#so might as well ask the already on edge guy about it in the middle of the night!

[smilesrobotlover]

FD is just tryna make him breakfast 😭

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling

gn reader

When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.

You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.

If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.

So you do. The latter, that is.

Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.

You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.

But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…

In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.

He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody. 

Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.

He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.

You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.

And then he comes crawling back…

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with a not-so-unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static beneath your touch. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out another short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark sinkhole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a fresh rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[steviewashere]

Thinking about a fic idea right now where Steve comes out (maybe with a little Steddie...maybe; might be best to start them pre-relationship in this). Walk with me here.

Steve Harrington who has always been a huge Wham! fan. And then eventually a huge George Michael fan. He's got all their albums. Collects magazines with interviews in them (y'know, if there's a U.S. release). So, he's pretty much up to date with all news, music info; that kind of thing. He's always on the money about when interviews are.

George Michael who comes out publicly in 1998 after his arrest. Which, you can watch the clip from the interview here. He's thirty-four at the time, had been private about his sexuality and romantic life up until then.

Steve who's freshly in his thirties.

He's thirty-one. He's had some thoughts in regards to his sexuality for years now. Since Robin came out to him in 1985, he's thought about little things. The way certain guys walked that caught his attention, maybe the plushness of their lips, how they styled their hair. She's introduced him to queer culture at the time—pride parades & protests, some lingo, the handkerchief code, etc. So, he's well aware of a lot of things before the CNN interview airs. He hasn't made any hard connections between his sexuality and the thoughts in his head; maybe he's had a few, soft, questioning moments like: Am I gay? Am I bisexual? Is this what I really think or am I searching for something I don't actually want? Am I just being too observant?

(Okay, thinking about pre-Steddie now. And a lot of platonic soulmates Stobin. Also, I totally (accidentally) half-wrote a fic. Stay with me here.)

Eddie's been a part of Steve's life since 1986. Somehow he survives (don't ask me the fine details, I don't know). And Steve tries his hand at being Eddie's friend because he kind of—no, really—wants a guy friend who's around his age. Cue their shenanigans: the chaos they cause together, the pranks they pull on their other friends, the shit Eddie makes Steve get into (drag racing (cars), stealing scrap from the junkyard, throwing rocks over the quarry to guess the impact they made, other little town shit). Eddie who learns that Steve's a true ally to Robin, so he comes out to Steve, too. They all form a very great, deep bond of solidarity. Become roommates outside of Hawkins, somewhere a little more progressive. They protect each other. Listen to each other.

Cue the day in 1998 when the CNN interview is being aired live, unseen up until then. Steve's already ready to watch, having taken up the middle cushion on the couch. Robin's on his left, criss-cross and making a set of beaded bracelets for the three of them. Eddie's on Steve's right, uncapping a couple bottles of beer to pass over. And they're watching with Steve because Steve likes George Michael and, well, they like Steve and his interests. So they're all there when George Michael comes out. They're all there when the words are said live.

Robin and Eddie are wide-eyed, then laughing something a bit triumphant, high-fiving over Steve's head, maybe chanting something: "One of us! One of us!" Maybe becoming huge George Michael fans as they speak. But, Steve's silent. He's sitting on the edge of his cushion, palms down on his thighs, staring off into nothing. All the celebration stops as the interview continues, words being missed. And Robin and Eddie share an odd glance, a questioning one. Until, finally, Robin asks, "Steve-O? You OD over there?"

Steve blinks back into existence. Mutters, "Did George Michael just come out on live TV?" Eddie answers him truthfully, voice a bit soft and concerned. Steve licks his lips, doesn't move his eyes from his socked feet. "...He knew for a little while," he comments. "Right? He knew for a while."

"Sure, Steve," Eddie answers again. "He probably knew about himself for a long time. Probably...Honestly, probably while he was still in Wham."

Maybe Steve nods at that. Maybe he just stays kind of stoic, thinking too hard. "He's thirty-four," Steve points out.

"That he is," Robin answers this time. "Thirty-four and proudly out."

Steve hums some sort of acknowledgement and then goes back to watching the TV, moment drifting away. He sort of watches in a daze. Up until he turns in for the night. Well after Robin has slumped over on the couch and Eddie's gone to bed earlier—because he has work, or so Eddie's said. And Steve maybe sits in his bedroom, up at his headboard, looking down at his albums. At his Wham! and George Michael albums. Turning the tapes over in his hands, reading the track lists, maybe tracing the edges of the cases with his thumbs. Thinking about how George had said he was telling his life story, even through some of his earlier solo work. He's thinking about how successful George Michael has been. And then he thinks about how George Michael came out later in his life. In his thirties, not in his twenties, not in his teens. Sure, yes, it was definitely more negatively criticized to do so, but it means something to Steve. To be thirty-four and freshly out. And he thinks, too, about being thirty-one and things clicking into shiny clarity—he's into guys, too. He's into women, but he's into guys. That word, "bisexual" looking like the final jigsaw piece. To be thirty-one and proudly out, too.

And he's comforted in that thought, as he drifts off to sleep.

And when he wakes up in the morning, he bustles around Eddie and Robin in the kitchen. They make a shared breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast with jam. They sit at the dining table, forks against plates, shooting the shit back and forth.

Steve cuts a slice of sausage, puts it in his mouth, eats as usual. And just as the conversation is beginning to drift again, he finally speaks what's on his mind. "I'm bisexual," he's able to proudly state.

Maybe Eddie and Robin cheer, too for that. They ask him for his taste in guys. Maybe they tease him a little. Maybe Eddie realizes he fits the bill a little; maybe he waits a little bit before taking a shot, but he still does eventually.

And right before they head off for their respective, regular lives outside of the comfortable space of their apartment, Robin knocks their shoulders together. "Proud of you," she states. "Thirty-one and proudly out. How does it feel?"

They're in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes because Eddie left for work already with a promise to bring home pizza for dinner. They're in the kitchen, the lights a little fluorescent like the Starcourt bathroom. They're in the kitchen, in each other's orbits, two friends who've seen it all and will continue to see the world together.

"It feels...I feel good. Excited."

Robin smiles at him, something soft and understanding. And as his focus goes back to the plate he's about to hand off, she snorts. "So, Eddie, huh?" And he scoffs, rolling his eyes. She just laughs to herself. Then, when she's calmed a little bit, she states, "He kind of looks like Rowlf. You and I have a thing for Muppets, Stevie. Muppets."

And after their laughter dies down and they live out the rest of the day, Steve thinks about how he can send a letter of thanks to George Michael. And maybe he cherishes those albums a little closer. And he is confident in himself for the first time in a while, all because the representation he didn't know he was seeking, is finally right in his face.

Sorry that got long. But I'm just thinking about Steve who comes out later in his life. Maybe he couldn't make those connections because he didn't have the safe atmosphere to do so; feared the worst if his parents ever realized he didn't care too much about women sometimes, if his eyes drifted to men a little too much, fearing that they'd catch his contemplation. Maybe he found his safe space through Robin and Eddie, but needed a little more of a push and he just didn't find it yet. Up until now.

[steddieas-shegoes]

never gonna give you up

for @steddiemicrofic "fake" prompt that needed to include the words: and, around, desert, down, give, gonna, let, never, run, up, you

1987 words | rated e | no cw | tags: modern au, flirting, bisexual steve harrington, handjobs, some platonic stobin, ridiculous and unserious

😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎

"This might be the first time someone's deserted me in the middle of a date," Steve said into the phone.

"You aren't counting that one time Sarah left during the movie?" Robin asked.

"She had a family emergency!" Steve exclaimed.

"Right, and I'm definitely going on a date with a dude later."

"You're saying she didn't have a family emergency?"

Steve remembered that date, remembered how she'd even had tears in her eyes when she said her mom called and she had to run home.

"You're gonna unpack that all night, aren't you?" Robin sighed on the other end. "Steve, just go home. Take a week off from trying to get into some poor woman's pants. Leave some of them for me to get into. I beg you."

"What makes you think they'd come running to you?" Steve looked over at a guy standing at the counter of the diner, clearly trying to pick up his order. From the back, he seemed tall, but that could be the black skinny jeans and boots combo.

"Let me talk to them for one minute and I'll have them convinced."

The guy turned as the woman behind the counter walked to the kitchen, his eyes settling on Steve talking on his cell phone at the table in the corner. It's not like there were many people here on a Monday night, nothing else to look at but Steve awkwardly sitting by himself with two glasses on the table.

The guy started to walk over, and Steve recognized him immediately.

"Gotta go, Robs."

"What? How are you done wallowing already?"

He hung up before she could continue, putting his phone face down on the table.

"Well, well, well. Never thought I'd see the day where Steve Harrington shows back up in Hawkins."

Eddie Munson didn't know shit about Steve, never really had. He thought he did, just like everyone else in high school, but the gossip that followed him around never had much truth to it. He really only had two girlfriends for most of high school, and only one of them was serious enough for him to sleep with.

The sleeping around came after his move to Chicago, when he was constantly surrounded by women who would give him all the attention he wanted.

"Never really thought I'd be back," he said with a genuine smile. Kill them with kindness or whatever his grandmother used to say.

It seemed to throw Eddie off at least, his mouth opening and closing around whatever rebuttal he planned.

"So why are you here? Visiting the parents?" Eddie crossed his arms, leaned his hip against the edge of the table.

"Nah, came to visit Dustin Henderson. Staying for a few more days and thought it would be nice to take someone out. I guess she didn't agree," Steve shrugged.

Eddie glanced down at the empty spot across from him, the glass on the table with half of the drink missing. He looked back at Steve's face.

He sat down across from him and smirked.

"So. Come here often, sunshine?"

Steve snorted, shaking his head as he looked up at Eddie.

"Not as often as I would if I was coming to see you," Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink.

Eddie clearly wasn't expecting him to flirt back. He recovered quickly, though.

"I suppose we could fix that, then, huh?"

Steve looked him up and down, taking in the messy bun his curly hair was pulled into, the pen mark on his cheek, tattoos up and down his arm.

"I suppose we could."

Waking up in Eddie Munson's bed was definitely not what he expected when he arrived in Hawkins two days ago, but stranger things had happened.

He opened his eyes to sunlight streaming in through the curtains and Eddie's warm body pressed against his back.

Neither of them had gotten dressed after their shower last night, too tired to do anything more than rinse off the sweat and cum from hours of making each other come undone.

Steve let himself have this. Eddie would kick him out when he woke up, kindly of course, but he'd make it clear to Steve that this was a one night thing. No matter how good it was, Steve wasn't an idiot. He knew Eddie would never actually be interested in a guy like him.

"Mmm. Stop thinkin' s' loud," Eddie's lips brushed against the back of Steve's neck in a half-kiss, sending a shiver down his spine. "'s too early."

Steve smiled to himself, let Eddie's arms tighten around him and hold him close for a bit longer.

"I should probably head back to the Henderson's. Claudia will be worried if I'm not there for lunch," Steve said quietly.

"Just text Dustin, tell him your date went well."

Steve shouldn't get his hopes up. It's not like he was gonna do long distance, and even if he would be willing, there was no way Eddie would.

"I can't lie to him," Steve felt his heart flip flop in his chest at the admission.

Eddie's head lifted and his breath hit the side of Steve's face instead of his shoulder. "Did it not go well? I thought it- well, I thought it went great, actually."

Steve turned in Eddie's arms, facing him, placing his hands on his chest. "It did go well! It did."

"Okay, then…"

"It's just this wasn't exactly a date, was it? You just felt bad for me, probably wanted to see if the rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"You know. The ones about me sleeping around, being good with my mouth." Steve's eyes searched Eddie's, looking for any hint of recognition. When none came, he continued. "How I let anyone fuck me on the first date?"

Eddie's brows furrowed. "Is that what people say about you?"

"You don't have to act dumb, Eddie. Some of it's true."

Eddie's hands were rubbing up and down his back, making goosebumps appear on his skin. "You are good with your mouth. That one’s true. The rest though? I never believed any of that shit.”

“Really? Why not?”

Eddie’s hand traced along Steve’s only tattoo, a robin placed just under his collarbone. “Because I never gave much thought to rumors. Lord knows most of the ones about me weren’t true.”

Steve thought about all the rumors he’d heard about Eddie in high school.

Back then, he may have believed some of them, but he had firsthand experience with things getting out of hand.

“You can think what you want, but I brought you back here because I genuinely enjoyed talking to you at the diner. I wouldn’t have slept with you if I wanted to get rid of you. Trust me. I’m not really a one and done guy,” Eddie’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. “If you’re in a rush to go, I can’t stop you. But I think staying in bed with you all morning sounds pretty fuckin’ good.”

Steve’s breath hitched, his heart kicked up in his chest. “You know, I’ve actually never bottomed before last night.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Never?”

Steve shook his head. “Never found anyone I could trust to be gentle.”

“Was I gentle enough? Shit, you should’ve told me. I used spit as lube, Steve! That couldn’t have been comfortable.” Eddie pulled away a few inches, mumbling to himself in a panic.

“Eddie.” Steve tried to get his attention back on him. “Eds.”

Steve shifted forward, his front pressing against Eddie’s, his half-hard cock finding friction against Eddie’s thigh.

They both groaned as Steve rocked against him again.

“Everything was perfect, Eds. Only thing that would make it better is if I get to watch you come again right now," Steve said against his lips, pushing his hips forward so their cocks brushed against each other.

"Fuck, keep doing that and you'll get your wish, sweetheart."

He was sensitive, worked up from the hot breath against his mouth, the tongue brushing against his bottom lip. Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd been this wrapped up in someone, this attentive to the sounds they made, this focused on making sure they both felt good.

The friction was enough on its own to get Steve to the edge, and if Eddie's moans were anything to go off of, he was right there with him.

Steve never felt safe enough to be loud, not until he had Eddie begging him to make noise.

"C'mon, Stevie. Wanna hear how good you feel. Sounds so good when you can't hold it back," Eddie's hand gripped his hip, tugging him closer. They were both leaking precum, dripping down each other's lengths and losing track of where one of them ended and the other began.

Steve couldn't hold it back, didn't want to anyway. Letting Eddie hear how good he felt was a need.

"You gonna come with me, sweetheart?" Eddie gasped out as he wrapped his hand around both of them, slowing his hips to focus on moving his hand, finding the perfect angle and pace to get them both over the edge.

Steve bit his lip and nodded, barely holding back a whimper as Eddie's grip tightened around them.

"Come for me, Stevie."

Eddie's voice had a direct link to Steve's cock, maybe through the hand wrapped around him. Steve came with a shout, curling forward so his forehead fell against Eddie's shoulder.

He was overstimulated, fighting the urge to buck into his hand and pull away at the same time.

Steve pulled his head back to watch as Eddie groaned, cum hitting both of their stomachs as he worked himself through his orgasm.

They both lay there in silence, Eddie's grip loose around them as they both softened. They'd need to clean up before the cum dried in Steve's chest hairs and made them sticky, but moving seemed like an impossible task.

"You live in Chicago now?" Eddie asked suddenly, making Steve jump. He rubbed his cleaner hand on his back in silent apology.

"Yeah," Steve breathed out. "With Robin Buckley. From band?"

"I know Robin. She used to come to my shows before she moved."

"Small world."

Eddie snorted. "Just Hawkins." Eddie sat up, pulling Steve with him. "You know, the guys in my band have been considering moving to Chicago. Think it's a good place for a metal band?"

Steve searched his face for any clues as to what he was really asking. Certainly he didn't expect Steve to know if a metal band would feel at home somewhere.

"I…guess?" Steve answered.

"I'll just text Robin," Eddie wiped his hand on the sheets and reached over to the bedside table to grab his phone.

"Wait. You keep in touch with Robin?" Steve felt like he was being pranked.

"Not as much as I should, but yeah. We caught up last time she visited her parents." Eddie typed on his phone for a moment, then looked up at Steve with a smirk. "Problem with that?"

"No, I'm just kinda shocked she's never really mentioned it." Steve stood up with shaking legs. "I should probably grab a shower and go."

"You normally a runner?" Eddie asked, amused.

"No? Why do you ask?"

"It's just the second time you've been rushing to leave. Thought I told you I wanted you here."

Steve knew what he wanted, and he knew it was too much, too fast, too ridiculous for Eddie to even consider it.

But maybe, if he played his cards right, maybe he could have Eddie for more than today.

"Shower with me?" Steve settled on, pouting his bottom lip out.

"And then?" Eddie pushed.

Steve didn't know what to do, but he knew what he wanted.

"And then we'll go back to the diner and actually eat something together." Eddie nodded, encouraging him to continue. "And then you give me your number."

"For?"

"Planning our next date."

[hollowdeath]

some personal n s f w headcanons about harry <3

CW: fem!reader, mentions of rough/aggressive sex, breeding, & public sex

switch. literally the definition of a switch. some days he's completely stressed out and can't seem to catch a break so he takes it out on you. needy, sloppy, rushed kisses leading to aggressive groping and clothes coming off, sometimes ripped off, before roughly using you for his own pleasure. other days he's completely overwhelmed with his responsibilities and just needs to be taken care of. puppy dog eyes and shy gestures leading to soft kisses, breathy moans, and dry humping. harry begging "please, please touch me, need you so bad", whining, pleading, just so so needy and soft with you. loves when you're on top. secretly kinky: being choked, being tied up, anything to give you the control.

oral fixation. i mean, i think we can all agree that harry loves, and i mean loves, eating pussy. you might have to beg him to stop due to the overstimulation, otherwise he would be there for hours if you let him. from soft, firm kisses down your stomach to eager, loving bites on your thighs to full on making out with your pussy, he quite literally lives for the experience. and dont even get him started on face sitting...the way you look down at him and use his mouth for your own pleasure could easily send him over the edge multiple times.

breeding kink!!! this boy loves nothing more than the risk of finishing inside you, it just makes it that much more enjoyable. of course the physical sensation itself feels incredible on its own, but the intimacy it creates between the two of you is what makes it so, so hot. the trust you have in each other makes you only more attracted to the other. whether it's you begging for it or harry telling you to "take it, baby, you take me so well", its almost an unspoken agreement that it's the preferred way to finish things off for both of you. he loves stepping back and watching his cum spill out of you, though most of the time it feels so good he just stays inside of you until he catches his breath.

nudes. oh, how he cherishes his collection of dirty photos of you. like i've said before, i think harry would be really into film photography, and that would include taking photos of you in his favorite poses and positions, developing them, and keeping them in a safe place to look at when he misses you. he keeps his favorite one in his wallet; nothing too vulgar, just something sexy for when he needs a smile. sometimes he stops in the middle of foreplay and politely asks for your consent to get his camera and take a picture of you because, "you just look so lovely from right here". he'll spend the next few minutes taking photos, complimenting you between them as he gets all the right angles. "so, so beautiful. just like that. god, you're amazing."

voyeurism. not a lot of people would think harry is into public displays of affection because he's a bit shy and reserved around other people, but that only makes it more tempting for him. he's always trying to subtly touch you whenever he can get away with it. alone in an aisle of a store? he's already grabbing a handful of your ass. waiting for dinner in a crowded restaurant? his hand's halfway up your skirt. nobody's around in the forbidden forest? he's sure the creatures in there would love to see you put on a show for him. he just can't help himself sometimes, something about letting everyone know that you're his girl and that he isn't afraid of showing them really gets him going.

dirty talk. harry seems like the type of guy to talk you through it, if you know what i mean. he really takes pride in his ability to make you cum just from his words. he knows exactly what turns you on, whether its praise or degradation, and uses it to his advantage often. from "you look so pretty taking me so well, sweetheart" to "just take it like a good little slut" real quick. LOVES nicknames and titles in bed; absolutely loses his mind if you reply "yes, sir" to anything he says. again, he's a switch, so he loves when you take control and talk dirty with him too. he has a particularly soft spot for being praised because all he wants is to be a good boy for you.

[swee7dream]

hi vixy! i miss you sm 😞🫶 being here is just not the same when i'm not interacting w/ you (ノ_＜。) and im here in your inbox for a request!

remember when i always gush about your use of endearments? atm, im craving for a hc fic of 7dreamies using their favorite endearment/petname/nickname for reader >< i absolutely think that they have their own ways and the oddest yet the most endearing nicknames for their special ppl and i think about it everytime i read your fics bcuz there is that kind of spice of it in your works (*^-^) and i love it ^^

i hope you're doing well, love! have a great day (人´ｴ`*)♪

xoxo, wynnie.

7dream's nicknames for their partners nct dream x f!reader

genres fluff, established relationship warnings feminine pet names used, quasi-suggestive but not really ( renjun ) author's note omg not the love letter in my inbox !!! love u 5ever wynnie . sorry the bulletpoints are kinda short, i tried to make up for it in the mini-fics ! ty for the request + i hope u like it !

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

a very simple, casual guy

babe, dude (romantically), my girl

he can’t even tease you when you tell him it gives you butterflies because he’s the exact same way, giggling into his hand and turning away to hide his silly grin from you

call him dude though? he’ll be sulky until the next day (as if, he melts into a puddle with just one kiss)

“dude,” mark calls out from the hallway, still unsure where everything is still, being your first sleepover. “have you seen my charger? i don’t know where i left it.” “i dunno, man. you should ask your girlfriend.” “wow…” he extends the word in between laughter. he shuffles in his slides back into the bedroom, doubling over your body laying comfortably under sheets. “you are my girlfriend.” “nuh-uh. i’m your dude. your bro. your homeslice.” you over-emphasize the last word, flicking your tongue like a snake. “more like my homewife.” he giggles, reaching up to peck your lips. “that was terrible.” “come on! that’s worth at least half a point.” “negative eight thousand points.”

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

my love, darling, sweetheart

in my heart of hearts i view huang renjun as the definition of a romantic

maybe he won’t have diamond necklaces for you every date night, but he always makes sure to show his love in the small, important things

he has your favorite snack for when you get home, changes the bedsheets when you forget to, and refills the soap bottles in the bathroom before you even notice you’re running low

“you took care of the dishes.” renjun jumps in his seat, not even hearing when you came in. “i did.” he turns from his canvas to look at you, smiling as you’re already wrapping your arms around his waist. “how was your day, my love?” “exhausting. you are the sexiest man alive, you know that?” you mumble into his hair. “for washing dishes?” “so hot.” you nod, squeezing him tighter. “gee, thanks,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to scratch your head. “how about a bath? wash away all that exhaustion.” “join me?” you pout. “of course, darling.”

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

doll, baby, babydoll

you are a living, breathing doll to him and everyone needs to know!!!!!

he forgets he’s literally mr. ferragamo sometimes and just stares at you with super heart eyes like:

wow (ෆ人ෆ) that’s my baby

“what about this one?” you spin in to give jeno a 360. “i really liked it in the store but i’m not so sure about it now.” “you’re the prettiest girl ever, doll.” jeno sits with his legs spread, his hands in the middle holding the edge of the chair he sits on. “pretty, pretty, pretty.” “thank you, jen.” you look at him. “but i’m asking about the clothes. i don’t know if this shade suits me! or maybe it’s the texture of the clothes? actually, it might be the material.” “everything suits you. if it doesn’t, it’s because the designer was stupid. you’re the pinnacle of fashion, babydoll.” “you’re silly.” you giggle, walking toward him to dig your fingers into the back of his hair. “you don’t think i should return it?” “absolutely not. you look great in red, baby.” “this is white, jen.” “whatever. gimme a kiss.”

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

baby, sunshine, sweetheart (derogatory)

outsiders looking in eavesdropping on your conversations don’t know if you’re about to bite each other heads off or make out against the wall

what else could you expect from haechan ‘dating is so boring, let's be best friend and act like in a relationship’ lee

you feel a dark energy looming over your shoulder, as you often have since saying yes to your first date with hyuck. you continue to feel it as your card taps on the reader, beeping happily at the successful payment, unaware of the incoming chaos. “oh heck yeah! thanks for the food, sis!” haechan’s hand sneaks around to hold the back of your head, pulling you into a deep kiss. he only squeals like an anime girl as your hands slide up to push him away and turn to the cashier, apologizing profusely and failing to convince them that you’re not, in fact, related. “thanks for treating me, sweetheart.” “hey siri, search shooting ranges near me.” “wait, baby no-”

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

lovey, princess, my muse

fun fact: he loves being called prince. having matchy matchy names makes his heart full and gives his life purpose (his words)

i put those three down but honestly, it really depends on the day. he’s constantly making new ones every single hour

he sees you in the flowers growing in the cracks in the sidewalk (‘petal’), in the songs of the birds outside (‘birdy’), in that one painting he saw back in a museum in italy (‘angel’)

“oh wait, i like these!” you swipe through some candid photos jaemin took of you of a trip you two took a while back on his phone. “how come you didn’t send me these?” “if i sent you every picture i took of you you would think i’m a crazed stalker.” “i know you are and i still love you.” you smile at him before turning back to the phone screen. “urgh. you’re always changing my name in your contacts. what is it now?” “munchy.” “munchy?” you stare at him with your eyes furrowed, having turned in slow motion as if you heard him wrong. “that was the name of one of the tortoises we saw at the zoo. he was so cute. it reminded me of you when you eat pasta. so you’re munchy.” “…okay, jaem. thanks, i think.”

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

babe, dollface, beautiful

surprisingly, not a big petname user. not at first at least

but one time he clocked you getting pouty and in your head and learned that you liked being called sweet things other than your name.

“what’s wrong with your name? i like your name, dollface.” you can see something switch inside of his mind. “mmm, okay. i’ll try.”

“i miss you…” even through the phone, chenle can’t help but smile at your voice. “please don’t die.” “i’m at the grocery store for ice cream you asked for, dollface. i’m not gonna die.” “what if you get hit by a car?” you sniffle, hormones overwhelming you. “i’ll survive.” “how do you know?” “i just do. you should know by now i’m superman, babe.” “fly home, le. wanna cuddle.” “don’t threaten me with a good time.” he chuckles, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he places your ice cream—and a couple other things he thought you might appreciate—on the counter to be rung up. “stay put, beautiful. i’m coming.”

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

babe, dude, pretty (used EXCLUSIVELY behind closed doors)

bro gets embarrassed just breathing air, you think he’s gonna have the guts to be cheesy with you in public?

even calling you babe in public has him with his voice lowered.

it’s really counteractive considering being so shy about things brings only more attention to him from his friends

“could you pass me my phone?” jisung’s request flies over your head as the group conversation is alive and well around you. “babe,” he mutters, finally getting your attention. “can you pass me my phone?” in good 7dream fashion, all the boys ‘ooh’ at him, haechan and mark fangirling obnoxiously. “baby darling sugarplum angelface!” donghyuck mocks, laughing at jisung holding his head in his hands, being consoled by your rubbing his back. “could you pass me my phone, my darling sweetheart pookiebear cupcake?”

author's note i fear i'm running out of themes for fic headers !!!!! why was i not blessed with the moodboard bone all my other lovely mutuals have D:

[vermilionsun]

Since we’re doing part twos👀 Could you write more nsfw hcs for leander and ais? <3

Yes I can Yes I will Yes I did 💃

Ais

Aka choose one hair colour challenge failed

✩ Topping from the bottom

Self-explanatory. “Gives it almost as well as he takes it,” but he’s in charge babe, you stand no chance. He’ll treat you good though, don’t worry—

✩ Facefucking

YOUR FACE OR HIS, he doesn’t really mind. He knows to appreciate a good blowjob and loves having his mouth stuffed full of you. Man doesn’t ask for much. Plus he thinks it hot watching you manhandle him.

✩ 69

I see this man having an oral fixation—I can’t explain it. Sit on his face and suck him. As tiring as it is rewarding.

✩ M I R R O R S

He’ll be sitting on the edge of the bed, you on his lap, your back facing him. His veiny hands keep your thighs open as he makes you watch yourself bounce on him in the mirror and struggle to keep your balance and pace. Delicious.

✩ Pillow Prince(ss)

Let him treat you, okay?

✩ Comfort Sex

hEAR ME OUT WAIT— This man will never fuck you while he’s angry. That goes against a couple hundred of his moral codes, plus he would never want to hurt you. But, after some time, if things are getting heated, he will be slow, sensual, careful. He’ll apologise if he’s at fault. He’ll hold your hand and leave soft murmurs on the crook of your neck, kiss away any tears that might leave your eyes. Same goes if he knows you had had a rough day, accompanied by enough praises to make you see stars.

✩ S H O W E R

✩ Seasping

ON THAT NOTE— If he’s lying inside the waters of the Seaspring, presumably looking at the wall, and you climb in alongside him, well… He won’t bother to hide the gigantic smirk on his face that rivals the size of his boobs as he pulls you on his lap. It also serves as an amazing opportunity for a not-so-subtle fuck you to to Ocudeus.

✩ Exhibitionism–ish

He’d fuck you happily infront of a crowd to prove a point (with your consent of course). He’d take any chance thrown his way to brag about how amazing his partner is.

✩ Remote Control Vibrators

There has to be an alternative to that in the Touchstarved universe, right? Oh, that bastard’s smirk when he suddenly presses it to the highest setting from across the room while you’re in the middle of a conversation.

✩ Against the Table

✩ Spontaneous Sex

He’s definitely the type to randomly return home/come find you “because he’s horny.”

✩ Caught

He won’t stop his actions, just look at the person who walked in on you with a “what do you want?” look. Could easily pick up a conversation while fucking his partner’s brains out, 100%

✩ Up Skirt/Panties to the side

✩ Car

RIP Ais, you’d love late night car rides and car sex afterwards.

Leander

Aka the Nile is a river in Egypt

🗡  Nipple Play

This man’s tits are MASSIVE. Treat them well. Suck on them, twist and pull on them, make him cry.

🗡  Masochism

Self-explanatory.

🗡  Anal Toys

Previously mentioned he’s an ass guy, so make everyone a favour and ruin his ass (literally). B̶e̶a̶d̶s̶ w̶i̶l̶l̶ d̶o̶ t̶h̶e̶ j̶o̶b̶ j̶u̶s̶t̶ f̶i̶n̶e̶

🗡  RIDE HIM &

🗡  PULL HIS HAIR

Sit on his lap, pull his hair and force him to look at you while you ride his soul out of his dick. He’ll thank you once he’ll be able to speak again—give him a couple w̶e̶e̶k̶s̶ days though.

🗡  Magic

Of course, I will elaborate. If he can make flowers of light out of thin air, he most definitely can use his magic for other things, even to a small degree. A restraint, a shock of pleasure, and he most definitely will comply if asked (̶s̶h̶o̶w̶-̶o̶f̶f̶)̶.

🗡  Sleepy

Wake him up with a blowjob once, and you’ll have to continue that routine for the rest of both your lives. He’ll be completely bewitched, still groggy as me moans lowly and oh damn that deep morning voice…

🗡  Gag

It’s both hilarious and incredibly turning on. Try that with your panties, and the man has already cummed.

🗡  Lingerie

Talking about panties… The moment he lays his eyes on you and your fancy little outfit, he swallows dryly. His eyes go dark, and he has to reposition himself because he’s so hard. You’d expect him to rip them off of you immediately, but instead, he guides you to stand in front of his spread–out legs, his hands slowly trailing up your thighs to your ass and waist, feeling the way your skin transitions to the material, his chin resting against your stomach as you pet his hair.

“May I?”

“May you, what?”

“May I take these off?” He tugs at the fabric to make his point. “Please?”

M̶o̶n̶t̶h̶s̶ u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ y̶o̶u̶ w̶a̶l̶k̶ n̶o̶r̶m̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶.

🗡  Cumming Untouched

Too easy to achieve with this man.

🗡  Under the desk

The bar, specifically. It’s beyond amusing watching him try to keep his composure in front of the patrons while you’re sucking him off so beautifully.

🗡  G̶l̶o̶r̶y̶ H̶o̶l̶e̶

He̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶, o̶k̶a̶y̶?̶!̶ D̶o̶n̶'t̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶ a̶t̶ m̶e̶

🗡  Candle/Wax Play

He had set them up to make a “romantic atmosphere” but the second your eyes darted to the candle closest to you while you were on top of him… yeah, he might have slightly regretted his decision (s̶p̶o̶i̶l̶e̶r̶s̶:̶ h̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ a̶n̶d̶ y̶o̶u̶ d̶i̶d̶ i̶t̶ a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶).

🗡  Public Humiliation

It’s literally canon.

🗡  Caught Masturbating

“Come on darling, won’t you help me a little?”

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 1

johnny davis (the bikeriders) x reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 2.8k words, 1 of ? johnny as a miserable bisexual divorcee and reader as someone too chilled and lonely to give a fuck a/n: it's written to be gender neutral, but there are a few references implying they may be afab (not overkill its just a very gendered landscape)

“Go fuck your good self, then.”

The door slams behind you and the window pane shakes with it, piece of shit car that it is, with an equally large turd of a guy running the thing. 

“Crazy bitch,” is the cab driver’s goodbye call, and yeah, maybe. But he’s the one dumping you in the wrong end of town—and after dark, no less. All you’d done was get a cab after a party, knowing you left all your cash in one of the boots under your bed, with the mad hope that the guy behind the wheel might just be kind enough to let you ride along on a promise. You had every intention of running upstairs to get him his fee, while he kept the engine running, mind you, but that uptight jack didn’t wanna hear a thing about it. Even had the nerve to ask you to comp him 'with those pretty lips o’ yours’, which is round about where you started calling him a filthy no-good perv, and he started pulling over in the middle of nowhere. 

Now you’re standing in the dark in nothin but your too-cheap denim jacket, that you never should’ve bought ‘cause you got shirts thicker than this, staring at a corner side bar that’s almost definitely filled with a hundred more of those cab driver types. Not in the driving sense, but in the fuck anyone that isn’t a man like us sense, you know? 

But what can you do? It’s in there, or out here, and you’re not in the shoes for walking, never mind running, so it’s not much of a choice at all.

You go up in a way like you been here before, like you know the name of the place even though the paint’s chipped off and the light ain’t lighting anymore, and in the time it takes to cross the street, you see three guys go in, three come out, and not a single woman or anyone else, so much as look at the place. It’d be a lie to say your heartbeat was going a speed anywhere near close to normal. Which is another thing you try and hide as you push through the door into the chaos of it all. 

It’s not a bar, it’s a God damn wolf den. 

You make it two steps and already you seen enough beer, and enough skin, and heard enough dogwhistles to consider just how bad it could really be to run barefoot across town. Your feet would only hurt a little bit, right? They seen you now though, and with the amount of bikes they got lined up outside, you wouldn’t even make it to the next block before one of them caught up to you. And then what? Might as well try talking wolf while you’re in here, better that than squaring up with one of them in some stinking alleyway.  

“You got a phone, big guy?” you ask, to the first one that really looks at you. He’s a head taller than you but it seems like that head’s spinning, so you figure he needs a little more explanation to get going. “Behind the bar or something? A payphone?”

He takes a while to reply, like you’re speaking some other language, then he says, “I got something you can ride, honey.”

And now you’re back in the cab all over again, and you’re still going fuckin' nowhere.

“Forget about it.”

You shove past him, and another two men smelling of liquor, until you can plant both hands on the edge of the bar and speak to the owner directly. At least, you think it’s the owner. Cause he’s stood back there, with a towel slung over his shoulder, and he’s the only one giving all of these animals their liquid feed for the night. 

“Hey," you start, “do you got a phone? One I could use?”

Instead of answering, he looks right over your head. Imagine that, like you ain’t there at all, right over and into the space behind. It takes a second, but then you realise it’s not just bad manners, it’s only that there’s someone else coming up to the back of you who’s much more important, to him anyway. 

And now, that’s a guy you look twice at.

He’s not tall, but he’s not short neither, something in the middle that suits you just right, if it mattered. Face like he’s seen some things too, but his hair’s combed all neat like he hasn’t seen nothin. If it weren’t for the bent pinky on his one hand and the scar on his knuckles across the other, you might think he was some sort of regular guy. But he got a walk like he owns the place, more than the barman, that's for sure, and the shirt he’s wearing is plastered with the same exact name as the rest of all these guys: VANDALS. Doesn’t take much to figure that he’s top dog of them. Vandal of the Vandals.

He slides right up to you like you asked him to, sitting his forearms on the edge—next to where your hands are. 

“Nah,” he says. Just like that. Nah.

You feel like laughing. “No?”

“Nah,” his head shakes, “you don’t wanna be in here.”

If it’s advice, it kinda feels like a threat and, well, if it’s a threat, it sorta feels like advice. A decent bit of it at that, cause he is right. You don’t wanna be in here. 

“Don’t want doesn’t make up for need,” you tell him. “And I need to use a phone, if you got one.”

“What for?”

“A cab?” Then you do laugh. “What? You worried I’ll ring your bill up by calling international?”

He makes a strange, sorta dismissive noise as he’s pushing off from the bar. “Worried you’d call some little boyfriend of yours,” he mumbles, then he walks round to the serving side and pulls a phone from under the lip of it.

“No boyfriend, sir. Just a mighty need to get home.” And the fuck outta this place.

He picks the handset up, spinning the dial without asking you for nothin, his eyes sitting on something you can’t see right in front of him. A number maybe. “Not many drivers will pick you up from here,” he says. "This one…yeah, well, you can try it.”

Any hope you had is fast disappearing on you. “That bad, huh?”

He passes you the phone, the twisty cord going all the way straight just to reach you. 

It connects as you put it up to your ear, and some lady with a voice all too quiet for telephones greets you on the other side, rushing you to the point before you can even try and warm her up a little.

"Hi, yeah, so I need a cab but I won’t be able to pay the guy until we get there, is that something your—hello? Hello?” You tut. The empty tone in your ear is a stinging slap to the face, right there, right across the cheekbone. “Motherfucker,” you say, but she’s already all the way gone. She didn’t even hear you out.

And this guy? Well he’s smiling when you look back at him, doing an awful bad job at pretending like he ain’t been listening. “Yeah," he clears his throat to hide a laugh he won’t laugh, “you should’a said you had no money. No cab’s gonna—”

“I know,” you snap. “Still had to ask though, didn’t I?”

He shrugs, nodding at sorta the same time like he agrees with you, even though his face is fixed like he don’t agree at all. Like you’re awful naive for thinking they might even listen to you in the first place.

“Guess I’m walkin’ then,” you decide. You pass him the handset, but he’s too slow to take it, so you go on your toes to lean over and put it back yourself. Hard and pissy with it. Shitty taxi service. Shitty phone. Shitty bar.

“You want a drink?”

Your heels hit the floor again. “What?"

He puts his hand out like he works here now, pointing to all the dingy bottles waiting behind him. “A beer…or?”

“Yeah," you test, “what’s the or?”

“Or,” he says, slow with it, "you sit round drinking nothin’ and wait until I can take you home.”

Your brows shoot up like he’s told a lie bigger than any you’ve ever heard. “You gonna take me home?” you ask, thinking yeah, he’s gonna take you home, and you’re gonna be the next big Santy Claus. 

He nods and it keeps going, like his head gets away from him. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can give you a ride.”

For a second, you find yourself worrying about it. “That code for something else?”

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jeans and sets one in-between his lips. “No. S’just a ride.”

You watch the lighter flip, the cigarette catch. Watch him take a drag and blow it out again. He isn’t acting drunk, and he don’t seem like he cares either way, whether you take a ride from him or not. All he seems bothered about is finding the end of that smoke, and popping the cap off another beer. 

If these are wolves, then he’s the oldest of them. The most tired and nicked with battle scars. From where you’re standing, that makes him the least threatening too, cause you come with a whole load of baggage, and he looks like he’s got even more than that. And anyone with all that shit on their shoulders? Yeah, they’re not gonna be no sort of trouble at all. They just wanna get home at night with their head pinned on straight still.

"Well alright,” you say. “I’ll take a beer and the ride, too.”

“Beer and a ride,” he grumbles back, not moving the cigarette and losing his words because of it. “I’m Johnny."

“Johnny?”

He nods, handing you the beer he just readied for himself. 

“Thanks.” You give him your name the same way he gave you his, and he says it back to you, the way you did with him, though you know you didn’t mumble it the first time. He heard you just right. “This the part where I tell you how far away I live, and you say actually, I don’t got the gas for that, right?”

“How far d’you live?”

“Other side of town.”

He shrugs. “I got gas enough.”

And that’s how you end up on the back of his bike, clinging on like some sort of koala bear thing, with the town going past like it’s made of nothing but air, cold, loud, air. Flooding your ears and the collar of your jacket, even the ends of your pants are filling up with it. Going so fast nothing feels like anything, only that, everything feels of everything. Way too much. By the time you’re pulling up to the house, your head’s spinning like you had ten beers, not two, and he has to offer his hand just to get you off in one piece.

“God,” you say, “does it feel that crazy every time?”

He looks like he wants to smile, but something inside don’t let him. “Guess so.”

“Well, you got bigger balls than me, that’s for sure.”

Then he really wants to smile, you can see it in the little crinkles by his eyes. “Night, kid.”

“Not a kid,” you tell him, cause you lived through too many years of shit to not get the respect an adult deserves, plus, you ain’t even that much younger than he is. Anyone without a stack of lines down his forehead must look like a kid to him. “Thanks for the ride. You really saved my ass.”

He waves it off, like it really was nothin, though actually it was a pretty big something, a real good favour. “Ah. Wasn’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you.”

“Oh yeah? Saw me walking in like some sort of square and the alarm bells went ringing?” 

“Yeah. Like that.”

You hum a little, shrugging while you think on it. “I could’a handled myself,” you tell him. Which isn’t all the way the truth, but it’s not too far from it neither. You can get mean when you have to.  

“Maybe, but you didn’t have to, did you?” He kicks the bike to life again, and there goes that engine, so loud his ears must be working half as good as they should be. “See you around,” he says.

You nod. As far as last words go, those are some pretty boring ones, but it’s later than late now, and you’re not feeling like standing outside any longer until one of you comes up with something better. So he gets a “see-ya” and that’s the last thing either of you will ever say to each other, cause when are you ever gonna find yourself in the middle of some roughed up, leather wearing, bike club, ever again? 

____

Well. Turns out you got a whole lot wrong when it came to figuring Johnny out. Not even a full day goes by, and you’re hearing that rumble, that big bru-bru-bru, clattering noise coming right back down your street. And Mrs Saccone, who’s normally deafer than deaf, is banging a broom on your wall telling you to get rid of it. To get rid of him. Can you imagine? Old lady, never done nothin wrong in her life, as far as your Pops ever knew, and suddenly, big mean man on a bike, sitting outside and ruining her TV dinner. 

You couldn’t get out there fast enough. Half-dressed, you know, you were ready to settle down for the night. Work stuff off and replaced with those big, old man type boxer shorts. If it weren’t for the bathrobe, wrapped all up round yourself, you’d have blushed so hard it’d burst a blood vessel.

“You forget something?” you ask, parking your feet and slippers right onto the concrete next to him. “I got neighbours, you know.”

He frowns, pursing his lips as he looks you over. “I wake you up?”

“No. But I’d be lying if I said you weren’t disturbing my peace.”

He nods, still running that engine, one foot on the ground to keep him in one place there. It goes so long without him saying nothin that you start thinking maybe it’s your turn, and you forgot which one of you spoke last or something.

“Can I help you, Johnny?”

“Let me take you out,” he says. Not a question, but not bossy with it neither, just ‘let me’. If he’d said it like an order, you would’ve told him to stick it where you told the cab driver to stick it last night, but he seems to know better than that.

You pull the robe tighter, right up to your neck. “I’m not going back to that bar,” you tell him.

“No, not there.” He flicks a gloved hand over the bars of the bike, imagining some fancy, high-class sort of place, right there in front of him. “Somewhere nice. You and me.”

It’s a good thing your mother is on a whole other continent, because without thinking much about it at all, you say, “Alright, sure. You can take me out.” 

He smiles, and it might not be, but it feels like it’s the first one he’s shown you, all real and bunched up in that stubble of his. “You should go get dressed then.”

You feel the life drain right out of you. “We’re going now?”

“I’m here." He shrugs. "So, yeah, why not?”

“You know most people would hate you for that,” you say, “giving a person no warning.”

The bike goes quiet then, and he swaps the keys for a pack of smokes in his pocket, leaning back like he got all the time in the world. “D’you hate me?” he asks.

“I might.”

“Oh, might.” He says it back like you don’t mean it, and won’t mean it, with another one of those funny throwaway noises following on after it. “I’ll take my luck with might.”

And what d’you say to that? Nothin, you say nothin, all you can say is, “Give me ten minutes.” 

Then you’re trotting back up the porch steps, hoping Mrs Saccone isn’t peeping through the curtains, and wondering what the Hell you’re gonna put on that’s any kind of suitable to go to a nice place with a Vandal on your arm. 

If it weren’t your life already, you wouldn’t believe any of it. This time just yesterday, you were at some square neck, office party, saying goodbye to some upper-level fucker—who never learned your name, and didn’t even thank-you for the half serious farewell note you left in the communal goodbye card—and tonight? God, if you weren’t so used to shit going unusually, you’d be pinching yourself. Real hard, too. 

Some man called Johnny, who you don’t know from Adam, swinging by to pick you up on his motorcycle. Yeah, ‘crazy bitch’ really is starting to feel like an appropriate title for you to have. Who would’a known?

........................

part two here

tagging: @drabbles-mc @garbinge

[stxrvel]

i don't wanna live forever (1)

summary: reader couldn't stop having deaths in her life ever since the Supersoldier serum came into her life. no matter how hard she tried to stay sane, it seemed that life didn't want to give her a break. until, one afternoon, she learned that one of her old friends was alive… (you guys know im bad at summaries, but please give this one a chance)

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +4.5k

warnings: angst, major character deaths, canon deaths¿?, bad words, english is not my first language! thoughts of revenge and death, this is like an introductory chapter, so the buckyxreader interaction is low, but it'll get better, i promise!

note: holy fuck guys. i just spent like five hours writing and editing this and i fucking love it. its been a while since ive been this proud of a work, im actually scare the emotion will disappear, but i really want to rejoice in this one. i wanted to write something a little different from my usuals, maybe a little common in the fanfiction world, but i started and i simply could not stop (or maybe just approach this bucky fic from another perspective). so this is the first part and i'll try with all my heart to keep this going because it was fucking insane, at least for me. i really hope you all like this as much as i do! feel free to leave any comment! thanks always for all the support!! see you next time <3

part 2 ; part 3 ; part 4

When you went into the Supersoldier serum project with Steve, you thought you were going to change the world. Of course, at that time when technology was relatively new any invention felt like the beginning of a new era. That's how it was all sold to you and it was how you expected everything to turn out… Until you realized that it was all really a waste of effort and time.

They were just propaganda for war. Not to stop it, to promote it. To motivate it.

You tried, on several occasions, not to think too much about it. You tried to stay out of it as Steve sometimes asked you to, even though even he didn't want to, as Bucky asked you to when you lay on his shoulder to cry in the little time you had free between trips. It was a great burden of guilt and helplessness.

Until you and Steve, with the almost imposed help of Peggy and Howard, rescued Bucky from the evil hands of Johann Schmidt and his nefarious organization, HYDRA, that, unbeknownst to you, would haunt you for a long time to come. It was only after that, after spending several sleepless days on edge thinking about what might be happening to Bucky, that you and Steve were finally able to go out and contribute something. Destroy HYDRA and the Red Skull's plans.

Of course, you realized that not everything could go right when, the one mission you couldn't attend, Bucky didn't return. And then Steve didn't come back either.

“Do you think this will ever end?” you had asked Bucky the day before his last mission.

“Of course it will,” he had answered without hesitation, moonlight illuminating his clear eyes, squeezing your hand as if it was all he wanted to do for the rest of his life. “And after that we can begin to live as it should be.”

But there was no after that, because you never recovered from losing him. From losing them both.

“Are you okay?” Peggy approached, in the middle of the afternoon when the sun was streaming through the stained glass windows of the church, illuminating the spot where Steve's empty coffin had been, because they didn't even find his body. They didn't even think there was any of it left.

You barely moved your head to acknowledge her presence, moving the prayer slip they had recited throughout the mass between your hands. Your eyes were crystallized, in tears that no longer even made the effort to flow, because you had already spent too many days and nights crying. Peggy had been on the other side of the church, sitting next to Howard while the priest spoke, because you had refused to be near them in those moments. You didn't want to be near them.

“As well as one can be,” you slurred, finding that it had been a long time since you'd last used your voice for anything other than cursing and crying disconsolately.

The people had already left, probably an hour or more ago. The empty coffin had already been brought out, all the flower arrangements had been picked up, and the priest was preparing for the evening mass. You knew you had to leave, you knew Peggy and Howard were there waiting for you, but you felt stuck at that moment. You didn't want to leave, you didn't want to get ahead, you didn't want that life if it had to be this cruel.

You heard Peggy's sigh, before she took a seat next to you, a short distance away, averting her gaze to look at Christ on the cross.

You didn't know if you were selfish to be so closed off to your friends at this moments, because they must be grieving as much as you were, but you didn't know how to deal with the future possibilities. Bucky and Steve, great men and soldiers, one even with enhanced abilities, had not been able to make it through the punishment of war. What if Peggy and Howard were the same? What if they too had the cruel fate of dying at the hands of injustice? Could you deal with that? With everyone gone?

Maybe you could open up to them a little more because if not, who else? Turning away from them was not going to ensure their survival in this hate-filled society. Maybe you could protect them, like you couldn't protect Steve and Bucky. Maybe you could make a difference, because you had the chance to.

“You know,” Peggy spoke again, rearranging herself on the bench and crossing her legs, “Steve always knew this was how it would end.”

Her wistful, mournful, fragile voice sent a shiver through your body. Peggy didn't consider herself someone to show herself vulnerable in front of others no matter how close they were, even in those things that hurt her the most, in those things that affected her personally and made her eyes water instantly, she always tended to shut down. And at that moment you didn't dare interrupt her because you knew it would probably be the only time she would talk about Steve in a long time.

“Sometimes we'd talk, between tour trips, and he would tell me that wasn't what he wanted to do, even when he had to convince you otherwise,” her clasped hands would occasionally squeeze between words, blinking rapidly to fight back the tears. “He didn't know if he'd made the right decision.”

You could almost picture him, backstage at the foot of the stairs with that notebook he carried everywhere and wouldn't let go, Peggy at his side nostalgic, as helpless as the others. It reminded you of the times you'd had similar conversations with Bucky, desperate to find a purpose, a way through so much fog.

“The first time I saw him so sure of himself was when he asked us to help them look for Bucky,” she mumbled his name, as if trying not to scare you away by saying it too loudly. “Ever since then it seemed like he'd found that spark…”

“Until Bucky died,” you whispered, the words cutting through the cold and silence, Peggy shifting on the bench contritely.

“He lost something of himself from that day on, it wasn't hard to tell. The next time I heard him so sure after spending days lost, it was on that call from the plane.”

Peggy paused, raising her hand to cover her mouth as her voice faltered. You turned to look at her, wishing you could rip the pain from her soul and leave it in yours. She was trying to contain her emotions, breathing deeply, and in that moment you wondered what life might be like from now on, with the specter of grief following you around, waiting for the next time the dead knocked on your doors, unexpectedly, without allowing you to say goodbye.

“He had told me he wouldn't die in peace until he could get it all over with. And he took it all with him. And I hated him so much for it…” Peggy sobbed, her labored breathing standing out between words. She kept looking straight ahead at the stained glass windows, the expression on her face hard and scowling despite having tears rolling down her cheeks, as if she were trying to blame something for what had happened. Her reproachful eyes fixed on the Christ.

Her wails echoed through the walls of the church, the father on the dais sending them a look of sorrow. He had offered you water, thirty minutes after everyone at Steve's wake had left, when they kept walking, and you stood there.

Another empty casket.

“Ladies,” Howard's voice reached your ears amidst all the physical and emotional numbness. You could barely notice Peggy wiping under her eyes with the pocket square that was surely part of Howard's suit, as she took breaths to get up. “We should go now.”

You heard him walk, his slow, careful steps stopping just behind you. There, on his feet with his chest tight, he rested a hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze in support. He knew it was the most you would allow him at a time like this, deciding not to pass up the opportunity to let you know he was there. You sighed, feeling a heaviness take over your body as you stood up.

“Yeah, let's go.”

The next few months passed in a blur. Maybe too fast, maybe too slow, you weren't sure anymore.

Peggy continued to work at the Strategic Science Reserve for a couple of years, calling you from time to time to help her with some jobs. You kept a low profile, practically a fugitive from the state, while trying to live a halfway normal life in Europe. A lot of it thanks to Howard really.

Life had become a rather monotonous routine when you stopped getting so many calls from Peggy and Howard several years later. You knew they were fine, but not being able to return to the country filled you with anguish every day. And trying to lead a normal life became too complicated when you looked in the mirror and it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in that capsule of Dr. Erskine's with Steve.

Until Peggy called one day asking you to come back. She told you that it was safe, that there would be no state officials waiting for you at the airport, but even if that had been the situation, you wouldn't have hesitated for a second to buy the first plane ticket and fly to see them again. To Howard and Peggy, to melt into an embrace, longing for the lost years.

You had thought that contributing to the fight in World War II had earned you a ticket to at least be recognized in the military, but all you gained was the government with their mad scientists looking for you to try to recreate the Supersoldier serum. Peggy didn't want to risk you and Howard gave you no choice by giving you a plane ticket to Finland with your bags packed.

You wasted many years not being by their side, unable to keep the promise you had made them in your head to be close by to protect them, to watch over their safety.

But when you left the airport there was only Peggy, and maybe that should've told you everything.

Her hair already looked gray, the effects of gravity and time present on her face. You hated to think that you shouldn't have looked any different from the way she saw you last time when she waved you off at that same airport. Her warm gaze was the same, raising her arms with held back tears to encircle you in a big hug. She tried hard not to sob against your shoulder, you felt the choppy movement of her breath against your chest.

She looked so different and the same at the same time.

You walked to her car a moment later, her trying to carry your suitcase and you telling her you were perfectly fine carrying it on your own. Amidst a smile, she walked into the driver's door and you frowned as you saw the empty passenger seat.

“Where's Howard?” you spoke as you sat down, after stowing the huge suitcase in the trunk of the car. The way you moved to buckle up, you didn't notice the way Peggy froze in place, her hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly that her breath hitched from the effort.

“We're going to see him,” was all she said, but she was very good at hiding that something was wrong. Only for a little while.

During the trip, even though you tried to ask things about them, about what they had been doing during this time, you didn't miss the way her shoulders were tense or her eyes very alert. Something bad had happened and Peggy was trying to hide it from you.

When she pulled up in front of a church, you already knew what had happened without her answering a single one of your questions.

Howard had died.

You two had sat next to Howard's son Tony, his spitting image, in complete silence as the prayers went on. At that moment you didn't know what had happened, hoping it had been a quiet and peaceful death, because you didn't know if you would be able to endure another violent death.

Peggy gave you all the details when the mass was over, after the coffin was taken away, and you hadn't felt such fury in so many years. Not since the deaths of Bucky and Steve had that adrenaline rush of anger returned to run through your body as violently as it did at that moment, when Peggy told you that he had been murdered along with his wife. All to steal some prototypes of Dr. Erskine's serum. The damned serums with which everything had started.

This time there was a body in the coffin, but there was also a culprit. Someone to point the finger at and take it out on for years of anguish and pain.

You were at Peggy's house, staying for a few days, when she told you that wasn't all.

Peggy had a suspicion that HYDRA hadn't disappeared when Steve crashed that plane into the ice. Her suspicions generated panic in you, because Bucky and Steve had died for that, now apparently Howard, only for it all to have been for nothing. The feeling of carnage that ran through your whole head made you nauseous, years of helplessness and pain pent up in such a small body had to find its way out somehow.

“It was a man, according to the information I've been able to gather,” Peggy spoke, taking a seat across from you in the dining room of her living room, after pouring you a glass of lemonade. “He didn't die from the crash. He had a concussion. He was hit in the head. His wife died from asphyxiation.”

“Does Tony know?”

“No,” Peggy shook her head quickly, one hand over her heart as if the mere thought caused her physical pain. “It didn't even occur to me to tell him something like that.”

“And he was looking for the serum,” you recalled, a bitter feeling planted in the back of your throat, the memories of the disastrous times during the war coming back into your head like a blinding flash.

“He took them. We don't know who he is or who he works for, but whoever they are, they must have been following us for a long time to know about them.”

“You mean years,” you arched an eyebrow, your fingers touching the cool exterior of the glass seeking some reassurance.

“Possibly. That project isn't recent,” Peggy nodded, drinking her lemonade with a grimace. You stared at the liquid almost finished from her glass, a wrinkle forming between your brows with each passing second and you kept wondering why.

“But what the fuck was going through that asshole's head?” you spat angrily. Rage at already the amount of lives that serum had taken with it and at Howard's recklessness. Rage at the reaper who seemed to be following in their footsteps for some reason, rage at that damn man and whoever his damn boss was.

“It was the only option, Y/N,” Peggy turned her gaze, meeting your eyes with a strange glint.

“What do you mean?” you were almost afraid to ask, your friend's gaze suddenly turning evasive. You watched her run her fingernails over the glass of the tumbler, lost for a moment in thought. The way her shoulders slumped forward in defeat caused a pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. Peggy shouldn't be going through these things at this point in life.

“Howard was working with the Pentagon, as a contractor or something. They had found you. Howard felt cornered and they made him sign an agreement.”

With your incredulous look on her face, Peggy didn't dare look back at you for a few seconds. So much had happened since you had left and it seemed that you had only been told about the things you weren't going to care about so much. But if you had known that you wouldn't have cared much about giving some of the state officials their comeuppance. You would've liked Howard to trust you enough to tell you, not live in as much fear behind his back as the last few years must've been. You didn't like the way Peggy's lips curved downward, as if she, too, would've preferred to make another decision had she known this was how it was going to end.

“Howard assured them that he could recreate the serum, and told them he would as long as they left you alone.”

“Fucking asshole…” you closed your eyes, scrubbing your face with your hands. The rough skin of your hands rubbed against the delicate skin of your face, years of combat and mistreatment foreseeing a harshness that reminded you every day of what you'd had to go through to get to that moment.

“I only found out about it after it happened. I didn't see it for like a whole week,” Peggy shook her head slightly, her eyes glistening in the pain of the memories. You shook your head hard, a more violent reaction than you could have anticipated.

“That stupid… stupid asshole! What the fuck made him think I couldn't defend myself?”

“He was trying to do the right thing,” Peggy finally searched your eyes, meeting the red rims that told her you were holding back too hard breaking in front of her, only using that pain mixed with rage to keep you sane.

“And look how that turned out!”

Peggy stretched her hand across the table, with a pleading look asking you to lower your voice, averting her gaze to the hallway. You followed her gaze, for a second forgetting where you were, forgetting that her family was with you behind the doors where you were plunged into darkness. It was past midnight.

You took a second to calm yourself, trying to drown out the uncontrolled emotions and taking deep breaths to calm your fluttering heart.

“And if what you theorize is true…” you regretted the moment those words left your mouth; you didn't even want to finish the sentence.

“Do you think it is?”

“I don't want to,” you shook your head instantly, closing your eyes, the thought sounding illogical inside your head. Your hands on your chest trying to contain the storm of feelings that was making chaos inside your head. “That would mean that everything we did, everything Bucky, Steve and Howard did and sacrificed, was in vain. It will all have been in vain.”

You spent several weeks with that thought in your head, working hand in hand with Peggy, and the organization you barely knew as SHIELD, to track down the whereabouts of the killer of Tony's parents and the one responsible because the Supersoldier's serums were, surely, in the wrong hands.

And yes, it was many years of fruitless missions and dead ends, with you running every field mission and Peggy calling the shots from the New York facility. Every time you felt close to discovering something, it seemed that the enemy rejoiced in your failures and still couldn't understand how they were always three steps ahead.

However, you had to leave the missions when Peggy became ill.

The silent, lethal Alzheimer's.

During the first months in the hospital, she still recognized you. She also recognized her husband and children. But after the first year, she frowned every time her children walked through the door. After a year and a half, her husband had to remind her that they had been married for about forty years.

After two years, she was still only remembering you, Howard, Steve and Bucky. Her whole life during her time in the army was all you talked about, sometimes you would tell her how much more time had passed than she remembered and always, without fail, she would ask you how much you had done in Europe for so long by yourself.

She cried every time she remembered Howard's death. She cried every time she remembered her children. Out of her mouth came a thousand apologies that no one would accept, because there was nothing anyone could do to prevent what had to happen. You wished she had been a serum test subject instead of you.

For several years, missions to find Tony's parents killer were sporadic because you spent more time around Peggy than at the SHIELD facility. She was the only thing you had left of everything you'd ever had, of when you held the world in your hands. She was the last thing keeping you tethered to that reality, keeping madness from flooding your reason. How could you have so many years ahead of you when that was all you had to live for? A life full of the dead, full of pain and suffering. What kind of karma were you paying for?

You were leaving the SHIELD facility, after another failed mission, when Nick Fury stopped you in front of the exit. You almost rolled your eyes right under his watchful gaze, tired of having to meet him anywhere, and exhausted from his comments about this vengeance project or whatever he wanted you to be a part of.

You still didn't know how, being such an exemplary agent, Coulson had fallen into his nets.

“Miss L/N,” the man stopped you with his words, his hands behind his back and a tense stance that caught your attention.

“Fury,” you nodded in his direction, hoping he'd be quick because you were running late for your weekly visit with Peggy. “Do you need anything?”

“I'd like you to come with me somewhere,” Fury approached tentatively, his one eye fixed on your wary expression, which shifted to boredom the moment you thought you knew what he wanted.

“If this is about that project, I've told you a thousand times-”

“No,” he interrupted you, moving forward and removing his hands from behind his back. “It's not related to that. I really want you to come with me.”

“You look agitated, but I need-”

“I'll take you to see Peggy myself after this.”

You didn't like that he knew your routine, even though you weren't doing enough to hide it from the other agents. But Fury looked nervous, even though he was hiding it very well, trying to keep his cool as he looked for ways to convince you.

You figured it wouldn't be a big deal for you to go off the deep end for once. After all, Peggy never remembered you were going to see her.

You set off in Fury's armored vans, not quite sure where you were going, but sure that it was urgent, because he had taken it upon himself to let his driver know that you had to get there as soon as possible.

You took that time on the trip to come up with a new strategy for the next mission because what you were doing up to that point wasn't working and you felt too close to throwing in the towel, figuratively speaking. You could spend years following a ghost, but you wouldn't give up on finding Howard and Maria's killer.

Before the car pulled up to one of SHIELD's secret sections, they passed the giant, imposing Stark Tower. You never saw Tony again after that time at his parents' funeral, not even during his visits to Peggy because you always made it a point not to cross him. You didn't think you'd be able to look him in the eye while you knew his parents had been killed without being able to tell him. You had promised Peggy in her lucid moments that you wouldn't tell him anything until you could find the culprit. You didn't want to initiate that pain if it had to be kept repressed, as yours once was, and probably still is. You had learned, some time after the funeral, that he was living with Edwin Jarvis, and you were glad to know that he would have good companionship to keep him company in such hard times.

Fury, a handful of agents and you entered the vans through the entrance to what appeared to be the parking lot of an old warehouse. Upon entering, the first thing you noticed was the number of armed agents that seemed to be guarding the place, not at all discreet to how SHIELD used to do things. You weren't sure if Peggy would authorize something like that, but you couldn't question the Director's decisions. It wasn't your place.

“What's going on here?” you frowned, watching as every meter there was another agent and another agent. You got out of the car without waiting for an answer from Fury, moving directly toward the entrance where most of the agents were concentrated. You barely noticed their looks in contradiction, running their eyes over you and then over the man trying to catch up to you, dubious as to whether or not they should move. “Move.”

“Wait,” Fury's voice stopped the command in the agents, who turned back to look at you as you sent Fury a confused look.

“What's all this mystery, Nicholas?” the man startled almost discreetly at your tone of voice, the agents stirring uncomfortably, but kept the serene expression that was getting on your nerves. “What the fuck did you do?”

“We got a call from the Arctic.”

“From the Arctic?”

You tried to ignore the way the hairs on your neck instantly stood up, your body alerting you to something your mind still couldn't comprehend. You felt like a deer face to face with a predator, expecting the worst.

“The Colonel informed us of something that might interest us,” Fury's cryptic voice echoed in your ears, drowning out the flicker of uncertainty vibrating from your head to your toes. “They found a plane.”

You didn't even answer him. Your heart began to pound wildly, cornered, ready to have your head bitten off. The tension in your shoulders intensified, with the involuntary movement of your hands as you broke into a cold sweat. The mere implication of his words caused an emptiness in your stomach, a sense of longing and fear you hadn't felt before.

You looked at Fury, trying to find in his gaze the gleam of a lie, but there was nothing there but assurance. There was nothing but recognition and understanding in his gaze, but that didn't make the emptiness in your stomach and the tight chest go away. It didn't make the feeling of being outside your body go away.

You barely remembered to move in the direction of the door, the agents instantly moving out of your way, pushing it so hard that one of them flew out. You moved your eyes around every corner of the room, the cream-colored walls generating a great repulsion in you. And there, in the midst of all the confusion and the storm, a confused and disgruntled face looked back at you. A face you never thought you would see again.

Steve Rogers was standing a few feet away from you, barely comprehending what was happening around him and instantly recognizing you. Your chest compressed once again, the tears you held back for so many years even in your loneliness making their own way into your eyes, endangering to end that mask you wore everywhere you went.

Steve was actually there, looking back at you with his eyes shining in recognition. You didn't know if he was as surprised as you were to react or you looked so bad that he didn't know if he should approach you or not. You just knew it was him, it really was him right there in front of you. He wasn't dead. Steve wasn't dead. He was alive. Ah, he was so alive.

The broken sob that suddenly left you was loud enough to make your friend shed his stupefaction and stride over to where you were. You barely managed to cover your face, between sobs, wails and disbelief, feeling your knees give out, surrendering to the weight of the pain, when his strong arms grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor. Preventing your fall, as you had wished so many times before.

You cried against his shoulder, when feeling him against your body you knew there was no doubt it was true. You moved your hands away from your face, wrapping them around his waist as tightly and lovingly as you hadn't hugged anyone in so long. Surely the last time you hugged someone like that was when you saw Peggy on your way back from Europe.

Steve wasn't far behind, his arms around your shoulders just as tightly, his chin against the crown of your head, moving from side to side trying to hold back the loud sobs that shook your body.

You couldn't believe it, but it was true, he was right in front of you.

Steve was alive. He had come back to your side. You didn't even want to ask why.

And there was nothing else you could think about for the rest of your life.

[milaisreading]

Helloo~ i just wanna lyk that im so freaking obsessed with your blue locks fics specially sae x isagi’s sister y/n. If you don’t mind can you please do a sae x isagi sis reader where oliver wants to get back together with the reader only to find out that shes already in a relationship. Sae got jealous and publics their relationship slsksksk i dont even know if i make sense but i live for possessive sae ❤️‍🩹🔫

🌱🩷: I hope u like what I wrote! Thanks for reading and the request 🫶🏻

Warnings l: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

Sae Itoshi wasn't a particularly jealous person, he never had much of a reason to be jealous. He had the talent it takes to become a football player, the looks, and for the most part important connections in the football world. He was never much of affectionate person either, if you ignore the brotherly love he used to give to Rin. But that pretty much changed when he agreed to the request of playing at a match between the Blue Lock team and Japan's U-20 national team. As Sae expected Rin was there and he wasn't surprised by the progress Rin made. What did surprise him were 3 things: 1. how well the opposing team was keeping up, 2. the ace of Blue Lock, a no name to Sae, leaving most of the team in the dust with his tactics, and the 3rd thing was a certain yell he heard in the middle of the match...

Sae hid his surprise as he heard the girl from the spectators spot yell at the ace, which shocked his team as well. Sae stared at the girl, trying to make out her features as he heard Oliver sigh.

"What's up with you?" The rehead asked.

'Can this guy think of anything else?' Sae wondered, already suspecting what Oliver might say.

"Isn't she just beautiful? God, she used to yell at me like that at times." Oliver smiled warmly, something that surprised Sae. He never looked fondly at anyone.

"You know her or?"

"We used to date a while back... I really messed that one up."

Sae kept quiet as Oliver spoke and shortly after left as his coach called him over. The redhead couldn't wrap his head around that one.

'Oliver used to be in a real relationship? And he was still hung over about it? Weird...' The redhead thought, glancing between Oliver and the girl.

"Sae!! What are you thinking about?" The redhead shook himself out of the memory and looked over at (Y/n), giving her a small smile.

"Nothing, I was just remembering the time I first saw you."

"Oh? That time I walked into you, yeah. That was embarrassing." (Y/n) laughed with a flustered face as Sae stared at her with the same smile.

"Yeah, but you were really cute with that surprised expression. Your clumsiness didn't change much since that night either." Sae chuckled, grabbing her hand as they made their way out of the stadium.

"Hey, it did get better. Don't be mean." She scolded him back. Sae stared at her for a moment, running his eyes over her frown.

'Adorable!' He thought as he poked her cheeks.

"Hey!" (Y/n) protested, getting more embarrassed but didn't remove his hands from her face.

"Anyway, how was your practice today? Yoichi said Luna-san is getting a lot more stricter with the team." She commented as Sae took her hand again. The redhead stayed quiet for a moment, observing the night sky before looking back at her.

"Yeah, he is a lot more on edge, but it's mainly because we have that upcoming game with Ubers."

"That's right, Yoichi did mention that last night to me. But, I am sure you will do great like always." Sae's face grew red at the flattering words and cleared his throat.

"Of course. You know me." The rehead said back, his voice much more cheerful than the usual one. This, a much softer side was something he only reserved for (Y/n) to see. He just wished they could stop hiding this relationship, wearing a mask during summer and in Madrid wasn't the best thing. But, to stay with (Y/n) he would do it.

'Besides...' Sae thought as he looked back at (Y/n), who was lost in her own thoughts at the moment.

'This side of her, the embarrassed, funny, and loving version of her is something only I want to see for now. This side only belongs to me.'

Sae was never more greatful for the mask that hid his red face.

Later that night, Sae was at (Y/n)'s apartment and waiting for her to join him to sleep. He was mindlessly scrolling through his phone when (Y/n)'s phone beeped, signaling that a message arrived. Now, the older Itoshi wasn't someone to pry on other people's phones, especially of his girlfriend so he just ignored it.

'If it is important, she will tell me.' Sae thought to himself. After about 5 minutes, another message arrived and (Y/n) entered the room again.

"I am so tired." Sae glanced at her as she yawned a little.

"Cute." He smiled to himself as he watched (Y/n) grab her phone only to see her frown in confusion.

"What happened?" Sae asked, growing a little worried from her reaction.

"Ah... it's just that Oliver texted me, weird." She mumbled, laying on the bed next Sae. The said boy grew annoyed at those words, he was aware of their history and he didn't enjoy the idea of them being so close. But, it's not like he can tell her who to speak to.

"What does he want?" Sae tried to sound disinterest as he pulled her into a hug, smiling as he felt her relax in it.

"Just said he will arrive in Madrid in 2 days for the match and that we should meet again." She said, reading through his messages. Sae's eyes narrowed a little and his hug tightened as (Y/n) wrote something back, then put her phone away.

"I won't go. Besides, I like spending that time more with you." She answered honestly and kissed Sae's cheek, which caused him to blush a little, kissing the top of her head in return.

"Good. I love spending that time more around you, too."

'I need to do something about Aiku. I know very well that he still has some feelings for (Y/n), and while she will reject him, Aiku isn't one to give up.' Sae kept thinking as he watched (Y/n) slowly fall asleep.

'Should I finally announce the relationship? I like it like this, tho... What to do?' The redhead sighed, burying his face into her hair.

"Hmmm..."

The day of the match had finally come and both Re Al and Ubers were doing good so far. It was half time break right now and the status was 2-1 in Re Al's favor, and bot scored by Sae with Isagi and Luna's help. The team wasn't sure what was going on with Sae, but they weren't complaining. Now, the older Itoshi did plan on scoring when the chance was given to him, but what made his determination skyrocket was what Isagi told him earlier on.

Prior to the game...

"Hmm? I see Aiku still didn't give up." Sae looked over at Isagi as he finished his warm-ups.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean Aiku is still trying to win big sis back. I thought he gave up 2 years ago." Alarmed by those words, Sae looked over to where Oliver was, and sure enough he was talking to (Y/n) about something.

"He wants her back?" Sae asked, his eyes narrowing as (Y/n) moved away from Oliver a little.

"Yeah, he still likes her a lot. He told me earlier when they arrived here that he plans on asking her on a date later on. I told you to come clean with this relationship earlier." Isagi sent Sae a look before going to where his sister was.

'Aiku wants her back? No way will I let that happen.' Sae thought to himself, finally making up his mind over everything.

'I will defeat Aiku, then show him and the whole world to stay away from her.'

And true to Sae's promise, Re Al ended up winning the game, with the redhead surprising everyone with his performance today. And while Luna and the rest of the team were flocking him with praises, Isagi and (Y/n) were standing to the side on the field as the cameras and press walked over to Sae, probably excited for some answers. (Y/n) smiled the whole time at Sae, happy to see him get all the compliments.

'Proud of you.' She thought as someone tapped her shoulder.

"Huh? Oh, Oliver! Great game there! You did great today." (Y/n) said as she saw the taller standing behind her.

"Ahh~ wish we won, though. But, I am happy you liked it. You look quite good today, but I would like it more if you wore my jersey than your brother's."

"Well, I like Yoichi's more!" (Y/n) said back, a little nervous by his words.

Isagi, who was standing close by moved over to where they stood.

"Aiku, don't you have a team to go after?" He asked, a little irritated and worried. Sae was already pissed at Oliver for wanting to win his sister over, if he heard of this now...

And, as if luck wasn't on Isagi's side today, Sae saw the interaction and it was his final straw. He quickly pushed his way past his teammates and press, ignoring the shouts as he walked closer to the trio.

"I am so tired of this." Sae narrowed his eyes as he gently grabbed (Y/n) and turned her to face him.

"Huh? Sae?" She wondered in surprise as a blush covered her face.

'He was never like this in public! Weren't we supposed to be lowkey?' She thought as Sae grabbed her face and moving her closer to him.

"Let's make this official now." He smiled softly, pulling her into a kiss. And, while she did hear the people's gasps, Oliver's shocked yell, and Isagi saying 'finally', she didn't feel as embarrassed as one would expect. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Sae enjoyed this reaction, and he will enjoy this even more when he sees Oliver's defeated expression.

'She is mine. He better back off...'

[octuscle]

Dude, I've been edging every day for weeks now, and I love how full my balls feel and how wild all that extra stimulation drives me. It feels so good to be so full of cum...

I wish I came even more! I wish my needy cock would drool so much precum that I need to wear condoms to keep from soaking my pants at work... I wish that my balls would produce so much that I can feel them gurgling and sloshing like water balloons...

Welcome to the NNN, bro! I can understand you, having as much pressure on your balls as on your bladder after a decent bender with your pals just makes you fucking horny.

As good as the idea with the condom was, unfortunately you forgot it. And now it actually looks like you've pissed your pants. Your underpants are completely encrusted with the sticky stuff. And thanks to your bursting balls, you can't concentrate at all. All you can think about is sex. Hard, male sex. And then you shout "Damn, I'm so horny, I could fuck a vase of flowers" in the middle of the meeting. Your colleagues look irritated, your boss asks you outside for a quick chat in private and suspends you for the rest of the day. Thank God, you couldn't stand being around people any longer. You would even have banged that fat, unsympathetic fellow from Internal Audit if you had been in the same room for much longer. Before you leave the building, at least take a piss. Flush the precum out of your dick. And put some toilet paper in your underpants to soak it up.

Fuck, there's so much manhood building up in your balls… It's coming out of your cock as precum. But you also start to sweat it out. And with the sweat you fertilize your fur. The bushes under your armpits grow. The bush around your dick grows. And your dick is getting longer and longer. And your face, still clean-shaven this morning, is showing a veritable three-day beard. And the damp patch on your pants looks forbidden. If you already have the afternoon off involuntarily, you might as well get out of your clothes. And get yourself something new. There's a sportswear and workwear store just around the corner… Maybe you'll find something there…

A jockstrap won't do much good. But the synthetic material will at least dry quickly. Just like the nylon sports pants. You asked the store assistant to lend you a pair of scissors. You cut open the trouser pockets with them. That way you can get to your cock and balls better. Not at all to play around with you. But this way you can spread the precum and massage it into your skin and hair. Shit, the thought makes even more precum flow. It's a vicious circle. You look in the mirror. That makes it even worse. The soft office boy has turned into a pithy chav. Your hands are already sticky. You rub them on your old clothes and stuff them in a garbage can.

Don't wank, don't wank. You try to think of things that are a complete turn-off. But then you see some guy walk past you and your balls push out another gush of precum. Not wanking… But sex is not forbidden. So if someone were to suck you off now… That would be okay… The guy coming towards you looks at your pants for a long time, where you're playing with your balls, and then deep into your eyes. You walk past each other and both turn around again. And while you maintain eye contact, you turn into the side alley. As expected, you don't have to wait long and your fellow follows you.

Thank goodness. You wouldn't have lasted a second longer. The guy gets down on his knees and you push your waistband down. Your cock pops out and pulls up a fat slimy strip of precum. The fellow's saliva runs out of the corner of his mouth. The poor bastard has no idea what's about to happen to him. An explosion is brewing in your balls that you will both remember for a long time to come. Enjoy!

Found the pic with you playing with your sticky balls @milankotowyc

[sourw0lfs]

dance with the devil - part six

I've decided this will eventually be available on AO3, but I want to get through some major plots points for everyone following along here before I have to spoil them with AO3's tagging system.

Words: 525 | Rating: E (mostly parts 1 & 2, but also future parts) | CW: dead bodies, Eddie is having a bad time

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || part eleven || part twelve

Once the front door of the apartment closes, Eddie spends the first few minutes by himself just staring at it. He isn't sure exactly what he expected when Joyce gave him this assignment, but he's pretty sure what he got isn't even near the list. Having to help cover up a murder definitely isn't on the list. And now that he's done that, Eddie isn't even sure that's what he was supposed to do. The only instructions Joyce gave him before sending him on his way was take care of Steve Harrington. No details, no helpful hint or clues. Nothing but the world's vaguest instruction and a stern warning not to fuck it up.

Eddie's eyes wander to the body still in the middle of the floor and he grimaces slightly. "Guess it's just you and me, buddy," he tells the man as he pulls the fourth angelic miracle of the hour to cover up the murder even further. A pool of ochre colored vomit appears next to the body. Hopefully it's enough to throw off any suspicion of foul play, because it's all Eddie's got left. He's only even had the ability to do things like that for a handful of hours at this point. He probably shouldn't be testing their limit. Or cleaning blood off people with them, but what else was he supposed to do? He can't help a guy that gets slapped with a murder charge five minutes into his assignment.

Sighing and taking one last look around the apartment for anything he missed, Eddie finally lets himself go after Steve. There's a chance it's been long enough for him to have the breakdown he was clearly teetering on the edge of. Or maybe he's actually fine and Eddie's just assisted a psychopath or something. That'll look great on his soul's record. All it takes is a blink for him to find out.

And yeah, maybe he should stop with the magic for now, considering the dangerous wobble to his landing once he let's it guide him back to his charge. And maybe he should have made sure Steve was alone before teleporting to him, because a shrill, frantic female voice is the last thing he needs when his head is already kind of spinning. "Holy shit! Where did you come from?"

Blinking hard to clear his vision, Eddie looks in the direction of the voice. He sees Steve first, looking just as frazzled as he had when he’d stormed out before, but now there’s a girl, too. “You want the long answer or the short answer?” he asks, lips already spreading into a grin to hide his discomfort. “Because short is some guy’s apartment and long is, well, a long story.”

The girl looks at Eddie for a moment longer before glancing at Steve, seeming to have a full conversation with him with just their eyes, before they move back to Eddie again. “Long,” she replies with a smirk of her own. “And it better include how the hell you just popped up in my apartment out of nowhere.”

Grimacing, Eddie takes a deep breath and launches into his story.

Did a quick little Google about why some people might not be showing up, so if you're down below and your tag didn't work, check to see if your blog is searchable in your settings! If it's not, I can't tag you.

If you want added to the list, let me know!

tags: @chaosgremlinmunson @soaringornithopter @hbyrde36 @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @quevadilla @tboyeddie @penny00dreadful @momotonescreaming @stevesbipanic @dawners @steddiejudas @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @estrellami-1 @vthx @lolawonsstuff @gleek4twd @littlebluejane @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lawrencebshaggoth @sadisticaltarts @queenie-ofthe-void @r0binscript @anaibis @hairdressersdoitwithstyle

[majesty-madness]

"Are You...?" - Satoru Gojo x reader (sfw)

Summary: The first time she ever saw him cry.

Word Count: 2000+

Warnings: angst, mentions of injury and death, injured reader (lightly), crying, reassurance, initial resistance to comfort but gives in, cursing, high school Gojo and reader, fluff, cuddling

a/n: not proofread. This is another one of those self indulgent one-shots, but oh well. Hope you enjoy! Btw, Commissions are open!

Main Masterlist

She wasn’t sure when it happened but at some point, Gojo had totally left the group. He had been standing right next to her then was gone the next time she turned around. 

This was a bit uncommon for him. 

Usually when a mission was over, and they were left to patch themselves up and go home, Gojo would always suggest hanging out. Those hangouts consisted of face masks, sweets, movies, and staying up late into the night. In all honesty they were more sleepovers than hangouts since the four friends would end up in a cuddle pile in the middle of the floor. 

So the fact that Gojo was nowhere to be seen was alarming. 

“Shoko, where’s Gojo?” Y/N asked her friend who had been previously talking to Geto. 

The two of them began to scout for the white haired teen, not seeing him anywhere. 

“Huh, that’s weird. Usually, he bothers us to hangout after missions.” Shoko pointed out. 

Y/N’s eyes then flicked over to Geto who had a bit of a more serious expression. If he knew why Gojo had run off, he wasn’t saying anything. 

“I’m going to go look for him, see what’s up. I’ll talk to you guys later.” Y/N quickly stated as she was already jogging away from them. 

First, she stopped by the school’s koi pond. She had found Gojo sitting near the edge of the pond a multitude of times by himself, later stating he liked the quiet. However, he wasn’t there. Then she stopped by a nearest supermarket, the one she’d visited with Gojo on those late night trips for sweets. 

When she asked the older woman running the counter if she had seen Gojo, she shook her head, saying she’d hadn’t seen him all day. Y/N thanked her for her time before walking swiftly out of the shop.

As she walked down the sidewalk, at a rather quick pace, she wondered where she might find him. 

Then she realized that she hadn’t even bothered to check the dorms. Why she didn’t she wasn’t sure, but now she was scolding herself for not looking there first. Usually Gojo roamed out and about, on the campus grounds or elsewhere. Not often would he be seen hanging out in his dorm alone.  

It seemed ironic to Y/N since she always spent time in her room and yet she’d made friends with one of the most outgoing people she’s ever met. 

With a new destination in mind, Y/N hurried back to the school. It took a few minutes but eventually she caught sight of the dorms, and headed straight for the boys side of the complex. The path to his dorm was a familiar one as she had traversed these very halls to have one of those sleepovers in his room, however this was the first time she was alone as Shoko and Geto joined her every other time.

The young sorcerer couldn’t shake the small anxiety rising from her gut as she got closer to Gojo’s room. 

What if he wasn’t there? What if he was? Would he want her to leave? What if he wanted to be alone right now? What if he got mad that she was there instead of minding her own business? 

What if….what if…..what if…

Honestly, most of the what if’s were her brian exaggerating the situation when in reality it was just a friend checking up on another friend. That kind of worry could normally be met with sincerity rather than anger. 

Y/N shook her head free of the anxiousness and lifted her hand to lightly knock on the door. “Gojo? Gojo, are you in there?”

She waited a moment, giving him time to answer and letting the silence settle in. After there was no response for several seconds, she knocked again. 

“Gojo, if you’re in there could you please say something?” 

Again, she left the silence open for him to reply with any kind of reply that indicated he wanted to be left alone. However, the same as before, she didn’t hear a peep. She pressed her ear against the door, hoping maybe she’d hear something and indeed she did. 

Barely even audible, the slight sound of a sniffle caused her eyes to widen and breath caught in her throat. 

Deciding to forgo any kind of manners, she went ahead and opened the surprisingly unlocked door to his room. She barely made it a step inside when she made eye contact with a distraught Gojo sitting on the floor next to his bed, tears streaming down his face. The sight almost made her tear up too. 

After closing the door behind her, Y/N quickly closed the distance between them. “What’s wrong, Satoru?” 

He snapped his head away from her, determined to keep his face hidden from her. “Nothing.”

Y/N sat down beside Gojo, resting both on his shoulders and attempting to turn him back to her. While he didn’t want to show his face, Gojo didn’t exactly try to shake her off. 

“Gojo, I know you’re crying, please tell me what’s wrong.” She reasoned, her voice slightly panicked as she had never seen him like this before. 

Gojo’s body was already facing Y/N however, his arms were raised up to cover his more than likely flushed face. 

Moving her hands from his shoulders to his forearms, Y/N leaned in and whispered. “Please Gojo…” 

There was a sudden heave of his shoulders, she could feel it under her hands as he let out a stuttering breath. Gojo carefully lowered his arms, his head slowly coming up to face her. She first noticed the red rings around his eyes, puffy and swollen from the tears. Y/N subconsciously let out a small, sympathetic “oh” once she took in his sorrowful expression. 

Though there was a split second she regretted it when she saw Gojo’s eyes bounce away almost annoyingly at the sound. But she didn’t let it deter her. 

“What’s the matter, Gojo?” 

Immediately Gojo drifted back to stare at the gauze taped to Y/N’s right cheek. He thought back to earlier that day when she’d received the injury. 

They were out to an abandoned building that had a somewhat notorious reputation for suicides, meaning lots of cursed spirits were hanging around; some that could be a potential special grade. At first there had been nothing too out of the ordinary, but that quickly changed the moment Gojo and Geto had split up from Shoko and Y/N. 

As soon as Shoko and Y/N made it to the opposite side of the building, there was a loud crash and a thunder of the building’s foundation shaking. The sudden noise caused the two male students to rush to their friend's aid, and while Gojo could’ve probably made it there faster on his own, he didn’t want to leave Geto alone. 

It took only a couple of minutes to reach them and before Gojo stepped inside the room, he heard the shouting of Y/N and Shoko. He felt he wasn’t moving fast enough, his own hand reaching for the door and ripping it open. The moment the girls were in his view, he saw it. 

Y/N being struck on the face by the curse, snapping her head to the other side and causing her to fall backwards. 

For that one moment, Gojo thought she was dead and his world came to a screeching halt. 

Her body seemed to fall in slow motion, waiting for someone to catch her, to hold her close, to protect her. Like a flash of lightning, Gojo felt the blindly heat of rage coursing up his spine and running over every nerve causing him to rush inside without a second thought. He activated his technique destroying the curse and nearly the entire structure with a blinding purple light. 

When the rush of wind calmed, and the dust settled, he heard the most melodic voice. “It’s okay, Shoko, I’m okay.” 

His manic eyes flitted over to see Y/N sitting up with a trail of blood rolling from her cheek to her chin, the blood meeting at a single point before falling to the floor. 

The rage suddenly disappeared, replaced by a suffocating sadness that had no right making a home in his chest and squeezing the life out of him. 

She was okay, she was safe so why did it all hurt so much? 

“Gojo..” She whispered, gently trying to coax him to talk. 

“You almost died.” 

Y/N remained silent, letting him take this at his own pace. The moment he said those three little words, she knew what was bothering him. 

“And I was almost too late.” He continued sadly. 

“Did you forget you were the one who saved me?” Y/N attempted to tease with a small smile, but when she saw Gojo gave no reaction, her smile vanished. “It really scared you, didn’t it?” 

All he managed was a nod, a barely visible one but Y/N was close enough to see it. There was more silence between them, Gojo having nothing to say and Y/N unsure of what to do. 

On one end she wanted to know exactly how he felt, though on the other hand she knew it was inconsiderate to prod at him to reveal his inner thoughts. Very rarely did Gojo show true emotional sincerity so the fact that he was showing it to her now made her think that perhaps she had a special place in his heart.

Though there was a part of her that doubted that. 

Regardless, there had to be something else she could do. Then she had an idea, maybe…

“Gojo, come here.” She gently grasped his hands, and he let her pick him up off the floor until they were both standing. Their bodies only centimeters away from one another, hands still intertwined together and staring into the other’s eyes. Y/N had to suck in her breath at the shockingly intimate moment. 

She took a preparatory breath then began to lead him to his bed. She took slow steps back, taking a few glances over her shoulder a few times then looked up to Gojo whose expression grew wide eyed and surprised as she guided him to the bed. Y/N understood what he might be thinking though she didn’t do anything to quell those thoughts; she simply laid back against the pillow and pulled him to lay his head against her chest. 

Y/N took a second to adjust herself into a comfortable position then wrapped her arm around Gojo’s shoulder and used her free hand to card her fingers through his hair. His shoulders relaxed and wrapped his arms around Y/N’s midsection, squeezing her close to him for a moment. 

“Do you hear that, Gojo?” Y/N asked out of the quiet as she leaned the underside of her chin against his temple. 

At first the question confused and he admitted as such. “What?” 

“Listen…” She cooed, applied a bit of pressure to the base of his skull to press him closer to her chest. 

Gojo focused his attention on listening to whatever it was that she was talking about- Oh.

He heard the steady rhythmic beating of her heart; proof of life. He felt the tears coming back quickly, having no time to stop them from rolling down his face, onto Y/N’s shirt. 

Y/N felt the strained shake of his body attempting to hold in a sob while continuing her ministrations through his hair. “See? I’m alive. And I promise, Satoru, I will always be here with you. No matter what.” 

A small sniffle sounded before Gojo tightened his grip to bring Y/N closer to him, keeping his head tucked between her neck and chest; savoring her warmth, her affection, and silently making a vow to himself. 

He would never let anything happen to her ever again.

[charlieswanswife]

Friends to lovers + sexual tension tropes: Charlie's wrist is injured but he needs to shave so he asks reader for help. Have fun!

Close Shave

I’m a slut for this kind of thing tyvm

Okay sidenote but this turned out so much cuter than I anticipated

"Careful now..."

You're rolling your eyes, retracting the razor in your hand from his stubbled cheek. "Don't be such a baby, Charlie. I know what I'm doing," you tease the apprehensive man. "I do have some experience in the shaving department, you know."

He mumbles, "Yeah well, that's why I asked."

"Still can't believe you managed to slip on that ice on your porch—even after I told you to do something about it no less! Said somebody was gonna get hurt. Now here you are, wrist sprained—more irritable than ever—and too helpless to even shave your own face."

Charlie's gaze meets your own and for once you feel something brewing in the pit of your stomach. Staring into his eyes, fingers grazing along the side of his jawline—you could never deny he was a handsome guy.

"I mean really, Charlie. What would you do without me?" There's a wide grin accompanying your lighthearted words.

"Yeah yeah," he scoffs, "Just get on with it will ya?"

There's the familiar look that manages to flash across his face for but a split second. The one that has his brows furrowing, eyes rolling back. The one that cautions you to cut your shit. A look you've seen from him far too often.

It wasn't like you didn't know what you were signing up for when you accepted this strange task of his. The two of you were close friends after all. Stuck through nearly the worst of each other throughout the years you'd known him.

Yet something felt different about this.

The way you were standing with him in the middle of his bathroom. How still he stayed while your hands caressed the sides of his cheek, faces so close his cologne felt dizzying. The way his lips seemed to naturally form a frown, eyebrows furrowing, whenever he was contemplating something.

Shit—you had to admit the sprouting grey hairs lining that beard of his were making you feel some type of way. A way that had you questioning your morals. Maybe your entire friendship. And like it didn't help when your thigh brushed against his anytime you moved in closer.

"How close of a cut do you want?" You ask, stepping back for a moment to snatch the shaving cream—and to calm yourself.

"Just keep the mustache."

"Should have guessed," you tease, lathering your hands, "Wouldn't want to frighten the guys at the station."

This comment earns you a small chuckle.

"Might scare you too," he adds.

You're smiling, nodding your head as you once again place the now lathered palms of your hands against the sides of his face. It's surprising to you just how soft his skin feels despite the stubble—which frames his jawline so nicely. You even find yourself sulking over how much of a shame it is to shave it off.

Gradually your laughter dissolves into a gentle silence that fills the air. You're impossibly close now—closer than you already had been—eyes locked together, breath fanning against his cheek. You're tight lipped, eyes darting down to focus as you begin to press the edge of the sharp razor to his skin.

An outstretched arm reaches out, hand clasping the edge of the counter in front of you. Charlie lets out a long sigh, eyes pursed shut, "Careful," he willfully reminds you.

"I thought you trusted me."

"Yeah well that was before you held a razor up to me."

"You asked me to do this, remember? You don't wanna back out now that I've already started."

Cue another drawn out sigh.

"Suppose not."

"Now try not to move so I don't nick you."

Charlie grumbles compliantly.

The first swipe you take is slow and cautious—the blade scraping down the bristles lining one side of his cheek. A breathy gasp slips past his lips—a sound that may or may not have caused your heart rate to spike. Or heat to pool in the pit of your stomach and your face for that matter.

"You doin' okay?"

"Of course." One swipe. "What's up?" Another.

"Just checking in."

You hum out something of a response, turning to the sink to run the razor under water before swiftly wiping it on a towel. "How're you holding up?" You ask, pressing the blade to his skin once more.

"Just fine," he answers before adding in a, "So far."

"Whatever you say." You're smiling to yourself—you can't help it when he's teasing you.

"You almost done yet?"

Heaving a small sigh, you take a swipe close to his chin. "No," you respond.

"I'd be done by now."

"Want me to rush?" You threaten.

Charlie laughs, "Take all the time you need," voice low in your ear.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"That tickles."

Heat flushes to your cheeks once more. "Suck it up," you advise, breath fanning the crook of his neck.

Another chuckle exits his lips and you can feel it rumble from deep within his chest. "Not pulling any punches today, huh?" Charlie says, tilting his head back to allow you more access as the razor begins to drag underneath his jawline.

"Afraid so."

For a second you look up to catch the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth and you find yourself briefly lost in the way his teeth ever so slightly rake against the bottom of his lip. Merely a second and somehow you manage to press just hard enough to cut his skin.

"Dammit—!" Charlie winces, pressing a hand to the wound.

"Oh shit—! I'm sorry!"

It's a small nick. Nothing intense. But that doesn't stop you from panicking.

"I'm really sorry...I didn't mean to—!" You stammer, urgently turning around to grab a damp towel—

—before stumbling backwards.

But Charlie manages to pull you to him, holding you securely to his chest so that you’re trapped between him and the counter, faces mere inches away. “Careful, sweetheart,” he nearly whispers, “Don’t need you all hurt too.”

If only he weren’t so damn smooth.

Because now you’re left absolutely breathless.

“Let’s finish up, huh?” Charlie suggests, brushing your hair away from your face.

“Good call,” you manage to say.

[joeytime]

Maxiel Hogwarts Au...

If you asked Max what he thought of Hogwarts, he would likely make a joke about pigs and insult their quidditch teams.

He isn't sure it's smart to do that now, in the middle of the Hogwarts' grand hall, completely surrounded by Hogwarts' students and staff. He isn't sure he could escape even if he had his broom.

"Wow, you really hate Hogwarts." The dreaded hat says atop his hair.

Shut up! Max thinks furiously at it. Get out of my head!

Everyone stares intensely at Max, not daring to breathe while the fate of the member of the national quidditch team is being decided. Even the teachers are at the edge of their seats, other than Dumbledore, he seems to know where Max will inevitably end up.

"Little quidditch champion. Everyone is expecting" The hat says, as if it's life of forever moving from head to head to call one of four words is somehow a greater destiny than Max's.

It's not. Max knows he will go on to succeed in life, and win as many quidditch championships as he wants and then retire on an island in The Maldives with a butt load of cash while the hat is left in a dusty room, waiting for it's yearly use. Max wants to reach to rip it up but it would not be wise to do so in front of Dumbledore himself. His hands stay in his lap, frown etched on his face.

"Impatient. Immature." Max's fingers twitch slightly. There is only so much backtalk one can take from a hat.

"Violent and uncaring, wherever will I put you?" Max doesn't agree with that description, he cares plenty, about winning that is.

"Foolish. Foolish boy." It doesn't hurt, Max has heard those words plenty of times.

Max sulks.

It's a beat of silence before the suspense reaches its climax. "Hufflepuff! " The hat hollers, not bothering to consult Max on it's decision. Which is very rude and impolite.

The entire room erupts into chaos, screams of "What! " and "No way! No way!" echo throughout the hall.

Max can't help but agree, he thought he might end up in Gryffindor or Slytherin, maybe Ravenclaw if he was super unlucky. But Hufflepuff? His father was going to disown him. The media are going to have a field day. Well they were going to already, regardless of which house Max was put in.

Dumbledore moves to pull the hat off of Max, the treacherous thing whispers one last time: "Things will make sense in time. Be patient. Do not mope."

Max doesn't mope. Verstappens can't mope, so he doesn't.

Dumbledore gently guides a slightly speechless Max to the Hufflepuff table, pushing him into the seat before winking and walking off.

Max wants to burn down this school.

Cheers erupt from the Hufflepuff table, hands coming to pat him on the back and fawn over him.

The other tables seem miserable at the prospect of losing out on a quidditch champion.

"Oh my god! Hi! Hi! Oh my god! It's you!" A boy excitedly chatters to his left, other students crowd around him and Max suddenly finds that he can't breathe. It's like he's small again, after being knocked off his broom by an overly excited big kid. He had fallen to the ground, too exhausted and overwhelmed to get back up.

His father had been mad, really mad. He hadn't slept well again after that.

"Guys! Guys! He doesn't look so good. " Whoever that is, is definitely right, Max can hardly breathe, he tries to use the breathing technique his father taught him after his first match, control his breathing. It doesn't work, it only causes the panic and urgency in his veins to surge. It did work, it's purpose was to put him on guard, not calm down.

He curls into himself, hands around his ears to protect from the deafening sound of crowds cheering. His bubble of personal space is of course pried and poked at. Fans never had any self awareness when it came to these matters and his father never did have sympathy for personal space.

Hands are pried away from him, he can hear outraged screeching at the action. His own quidditch team's screams when he was 6 years old and pulled away to join the older kids. They thought it wasn't fair that a small boy climbed the ranks faster than they did.

"Hey! Hey! Everyone back up right now!" The entire opposing team bombarding him in an attempt to stop him. The referee's reprimand that fell on deaf ears.

The people at his sides are replaced and gentle hands hold him back up, out of the ball he curled himself into.

Max doesn't dare look up, too afraid at the thought of seeing his father's judgemental look.

"Hey, are you okay? " Max turns his head, soft, gentle, warm eyes, concerned. Jos was never concerned, he was the uncaring one! Not Max!

"I'm fine. " A repeated response, practiced again and again every time he came home to his mother.

The teen with the soft eyes gestures for another boy to sit on Max's other side. The boy opposite Max looks on in concern.

"Hello. I'm Daniel Riccardo, I'm a prefect of Hufflepuff, it's nice to meet you." The gentle boy says, eyes still filled with concern.

"Max Verstappen. " Max manages to choke out.

"The boy on your left is Yuki Tsunoda and that's Lando Norris." Daniel gestures to the boy sitting opposite Max, who waves shyly.

The ruckus Max's sorting caused calms down and everyone settles down to listen to Dumbledore's welcome back speech which luckily does not mention Max.

Max feels strange between Riccardo and Tsunoda, like dread wrapped in false cotton. Norris also peers at him from time to time, creep.

They're sent back to their dorms. Max tells Riccardo that he can get there on his own but the older boy frowns and insists that he takes Max. Max thinks his father would be disappointed at his complacency but he doesn't have the strength to fight it.

Riccardo leads him to the kitchen, Max wants to snap some insult about him being a goody two shoes and how this is none of his business. He holds his tongue.

Riccardo gestures to a specific barrel, looking more worn out than the ones around it. He taps a certain beat, perhaps it's a secret code. That's childish, Max decides, they are not children playing in a fort.

The barrel swings open.

Max grimaces at the small tunnel.

"Here, you try tapping it." Riccardo puts Max's hand to the barrel.

Max repeats the rhythm perfectly. Memory exercises were part of his training.

Once Riccardo is satisfied, he points at the tunnel, almost as if he wants Max to crawl through it.

Max scrunches his nose, seriously? The older boy points more urgently and Max relents, shoving himself through the tunnel.

Well, not shoving, he's not really big, a fact his father loathed, putting him on diets with large sums of proteins and even attempting to use transfiguration spells before it was put to a stop by his mother.

Max wished his mother had not stopped his father. Maybe he would have an excuse not to join this god forsaken house.

It's an agonizing 5 second crawl before he pops out the other end right in front of Lando Norris, the boy before.

Daniel appears behind him, putting a hand on Max's shoulder.

"So Max, this is the Hufflepuff house. You know Yuki and Lando. That's Oscar, Nico and Valtteri." Riccardo urges the boys to come forward.

"It's Verstappen. " Max declares, Riccardo quirks an eyebrow and the rest of the boys look equally confused.

"Hi! I'm Lando! I'm like a huge fan, do you mind signing this for me? " The boy's yellow robes are somehow orange.

Max's PR training kicks in and he smiles one of those sickly sweet smiles that his father loves to wipe off his face before ordering him to smile again. His posture straightens and he reaches a hand around the younger boy's shoulders, patting him on his back once, twice. Just like he rehearsed.

"Sure! " His tone is so obviously a faux sweet as he reaches to retrieve the black marker from his back pocket. The boy has stars in his eyes and Max feels guilty, he always does. He's a fraud.

He signs the hat from his national team, the one he left behind.

He wishes he didn't.

"Hey, are you okay Max? " Riccardo asks, looking weird again.

"I'm doing great, how are you? " His PR trainer said asking back these questions were endearing, cute. Max's father had mocked him for that act, his trainer had been fired after that.

"How about I bring you to your room? Would you like that?" Riccardo asks, Max smiles again, nodding.

"Sure." Norris waves enthusiastically as Riccardo leads him out of the common room and into his private room.

"Are you alright? Max?"

"Call me Verstappen."

"Verstappen. Are you alright?"

"You can go, Riccardo. "

"... Call if you need anything."

When the prefect leaves, Max wants nothing but to burst into tears. He flops onto the bed.

The next day he drags himself out of bed. Even if classes don't start till 9 and the sun hasn't risen yet.

Jos expected him to continue his strict training regime. He was almost tempted to skip it and lie to his father but he thought he better not after his humiliating sorting from yesterday.

Now, alone, Max can see the Hufflepuff room properly. It's... It's all gentle lighting, none of the bright fluorescent lights his room had. The chairs looked comfy and the many plants lazing around the common room tempts him to join them.

Perhaps that would be a better fate, turning into a plant to live the rest of his life in the common room. His hand lingers on his wand, mind on a spell his professor taught him when he was just 9. He didn't.

When he had crawled out of the Hufflepuff room, fully dressed, broom in hand, the sun was just peaking from the horizon.

The halls are empty, some portraits mutter as he walks by. His father's portraits never moved, other than those instructed to. For example, a painter that never stopped moving his brush or a surfer never to take a break from the sea.

Making his way to the Hogwarts field, he stretched, slow and patient. His bones crack from the exhausting day he had before.

The field is decent sized, not as big as the one he played in during national championships, bigger than the one his father made him run laps around till he fainted.

He glides through the air easily, flying comes easily to him. If he were to be given his own time and freedom he thinks he would likely still be a top player in the school leagues.

It's better that he was hurled up though. Better to have reached the top by sheer force of his father's training.

He thinks about his national team, he's a reserve, too young to play officially but the team has him in some practices and he attends smaller competitions for them. Max suspects it's more about having a claim on Max when he comes of age.

He's 15, he still has 3 years to choose which team he wants to go to. By then, he will make his own choice. He will not do whatever pleases his father anymore.

The golden snitch twinkles near the end of the field. Max pretends not to see it.

It is fun, sometimes, tricking the golden snitch, allowing it a false sense of security. Like a tiger cub playing with a cricket.

His father would get mad at him if he did it for too long, he was upset his son couldn't catch it at once. Which Max could, he just didn't see the fun of it.

The fluttering golden ball is in his hands before it can even think of escaping.

Max briefly wonders if the snitch can possibly think, he lets it flutter away, repeating his game once again.

In the golden light of the sun and shaded path of the clouds, the wind whizzes past his ears, he falls into the familiar rhythm of flying, sometimes he makes his own obstacle courses, weaving through imaginary hoops.

By the time the sun reveals itself fully to watch Max fly, he realizes that a crowd has gathered around under him, star-struck Hogwarts students watching, mouths open and everything.

He flushes slightly, he may have had many adoring fans due to his membership in the national team and young age but come on! These were his peers.

Max lowers down, checking his watch to see that it is indeed 8.30am and he has to run if he wants to get to class not drenched in sweat.

He waves slightly to the crowd, zipping to the house dorm even though he's probably breaking several school rules.

He knocks the tune and enters quickly, still high from the adrenaline of flying.

He climbs out of the tunnel only to come face to face with Daniel Riccardo, his face stern and stony.

"Verstappen! You can't just sneak out like that!" Daniel's expression softens when he sees Max.

Max knows he feels pity even if Riccardo knows nothing about his life.

"I of course did not sneak out, I left my room and went to the field." Max doesn't think early hour training counts as sneaking out, going to parties in the dead of the night is sneaking out.

"Max, we were worried. I went into your room and you weren't there. Thought you'd been kidnapped by the other houses to play quidditch for them or something... "

Max considers this briefly, Riccardo knocking on his door gleefully, freezing when he doesn't get an answer. Did his blood pressure spike? Did he throw Max's door open in desperation only to find the room empty?

Max grimaces.

"I went to go training... Sorry..." Max stands awkwardly, hands by his side like a child being punished by a parent.

Riccardo sighs. Max wants to cry.

"Please forgive me, I'm of course sorry, I will do anything!" Max cringes inside, begging with someone other than his father is a foreign concept.

Riccardo has a cheeky smile on his face, Max is almost scared.

"I'll forgive you... Only if you call me Daniel!"

Max groans inwardly, well he's also partly relieved but Daniel doesn't need to know that.

"What will it be Max? Will you call me the d word? Or will you suffer in my never ending spite! "Daniel's grin grows.

" Fine. "

" Fine, who? "

"Fine. Daniel."

Max flushes, weird.

Daniel looks elated.

[jus-a-lil-mouse]

BITE

(including this fantastic art from @this-is-z-art-blog )

Danny decided very quickly that he really, really did not like the new kid.

Kade Johnson (“That’s such a white boy name,” Tucker had said, eyes rolling) had started in the middle of November. A senior with blonde hair and blue eyes that rivaled Dash’s good looks. Smart and athletic. A model student. Charismatic. Friendly. Off.

“He’s just sort of… weird,” Danny had told Sam over lunch.

She had glanced at the senior in question, varsity jacket slung over his shoulder, laughing with the rest of the basketball team. “Yeah, Danny. He’s a popular kid who’s going to peak in high school.”

Danny shook his head. “It’s more than that.”

“Danny, I promise it’s not,” Sam replied. “Unless he’s, y’know…” she wiggled her fingers at him, flinging a bit of pizza sauce his way, “ghostly?”

“No. He’s normal,” Danny sighed. Sam raised an eyebrow at him. Danny rolled his eyes. “He’s human, I mean.”

Tucker dumped an armful of vending machine snacks on their lunch table, settling in next to Danny. “He’s telling you about his conspiracies too?”

“They’re not-“

“Yeah, new kid’s evil and out to get us,” Sam replied.

Danny grabbed the Ruffles and ate them as petulantly as he could, glaring at his two dearest friends in the world. “He’s weird,” Danny insisted weakly, glancing over at the senior again.

Clear blue eyes stared back at him, alive and bright. Unsettling. Kade grinned at him, showing off too-white teeth. Danny thought he might puke.

Behavior

It had been nearly three weeks since Danny was able to sit at his seat. He didn’t even realize it was his seat until fucking Kade was there with impeccably clear skin and the vague hint of cologne hanging around him. Khakis (who wore nice pants to high school?) and a polo and his Varsity letter jacket. And Danny knew why he, a freshman, was in the Junior-level physics class - because he was fucking smart - but that didn’t explain why Kade, a senior, was in the Junior-level physics class - because Danny knew that Kade was also fucking smart. It was the only thing Jazz could talk about anymore.

And Danny was stuck staring at the back of Kade’s stupid head. Because Star had just given Danny’s seat away. Like “Lab Partners for Life” meant nothing to her. Every day Kade came in and sat down next to her and gave her a big grin. And Star gazed up at him adoringly and said “What do you think of my outfit today, Kade?” And Kade said “You look great, why don’t you sit next to me at lunch today?” Or “I don’t think that style suits you very well, sorry Star.” Or something equally weird and unrelated to physics. And Danny couldn’t see the whiteboard.

Danny had tried telling Tucker that Kade was weird. Tucker had put Danny’s cheeks between his hands and said “Hey, man. You can tell me if you’re gay. It’s okay.” And Danny said “You’re an ass, Tuck,” because Danny had already come out to him three years ago.

Danny had tried telling Sam. She’d said, “At least he’s gotten Dash to stop wearing those stupid ripped jeans. The khakis and polos are an improvement.” Which was true - all the A-listers wore exactly what Kade wanted them to. They probably shopped together.

At lunch Kade sat with the A-Listers of every grade. They all ate what he ate and sat where he asked them to. They all wore stupid matching friendship bracelets that were too bright. The charms hurt Danny’s eyes whenever they caught the light right, and they caught the light right all the time.

Danny hated that guy.

Information

Danny was always a little bit prepared for an attack during school. After it had happened so many times already, it would be foolish not to keep a Thermos in his bag and be on edge all of the damn time. But it had been less frequent lately. All the ghosts seemed to be quieting down. It was suspicious, but Danny had been trying to take advantage of the sleep while he could. Growing boy and all that. Unfortunately, dull headaches throbbed in his head and his nights were frustratingly sleepless.

So it follows naturally that Skulker shows up while Danny is nearly asleep in English. He isn’t even fully awake when he transforms in the bathroom, Thermos in hand and backpack discarded in the corner.

He manages to be wide awake when he makes it onto the football field and finds Skulker staring down Kwan, who - to his credit - is staring right back. Danny’s able to get a good shot in while Skulker is distracted, and the following fight is short and sweet and incredibly routine. Danny touches down next to Kwan once it’s over. “Hey, man. You’re supposed to run away from ghosts.”

Kwan grins at him, bright and full of teeth. “It’s fine, Phantom! See, I’ve got this!” He held up his wrist and Danny winced as the sun caught the charm just right and blinded him. Kwan sheepishly put his arm back down. “Sorry. It’s an anti-ghost charm.”

“It’s a what,” Danny said flatly, reaching for Kwan’s wrist again. He braced himself for the brightness, and squinted to examine the bracelet.

“An anti-ghost charm!” Kwan repeated. “See, there’s a new student - his name is Kade - and he’s a genius. He knows all about ghosts. The charm is a little locket, see, and inside is special ingredients.”

“What ingredients?” Danny asked, trying to open the container.

Kwan kicked at the dirt. “Well, I’m not really supposed to ask… I don’t know,” he admitted. “But Kade says if I keep doing well, I can learn one day! Kade’s great.”

Danny grunted, finally wiggling the locket open. “Is that hair?” he asked, pulling a little knot of it out. It looked just like the clumps of Jazz’s hair that he found on his laundry - definitely human hair. And a small pin, and a little thorn that pricked Danny’s finger. “What the fuck,” Danny breathed, shaking his hand out. He glanced up at Kwan, who looked devastated that Danny had opened the locket.

“Kade will be upset that I opened it,” Kwan said quietly, as though confiding a great secret. “I might not get to sit at the table during lunch.” Danny did his best not to roll his eyes. “He says they lose their magic when you open them.”

“Why?” Danny asked, shoving the items back into the container and shutting the clasp. “It’s just some garbage - it doesn’t even do anything.”

“Yes it does,” Kwan insisted, suddenly loud again. Danny dropped his hand. “Kade says so. He knows all about ghosts.”

“I am a ghost,” Danny reminded him.

“Ghosts are liars. Kade says a ghost will tell you anything you want to hear to get what they want.” He took a step back. “You could be lying right now. Maybe you aren’t even saving us from the ghosts, like Kade says. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. What if someone sees?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Kade can save you next time Skulker comes around if he’s so great.” He left before he could hear Kwan’s response.

Thought

Danny is only a little pleased to be paired with Paulina for English today. Sure, she’s a bit unbearable to be around, but she’s pretty, so it evens out. The sickly sweet smell of her perfume worsens his headache, but at least she isn’t wearing one of those damn charms.

She gives him a disinterested glance as he sits next to her, worksheet in hand. He tries not to be that offended. And then he is offended, he decides, because she’s got a picture of Kade sticking out of her notebook.

“Did you do yesterday’s reading?” Danny asked. He knew the answer.

“No, I was busy at Kade’s house,” Paulina replied, looking at him as though he was stupid for thinking she’d do her homework. “I’m in the inner circle.”

“So… the worksheet?” Danny said, hoping to redirect the conversation. “Lancer’s usually willing to fail us for not finishing before ghosts attack.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe. Kade knows how to keep ghosts away. He knows everything. He’s protected the school so well!”

“I thought Phantom was protecting the school,” Danny said through gritted teeth.

Paulina tut-tutted at him. “No. Phantom is a ghost. Ghosts are evil,” she says, as though he is a child. “Kade tells us how to protect ourselves from ghosts. My perfume is ghost-repellant. And I do all of my meditations so that they can’t take over my mind. If you asked, Kade could help you too,” she added sweetly. “Your parents clearly don’t know anything about ghosts. Not like Kade.”

Danny recognized the insult for what it was, but Paulina also sounded genuine. She believed this nonsense. “Paulina, none of that works.” The perfume smelled bad, but it wasn’t repelling him. “How has he proven any of that works?”

“Um, it obviously works,” she replied. “Ghosts haven’t attacked the school in weeks, and even the attacks in town are stopping. That’s because of us. Kade is showing us how to protect the town, and soon… well, we won’t need Phantom ever again.”

She had a point. Ghost attacks were way down. Danny still felt like shit all the time, but at least he hadn’t needed to be doing vigilante business as well - he just thought he was finally winning. That after enough fights they’d stopped coming back. It made more sense than Paulina stopping the attacks, at least. “Paulina, Kade doesn’t have that kind of power. He’s just a guy.”

Paulina’s hand shot in the air. “Mr. Lancer, can I work by myself?” Lancer didn’t even look up from his monitor, just sighed and waved his hand in a ‘ do whatever’ motion. She turned back to him, angrier than Danny had ever seen her. “I don’t listen to unbelievers like you. I’m part of the inner circle.”

And then she was up and gone, seat vacated. Danny let his head thud onto the table. He also hadn’t done the reading. This worksheet was going to take him forever.

Emotion

It’s mid-March when Danny finally realizes that something is wrong with Dash. Early March is when Dash’s ‘spring cleaning’ starts, and everyone who looks at him wrong gets shoved in a locker (at best) or a toilet (at worst). But Danny - despite being sleep-deprived, achey, and nauseous - has been snarking at him constantly for weeks, and hasn’t been shoved anywhere. His hair is blessedly free of toilet water. And Dash is wearing khakis and polos and he wears that stupid bracelet.

“I thought you’d be glad he stopped his brutishness,” Sam said when he brought it up. “I really think you need to see a doctor, Danny.”

Tucker hadn’t even tried listening to him. “You haven’t slept well in months, man. Of course you’re paranoid.” The kindness in his eyes made Danny want to hurl. Danny was the protector, not the protected.

He was on his own.

Which is why he nearly let out a breath of relief when Dash cornered him in the near-empty locker room after gym. The remaining boys cleared out quickly, leaving Danny and Dash alone. Finally, a fight. Ghosts hadn’t been seen in weeks. Danny felt more deathly than ever.

“Hey, uh, Fenton,” Dash started, and Danny froze. Was this not a fight?

“Baxter,” Danny replied coolly. “Come for spring cleaning?”

Dash looked scared, and Danny didn’t understand anything that was happening. “No. I wanted to apologize for my past behavior. It was juvenile, and will not be repeated.”

“Those are some pretty big words,” Danny says, and he can see the conflict in Dash’s eyes: to punch or not to punch? That is the question.

Dash takes a deep breath and sticks his hand out between them. “I apologize for my past behavior,” he repeats. Danny lets this hang between them, too.

“No,” Danny says. “Dude, what? Glad you cleared your conscience, but I’m not going to shake your hand and say we’re fine.”

“You have to,” Dash pleaded. “Everyone else did.”

“Yeah, man! Of course they did! You beat the shit out of us all the time!”

“I used to beat the shit of you all the time.”

“Dash, what is going on?” Danny asks, dropping his volume down.

Dash shifts uncomfortably. He mumbles something into the air dividing them, but Danny can’t quite catch it. He stays silent, waiting for Dash to break first. It only takes a moment. “Kade is going to save some of us. I’m supposed to be free of grudges or the negative emotions will cause the process to go wrong. I’ve been having extra one-on-one sessions,” Dash explains. “Kade says if I’m forgiven it’ll go well. Then we’ll all be okay. So you have to forgive me.”

“Dash, none of that makes any sense.”

“Well it’s not my fault you’re not in the inner circle. Maybe if you weren’t such a loser you’d be able to be saved too.”

“You’re so good at not continuing your past behavior,” Danny replies, and is almost glad for the cold bite of the locker on his back when Dash slams him into it.

“I am going to go to Kade’s. He is going to make it so I can’t die, and then we will make it so the whole town is safe and the ghosts won’t be able to touch us. Kade can cut us off from death! He’s done it before! So you’re going to forgive me and I’m gonna be a hero.” Dash’s eyes were bright and alive and sickening to look into.

Danny didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything, and got shoved in a locker.

Control

“I hate being right all the time,” Danny mutters to himself. He shuffles through a couple more papers on Kade’s desk, and then phases through the ceiling. The easiest realization was ‘Kade is leading a cult’. Next step was to visit Kade’s house by following him home from school. Thankfully, Kade was the kind of evil genius who left his plans out on his desk.

Gather recruits. Help guide them towards salvation. Cut off the town from the Ghost Zone. Be hailed as a savior.

The problem was this: Danny knew intimately that life and death were in balance. You couldn’t have one without the other. Kade had been leaching energy off of his fellow students to begin the process. Danny was being slowly cut off from death (explaining the headaches and the nausea and the bone-deep exhaustion). The whole town was. Of course there’d been less ghost attacks. Danny had been right to be suspicious. Amity Park’s veil was razor-thin, and this separation would probably cause it to implode spectacularly.

“I was so hoping you’d be here.”

Danny turns and sees Kade, eyes bright and alive and smile full of too-white teeth. “Here I am,” Danny says, spreading his arms open dramatically.

“Here you are!” Kade says. “The ghost boy himself! Are you here to foil my plans?” He asks it as though it is an inside joke, as though they are old friends. “Shall I give you my monologue?”

Danny settles. Gives the illusion of complacency. Shrugs. “Yeah, if that’s what you want to do with your day.”

“I am always searching for souls seeking redemption,” Kade replies, spreading his arms wide. “Daniel, I am a visionary. I am alive. I have removed all traces of death from myself. It cannot touch me.”

That last bit may have been true; being in the room with him was dizzying. Agitating. Looking at his face felt sickening.

“I could tell you all the details, but here are the highlights. I have saved my soul, made myself more alive than anyone has ever been. It was simple and bloody, but now I know how to save everyone.”

“If you upset the balance, everything will collapse in on itself. By separating them you’ll bring them closer together. Like a rubber band, y’know?”

Kade tuts at him. “What will you do, ghost? Stop me?”

“It’s what I do,” Danny shrugs, and prepares for a fight.

The fight doesn’t come; it never even starts. Kade is untouchable; the ectoblasts and wails just wash over him like a wave breaking on stone. Kade is grinning. His teeth are too white and his eyes are bright and Danny is tired.

“I told you, I cannot be touched by death,” Kade reminds him.

Danny is the world; he is balanced. He returns to life and lands a well-placed sucker punch. Kade hadn’t been expecting that, and soon enough they were tumbling on the ground. It’s been a while since Danny was in a fight, but it returns to him easily. His knuckles are bleeding. He is winning. “What are you?” Danny asks through bloody teeth. “You aren’t a ghost.”

“I am to life what a ghost is to death,” Kade hisses from the floor. “And you are an abomination.”

“Dude. That’s rude,” Danny replies.

Danny has spent years avoiding Dash Baxter, so when he hears those familiar footfalls in the hallway, he transforms. He lets Kade push him away. He makes sure Dash and Paulina have a good view of Kade, beaten and bloody, and Phantom looming over him. Kade pushes himself up off the floor, his “anti-ghost” charm swinging wildly off his bracelet as he attempts to steady himself.

He uses his best Superhero voice. “This evil-doer was attempting to upset the balance of forces sustaining the world. He intended to cause the apocalypse.” The apocalypse bit was a lie, but they wouldn’t know that. Danny gave them a thumbs up. He disappeared.

Sam and Tucker weren’t that impressed when he told them about it.

“Cults are small potatoes,” Sam says wisely.

“It wasn’t even a real cult, it was a high schooler with an entourage,” Tucker adds.

“He was a supernatural entity that wanted to destroy the world,” Danny argues.

Sam nods. “Yeah. Small potatoes.”

“I’m just glad you finally got some sleep, buddy,” Tucker says, swinging an arm around Danny’s shoulders.