamie drops her book onto the nightstand. In truth, she loves that Dani is starting to do weird little things just to see what response she’ll get--loves that Dani doesn’t twist herself into knots, questioning an act, choosing instead to just go for it. It feels like the Dani she held in a hallway, hours before their lives had changed forever. 

“What are you doing?” Dani is giggling already, as Jamie curls against her side, nuzzling into her neck. 

“Returning the favor.”

“That--” Dani draws a sharp breath as Jamie finds a particularly sensitive spot and draws the skin between her teeth. “Um. That’s--not what I--”

She’s melting into the pillows, one hand cupped behind Jamie’s head. Her pulse is quickening, though she’s starting to laugh as Jamie rains tiny bites down the side of her throat, along the slope of one shoulder. The cotton of her t-shirt pulled between even teeth, Jamie leans back slightly, meeting her eyes. 

“Wanted my attention,” she says, the words garbled around shirt. “What d’you want me to do with it?”

“This,” Dani laughs, her eyes fluttering when Jamie releases the shirt and returns her mouth to the soft column of her neck. “This is, um. Working nicely.”

“Figured,” Jamie murmurs, letting one hand toy along the curve of Dani’s thigh. “I like it, you know.”

“This?” Dani’s head is casting back, offering more room to explore; her fingers wrap around Jamie’s, guiding her toward an end to this conversation, the beginning of a different kind of discussion altogether. Jamie smiles. 

“You. Doing weird shit just because. Biting my arm, or singing to me in the shower, or just...bein’ here. I like it. Like you.”

More than, she thinks. More than just like. It’s been true for weeks and weeks, maybe since the morning she’d tried to hold firm against pleading blue eyes in a greenhouse. Maybe. She’s more than liked the way Dani catches her gaze, brushes up against her, seeks out her attention for longer than she even knows what to do with. 

Too early to say so. Too early to scare Dani away. She’s getting brighter, getting more hopeful every day, but she still flinches from words like Christmas, like next year, like in a while. She wouldn’t cope well with Jamie telling her the truth just yet. 

Better to just do this. To learn the little details--the tiny stamp of intimacy on every step of this journey. To accept the just try it of pineapple on pizza, of dancing on moonlit beaches, of Dani’s teeth sinking into her shoulder for no reason at all. It’s better. It’s the best thing she’s ever done. 

There are so many details, with Dani. So many stories to learn, so many quirks to memorize. And there is always, at the end of the day, this: just Dani, in her bed. Just Dani, drawing shallow breaths, pulling her down into a hungry kiss as she urges Jamie to explore with eager hands. Just Dani, who wants her attention merely because it’s Jamie offering it up. 

Bit of a weirdo, she thinks, and thank fuck for that. 

[chaoticneutralwriter]

GD!Jimin Extras: Golden Hour

As they say, taking a picture lasts longer.

guardian demon!jimin x reader

genre: supernatural, fluff, romance, angst, slow-burn

word count: 2.2k

related works: see Masterlist under guardian demon!jimin au

A snapshot of the days before The Storm

A/N: Shout out to @azulamakesmeblank​ because this was partially inspired by this ask! As promised, a fluff chapter before the literal shit storm that’s about to take place in the story (butisitreallywhenyoureadthelastlineofthispromptwhat:’)) I hope you enjoy it! it’s kinda half edited dkfhgha I love you guys as always for your support and patience for this story! 💖💖💖💖

Tags: @cherryjiminiee @kokobaekkie @breathebangtan @itsadoozie @thatshylatina @chiminieboi @azulamakesmeblank @sectumsemptae @awkwardwookie @aduky @poisonseashell @shortannoyingginger @caramelmac-chiato @sana-b @jiminstinct @beautifulparisiangirl @taelieninvader @ggukjitaejin @xakemi-chiix @vantaenims @atulipandarose​ @moments-of-melancholy @xclo02 @cherub-kookie @gottadreamitallaway​ @indiesy​ @disn3yfreak @oerangdoongi @definitelynotshady​ @youmaiiwasherebeforeu​ 

You arrive at the front door a little too breathlessly in your haste. It should be embarrassing but blaming your increased pulse on your lack of fitness has your mind and, ironically, your heart resting easier than having to think that you're actually half-nervous and half-excited to see Jimin again.

Even though you literally saw him just yesterday.

You really need to pull yourself together better; you'd rather not have a repeat of pouring tomato sauce all over the counter because your hands got too shaky from Jimin watching you cook dinner (and after you insisted on him not needing to do anything too!)

You take in a fortifying breath, appearing to be squaring up to take the final stand in saving the world instead of simply seeing your boyfriend for what's essentially a stay-in dinner date. You punch in the pass code to the lock pad with practised ease, almost not giving enough time for the beep to chime as you push the door open.

“Jimin?” You call out in greeting once you toe off your shoes and slip on your pair of house slippers. Your eyes scan over the vast living room, spotting the head of raven locks peeking out from the end of the couch. Stepping closer, a smile sneaks its way onto your lips when you realize that he's most likely resting, given his lack of response. Quietly, you step into the kitchen area to set down your bags of grocery on the counter before you make your way to peer over the back of the seat. You're instantly smitten at what you see.

The sun is beginning to make its descent below the horizon, dying the clouds in an ombre of fiery oranges, pinks and reds against the remnants of soft pale blue sky. Thanks to the generous amount of window space the penthouse has, the golden glow easily washes over the interior of the living room and bathes everything with its light; Jimin being no exception.

It cascades over his skin like honey, high-lighting the bridge of his nose, the tops of his cheeks, and the shape of his cupid's bow. It makes his long lashes stand out so delicately and the equally dark strands of hair that falls gently over his forehead. Your fingers itch to sweep them away yet at the same time, you don't dare risk disturbing this sleeping beauty.

So unconsciously, you silently settle yourself on the top of the couch, resting your elbows on the cushion with your head propped up in your hand.

He looks so completely relaxed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped over his stomach. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, forearms toned and the first few buttons undone to expose a teasing view of his collarbones while black slacks hug his thighs perfectly (as per usual). If someone were to take a picture of him right now and slap on some big fashion name on it, you're pretty sure anyone who would see it would believe it to be a legit advertisement or a cover of a magazine.

Now that the thought has crossed your mind, temptation begins to rear its head. From the beginning, it's a no brainer what you imagine one would do given the opportunity of having a guardian demon that looks like the carbon copy of your favourite idol; do whatever you can to prevent said demon from stepping out into the world and risk slandering the actual person they're parading around as, or indulge in your wildest fantasies now that you have the means.

It's....a rather unique position to be in, with a plethora of mixed feelings to say the least.

After the initial shock of it wore off (which was really just taking three business day to process it all), you've come to the conclusion that this whole thing was, more than anything, weird. Some people might be able to turn a blind eye and though you're grateful that he had decided to look like Park Jimin from BTS, no matter how good of a disguise it was, it still doesn't change the fact that it's not Jimin.

You were grateful, but it made you a little resentful towards him.

With such a stark contrast, it's as if all of the good things you associated with that face had been sullied for something colder and unfeeling. You hated that he had chosen to use someone like Park Jimin – the perfect example of a good human being – to mask his much more sinister nature. You were sure it was part of some sick joke, and it felt...wrong.

Like you've lost part of a safe space in your world to the uglier side of the universe.

So in an attempt to preserve Jimin's good name in your heart, you were adamant in keeping your guardian demon at arms' length, hence why doing something as simple as taking a picture with him was out of the question. Not only would it not be in good faith, you can't begin to imagine what would happen if it got out to the world somehow.

And you succeeded....in the most unexpected way possible.

Maybe it was the deep rooted connection you had for Jimin, but there was always, without a doubt, a part of you that was soft to him. At first it had irked you, however over time, you realized it allowed for you to see another part of him that you wouldn't have otherwise. It made you open up to the idea that....he's not as bad as he seems.

You were afraid of losing a piece to your safe space when really, you ended up gaining an entirely new one instead, one that had become just as important.

So maybe that's why, as the longer you stared at Jimin (who's not Jimin but that doesn't mean he's worth anything less), the more you wanted to preserve this memory of him to keep for yourself. It's selfish you know, but things have changed, you've changed, and this is too good of a chance to pass up.

Your phone is out, hands steady as you pull up the camera and you want to laugh at how the image on your screen does no justice in capturing just how ethereal the sight before you is (of course it doesn't, should you really be surprised?) That doesn't stop your finger from tapping the snap button, because as they say, taking a picture lasts longer. The shot is satisfactory enough, getting him at an angle that show him from the waist up. You wonder if you can get another one, this time a little wider....

Well, you'll never know if you'd ever get the shot because your guardian demon chooses to wake up at that moment, locking piercing eyes with you through the phone. You immediately freeze.

There's a pause on his end before you see him pinpoint exactly what is going and a sly smirk tugs imperceptibly at the corner of his lips. “Cherub....” He greets, the low drawl sultry and irises pools of rich melted chocolate.

You gulp, straightening up while trying to inconspicuously put away your phone, a sheepish grin stretching across your face. “Rest well....?”

Jimin pretends to hum in deep thought, shifting so that he's facing more comfortably towards you. “For a good while yes....until my demon senses started tingling, telling me I was being watched. Should I be mildly concerned that you like watching me sleep?”

You scoff, “I don't always watch you sleep.”

“And you totally weren't snapping stalker photos of me.”

Your jaw drops, affronted but you don't go on to deny the claim. “Hey, calling them stalker photos is a stretch. And I'm just saying this because this was the only time I've ever – oof!”

Without warning, his hand had shot out to grab a hold of one of your wrist hanging over the back and with a strong tug, you fall face first onto his chest, an arm encircling you to keep you in place.

“Whatever you wanna call it, doesn't change that I'm still going to charge you for them.” You hear him playfully chastise above you. When you tilt your head up, you see him quirk an eyebrow at you expectantly. You blink, then roll your eyes, pretending to be inconvenienced by his stinginess, as if you're not ready to give him everything if he so much as breathes a word of it.

“Alright, what do you want?”

Jimin doesn't say anything in response, simply staring at you with those bottomless eyes, a smoulder simmering beneath their surface that it has you drowning in their depths. He watches you, unperturbed by your squirming (actually amuses in it) before you practically hear him purr, “What do you think I want?”

Your heart easily skips a beat (or more) and you're sure he can feel it beating frantically from your chest to his. While you're internally combusting, Jimin remains the picture definition of smug, free arm still propped behind his head the same time the other is wrapped around your waist, your face heating at the way you feel his thumb stroke at the strip of warm skin peeking out thanks to your shirt riding up a bit in the tumble.

He's actually infuriating, you think. Why's he gotta be so damn good at what he does?! You don't think he's even trying. Ugh, get it together, this is nothing new so it's not even a big deal! You can be cool about it too!

Giving yourself a chaotic pep talk apparently is what helps you find the courage to scooch up until you're able to land a chaste peck on the centre of his lips. Before you can fully withdraw, you already see the unimpressed look Jimin is shooting your way.

“I know you can do better than that.”

You puff, chewing on your lower lip into a pout; the deadpan in his voice makes you grumble at being called out, your neck and the tips of your ears burning now. Seeing you so flustered though, Jimin couldn't help but be endeared, then finally decide to ease up on the teasing he's been relentlessly subjecting you to. Slowly, he lowers the arm behind his head to gently take a hold on your chin, bringing your attention back to the adoring smile softening his features.

“Pretty cherub,” He coaxes, “Won't you give a little sweet treat for me?”

It takes everything in you to suppress the small whimper that wanted to jump out from the base of your throat at hearing those words. Whether it's teasing, cocky Jimin or loving, doting Jimin, you really aren't built to handle any of them at all, seemingly defaulting to a blushing mess no matter how hard you try be unfazed. Which is why after a moment of resigning to your fate, accepting that there was no point resisting when your heart and body have already betrayed you, do you close your eyes and give in wholeheartedly.

He welcomes you, carefully lets you mould your lips to his for a proper kiss and you helplessly melt against him. You don't think you can ever get used to the feeling but it's like Jimin doesn't mind one bit, pace unhurried to savour every press like it’s your first. Your mind becomes muddled the longer it goes on, and when you feel the swipe of his tongue, you're nearly gone. But as tempting as it is, you can't get too carried away here – you still have dinner to cook!

You allow yourself a few tantalizing licks before you part with great reluctance. Through hazy eyes you meet Jimin's, the little breath you have hitching from the sight of his swollen, moistened lips and dark brown irises now glowing a muted maroon, on the verge of igniting into full blown desire.

“Can't have you spoiling dinner so early.” You say, then embarrassingly avert your gaze at how your voice comes out raspy and thick.

You miss the way the corner of Jimin's mouth twitch, but catch the mischievous glint that's no doubt from mentioning the word 'dinner'. You put on your best scolding face, smacking his chest lightly in reprimand.

“No.”

“I didn't even say anything.” His incredulous retort is drowned out by the laugh he lets out with it, the sound has you struggling to maintain your 'serious' front.

“You were thinking it.”

“Are you sure it's not you projecting your own thoughts onto me?”

You humphed, about to turn away and get off your personal body pillow but Jimin's hold remains steadfast. He sneaks a quick kiss to your forehead once you settle back down again as a means to placate you, chuckling softly, “Okay, okay, I'll behave.”

You giggle lightly, cheeks pressed into his collarbone as you give an approving hum, cuddling even closer to his person and you both lapse into a comfortable silence, breaths in sync. Outside, the final rays of the setting sun disappears below the city's horizon, taking the warmth of the day along with it.

But you find no lack in that when you're lying here in his embrace, because whereas the sun comes and goes, yours remains unwavering.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (14)

  jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: it’s time they got down to business… or isn’t it 😳

words: 6.2k

  chapter fourteen

You spent nearly the whole Saturday on the phone with Inna – because she refused to let you hang up until you gave her a play-by-play of last night’s party (and all that happened after) – and, by the time you finally ended the phone call, you were half-deaf from all of her—supportive but rather alarming—screaming.

And then, before you were ready for it, you and Jungkook had another Sunday night dinner at his parents’ house.

Admittedly, you thought you’d feel uncomfortable seeing his parents again after having learnt that they gave the push that convinced Jungkook to cut his ties with you off, but this feeling only clouded your mind for about fifteen minutes – or, in other words, for the period of time that it took for Jungkook to arrive from his house to your dormitory.

By the time he got here, all that was left in your mind – and in the air around you as soon as you opened the door to let him in – was ease. Routine.

Like you were supposed to spend every Sunday night with his family, holding hands with him under the dinner table. Like this wasn’t somehow weird or unusual, or even awkward. Like this was how it’d always been – with no seven-year-long gaps – and how it was always supposed to be.

Even touching Jungkook after the last time you’d seen him was, most surprisingly, not at all different from touching him before your last conversation. It still caused lighting bolts to explode inside of your stomach, and you were used to the sensation by now.

The only difference was that now you knew.

And knowing allowed you to truly come back to the life you were once a part of.

It felt like the last time you’d been to his house, you only allowed yourself to set one foot in, holding yourself back in case this would all go wrong and hurt you, but now you were ready to try again. Now you were ready to go into it with your whole body – open chest and all.

Sure, the possibility of getting hurt was still there – even if it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook joked about how his mom was more excited to see you than him – but sometimes you had to believe—not just hope—that nothing bad was going to happen, in order to make it true.

And truly nothing bad seemed on the horizon as Jungkook – true to the promise he’d made earlier this week – took you to the ice cream shop near his home as soon as dinner was over so you could pick up some desserts for yourselves. You found the chocolate-chip cookie-flavored ice cream – the one he knew you loved – and all was bliss.

“What is it with you,” you asked him when the two of you walked out of the shop and Jungkook was happily licking two different flavors on his cone – strawberry and mint, “and these flavors?”

“They’re good together,” he defended, pushing his cone towards you. “Want to try?”

You scrunched your nose. “No. I’ll stick with my chocolate—”

“Boring.”

“Hey,” you gave him a look, unaware of the chocolate around the corners of your lips and how utterly irresistible it made you look to him, “you’ve been picking the sweetest flavors of ice cream ever since we were kids. Don’t call me boring if I choose to postpone my diabetes diagnosis.”

“Neither of us is getting diabetes,” he said, absentmindedly extending his hand to wipe the chocolate from your lips and then sucking his thumb into his mouth.

You forgot what you were talking about for a moment as you looked away from him, your face burning hot at the sight, but your hands freezing cold from the ice cream.

Jungkook didn’t notice and carried on. 

“Do you remember when we used to collect those wooden popsicle sticks for no reason when we were kids?” he asked.

“I—yeah, I remember,” you said, taking a distracted bite your ice cream and then wincing when your temples froze. “I-I’m pretty sure we had a reason, though. You said you wanted to build a Trojan horse.”

“Oh, that’s right!” his face lit up just like it did that day when you were eight and you told him you’d help him build it. “I never had enough patience for a project like that. Why did you get on board with it?”

“Because you were really excited for it,” you replied as nonchalantly as you could manage – even though you could see it in his eyes when you looked at him, he did not think this was nothing; it was important to him – and then hid your face in your ice cream again.

Jungkook watched you for another moment, his heart beating peacefully but his mind buzzing with memories. You always ate your ice cream the same way – nearly all of it at once – ever since you were a little kid. He’d always made fun of you for it – not cruelly, because seeing the exhilaration in your eyes and your ice-cream-covered face always made him feel inexplicably warm inside – but now he wanted to grab your hand, stop you, and clean your lips with his own.

“I still have the popsicle sticks in my room,” he said while his ice cream melted in the paper cup in his hand.

“You do?” you asked, turning to look at him and making his suffering so much worse when you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “Why did you keep them all this time?”

Jungkook was glad you’d reached the gate of his house because that meant he could turn his back to you as he fumbled with the lock – it wasn’t a complicated mechanism, he just needed to look at something else for a bit – and tried to get his lungs to function properly again.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally opening the gate. “I guess I was hoping to still build that horse one day.”

You scoffed at this – Jungkook gave you a dignified look in return – and lingered by the gate for a second before you realized that he’d stopped to let you enter first.

“I’m not mocking,” you explained in response to the look on his face. “It’s actually great that you kept it.”

His mouth dried up when he closed the gate and turned around to walk towards the house before noticing how warm your gaze was. Then, to avoid you reading through him and figuring out what he was feeling, he stuffed a mouthful of ice cream into his mouth.

“It is?” he asked with a slight lisp and then hissed as the freezing sensation went straight to his brain.

“Yeah,” you nodded, a more wary look in your eyes now that Jungkook was in pain from the self-inflicted brain-freeze. “It shows that you’re waiting until you’re mature enough to be able to invest your time into something that requires a lot of patience.”

Jungkook exhaled shakily – you assumed it was from the cold – and lead you past the impeccably-kept bushes in his front-yard, and towards the entrance into his house.

“Yeah, no,” he said, finishing his ice cream in a few large bites that must have very literally frozen his throat. He tried not to let it show as he said in a very breathy voice, “I don’t think it’s that deep.”

You shrugged your shoulders, slowly finishing your own ice cream as you brought your free hand over the vines that ran alongside the front wall of his house. “Maybe you don’t realize it.”

“Or maybe I kept the sticks because they reminded me of you.”

You stopped in front of his porch steps, unsure if you heard him right.

Swallowing the final bite of the chocolate-filled waffle cone, you looked at him in confusion – that was easy to mistake for disbelief, “hmm?”

Jungkook climbed up the steps – two at a time because he was always too impatient but, this time, also because he felt like he’d spoken too soon and he needed to put more distance between himself and you – and did not turn around to look at you until he fished his keys out from the pocket of his jeans, and unlocked the door.

“Yeah,” he said then, only giving you a glance as he opened the door and nodded his head inside, waiting for you to walk in first. “I still have a framed picture of us from middle school on my dresser.”

“Really?” you asked, looking at him even though he was now obviously avoiding your eyes.

There was even more surprise in your voice and it stung – you shouldn’t have been surprised about the fact that he cared enough to keep pictures that immortalized your friendship; but you were, and that was his fault – making him feel more self-conscious than he already was.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said and, smiling nervously, he stretched his hand behind his neck to scratch a nonexistent itch. “You want to see it?”

“Oh,” you were still standing on his doorstep while he was inviting you to his room. “Sure, yeah.”

You’d been to his room before – many times, in fact – so you hated the way the hairs on your skin stood up in anticipation. This wasn’t supposed to be any different from any other time you’d been in his room – was it? – and yet, you couldn’t help but remember that this was what you’d told yourself the last time you’d been there, too.

You two weren’t even the only people in his room that day – to celebrate the end of middle school, he’d invited his whole class – but, in your memory, everyone else was blurred and so dim that, sometimes, when you thought back on that day, you weren’t sure anyone else was even there. Or anywhere, for that matter. It’d felt like it was just you and him.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook suddenly brought you back to the present – and helped you realize just how hot your body was in spite of the excited shivers that ran down your back when you remembered his invitation – and you blinked before staggering inside.

Unaware of the several trips down memory lane that you’d taken while simply standing by his door, Jungkook extended a hand for you to take – and you took it, the movement automatic, as though you were in a well-rehearsed dance – and lead you towards the staircase.

You walked into his father on your way up the stairs, but he was on the phone so he merely gave his son a nod – and a smile for you – and then went on his way.

“You know, usually,” Jungkook said, sneering at the dismissal from his father, “parents would tell their kids to keep the door of their room open.”

Shivering again – but acting like you were most certainly not affected by the feeling of his palm against yours – you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“They would,” you said, licking your lips in an unconscious attempt to conceal the effect his not-at-all-innocent observation had on you, “but you’re twenty-three years old.”

He peered at you over his shoulder as he lead you down the second-floor hallway – nearly tripping over his feet when he saw you lick your lips – and then turned towards his room.

“Yes,” he said, “thank you for the newsflash,” and, stopping outside of his bedroom, he explained, “I meant, my parents never said that sort of thing to me. Not once.”

“Oh,” you caught on and lowered your eyes. “So, you brought a lot of people over, then?”

Jungkook smirked – you didn’t see this at first, but, when you raised your head again a minute later, confused by his silence, the smirk was still there – obviously very pleased to hear the not particularly well concealed shades of jealousy in your voice.

“None, actually. You’re the only one of my friends who’s been here,” he said then. “And I’ve already told you, I’ve never dated before.”

You were still unsure if he was pulling your leg. “Well, you don’t have to be dating people to bring them over to your—”

He pulled you into his room by your hand, not letting you finish your question. He closed the door and, this time, you two were really the only people here.

“I’m not like that,” he told you then, “but I understand where you’re coming from.”

You weren’t sure what you were asking him when you spoke, “you do?”

“Yeah,” he said, putting the paper cup of ice cream – that was as empty as your mind when Jungkook kept on holding your hand even though, now that you were in his room, there was no reason for it – on his desk, and then leaning against it to look at you. “It’s a nice campus tale, me constantly having girls over. But the only times I did sleep with someone, I didn’t do it in a place I lived. Nothing against that, I’m just a private person in that way, I guess.”

“Okay,” you nodded your head once and turned away from him, choosing to watch the starved pigeons, which crept around his backyard, through the window. “That sure makes your reputation better.”

Jungkook snickered, reluctantly letting go of your hand – but only because you were unconsciously pulling away from him – and attempting to explain, “I don’t mean to say I have sex outside—”

“No, I-I…” you cut him off – your flustered state intrigued him further – as you walked over to the dresser that he’d mentioned before. “I get what you mean. It’s an interesting version of “don’t shit where you eat”, but—”

He laughed, the sound taking you by surprise and cutting you off.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” he said, his eyes glistening with humor. “But the saying fits, I guess.”

He plopped down on his bed as he said this and the conversation about how many people he’d slept with had run out – which was good, since you hadn’t braced yourself for a discussion about your experiences in this particular area.

Instead, you took a minute to take the rest of his room in; it had changed so little since the last time you’d seen it. But it was the picture – that was right there where he said it was – that really took you back to the time when you spent nearly every afternoon in this room.

Jungkook smiled as he watched you reminisce, but not because he liked to see the way your features softened as you admired the picture from your childhood, but because you fit in this room far better than he did.

“Are you here a lot?” you asked as if having read his mind.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you told me you moved out a while ago…” you said, “and the room looks just as I remember it, so I just—”

“Oh. No, I’m—I’m not here a lot,” he admitted. “But I do come when I visit my parents.”

“Which is once a year?”

He acknowledged the jab by pursing his lips and retorting, “a lot more than that now that I have you with me.”

You hummed in response but your mind was already elsewhere as you pointed at the ceremoniously locked nightstand in the corner next to his bed, “what’s this?”

It looked so eccentric and out-of-place – not the stand itself, but the chain that ran along both sides of it, a trusty lock in the middle – that you couldn’t help but feel curious.

Jungkook, however, leaped on all fours and crawled over his bed to guard the nightstand with his hands – as if you were Cyclops and were about to burn through the stand with a laser beam from your eyes – a defensive look on his face.

“It’s nothing,” he said even though this was obviously the most interesting piece of furniture in his whole room, “just a decoration.”

“With chains—?” you tried to ask but Jungkook jumped back to his previous position and patted the spot on the bed next to himself.

“Come on,” he said. “Sit. Do you remember the last time you were here?”

He knew this was the only way to change the topic – and the defeated look on your face confirmed his expectations – but, when you remained standing across the room, he patted the bed again, more eagerly this time.

“We celebrated our graduation from middle school with the other kids,” he said because you didn’t show any other sign to let him know whether you remembered or not. Jungkook could feel that you did, but, regardless, he still continued, “we played Truth or Dare. Remember?”

It was ridiculous he even had to ask that. Some days – and even more frequently now that you were talking again – your middle school graduation was all you could think about, even all of these years later.

“Barely,” you replied but you both knew it was a lie. “It was a long time ago, lots have happened since—”

“Someone dared you to kiss me,” he said with an innocent expression on his face – because he was just refreshing your memory – but it was quickly replaced by an amused grin when your eyes widened in surprise – not because you were shocked he’d said it, but because saying it aloud conjured up a much clearer image of that day; probably because now you knew that the memory of that day was as fresh in his mind as it was in yours.

“Sure,” you said, laughing weakly to hide how warm your hands, your face, and your whole body was. “That was a thing that, uh… happened.”

“So,” Jungkook was grinning but it was only an attempt to conceal his own anxiety – if he stopped grinning, he was going to have to handle the rapid beating of his heart inside of his chest, and he wasn’t quite sure how to do that just yet. “Truth or dare?”

The question sobered you up from the intoxicating memory and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“We’re not fourteen and in middle school anymore,” you said. ���What are you doing?”

“Come on,” he urged you again, “truth or dare?”

You knew better than to insist he dropped this – there were barely any people more demanding and frustrating than him; you couldn’t even name one – so you didn’t waste your breath trying.

Groaning because you knew he wouldn’t be pleased with your answer – just like you weren’t pleased with him even suggesting this game – you said, “truth.”

Jungkook smiled knowingly because – just like you’d predicted – he was absolutely expecting this and had, therefore, prepared accordingly.

“Who was your first kiss?” he asked without wasting a second.

God, this was going to be a long night, you started to realize. Now you weren’t sure if the ice cream was even worth it – maybe you should have left after dinner.

Meeting his expectant gaze, you tried your hardest to convey all of your hatred for this game through your eyes – but Jungkook wasn’t watching them, he was watching your lips as he waited for your answer – and then you finally said, “you.”

You were almost expecting triumphant fanfares to go off somewhere outside of his house but, instead of that, Jungkook’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, indicating that your answer had surprised him – even though it really shouldn’t have; you may not have been his first kiss, but you had never even wanted to kiss anyone who wasn’t him.

He was obviously going to inquire about this further – but what was there to ask, honestly? – but you were categorically not going to let him.

“Truth or dare?” you fired.

Jungkook closed his mouth, decided – begrudgingly – that this was a fair play, and then, true to himself, replied, “dare.”

“Show me your mysterious nightstand.”

He looked disappointed and more than ready to refuse – good, now he knew how you felt – but got up from the bed nevertheless.

He walked over to his desk first and got a singular key out from under the fake-bottom of the top drawer – courtesy of his Death Note phase – before slowly sliding it into the lock on the nightstand across the room. Turning it until you both heard a pleasant click, Jungkook took the chains off and huffed as he looked at you before doing anything else.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see inside so you couldn’t brace yourself for anything but, as Jungkook opened the door of the nightstand, you realized there was no possible way for you to prepare for this anyway.

There were piles of pictures inside – polaroids, of you and him at the lakehouse your families used to rent out every summer – old cut-outs from the school newspaper, showing you, as the president of the Student Council, and the principal of the school. There were the old dog tags you two had gotten together at a fair one spring – because he kept accidentally ripping every friendship bracelet you two ever had – and there were the remote-controlled cars that you’d gotten him for his tenth birthday – you’d been saving up for them that whole year.

Scanning the contents of the nightstand – while Jungkook watched you, biting his lip – you noticed that he had a copy of almost every single movie you’d ever shown him – the DVD of The Sixth Sense, of course, resting at the very front – and, more than that, he had post-it notes glued to all of them with notes ranging from as obscure as, “She said it’s good” to direct quotes from you, “She said I would like it because it’s violent enough to keep me at the edge of my seat but it also has meaning. She smiled a lot when she told me about it.”

And then, as if your heart wasn’t already beating fast enough, you saw the popsicle sticks on the very bottom of the nightstand. Most of them were just scattered there, long forgotten, but some were glued together in what was supposed to be the base of the Trojan horse you two had never gotten to build.

You pulled back, feeling like every time you inhaled, a new memory returned to you, each heavier than the one before. When you finally removed your eyes from the mementos of the past and looked at him, your chest was so full, it was weighing you down.

“You—” you started but the words got lost on their way out of your throat. You tried again, “you kept all of this—”

“Of course,” he said, closing the nightstand now that you weren’t looking at it anymore – he didn’t bother with the chain – and then returning to his previous spot on the bed. “I couldn’t bring it all with me when I left the house because I didn’t know where I was going to go. And I couldn’t leave it all hanging around my room because… well, because I didn’t want my parents to turn the room into a home gym and throw everything out.”

“B-but why—”

“Because it’s important to me,” he replied, knowing what you were going to say, “because these are the things that you and I did together. It’s us. You and me. I kept everything that reminded me of you.”

His words soothed the old wounds but it opened up new ones, too, because, in the seven years that you didn’t have any contact with him, you’d done everything you could to erase him from your life completely – throwing anything that reminded you of him out, until your room and your whole house was void of any connection to him – while he did the complete opposite and attempted to preserve as much of your past friendship as it was possible.

“My turn,” Jungkook said, his voice shakier than it’d been before. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t want to play anymore. You felt like you physically couldn’t play anymore.

“Jungkook—”

“Truth or dare?” he repeated, more persistent this time.

Sighing because this was hopeless, you replied, “truth.”

He shook his head. “You can’t pick truth twice in a row.”

You should have seen it coming and yet you still felt a pang of annoyance that completely broke you out of the blissful state the contents of the nightstand had put you in before.

“Yes, I can,” you protested. “You just watched me do it.”

He didn’t give in. “That’s against the rules.”

“There are no rules in this game.”

“Yes, there are.”

You rolled your eyes. “Who made them?”

“Me,” Jungkook said, crossing his legs to find a more comfortable position. “My house, my rules. You can’t pick truth twice in a row.”

“Fine, you dick,” you replied – he almost smiled at the name – and settled,  “dare, then.”

It was almost funny, really, how easily the words came to Jungkook as he dared you, “kiss me.”

If you’d have turned your head to the old clock on his wall by the desk, you would have noticed how the arrows had stopped – they stopped long before tonight but, in that moment only, they showed the right time. Almost as if Jungkook wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting to say this to you. Everything in his room had been waiting, too.

Jungkook thought you’d do it -- he thought you’d turn your head, look away. Look for an excuse to back out of this. 

That’s why he didn’t kiss you but gave you an opening to do it yourself, using the game as an excuse. And, in the quiet moment that passed, he waited for your eyes to leave his, refusing the opportunity. But they never did.

You didn’t think you could tear your eyes away from his yearning gaze – just like gravity prevented you from floating off into space, the force of his eyes prevented you from pulling away. Instead, they pulled you in. 

And so you kissed him again, seven years later.

It was just a touch first – you barely registered the feeling of his lips against yours – but, before a chance to pull away even presented itself, the touch melted, locking your lips together.

He tasted like the strawberry mint gum he kept in his car.

He tasted like the flavor of the ice cream he’d picked today.

And, although you’d refused to try it when he offered outside of the ice cream shop, you couldn’t deny it when you were kissing him – strawberry and mint went so incredibly well together.

He tasted like the best friend you’d day-dreamed of kissing before you went to sleep at night.

He tasted like everything you’d ever wanted.

And, belatedly, the triumphant fanfares did go off somewhere in the distance – although it could have just been the sound of your hearts, calling out to each other through your chests – but the only sound you could hear clearly was the sound of his mouth moving against yours as he deepened the kiss, standing up on his knees on the bed and gently pushing you forwards until you landed on your back and he was leaning on his elbows on either side of you.

There were many things you knew about Jungkook – your knowledge coming from all of the days you’d spend together as children – but there were also several things that you didn’t know.

For one thing, you didn’t know what his kisses felt like when there was no one watching.

And now you did as his tongue tenderly brushed against yours, growing more impatient by the second, until you had to hold onto his chest with one hand and wrap the other one around his neck to prevent yourself from completely melting under him.

Furthermore, you didn’t know how long he’s waited for this.

And now you did as his warm body pressed against yours, freezing cold and almost screaming in the parts where he couldn’t physically touch you.

Kissing him felt relieving because you’d waited for this, too, and uselessly tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need his arms around you as much as you did.

It felt freeing because now you could finally admit to yourself how much you’d wanted to kiss him and have him catch his breath against your neck before bringing his lips back to yours again.

But it also felt dangerous because you couldn’t stop – you didn’t want to stop – and, not being in control of your surroundings and, most importantly, of yourself, was something that you knew would have dire consequences. You needed to prepare for this beforehand, consider every possible outcome and—

But then Jungkook pushed one of his thighs between your legs, kissing you harder—deeper—and you no longer cared about being in control of the situation. 

Sighing into the kiss – until he nearly passed out because he’d imagined this before and, for half a moment, he was afraid this was all happening in his head again – you abandoned all of your inhibitions and held onto him tighter, kissing him back with matching intensity.

And that moment – the one moment when you gave in to him completely – was precisely when someone knocked on his door.

However, even though you had both heard it, neither of you reacted to it, your mouths not pausing for a moment and his fingers never leaving the spot under your shirt – right above your waist – where they’d come to rest.

A moment later, you thought you’d only imagined the knock – the sound was already so far away in the distance, it didn’t even feel like you’d really heard it.

In his case, precisely because this – kissing on his bed in his childhood room – was actually real and not just a figment of his imagination, Jungkook simply assumed that everything else had to be happening in some other world where he wasn’t kissing you. In a world that didn’t exist. In a world that didn’t matter.

And so, naturally, he didn’t pay attention to any foreign sounds, focusing on the feeling of your skin, your lips, your touch, you, instead.

But then the knock came again. Shameless, truly, because it had to be obvious what was happening inside; it was impossible not to hear someone knock on the door of a room that was as empty as Jungkook’s bedroom.

This time, you both paused. But Jungkook – who hadn’t lived with his parents in a long time and, therefore, couldn’t remember their habits – was curious if, perhaps, the knocking would go away if unanswered, and so he went back to kissing you a second later.

Much to his—and yours—irritation, however, it didn’t seem like the knocking was going to stop. If anything, it started to get more intense and your hand – the one that pulled him closer to you by his shirt – ended up having to push him away slightly.

“Jungkook?” his mother’s uncertain voice reached your ears, but when you saw his face when he pulled away from you, you felt like you may as well have imagined that sound, too, because the sight of his puffy lips and wide, blown-out pupils made you lean forward to connect your lips again, if only for just a moment.

Jungkook was convinced you hadn’t yet grasped the effect you had on him; he couldn’t just stop kissing you out of the blue like that. And so he leaned back in, pressing his lips to yours until he felt you kiss him back. And then you broke the spell by turning your face towards the door as you tried to speak.

“It’s your mom,” you said, completely out of breath. “You should open it.”

Growling with frustration, he pushed himself off of you and climbed off the bed, not giving you a second to get up and make your activities less obvious before he was throwing the door open a lot more aggressively than he’d intended.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you two were back yet,” his mother said, seemingly unfazed by her son’s obvious frustration. “I just got the pie out of the oven, so the dessert is ready. Your dad and I were waiting downstairs, are you two—”

“We got ice cream,” he reminded his mother in a surprisingly gentle tone – even if his body remained stoic – and then glanced over his shoulder at you. “Unless you’d like to grab a slice?”

“Uh, I—thank you,” you said, standing up from the bed and desperately attempting to fix your hair while still remaining polite, “but I still feel full from the ice cream. A-and your dinner was wonderful, too, of course.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” his mother smiled at you and then gave her son a nod. “If you feel like getting tea with us, we’ll be in the kitchen, okay? Sorry I barged in on you like that, you didn’t tell me when you came back home, so I didn’t—”

“Yeah, sorry,” Jungkook said, still in a hurry. “We ran into dad, though. He knew we were back.”

“He did?” this seemed to surprise her. “Huh. He didn’t tell me.”

Huh, indeed. Maybe his father had his own ways of making sure Jungkook kept the door of his bedroom open.

“Well, no matter,” his mother added. “I’ll leave now. Sorry again!”

She smiled at you once more before she walked back to the staircase. You couldn’t tell if her eyes had been glittering because of the few glasses of wine that she’d had with dinner, or because she was able to tell what had been going on in this room before she came in.

Or maybe she was just happy that you were both home, safe and sound, and hanging out in his room – just like back in the day.

“Well,” Jungkook said after closing the door of his room. He wasn’t trying to conceal his disappointment, “that was my mom and her perfect timing.”

You chuckled. “Ah, she could have come in later. That would have been worse.”

“Yeah?” he liked to hear that you’d been imagining what could have happened later, as he walked back to you. “What do you think we’d have been doing?”

“Anything,” you replied, ignoring the fratboy in him but allowing his arms to comfortably wrap themselves around your waist. You replied to his smile with one of your own but did not dare to close the distance between you, only choosing to carefully rest your hands on his shoulders. “Do you know what time it is?”

Jungkook groaned, knowing that you must have understood his mother’s arrival as a sign that it was time for you to go home. “No, don’t start with the time!”

“What?” you asked, surprised by his agitation. “Why not?”

“Because it’s always the time that interrupts us,” he said, knowing how pointless it was but still cursing the time, the place, and almost the entire universe. “The night always ends before I’m ready for it.”

“Are you ever ready for it?” you asked but, in all actuality, you were asking him something else.

“No,” he said, answering both of your questions. “I’m never ready to leave you. You could stay over, you know.”

He’d once called you the most ambitious person he’d ever known, and yet there was nothing you wanted more than to stay here. Stay for a night. For however many nights it was possible.

But there were too many things to think about, too many outcomes to consider. You’d barely grown used to your relationship as old-friends-who-were-fake-dating before you kissed – mostly unprovoked and largely because you wanted to, not because he’d dared you to – and opened up the door to a whole new world.

“I…” you spoke, swallowing slowly. You knew you were someone who had to learn how to maneuver the magical carpet first, before hopping on it and flying away. That was who you were. “Thank you. But I think it’d be best if I went home tonight.”

Jungkook nodded, knowing and fully expecting you to say this. He wasn’t going to object because you’d already taken a huge step—a leap, really—over your own self when you responded and kissed him, and he didn’t want to pressure you into giving in and making any similar decisions before you were ready, no matter how much he wanted you to make them. No matter how much he wanted you.

But he was still going to give you a hard time about this. Because that was who he was.

“Leaving me wanting more, yeah?” he teased.

“Not leaving you,” you said. “Just leaving.”

He loved the way this sounded like a promise – and he would keep replaying your words in his head until the next time he saw you – but he didn’t show it, taking you by the hand instead.

“Let me take you home then,” he said and then threatened, “you should know before we go, though – I am fully determined to make you feel bad for abandoning me when I needed you the most.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” you replied, making him smile in appreciation before leaning in to press a quick—almost chaste—kiss to your cheek.

He pulled away to open the door of his room and then walked outside, taking small steps and deep sighs, his theatrics always very sharp.

“Off I go,” Jungkook began, “starting my journey of loneliness—”

“Is that from a song?” you asked, interrupting his improvised monologue as you followed after him.

“It’s from my life,” he replied shortly. You tried to suppress your laughter and he continued, more dramatic now that he’d noticed he was entertaining you, “off I go, into the dark cavern of solitude. All by myself, all over again...”

Each one of your involuntary giggles only encouraged him, so Jungkook kept this up all the way to your dorm and then he found a way to keep going over text messages, spamming you with his Shakespearean delusions until you threatened to block his number if he didn’t stop.

And then, after testing you for another half an hour, he finally did stop and went to sleep – alone, but with the memory of you that was so strong, it was like you were there with him.

keep reading | masterlist

[hournites]

Take it slow, but it’s not typical

Hournite fluff 

@barrysollie

~.~ 

Beth’s heart was still hammering when she stepped off the stage with cameras flashing in her face. The heavy weight of the gold medal around her neck felt good. Really good. Beth always knew her mind worked differently than other people. Ideas came faster, her thoughts crowded in and then sometimes didn’t even filter fast enough for them to come coherently out of her mouth. But since middle school, Beth has learned to manage, refine, and store information in so many hundreds of thousand mental boxes. It’s natural, an automatic mechanism she uses just to cope with her thinking. It’s crazy that it’s what contributes to scholastic awards. She has a collection of plaques and trophies, and other ribbons of accomplishments for her school competitions in her room from school. But this is the first one she’s tried at the college level, registered as the youngest qualifier for Nebraska State. And she won. 

The girls ambushed her once she weaved her way through the auditorium, stopped five hundred times by professors and faculty for praise and greetings. It was a lot, it was so much, and so novel. At Blue Valley High School, nobody cared about these competitions. The audience was near-empty, only parents and occasional siblings spread throughout the seats with the mandatory judges. But here, Beth was a superstar. She was the centre of attention. It was crazy and awesome, overwhelming and validating all rolled together in an incredible ball of emotion. Courtney threw her arms around her, bouncing on the balls of her feet with an excited squeal before Beth’s own mom could get a word out of congratulations. Beth laughed and nearly dropped her bursary prize, the envelope pressed between them. 

She lets go for Yolanda’s turn, who’s hug is not quite as intense but just as meaningful. “We are so proud of you! That was amazing!” 

“Thanks for studying with me,” Beth said back. 

Yolanda smiled and let Beth step away to hug her dad and mom. They freed her of her certificate, bursary and ribbon so she could have her hands to herself again before mingling with the rest of the crowd. 

They made it out to the lobby and Beth spun around in her blue checkered professional jumpsuit. She tried to level her voice as she looked around. “Where’s Rick?” 

Courtney looped Beth’s arm on one, and Yolanda’s with the other, walking them to a coffee cart. “He stepped out.”

“Oh?” Beth didn’t want to sound disappointed. She had spotted him in the audience between turns, sitting with her back straight on a hard metal chair under the stage lights. “He wasn’t bored, was he?” Beth didn’t think so. 

“No!” Courtney nearly shouted. Yolanda glared at her and reached out to order them all chocolate bars instead of coffees from the cart. “He saw you win! He’s super stoked, he just had to check on his parking spot or something, he’ll be back!” 

Beth didn’t need Chuck to know Courtney was lying, but the high of the event and Yolanda’s nod of reassurance when she glanced at her was enough for Beth to tuck that weirdness away to think about later. She took the chocolate from Yolanda appreciatively and tore into the wrapper. She covered her mouth with her hand when more people stopped to remark on her quick-thinking and bright future, waving at them instead of saying thank you with her mouth full. 

“Where’s your mom?” Yolanda asks. Pat was with Barbara and Mike, talking to some random lady that they ran into who Barbara used to go to school with. Beth shrugged, not really sure, but she had a good hint. “Probably bragging about me somewhere…” 

Courtney laughed and poked at her side. “You say that like it’s a bad thing!” 

Beth’s mouth twitched up at the sides, conceding that Courtney was right. There were far worse things to be embarrassed about your parents. 

Twenty minutes full of bathroom mirror selfies later, they pushed through the wooden academic arched-top doors. 

Someone tapped on her shoulder. Beth turned around in her mini heels and smiled at the familiar face. 

“Rick!” She smiled breathlessly. “Hi!”

His eyes softened in front of her, then flickered down at the medal hanging around her neck. “Hi,” he said back. “Sorry, I had to go...do something. You were great. You’re amazing, Beth.”  

“Thank you,” she replied. She clasped her hands together behind her back, swallowing down the bundle of nerves that suddenly graced her stomach again. Which was really weird. That butterfly feeling always melted away by the time she got in front of a mic. And the competition was over. So why were they making a comeback? 

Rick shifted his weight and ran a hand through his hair, still sporting that soft-eyed grin.. “Hey, do you want to walk with me to my car? I forgot something.” 

Beth turned to confirm with Yolanda and Courtney in case her parents wondered where she went off to, but both were already promising of that before Beth could get the sentence out, nodding their heads eagerly at her. Courtney actually gave her a shove into Rick.

 “...Okay.” Beth got the hint. She should go with Rick. Okay, that was fine with her anyway. 

They walked in silence, which was a bit unusual, but silence isn't awkward between them. Beth fiddles with her medal as they walk off campus. Rick’s yellow Mustang is very easy to locate even a block and a half away from where it sits by a parking meter. At his car, Rick opened the door and pulled something out from his backseat in a plastic bag. 

“Turn around,” he said. 

Beth tried to peer over his shoulder. “What? Why? I don’t care about your car mess.” 

Rick rolled his eyes and gently swivelled her around to face the line of student housing. “It’s just for a second.” 

Beth crossed her arms. “Okay.” 

There was rustling, and then his car closed and a full bouquet of yellow lilies and red roses came in front of her. Rick used his free arm to wrap around for a behind-half hug. The stems were still wet, cut fresh from the flower-shop, according to the sticker against tissue paper and plastic wrap.  His neck right by her ear. “For you.” She could hear the grin in his voice when she gasped. Their fingers brushed when she took the flowers. 

“What!” She spun around to face him and beamed. “Rick!” 

“You like them?” 

He seemed flustered, but that was okay, Beth could hardly contain her awe. 

“These are so pretty!” Beth brought them to her nose to smell. Nobody has bought her flowers before. Not anyone other than her family. Yellow was their favourite colour...And she knew what red roses meant. She blinked back very sudden grateful tears. “I love them very much.” She wrapped her arm around him again. Rick bent down so she could reach for his neck. “Thank you. This was where you ran off to?” 

“Uh.” Rick messed with his hair again. “Yeah. Sorry for making it look like I ditched, I saw the flower shop downtown on the way over and I made a call during the intermission to pick them up.”

“Intermission?” She frowned at him, a little confused. “That’s before I won.” 

“Does it matter? I was going to give them to you anyway.”  

Beth’s heart did a little nerdy summersault in her chest. “Oh,” she said delicately, a bit at a loss for what else to say. This time a tear really did fall down her face. Rick really owned a whole piece of her heart. She huffed out an embarrassed laugh and quickly wiped it away. With a shaky exhale, she reached into her pocket for her phone. 

“C’mere,” she said, beckoning Rick forward for a selfie with her bouquet. Rick leaned into the frame, smiling with Beth at her front-facing camera. Two seconds before her thumb pressed on the shutter, she sucked in a breath of courage and pressed a fast kiss to his face. 

“There!” Beth sent the photo to the JSA group chat, then put her phone away. “Let’s head back, I think my dad said Ms. Woods organized a group dinner to celebrate.” 

Rick’s cheeks were still as rosy as her perfect red flowers. He ducked his head, still smiling as Beth tugged him along back up the street.  “Okay.”

[ithinkweallsing]

Happy Birthday Remus

A/N- So I found out last night that it was Lupin’s birthday today (3/10) and that prompted me to bang this out at about 11 pm last night. Kind of a weird post after nothing for a month and kind of a shit post, but here it is, enjoy!

Summary- Remus wanted to forget that it was his birthday, but you and the Marauders had other ideas. 

TW- mentions of food, and slight mentions of alcohol/cursing and self-confidence issues. 

WC- about 2K

____

“Y/n? I got the butter and the sugar, but I don’t know why we need it because I thought we got take-away.”

Remus’ eyes widened at the sight of his friends and family in your small home and he dropped the reusable canvas bag you insisted on using as he closed the door behind him. You stood in the front of everyone else with a slightly nervous smile.

“Surprise! Happy birthday Remus!” everyone shouted.

“We all wanted to celebrate together,” you said.

“Yeah mate, Y/n told us that you were going to do boring old take-away alone for your big 24, and me and ol’ Prongsie here thought, ‘Well that’s just unacceptable, Moony will not be letting his birthday pass quietly,’” Sirius said, giving Remus a glass of something that smelled far too strongly of liquor.

“So, we helped Y/n get you out of the house, and with the help of this bad boy,” James added, swinging his wand around, “we got the place in tip-top shape,” he finished, taking a swig from his own glass.

“I hope you don’t mind, they really wanted to celebrate with you,” You rushed to explain, “and I know that you wanted to keep it small this year but-”

“Thank you, y/n,” Remus cut you off, gently placing his hand in yours with a smile.

“Hey now, don’t forget about the rest of us mate,” James cut in with an indignant huff. Lily quickly swatted his head. “Oi Evans!” he complained, rubbing the back of his head. She responded with a shake of her head and a small, exasperated smile.

“Although there isn’t anything special about 24, I appreciate you doing this for me,” Remus said.

“Happy birthday Remus. Fair warning, they went a little overboard, you know how Sirius is with balloons,” Lily whispered, engulfing him in a hug.  

You smiled and led Remus past your entryway into the living room. His eyes widened at the sight he was presented with.

Forest-green balloons with streamers trailing from them littered the ceiling, with bunches at every doorway and window. There were large bunches of flowers and greenery on the tables and most of the flat surfaces in your home. Light shone from the fire in the fireplace and the strings of lights draped around the room. It made your home look enchanting, like a scene from a fairy-tale. Soft music flowed from seemingly everywhere as his eyes took in the scene around him.

“Wow.”

“Right? Let me tell you those balloons, man. Every single one of them, Y/n showed me how to do it without the charm and I must say, it’s much better the muggle way, and your girl has got a pair of lungs mate,” Sirius said, nudging Remus.

You grinned in response. “Oh please, it wasn’t that bad, Sirius just doesn’t want to admit that he almost fainted 10 minutes into blowing them up”.

Sirius looked at you aghast. “How dare you, I told you that I was having allergies.”

James chuckled. “Sure, just keep telling yourself that mate.”

Everyone laughed and James and Lily started passing out glasses to the others as people started chatting and catching up among themselves.

Life had been hectic, and it’d been too long since everyone had gotten together. Soon the space was filled with voices and laughter as people conversed.

People came up to him with birthday wishes which he accepted graciously. Remus slid one hand around your waist and held you to his side, and his glass in the other. On your hip, he drew soothing circles as you mingled. You leaned into him as you talked with Alice, and him with Frank.

The table was full of various dishes that people brought. You hadn’t wanted Remus to feel awkward opening gifts, so instead you had opted for a potluck style; instead of gifts, people brought food. The mouth-watering smells from the table had you and Remus eagerly filling your plates, complimenting those that brought the delicious food.

“Ugh, I need to get that recipe from Alice, these are to die for,” you said, as you took a bite of roast potatoes with a hum of satisfaction.

Remus agreed, nodding with his mouth full of garlic bread. You couldn’t resist giving him a kiss on the cheek. He looked at you, swallowed and smiled. He started to say, “Y/n, I” when he got interrupted, or rather, distracted by something. You turned to see what caused Remus to stop mid-sentence and couldn’t help bursting out laughing. Sirius and James were half-dancing in the living room. Arms flailing and legs awkwardly bending, James looked like a drowning bird. Sirius jumped around, strangely on-beat with him.

“Oh god, I hope Lily sees this,” you said, laughing and tears running down your face.

Remus roared with laughter, half at their antics and half at your response. “Oh, I don’t think she’ll let either of them forget it for a long time,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

You eventually composed yourselves enough to finish your food and you took both of your plates to the sink to clean later. When you returned, Sirius and James were attempting to force Remus to dance with them.

He looked at them with uncertainty, then downing the rest of his drink, stood to follow them, but not before stepping back to peck your forehead.

“Go, I’m excited to see you dance Rem,” you said with a twinkle in your eye.

He followed James and Sirius to the makeshift dance floor, joining the small group gathered, and you watched fondly from your seat, sipping your drink.

Eventually, Lily and Marlene took you to the kitchen to prepare Remus’ last surprise.

Returning to your previously-occupied seat, Remus glanced around, wondering where you had disappeared to. He took a sip from a fresh drink and looked around for you, coming up empty-handed.

Suddenly, James and Sirius appeared around him again.

Sirius loudly banged the side of his glass with a spoon. “Attention everyone!” he shouted. “We just wanted to thank everyone for coming to Remus’ party and for all your contributions and we wanted everyone to personally help wish him happy birthday with-”

You and Lily came out balancing a massive chocolate cake, with ‘Happy Birthday Remus’ written on it in and 24, tiny, green birthday candles on the top.

James began slowly singing, “Happy birthday to you…”

Everyone joined in. “Happy birthday to you!”

“Happy birthday dear Remus.” He saw you sing softly, with a smile and furrowed brow on your face as you concentrate on moving the cake to the table.

“Happy birthday to you.” The song finishes with you and Lily placing the cake in front of him.

He thought for a second, what could he possibly wish for when everything he needed was standing in front of him, waiting with anticipation for him to blow out his rapidly-melting candles.

I wish that I can remember this, this moment, this family, and this feeling for the rest of my life, he thought to himself. He quickly blew out the candles and everyone cheered.

The cake was cut and passed around and there was a lull in conversation as people grabbed their cake and settled down.

“Y/n you made this?” James asked once everyone was seated on the floor with a piece of cake.

You chuckled at his incredulous look. “Yup, that was me, I can’t cook, but I have perfected this cake and that’s about it.”

Remus sighed in content. “You haven’t made this cake in so long I almost forgot how good it was”.

Gasping, you set your cake down dramatically. “Oh no, that’s a sign of a serious problem here. You’re already forgetting things,” you finished with a playful roll of your eyes.

Everyone laughed at your exchange, and Remus pulled you closer to him. There was a smudge of chocolate icing on the corner of his soft, pink lips and you couldn’t resist kissing the chocolate off.

“My eyes! At least wait until the party is over!” Sirius exclaimed, laughing as you flipped him off in response.

The rest of the night was spent talking, laughing, and enjoying the company of your friends.

At the end of the night, everyone else had left and James, Lily, and Sirius were just finishing saying their goodbyes, putting their coats on, and giving both of you one last tight hug. They ducked out and smiled as the door swung closed behind them.

You and Remus stood in the front hall with his arms wrapped around you as you stayed still in the after-party quiet. At some point, the music had changed to smooth jazz which now enveloped you as you embraced. Neither of you spoke; there was no need to.

Minutes, hours, later you reluctantly pulled away from him to begin cleaning up from the party. You cleared discarded plates and glasses, stacking them and with a wave of your wand as they began to wash themselves and organize neatly on the drainboard. Remus joined you and you worked in comfortable silence. There actually wasn’t much to do because Lily had insisted on doing most of towards the end of the night.

“Lily put that trash bag away, it can wait until later.”

“Y/n, I’m just going to do a quick sweep and pick up some of the rubbish for the bin.”

“I see that, and I told you to put it down. I’ll do it after the party, come on, lets go join the boys.”

She reluctantly put the bag away but waved her wand on the way out for the leftovers to tidy themselves and settle in the fridge.

Shortly after, you and Remus settled on the couch together, watching the dying fire. You cuddled into his side.

He tilted your head up to look at you. His gaze was adoring and soft.

“Thank you, Y/n, for this,” he murmured. “It wasn’t what I was expecting but I am so grateful that you did it.”

You smiled at him softly. “Of course, Rem - I hope you liked it. I know that you don’t like celebrating your birthday but-” You take a deep breath. “You deserve this and so much more. You deserve to enjoy and look forward to your birthday and celebrate with your friends, with me.”

You paused for a moment, just taking him in. The slight scars across the nose dusted with freckles. His piercing eyes that could never decide on one color to be. “I love you so much Rem, and I can’t wait for more birthdays and Christmas’ and everything in between with you,” you continued earnestly, eyes full of hope and love.

He looked at you with tears shining in his eyes. “I love you too y/n. You have given me more than I think I deserve.”

“I-”

“Please let me finish,” he said, cutting your protest short. He paused before saying, “Because of you, I have learned how to love and that I am worthy of your love, or any love. I don’t promise that I’ll believe it every day, but you make me want to try. You make me want to try and be more than what I think of myself on the full moon and you make me want to believe that I am more.” He took a deep breath and looked at you wearily, as if he were worried about how you would respond.

You didn’t want him to worry. There was nothing for him to worry about. Instead of responding, you wrapped your arms around his waist and crushed him to you, forcing the love that you felt into him without words. He returned the embrace just as tight, willing the same thing.

It truly was a happy birthday, Remus thought to himself.

_____

Taglist- @snapefiction @newa0810 @probably-peeves