#it's longer than a drabble

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Combining the idea that Teresa wants to work in the ICU and the idea that Mac has energon poisoning, I've been given the following:

Mac, sitting in the emergency room holding a bucket of her own glowing vomit and looking like death warmed over: huh, that's new

Teresa: IT CERTAINLY FUCKING IS

Wig you have given me a wonderful idea for a drabble, please enjoy:

Teresa had bounced between multiple different hospitals in her time working as a travel nurse. She knows the ins and outs, the dangers of the profession, and what the various codes mean. Code blue is cardiac arrest, code red is a fire, code pink is someone trying to kidnap a kid, code aqua is part of the building is flooding, code white is get security to me now, code silver is someone's grandpa wandered off again, and so on. Those were the most common she heard on her usual shifts and she'd called a couple of them herself.

However, as she bounced between her two ICU patients, thinking about if she should text Emily about bringing home dinner, she freezes in place as the overhead intercom crackles to life.

"Code orange in emergency department, code orange in emergency department. Stay clear of area."

"What the fuck?" she mutters. The emergency department was a meager floor below them.

One of the nursing students with them on shift gives her a confused look. "What's code orange for?"

"Hazardous materials that aren't biohazardous. Usually radiation or chemical spills," she says, stepping behind the counter of the nurses station.

The phone rang and Teresa nearly jumped out of her skin. The charge nurse answers it and Teresa takes a few deep calming breaths. She tries to remind herself that it probably wasn't that bad. Someone probably cracked the container of one of the xray machines or spilled cleaning chemicals.

"Teresa?" She turns at the sound of her name. The charge nurse had one hand over the receiver of the phone. "You have radiation and hazardous material safety training right?"

Her stomach twists as she sighs, "Yeah."

Teresa had worked in her far share of various wards and units while traveling. She had oncological experience handling both chemotherapy patients and radiation patients. Whatever was happening must have been a mix as she had been told to gown, double glove, put on a respirator and face shield, and a lead vest with an EPD. She was pulling her disposable shoe covers on when the elevator dings.

Teresa was already in the patient's designated room. It was at the very end of the unit and had no one in the neighboring rooms to reduce the chances of cross contamination. She's not sure what she's expecting to be wheeled in. She had seen gruesome sights in her career. Everything from fourth degree burns to necrotic limbs to chemical burns down to the bone. She always expects the worst and hopes for the best.

The bed is wheeled into the room and Teresa freezes in shock.

Her patient is a young woman, looking small against the stark white sheets, still wearing street clothes, and clutching a bucket in her lap. Her eyes are glossy and something bright blue is dribbling from the side of her mouth.

Transport gets the bed into place and Teresa steps into the hall to take report. The patient, Mackenzie Adam, came into the emergency department complaining of gastrointestinal distress, high fever, trouble focusing, and a migraine. She then proceeded to vomit into a bucket, the contents of which were described as "unnaturally blue" and set off the radiation warning system. Vitals had been taken, blood type and allergies unknown, and she scored an eleven on the Glasgow Coma Scale.

"Great," Teresa says, clapping her hands together.

"We're trying to pull doctors to come and see her right now, it's just, we don't know what's wrong so we don't know who to send," the nurse says.

"It's fine. I'll take vitals and see what her complaints are," Teresa says.

She steps back into the room and smiles wide enough that it translates to her eyes. "Hi Mackenzie, can you tell me where you are right now?"

Mackenzie blinks slowly before mumbling, "Hospital."

Teresa gently places a monitor onto one of her fingers. She glances into the bucket and bites back a wince at the glowing contents. "Wonderful. Do you know which hospital?"

"Mercy," she mumbles.

"Correct," Teresa says. Slowly increasing that GCS was always good. She taps at her patient monitor, bringing it to life, and begins reading her vitals. Then she does a double take and reads them again. Just to be sure, she fishes a thermometer out of her pocket and swipes it across Mackenzie's forehead.

"What's wrong?" the woman asks her.

Teresa hesitates before answering, "Well, your vitals are a bit concerning. Your heartrate is a little high, as is your blood pressure, but still within range. And your oxygen saturation is phenomenal. But your temperature is very high and we need to bring it down."

Teresa had seen high temperatures before. She had encountered her fair share of hyperpyrexia patients and coaxed their 106 degree fevers down within normal range. She had seen patients hit 108 and watched their bodies give out.

The temperature on the monitor and her own thermometer read 125 degrees Fahrenheit. By all modern medical logic, Teresa should be standing next to a corpse, not someone who looked like she was suffering through the worst hangover of her life.

"Oh. I do feel kinda warm," Mackenzie says. She begins to shift around, pulling at her coat, and Teresa breaks out of her daze to help her.

With her arms free, she should start an IV line on her, start getting fluids in at the very least, and pull blood samples. But that grinds to a halt when she looks down at her patient's arms.

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Mackenzie asks her. Her heartrate has increased.

Teresa snaps her eyes back. Normally, this was the point when she should be forcing a reassuring smile onto her face and saying she'd get the doctor. But there was no doctor right now.

"I am not a doctor, so I cannot give you an official diagnosis," Teresa begins. "But I can point out abnormalities."

She walks over to the light switch and flicks it off. The room is illuminated only by the meager light from the hallway, the dying sun outside, and a third source. She walks back to the bedside and gently grabs one of Mackenzie's wrists, turning her arm over to expose the underside of her forearm.

"See how it looks like your veins are glowing?" she asks.

Mackenzie nods and in the low light Teresa sees that it's not just her veins. The sclera of her eyes were tinted the same luminescent blue.

"They're not supposed to fucking do that," Teresa says.

"Oh," Mackenzie replies and Teresa has to bite back a nervous laugh. The whole situation felt so surreal, so fake, so inane. She wondered if she was going to wake up to this all being some wild dream.

As she snaps the light back on, she hears Mackenzie mumble, "I don't feel good." It's the only warning she gets before the woman goes lax and the monitor screams as she flatlines. Teresa curses to herself before calling a code blue.

Twenty-eight minutes of chest compressions and an ungodly amount of epinephrine later, Mackenzie is sitting up in her bed, asking for some water, surrounded by confused neurologists, cardiologists, hematologists, and toxicologists.

Teresa has retreated to the clean stock room to take a moment to compose herself by sitting on a box of clean linens and whispering, "What the actual fuck."

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a dumb joke.

the boys had been sitting around after rehearsal one night passing a bowl and more than a few beers, laughing about how unsuccessful the newest music based social media app would be. mere seconds of songs looping over and over with other songs mixed in would never work, especially for corroded coffin where the story, the buildup of their songs was part of the reason to listen.

it all started with jeff, grinning slowly ear to ear. "what if were to get in there and take some celebrity's name for a user name? like paris hilton or something."

then it moved to gareth, who paused with a scrunched up face. "dude, paris hilton? what the fuck kind of reference is that..."

then it was over to greg, choking on a smoke-laced laugh. "yeah, it'd be funnier if it was eddie's pop prince loverboy instead."

that got everyone's attention. eddie had protested to ears that didn't want to hear it as they cackled in their studio that they rented by the hour, bent over in their rolling chairs, leaning against the side of the mixing board for support.

"loverboy?! you know i can't stand steve harrington and his bullshit lyrics, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that..."

but come the next day, when the weed had left his system and his veins were alcohol-free, eddie stared at the mixr app home screen and the blinking red circle over his inbox with disdain after successfully acquiring a user name he never would have picked for himself.

'steveharrington', eddie's account says, along with an icon of himself and his tongue out.

if it hadn't been for being less than sober when the app dropped. if it hadn't been for his best friends egging him on with taunts and jeers and kissy noises and less than sincere dreamy calls of 'oh steve' in the background. if it hadn't been for the way that eddie secretly did think about a certain head of floppy hair and soft brown eyes and shoulders littered with constellations.

if it hadn't been for all of that he wouldn't have had the chance to have his celebrity crush, the steve harrington, in his inbox at 8am on a random tuesday morning.

"good morning!" the message says simply enough. eddie stares at the words, trying to process what they mean, looking at the verified username of 'steveharrington1' next to an icon of his most recent album along with it. his inbox is flooded with people all asking him random things, thinking he's the real steve harrington, but this one verified account has him shaking.

for all that eddie is, all big hair and black jeans and skull rings and leather, he's still a man. a man who can look at a pop star, annoying as their music may be, and see charm. he can see attractiveness. he can see that smile that steve harrington has perfected behind his eyelids and he can see them strolling off into the sunset together hand in hand and he can see steve all flushed and breathing heavily underneath him on a mountain of plush pillows and he can see-

the message pings again with a new addition. "i know this seems weird and my team advised against it but i'd really like your user name of... well, my name."

eddie blinks slowly. he pictures steve maybe laying in bed, maybe sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, with his phone in his hand as he types out a message to him. to think that steve has any idea about him existing on any sort of level is doing his head in. his heartbeat races a little faster as he types back with shaky hands and a pit in his stomach.

"is this real?" is all he can type out, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to brew.

three dots pull up on the app screen before disappearing and eddie pulls his lip in between his teeth to focus his energy elsewhere. he tears his eyes away from his phone and looks out the window to watch the people out for their morning walks. he's just about to the point where he thinks about maybe taking up walking if nothing else to get all the pent up energy out of him when the app dings again. as he looks back, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

it's a photo of steve that can't have been released before. he's sitting outside in bright sunshine with sunglasses on, tousled hair and grin on his face. he's holding his hand up in a thumbs up and eddie can see the remnants of cream cheese on the side of his index finger.

he sucks in a stuttering breath through his teeth, trying to force his lungs to breath again. the dots pop up on screen once more and the message that comes through is instantaneous.

"real enough for you?" it reads. and then an additional message is tacked on. "need me to hold up a newspaper with the date on it?"

there's a winky face that follows and it feels fake even though it's very real. this whole morning feels wrong, unreal. he's just eddie munson, some singer in some halfway popular band in some kind of shitty neighborhood in los angeles that just happens to have not just some pop star in his dms. this doesn't happen to him.

"why did your team tell you not to message me? does my reputation precede me?"

eddie pulls his hand up to his mouth to bite at the side of his fingernail, watching the screen with rapt attention and waiting for the typing dots to disappear.

"according to this account your name is steve harrington and yes, i'd say his reputation does precede him."

eddie barks out a laugh, not exactly expecting that.

he didn't know what he was expecting out of any of this. he thought that it might help get the corroded coffin name out more if he got tangled up somehow with the steve harrington name. spark a little bit of drama to boost their visibility. but now here he is, talking to the man himself, cracking jokes and trying not to hyperventilate.

"how were you able to get this name so fast anyway? my team was on it right when the app dropped last night."

"i had the power of bandmates and weed on my side," he types back, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"oh so you're a musician? maybe i should be looking into your reputation then, mystery person."

eddie pauses and thinks about every option. he is semi-known in the metal scene, his outlandish stunts on stage and political speeches at shows that garner them becoming an almost brand for him. if he tells steve who he is, would he know? care? run away from the scary guy who may or may not use stage blood in every music video?

but the thing is, he's not a scary guy and he never has been. he might be a little intimidating and he guesses that's the armor he puts on everyday after being bullied in school but it's not an accurate showing of who he is. eddie is sweet, funny, kind of smart in that has random fun facts about dungeons and dragons kind of way.

and he wants the steve harrington to know that guy.

eddie flips over at his middle so his head is nearly touching the floor and ruffles his hair, giving it volume and calming down the frizz that comes from sleep. he shakes it out of his face once he's upright and grabs his garfield coffee mug if only to have something to do with his hands. grabbing his phone off the counter, he opens the camera option in their message thread and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, mug next to his face with a matching cat-like smirk. he nervously presses send before he can even think about all the flaws with it.

"eddie munson at your service," is what he types out with a saluting emoji and a muttered prayer to whoever would listen to him that things don't end horribly.

it's not like he's expecting to sweep steve off his feet. he knows that steve has picture perfect partners, he sees enough internet news to know that gruff and dark isn't the kind of guy he normally goes for. but he looks back at the photo he sent and hopes that steve sees the kindness in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline that makes it look just the smallest bit chiseled, the whimsy and life that he embodies that comes from a tacky coffee cup.

there isn't an automatic answer and it makes whatever hope eddie has floating around his system falter. ''at this point you've probably searched me and i can reassure you, i'm not actually a vampire like google seems to think i am."

"holy shit."

it's short, two words followed by typing dots that disappear, reappear, disappear once more before reappearing for the last time.

"would you believe me if i told you that i am huge fan??"

choking on coffee hurts, eddie finds out. he coughs as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe and concentrates on the messages once he gets his bearings back. steve, the steve harrington, a fan of his? it's a prank, it has to be, there is no way that steve harrington-

"one of my exes took me to your show at the bowl and it quite possibly changed my life. you gave that speech about the pipeline before the encore and i went home and bought every single one of your albums that same night."

he's dead. the papers will read 'eddie munson found dead in his home in a ratty metallica shirt holding onto a garfield coffee mug and cellphone open to a chat where steve harrington tells him he's a fan of his work'. it's the only way that this is possibly happening. he's died and gone to whatever fucked up version of heaven has him still living in his shitty la apartment.

"are you fucking kidding me?" is what he types back, slamming his coffee mug onto the counter to have access to both hands. "you've heard my stuff?"

and then it happens, like out of a shitty teenage rom-com, his phone is lighting up with an in-app call from steve harrington. the steve harrington. careful not to drop his phone in his hurried movements, he presses accept faster than he thinks his fingers have every worked.

"hello?" he questions into the phone and there's no hello back, just steve apparently freaking out as much as he is.

"i hope this is okay," he says and god, does his voice sound wonderful over the phone like this. "but it's faster and i have too many things to say that typing it all out would be stupid."

eddie grins and his feet tap against the ground like an excited kid. "it's fine, i uhm... i get it. god, this is weird."

steve hums in agreement before laughing. and oh, that laugh. it has eddie floating up to cloud nine, heart thumping painfully in his chest, butterflies beating their wings wildly in his stomach.

"yeah, it's definitely not how i expected this morning to go. talking to eddie munson, wow."

"sure," eddie snorts, "you talk to celebrities all the time, i'm sure this is small fish for you."

he hears steve laugh again, soft and gentle, like it's meant just for eddie. "i might talk to celebrities all the times but not ones that i have posters on my wall of like a pre-teen. i'm properly geeking out right now."

eddie short circuits. that's the only way to explain the way his body shuts down as he slumps into an armchair in the living room.

"you, steve harrington, have posters of me on your bedroom wall?" eddie's mouth feels dry as he talks and regrets making coffee at all because he's wide awake now and feels jittery.

"well okay, to be fair, it's of the whole band and it's in my studio but you are shirtless so i contemplated putting it in my bedroom." something shifts on the other end of the line and it sounds like steve sitting down. there's birds chirping in the background and eddie closes his eyes to picture himself sitting with steve on a patio instead of in his dingy apartment.

"you're gonna give me big head, pretty boy." the pet name slips out before he can stop it and the pitch of his voice lowering is out of his control. eddie can't be held responsible for his actions at 8am especially when he's flirting over the phone with his celebrity crush.

"pretty boy, hmm?" steve murmurs back. "so does that mean you have posters of me too?"

the timbre of his voice shoots from eddie's ears all the way down to his toes, lighting his veins on fire as it travels down his body. the hopeful part of his brain supplies an image of steve smirking, relaxing in a pool chair outside of what must be a mansion, phone in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. it could be domestic, if eddie thinks about it hard enough. if he wants it enough.

and god, does he want that. domestic bliss with steve harrington.

"well i wouldn't exactly call picturing you in my dreams every night posters, but it's close enough i guess."

it's gutsy, it's brash, it's too forward for a tuesday morning but steve started it. he hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the line and lets out a chuckle. it feels like they're playing chess and there's no clear cut winner quite yet but if the match ends in a tie, eddie can't exactly say he'd be upset about it.

"i tell you what," steve says in an almost airy voice. "in exchange for giving me my user name, i'll give you my number and you can use it to see me in something other than your dreams tonight."

"...are you bribing me, harrington?"

"is it working?"

eddie takes in a deep breath and thinks about what possible plans he could have with the username 'steveharrington' that would amount to something better than taking the man himself out on a date with his phone number saved as a contact in his phone. he'd put a heart next to it and everything.

"of course it is."

the call drops away and it's quick enough for eddie to think everything that happened in the last 30 minutes could have been a fever dream but then there's three dots on the message thread and his hopeful heart starts to kick back into gear.

"213-555-5469. let me know when you've given up that username and i'll let you know when to pick me up. it's a win-win all around. turns out we each get to go a date with our celebrity crushes, how lucky is that?"

it's signed with a kissing face emoji and eddie's glad that he's sitting down when the last picture steve sends comes through. he's grinning in a way eddie's never seen before, blush high on his cheeks, sweaty shoulders and collarbones and pecs glinting in the early morning sun, and eddie thinks it's probably too early to be in love with someone but he's well on his way.

he texts the number he's sent without hesitation and without shaking hands this time. he signs the message with a black heart like it's a signature of it's own.

"lucky indeed."

[eddiesghxst]

best friend!reader x best friend!steddie and shes telling them how she doesnt know how to give head so they teach her🥹

HELLO I SCREAMED. YES A MILLION TIMES.

(sorry for any mistakes it’s 2 am and i didn’t proofread oops)

18+ — MINORS DNI

————

Steve should’ve known Eddie was cooking something up whilst you were explaining your dilemma. He should’ve seen it coming, but he was too busy listening to you ramble about how you’re scared to give a blowjob because you’ve never done it— scared about what movements feel good and how to be conscious of your teeth (you’ve heard that men complain about that a lot).

He was being a nice friend, consoling you and trying his best to assure you that you’re just overthinking and when the time comes, you won’t be as bad as you think you’ll be.

And Steve was so occupied with you that you both seemed to have forgotten the little devil sitting on the opposite side of you until he spoke up, tone suggestive with a glint in his eyes that made you what to squirm, “What if we just showed you how to do it?”

So now, Steve’s jeans are pooled around his ankles and his shirt is rucked up his chest as you and Eddie kneel before him. Steve’s not exactly sure why he was chosen to be the demonstration model, but he can’t find it in him to complain— especially not when your warm hands are slowly jerking him off in a toe-curling way that has him nearly seeing god.

Eddie’s hand rests over your hand, gently guiding your sinful movements and the scene causes Steve’s eyes to roll with a string of curses falling from his tongue. Eddie smirks at the sight, “Feels good, big boy?”

“Y-yeah… fuck, I don’t wanna cum before she has a chance. Hurry up, Munson.”

Eddie laughs and rolls his eyes before turning to you, “Okay sweetheart, Stevie here can’t take much more of your teasing so we’re gonna have to move onto the next step. Consider that a compliment.” He winks and you preen.

Eddie’s fist is gently stroking Steve’s cock as he speaks, “It’s easy, really. You can start out with a few licks and kisses, but overall, just imagine you’re sucking a popsicle.” Eddie leans forward, hand still stroking the throbbing cock as he licks at the tip a few times before pressing a few kisses to the underside of Steve’s cock.

Steve’s thighs tense, breath stuttering at Eddie’s teasing touches. Eddie’s lips close around the tip of Steve and he gently suckles, lapping up the bit of precum and humming at the taste. As Eddie sinks lower, Steve moans, a curse falling from his lips. Eddie sucks him off for a little bit before he pulls off with an approving hum, smirking at Steve’s disheveled state and the sight of your intrigued expression.

“Wanna try, sweetheart?” He asks. You quickly nod and he shuffles to the side to make room for you. You eagerly grasp Steve’s wet cock, stroking a few times as Eddie had beforehand. You lean forward to mouth at Steve’s cock, but you hesitate last second, glancing over at Eddie for an approving nod which he quickly gives.

You lean in, alternating between sloppy kisses and wet licks up his cock. You keep going until Steve’s hand reaches up to hold your head, resting there in an encouraging manner. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck, just like Eddie, slowly moving down the length of Steve. You can hear Steve’s bated breathing and Eddie’s soft praise, “Good girl, you’re taking him so well, princess.” His ringed hand rubs soothing circles against your back.

You don’t see it, but Steve can clearly see Eddie’s other hand sink to his own crotch, softly pressing against the hard tent beneath his jeans. You moan, pushing forward as far as you comfortably can, shuffling on your knees as you begin to bob your head up and down the length.

“How’s she feel, Harrington?” Eddie asks, gaze flickering up to the other curly-haired boy. “Fuck— good, she’s really good… i’m gonna cum, pull off.”

Your wide eyes flicker up to Steve’s face, watching as his features twist in pleasure. Eddie gently tugs your hair, silently ordering you to pull off of Steve’s dick. You release him from your mouth with a sinful pop, continuing your slow strokes as you look at Eddie, chest heaving in excitement and lack of air.

“I-I wanna taste.” You admit. Steve curses, a curled fist rising to his forehead as he tries to ground himself from the words you’ve just said. Eddie smirks, “Yeah? Wanna give it a try, princess?”

You nod and he chuckles, “Go ahead, before Stevie passes out.”

Steve curses at Eddie and you giggle and happily resume your activity. As you continue sucking Steve off, Eddie sneaks a hand in between you and Steve, gently grasping Steve’s tight balls. Steve moans, gaze snapping towards Eddie’s to see him smirking, “Come on, Harrington, you gonna keep our girl waiting?”

And Steve sure as hell isn’t, he’s blowing his load the second Eddie asks, moaning and cursing as he empties himself into the wet heat of your mouth.

You take as much as you can before you pull away, sputtering for air and coughing at what little cum you’d choked on and Eddie softly laugh, rubbing soothing circles across your back as Steve strokes himself off for the last few ropes of cum left in him.

“Did… was that any good?” You ask, wide eyes darting between the two boys. Steve scoffs out a laugh, “Yeah, sweetheart, that was fucking insane.”

You giggle in excitement and Eddie smiles. Steve stokes his sensitive cock once and moans before nodding at the two of you, “Now, why don’t you show Eddie what you learned, hm?”

[moonriverrise]

Steve has a secret, well “secret” may not be the correct way to describe it. He has something for himself, thats what. Ever since he stopped playing basketball and doing swim competitions once he graduated he's had way more free time, which at first he filled with shifts at Family Video, or bothering Robin.

Then, when she started school he started doing art more. Which, may come a surprise to many, as he never really talked about his interest in paintings and old art.

Greek sculptures that are able to show life in a still ethereal way, while still being able to twist it at their will. Renaissance oil paintings, capturing tragedy yet still being able to portray it as beautiful, in their own terrible twisted ways.

He likes sketching on paper, painting on canvas. His paintings aren't usually too different from the things he sees around him. Honestly thats the only things he paints, people, his friends, places he goes, things he sees that stick with him, dreams, moments that play on repeat in his head.

Around his Junior year, after the Demogorgon, Steve had turned the sad basement in his sad empty house, into his own space. A place where he can go and do his art, hang it, play music on his walkman, or using the record player he got from a pawn shop a few months prior. Somehow the basement is the only space that actually feels like his in his house, not even his bedroom.

Steve’s art was not very consistent to be honest, mostly the kids and Robin, landscapes that he liked, the Demogorgon/dogs, the Mindflayer (he needs some way of getting those out of his head, and somehow drawing them down feels freeing.) He does have a few paintings of Nancy from when they were together, she’s become less of a model for his work after everything though.

The last time he painted her in a painting alone, was one of that bathroom in a girl he barely knows’ house, a spilled drink on Nancy’s dress, and red solo cups littering the counter.

Steve’s art shifts though, after a moment that will never leave his mind. He knows who Eddie Munson is, obviously. How could he not? Honestly Steve isn't that surprised Henderson and the others befriended the guy, he does run a DnD club.

But then, Henderson needs a ride home after their club meetings because his mom is working late, and then Lucas and Mike’s parents are also asking Steve to pick them up too. Babysitting duty, as per usual.

Steve arrives a bit earlier than he planned. He didn't have any project to consume himself into, hitting an art block begrudgingly. But then, Steve sees Eddie Munson, sitting on a fake throne, watching the kids and other club members argue, he has his chin rested on his fist, and he's wearing a white tank top, showing off his shoulders, given the fact it’s still September.

The lighting of the small theater room captures Steve’s interest like a moth to the flame, and he is regretting having left his sketchbook at home, even though he never draws around the kids or anyone he knows.

Eddie Munson’s face and curly locks fill up the pages of Steve’s journal and some canvases for months after, and Steve rarely genuinely complains about coming to pick the kids up.

Afterwords, months later from that day. Chrissy Cunningham dies, and Eddie Munson almost goes with her. God, or whatever deity that was looking down upon him, was on Steve’s side in that moment, when he was able to revive Eddie and then drag him out of the Upside Down.

Steve gets closer with Eddie after that, they become actual friends. Steve was so used to witnessing his muse from afar, it was so…exciting, to see Eddie in all his glory, just a few feet away, and his smile being directed at him.

“Do you even have any hobbies, Harrington?” Steve blinks. Him, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and the party, are all hanging out by the pool. Steve is lounging on one of the chairs, sunglasses over his eyes as Eddie talks beside him.

“What?” Steve responds.

“I mean…I like barely ever see you do anything besides sort Movies at Family Video, or boss around the kids. Like, what do you do when we're not all together?” Eddie asks, moving his hand a little as he talks. Steve thinks for a moment.

“Funny,” Steve answers instead. Eddie scoffs.

“I'm being serious, man! What do you do?” Eddie laughs a little, most likely at the ridiculousness of it all. What would Steve know, Eddie is like a puzzle, and Steve has to take every minute slowly, deciphering everything he lays out for him, via tongue or action.

“I don't know, what do you do?” Steve says, almost carefully.

“Band stuff, DnD, Writing,” Eddie lists. “And I guess saving the world now, but thats a bit of a side hussle.” Steve scoffs.

“Whatever, man.” And thats that, they don't talk about it again. But it sticks with Steve, because his friends really do think he doesn't do anything with his life. It's not like he has college classes to study for, so what does he do?

Later, maybe two or three weeks after, Steve decides he wants to show Eddie his space. The two of them are alone, Robin is in Nevada, visiting her grandparents, so the trio’s usual movie night is cut down to a duo’s movie night.

Although Steve finds himself mostly focusing on Eddie and his beautiful hair sitting next to him, than watching ET. The little alien scares him a bit anyway. Eddie notices him staring though, his eyes flickering to meet Steves, then a smirk spreading across his lips.

“We are watching a movie, lover boy.” Eddie says. Steve goes red, his gaze shifting to his lap. Steve furrows his eyebrows then stands and shuts the TV off. “Woah! Hey!”

“I want to show you something.” Steve says, it's a bit quieter than he meant it to be, but his tone indicates something to Eddie, which has him staring at Steve, starstruck.

Steve walks out the room and hears Eddie follow him. He gets to the basement door and opens it, flicks on the stair light.

“Basement- woah- okay, guess I'm getting murdered. Thought I’d go out in a more metal way than this.” Eddie says as they walk down. Steve laughs a little and shakes his head.

“I just think you should see this.” Steve says. “Nothing life threatening, I promise.”

“Alright, I trust you, Stevie.”

“Good.”

Steve turns and flicks on the light as they step onto the concrete. The lights flicker on, revealing the paintings on the walls and art supplies on the tables and counters.

“Woah-” Eddie says. “Is this, all your stuff?” Steve sighs, he folds his arms and faces Eddie. He looks shellshocked.

“Yeah.” Steve says. “You said I don't have any hobbies, I do, actually.” Eddie looks around, walking slowly.

“Is that Henderson? Why is he wearing yellow gloves?” Eddie asks. Steve walks over to a painting of Dustin from Steve’s angle while they were walking on the train tracks, a bucket of raw meat is in one hand and he's wearing the headphones for his radio.

“D’Art,” Steve says. “That was when we were leading him away. I made that one after everything happened. I was trying not to think about the Demogorgon stuff and everything, so I just drew him. I have one of Max from that day I never finished painting in a stack I think too.” Eddie doesn't say anything for a minute after Steve is done explaining.

“You can paint.” Eddie says, though not like a question. “These are beautiful…” Eddie looks around and walks to another one he sees. It's one of the Byers and Hopper’s, all hugging while laughing. El looks the happiest. Steve had painted that after they had all gotten together after everything. “Why…didn't you tell anyone?”

“About what?” Steve asks, folding his arms as Eddie brings up a hand to touch the painting.

“This- Steve, you're amazing at this. These are…” Eddie trails off as something catches his eye, he slowly starts to walk towards a big painting propped up behind one of the tables laid out in the middle of the room. Steve walks to him to see which one he's looking at.

An angel, knelt over a puddle, crying as it stares at his reflection, which is blurred and dark. He stands in a forest, his wings are long and huge, sprawling out above him.

It’s one of Steve’s bigger ones, the inspiration came from a dream he had after they had read about Icarus in his english class back in Highschool.

“It’s… magnificent.” Eddie whispers. Steve smiles gently at Eddie’s reaction. Eddie backs up a bit and looks away from the painting. “Is that me?” Steve follows his eye, to the painting. Eddie walks towards it, Steve stays behind him. It’s the first one Steve ever made of Eddie, the one of him on the throne.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve says. “I made that the first night I came to pick up the kids.” He says. “The first time I met you, actually met you.” They share a look.

“You are incredible, Steve Harrington.”

[nomazee]

Um hello! Is the 1k event thingy still up?? If so I would like to request a classmate! Dr ratio x reader at 2:47 am?

it's actually sickening how much fun i had with this i was giggling at my own jokes while typing this out... this was so fun to write THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A blaring, aggravating, shrill sound wakes you up. Your hands go to cover your ears, protecting your sanity from the noise ringing somewhere from the tangle of sheets on your bed. Hands flailing around desperately to find the source of the piercing chimes, you writhe around in agony until you finally latch onto your phone. 

The brightness of the screen digs into your corneas as you lift up the device to see the caller ID of whoever had the guts to bother you on a school night. 

It comes to no surprise that the caller name reads “VERITAS FUCKING RATIO” in all caps with no contact photo. Your eye twitches and the grip on your phone tightens, just a hair away from leaving finger-shaped dents in the metal. 

Begrudgingly, you answer the call, tucking the phone next to your ear with nothing less than displeasure. “Veritas. Why are you calling me at—” you pull your phone back to check, “—almost three in the morning?” 

“The works cited page,” Veritas Fucking Ratio informs you matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of sleepiness in his voice, nothing that could possibly chip away at his good image, of course. “You did it in the wrong format. It’s supposed to be APA. This is a science project, not a literature project.” 

You might kill him. The project in question is to be presented tomorrow— today at ten in the morning. Ratio and you had been working on it for an entire two weeks, broken up into intermittent hour-long sessions because he was adamant that you split up the work instead of rushing to do it all the night before. Stupid self-righteous gorgeous beautiful academic genius-freak. Yeah, it definitely helped you in the long run, but he acted so sanctimonious about it that you refused to admit the benefits. 

“Veritas,” you imbue the syllables of his name with poison, as much as you can when you’re swaying as you sit up on your bed and fighting demons to not fall back asleep. “This is such an easily-fixed thing. Do you know what time it is right now? Why are you even awake? You know, I am supposed to get a full seven hours of sleep every night, and I was already cutting it short today, and you woke me up before I could even hit REM sleep. Do you know how upsetting this is? Fix the goddamn works cited yourself!” 

For once, Veritas is at a loss for words. The other end of the line is so quiet that you have to double check and make sure he hasn’t just hung up on you. Perspiration builds on your palms, thinking that this is it—this is the exact moment that you make Veritas-Fucking-Ratio snap and delete your name off the project credit slide, and you’re going to get a 0 because he will wipe off any evidence of your work from this plane of existence, and you will spend the rest of your measly life chasing after your MLA-turned-APA works cited page, too-little-too-late. 

“I’m awake because the— well.” He pauses, and his voice sounds so far away and unobtrusive that you’re almost worried. Your breath stills in the middle of your diaphragm. Waiting. “The works cited is one thing. But I wanted you to look at the slides, if you can.” 

If you can, he says, as if he’s giving you a choice, which he literally never has during this entire process. You had no role in choosing the topic, or the slide theme, or what days you worked on the project, or how often you worked on the project (because god forbid you procrastinate a little bit, right?!), but now, at almost three in the morning, Veritas is saying something along the lines of oh please my dearest project partner, I request that you open the Google Slides at once, but only if you would like to! I would never infringe on your free will at three in the morning, because I respect you as a partner. Or something like that. That was pretty much the gist of it. 

A raspy sigh escapes you, and you claw your busted laptop off the nightstand next to you, opening it up and squinting at the LED screen as you punch in your passcode. “You know, I have done a good job at going along with all of your whims, Veritas, the least you could do is fix the works cited for me. Seriously, how did you even miss that? You’re so detail-oriented, but you didn't even realize the format was wrong until tonight? Who even cares, seriously… it’s just a slideshow…” 

Your voice trails off as the slideshow presentation finally loads in. You see Veritas’ default profile picture blink in the upper right-hand corner, signaling that he’s viewing the slideshow with you. The slideshow which has apparently undergone a huge makeover. 

It’s—pleasant to look at. This entire time, you and Veritas had been editing a default, white-background black-serif-font-text slideshow. He refused to change it, telling you that it’s unprofessional to do anything too embellished, to which you fruitlessly said, Veritas, we will die early deaths because of the hole in the ozone layer, would you at least make it easier on my poor soul by letting me choose a pokemon-theme slide? Veritas had pretended like he couldn't hear you (in a very quiet library room, mind you), but the twitch in his brow gave him away. 

Now, though, the slides are decorated. It’s a really nice theme, complete with custom icons and graphic blobs of color—your favorite color, might you add. It’s—pretty. Dare you say, cute, but you think Veritas would vaporize your entire presentation if you called it cute. 

“Did you— this— did you pay for this slide theme?” 

“You— n— mn,” he trails off into an unintelligible mash of mumbling, and you hear a loud THUD that sounds awfully like the phone being thrown onto a mattress. Fabric shuffles around, before you hear Veritas’ voice again, clear and composed. “Sorry. I dropped my phone.” What a loser, and a liar, and an endearing freak. You really wish he video called you because you need to see his totally-very-ugly face. 

“I thought this was unprofessional, Veritas,” you say teasingly, a smile lining your words as you try not to giggle right into the phone. “What made you have a change of heart?” 

“Nothing,” the typical firmness of his voice has returned, much to your dismay. “The works cited is still wrong. You have to fix it.” 

“Oh, whatever you say, honored Ratio,” you open up your trusty citation-generator, ready for a long fifteen minutes of copying and pasting information. “Hey, you must be free after class tomorrow, right? Since the project is pretty much over, right?” 

“Yes,” Veritas answers after a moment of hesitation, only a hint of doubt in his voice. 

“That’s great. Keep your schedule clear, then.” 

(You fix the works cited slide, wish Veritas sweet dreams, and then wake up in the morning to completely ace your presentation. The minute the period ends, you drag him out of the classroom and into a coffee shop, paying for some five dollar pastry and joking that it’s payback for the cute slideshow theme that he definitely paid five dollars for. Veritas is an awful liar, and you tell him that, and he can’t even find the strength to deny it.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

[luvring]

gn!reader | iwaizumi will do a lot of things if you ask, but he's always a little awkward and embarrassed about taking photos of himself. what angle does he use, why's the lighting so bad, this is his "no one will see me" t-shirt, does his smile look forced, etc, etc., which means you only ask every once and a while, mostly as a joke, and never mind when he brushes it off with a laugh.

so when you open your messages to see an unprompted selfie of him, blurry, sitting in dim light, cheeks flushed and biting his lip to stop a grin, shocked is one word you can use to describe yourself. apparently drunk hajime is different from sober hajime, and confident enough to send a second, third photo capturing his night out with his old teammates at karaoke.

and you're not sure if it was their idea or his, but you really can't bring yourself to complain when he accidentally sends a video instead of a photo that perfectly frames his slightly unbuttoned top, messy hair that he runs his fingers through (he's brought up needing a haircut every week for the past month, but keeps pushing off setting an appointment), and raspy laugh as he tells someone off screen to shut up and sing already before turning to you with a smile.

"oh, shit, it's a video."

"pft, are you really that drunk?"

"hiii," someone—you think tooru—singsongs your name.

another complains, his voice muffled by your boyfriend moving the camera, "ugh, can you move over?"

"hi babe." hajime's low, slurred voice brings your attention back to him. "i got 94 on m'last song, jus' so y'know.

"let it go! that was all luck—"

"shut up, it's not my fault y'got 67 and sound like a dying bird. ugh," he seems to lose his train of thought and sniffles. "uh...don't worry, issei's driving m'back. i'll tell you 'bout it when i get home. see you soon, alright? love you."

the video ends, cutting off the beginning of a voice crack and off-pitch note, and the responding cackle that momentarily fills the quiet of your living room.

it's not a hard decision to save everything he's sent to your phone. the real hard decision will be tomorrow, you think, when you have to decide between teasing him to death or helping with his hangover. but then you get another notification—another text from him that reads "Cany ou tell them i'm not gonna sing adell" and you smile.

you can probably do both.

(he does end up singing, but so does everyone else. the video you get is way too loud, and way too close to the microphone, and the phone falls to the floor at some point, but it's saved to your gallery anyway. he makes you promise not to play it the next morning because it's "so headache inducing he could explode.")

[afewproblems]

I think Steve needs a secret creative hobby that he springs on the group, surprising everyone.

Sometimes, it can be a little depressing to believe that everyone you love sees you as this one guy, this dumb jock. Intellectually, he knows that the kids and Robin, Nance, and Eddie don't think he's stupid, but that doesn't make the feeling go away.

What if his mom had put him in a ballroom dancing class when he was younger? From age 7 to 12, he took dancing through an independent studio with the other rich kids. It started with ballroom, which continued into swing-dancing. He loved it.

And Steve was good.

He was fluid and graceful, an absolute natural the instructor would remark to his mother when she would come to pick him up. In fact, they were picking kids to participate in the upcoming tournament for the youth category, and Steve was a perfect candidate, the instructor said.

That was until his dad made the executive decision to pull Steve out and force him into sports after catching Steve dancing with his mom in the kitchen. Watching his son twirling around with Susan Harrington, a small indulgent smile on her face, was the final straw for Richard.

"No son of mine is going to prance around like that, like a little fairy," he snarled as he dragged Steve away from the kitchen, his firm white-knuckle grip holding Steve's small arm as they made their way up the stairs to his room.

Steve tried not to make a sound as he covered his ears to the yelling match taking place in room below him.

Steve ended up in little league the next day.

Steve still practiced though, on his own.

It wasn't as though he hadn't made friends in that class, kids who kept on with it.

He missed it, he missed them. He missed how he felt when dancing.

It was freeing.

Carla Neilson taught him the new steps, things she continued to learn while Steve played baseball, basketball, and eventually made the swim team in highschool.

Swimming would probably be the closest he would get to that feeling of gliding along the floor, that grace and fluidity never really leaving him.

He had been a decent player at one time because of his quick feet, but that was before Billy Hargrove rolled into town. Steve never quite learned how to plant his feet because dancing always kept him moving, Hargrove seemed to enjoy pointing out how truly 'fairy-like' he was as he made his way across the court. Those words, the same words his father had hissed at him, all those years ago left him cold and hurt.

He stops dancing after that.

It's not until years later, after Vecna, after Billy dies and his Father disowns him, after he kisses Eddie for the first time and he finally feels like he can breath again that the group finds out.

It's at a party. Everyone of age is a little tipsy or faded at this point in the evening and playing a question game, the kids roll their eyes at their older friends antics and stick to the Nintendo across the living room of Steve and Eddie's apartment.

The question of, 'What is your hidden talent,' comes up and everyone takes their turn.

Robin recites the alphabet backwards, not blinking or pausing the entire way which everyone applauds for once she's finished.

Nancy does a quick handstand and takes three steps backward before dropping her legs back to the ground, she curtsies with a sly smile and laughs as she sits next to Robin again who is staring at Nancy like shes never seen her before.

Eddie thinks for a moment before lifting his hand to his mouth and blows out an impressively loud whistle that prompts Mike to tell them all off for being loud.

Jonathan blows a giant smoke ring while Argyle moonwalks around the living room, earning the pair of them a chorus of woops and applause.

Everyone turns to Steve once Argyle drops back to his seat next to Jonathan, "Alright brochacho you're up man," he says with a hazy smile.

Steve thinks for a moment, looking around at everyone, all of these people who love him, and makes a decision.

"Uh, yeah okay, I've got one," he says slowly before standing up from the loveseat he's sharing with Eddie, "but I'll need a volunteer and some music".

"Oh my God," Robin stage whispers to Nancy, "is he going to do magic right now? Steven Harrington can you do magic??"

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes, "I think I found my volunteer," he holds out his hand for Robin to take as Eddie stands up to turn on their second-hand record player they got from Uncle Wayne as a house warming.

"Uh, one of mine Eds," Steve says with a slight shake to his voice, "something with a beat".

"Oh shit," Robin chokes out as Steve tugs her close. She nearly stumbles, but his arms hold her up.

Eddie smirks like it's a challenge and pulls out Whitney Houston, earning a smile from Jonathan and a small, 'really?' from Nancy.

Argyle laughs, "Heck Yeah man, Whitney rocks dude, turn that shit up!"

Steve smiles and takes a deep breath, his heart is racing but he doesn't care in this moment, he looks at Eddie who is grinning at him, a slightly curious look on his face.

And it's like riding a bike, he leads Robin across the small space twirling and dipping her as she squeals and tries to follow.

Steve probably could have picked a slightly less clumsy volunteer, but he loves Robin and showing her, showing them all, this part of himself after hiding it for so long just means the world to him.

He keeps his own feet fast, keeping the beat but moving Robin where she needs to be as they glide over the carpet, he spins her out and then back into his arms as the song ends, they are both breathing heavily by the time the last note rings out and Robin can't contain her hands from smacking into Steve's chest as she yells, "Who the fuck are you! Dingus how could you hide this!"

Steve blushes as Eddie comes up behind him to hook his head over his shoulder as his arms come up to wrap around Steve's waist.

"Fancy footwork dude," Argyle says nodding at Jonathan who is looking at Steve with fascination.

"When did you learn to dance?" Nancy asks, her voice soft and kind, as though she knows exactly how big this is for him.

"I will accept the fact that you did not pick me to dance just now if I can be your partner next time," Eddie says into Steve's ear, letting his teeth graze the lobe slightly making Steve shiver and laugh.

El and Max refuse to let him sit down for the rest of the night, insisting that he do that spinning move with each of them until all of the kids demand a turn.

Even Mike.

And he loves them all, happy to have finally shared this piece of himself with all of them. His heart is full.

[hope-drunk]

imagine riding abby’s abs oh my god 😵‍💫😵‍💫

brrrrr okokok

she'd be so gentle, i feel like she'd ask you to do it so quietly; almost embarrassed about it.

you've been kissing for what feels like forever, both of your lips are swollen. you're panting into each other, not wanting to pull away to take a breath. you're on top of her, your hips slightly moving against her thigh, giving you just the right amount of pressure that you need.

abby pulls away, "would you wanna, uh— could you, just..."

"what is it?" you say, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

she asks you to remove your pajamas, which you do as she discards her shirt. you stand awkwardly by the bed, now nude, twisting your fingers, waiting for her next direction. she uses her hand to beckon you over to her, giving you a soft c'mere.

you comply, moving back onto her lap. with less layers, you're a lot more sensitive, the feeling of her sweatpants on your cunt making you jump back up.

abby pulls your hips back down, but moves them onto her stomach.

"want you to get off like this, on m'stomach. can you?" she whispers. her hands are still settled on your hips, and you can feel them twitching; wanting to move you.

you nod your head, lean down to kiss her again. abby makes the first move, giving into her urges, making your hips rub against the rigidness of her abs. your head falls to her neck, a soft gasp leaving your mouth at the feeling of it. it feels so different. so good. so abby.

she kisses the side of your head, "that feel okay?"

"mhm." you say, but it mostly comes out as a whimper.

"can you look at me, please? wanna see your face, pretty."

you use the last bits of your brain to push up, looking into abby's eyes, and then down at your hips moving against her, which only turns you on more. in the dim light you can see the wetness coating her abdomen. she's still doing most of the work, but she doesn't seem to mind. you take your eyes off the erotic display and look at abby again.

her eyebrows are furrowed, you can tell she's trying to gauge your reaction to this, if you think it's weird. but your mouth is open, and your arms are shaking. she moves a hand off your waist and brings it to the back of your head, lightly forcing it into her. your foreheads press together and you can't help but melt. can't help but fall into her again.

your clit hits a particular spot and you groan, a noise deep from your chest clawing its way out.

"yeah, there you go, sweetheart. y'look so beautiful, using me like this. c'mon, you wanna cum, don't you?" your moans only get louder at her praise. "oh, i know. you've got it, champ. just a little bit more, okay?"

"can't— 'm gonna-" your moans keep interrupting your words.

"just let it come, baby. 've got you."

you focus on her words, on the way her body feels under you, her hands on your hips, slowly pulling you back and forth over her. when your orgasm washes over you, she rocks you through it. abby doesn't let your hips stop as you claw at her shoulders, at her chest. when you go limp on her afterwards, she stops moving you, rubs a hand up and down your back.

"shh, shh. good job, sweetheart. such a good girl."

she cleans you up, soft and gentle. lets you crawl back into her afterwards. she thanks you for letting her have her fun, for letting her do what she wanted with you.

you give her a soft hum, "always, abs."

[poohbea]

guys… i have aunty fever.

okay but like imagine being married to or dating sukuna, right? and the first time he introduces you to baby/toddler yuuji he becomes your best friend. never wants to leave your arms, always loves cuddles, will be your shadow while you’re doing things round the house. you’re attached at the hip from that very first moment.

and kuna both loves and hates it 😭. loves it mostly because he doesn’t have to deal with yuuji’s shenanigans all day. hates it because whenever he tries to kiss you or offer any sort of affection, yuuji comes running to put himself between you both with the grumpiest frown ever 🤣. he’ll mumble out something like “no, my aunty.” and hug your leg while trying to push his uncle away.

it’s a constant battle, especially because yuuji takes up all of kuna’s you-time 😂. watching a movie? yuuji’s there using your lap as a headrest. taking a nap? yuuji’s nestled right up against your chest. cooking in the kitchen? you’ve got yuuji perched on your hip or up in the baby wrap/baby sling. and kuna would swear up and down that yuuji — the sweet darling angel that he is — knows exactly what he’s doing. swears that he’s got some sinister plan to steal you away — he’s joking, mostly.

he should honestly be blaming himself because he’s been terrorising his nephew since he was born. his latest stunt? he found an old halloween mask that’d been sitting in the back of y’all’s closet since last year, put it on and decided to chase yuuji around the house with it.

“i’m gonna eat you!” is what you hear before a very distressed little human comes sprinting around the corner screaming, his uncle in tow. and so yuuji races to hide behind you, arms hooking between your legs for safety even as he’s still crying. but still kuna tries to reach for him and so you have to step in and unmask your monster of a man to save your hearing.

i think the other thing is how much you spoil yuuji. like cute little aunty (uncle can come too) and nephew dates. you’d he twinning with your outfits sometimes. go out to the zoo. the park. ice cream. the beach. the aquarium. sometimes kuna questions who’s child that really is — yours of his brother’s? — with how much time the two of you spend together.

it probably secretly gives him baby fever. if you’re this good with his nephew then he can only imagine how it would all go with a baby of your own.

he wants to see it one day. when you’re both ready.

[sonder-paradise]

𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 — 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭

◊ characters. venti, kazuha, heizou, xiao, gn!reader

◊ genre. fluff, flustered boys bc i can

— 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢

naps with the anemo archon always seem so relaxing for the soul. the two of you curled up like lazy cats against the stump of a careening oak tree or hidden beneath the covers was always a warm invitation for venti to admire you.

on this afternoon, in particular, he awoke once more to see you still sound asleep, curled up against him and happily dozing the day away. he smiles fondly, playing with a few loose strands of your hair.

that was until you shift in your sleep, eyes half closed and mind still in your dreams. "venti...?" you murmur, "come 'ere." he's a bit startled to feel your arms around him tighten and pull him even closer to your chest.

the action has him growing pink in the hazy afternoon sunlight. hiding his face in the confines of your figure whilst trying to pretend he isn't absolutely taken away with the way you had called out for him.

— 𝐊𝐚𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚

it’s truly a difficulty to see kazuha react in such a way. but you can find it easily when you play with the wandering samurai's hair. his head leaning against your chest while you filter through his pretty white and red-streaked hair. his eyes are closed and you can feel his soft breathing while he relaxes in your grasp.

"kazuhaaa," you croon, poking his cheek. his eyes open and he smiles softly up at you. "something the matter?" he asks.

you comb through his hair once more before shaking your head. "nothing, i was just thinking that your hair looks so pretty." he's taken a little off-guard by the comment; the tips of his ears turning red in the autumnal light cascading through the trees.

"you... you think so?" kazuha mutters, toying with a side piece from his bangs. his face is littered with a heavy blush that you find absolutely becoming of him.

— 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐮

bringing you back home after a couple rounds of drinks truly was becoming a bit too much of a routine for the detective. you leaned against his body sleepily, hazy from the drinks and the moonlit atmosphere around you two. he laughs softly at your drunken behavior as you chatter about how sweet he is and how he's too dreamy.

"okok, but you have to promise me something, m'kay?" you hiccup, poking him in the chest avidly. "and what is that thing?" heizou asks, holding onto your hand with a gentle squeeze.

"that you don't... no wait i forgot it," you murmur to yourself, attempting to comprehend what you had lost. he waits patiently, continuing to guide you back home.

"oh, i remember! you have to promise to kiss me tonight!" you lean in close as you scold heizou, despite him not being your lover just yet. the ticked look in your eyes and the severe demeanor have him doubting whether or not you genuinely are drunk.

"got it?" you restate. he nods, half-amused and half-flustered at the straightforwardness he's receiving. "of course. i promise!" the words have him covering his flustered smile with the back of his hand while he feels the cooling wind soothe his rising temperature.

— 𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨

the call of his name has him appearing before you in the blink of an eye. his eyes dart around for a second as if to take in his surroundings. he knew you enjoyed taking advantage of his name and the power it gave you. it seemed this was one of those nights.

"is something wrong?" xiao says, observing the strange, curious gaze in your expression. something told him you had just wanted to see him again.

"ha! i knew it!" at your exclamation, his eyebrows furrow and he gives you a look of adorable confusion. you clasp his face in your hands, a smile on your lips that has his heart racing.

"you really do have gorgeous eyes, xiao." the look of confusion on his face blends in completely with the growing blush on his cheeks. his eyes blinking rapidly and gazing down as if he cannot comprehend your compliment. honestly, you called him here for something silly like that...?

Taglist: @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[inhuman-obey-me]

Hello! Congratulations of 4000+ followers! Y'all do amazing writing, and its been really cool to see the blog grow overtime

For the event, may I request⚡️with Diavolo and yes on MC! Thank you so much, and I hope y'all have a good day

Thank you so much!! ;//u//; And also thank you for sticking around for so long -- it really does mean a lot! 💕

"What good is this "great power" of mine? Absolutely everything slips through my fingers." - Diavolo/MC

You hadn’t asked for this power. 

No, it was something that had been thrust into your hands, into your very being as the trajectory of your life changed the instant you opened your eyes and found your gaze held by pools of gold in an unknown and dangerous world. It was that one moment that began the unraveling, the revealing of all that you were and to be. 

It seems like such a distant memory now, that first day in the Devildom. 

No, you hadn’t asked for this power, but you didn’t refute it either. You had welcomed it, reveled in it. You had been plunged into a world of magic and monsters, angels and demons, witches and sorcerers – and you, a mere human who had been oblivious to the very real existence of this world in the shadows, were considered to be one of the most powerful mortals among it. 

And yet, as of late, you had been feeling absolutely powerless.

“Love, you’ve barely touched your food.” Diavolo’s gentle voice brings you out of your thoughts, and you look up now to meet those same golden eyes you first held all those years ago. His gaze flickers to your hand, where you’ve been fidgeting with the Ring of Light. The one thing stopping your very existence from ending the world as you knew it.

“Sorry,” You give him an apologetic smile as you lift your fork, letting it slowly sink into one of the vegetables on your plate. “I guess I just have a lot on my mind.” 

“Care to share?” He’s worried. “You know you can tell me anything.” 

“I know.” A sigh, and you set your fork down as you lean back in your chair. You try to find the words, your emotions half-formed on your tongue. “It’s just…with everything going on, I feel rather…useless.” 

“Useless? You?” Diavolo nearly scoffs, leaning forward in bewilderment. “What makes you think that? Surely, we’ve all told you how you’ve done so much for us, for the Three Realms.” 

“Have I, though?” You feel your throat begin to tighten, so you try to force your feelings down. “Everyone says that, and sure, to some extent I’ve played my part. But,” Your fingers tighten around the napkin in your lap. “You all have helped each other. I’ve just been a conduit, and sometimes I…I’ve been more of a problem to solve than a solution.” 

“That’s not true–”

“But it is!” 

Your voice cracks then, and you realize you can’t keep down the swirl of doubt and agony any longer. Before you even feel the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, you find Diavolo now right beside you, holding your hands in his. 

“My love, you hold more power than you can even begin to imagine.”

“And what of it!” You hastily remove your hands from his grasp, waving to the air around you. “What good is this ‘great power’ of mine?” The tears have escaped, and there’s a pang in your chest. “Absolutely everything slips through my fingers. I’ve barely begun to understand it and…and I don’t even know if I could save the very ones I care about from those that wish them harm.” Your eyes flicker to the ceiling, and you try to blink back the salt that hasn’t already slid down your cheeks. “I’ve come closer to destroying everything with it!” 

The silence that follows your outburst is heavy. Diavolo examines your visage with a somber expression, his lips that so often are curved into a grin now taut and straight. It feels like ages before he finally speaks. 

“It’s a terrible feeling, isn’t it?” You don’t know if you’ve ever heard his voice so low before. He was a demon who could make a whole room shake with his jovial laugh. “There are days where I, too, feel utterly powerless.” 

“You?” Grasping at that napkin again, you bring it up to dry your face. “But–”

“I’m the ruler of the Devildom? One of the most powerful beings in the Three Realms? Yes, my dear. All great power comes with its golden chains, with its obstacles.” With a heavy sigh, Diavolo looks around the lavish dining hall you were both seated in. “A faction of the House of Lords continuously tries to undermine me, scheming behind my back to try and throw me out of my position.” His gaze now falls onto a painting on the distant wall, brushstrokes capturing war and fury. “The Celestial Realm tests my patience, mocking me at times as they play their own games, mainly of semantics.” 

He turns his attention back to you with a sad smile. “They’re all waiting to find a crack, see what will bring me down to my knees. They’ve nearly succeeded at times. Made me feel like I was just a child playing at king. Made me feel that no matter the power I possessed, they could still pull the rug from under me.” 

His hands find yours again, and this time you let them stay. 

“But what I found is that despite it all, despite all the power that I possess, what really puts my feet on solid ground is having those who still stand by my side through it all.” He looks deep into your eyes, and once more you’re captivated by that calming gold.

“And you, darling, have some of the best by yours.”

[jongseongsnudes]

Dropping by to tell you how much I adored your Ni-ki's badboy trope fic. It is my favourite one to read of all time and I will definitely be coming back to read it. Just kind of sad that it's all over, manifesting 🙏🙏🙏 you write a similar one for him in the future 🙏🙏🙏🥹 Do you think you could write drabbles of somesort for it? i.e. The team begging Yn to get Ni-ki to do something for them cause he won't if they asked? That would be so cute but please ignore if you don't want to write it. Thank you for your hard work Cass 🙏🤍

awww thank youuuu 😭💖💖 i loved writing this trope for niki, i feel it fits him so well so our tsundere, badboy will be back in the future!

ill write a little something 😊💖 if anyone else has drabble ideas, send themmmmm

“why me?”

“who else but you mrs team captain!” taki shouts at you desperately, his hands pressed together in a praying motion, “it’s a saturdayyyyy! please help us, he will only listen to you and you know that!”

you both look over to the team captain who is standing by the sidelines, arms crossed, and already watching like a hawk over his team.

it was indeed a saturday and instead of going to the movies like you had wanted to do, niki organised a team practice, saying everyone needed to get back in shape for the upcoming season. the boy really worked hard when it came to football, you as his girlfriend knew that but come on... it was 8am on a saturday. no one wants to be here at the school oval.

“half the boys have dates today! i was gonna take eunji out,” taki nudges you a little, “don’t you want to go on a date today? it’s such a nice day... getting dressed up... holding hands with your boy... hugging... kissing...”

“say no more.”

and you were off on your way, a girl on a mission. niki may be tough but you knew exactly how to crack him.

“hi nishimura,” you say nonchalantly, your eyes on your phone like you were texting someone, “how long did you say practice was again?”

“well we can’t start practice if these little kids are just standing around wasting time!” he shouts a little louder for the rest of the team to hear before turning his gaze onto you, “why?”

“oh it’s nothing. you know how i wanted to go watch that new comedy today? well since you’re so busy, i’ll just go...” you smile sweetly, as if you didn’t have an ulterior motive, “with jj who also wanted to see it! anyway have fun practising! call me when you’re done.”

you had only turned to walk away when you felt a hand at your waist, pulling your body back into another. it’s obvious who it was so you had to fight back the urge to smile.

“so that’s who you’ve been texting the whole time? jj?” niki's tone is an octave lower as he mentions that name but it’s the deep chuckle that follows that tells you he’s unpleased.

“yeah! i’m gonna go home and change into that new dress i got, remember the one you picked?”

oh you were being so mean but you weren’t going to stop now, not when he looked like he was about to explode of anger.

“are you serious?”

“hm. if i didn’t know any better, i’d say this sounds like jealousy, niki.”

and you’ve hit the spot, calling him out on his jealousy that he always, always denied. even though everyone and their mothers knew how jealous niki could really get sometimes.

“hell yeah i am!” he suddenly shouts, gaining the attention of the team and definitely surprising you with the confession, “i bought that dress for you and you want to wear that out without me? of course i am jealous!”

“then come with me nishimura,” you finally break character, chuckling at how adorable he looked while throwing a tantrum. you reach up to pinch his cheeks, making the boy’s expression go softer instantly, “come on niki, it’s a saturday, let your poor team go have fun. don’t you want to go on a date with me?”

he thinks for a moment before leaning down to kiss you, his lips now curving into a smirk as he does. oh your poor heart. niki with a smirk? its a view you’ve always, always been weak for.

“you’re so cute thinking i fell for that miss class president, i heard you talking to taki,” the boy says with his usual smug grin and pinches your cheeks, “but since you put in so much effort to act, fine lets go on a date. you seem so desperate to have me to yourself anyway.”

“wh- what! i do not! whatever! you practice then, i don’t care!”

you try to push him away but the tall boy only hugs you harder. he’s now in a laughing fit while you turn to the field to get help from his team... but no one is there... the guys having ran off the moment they heard their team captain’s words.

but hey... at least you get to go on your date.

-

[difeisheng]

Fang Duobing kisses him, wine-clumsy movement tugging him forward, watchlessness of the night and all its courage summoned, sunk into his veins as pure helpless impulse.

Li Lianhua doesn't kiss him back.

"What are you doing, xiaozi?" he hears, in a moment's chasm of hesitancy, soft release of a sigh against Fang Duobing's mouth. He shifts back, leaving Li Lianhua's warmth behind, to look him in the eyes.

Fang Duobing has witnessed nearly every emotion spelled out across this man's features before. Committed the shape of each one to memory— amusement, irritation, a fleeting glimpse of what might be affection— to recall during lingchen when sleep refuses to find him. Li Lianhua's face is familiar to him in every guise and angle, like any other beloved artwork Fang Duobing could bring to his mind's eye.

Whatever this is though, wide-eyed shock and wordlessness and something else unknown, is new.

"Li Lianhua," Fang Duobing says. Only half a question, the rest plea, betrayed by his own tongue.

In a minute's suspense, there is no answer to meet it.

Shame, the twisting burn of it, crests and settles somewhere in his core. Fang Duobing makes to stand, to turn away, to wait. For whatever Li Lianhua will inevitably say to this latest foolish action, yet another in the misstepped journey of Fang Duobing's life. Perhaps Li Lianhua will tell him he made too many assumptions. Perhaps he will declare Fang Duobing too young, too naive for want like this, despite the fact that want, wanting for so many things, has been a lifelong compass lodged in Fang Duobing's heart and for months it has only led him back to Li Lianhua. Perhaps he will say—

"Don't go," and graceful fingers reach for Fang Duobing's wrist, his hand, his sleeve, keeping him in place.

Fang Duobing sinks down again.

He watches Li Lianhua glance down. Up, to the sky, stars cloaked in wisps of cloud. Over Fang Duobing's shoulder, into the long shadows of this clearing. Words form and tumble again into silence behind his lips, Fang Duobing can see it in the lanternlight, and this, the careful choice of the next lie, deflection, excuse, is worse than the dearth of anything to be read from his face at all.

"If you're not going to say anything honest," Fang Duobing starts. "Don't say anything at all."

Silence falls like a stone into a river. Out in the forest, an owl calls to the darkness.

"What I was going to say," Li Lianhua says, tone treading too light, "is that if you're going to try this, it should be with someone better for you than I can be."

Fang Duobing glares at him. "Didn't I just tell you not to say things that weren't true?"

"I—"

"Li Lianhua," he repeats, snaps, and finally, Li Lianhua properly shuts up.

Fang Duobing's hands are at Li Lianhua's lapels, clutching at rough, wash-worn fabric, warmed against his skin. He doesn't know when they got there. Something of the conflict clears in Li Lianhua's eyes, dark and blinking slowly. Maybe Fang Duobing understands now what it was in his expression, that he couldn't see through before.

But why would Li Lianhua have anything to fear from him?

Let me try this again, Fang Duobing thinks, begs a prayer to any deity that might listen. When he focuses on Li Lianhua once more, he's already being watched.

Li Lianhua's gaze slides down from Fang Duobing's own stare to his mouth, for the briefest of instants.

This time, when Fang Duobing leans in, so does Li Lianhua.

[snaillock]

all patched up

becoming infatuated with the infirmary nurse after getting socked in the face by your own teammate. just a regular ol' day in blue lock. wc: 0.8k

rin stepped into the infirmary with blood-stained tissues held up to his aching nose. he heard the sound of anri closing the door behind him as he looked up to see you sitting on a desk, writing something down.

both of you guys were very surprised to see each other, though for very different reasons. rin’s mind flooded with different questions. who is this? why is there someone about his age in the infirmary? is this the person who’s supposed to fix his nose? there’s no way.

you immediately stood up from your chair and walked up to him, staring at his nose.

“oh god, what happened to you?”

“i don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbled. getting kneed in the nose by shidou was already humiliating enough. how was he supposed to share it with his supposed doctor who looked young enough to be his classmate.

“that’s perfectly okay. we don’t have to discuss it right now. just sit down over there.”

he sat down on the paper-covered infirmary bed you gestured to and eyed you suspiciously as you took some gloves out and put them on.

“you seem way too young to be doing this,” he said almost accusatorially.

“oh me? i’m just a part of a program my school is doing for colleges. i joined since i plan to study sports medicine,” you said as you moved your chair over and sat in front of him to feel the bridge of his nose, making rin flinch from the unexpected touch and slight pain.

“they really hired a teenager for this?” rin questioned, shifting his eyes away from your focused look on his nose. he tried to keep his focus off the unfamiliar feeling of a hand on his face as he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him from letting another person around his age do this. still, he complied, not wanting to inconvenience you or him

“hey! i’m very experienced in this, alright? besides, the person supervising me isn’t here right now,” you then leaned in closer to whisper, “and between you and me, this whole establishment here seems mad shady. however, it was one of the few places that were willing to pay me for this so i won’t be complaining.” you shrugged as you finished checking his nose, mentally noting his sudden quietness.

“ok so luckily, it’s only a minor fracture -i’m assuming from blunt trauma- so you’ll need to wear a splint for about a week, then you should be good to go.”

he simply nodded, staying silent as you rolled your chair to the desk to get some things out of the drawers. you then scooted back in front of him.

“ok rin, can you tilt your head back for me?”

he did as you said, feeling his palms getting clammy for reasons unknown to him. he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut in, anticipating any pain, when you pinched his nose's bridge to ensure it was aligned beforehand. the feeling of your fingers gently but firmly moving his chin back into place whenever he slightly moved was fleeting yet brought him an unfamiliar and uneasy sensation to his stomach.

halfway through, he opened his eyes to see your focused face working. he felt way too awkward to close them again so he was stuck staring right at you, unintentionally gazing at all your features. his overwhelming nervousness practically overtook the pain of the splint being applied and inserted into his nose.

“alright, there! you’re all done now and you’re free to leave,” you declared. rin unconsciously let out a huge sigh of relief before you stopped him from getting up.

“wait hold on.” you took off your gloves and pressed the back of your hand on his forehead, feeling an unusual amount of heat. “are you feeling feverish in any way?”

“no, i’m not,” he answered a lot more shakily and less audible than he wished. god, he really wanted to crawl into a hole right now.

“hmm okay,” you hummed to yourself while observing the flush on his face that he seemingly wasn’t aware of. you then took another glance at him and all the suspicion and concern instantly left your eyes, replaced with something else. a slight smile creeping on your lips. “oh i see… well rin, you can go back now.”

the sudden switch in your tone surprised him but he nodded and got up quickly to head to the door, wanting to leave before his mind could process all these feelings.

when he was already out in the hallway, you rushed to the door and called out for him. “wait, one last thing rin!” your voice made him immediately stop in his tracks to turn and look at you.

“next time, try to avoid picking fights with your own teammates,” you said with a knowing grin, watching the flush on his face deepen, “yeah, i saw the footage. good luck out there and stay safe, number 1.”

you went back inside the infirmary, shutting the door behind you, leaving him out and alone in the hallway. rin sighed and turned around, wondering how he was supposed to return with his face looking like this.

taglist(sign up): @userwithlotsoftime @lucas2060 @kiiyoooo

happy birthdayyy to my beloved edgy bastard!!!! to celebrate, i decided to dig up this lil old prompt i randomly came up with about a month ago or so and finally use it.

[oxydiane]

Harry is eight and spending the time he isn’t locked up in his cupboard, or doing house chores, or running away from Dudley and his gang, at the nearby park. He sits on the swing and idly watches the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

His name is Malcom, his hair is light brown and his eyes are the prettiest blue Harry’s ever seen.

But— but boys aren’t supposed to be pretty. Boys aren’t supposed to think other boys are pretty, so he makes himself smaller in his worn out jumper and never approaches him again.

Harry is eleven when his life turns upside down and a gangly freckled kid sits next to him on the Hogwarts Express. He looks into his blue eyes and marvels at the bright red of his hair. He wants to reach out and clean the bit of dirt off his nose, but that would be getting too close to another boy, and he couldn’t afford that, could he?

Not when he could imagine tracing all the freckles scattered across his cheeks.

Harry is fourteen when Cedric Diggory falls from the sky and offers him help getting up after using his first Portkey. His hand is big and as calloused as he’d expect a Quidditch player’s to be. He doesn’t like dwelling on the thought of how nice he’d found it.

He asks Cho Chang to the Yule Ball and she rejects him because Cedric Diggory had been quicker. He ends up spending the night on a chair intently looking at the way Cedric’s hand curls around Cho’s waist. He was jealous of him, right?

He tells Sirius about the Yule Ball and he raises an eyebrow at the way Harry describes Cedric’s robes and styled hair but can barely remember the colour of Cho’s dress.

Harry is fifteen when Cho Chang finally agrees to go on a date with him. It happens after they kiss and Harry is eager, he should be, right? The kiss had felt wet and not particularly pleasant and his chest felt a lot warmer as he watched the way Ron laughed when he described it than it had felt when his lips had collided with Cho’s.

The date doesn’t go well, maybe Harry just doesn’t get women.

Sirius says it’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t miss the odd look he and Remus give each other.

Harry is sixteen when he dreams of red hair and freckled skin and in order to escape it he decides to stay up at night and stare at Draco Malfoy’s dot on the Marauder’s Map.

It doesn’t do him good.

He decides the bright red infesting his dreams must be Ginny’s, because he doesn’t know any other red-haired girl. Even though she wears it long and when he dreams it’s short and spiky. And the freckles on her cheeks are not as numerous as the ones he marvels at after falling asleep.

He decides it has to be Ginny, and the thought of it can occupy his mind long enough to make him forget the weird pang and slight sick in his stomach each time he catches Ron snogging Lavender.

When Ginny runs up to him after winning the Quidditch up, he kisses her, because that’s what he’d been dreaming about, right? Hands tangled in red hair and freckled cheeks centimetres from his face, but it feels all wrong.

Ron nods at him and it all feels wrong.

Sirius is not here anymore for Harry to consult, so instead he takes Ginny outside their common room and, on the Hogwarts grounds, opens his heart to her.

She understands.

Harry is seventeen when he has to die and he still hasn’t made sense of the feelings in his chest or why, no matter how much he tried, girls felt so wrong.

It’s not at the forefront of his mind, it’s not even close because the only thing he can think about is the warm bodies laying lifeless in the Great Hall.

But, as he approaches his death, he does spare a thought for the uneasiness he had felt when Hermione kissed Ron, and the discomfort every kiss he’d given before had provided him. He hadn’t lived in full, not even close.

A flash of green light approaches and he finds it silly, how his last thought is of red hair and freckles.

Harry is eighteen when he attends his first Weasley family dinner after the war. The grief is heavy and Fred’s chair is empty but Percy is back home and it does bring at least a shard of comfort to Mrs Weasley. He isn’t alone, Oliver Wood hangs from his arm.

He is eighteen and Percy Weasley introduces Oliver Wood as his boyfriend.

Harry blinks at them and something in his head just clicks.

Harry is twenty when he finally musters the courage to walk into a Gay Bar. He had to Confund the door keeper because he didn’t own an ID, the Dursleys had never bothered giving it to him, given he even had one.

It’s a Muggle place and he feels like the odd one out, terribly dressed down and completely clueless.

He ends up ordering a beer and sitting by the bar.

It’s not until his third visit that a stranger approaches him. He has red hair but his pupils are a soft hazel and his skin isn’t freckled at all. Harry thinks that if he shuts his eyes close, maybe, he could pretend.

His name is Lucas, his lips taste vaguely like strawberries and the kiss doesn’t make Harry want to turn his insides inside out. He smiles and the rush of adrenaline in his veins as Lucas nibs on his bottom lip feels both terrifying and terribly right.

Harry is twenty-three when the cat gets out of the bag.

It’s not because he wanted it, really, but sharing a flat with his best mates could be inconvenient, at times.

He flushed and urges his date to get dressed as he tries to avoid Ron and Hermione’s shocked looks. Their hands are clasped together and Harry has learnt to live with the uncomfortable twist of his stomach by now.

They come off it quickly, though. Ron laughs and pats Harry on the back, says everything is much more clear now.

Harry is twenty-five when he makes his best-man speech at Ron and Hermione’s wedding.

He chokes on his words both because he was never that good at public speaking and because each time he looked at the way Ron’s arm curled around Hermione’s shoulder his throat went a bit drier.

He drinks his glass of champagne in one go and relishes in the burn before fetching Gabriel, his date for the night.

Gabriel stood out like a sour note next to his exes: his hair were a dusty blonde. Harry had thought there would be way too many redheads at the wedding anyways.

Harry is thirty-one when Ron jokes he will never settle down if he keeps on changing men at the same rate he changes his pants, but Harry doesn’t care.

Ron looks thoroughly annoyed and Hermione coughs, worried and almost resigned eyes looking up at her husband.

Harry is thirty-three when Ron shows up at his place with a suitcase and bashfully tells him Hermione wants to file for a divorce.

He just nods and lets Ron in.

Harry is thirty-five when Ron brings back a bottle of expensive Firewhisky and decides they should celebrate the Cannons’ new victory streak on their own.

He hadn’t heard of the Cannons winning anything, recently, but he shrugs it off because it’s not really his thing anyways, Ron would know.

He is thirty-five and Ron, red-haired, freckled and now face flushed sits way too close for comport and traces his lips with a pinky.

He stands up abruptly and loudly declares it’s time for bed. Ron looks quite annoyed, but it will pass.

It must have been his imagination.

Harry is thirty-seven when his best mate breaks down crying in front of him and confesses his feelings through agonising sobs.

He keeps apologising and a tug at his hand breaks Harry out of his stupor. He was sure it must have been a dream, but Ron was real and crying and trembling.

He leans down wordlessly and, finally— sparks.

He is thirty-seven and this is the first time he’s ever felt so alive.

Harry is forty-two when Hagrid walks him down the aisle.

It’s clumsy and messy because they’re both trying not to cry, Harry being much better at it than the half-giant.

He catches a glimpse of Hermione, beaming at him from the front with a knowing smile.

He is forty-two and he is in front of Ron, in white robes. The voices around them nothing but white noise and then Ron leans down and all he can see is— red. Red hair and freckles.

[chaotic-mystery]

Going on a date with dbf Joel and they run into readers dad

“Just pick a song damn, girl!” Joel playfully shouted at you over the constant changing music playing through the truck speakers. He swung by earlier to pick you up after asking if you’d want to get some drinks and play pool at the shitty bar he was no stranger to. “If I settled on one station you might miss a good song on the other one!” You hollered back. He glanced over at you and shook his head while letting out a chuckle. Joel parked in the gravely parking lot and shut the truck off. He’s been telling you all night that he’s gonna kick your ass in pool, but he doesn't know your dad showed you how to play pool when you were a kid. Probably won’t win the ‘best parent award’ for that, but it’ll come in handy for once. You started to make your way toward the door,  his arm wrapped around your shoulder and placing small kisses on your head. You told him you’d grab the beers if he wanted to get the pool table set up. “That works for me darlin’ you remember what I like, right?” he sarcastically asked and gave you that grin that just makes your knees go weak. “Yeah, cowboy, I remember the beer you like. I’ll be right back.” you said as you gave him a wink and walked to the bar. The bartender asked what you’re drinking and you told her before she went to the cooler to grab two bottles. Walking back to Joel with smile, you held out his beer until you brushed against him. “Are you ready to lose, Miller?” giving him a cheeky grin, he sipped his beer while locking his eyes with yours. His attempt to intimidate you was cute, but pool was your thing. “I don’t lose much of anything, darlin. Now shut up and hit the damn balls.” You noticed the twang in his tone more prominent as he’s getting focused, you bend down to get the pool cue just right. With a loud clack you send the balls shooting in every single direction on the table, Joel staring at you in amazement. “Well, looks like I've got some competition don’t I?” the enjoyment spreading across his mouth.

As the game went on, Joel had a small lead on you and he wasn’t letting you forget at all. “So what happens after I win, baby? Should we go again or are you gonna pout?” he mocked as he dragged his finger from below his eye down to his jaw. Just as you were getting ready to answer, an all too familiar voice came from behind you and your whole entire body froze. “Miller, the hell are you doin here, buddy?” your dads voice boomed across the bar. Joel scratched the back of his head and met your dad halfway. “Oh ya know, I thought I’d come get a beer.” He was always thinking so quickly and you were still scrambling for an excuse when your dad finally noticed you were standing there. “What are you doing here, hun? I thought you were going out with friends tonight?” You turned to face your dad, fighting everything inside to not look at Joel. “I did, we came here and got some drinks; nothing too fancy.” He looked at you, then Joel, and he wasn’t done asking questions. Before he could spit out anything more, you decided to fill the silence “They got pretty tired and I noticed Joel down at the other end of the bar. I asked him if I could trouble him for a ride after some pool since my apartment isn’t too far from here.” Nodding in agreement, Joel said nothing else and chugged the rest of his beer. “Well don’t let me stop ya. I'm gonna grab a beer and I'll come watch ya play before you leave.” He was off to the bar and you gave Joel a glance, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

Your dad found a seat on a stool off to the side as he watched the game closely. What he couldn’t see was you and Joel stealing looks every chance you got. It was Joel’s turn, all he had to do was sink the 8 ball into the pocket. Knowing you had no chance of getting him to miss so you could take a chance at the same ball to win, you went to grab your jacket off the hook on the wall. He thought he had the win when he looked up at you raising your arms for your jacket and watched your shirt fully expose the top of your black thong. He coughed in shock and ended up putting both pool balls in the pocket. Your dad let out a laugh and came from behind Joel, patting his back firmly. “I told you don’t shoot from that angle you’d lose!” Your dad dryly told him. Biting your lip to contain a laugh, Joel agreed and held out his hand toward you, “Good game, sweetheart. Not bad at all.”  You knew part of this was a show for your dad, so you returned the handshake. “Alright c’mon Miller, time to take me home.” Goodbyes were said as you waved at your dad on the way out, and finally let out that laugh you were hiding. Joel pushed you up against the brick wall and immediately attached his lips to yours, his hand cupping your cheek. Your hand went to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair when you felt a soft squeeze around your throat. He tilted your head to the side and peppered kisses along your jaw when he stopped right by your ear, his voice low and breathy “I lost because someone’s slutty little panties were showing and all I could think about was how I wanted to rip them off you and spread you open all over that fucking table baby doll.” his hand moved from your throat to the back of your head and he tangled his fingers in your hair to give a slight tug. "Well, if you're that upset about losing you can take me home and let me make it up to you" you barely choked out with a smirk as you took his free hand and shoved it down the front of your soaked panties. "Oh I can't wait to see this, baby."