#IT'S BEEN HALF A YEAR AND I AM NOT EVEN REMOTELY OVER THAT

[theladyyavilee]

I would do almost anything to shake the taste of loneliness loose from my mouth

Trista Mateer - when the stars wrote back

[ID in alt text]

[itgetzweird08]

“Damn- already Bakugo? The movie isn’t even over!”

Denki whined, grabbing the remote to pause the comedy that was playing on the tv. It was movie night in the dorms, a way for the class to bond and decompress after classes. Everyone was huddled together, wrapped in blankets and sharing snacks. All accept Bakugo, who scowled at his yellow haired friend.

“It’s my bed time. I’ll see you nerds in the morning.” Denki huffed, crossing his arms as he muttered about Bakugo’s old man behavior. But Kirishima smiled, giving him a short wave and a “sleep well Baku-bro!”. The rest of the class also sent their goodnight wishes as Bakugo headed to his room.

It was only 8:30, which was a bit early even for Bakugo. He usually headed to bed around 9, but tonight was special.

When he got to his room, he locked his door and walked to his mirror, making sure his hair was to his liking and that there was no popcorn in his teeth. When he caught himself fretting over his appearance, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, wiping his sweaty palms on his jogging pants. ‘The fuck am I worried for? It’s just a Skype call’. And while he was right, it was just a call, it was a call with /you/.

You and Bakugo had been dating long distance for the past year and a half.

You met at the I-island convention, where you two got into a friendly competition at one of the challenges. After you managed to beat him at his own game, he recruited Mina to find you on social media. Anyone who could beat him was special..and it didn’t hurt that you were gorgeous to boot. However, his heart sank when he found out that you didn’t live in Japan. Still, he decided to follow and dm you anyways..which you promptly answered. The two of you have been talking non stop ever since.

What was just messaging turned into calling, then FaceTiming, to full on movie nights where you would count down to try and start the movie at the same time. And while it was inconvenient, it was fun. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Which is why he was always promptly on time for your calls. You had both been busy that week, so you weren’t able to talk as much as you normally did, which is why you scheduled the call. With the time difference, you would be slowly waking up to get ready for school while he was going to bed. He was able to tell you about his day, while he watched you get ready for yours.

The time difference was a hard challenge to navigate, but you made it work. Talking to eachother was the high light of both of your days. You loved seeing his face and hearing his voice, even if it was virtual and he loved the same. You were both very meticulous in nature as well, making sure that your times were aligned to get the most out of your talks as possible. That way, it always felt like enough.

And while it would be nice to hold him, to see his face in person, to kiss him..this was enough for now.

Bakugo hopped into his bed, plugging up his phone before pressing call and waiting for you to answer. And when you did, he was met with sleepy eyes and a warm smile. He could’ve sworn his heart was doing actual backflips.

“Hi Kats..”

“Morning dumbass”

You smiled at him, your heart fluttering at his teasing. And just by seeing your smile he knew, that until he could get to you, this would be enough for him.

——————

Ps: im starting to do requests! So if you have an idea for me, go ahead and put it in my asks <3

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

[reallyromealone]

Sebastian michaelis x demon/vampire butler reader? Omegaverse perhaps?

Title: a bit bitey

Fandom:black butler

Characters: Ciel, Sebastian

Fic type: fluff, omegaverse, suggestive content

Pairings:

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, fluff, suggestive themes, vampire reader

Notes: IM BAAAAAACK >:)

Summary: Reader is a vampire who drinks the blood of alphas who fall for his charms and gets mistaken for Jack the Ripper and gets chased by Sebastian and offered a position be can't refuse

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was said that when a demon bedded a witch that it would create something truly unholy that would walk the earth craving human flesh, unable to touch the sun.

It's why (name) found his home in London, a lovely home with his centuries accumulated wealth and all his trinkets over the years scattered around, like a museum of his immortality.

"I was so hungry..." (Name) Sighed, the Omega watching as the man dropped to the ground, body drained of all blood and (name) licked his lips, a bit of blood on his top lip. A sense of euphoria washed over the Omega who let out a sigh before stepping over the dead alpha, seeing a wanted poster for Jack the Ripper, whoever that guy was sure made feedings easy...

It was the dead of night, no one really in the streets and the oil lamps lighting his path home, a pep in his step and soft humming could be heard.

He was always so happy after a good feeding.

"There he is! Sebastian, get him!" A child's voice could be heard and (name) turned to lock eyes with a deep red pair... A demon.

(Name) Immediately bolted, the young blue eyed boy going into his carriage to wait while his demon stalked down the street.

Running through alleyways and corners, (name) was thankful for his speed and lack of footsteps, slipping into his bedroom door and closing it with a sigh.

Safe.

"Fu--" (name) was pinned to the ground by the black haired alpha, arms pinned to his side "you know, people would typically take one on a romantic stroll or maybe a dinner before doing something like this" (name) snarled at the alpha who wasn't even remotely phased "you have been causing problems..." Sebastian said casually, eyeing the Omega who huffed "I'm simply having dinner" (name) didn't particularly care for the humans, really seeing them as food "you killed five prostitutes"

Huh?

"My apologies but I don't pursue other omegas" (name) said simply "I pursue alphas, they're easier" Sebastian stared him down, looking for any trade if a lie but when he found nothing he let go of his wrists but stayed on the vampires hips "is there anything else I can assist you with Sbeastian?" Remembering the name the boy called the demon "are you looking for employment?" Sebastian asked curiously, (name) raising an eyebrow at the question.

"What are you on about?"

"I can offer you something, an exchange"

"What could you possibly offer me?"

"Demon blood in exchange for employment" (name) didn't need money, he didn't need items or anything material as he lived for centuries and had an Elizabethan era outfit in a chest in the attic of his home. "You are willing to give me your blood?" (Name)s eyes were blown out while moving to touch the others cold neck, right around his jugular "no more attacking humans, work under me and you get demonic blood" demonic blood was like a fine wine to a vampire, addictive and delicious.

Sebastian could smell the omegas pharamones even when masked, biting his lips "do you know what you're asking of me, alpha?"

"I am well aware of what in asking, Omega" Sebastian whispered, getting closer to the other "I'm half human, do you think you can handle my mortal emotions? I am very high maintenance" (name) didn't flinch, the twos lips barely touching and eyes locking "I think I can manage, humans are needy creatures"

"Half human"

"Ah yes, like a mutt"

(Name) Glared "my my what a charmer, can you please kindly get your flat bottom off me alpha?" (Name) Batted his eyes "don't you have your child to tend to?"

"Do you accept my offer?"

"I suppose I will become your mate..." (Name) Huffed, looking at the alpha who was now his mate "my heat is in two weeks, I will be having it here and I will be keeping my residence for such matters or if you annoy me too much"

Sebastian silently chuckled at the Omega he chose, a snarky vampire who didn't care for silly human traditions on being an Omega.

This was going to be fun.

[justwonder113]

Showering Hyunjin with affection

Bang Chan; Lee Know; Changbin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; IN;

Summary: you just had to show your drama queen of a boyfriend how much you love him. word count:2.5k

Warning: lot's of kissing, reader is gender neutral, both of them are whipped, appearance of 3racha, predebut Han almost making an entrance, Hyunjin is drunk and a drama queen, overall soft stuff. Please tell me if I missed something

A/N- I'm back with another fic, this took me a while but I'm kinda really satisfied with it, I really hope you all like it. I will try to write the next part as soon as I can. I wanna finish these series as soon as I can, first of all because I'm all excited and can't wait, also I'm excited to try out new tropes, I was thinking of challenging one bed trope after this, with various different dynamics. The requests are open, if you want me to write something I'll gladly accept the challenge. Also feel free to share your thoughts with me, I absolutely adore interacting with y'all.

After sighing for the nth time you finally forced yourself to turn off the shitty netflix show you were watching to spend time. You had nothing to do and were bored out of your mind, but not to that context to sit through another minute of this. It was almost 3 am and any normal person would be asleep by now, but here you were wide awake, feeling nothing remotely close to sleepiness.

You sat up straight after laying for couple of hours and boy you regretted it. The dizzy spell you got was nothing to joke with, maybe you should check your iron levels. Also your poor muscles felt so sore you would surely feel all stiff tomorrow. Your back was killing you, and, not to be dramatic but, you would marry anyone on the spot if they managed to massage the knots out. It was safe to say, you desperately needed some good spa day.

Speaking of marriage and partners, you were curious on how Hyunjin was doing. Even a mere thought of your amazing boyfriend bought a smile to your face. You couldn't believe you two were actually dating after pining over him for so many years. You sure were lucky tho, to have a sweetheart like him as your boyfriend. Your one year annivercary was coming soon and you couldn't surprise wait to surprise him. You've been planning everything for weeks now and you made sure everything would be perfect. Well you had to share some of your plans with him, so that you could plan your day together but you still had major card up your sleeve and you were sure he would lose his mind when you showed it to him. Two days, you only had to wait for two days.

You couldn't help but sigh, you missed him so much. Even though you saw him two days ago it felt like centuries had passed. This boy made you feel so many so foreign emotions you were never sure you would get to or actually could experience. He always went above and beyond to make you feel like the most special and cherished person, and the fact that he also did so even before you two started dating each other. He was always so sweet and gentle with you. You always felt like a hero of a romance novel. Also you adored how being with him was so fun and exciting but at the same time bought peace to your heart and mind. You might be rushing into things but day by day, second by second you were convinced he was your soulmate, your other half.

A sudden buzzing of your phone startled you out of your daydream, you were curious who in their right mind was calling you at this hour.

Seeing the contact name had you even more confused. Why would Chan be calling you at 3 am? You knew the boys were out having fun night for themselves. Did something happen? You hoped he called you for other reasons, because it would really suck if their rare chance of having fun got ruined by something unplanned. You sure hoped everything was okay tho. Quickly as you could you grabbed your phone and answered it mentaly preparing yourself to hear anything Chan had to say.

Chan's call of your name bought you down to reality from another spiral of unnescesary thoughts.

"Hey Chan what's up?" You tried to sound as calm as you could.

Chan cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" You quickly denied it," no I'm awake, what's up? Is everything okay?"

Chan chuckled and it made you relax a little, so nothing bad had happened, "yeah, yeah everything's fine , nothing to worry about, it's just your boyfriend is getting a bit fussy." You couldn't help but mirror the last word, you heard Chan chuckle. "Yeah alcohol must've got to him. We were about to go home, but he refuses to cooperate. He says he wants to go at yours because he as he quotes "misses his baby so much he can't take it anymore!" He dragged the words mimicking your boyfriend, you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Where are you guys, I can come pick him up." You suggested while searching for your keys with your eyes.

"No, no it's okay, we can bring him at yours. Binnie and Han are with me too so I don't think it will be much trouble. I just couldn't knock some sense into him, I told him to call you but he said his phone died. At some point he even ran towards your house or that's what he thought I had to tackle him before he could get lost. I don't think he can tell left from right in this state" He paused for a second, you heard someone talking but you couldn't hear anything, " I'm getting off track sorry, so it's good to bring him at yours?" You were full on chuckling now, what a silly little man.

"Yeah, it's totally fine. I'm sorry he's being trouble."

"No it's fine, it's kinda endearing to see him this whipped. All he talked about was you and how amazing you are." Your cheeks hurt from smiling this wide, God, you loved that idiot. "Okay I won't bore you anymore, we'll be at yours soon."

"Okay I'm waiting."

After finishing the call you made sure you looked decent enough for your taste and that your apartment looked neat. You also prepared clothes for Hyunjin to change into from his drawer and some water and painkillers for tomorrow.

It didn't even take 20 minutes for the boys to arrive. The second you opened your door Hyunjin tackled you into a hug, almost knocking you over, thankfully Changbin and Chan caught you two before you could manage and break your necks. You giggled at your boyfriends eagerness, before frowning when you saw how swollen and red his eyes were. "What happened baby?" You cooed at him and moved his hair out of his face. Hyunjin sighed and hugged you again, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You heard collective sigh of boys and turned your attention to them, looking at them with confused eyes, hoping they would tell you what was up.

Han decided to break the silence-"don't worry he was just bawling his eyes the whole ride, crying how amazing and perfect you were and how there is no one like you." He said and rolled his eyes, you huffed out a laugh, you knew he had nothing against you, but he must have had enough of this. Hyunjin frowned and glanced at him, his hold on you tightened, you were not sure if he felt possesive or just couldn't keep himself straight. "You're just bitter cuz you're single!" Hearing your boyfriends grumble Han's eyes widened and for a second you were afraid predebut Han would return. "Oh I'm gonna beat his ass!" Han leaned in but Changbin held him back by his collar, Changbins gaze then turned to you and you noticed how tired he seemed. "Good luck, he's your headache now."

Chan looked at you" Do you need any help with anything?" You smiled at him and shook your head. "I can handle him. Do you guys wanna come in tho? Do you want something to drink?" After hearing the last word you could see all three of them shiver.

"We're fine. It's late too we better head home." Chan reassured you after glancing at Changbin and Han for their opinion.

"Okay, thanks again for bringin him. Tell me when you're home, it's really late."

You said your goodbyes and turned to hyunjin who looked at you with dazed, sparkling eyes. "Let's get you settled pretty boy." You took his hand and started leading him towards your bedroom. Hyunjin eagerly followed you, you were amazed how pliant he was being, usually he loved being a brat but he must have been too tired now to act so.

After helping Hyunjin get ready for bed, you quickly got changed too and got in bed next to him. turning to him you noticed that he looked at you with wide eyes, nowhere near sleepy now. You leaned in and removed hair from his forehead, "I thought you were sleepy baby." Hyunjin looked at you for a second or two and opened his arms, "wanna cuddle." His words were slurred but you still got what he meant, you smiled and immediately snuggled next to him his arms finding solace around you. Based on how content he looked, if he could he would start purring any second now. How was he so cute and lovable? You knew you were whipped for him but you could swear he looked extra yummy right now.

You spent couple of minutes like this, and based on his even breathing you were sure he was asleep now, but you were proved wrong when he huffed while glaring at you and then changed sides so that you were now facing his back. To be honest you were a bit dumbfounded.

"What's wrong sweetie?" You couldn't help but pry, you had no idea what could've brought this behavior from him. Hyunjin just huffed. You sighed for yourself, you had got to use the big guns. You leaned in closer, amused at how he tried to get away from your touch, as if he had much space to run off to, and soon, not really to your surprise you had him trapped in the corner of your bed. You wrapped your hand around his stiff body and leaned in closer so that you could sweetly whisper against his ear. " Please tell me what's wrong my love" you dragged his nickname as sweetly as you could knowing it made him weak in the knees, and it did break through him. Hyunjin sighed and laid on his back, you glued next to him, his lips were pouted and his eyes a little bit glossy, you rubbed his side to ease him into talking .

"You don't love me" he whined quietly, you expected to hear anything but this from him if you were honest. You blinked at him confused, trying to gather your thoughts, you were both perplexed and also hollering from laughter inside. He was so ridiculous sometimes. You took a deep breath and moved your fingers to play with his soft locks, Hyunjin immediately leaned into the touch.

"My love, I love you so much I don't think you can even comprehend it! What brought this up?" Your voice was soft, you wanted him to know how sincere you were. Hyunjin sighed and put his hand on your waist, successfully bringing you closer to him, your fingers migrated and now were gently scratching his nape. Hyunjin hid his face in the crook of your neck and quietly grumbled "you didn't kiss me even once since I got here, we haven't seen each other in a while tho." No matter how hard you tried you couldn't hold it in and started cackling, this adorable as hell drama Queen! He had you worried for nothing! You even thought for a second you did something wrong.

Noticing your shaking figure, Hyunjin looked up at you with doe eyes, and his pout deepened when he saw you that you were wholeheartedly laughing. "Stop laughing I'm talking from my heart here!" His comment made you laugh even harder. "I should've gone home, you hates me" noticing how sad he sounded you got reminded that he was drunk as hell and was feeling more fragile, you wondered tho if he would remember any of this in the morning? Was it too late to grab a camera? Pouty Hyunjin was adorable.

"I'm sorry my love, you know I love you the most." Hyunjin rolled his eyes, and you knew he was playing with you, his eyes glimmered with mischief, well, two could play this game. You lowered your voice so you sounded almost sultry "Why don't you let me prove my sincerity to you then? Are you gonna let me?" You carefully watched as Hyunjin's eyes widened for a second, the big gulp and careful nod of his head.

This was all the permission you needed, you leaned in and carefully sealed your lips together, your boyfriend basically melted against you. You just loved how soft and pillowy his lips were, you always felt like you could kiss him for eternity.

The kiss started out soft, with you gently caressing his lips, his hand firm on your waist, holding you as if you were going to go away. Everything went quiet, you could only see, smell, taste, feel, hear him and so much more, he was the center of your universe. It was just you two right now, you didn't care about anything else. You had one goal only and you were dedicated. Everything about him was driving you crazy, you were sure he couldn't even grasp what, or how much you were feeling.

Your kisses quickly deepened and apart from gasping for air from time to time you two were inseparable, like two magnets pulling on each other.

The second Hyunjin leaned back for a second for some air, you decided to continue your little attack on his jaw, then his cheeks, absolutely loving the feel of his soft skin on your lips, then came his forehead, his eyelids, his beautiful nose, his chin, his neck... You wanted to cover every inch of him in kisses, to show appreciation to whichever god or gods crafted him, to show appreciation that this walking perfection was yours, his soft sighs and whines making you go even crazier.

You littered every part of skin you could reach with kisses until your lips were so numb and buzzing you got afraid they would fall off. Although, it didn't sound that bad, knowing the last thing they did was to kiss the Hwang Hyunjin senseless.

Looking at him, he looked at you with so much love and adoration, his face and neck all flushed, his breathing was quick and shallow,his hair all disheveled, his beautiful hands held you so tightly, your heart started fluttering all over again. He looked absolutely breathtaking, you wished you could engrave this moment into your mind for eternity. You smiled at him and softly grazed his cheek. "Are you satisfied with my answer my precious?" Your voice was soft, Hyunjin gleamed at you and eagerly nodded his head, and the next thing you knew you were on your back on the bed, Hyunjin above you, hugging you as tight as he could, his lips softly kissing your collarbone. "Absolutely, I love you so much beautiful, you have no idea" he pressed another kiss on your neck and then your lips with so much love and passion you just knew your feelings were returned with the same passion and vigor.

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: You once again found yourself face-to-face with Eddie not even twenty-four hours after he checked into the motel, and your interactions left you with more questions than answers. (3.8k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, grumpy Eddie, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter two: here today

Bzzzzzz!

Your alarm clock blared its tinny ring at 1 PM. The sun was bright, a welcome change from yesterday’s overcast skies and steady rainfall.

You stretched as you awoke before shedding your oversized shirt and shorts, padding over to the shower and waiting a full five minutes for the cold water to turn lukewarm. The thinning bar of soap formed sad suds in your palm, and you lathered your skin as best as you could.

Despite your best efforts, you kept thinking about your encounter last night—that morning, really—with Eddie Munson. There was a cocky edge to him, evident by his initial refusal to put out his joint, but at least a shred of humanity; after all, he did eventually comply. There was even a semblance of…something that’d you’d shared in your brief interaction.

Or maybe it was just your imagination, the summation of your exhaustion and his high.

The towel scratched as you dried the water droplets from your bare skin, and though the cloth dampened, you could have sworn that it wasn’t wicking any moisture. Dad had been saying for years that he’ll invest in new linens “as soon as business picks up.” But business never picked up enough to do anything more than barely break even for the year, so the ancient towels stayed.

Picking the lint off of your purple T-shirt, you tucked it into your jeans and shoved your feet into your sneakers without bothering to unlace them first. One look in the mirror determined that you definitely needed makeup to look half-decent, or at least awake. There was no earthly way you would sacrifice a minute of precious sleep, so you swiped on some mascara in favor of an intricate routine and quickly fixed your hair. 

You plucked a granola bar from the stash on your dresser: your usual breakfast, tossed into your backpack as you headed out the door towards the lobby. The bus would be arriving in about five minutes, giving you just enough time to get to the stop before the doors closed. Barring any traffic, it followed a consistent schedule; one of the few certainties in life. 

“Hi Dad; bye Dad,” you called out, stopping in your tracks when you saw an obviously irritated Eddie standing in front of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest and his foot anxiously tapping. At least he was fully dressed this time, clad in a faded band t-shirt, ripped jeans, and the same denim jacket he was wearing last night when he’d first walked in. “Everything okay?” 

Dad motioned to Eddie. “Our guest is having some issues with his TV,” he said, his raised eyebrows indicating that the guest was being quite persistent about the matter. “Can you help him?” Before you could answer, he looked at Eddie and explained, “my daughter’s better with this technology stuff than I am.”

There was a temptation to argue that it was probably just a matter of smacking the side or replacing the remote batteries, but you didn’t have time to waste. “Yeah, sure,” you relented, turning to Eddie and waving him over. “Come on.”

Eddie waited to speak until the two of you were completely alone. “That was your dad?” 

You nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets and keeping your walking pace until you reached his room. 

“So what’s the problem?” you asked as he turned the key in the lock. It stuck for a moment before it fully unlatched, and he opened the door with a shove.

“The reception’s shit,” Eddie muttered, keeping his fingers splayed on the door so you could walk in first. “Every time I try to put on MTV, it’s all static. Tried it last night, too, but I figured it was because of the storm.” He gestured to the now-sunny skies. “But that shouldn’t be affecting it anymore.”

You offered a wry smile, the way you always did when delivering bad news to a guest. “Nothing’s wrong with the reception,” you explained, “there’s just no cable.”

“What?” His brows shot up in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”

“It’s simple.” You shrugged. “Cable costs money, we don’t have money; ergo, no cable.”

Eddie raked a hand through his messy curls. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” His feet could have worn holes in the floor with the way he was pacing. “Where can I watch MTV around here? Like, is there a bar or something?”

“Yeah, I mean, there’s one right down the—” You turned to the window but stopped mid-sentence, your stomach sinking as you watched your bus fly past. You heaved a dejected sigh as tears prickled at your eyes embarrassingly, and you blinked them away. 

It’s okay; I haven’t been late at all this semester, you silently reminded yourself. You could take one of the dollar cabs that runs up and down Jamaica Avenue. It wouldn’t get you exactly where you needed to go, but it would be close enough.

Eddie remained oblivious to your inner turmoil, eyes trained on the TV. “Fuck,” he grumbled, sucking through his teeth. 

“The clock radio plays music,” you offered as you hiked your backpack higher up on your shoulder. “I know it’s not the same as watching videos, but–”

“It’s not about the stupid videos!” he snapped, curling his palm into a tight fist and biting down on his forefinger knuckle. Dark eyes exuded distress, and you couldn’t help but think that his sheer panic mismatched the problem’s minimal severity.

You recoiled at his sudden outburst and took an instinctive step back. He noticed this, his expression instantly softening. His hand unfurled and fell to his side. 

“Shit, I–”

“I’m gonna be late to class.” You composed yourself, straightening your posture and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But the bar is right on 144th and 89th.”

He sputtered as he searched for the right words to apologize and explain himself. If you had time, you’d wait for him to unscramble his thoughts, but you were already behind schedule now that your bus was long gone.

You strode across campus like you were on a mission, feet flying over the pavement. The cab had left you at another bus stop closer to school, and that bus had thankfully arrived on schedule. At this rate, you would only be ten minutes late to class. 

Sweat trickled down your back from midday sun’s warmth and your fast pace, but you kept walking until you reached the lecture hall’s double doors. This class was a smaller one, only twenty or so students, so there was no sneaking in unnoticed. 

You shot your professor an apologetic look that she accepted with a polite nod, sliding into your usual seat next to your friend Nora. 

“Is everything okay?” Nora whispered, moving her own bag from the chair. The concern on her face was palpable; if you weren’t able to make it to class, you would have called her. 

“Yeah, just stuff at the motel going haywire as usual,” you reassured her with a small smile, digging out your notebook and a pen. You flipped to the first blank page and scribbled today’s date next to the right-hand margin. “What did I miss?”

Nora shook her head as if to say, nothing. “She just gave back last week’s homework. I grabbed yours, too.” She handed you a sheet of paper with a bright red A+ on top. “I figured if something had happened to you, you could be buried with your most recent perfect paper.” 

She winked, and you rolled your eyes to mask your burgeoning pride. 

Truthfully, you’d worked hard on the assignment. You might have already been accepted to graduate school, but NYU’s prestige didn’t come without a hefty price tag, and you still needed to apply for scholarships in order to afford it. 

Now was not the time to slack. 

You tried to pay attention to the lecture, but your mind constantly drifted to the way Eddie had behaved in his room, having a meltdown like an overtired toddler. The man who had lost his temper over a television channel was starkly different from the one who had readily swapped playful jabs with you the night prior. 

Maybe whatever buzz he’d managed to acquire before you’d interrupted him had made him uncharacteristically pleasant, and today’s outburst was indicative of his true self. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and willed yourself to focus on the case study being presented on the board rather than your own personal Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the mystery that was Eddie Munson. Guests had had their choice words with you before—there was a reason why you had pepper spray at the ready—but this felt different. When most guests screamed like he had, they were specifically angry at you; it was the reaction you had expected when you’d told Eddie that he couldn’t smoke pot in the motel. Others simply were not in their right minds and didn’t realize that they were shouting at a random woman and not their mom or childhood bully or the monster under the bed. 

Eddie differed from both categories in that he’d recognized his mistake. That he was frustrated at the situation, not at you. That he had started an apology that he might have finished If you had stuck around.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he would have continued yelling, face growing red with rage. Maybe he would have stopped his tantrum but stormed out to the bar without a second thought. 

You looked down at your notebook page, still blank except for the date. 

Maybe you should stop playing this game of what-ifs and actually listen to the lecture. 

After your professor handed out the rubric for the final paper and dismissed the class, you and Nora made a beeline for the food cart outside the building. Dining hall food was too expensive and bland; besides, Niko knew both of your orders by heart. 

He greeted you with a chipper smile as soon as you approached the cart. Bacon sizzled in its own fat, drowned out only by the sound of the chopper scraping against stainless steel as Niko scrambled the eggs.  

“Better enjoy this nice weather while it lasts,” he said, fuzzy gray brows pinching together. He grabbed two styrofoam cups from a stack and filled them with coffee. “Temperature’s s’posed to skyrocket this summer.”

You grimaced, pulling a few bills from your backpack’s front pouch. “If food service doesn’t work out for you, Niko, you should look into meteorology.”

He brushed off your sarcasm and adjusted his apron over his protruding belly. He added cream and sugar to the coffees and slid them towards you. “Been doin’ this a long time,” he said, gesturing to the food cart set-up. He took your four singles and handed you back two quarters, doing the same for Nora. “Longer than you two’ve been alive. And some things never change: you kids always have somethin’ smart to say.” 

Your mouth watered as he toasted the rolls and added a slice of American cheese to yours before combining the ingredients into hearty sandwiches. He carefully wrapped them in tinfoil and handed them over. 

You smiled, uncovered the sandwich, and took a hearty bite. Melty cheese oozed out from the roll and clung to your lip, and you collected it with the tip of your tongue. “At least we’re consistent,” you teased, waving goodbye as you and Nora walked to the bus stop. 

“What went down at the motel today?” Nora asked, chewing her food as she spoke. “I mean, I’ve seen you get to class early during a blizzard,” she added with a knowing grin. 

You remembered that day, February winds whipping around you and cutting through your layers of clothes like a knife. The snow stung your nose and cheeks and made it nearly impossible to see three feet ahead of you, but you’d made it to class before the professor had even arrived.

“Nothing really,” you tried to say nonchalantly, taking another bite of sandwich to keep your mouth busy. You don’t want to think about the way Eddie had raised his voice at you this afternoon; more specifically, the shame that tugged at you for being disappointed. You’d had one decent interaction with him and you’d foolishly assumed some kind of mutual respect had been built, but it all boiled down to the basics: he was a guest at the motel who would be checking out on Friday, and then you’d never see him again.

Nora wrinkled her nose, not quite believing you, but any further interrogation was interrupted by the bus squeaking to a stop. You dropped the five quarters into the tray before squeezing your way through the aisle.

“Just…” Nora dropped her voice to avoid drawing the ire of your fellow commuters, grabbing onto a pole to steady herself, “you didn’t need to break out the pepper spray or anything, right?” 

You gave her a grateful smile. “Nothing like that. I promise.”

“Good.” She reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze, careful not to brush up against anyone else. “Because I need my study buddy in one piece.” 

“I’m fi—” The bus lurched forward suddenly, the driver slamming on the brakes just as the yellow light turned red. You tightened your grip on the pole and planted your feet into the floor to keep your balance until coming to a complete stop. The other passengers grumbled and groaned as they shifted, leaving trails of mumbled sorry’s in their wake.

The Metropolitan Transit Authority would likely cause your demise well before any motel guest could get to you.  

It was barely after six PM when you got back to the motel. The sun began to creep down from its pedestal into purpling clouds and teased dusk’s beginning. Horns honked as rush hour traffic dragged along the expressway as though their cacophony would make the other cars evaporate into thin air. 

You had about four hours before your shift started; it was just enough time to work on the paper, take a quick nap, and boil water in your electric kettle to make some Cup Noodles. 

“Hey.”

You looked up to see Eddie leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his pointer and middle finger. It was freshly lit, but he still extinguished it under his foot before stepping closer to you. His brown eyes flickered from the ground to your face and back down again. 

“Hi.” Short but polite, your customer-service smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see Mom through the glass door, leafing through paperwork that was almost certainly a stack of past-due bills. 

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing one Reeboked heel against the pavement. “I went to that bar you told me about.” He said it all in one breath as though he expected you to take off running. 

“Oh.” One corner of your mouth quirked up in a hesitant half-smile. “Did you, um, did you get to watch your show?”

He nodded, a forlorn look clouding his eyes. His right incisor dug into his lower lip. “Yeah. Thanks.” He paused, and you started for the door once again before he spoke up. “Sorry, I—you said you had a class today?” he asked, clumsily tripping over his words.

There was no sense in lying; not with your backpack hooked over your shoulders. “Mhm.” 

“Were you…” His tongue swiped nervously over his lips. “Did I make you late?”

You shook your head. “I got a dollar cab.” Not quite a lie, just omitting the truth. At this point, you were willing to let him smoke weed again if it’d result in easy conversation.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, head tilted slightly as he assessed your response. He seemingly accepted it at face value, exhaling a quiet, “that’s good,” and fumbling in his pocket for another cigarette. 

You took that as your cue to leave and ducked into the lobby to greet your mom with a quick wave. She returned it with a weary smile, eyes creased at the corners. The soft lines etched into her forehead had deepened over the past few months. The Reagan-Bush trickle-down economy era might have come to an end, but its remnants still affected small businesses and the even smaller people running them.

“How was class?”

“Good.” 

The usual exchange, no real information revealed. The mother-daughter song-and-dance performance of the ages. As long as neither of you disrupted the routine, the music played on.

Ten PM rolled around too quickly, and you plodded into the lobby with a stomach full of sodium-drenched noodles and your tote bag full of books. A street light flickered outside, more off than on, illuminating the sidewalk in a hazy glow every so often.

Mom handed over the register keys and placed a kiss on your cheek before she left to go to bed in the room she shared with Dad. Nighttime was the only time they got to be together uninterrupted, and it was spent sleeping.

That wasn’t what you wanted. When–if–you found somebody to share your life with, you wanted to have conversations with topics besides financial upkeep. You wanted to talk about meaningless topics and make each other laugh. You wanted to lay with your head on their lap, gazing into their eyes and revering in the beautiful silence. Nothing forced or planned. Just being.

You positioned yourself behind the desk, spreading your supplies in front of you. You’d managed to draft the opening paragraph for your essay before sleepiness overtook you and you’d had to nap, and your goal tonight was to revise it to perfection. The upcoming weekend would be spent at the public library, nose deeply buried in every psychology book they owned while you outlined the body.

Red pen marked up your page, commas added and removed three times over. Arrows shifted sentence order, while some sentences were altogether crossed out with heavy lines.

It was perfect. It was all wrong. You loved it. You hated it.  

Maybe I should scrap it altogether and start over. 

Your palm pressed to the notebook page, ready to tear it out and crumple it into a ball with jagged edges that would dig into your skin. 

“Hey.”

In your intense focus, you hadn’t even heard anyone walk in. A rookie mistake; somebody could have snuck up on you and you’d be none the wiser.

Eddie stood there, a folded one-dollar peering out from between his thumb and forefinger. He shuffled to the desk and held out the money, his eyes offering a silent apology. 

“I owe you for the, uh, cab,” he mumbled, lips forming a tight, nervous smile. “And don’t argue with me. I know my bullshit made you late, so…” He flitted his free hand as if dismissing potential concern.

You clicked your tongue in mock disapproval. “You’re not from New York City, are you?”

Eddie shook his head with a laugh, fingers scratching at a stubbled patch along his cheek. “How’d ya know?”

“A New York man knows better than to tell a New York woman not to argue with him,” you teased, capping your pen. “Also, you tried starting a conversation with me earlier, and any New Yorker knows that’s a cardinal sin.”

“Having a conversation?” 

“Making small talk with a stranger.”

His nose crinkled in adorable bewilderment as though the thought never occurred to him. “We’re not strangers. We met last night.”

The innocence of his remark drew a genuine laugh out of you. “I see the same people on the bus every day,” you told him, “and they’re still strangers. Being more than mildly aware of someone's existence doesn’t mean I know them.”

“Fair point,” Eddie conceded, leaning in slightly, “but I’d argue that we know each other’s names, so we’re not total strangers.”

Humming your acknowledgment–but not necessarily agreement–you plucked the dollar from his grasp and tucked it into your back pocket. “I’ll put this towards your bill.” 

“Oh, yeah. About that.” Eddie cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are there any pawn shops around here that’ll buy a guitar?”

“No, sorry.” There had been one down the street but it had already been shuttered for a few years. Guests would go there all the time to hock whatever they could to pay for another night at the motel.   

He let out a long, disappointed sigh. “Shit. Okay.” The playfulness behind his eyes faded. “Um, thanks anyway.”

He turned away from the desk, shoulders slumped. You knew that look all too well; it was the stance of someone who just needed life to cut them a break.

“Eddie?”

He swiveled back around, his curls a half-second behind. “Yeah?”

“Do you know how to re-wallpaper a room?”

“Huh?” Your question caught him by surprise, and he took a moment to collect himself. “I mean, yeah, kind of. I did it for my uncle’s trailer once. But I’m not, like, a professional.”

You smiled. “No professional experience necessary.” You gestured to the various spots on the wall where the paper was cracked and peeled. “If you can make this look presentable, you can stay a few more days. Free of charge.”

His expression immediately darkened, eyes narrowing and crossed arms closing off his body. “I don’t need charity,” he asserted through a tensed jaw.

“It’s not charity; it’s a favor.” The harsh reaction caught you off-guard, but you refused to let him unsettle you again. “Look around: do you really think we can afford to hire someone to install new wallpaper?” 

You didn’t bother to wait for his response before continuing. “We need to fix this place up, and you need a roof over your head.” Shrugging casually, you held onto the hope that he would also view this as a mutually beneficial offer and not a pity handout.

Eddie just scoffed, a rejection in itself, compounded with a growling reprise: “I said, I don’t need charity.” 

Spikes jutted out from his words and pinched your skin, each one a reminder of your uncanny ability to worsen every problem you tried to solve. 

Offering a job to someone you barely knew? He gave you a buck to pay for the cab you only had to take because of him—not exactly the best character statement. The man could be a serial killer who preys on low-budget motel owners and you’d be none the wiser, signing his checks like you weren’t his next victim. 

Maybe next week, you could hire Ted Bundy to change bed linens. 

“Understood.”

He looked at you so intensely his pupils should have bored a hole right through you. Behind his eyes wasn’t an ounce of hate or even anger. 

It was raw shame. 

I’m sorry got caught in your throat and didn’t reach your tongue until he had disappeared back down the hall, out of sight. 

--

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[strafepanzer]

i’m queen (of sandcastles he destroys) | y.endo

▸ ▸ ▸warnings: 18+ mdni, prostitution, voyerism, creampie

▸ ▸ ▸word count: 700ish words

▸ ▸ ▸a/n: the beginning.. i do promise more. i am feeling crazyyy

Endo watches from his vantage point, unable to take his eyes away.

It’s been years since something has awakened anything remotely explosive inside him, since he’s felt what he’s feeling now. Hell, it's been a decade since high school.

Your eyes stay locked on Endo’s as the stranger tugs your dress up, and up, and up, his mouth on your neck, your hands on his shoulders keeping you grounded. There’s a ghost of a smile on your face as he ravages you, as he drops his pants, as he lifts one of your legs over his hip.

The look on your face changes as the man pushes against you, into you, his ass muscles tensing and head dropping to your tits. Your head falls back against the dirty wall of the alley, the security light above you illuminating your face, the shine of your eyes almost ethereal as you meet Endo’s again.

Shit.

He’s half a mind to jump over the railing, abandoning his smoking spot on the third floor’s fire escape. But this… Watching?

His pants tighten when the man finally elicits a moan from your pretty mouth, and Endo takes a long drag on his cigarette to compensate.

The man kisses up your neck, your jaw, catches your lips in a messy, wet kiss, but your eyes stay on Endo’s. Even as your hands travel up the man’s neck, into his hair, as he groans deep and low, as he fucks into you desperately, as he pushes a strap from your dress and exposes one of your breasts to the crisp night air, your eyes stay on his.

Endo sucks his lip ring, worries it between his teeth, watches as you tug at his hair roughly to pull his mouth away from yours, as you lean forward to sink your teeth into his neck.

Fuck, Endo thinks, practically feeling your teeth against his skin.

"Fuck," the man curses, the sound of wet skin slapping together intensifying. "Fuck, baby, yeah," he breathes, voice trailing higher and higher with each thrust of his hips against yours.

"You can come inside," you promise, those captivating eyes of yours staring into Endo’s, your voice carrying across the alley and up to him.

"Shit, baby, yeah… God your pussy, your fucking pussy…" he moans, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting one last time before he stills.

Ash falls from the end of Endo’s cigarette.

The man pulls away from you, and you finally break your spell, dropping your eyes to your body to fix your dress— pulling the strap up, tugging the skirt down. Then you’re opening your purse, holding your hand out.

He fixes himself too, the jingle of a belt, a sweaty hand through mussed hair. "How much?"

"Two fifty."

"You said one fifty!"

"You came inside me, bozo."

"You said I could!" He whines. You level a glare with him, and he gives in, slapping the money in your palm and watching you count it. "Are you gonna be working next weekend too?" He sounds hopeful, sounds nervous.

You shrug as you fold the bills and slide them into your purse. "Do you want me to work next weekend, sweetie?"

"H- I," he laughs awkwardly. "Y-yeah, it’d be good to see you again. You’re just, ah, god you’re so beautiful—"

"You should go," you interrupt him, looking left and right. "I’m not actually allowed to do this; that’s what the brothels are for."

"Right! Yes! Okay! Well, I’ll… I’ll uh,"

"Bye," you wave, sending him running with a fake smile.

A minute goes past. You reach into your purse and pull out a cigarette. "Got a light?”

Endo laughs. Head thrown back, eyes to the moon, laughter. “No, I lit the cig I was smoking the entire time that dude fucked you with my mind."

You level him with a look, but there’s humour behind your eyes. "You could have looked away at any moment, but you didn’t. Do you want a turn?"

Mirth glows in his eyes. "You’re full of come."

Your smile widens. "Yeah, I know."

He stares down at you, a used toy.

Glorious.

Endo snuffs what’s left of his cig into the metal step at his ass, grins wide as he leans a little closer to the railing to stare down at you. "You wanna just do it down there?"

A pout forms on your petal lips as you contemplate his question. "Is that your apartment?" You ask, putting the cigarette away and fiddling with your hair as he nods. One look to the left, one to the right, and you’re stepping a little closer, craning your neck to look up at him. "You got ramen?"

Giddiness bubbles up inside him at the prospect of you in his bed. On his couch. Against his dirty kitchen bench. His pretty, dirty, used thing.

"I’ll buzz you up."

[negandarylsatisfaction]

[SUMMARY: Negan becomes tempted with his younger sisters bestfriend.]

Smut

“You are one hell of a fucking tease, you know that?”

It had been five years since you had last seen your bestfriend Trish, growing apart then finding your way back, you both had a lot to catch up on. For a few days now the two of you had been hanging out, filling each other in on life and what not. She was still living with her older brother like she always did. He was almost twenty years older than her and when their parents died when she was fifteen he took her under his wing. You didn’t remember much of her brother besides the fact that he rode his motorcycle, always had different women and sometimes got into trouble. He had a temper that you heard of, but you never really saw much of it. Negan did his best to not get this way around his sister, but the town knew how he was.

That night she invited you back to her place for pizza. The two of you laughing on the couch when you heard the door unlock. Trish continued her story but you couldn’t help but get distracted as her brother appeared from the door. He was more much rugged looking than you last remembered but still handsome, hints of gray in his hair, he closed the door behind him before you realized Trish was calling for you.

“Earth to Carmella” she snapped her fingers making you look back at her.

“I’m asking if you want another slice before my brother takes over this pie” she chuckled as he walked towards the two of you. He figured she was home hanging out with one of her friends as usual, he didn’t notice who you were.

“Negan, you remember Carmella? Don’t you?” He took a double take at you, a bit of a surprised expression on his face.

“Shit. Look at you” you smiled in response.

“Could you believe it’s been five years since we’ve seen her?” Trish continued as she got up to find the remote. She didn’t notice how her brothers eyes never left you.

“Five whole years huh” Negan muttered as his eyes wandered down to your bare legs crossed beneath your skirt. He quickly caught himself somehow forgetting you were staring right at him.

“Hi, Negan,” his eyes shooting right back up to yours.

“She might stay over a few days if that’s ok, we have some plans early tomorrow” Trish sat back beside you flipping open a magazine as Negan took a step back rubbing his hand over his lips. Shit, you had changed so much.

The way he was looking at you causing you a tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach. Never had he looked at you this way before but you knew this look, you definitely saw him look at other women this way growing up.

His lips slightly curving into half a smile as he winked at you.

“Hello?” Trish looked up catching his attention.

Negan cleared his throat looking over at his sister.

“Can she stay or what?”

“Stay here?” Shit, he didn’t think it was the best idea for you to be staying in the same house with him. Negan knew he was attracted to you and he knew how he was when he wanted a woman. He knew he had to keep his distance from you. There was only so much he would be able to hold back.

“No the Empire State Building, yes obviously here, Negan where else?” He looked at her with a raised brow.

“Watch that smart mouth-“

“You’re not the only one with a sarcastic mouth in this family big brother. So can she stay or what?”

“Sure,” Negan cleared his throat before walking out the living room.

“What the hells up with him?” Trish mumbled to herself as you watched him leave the room. Her eyes back in the book as you hid a smile with the way Negan had been looking at you.

The two of you watched a movie as you heard Negan upstairs on his phone. He cursed a lot, you figured he was talking to some girlfriend he must’ve had. He closed his bedroom door before Trish caught your attention.

“Carmella” you looked over at Trisha who seemed annoyed.

“Are you even watching the movie?”

“Of course I am” you insisted as you crossed your arms and faced the television.

After a bit Trish decided to shower before bed while you offered to clean up the kitchen. Negan walked in expecting to find his sister but instead found you tip toeing putting away things in the cabinet. He stood for a moment watching you struggle to reach high up. Each time you tip toed your ass poked out a bit beneath your skirt, the sight beginning to turn him on.

“Fuck me-“ he whispered just as you turned around and gasped.

“Oh Negan, I didn’t know you were there” you spoke innocently not having heard him. The counter in front of him blocking the view of his arousal. Had you not been distracted with what you were doing you would’ve noticed the way his eyes were glued on you.

“Do you think you can help me real quick?” You turned back to the cabinets.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart” he pressed his lips together hoping you wouldn’t insist. He knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to you for long.

“What do you mean?” You laughed a bit confused.

“It’s fast I promise” he made his way behind you planning to quickly help you and leave, making sure he wasn’t too close behind.

“I just need help to put these back in that spot” you tip toed once again showing him where to place the bottles.

“Why the hell isn’t Trish helping you with this shit, she’s the one who made this mess” he mumbled to himself frustrated that he was some how in this position with you.

“Look, I’m sorry I won’t bother you again” you looked back at him confused by his attitude. Standing back down flat on your feet you accidentally stumbled a few steps back stopping with your ass against him.

“Oh-“ Your body froze feeling what felt like a boner against your ass. Your lips parted as you stood still.

“Shit” you heard him whisper, neither of you moving.

“Negan?” You whispered without turning back.

“I’m gonna need you to leave the room, sweetheart.” He knew if anyone was going to leave it would have to be you. If he moved an inch more it would only be towards you.

“Why don’t you?” You teased without looking back, apart of you wanting to see what he would do.

“Shit, just do as I fucking say.”

Of course, you didn’t.

“I saw the way you were looking at me before” you spoke softly.

“Carm-“ you purposely pushed yourself back against him making his dick press harder against you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He groaned as you felt him place one hand on your hip without realizing his reaction. He spoke in frustration but his body acted another way.

“It doesn’t feel like you have a problem with it” You bent over a little more looking back at him. A sneaky smirk on your face you watched as he looked down at your ass mesmerized. Negan looked like he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself. He was breathing heavy, you could tell he was fighting himself from lifting up your skirt.

“Go ahead, I know you’ve been wanting to see..”

“You are one hell of a fucking tease, you know that?”

“Is it teasing?” A hint of sarcasm in your voice.

“Shit, you know I can’t” he spoke without taking his eyes off your ass.

“What are you afraid of your sister?” Your question making him look up directly at you.

“Fuck no”

“So then?” you reached behind pulling up your skirt when he suddenly grabbed hold of your wrist.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish”

“And who said I couldn’t?” You pulled your arm back before slowly pulling up your skirt showing the black thong you wore.

“Oh shit…” he whispered as he slowly pulled your ass against him. He almost felt as if he was about to burst right in his pants. Turning to him you pulled him close, his eyes looking down at you as if he was hypnotized.

“What the fuck” he panted just before you placed your lips on his. Without questioning it he pulled you close, his hand brushing through your hair, his tongue swirling with yours you quickly reached down and unzipped his pants. His dick hard throbbing in your hand, his breath close against your lips.

“Do you have a condom” you whispered as you stroked him making his eyes close, each touch just making it harder for him to hold back.

“Damn you, Carmella” his hand sliding up the back of your thigh. He began kissing your neck making you feel weak in the knees.

“Well…do you?” You rolled your eyes back as he lifted up your leg pushing your underwear to the side.

“I’ll pull out…I promise” he kissed you as you balanced yourself on one foot, tip toeing enough to let him slip right in. A satisfying groan escaping his lips as he felt himself inside you.

“God damn you-fuck-“ he choked out, his hands holding you tight.

“Go ahead, fuck me” you whisperered. He grabbed you harder wrapping your leg around his waist.

“What’s this fucking mouth you suddenly got on you?” He thrusted hard making you stumble back against the counter. A whimper making him chuckle.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Is this too much for you?” You moaned as he rocked his hips against you. Looking over his shoulder towards the door, you made sure his sister hadn’t come down until he roughly grabbed your face turning it back to him.

“What are you afraid?” He teased distracting you from any concern as a shot of pleasure ran through you. Your eyes rolling back

“Carmella, where are you?” Trish suddenly called for you making you gasp.

“I’m-I’m coming!” You called out to her making Negan grin.

“You sure are” he groaned running his hand through your hair, tugging it enough to pull your head back.

“Shit Negan-“ you panted as he tugged harder.

“You know what, I’ll be down there in a sec, wait for me” Trish responded.

“We have to stop” you whispered in a panic as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fuck”

“Negan!” You whispered hitting him on the arm as he thrusted once more before holding himself still. You realized he came.

“Did you just-“ Trish making her way down the stairs cut you off. Negan quickly pulled out turning away to zip up his pants as you quickly fixed your skirt. Turning away you looked down at the sink in panic turning on the faucet pretending to wash something.

“Thanks for cleaning up I’ll finish, you can go shower if you want” Trish came in the kitchen stopping to look at her brother who looked a mess.

“Why are you so sweaty?” He rubbed his face trying to catch his breath.

“Why’d you leave such a fucking mess” he retorted as he quickly walked out the kitchen.

“Why is he so damn moody today?” Trish whispered.

“Who knows” you muttered still a bit lost with what had just happened discreetly trying to catch your breath.

“Why don’t you go shower, I’ll finish up here”

Without saying a word you quickly turned away and made your way up the stairs to see Negan standing in the hall as if he was waiting for you. He quickly grabbed your arm pulling you toward him as he checked behind you to make sure his sister stayed down stairs.

“I cannot believe you fucking did that”

“Shh” he hushed you still looking down the stairs.

“No, I won’t shh. I didn’t think you were gonna do that-“ he suddenly yanked you into the bathroom cornering you against the wall in the dark.

“Well I didn’t think we were gonna fuck” he snapped back at you in a whisper leaving you silent. The tension still running high between the two of you.

“You promised” The way he was staring down at you, you could’ve sworn he was distracted all over again. He knew he promised, he swore he didn’t mean to do it on purpose but he had no idea the damn hold you were gonna have on him. Just thinking about it was turning him on all over again.

“Negan!” You slammed your hand on his chest.

“Alright!” He whispered back taking a step closer.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that but you made it a little fucking hard for me to pull out, sweetheart-“

“Oh did I?” You crossed your arms with a raised brow.

“Oh fucking yes. That pussy of yours is-“

“Carmella-“ Trish suddenly called from downstairs cutting him off.

“You left your phone down here someone’s calling”

“Look I didn’t do it on purpose alright” he whispered quickly before hearing his sister come up the stairs.

“Just go!” You shoved him out quickly closing the door and turning on the shower.

Trish came in leaving your phone on the sink as you stood in the shower. Staring at the wall you still couldn’t believe what you had just let happen. Never in a million years did you ever think you would sleep with Negan. What stressed you out more was wondering how on earth you were suppose to stay in Trishs home now. There was no way you could let this happen again.

[squichymochi]

It’s been a few years since I wrote something and English isn’t my first language. Also first time I am writing/posting something on tumblr 😅

Anyway Hazbin is my new hyperfixation, so I’ve written something 👉🏻👈🏻

Warning: Mentions of death and murder as well as sex toys, but nothing too out of the ordinary for this show.

Alastor x Reader

Word Count: 1.070

Idea from: @this-hazbin-quoted

"What in the heavens is that?" Your voice carried a mix of curiosity and concern as you stepped into the hotel's living room, your eyes instantly drawn to the shiny, noisy object that had captivated everyone's attention.

Charlie, Vaggie, Sir Pentious, and Angel Dust were scattered around a brand new, fancy-looking television. The device looked out of place amid the hotel's usual furnishings. *Your husband will be more than just pissed when he sees this,* you thought, a wry smile tugging at your lips. *Understatement of the century*.

"We got it because Sir Pentious wanted to show us something new called Netflix," Charlie explained, her eyes twinkling. Her excitement was infectious, but you remained skeptical. "And what better than a movie evening huddled up together as a bonding activity," she added, her arms dancing through the air to emphasize her point.

"Mhhh," you hummed noncommittally, drifting towards the bar where Husk had already prepared your favorite drink - a dark, smoky whiskey that promised a momentary escape from the madness of Hell. You let yourself fall onto one of the bar stools, the leather creaking under your weight. "I don’t know if this is such a good idea," you mumbled, the warm liquid burning a path down your throat, leaving a trail of bitterness.

"I tried talking them out of it, but they’ve been glued to this nonsense for hours," Husk grumbled, his tail swishing in visible irritation. He poured another drink, his movements more mechanical than thoughtful.

Raising an eyebrow, you turned to observe the group. Angel Dust was lounging on the sofa, his posture relaxed. "Well, first we were watching a documentary about sextoys," he began, only to be cut off by Vaggie's death promising glare. "But since everyone's acting prudish, we switched to something else," he finished, rolling his eyes dramatically.

The group was mesmerised by the screen, their expressions a mix of fascination and horror. Husk slid another drink towards you, his own bottle now halfway to empty. "When Alastor gets back, I'm not going to be a part of this circus," he growled, taking a long swig.

Your attention was snapped back to the TV by a dark, ominous voice. "Until this day, nobody knows what happened to the man. All that was found were his glasses and one of his shoes, floating in the river."

A sense of familiarity washed over you, and you slid off the stool, drawn to the group huddled around the TV.

The story was unnervingly familiar, like a half-remembered dream. Squinting, you joined them on the sofa. "Want some?" Angel offered, extending a bowl of popcorn towards you as you took a seat next to him. You grabbed a handful, tossing them into your mouth. But as the storyteller uttered the victim's name, the popcorn lodged in your throat, triggering a fit of coughing.

"Hey there, toots, usually you choke on something that is a bit more substantial," Angel said with a snort, patting your back. "You alright, Y/N? We can switch to something else if this is too much," Charlie offered, her fingers hovering over the remote, concern written all over her face.

"No, no, it's fine!" you sputtered, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and surprise. If only they knew why that name shocked you.

Time drifted by as you all settled into watching "True Crimes Unsolved." The room was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows that danced along with the flickering images on the screen. You found yourself huddled under a blanket with Angel Dust, both of you gradually growing more tired by the hour, your eyes heavy with sleep.

Suddenly, a jarring static noise pierced the quiet, sending shivers down your spine. You looked up, startled, to see your husband, Alastor, perched at the edge of the sofa. His smile was strained, a forced mask over his growing irritation.

"May someone enlighten me as to why we have this grotesque picture device here?" His voice, was filled with static, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"Darling," you started, hoping to diffuse the tension, but Charlie, ever the optimist, was already bounding over with her usual infectious enthusiasm and of course undying charm. You could see Alastor's eye twitch slightly, a sign of his growing annoyance.

Alastor's mood shifted suddenly, his attention captured by the story on the screen. "Oh, I remember this one. He tasted rather delightful," he said with a giggle that was as unsettling as it was genuine. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, every eye turning to Alastor, who was now fixated on the TV.

"Didn't he, darling?" Alastor squeezed in between you and Angel, wrapping an arm around you. Your face flushed a bright shade of red, and you desperately avoided everyone's gaze. "Ha, they never found him. I told you, darling, burying his bones beneath a protected area was a brilliant idea!”

Before he could continue, you jumped to your feet. "Alright, that's enough for today. Time for bed," you declared, your voice trembling nervously. Alastor's grin widened, the mockery clear in his eyes.

As the room cleared, Angel Dust leaned in, his grin mischievous. "Never took you for the type, toots. But hey, we're all sinners down here," he teased, patting your head with a genuine and friendly smile.

Finally alone, you collapsed onto the sofa beside Alastor. "You didn't have to tell them," you pouted, feeling a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.

Alastor leaned in close, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Darling, you're my wife. They already have to know," he chuckled, his hand gently caressing your cheek.

Time passed, and Alastor wrapped an arm around you, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. "Do you want to see how many more of them are people we've dealt with together?" he asked, a hint of fondness in his voice.

You snuggled closer, resigning yourself to watching a few more episodes. But Alastor's final comment about the television lingered in the air. "This device will be gone tomorrow. I'm not fond of it," he said, the static in his voice sending yet again a thrill through you.

You buried your face in his button up shirt. "Not every new technology is a threat," you murmured. His only response was a haunting stare. Sighing, you kissed the corner of his mouth. "Fine, podcasts it is, then," you said with a chuckle.

Thanks for reading my little drabble ☺️

[keeksandgigz]

one breath in, three breaths out

eddie munson x reader

March 1989: the third anniversary of the March '86 happenings is getting closer, and the past seems impossible to move on from.

cw: 1.5k words, eddie isn't dead, PTSD, mention of what happened in the UD, screaming, crying, overall very sad, angst, teeny bit of fluff

AN: This is literally an experiment I have never posted fanfiction before I am scared.

You decide to let him sleep. The night terrors had been coming back in full force.

It was that time of year again.

Screaming and thrashing, horrors behind his lids and on his mind, between the hours of 3 and 5 AM all you could do is stare at Eddie's tortured face. His pinched eyebrows laden with cold sweat as you wrestled with the idea of waking him up, too worried you might worsen the nightmares that were keeping him trapped. Only when the light had already begun to peek through the thin blinds of the room you would feel him breathe again, and with him, you'd feel yourself exhale.

Only you don't let yourself sleep any longer, staring intently, listening to his heartbeat as his every breath, every twitch becomes the object of your attention. His screams would haunt you during the day, with only a few hours of sleep behind you, working at the library became incredibly difficult. The light touch of the spine of a book would remind you of his skin. Cold, clammy and rough as you held him down, quietly comforting him with gentle caresses on his pale, scarred arms as he jolted and screamed nonsense, quietly shushing him, unsure if he was able to hear you, trapped in whatever remote place of his labyrinthian mind he was in.

So you let him sleep, coffee dripping into your mug as you quietly munch on a piece of toast. Walking on eggshells, trying to not make any noise. He needs this. He needs rest.

If you could open his mind and pick at his brain to remove all the bad things he'd seen and been through you would do it. For the past three years, you both had attempted to rebuild a life, go back to normal. But like clockwork, the end of March always comes back. With its dark stormy clouds, like a hurricane, destroying in its wake everything you both had worked towards for the past year. Destroying what you had helped Eddie rebuild, his broken soul and mind like a broken piece of china put together by a thin layer of gold.

But not even his layer of gold was able to hold him together now. You felt useless as you watched him crumble, the delicate china chipping bit by bit as he became a shadow of himself, watching the dark, unforgiving spring rain pour down outside the window. Watching as he became a ghost.

You let yourself slide down to the floor, the few inches between you and the couch are unbearable for your feet to reach, suddenly feeling heavy. The lack of sleep fully hitting you as a sense of helplessness suddenly washes over your half- lidded eyes. A choked sob escapes, deep down from your chest. You quickly go to cover your mouth, overwhelmed by the waterfall of tears that began streaming all over your face. Unable to hold back the hiccups as you hold your breath, not wanting to wake him up, not wanting him to hear you.

This time of year is hard on him, so you have put your doubts, fears and issues on the back burner to focus on him, on his broken mind, letting yours crumble to bits. It is hard on you, too, but you'd never admit that out loud. It didn't matter, really, you would have done anything to help him, even if it meant not helping yourself.

Even to this day, what he had gone through was incomprehensible to your mind, as much as you had tried to envision it, put yourself in his shoes. You could not even fathom what it had been like for him, and it killed you. Feeling left out from his own mind, when he was with his friends they'd get together and on those rare occasions someone felt brave enough to bring it up, discuss what happened. The mutual understanding that you were not allowed to be privy to, because you weren't there.

So you silently sob on the cold kitchen floor, biting your sleeve to muffle the sobs and gasps that come from deep within your chest, where your heart is aching, filled with guilt, hatred, for whatever entity up in the sky that had let such horrible things happen to him, your boyfriend, who had never done anything in his life, except being born in the circumstances he was in.

You cannot not help the hiccup that escapes you, holding your breath to make as little noise as possible. The noise of bare feet on the tile go unnoticed to you, as your face stays hidden in your hands, soaking the sleeves of your sweater.

When Eddie enters the kitchen, his stomach drops.

"Oh shit." He rushes over by your side, kneeling and caressing your knee with one hand, gently moving your hands from your face with the other. His breath hitched and labored.

"What's wrong, hun? Talk to me." His voice is still sore from sleep, it startles you.

You take in a deep breath, as you had done before with him. One long breath in, three short breaths out. Helps you stabilize your gasps and sobs as his hand that wasn't on your knee gently rubs your knuckles, in a weak attempt at comfort.

When the violent sobs have stopped you are able to speak again. "I'm so sorry Ed. So incredibly sorry I can't help you." a fresh set of tears spilling out of the bottoms of your eyes, loud sobs escapes your throat as you bury your face on his shoulder. He catches your face before you can.

"Hun, where's all this coming from? You've been such help every year when, you know..." He doesn't want to say it. Not after the night he'd just had. Bats and bites and the cold suffocating air from that hellish place all came back to haunt him. The feeling of the creatures pulling at his skin with their teeth, every tendon and every vessel being chewed and mangled and bitten, and in his dreams, he was going through it all over again. Kind of like a Prometheus punished for stealing fire, Eddie was punished for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I just- I just have no idea what you've- you've been through." you sniffle, finally settling down with your breathing. One in, three out. "I see you screaming and kicking and thrashing in your sleep and I don't know what to do. I spend hours watching you after it's over. I don't sleep, Ed. I'm always scared I'm not gonna be awake to help you if it gets really bad. What if it gets really bad? I dunno what to do, I'm so scared" you let out an exasperated sob at that, struggling to keep your glassy eyes from spilling again.

"Are you scared of me?" He says with an uncertainty that breaks your heart. You could never be scared of him. You shake your head and swallow at a newly formed knot in your throat.

"I- I could never, Ed." you swallow again, "I don't know what you've seen, I have no clue how to be there for you."

He pulls you in a hug, tight against his chest, the smell of sleep still on him "Honey, what you do is enough. I don't know if you'll ever be able to see what I've seen- God, I hope you never do, baby. But I feel you, when I sleep, I feel your voice. I try to reach you, but I'm stuck." He swallows, eyes going a bit glassy "What I'm trying to say is, I see how hard this is for you, too. And I appreciate you, God I don't know how many times I'd have to say it for me to actually repay you for what you've done."

You stare at him for a moment, as if he'd said the thing that you had been looking to hear from him, and then he breaks down. Finally letting himself feel all the terror and the turmoil that he has been put through for the past week. The kitchen floor becomes a mess of spilled coffee and two tightly wound bodies sobbing into each other. Letting go of the pain, even just for a moment, the world going still, except for the rain pitter pattering outside the window.

When you both have calmed down, Eddie looks around and his gaze falls on the abandoned mug, tipped on the floor, coffee spilled from it. He huffs a weak laugh.

"Look at what we did" he offers you a teary eyed smile and a kiss to your temple.

"Shit, let me clean it up before it stains," you laugh. It's quiet and weak, but it's everything Eddie needs to hear right now.

He needs to hear happiness and joy, even for just a moment in time, where he is not being haunted by bats and the past three years. And even as he's watching you clean the coffee stain, laughing at the mess you made he can't help but try and stabilize his breath. It's been harder for him to keep account of his breathing since he came back from hell, but you've helped him.

One breath in, Three breaths out.

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[reallyromealone]

Title: young and beautiful

Fandom: Shrek

Pairing: prince charming x male reader

Warnings: tall strong reader, size difference

Notes: April fools (if you saw this by accident no you didn't ❤️)

☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️

(Name) sighed as he slipped his drink, another ball he was forced to attend as his sister ran off with her husband and played house in a swamp, everyone in far far away that mattered was here including the fairy godmother and her son, woman and men alike fawning over him as (name) just wanted to go back into the palace and avoid this mess.

"Why don't you go talk to the prince?" Queen Lilian tried to urge her son, (name) had no interest in talking to that blond twink as he downed the rest of his drink "oh no, I'm out of wine" he said robotically as he went to the table of wine glasses and ignored the servers with champagne and wine, fully planning on slipping away from it all and go anywhere else, though luck wasn't even remotely on his side as Prince charming locked eyes with him and ignored his fans, (name) knew his game and knew he was going to try and slut his way into a crown.

He wasn't going to allow him to do that, he wasn't going to fawn over this man.

"My~ aren't you handsome" charming said with a low chuckle as he gently touched (name)s bicep but the crown prince had no interest as he stared at him blankly "best you got?" (Name) said as he took another glass, champagne this time and stared at the blond "I am not swayed to pretty words and touches" he said before walking away and charming looked furious at the fact his flirting failed laughably, (name) barely paying him mind.

"You don't get to walk away from me!" He huffed and followed the prince as (name) walked into the palace "can and I will, my palace I can do what I want" (name) said simply and charming glared "why aren't you interested in me?!"

(Name) halted and looked at him "I have seen you a million times, a pretty face who wants a pretty castle and pretty things but no interest in me and use me for my fortune, tell me charming... Would you love me when I'm old? When I'm no longer young and beautiful? Or would you only marry me for wealth?" He asked as he loomed over the bond prince, staring down at him coldly before leaning into his ear and whispering "I'm not going to be swayed by a twink with nice hair, I marry for love not so my partner can treat me like a cash cow"

Charming wasn't sure what to do, no one spoke to him like that and frankly... It was kind of hot.

"And he called be a blond twink!" He seethed to his mother who went over her budget reports "he's always been a prickly prince, sweety" the fairy god mother said lovingly to her son who grumbled as he wandered back to his bedroom and thought about the altercation once more, he was so demanding and serious with him! Calling him demeaning names and looking at him like a common whore.

He wanted more.

(Name) sighed as he worked on his coronation, his parents getting up in years and wanting to retire so he had to make sure it was perfect as it would reflect on him, he needed to have the best start to his rule after all.

"Sweety why don't you take a rest" Queen Lilian tried to urge her son but Howard huffed "leave him be, my love" (name) was always the serious one compared to his sister which said something, the two very different in their attitudes in life and (name) just wanted the kingdom to go in a better direction "will you be... Inviting your sister to the wedding"

"Her and the family are invited yes, it will take them till the coronation to get here" he never met his nieces or nephews but he was curious about them... He never saw an ogre baby.

He didn't see charming till three and a half weeks after the ball, a dinner party this time, the two set right beside each other as Charming looked at the strong king to be, wanting to provoke him to get another one of this reactions again but the other just sighed "why do you insist on my attention? Haven't I already told you?" He grumbled and charming just seemed giddy at the glare "come now, you can't possibly not like me~" he flirted and (name) just looked at him blankly before returning to his meal, the other guests giggling quietly at them, to the others it sounded like an old married couple bickering.

It wasn't until the end of the night when (name) had enough, and dragged charming to a forgotten hallway where the blond grinned but his breath was knocked out when (name) had him pinned to the wall, nose inches from his own "can you kindly fuck off? I know your angle and frankly I'm not impressed by your insistence! You are fully aware I have no intentions of being with someone who is only after the crown and yet you p e r s i s t" his voice cold and deep and he would have pulled away if it weren't for the raging erection that pressed against (name)s thigh "oh dear..." Charming and (name) both looked down and (name) sighed "were you being annoying and such for a reaction due to your degradation kink?" He asked bored and Charming sputtered out some things and looked flustered much to the normally serious kings to be amusement "oh please! Like I would do something like that! What do you take me for?! Some harlot?!"

Things connected for (name), he probably wanted him for the crown at first then realized he was into how blunt and such (name) was and subconsciously seeked out insults once he figured out he liked being put in his place.

It made sense, seeing as he needed attention constantly.

"I just don't understand how she could do something so /tacky/! It's completely disgusting to be wearing such clashing color combinations and think it's fashion!" Charming grumbled as he had his face mask on, doing his nails as (name) read the paper and listened to his husband bitch about what Snow white did, his crown on a pillow on the bedside as was charmings on his side "can you believe it!"

"I can hardly believe it, my dear" (name) mumbled as Charming huffed but knew (name) was listening, he was always listening to the blonds words even if you (name) it was absolute nonsense as he slept on the others broad shoulder and (name) flicked off the lamp that hung on the wall.

"Goodnight my love"

[queerofthedagger]

you can leave (don't go far)

[Steddie; no warnings; ao3]

---

At the one-month mark of dating Steve, Eddie starts a list.

To the One Who Loves Him Next:

— 1. If you hurt him, I will find you and make you regret the day you were born this side of the dimension. Yes, this is a threat; no, you don’t need to understand it beyond: be good to him.

It isn’t a serious, sentimental reason that makes him start writing, is merely something born out of a little too much whiskey, band practice, and contemplation of Steve’s—everything, really.

It grows, though. For reasons that Eddie is aware of but tries not to think too much about, he does not tear the page out of his notebook the next morning, doesn’t cross out the words or burn them in the kitchen sink.

So this is how it starts; a threat of bodily harm because Eddie does not think he could bear ever seeing Steve hurt again. A message to a stranger because Eddie does not entirely trust himself to be the one who will make Steve happy for the rest of their days, no matter how badly he wants to.

---

— 2. He will always love Robin more than you (although in a different way). Accept this; it is a good thing.

The summer of ‘86 is dwindling, fall stretching its spindly fingers across the golden Indiana fields, and if anyone were to ask Eddie, he would say that things between him and Steve are good. Great, even, better than he had dared to hope for, back in summer when he had kissed Steve for the first time, half-certain that whatever Vecna and his bats had failed to accomplish, Steve would finish any second now.

He hadn’t; instead, he had kissed Eddie back as if it was the first breath of fresh air in years, and somehow, Eddie had been allowed to keep him. They don’t go shouting it from the rooftops, but their friends know. Wayne knows. The people who matter know, are happy for them if, perhaps, sometimes a little exasperated with their utter inability to keep their hands to themselves.

So when Robin appears on Eddie’s doorstep on one early September evening, the sky a riot of pink and orange behind her, he isn’t remotely prepared for anything but a friendly visit.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, and waits just about long enough for Eddie to sit down at the rickety kitchen table before she adds, “It’s about Steve. About both of you.”

“Did something happen, is he alright? I thought—“

“He’s fine,” Robin cuts in, an apology flashing in her sharp eyes before it’s all unyielding resolution again. “It’s getting serious between you two, right?”

Even with the reassurance, the dread settles in Eddie’s stomach, his fingers fiddling with his rings.

It is, though, the initial infatuation giving way to something solid. Something a little terrifying, if Eddie is honest, but worth it. So, so worth it.

“Yes,” he says, holds her eyes, still not sure what the purpose of this is. As much as he likes her, he doesn’t have whatever freaky intrinsic understanding she and Steve share. He’s fine with this, most days, but right now it feels like she knows something he does not, and he has never handled that feeling particularly well, so— “I don’t see how that is any of your business, though.”

He knows it’s a stupid thing to say the moment he does, not that it is of any use by then.

She smiles, somehow both mirthless and understanding. “Look, Eddie, I like you. You know that I like you, right?”

She actually waits until he offers her a jerky nod in response. He kind of wants to crawl out of his skin.

Finally sitting down across from him, she leans her elbows on the table; he has the distinct impression of being an insect pinned to a board.

“See, Steve is… He is serious about this, has been from the start. And while I wasn’t around when the entire thing with Nancy blew up, I still picked up a great many of the pieces. It’s taken some considerable time and effort, and as much as I love Steve, as much as I am willing to pick up his pieces, over and over, until the end of our days, I would prefer if he didn’t have to shatter in the first place.”

It isn’t exactly what Eddie expected, but now that the words lie on the table between them, he isn’t actually surprised.

He smiles, can’t help it. “Are you giving me a shovel talk, Buckley?”

Her posture doesn’t change, and neither does her expression. “Yes. I like you, as does everyone else, but I’m not above bribing El into making you disappear, no matter what baby Wheeler or Dusty-bun have to say about it. If you’re not serious about this, now is the time to get out with your pretty face intact. Last chance.”

Eddie thinks of the start of a list, still at the back of his notebook. Thinks of Steve’s tired eyes and the walls he builds, and how Eddie has been taking them down slowly, carefully, brick by brick. How Steve lets him. Thinks of how Steve touches him, fingertips dancing across skin with a gentleness that Eddie still isn’t sure he deserves, and how even among lingering suspicion and Hawkins’ cage and the suffocating need to get out, every single day with Steve is like finding true north.

He thinks of his fear and his uncertainty, of how a part of him still expects Steve to wake up one day and finally realize that Eddie isn’t worth all this, that he still wants the Winnebago and the six kids and the sticky-sweet picket-fence-life more than he wants Eddie’s chaos and Eddie’s music and all of Eddie’s stupid, annoying idiosyncrasies.

Thinks of fear and jumping and outrunning the past, of the fierce protectiveness in his heart that is also shining back at him from Robin’s eyes.

He smiles. “I can’t promise to never hurt him, Buckley, we both know that. But if I ever do it on purpose, you have full permission to get El to snap my neck and dump me in the quarry.”

He means it, too, is the thing. She keeps looking at him, the old kitchen clock ticking in the background, steady. Eventually, she gives him a sharp nod before her features soften back into familiarity.

“Good,” she says, and she’s already getting back up again while rummaging through the pockets of her jacket. “Here, you’ll need these even if Steve is too proud or stubborn or—well. You know.”

Moments later, he is alone again, with a list crammed onto a single sheet of paper in Robin’s looping hand. It is a careful, organized collection of: what triggers Steve’s migraines. What helps against Steve’s migraines. What helps after nightmares. Random things to avoid due to assorted trauma. What to do when he ties himself up in knots over the kids or his parents or any of the things he worries about too much.

It goes on, is, Eddie realizes, a complete run-down of every little piece of knowledge Robin has on how to take care of Steve.

Eddie has no doubt that she herself does not need it written down, that she has accumulated all these little pieces of information naturally because she is the one person that Steve has no hope of fooling.

Whatever misplaced strands of prickling jealousy had still been tangled around Eddie’s heart finally dissolve. He takes the list and adds it to the page in his notebook that has another one already started; just in case Robin ever has to make good on her promise.

---

— 3. He is the most self-sacrificing person you will ever meet, but he is also still a bitch at heart; don’t take it personally (in fact, sometimes it’s fun to encourage him, but don’t tell anyone).

See, the thing is, Eddie has never been particularly great at following instructions—probably would have had fewer troubles finishing school if rules came easily to him.

So when Steve goes down with a bad migraine, Eddie does not, in fact, do as Robin’s list tells him and leaves him alone.

Yes, sure, at this point, he can gracefully take his second place, can easily admit that she would know best, especially after those post-Starcourt days where migraines had been a far more regular occurrence, but—

But. Failure to deal with instructions aside, it also simply feels wrong; to heed the signs, stock up the kitchen, and leave Steve to his silent suffering.

So he pushes. He knows he shouldn’t but he does, asks, “Are you sure you’re alright, I can move the DnD session—“

He should know better even without Robin’s list, really, but then, Eddie has never claimed to be a smart man. Especially not when it comes to Steve.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it. Just a long shift and—“

“Oh come on, that’s bullshit,” Eddie snaps, stepping closer. He freezes when Steve steps back.

“It’s not bullshit, I’m fine. I don’t need you to hang around here whining that you missed nerd night—“

“—that’s not—“

“Not to mention that it’s not as if there is anything you could do. Last I checked, you had neither superpowers nor sudden mind-reading skills, so how about you let me decide whether I’m fine or not? I’m not one of your made-up damsels in distress, you do know that, right?”

Eddie watches as regret washes across Steve’s face instantly, but it only marginally lessens the sting of it. He grits his teeth and grabs his jacket from the kitchen chair.

“Fine, deal with it on your own then.”

“Fine,” Steve bites back; pain always makes him more bitchy, not that he lacks the skill on the best of days.

Eddie isn’t pissed enough to slam the door when he leaves, but it’s a close thing.

---

The little anger Eddie could muster up has drained away once he drops the kids back home that night. He is itching to check on Steve, to apologize, to convince him to let Eddie take care of him, damn his stubborn pride, but he doesn’t.

It takes almost two days until there is a knock on the door of the trailer, Steve looking washed-out and tired and, most of all, sheepish.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped—“

Eddie pulls him inside, kisses him lightly as soon as the door is closed. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I should have known better.”

Steve’s brows furrow, even as he keeps leaning into Eddie, as if the mere prospect of stepping out of his space physically pains him. “You couldn’t have known that I turn into an asshole who snaps at his boyfriend when he wants to take care of me.”

Shrugging, Eddie kisses him again, stays close, nose brushing along Steve’s. “Call it an inkling; now come on, you can make it up to me by listening to the retelling of the absolute disaster that the session was.”

There is a moment where Steve keeps looking at him, eyes dark and serious and fingers digging a little more firmly into Eddie’s sides—as if he isn’t entirely sure that it can be this easy.

In the end, though, he nods, smiles a little. Follows Eddie into his room, already asking all the right questions, and Eddie vows right then and there that it will always, always be exactly that easy.

---

— 4. His parents are absent more often than not and his father is a bastard, but he will still miss his mother on her birthday. Don't try to distract him; if he trusts you with this, simply be grateful (muffins help; so does whiskey).

It isn’t on Robin’s list, so when early February rolls around and Eddie wakes to an empty bed, he doesn’t think anything of it, at first. Later, when he finds Steve staring into space in the kitchen, when the smile once Steve notices him is brittle around the edges, when Steve’s coffee goes cold and the house stays silent and the space between them seems to twist and grow, he thinks it’s another migraine.

He runs a careful hand down Steve’s arm, presses his mouth to his temple. “Want me to leave?”

Steve frowns, turning to look at Eddie. He seems as if he is about to say something but clothes his mouth again, fingers tangling in the front pocket of Eddie’s hoodie. “No, I just—stay?”

Perhaps the most devastating part of it is that he sounds uncertain about it, the hesitation in his voice settling like pins and needles beneath Eddie’s skin.

He steps closer, watches Steve’s face for the dismissal that never comes, and loosely wraps his arms around him. “Of course,” he finally says, exhaling carefully when Steve’s forehead comes to rest against his collarbone.

It’s a gamble, to ask, but Eddie’s always been willing to risk too much when it came to Steve. “Want to talk about it?”

For a long time, Steve doesn’t answer, long enough that Eddie accepts that he won’t actually get one.

The light shifts in the kitchen, the February days still short and tentative. Eventually, Steve huffs, though, as if he is annoyed with himself. “It’s my mom’s birthday. She’s… Back when I was a kid, we used to spend the day baking and watching stupid movies and—I mean we haven’t done this in ages, it’s not like it matters but—“

“Of course, it matters,” Eddie says, with more vehemence than he means to. “Sorry but—if it matters to you, it matters. There’s no use in beating yourself up over it.”

Steve grimaces, toying with the loose threads on Eddie’s hoodie. “Yes well, I’d like it to not matter, though.”

Humming, Eddie looks through the dimly lit kitchen, this quiet sanctuary that isn’t really theirs, at the end of the day. “Let’s override it, then.”

“Literally what are you—“

“We’re going to bake something. Or well, you tell me what to do and do most of the work while I look pretty and snack on the dough. We’ll make something simple, and then we’ll watch a bunch of stupid movies you can pick and—“

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to, though. If you do, anyway—we can do something else if you’d like. Anything but go hiking, that is, you’re not getting me to—“

He’s cut off when Steve kisses him, hard enough that Eddie staggers a little with the force of it.

It’s good, though; they make muffins that Eddie drowns in frosting and sprinkles, watch enough Monty Python to make Eddie’s brain leak out of his ears, and fall asleep on the couch once the sugar high fades, afternoon melting into evening.

If Eddie opens Robin’s list back up the next day to make sure he doesn’t forget to make a tradition out of it, if it ends up on two lists because for all the love threatening to crack his ribcage open, Eddie still does not trust himself regardless, not fully, not enough, well—

Then that is no one’s business but his own, is it?

---

— 5. Always, always put him first; he deserves someone to do that, for once. I am too selfish to give him up and too selfish to not ask for more than everything, so if I do have to let him go one day, you'll better make it worth it.

“Are you really sure about this?”

It is the umpteenth time that Eddie asks this, and Steve merely rolls his eyes. Leans over the open door of the Beemer to kiss him once, still not bothering to answer.

It’s sweet, the way it all has been sweet; the pipe dreams of getting out of Hawkins, the even bigger pipe dreams of large cities and small gigs for the band. Eddie’s future has always been one big pipe dream, and then came Steve Harrington, determined to spin them into something real and solid.

Because of course, he does; he is the most self-sacrificing person Eddie knows, and no matter how often he asks—what about you, your six kids and the Winnebago and all those sugary dreams that should be far more attainable than whatever Eddie dares to hope for—Steve always smiles. Always kisses him, easy, and says that it’s fine. That he’s happy wherever Eddie and Robin go, and isn’t it lucky, how they seem to agree, for once in their lives, that San Francisco is a good choice.

Perhaps the worst thing, Eddie thinks as he drops into the car stuffed with what little they own, is that he believes him, too.

He presses his fingers to the warm skin of Steve’s neck when they drive past Hawkins’ exit sign for the final time, and he prays and prays and prays that one day, he can make it up to him.

---

The plan was never for Steve to come across the list, at any point.

More than once, Eddie had been this close to throwing it away, to scoffing at himself and his sentimentality, his fear, the way he sometimes still looks at Steve, sun-kissed and happy, and cannot believe that he is allowed to keep this. That he won’t fuck this up.

He never does, though, always stares at the points, the few there are, and thinks that if one day he does have to let Steve go, he wants—

Well, it’s complicated. No one will ever see that list, least of all whoever Steve will love that isn’t Eddie.

Eddie will know that it exists, though, that he wrote it and what it says. He’ll remember the time that he wished Steve happiness even if it wasn’t with him. He cannot allow himself to forget this, even if—if—despite his trying and holding on and all this overwhelming, aching, solid love, the most important thing in his life does implode, one day. 

Which is, of course, why Steve has to find the list eventually. He has a knack for it, Eddie likes to joke, to always get into the places he should stay far away from, find the things he is not supposed to see, without any fault of his own.

It’s particularly stupid because it’s Eddie who throws him the notebook, meaning to show him some notes for a campaign for when the kids visit.

In his defense, he does have a lot of notebooks. He really should have thought of it anyway, though.

He doesn’t notice that anything is off for at least five minutes either, still thumbing through the Monster Manual and keeping up a steady stream of commentary.

It’s only when Steve fails to laugh at one of those really dumb jokes that he never fails to laugh at that Eddie finally looks up.

There is nothing particularly obvious about the sight; Steve sitting on their couch, brows furrowed, random black notebook lying on the coffee table in front of him. Somehow, Eddie knows, though.

He has the dumbest urge to snatch the notebook away. To claim that it isn’t like that, tear out the page and burn it in the ashtray, pretend it never existed in the first place.

Instead, he keeps very, very still. It is the first time in a long time that he has no idea how Steve is going to react to something, isn’t sure at all whether he will get a stupid joke and teasing for being a sap, or hurt for thinking that they won’t last, or—

He doesn’t know, is the thing, and it makes him itch with the urge to do something. Anything.

In the end, though, Steve merely closes the notebook carefully and looks up. His expression is soft, a little exasperated, and anything Eddie might have wanted to say tangles and sticks and stays in his throat.

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, voice quiet. He gets up and walks over to where Eddie is sitting at their desk, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

“But you love me?” Eddie can’t help but ask, leaning his head back until he can look at Steve, upside down and still obnoxiously pretty.

Steve huffs, and presses a chaste kiss to Eddie’s mouth, his nose, his forehead. “But I love you and, for what it’s worth, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie says, and he thinks all the love and the warmth and the tenderness must show on his face because Steve kisses him again, again and again until Eddie’s neck hurts and his lips are bruised.

Which, really, if he had known that this was the reaction he’d get, he would have shoved the list at Steve ages ago.

---

Eddie thinks that is the end of it, the gentle teasing Steve levels at him about his attempt to be threatening notwithstanding.

He isn’t even sure when Steve does it, but one day Eddie opens the godforsaken notebook again and finds a loose scrap of paper tucked between his and Robin’s list.

To the One Who Loves Him Next (Steve ’s Version):

Learn to love his music and the campaigns he writes; you don’t have to become either metalhead or nerd, but if you do not love his enthusiasm, I know someone with a wicked aim.

He gets nightmares, and he will not tell you what they are about. Even if you knew why he had them, it wouldn’t change anything; just be there, make sure there is always a small light on somewhere, and if all else fails, reading from the Lord of the Rings helps.

He is a package deal; even if I have to lose him, he has a family that loves and needs him, and neither you nor I will be the reason that he has to go without them. We also share joint custody of a bunch of really annoying kids; be nice to them or see the point about someone with a mean aim.

Defend him; he will pretend that the vitriol doesn't get to him, but he deserves better, anyway.

If you hurt him—run. I'm probably just waiting for an excuse to try and win a fight against you.

“I think if we asked Robin about it, she would tell us that threatening bodily harm to possible future partners falls into the more concerning areas of codependency,” Steve says from the doorway. “But to be honest, I really don’t care; I think it’s sweet of us, actually.”

Eddie laughs, the sound a little wet. He skims the list again, then a third and a fourth time, before carefully setting it back into the notebook, and the notebook aside.

“Come here?” he asks, watching as Steve walks over to where Eddie is still sitting on the sofa, his heart like a war drum inside his chest.

He pulls Steve down to him as soon as he can reach him, and pours all the things he wants to say but doesn’t have the words for into the following kiss.

“For what it’s worth,” he says when they break apart, just far enough to lean their foreheads together, “I think it’s very sweet, too. Very poetic of us, even.”

Steve laughs, the low sound wrapping around Eddie’s bones. “Right? There's a very simple way to avoid that, after all.”

Eddie smiles, presses the curve of it against Steve’s jaw, and breathes him in. “Is there, now?”

“I simply have to make sure you’re not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

If anyone were to ask Eddie, that is an absolutely perfect solution; he bites his agreement into Steve’s soft mouth, makes a vow out of it, and marvels at the way Steve answers as if he understands it, too.

He’s simply not going to let go; after all, Eddie is exceptionally good at holding on.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I asked a friend to not talk about his show during a future movie marathon.

This is a simple thing I think- some backstory for this ask is that my friends and I have known each other for years now and are all in a discord server together. Which the server is how we met, and after so long we’re all super close.

About a year ago I decided to host a marathon. It’s a franchise I grew up with, and come to love as a child as it’s something I bonded with my brother and dad over. My brother grew out of it, and my dad lives too far for me to watch it with him. So! I thought I’d just host a marathon with friends.

We all thought it would be fun, including friend who I will call B. He was most ecstatic for a couple movies. And yeah! Fun times! And eventually it got time for the marathon which would last all month. At least half the films in the franchise we’d watch.

The first couple days were fun, but it eventually got to the point where B would pop in, then go “Oh it’s a nothing movie” and then leave. Which alright that’s fine! He didn’t have to watch every single film.

It kind of annoyed me a bit cause he would poke fun at us watching this one and not the ones he was excited for. But I was going chronological order, we got to the good stuff when we got to it.

And then B discovered a franchise, and got into it. He told me a bit about it and tbh it wasn’t my cup of tea. But I would listen to him about it.

Which is when he decided it would be fun to only watch this show whenever I was hosting the movie. Now I was annoyed, but I wasn’t really comfortable saying anything cause he was excited. But it would annoy me that he would wait specifically for me to start the movie to start watching the show and then commentating about all the cool stuff that was happening in it. And we wouldn’t stream it either, so we couldn’t even see what he was commentating on.

And it was almost every day save for four of them. As those four were the only “good” films of the franchise. Tbh I was tempted to try and host the movies in another server without him. But it would’ve been cruel to outright exclude him at the time.

We finished the marathon with half the movie franchise done, and B did talk to me about hosting his own marathon for his franchise. Which sure! Go ahead. I don’t think I would’ve joined at all at that point because tbh I was a bit peeved about it all. I did give him advise about times, and which channel to host it in.

He didn’t end up doing a marathon for some reason. Idk what the exact reason was anymore.

But to the point- we only finished half the movie franchise because it has been a long long franchise. And I decided to bring forward the idea of hosting the last half of it, sometime in June when everyone would be home for the summer. A lot of the friends are already excited about the idea.

Which is when B chimes in that he can finish the rest of his series. And I had to take a moment to myself. I am happy he’s found a franchise he likes. I am. But why wait to watch/share it while the group is watching/enjoying something completely different?

And it’s not an all day event either, it’s just an hour-to-two hours. As it’s just one movie a day. Surely he could find time to watch and commentate it a different time?? Or even host it a different month, it doesn’t have to be the same exact time.

Idk I feel like a complete dick even thinking of asking him, cause I’ve been there where I desperately wanted to talk about a franchise, but during another movie?? One that isn’t even remotely similar?

So WIBTA if I asked B to watch his series another time? When there isn’t a movie currently being hosted.

tldr: Hosted a movie marathon month, everyday playing one movie from the franchise. Friend decides to watch a completely different franchise during most of the marathon. While planning for another marathon, he has already declared he will be doing the same again. WIBTA for asking him to just watch the other one a different time.

🐊🐋🐲⚡️ just so I can find it later

What are these acronyms?

[rederiswrites]

I don't see how trump turning America into a christofacsist state is any different than the norm? like it's been like that for native and black people since it's creation like we inspired the nazis in the first place so like what the point? oh trumps gonna kill everyone who isn't a white cis male! and? that's what america's best quality since day one

Okay I'm actually going to respond to this Edgelord Supreme bullshit, because as absurd as it looks written out like this, I actually do think a lot of people are feeling some half-articulated version of this despair and cynicism. Let's kick that in the ass.

First, let's get one thing straight. History has been terrible awful bad always and forever. There have been a thousand genocides and a million wars and a billion brutal, inhuman war crimes. Back in the days of the earliest civilizations, wiping out entire cities when you defeated them was basically just how things were done for many societies. The fact that we have international laws and international bodies of justice, however obviously toothless they remain, is the result of thousands of years of extremely mixed progress.

So at this point, you pretty much have to say either that a) humans are an incurable blight and don't deserve to live, or b) that we've done amazing, beautiful things and experienced billions of moments of happiness and created art and fallen in love despite all this, so we're still worth working on. Personally, I am very strongly in camp b. I see things worth living for a hundred times a day. There's really no comparison.

Second, the USA is not uniquely bad. It is terribly damaging to people both within its borders and all over the world. It is build on genocide and slavery. Many of its foundational institutions are deeply corrupted by these things. And guess what, that's uh....pretty common. No, really. The US is currently a big fucking problem. It's our turn with the big stick, for sure. But even then, we're not alone.

So how the fuck is this encouraging? It isn't. I'm not encouraging you, I'm telling you to fucking GET GOOD, because when you say shit like the above, what I hear is "Oh I SEE, I'm a TERRIBLE PERSON I guess I should just kill myself to make your life easier." I hear someone who would rather give up and call their country morally bankrupt and irredeemable than to PUT IN SOME FUCKING WORK.

Cynicism is so comfortable. It doesn't ask anything of you. "It's always been like this," it says. "Nothing's going to change."

Except things do change, and things have changed, and your entire premise is in fact absolute dogshit. The two presidential candidates are not remotely the same, and we are not, yet, a Christofascist nation. I could, as many before me already have, enumerate the million concrete ways in which your premise is just not true, but honestly I won't bother, because it's not a premise in good faith. What I mean by that is that even a cursory examination of the actual facts would totally trash your expressed beliefs, so you're not really interested in the facts.

Change for the better can happen. Change for the better has happened. It's just not as EASY as you want it to be. There are more steps. For example, you can't have viable independent candidates until you have campaign finance and voting reform. So you have to push for those things. For years, probably decades. Many people have died without seeing the realization of things they fought for, and yet those things have come to pass. You may die fighting the good fight and not see the victory. I may too. Meanwhile, you make the choices that will hopefully get the fewest people killed.

So stop acting like we're all just too shitty to bother about, and put in some fucking work.

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fan fics that have Clifford Tomlinson, the dog, featured in them as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

— Louis/Harry —

🐶 Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 113k, Scotland) As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

🐶 Take a Chance on Me by velvetnoodle

(E, 96k, kid fic) the Strangers to Enemies to Friends to Lovers Roommate AU you didn’t know you needed, feat. Single Dad!Harry, Footie Coach!Louis, a precocious 9 year old, a band of meddling family members, an overly excited labradoodle, an extremely Done cat, and a Shiall wedding you’ll never forget

🐶 Just for Tonight (I can be yours) by @sadaveniren

(E, 42k, a/b/o) Harry, prince of Cestrescir, has been betrothed to Ludvic, prince of Yorvik, since birth. He'd accepted a loveless marriage as his duty to his country, until an accident threw him in the path of a gentle alpha

🐶 Marcel (series) by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(E, 36k, strangers to lovers) the one where Niall gave Marcel’s number to someone he worked with and Marcel wasn’t too pleased about it.

🐶 You Wouldn't Believe the Dream I Just Had About You & Me by @larryatendoftheday

(E, 21k, friends to lovers) After a back-to-school bash and a few too many drinks, Harry finds himself pregnant from a one-night stand he doesn’t remember. 

🐶 Absolutely Smitten by MyEnglishRose / @lwtisloved

(E, 20k, strangers to lovers) Louis is walking his dog. Harry is walking his cat. Leashes get tangled, and feelings too.

🐶 Like How I Pictured It by @parmahamlarrie

(E, 17k, friends to lovers) Louis Tomlinson hasn’t always been blind. As a child, his vision was impaired, but he had hopes that there would be years before he lost his sight completely. 

🐶 Between the forest and the field by bluegreenish / @greenblueish

(E, 16k, small town) the one where Harry recently moved to a village and his shy dog picks Louis' dogs to play with at the dog park. A fluffy cottage core AU.

🐶 Clumsy by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10

(E, 12k, strangers to lovers) when Cliff manages to trip over a handsome stranger, on Valentine’s Day of all days, it might just be the start of something new and exciting...

🐶 Somebody Get Me Through This Nightmare by @lululawrence

(NR, 11k, neighbors) “I am not subjecting you to my poor dog in his moment of vulnerability!” Louis cried. “That would be cruel to you, but also to Clifford.”

🐶 good, good graces by @muldxr

(E, 10k, dom/sub) the one where Harry's boyfriend Louis gets a new puppy and frequently tells the dog how he's a good boy. Harry gets jealous and decides to show Louis how much of a good boy he can be.

🐶 Just the Start by @littleroverlouis

(M, 9k, older characters) Louis is a fifty-two year old divorcé who has fallen into rut. He never anticipated a forced day of self care, and a chance meeting with a charming salon owner would shake him out of his comfort zone.

🐶 I Roll 'til I Change My Luck by larry_hiatus / @larry-hiatus

(T, 8k, friends to lovers) When Louis reveals to his Tinder matches that he uses a wheelchair and has a service dog, things tend to get even more complicated. 

🐶 Warm Chilling by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow

(G, 7k, neighbors) Louis moves into a cosy cottage in the English countryside with his dog Clifford to look after his great-aunt's animals. 

🐶 Wanted: Dog Walker by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(G, 6k, neighbors) Louis needs a dog walker. Harry answers the ad.

🐶 Love on the b(rain) by TeamLouis / @teamlouis2023

(G, 4k, misunderstandings) During a stormy night, when Louis realizes that his precious dog has escaped the house, he has no other choice than calling his ex-husband.

🐶 To the late night double feature show by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(NR, 2k, Halloween) “Sorry!” says someone. "I just wanted to know if I could pet your dog?”

🐶 Safe Like Springtime by cherrylarry / @beelou

(G, 1k, meet cute) the one where Harry takes his nephew to the park and runs into Louis and his Labradoodle Clifford.

— Rare Pairs —

🐶 Longer Night by @turnyourankle

(E, 2k, Louis/Luke Malak) What happened after the 'Long day' photo was taken? Probably this.

🐶 acrobatic blood by Anonymous 

(G, 2k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) “Thought you’d gone home,” Nick croaks miserably. Louis rolls his eyes. “This is my home, dickhead.” A coming out fic.

🐶 Next Door by @allwaswell16

(NR, 2k, Louis/Rob Pattinson) When a stray cat starts coming round Louis' garden and bothering his dog, Louis and his best friend set out to capture it.