#but uh.... the one has fuck all to do with the other

[sweetshuga]

𝑶𝒓 𝑵𝒂𝒉 ✰ 𝑴.𝑺 [+𝟏𝟖]

ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ cursing ⋆ fwb!matt ⋆ soft dom!matt ⋆ missionary ⋆ degradation kink ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ boob sucking/fondling ⋆ slightly rough sex ⋆ creampie + more.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒐��𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕... Your friends with benefits has two birthday presents for you; a necklace and... a good fucking.

❝𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒉?❞

"A birthday present?" You raised your eyebrows, a small chuckle leaving you at the thought. "Yeah, a birthday present." Matt repeated, shrugging nonchalantly as if he didn’t just spend a day looking for a present for you, but he couldn’t say that out loud to you—nope, definitely can’t. His eyes slowly raked over your body, taking in the dress you had put on to take pictures.

Damn you looked good.

Matt barely, barely, held himself back from pouncing on you right then and there, but he had to give you the present first. He slipped one hand in the pocket of his jeans, his other going to his hair to run his fingers through his fluffy brown locks as he contemplated what to say next.

"Well, uh-" he paused, not understanding why he was suddenly so damn nervous. You aren’t even his girlfriend and yet here he was getting all anxious about whether or not you’d like the present, but he swallowed down his worries and put on a mask of indifference and continued in a calmer tone—trying his best to hide the small uncertainty in his tone. "-just c’mere."

You let yourself get dragged to his room, confused but not unwilling. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice the slight breeze – due to him walking so quickly – carry the scent of his cologne, and that smell never failed to make butterflies fly in your stomach. The same scent that filled your senses when he hovered over you with his hands holding your thighs to your chest while he pounded into you—

"Close your eyes." Matt’s voice cut through your thoughts and you blinked at him, only now noticing that you were already in his room and standing beside his bed. "What?" You asked dumbly, eliciting a small chuckle from him. "Close your eyes." He repeated again, waiting for you to comply.

You closed your eyes, listening to Matt shuffling around his room. After a few seconds, the shuffling stopped and you felt him standing behind you. Your breath hitched when his fingers grazed your neck, his knuckles brushing against your nape as he clasped the necklace. Matt stepped back once he was done, and you could tell that he had put a necklace on you.

Cliché.

Cliché but cute.

"You can open your eyes now." Matt chuckled, trying to seem casual as your eyes slowly opened. You looked at him before looking down at the silver necklace with a small star pendant and then back at him, your lips parting slightly.

"Do you like it?" He asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in his tone, not wanting to sound too eager. You chuckled in surprise, partially surprised he’d actually get you something so thoughtful, but mostly nervous—somehow.

"I uh... It’s really pretty, I love it..." You trailed off, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you tried to suppress it. "Thank you, really, I like it a lot." You absentmindedly touched the pendant, looking down at it.

"Thank fuck." Matt breathed out quietly, his words were barely above a whisper and sounded almost relieved. "Well, now that that’s out of the way." He gently guided you down on the bed, his voice dropping an octave.

"I think it’s about time for your next present, no?"

𓆩♡𓆪

Matt’s hips moved in slow, deep thrusts, one hand fondling your breast and the other holding himself up as he fucked you languidly. Your legs tightened around his waist, eliciting a low groan from him.

"Yeah, baby—juust like that," Matt breathed our encouragingly, both hands now bracing himself on either side of your head, his hips rolling against yours. "Mmfh-mm-fuuuck-- yuh feel s’good." He mumbled breathlessly as he increased his pace, soft slapping sounds filling the room along with the slight creaking of the bed.

Your moans increased in volume the faster he went and your hands found their way to his biceps to keep yourself from bouncing up the bed. His thrusts had gotten almost punishing in both depth and pace in a matter of seconds—his hips slamming into yours and creating loud smacking sounds.

The wet squelches from his cock ramming into your sopping cunt filled your ears, only making you more aroused. Matt let out a low moan when you started to meet his thrusts greedily, but he didn’t want you doing any work; today is your birthday, after all.

He sat back on his knees and held your hips tightly – halting your movements – he pulled your hips up from the bed, his fingers sinking into the flesh there as a smirk made itself onto his lips as he heared the needy whine leaving your lips due to the lack of friction.

Before you could say anything, however, he suddenly started to pound into you—taking you by surprise. A chocked moan escaped your lips as your back arched. "M-matt--" Your words died in your throat as moans bubbled out instead.

Stars burst behind your eyes when he hit your sweet spot.

Your vision blurred in the corners, your senses zeroing in on the pleasure he was giving you as your hands scrambled to grip the pillow under your head while he held your hips in place to making sure you won’t be able to escape the pleasure.

"Thaaat’s right, fucking take every inch of my cock like the greedy slut you are." His filthy words only made the pleasure increase, your eyes squeezing shut as your mouth gaped in a silent scream.

"Can you—haahh—really take dick or nah?" He taunted, seeing your face contort in pleasure. "Look at me." He commanded, his voice was almost unrecognisable due to exertion and lust. Your eyes fluttered open to meet his heavy lidded blue orbs. His brows were furrowed in concentration, lips parted slightly to let out breathy grunts and groans, cheeks slightly flushed.

Matt let go of your hips and leaned down again, pounding you into the mattress instead. His lips grazed against your hardened nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive nub. Your fingers tangled in his hair, encouraging him to keep going.

Spurred on by your positive response, he released your nipple with a wet pop and latched onto your other nipple and gave it the same attention.

Your breath hitched in your throat when his thumb found your clit, rubbing it in tight circles in time with his pounding. Your inner walls fluttered around his pistoning cock, eliciting a moan from him which gave delicious vibration to your nipple.

Matt could tell that you were close, your moans were much quicker and your breath coming in short gasps almost, your pussy sucked him in greedily whenever he pulled back.

He sucked hard on your nipple, lifting his head as he sucked until it reluctantly slipped out of his mouth with a loud pop. Your hips jerked at the sensation, the bands in your abdomen were almost painfully taut.

Your eyes rolled back when he angled his hips to hit that spot inside you with each of his slams. A few more seconds of the unrelenting pounding into the spot that made you moan uncontrollably was enough for the tightness in your abdomen to burst.

You let out a drawn out moan, nails digging into his arms as your back arched sharply. Matt slowed down his thrusts to let you ride it out, his tattooed arm was braced beside your head while his other hand rubbed slow circles on your clit.

His own release was approaching rapidly—triggered by yours.

Your walls squeezing and contracting around his length was too much for him. His balls drew tight as he started to fuck you faster than before, his hand leaving your clit to help himself up. His own moans grew louder before he slammed into you one last time and stilled. His eyes rolled back briefly before closing shut, and his jaw clenching as he held back the needy sounds.

Matt’s hips jerked and twitched involuntarily as he pumped his cum deep inside you, his hips moving slowly in jerky thrusts to prolong both your highs. Arms trembling slightly as he held himself up, slowly pulling his semi-hard length out of your thoroughly fucked pussy.

His trickled out of you as Matt slumped onto the space beside you, his arm snaking around you subconsciously. You panted softly, a hand absentmindedly going to the star pendant. Your lips curled up subtly as Matt laid beside you with an arm draped across your stomach, catching his breath.

Cute.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆.ᐟ | 𝒘𝒄 – 𝟏.𝟒 𝒌 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆˚࿔ 𝒊𝒔𝒂’𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ .ᐟ This fic is written for the prettiest @strnilolover! (This is an early birthday gift lol) My girl Gabs has been there since basically day one and I want to thank you for being such a sweetheart to me and many others, so so so thankful for you! Happy birthday bby, and have a great day <3

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[kashverse]

can i request a vacation with the kuna fam?

vacation for the kuna family is a non-negotiable, just like tax evasion for the rich and sukuna’s right to always be right. even if it's peak vacation season and the prices make you feel like you should start an anti-capitalist uprising, sukuna still takes his family on a trip. “this is highway robbery,” you mutter, staring at the obscene total on the hotel bill.

“highway robbery is when i force a company into bankruptcy,” sukuna corrects, signing the check without blinking. “this is just capitalism.”

and, of course, matching outfits are a must—including beachwear. you in a breezy cover-up, babykuna in an adorable one-piece, and sukuna in his beach trunks and absolutely nothing else, because the man has zero shame and an ego the size of the sun.

which is exactly why you’re currently holding yourself back from strangling a passing woman with your beach towel as she blatantly ogles your shirtless, tattooed husband. she’s staring so hard you’re convinced she’s mentally printing out a 4K poster of him for her bedroom wall. you narrow your eyes. “excuse me?” 

the woman blinks, clearly not expecting to be called out. "huh?" 

"do you need a picture or should i just let you borrow him for a second?" you say, voice dripping with deadly sweetness. sukuna, utterly entertained, casually drapes an arm over your chair. “babe, be nice.” 

you scoff, flipping your hair. "please. i am being nice."

meanwhile, on the other side of the beach, sukuna finds himself struggling. some random man is shamelessly staring at you sunbathing, sunglasses perched low on his nose like he’s about to write a dissertation on your beauty. sukuna’s left eye twitches.  “the fuck is he looking at?” he growls under his breath. 

"maybe my incredible fashion sense," you hum, stretching lazily under the sun. "i’ll bury him in the sand if he doesn’t stop," sukuna mutters, cracking his knuckles. 

"aww, babe," you coo, grinning. "you sound jealous."

"damn right i am," he grumbles.

but the final straw? some snot-nosed six-year-old punk is staring at his baby girl. 

babykuna. his pride. his joy. his perfect little princess.

the kid is standing awkwardly a few feet away, clutching a plastic shovel like he’s about to write a love confession in the sand. babykuna, blissfully unaware, is humming as she sculpts a perfect sandcastle. the boy swallows hard, gathering all his courage. he takes a deep breath. steps forward.

"hi," he says, small but brave.

sukuna immediately sits up.

"NO."

the kid freezes. babykuna frowns up at her dad. "papa, what?"

sukuna glares daggers at the boy. "what do you want?"

the poor child visibly shrinks. "uh—i just—"

"no. go away."

babykuna huffs, punching sukuna’s rock-solid thigh. "papa! stop being scary!"

"yeah, suku," you say, barely holding back laughter. “he’s just a kid.” 

sukuna scoffs. "yeah? so was genghis khan once."

but before babykuna can argue, an even worse situation unfolds. mr pickles, is currently stumbling around with his entire head stuck in a sand bucket. the miserable yeowling that follows is so dramatic it sounds like a victorian-era orphan mourning his dead parents. babykuna gasps. "mr pickles!"

the cat thrashes. trips over a sand mold. collapses like he’s been shot. babykuna immediately rushes over to save him, while you and sukuna watch, completely unfazed.

“should we help?” you ask. sukuna takes a sip of his cocktail. "nah. he’ll figure it out."

it’s chaotic. it’s stupidly expensive. it’s a test of patience. but, honestly? it’s perfect.

[impyssadobsessions]

I finally finished the concept for Danny's Devil Trigger form >w< I'll show all the sketches that lead me to this. This is the front and back.

I drew some action doodles to get a better feel on the concept/design. >w< And I just love action poses. I imagine his tail works similar to Nero's devil bringer, except less smashing and more slinging enemies around. OH I didn't draw the idea I have, maybe I should. Where his tail will wrap around his arms providing him with a bigger blaster for his blasts that he shoots from his fist. Or maybe he could hold it like a gun and shoot it that way, as if its a grenade launcher XD.

Here some sketches I did before I refined the body on the lunar moth design. I tried to replicate the wings there when it wasn't working out how I wanted. My bf gave me the idea about thinking it was fun the one that flies not having wings- so then I was like yeah that would be cool.. Thus the idea to give him a tail was born. Which works great to make him look like his canon phantom form. Also was playing around with the inverted idea for a bit, but just couldn't get it to work with my skills. Reason concept art can be really helpful. Because an idea might be cool but hard to execute >w<

Last one with more Dante's colors again. lol He would have looked sick regardless. If his color scheme wasn't green, I would so do the red. >w<

Here's link to other posts for my DMC x DP ! I put a lot of thought into this au XDDD I probably should write the story Idea I have >w<

[sundew199]

Another

a/n: Jesus it has been a hot minute since I wrote smut for Reiner, and um yea this was slightly self-indulgent won't even lie to you 🥴

tags: reiner braun x f!reader, oral f!receiving, mating press, breeding kink, mentions of getting reader pregnant, uh smut.

Asking Reiner for another baby was a dangerous task, because you knew the second the request left your lips, he'd be whisking you to the nearest surface to bury his cock inside you. Having a daughter already, who was around two years old, you felt like it was time for another, you never planned on having just one kid anyway.

You had it all planned out, your daughter staying the night with your parents, giving you and Reiner the entire night to yourselves. He was coming out of the shower right as you sat on the bed in one of your short promiscuous nightgowns, eyeing the way the towel wrapped around his hips hung low, revealing nearly all of his happy trail. Once you scooted to the edge of the bed and beckoned him over was when you slipped the request in his ear, feeling him shutter and almost buckle from just the idea alone.

Like a moth to a flame, Reiner was on you, pining your wrists to the bed and hovering over you, staring with hungry eyes that could devour you effortlessly.

"You want another?"

Seeking confirmation as if you hadn't whispered it to him so seriously just a second ago, plainly nodding your head and throwing one of your legs over his lower back and dragging the towel off his hips, revealing himself fully to you now. Reiner smiled like the devil at your simple assurance, releasing your wrists and helping you sit up, stripping you of the night gown and moaning at the fact there was nothing underneath.

Holding you at the knees, the deep chuckle automatically had you spreading your legs for him, undeniably eager to fulfill a shared wish. Reiner had always expressed wanting a big family, but knew it would always be on your time and not his. But fuck did he love to see you pregnant, swollen with his child and now that he had the opportunity to do it again, he wasn't wasting a second.

Before you could even process what was happening, his face was buried in your cunt, hands holding your legs apart as his mouth worked the sensitive flesh. His tongue traced over your clit, flicking it all for the satisfaction of hearing you whine. He could get drunk off the noises you made, the hitch in your breath and the way your moans would increase in volume and pitch when he enclosed his lips around the sensitive bud.

With one hand buried in his damp blonde hair, the other pinched at your nipple, offering yourself more stimulation as you were so desperate and horny. Reiner began to hum and moan into your pussy the more he ate you out, looking up from between your legs and letting his eyes roll back into his head at the blissed out expression on your face. You snuck a peak when you felt him come off, moaning vocally at the way his chin and goat-tee were glistening in your arousal.

Climbing more onto the bed to hover over you, Reiner swiped two fingers through your cunt, pushing just the tip of his fingers inside as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

"How badly do you want another?" Knowing the answer but craving to hear it from you, slowly feeding you more and more of his two digits, smiling at the way you flinched to the cool metal of his wedding band entering you.

"Reiner-" protesting because he knew better than to make you beg, not when you were offering yourself so readily for him.

"Tell me baby."

The slight demand in his voice had you rutting into his fingers that hadn't moved since being pushed all the way inside you, resting inside your cunt like a promise.

"Badly, I want it so badly Reiner." Sweetening your voice, reaching up to stroke one side of his face, hoping the plea in your voice was enough to replace his fingers with his dick which twitched against your inner thigh.

"Yea?" Slowly pulling his fingers out, and adjusting his stance to where you felt his dick move off your thigh, knowing it were inches from your pussy. "How long?"

"Reiner, for fuck's sake-" Whining at yet another question and the way his fingers suddenly left you empty, just to be teased with his cockhead at your entrance, torturing you almost.

"C'mon," Reaching the hand that was just inside you to cup your chin, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip, a sort of begging look in his eyes now.

"For a couple of months, fuck please."

He chuckled under his breath, pushing his hips slightly forward until he barely started to breach you, stopping himself. You were at your limit, pussy throbbing for longer than you'd like at this point and he was still teasing you.

"You really want me to fuck another baby into you sweetheart?" Inching more of his dick inside you, prompting you to arch off the bed and squeeze your eyes shut. The question sounded rhetorical from his tone, giving him a simple pleading whimper as an answer, and thank god he took it and didn't prod you for more.

Your breath was coming out heavy as his thick cock stretched you open, slowly bottoming out and then letting you adjust before tucking his hand behind your head and holding you at the nape, making you look at him. Reiner's brow's upturned when he dragged himself half way out, lips parted the perfect amount to fan the fire of lust in your stomach and clench around him. He grunted, snapping himself back inside you and starting a fast rhythm. You sighed as his thighs smacked against your inner thighs, fisting the sheets above your head and maintaining the near perfect arch.

A firm hand held you at your side, fingertips digging and pressing into your flesh it were sure to bruise, but you loved the little marks he left on your skin, whether faint or apparent.

"Fuck I've been thinking about giving you another for a while now, just waiting for you to ask."

Confessing as he thrusted rapidly into you, groaning after nearly each word he spoke, making your flutter around him. Reiner moved the hand holding you at your side to grab at your hip, lifting them off the bed so he could send his cock deeper inside you. And fuck did it feel good, crying out his name and slapping the hand not fisting the sheets to his bicep.

"Harder, Reiner please."

The request sent him into abandon, pulling you back onto his dick as you were attempting to flee from it, leaning over your body until your noses touched and his warm breath fanned over your lips.

"Dammit baby you're going to be the fucking death of me-" Growling out as he came off of you, sitting back on his feet and taking both of your legs and bending them back to hook over his arms, pressing them back into your chest as he returned to hovering over you.

His dick drilled in and out of you endlessly, making a mess between the two of you, Reiner's head was dipped down and watching you cunt swallow his cock with every thrust. His eyes finally met you when you sobbed about how close you were, seeing the lust glazed over in his golden eyes, the want ever the more present.

"Cum on my dick and I'll give you another baby." Speaking into your lips, pressing his forehead to yours and feeling the way his brows pinched as he repadetly buried himself in your cunt.

Even a few second later, arms thrown around his neck for stability, were you coming has hard as you've ever come before, barely given anytime to recover as your husband slammed into you, chasing is own orgasm. He couldn't help but mutter above you, little curses and a few spare words as his hips started to break rhythm, indicating he was so close.

"C'mon Reiner, get your pretty little wife pregnant again, I know you want to." Offering encouragement, twisting your fingers in the back of his hair, pulling and making him hiss.

Your little statement did the trick as he thrusted into you one final time and kept himself flush as he came inside you. There was so much it leaked while he was still inside you pressing little kisses to your face, returning to the devoted husband you were familiar with.

Reiner didn't even pull out after he was finished and you knew it was because he was being greedy and not wanting a drop to go to waste, intent of making sure he succeeded in his goal.

"We're not sleeping like this." You finally said after he still hadn't pulled out, giving him a slightly annoyed and stern look.

"You're right we're not, because we aren't going to sleep." Laughing breathlessly as he parted your lips with a seductive kiss, and you should've know you'd open up the floodgates once you mentioned wanting another baby, accepting that until that test came back positive, Reiner would stay between your legs until then.

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

Summary: when Katie Jacob's gets abducted in a Mall, setting the clock for the BAU, who needs a legal favor, and it's been a year since the A.D.A. has know anything about Spencer Reid. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: pinning, SLOW BURN, maybe right moment?, angst bc i love angst wc: 4.6k! (i know so small comparing to part 1 bear with me) TW: cm canon typical violence, set in 05x3 "Seven seconds" (obviously lol), sexual violence, implied reader's dark past, glimpses of female rage. A/N: my idea for the serie is be taylor jenkins reid and have you question if lawyer reader exists or not (delusional bitch), english is not my first language and let's pretend it's proofread part I - part II - part III - part IV

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　

Spencer sat on the park bench reading a book while playing chess with Ethan, brilliant kid for his age and good opponent, not good enough tho because when he cheered “I see checkmate in 5, What do you see?” It took Spencer one glance to calculate all the movements necessary.

“I see it in 3” he answered looking at his book again, the kid turned around the board and moved the pieces

“We've missed you out here” he said, staring at the board amazed.

“Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break”

“How come?” His hands froze on the book for a second before closing it.

Spencer had been clean for over a year now, it was 14 months and 2 weeks ago that he had freaked out after noticing his stash of Dialud was gone along with his needle. Where could he find more? Who knew about his addiction? Where was his stash? Who the fuck is Dr. Fitzgerald? Did you report him?

His first instinct was confronting you, given that you were the only person who found out his drugs that he knew, the first days he was a complete paranoid, he jumped every time Hotch called his name, or that Gideon looked at him a little too long.

At the end of the week he was thinking where he could find more, and when that thought scared him, he called the number of the card you had left in the same pocket his drugs used to be.

“Hello this is Dr. Fitzgerald” said a calm voice, it was 10 p.m. so there was a higher chance of going to voicemail, but he got an answer and the tremor of his hands got a little worse. Was it the anxiety or the withdrawal?

“Umm hello.. this is.. Dr.. this is Spencer Reid and someon-""I've been waiting for your call Dr Reid” the other line interrupted, he froze for a second.

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine. He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore.”

Fast forward, she helped him get clean and stay clean after Gideon left, getting tested regularly, and gave him the contact of the help group of FBI addicts. He was better, he was alive.

“So you gave up, too?”

“Just the opposite. I attempted to play Through every permutation of moves on a chessboard.”

“That's an infinite number of games.”

“It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large.”

“You couldn't have played through them all.”

“There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, And I'll tell you something– the more I played, The more I realized that every single match every single chess game, Is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, Patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, And I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the same patterns And expecting a different outcome.”

“That's because you haven't come up on Fridays or Mondays in a while” the way his eyebrows went up along his voice tone made him feel like he knew something that he didn't.

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

“There's this great player who comes around those days, she even brings the best pastries, and her games is similar to yours, always two or three moves ahead, she always beats everyone here… i think her boyfriend called her Buzz or something like that, like the Toy Story character”

“Buzz?… i don't really remember anyone with that nickname”

“It’s probably not that one but you don't know her because she started coming like 8 months ago.. I'm sure you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head that you're just sitting on, but when you meet her?” He made a dramatic pause “You'll have to play it.”

He glances at his watch to realize his 15 minute break is coming to an end. “I still use it. I just, uh... I apply it differently. I have to go. It's good seeing you.”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

That evening, the BAU was called in for a local case—a little girl, Katie, had been kidnapped from a busy mall. A week earlier, another girl had been taken from the same location and found dead hours later. Now, they were all racing against the clock.

Katie’s parents were desperate. As any parents would be in this situation, right? But when Hotch asked the father if either of them was having an affair—a routine question in abductions—the man took offense. Deep offense. So much so that he refused to let the FBI search their house.

Now, what kind of parent refuses to help the police find their missing child?

In a small surveillance room, Morgan and Reid sat with Garcia, who was visibly frustrated by the mall’s ancient security system. They were surrounded by screens displaying grainy footage from different angles—well, almost every angle. They had a single glimpse of Katie in one video, and then, seven seconds later, she was gone.

JJ and Prentiss were with the mother, aunt, and uncle, trying to get a read on the family dynamic. Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid had conducted a cognitive interview with Katie’s cousin. It had led nowhere.

“The family has refused permission to search the house,” Hotch announced as he stepped into the room.

“What do you mean they denied?” Morgan’s frustration was evident. “Your only child goes missing, and you refuse to collaborate?”

No one disagreed. They were all thinking the same thing.

“The cousin didn’t say much,” Reid added. “He was too distracted in the game room to notice anything.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “I’ll speak to the detectives, see if we can get a warrant.” His tone was firm, but they all knew time wasn’t on their side.

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Sir, I mean this in the best way possible, but it’s almost 8 p.m. I don’t think-”

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

All Reid and Garcia turned to him with identical looks. What do you mean you will handle it?

Hotch’s eyebrows furrowed, but after a moment, he gave a small nod and walked away. Morgan was already pulling out his phone.

“I have a contact,” he explained, dialing.

He put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a voice answered—sharp, direct, and all business.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

It was late in the office; most people had already gone home, including your assistant Molly. All but Austin, who was still there because he had a lead on one of your cases. You knew he was still hanging around because, over a year ago, when someone had snuck into your office to harm you, you’d become a little paranoid. You’d gotten better, but Austin insisted on keeping you company, especially since your car was in the mechanic’s.

You were reviewing a legal brief, pen in hand, skimming the margins to jot down notes when the desk phone rang. Without looking up, you hit the speaker button with the tip of the pen.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

There was a beat of silence before a familiar voice cut in—smooth, direct, urgent.

Morgan called your name “Hey. We need a warrant. Fast.” You blinked, setting the pen down.

Reid and Garcia exchanged glances as Morgan jumped in without hesitation.

“Katie Jacobs. Eight years old. Abducted from a mall earlier tonight,” Morgan started, all business. “Another girl was taken from the same place a week ago—she was found dead hours later. We’re working against the clock.”

You frowned, swirling the pen, going through the multiple scenarios. You had heard about last week’s case, and how slow the police had moved back then.

“We’ve got mall surveillance footage,” Morgan pressed. “At first, we thought she just vanished, but Garcia finally pulled something from one of the side corridors. Katie wasn’t taken by force—she was walking calmly with someone.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around her pen. “Someone she knows.”

“Exactly,” Morgan confirmed. “That narrows it down to family or close acquaintances.” They all shared a silent thought. Family.

We know they’re hiding something,” Morgan corrected. “We just don’t have the probable cause to kick the door down.”

Garcia watched as Morgan paced slightly, his tone firm but urgent.

“That’s thin, Morgan,” Your voice came through the speaker, steady and unyielding.

“We don’t have time for airtight,” Morgan countered.

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t have time for me to get laughed out of a judge’s office, either. Refusing a search isn’t a crime, and suspicion alone doesn’t cut it. I need more.” You understood where the suspicious came from, how are you supposed to help them if they had nothing?

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then, another voice—one you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“99% of abducted children who are killed due within the first 24 hours” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to stay even. Spencer Reid. “75% within the first 3 hours, and what only law enforcement knows is Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour. We’re already past the three-hour mark. If we don’t act now, statistically speaking—”

“The likelihood of recovery drops exponentially,” You sighed, already standing up, ignoring how his voice sounded. So different. So… clean.

Your gaze flicked to the clock. 8:06 p.m. Damn it.

You grabbed a blank warrant form from her drawer and reached for a pen. “Send me the address and everything else you have. Give me 20 minutes.”

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

Austin raised an eyebrow from his seat. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”

You didn’t look up as you started writing. “I never was.”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　

The courthouse was mostly deserted at this hour. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly, and the stillness of the evening was only interrupted by the sharp click of your heels on the polished floors followed by Austin’s boots toward the judge’s chambers.

“You sure you don’t want me to take this one? Sweet-talk her maybe?” he teased.

You shot him a look. “You think Judge Holloway is the type to be charmed? Plus, you’re a private investigator, not a lawyer.”  

“She’s not gonna like you showing up this late.”  

You didn’t miss a beat. “If she’s still up, she’ll make time for this.”  

Taking a steadying breath as you stopped in front of the door, you quickly ran through your notes, making sure you had every detail in order. Then, without hesitation, you pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Judge Evelyn Holloway’s chambers.  

Inside, the judge barely glanced up from her paperwork. “You have two minutes, Woodvale.”

Stepping forward, you set the warrant request on the desk. “Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour, but we have a child abduction case we’re working against the clock. A young girl, Katie Jacobs, was taken from a mall over three hours ago. We’ve obtained surveillance footage showing her walking with an individual—someone she likely knows. We believe the family is withholding information, and they’ve refused to allow us to search the residence.”

The judge narrowed his eyes, folding her hands on the desk. “And what do you propose I do about it? What evidence do you have to warrant a search?”

Alex kept her voice steady. “We have footage of the girl with someone who wasn’t a stranger, Your Honor. The parents are refusing cooperation, and the father was evasive when asked about possible affairs, which raises red flags about his involvement.”

Holloway sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s thin.” You were ready for that.

“I have the full footage from the mall security, including a timestamp showing the precise time the girl went missing. She is last seen walking calmly with someone she knows, most likely family.”

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you thought you were about to lose her. So you pulled Reid’s words from memory, adjusting them just enough to make them your own.

“Time is working against us. Statistics show that 99% of abducted children who are murdered lose their lives within the first 24 hours 75% within just the first three. And only law enforcement-”

She cut you off with a raised hand, signaling you to stop.

The judge exhaled through her nose, it was late and you were rambling about statistics and you knew she wanted you out as soon as possible when you started citing numbers. So pushing himself out of her chair with a slight groan. “Fine. Get me the paperwork. I’ll sign it—but you better have your ducks in a row.”

You nodded, her demeanor unflinching. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hours ahead of you. But you were used to this—fighting against the clock.

“Let’s move,” motioning to Austin. He gave you a small nod. “You got it.”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.

Exactly 15 minutes after the call, 5 minutes earlier than promised, Morgan’s phone rang. He answered it without even looking. 

"You got your warrant. I'll meet you there," Alex’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike, just as expected.

Morgan exhaled, his relief barely hidden. "Thank you, Woody."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I owe you one," then hung up, turning to Reid.

“Tell Hotch we’re heading to the Jacobs’ house,” he instructed, already moving toward the door.

Spencer had been timing her. It wasn’t the first time he'd gotten caught up in the tense waiting game of law and order, but the pressure of it had a different weight today. The memory of your voice, clear and resolute, echoed in his mind, sharper than before.

For Reid, part of getting clean wasn't just the physical withdrawal—it was the emotional weight of confronting his mistakes. The memory of how he'd lashed out at you a year ago still haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? The hurt in your eyes, the way he dismissed you, the way it all spiraled… it wasn’t just the drugs that had made him say those things. And the fury he saw when you looked at him, Dialuid in hand, how you looked like a timing bomb when he was trying to see if he could talk to you, the tension in your shoulders, the lock in your jaw, the grip on the file. He’d been battling so much more since then, in his mind, you saved his life by doing what he couldn't do.

He’d rather die than relive that moment again, than say those things. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of another chaotic case, still carrying that guilt with him. He stayed behind Morgan for just a beat before pushing down his feelings and moving quickly. 

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　

The engine of Austin's bike rumbled to a stop as they pulled up in front of the house, where Morgan and Reid were standing in front of the black SUV. You slid off the back with practiced ease, taking off the helmet and letting your hair fall loose.

Austin followed your lead, taking his helmet off with a groan. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

You shot him a quick, sidelong glance, handing him the helmet, keeping your expression flat knowing he’s about to be a drama queen. “You’re not coming inside. The warrant’s for FBI and police only. Not P.I.s included”

Austin paused, a mock pout crossing his face. “Excuse me? I just got you here, through all that traffic, risking myself to get a speeding ticket and now I don’t get to search? This is the second time in the night that you P.I. shaming me. Do you hate me?”

“If I hated you I wouldn’t have bailed your ass out of jail… twice” you remark the last part. He had a talent for sticking his foot where he shouldn’t be, maybe that’s what makes him good at his job.

“You act like you wouldn’t do it a third time” he was mocking, but he was right, something you would never admit to him. 

You start walking to the house “Mhm.” you hum rolling your eyes, heading towards where Morgan and Reid were. 

You didn't expect him to be there, or maybe you did, maybe you wanted to see him and know what had happened to him since the last time you saw him. They were looking at you, Morgan with a curious already-profiling-you stare, while Reid expression was more… cautious. He looked so different, his cheekbones were prominent in an attractive way and not sickly, he had put on some healthy weight and was not fidgety. You were not mad anymore, because of course at the moment the hurt had turned into rage like it always does for you, but it was more because of phantoms than anything else. 

“Got your golden ticket” you said, avoiding Reid’s gaze as you pulled the warrant from the inner pocket of your gray coat and swung it toward them.

Morgan nodded “You staying?” He gestured with his head to Austin who was leaving.

“I have to make sure you find something, otherwise the judge will have my head for this,” you said dryly, shrugging as though the threat didn’t bother you, but there was a flicker of seriousness behind your words. You were only talking to him, which felt rude because Reid’s stare was locked in your profile. 

Reid was thinking how pretty you looked, how the black vest suited you, and he couldn’t ignore the fact you had changed your brown bag to a black one that looked nothing like his. Your white shirt and gray coat gave you an older, wiser look, but as Reid analyzed your features, he realized he didn’t even know how old you were. You couldn’t be older than him. Serious, sharp, and young... How was it possible for someone that young to be the A.D.A.?

Reid’s mind couldn’t let go of the numbers. The average age of an Assistant District Attorney in the U.S. is 36. You couldn’t be older than 25, and yet you were already in that position.

You glanced at him for a moment before stepping inside the house, feeling the weight of his stare. The look made him snap out of his trance-like state, and of course, his eidetic memory hated him, because for that brief second, he remembered how you had looked at him a year ago.

Morgan nodded and thanked you again before he and Reid walked into the house. You left the warrant on the hall table with a deliberate touch, your fingers lingering for just a moment—as if to remind yourself that you weren’t entirely done with this.

“Somebody lit a fire last night,” you heard Reid say.

“Well, there are dirty dishes for three in the kitchen, so they eat together as a family.” Morgan’s voice carried from the other room as they moved through the house, taking in the details.

If Katie was in danger, the signs wouldn’t be in plain sight. You had to look where they hid—where children kept their secrets. Their bedrooms.

“Hey, my favorite movie from when I was a kid.” Reid held up a DVD, turning it in his hands before pulling it from the player just as you passed by him, tugging on latex gloves before heading upstairs, you did feel a little guilty for not even looking or talking to him, but it was something you did unconsciously. 

“So they watch movies together, too,” Morgan mused. They were starting to build a picture of the family’s dynamic.

“By a fireplace in a house that’s straight out of a catalog,” Reid added. “Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this any cozier.”

“That’s what worries me.” There was weight in Morgan’s voice. A tension that sat between them.

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

When you first became a lawyer, you made a promise—never ignore a sign. Since then, you have gone further. You didn’t just refuse to ignore them; you searched for them. Hollow eyes. Unexplained bruises. Small bloodstains. You looked for them in teenagers, in young adults, in the elderly. But nothing—nothing—was more painful than a child who couldn’t speak up.

Because they were small. Because someone older, someone stronger, was hurting them. There's nothing more hurtful than not being able to speak out, to say something and stand up for yourself. Except when someone did—someone saw the bruises, the fear, the signs—and they looked away deliberately. Because a child’s pain was inconvenient. Because it came with a mountain of paperwork no one wanted to touch.

You had spent your whole life making sure you never looked away.

That’s why you were hunched over the small desk in Katie’s bedroom, flipping through her drawings when Morgan and Reid entered the room. They started searching, their movements efficient and methodical.

“Katie’s been wetting her bed,” Reid said as he lifted the duvet, inspecting the mattress beneath it.

“A lot of six-year-olds do. Could be bad dreams,” Morgan replied, crouching beside you as he sifted through a pile of toys.

You considered that possibility—it was perfectly logical. In a perfect world.

“Some kids won’t get up at night because they’re afraid of the dark,” Reid added, his tone careful. Almost knowing.

“Or it could be a lot more complex than that.”

Morgan had found a doll. Not a Barbie missing a shoe or one that had simply been played with too much. No—this doll was different.

Its hair had been hacked off, jagged strands sticking out unevenly. Red marker smeared across its face like smeared blood. Its clothes were yanked askew, twisted, and wrong.

“Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves.” He took the doll in his hands like it was made of fine glass. 

“Reid, I know these signs-— acting out on her toys, wetting the bed. She's obviously covering up something about that necklace.”

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

“Well, this looks more like a man than a boy to me,” you said, holding up a drawing of a tall, shadowy figure towering over a small, crying child.

Morgan took it from your hands, his expression hardening as he analyzed the image.

“Psychology says drawing is a child’s way of channeling their inner world. Look at the strokes—how harsh they are,” you pointed to the dark, jagged lines forming the tall figure, then traced your finger over the smaller one. “And this looks like Katie to me. She forgot to draw the hands, which means she feels powerless… helpless.” 

Morgan took his phone out, dialing up “Hotch, we think Katie’s being molested,” Morgan said, his voice clipped. “And we both know the odds.”

A brief silence. Then Hotch’s response, firm and certain. “Most likely by someone under the same roof.”

He hung up, and both men started toward the door, their movements brisk with purpose. But you stayed behind for a moment, rooted in place, taking in the scene. Trying to quiet the distant sirens that echoed in your mind, the same ones always shouting when you were face to face with these situations. A loud pause—maybe out of respect for Katie and her pain, for everything she had been forced to endure.

From the doorway, Spencer glanced back. The dim light from the hallway cast your figure in stark contrast, outlining you in shadow—your form dark against the soft glow of the room. He couldn’t see your expression, couldn’t read your face. He focused on the way your hands curled into fists at your sides, the tight set of your shoulders.

And he wished—just for a second—that he could see more.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　

You stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. By your side were Morgan, Jeremy, Katie’s cousin, and Reid.

Turns out, Katie’s uncle, Richard, was her abuser. A disgusting son of a bitch who deserved to rot in hell. And you were going to make sure he did. He had destroyed Katie’s childhood, probably more than just hers, shattering an entire family in the process. His own son, standing right next to you, was collateral damage he clearly hadn’t spared a thought for. And then there was his wife. The woman who had chosen to look away. Who had taken Katie and nearly gotten her killed, all for the pathetic, desperate hope that it would somehow stop her husband from creeping into little bedrooms at night. She deserved the same hell he did.

A stretcher rolled past, Katie’s small frame barely visible beneath the blankets as the paramedics guided her into the ambulance. Her mother clutched her tiny hand, whispering something—words meant to soothe, to promise safety.

A young voice cut through the air. “I heard her call my mom’s name. That’s what I remembered before.”

You closed your eyes, your mind already racing ahead. Your attorney brain was piecing it together, sketching out the battle that was coming. If the kid had heard it, that made him a witness to the abduction. His own mother had committed the crime against her niece. And God only knew what else he had seen—what else had been happening in that house—without fully understanding it.

“We get it, kid. That’s your mom,” Morgan said, his voice steady. But you knew the truth: if Jeremy could barely say those words to them, getting him to the stand in front of a jury would be another fight entirely.

The boy shifted on his feet, staring at the ambulance. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

If God existed, He had already been too cruel. He had let all of this happen. And you knew how these things worked—knew there was a very real chance that Katie’s parents, burdened with their own grief, would resent Jeremy by association. That they wouldn’t take him in. That he would be swallowed by the foster system.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

The sirens blared outside the mall, cutting through the air with urgency, but it was the ones inside your mind that were louder—screaming in the same rhythm, as if they were one and the same. Distant and deafening, they filled every corner of your head, drowning out everything but the grim reality unfolding before you.

“I don’t know, Jeremy,” Reid answered, his voice gentle. “But we’re gonna make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the ambulance. “Is Katie gonna be all right?”

You wished—desperately, violently—that you could tell him yes. That you could say it with certainty and make it true. But how could you give him something you didn’t have?

“She will, eventually,” Morgan said, his voice firm.

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

“Is she?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it—low, bitter, nearly spat out under your breath. Just quiet enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Just loud enough that Morgan did.

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

Your feet carried you toward the police car, toward the sick, selfish bastard they were shoving into the backseat. Your hand shot out, slamming the door closed—harder than necessary, just enough that it cracked against Richard’s face.

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

And for the first time, he realized just how much of a puzzle you really were.

Partially because, throughout all of this, you hadn’t looked at him once. Not when he entered the room, not when he spoke, not even now, standing just a few feet away.

Partially because your eyes, when he finally caught a glimpse of them, were full of something he rarely saw outside of a case like this. Pure, undiluted rage.

Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. Something personal.

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Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[utopiastri]

Touch starved/cuddle curse for landoscar please!!! I love your writing so much, thank you for sharing 💕

hi anon! i went for cuddle curse because i always love an excuse to write magical realism - i hope you enjoy and thank you for the prompt!!!

“So. How much longer are we trapped like this?” Lando asks

Jon checks his watch and glances at the ceiling as he does some quick mental maths. “About seven more hours? Give or take.”

Lando groans and tries to tilt his head back dramatically only to be stopped abruptly when the back of his neck hits Oscar’s arm where it's curled around his shoulders. “Sorry, mate,” he grimaces.

“It’s ok,” Oscar says quietly, “Sorry for getting us in this mess.”

“It’s not your fault. Alright, well it’s not entirely your fault anyway,” Lando amends after Oscar gives him a look.

Jon clears his throat and Lando and Oscar both turn to look. “You boys all good here for the next few hours then? I'll be right next door if you need anything – you need anything before I go?” Oscar shakes his head and mutters a small thanks, but Lando stops to think about it for a second. He opens his mouth but Jon cuts him off. “Lando, no matter how many times you ask me, I’m not letting you have a cheat meal the night before a race just because your teammate got you cursed.”

Lando huffs. Oscar winces. Jon sighs.

“Fuck off then, if you’re not even gonna let me eat anything fun,” Lando grumbles.

Jon rolls his eyes and leaves the room. With him gone, Lando and Oscar fade into an awkward silence. Or as close to silence as you can get when you’re tangled so tightly with your teammate that you can hear every breath, every sniffle, every fidget. When the curse first pulled them together they'd experimented with lying further away from each other, but it resulted in so much pain for them both that they decided it would be better to just cling to each other instead.

For the record, Lando wasn’t kidding when he said this whole thing wasn’t entirely Oscar’s fault. Yes, Oscar’s the one who impeded Charles in quali today and yes, technically, Charles is the one whose magic accidentally manifested a curse on Oscar, but it’s not Oscar’s fault that Charles has never been able to control his magic.

“Why do you think Charles’ magic wound up casting a cuddle curse of all things?” Lando asks eventually, sick of the somewhat tense silence.

Oscar mumbles something but Lando can’t quite make it out.

“Hmm?”

“I said, I think the curse is having fun with the fact that Charles was pissed off that I was so close to him on track.”

“Huh?”

Oscar huffs. “I was too close to Charles on track so now the magic says I’ve gotta be too close to you instead.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Oscar mumbles after a few more moments.

“I’ve told you you don’t need to apologise. It’s fine.”

“Oh, what, because you’re having such a wonderful time right now? Being forcibly stuck to your teammate when you could be in your own bed with as much space as you want?”

“I mean it’s not…like, I mean I know I said we were ‘trapped’ when Jon was here but like, it’s not…not nice.” Lando tries not to pull a face at the trainwreck of a sentence he just came out with.

He's not lying though. There is something not not nice about being cuddled up so close to Oscar. It’s warm for one thing, comforting for another. He’s always enjoyed the rare occasions he and Oscar have hugged for longer than your typical bro hug.

It’s not not nice.

It’s, well.

It's nice.

Like. Really nice.

Oscar makes a soft noise. “You, um, this is, uh…”

“Osc?”

Oscar takes a deep breath and then somehow manages to pull the two of them closer together, nuzzling his face into the side of Lando’s neck. “This ok?” he whispers. Lando can feel his lips move against his neck as he speaks.

“Yeah,” he replies as quietly as Oscar spoke. Tentatively, prepared to pull back at any moment, he takes the hand currently plastered to the back of Oscar’s shirt and dips it underneath, resting his palm there, skin against skin. “This oka–”

“Yes,” Oscar breathes, barely letting Lando finish the question, already leaning into the touch.

Lando swallows and does his best to tug Oscar in tighter.

Maybe being stuck like this for seven hours isn’t such a bad thing.

[maxiemumdamage]

To me Azula is a tragic character specifically because while she was failed by everyone around her, it also would’ve been unreasonable to expect any of them to save her. Among those who wanted to help her, practically no one had the understanding or power to change her. They couldn’t get Azula to stop being cruel, in large part because they couldn’t change the circumstances that nurtured her worst traits.

Except Ozai obviously. Fuck him. He’s why Azula is like that to begin with. But the power and sway he has over her also made it borderline impossible for anyone else to make her change.

(MUCH more to say about this here:)

People tend to blame Ursa for Azula’s behavior first and foremost. And…yes, Ursa was pretty clearly closer with Zuko than Azula. But of course she was! Ursa’s son was constantly abused and degraded by his father — as per the comics, Ozai outright told Ursa he would do this for all of Zuko’s life in order to hurt his wife. Zuko needed Ursa’s support to have any sense of self-esteem and frankly, for his own safety.

Zuko needed his mother just to be safe and not be alone, while Azula needed her mother for moral education. Even if you don’t think Ursa’s priorities were the right ones…choosing her daughter over her son might not have been enough to change Azula anyway. It would’ve been devastating for Zuko without necessarily improving Azula in any meaningful way, because Ursa didn’t actually have the authority to meaningfully oppose her husband.

By the time it would’ve been evident that Azula had a super skewed moral compass as a result of being around Ozai so much…she still would’ve been like, eight years old max, for one thing. Little kids say and do a lot of fucked up shit, because they don’t understand morals or the world by and by large. For another, once it was obvious she was parroting horrible stuff from her father, Azula also would’ve had no respect for her mother. So what could Ursa do, by the time she realized she needed to do something?

We see in flashbacks that Ursa tried, even when her child didn’t respect her and she couldn’t enforce meaningful consequences for the bad behavior Ozai rewarded. Ursa scolded Azula for saying cruel things. She made Zuko spend time with his sister, rewarding Azula for any moments of kindness or cooperation (even when Azula was just faking it to get an opportunity to bully Zuko and Mai). She tried.

As for Ursa leaving…uh, if she hadn’t, Zuko would have died. He absolutely, 100% would have died if his mother hadn’t cut a deal with Ozai to put him on the throne in exchange for disappearing. She made Azulon and his ultimatum go away because that was necessary to protect Zuko.

Ursa did fail to morally guide her daughter. But to do otherwise would’ve been to neglect her son, then to sign Zuko’s death warrant. I’m not gonna pretend she didn’t choose one kid over the other — I just also think choosing to support the kid whom she knew her husband was mistreating wasn’t necessarily the wrong call.

And even if it was…choosing differently might not have done anything. Because Ursa could only offer affection, while Ozai wielded both the carrot and a stick. Azula would’ve likely still fawned to the more powerful abuser, still learned harmful behavior, and still internalized that her cruelty was not just necessary but acceptable. Rewarded, even.

There’s Iroh to mention as well. He admittedly had a lot more influence and ability to stand up to Ozai than Ursa did, but in fairness…that wasn’t his kid. He had his own son to worry about, and then he was grieving, and then…he chose Zuko too.

For the same reason as Ursa, I don’t quite blame him for it — Zuko needed help much more immediately. When Zuko was banished, Iroh did the right thing by going with. But I do think those in-between years in the palace were a time Iroh (still mourning, but still) had the chance to influence Azula a little. But…

…I’ve seen a post theorizing that Iroh dislikes his niece because she reminds him of who he used to be, and…I think that’s very likely. They’re the golden children of their fathers, the firebending prodigies, the conquerors of Ba Sing Se.

I also think it’s because he and Azula are so alike that he has no idea how to help her.

Iroh didn’t have a moral revelation about the Fire Nation’s conquest, not until it cost him his son’s life. His realization about war being wrong, subsequently becoming more worldly and gaining respect for other cultures, it happened only when the Fire Nation’s system stopped working for him personally. So he wouldn’t know how to make Azula see that system as wrong, to make her change for the better as he did. He can’t recreate his own reasons for changing.

Also, quite frankly — Iroh barely to not at all managed to turn Zuko off the Fire Nation’s propaganda. Zuko always had morals, sure, but he did not have any semblance of the idea that “war (of conquest) is wrong” or even “wow my father is abusive and terrible to me personally” after three years of travel with Iroh. Being an Earth Kingdom refugee and meeting the Gaang was when Zuko really changed. And I think Zuko (who got his face burned off at 13) would probably be a much easier egg to crack on the redemption front than Azula (for whom the cruel and abusive system has always worked, she’s fine with it as long as she’s the one on top).

I also am briefly going off topic here to say…I like the idea of Azula redemption. I agree that she is sometimes condemned too strongly, to harshly, given that she is just a teenage girl. But her youth doesn’t take away from her cruelty. She is someone who knowingly does wrong, because she sees it as a way to protect herself. A meaningful redemption arc for her has to acknowledge that, not just sweep it under the rug by claiming she always loved her victims.

Because yes, Azula’s loved ones who are of a similar age to her but have less power are in fact her victims. They love her, she loves them, but she does hurt them all the same. That also has to be acknowledged in the quest to redeem her.

Zuko and Mai and Ty Lee all flatly have no power over Azula — she has power over them, in fact, thanks to her status as Ozai’s favored child and just as a princess, respectively. Ursa and Iroh were adults who at least wouldn’t be hurt by trying to help Azula, but for her brother and friends? Changing her could be dangerous.

Zuko is nominally safer as the Crown Prince, but…he’s awful at politics and their infinitely more powerful Dad blatantly favors Azula. He can’t stand up to her. And the one time were shown that Ursa, trying to correct Azula’s cruelty, made her son play nice, feels cruel to Zuko. He gets hurt and humiliated for no reason but for his sister’s sake entertainment and (failed) moral education. It’s not his job to redeem his sister.

And then there’s Mai and Ty Lee, who may be nobles, but still can’t do anything to Princess Azula. In fact, even before Mai or Ty Lee have done anything, Azula is threatening their family and bodily safety, respectively, as a loyalty test. They cannot challenge Azula in any meaningful way without endangering their lives and safety. It’s not fair to expect them to fix her.

Who does that leave that Azula is even close to? The Gaang literally know nothing of her but “Zuko’s sister who keeps trying to kill us.” None of the Fire Nation Generals or Nobles will want her to change. Azulon rewarded her bad behavior almost as hard as Ozai. Lo and Li, maybe, but for all they’re the wise old ladies Azula takes advice from, Azula doesn’t actually interact with them very often.

Azula is a tragic character because, while she was a child who should have been redeemed and had better, it makes perfect sense she didn’t. No one could change her. No one could offer a sweeter carrot or bigger stick than Ozai. And by the time he was out of the picture, the story was over.

[diazsdimples]

Buck is going to throw up. Probably. The panic attack is barely being kept in place as he flings himself from the driver’s seat of the jeep and races up the stairs of the Diaz house.

“Maddie!” he yells, kicking his shoes to the side and throwing off his jacket. Usually he’d knock but today, it’s an emergency. His brain isn’t working, not even considering the fact that he might be waking up his 3-month-old nephew as he powers through the house calling his sister’s name. “Maddie, are you home?”

“In here!” his sister’s voice echoes down the hall, originating from the kitchen. He finds her making lunch, the baby strapped to her chest in a muslin wrap, like a little joey in his mother’s pouch.

God, she’s glowing like this. She’d had a rough start, postpartum depression rearing its head in the first few weeks, but she’s seeing a therapist, and Eddie’s managed to negotiate some time off work. She still has bad days, but on the whole, she seems happier. Lighter.

Her brow furrows as she takes in his dishevelled appearance, and her hand comes up to cup the back of the baby’s head.

“Evan? What’s going on?”

Buck does a quick scan of their surroundings – they seem to be alone in the kitchen at least, but he needs to know if they’re alone in the house. He can’t do this if there’s a chance someone will walk in and interrupt.

“I-Is Eddie home?”

“No, he’s out getting Benjamin some new diapers. Why?”

“Good, I just – you can’t tell him what I’m about to tell you. You promise?”

Maddie’s brow furrows and she rounds the kitchen island, taking Buck’s arm and leading him into the lounge. She unwraps Benjamin and carefully places him in his bassinet before turning and giving Buck her full attention.

“Are you in trouble?”

God, isn’t that the question?

“No! I mean, yes? Maybe? Probably. Eddie’s going to kill me, at least.” Buck scrubs a rough hand over his face, hoping the slight sting will clear his head a little.

“I feel like a bit of context wouldn’t go amiss here,” Maddie comments with a raised eyebrow, her arms crossed across her chest. She looks decidedly unimpressed, and honestly, Buck can’t blame her. He’d be a bit annoyed if she burst into his house, announced something was wrong, and then proceeded to be extremely cryptic about it all.

“Adriana’s pregnant,” he blurts out before his courage wanes, and holy fuck, it’s one thing to know and a whole other thing to admit out loud.

Maddie’s expression pulls into one of confusion, and Buck can practically see the cogs turning in her head as she tries to connect the dots.

“Adriana’s…. pregnant?” she repeats slowly, and he nods. He feels like he’s swallowed a ball of lead, and there’s sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, prickling his skin. “And what does that, uh, what does that have to do with you?”

Right. This part, admittedly, will be worse to reveal. This is where the disowning and being thrown bodily from the home of his sister and his best friend will come in. Buck is regretting a lot of choices right about now.

“A-Adriana and I, we’ve – uh – we’ve been, um, sleeping together, kind of.”

Maddie’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline, and Buck slouches a little further into the couch, making himself small.

“Kind of?” Maddie echoes, incredulous. “How do you ‘kind of’ sleep with someone. Did you trip and fall into her vagina?”

“Jesus, okay it’s not kind of, we are sleeping together. And now she’s pregnant and – fucking hell Maddie, I’m so screwed. I’ve fucked up.”

His sister looks less than impressed, and that makes Buck’s stomach roil. He feels sick, so so sick that he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“And I presume that’s why you don’t want me to tell Eddie this?”

“He’ll kill me, Mads! Please, you can’t tell him. He doesn’t even know that –”

“That you fucked his sister?” Maddie cuts in.

“Hey, don’t say it like that!” Buck says, affronted. “He fucked my sister too, by the way. First!”

“He’s my husband! That’s different!”

“He wasn’t when you started!”

Maddie holds up her hands in surrender, glancing nervously at Benjamin as he stirs in his crib. His little face screws up and he lets out a tiny whine that burrows deep into Buck’s chest, igniting a dormant protective instinct that only flares up when he’s around helpless creatures.

“Give me a second.” Maddie crosses the room and lifts her son into her arms, pressing a kiss to the soft hair on his head. He squirms in her arms, shifting and stretching before eventually settling back down. With a fond smile, Maddie makes her way back to the couch and holds the baby out for Buck to take, which he willingly does.

[ngage2003]

Alright. So, here is a fun question.

What the fuck is up with Brian's/"Hoody's" continuous use of religious-coded phrasing?

⟦Note: I am Jewish and not that familiar with a ton of Catholicism, and am mostly just going crazy here. Don't take my theory too seriously unless you agree with me in which case do.⟧

⟦Also, content warning: graphic verbiage towards the end, also heavy religious discussion, duh. (Also maybe sacrilege?)⟧

What I mean specifically is his use of the term "Deluge" in one of his videos, the association between himself and the word "Advocate," and most importantly, him calling the face connected to the Operator "The Ark."

Footnote: Face as in the center of the Ark is the "mouth" of the Operator, (in other words, how it eats) and the Ark as a whole is the closest thing we see to a representation of what it is, an unfathomable monster, like a face can be seen as a representation of a person/personhood.

These names are on first read are just seemingly randomly chosen, but I think there is some small sense here, if a bit abstractly. Based on comic 3.5 of Marble Hornets, ToTheArk, we know Brian is stuck talking in codes, so lets try to unravel this one.

Lets start with the simplest.

】 Advocate

Brian calls himself "Advocate" in relation to an old video of himself where he is talking to Alex, but due to the glitchiness on the video I believe you could kind of take this as a general statement about himself. Regardless, what the hell does that mean?

When we use the term "advocate" in plain speech, it means a person who publicly supports or recommends a particular cause or policy, but there are specific ties with it under Catholicism. There is variation depending on what translation you use of course, but one example of religious use is in one title of Christ as "our Advocate with the Father" (I John 2:1). Another is how the word advocate is used in relation to the Holy Spirit, (John 14:16,) as another advocate to more or less "help [humanity] and be with [them] forever".

"Ok, cool I guess," you say, "but uh what does that have to do with Marble Hornets?"

Well! While Jesus is off having a Phoenix Wright case with God/being god's messenger pigeon for humanity, Brian is helping someone himself! Specifically, he is helping Jay, the person all the ToTheArk videos are for, for the most part. He is quite literally guiding him around, what for we could debate, but he clearly has his own abstract chess game going on and leading Jay by a metaphorical carrot on a stick is part of it.

I believe this is why Brian calls himself the Advocate. He is with not only Jay but also Jessica, while also being on the former's side, (he doesn't want him dead like the Operator does at least,) and also helping and/or guiding him. I mean, he gets him out of his house before Alex burns it down, as example, and he gives Jay the name of the Operator, along with hints that Alex is dangerous/doesn't exactly have his best intentions. Hell! In Entry 78, if you're comfortable jumping that far ahead, he even gives Jay a knife to free himself with, and his camera back. This of course accidentally leads to Jay's death, but I don't think Brian wanted that to be honest, not with how he hates Alex and the Operator. Brian is just unfortunately human rather than actual divinity, and probably couldn't plan for that.

Let's move on.

2.】 The Deluge

This one is in my opinion the least clear, which is why I stuck it in the middle, but I am still going to give it a shot.

The "Deluge" video is a ToTheArk video where we see a flashing light, weird audio, and then the words, "watching you," along with the description being "///". Purportedly, if you speed up and reverse the audio, it is saying "Alex" over and over again. Combining it with the ending words, we get "Alex [is] Watching You."

What is the Deluge in Catholicism though? Well, simply put its the Great Flood, specifically that really swag one (/sarcastic tone) that God summons for 40 days and nights to drown everyone for being too sinful or whatever, except for his favorite boy, Noah, and his family, who are inside a big boat. Awesome. Cool. Makes sense.

We could get up in the semantics about the "ark" of Noah and "ToTheArk" but A) I have a whole chapter on ToTheArk and The Ark, and B) I personally believe the Ark is named for the Ark of the Covenant so lets just scrap that idea.

Instead, I believe that in this part, Brian is making a comparison between Alex and the Deluge. After all, Alex did kill the cast of Marble Hornets in kind of rapid fire succession like a quickly rising Deluge would, all except for Jay who he had emotional ties to. (And Tim but Tim's survival is complicated and isn't purposeful.)

"Wait!" You cry, "how do you know that Alex killed everyone in rapid fire succession??"

Well, technically I don't, but I do know he tried to kill like 3 of his friends in literally the same 24 hours, which would make sense as if the extremely close cast of Marble Hornets noticed other people were missing and they were last seen with Alex, that would get suspicious, but I digress. All of these killings take place in the hospital in my opinion, where the Operator seemingly has some power, or at least is able to appear more regularly like other places in Rosswood and Alex's house.

First of these was the least successful, Tim, who Alex led to the hospital in Entry 56 and then beat into unconsciousness with a stick that is canonically a pipe based on cast commentary. We see him (or in my opinion, Masky,) scrambling around at night then, using the camera to find his way in the dark, before hiding against a wall. It is very likely to me that he stayed here over night. There are some strange parts of the tape though, like Alex being randomly in the hospital at night, as if he was looking for Tim for some reason.

Regardless, there is then Brian in Entry 51, who is led to the hospital before the Operator snatches Alex away for a moment. (In my opinion probably to Operatorture him a bit because he was hesitant to kill Brian because he actually knows him as a friend (Entry 84) but whatever, coughs.) Brian then wanders around the hospital with Alex's camera before finding Tim huddled up against a wall, much to his confusion, before the Operator shows up and some weirdness happens and Brian dies while Tim/Masky disappears.

Now, we have seen Masky go to the Hospital after Operator encounters seemingly to cope, so maybe this was coincidence, but there is some dialogue in Entry 51 that makes me believe this isn't, especially based on Entry 22, where we see Alex seemingly leading Seth either to his death by the Operator in a strange dilapidated building at night. (Hey, that sounds a bit familiar?) That dialogue is :

Brian: Where’s Seth at? Alex: Uh, we came out here yesterday and he wasn’t feeling too good so he just stayed home today.

Hey that is convenient. You brought him here yesterday and now he just magically isn't feeling good.

In my opinion it is kind of obvious here that Alex probably killed Seth and Brian along with trying to kill Tim after merely finding a convenient place to do so. This was all in the span of 24 hours or less, kind of much like a certain flood might.

This moment is definitely a subversion though, (as use of christian imagery often is in Marble Hornets) as rather than the Flood being a tool of God to destroy the wickedness of men or whatever, Alex is becoming a tool of the Operator to feed it.

And finally, 3.】 The Ark

Wooo Boy. The Ark. Ok. okOkOKOK.

Now, we all know what Brian named the face/mouth of the Operator "The Ark," but what IS the Ark in Catholicism? Maybe you're raising your hand right now and saying "ah that thing Noah went on" and you are technically correct but also wrong. There is a far more important Ark in Catholicism than that one.

Lets talk about the Ark of the Covenant real quick, specifically what it represents rather than solely that fun little golden box, as much as I would love to talk about it and the arks of synagogues.

Ok so I am probably going to mangle some theology but stick with me. There are two Arks of the Covenant in Catholicism, the one of the Old Testament, (the first book of Christian canon which more or less covers backstory,) and the New Testament, which is more or less Jesus's teachings.

Sidenote: The Old Testament is NOT the same as the Tanakh/Hebrew Bible. The former is one scripture while the latter is technically three, and even if it shares some similarities with the Torah, (the first part of the Tanakh,) the two are pretty different and both have their own wildly differently translations and cultures around them.

The Old Testament's covenant is of similar design to that of Judaism's, being a symbol of the covenant between God and his followers, built by the holiest of man's hands but carrying divinity in the form of the commandments within it.

The Ark of the Covenant of the New Testament though is a bit different, as it is Mary.

She literally carries the covenant between God and man, the connection between him and his followers. She builds it inside her, acting as both carrier and partial creator to this firm bridge.

I believe, Brian gave the Ark its name, because in a sense, it is its own sort of womb.

The Ark is a close off yet impossibly living environment, one that bridges between our reality and the true center of whatever it and the Operator are. It feeds by leeching off of the world outside it, reaching through Rosswood and growing and gorging. Much like the natural parasitic nature of an embryo or fetus to its mother, it is tied to our world, dependent on it, dependent on us even as it warps and robs people of themselves.

Whatever is beyond the Ark, it is something as unfathomably monstrous as divinity, a holy tapeworm that siphons off nutrients from our world, warps it to fit its needs, literally shifting around the land to get closer to satiating its hunger, apathetic to the rules and limits of our world.

-

Even as we get to this answer though, we still technically haven't answered our original question.

Why is Brian of all people using this continuous religious-coded phrasing?

Well, this I believe in part has to do with how the Ark feeds. It is as much stomach as it is womb, digesting you slowly, acidity peeling back your layers until it eventually gets to your core, your most fundamental beliefs and self.

Alex's core was Jay in a sense, which is why he refused to kill him, at least until the Ark and Operator fully broke him down at the end of season 2, at which point he fell apart completely as a person in season 3. (I.E. he stopped shaving, he didn't get new glasses when Brian knocked off and presumably broke his in Entry 67, he started constantly corrupting film.)

Brian's core is still in tact though, even with how ruined he is by the Ark and Operator, left only able to speak in codes.

I think Brian was raised with a strong sense of wrong and right. It is also why he becomes so obsessed with Alex dying, with Jay surviving, with taking on this great burden of playing this complicated chess game against this paranatural entity and stopping all this. Right and wrong were simply taught to him at a very young age, ingrained into him, and his compassion and empathy, (the things that led to him goading Tim into helping because Alex needed actors and inviting Alex to dinner because he was lonely,) were torn away by the Ark.

I think his moral compass could in part be so strong be due to, or at least in conjunction with, the fact he was raised religiously. I think he probably strayed a bit from his religion in College as most people do, but it is still something integral to him, something at his core that he knows even when nothing else is making sense.

This is not to say I think Brian is still religious now, (I doubt you could look into the center of the Ark and still be religious honestly,) but it is why he clings to religious metaphor in the middle of all his strange codes.

That is my headcanon.

Thank you for reading.

[steviewashere]

Little Town Bar Bathroom

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Minor vomiting in the beginning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Use, Steve is tipsy for a good majority of this fic Tags: No Upside Down AU, No Supernatural Elements, Modern Setting AU, Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Comfort, Fluff, Bartender Eddie Munson, Tipsy Steve Harrington, It Starts in a Bar Bathroom, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Has Self-Esteem Issues, Down on His Luck Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Countdown to New Years, First Kiss, Implied Getting Together, Happy Ending Also here on AO3, because this one is over 5k words 😬

🎆—————🎆 Working at a bar had its perks. There was a consistent stream of regulars that he constantly talked to. He could change up the specials menu whenever he wanted—adding his own flare to the mix, if he so pleased. Sometimes, he had reign over the music. And, more often than not, he was allowed a free drink by the end of his shift.

The downsides, however, were long and weary. Customers who didn’t know what they were ordering, who swore him to Satan’s asshole if he got something wrong, and tried to barge their way in with fake IDs (as if he wasn’t going to check them). Oftentimes, the bar was packed and too hot and made him sweat like nobody’s business—hell, his shower had a run for its money the other night from how pervasive his musk had been. The last major issue he had took place in the bathrooms.

Given that this is a bar he works at, the stalls often fill with every drunk imaginable. The quiet ones that need a moment to breathe, the guys who can’t keep their hands to themselves (who Eddie has to often throw out), a few who are completely sober and just there to piss, and then the oddball loner. But since they’re drunk—well, the bathroom is often the majority of their custodial staff’s paycheck. Eddie doesn’t handle all that vomit bullshit well, despite tending the very thing causing customers to do that.

It’s tonight, though—New Years Eve, forty minutes to midnight, forty minutes to 2023—that the very thing he hates leads him to the only thing he unconditionally loves. He’s cleaning up the spilled beer on his countertop when he gets the innate, incredible urge to pee. The bar is crowded, so he wrestles in another tender, and speeds away to the men’s restroom. Everything’s going according to plan, as much of a plan as there is when it comes to using a public bathroom, up until he hears it. Somebody in the stall adjacent to him, retching up their entire soul in the toilet bowl.

He winces, just finished drying his hands off, anxiety teeming like water about to boil over, and moves on autopilot to knock on the door. “Y’alright in there, man?” Looking at the bottom of the door, he spots only one pair of sneakers—some Nike Cortez that are roughed up and peeling, falling apart from how much they’ve been used—assuming is easy; the guy doesn’t have any buddies in the bathroom with him. “Noticing there’s nobody else but us in here right now,” Eddie comments. “Can I fetch somebody for you? Help you get home?”

The guy jerks with another sound, moaning miserably once he’s done. He flushes the toilet, but makes no other move. “Alone,” he musters, “she just left me here.”

Eddie bites his tongue. Failed New Years date. Oh, boy. He sighs quietly. “Do you, uh, have someone you can call? Or…uh, I could see if my manager’s free, she could order you a Lyft? They should be free tonight, considering everybody’s drinking.”

“I…I’ll be fine,” the stranger croaks, “been in here a while. I’m sobering. Barely had anything to drink, honest.”

“You think you’re done with the worst of it? Make your way outta the stall?”

“Why? So you can berate me for making a mess of your bathrooms?”

Jeez, this guy is defensive. “No, man. So that I could get you some water, a ride home, maybe some food?”

He groans in the stall, still hunched over the toilet. “Don’t wanna go back out there. Got a fucking headache, all the booze and shit will make it worse.”

Eddie rubs a tired hand over his forehead. “My shift’s over in literally five minutes. Would you…would you feel comfortable enough to go to the diner next door with me? I’ve got some Advil in my employee locker. And I could get you a cheeseburger.”

The guy goes completely quiet and still.

He goes to try and shimmy around with the door, maybe get it off its hinges or something, make sure he’s not choking or—

But then he sniffles softly. “That sounds really nice,” he says, “you’re really nice. What’s…what’s your name?”

“Eddie, and yours?”

“Steve,” he breathes. “Sorry I’m such a sack of crap. Wasting your time.”

“Mm, you’re making it easier for me to clock out, actually. Wasting my time would be somebody trying to return a drink that’s been remade correctly five times. That’s when somebody should be sorry.” He peers down at his watch, right on the money to clock out. “I’m gonna get myself out of the schedule and I’ll come back to get you, okay? We’ll just hang out at the diner. And…I’ve got Lyft on my phone, I’ll call you one when you’re feeling a bit better.”

“Okay,” Steve sighs. “I’ll be waiting.”

He makes a quick turn out of the bathroom, rushing back towards the break room before he can get caught and berated by the other bartender he left to attend to customers. It’s as easy as 1-2-3, punching out, putting away his apron, and grabbing for his things inside his locker. Thankfully, there’s still a bottle of Advil. Granted, there’s only enough for one dose and he typically needs to take one after his shift for his sore feet, but he’ll make do this one time. This one exception—Steve.

Once back in the restroom, the stall that Steve occupied is now empty. Though, standing at the sink and lazily washing his hands is probably the most gorgeous stranger Eddie’s ever seen. Blue jeans and a deep red sweater, hidden under a tattered, brown leather jacket. Lean and tall, broad shoulders, big hands; moles dotting every square inch of bare skin, pink lips, droopy hazel eyes, and a nose that could rival every statue masterpiece. Then, he makes direct eye contact with Eddie.

Caught out. Stilled. But then he chuckles awkwardly, trying to ease some sort of tension—a tension Eddie can’t see. “Managed to get away from the toilet,” he says, “room’s spinnin’ a little.”

Quickly, Eddie’s coming up beside him, placing his left hand on Steve’s back. “How much did you drink, man? Somebody should’ve cut you off.”

“Only a few shots and a beer,” Steve mutters. “Guess I’m more of a lightweight than I thought I was? I don’t know…don’t know…it’s been a while. Usually come here when I got someone to sit down with.” His head lolls back down towards his hands, scrubbing at them loosely under the water. There’s a tired, defeated, sad glint in his eyes. “Been striking out,” he mumbles, “people looking for…for situationships. I don’t even know…what does that mean? I wanted a date, not sex.”

Eddie sighs through his nose and eases his hand up and down the curve of Steve’s spine, petting him as if to soothe him. Which, he supposes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. It’s not the first time he’s met a person out of their luck, crying into their drink. But the look in Steve’s eyes physically hurts. It reopens a hot chasm inside of him, bubbling like magma.

“Just take a minute,” Eddie murmurs, “let the room settle.”

Steve nods, slow and tired. Heavy. “Sorry, Eddie. I swear I’m better than this.” There’s a flash of a smile at those words, one that falls away just as quick as it came. He sniffles again, wet and unmistakeable. “Gonna be ringing in the new year alone, though. And I’ve got a headache. But…hey, I met you. Highlight of my night.”

When he chances a new look of Steve’s face fully, Eddie notes the fresh tracks of tears staining ruddy red cheeks. He coos softly under his breath, pressing his hand more firmly into his back, and stretches out to grab a distant paper towel. The water is still streaming from the faucet, and so he dips the napkin’s edge into the warm pour. Gently, he shifts Steve to face him better and brings the damp corner to his cheeks, patting over the tracks, rejuvenating the color in Steve’s skin so that it all matches.

For a moment, he’s caught out by the still watering hazel eyes on him—damn gorgeous they are, even like this—but they blink at him and he feels it, the stretch of Steve’s small smile. He returns it, of-fucking-course he returns it.

“Let’s get you cheered up, baby,” Eddie says softly, “the sky’s too full of fireworks for you to be sad.”

His palm strokes over Steve’s back, a heavy sweep of warmth. There’s the lulling rise and fall of his lungs, each breath unwavering and strong now, and not as nasally as it had been only moments prior. A hand sets on Eddie’s left hip, secure where it rests, fingers tightening into his belt loops.

“You always hang out with random strangers from the bar?” Steve questions quietly. There’s a hint, a little bit of something coating those words. A tidbit of heartbreak, if he had to give a name to it.

This close, Eddie can smell the last dredges of alcohol on Steve’s breath. There’s also the scent of his cologne, even as stale as it’s gone when he’d been hunched over the toilet, but it lingers. Peppery and warm and decadent like a slice of apple pie from the diner next door. He’s already getting that Steve’s as sweet as one, just needs to be righted slightly so it stands tall on the center of the plate.

The next words out of his mouth are tender and quiet, “No,” Eddie whispers, “you’re the only one.”

Steve hums, soaking up just as pie crust does. His hand tightens again on Eddie’s side. And then he sways them, half-steps, knees knocking. The sink is still streaming and there’s red rimming Steve’s honey eyes. It’s all so private. It’s almost just theirs. 

“Saying I’m an exception?” Steve then murmurs. 

His words land like gentle pecks to Eddie’s lips. And they’re closer than before. And he’d let them get even closer, if there was room.

“Why, you wanna be?”

“Mhm,” Steve buzzes.

The restroom door opens, a foot sandwiched in the gap of their space and the entire world. Eddie doesn’t let go, even if he was supposed to. Steve does, wearily aware. He finds himself not disappointed, though, not even in the slightest.

“You wanna be an exception over burgers now? There’s apple pie, too.”

“Yeah, Eds”—and oh, how that makes his chest flutter something incredible, his heart a newborn bird eager to take flight—“I wanna be your exception.”

If he wasn’t intrigued and swooning before, he most definitely is now.

But as it is, he simply pats Steve on the back and leads him out towards the bar again. Zipping through crowds of girls and forcing his way between boys about to brawl. There’s beer spilling out onto his clothes, that he hopes isn’t getting on Steve’s—doesn’t want to tarnish the absolute darling beauty he’s managed to rescue from the swamps of a muggy bar bathroom. Though, maybe it’s unavoidable. Maybe it’s just what is meant to happen.

Because something about Steve, his hand gripped tight in Eddie’s, the bounce of his step, his glassy eyes and loose smile when Eddie looks over his shoulder—something about the Steve of it all feels as close to myth alive as he’s allowed to believe. And, well, if there are more than three religions and some people don’t believe in any of it at all, then he can hold onto whatever the hell he wants. If Steve at his heels, chest slamming into his back as the cold outside air finally whips them in the face, is destiny, then…Eddie finally believes in destiny.

When the bar’s doors slam behind them and they’re overcome with the noise of distant fireworks and cars rolling by on crowded asphalt, Eddie begins to let go. Though, Steve grips to his fingers a smidge tighter than before.

“Wow,” Steve breathes beside him.

Eddie looks to him. His profile. The sharp angle of his nose, droop of his eyes, and curve of his easy smile. He follows his gaze, up to the sky.

A spattering of stars, only broken by the even brighter bursts of twinkling fireworks. Pinks and yellows and whites travel stark across the sky, each ember firing like a shooting star going home. He places his right hand over his chest, the beating of his heart a tumultuous, daunting thing. And he sighs, panting a short breath—

Let me keep him, he wishes, after tonight, let me have him. Please?

Steve squeezes their hands together, fingers sprawling so they can intertwine. His palm is sweaty, he’s shaking slightly. He laughs, though, a sputtering, unbelievable sound. “Thank god I’m outta there,” he whispers. Eddie gazes at the stretch of his neck, how his Adam’s apple resettles after bobbing out each individual word. There’s moles dotting there, too. Constellations, even more wonderful than the stars above them.

At least, Eddie thinks so. Objectively, he’s correct. Won’t hear anybody else on the matter.

He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and turns his eyes back to the sky. “Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, “you can only take so much being cramped in there. Everything’s a little more…”

“Sobering?”

“Real,” he corrects. “Everything’s more real.”

Their fingers are pretzeled together still. And as if to punctuate Eddie’s point, Steve makes him feel the pressure of their hands. As if to say, “We’re a little more real out here, too.” He supposes they are. And he supposes the budding warmth in his sternum—where he’s believed his soul to be his whole life—is real, too.

Eddie blinks, watching white streaks dissipate through the sky. His stomach grumbles, though, and he’s reminded with a back-handed slap why they’re out here. There’s plenty of time to watch fireworks later, but he’s only got such staggering minutes with Steve. And he promised food.

Maybe it’s too honest and maybe it’s a lot stupid—considering Steve is still such a stranger, an enigma to his brain—but he’d promise a whole lot more if he was allowed.

For now, he starts to drag them towards the diner. Only met with minor resistance from Steve’s stance. He relents quickly, though. Following after Eddie like a lost, scruffy puppy. Through the next burst of fireworks, he hears Steve’s stomach give a low grumble, too.

The greasy air of the diner hits him in one strong gust. Salt and cheese and a sprinkling of cinnamon. Pink bubblegum, too, as a hostess greets them at the door and leads them to a booth in the back right corner of the restaurant. The vinyl must be sticky when Steve bounces onto it, grimacing as his fingertips stay stuck like paw-pads on ice. Eddie finds out a second later when he saddles in right across from Steve, collecting the menus from the edge of the table as the hostess struts away to her bored stool at the coffee counter.

He hands over one menu, Steve taking it from him gingerly. With a passing, soft, “Thanks.” His eyes fall to the plastic sheet in his hands, seemingly enthralled by everything there is to choose from.

Eddie already knows what he wants, choosing to gaze ahead.

There’s a tiny pout to Steve’s lips, subtle an gentle, but definitely present. He’s muttering under his breath, thumbs tracing down the margins of the menu, half-formed sentences like, “Cheeseburger…tomatoes…lettuce—hmph—bacon optional, sounds good.” Steve takes the sleeve of his jacket and brings it up under his nose, wiping hastily at its tip. His face isn’t puffy or red anymore, just tinged with exhaustion. Even like this, slumped over a menu and recovering ever so slowly from the cold that had seeped into their bones and the roller coaster of emotions that had worked through their combined blood, Steve’s beauty is magnetic. But his thinking face? His consideration? His marveling wonder outside?

Aside from his looks, the rest of him still draws Eddie in.

Or maybe Eddie’s easier than he thought he was.

Or…or…Eddie knows what he wants.

“Oh, shit,” Steve breathes, “they’ve got fucking onion rings.”

“They’re pretty good,” Eddie amends.

Steve slams his menu to the surface of the table, hands spread, eyes wide insistently. “Of course they’re fucking good! They’re onion rings!” he softly exclaims. “Ooo, get ‘em with barbecue sauce and a Dr. Pepper? That right there is the champion of all meals.”

“Is that what you want?”

The menu’s picked up again. “Mmm…it does sound good…nah,” Steve says, eyes intense on the choices, “I’m still lookin’.”

Eddie snorts indignantly and greets their waitress. Ordering a basket of onion rings for the table, a couple waters, and a Dr. Pepper for “The man of the hour” with a half-gesture at Steve still muttering under his breath. It’s endearing how long it takes for Steve to finally settle on something, even if their combined grumbling stomachs get louder and louder, roaring over the tinny television in the opposite corner to their booth.

“You better pick something soon, else Anderson Cooper’s gonna blackout before the ball drops,” he gently teases, head nodding to the television. Steve looks to it, snorts, and glances back down at the menu. “I could also just pick something for you, if you’re too indecisive?”

“Chicken tenders,” Steve decides, “with crispy fries and a side of ranch.”

“Are you twelve?”

“Hey,” he objects defensively. “I happen to be a man of taste, thank you very much. It just so happens that I’ve got a young soul ’s’all.”

Eddie hums, face betraying him as it splits with a shining smile. Jeez, this guy is endearing. He leans over the table a bit, resting his chin in his hand; Steve mirrors him, smirking. Soft and low, he asks, “You still got a headache, Stevie?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “It’ll probably stick with me tomorrow morning. Which sucks. I should’a left the bar as soon as my date stormed off. Would’a saved me a lot of trouble.”

But then you wouldn’t have met me, he wants to say, and that would suck worse.

“I’ve got Advil when the water comes. It’s the last dose in the bottle, but it should help. And also the Dr. Pepper. Caffeine might be good.”

“I don’t wanna take the last of your pills, man. You probably need it more than I do. Been working all day on your feet, I’m sure.”

He merely shrugs. “Yeah, well…I wanna help you. It’ll bring me some comfort if I can make you feel even a bit better, y’know?” Steve doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at him like a confused, lost dog. Like he’s being offered scraps from a hand that doesn’t shake when he sniffs it. “But if it really bothers you,” Eddie continues, “then we can figure out a way for you to make it up to me.”

Steve cozies deeper into his hand, blinking long at Eddie. “That sounds good,” he breathes. “Say the word…”

“We’ll figure it out before you go home, okay? Not something for you to worry about now.” He fishes the bottle of Advil from his pants’ pocket and opens it swiftly, spilling the tablets into the well of his palm. Steve’s other hand is flopped over on the table, atop his menu, relaxed. Eddie places the pills in his hand and closes his fingers. No argument. “After you eat, I’ll order your Lyft. And then…maybe I can get your number?” He’s cautious about the conversation, though the words hit him at once. Failed date, New Years Eve, situationship. Eddie rushes to add,  “Just so that you can text me when you get home safely, that’s all. Don’t…I don’t wanna come off as, like, preying on you or something. Y’know, after the whole…Yeah. Just. Wanna make sure you get home safe.”

As soon as the breath rushes out of him, it’s like Steve breathes it in, responding with a syrupy, tired giggle fit. His hand fists the Advil tablets tighter. A flush colors his skin, travels down his neck as he loses himself to his laughter. The stretch of his smile and sprawl of his giggles make his nostrils flare. And Eddie doesn’t know how, after seeing the same on so many other guys, but the way Steve’s face simply moves with his joy stirs something in him. Awakes a part that had been hiding in a seemingly unending hibernation.

Shit.

Catching his breath and wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes, Steve resettles. Breathes, “You were so worried!”

“I was!” Eddie exclaims. He makes a dramatic show of crossing his arms over his chest, pouting his lips. “I didn’t wanna overstep. It’d be un-gentlemanly of me.”

“Oh,” Steve sighs, breath finally caught. There’s a big, goofy smile on his face still. His eyes glassy with—what Eddie assumes to be—happy tears. “You’ve already treated me way better than ninety percent of the dates I’ve been on, man. Don’t worry about…about being careful when asking for my number.” He rests in his palm again, his posture growing tired, slumping into the table. “I was gonna give it to you anyway.”

“Ninety percent? Who the hell do I need to fight?”

“People who are…unimportant and too full of themselves? I don’t know, Eds, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably just…I don’t know,” Steve murmurs. He shrugs half-heartedly again. “I’m gonna go home after this and go to bed, wake up with a raging headache, and probably wish that you were still sitting across from me. Feel like you’d know how to make it better.”

Eddie hums. “Well,”—he positions himself better, sitting up in his seat and folding his hands on the table—“tonight, I’m gonna make sure you ring in the New Year happier than you are right now. And then, when you get home, you’ll text me that you did. I’ll tell you to have a goodnight’s sleep. In the morning, when you wake up, I’ll text you again, ask if you want some coffee. Maybe, if you’re comfortable, I could bring it over to your place and we could have a simple breakfast?”

“You’d do that?”

“If you want me to.”

Steve goes silent, noticeably contemplative. His eyes adrift to the table. In the mean time, Eddie orders their food and passes over the drinks when they arrive. He nudges Steve to take his pills and points out something that Anderson Cooper’s doing on the television.

But he doesn’t bring up tomorrow morning, not right now at least.

Because maybe he’s overstepping this. He’s putting himself in a position Steve doesn’t want him in. Only thirty minutes ago, they were complete strangers in a bathroom bar, groaning and grumbling at each other for being so defensive and combative. Maybe Steve’s got a friend waiting for him back home? Waiting to let him back inside and take care of him in the secret way only true friends know how.

They aren’t anything more than mere acquaintances. No matter how many half-lidded flirty glances Steve passes his way. No matter how many times Eddie’s eyes wander to Steve’s mouth as he gobbles down his serving of onion rings, a wish ringing out in his head, words caught star-bound in his throat, admiring.

He’s allowed to admire.

Not allowed to have, though.

And maybe he won’t ever get there. This will be it. A late night dinner, wishing Happy New Years, jokes tossed across the table like clumsy frisbees taking flight, and an aching in his chest. Feelings blooming in his sternum so suddenly, so abrasively, they’re thorns staggered sharp into his lungs. 

He breathes, his chest seizes, and the whiff of Steve’s stale cologne burrows inside him. He blinks, his eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and Steve’s strong shining summer smile brands to the deep crevices of Eddie’s brain. He laughs, their giggles blend, and the process starts all over again.

Is this what sunflowers feel like? Soaking up the sun, all that they can, and then begin the brittle early death of wilting into oneself? They have to wait so long to be born again.

Eddie doesn’t want this to be a one time thing, dead in the middle of winter, dead before it could be alive.

Steve will have his number, though. He’ll have a weakened headache in the morning now that he’s had some caffeine and begun processing a couple Advil. From there, though, the future is possible, but unseen. He’s not sure if he’s even something Steve could be looking for.

Wishful thinking, he tells himself, hopeful wishing.

“Dude, try this!”

He blinks back to himself, presented with a chicken tender thrusted into his face. It’s dripping in ranch, so Steve’s hand is cupped underneath it, trying to save the table. Eddie gapes, looking to Steve’s face.

The chicken tender is pushed into his space harder. “These are the best tenders I’ve ever had in my fucking life, and I need you to support me on this. Try it.”

At Steve’s request, he gingerly takes a bite. For some odd reason, he finds himself holding their intent and intense eye contact, unwavering. It’s just a chicken tender, nothing to write home about. Not like it tastes any different than the ones he can pick up from the Dairy Queen by his apartment, but if Steve’s saying it’s the best one he’s had…

“That’s pretty fuckin’ bomb, Stevie,” he says. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the complete truth. But it does earn him bright eyes and warm cheeks, a side by side dance in the booth across from him, and a pleased little grin. So…maybe these chicken tenders are the best, especially if they get a pretty boy like Steve to look at him like that.

“Told you,” Steve says around his next bite—half of a chicken tender and two folded onion rings. “You ever dip ‘em in gravy, though? That would blow away your socks, blow up your mind, and suck your dick.”

“You, uh, you really don’t fuck around when it comes to chicken tenders, do you?”

“I don’t fuck around with anything. I’m a set-in-stone kind of guy.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Eddie involuntarily choke on air, his eyes drifting away, flush high on his cheeks. He takes a few, quiet bites of his cheeseburger. It’s mediocre and spilling with grease, the bun is stale and the ketchup is weirdly cold, but he savors it. At least it isn’t another basket of tortilla chips and jarred salsa from the bar—he’d probably rip out his own stomach if he had to eat any more of those.

Steve tries to offer him another chicken tender, but Eddie pushes it back gently towards him. Tries not to coo over the soft, sad pout that the gesture earns him. “It’s your food,” he says, “I wanna make sure you eat it, sweetheart. You need it more than me.”

“But I wanna share it with you.”

“Stevie,” he murmurs, “I’ve already got my”—

He’s offered the chicken again. With a very forceful, “Take a bite. You worked for hours, I can tell from how tired you seem, and I want to share this with you.” And then—the bastard—adds a puppy-eyed pout to say, “Please? It would help me feel better.”

Eddie sighs dramatically, leaning forward and taking another bite. He raises his eyebrows, gazing at Steve as he rescinds his food offering. “Happy now?”

Steve nods, smiling as he does so. “Very.” He pops a fry in his mouth and crunches down on it, his grin as big as the Cheshire Cat’s. And then, his focus goes back on his basket of food, none the wiser to Eddie’s openly affectionate adoration.

He forces himself to look away, to stop getting caught up on the Steve of it all, this night. Probably one of the best New Years Eves he’s ever had. Eddie takes a deep breath, though, and looks to the television.

Forty seconds to midnight.

How’d their night drive by so damn fast?

“You gonna count down with me?” Eddie asks, interrupting the lull of silence that filled between them.

“Mm, among one other thing, yeah.”

“What other”—

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve quickly adds, dropping his food into his basket, “how much time do we have?”

“Fifteen seconds.”

He watches Steve wipe his fingers on a nearby napkin, counting aloud with “Fourteen.”

And as the numbers go down, Steve pushes himself closer over the table. Eddie can only match with him.

Ten.

This close, Steve no longer smells like his cologne. Just barbecue sauce and onion rings, the grease from chicken tenders, and a lighter thing that he can’t quite place. Something happy, whatever it is.

Eight.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have nice eyes, Stevie?”

“Don’t think anybody’s really taken notice.”

“Well…”—Eddie breathes gently—“you have really nice eyes.”

Five.

Steve slides his hand across the table, gripping for Eddie’s left. Their fingers tangle, pretzeled together. Warm, even there. His smile is warmer, though, and Eddie begins melting at the sight of it. He wonders if Steve is thinking the same thing.

Three.

“Two,” Eddie breathes.

He squeezes their hands. “One,” Steve sighs. And with it, he surges the last few inches over the table, pulling Eddie towards him, planting a delicate kiss on his lips. It doesn’t carry longer than a couple seconds, but it lingers. Lingers like the decadent, sweet scent of apple pie. They’ll have to get slices before parting.

The diner fills with cheers, whoops and hollers. There’s a burst of multi-colored light outside, painting the left side of Steve’s face with pinks and blues and yellows. Maybe it’s all so cliche. Maybe Eddie tripped and fell, went into some head trauma-induced coma where he can only dream of a picture perfect world waiting for him.

But Steve squeezes his hand again, fingernails pinching into his soft skin.

Eddie knows he’s awake.

The haziness has cleared from Steve’s eyes, replaced with romantic determination. And Eddie knows he must be mirroring something like that, too.

“Happy New Years, Steve.”

“Happy New Years, Eddie,” he murmurs—the breath ghosts over Eddie’s lips, close enough to kiss them—“best night I’ve had in a really long while, thank you.”

He wants to kiss him again, so he does. Gentle and quick, sweetly though, and drenching.

If a night could last forever, he’d pick this one right here.

“My pleasure,” he says and means it to the core of his soul.

“Can I take you up on that coffee tomorrow? I have donuts back home, we could make a morning of it.”

Eddie swallows, sure that Steve hears him. His palm sweats and the thing inside him, stirring and rolling the whole night, is finally, finally alert. “Of course, sweetheart”—it fills him with giddy pride the way that nickname brings a flush to Steve’s cheeks—“what time?”

“I’ll call you when I’m ready. I wanna hear your morning voice.”

“You flatter me.”

Steve raises their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of Eddie’s. His lips are sticky, somehow, but sweet. The next time they kiss, he hopes Steve tastes like pie. “Good,” Steve whispers, “you deserve to be flattered now.”

And maybe it wasn’t the most romantic start to their relationship…

But Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way.

🎆—————🎆

[munsonsmixtapes]

This could be just my hormones going insane but I just need a fix of Steve/eddie (or both) giving reader some loving cause all of her friends are having babies and she’s feeling a little bit frustrated it’s not happening with her. Either of the boys end up catching the vibes so they doo all they can to help our girl out and it sticks

What I would GIVE!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) grinding, breeding kink, creampie, mention of pregnancy, hurt/comfort, cockwarming

Having a baby isn’t something you’ve ever really thought about. Your life has always been so you haven’t really had the time, but as you’ve gotten older, you’ve begun to wonder if maybe you wouldn’t mind having a little one running around. You see the tiny little clothes when you’ve gone shopping and your heart bursts. At restaurants, you’ll see the cute little families and wonder what if that could be you?

Your baby fever get even worse when one of your close friends who just had her first child invites you over to meet him. The second she puts him in your arms and his tiny hand wraps around your finger, that's it. You just know you want one of your own. A little baby that you would raise until they eventually would venture out in the world on their own.

But that's all a pipe dream in your eyes. That would never happen for you because you’re single and sperm donors and adoptions can be tricky. So you're just stuck thinking about it for the rest of your life, just hoping, wishing that it'll miraculously happen.

You spend the whole drive home sobbing. You can barely even see through your tears, but you somehow make it home to your apartment that you share with your best friend, Steve. And for once, you hope he isn’t home, because there's no way you can tell him why you're crying. It'd be way too embarrassing.

So you wordlessly hurry to your room where you bury yourself under your covers as the sobs pour out of you. You feel so pathetic for crying about something like this, but you can't help it. It just hurts way more than it should.

There's a knock at the door and you're so glad that you locked it. You really can't talk to Steve right now. He just wouldn't understand. You know that he would be understanding and sympathetic like always, but this time, it would be even better if he was actually experiencing what you are.

"Hey, y/n," he says from the other side of the door and you can just imagine him with furrowed eyebrows, the look he always gets when he's upset. You know you've hurt his feeling by shutting him out, but this is for his own good. He doesn't want to have this awkward conversation with you. You're sure of it.

"I know you're upset about something so I uh, I made you that hot chocolate you like." He's so sweet that it makes your heart ache sometimes. What did you do to deserve a best friend like him?

You throw the covers off of you and make your way to the door. You unlock and open it to reveal Steve's sympathetic smile. He holds the mug out to you and you take it, taking a sip before heading back to your bed, Steve sitting next to you, but making sure to keep some space between the two of you.

Just like always, the silence isn't awkward between the two of you as you sip on your beverage and he just sits there. You set the mug on your desk then sit next to him again, this time to where your thighs are touching and you lean your head on his shoulder.

His arm wraps around your arm, his hand moving lazily up and down it as a way to comfort you. You can't help but let you mind wonder what it would be life if Steve was the father of your child. You're he'd be the perfect candidate, but you're sure that he'd think it was weird. His best friend wants to have a baby with him? That's definitely out of his comfort zone and you know it.

"You wanna tell me what's bothering you?" No fucking way. you're taking that shit to the grave. You've got to make something up, and fast.

"Just womanly stuff, you know how it is," you sniff, feeling tears streaming down your cheeks again. You do your best to try and pretend that your stomach is cramping and Steve is quick to pull you into his lap.

His rests is hands on the lower part of your stomach where he knows they get really bad and he begins to massage the area to relieve some of the pain. He always take sure good care of you and that's how you know that he would be a great dad.

You think about him doing the exact same thing when your stomach starts showing, talking to the baby and you suddenly feeling wet between your legs. You're staring to see Steve in a different way and you're not entirely sure how to feel about it.

"How does that feel?" He asks, looking down at you and suddenly, every single thought is replaced by your need to know what his lips feel like. They look like two pretty, pink pillows and you just can't stop staring.

“I’m not really cramping,” you tell him, feeling guilty that you lied to him. “I uh, I was actually upset because-well, because everyone around me is getting married and having children and I just-that’s what I want. I just want a family, Stevie.”

You look so heartbroken and Steve can see your eyes welling up again. He suddenly gets an idea, but he knows it’s crazy. When you mentioned having a family, clearly he wasn’t supposed to be in the picture. But now that it’s come to his mind, he can’t stop thinking about it.

He’d be honored to have a baby with you. He just knows you’d be an amazing mother, especially when he’s seen you with the kids in his family at different Harrington functions. Now that he’s thought of it, he can’t unsee it. Now he’s got to see it through. That is, if you agree. And why would you? The idea really isn’t something that he should be suggesting to his best friend, but what the hell?

“What if we had a baby?” He asks, his honey eyes boring into yours and you swear you just might melt. He’s so sweet sometimes that you don’t feel like you deserve him. He takes your silence as his answer and quickly tries to backtrack. “Just forget I said anything.”

“No, Steve,” you grab hold of his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. “I’d love to have a baby with you. Honored, actually.”

“You would?” His face lights up and you can’t help but laugh at how adorable he is.

“Yes,” you nod.

You move so that you’re straddling his lap while his hands rest on your waist. Shit, you’re really doing this and Steve can’t hide his excitement. This might be the smartest thing he’s ever done.

You make the first move, leaning down and bringing your face to his, slowly capturing his lips with yours. He's quick to respond, trying to match your pace as his lips move against yours. Yours are soft and he's convinced that this is the best kiss he's ever had. You know exactly what you're doing and he's just desperate for more.

Just as he melting into you, he feels you grinding against his crotch and he lets out a whine, already feeling himself getting hard. This has to be a record for sure. He lets you do what you want, loving everything you're doing so far.

His tongue slides into your mouth and he swears he's going to come just from hearing you. It's so hot and now that he's hearing it person and not on the other side of the wall when you pleasure yourself, he's sure it's even hotter because he's the cause of it.

“God, you’d look so pretty,” he sighs against your lips. “So fucking hot. And I’d praise you any chance I got.”

He’s saying all the right things and now you think you’re ready. You’ve-you’ve never done anything like this with Steve, but something about it feels so good, so right.

Your top comes off and it’s thrown to the side as Steve takes advantage of your now exposed skin. He kisses and nips at chest as you melt in his arms, mewling at every touch of his lips.

He slips the straps of your bra off of your shoulders and continues his kisses there, mixing in his lips with it as your hands grab hold of his biceps, digging your fingers into his skin.

“So fucking pretty,” he mumbles against your skin and you flush, feeling hot from both his compliments and his soft lips. “Now let me see you.” He unhooks your bra and pulls it away from your body to reveal your bare chest.

Your nipples are hard and Steve’s mouth waters as he thinks about how badly he wants them in his mouth. They’re practically begging for it as your back arches, moving your body from side to side, his gaze following you.

Without warning, Steve grabs hold of your waist and turns your bodies so your back is flat against your bed, him on top of you. He goes straight for your nipple, taking it into his mouth, giving it a hard suck as he pins your arms to the bed.

You gasp as the feeling and Steve continues, introducing his tongue as he licks and sucks on your nipple, one of his hands moving to massage the other one so it gets some attention as well.

Your back arches against his as a pretty moan falls from your lips and he takes that as an invitation to continue. He bites down hard and you mewl, your fingers gripping the bedding underneath you.

“That’s a pretty sound, baby,” he compliments as he pulls away for a split second. “Wanna make it again?”

“Please,” you whine and he goes in again with another as you let out another moan. Once you’ve reached your peak, he moves onto the other nipple, doing the exact same routine until you’re orgasming again, grabbing onto his shirt, trying to pull it off of him so you can proceed.

Steve’s shirt is off in an instant and he kisses his way down your torso slowly, giving your stomach special attention. He peppers it with kisses as he showers you with the sweetest words, wanting to make you feel special, to know that he really wants this and isn’t just doing it because he should.

“You’re gonna be such a great mother,” he starts off, pressing a kiss to the spot right above your belly button. “I’d be honored to raise a child with you.” Another kiss to the spot. “Fuck, I’m gonna love filling you,” is what he finishes off with before pressing a kiss to the spot right above your jeans. He then unbuttons them and you just now you’re a mess now, feeling your slick rolling down your legs.

Your jeans are off in an instant followed by your panties and Steve undressed himself before spreading your legs wide, lining himself up with you before slowly inserting himself. It’s a tight fit, but by the time he’s done with you, you’re going to be so loose.

His pace is slow as he takes his time, watching you so intently to make sure that you’re okay. You’re more than enjoying yourself, it seems as you moan and whine, your nails scratching down his back. Steve didn’t realize just how much he loves not using a condom, feeling every single part of you against him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he says as his thrusts pick up, moving even faster, inch by inch trying to get all of himself inside you.

“Haven’t done this in a while.” It’s at least been a couple of months.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll loosen you up in no time.” He’s pumping even harder and faster now, trying to get to a pace that the two of you will enjoy and continues at that pace as you respond positively.

“And look at that. You’re taking me so well.” He’s moving so fast now that the bed is squeaking underneath you, moving back and forth with every pump and you’re eating it up, needing feel all of him.

“More,” you whine and Steve just chuckles.

“Can’t go any faster than this.”

“No, Steve, more.” You grab hold of his hips and push him further inside you, bucking your hips against his so he gets the hint.

“You got it, sweetheart,” he winks. “Sure I’m not gonna hurt you?”

“I want you to. I just need to feel you. Want you to fill me.” You buck your hips again and again as the two of you work together, trying your best to get the other off.

He’s all the way inside you now and you can feel tears pricking your eyes as you can feel every single inch of him, so sure that he’s going to split you apart. Not that you mind. That would actually be the best way to go of you’re being honest.

“Taking me so well. Look at you, so close to coming. I can see it. Fuck, you’re beautiful. Gonna look even more beautiful with my baby. Gonna-“ his words are cut off as he reaches his own orgasm. He releases inside you and you watch him come undone, curling his head towards his chest as his eyes shut tight. His fingers are digging into your waist and you push his hair away from his sweaty face as he’s coming down.

He’s got just enough energy for little more. Just enough to get you there. He’s moving as hard and fast as he can, watching you come undone underneath him. You’re so pretty, the perfect mother for his child.

As soon as your orgasm is over, Steve lowers himself down onto, not even bothering to pull out because he just wants to be this close to you for a little longer. His lips find yours in a gentle kiss before he lays his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair.

You spend the rest of the night like that before cuddling up in your bed, the two of you discussing baby names, deciding that neither of you care whether it’s a boy or girl.

Nine months later, you welcome your baby girl into the world. Steve is right by your side the entire delivery and seeing you hold her for the first time, he’s sure that you’re going to be an amazing mother and he’s so excited to navigate parenting with you.

[ghostgirl-22]

Tashi and/or Art’s physiotherapist walking in (Art’s room, a locker room, gym, whatever) to find Art and Patrick in just their underwear scrambling to get dressed after having sex.

Yes I could see it anon! Post challenger.

Tashi insists Art and Patrick go out to get a drink or something and try to reconnect since they haven’t really talked to each other in over a decade. Art goes because deep down he misses Patrick but he’s still reserved thinking they’re just gonna talk for an hour.

By hour four they’re drunk and giggling like they’re in high school again. And at 1am when the place is closing they’re still reminiscing so Patrick invites Art back to his place.

Art pings his location to Tashi with a note that he’ll be home soon, but they’re still catching up. They end up hanging out on Patrick’s motel bed. Watching an old movie on cable. Splitting a beer. And before Art realizes what’s happening he’s kissing Patrick. He pulls back shyly. Saying sorry. And Patrick just smiles and climbs on top of him. Then they’re kissing more. Touching all over. Art losing all sense of self in the pursuit of pleasure. Shaky fingers covered in lube. Fucking into Patrick because he needs it. He doesn’t even know how many times they do it. Just knows he’s waking up hungover, butt naked and pleasantly sore in Patrick’s bed to the sound of knocking. He rolls over but Patrick’s not in bed.

“I’m coming,” He stumbles, sleepy to the door. Only his boxers on, scratching his head he pulls it open. “Hey,” he says.

“Is uh… is Art here?”

Shit. It’s his physiotherapist. Tashi must have sent him over when he didn’t show up to his post game session this morning. Patrick pulls open the door and his physio Steve walks in.

It’s at this moment that Art kinda wishes Patrick had a little more shame. He sits up in bed quickly, embarrassment heating his skin as he searches for his clothes which are all over the bed and floor.

“Uh sorry man… um…” Art says, quickly trying to get into his briefs. Steve’s eyes widen when he sees him. He looks for maybe a bit too long before turning to look at the wall.

“No uh… no it’s um… Tashi said you were probably here so I figured I’d bring breakfast.” He holds up one of the shakes Art usually swallows down for breakfast. It was their usual habit to hangout after his post game sessions. Art sees his college buddies four times a year at most and he hasn’t really kept in touch with anyone from high school. Sadly Steve is probably his most consistent guy friend as an adult and he happens to be on the payroll.

“That’s uh… really thoughtful man I appreciate it,” Art says, glaring at Patrick who looks quite amused by all of it. “I completely forgot about our session.”

“I uh— I see. Um…” Steve lingers, he looks at Patrick and then chances another glance in Art’s direction. He’s stepping into his jeans. Or maybe they’re Patrick’s jeans. Fuck.

Patrick rests his elbow against the doorframe, one hand on his hip.“No way you were actually going to train after yesterday?” He asks, yawning.

“No this is my good friend and physiotherapist, Steve.” Art says, sheepish. “I’ve been seeing him nearly everyday since my injury.”

“Hey man, I’ve uh— I’ve heard a lot about you,” Steve says, smiling awkwardly at Patrick, his eyes trailing swiftly up and down his body.

“I bet,” Patrick smirks.

“That’s uh—Patrick and I— we’ve never— I’ve never done anything like this before,” Art says quickly and reassuringly to Steve. In case he’s thinking of bailing now. The way Steve stretches him out so well has led him to walk away with the occasional awkward boner. He’s not into Steve. At least he doesn't think he is.

Steve would always dismiss it saying it happened all the time… and that made Art feel a little less embarrassed about it. But now seeing Art like this Steve’s probably going to rethink the cause of those boners.

“No I mean… it’s no big deal. You know I’m gay so it’s nothing I’m not used to. And since you’re bisexual I figured you had to be—“ Steve starts.

“Huh?” Art interrupts, he’s given up and just decided to wear Patrick’s jeans, he’s buttoning them but they’re still sitting loose on his waist, exposing the thick strap of his briefs.

“It’s no big deal, honest, I’m not calling HR,” Steve says, smiling.

“No the other part,” Art says. “Did you say— did you say you were— that you think I’m—“

Steve laughs. “Is this a joke?”

“Uh I don’t know. I mean… I’m not…” Art begins and then he glances at Patrick, who continues to look endlessly amused.

“We flirt all the time.” Steve says. “You get hard every time I’m stretching you out. You know I love Beyoncé as much as Tashi does. You saw grindr on my phone when I accidentally left it open…”

“Beyoncé is a talented artist.” Is all Art can manage and Patrick laughs. Art tosses a balled up sock at him. He vaguely remembers seeing naked men on Steve’s phone but he’d figured it was some kind of anatomy thing. He’s a physio after all.

“You said the boner thing happens to people all the time…” Art says.

“Yeah it does… with my clients that are into men.”

Art feels his skin heating even more. “We—we don’t flirt,” Art stammers.

Steve laughs this time. “Sure…”

Patrick settles back on the bed. “This is hilarious actually. I like you Steve. Maybe we should all go out and eat real food. And I can tell you about all the times he didn’t flirt with me.”

“I’d definitely be interested,” Steve smiles. Traitor.

And here Art was thinking he drank too much and made a mistake but the whole time Steve thought he was bisexual. God. Maybe he’s bisexual?

“I know you think it’s funny but can you please not mention this to Tashi? God forbid, she finds out from either of you before I can explain myself.”

Steve chokes out another laugh and then covers his mouth. Art frowns at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry… I thought that was another joke. You know, she’s the one who told me you were bi. She said if we hooked up she’d be good with it so I um—I think she knows.”

Art rubs his palms on his thighs refusing to take one more glance at Patrick’s ever widening shit eating grin.

“Oh.”

[beef-brisket]

Adam: Swallow it!

Lucifer was still struggling.

Adam: Swallow it, you bitch!

Eventually, Lucifer managed to swallow it and not waste any of his food liquor.

Lucifer coughed: Y-You-! Fucking asshole!

Adam laughed: Not so tough now, huh bitch?

Lucifer: I'm the fucking king, Adam-.

Adam: Oh! You're NOT going to believe the fucking gossip I heard, man.

Lucifer laughed: Oh yeah?

Adam: Yeah- apparently, Alastor listens to our podcast~

Lucifer: What?! Oh man... I need to be more drunk for this.

Adam: Seconded!

Lucifer took another shot while Adam downed half a glass of whiskey.

Lucifer: J-Jesus christ, Adam!

Adam: Keep my... brothers? Uh... my other dudes name out of your fucking mouth!

Lucifer laughed: Sounds like the first man wants another day with his head in the toilet~.

Adam: Ha! Not happening, I'm only going hard now to get a good buzz, then I'm stopping.

Lucifer: Oh sure, sure. So, what's this I hear about Bambi~?

Adam smirks: Little fawn listens to our podcast!

Lucifer: Aww! How... pathetic-.

Adam: Hey. Nah, man. Nonr of that.

Lucifer: None of what?

Adam: We don't tear down other creators on this show. We build them up and encourage them.

Lucifer: ...You cut his chest open with an axe.

Adam: And I got back AND chest fucked by a maid. Your point? Look. Al. I actually don't mind him. He's not that bad once you get to know him-.

Lucifer: What-?!

Adam: And his jambalaya is fuckimg bussin. So, Bambi, if you're listening, you keep doing you, boo. You've got this- and don't listen to that weird guy with a TV for a head- radio isn't... old? What the fuck did he say?

Lucifer shrugged: No idea.

Adam: Huh... okay- well, don't listen to what I said about radio being dead- turns out, I was the dead one, so fuck me, right? You go, Alastor! This one's for you, dudette!

Lucifer didn't know whether to laugh or look completely disgusted as Adam downed nearly half a bottle.

Lucifer: Hey uh... I appreciate the enthusiasm, Ad. But maybe you should take it easy-.

Adam: Pft- Why?! Dude- I fucking told you I WANTED to die- in EDEN! You! Of all people! So, yeah... I'm fucking taking advantage of the good stuff~.

Lucifer: ...You... just admitted that on the show-.

Adam: Whatever, man. I'm sure everyone in Hell's wanted to die at some point! It's like a club- let's make a club! Suicide... Suicide h... h-h-hotties... yeah, that! Bro fist, man!

Lucifer gave Adam a weak brofist. Maybe he should turn the alcohol into water or something.

Adam: You know... I-I always thought you were- lowkey hot- in the garden- and now, actually.

Lucifer: ..."lowkey hot"?

Adam: Yeah! You're kinda, sorta, a little bit hot.

He should definitely turn that alcohol into water.

Lucifer: ...Gee. thanks, man.

The Hotel Yard

Adam: So, Lucifer hadn't heard this yet but there is an AI version of our show already.

Lucifer: Shit, okay.

AI Lucifer: Hello everyone I'm with my co-host Adam. And might I say you look like you've escaped from a mental institution.

Adam: So already you start off with insulting me

Lucifer: Yeah but we take turns

Adam: Giving blows to each other

Lucifer: Yeah we take turns blowing each other.

Adam: HAHAHA!!

AI Adam: That's not nice Lu

AI Lucifer: No, but you want to know something else? We're gay for each other.

Lucifer: What!? Hahaha!

Adam: Fucking Jesus hahaha!

I love these goobers so much 😂

AI Adam: We love recording this podcast. But our fathers hate us.

Lucifer and Adam nearly die if laughing.

Lucifer: W-What the fuck?!

Adam: It's not fucking wrong, dude!

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 69 ~ We've all got Jobs to do

Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

Era : Season 5

Word Count : 6.4k

In this chapter ~ As Rose continues to contemplate the job she was unexpectedly offered, Deanna talks of a party she's throwing to welcome all of the newcomers such as themselves. But that's not all the group has to be weary of as Rose has a run-in with a certain doctor that puts her on edge. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

I was beyond irritated. Irritated because I was woken up at the ass crack of dawn to hear someone knocking frantically on the door, and that someone just so happened to be Deanna. The sight of her of all people irritated me too. She made a huge fuss about what happened yesterday with Nicholas, saying I ran away too fast before even having a chance to go to their infirmary to be looked at. But I knew it was pointless. The man had his hands around me for about two seconds before I shut it down immediately, wanting to just forget it ever happened. Though eventually, I agreed. Because she wouldn't seem to shut up about it until I did.

But the worst part was I was missing out on the first secret meeting with the others as they headed off toward the woods. Rick, Daryl, and Carol were planning to escape for a while to discuss what the next move would be to take back our guns. While I on the other hand had to go get a fucking check-up like a five year old. However, I knew that if I skipped out on seeing the doctor, Deanna would eventually find out, and I definitely didn't want to deal with that.

So, here I was, standing tiredly outside of the clinic, telling myself to knock while also simultaneously wanting to turn on my heel and leave. But the quicker I got in, the quicker I would get back out. With that I finally tapped my knuckles on the door and awaited the answer of the doctor that apparently was "too good to be true," according to the woman in charge.

The door swung open a few seconds later and I was met with a man that instantly gave me the chills. He looked perfectly normal upon first glance, but there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way. I just didn't know what.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

But there it was. His speech was too slurred, and his breath smelled too much like liquor for it being nine in the morning. Seriously? The town drunk was the doctor that was too good to be true? The quicker I get in, the quicker I get out, Irepeated to myself before putting on the best fake smile I could muster.

"Yeah, I hope so. Deanna sent me over here to get looked at after what happened yesterday."

He gave me a blank look, like he had no clue what I was talking about. "The uh...the fight? Some guy got his hands around my throat and...well I guess it's better to be safe than sorry." I explained.

He let out a long sigh of frustration before reluctantly opening the door a bit wider, "Fine." he muttered, turning around to head back inside with a stomping of his feet, expecting me to follow.

My feet remained planted on the ground for a beat as I took a second to collect whatever patience I had left, before finally trailing after him. I followed his frame with my eyes as he led me into the back area, telling me to take a seat while he gathered some things together. I did a brief scan of the room, the varies of medical supplies before ultimately doing what he asked, sitting myself on some type of metal table. His back was facing me as he got everything he needed, surprising me a little that he was the one to break the dreaded silence.

"You're a part of that new group?" he asked, "Rose?"

My brows furrowed slightly, confused at how the hell he knew who I was, "Yeah..." I answered hesitantly, "How did you know my name?"

He turned around to face me now, "My wife said she met you the other day. Jessie."

Oh shit. "Oh, right yeah...briefly."

He hummed a response and came over with gloved hands, "Let me know if this hurts." he mumbled as he put some pressure on different parts of my throat.

I sat there patiently while his fingers moved with precision, but nothing pained me in the slightest. I knew coming here was a giant waste of time. My gaze traveled around the room again in utter boredom as I waited, scanning right past his head and quickly noticing a bottle of whiskey hidden behind a tissue box on the counter. Called it. But I didn't utter a word.

About a minute went by before he took his gloves off and threw them away in a nearby trashcan, taking out a small flashlight from his back pocket next. He aimed the light at different spots and angles of my neck to check for markings, before clicking it off a few seconds after.

"You might have some small bruising in the next few hours, but other than that you should be fine." he said under his breath as he turned away from me once more.

I nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I figured it wouldn't be anything too serious."

His head then suddenly whipped around to face me again rather quickly, "Then why the hell did you come in?" he questioned with a slightly raised voice.

My eyebrows flew up in shock at his sudden outburst for absolutely nothing, and the look on his face afterwards told me he knew he had fucked up. Not because he suddenly yelled at me, but because he didn't want anyone else to know about his bipolar behavior. He attempted to brush it off with a chuckle and raised his hands up to me as if he was surrendering.

"Sorry, sorry...I uh...didn't get much sleep last night. Someone kept me up." he said.

I hummed as if I understood, "Was his name Jack Daniels?"

The man's smile faded instantly, and a dangerous look appeared just behind his eyes. But I wasn't fearful. I knew he didn't have the balls to do a damn thing considering any marks or bruises he could potentially leave would be much harder to cover up rather than a few words he spit. Plus, he knew that I could fight. After all, that's the reason I came in here in the first place.

Now it was just the waiting game, to see who was going to make the next move. Personally, I was just waiting for him to say something, perhaps deny my assumption, but I could tell he was too angry to come up with a reasonable response.

"Does your wife know you start your day off with him bright and early?" I suddenly spoke again.

I was playing a dangerous game, but I wanted him to know a few things that were disguised behind my words. One, I wasn't going to let anyone talk to me like that. Two, I noticed his little secret that he seemed to keep hidden away. And three, I wasn't scared of him no matter how big and terrifying he may think he is.

His hands gripped the side of the counter until his knuckles turned white, and I took this as my cue to leave. "Well, thanks for the checkup doc. For your sake, I hope this is the last time I see you." I said sweetly before shoulder checking him on my way out, making it to the front door to leave.

I can honestly say I was left surprised when he didn't make a peep after the way my mouth ran on and on. But then again, he had to keep his sociopathic behaviors to himself, and couldn't show his true colors other than behind closed doors was my best guess. My mind didn't linger on the interaction for longer than it had to, tucking it in the back of my mind for later in case the man could potentially be a problem. But I prayed to God he wouldn't be.

Time passed as I finally made my way back to the safety of the house, expecting to see a few stragglers inside, but instead the place was empty when I walked through the door. The silence was almost unnerving in a way. But I tried to not let it bother me as I opted out to head upstairs, needing to find something to pass the time.

As I passed the bedrooms to my right, I stopped and backtracked a few feet when I noticed someone was in fact home. Michonne stood in front of the full-length mirror, looking at herself in the uniform she was given that looked exactly like Rick's, turning different ways to see every angle. I leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching as she adjusted the jacket a few times in unsureness.

"Damn, look at you girl." I suddenly spoke.

She jumped a little at my presence, but smiled when she saw it was just me, "Yeah?" she asked genuinely, "It's not too much?"

"No, it is," I said honestly, "You just pull it off pretty well."

Her smile grew larger, "Thank you." she muttered somewhat bashfully, before pausing and looking towards me a bit longer, "You know...you could be rocking one of these jackets right along with me."

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, I know."

"So why don't you just accept the job? I mean if we're going to stay, I think that would be the best thing for you." she said.

"I don't know, Chonne...it's just not something that I thought I would ever have to do again. I mean it's not like I hated my job or anything, but...it's just a lot, I guess. Going back to normal."

She nodded, "I know, believe me it feels weird for me too. But we'll get used to it, build up something for the future. If you really think about it, this is the start of something that could be pretty amazing."

I didn't say another thing as I just looked at her, a growing smile on my face that apparently made her grow uneasy. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing...you've just come a long way since I first met you." I said.

She rolled her eyes playfully, "Haven't we all?"

"I guess so," I shrugged, "But you've just become so...positive. Makes me sick sometimes." I joked as I scrunched my nose a bit.

"Just trying to move forward and be optimistic." she said with a small laugh. I hummed in response, watching as she grew a little more serious, "But seriously...just think about it, yeah?"

I stared at her for a moment longer before slowly nodding my head in agreement. I already told Deanna I would think it over, and that's exactly what I was doing. I just didn't know if this decision was the right one. Looking at this opportunity, I only saw it as a shell of who I once was, and that's not someone I necessarily wanted to go back to. All of this was supposed to be a chance to give us a fresh start, not something old from the past that we were trying hard to forget.

The floorboard suddenly creaking to my left is what caused me to look over, seeing Rick was back and making his way up the stairs to stand beside me.

"Hey," he greeted as he squeezed my shoulder before then nodding towards Michonne, "Deanna wants to have a meeting with us about the job. Just the basics of what we're doing." he informed her.

Michonne nodded simply, moving to make her way out of the room as I let her pass, "Well, you kids have fun." I spoke sarcastically to the two of them.

The man chuckled, "Uh, yeah don't think you're getting away that easy. She specifically asked that we bring you along too." My eyes narrowed at him, and he quickly raised his hands to defend himself, "It wasn't my idea, don't look at me like that."

"I haven't even agreed to take this, why do I have to go?"

"Because if I go down, I'm taking you with me." Rick muttered so only I could hear, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to practically drag me out of the house alongside them.

My stomach churned uncomfortably, the anticipation building further and further as we approached her familiar house, making me want to crawl into a hole. I felt as if this is something that I shouldn't be a part of, something I shouldn't have any input on seeing as I hadn't fully committed to the role. And there was still something about this woman that always left me feeling a sense of dread. One that I had felt before, yet couldn't quite place.

As the three of us finally rolled in, Maggie was sitting at the dining table with Deanna to her left, a welcoming smile on her face once she noticed us.

"Ah welcome you three." Deanna greeted, giving us a chance to pile into the room, "Mrs. Dixon tha-"

"Rose." I interrupted with a wave of my hand, "Just Rose."

She nodded slowly, "Of course. Rose, thank you for coming along for the ride. Have you had enough time to think about my proposal?"

I glanced around at the others before shaking my head, "Um, no... still thinking."

"Well, take all the time you need. I've also been meaning to check in to see how the visit with Pete went today, is everything alright?" she asked.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, "Oh yeah, everything's great..." I said sarcastically.

She nodded, "Good."

Man, that one really flew over her head.

Though the man being brought to my attention again caused me to cease the opportunity while I had it, subtly gesturing for Rick's attention while Deanna's eyes were directed elsewhere. Exchanging a few words with Maggie that I couldn't be bothered to pay attention to. I felt him shift closer when he noticed my waving hand, leaning closer so I could lower my voice.

"Keep an eye on him." I muttered.

"Who?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the others as to not draw attention.

"Pete, the doctor. He's an alcoholic and was showing signs of aggression during our little time together. Could be abusive." I said casually. Though I could feel his gaze divert toward me, staring at me in what looked to be slight amazement. "What?" I asked.

An impressed smile crossed his lips, "Nothing...detective." he emphasized.

I rolled my eyes, "Shut up."

"How long exactly were you with him?"

I shrugged, "I don't know, a few minutes?"

"You found all of that out in a few minutes? And you still don't think this is the job for you?" he continued.

"It wasn't hard to figure out," I assured, "Just please back me up on this, okay?"

Upon seeing how serious I grew, he instantly nodded his head, "You got it, Rosie."

As if on cue, Deanna tore her attention away from Maggie the moment our silent conversation was done, getting straight to business it seemed like. "Well, it seems we all know why we're here. And your job is to protect and serve. You patrol, walk the wall, watch out for the kids. If there's a conflict- you solve it, and people will listen to you."

"Because we're wearing windbreakers?" Michonne asked, her eyes briefly looking at me with a knowing smile.

"Because they believe in this." she answered seriously, "Because I'm telling them to. A police officer used to live here so we already had the jackets, and I wanted to make it official. So, now it's official. There's going to be a government again one day and that's why I want Maggie working with me. There's also going to be a police force, which is why I want...you three to start it."

I couldn't help but shake my head at what she was saying, looking down at my shoes. "What?" she asked when she noticed the slight tension in the room, "Does it sound like pie in the sky?"

"No." Maggie answered immediately, Michonne's voice following soon after as she gave the woman the same answer; the one she wanted to hear.

Deanna then looked at Rick and I expectantly, "No..." we both seemed to mutter at the same time.

But it did. Every single thing she talked about seemed unrealistic, something that she tried hard to push for even though it wouldn't work out in the end. People had to be willing to work together in order to make a bright future possible. But from what I've witnessed, it seemed like not everyone here liked to play nice. And she had absolutely no idea.

"Let's talk security." Rick suddenly said, gesturing with his fingers for us to follow him back outside to look at the gates of Alexandria.

My boots clicked against the pavement as I followed behind the others, hearing Rick start to do what he does best. Take over. But he had clearly noticed something that he wanted to bring our attention to; and that was the lack of protection. He couldn't seem to express enough how there needed to be people on patrol at all times. How there should be someone constantly looking for any type of danger that could be coming our way. It amazed me slightly that this place had lasted as long as it had without really anyone keeping an eye out, especially with how the world was now.

Rick's voice seemed to fade into the background as I looked around at the walls, wanting to find any blind spots that Deanna should be made aware of for the future. But I paused when my eyes instead caught sight of Jessie and Pete standing just outside of the infirmary, talking quietly amongst each other. But by the look on his face, it didn't appear like the conversation would be staying peaceful for very long, his skin turning a slight shade redder. I watched the interaction closely, as if wanting to catch something I wasn't meant to see. As if to prove to myself that I was right about him from the very beginning.

"Excuse me?"

I blinked a few times and looked over to see Sasha approaching the small group we had formed, politely interrupting whatever was being said. However, I quickly tore my attention away again to find the couple I had been analyzing just seconds ago, but to my surprise, they were gone. Like they had vanished into thin air. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me all along, or maybe they had noticed me watching, quickly escaping from the public eye while my attention was elsewhere. I was leaning toward the latter.

"I want to volunteer to be one of the lookouts in the clock tower." Sasha spoke again, her hands resting on her hips as she looked toward Deanna.

"There are no lookouts in the clock tower." the woman said.

My brows furrowed as I was caught up with the conversation now, "What?" I found myself asking before my brain had time to process it.

Michonne grew concerned, "But we saw someone up there earlier."

Deanna waved it off, "That was an empty rifle my son, Spencer put up there. He mans it sometimes but not often. Look...there hasn't been a need."

I couldn't hold it back any longer. Her ignorance and stupidity starting to really get under my skin, "Hasn't been a need? Do you have any idea how dangerous people can be now?" I asked harshly, "There should have always been the need to have someone up there...if you want to protect your people that live here, you better be prepared to make some damn changes."

A deafening silence followed after my outburst. But deep down, I knew they all were aware of how right I was. "The truth is harsh sometimes, but someone had to say it." I muttered.

"No, I agree." Rick chimed in, "We need a lookout in that tower right now, twenty-four seven. It's the only way we'll be able to see if someone's coming at us."

The woman nodded her head in compliance, "Okay, okay, we'll make shifts."

"I'll take those shifts, as many as possible." Sasha quickly offered.

Deanna stared at her for a moment, "Why?"

My eyes panned back and forth between the two women, wanting to roll my eyes at my next words. Even if they were true. "Sasha's one of our best shots, she can handle it."

Sasha glanced over at me in obvious surprise, but ultimately nodded her head as a thank you, to which I returned the gesture. There was obviously a certain tension left between the two of us ever since we were nearly at each other's throats the last time we spoke. But I wasn't planning on holding a grudge. After all I would just be a hypocrite. If Aaron forgave me then why shouldn't I?

Deanna nodded to herself as she looked back at Sasha, "I'm going to put Spencer up there today, and I'll consider you being our primary lookout...but I want something in return."

Sasha grew to look just about as confused as the rest of us, "Tonight, I'm hosting a welcome for all of you at my home. I want you to be there." she said to the woman.

"Why?" she asked.

"Come tonight...then we'll talk about it." she said before turning towards me, "And you too. Don't try and hide out like you have been since the day you got here."

My eyebrows raised, "I'm sorry...hide out?"

"I can see why you and Mr. Dixon are married...similar in many ways. Like running away from anything unfamiliar. But if you'd just venture out for the evening, who knows? You might even have fun." she said with a raise of her eyebrows.

My fists clenched tightly at my sides as I wanted to rip her a new one, but I didn't. I managed to swallow whatever pride I had left before turning around to walk away without another word. It had only been three days in this hell and that bitch was acting like she somehow knew me like the back of her hand. To me it was unbelievable, the way she treated me the minute I walked through her door; like I was below her. It infuriated me.

The sound of heavy footsteps seemed to echo with mine the moment I took off, glancing over my shoulder to see Rick jogging to catch up with me. "Who the hell does she think she is?" I asked harshly before he could even get a word in.

He was slightly out of breath from the little run he had to make, "I don't know...I'm just surprised you held your tongue."

"Oh," I breathed, "Believe me, you have no idea. I'm over here considering her offer to help her and all she can seem to do is insult and condescend me like..." I trailed off, suddenly slowing down to a stop as I came to the sudden realization.

I hadn't thought about her in years. And now it was like she was standing in front of me all over again.

Rick looked down at me in concern, "Like what?"

"Like my mother used to." I finished, connecting the dots in my head finally as to why I resented the woman so much. Why I couldn't stand to be in the same room as her, or even look her in the eye. It was like my childhood was flooding back to me at full force.

But to my surprise the man next to me started to laugh a little, unknowing of the weight behind my words. Though one unamused look from me seemed to shut him up as he cleared his throat. "Sorry," he muttered, "Anything I can do to help?"

"Just...talk about something else, so I don't break into the armory and shoot myself right now." I replied with a thin-lipped smile.

"Speaking of," he lowered his voice, "Carol thought of a plan. She wants to sneak in there tonight so we can get a few of our weapons back."

I blinked, "That's what you guys talked about?" He nodded. "Some meeting." I muttered sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes, "I don't like not having those guns on us at all times; we're taking them back. The party tonight- everyone's gonna be there. That's our chance."

I nodded slowly, "Okay, fine. Carol's taking care of it?"

His eyes panned from me to just past my head, "I'm about to find out." he said, causing me to turn around to see where his gaze was now trained too. The woman herself was standing nearby, talking to some neighbor on the porch a few houses down from where we stood.

"Okay," I agreed as I turned back around, "Just keep me updated on what's happening." I spoke, snapping his attention back to me as he nodded in confirmation. "Did Daryl come back with you?"

He nodded, "Yeah, but he said something about heading out again to go out on a hunt. I'm thinking he needs more time away from here."

"Right. I'm going to try and catch him before he leaves."

"I'll talk to Carol." he said.

And with that, we parted ways, splitting off to head down different directions of the street. In my opinion, the idea of taking back the guns that were rightfully ours to begin with didn't seem like that big of a deal. It's not like we were trying to take over this place now, even if it was something to keep in the back of our minds.

My head was practically spinning and it was already starting to feel like the longest day of my life. With the secrecy we were keeping from the others about the armory, the idea of Pete being a new threat we had yet to escape from, and Deanna...it was a lot to process. I suppose this just goes to show that it doesn't matter how lucky you are with what you got, life truly doesn't get any easier.

"Hey, Ro!"

I sighed as I came to a stop again. What now?

Looking back, I saw Maggie approaching as she too apparently wanted to catch me before I wandered off, coming around to face me with a soft huff. "Well...that could've gone better don't you think?"

"You're the one who jumped at the opportunity to work alongside someone like that." I deadpanned.

She sighed, "Don't start. You know we need to put in the work, make an effort around here if we want to stay. And that includes going to that party..." she hinted sheepishly.

I pretended to think about it for a moment, "Hm...no."

Her face dropped, "What? Come on babe, she asked you to be there just like everyone else should be."

"Yeah, right before she insulted me." I corrected, "Did you know she acted like that from the minute I had my interview with her? She didn't even know me, and she still looked down her nose at me. I can't say I'm a huge fan."

She sighed, "Alright- you're right, she shouldn't have treated you like that. So, don't show up for her, show up for...me. Please?"

"Don't do this to me." I said with a roll of my eyes.

"Now, you know you don't do nothing you don't wanna do, but it would mean a lot if you stopped by tonight. And hey, maybe you can even get Daryl to go."

I stared at her like she was crazy. "Oh yeah, he'll be there. Maybe I can even get him to wear a nice, pretty dress."

She narrowed her eyes at me, "Stop."

"No, no, maybe with some heels too, that'll be real nice and classy."

"Okay, enough, you made your point." she laughed lightly, "But you never know unless you ask, and I know that man would do just about anything for you."

I sighed heavily, "Alright I'll ask...but I'm preparing to get shut down."

"So...you'll be there?" she asked with that hopeful glint in her eye.

It was silent for a few seconds before I rolled my eyes again how she was able to subtly manipulate me, "I'll be there."

A smile broke out onto her face and she pulled me into a hug, thanking me over and over again under her breath. I couldn't really understand why it was so important that I showed up in the first place when the others company would be just as good as mine, but I didn't linger on it. After we parted she began heading in the other direction, but not before calling over her shoulder that I should wear something nice. Like a dress? I was kind of joking about that. I guess maybe now it was a part of my karma.

Again I found myself lost in a spiral of thoughts on the way back into the house, mindlessly wandering in to see if Daryl was around here somewhere or if I was too late and he had already left. A part of me wanted to at least try to convince him to come with me, but I knew in the back of my mind he wouldn't do it. He hated shit like this just as much as I did.

Going out and socializing wasn't really his thing and that's okay. Socializing wasn't really my thing either, but here I am, being forced to go against my will. "You should take the job," "You should come to the party," man, these people were sure as hell making themselves comfortable crowding on my back. And I say that with love.

I looked up suddenly when I heard footsteps making their way down the stairs, seeing my husband in all his glory, standing there with his crossbow slung across his back ready for a hunt.

"Hey, there ya are." he said as he came up and kissed my cheek, "Was just about to head out and find ya."

I smiled, "I was looking for you too."

We fell in step together as he headed toward the kitchen just down the hall, "Did ya talk to Rick bout the meetin we had this mornin?"

I nodded, "Yep, the plan about the guns, be ready for anything, we aren't taking this place over yet still being cautious. I got the whole thing." I went on.

He huffed softly, "Alright, good. M' bout to go out huntin but I'll be back by dark. Just wanted to come and say goodbye to ya first." he said with a sweet smile before turning and grabbing a glass from a cabinet.

I took in a breath, "Okay, yeah just be safe out there...and uh, I actually wanted to run something by you quick."

"Shoot." he said, briefly glancing at me over his shoulder.

Here we go. "Well, Deanna mentioned this thing earlier that's happening tonight at her house, and the whole group is invited. It's more like a...party?"

"Mhm." he hummed.

Jesus Christ, please take the hint.

"And the thing is, I wanted to ask if you...would spare me the absolute horror of having to go by myself...?" I asked hesitantly.

He was silent for a moment before he let out a soft huh sound, turning on the faucet and holding the glass underneath to get the cup full of water. "I know it's not your thing; it's definitely not mine either, but I sort of promised Maggie I'd show up. Not that I know what difference that would make, I don't exactly light up the room with my bubbly personality. But anyway, I get it if you don't want to, I just thought I would, you know, ask."

"Rosie?" he questioned.

I raised my eyebrows, "Yeah?"

"Yer rambling." he said with a slight chuckle.

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes, "My point is, you really don't have to go if you don't want to."

There was a long and terribly loud silence as I watched the wheels turn in his head even though he was facing away from me. He took his time taking long sips of the water in his hand, purposefully making me crazy. I could almost sense the smirk on his face while he did it. He knew what he was doing, I just wanted him to turn down the offer faster so I could get on with my day.

My nails began to tap impatiently on the counter, "May I remind you that you don't have to go?" I repeated to try and move this along.

He turned back to look at me, his smirk fading slowly as he saw the look on my face, before he turned back and dumped the rest of the water down the drain, "Ya want me to go?" he asked, now facing me again.

"Well...yeah-" I started.

"Then I'll go."

I shook my head a little, "What, that easy?"

He shrugged with a small smile, "Yep." he said, making his way over to stand in front of me, "But I ain't stayin the whole time." he warned.

"I'm not staying the whole time."

"Well, then you got a date pretty lady." he said softly before leaning down to peck my lips, the action alone bringing the reassurance I needed.

I hummed with a smile as I tilted my head to look at his face a little longer before he left for a few hours, "Is it pushing it if I asked you to dance with me while we're there?"

"Yeah." he answered immediately.

I shrugged, "Eh, worth a shot."

He chuckled quietly, leaning down to kiss me once more before parting from me, adjusting the strap of his weapon. "Might not be back by the time it starts, but I'll be there, alright?"

"Hey, you're showing up, that's more than I could ask for." I joked.

He smiled, "I'll see ya later."

"Bye" I winked, watching as he headed out toward the front door, opening and shutting it with a soft click, leaving me alone in the quiet.

Now I had the whole day to be anxious about this stupid party.

I never thought I would ever be in this situation again. Staring at a closet full of clothes, absolutely not knowing what the hell to wear.

I was never a big fan of dresses really, but it seemed like the only suitable option considering I didn't just want to show up in a shirt and jeans. I had been nervously anticipating this event for hours, cautious about meeting a bunch of people and the thought of dressing up sounded awful. But regardless, I promised Maggie that I would be there, and a part of me wanted to prove to Deanna that I wasn't just going to hide myself away like she had claimed. Even though I felt it was better that I did.

Eventually, I decided on a simple black dress with thin straps and added a pair of tights to really bring the look together. And luckily enough, I had managed to find a pair of dark heels sitting in an old shoe box in the closet, a pair that looked like they would absolutely torture my feet the moment I put them on. I sighed quietly to myself before walking over to the full-length mirror and taking a look at the final product in the reflection.

My eyes widened slightly when I saw what I looked like. I guess maybe I could clean up nice, even though the scars on my face didn't really match the whole "classy" look; it was still unique. My thick curly hair came down to below my chest and surprisingly looked full and healthy, but as my eyes trailed down, I noticed just how jittery my hands were. A small part of me wished that Daryl was here to help soothe my worries, walking right next to me into that personal hell as we went through it together. But that wasn't the case. I didn't need him there, but I wanted him there.

"Wow." came a sudden voice from the doorway.

I turned around slowly to see Rick standing there with slightly wide eyes and his hands on his hips. He was dressed nicely in a clean, white button down and some nice black jeans with his hair slightly slicked back.

I made a face, "Like a good wow?" I asked, subconsciously smoothing the dress down to get rid of any lingering wrinkles.

He nodded his head, "Yeah...like a...a breathtaking wow."

A shy smile stretched across my lips as I waved him off, "Aw, thanks Ricky." 

He laughed softly, making his way further into the room until he was standing right in front of me, "I've never seen you so dressed up...you look nice."

"Yeah, well don't get used to it or anything. You don't look too bad yourself." I said as I slightly fixed the collar of his shirt, "Got someone you're trying to impress?" I asked with a wiggle of my eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes, "Thank you, but no. Just going because..." he trailed off, before sighing as he rubbed his head stressfully, "I don't even know why I'm going."

I nodded, "You're not the only one in that boat." I muttered, my eyes taking him in for a moment in contemplation, "Hey, can I ask you something?" He met my eyes and nodded. "That job...you really think I should take it?"

"Yeah," he assured almost instantly, "I get why you're weary...but you're damn good at being a cop Rose. You just have to...trust yourself again."

I knew he was right. At times like these when all I could do was doubt myself, he always seemed to swoop in and say just the right thing whenever I needed to hear it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad in the end.

I smiled at him in appreciation before my feet involuntarily shifted uncomfortably, to which I let out a frustrated groan. Rick began to chuckle under his breath, "What, was the advice that bad?" I heard him ask.

"No," I sighed, "We just haven't even left the house yet, and my feet are already killing me." I said in faux agony.

He laughed even harder before moving by my side to place an arm around my shoulders for support, "It's alright. Just lean on me when you need to." 

"Ah, you're the best." I mused as I wrapped an arm around him to steady myself as we walked out the bedroom door.

After getting Carl and Judith, the four of us left the house to venture down the street towards Deanna's. The sun was just starting to set which gave the whole community a warm orange glow, and we could already start to hear the music that was being played from the inside as we inched our way closer to the source.

Before any of us were really ready for it, we were standing tall in front of the door, almost dreading to knock. Though eventually Rick stepped up to the plate while Carl and I eyed each other cautiously, both silently hoping this wouldn't be as bad as we thought. But just as that thought crossed my mind, the door opened up to reveal Deanna standing there, greeting us with a welcoming smile. While over half the community in the background immediately looked over at us with curious glances.

Yeah, this was going to be a long fucking night.

~ Thanks for reading!

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[whore-mel]

Roy Harper’s phone. You barely ever see him on it. He has instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok, but he’s almost never active. Hell, when you mention some internet slang or trend, he stares at you like you’ve spoken a different language. So when you catch him scrolling on his phone, you wonder what the hell he’s watching. So, you decide to find out.

You two are on the couch, snuggled up in pajamas and eating snacks. He’s watching a football game, he’s been telling you about it for the past week. Something about how it’s the finals or some shit, you’re not that experienced with football. While he’s watching, you’re on your phone or reading, doing your own thing. Occasionally, you glance at him when he groans, cheers, or starts talking to you, but mostly you’re in separate worlds.

Then you notice his phone on the table. He’s not paying attention to it. Would this be a breach of trust? Yeah. Yeah, it would. But curiosity gets the better of you. Plus, you’re not going through his messages—just checking what he’s scrolling. You grab his phone, and he definitely notices.

You stare at the lock screen. Uh-oh. You don’t know the password.

“Uhm… what’s the password?” you ask, slightly embarrassed.

“Lian’s birthday,” he says with a shrug, eyes still on the game.

You pause. You don’t actually know Lian’s birthday. It makes you feel a bit guilty. Not knowing his daughter’s birthday. But alas. You glance at him for help, he grabs the phone and unlocks it for you. You smile and open his Instagram.

First thing you see? A post from Wally. Whatever. You swipe over to the reels. An engineering reel… Okay? You scroll to the next one. Another engineering reel. Uh… coincidence? Nope. You keep scrolling and eventually sigh, switching to his TikTok instead. Same. Fucking. Thing. Engineering and mechanics reels. And a bit of archery sprinkled in.

You glance at him, he was so oblivious. You start laughing.

“What?” he asks, blinking in confusion. He watches you for a second before laughing softly himself. “What!?” He pokes your side and pulls you closer, genuinely clueless about what you’re laughing about.

“That’s all you watch? Engineering stuff?” You cup his face and you smile. God, he’s such a dad.

He smiles back and shrugs. “I like engineering. And other stuff.” He starts playing with your hair. You roll your eyes and look at the screen.

I genuinely don’t think Roy is ever online. He’s that dad, the one who gets convinced to do something and he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🐕‍🦺1k 💜💜💜💜💙💙💙💙 ooo excited to see Eddie's POV in a cranberry story!

WOO! Let's go.

1k for the girlie (dog):

---

But the thing is, Cranberry is potentially one of the most perfect creatures in all of existence. He can’t say that out loud. Buck already says he babies her too much. As if she isn’t an eternal baby? She’s just easy to exist around. Happy, quiet, sweet. He doesn’t have to be anything around her, because she’s sort of obsessed with him for no reason, as is. So, yeah. As much as he’s grateful for Pepa and Carla, he’s sort of eager to see his dog. Buck’s dog. Whatever. 

“In the crate,” Chris grumbles, looking sour about it. “I knew you’d want to see her.”

“Christopher,” Pepa scolds. 

“We didn’t want her to jump or knock into you,” Carla explains. “We know she gets a little over excited about you.”

“Training goes out the window every time Eddie gets home from work,” Buck admits. 

“I want to see her,” Eddie says, feeling snappish. “Let her out.”

Pepa and Carla look surprised. 

He’s not usually… Well he knows he’s being short. He knows they did what they thought was right. But still. He wants the damn dog. Why is no one getting her? Does Eddie have to go get her? He will.

“Okay, uh… I’ll go get Cran,” Buck says, upon reading that Eddie is dead serious. “Eddie, why don’t you go sit down, okay? Or, if you need to go to bed…”

“I don’t,” Eddie says. “I’m just… Yeah, I’ll sit down.”

‘

Pepa looks at him nervously. “Can I get you anything, Edmundo? Water?”

Eddie shakes his head. He just wants the damn dog.

“I’m good.”

🦮🦮🦮

Cranberry comes tearing through the house towards him, squealing with excitement that he’s home. But right before she crashes into where he sits on the couch, she stops. She looks at him blankly for a moment. Eddie tenses. Chris is sitting beside him, watching both of them. Eddie doesn’t want to react to the dog acting differently, so he keeps very still. But why? Why did she stop? Can she sense that something is missing about him?

Cranberry takes a tentative step forward and starts to sniff his legs. 

“It’s okay, Cran,” Chris says. “Dad is okay. He missed you.”

Eddie keeps still. His throat feels very tight. He feels like he might cry. 

But then Cranberry wags her tail, licks Eddie’s knee, and hops up onto the couch.

“Careful!” Carla calls across the room. “Oh, be careful.”

Eddie ignores it. He uses his good arm to stroke Cranberry’s head as she lies across his lap. She stays very still, presses her head into his stomach. 

“Good girl,” Eddie whispers. “Thank you, good girl.”

Buck walks into the living room, pausing in the entryway. He watches them. Eddie pretends he doesn’t see. 

iii.

Buck takes even more time off work. 

He’s already been gone for a week to be beside Eddie in the hospital. He takes another week.

Eddie feels guilty about it. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Shameful. How many days did he take off when Buck lost his leg? None. How many days did he take when Shannon died? Three shifts. Three. What kind of fucking person is he?

Buck is such a good caretaker, too. Astounding really. Eddie has everything he needs, all the time. Never misses wound care or medication doses. He does it all while caring for Chris, the dog, and minding Eddie’s shitty mood. He’s a miracle. A force of nature. Eddie loves him. He appreciates him. He wishes he’d remember to say that more now. For some reason, the words are stuck on his tongue. Thank you. I love you. What would I do without you? Why can’t he just say it?

He just has to hope Buck knows while he tries to shake his brain free of cobwebs. 

Eventually, though, Buck does have to return to work. He does have to leave Eddie. Eddie dreads it. Quietly. He doesn’t say he’s terrified about being alone with his thoughts today. He doesn’t say he’s sore and miserable. He doesn’t say knowing Buck is in the other room, doing dishes, while Eddie sleeps, makes Eddie feel safer. 

On the morning Buck is due back at Emergency Ops, Eddie wakes up to Cranberry laying her head on his chest. He’s been having trouble getting up in the morning. The meds make him sluggish. Eddie insisted Buck wake him up before he goes, but when he opens his eyes, Buck is dressed and ready, trying to sneak out of the bedroom. Which doesn’t make sense. Because Cranberry is in bed. 

“Buck,” Eddie rasps, pinned in place by the dog. 

Buck pauses, then turns to Eddie.

“Hey, hon,” Buck smiles. “I’m just about to go. You need anything?”

“Uh, no… But, why aren’t you taking Cran?”

Buck frowns. “Um… Well… I put pull tabs on the fridge and some drawers. I put your meds in a velcro bag she knows to target. She can do other basic retrievals.”

“Buck…”

“She won’t be any work!” Buck interjects. “She’s been fed, done her business, and has enough water to get through the day. She’ll be fine if you can’t let her out until I’m home. She doesn’t need anything, but she can help you.”

Eddie sighs. “I know she’s not any work, but Buck… She’s yours. You need her.”

“Yeah, and today she can help both of us,” Buck says. “Because… Because I think you need her more than me. And knowing she’s here with you will put my mind at ease, okay? If you need me, drop your phone but can’t… She could get it for you, you know?”

And how the hell is Eddie supposed to say no to that? Because, honestly? He’d feel better with her here, too. 

“Okay,” he says. “Thank you, Buck.”

He manages to say it that time.