#prank sinatra

[for-the-roses]

I've just finished New Girl and I'm so sentimental

The scene where they're playing true American with their children was adorable. I didn't expect to like this show so much.

It was an excellent last episode. So glad Nick and Jess ended up together

Now I need a new series to watch every night, preferably something with tons of romance. Any suggestions?

[housewifebuck]

prank sinatra. give.

ok well. it has long been my belief that if Maddie and Eddie were allowed to exist on screen together for more than 14 seconds they could easily be the next Cece/Winston level iconic disaster besties who become pranksters in arms. basically I just wanted an excuse to write them being silly and stupid together but I definitely would not actually have done it if u hadn't hyped me up so u r a real one for that <3 here is a snippy

[coppertophomegurl]

The poem The poet

[doublemegative]

finished new girl and really i think the biggest takeaway from this story is that it’s so important to be super gay for your friends

[kmt123whatsthetea]

I Get a Kick Out Of You

Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley

A sequel to Something Stupid

Requested by @saintlike05

A/N: I am so sorry that this took so long. But I'm finally here to write and continue with the Frank Sinatra title theme.

T/W: Make up sex, Unprotected sex, Double Penetration, Anal, Spitting, Food play?, Teensy bit of hair pulling

If you told this story to others, you'd get a different response.

Mrs Weasley said it was fate that you walked into the shop and back into her son's lives. Hermione jokingly played it off as your brain needing the comforting colour of orange that you lost when you broke up with the twins. But the twins themselves, they called it a miracle.

It was even more miraculous that you agreed to give it another go.

The twins had discussed it after you left. They realised how careless they had been and that you only left because of their actions. Your leaving was their consequence.

They had agreed to be better for your sake. The only people they would prank from now on would be their customers, their family members, and you from time to time.

It was George's idea to have a make up date, only to mask Fred’s idea of make up sex. They planned it all. A candlelit dinner with flowers, your favourite food, and a muggle CD of some guy called Frank Sinatra that Hermione had recommended (they had gone to her for advice on how to make the perfect date after Ginny had turned them away, claiming that it was gross to think of her brother's having sex).

After that, it was all set. The clock was counting down until your scheduled arrival. Even Fred was nervous, more so than he had been on the first date.

Your first date with the twins was one to remember. You had gotten many weird looks from the other Hogsmead patrons when you gave both boys a rather loving peck on the lips. Sometimes the twins worried that the love triangle would be the thing to end your relationship. What if you did want both of them? What if you wanted someone else? Or even worse…

…What if you wanted just one of the twins?

The twins were alike in every way possible. They each had that very thought but didn't realise that the other shared it. Of course they knew that you loved them both equally, but it was still a fear that remained.

When you knocked on the door, it took both men a good minute before they rushed to let you in. Their dopey smiles remained throughout the time you took your coat off to the time you sat at the small table in the twins kitchen. They treated you like a princess throughout the little ‘make-up date’. They waited on you and even cooked you your favourite dinner (which you’re certain tasted like Molly’s cooking, but you appreciated the thought)

When dinner was finished and George took your plates, Fred smirked your way.

“Maybe we could make dessert a little more…enjoyable?”

At first, you thought Fred was being his regular old self. That was until George came back carrying a bowl of strawberries and a can of whipped cream.

Fred took a hold of the whipped cream and brushed your hair aside beside squirting a small blob of the canned goodness onto your neck. His tongue followed suit, licking it all up until there was more saliva than cream on your neck. Both men knew which spots would make you keen and practically melt, which is why Fred paid extra special attention to those sweet spots.

The bowl of strawberries sat forgotten while your sensitive neck became the perfect pairing for the whipped cream. George took the can from his brother and repeated similar licks on the other side. Soon, your neck was coated in a thin veil of saliva and cream.

They had always said that you were sweeter than any dessert.

George picked you up in his arms, securing his hands on your thighs while Fred moved his hands to your hips, keeping you boxed between their chests. Your skirt was riding up, making their job even easier. Fred pulled your underwear to the side before bringing his hand to his mouth and spitting on his fingertips. He used his spit as lube, rubbing it from your clit and over your folds before massaging your tight hole. Fred leaned his face close to your ear.

“Can you take us both, love? I know how much of a little nympho you can be”

You had done anal before, but never both at once. During sex, you always used your mouth or your pussy. George guided your eyes back to him by a gentle finger on your chin.

“It's okay if you can't take it, baby. We just want to make you feel good”

Without hesitation, you nodded eagerly.

“I can take it”

Fred’s horny devil took over. He positioned his tip at the tight ring of muscle and slowly started pushing. Your grip on George's shoulders tightened, and he kept his firm yet gentle hold on your chin. He made sure that you focused on him while Fred bottomed out.

George gestured down and you knew that he was asking for help removing his cock from his trousers since both of his hands were holding you up by your thighs. You unzipped his trousers and pushed his boxers down, just enough to uncover the prize inside. You guided him to your folds as best you could, before he lowered you down. The stretch of both of their cocks inside of you made your chest feel tight, like your breath was robbed. Their cocks were literally breathtaking.

The twins took turns thrusting, making sure that you were stretched around one of them at all times. A symphony of moans and obscene squelches filled the air, followed by the lingering smell of sex. That coil in your stomach slowly got tighter and tighter. George could feel your walls squeezing his cock so he shot Fred a glance over your shoulder. Fred gently pulled your hair back to get your attention.

“Does our pretty baby wanna cum? Why don't you show us just how much you missed us?”

That's all it took for you to fall apart in their arms. Your grip on George's shoulders tightened while you came down from your high. Even in your blissed out states, you liked to guess which of the twins would cum first. But they were twins through and through.

Both of your holes were filled with their warm cum almost simultaneously. Neither twin pulled out or let you down. Even when their muscles started to get tired, they kept a hold of you.

Literally or figuratively, the twins would always keep a hold of you. Because you were the only one who had been given the keys to their hearts.

And they would do anything to get you back.

[marsmarauders]

I'm calling it Prank Sinatra.

(no but title ideas... anyone? for the marauders musical).

[callsign-daydream]

Maverick: I’m the best with the pranks. They call me Prank Sinatra.

[rosewaterandivy]

9. part-time soulmate, full-time problem

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations - SMUT & idolatry (my usual bullshit), we think we’re ~prank Sinatra~ to disastrous effect i.e. a fake elopement, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: hey girl, u up? lemme come thru 💦💦💦 🥵🥵🥵 *slaps roof of fic* You can fit so much reverence and smut in this bad boy. Here’s 5.1K of pure filth and debauchery, holy water can’t help me now! Poetry excerpt from Sue Zhao. 18+ mature content (minors dni). Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, please let me know what you thought; enjoy & thanks for reading! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

Steve's playlist for Trouble: trouble will find me

previous || next

Now, Spring Break, Joshua Tree, CA ➡️ Las Vegas, NV 

“You did what?”

And it’s not a question, not by a long shot. 

If Nancy Wheeler wasn’t some 1,800 miles from you, you’d be seeing the patented snarl right now. The one that says ‘you’ll be dead by my hand and my hand alone.’

There’s a very real possibility that you’ve overplayed your hand this time. What started as a prank, a harmless lark, had devolved into one screeching phone call from Steve’s mother for him and a blistering series rapid-fire of texts for you, followed by a phone call during which Nancy was going to rip you a new asshole.

She didn’t appreciate your texts as you’d hoped.

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: so BDE is not *just* an energy with Steve. got it, good to know.

Natty light 💯: She lives! We haven’t heard from you in days. Wtf did you idiots do?

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: nothing to be concerned about! on an unrelated note, before you check insta remember that i am your BESTIE and you would miss me terribly(!!!) if i died, even if it was at your own hand

Natty light 💯: … I’m going to kill you, and resurrect your dessicated corpse so I can strangle you … slowly and painfully

Trouble 👁️👄👁️: pls mother, no, i’m scared

But hey, it’s not like you woke up and decided to potentially fuck up your life today.

So, yeah. Definitely went too far with it this time, but in your defense, it’s not like anyone was there to reign you in. Steve was just as liable to go on with your half-cocked schemes, even more so now that you could sit back on your heels, all pretty smiles and wide, sweet eyes as your hands unbuckle his belt, still supplicated with chin on his knee, “You said anything...”

Folded like a house of cards the second you got your mouth on him. Shudders when you begin with your tongue first before eager lips stretch to fit him, guiding until he’s nestled in your mouth. And then you move, deliberately measured, building a lazy pace, sluicing him up with spit.

“Ah, shit…” Steve’s words are already betraying him. You smile as his cock pops out of your mouth.

“How’s that? Still wanna make that dinner reservation?” Thick lashes framing glittering doe-eyes peer up at him. Purposely coy. “Or do you want to stay here?”

He returns to himself. Dazed, he blinks at the bright lights and the glossy tiled floor. The marble countertop of the sink where he grips like a lifeline.

The restroom down the hall of the restaurant. Turn a corner and twenty people are sitting at tables, drinking cocktails and cajoling. Your mouth back on him wipes the thoughts from his brain.

Squelching when you push him back past your molars, crushing your tongue.

You slide him out, voice hoarse and breathy and it chills him to the bone the way you whisper, “C’mon baby, let’s have some fun.”

The second day in California runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of desert breeze as you wipe a hand across your forehead in the heat of the day.

Steve hums a patient tune, leans back on both palms and you watch the sunlight drape his bare chest in a warm flare. Glowing gold and bronze as if it’s transmuted from the hue in his very eyes.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been months and the first man you touch is more like something carved by a master sculptor of Renaissance than any other man. It should be illegal for someone to look this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This–” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already…”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of muscles.

And you’re abruptly startled awake by the sound your own moans. It’s past four in the morning when you rouse from sleep, frustrated to leave behind the pleasant escape the dream provided.

Damn it all to hell.

A creak of the wood door alerts you to his arrival. Steve is quiet when he sits on your bed, one knee pulled up to his chest while the other leg slinks down by your side, thigh brushing yours where your legs kicked off the covers. A sigh rolls through him at the early hour.

There is discomfort. His body retreats with the shift of your atmosphere. Always too itchy in your own skin. Afraid of being seen, noticed, thought about. He’s good at hearing your silence. Good at reading your language.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He glistens like a god come to drown you in the sweetest of dreams. It makes your heart plummet to its death at the thought of his departure when you shake your head.

“Me neither.”

He lays back on your bed with a tired sigh, close enough to touch. Your own personal wonder.

“C’mere then,” you tug him to your side. Steve presses his lips to your neck, smiles into the wispy hair at the nape, nuzzles your locks aside to reveal more shoulder. Breathing soft and slow with his face against your neck, chest to your chest. He’s folded and tucked against you, all his strength and gravity nestled to your side.

“Honey—” Steve murmurs, more purposefully now, rasps your name, so soft and reverent you almost don’t hear it.

A confused noise, a second of readjustment to a new position, to his touch, and then you stir and purr.

“Hey, you.” Voice like warm fire, even with disrupted sleep from past few days.

A heavy silence falls between you.

Tell me what you’re thinking. If it was a mistake, tell me. If it wasn’t, tell me. You’ve been avoiding me and look—I want your goddamn babies, but c’mon. You gotta throw me a bone, I’m shit at reading signs.

He wants to take you to pieces, eyes roving your sleep-drowsy form, shorts rucked up on your thighs, shirt askew. Would devour you whole if you’d let him, savor your cries and moans at his capable hands. Make a ruin you only to build you right back up, unable to think of anyone else save him.

Steve arches, brushing the tip of his nose against your chin, up to your own nose, mouth hovering but not quite touching, just feeling each other’s atmosphere. You cross the distance and kiss him, grip tighter now like he could collapse right into you and god, you wish he could. Let you keep every last bit of him forever.

“Can we—”

You savor his lips, caressing the line of his cupid’s bow with your own, tongue flicking over the corners of his mouth, punctuating it chastely like a ritual. He moans, hand on the plane of your back moving, fingers scrambling at your spine before he palms your thigh and slots you flush against his torso with one leg hooked around his waist.

“God yes. Lemme just—”

He tugs at the waistband of your sleeping shorts before he changes his mind and his hands slip into the leg opening of the silk instead, keeping you right where you are. He rucks his own sweats down, just enough to spring himself free, shushing your whines, never letting you get too far, slipping upward, finding your heat.

“Eyes on me, baby.”

“Okay, Steve—ah—”

Right. So this is happening. Like, right the fuck now. 

Oh god.

You’re both surprised and terrified, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too. A beatific grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and slowly glide yourself down his considerable size, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

Steve stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

A half-hearted cluck of your tongue gives way to a low moan and you shuffle, flush against his chest, bare bodies warm and growing hotter now. Your palm rubs down his chest, savoring the rougher feel of his hairs there, contrasting your own skin, grasping his jutting hipbones, the strong plane of his abdomen.

Eager fingers slip between flesh. Velvet and surprisingly slick and wrapping around his digits like syrupy flower petals. “Baby girl,” Steve hums at the way you sigh. “Pretty girl.”

Shudders. You’re weak and boneless, slack and supple, pliant to his fingers and words. Little sweet-talker, you never knew he had such a clever tongue until he first slid it against yours in that fevered kiss in December. Now he’ll know all your weaknesses, know every lock and how to pick them until you’re all the way opened up for him.

It’s hard to focus when he’s like this. Perfectly warm. Perfectly adoring. Perfectly fitted. So, so bright with the faintest pink bursting over his cheeks.

You whimper with his every stroke. Every plunge. His other hand runs itself up the nape of your neck, fingertips in your scalp and you arch like a cat for more. 

“So good,” Steve praises, “Nice and tight, squeezin’ around me. All wet for me, aren’t you?” 

“Uh— mhm.” Inarticulate noises. Woozy and wrapped in his affection.

His eyes– pupils blown wide, half-hooded with lust and love– immobilize you, memorizing every inch of your face. He smiles. Christ, a smile that could launch a thousand ships. That could blind the whole world.

You curse quietly, blood pounding in your ears, your chest, your throat where he latches on with his perfect mouth, marking you up with his spit quickly followed by his teeth.

“Keep going—oh, don’t stop–“

“You want it like this, honey?” He sucks on your collar, on your shoulder, taking every whimper and cry as a command to continue.

They flower all over your chest. Red and purple and swollen bright for everyone to see—just like him. And the very thought of him, of you, lost to it takes you over the edge, calling his name like you’re at an altar in supplication.

“That’s it, honey. Be a good girl and come for me.”

With a tremble that vibrates all the way to into Steve’s soul, you obey. Onto his hips and abdomen, gushing a little, and with some embarrassment that it happened all so quickly. 

Your lids flutter open and you see as Steve hitches himself deeper, grinding his hips, gripping your thighs, and fills you all the way up until the stars behind your eyes whites out your vision, making you stutter and keen as you continue to fall apart.

Then he stills, pulling you even closer, body slick with dew in the early morning light. The two of you lie in perfect symmetry, trembling in each other’s arms.

And because you’re a sap with too much poetry rattling around your brain, all that pops into your head is:

In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ I say, ‘I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’

You allow yourself to sink into the feeling, expecting the tight fit of something new but finding that not to be the case at all. But rather brushing against something well-worn, as if it had been waiting for you all this time. 

“God, Steve—” you rasp. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Steve laughs low, kisses the blooming bruises up and down your neck, makes you whine again, sensitive and aching. His clever tongue wonders sweetly, “How’s staying in bed all day sound?”

You laugh. He’ll learn everything you like. Know all your weaknesses. How can you say no to something like that?

It’s different, almost tender in the afternoon. 

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Steve begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s powerless against you.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Stevie.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Steve holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet, you just started back up again after a late breakfast, having slept soundly through the morning, and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second–”

Using the position you’re already in, he pushes you up against the mattress and guides you back down, hitching your thighs around his hips, sinking a bit at a time until you’re landing on him with a gasp. He eases into you with what he hopes is restraint, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Eddie?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a series of hook ups. A few times over the years—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Steve wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking down below him, tipping back into the pillows, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Baby, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck. 

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Steve could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

Two weeks prior…

“Eddie…tell me the truth,” You ask slowly, folding clothes (well, that’s a generous term— it’s more haphazardly tossing and bundling laundry into your open suitcase). “It’s good, isn’t it? Shawty, tell me what that thang do!” 

You waggle your brows, make a V-shape with your fingers, and lewdly run your tongue up and down between them. Steve thinks he sees you looking at him, but he feels himself flushing at your comment and pretends like he’s enthralled with the most recent episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Half-keeping an eye on you to make sure you actually pack actual pajamas and pants for this trip. 

“Dude. Stop it.” Eddie groans, knowing you’re all too familiar with his endowments and prowess from previous experience.

Whomever currently was getting the Eddie Munson midnight special was having a helluva time. 

You lob a pair of leggings toward your suitcase, “Kobe!”

You miss.

Eddie cackles, “How’re you gonna disrespect a legend like that, and miss?!”

“Okay!” Steve yells, pushing you off the couch in the living room, “That’s enough of that. I’m going for a run.”

Landing on your shoulder with a grunt, you brush away the rough sting of the carpet and catch the last second of his shadow before he’s gone from the room.

“What?” You call, projecting your voice and hoping he hears, “What’d I do? Steve!”

The scrape of the chair legs signals Eddie standing up, too. A shake of his head and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You know,” he starts, “For all your insight, you’re pretty dense.”

There’s nothing in your head but sawdust and thoughts about his… activities under the sheets his flavor of the month. You shake it out of your brain before it lingers too long. Eddie points sharply down the hall to where Steve’s shadow has slipped out of view and hearing-distance.  

“You know he likes you, right?”

Uh? Your brain is the mac loading wheel, just spinning. “Of course he does? We’re buddies?”

Eddie cuffs you in the back of the head, “Get it together. Like is putting it lightly, too. Love is closer to the truth.”  

“Now,” Eddie leans over you, menacing you with his height. “How about you go listen to the record he gave you and think about what you’ve done, hmm?”

Then, he saunters off, shaking his head all the while, leaving you to gape down the hall like a fish. Steve? In love? With you?  

Flashes explode in your brain like fireworks. His jacket over your shoulders—not the first time. Sitting underneath your legs— nearly tradition. Morning errand runs even though he hates them. The banter—him, scolding your motor-mouth, you— never stopping. Circles he rubs on your knees— the laughter—damn it, so much laughter.

Steve? In love? With you? It’s more likely than you think.

Back in your bedroom and chastened, you wait until the front door closes signaling Steve’s exit. Turning to the wall dedicated to your impassioned analytical skills, you eye the various colors of yarn showing the various connections that could be drawn from the song choice and order in which they were placed. 

Printed out pages of lyrics have been annotated to death, some phrases scrawled more largely than others for importance. You stare at the wall for the better part of an hour, long enough to come to the end of the playlist. Sufjan Stevens rhapsodizes on the mystery of love and fades into Matt Berninger singing how he needs his girl.

A gasp. A choke and a wail somewhere deep inside your chest as you slowly, methodically begin removing the pins and pages from your wall. Realization settling on you heavy with mood. 

Clearly, this was not some bush-league bullshit.  

Hesitant, but growing in the knowledge that Steve, your best friend whom you annoy to no end, is irrefutably and undeniably in love with you. You’d have seen it sooner if you weren’t such a dumbass, all the signs had been there just lying in wait. The front door opens once more, his voice calling out to Robin in the kitchen about dinner. 

“Steve.” You light out of your room, tearing down the hallway. “Stevie! Steve! I’m sorry! Steve oh my god! I’m a fuckup!”  

You trip on the corner of the floor runner, as he turns, slightly confused, one hand reaching out to catch you as you careen into his chest with a thunk.

You must look a wreck, hair in disarray and panting hard, him sweat-slick, bearing your weight as he sets you right on your feet.  

Steve raises an eyebrow, blinks at the way the front of your shirt slides from your shoulder and takes his ear buds out, looking at you like you’re a first-rate idiot.

And well ... he’s not wrong.

The flight to Vegas is painless, though you are put out at having to leave the love nest that bloomed like a night flower in the Californian desert. A lazy, slow start to the day. Sticky and sweet like biting into a ripe peach, juices flowing down against sun-warmed skin. 

His hand pulling at yours, guiding you through the crowds of the airport, looking back to you frequently, as if he can’t bring himself not to. One hour later and viva, Las Vegas!

As it turns out, it’s fairly easy to fake a Vegas elopement. Just a matter of subterfuge and a wedding chapel, which are a plenty in Clark County. Steve in a suit (“You weren’t even wearing a tie, Steven! Who gets married looking like that!?”), rotating the signet of his ring out of sight, the ‘H’ resiting against the underside of his ring finger so just the band was visible. 

You in a dress, something white and off the rack from Neiman’s, your ring, courtesy of Steve, moved from your right hand to your left. Sapphire earrings as your something blue, Manolo Blahnik pumps in your favorite color, a gift from Steve, as your something new.

A well-timed call to Jonathan, he was in town for a shoot and just so happened to have a few hours to kill. An appointment at the Graceland Wedding Chapel and 250 dollars later, you have yourself a believable elopement, no marriage certificate required. 

Even drove out to the Red Rock Mojave desert outside of town for a photoshoot courtesy of one Jonathan Byers, professional photographer. By the time you’d made it back to your room at the Wynn that night, he’d already done a rough edit of a few photos for you to post to the ‘gram. Piece of cake, really.

It was all well and good. Steve even let you tag him and posted his favorite images himself, miracle of miracles. The man does jack shit with social media, claims he only has the account for the groupchats and memes. Captioned it something like ‘married AF’ because he’s a dork; first photo in the carousel was a shot of your hands, showing off the new bling with the wedding chapel sign in the background.

You opted for the more truthful, ‘ew, boy. you’re, like, obsessed with me’ and selected a photo where your legs wrapped around Steve’s hips after he’d told you to ‘time to giddy-up, yeah?’ with a wink and caught you in his arms before kissing you stupid. You were quite pleased with yourself until the phones began to ring.

“Jus’ ignore it, honey.” His teeth pull against your bottom lip, bringing your attention back to him. You screw your eyes shut, hand falling to cup the nape of his neck as his lips continue their mapping of your skin. Purposefully, he plays with a lock of your hair, tucks it behind your ear, and lets his finger ghost over your neck. “Gonna kiss you now,” you murmurs, “Doin’ some of my best work here and you’re missing it.”

He pouts.

Your throat clenches, bobbing with a thick swallow and Steve thinks if this wasn’t so tender and sweet, he’d be latching onto that pulse instead. “Okay…” Your mouth parts expectantly, eyes fluttering closed, hand coming up to caress his jaw.

It’s sublime. It’s perfect. It’s the biggest relief he’s ever felt when you return his touch—parting your lips to receive the tip of his tongue against yours. Thirst. Desperation. Enthusiastic limbs scrambling to feel more of him. A bucking of your hips against his thigh and he’s soaring up into heaven with the sensation.

Except the damn phone won’t stop ringing. 

“Steve,” you pant, hand reaching up to fist his hair and pull him from your the sensitive spot he’s located behind your ear. As you tangle your fingers in his mane of hair, securing your grip with a tug, he breaks contact with your slick skin with a strangled moan.

Oh.

You file that particular reaction away for further investigation and direct his attention to the loudly ringing phone on the nightstand. He rolls off of you with an exasperated noise and answers the call in a sulk. “Hi, Ma.”

His expression changes so quickly you nearly have whiplash; lazy and pouty one moment to shocked silent in the next while his mother lectures him, a mile a minute. Eyes cutting to you, he grabs your phone from the same table and holds it in font of you to unlock it via Face ID. You roll your eyes and bat him away, taking a slug of water from the glass on your bedside table.

“Shit,” Steve mutters, putting himself on mute and his mom on speaker as he scrolls through your phone. “Holy fucking shit, nonono.”

You lean over and take a peek. He’s thumbing through Facebook, pupils blown wide in shock at the sheer number of notifications on his accidental post. Because yes, Steve accidentally cross-posted the photos from Instagram to Facebook as an update, like genius. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

He drops your phone on the bed when it starts to ring, like it’s a venomous thing that could take him down in one strike. 

Sheepishly, he looks to you and mouths ‘I’m so sorry’ as he returns to his mother’s raging diatribe. 

After checking the caller ID, you answer, voice flat. “Hello.”

“You little scamp,” Eddie tuts, “Stole my idea of eloping in Vegas and everything, I hate you.”

In spite of yourself, you crack a smile. “It’s a prank, babe.” A sigh as you pull your hair up and off of your shoulders. “Not legally binding at all. Having Byers on deck really sold the idea though.”

“You are the absolute worst, Trouble.” You warm at his soft laughter, “What’d you do to get Steve to agree? Drop to you knees all nice and pretty?”

A swell of pride accompanies the rush of heat at the thought of your earlier rendezvous. ���Y’know Eds, I did exactly that. How perceptive of you.”

He cackles. “It’s tried and true for a reason, babe.” Steve is nodding furiously at whatever his mother is yammering on about, bare back toward you as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

A push and a slide across the rumpled sheets and you’ve wrapped around him like a vine. His thumb rubs at your ankle, pulling your leg to envelop his hip. Opposite arm dangling across his chest as you press your face into his neck, revelling in his scent—cypress, vetiver, and something slight musky tinged with salt. All warm and pliable.

“Nance may have called in some reinforcements.” Eddie says carefully. “I told her to fuck off, but she’s beyond reason at this point.”

“Whaddya mean?”

He sighs, “Just be on the lookout for an angry lesbian, alright?”

You snort, drawing Steve’s attention. He twists in your hold, phone discarded on the table finally, fingers trailing tantalizingly up and down your sides. Pushes you back against the bed, chin resting on your sternum as you talk with Eddie, head tilted as he listens.

Begging off the phone call, you say your goodbyes. “Hey,” Eddie says before you go, voice soft and warm, “You happy babe? You sound it.”

“Yeah,” you turn your head and grin at the ridiculousness of your life. Steve follows your lips, his own blazing a trail across your chest and up to meet your shoulder. “I’m really happy, Eds.”

Steve plucks the phone from your hand, “Bye Munson!” He sings before ending the call and unceremoniously dropping your phone on the floor.

And Steve never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Steve’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Robin swings it open and Steve is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” She hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Rob!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a shirt, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Steve is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Robin whispers again, “Oh… my god.” She sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” she hisses, before screaming, “Oh fuck no! I’m here picking your asses up. Got on a flight at ass o'clock from Indy— you're butt-ass-naked in here—” She stands ram-rod straight, hands on her hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on you.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Rob!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m exhausted! And well— you're exhausted too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

She snickers, high-fiving herself before crossing her arms, “Now get your freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Harrington’s dick.”

You pat her on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Robin dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Steve closes the door to the now-silent hotel room, damp with sweat and the lingering aroma of musk. Robin trots on ahead, leading the pair of you through the lobby and out into the dry desert heat.

His hand pulls at yours, reassuring and warm. A small smile blooms across your face and you allow yourself to revel in it for a moment: heading home with Steve, can't even bring yourself to be all that mad at Robin's antics.

Not when he turns back to check on you, all tan skin and that devastating smile. Tugs you closer as Robin flags down the Uber, lays his lips against yours, and kisses you with a sweetness only he could bring.

Oh yeah, you think tangling your free hand in his shirt. This'll do just fine.

[somany-fandoms-solittle-time]

Listen....

As someone who used to play piano, sing in choirs, and did Community Theatre I'd 100% serenade my fave (or any) Twst boys. Hell, I'd do it for the bit or as some type of prank! I might find any and all opportunities to sing/play songs from a range of decades to my boys.....

Imagine teasing Trey by singing Build Me Up Buttercup by the Foundations while he's baking for you ❤️ and seeing him shaking his head with an amused smile. As long as you help around the kitchen, and don't mind a playful chase or two with the ingredients, 🧁 he might be willing to join in with I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) by Four Tops as you clean up the mess the two of you made.

Jokingly singing Hard Days Night by the Beatles with/at Ruggie after another long day of school, work, errands and babysitting.... 🌼 When finally you've got some time to just be in each other's presence. But even if the two of you can only get these small moments now, deep down Ruggie knows how lucky he is to love you. 🌠 Introducing Knock On Wood by Eddie Floyd would perfectly put words to just how lucky he is to have you.

Late at night, when Jamil finally has some time to rest, and finally being able to Serenade him in the moonlight 🌙 with Moonlight Serenade by Ella Fitzgerald. Sure, it's a little on the nose but he's still flattered. Save The Last Dance For Me by The Drifters would be another testament of how well you understood him; 🪭Jamil's first priority might be Kalim's by blood, but his biggest priority is YOU (and that's by choice).

Rook would be fascinated to know French songs on Earth like La Vie En Rose by Louise Armstrong! Even if you fumble through the words a little, as long as you show him the lyrics perhaps the two of you could work through it together.🌹He'd equally love hearing old Crooner songs like The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra.... And the way he looks at you while performing just about sets your heart on fire 🔥💕.

Old Man Lilia would appreciate just about any rendition of Dream A Little Dream Of Me considering his affiliation with 💭Diasomnia. But considering his love of music in general, along with the seemingly endless life he's already had up until he finally got to meet and fall for you 💘, At Last by Etta James would be almost too perfect.

(This wasn't perfectly done, but I LITERALLY couldn't sleep until I typed it all out. As you can tell my taste can lean kinda old school (because I was raised by a Baby Boomer) but I've also been listening to a lot of Jazz, Soul and classic musical numbers lately. These songs hold a lot of memories and nostalgia and I guess I just needed a space to project them on lol! And if you couldn't tell.... I fucking ADORE the Vice Wardens in Twisted Wonderland 💖😩🥰 These characters and so many others hold SUUUUUUCH a close place in my heart I literally can't.💜❤️ Lowkey, lemme know if anyone's interested in more songs that I associate (and dissociate singing to them lol) with these or any other characters!! It'd also be fun to try writing a drabble, ONE-SHOT, or full fic again 🥴😋)

- Aim's Ongoing Delusions 📜

[fantasyfantasygames]

Fly Me To The Moon

Fly Me To The Moon, Studio Lune, 2010

No relation to the manga, the game on Steam, or the dozen other things with the same name. Not much relation to the Sinatra/Basie song.

Fly Me To The Moon (FMTTM) is a narrative-heavy game wherein your character is a young adult moving to a new job in a new city. As you might guess from the title, that city is on the moon. You describe your character's journey in a series of montages and flashbacks, having conversations as you weave their stories together.

The game has a wistful, emotional, slightly surreal feel to it, which fits well with the Art Nouveau style. I think they're all new pieces - at least, I didn't recognize any of the classic advertising Art Nouveau pieces. Retro-style rocketships and glass-domed cities sit side-by-side with diaphanous gowns and waistcoats. (The waistcoats, sadly, are not diaphanous.) The style is a little like Nine Worlds, but more consistently executed.

FMTTM can have a GM or not. The book recommends that someone act as GM if you want the story to have an antagonist (or a small group of them). If you would rather have a story focused around just your characters and their interactions, with no need for an outside force, you can dispense with the GM because they won't have much to do anyway.

If the game is GM-less, characters can have whatever skills and social perks the players would like. All that matters is that they can interact with one another, and that the players agree on whatever social power dynamics are present. For instance, if one person says that their character is the lord and master of the city, and all the others are serfs, that won't fly unless the rest of the group agrees. Regardless, no PC can do away with another PC without the player's permission.

If the game has a GM, the GM can decide to cap things like social influence, money, contacts, etc. so that the antagonists can't just be swept out the nearest airlock. It's just a cap, though. Play whomever you want as long as they don't have more than X amount of nebulously defined status or wealth.

Character interactions are done by, believe it or not, a Wushu hack. You describe your coffee chats, meet-cutes, boardroom confrontations, pranks, and anything else in the exact same way that Wushu handles kung-fu gun fights. I'd describe it in more detail, but just go read Wushu.

Studio Lune pulled FMTTM at one point because they wanted to put out a new version with a Hillfolk hack instead of a Wushu hack. As you may have learned from previous posts on this blog, never pull your current edition while you work on your next one. Honestly, for all that Hillfolk is a great game, I don't think it produces the right feel. Wushu is much more freewheeling; Hillfolk is more transactional. If you can find the first edition and you like relatively freeform social games, pick it up. It's only 64 pages in 6x9 format, so it's not going to be expensive used.

[siriuslystargazing]

Remus:Just call me, prank sinatra Peter:NO! James: you are the worst prankster in the world you either go to big Sirius: like the time you registered me as a sex offender James:or to small, when you hid a blueberry in my breakfast Remus: you should have seen your face i got you good that time

[housewifebuck]

Please tell me about Prank Sinatra 👀

I can't think what this could be but I'm so intrigued and I know it's gotta be good

HEYYYY ok so I explained the plot badly here and here is another snippet

I have approximately 0 specifics ironed out but buck and chris are terrorizing Eddie nonstop by being a couple of silly geese and eventually hes gonna snap and go to maddie for help pranking them back only it turns out they're both deranged about pranks and he winds up doing something like Ben Wyatt faking his own failed kidnapping in parks & rec

[phoxphenex]

nct dream holiday special?🤭 -🐰

i actually had this planned in my drafts so i hope you like it 🤭💖 (most/all of these will be christmas-y since the dreamies celebrate christmas)

𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠

MARK

driving through neighborhoods to look at all the christmas lights is a must for you and mark. it was a childhood tradition for him back in canada, and since it’s difficult to decorate a dorm with lights, you would put extra effort into finding a well-lit neighborhood to take mark to. the two of you would just slowly drive through the streets with some soft christmas music playing on the radio, his eyes catching all the twinkling holiday lights. you love watching his face light up when he points the extravagant houses out, and you’re just happy that you get to help mark experience some fun for the holidays.

RENJUN

you and renjun have your own little cookie-making contest every christmas eve. each year, you both come up with a new recipe or theme for the members of nct to judge, and each year, you lose. it’s not even because renjun is an amazingly skilled baker, it’s that you are absolutely terrible at it. last year, some of his members compared you to jisung, and he was the offended one! still, though you are convinced the contest is rigged, you and renjun go out of your way to have your bake-off every year.

JENO

ugly sweater contests! you love going out and buying random crafting items from your childhood to put on the poor sweaters, and jeno just likes making a mess. one year, you bought red and green legos and glued them to your sweaters to stick them together. xiaojun and taeyong were especially amused that year. i feel like jeno would mess up on purpose to tease you, and you’d fall right into his traps. all in all, it’s a tradition for the two of you to customize ugly couples' christmas sweaters to wear to sm parties.

HAECHAN

the two of you love singing christmas songs, his favorite being the jackson 5′s take on i saw mommy kissing santa claus. you tend to stick with the classics, such as frank sinatra and elvis, but you support each other's separate tastes. another thing you do after drinking a bit too much of jaemin’s special egg nog is going around the dorm, knocking on the member’s doors, and since christmas carols whether they answer or not. oh yeah, you’ve already memorized dream’s candy choreography for your caroling session this year :)

JAEMIN

mistletoe. jaemin would literally hide mistletoe everywhere around your place, and just point it out at random times. he says it’s festive, but you know it’s just an excuse to get free kisses. not that you’re complaining ;) it was strange one year, though, when haechan and jaemin found themselves under the mistletoe. you were the only one entertained, but jaemin got his revenge by following you around with the mistletoe in his hand all night. after that, your little pranks became a holiday tradition, and to this day, there is no escape from jaemin and his mistletoe kisses.

CHENLE

christmas movie marathon. every, single. year. you watch every movie you can think of the entire month of december, but save your favorite for christmas day: love actually. you watched it with your parents when you were a kid, so it made sense for you to recommend it to watch on the 25th. you didn’t expect chenle to like this movie as much as he did, and after watching it on your first christmas together, you wouldn’t pick any other film to match it. in fact, after that first christmas, chenle became the one to eagerly force you into your (matching) christmas jammies to comfortably watch love actually together.

JISUNG

you and jisung love decorating the tree together, but your favorite part of christmas is the cocoa. it’s just about the only thing jisung knows how to make, so his excitement is just that more special to you. you make a point to drink the make the hot chocolate before decorating the tree so that by the time you finish, the temperature is perfect. of course, jisung helps you put the star on the tree since you can’t quite reach the top without a little help.

[hitmanmafioso]

give us the flags headcanons mod !!! I have a Few Of my own for albatross lmao in my pinned

-@the-real-albatross mod !

OOC : I know said the flags but tbh I only have some for Albatross and Iceman since they’re my favourite two..anyway here you go!! <3

Iceman

• the oldest out of the group, around the same age as Pianoman (23-25)

• AROACEAROACEAROACE

• I know it’s canon he listens to records but like OLD records specifically..like I feel like he’s an elvis, frank sinatra kind of guy

• He’s a very organised clean kind of guy, although he’s a hitman if he were to get mud or blood on him he’d instantly wash it off like he’d be so disgusted.

• He’s the most closest to Lippmann

• Enjoys history and crime documentaries

Albatross

• I’ve had this headcanon for so long that he plays guitar, both electric and acoustic 🥹

• Bisexual!!!!!!

• Has every single colour of sunglasses..he collects them..it’s a concerning amount of sunglasses.

• ALSOOO adding onto my albatross musician headcanon he collects guitar picks!!!

• His music taste is very rave like music, also rock!

• ADHDADHDADHD

• Closest to Doc :)

• When texting he uses a lot of smiley faces, his texts are full of emotion each time.

• Pulls pranks on Iceman half of the time

• Goes on night long drives with the flags + Chuuya

• Considers Chuuya as his little brother 🥹🥹

If there’s any more that I have on the rest of them or the two of them I’ll add them!!!!! Ty for reading!!

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Something stupid

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Requested by @jelloangela

Request gist: Make up/ break up sex with weasley twins. Reader dumps the twins for doing something dumb. The reader passes them by a few weeks or months later.

A/N: Thanks for the request. I might have made the title a callback to a Frank Sinatra song (except the twins will be doing something stupid instead of saying their ‘I love yous’). I went for OOTP Fred and George because out of all of the stupid stuff they do, that movie almost feels like a highlight reel. I also went for break up sex but the idea that I had, I don’t know if it counts so i'm sorry if it doesn't. I also had an idea but there wasn't a spell for it, so there is now (It’ll make sense when near the end). I'm also not sure about the ending, so if it sucks, here’s your warning

T/W: break up sex (Twins are not aware of this however. Maybe more like one last fuck?), Jealous twins (really reminded me of the twins from the RDR2 stranger side mission, nipple play, groping, unprotected sex, threesome (the boys dont touch each other), just a smidge of overstimulation, mentions of burns (pretend Umbridge was more hurt than she was from the dragon)

1.7K words

Fred and George had always had a mischievous streak, even back to childhood (or so Molly told you one lunchtime at The Burrow). They always told jokes and pulled pranks, determined to be the clowns wherever they went. That didn't change once you entered their lives.

At first, the twins would pull jokes on each other, hoping to outshine the other twin for the honoured title of ‘your boyfriend’. To them, the holy grail of pranks would seem dull compared to the feeling they got around you. Before they realised that you loved them both, and they both loved you much more than any joke or prank. You had always stood by them through every prank, making them promise you that they’d be careful and whatnot.

But this time, when you saw their prank, you practically dragged them by their ears to their room. How were you not supposed to feel angry? Your boyfriends had set a firework dragon on someone high up in the Ministry, the right hand woman to Cornelius Fudge, no less. Sure she had it coming for everything wicked she did, but this could land them in bigger trouble than usual. If she twisted her influence just right, then she could even bring Azkaban into the conversation. That's how you came to be stood in front of them in their room back at The Burrow, both looking like kicked puppies while you paced back and forth. You had been going off of one since your arrival, letting them know exactly what you thought.

It was George who spoke up first, trying to ease that fire in your eyes.

“It’ll be okay love, it always is. If she does say anything, then we’ll tell Fudge about the Cruciatus curse and those quills. We’ll handle it, I promise”.

As sincere as George's words were, they didn't make you any less angry. In fact, it only made it worse. It was like they didn't care about the consequences. They didn't care that it was their word against hers. They didn't care that the woman they pranked had the Minister of Magic under her thumb. Fred decided to stop your rant with his own method.

Fred stepped forward and wound his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. His breath when he spoke brushed against your neck.

“Georgie’s right, We’ll handle it. Maybe we should take your pretty little mind off of it”

His lips ghosted over yours as George moved closer behind you, leaving kisses along the back of your neck. As much as you wanted to keep giving them a piece of your mind, you knew it was no use. Not only would they not learn from their mistake, they’d also know that they were your biggest weakness.

There was only one option left…

“One last time” you whispered, knowing that both boys heard you, whether or not they were listening would be their downfall.

Freds lips met yours in a gentle kiss, his hands gripping your hips. George focused on getting your top off, eager to have his own piece of you to play with. As he finally undid your bra, he pulled you away from Fred and turned you aware, so that you were now face to face with him instead. Both boys often still got a little jealous of the other, wanting more time or more attention (you’d even find one of the boys whining about how you gave them less attention, but that slowly became an excuse for more intimate attention).

George kissed his way down your throat, travelling straight down to press kisses on the soft skin of your tits. He loved paying extra special attention to your nipples, the way you moaned and pressed your legs together had his dick twitching in his boxers. His teeth grazed your nipple, making you let out a sigh of pleasure.

Fred’s hands slipped down to your trousers, tugging them down with your underwear before you could even blink. After helping you step out of your bottoms, he slowly stood back up. His hands trailed up along the backs of your thighs until he cupped your ass, kneading the flesh of your backside. George looked up at you through tufts of ginger hair, his brown eyes locking onto yours. He smirked, his teeth still caressing your now sensitive nipple. He moved back up and pressed soft, light kisses all over your face. His voice was just as soft.

“We just want to take care of you, love. You worry about us too much. Let us take care of you, show you just how much we love our pretty little worry bird”

When you nodded in response, he looked at Fred. It had always amazed you how they could seemingly communicate without saying a word. Whether it was telling the other the right answer in class or telling the other what to do in moments like these. As if like being told to do so, Fred guided you back onto the bed. He sat against the headboard before positioning you between his legs, your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist once more. George made his way between your legs, his cock already out and already hard. He ran his tip through your folds, enjoying the way you squirmed in his brother's arms. George pushed his cock in slowly, only stopping when his hips were pressed against your own. Both boys were tuned to every sound that left your lips and every move you made. They loved you like this.

George's thrusts were deep, pushing himself as far inside you as he could. His hand came down to rub quick, precise circles on your clit. Fred held your trembling body, stroking your cheek as he whispered sweet praises in your ear.

As you got close and closer to finishing, the boys upped their game. George's fingers became firmer on your clit and Fred’s hands moved to grope your tits, giving you that last push over the edge. Your walls squeezed George's cock, making him groan at the tight fit. His orgasm caught him by surprise, he gripped your thighs tight as he came deep inside of you. George stilled inside of you for a moment, collecting himself. When he pulled out, however, you found yourself being pulled up Fred’s chest, his cock nestled against your pussy. His breath fanned across your ear.

“Can you go again, love?”

When you nodded, he positioned himself at your entrance and pushed in. You whined and buried your face into his neck, you were still sensitive from George. Fred’s hips bucked up into yours, stuffing his cock into you again and again. His hold on you tightened, keeping you pressed close against him.

George was sat on the side of the bed, his eyes trained on your face. He reached his hand out to stroke your cheek. You were lost in the pleasure from both of them. Everything blurred together. One thing that guided you through was your quickly approaching orgasm. Before you knew it, you were cumming again. Your juices soaked Fred’s cock, causing it to slip out of your pussy. Desperate to get off, Fred’s hand came down to finish himself off. His cum landed on your abdomen until he collapsed back against the headboard.

Before either boy could start the aftercare as usual, you were off the bed and wiping away the cum with a nearby tissue. The twins looked at one another with a confused expression.

When you quickly got dressed, Fred got up and put his hand on your arm.

“Love, where are you going?”

You stood your ground, fighting back any emotion that could let them back in.

“One last time. You both crossed a line. I love you both more than anything but that ‘prank’ was dangerous. Sure, she was horrible, but 2rd degree burns? Is everything a joke to you? You need to grow up and realise that life isn't one big playground for you to prank”

Knowing that they would try to stop you from leaving, you bolted. And with that, Alice left wonderland. Leaving Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee confused, hurt, and alone.

____________________________________________

Days turned into weeks. Those weeks dragged on into months. With school over for you, you had no reason to bump into them. They had tried to write to you. They had tried to visit too, but you avoided them. Crying over one boy is upsetting, crying over two is heartbreaking.

An investigation was raised into the attack on Umbridge, if you could call it that. But surprisingly, she dismissed it. You had asked a few old friends from your Hogwarts days but heard different stories. All revolving around centaurs. Strange. Life was almost back to normal, apart from the absence of two redheading twins who still had their names engraved on your heart. You didn't know what had become of them since leaving Hogwarts. You tried to avoid all news about them.

But it was like fate.

The day you visited Diagon Alley, there was a new shop. So bright and colourful. A bright orange. You were drawn inside before you got a look at the sign. Maybe if you had seen the name ‘Weasley’ on the sign, you might have walked the other way. The walls still smelled of paint, the products looked freshly packaged before being displayed. The whole thing was like a memory. Tiny bits of deja vu just calling to you.

The two dumbfounded men on the staircase staring at you.

It had been months. They hadn't seen or heard from you in all that time. They didn't know how to apologise for something like that. They never apologised for their pranks, at least not sincerely. But they had too this time. That prank had cost them you, and they would swear to quit if it meant getting you back.

The twins looked at each other once more and nodded. George whispered a spell and watched as a small butterfly appeared from thin air before their eyes. The winged beauty fluttered over to you, catching your attention. Your eyes followed it, turning around as it circled you. As soon as your eyes fell on the twins, the butterfly disappeared.

All those months of heartache. All those tears. Your feet carried you closer until you reached the bottom of the stairs. Both twins extended a hand to you, and you took it without a second thought.

Just like old times.

[daughter-of-melpomene]

🦙 for Catherine Holmes, please??

@dancingsunflowers-ocs ✨💛✨

Anything for you and Cat, Alexandra dear!! And I’ll also tag the Wizarding World gang

@luucypevensie, @of-asters-and-roses, @ginevrastilinski-ocs, and

@manyfandomocs. <3

Their go-to song to cry to: “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac.

Their love language: Words of affirmation for giving, acts of service for receiving.

Their favorite holiday movie: It’s a Wonderful Life.

Their pettiest moment: When she finally joined in on one of the Marauders’ pranks and replaced all their breakfast drinks with a potion that turned their hair red and gold after she overheard one of them calling Lily a Mudblood.

Their favorite 60s song: “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” by Nancy Sinatra.

Their nicknames: Cat is in itself a nickname from her real first name, Catherine, but other than that she’s been called Kitty Cat, Kitty, and Sherlock due to her last name.

Their go-to karaoke song: “You Don’t Own Me” by Lesley Gore.

A color you associate with them: Light green.

An event from their Prom night: Hogwarts doesn’t have a prom, so I can’t really answer this.

Their favorite wild animal: Lemurs - she thinks they’re so odd-looking that they circle back around to cute.

send me 🦙 + an oc!!