#fit labrador

[canisalbus]

You’ve most likely answered this before but what breed exactly is Machete? I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while I’ve thought maybe a saluki but the ears arnt right.

In theory his breed is fictional Podenco Siciliano, but he's not a purebred example. Out of existing dog breeds he looks closest to (and is related to) Ibizan Hound.

But sometimes I see Silken Windhounds that also kind of remind me of him. They just don't have the characteristic bat ears.

[saphirdevil]

resident evil 6 playable characters as dogs (minus ada)

[anxi0us-0p0ssum]

Ok so this has been brewing in my brain for a minute and I have to get this out.

Nathan Ford is a malinois. He’s intimidatingly intelligent and intensely focused. Structure is Necessary.

Sophie Devereaux is a standard poodle. Old world class and sophistication with a foundation of hunting dog intelligence. Versatile and able to get along with everyone, but always with a cool detachment.

Eliot Spencer is a pit bull. No pain receptors, just solid muscle and a willingness to use it, especially in defense of his people. Also loves food.

Alec Hardison is a border collie. Entirely too smart for anyone’s good. Capable of great mischief, but highly effective when properly directed.

Parker is a feral coyote that just happened to fall in with the pack and has zero domesticated chill. Clever, ruthless, and sharp all over. Twenty pounds of crazy in a five pound bag.

[waystarresourceco]

Jeremy Strong on Kendall (and the Roy kids) being raised to "take a bullet" for Logan. (x)

On a similar note, see below for Jeremy's contribution to the dog motif. (x)

[darkwood-sleddog]

Eva "Short" Seeley, the mother of the modern Alaskan Malamute, running dog teams in the early 1930s.

I recognize a couple of very distinctive early malamutes, including dogs from the very first litter born in 1929, Gripp of Yukon and Kearsage of Yukon (potentially their littermate Finn of Yukon also). Lovely to see how little these dogs have changed since their inception.

Finn (left) and Kearsage (right) below:

[fluffytheocelot]

Why are they like this

They can both fit on the big bed. They have done it before.

They share no more than one(1) brain cell

[kat-n-dog]

Australian Shepherd

I was Very Close to getting an aussie puppy, was hoping for a female and was going to call her Wings (KN's Ready For Takeoff). Tarot filled the spot when the litter fell through. Wings was intended to be a disc dog first and foremost, and hopefully a dog that I could try anything with. All-around sporty companion and snuggle bud

(via teacup-labrador) Send me a dog breed you're deciding I'm living with and I'll name them and decide how our life goes

[nomaishuttle]

im also physically incapable of not giving my characters bangs and theres a 75% chance theyll cover their eyes bc i find that very cutesy but i fucking. when im drawing Worlds worst friend group i cant have them be like. 3 girlthangs with bangs covering their eyes and then a DOG (actually a demon). so i try 2 give sanctity shorter bangs but it still looks sort of samey and lu and avarice have similar hair textures so them both having bangs in general it gets too samey. so ive started giving avarice a middle part bc also i like seeing her eyes BUT i also drew her eith long bangs 4 so long the middle part feels fake. so

[drop--pop--candy]

i understand the pain my dogs move around so much right when i wanna take cute pictures…..

LITERALLY i don't have a single good picture of her bc she is so energetic,,, she is constantly moving around despite being so large lmao

[p0orbaby]

We No Speak Italiano

summary: you’ll never miss a day of Duolingo again

warnings: are language barriers and miscommunication warnings?

a/n: based on this request ! also thank you to @onsomenewsht for inflating my ego and helping navigate italian !

word count: 2.1k

-

Alexia looks at you like you’ve just dropped the biggest bombshell in the history of bombshells. Her eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape, and she’s got that look, like she’s trying to figure out how to assemble a piece of IKEA furniture with no instructions and half the screws missing.

“Estoy embarazada,” you say again, because you’re pretty sure that’s the right way to tell her you’re mortified after spilling your entire glass of wine on her brand-new sofa.

Your high school Spanish teacher would be so proud.

But instead of the expected response, maybe a nervous laugh or string of expletives, Alexia gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth like she’s just heard the Virgin Mary is back for round two. Her eyes flick down to your stomach and back up to your face. The calculation going on behind her eyes is something like 2 + 2 = 5, but you have no idea why.

“I… Oh my God,” she says, her voice all wobbly, like she’s about to cry. “I didn’t… I mean, this is… Are you okay?” She’s speaking in slow, deliberate Spanish now, like you’re suddenly a toddler and not a grown-ass woman who just spilled wine.

You blink at her. “Sí?”

“Madre mía”

-

It starts with a breakfast that makes no sense.

You wake up to the smell of something cooking in the kitchen, which is odd because Alexia barely knows how to operate a toaster without supervision. You stumble out of bed, groggy, and follow the scent of food.

What you find in the kitchen is nothing short of alarming: Alexia, apron-clad and concentrating so hard that she’s actually sticking her tongue out a little, is stirring something in a pot while a blender whirs ominously next to her.

“Buenos días,” she sings out when she notices you standing in the doorway. She’s all smiles, too bright for this early in the morning, and you immediately get suspicious.

“What’s going on?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you take in the sight of an overfull fruit bowl, a plate stacked with multigrain toast, and what appears to be an entire carton of eggs scrambled and ready to be eaten.

“Sit, sit,” she insists, pulling out a chair for you like you’ve suddenly developed a bad back and need assistance. “I made breakfast”

“You… made breakfast,” you repeat, eyeing the smoothie she pours into a glass and slides over to you. It’s an unsettling green color, like pond scum, and you’re not sure it’s fit for human consumption.

“Sí. You need to start your day with lots of nutrients.” She’s practically bouncing on her toes, like a Labrador eager to please.

You blink at the smoothie, then back at her. “Since when did you learn how to use the Nutribullet?”

She doesn’t answer directly, just gives you an encouraging smile that feels a little too close to a grimace. “Drink up. It’s good for you”

You take a tentative sip, and it’s like drinking liquid grass mixed with what you can only hope is kale. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No!” She’s almost offended, but there’s a hint of nervousness in her voice that you can’t quite place. “It’s full of vitamins. Good for… energy”

You stare at her, but she just stares back, eyes wide and almost… expectant.

“Okay,” you say slowly, deciding to let this weirdness slide, for now. Maybe she’s on a trendy new health kick. Or maybe it’s an early birthday surprise gone wrong. Either way, you down the smoothie in a few brave gulps, trying not to think about the fact that it tastes like lawn clippings.

Alexia beams at you when you finish, like you’ve just accomplished something monumental. “Bien, bien. Now, sit tight. I’ll get the rest”

She practically skips back to the stove, where she starts piling eggs and toast onto a plate. You don’t even bother asking why she’s suddenly turned into Martha Stewart; you’re too busy wondering if you’ve somehow walked into a parallel universe.

It’s only later, after you’ve forced down an absurd amount of scrambled eggs, that she starts talking about how “important it is to stay healthy” and how she’s “going to take care of everything from now on,” which sounds sweet but also vaguely threatening.

You brush it off, chalking it up to some kind of weird phase. After all, everyone gets weird sometimes, right?

-

By day two, you’re starting to suspect that something is seriously wrong.

It begins with a confrontation over laundry, specifically, the fact that you’re not allowed to do any. At all.

“I’ve got it,” Alexia says, practically wrestling the basket out of your hands when you attempt to head for the washing machine.

You try to grab it back, but she holds it over her head like some ridiculous game of keep-away. “What is with you?”

“You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things,” she says, so earnestly it makes your brain short-circuit for a second.

“It’s a basket of clothes,” you argue, “not a sack of bricks. And I lift heavier things at the gym every day”

She shakes her head, not budging. “No. Let me do it. Just relax”

You gape at her, watching as she carries the laundry to the washing machine like it’s a ticking time bomb. She’s being weirdly gentle, placing the clothes in like they might shatter if she drops them too hard.

Then there’s the vitamin situation. You’re sitting on the freshly cleaned sofa, flipping through channels, when Alexia plops down beside you with a clatter of bottles and packages.

“Take these,” she says, handing you an array of supplements that looks like it belongs on the shelf of a pharmacy. There are multivitamins, folic acid, omega-3s, and some other pill you can’t even pronounce.

“What is this?” You hold up the folic acid like it’s a foreign object. “I’m not trying to hatch an egg here”

“Just take them,” she insists, pushing the bottles toward you. “They’re good for you”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing these are good for is draining my will to live,” you mutter, but she gives you that look, the one that’s all big hazel eyes and soft smiles, and you end up taking them just to get her to stop hovering.

When you try to go for a run that afternoon, she practically tackles you at the door.

“Maybe you should rest,” she suggests, like she’s trying to steer a toddler away from a busy street. “You know, take it easy for a bit”

“Take it easy?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not 80. And since when do you care about rest days? You’re usually the one dragging me to the gym at 6 AM”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a fish gasping for air. “It’s important to be careful”

“Careful of what, exactly?”

She hesitates, and you catch a flicker of something in her expression, nervousness, maybe? Fear? Whatever it is, it’s weirding you out. “Just… you know, careful”

You’re about to argue, but she gives you a kiss on the forehead, all soft and sweet, and you end up staying in just to avoid making things even more bizarre.

-

By day three, you’re done. Absolutely, 100% done.

It starts with the breakfast smoothies, again. This time, it’s a vibrant pink concoction that tastes like liquid chalk mixed with berries, and you’re pretty sure it’s the same smoothie you saw in a TV ad for pregnancy supplements once.

When Alexia starts lecturing you on the importance of hydration, while handing you a liter of water with electrolytes, you decide it’s time to get to the bottom of this.

“Alexia,” you say, setting the water down with a definitive thud, “we need to talk”

She glances at you, clearly nervous, and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “About what?”

“About why you’re acting like I’m a fragile little baby bird that needs to be protected from all the big, scary things in life,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Her face flushes, and she avoids your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I just-, I want to take care of you”

“I appreciate that,” you say, softening just a little, “but you’ve gone full-on helicopter mode. And it’s freaking me out”

She looks at you for a long moment, then sighs like she’s been carrying the weight of the world.

“You didn’t tell me,” she says, voice soft like she’s whispering state secrets. “How long? I mean… when did you find out?”

You stare at her, a mental Rolodex flipping through every interaction you’ve had over the last few days, searching for the moment when you apparently lost your mind. “Find out what?”

“That you’re…” She trails off, wide-eyed, and then whispers, like she’s on a soap opera, “Pregnant”

There’s a beat of silence. And then another one. You feel like someone just turned off the power in your brain. You’re pregnant? No, no, no. Last you checked, you were just really bad at pouring wine.

“Wait,” you finally say, holding up a hand to stop her from offering you yet another pillow or maybe a foot rub. “Pregnant?”

Alexia’s eyebrows are practically in her hairline. “You said you’re embarazada”

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

“Alexia,” you say slowly, enunciating like you’re the one explaining the IKEA instructions now. “I said I’m embarrassed. Not pregnant. Embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliated because I thought I ruined your sofa with a ten-euro bottle of red”

She looks like she’s buffering, trying to load what you just said. “Embarazada… means pregnant, in Spanish”

Ah, the joys of faux amis, false friends, words that sound like they should mean the same thing but are actually waiting to sabotage you like linguistic landmines. Your high school Spanish teacher can take a hike.

You wipe away a tear, trying to catch your breath. “Alexia… I told you I was embarrassed. Imbarazzato doesn’t mean pregnant in Italian, it means mortified. Humiliated. Just how I felt when I spilled that wine and thought I ruined your furniture”

“Wait,” Alexia says, her brow furrowing in that cute, confused way you’d normally find adorable if she weren’t in the middle of thinking you’re harbouring a tiny human in your uterus. “So you’re not…?”

“No!” You laugh, a little hysterically because, seriously, how did you get here? “I’m not pregnant. We’re both women. How would that even work? I mean, unless there’s something about human biology I missed in school, I’m pretty sure that’s not in the cards for us”

Her eyes widen as the realisation hits, and then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Dios mío, I’m such an idiot”

You’re still laughing, but you manage to pat her knee reassuringly. “An adorable idiot, but yeah, kind of”

“Well, you did say ‘embarazada,’” she points out. “How was I supposed to know you just meant you were embarrassed?”

You shrug. “Maybe when I didn’t start eating pickles and ice cream? Or asking for your jersey for when the baby arrives?”

“Touché.” She’s still grinning, that big, beautiful smile that makes you forgive her for thinking you were about to drop a baby bomb on her. “So, you’re just embarrassed”

“Yes. Very. And I’m also very much not pregnant. I’m sorry for confusing you”

She sighs, exaggerated like she’s relieved, and you both start laughing again, the awkward tension from the past few days melting away. But there’s still a mischievous glint in her eye, one that makes you a little wary.

“What?” you ask, knowing full well you’re about to regret it.

“Well, since you’re not pregnant,” she says slowly, leaning closer with that flirty smirk you love and hate in equal measure, “how about we do something about that embarrassment?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, and you roll your eyes. “Oh, so now that I’m not a fragile incubator, you’re all over me?”

“Exactamente,” she says, pulling you into her lap with surprising ease, even for someone who regularly benches more than your body weight. “Besides, I have to make sure you’re really not pregnant”

“Alexia,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when she starts nuzzling your neck, “that’s not how this works, remember?”

She grins against your skin, pressing a teasing kiss to your collarbone. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You push her back just enough to meet her eyes, raising an eyebrow. “But if you want to keep treating me like a queen, I’m not going to complain”

“Deal,” she says, her voice softening, her hand resting on your cheek. “But next time you’re embarrassed, can you please just say it in Italian, or English?”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Sure, but only if you promise not to freak out the next time I spill something”

“No promises,” she murmurs, pulling you closer, “but I’ll try”

[lemoneyshipz]

flat-coated retriever hob, black norwegian forest dream

labrador jayce, oriental shorthair viktor

st bernard vander, cornish rex silco

also labrador carlos, siberian cecil (but would have purple eyes)

pit bull vi, russian blue cait

anyways i aint never escaping dog x cat ships 😭 this isn’t even all of it the part two is coming up

also @seadeepspaceontheside thank you for getting my brian cranking, and sorry i ended up didn’t make silco sphinx i thought sphinx fits singed better

[kindofsharethat]

i can’t believe i’m making this post. i feel sick to my stomach. everything is in a fog, like this is all a terrible dream.

i didn’t know liam personally, but even just watching him move about life being his tactile, steadfast, human-labrador self with boundless amounts of love to give, even if it meant taking on the brunt of others’ pain himself, as a bystander has been an honour and a privilege.

he had a talent—a true gift—and chose to share that with us. and through that talent, as a disabled high schooler who literally had trouble finding my voice and never fit in anywhere, i found a community. a home. somewhere i knew i could always turn, through the good times and the bad. in many ways, one direction saved me. there’s no “thank you” that feels big enough to encapsulate what he did for me and so many others.

all my love and well wishes to his family, friends and whoever was lucky enough to be in his orbit.

rest in peace, liam. ❤️

[the-perfect-wagnerite-again]

It's baffling to me that pitbull apologists have absolutely zero issue with identifying clear, intentionally installed characteristics in dogs as a result of breeding for literally ANY OTHER DOG except for pits.

"This husky was bred to be a sled dog. It's got a fit musculature for labor, a double fur coat and large paw pads to facilitate travel in snowy environments, and it seemingly has an instinctual drive to pull forward when they're harnessed. These are features built into the dog."

"This lhasa apso was bred to be a sentinel dog. It's small in stature, so it can't be used for physical labor but can be easily carried from place to place. It's got a hyper-aware temperament that makes it sensitive to any and all approachers, and a shrill, piercing bark that carries through property and land to alert its owners. These are features built into the dog."

"This whippet was bred to be a coursing dog. It's a lean, medium-sized breed with short fur to facilitate running, and a keener-than-average eyesight to spot prey from long distances. Their build makes them perfect speed-runners and poor endurance hunters, so they forgo scent and use sight to spot and run down their prey. They have a naturally shy and gentle temperament, which makes them very poor guard dogs. These are features built into the dog."

"This pitbull was bred for a mysterious reason nobody knows sometime around the 19th century. It has a very muscular build, probably for cuddles. It's naturally aggressive and requires extensive training and habituation to acclimate them both to people and to other dogs, probably for cuddles. It has a stronger bite PSI than labradors, rottweilers, and chow-chows, probably for cuddles. It's statistically overrepresented in dog bites that require medical attention, in dog attacks, and in aggressive behavior requiring intervention from professional animal control, but that's probably just coincidental. These features are not built into the dog, they're mystical properties that are the result of poor training and improper caregiving, there's nothing more to be said here, stop being foolish."

[entheognosis]

Snow Goggles; first sunglasses were used 2000 years ago by Inuit hunters, inhabiting Arctic and subarctic regions of Greenland, Labrador, Quebec, Nunavut, Northwest Territories. Earliest known use of glasses to protect eyes from sun.

Goggles were cut so that they fit tightly to face, and often soot or gunpowder was rubbed on outside to absorb light and further cut down on glare.

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader epilogue - a slow burn series of blurbs

Heaven Knows You Better ~ epilogue

summary: A glimpse into the future.

wc: 1.7k

warnings: none, just pure fluff 🧡 a slight mention of drinking a margarita.

authors note: I know you’re tired of hearing me say it, but thank you 🧡 writing this story and sharing it with you will always hold a special place in my heart.

🌆 <- chapter ten

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

Three summers later - Beginning of May

The sun hangs bright in the deep blue sky, the air a little crisp from the last bit of the chill still leftover from spring. The heat of summer is just barely on the cusp of breaking through, you can feel it in the way the city starts to come alive again. The red ‘TEAM ALS’ banner blows in the wind as your shoes and Bandit’s paws cross the white finish line. The clapping of strangers on the side lines fills your ears, tugging a smile onto your slightly chapped lips, before you turn around to look at your fiancé. 

Steve can’t help his grin back, the whites of his teeth showing when your smile stretches wider at the sight of him. The bottoms of his black running shorts flap in the breeze, revealing more skin at the tops of his thighs that still lights a match deep inside your gut. You don’t think you’ll ever be immune to him. The white socks on his feet are pulled up to his shins, the color of his On Clouds matching the banner above you. The polyester of his dark gray Nike running sweater fits tight across his chest, the zipper on its high neck being tugged by a set of golden blond puppy paws.

“I told you Molly wasn’t gonna make it all the way,” he huffs, a laugh threatening to bubble past his lips when the rambunctious labrador starts licking his stubble covered cheek, pushing up the bill of his black Nike baseball cap. 

God, you’ll never not want to kiss him.

“She made it more than half way, give her some credit Steve.” You roll your eyes and he’s proud to say that’s the third one he’s earned today. The first being in your barely unpacked kitchen when he snuck up from behind to blow a raspberry on your neck while making coffee in the morning.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You weren’t the one who had to carry the extra ten pounds the last two miles, were you?” He reminds you with a smirk, setting the wiggling puppy down now that she’s regained most of her strength back.

Bandit whines for Steve’s affections, pawing at him when he’s eye level, getting the scratch behind both ears he wanted. The German shepherd wasn’t the only one wanting his attention, and it takes everything inside you not to pout yourself when he stands back up and doesn’t immediately kiss you. Despite the chill, there’s still a sheen of sweat that coats his permanently sun kissed skin, the spice of his cologne becoming more pronounced because of it.

“Thank you for doing this with me baby,” the teasing edge to Steve’s voice is gone, replaced with something softer - made even sweeter as he pulls you closer by waist, his nose bumping with yours when you stand on your tippy toes hooking your free arm around his neck. Your fingers twitch to be in his hair, you hate his hats.

“I’ll do them all with you,” you whisper because it’s just for him, it’s always just for him. His cheeks dust pink like he knows it and his hold on you tightens.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” the words come out soft against your lips, his eyes meeting yours from down the bridge of his nose.

“Three months.” 

The reminder makes him close the space that’s left, smiling into the kiss. It still feels like a hundred butterfly’s wings flutter against your rib cage when your lips slot together like they were never meant to be apart. It’s hard to get lost in him the way you want to with hundreds of people around and two dogs that can’t seem to stop their play fighting, tugging harshly on their leashes at your feet. That doesn’t keep Steve from tracing your bottom lip with his tongue when the tips of your fingers find the flyaway hairs sticking out of the bottom of his cap. You giggle against his lips and he can’t find it in himself to be disappointed when you pull away, like he knows you both should because of it.

“Careful, might have to take you downtown right now if you don’t stop,” he teases, biting his bottom lip to stop from kissing you again.

“I don’t think Eddie would ever forgive you for taking away his opportunity to finally be your best man.” Running your hands down his chest, you can feel his groan vibrate under your palms.

“Don’t remind me.” Steve lets you go, finally taking his hat off to reveal a dirty golden mess on top of his head, long fingers running through it.

Bandit whines, nudging Steve’s knee with his snout before rubbing the side of his face against his leg, ignoring the way the puppy jumps and paws at his side.

“I think someone wants to switch.” You grin at the way Steve’s face softens for his favorite boy, offering you Molly’s leash in exchange without a word.

“Someone missed daddy, huh?” Steve asks in the kind of baby voice you know he picked up from you, but the reference to himself still has you clenching like your second date. 

Bandit barks in response, tail wagging a mile a minute as you untangle the unruly puppy from around him. You give up quickly on letting her walk, picking her up just like Steve had, the wiggling weight of her in your arms has you biting your tongue about how heavy she really is.

“I think we’ve earned a margarita when we get home, right molly?” Hinting at Steve with a smirk tugging at your lips when you kiss the puppies restless snout - it's his turn to roll his eyes.

“Honey, we still need to pack. We leave for New York tomorrow at like nine A.M.” He runs another hand through his hair before putting his hat back on his head and you have to resist pulling it off as you both make your way through the crowd.

“Okay, we can pack and then a margarita… although packing might be a lot more fun after one. Just a thought.” You shrug with fake nonchalance, finally getting a grip on Molly in your arms.

“After we pack and drop off the dogs at Nancy’s.” Steve chuckles, moving to the other side of you so his free hand can find the small of your back, the blunt ends of his nails scratching against the soft fabric of your oversized sweater. He could never go too long, he always had to be touching you.

“Deal.” Grinning, pleased with your promised drink, you push up on your toes to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, heart swelling at the pink that dusts tips of his ears because of it. 

9:15pm 🌃

The first sounds of cicadas buzz low in your ears, another reminder that summer was just around the corner while the two of you sit on the porch swing. Steve had set up on the small deck in your backyard. It wasn’t big like the ones in the suburbs but it was just enough for Bandit and Molly to stretch their legs without a leash. The citronella candle that you swore to Steve would work, burns lemon and lavender into the matching dusk sky, still too early in the season to prove yourself right. The stars are still half hidden by the big tree in the corner of your yard that has started to sag from the humidity. Though a lingering chill still nips in the breeze and it has Steve pulling you deeper into his side. The pine of his body wash from the shower you took together just before this mixes in the perfect blend to make your eyes heavy and your heart full. 

“You think Nancy’s going to be okay with both of them for five days?” Your question comes out quiet in the calm, your cheek pressed to the cotton of his white shirt. The hard muscles underneath twitching from the warmth of your breath. The ice in your half drank margarita clinks against the glass when your wrist starts to get lazy.

“I think we’re going to have a very well behaved puppy when we get back,” Steve chuckles before relieving you of your hold, setting your cup down next to his on the deck.

You giggle to yourself at the thought, humming in agreement, when he takes the opportunity to really cuddle you now. A big arm wrapping around you while his hand finds yours so he can do his favorite thing. His chin hits the top of your head, and the tips of his fingers tickle while he twirls the diamond ring around your knuckle. You can feel the way his cheeks pull up against your hair, his lips a ghost against the crown of your head, always losing himself in the fact that you said ‘yes.’

“Did you pack the Cubs shirts I got for Gwenny?” Steve asks like he’s trying to think back to the mess of a packing session the two of you had in between stolen kisses and heated touches that always led to more. 

“That was the first thing you packed, handsome.” You squeeze his hand, the smirk on your face widening at how obsessed of an uncle he was for the newest addition to the Munson family. 

“Oh yeah, I remember now. They are under my dress slacks,” he mumbles, while the pad of his thumb rubs small circles under your ribs where his fingers curl around your side.

Cuddling deeper into his chest a comfortable silence falls between you, the cicadas buzz louder, mixing with the sounds of the city and you wish you could always stay like this, wrapped up in him and the glow of the moon that leaks through the shaking leaves on the tree above you. The silver band he twirls around on your finger makes you realize this is what he’s asking for. A forever of moments just like this one tonight, of first, of lasts, of fingers intertwined, soft touches, stolen kisses and whispered sweet words in the moonlight that feel even sweeter when he says them again in the sunshine. 

This is what forever looked like with Steve Harrington, and you always want to be his tough girl.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @chechelia