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Sam had a really tough day.

It was going fine at first, great even. Got some flying in (for fun - which he doesn’t get to do a lot) hung out with Natasha and did some sparring but then he went to see Steve and something happened. Something Sam didn’t expect.

He felt it coming, it shot through him like cold water down his back. That sadness, the emptiness, the loneliness that wraps on him like a blanket. And even though Steve was in the middle of saying something Sam had to get out of there.

So he did the best he could to smile at Steve then got the hell out of there, but the feeling followed him. It always did. And even though Sam knew he didn’t have any reason to be sad today there it was. And there was nothing Sam could do about it.

So he went to his room and sat on the floor. His room in the avengers tower was always to soft when he got like this. But he did grab a pillow and his blanket his mom had sent him a couple months ago. Sam didn’t think, just held himself around his middle. Mentally rocking himself back-and-forth. Sam doesn’t remember when he started but he could feel them feel falling across his nose and down his cheeks.

Sam had no idea how long he had been down there when his door opened and light poured through the room.

“Hey, Sam, come spar with me. Steve is being an ass and -” Bucky’s words were cut short when his eyes found Sam on the floor, curled up on himself. “Sam,” he said again his tone so much softer than it was moments before.

Bucky and Sam, well, they were Bucky and Sam, they had a rocky relationship from the start (“they man pulled me out of the damn sky, ripped off my wing! That hurts man!”) but it had gotten better. They still taunt each other but pretty much only speak when they have too, and nod at each other when they don’t.

Sam tried to pull himself together “Hey, Man” he says but his voice is shakey and more tears spill out.

He hears Bucky take a deep breath in. “Come on now,” and suddenly Bucky is inviting himself into Sam’s room and sitting next to Sam before picking him up a little so they can look each other in the eye. Sam and Bucky both ignore that Sam flinches a little.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, he’s confused, he never ever sees Sam sad. He thought it just didn’t happen. So when Sam shrugs and tries to smile at him and more tears fall Bucky feels the strongest urge to protect him from everything.

“Just sad,” Sam mumbles out, looking everywhere but Bucky’s blue eyes. “No reason,”

“What can I do?”

“Just- fuck-” Sam still isn’t looking at him “can you just- h-hold me, please”

And Sam looks so ashamed of himself for needing someone Bucky couldn’t even think of anything to say. He just pulled Sam closer gripping at his sides and pulling him into his lap so Sam could straddle him and Sam gripped at his middle while one hand of Bucky’s (the flesh one) found the back of Sam’s neck and the other around his waist.

Bucky quietly sung a soft song he knew in Russian in Sam’s ear and knew Sam like it when he gripped him tighter. He could feel Sam’s tears but didn’t say anything, just continued to sing and hold him close until Sam fell asleep.

bittyybee replied to your post “so we all know jack’s got crazy hockey money, and bitty wouldn’t want…”

Setting the record straight because Emma alluded to it but not super clearly: Jack looks up a list of “safest cars” so Bitty won’t get hurt in any situation.

ABSOLUTELY. He does SO MUCH RESEARCH. First, like, he just does some fishing, asking about Bitty’s favorite types of cars (Bitty is a Southern boy; he loves big SUVs), and what colors he likes (“I don’t know, any color. There’s something kind of sexy and classic about black cars, though.”), and then Jack is like, cool. Got the info. Time to do some research.

So then he googles, “safest SUVs” and then when that gives him back these like… frankly kinda dumpy looking cars, Jack googles, “safest luxury SUVs” because, well, it was Bittle who said he liked “sexy and classic” cars, so that’s what Jack wants to get. That’s what he’s going for. Sexy and classic. And safe. The safest car.

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Holy fucking shit, Bad Bob too.

If ur feeling it .... I don’t believe each person has just one true love, but sometimes we don’t have enough time to find another. (That’s the way it crumbles. Cookie-wise.)

Oh buddy, am I ever feeling it :^)Warnings: Unhelpful advice from grownups, bitter hyperbolic, fatalistic feelings about love and death, the fucking canon overdose fuck this fandom

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Oh gods I just archive binged the trash party and now I keep thinking about the "Bucky thinks Steve is his handler" ones except it's not Steve it's some poor sod who looks like twink-form Steve and is very confused about everything

“Dice the onions,” George ordered.

Luke took the cutting board and began chopping through the onion with speed and accuracy that were slowly becoming more dazzling than horrific.

The dead-eyed stranger wasn’t really named Luke, but George had to call him something.  He looked like a Luke.

He’d looked like a nightmare the first time George had seen him.  Tall, dark, and filthy, and definitely stalking George as he walked home from the grocery.  George had slipped down an alley and weaved in and out of the crowd on the next street over - sometimes his small stature had its advantages - and had assumed he’d lost the stalker.

Until he shut off the TV later that night and saw Luke’s reflection on the black screen.  He’d been standing behind the couch for possibly hours, totally silent.

He smashed George’s phone before he could even try to dial 911.  He moved so fast, George barely saw him.

George had blustered, threatened, begged.  He’d offered all his valuables.

The stranger had only stood, staring.

Eventually, the stress of waiting to be killed or maimed grew overwhelming, and George had either passed out or dozed off.

He’d woken hours later.  The lights were off and he was in bed with what felt like all the blankets in his house piled on top of him.  The stranger was beside the bed, bent over and staring George in the face like a cobra waiting to strike.

George had screamed.  “Out!  Get out!”

And to his amazement, the stranger did.

George yanked the towel rack out of the bathroom wall, brandishing it when he crept out of the bedroom.  The stranger was kneeling in the hallway.  His body was tense.  His dead eyes were wet with tears.

It had been a week now.  Luke refused to leave George’s side, except when he was told to retrieve something.  It was damn lucky that George worked from home, or his benevolent stalker’s appearance would be hard to explain.  Luke was still barely speaking.  Maybe George could order him to answer, but that felt wrong.  Creepy.

Luke made a soft sound.  The onion was perfectly diced, and he held out the cutting board as if asking for approval.

“Great,” George said.  “Thanks.  Now add it to the pan, would you?”

Luke nodded.  The onions started sizzling as George laid out the tortillas on their plates.  Luke insisted on doing all the actual cooking.  Maybe he thought he had to.  Or maybe he didn’t trust George not to harm him with a knife.

But George was about as happy with this arrangement as he could possibly be.  Maybe that was a sign of Stockholm syndrome, but it was clear that Luke could kill him if he wanted.  He wouldn’t even need a knife: one blow to the head from that metal arm, and George would be dead.  He wasn’t.  So Luke either liked him or needed him.

And in spite of his best efforts otherwise, George liked him back.  He wanted to help, to get Luke talking.

“Thanks, buddy,” he said when Luke shut off the stove.  “These are gonna be great fajitas, I can tell.”

And Luke gave the faintest hint of a smile.

It would have been a perfect moment, except that’s when Captain America chose to kick in the front door.  And then the Falcon crashed through the dining room window.

“Oh, come on!” George shouted, trying to shield Luke as Luke was trying to shield him.  “I don’t have room for three of you!”

Loki's POV of Thor choosing the universe over him?

some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing, 900 words, what’s that you say? five million WIPs and here you are doing this? shhhhh I don’t know what you’re talking about. a companion piece to this one because I love sads, infinity war spoilers, only a fix-it in the sense that everyone’s alive

The Tesseract, or your brother’s life.

Loki knew the moment Thanos spoke the words the choice Thor had to make. The right choice. The only choice. Thor was a king now, with a people to protect. A universe to protect.

What was one life, against that?

No. There was one choice, and that Thor would make it was what made him a hero. It might hurt him, but he would never, never, put Loki’s life ahead of hundreds of trillions of strangers.

Thor’s eyes were fixed on him. Loki looked back at him, trying to say with his eyes, I understand. And he did.

A small, selfish, part of him still wanted Thor to surprise him.

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Strawberry Milk

cw: sub!Felix; dom!reader; reader - unspecified pronouns/gender/junk; kink awakening; under-negotiated kink; cock-stepping; dacryphilia; cross-dressing; cock spanking; degradation; humiliation; exhibition; cumplay - cum drinking, snowballing; sexting; public masturbation/hand job; mentions of underwear theft, omorashi/piss kink; pet names - baby, kitty (for Felix); we start out mean but get a lil gentle towards the end, also we nearly veered into genderfucky territory, but i don't think we really went there, do with that what you will

wordcount: 4,807 words

posted for @skzseasons !S Week event!🌸💕

“I think I’m a pervert.”

Hyunjin makes That Face when you finally make your admission. It’s one you’re used to seeing—the expression he has when Jisung spills another iced coffee all over himself or Changbin breaks the knob off his internal volume control for a moment. It’s the face he makes when the world has disappointed, but not surprised him.

You’re a little offended, honestly—you think your degeneracy could merit at least a little shock—but you press on anyways.

“I think—I think I might have done something fucked up. And I think I liked it.” You leave out how you’ve been sitting on this revelation for nearly a week now, lying awake in your bed with a hand shoved down your underwear and the sight of Felix on the ground playing on loop behind your eyelids.

“Hmm. ‘Fucked up’ how?”

“I-I don’t know, I… didn’t mean to? But…” You really hadn’t. High off the rush of winning, you hadn’t wanted to hurt him or scare him, you were just so caught up in having the upper hand. But the sight of him wide-eyed and fearful, tears welling up in his eyes, had made your stomach twist with as much desire as guilt. “…but-I-think-I-like-making-boys-cry?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“What do you mean, ‘yeah’?”

“You watch reality tv, don’t you?”

“What—what does that have to do with anything?”

“You like seeing people suffer. Obviously.”

“Look—schadenfreude isn’t the same as, as sadism, I—” You don’t know how to put words to the memory—Felix laughing and squirming, sprawled out on his ass and elbows in the wet grass beneath you—you wobbly, out of breath and off-balance, as the foot you’d meant to plant on his chest comes to rest square on his crotch.

“Hyunjin, I don’t think you can compare stepping on someone to watching people have meltdowns on TV.”

“Wait, you stepped on someone?”

“No! Maybe?” The recollection of it snares you at the most unexpected moments—sunlight caught on the fat teardrops welling up in his eyes, blush blooming across his freckled cheeks, the heat of his cock growing fat and stiff under your bare foot. “Kinda…”

“Ha. Step on me, mommy?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

And he does, and for a while you think that’s it. Until Hyunjin’s soft voice breaks the silence again.

“It’s not a big deal, you know? Loads of people are into that kind of thing.”

“Whatever…”

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Look, you—you don’t really know what’s going on.

For the past couple weeks, you’ve been trying to keep a respectful distance from Felix—you tell yourself you’re being considerate, giving him space, but you can’t deny the way your stomach twists when he catches your eye. It’s good manners, you tell yourself, not avoidance.

Right now, being ‘respectful’ mostly just means staring at your phone while you pretend you don’t notice Seungmin slowly hiding everyone’s keys and earbuds in the hood of your sweater.

When Jisung drags Felix out of the room, crowing about “winning the bet”, you don’t think much of it. If anything, you relax for the first time since you walked in the door. The tension melts from your shoulders as you burrow deeper into the sofa, huffing out a little laugh as Seungmin tugs his hand away with a yelp.

It’s possibly the most peaceful ten minutes you’ve had, until the door to Jisung’s room slams open again to reveal Felix in a schoolgirl’s uniform.

No one questions why Jisung just has one on hand. It’s not one of those cheap, costume-y ones either, not some shapeless and skimpy thing made from oddly shiny polyester in generic white and blue. You make a note in the back of your mind to look it up later—there are endless things to tease Jisung for, but any addition to your pile of ammunition is welcome.

The funniest part—because this is funny, right?—is how good it looks on Felix. The cream-colored sailor collar makes his tawny skin glow and the dark green pleats of the skirt swish around his lissome legs with every step he takes. As your gaze makes it’s way down, you realize Jisung even completed the look with a tiny little pair of socks—knobby ankles framed by frills of white lace that make your jaw go slack and your brain fizzle with static.

When you drag your eyes back up to his face, Felix’s gaze is locked on you.

Your ribcage feels too tight for your lungs.

You’re not doing this.

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As soon as Minho and Seungmin start squabbling over what movie to put on, you bolt for the kitchen, mumbling some excuse about getting snacks. You don’t bother to flip the light switch, just tuck yourself out of sight and bury your face in your hands.

Deep breaths, in and out.

You’ll go back once the lights are out, you decide. Lights out, movie on, and maybe then you’ll be able to keep yourself from staring like a creep. You drag in one last deep, shuddery breath to settle yourself, tip your head back and groan, before pushing yourself off the wall.

Only to find yourself face to face with Felix.

His expression is open and guileless, eyes intent on you even as he gnaws at his lip and fiddles with his sleeves. And he’s still wearing that goddamn school uniform.

“I thought… you might need some help…?” His voice is low and clear against the din of your friends in the next room, and you swallow hard.

“Sure.” You clear your throat, push past him to rummage through the freezer. “Yeah, sure, whatever…”

For a while, you almost feel normal again—preheating the oven and dumping pizza rolls onto a baking sheet, pawing through the cupboards for chips and microwave popcorn. Felix doesn’t help so much as get underfoot, though, trailing after you so closely you’re surprised he isn’t tripping over your heels. He keeps reaching for things a little too late when you ask for them, just before you reach for them yourself, hands colliding as he mumbles apologies into your ear. The constant proximity, the heat of his body, his breath in your ear, it’s all fraying at your self-control one thread at a time.

When his fingers brush along the back of your hand for the third or fourth time, it snaps, sending you whirling around to back him into the counter.

“What is wrong with you?”

He shrugs listlessly, gaze drifting to the side to avoid yours, and something knots up in your chest. You’re winding a hand in his hair before you even realize, dragging his eyes back to meet your own. He’s biting his lip again, and it makes you want to replace his teeth with your own, makes you want to make him cry again.

There’s an infuriatingly calm, almost expectant look in his eyes, and you realize… Felix followed you in here.

When you drag him in for a kiss, it’s less like two puzzle pieces slotting together and more like a car crash—messy and crude, open-mouthed and hungry as you push your tongue into his mouth, curl it against the roof and swallow down his gasping little whines. You withdraw just long enough for him to keen like a little animal, his breath hot against your lips, and you reward him by digging your teeth into his lower lip and snaking a hand up his skirt.

Even through the soft cotton of his boxers, he’s hot in your hand, cock already stiffening as you cup and squeeze it experimentally. It’s more an inspection than it is an attempt at real stimulation, but his hips jerk under the attention anyways.

“You’re really getting hard from being pushed around, huh?”

His face scrunches up at your words, but he nods frantically. Something feral and mean inside of you rears up at the sight of him, lips shiny with your spit and twisted in a grimace, eyes already glossy with tears.

“Lift up your skirt.” The speed with which he follows your instruction goes to your head like champagne on an empty stomach, bright and bubbly and warm.

Felix makes such a depraved little picture for you—hair mussed, face flushed under the constellations of his freckles, hands trembling just a little as he lifts his little schoolgirl skirt up to show off the outline of his cock. It’s straining against his plain grey boxer-briefs, a damp spot slowly darkening along the front—all at once, you think of working him up and making him cum all over himself like a pervert, of making him wet himself like a desperate little girl, of watching it run down his slim thighs onto the floor and pushing his face down to lick his own mess off the cold tile like a dog.

“Did you like it, when I stepped on your little cock?” You squeeze hard, watch the way his lips part with a tiny little gasp, then pull your hand away. “Well?”

He nods, brow furrowed, but that’s not enough—you bring your hand down against his cock, quick and sharp. A ragged gasp tears it’s way out of his throat, his hips jerking under the punishment.

“Use your words, baby.” You spank him harder, a second, then a third time, laughing with disbelief at the way his cock twitches under your palm, at the way his head tips back and his eyes flutter shut. Tears glisten along his lashes, salty on your lips when you lean in to brush a kiss against them.

“I-I did, I liked it, I… I…” Words failing him, he drops down to his knees, nuzzling into your thigh as he fumbles with the waistband of your shorts. For just a moment, the thought of fucking Felix’s face with all your friends just one room over sends wild thrill skittering up your spine, has you nearly ready to let him do as he pleases.

Instead, you slap his hands away and grab him by the hair again to drag him upright, his hands scrambling to grab onto your sweater as he half-climbs up your body.

“Don’t you fucking dare. Did I tell you that you could touch me?”

“N-no…”

“You can touch me when you’ve earned it, do you understand?”

He nods, and you tighten your grip, pulling a whine from him as the motion tugs at his scalp.

“I’m going to give you a chance to earn it. And to calm down, because,” you draw back to look him up and down with an arched brow. “I’m sure you don’t want to walk out in front of everyone looking like a desperate little slut, do you?”

“No—no, please…” He shakes his head, and you loosen your grip on his hair with a smile.

Abandoning him to make your way to the fridge, you rummage around with a gentle hum, taking your time as you listen to him rock nervously back and forth against the counter. You resurface with a carton of milk in one hand and a bottle of syrup in the other, return to set them on the counter on either side of Felix, trapping him in your arms at the same time.

“You’re going to make strawberry milk for everyone. That is why you’re taking so long. But first…” You reach past him into the cupboard, pull out a glass and a straw twisted into the shape of a heart and filled with silver glitter and hold them up with a wry smirk. “…you’re going to jerk your little cock off into your cup and then fill it up the rest of the way with milk. When you’re done making enough for everyone else, you’re going to bring them all out to us, and you’re going to drink yours in front of everyone. Understand?”

He nods again, before he catches himself—“yes! Yes, m—yes, I understand— ”

“Good.” You file away the little stumble in his words for later, and then a wicked thought occurs to you. “Hm. Before you finish your glass, you’re going to do one more thing—you’re going to offer me a sip, so I know you made it right.”

It takes a moment, but you watch as Felix’s eyes go wide, lips parting, as your last order slowly settles in. Not even the shriek of the stove timer cuts through his hazy expression, and once you’re done pulling out the pizza rolls and shutting off the oven, you give in to the urge to drop a quick, smacking kiss onto his worried little mouth before you leave him.

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When Felix pops back out of the kitchen, only one glass in hand, a part of you wilts a little in disappointment—only to perk up like a seedling in the rain when you realize he’s making his way toward you, sparkly little straw twirling between his fingertips.

“Try it?” There’s a sly little smile curling up the corners of his mouth as he holds the drink out; it makes you want to bend him over your knee to spank it off his face, almost as much as you want to thread your fingers through his hair and drag him in for a kiss.

You let him lift the cup to your face, angle the straw to your lips himself, and you suck. Syrupy strawberry and bitter cum bloom across your tongue, so cloying and filthy it makes your heart nearly skip a beat, sends a rush of heat straight between your legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you barely notice as Jisung whines for a taste and Felix tells him snottily that he can wait with everyone else.

“How is it?” Felix’s eyes are intent on yours, and you can’t hold back—don’t want to hold back—the stupid grin that paints itself across your face.

You catch his wrist in your grip carefully, lean in to steal another sip.

“It’s perfect.”

“This is nepotism,” Jisung declares indignantly, and you laugh as Felix skips back to the kitchen.

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Even with the lights off, you can tell how restless Felix is. He’s always a little fidgety, a squirmy, squeaky little duck of a boy, but he’s in rare form tonight—you can see him twirling his straw and wiggling into the couch cushions even as you keep your eyes trained on the movie. When Minho smacks his knee, scolds him for thumping his ankle against the sofa, you have to struggle to tamp down your smile. No one’s really noticed, you’re sure, but it’s so obvious—he’s a mess, and it’s all for you.

A spark of inspiration hits, and you slide your phone out of your pocket to tap out a quick message.

You: are you enjoying your drink?

You can tell the moment he gets your message, eyes widening as he hops up in his seat. He fumbles at his pocket, glass thumping down hard on the side table as he drags his phone out, and when his eyes dart up from your message to meet your own, you don’t shy away. It’s only when he shrinks down, curling in on himself as he clutches his phone like a lifeline, that you let your focus drop back down to your own.

It’s hard not to hold your breath as you wait for the buzz of your phone, hard not to immediately pop it open when the notification pops up on your screen. Just because he’s the most interesting part of your night—of your month, honestly—doesn’t mean you need to act so eager for him.

felix🐣: i wish it tasted like you 🥺

It would be annoying, the way six words and a stupid emoji knock the breath of your lungs, but you’re too preoccupied with the image of him on his knees, tongue out and eyes hazy and hungry for you, too preoccupied with nearly regretting your choices back in the kitchen.

You squeeze your thighs together and draw in an unsteady breath. You don’t look up at Felix.

You: you don’t even know what i taste like, tho

You: or do you?

You: have you been bad, kitty? have you been pawing through my things, sniffing at my underwear like a filthy little animal?

Maybe you’re imagining the way his hands tremble, as you watch him from the corner of your eye, but you’re sure you aren’t imagining the way the whites of his eyes catch the light as they widen, or the bob of his throat as he swallows.

felix🐣: i haven’t

You cock your head to the side as you look down at your phone, tap your glass to your lip thoughtfully—putting on a mean little show of doubt for him.

It’s only seconds before your phone is buzzing again.

felix🐣: really i promise i haven’t

felix🐣: really really really reall

felix🐣: :((

There’s something in his frantic denial that tastes like blood in the water to you, your typing barely keeping up with your thoughts as you put your autocorrect to the test.

You: i bet you’ve thought about it at least

You: don’t lie to me, kitty

You: have you?

As you tuck your phone back into your lap, anticipation thrums through your veins, so heavy it feels like it could push you right out of your own body. Around you, your friends laugh at some joke you missed, and you feel at once claustrophobic and terrifyingly adrift from the world.

Then your palm is tingling with the vibration of a new message, and your whole world narrows down to one point of focus.

felix🐣: maybe

felix🐣: yes

felix🐣: yes yes yes im sorry

felix🐣: pls don’t be mad :(

felix🐣: im sorry im gross

When you look up, Felix is avoiding your gaze, face tucked into his knees as he keeps his gaze trained blankly on the movie. The sight squeezes at your heart, makes you want pet his hair and kiss his freckles one by one.

You: it’s okay

You: i don’t care as long as you’re honest

You: tell me how gross you can be, baby

For a long while, there’s nothing. Disappointment sets in—you were trying to be gentle, but did you push him too hard? Was this what was too much? The high of completely unsupported confidence fades, and you’re just about ready to start doubting everything about the night…

Then your phone buzzes. And buzzes. And keeps on buzzing.

felix🐣: i wanna sniffyourunderwear

felix🐣: wanna know what it smells like after it’s been pressed up against you all day

felix🐣: wanna taste it wanna lick your cum off it want you to gag me with it please

felix🐣: i wanna jerk off with them get them all messy

felix🐣: want you to catch me and yell at me and

felix🐣: rub my face in my own mess and tell me ive been bad

felix🐣: sometimes i even think about you making me wear them while you spank me

felix🐣: making me spread my legs for you and

felix🐣: and calling me stupid and useless and slutty and

felix🐣: and making me do othergrossstuffforyou

You read Felix’s messages, and then you reread them at least three more times, thoughts a riot of impatience and want. All this time you’ve spent knotting yourself up with guilt and shame, when what he wants is for you to be even crueler to him, when it seems he’s been wanting this for longer than you could have imagined. You’re going to ruin him.

(You’re going to have to keep ‘other gross stuff’ in mind while you do it, too.)

When you finally look up, he’s curled as small as he can make himself, lanky limbs tucked in and eyes scrunched shut as if he’s bracing for something. You’ve never seen a sight that’s so pitiful, and it tempers the wild, mean thing he’s set loose in you, just a little.

You: oh, kitty

You: you’ve been so good for me. you’re gonna get everything you want, i promise.

You: <3

With that last message, you slide your phone back into your pocket and settle in to pretend to pay attention to the movie. And if the fists curled into your hoodie don’t unclench for the next hour, no one notices.

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After the movie, there’s a wave of drowsy murmurs as the lights flip on and your pack starts settling on what’s happening next. Pretty much everyone is going to crash right here, and most nights you would as well, but… you think that tonight, you’d rather end up in your own bed. And that you’d prefer to not end up there alone.

You stand up to stretch, satisfaction coiling low in your belly when you catch sight of Felix straightening up at your movement.

“I think I’m gonna walk home.” Your voice is just loud enough to carry across the room, a little unsteady, but that’s fine considering half your friends are still blinking the sleep from their eyes. “The weather’s been nice lately, there’s been shooting stars all week.”

“It’s too late to go out alone.” Of course, Chan objects. You’d almost feel guilty, you know he worries—but you have plans for the night, and not even your resident Dad Friend is gonna throw a wrench in them now.

“I’ll walk, too!” It’s an admirable show of restraint, that you’ve managed not to look at Felix until he’s already hopped out of his seat, volunteering himself as tribute.

“There! I won’t be alone!” You flash Chan a shit-eating grin as you hook your arm through Felix’s, dragging him towards the door before your second favorite Australian has a chance to argue. “We’ll be by with donuts in the morning, yeah?”

Behind you, you just barely catch Changbin’s voice, “wait, is Felix still wearing—”

Then the door shuts behind you, and the two of you are alone, set loose into the night.

It really is a gorgeous evening, cool and breezy, with only the faintest promise of summer thickening the air. Felix’s hand is a welcome warmth when you catch it in your own, swinging it as he matches his pace to yours. You pretend not to notice the way he rubs circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, just like you pretend that you aren’t grinning like an idiot.

There’s a calm that settles over you, with the city around you so still and hushed, with Felix’s shoulder nudging into yours as your footsteps echo along the street. It feels like no one exists but the two of you, like you have all the time in the world.

The tension that had you all twisted up, like a rope swing ready to spin out of control, eases into something lazy, almost leisurely. You have the whole night ahead of you, and you intend to take advantage of that. When you come up to a bus stop, you lean into his side to steer him into the flickering light. He’s meek as a kitten, letting you gently crowd him into the corner with no question.

“Hey.” You know you still have that goofy grin on your face, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Hey.” It's not as embarrassing, you figure, when the look on Felix's face is just as dumb as yours.

“Do something for me, baby?”

“Anything.” His answer is immediate, breathless, and it’s as sweet as the fake strawberry that’s still lingering on your tongue.

“Get your cock out for me.”

There’s only a moment’s hesitation as his eyes flick past your shoulders, then Felix is hiking his skirt up and tugging the front of his boxers down to show himself off for you—he’s still soft, his cock looking so small and chubby and sweet in his hand, little pink head peeking out from his golden brown foreskin. He can’t look you in the eyes, shrinking in on himself even as the cock in his hand stiffens under your gaze.

“Look at me…” Your voice is low and lilting as you lean in, drunk on the cool spring air and the power of making someone commit public indecency with just a few words. When he obeys, you continue: “You were such a good kitty tonight. I have something for you.”

“You do?”

“Mhmm. Hold out your hand for me.”

Felix lifts a shaky hand, palm up, and you pull your own out of your pocket to carefully tuck your underwear into it. The absolute absence of comprehension in his expression is so precious, you drag him down for a kiss, soft and warm as you swallow down his breath, nip at his lower lip just before you pull away.

“Wha… How? When?” You take his hand to wrap it around his cock, which seems to have caught up to things much faster than his brain, the solid heat of it through your underwear a wanton contrast to the dreamy urgency in his voice.

“I went to the bathroom, before the movie ended.” Slowly, you guide his hand in slow, measured strokes, watching the way his eyes flutter shut and he bites his lip to try and fail to hold back a groan. With your other hand, you cup his balls, squeezing and rolling them gently.

Under the flickering fluorescent of the bus stop, the delicate angles of his face look nearly too perfect to be real—with his skirt bunched up around his hips and his hair a tousled halo against the grimy plexiglass, you could almost believe it was an angel you were ravishing.

Eyes focused on his expression, you squeeze his balls a little tighter, curl your fingers to stroke behind them and grin like a shark when the motion has Felix dropping his mouth open to let loose a shameless moan. Carefully, you feel around until you find the spot that drags a high-pitched whine out of him, and massage it mercilessly. His breathing quickens, chest heaving under his rumpled sailor collar, and you speed up your strokes to match it.

When you finally feel his balls tighten in your palm, you angle his twitching cock to make sure he cums all over your hand. His release comes in weak, uneven spurts, but it drags on longer than you expected, runs down your skin like warm, sticky ribbons of cream as you milk him dry. You don’t let him go until you’re sure he has nothing left in him, thighs trembling around your wrist and hands pawing desperately at your shoulders.

Being careful not to let any go to waste, you lift your hand up—your kitten knows what you want before you even say a word, meeting you halfway with his tongue already out.

“Don’t swallow yet,” you warn him, and Felix hums against your skin in acknowledgment. His tongue is hot and insistent as he licks your skin clean, laps his own cum out of your palm, cheeks hollowing as he takes your fingers into the heat of his mouth one by one to suck them clean.

“Open up, baby, let me see.”

Rosy lips stretch wide for your viewing pleasure, to show you pearly white cum pooled on his pink tongue. You lean in to dip your tongue into his waiting mouth, his release briny and bittersweet as you finally get to taste it undiluted. Lips working hungrily against his, you coax his tongue into your own mouth, swallow down his cum and suck at the hot muscle until he’s limp and shivering against you.

When you’re finally satisfied that you’ve had every last drop of him, you pull away and tug him into your arms, petting his hair and cooing sweet nonsense into his ear until his shivering slows and he’s nuzzling sleepily into your neck. You go about setting him to rights, tucking his limp cock back into his boxers and straightening out his skirt, before uncurling his fingers to take your cum-stained underwear back.

A quick glance around to make sure the coast is clear, and you’re shimmying out of your shorts to drag your cum-stained underwear back on. They’re sticky and warm between your thighs, and you cringe at the thought of doing your next load of laundry, but it’s worth it for the dazed, slack-jawed look you get from Felix as you tug your shorts back on.

He twines the drawstring of your shorts around a finger, eyes boring holes into the ground, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s pouting.

“I wanna… I wanna make you cum, too…” His voice is low and even, but undeniably sulky, and a sudden rush of affection courses through you as you grab him by the face to force him to look you in the eye.

“Just wait, kitty. We’ll be home soon.” You plant a kiss on the tip of his nose, then grab a sticky hand to drag him back out into the night. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

"Danny?" Tucker asked.

He didn't say anything, not even twitching. He just kept staring at the sky.

"Oh, no," Sam moved to stand over him, "You don't get to brush that off. I asked if that includes you."

Did that include him? That was a good question. He didn't particularly remember wanting to be anything more than he was, maybe a bit smarter and better liked. He didn't think he wanted much of anything, either. Being invisible, not having or doing anything that would draw significant attention was good. It was safe.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that did include him. The part that hadn't died, Danny Fenton, still didn't like attention. He liked being invisible. Danny Phantom, the part that died, liked attention. He liked that people were seeing and reacting to him. He liked the positive attention.

Danny rolled over so he could stand up without hitting Sam. "I've gotta head home and make sure Mom doesn't try cooking anything."

He ignored Sam and Tucker as he left the roof. He had a lot to think about.

Invisible

“Do you ever think it’s ironic?” asked Sam.  “That people who can become invisible act so flashy?”

Next to her on the roof, Danny kicked his feet back and forth.  A parade of ghosts marched through the streets below.  “I mean, you have to remember the people who become ghosts.”

Sam looked at him.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s people who didn’t get what they wanted in life.  Who wanted to do something, or be something, but didn’t get to.  People who already feel invisible.”

“Does that include you?”

Danny shrugged and leaned back to look at the sky.

Would you guys want more of my writing?

Some mountain angst below the cut(??) @cptsylok helped fuel this. Not proofread, about 400 words. No comfort for now. Maybe soon

They’d not gotten a plate for him. This was the third night. After one time you can blame it as an accident. After the second, you start to doubt it. The third.. that’s when you start to know. That’s fine, he’d just get himself one.. except, like the other nights, no seat was left. In his seat was the new summon. Mountain could feel the tears in his eyes as the formed, before he turned on his heel, to head the greenhouse. At least they couldn’t take that from him, right? His one solace, the earth. Right? The greenhouse he had.. was his solace.

Wrong. He trudged through the woods, angry. Anger burned through him at what he’d saw. Dewdrop. Dewdrop and Aether in his greenhouse. Not the communal one, not the one for the siblings, not the one for the ghouls. The one that was just for him, the one everyone knew was his and to ask before they went in. They hadn’t asked. He was fuming, the normally stoic earth ghoul fueled with anger. A burning rage inside him, like a fire. Soon, he was by the creek, far from the ministry, the abbey. From his pack. He found a soft spot on the earth and let out a whine, his stomach folding in half from not eating. He started to cry.

His pack had forgotten him.

They had taken over his space.

He wasn’t there and they didn’t know.

Mountain was sick of it as his ears folded down, he started to cry.

And no one heard.

It hurt. It hurt him to be igorend. No one realized that with sunshine and aether leaving, he was just as affected. It was all either about dew or the new summon. Phantom. He seemed sweet. Mountain couldn’t blame him.

His head felt fuzzy. He drifted off to sleep, and no one would notice his absence in the common room. In the halls, in his room.

No one would notice. No one.