#like i’m going to pass out. like come on dog. this is your job

[mildmayfoxe]

soooo irritating how fast i’ll go from “i just ate recently” to “i am going to pass out in five minutes.” like what the hell am i supposed to do when that happens. this shit sucks. what do you WANT from me!!!!!!

[creampill]

If he isn’t like an overeager puppy, you ain’t writing your König right.

Massive, entirely unaware of it. Stumbling over himself when he sees you, bumping into your side whenever you walk together, always hunching and ducking. Uneasy on his feet but with the sweetest lopsided smile. When he wants to run, he can, breaking into a full sprint that becomes terrifying- but around you, he softens. Just wanting to be close so badly that he can’t help but get clumsy.

Perking up whenever he sees you, too. That same big dumb grin, eyebrows shooting up like piqued dog ears, wobbly posture as if shook by his wagging tail. Eyes that say “hi, hello, what are we doing? I’m happy to see you! Hello!” Even when his words fail him and he just warbles out an accented rendition of your name. And if the boundaries are down and he can touch, rest assured he will be coming in for a cuddle or a headpat or just a warm hand on your arm.

He gets a bit pouty and needy, too. Of course, he’s a grown man. He understands that you need friends to have a healthy life, and he would hate to get in the way of that. But sometimes, seeing you go out with your buddies, he… gets an ache. He wants to be there. You need space, he knows that, but… he just hates to miss your smiles.

And god forbid you’re ever in trouble. Because he goes from puppy to guard dog very fast. All that excited, enamoured energy distills down to a cool rage inherent in his very bones. Big paws and teeth used to gently bat and play become a silent threat, arms over his chest, imposing like a shadow.

But when the threat passes, and he looks at you with those big eyes, proud and confident that he did his job? Please give him plenty of kisses and praise. He’ll melt all the way back to a puppy again.

💖 my inbox is open! send requests!

[allbark-no-bite]

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

————————————————————————

You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of  your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction. 

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

[inkdrinkerworld]

“No more coffee, dove.” Remus takes the cup away from you and takes the mocha pot off the stove.

“But Remmy,” you whine and your boyfriend just levels you a look.

He pouts at you, all mocking and teasing which makes you want to stomp your foot. “No ‘But Remmy,’ you’ve had three. You’re cut off, my love.”

You can’t even be mad at him when he calls you nice things and gives you a kiss for your troubles.

Still you try. Then keys jingle in the door and your ability to get your way seems sparked up again, even if by a soft flame.

“Hi my darlings, I’m home.”

You give Remus a look that lets him know what you’re about to do and he resigns himself with watching you bewitch James like that’s your actual job.

“Hi Jamie! How was the gym?” Remus leans on the kitchen counter and watches you fawn over James to set you plan in motion.

“Good lovie. How was work? Were you trouble for our Remmy?”

You shake your head and Remus scoffs. James looks at him over your head and Remus only gives him a wink.

“I was super good! Was it arm day today?” Your hands slide up to his shoulders and then down to his wrists.

James chuckles, dimples popping out at he flexes. Your hands squeeze at his arms as he flexes and when James leans down for a kiss you really put the moves on him.

Your hands bury themselves in his still wet curls, tugging a little as you let James kiss into your mouth.

When you pull away, “Can you make me a fancy coffee, please baby?”

Remus rolls his eyes, “I just told you no, dove. You’ve had three.”

James looks down at you, a little smile on his face. “That true, angel?”

You scowl, “I really feel like I need a caffeine kick to get through the rest of my work. It won’t take long to wear off, either James. Swears.”

James doesn’t believe that part. The sun’s setting now and you really shouldn’t be having another cup of coffee.

He and Remus have spent many a night up with you while you all wait for the remnants of the caffeine leave you - not that they mind for themselves, they just don’t like you unable to sleep when it’s three in the morning and you’ve got to wake up at six.

You pout at him, holding onto his forearms as you stare at him with your best puppy dog eyes.

“Okay, let me go take a shower and I’ll fix you up one.”

You turn to Remus and stick your tongue out at him when James swats at your bum quickly making you hiss. “Oi!”

Remus only shakes his head as James passes you by to kiss Remus. “Jamie she really shouldn’t-“ James gives Remus another kiss, placating him completely.

For all his cheekiness, James had a subtle way of putting Remus at complete ease with just a kiss. “Be back in ten my loves.”

“You’re a brat.” Remus says playfully as James bounds the stairs and you give him a smug shrug as you sit at the table and start typing away at your work.

James comes back down and heads to the kitchen and starts making your drink. You hear all the wizzing and wowing of his fancy coffee routine and when he brings you a mug you look pleased as punch.

You take a sip and frown, looking up at James with betrayal all over your face.

“Decaf, Jamie?” It’s Remus’ turn to be smug, you dislike it on him entirely.

“Yes lovie. It’s too late for full caffeine and you’ll have been bouncing off the walls if I’d made one for you and wouldn’t have slept tonight.”

You just stare at him, James walks over to the table and kisses you. He can’t stand your pouty face. “I’ll make you a real fancy one in the morning before I head to practice, yeah?”

He pecks your lips when you don’t answer, and again when you hardly kiss back. James keeps at it until you giggle which is only three more kisses. He savors the kisses and your giggle.

“Yeah, Jamie.”

Remus comes to the table to meet you two, “What about my kisses?”

You pretend to think about it before kissing Remus lips, pecks following a sloppy trail all over his cheeks making him blush.

“Love you, Remmy.”

He smiles, turning your face so he can kiss your lips again. “I love you too, dove.”

James pouts, both you and Remus kiss his cheek before he can even ask.

“We love you Jamie. Loads and loads.”

He smiles, a megawatt spotlight really, and kisses you both back.

“What are you thinking of for tea? A chippy?” James asks, hand in Remus’ hair and on your cheek as you look down to your laptop and save your work.

There’s no point in trying to do any of it now that you’re all home. “Yeah, can I have cod this time? Didn’t fancy the haddock last time.”

Remus nods, “Anything you want, lovely girl.” James is already on the phone placing everyone’s orders, not forgetting everyone’s add-ons.

[etherealval]

dating chris headcannons | a/n: these were actually so fun to write!! let me know if you guys want more :))

⭑𓂃 he’s the type to always have a hand on you, no matter what. whether it’s resting a hand on your thigh when you’re sitting together, intertwining your fingers absentmindedly, or draping an arm over your shoulders when you walk beside each other. he just likes the reassurance of your touch

⭑𓂃 he loves calling you “baby” more than your actual name. it just rolls off his tongue naturally, and half the time, he probably doesn’t even realize he’s saying it. “baby, pass me that?” , “baby, c’mere.” , “what are you doing all the way over there, baby?” he drags it out when he’s whining, murmurs it when he’s half-asleep, and says it so sweetly in passing that it makes your heart flutter every time.

⭑𓂃 he’s so dramatic about missing you, even if it’s only been a few hours. if you haven’t texted him back in a while, you’ll get something ridiculous like, “i’m wasting away over here, baby. do i even exist to you anymore?” he’ll call you just to sigh dramatically into the phone, groaning about how “life is so boring without you.” and when he finally sees you again, he makes a whole show of it, pulling you into a crushing hug, rocking you side to side, whispering, “never leave me again.”

⭑𓂃 he loves taking pictures of you, even when you’re not paying attention. his camera roll is full of you, some of them are cute, some of them are blurry mid-laugh, and some are just straight up ridiculous. he’s got a whole folder dedicated to candids of you, and he refuses to delete a single one. when he’s traveling without you, he scrolls through them just to feel close to you. and if you ever catch him taking one? he just smirks and says, “can’t help it, you’re my favorite view.”

⭑𓂃 he loves watching you get passionate about something. he could listen to you talk for hours, especially when you get really into it, whether it’s about a book, a movie, or some random niche topic you love. he’ll just sit back, watching you with this soft grin, nodding along, even if he has no clue what you’re saying. and when you realize you’ve been rambling and apologize, he shakes his head. “nah, baby, keep going. i love seeing you like this.”

⭑𓂃 he hypes you up like it’s his full time job. any outfit you wear? “damn, baby, you’re really gonna make everyone jealous today, huh?” any new project you take on? “they don’t even know how lucky they are to have you.” even if you’re just doing something simple, like making breakfast, he’s watching you like you just cured world hunger. “look at my girl, being all talented and shit.”

⭑𓂃 he randomly texts you the most unserious things. sometimes he sends cute messages, like “miss u, come over” or “thinking about u rn , just thought u should know.” but other times, it’s complete nonsense. “if i were a worm, would u still love me?” or “just saw a dog that reminded me of u.” and if you ever ignore him for too long, expect an “hello????? do u hate me now????” followed by an influx of dramatic emojis

⭑𓂃 he loves pulling you into his lap, just because. doesn’t matter if you’re in private or in a room full of people, he’ll pull you onto his lap the second he gets the chance. wrapping his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, acting like he’s just getting comfortable, when really, he just wants to feel your hips against his. and if you so much as shift against him, he’ll exhale sharply, fingers digging into your hips as he mutters, “you tryna test me right now, baby?”

taglist: @heartsforvin , @sturncakez , @matts-myloverboy , @mattsbitchh , @ilyttmatsa @sturniolosluttt , @emely9274

[lipglossanon]

Deed I Do

Real Dad Dogman!Leon S. Kennedy x Daughter Puppy!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, incest, age gap (Leon is late 40’s and reader is late 20’s), hybrids, jealous Leon, short and sweet, dirty talk, grinding, unprotected sex, breeding kink, knotting, creampie

ETA: this was a commission but I’m a dumbass 😭

Kofi commish by @bumpkin-batch

Word count: 1999

title from Deed I Do by Ruth Etting

Leon stretches, bones and joints popping loudly. 

“Looking forward to that retirement, I’ll bet,” Jill jokes as she passes by him to sit at the desk behind Chris’. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes and stands up from his desk chair. 

He usually works away from Chris’ desk, out on patrol alongside his owner, but after turning 40, they kept him pushing paper and training new pups. This new batch coming in has him excited, although he’d never admit it. It’s the very first litter he sired back when he was in the breeding program decades ago.

“Aww, aren’t they cute!” Rebecca coos as Chris brings in the new lineup of would-be police dogs.

Leon would roll his eyes, but he’s too busy cataloging each of the new pups. There are seven in all—five boys and two girls. Aside from the girl on the end, they’re all stoic and calm. She, on the other hand, keeps letting her emotions get the best of her—tail wagging happily before remembering to stay still. 

Leon has a really good feeling she won’t be cut out for police work. It sends a little pang of worry through his chest, but he squashes it down in favor of watching them. As they’re put through their paces, Leon keeps an eye out on the girl. Just to make sure she does what she’s told. 

Weeks fly by in this new routine. A few of the recruits are turning out not to be fit for police work. The girl is definitely too friendly and useless at trying to apprehend someone breaking the law. Another pup, a boy, is too hyper. He’s already broken through three harnesses and accidentally bit an officer. 

But still, five out of seven new police dogs isn’t anything to sneeze at; Leon’s proud the majority have what it takes, like himself. The boy’s already been adopted by Barry. His two daughters have been begging for a hybrid to play with after school, and with his energy, he’ll be a perfect fit. The girl, on the other hand, is much too sweet and soft. Leon’s been keeping an ear out for what they’re going to do with her. 

He’s taken a liking to the pup; she’s earnest and kind, something he doesn’t get to see every day. She’s started to hang around Chris’ desk with him when the recruits have free time. It could explain why Chris suddenly springs it on him that he’s taking her home at the end of the week. 

“She’s just not going to fit in here,” the dark haired man gestures to the empty office, “and I don’t want her going to a shelter to sit for god knows how long. You two get along, and this way you won’t be home alone when you retire next month.”

Leon scoffs, but secretly he’s extremely pleased about the new situation. His own little girl is getting to stay with him. He can teach her all the things she wouldn’t learn here, especially with him being gone. And she’s so sweet. He’s happy he can spend this time with her and not have to worry about the job. 

Friday rolls around, and you’re a ball of joy. Leon even finds himself smiling at your excited chattering while he leads you out to Chris’ vehicle. You grow quiet on the drive to your new home, but your tail wagging assures Leon that you’re happy. Chris helps you get settled into your new room, right next to Leon, and gives you a quick tour of the house as the dogman follows behind.

There are a few bumps in dealing with a new pup in his space, but Leon wouldn’t change it for anything. He’s looking forward to retirement just that much more. In the meantime, he shows you the ropes. Cuddling, playing, annoying Chris—you guys do it all together. You groom each other too, something Leon finds himself seeking out more and more. Lately, you’ve been smelling downright edible. 

He’s had to excuse himself from your cuddling before he gets too hard to hide it. You’ve also been extra clingy lately, practically gluing yourself to him at every chance you get. Leon calls it quits midweek, and as soon as Chris opens the front door, you’re pressed all along Leon’s side with a wide smile. 

“Congratulations!” You kiss his cheek, and he gets a whiff of something sweet and tart, making his mouth water. 

You usher him into the kitchen and throw out your hands, “Ta-da! I made your favorite!”

Grinning, he ruffles your ears, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, ducking your head out of shyness, “Thanks, dad. I hope you like it.”

Picking up the fork, Leon takes a bite of the lemon cake. Sweet.. tangy.. soft.. moist. The errant thought that this is what your cunt might be like makes his eyes flutter closed with a groan. 

“It’s good?” Your eyes peer at him, ears perking up. 

“Delicious,” he pats your head, and your tail whips back and forth.

“Chris, you have to try some!” You call out, heading back into the living room. 

Leon takes a few more bites, mouth salivating at the taste. He needs to get his shit together. You bring Chris into the kitchen with you, and Leon watches him shower you with praise over the dessert. You become more and more flustered, and an ugly feeling of jealousy rears its head in his chest. 

“You okay?” 

With a start, Leon blinks, realizing a low growl has been building up in his chest. 

“Yeah, sorry, just thinking about something,” he clears his throat. “Well, I’m beat, so I’m going to take a shower and head to bed.”

“Oh, okay,” your ears droop, and it makes his heart hurt. 

“Did you need me?”

You pick at your nails, “Could we watch a movie together? I’m feeling kinda under the weather.”

Warm satisfaction suffuses him over your asking him and not Chris, “Sure, just meet me in my room once I finish showering.”

“Okay!” You smile brightly and hurry off to your room.

“I’m glad you guys are getting along,” Chris chuckles before stuffing another bite of cake into his mouth. 

“Don’t eat all of it,” Leon points to the dessert, “that’s technically for me.”

“It’s one slice,” Chris rolls his eyes. 

Leon’s nose twitches, and he waves his owner off, heading to the bathroom. After showering, Leon wraps his lower waist with a towel before realizing he didn’t bring a change of clothes. It’s a habit he’ll have to learn to break since you’ve moved in. Sighing to himself, he makes his way to his room, hoping you haven’t come in just yet. 

His hopes are dashed when he sees your wide-eyed look as you lay in bed. His sheets are gonna smell like you, and it makes his cock twitch. Pulling in a deep breath to calm himself, he nearly chokes as your sweet scent floods his nose. He knows he’s looking at you a little too heatedly.

“Sorry, I’ll get dressed.” He finally breaks eye contact and heads to his dresser. 

He throws on an old tee and slips on a pair of sweats under the towel before tossing it in the hamper. You scooch over to make room for him, and as soon as he’s lying back, you’re practically clambering on top of him. You throw one thigh over his legs, the heat of your cunt a hot brand against his leg. Burying your face against his chest, you nuzzle and scent your way up to his neck. 

“Dad,” you whine, “I feel sick.”

“Sick how?” He murmurs, trying to clear the fog in his brain as you subtly grind against him. “Have you been taking your meds?”

You shake your head no, pressing your nose against the pulse in his neck. 

“I ran out. Chris is s’posed to pick them up tomorrow,” you mumble, lips brushing against his skin and raising the hair on his neck. 

“Oh, baby,” he croons, cock chubbing in his sweats. “It’s heat sickness, my sweet pup.”

No wonder you’ve smelled so good lately. He grips your hips and helps you straddle his lap. 

“Take these off,” he snaps the band of your shorts, “gonna make my sweet girl feel better.”

Whimpering, you quickly slip off all your clothes until you’re sitting completely naked on his thighs. He pushes his sweats down just enough to free his hardening cock. 

Your tail thumps against his legs. “Smell so good, dad.”

“So do you, baby,” he helps you sit your chubby pussy on his cock, pressing the thick length against his abs. “Just rub against me.”

Nodding your head, you brace your hands on his forearms as they grip your hips. Whining, your pussy lips part around his cock, and you slowly rut against him, dragging your slick all along his fat dick. 

“That’s it, doing so good giving daddy a pussy job,” he groans, jerking you back and forth as you frot against him. 

Whining, you hump down against his cock, precum and slick smearing across your cunt until there’s a sticky mess between you both. Leon grunts, feeling his knot starting to form at the base of his dick. 

“Fuck, gonna make daddy pop his knot, baby,” he drops his head back as you moan loudly. 

“Want it, please dad, my pussy feels so empty,” you pull away, shiny strings of slick clinging to his cock. 

“Shh, shh,” he runs his palms up your thighs before bringing one hand back down to grip his cock. “I’ll give it to you, but you gotta be quiet for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, biting your lip when Leon slaps his cock against your pudgy clit. 

He uses his thumb to press the head down to guide it into your drooling hole. You both pant and sigh as you slowly sink your cunt down until you're flush with your dad’s hips. Leon’s eyes nearly cross from how tight you are, walls soft and wet as they squeeze his cock.

“So good, fuck, gonna knot you, sweetheart, knot this sweet little pussy,” he growls out, pulling out to shove you down onto the mattress. 

He manhandles you onto your stomach and yanks your hips up before fucking his cock back into you, bottoming out in your squelching heat. He sees you bite down on the pillow to muffle the cry that slips from your mouth. Your pussy flutters and grips his cock tightly, sucking him in until the tip kisses your cervix. Growling low, he roughly pumps his hips, slipping his cock in and out of your perfect pussy. 

“You’re perfect, fucking meant for me,” he leans forward to bite and kiss your neck, “fat pussy a perfect fit for my cock.”

“Dad, dad, feels so good,” you whimper brokenly, “want your knot, want your pups, daddy.”  

“Fuck,” he snarls against your ear, cock pistoning deeper into your greedy hole. “Cum for me, pup, and I’ll knot your wet pussy.”

He reaches underneath you to circle and pinch your swollen clit. You thrash and buck against him, mewling and gasping as he works you closer to your orgasm. His knot catches at your hole, and as soon as your back arches, your pussy cumming around his cock, he shoves his knot past your clenching hole and locks you together. 

“Dad!” You cry out, voice muffled from where you’re pressed into the sheets.

“Ohhh,” he lazily humps your ass, rutting his cock and knot deeper into your cunt, “so good, baby. You did so well for daddy.”

You hum happily, and he nuzzles against your neck, laying you both on your sides so you can rest comfortably.

“I’ll fill you up again later to keep you from getting sick,” he murmurs in your ear and groans when your pussy milks and pulses around his cock. 

“Thanks, dad.”

He smiles and presses a kiss on your hair. He really does have a sweet pup.

[parkers-gal]

leave you behind J.B.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

timeline: civil war (bucharest romania)

wc: 1.1k

warnings: use of 'malyshka.' not proofread

a/n: really wanted something with bucky's dog tags but didn't have any ideas so wrote this... not as fluffy as the ideas in my head...

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

romania is beautiful. you spent a year in constanta, gazing out to the black sea and discovering how to live life after fleeing america, tired of the old life you left behind. you migrated inland, settling in bucharest like millions of others in the city. 

you spent many nights learning the city, the language, and the people in it. it was how you met bucky three months ago. 

“te-ai pierdut?”

bluish steel eyes blink back at you, no response. 

you stare back at him, thinking. you try again, switching tongues because your gut tells you that he’s not from around here. “are you lost?”

a small grunt precedes his first word to you. “market.”

you nod, motioning for him to follow you out of the side street.

he follows in step quietly and almost robotically for three blocks until you reach the farmers market. it’s midday and bustling, some trying for a bargain and others window shopping the open tents. 

you let him pass you, watching as he makes his way to a fresh fruit stand. he pauses and stares at the produce and the person running the booth. 

you step forward. “do you need help? i can translate if-”

your words are cut short as the man speaks fluently to the vendor, inquiring about the various fruits. as he finishes picking and paying, you stand in slight shock a few steps behind him. he turns around, shocked to see you waited around for him. he doesn’t smile at you, but the look in his eyes tells you that he wants to. but he doesn’t.

“i’m sorry.” you say at last. “i wouldn’t have bothered you if i had known you didn’t need help.”

the man shakes his head, his long brown hair swaying as he does so. you glance to the metal laying against his chest, not quite reading the name engraved into it. 

“i’m bucky.” he offers a gloved hand. you look at it before shaking it, smiling as you introduce yourself.

you spent the rest of the day looking at the vendors together, getting lunch and talking in the park until the cold came with nightfall.

three months later, you’re back at the same farmers market, grocery shopping with the same man. you practically live together, surviving off of the pay you get from your part time job and the money bucky earns on random side quests. 

it’s not like you don’t know him – you just don’t know what he’s done, how he got to romania, why he stayed. it’ll come with time, is what you always told yourself, especially when you wanted to ask bucky to be yours officially. the term ‘boyfriend’ scares him, and you’re not sure if either of you are ready for that level of commitment. 

“meet back at the dairy shop?” you let go of his hand, ready to part into the sea of shops.

his smile is soft as he nods, kissing your hand as he releases it. you smile as you walk in the other direction, weaving through the crowd to shop. 

you pass a nearby bar, scanning the area through a propped-open door. glancing up, the news outlet displayed on the television catches your attention and you stop in place, reading the headlines. images flash across the screen, and a magnified picture of bucky pops up. the color drains from your face as you finish reading the headlines. your feet move faster than your mind, footsteps picking up as you race to find bucky in the field of people.

you weave again, almost slamming your bag into a woman as you near the next corner of the market. 

“bucky!” you call. his back is turned to you but he’s barely 20 feet from you. the sea of people doesn’t part for you and you’re forced to wait for the people to slowly depart. 

he turns around just as you reach him, his gloved hands holding a newspaper with his face on the front of it. 

“what’s happening?” tears well in your eyes as you reach for his hands. “you couldn’t have done those things. you were with me.”

he doesn’t respond but he faintly nods. his jaw clicks and he grabs your hands, dragging you away from the market and the sea of people in it. “i need to leave.”

“leave?” you stumble after him, barely able to keep up as he pulls you along. “leave where? what about me? bucky, i’m scared.”

he pulls you into an alley, bringing your hands to his chest and steadying you. “i know, malyshka. i’m-” his eyes droop in disappointment. “i’m sorry. i never should’ve let you get this close. i- i shouldn’t have risked getting you involved.”

“involved?” your brows furrow. “involved in what?” you drop your bag on the asphalt. 

“me.” his eyes search yours as you try to understand what he means. “i’m dangerous, malyshka.”

“not to me.” you reach for that familiar metal hanging around his neck, forehead resting against his. “i’ve never felt safer than with you.”

as you exhale shakily, your breath fans his face and he glances to your lips before pulling you in a deep kiss, hands cupping your head gently. 

“you need to leave.”

“what?!” the shock on your face almost breaks him. you step back in shock. bucky picks up your bag, pulling it to your arm. 

he goes through his pockets, giving you what he doesn’t need and closing your bag securely. 

“what? bucky, go where? why can’t i go with you? what’s-”

both his hands hold your face, now ungloved. the sight of the metal plates in public has you quiet. he never takes his gloves off in public, never anywhere other than the safety of your apartment. 

“y/n, i need you to focus.” he carefully pulls off his dog tags, pulling them over your head until the metal tabs rest on your chest now. “keep these safe for me, okay?”

you’re crying now. you can barely see him through wet lashes. 

you shake your head. “i don’t want you to go.” you sob. “i love you.”

the confession has bucky pausing, the pads of his thumbs wipe away your fallen tears. his lips meet your forehead in a calming kiss. 

“i know, malyshka. i… i love you too.”

more tears spill out.

“but i can’t risk losing you.” he pulls you into his chest, hugging you so tight because you both know you won’t see each other for a long while. “get out of the city. go back to constanta if you have to. just-” you feel the uncertainty in his exhale. “get as far away until it’s safe.”

you peer up at him, sniffling. “okay.” 

“i’m coming back, y/n.”

“okay.”

he kisses you again. “i won’t leave you behind.”

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bucky masterlist

i'm thinking of writing a second part

[divadepreshawn]

Eustace

Harvey Specter × fem!reader

Summary: It's you they ask for help when Harvey gets really grumpy.

You were recently hired, with the high demand for cases involving psychological causes, Jessica saw the need for a legal psychologist on the team.

Jessica only wanted the best at Pearson Specter and that's why she hired you.

You graduated in Psychology from Harvard, maintaining the highest grades until the end of the course, later obtaining a master's degree in cognitive behavioral therapy and deciding to pursue a career in the legal field. You worked for many important judges so you have great recommendations on your resume, in addition to being friends with Donna for many years.

You adapted well, the associates liked you, you connected quickly with Rachel, Louis didn't talk to you much but he didn't bother with your presence - which Donna declared as a historic event - and then there's Harvey.

Who you affectionately nicknamed the Tony Stark of lawyers, he was a good person, you could see through the egocentric facade that he cared more than he let on, but that didn't free him from being an idiot sometimes.

You were in your office finishing analyzing a psychological test when Mike entered your office.

“Y/N, do you have some time?” he asked as he shifted the stack of papers from one arm to the other.

You look up from the papers to look at him “Sure, what do you need?”

“Can you pass the cases next time? I know it’s not your job but… Um, Harvey scared them” He entered your office placing the papers on your desk to sit in front of you.

“Okay I understand why you’re asking this, but isn’t Louis the one who deals with the associates?” you asked slightly confused.

“He does” he nodded, “But in this particular case some associates are working directly on a case with Harvey and he’s not the most… calm”

You let out a small amused snort, “He’s only thirty, how can he be so grumpy? Okay, I'll try to see with Donna why he's so stressed and I'll be at the next meeting.”

He smiles gratefully “Oh, you'll get a lot of coffee for this, thanks.” He takes the papers back and quickly leaves the room.

You sigh, getting up to go to Donna's desk.

“My beautiful ray of sunshine,” you say, smiling as you place your arms on Donna's desk, surreptitiously peeking at Harvey at his desk.

Donna looks away from the computer to look at you with a slight smile.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“What's up with Eustace? Did someone steal his candy or something?”

Donna starts to laugh, turning completely to you now. “Did Mike send you here?”

You nod “I think I have a chamomile face because every time Eustace freaks out someone always appears at my door screaming for help”

“Actually they see what Harvey refuses to-” before Donna can finish what she’s saying Harvey appears at the door

“Wait, Eustace… Are you insinuating that I’m that grumpy old man who has a cowardly dog?” He raised an eyebrow with the sides of his mouth slightly curved upwards.

“Honey, didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?” you replied ironically.

“No, but they taught me not to give other people nicknames” he retorts with a smile

You open your mouth but quickly close it “Oh, touché”.

Harvey laughs as he leans against the side of Donna’s desk “And you’re going to admit defeat? That's a new one.”

You smile “You know, Christmas is coming… So it's better not to provoke the Grinch.”

Donna tries to hide her laughter by putting her hand over her mouth while Harvey looks at you with false indignation.

“Who validated your diploma knows you do that?” he asks amusedly.

“What is that?” you ask, blinking your eyelashes slowly with false innocence.

He gives a snort mixed with a laugh “You're impossible,” he mutters, returning to his office.

You turn to Donna with a smile “Squidward saying I'm impossible, can you believe it?

Donna leans back in her chair, quickly looking at Harvey's office before looking back at you. She smiles as she shakes her head “And you still don't know why they're going to ask for your help.”

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Sorry for any mistake, english is not my first language

[deantfwinchester]

Love Me Right

Part 1: Henrietta’s

Pairing: ConstructionCEO!Joel x Waitress!Reader

She's eventually gonna be a teacher again bc let's be real, i'm a one-trick pony.

This is a Millionaire Joel AU x Most Eligible Bachelor Trope

Summary: Joel Miller, CEO and Co-Founder of Miller Construction, hasn't been dealing with an Empty Nest very well. His family and friends have tried their best to cheer him up since Sarah left for college in the fall, but the storm cloud above his head remains. On top of that (or perhaps because of it), he has just been named one of Austin's Most Eligible Bachelors.

What will that mean for the new-in-town waitress he meets in his favorite diner? As far as she knows, he's just an average contractor.

Warnings: age gap (reader late 20s, Joel late 40s); family-centered trauma and conflict; lethal levels of fluff otw

A/N: Bear with me for this one y'all. My imagination is ambitious and my brain is obstinate. Title inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s Short ‘n Sweet - bc i can’t stop fckn listening to Juno 🫣

Word Count: 4.6k

_______________________________________________

“Tommy, there ain’t a chance in hell that’s gonna happen. Why on earth did you bring this to me?”

“Well they talked to Joanna at the front desk first. She said wasn’t going to bring it up to you, but I couldn’t just let it slide,” Tommy raises his eyebrows at Joel, shooting him a mischievous look. “Because one - I wasn’t gonna pass up the chance to see this look on your face, and two - would a little publicity be so bad?”

“Who in their right mind is gonna choose a fuckin contractor from the goddamn ‘society pages’?” Joel bristles at his brother’s amusement with an unwavering scowl.

Tommy stares right back, but the playful nature of his expression is unmarred. “Most men won’t Joel - but their wives will.” Tommy’s salacious grin is damn near wider than Joel’s ever seen. Christ, he’s loving this.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Joel says plainly, rolling his eyes.

“Come on brother, think about it - plenty of busy men in this city with bored housewives in need of a project. He tosses her a few thousand to redo the dining room - well who’s gonna do the job? She hasn’t got a clue where to begin and then BOOM! She sees the list of Austin’s Most Eligible Bachelors in the paper - where she finds a photo of the distinguished CEO and senior founder of Miller Construction—”

“Senior, seriously?,” Joel deadpans at him. Tommy ignores him, continuing to wax poetic.

“And can’t help but wonder if the rest of his staff is as dashing as he appears to be,”

“Flattery’s cheap Tommy.”

“Of course then she meets with me and the deal is sealed.” Tommy smiles smugly now that his story is complete.

“Boy can you paint a picture,” responds Joel, rolling his eyes at his brother’s antics. “So you wanna parade me around like a two-bit hooker, huh?

“Whaddya say — can I give ‘em a call?”

“If you’re so hell-bent on ‘marketing’ why don’t you do it?” Joel says flippantly.

“Well I’m not a bachelor anymore, am I?,” he grins brightly at him. This time, it’s sincere.

“Don’t break your arm pattin' yourself on the back, Tommy. Maria mighta said yes, but there ain’t a ring on your finger yet. She’s still got a few months to wise up,” Joel challenges, his tone playful.

Tommy glares at him, but then gives a sobered nod. “You’re right about that. I know I’m a lucky fucker, and I’m not interested in testing that luck - even for a charity auction. Sorry to the dogs, or the food bank or — is it old people?”

“Hell bent on it, and don’t even know what it’s for? Christ - it’s a Make-A-Wish thing Tommy, damn,” Joel replies, looking bewildered at his brother’s callous and cavalier response.

“And isn’t your attention and concern for the bigger picture just what they need in volunteers?” Tommy retorts, expression still smug but eyes hopeful. “What, ‘s it gonna kill you to go out for once? It’ll be a formality at worst and maybe even a good time if you loosen up a bit.”

“I can think of a number of other ‘worsts’ than a formality,” Joel muses

“You’re gentleman enough to handle it just fine,” Tommy continues.

It has been quite a while since Joel’s been out of his house for much other than work or routine, and even longer since he’s been out with anyone other than Tommy, Maria, and the guys from work here and there. He’ll admit, he hasn’t been dealing with an empty nest very well. He’s done a pretty terrible job of keeping busy since he dropped Sarah off at school back in the fall. She’d gotten in exactly where she’d hoped, and made friends fast - for this he was over the moon - but he misses her like crazy. He’s been swimming back and forth in swelling pride and stabbing grief since September, ecstatic and aching all at once. He knew Tommy’s intentions were relatively pure, business interest aside. He knows they’ve been worried about him for a couple of months now - they haven’t exactly been subtle — they’d started having him over for dinner damn near once a week.

This newfound hobby of Tommy’s, cooking like a grown-up, had become the ruse en vogue for getting Joel out of his house. As Maria’s caseload grew at the law firm, Tommy wanted to make sure she had a real meal to eat when she finally got home — so he started cooking. Joel had to admit it was real sweet, watching his brother dive headfirst into learning a new skill just to take care of his bride-to-be. He claimed it only made sense with his far more flexible schedule, but Joel knew it made Tommy proud to be able to do this for her, and the very fact he wanted to made Joel proud as well.

Once Sarah left for school, however, Tommy quickly discovered his brother’s less-than-satisfactory habits of microwave dinners or forgetting to eat in general. He was a fair chef in his own right once upon a time, but without his little girl there to feed, bothering to make a balanced meal fell by the wayside. Joanna, a kindly woman in her seventies, had been one of the first to notice the change in Joel’s demeanor and the drawn nature of his features. Not much younger than the boys’ mother would be today, Joanna worked at the front desk of Miller Construction, greeting clients with a maternal warmth that, Tommy had to admit, was in part strategic. Disarm a client while they wait with a smile and you’d be able to pry open their hearts and their pockets.

Joanna was not unaware of the role she played in this game, though she did not approve. She’d informed Tommy of her concern for Joel, and the regular dinner invitations followed suit. This, accompanied with Joanna’s tugging Joel along to a nearby diner for lunch a couple of times a week in November had practically pulled Joel through the fall slump and into the new year. The holiday visits home from Sarah had helped a great deal, as well.

Joel wasn’t blind to his friends and family’s kahoots to help him through this patch. Though he sometimes grudgingly obliged to Joanna’s pestering him out the door because she hadn’t “seen you eat a bite all day. Four cups of black coffee don’t count, and you know it. Up!,” or Tommy’s employing Maria to send a text herself inviting him to dinner after he’d tried and simply received the finger, he was grateful for their efforts and care. Sarah was too, but he didn’t need to know that. Those lunchtime diner visits soon turned into breakfasts — a preemptive measure on Joanna’s part to add some time out in public to Joel’s routine of home — office — work site — home. Eventually she’d pavolv-ed him into it, and Joel was at the diner for coffee, breakfast, and one of the only physical newspapers left in existence every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at first following behind Joanna and eventually on his own.

Joanna had been with the Miller brothers since the business was far smaller, just a few years after its inception, when they started needing a receptionist/secretary/assistant, just someone who knew how to manage their slowly growing demand. She’d been a friend of their mother’s and had taken up some of the slack when she’d passed, grieving alongside her friend’s sons and looking after them in her wake. She’d been one of the only reasons Joel and Tommy had been able to build the tiny Miller Bros. into its current position as Miller Construction, multi-million-dollar contracting firm, and the largest in the Austin Metro area. Joel’s practical thinking and creativity combined with Tommy’s ambition and idealistic hopes of grandeur got them into successful meetings with investors that Joanna quietly set up via her husband’s business contacts. Their vision reminded her so much of their mother’s optimism she couldn’t help herself. She’d keep an eye on Sarah when Joel needed and ensured they were taken care of in the moments they would have needed their mother around.

As the boys’ surrogate mother figure and Sarah’s Aunt Jo, it came as no surprise that amid Joel’s season of empty-nested loneliness Joanna had begun encouraging him to “get back out there” and claimed that she “won’t be around forever” and “would like to see him settled before I go.” Classic maternal guilt-tripping, and Joel told her each time that he hears 70 is the new 50. She told him to try that again in a few years when he hits the real 50.

Truth of the matter was, Joel had been alone for a long time. He’d seen people on and off while Sarah was growing up, but it was a rare occasion, and no fling had ever lasted more than a couple of months. With Sarah at home, it never mattered much to Joel — he had someone to care for who was the best company he’d ever had right in front of him. She’d needed him a little less as she’d grown up, but he always had a purpose.

Joel was a natural-born caretaker — between brotherhood and fatherhood, he took to it like a tadpole to water. With Sarah away at school and his little brother engaged, however, he couldn’t figure out where to put all that love, and so it crackled into grief like a blackening candle wick, blooming into a flower of ash that nestled in his chest. The cloud of soot hovered around him for a while as he went through the motions of his everyday. Tommy, Maria, and Joanna all wanted to see him find his way again, as did Sarah when she received honest reports from her family members after some prodding. He always put on his biggest smile for her, never wanting her to worry, but she could see something hurting in his eyes, just below the surface.

While it may have been blatantly out of his comfort zone, Tommy and Joanna jumped at the opportunity to convince Joel when the Most Eligible Bachelors’ Auction came knocking. He needed something to disrupt his routine, with the added bonus of his coming out into the social scene like a plaid-clad debutante with a few extra crow’s feet.

After rolling the last few months’ events around in his mind for a couple of minutes while Tommy answers a phone call, Joel is broken from his reverie. Tommy’s standing in front of him again, waving a hand back and forth.

“Hey ground control - you with me?,” he asks before Joel’s eyes focus on him once again. “Can I give em a call?,” and this time Joel notices the concern in Tommy’s eyes as his joking facade flickers with hope. It’s more than just publicity, and he owes it to them to give it a shot.

Joel releases a measured sigh, relenting. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but sure, fuck it. Call ‘em back,” he says rolling his eyes, resigning himself to whatever nonsense his participation will entail. He reminds himself it’s for charity, and returns to his computer, refocusing on his work as Tommy darts out of his office to return to his own, reporting his success to Joanna along the way.

_______________________________________________

You got lucky with this job at Henrietta’s, with its flexible hours and fairly livable wage, you had time to settle into your new place and get to know the city. You spend your off days wandering around, doing research on local schools and prepping your applications for summer school and the new year.

Never had you pictured yourself leaving students mid-year, and having to do it hurt like hell. You missed the kids you left behind every day, but when a friend caught wind of an acquaintance needing a subletter for a little studio within your price range, you didn’t have much of a choice. You needed to take up the lease starting in January, or you’d be starting over at square one. It had been a long time coming, this encroaching need to run and start over somewhere new. Staying in your hometown was no longer an option — work may have been a saving grace, but the other areas of your life were suffering. You knew healing couldn’t begin without separation. You needed to be far away from everything — it was the only way you could picture trying to feel whole again. Grad school had ended the previous year, so you fled.

With each mile you put between you and your family, you started to feel like your lungs could fully inflate once again. The oppressive air of scrutiny and memory that swam around you at home dropped off piece by piece with each passing mile marker. You’d put a few states between yourself and your parents once it was all said and done, and while it was scary, starting from scratch all over again, it was invigorating. You’d done it at eighteen when you left for college, you could damn well do it again with eight years’ more life experience under your belt.

You’d walked into the diner on your second day in the city. You had some money saved up from time living at home, but knew it would dwindle quickly with rent to pay and no salary coming in on the regular. You would need something to keep busy and pay for necessities until the end of the spring semester. When Diane, the manager caught sight of you, bright-eyed and looking like a deer in headlights, she welcomed you with a warmth you’d only read about in books. She interviewed you then and there and offered you a job on the spot, waiting tables on the breakfast and lunch shifts at least four days a week. She told you your “sweet smile and wide-eyed look will do wonders for you in tips, precious!” You think it’s probably just teacher face you can’t shake, and hope she’s right — maybe it could do you some favors until you get back in the classroom where you belong.

Diane’s rounded face was accentuated with wonderfully deep crow’s feet and smile lines that suggested a lifetime of sharing this warmth, and her dark hair streaked with gray around her hairline and temples rested atop her head in a frazzled bun. She made you comfortable out the gate, and had set you up with a uniform immediately. More aptly, she handed you a t-shirt and an apron to go over your leggings. You were thankful for the relaxed dress code, knowing plenty of other establishments required a much more specific ensemble. Once you’d changed she introduced you to your shift lead, Reggie, and the line-cook-on-duty, Tony, patting you comfortingly on the shoulder and insisting they welcome you, hoping to keep you around to solve their persistent staffing issue.

While Diane was quite a bit older than you, somewhere in her mid-fifties, Reggie and Tony were younger, floating between mid-thirties and early forties, if you had to guess. Reggie was a slim black man you’d put in his thirties, and he greeted you with a smile and an exclamation that he was more than ready to gossip ad nauseum with someone so much closer to his age. He’d been the one to fill you in on Diane’s immediate taking to you, letting you know with little ambiguity that you were just a few years younger than Diane’s daughter, who had moved out of the city about a year ago, and that you favored her to boot. Reggie had called this particular gossip session your orientation.

“Don’t get me wrong honey, Diane’s a sweetheart. But never have I seen her offer a position on the spot. I think having you here may do her some good,” he’d said, before turning to fill you in on Tony the line cook. “Yeah Tony’s hot, but he chain smokes like a chimney and doesn’t care at all when I ask him to keep his second hand smoke to himself on the days I have a performance!,” he shouted pointedly at Tony, who only looked up long enough to give Reggie the finger and wink at you. Tony was a muscular Italian guy in his forties with tattoos of a sort that didn’t quite match up with the gold chain and cross pendant hanging around his neck. When your eyes went wide at the wink, Reggie giggled a bit and leaned toward you. “Don’t worry, Tony’s a little sleazy but harmless. He’ll hit on anything in a skirt, but as soon as you tell him you aren’t interested he’ll back off and won’t bring it up again. He’s a good guy, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Over the course of your shift you discovered that Diane’s been at Henrietta’s for fifteen years, Reggie is a drag queen and lounge singer by the name of Wizz Tiria at a few different clubs around town, and Tony has a few other business ventures he mentions on and off (the details of which he keeps to himself), but never misses taking his Mom to church on Sundays. You share a good bit about yourself as well in exchange — what brought you to Austin, why now, and where you may go from here. It doesn’t take long for you to make yourself at home among this eclectic little bunch, and for the first time in a really, really long time, you’re content with the peaceful monotony of these early winter days.

_______________________________________________

It’s a brisk February morning when you walk into the diner for your shift. You’ve spent the last month working in the cozy little greasy spoon, so you’re still getting to know the regulars, but you’ve caught on pretty quick. You’ve been working the Tuesday, Thursday, and weekend shifts, but when Diane loses another server, you’re eager to pick up the slack — extra pocket change and keep your mind busy. The company’s pretty good too. Thus, you find yourself walking into the diner at 7 AM on a Wednesday morning with a hoodie over your t-shirt and a scarf to ward off more of the wind cutting into your cheeks. You head to the staff room to remove your hoodie and don your apron and emerge, finding the diner a bit colder than it had been up to this point. You’d kept a light jacket or a cardigan on you previously, but today’s need for something heavier led you to selecting a favorite hoodie to throw over your work t-shirt — which you didn’t quite think through until you came into the dining room and felt a chil run up your spine. Diane catches sight of you before you can still yourself.

“Sweetie, what on earth fo you think you’re doing?,” she asks like you’ve done something obviously egregious.

“Huh? What is it?,” you ask innocently, but you know the answer. She can probably see the goosebumps you feel rising on your arms.

“You need somethin’ on under that, you’re gonna freeze in here today!,” she chastises.

“Yeah, I brought my hoodie, but forgot I’d be taking it off. It’s not so bad in here, I’ll be alright,’ you tell her reassuringly.

“Absolutely not. Wait, hold on a second - REGGIE! We got any more o’ those long sleeve souvenir shirts in the case?!” she hollers after him.

“Hold awn!,” he hollers back, Southern twang taking center stage when he yells, just like the rest of them. After a few seconds he emerges with a few in hand. “Got a few left. Ugly as hell, probably why they’re still here. Watcha need ‘em for?”

“Sweetie, go on and change into that before the rush starts. Not the staff shirt, but the branding’ll be fine in case Jason drops by,” she says, rolling her eyes. She pats you on the shoulder, nudging you toward Reggie to take one of the shirts. They’re bright green with a gaudy design on them that makes you laugh when he hands it to you. Jason’s the owner of Henrietta’s, and so you’ve heard, the bane of Diane’s existence. You’ve only heard tale of this rotten Jason thus far, never quite laying eyes on the mythical beast. You really hope today in this goofy shirt isn’t the day you do.

You return to the dining room a few minutes later clad in the neon green monstrosity, tugging at it in a futile effort to make it look better. “Happy now, Diane?!,” you holler as you enter, only to find her standing directly in front of you at the hostess stand, face to face with a man you’d never seen in here before — who you almost run right into, not looking where you’re going. He’s tall and broad with dark brown curls laced with grey streaks, and gray patches in the short beard that frames his jaw. He catches you when you nearly bump right into him, and you look up to meet the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever encountered. Your cheeks go red when you realize what you’ve done.

“Whoa there,” he says, smiling down at you as you stutter out an apology. “It’s alright, no harm done,” he responds, voice gentle but deep. It’s true, he didn’t even budge when he caught you, and you’re fairly certain if you’d fallen, the outcome would’ve been the same.

“Sorry about that Joel. C’mon, your table’s ready,” she says, patting Joel’s arm and leading him forward, not before turning back to you and saying, “Certainly am. Now go grab some coffee for Table 7 for me, will ya sweetie?” with a smile. You’d just run almost smack into a customer, and she wasn’t upset with you or anything. You shouldn’t be surprised, that’s just Diane, but you’re used to much larger reactions to small mistakes. You just nodded and breathed a sigh of relief, but your eyes are drawn once again to the man she’s leading away. He’s looking back at you with a smile that sends a shiver down your spine, one you’re certain has nothing to do with the chill in the air this time. He’s wearing a plaid button-down and a utility jacket, with cheeks and a nose tinged pink from the cold. You tear your eyes away anxiously and head for the coffee pot.

You’ve got your hand around the decaf pot, pouring another cup for the regular at the bar counter, when your eyes find Table 7, your next destination. You see the man, Joel, Diane had called him, with his back to you, facing out the window, newspaper in hand. You steel yourself once again, switch coffee pots, and head for his table.

You approach from the side, hoping not to spook him as he’s engrossed in the paper he has in hand. Christ, when was the last time you saw a physical newspaper? It’s kinda cute, you think, seeing someone reading one on a cold morning with a cup of coffee. So picturesque. Especially someone as handsome as he is, and you find yourself staring at his broad shoulders and dark curls again before he looks up from his reading.

“Hey,” you start, a little shaky, “sorry again, about before. Don’t know what I was doing, not looking where I was going,” you smile a little, shaking your head at your mishap.

“Really, it’s fine. You seemed, uh, preoccupied,” he says, looking down at the offending design on the tshirt you’re wearing, before looking back up at you. “It’s certainly a change from the regular uniform, huh?” he says, smiling at you. The way his eyes crinkle as he does plants a warmth in your chest you aren’t expecting. It’s been so long since you felt it, it’s almost unfamiliar. Your cheeks warm as you smile back at him, hoping it comes off as embarrassment from your wardrobe rather than bashful attraction. You’re about to tell him it’s certainly not a permanent solution, when he speaks again. “So, Sweetie, huh? Haven’t seen you around before — that what they call you in here?” he questions, smirk playing at his lips.

You laugh in response and introduce yourself, and tell him this isn’t your normal shift, but you’ll probably be around for it moving forward. You take his breakfast order, and tell him you’ll let him get back to his paper.

You don’t converse much more when you bring Joel his breakfast, just quiet thanks when you refill his coffee cup. He looks so peaceful, you almost hate to interrupt each time. You ask Reggie about him when you both have a minute behind the counter.

“Yep, that’s Joel. Gorgeous, isn’t he? Started coming in a few months back with an older lady, then more regularly by himself. She’s with him once in a while, kinda seems like a mom vibe, but she doesn’t look like him. Anyway, I think he works construction or something, always coming in with those boots on looking like a lumberjack,” Reggie says flippantly. “Heard from the older lady one day when he was in the bathroom — his daughter went to college back in the fall, they’ve been trying to get him out ever since,” he said, looking sympathetic at the thought.

You feel your heart do a little squeeze at this newfound tidbit. A fresh empty nester. You know how hard it’s been for Diane, so much she’s taken to parenting the staff in her daughter’s stead. Staring at Joel’s back as his head is bowed reading the paper, you begin wondering more and more about him. His daughter’s probably around eighteen, so how old is he? You’d guess he isn’t married, and you didn’t see a ring. Who is he? Why does he come here to read his paper each day? And most importantly — how soon can you find out the answers to these questions? You don’t want to ambush him at all and scare him off, but you’re drawn to him, and so very curious.

Meanwhile, Joel is stealing glances at your reflection in the diner window in front of him, watching you laugh with Reggie and the customers at the bar, smiling sweetly when someone makes a request of you. He needs to get out of there before he starts feeling creepy, he thinks. He rises and walks to the counter to settle his bill with Reggie at the cash register, glancing at you when he does so, futilely trying to balance showing interest and being weird. He leaves a nice tip in the jar for all of you to share, but just before he turns to go, he looks back at you, locking eyes.

“Oh uh, Sweetie?,” he says, smirk on his face. He looks almost bashful when he speaks next, like he’s working up the courage. “Glad you’re picking up. Look forward to seein’ you again,” he smiles. The look on his face when he says it is so sincere, you could melt on the spot. He was nervous about his joke, you could tell, but recovered when you laughed in reply.

“Looking forward to it too, Joel. Enjoy your day,” you say, smiling wide in return. He gives a little wave to everyone before grinnig down at his shoes and walking out of the diner into the crisp February air. Your eyes follow him out to the pick-up he hops into, before looking back over to Reggie and Tony, staring at you devilishly.

“And I’m looking forward to seeing this story unravel,” says Reggie, looking over at Tony and grinning, like something juicy has just unfolded before their eyes. The two are laughing while you smile and wave them off, wiping down the counter. Diane emerges from the office at the sound of their hearty laughter, reading glasses slipping down her nose, notepad in hand, and stares back at the three of you.

“What’d I miss?!,” she asks. You’re smiling too much to respond with anything genuine, so you return to your wiping, and let Reggie take the lead.

[drluvsick]

𝐎𝐈𝐙𝐘𝐒 — 𝐠𝐢𝐲𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐤𝐚

you get injured and giyu blames himself, although, it’s not really his fault, is it? 📝 gn! reader. for @meowzfordayz 4.1k event! might redo this only because i don’t like how i finished it off… we’ll see! hope you guys enjoy regardless! <3

word count : 600+

𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂 . . . 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 𝘛𝘖 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛 (𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘋 𝘜𝘗) — 𝘔𝘈𝘊 𝘋𝘌𝘔𝘈𝘙𝘊𝘖

“i’m sorry, this is all my fault— ” giyu’s voice shook as his hands trembled. with the snow piling down as the moments passed, you could easily mistake his tremors for being cold. but you knew better from his worried look and somewhat glassy eyes.

“giyu, love, it’s not. stop blaming everything on yourself.” you said back, your voice straining against the pain in your side from which the demon slashed at— blood oozing out as giyu continued to panic.

“if only i’d arrived sooner, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“it’s not deep enough to kill me, i’ll be fine.” you tried to reassure him.

it was all too much, the flashbacks of death, his recent dreams of you in their situations. but he wouldn’t dare break down yet, not while you still needed to be taken somewhere to heal.

he ran as fast as his legs could take him while carrying you bridal style and slow enough so that you wouldn’t feel extra pain from his rushing. he hoped that you were right, that the cut wasn’t too deep, even if it was close to a vital point.

he could see the building of a wisteria house a few minutes later (he’s never been so relieved to see one of these), quickly handing you off and waiting impatiently to see you again after your treatment.

giyu felt terrible. he felt like the worst boyfriend ever as he paced outside the door like a dog waiting for its owner to come home.

could he have prevented this? this wouldn’t have happened had you been paired with another hashira. he’s just that bad. he wishes that you could be with anyone but him, someone that’ll actually protect you and make you happy— not… someone who can’t get over his past traumas and can’t even prevent a demon from attacking you.

he cursed the demon for being stronger than any lower class one. it wasn’t an uppermoon, but a demon with a powerful blood art can be threatening even without some of muzan’s blood.

the sliding door opens, making giyu perk his head up from staring down at the floor.

the elderly lady there smiles, beckoning him to come inside to see how you’re doing, on the way as he’s walking in talking about how lucky you are that the demon didn’t get any permanent damage done. she leaves with a, “i’ll have dinner ready for the both of you soon.”

you smile at him when he’s in view, holding out a hand as he carefully takes it. he kneels down to your level as you sit up the best you can, ignoring his protests for you to lie back down. you give him a small kiss on the cheek.

“it’s not your fault. it would’ve gotten me had you been there or not.” you start off.

“how are you so sure about that?” he tucks some hair behind your ear, interlacing his hands with yours.

“that demon was bad at concentrated shots at one target. it’s better if there’re multiple people, hence why most of its victims were in pairs,” you shrug, “it’s my fault for getting careless, you had nothing to do with it hitting me. i got the job done in the end anyways, and i’m at least alive, aren’t i?”

he nods, kissing your lips. “my heart still hasn’t recovered. it’s like i’m still afraid you’re going to leave any second.”

you smile at him. “i’m not going anywhere.” you pull him closer, his figure hovering over your body as you kiss him again, a little more intimate this time than his fleeting one.

“you’d better not.” he says as you pull away, your head finally resting against the pillow again. you giggle lightly as his own small laughter follows, the only thing on the both of your minds at that moment being so far away from the pain and misery from the world outside, focused solely on each other.

overluvsick | please do not repost, translate, and/or claim my works as yours !!

[gothicflowers]

Domestic Price headcanons!! ON MY HANDS AND KNEES!!!

Domestic!Price x F!reader

WARNING MDNI (+18 ONLY)

Warnings : tooth rotting fluff, some sexual references.

Word Count: ? So many

Sorry this took me forever to write, the past month has been insane. But things are finally getting better and I’m feeling creative.

Domestic!Price isn’t someone that many are familiar with. Especially those he works with. When price joined the military he was a teen who was in the punk scene and he couldn’t hold a job for more than a month. The man was running from the cops and passed out at random houses half the week. By six pm there was liquor on his breath. His dear mom had enough one day and kicked him out. When he stumbled through the front door she had a suitcase full of his good clothes packed and handed him a small amount of cash. He told her he didn’t care and he didn’t need her. After two months of couch surfing and working odd end jobs for cash he seen something about enlisting in the military. Free housing, consistent pay and a uniform. John knew he could pick up girls easily with a uniform on, easier than his charming personality already could.

Six months later he’s in basic training regretting his decision to join. He came into basic training more out of shape than he thought. He hates reading and is having to study and sit through classes when he’s not being drilled. But by week five somehow he’s leading the class. Perfect scores on test, marksmanship skills are undeniably good, and maybe that mandatory haircut doesn’t look too bad.

He graduated top of his academy class with flying colors. Five years later price has slowed worked his way up the chain. He’s still a cocky bastard but nobody can deny his knowledge of strategies and tactics. He’s a hard ass to new guys but ensures they are well trained, after all John is a firm believer that you’re only as good as your weakest guy.

After two years of being in he realized his mom was right. So on one of his days off he showed up to his moms with flowers and sweets and apologized and thanked her for giving him the push he needed. Even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

John Price has finally got his life together. But he’s still a playboy who doesn’t see the point in setting down with a nice lady. He has time right?

Before he knows it LT John Price in his early thirties. Nobody to come home to every night actually sucks. Too much beer gives him a headache and he’s not much for parties anymore. He’s picked up a few hobbies like leather-working and fishing, but there is still a void in his life. Price is… alone.

John didn’t fear commitment, but young John didn’t see how keeping a woman by his side would benefit him then. John wishes he could go back in time and smack himself for all the times he turned down sweet kind women who wanted to settle down. He broke so many hearts, all because he thought he had time.

That’s when he starts daydreaming. Thoughts of walking through the front door and being greeted by his lover and maybe even a dog or two. Summers nights stargazing rather than slouched on the couch with a beer in hand. Having purpose, a life outside of his job. So he put the effort into making a dating profile and goes on a few dates. A few horrible dates. So he deleted the profile and slowly gave up.

Then one day you cashed into his life, well... technically he did.

Literally.

John wasn’t paying attention while backing his car out at the supermarket and backed right into your car. Your bumper was deeply scratched and your taillight cracked. You both pulled back into your parking spaces to look at the damage. Before you knew it the idiot driver that backed into you was next to you profusely apologizing. The man had tired eyes and looked defeated at his careless actions. You couldn’t deny that the idiot was incredibly handsome.

“I’m so sorry, I should have looked in my mirror and I didn’t and I-“ John rambled.

“Don’t worry, this car has more scratches than I care to count” you replied giggling.

John was clearly struggling to talk as he was distracted by your beautiful face “I completely busted that taillight. Ma’am I’m so sorry. I can get my insurance and we can get this sorted”

“Well it’s a rather old car, so I have a better proposition” you smiled watching the mountain of a man remove his beanie to rub his hair.

“What would that be” he asked.

You smirked “Well there is a cafe on the corner. You look like you could use a coffee and so could I. We go have a nice cup, sit down like old friends and chat. Look online for a taillight replacement instead of getting insurance involved”.

You pleasantly surprised John and he agreed to your idea. Firstly because he hates dealing with paperwork and secondly because this beautiful creature wanted to actually talk to him. Somehow you two just clicked.After two hours of nonstop chatting and learning about each other John received a call from work demanding him to come in on his day off. Unfortunately closing your time together.

“Well I quite enjoyed this. And if you’re comfortable with it I can install that taillight when it comes in. I would hate for you to do it yourself. And maybe after I can take you out to dinner” John said, getting a little shy with his last sentence. He was praying he didn’t misinterpret and scare you off.

“What a gentleman. I would love that” you eagerly answered. You wrote down your number for him on a napkin.

(000)-000-0000

Y/N xoxo

A broken taillight is the beginning of Domestic!Price

About a week later John arrived on your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, a tool bag and a new taillight. He was a tad bit nervous hoping to make a good impression.

Domestic!Price is the definition of chivalry.

He opens all doors for you and is quick to lend you his coat if you show the slightest signs of a chill.

Before you know it John brings you fresh flowers every week. Your grandmother always told you the stronger the intentions the longer the flowers will last. And the flowers John brings you live for what seems like an eternity.

As much as John wants to move fast he forces himself to slow his pace. He feels the need to prove he’s the gentleman you deserve. Especially after learning about your shitty dating experiences.

Even when he brought you home from your first date he only left with a kiss. Granted it was a long passionate kiss, but just a kiss. He’d desperately wanted to tear your clothes off in that moment, but didn’t want to give off the impression that he expected it. He said goodnight and left. You were kinda shocked that you two didn’t fuck, you took an everything shower and had lingerie under your outfit. But it was actually refreshing to find a man that was satisfied with just a kiss. He wasn’t putting on an act the whole night to get lucky, he was genuinely interested in you.

His good morning texts always arrive to your phone around 5:45AM. John did warn you beforehand that he frequently is away from his phone during meetings and trainings so you never worry about him ignoring or long awaited responses.

John will wake up before you regardless of the day. He’s usually found making coffee/tea and breakfast somewhere around 08:30. He usually brings it all up to bed on a tray. Heaven forbid he lets you lift a finger this early. Every morning you both snuggle with your coffee and listen to the birds chirping outside the window.

Domestic!Price is not very good at cooking, breakfast and desserts are the only things you let him make. Mostly because he’s surprisingly good at making them. You always tell him if he leaves the military he should be a pastry chef. Price likes comfort food, hardy meals that almost make him fall asleep afterwards. He’s in denial about gaining 15 pounds since he met you. But he feels that the extra pounds are just the extra love you gave him to carry around. He had to go down a notch on his belt because he’s got a little love handle to him now. You feed him well.

Football is his thing. Price is very passionate about it but thankfully he’s calm about it, he knows you don’t do well with yelling in the house. Usually takes you to a couple games a season. You two have matching jerseys, yes he had them custom made.

He hates messy. When he first joined the military he had two roommates that never picked up after themselves, neither did he. Until one day he found a molded plate in between the couch cushions, he started to become a clean freak after that. He moved out a few months later when his roommate’s wouldn’t clean up their mess.

Nowadays Domestic!Price loves a clean home. He made a chore list for both of you. He always helps you with your chores despite you telling him to relax. He loves candles and the smell of fresh sheets. Price wasn’t very organized before he met you, thankfully you managed to get the home organized and he can find everything now.

IKEA who? Never head of her. Domestic!price likes wood working. The kitchen table, cabinets, china hutch and so much more was all hand made by price. But the most elaborate thing he’s ever made? The bed frame. It has some… flair as he called it when it was finally put together. The frame has secret pockets for rope to be tied to. Specifically so he can tie you down. And let’s not forget that makeup vanity he made you, that mirror is a lockable cabinet containing a whirlwind of things. Vibes, clamps, ropes, differently shaped dildos, paddles, you name it it’s in there. Why is there two smoke alarms in your bedroom? Well… one of the is just a cover for that ceiling hook so he can suspend you.

Domestic price doesn’t mind vanilla sex. Lots of times you two disregard the kinky objects and are just wrapped in a passionate embrace. John’s not one for staying quiet, both of you could be heard from the front door when you’re together. He will be soundproofing the room if you two decide on kids.

Speaking of kids this man has the biggest breeding kink known to man. It’s not seeing his cum dripping out of your hole that fuels the fire in his belly. It’s the sheer thought of you both sitting around the dinner table with your kids asking each other about their day. Dance recitals and little league games. Watching you being a loving parent and having everything you need. That’s what he desires out of life.

Domestic!Price craves domestic life. Where there’s no threat, no bogeyman in the closet, no sound of gunfire, there’s just you two and the home you created.

John always drives, you’re a passenger princess. If it’s a nice day he takes you out for a drive in his classic car he restored himself. Windows down while 2000’s dad rock plays. Speaking of music he likes to collect vinyls. His collection grew heavily when he started buying records that you like. He plays Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors album weekly.

Domestic!Price likes slow dancing with the lights dimmed late at night. He’s a fan of 70’s music and it’s his usual go to for dancing. His father heavily influenced his music taste.

Price doesn’t care for the term boyfriend. After about a month of you two dating he promoted himself to husband. John said boyfriend “sounds childish at our age” when you asked sweetly what that was about when he introduced himself to your coworkers. He said he wouldn’t do it again if it made you uncomfortable to which you promptly said you liked it and much preferred the idea of being his wife rather than his girlfriend. That night he started looking at rings.

He went through your jewelry taking note if you wore gold or silver more. What types of jewelry styles interested you. The man was on a mission for the perfect ring. And what doesn’t it matter if you two have only been together two months? His grandparents met and married after three months and they were the definition of true love.

And yes he did propose at only four months. It was better than you could have imagined. He planned a whole weekend getaway and you never suspected it. He had rented a private boat for you two and brought champagne and charcuterie. He proposed a toast to you two and got down on one knee. You were both crying tears of joy when you said yes.

Unlike most men who buy their significant other jewelry he doesn’t buy you stones. Pearls, he buys you pearls. Expensive ones too. There’s just something about them on your neck that drives him wild. He hasn’t made the connection but it feeds into his housewife kink. There is something about him coming home from a long day and seeing you in a dress wearing those peals and an apron. A hot meal and the table is already set. You take his coat off and asking him about his day. Perfection.

Domestic!Price doesn’t share much about work. You know what he does and the stresses. He listened to your advice and does some therapy to help deal with his stress levels and the things he’s gone through. He slowly starts thinking about transferring to a job that won’t put him in the field.

He invited the boys over for dinner and his men were quite shocked. John didn’t give them much notice or anything really other than “don’t be late”.

Gaz who showed up in a tracksuit was under the impression this was a boys night with pizza and beer was shocked to arrive at a beautiful home with a perfect garden of roses. Ghost knew of your existence quite well as price loves to talk about your cooking and how much he misses you when they deploy. Soap… well… he said some things in Gaelic that you didn’t understand but surely they were those of surprise. Soap felt like a dumbass for wearing jeans and a cutoff tee.

John met them at the door and welcomed them in. The boys were rather impressed by the decor and how cozy it looked. The men half expected the home to be bare as they never took price as one for decor. But the biggest shock to Soap and Gaz was you, a woman slightly younger than Price who was in cooking in the kitchen is a pretty dress, heels and pearls. Even though Ghost was aware of your existence he was floored at how Price could pull such a beautiful woman.

Price proudly introduced you with his are around you lower back. After pleasantries they all offered to help you finish cooking, to which you laughed and said no. Even price shook his head because he knows you have your process of cooking and don’t like extra hands because it overwhelms you. And when you brought them a tray of neatly made drinks you have sworn Soap about died. No wonder Price always comes to work in a good mood, he’s got a pretty bird like you at home.

After seeing what his captains life is like outside of work it gave him some hope, maybe it’s possible to have a stable relationship with this job. Soap made a joke about “sharing”. That was the first time Price ever thought of beating Soap into the ground. Price is too proud of the life he daydreamed about to let another man or woman come into the picture. Just the thought of losing you or your lips kissing anyone but his will send him into a spiral. You’re his world. His to love, fuck, and protect.

Domestic!Price likes to slow down when he’s not at work. Life at a slower pace is more enjoyable. He can take in the sweet moments and the sunshine. He slowly starts bringing Simon and the boys around more and they too realize this.

Domestic!price doesn’t fully understand social media. He isn’t on any, most because of his job. Plus he doesn’t like how fake people are on it. He lets you post pictures of you two together but his face is always uniquely hidden, for your own protection of course. The first picture you posted of you two was actually from your wedding. You both walked together hand in hand as he was kissing your temple. After that you received several calls and texts from old friends and distant relatives asking when did you get married? Who is he? Where did you two meet?

Speaking of yours and prices wedding domestic Price was very involved in the planning. He found the most beautiful venue and really liked picking florals. I mean this man went over budget because he wanted the most elegant and elaborate flower arrangements. If you have any cultural customs John was very adamant that your customs would be met to your specifications.

Unfortunately John’s family is a handful and wanted to plan the wedding, his mother thought it was her big day. John sat her down and had a long conversation about boundaries and respect towards his soon to be wife. She actually apologized as she didn’t realize how much she was overstepping. Your mother was shocked that John was very involved with the planning, but it made her adore him even more.

You both have relatively large families but decided to keep the guests list under sixty people. Only close family and friends. This ruffled some feathers but it made for a perfect day. John is very good at controlling his emotions but when he seen you walk down the aisle his eyes welled with tears.

Domestic!Price can’t wear his ring to work. He wanted to tattoo a ring or your name somewhere on him but still feared it could be used as easy leverage. So he has a large chest tattoo that incorporates your favorite flowers and bird. In fact he starts slowing getting tattoos about you. It’s his way of keeping you with him when he’s gone.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

For the person in my messages who asked for tips on tackling the Silmarillion and then suggested that I put them in a post — here they are! This is just my personal opinion, and others have weighed in on this topic before. But in case it’s helpful:

1. Be kind to yourself about this task! There’s a reason lots of people find the Silm challenging, and if you do, too, that’s no judgment of you.

2. IMHO, the first few chapters are the hardest, so try not to let them intimidate you out of the whole thing. It starts off with this very formal, archaic tone, and the early chapters take on some very abstract, metaphysical ideas. But you get used to the tone, and the story comes down out of the clouds to something more grounded and closer to a traditional (but still mythological-style) narrative. (Note “hardest” does not mean “bad” — I love those chapters!)

3. Realistically, you are not going to remember every name, place, and detail, so have a plan for that. Everything’s got a thousand names and Tolkien doesn’t always do a good job telegraphing what info is significant and will come back later vs what will literally only ever be mentioned once in passing. So expect to take some notes or spend time flipping back to earlier chapters or to the index or just googling as needed to remind yourself exactly who that angry elf is and why it’s a big deal that his own magical dog wants nothing to do with him now.

4. Find someone to read along/discuss with you. Talking about it helps you retain the info better, puzzle out stuff you found confusing, and stoke your interest by letting you dive deep into characters or themes or ideas that are especially amazing (Gwindor my beloved!). You can read along with someone in real life, someone here (hi!) or with a podcast or YouTube series, of which there are a bunch that go through the book chapter by chapter in an accessible way. (If anyone wants recs for this purpose, just LMK!)

5. Embrace that the story is nuanced and complex, which means your reaction can be the same. If you read it and find yourself wondering, “I’m not sure how to feel about [cursed human X] doing [morally objectionable thing Y]” or “I don’t understand where [spider-shaped creature of darkness Z] came from and how she got so incredibly cool powerful?” — that doesn’t mean you read it wrong! There is room for interpretation, and a lot of questions raised by the book don’t actually have obvious answers. (Questions like, is evil ever justified? Can redemption be earned and how? What do we owe to others even at a cost to ourselves? Big stuff!)

6. DNF it if you want! There’s no rule that says you have to read the Silm to be a Tolkien fan, and you don’t have to suffer through something you find unpleasant just to earn some Tolkien Points. I think it’s a gorgeous book that feeds my need to wrestle with big Life Questions while giving me some indelible characters that will always stay with me, but you don’t have to think that. Art is subjective, and there are plenty of other ways to enjoy Tolkien if the Silm turns out not to be your thing.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Just a Dog Walker

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x grad student!dog walker!fem!reader

Summary: As Tim's dog walker, and nothing more, you grow close to him and Kojo. After protecting Kojo from a dog fight, you learn how Tim really sees you.

Warnings: dog attack, dog bite (r), fluffy ending. (Kojo is totally fine!)

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

A/N: More Kojo, what the world really needs.

“Sergeant Bradford, come to my office for a minute?” Wade asks.

“No,” Tim answers quickly. “Uh, sorry. No, sir, I can’t.”

Crossing his arms, Wade inquires, “Why not?”

A low huff is audible in Tim’s office, but Wade knows it isn’t him.

“Is yo’ dog under that desk?”

“No.”

“Let me amend the question. Is Kojo under the desk?”

Kojo barks happily, trying to push past Tim to visit Wade. Wade shakes his head, dropping his arms.

“Why is he here?”

“I’m working a double and I couldn’t leave him at home. What if he had run out of water or needed to go out?” Tim answers.

“You know, here in sunny Los Angeles, there are more people than I can count who are certified dog sitters.”

“Kojo doesn’t like strangers.”

“Just Kojo? Look, Tim, I get it, the bond between a man and his dog. But, there has to be a boundary, a separation somewhere. I’ll call Luna, she’s got friends with dogs and trusted, bonded employees who watch their dogs. Walk ‘em daily, train ‘em, do everything while you’re at work.”

“I can take care of my dog by myself.”

“Not while you’re at work, Bradford. He can stay for now, Lord knows he’s a better boy than you, but by the end of the week I want to know you’ve got someone to care for him.”

Tim grumbles, pushing his hands under the desk to pet Kojo. “I’ll take you up on Luna’s friends then.”

“She’ll call later.”

“You already asked her?”

“’Course I did. We have work to do. And, so you know, we can see Kojo’s paws under the desk. But nice try.”

“I tried, buddy,” Tim tells Kojo, passing him a treat from the container hidden in his desk drawer.

✯✯✯✯✯

Grad school is expensive, but since you don’t have the degree level you are striving for, you need a different job to get you through. Pushing 30 and being a dog walker isn’t ideal, but it’s paying the bills. One of your neighbors helped you open a business with proper insurance and licensing to care for the dogs of Los Angeles. 

Most of your clients live nearby, and you do your rounds twice daily, studying and attending classes between. One of your favorite clients has a friend named Luna, who you love. She gets you jobs, helps you out constantly, and is like a mother figure to you. You are forever grateful for her. So, when she calls, you rush to answer.

“Hey, Luna!” you answer. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you doing? Still working on your dissertation; making progress?”

“Slow but steady, yeah. What can I do for you?”

“This is actually something I can do for you. There’s a sergeant that works with Wade; he’s got a dog and needs someone trusted to take care of his dog while he’s at work. He’s been sneaking Kojo into the station and Wade had to ask him to stop.”

“Kojo? That’s an adorable name. But, yeah, I’d be happy to meet him.”

“Awesome! His name’s Tim. I will send him your number and have Wade force him to set something up.”

“Is Tim a little rough around the edges, typical cop type?”

“Not typical, no… Just- you’ll see when you meet him. He’s great, though, deep down.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Thanks, Luna.”

“See you Friday?”

“See you Friday.”

You sit back, writing the name ‘Tim’ on your dog-walking calendar. Another client would be great for your wallet, but it seems like this sergeant will take some convincing before he hires you. This is understandable, of course, because you wouldn’t let just anyone take care of your babies, and dogs are just four-legged babies. 

“Please be as great as Luna said,” you whisper before returning your attention to the research before you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Yeah, I texted her. We’re meeting at an outdoor café tonight,” Tim says before Wade can ask. “But if I don’t like her or if Kojo doesn’t like her, I’m going to keep looking.”

“Got it,” Wade answers. “But you’ve got more double shifts in your future, so don’t take too long trying to find a ‘perfect’ dog walker.”

Tim nods, hoping he can find a way out of letting a stranger into his house to take care of his dog. He checked your name, and your business seems legitimate, but there’s no way of knowing. Luckily, he and Kojo are both excellent judges of character.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luna sent you a picture of Kojo, and you spot him immediately. The man sitting beside him, though, is breathtakingly handsome. You’re shocked that he doesn’t have female neighbors and friends lining up at his door, offering to take care of Kojo (and him). 

“Hi, Mr. Bradford?” you ask.

Kojo looks up at you and pants, his tail slapping against Tim’s leg.

“Yes. Nice to meet you,” Tim replies, offering his hand.

Shaking his hand, you glance down at Kojo. When Tim releases his grip, you squat and extend your hand for Kojo to sniff. He flips your hand up with his snout, stepping closer to you.

“I’m sure Luna told you that I’m a cop,” Tim continues, drawing your attention away from Kojo.

You sit beside him, lowering a hand to pat Kojo’s head. “She did, sir.”

“Then you know that if anything were to happen to my house during or after your visit, I could very easily charge you with any number of crimes. And I won’t tell you what I would do if something happened to Kojo while under your care.”

You can’t tell if his threat is legitimate, so you nod in understanding.

“Yes, sir, I understand. Kojo’s safety, and your home, of course, are of the utmost importance and I will do everything I can to do right by both of you.”

Tim nods, watching Kojo for a moment. “You’re good with him. He’s not always so welcoming with strangers; scared one of my girlfriends away once. So, I’m going to give you a chance.”

“Amazing. Thank you, sir. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“What do we need to do to get started?”

“I can offer you a few days free, as a trial run. And if you still want to keep me on afterward, we can discuss payment, sir.”

“That’s unnecessary. I need someone to take care of Kojo and you seem to be the best fit.”

“Okay. Then I will email you a link to create a client account and my website has a portal to pay. Luna mentioned that you work overnight sometimes, so if you needed me to do later or earlier visits, I can do that too, sir.”

“Sounds good.”

Tim stands, wiping his hand on his jeans before offering his hand again.

“Nice to meet you and I look forward to your email.”

“You, too. And thank you.”

Petting Kojo once more, you smile before walking away. You didn’t expect him to be so attractive, so you have to remember that he clarified you’re his dogwalker, and he doesn’t even really want a dogwalker.

Determined to make him see the benefits of someone caring for Kojo, you add him to your schedule before he even pays you. Money is no longer a concern; you’re already in love with Kojo, and now, you need to focus on not falling for his owner, too.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What’d you think about her? I know you hired her, but what’d you think personally?” Luna asks, standing in Wade’s office.

Tim shrugs. “She’s very polite. Seems driven, hard-working, responsible.”

“Well, now that you’ve read her resumé, have anything else to add?”

Tim doesn’t answer, and Wade guesses, “She makes you nervous?”

“A little.”

“What?” Luna exclaims. “She’s the sweetest!”

“Not like that, Luna,” Wade interjects. “Someone wasn’t expecting a pretty dog walker.”

“Oh. Tim Bradford, I wasn’t sure you still had it in you.”

“She is taking care of Kojo. Yes, she is beautiful, but this won’t go any farther than a business agreement.”

“Care to bet on that?” Wade asks.

“No,” Tim answers before leaving and closing the door behind him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Kojo, Kojo,” you call, entering Tim’s house with the key he had made for you.

Kojo’s nails click on the flooring, rushing to greet you.

“Hey, buddy. You miss your dad? I bet you do.”

As you slide Kojo’s harness over his front legs, he licks your face, and you laugh, scratching his chest before standing to connect his leash. Kojo has quickly become your favorite dog. You visit several throughout the day, but Kojo is the sweetest and the most handsome.

When you return to Tim’s side door, it’s standing open. You know that you closed and locked it, so you pull Kojo’s leash tight, stepping back as you prepare to run.

“It’s just me!” Tim yells from inside. “Sorry, my hands were full, and I couldn’t close the door.”

Sighing in relief, you lead Kojo inside, closing the door behind you and locking it instinctually.

“Honey, we’re home!” you call.

Tim freezes in the kitchen at your teasing, borderline flirtatious tone. You remove Kojo’s leash and harness and put it away, following him as he runs toward Tim.

“Why are you home so early?” you ask.

“I worked all night,” Tim answers. “Thought you’d feel my absence through our connection.”

You chuckle at Tim’s flirting. After the second meeting, it became much easier to talk to him. Interestingly enough, Tim started the flirtatious tendencies. You tend to stick to business-related topics, but sometimes it feels like you’re just two friends – maybe more – and you forget you’re just his dog walker.

“Everything go okay at work, sir? Kojo, for one, had a great day.”

Tim says your name, a sigh more than anything. “I told you a week ago to stop calling me sir.”

“Sorry, sir- Tim.”

Tim looks away suddenly, turning his attention to the bags he carried inside while you were walking Kojo.

“Did you even wonder where Kojo was?” you ask.

“No. I know his dog walker is punctual… and a control freak.”

“Planning my day doesn’t make me a control freak!”

“You have it planned to the minute.”

“To accommodate you,” you grumble.

“Yet you won’t let me take you on a date.”

“You won’t ask.”

You fall silent, and when you think you took it too far, Kojo barks and makes you both laugh. Talking to Tim is easy, but no matter how much you love Kojo or think you could be more, you must keep everything in perspective. Tim is older, a police sergeant, and you are his college student dog walker.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hello?” you ask, answering your phone and rubbing your eyes as you look away from the computer screen.

“Hey,” Tim says. “I’m so sorry for the late notice but I’m going to be here overnight. Could you-“

“I’ll go over now.”

“Listen, it’s crazy out there right now. If you want to stay there, please do. I don’t want you out more than you have to be.”

“Tim, that’s not necessary.”

“Please. It’s not just for your safety; I’ll feel better knowing that you’re somewhere safe.”

“Okay,” you reply. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m insisting. Kojo is a cuddler, but that’s all you have to fear there.”

“Oh, you should have started with that. Kojo cuddles sound amazing.”

“Long day?”

“Not as long as yours. I’ll text you when I get there. Thank you, Tim.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“See you then.”

The drive to Tim’s house is short, but you hear several police sirens. Whatever they’re dealing with does seem (as Tim put it) crazy. Once you’re inside and the alarm is reset, you collapse on the couch and let Kojo cuddle up to you. You feel weirdly close to Tim, too, probably from being in his house. Falling asleep here is easy; you’re at peace, happy, and cuddled by a warm, loving dog.

✯✯✯✯✯

Waking up is not quite as peaceful. Tim is taking a picture, and when you grunt, he lowers the phone and smiles.

“That’s adorable,” he states.

“I’m quitting,” you murmur, throwing an arm over Kojo.

“You know, he didn’t even come see me when I got home? He’s a cheater, although I can’t blame him. It does look pretty comfortable.”

Ignoring him, you move closer to Kojo.

“Consider this my two hours’ notice.”

Tim chuckles, and the couch dips by your feet as he sits. When you sit up, he’s leaning back with his eyes closed.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your way so you can rest. Need me to come back later?”

“No, I’m here all day. If you want to stay, you can.”

“I have a paper to finish,” you lament. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” You’re gathering your things when Tim reiterates, “Seriously. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

“Drive safe.”

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s cloudy in Los Angeles, like a bad omen. So, you’re seriously considering taking Tim’s previous offer of staying at his house to work. Kojo is the last dog you visit, and you look down at him as he sniffs the base of a streetlight.

“Mind if I stay with you for the rest of the day?” you ask him.

Kojo’s tail wags faster, but he’s still more interested in the light than you.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Kojo picks his head up, continuing toward the corner as you lead him down the sidewalk. You see something move up the road and command Kojo to stop. Unsure if it’s a dog or some other animal, you wait a moment before walking again.

With your attention on the unknown shadow before you, you fail to hear a dog running up behind you. Kojo turns suddenly, and you don’t register what’s happening as you push him out of the way.

Another dog, about Kojo’s size, with no leash or owner in sight, is on top of you. Kojo is barking, trying to help, but you yell at him to stay back.

“Kojo, sit!” you yell over the other dog’s growling.

Your yell turns to a cry of pain when the dog’s jaw clamps down on your arm, his claws digging into your side.

“Get off!” you yell, your adrenaline giving you the strength to push back. 

Once you’re sitting up, you use your legs to free yourself from the dog’s grip. Kojo is behind you, unharmed, and you need to keep it that way. Flipping yourself on top of the dog, it releases your arm before moving its legs wildly, raking a paw across your face as it tries to move away.

“Go!” you yell harshly, moving enough to let it up.

Stomping your foot after it, you show the dog you’re in charge and wait in front of Kojo until it’s out of sight.

“Kojo, we have to go,” you say quickly, grabbing his leash and limping behind him as he leads you home.

Kojo focuses on getting you inside, and when you close the door and fall to the floor, he moves to your side. He whimpers, and you want to comfort him, but you are growing dizzy.

“You okay, boy?” you mumble.

You scream in pain when you raise your hand to check that Kojo is okay. After dropping your arm, your breathing grows shallow as tears stream down your face. Kojo whines again, and you want to reach for your phone, but your arms feel too heavy to move. Looking down, you suddenly realize the severity of what happened. Covered in blood and with no strength to call for help, you whisper an apology to Kojo and let your eyes drift close.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim sighs as he turns onto his street. He’s ready to see Kojo and, if he’s lucky, you. When Tim sees your car in the driveway, he smiles and rushes toward the door. That happiness quickly disappears when he notices the trail of blood leading up the driveway. Walking to the sidewalk, he sees that it leads nearly to the corner. Racing to the backdoor, which has a large blood smear below a clear handprint, Tim keeps a hand on his gun as he unlocks the door.

Kojo’s whimpering greets Tim, and when he looks down, he sees that Kojo has blood on him. Kojo looks over quickly, and Tim follows his movement. Whatever fear he felt when he saw the blood on Kojo is multiplied when he sees you.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Tim calls for an ambulance before kneeling beside you.

“Is Kojo okay?” you ask weakly.

“He’s okay,” Tim promises, leaning closer in a poor attempt to find the source of your blood. “What hurts?”

“What doesn’t? Did you check on Kojo? He seemed okay but I couldn’t make sure the blood was mine.”

Tim turns, running his hands all over Kojo. The blood is only on his fur, evidently not his.

“He’s fine,” Tim repeats, his voice breaking at the end. “You are not.”

“There was a dog free running and I- I didn’t see it. Kojo stayed behind me so I need him to be okay.”

Tears are running down your face again, mixing with the blood. Tim wants to wipe them away, but the clear claw mark over your cheek deters him.

“There’s an ambulance on the way, you’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

“Don’t you dare apologize. Just stay awake.”

“Kojo- Kojo’s a good boy,” you mumble.

“He is. Can you please keep your eyes on me? The ambulance is almost here.”

You nod, and the last thing you remember is Tim’s apologetic look and a painful pressure on your side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim, are you coming with?” Bailey asks.

Tim stares at the bloodstain on his floor and up his wall rather than looking toward her. “I’ll be there soon.”

“We’ll keep you updated. She’ll be okay.”

Tim nods and waits for the EMTs to exit the house before he begins cleaning. He scrubs until every trace of your blood is erased from inside and on the door. After animal control captured the dog, several officers went out to find the dog's owner. Nolan promised to come by and clean the driveway, so Tim concentrated his efforts inside.

“Alright, Kojo, our turn,” Tim calls, letting Kojo into the bathroom to remove the blood from his fur. 

After Tim cleans Kojo and himself and throws away the blood-stained rags and cleaning supplies, he gathers his things to visit you in the hospital.

“I’ll be back with our girl,” Tim promises Kojo as he leaves.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m sorry.” You can’t stop the apology when Tim walks in.

“Stop apologizing. You kept that dog away from Kojo and I don’t- I can’t lose you. I walked in and you were covered in blood… I should have told you before that I care about you.”

“It’s my job to take care of Kojo,” you whisper.

Tim moves to the side of the bed, gently taking your hand. “You are not just a dog walker. I’ve been falling for you since the moment I laid eyes on you. The fact that you love Kojo solidified it for me.”

“I- I have feelings for you too,” you admit.

“They told me your pretty face won’t scar.”

“I barely even remember what happened.”

Tim sits beside your legs as he tells you, “Nolan and Celina arrested the dog’s owner. It wasn’t the first time he had done this.”

“Given a poor, unsuspecting college student thirty stitches while she’s just trying to spend the afternoon in her crush’s house? Oddly specific crime. What’s the code for that?”

Tim chuckles, gently squeezing your hand. “You can go home now. If you’re still up to spend some time in your crush’s house.”

“Tim-“

“Don’t tell me I don’t have to. I want to, need to.”

“I would love to spend time with you and Kojo. But I’m not sure I’m up for flirting today, handsome.”

“After the day you’ve had, just sit back and I’ll do all the flirting.”

“’Preciate that, sir.”

Tim laughs as he exits the room to complete your discharge paperwork. You smile behind him, hoping you’re not dreaming, and you finally told him how you feel.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Kojo,” Tim chides. “Give her some room.”

“You cleaned all the blood?”

Tim gently directs your eyes to him, leaning close to remind you, “You’re more than just a dog walker. Worth the time, the effort, the love, all of it.”

“Love?”

“Yeah. Kojo really loves you.”

You laugh, quickly remembering that you have several stitches on your side.

“Careful,” Tim requests.

“Are you certified to help someone sit still while stitches hold their side closed?” you ask.

“Depends on the patient. You? Absolutely.”

Tim helps you get comfortable on the couch before walking to the kitchen to gather some water and snacks. When he returns, Kojo is cuddled up to your uninjured side.

“Really? Again?” Tim asks.

“I love you,” you say, completely distracting Tim as he kneels before you. “But I also think I really want to quit this time.”

Tim laughs, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “That’s fine. I am looking for a girlfriend rather than a dog walker now anyway.”

“Care to see my resumé?”

“Memorized it last time.”

[shanklin]

Okay but the au of an au where Stanley has to raise Shermie is tragic, because what if he accidentally passes down tragedy cycle of selfishness or what if he does the opposite and has Shermie overindulge of not feeling selfless.

Because Stan deep down what he is feeling is awful he can’t shake guilt when he is just trying to survive, he doesn’t want Shermie to feel the same way, he can’t have Shermie feel the same way.

If he has to teach Shermie to be selfish to survive then he will. Because in a dog eat dog world, Stan will make sure his baby brother won’t be eaten.

Stan is a selfish monster for murdering his father, not just his but Shermie’s as well. But he couldn’t just stand by. He’s a selfish monster for stealing, but everything he’s buying is going towards Shermie.

He will do what takes to not only survive, but to have Shermie stay with him. Stan no longer has anyone in his life but Shermie and he’s be damned if he lets any other adult come near his baby brother.

He holds Shermie with one arm and a knife in the other, prepared to face the cruel world set out to harm them.

The domino effect I feel like if Stan raised Shermie is that maybe Shermie ends up seeing Stan as a parental figure and grows up not being able to trust adults. Stan and Shermie end up having a very very codependent bond, Shermie has to grow up worrying about Stan sacrificing too much of himself.

Because he notices how his big brother always feeds Shermie first.

Maybe if Soos comes along in this au, he has to work twice as hard to get the boys to trust him.

Also Ford feels a strange sense of feeling left out observing Stan and Shermie because Shermie has no clue who Ford even is. And Stan and Shermie share a closer bond currently than what He and Stan have now.

And it’s heartbreaking because Ford doesn’t know how to communicate that he wants to help, that he misses his twin and wants to get to know his little brother but Stan is keeping that distance because Stan is unable to trust as easily anymore.

And Shermie follows in Stan’s example.

Stan: Step away from Shermie, take ten paces back

Mabel: Pumpkin, —

Stan: I SAID TEN PACES BACK

Mabel: Stan, I just want to help. You can’t raise a child on your own.

Stan: *his hands shaking but he fires right next to Mabel’s feet, she finally takes a few steps back*

Shermie: *is behind Stanley, Stanley acts as a wall, as Shermie is grasping onto Stan’s shirt*

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

Singsong voice

Oh Aaanon~

That’s not an ask, Anon. That’s a short outline for a nice long fiiiiic

Drop the fic and your ao3 Aaaanon. You know you want to~

No pressure of course. Looks at the next ask hmmm

Anyways I love it! It would be so horrible and codependent, as you said.

Letting Stan, who is still a kid himself, raise another kid. A baby. [I imagine Shermie to be a baby when Caryn left or very young toddler.]

Stan gets to be stressed 24/7, it’s great! 

He’s got not time to think about his own needs so at least he can’t do anything wrong in that regard…though wait!

Now I’m thinking of Stan just wanting a little moment to himself. Maybe go outside to the beach for just a couple of minutes. Just to breathe. Maybe even play a little bit by himself, if he dares to take that long. He loves Shermie but all those baby games are terribly boring.

He leaves Shermie alone with their dad. It should be fine, right? Filbrick hasn’t shown any interest in Shermie whatsoever or any sort indication that he would hurt him. That type of stuff is reserved for Stan alone.

And hey, Stan is right! Filbrick doesn’t do anything to Shermie, but he also doesn’t pay attention...taking care of children is a woman's job. Or well now it's Stanley’s.

In the 15 minutes Stan is gone, Shermie almost chokes on a big coin he found on the floor and Filbrick ends up having to call an ambulance.

It’s all Stan's fault. Shermie is his responsibility and he just left him there to die. 

Now Stan has panic attacks every time Shermie leaves his line of vision 👍

And since no one bothers to help Stan deal with his trauma the panic just gets worse and worse over the next couple of years.

If Stan had his way he'd never let go of Shermie's hand ever again. The contact is the only thinh able to calm Stan's heart.

As for Shermie? He’s a toddler. They’re wired to be selfish little creatures by nature. Empathy only comes with age. 

He doesn’t know anything other than Stan being always there, so I guess the little guy would end up being just as scared without Stan around to hold his hand. He’s never gonna learn any independance at this rate 🥲

Hmm something something, about Stan running away with Shermie, but they get caught and separated, so Stan is having just one quiet panic attack after another. 

Stan gets shipped off the Gravity Falls, but it takes another two weeks or so until Shermie is allowed into their custody.

During that time Stan is completely on edge, irritable, rude, throws insults at them etc. He's a caged animal with no where to run, because he has to wait for Shermie :')

And everyone is like 😨 

My brother/nephew is gone. There is nothing left of the boy we remember.

And then Shermie arrives and 

Oh

That’s where their Stan went. He stayed with Shermie.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Two of a Kind 8

Masterlist

NO TAGS. Don’t ask.

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; manipulation; criminal behaviour; cumplay/creampie, talk of contraception; written for smut, just being honest. Not all elements will be tagged/warned.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features dark!Ransom Drysdale and dark!Modern Charles Blackwood. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Ransom and Charles are partner’s in crime but they’re looking for some pleasure after years of business.

Note: :)

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya.

Ransom paces. He’s agitated. Charles always has to be the big man. Always has to be in control. That’s not how this works. This is a partnership. They are equal, in all their gains. It’s why they’re so efficient. 

So how come he’s out in the cold and Charlie Boy is cuddled up nice and close with the kitty. He bets he’s in there getting a double dip. Fucking unbelievable. 

Ransom snarls and flops onto the couch. His satin boxers tickle his tip and he hardens. He hasn’t fully calmed down. Every time he thinks about how she squeezed him, he tingles and twitches. Fuck, that was good. Who would’ve thought?  

He sighs and stands up. He charges down the hall to Charles’ room then stops. He strides back to the front room and retraces his steps a second time. He snarls and cracks his neck. They had a fucking deal. They share. So why is he in there hogging her all to himself? 

He closes his eyes and pictures her shivering in the tub. The tears streaked down her cheeks and the glistening, sticky aftermath of fucking all over her skin. The way he covered her has him fully hard. Fuck it, he’s not waiting until morning. 

He turns the handle and swings the door inward. The room is dark. He can smell the chamomile. Charles’ snores rumble in the dark. He always sounded like a pig in heat when he slept. Ransom slows as his eyes adjust to the dim. 

He sees her squirm. She’s under Charles’ arm. He thinks she’s awake, he swears he can feel her eyes on him. He nears quietly, placing each foot carefully, and bends over the side of the bed. He measures’ his accomplices snores. 

He runs his fingertips down her arm and wraps his fingers around her wrist. He’s lucked out and he’s not gonna pass up the prime opportunity. He tugs her and she whimpers. He hisses out a hush. She gulps and slides out from beneath the blankets and Charles’ arm. 

Ransom stops and pulls her to him as the other man grumbles and shifts onto his stomach. He puts his hand over her mouth to quiet her gasp and she presses flush to him. She’s still naked. 

He turns her and walks her toward the door. He ushers her into the hall as she awkwardly mimics his steps. He reaches back to close the door and she whines. 

“Please, I’m tired--” 

“Shut up,” he snarls. “You can sleep, I’ll still fuck you.” 

“But... Ransom... I... I thought you liked me--” 

He chuckles, sure to keep it low. He nudges her down the hall. He points over her shoulder. 

“I like what you can give me. Well, more what you have. By nature, really. Nothing special but those holes do the job,” he smacks her ass and reaches past her to open his bedroom door. “So why don’t you show them off for me, baby.” 

She curls her shoulders, looking even smaller, and his balls throb. He feels full even though he was aching moments ago. Been a while since he felt so... ready. Usually, he just rolls over and prays he wakes up to an empty bed. 

She hesitates and looks around. He huffs. She’s a bit stupid. Her fear gets him going but it’s also fucking annoying.  

He marches up and grabs the back of her neck. He urges her to the end of the bed and guides her to kneel on the cushioned bench, like a fucking dog. Mm, he likes that. She’s his. His obedient little pet. 

Her back racks visibly as she quivers. He gets behind her and pushes down his boxers, the fabric catching on his swollen tip. He growls and stretches the elastic past his length. He lets the satin fall to his feet and grabs her hip. 

He steps closer and presses his tip along your ass. He smears around the precum already trickling out and shudders. His entire body pulses at the sensation.  

The surge drives him. He bends his knees and leans over her. She whines as he traces down past her ring, a moment of intrigue before he finds her cunt. Charles wouldn’t forgive him if he took her ass without him. 

He glides between her swollen folds and feels her flinches. He groans and rubs against her cunt. He pushes against her opening and she drones as she tenses. Her body resists his intrusion but it only goads him on. 

He snaps his hips and breaks through. She cries out and he once more brings his hand to her mouth. He puts his other on the bench as he bends over her and thrusts again. It takes several tilts for him to bottom out as she sobs into his palm. 

Her agony fills him with smoky delight. Fuck. Her walls throb, milking him as he tries to fight the pressure. He can’t blow already. 

He rolls his hips slowly, enjoying the feeling of her around him, so tight and slick, then the tingle of the naked air around him as he pulls out. In, out. He stands up, bringing her with him, and watches himself pump into her. Shit. Don’t, don’t, don’t. 

He exhales away the swell and carries on. He covers half her face with his hand and ruts harder and harder, pausing after each rippling slap of skin. He leans his head back as his eyes roll into his skull. Her fractured voice is smothered by his palm and she quakes uncontrollably at his mercy. 

He spasms as he erupts, unable to hold it in any longer. He fills her up as he fucks his cum into her until it squelches and leaks out. Even then, he doesn’t stop. He could keep her on him forever. 

👄

You stare at Ransom’s back. Your insides crawl and threaten to spill over. You stare at his muscles, the power woven through them, and you feel the weakness in you. 

His breath rises and falls as you lay in the soft hue cast through the window. You suppress a groan as you turn onto your back. It takes all you have to sit up. You hunch over and touch your pelvis as it scalds.  

You nearly stumble out of the bed. You limp to the door and glance back at his sleeping figure, focusing on him to make sure he isn’t awake. You slip through the door, leaving it slightly open, and creep down the hall. 

Your clothes are still on the floor. You dress in the grim night shade. The friction of fabric on your skin makes you wretch. You can’t stand even that. You never want to be touched again. 

You find your shoes and bag by the door. You stop to listen to the house as you put your coat on. You take out your phone before you flip back the lock. You sneak out into the whipping gales and steel yourself for the walk home. At least, you hope you find your way back. 

You open your maps app and follow the small blue arrow through the desolate night time. Each step is torture. When you trip off a curb, you feel it inside. 

You cry again, here and there, replaying the night in your head. Reliving your own mistakes. How could you ever believe Ransom? You really thought he was into you... 

Your mom can’t know. She’d be horrified. Or... what if she doesn’t believe you? 

That hurts more than anything they did to you. No one would believe you. If they did, they’d say it was your fault. You went to his house, you stayed there with both of them, you didn’t fight hard enough. No, you let them use you. 

You stop and sit on a bench. You know this part of town. You’re just too tired to keep going. You just need a minute. Or two. Or three. 

It takes you a while to get up again. Shivering, you watch the battery on your phone drain. You put it away as you recognise the street signs. It’s like a maze as you struggle to push through the pain and the blistering wind. 

You just want to go home and forget tonight. Forget it like it never happened. 

As you reach your front door, you fumble for the keys. You ease inside, keeping your steps soft and sitting to take off your boots. You hug your bag, huddling over it, and shuffle down the hall. The light flicks on above you. 

You blanch as your mother’s voice calls after you. You inhale and face her, hoping she can’t see your sadness. You force a smile. 

“Mom...” 

“There you are,” she says. “I’ve been waiting all night. I thought you’d be home before me.” 

“I’m sorry, mom, I... I lost track of time--” 

“You couldn’t call, or message?” 

“I know, mom. I—I—” You stutter. “I’m an adult.” 

She scoffs, “I know that but I worry.” 

“It’s okay--” 

“Okay? Out all night with a boy. You never know what could happen.” 

You sniffle, “mom.” 

“I’m just trying to look out for you, honey.” She girds and lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but... I’m just glad you’re safe.” 

She comes forward and you tremble. You want so desperately to hug her and cry against her. No, like you said, you’re an adult, you made this decision. 

“Well, did you have fun?” She asks. 

The question nearly bowls you over. You stare at her dumbly and shrug. She smiles and snickers, “oh, you don’t have to tell me everything.” 

Good, because you’re not telling her anything. 

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Dog days are over

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Elizabeth isn’t a dog person… but you are. After the puppy interview, you try to convince your girlfriend to take one of them home.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. It was inspired by the iconic puppy interview, obviously, but I changed the questions to fit the plot.

MASTERLIST

“Oh, my God,” you uttered at yourself under your breath, immediately bringing a hand to cover your mouth and stop a laugh from escaping as you watched the scene unfold in front of the cameras.

You were sitting behind the expensive equipment among the technical team while you all watched your girlfriend, Elizabeth, sitting in the middle of the room with several puppies surrounding her as she tried to answer the questions being thrown her way. It had been complete havoc since the start, something you had predicted when Elizabeth first told you she agreed with that interview - an internet success, which you had watched many other actors doing it before. However, Elizabeth kept her distance from most animals and you were waiting for the chaos that was going on right now.

What you didn’t expect was that a black puppy would jump to try to bite her hair and just fall on her chest, causing Elizabeth to squeak before she could stop herself. You had to hold your laugh the best you could so you wouldn’t disturb the recording, but you almost slipped when you saw your girlfriend trying to cover up her reaction by laughing and awkwardly scooping the puppy into her arms. You usually didn’t tag along to her interviews - especially because sitting behind the camera all day was boring as hell - but Elizabeth had asked you if you wanted to go with her and you didn’t think twice before saying yes. The reason? That scene right there. A slightly panicked Elizabeth holding an overly excited puppy who was waggling his tail and trying to lick her face.

Well, the fact that there were going to be cute puppies also convinced you to be there.

Elizabeth might not be used to being around animals like that, but you grew up surrounded by them. Since you were a small child, your family had a dog, which ended up coming home pregnant one day and the house was suddenly filled with eight other puppies. Your mother managed to give two of them to other family members before you started crying and screaming saying you didn’t want them to go, and that has been it. You grew up surrounded by dogs. When you left for college, you couldn’t adopt any dog since they took so much time, but you entered your dorm one day and found a black cat sitting on top of your computer, and that’s how you ended up with a new pet. The cat, unfortunately, was already a bit old and he ended up passing away a couple of years after you left college.

Since then, you hadn’t gotten any other pets because you lived in an apartment and had a demanding job that kept you away most of the time, but you loved going back to your parents’ house because they still had many dogs and some other animals - your father still hadn’t explained how they ended up with a tortoise, but you were fine with it.

So, yes, you were having the time of your life.

“Are you a cat person?” The question made by one of the interviewers brought your attention back to the scene in front of you.

When Elizabeth quickly replied with a short “nope” you laughed before you could stop yourself, but luckily you weren’t the only one since everyone else in the room shared the feeling. It also made Elizabeth laugh while she looked around at everyone else and struggled to get the black puppy with the blue collar out of her lap at the same time. Her eyes met yours for a brief second, something that made you smile softly even if you could see the silent ask for help behind her green eyes.

“Is it obvious I’m not a dog person?” Elizabeth wondered out loud with another laugh. “The way you said that like ‘so are you an any kind of animal person?’” She said, trying to sound like the woman asking her the questions. “Are you a bunny person?” She joked in the end, which only made everyone laugh again.

The dog in her lap finally gave up trying to lick her face and ran away to play with his little friends, and you saw how Elizabeth visibly relaxed, having a small break from the cute attackers for once. You were still smiling at her, unable to believe how cute your girlfriend was, when you felt something touching your feet. You looked down and saw that one of the puppies had run into you while playing with a toy and you didn’t think twice before leaning down to pet the cute dog. That was the puppy that seemed the most excited about Elizabeth since the beginning, jumping into her as soon as they saw her, and you received the same treatment as her. That made you smile even more widely and your eyes raised for a moment to see how your girlfriend was holding up before grabbing the toy from the floor to toss it away for the dog to chase.

You could have tossed it to the other side, you could have. Instead, you tossed it right on Elizabeth’s feet and then watched the puppy skid with the little paws to reach the toy. Elizabeth was answering a question you hadn’t heard, her attention away from the dogs, so when the puppy jumped on her again she yelped even louder than before in surprise at the sudden attack.

“Oh, God!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hold another laugh, but you saw someone giving you a thumbs up for helping in getting that scene. You weren’t sure if your girlfriend realized it had been you who threw the toy at her, although you were praying she didn’t.

“I don’t have a dog,” you heard Elizabeth commenting with an awkward laugh when another puppy tried to get into her lap. She tried to move the first one, but he wasn’t having it, so she reached out for the toy to squeeze it. It was, obviously, the wrong choice because that only made all of the puppies rush to her to try to take it. “Okay, okay, okay…” She repeated the same word countless times while trying to dodge all of the dogs jumping on her and, finally, she threw the toy away, which made all of the puppies run away to get it. “I don’t remember what was the question.”

“You were telling us what are your hobbies,” the interviewer reminded her.

“Oh, yes.” Elizabeth nodded and opened her mouth to reply, only to be jumped by the puppy with the red collar again. She tried to move out of the way, but that only made the dog fall with his paws almost inside of her shirt. “You like the inside of my shirt, I see. You would get along with my girlfriend just fine.”

The laugh that resonated around the room was the loudest it has been since the start of the interview and, even if you were one of the people laughing, you still tried to make yourself look smaller in your chair when everyone turned to look at you. You felt yourself blush and you met Elizabeth’s gaze again just to shake your head at her little joke, but she just laughed and then had to avoid another jumping puppy from hitting her face.

“Since you talked about her,” the interviewer started, “can you tell us about how things are going? You recently moved in together, yes?”

“We did,” your girlfriend replied with a more contained smile. Elizabeth didn’t have a problem talking about you during her interviews - she knew it was going to happen when you both decided to go public about your relationship - but she tried to avoid giving out many details and always tried to change the subject as fast as she could. “People always say we only know who someone really is when you have to share a house with them,” she joked. “But things are going great. Aside from the occasional wet towel on the bed, there hasn’t been any trouble.”

The interview continued after that with the same level of chaos. The dogs kept jumping on her or running around like crazy, there was a poop incident and even a moment where you were sure Elizabeth was regretting putting herself in that situation, but she managed to answer the questions and all the dogs - and Elizabeth - were alive in the end, which you counted as a victory.

Once the questions were over, someone asked Elizabeth to stay in her spot for just a few more minutes while they collected the dogs to take them away again. You had gotten up from your chair since you felt like you needed to stretch a little bit and you were about to pull out your phone to check the time when you saw three of the puppies running towards you while fighting over a toy. Without thinking twice, you sat down on the floor and quickly reached for the toy.

“Hey, now, don’t fight!” You said. They all started to jump to try to get it from you and you felt your legs and arms being scratched with their little sharp nails, but you didn’t mind. It wasn’t their fault and, honestly, you were almost used to that. “Play nice, kiddos,” you asked before throwing the toy away.

To your surprise, not all the puppies rushed to get it. The black puppy with the red collar, that had been among them, decided he wanted to climb your lap instead and that’s what the dog did with his wobbly legs and waggling tail. You laughed happily as you decided to help him by picking him up and pressing him against your chest while you brought your other hand to scratch behind his ear.

“You’re so cute,” you cooed before pressing a kiss on top of his head. In return, the puppy raised his head to lick your chin and you let him do it. “Do you like me? I also like you, boy.” As soon as you said that, though, you paused and picked him up with both hands so you could hold him in front of your face. “Wait, are you a boy?” You turned him a bit to take a look and gasped when you put the dog back against your chest. “You’re a girl! No wonder you were trying to look at Lizzie’s chest!” You declared while trying not to squeeze the dog too much. “I don’t blame you at all for that!”

No one would be able to tell if you were joking or not since you were being so serious while saying that, but thankfully everyone was too busy trying to pick up the running dogs or putting the equipment away before the wires got chewed or something. You didn’t move from where you were sitting playing with the cute puppy and letting her lick your hands and face while all the other dogs were picked one by one to be taken away. You could already feel your chest tighten with the prospect of letting the black puppy go as well, even if it sounded crazy that you had gotten attached to her so fast.

Since you were too busy cuddling the dog, you missed when Elizabeth got up and walked towards you, getting startled when her voice sounded just by your side. “Why is he so calm with you when he was trying to murder me a second ago?”

You looked up and your lips quickly curled in a smile when you saw Elizabeth standing there with her hands on her hips while trying to pretend to be mad. “She wasn’t trying to kill you, babe,” you defended the dog. “She was trying to show you love!”

“That’s some aggressive love,” Elizabeth scoffed.

You laughed. “Yes, because she’s a puppy. She has too much energy. They get calmer when they get older.” Just as you said that, you raised the dog to your eye level again and kissed its snout. “Right, little princess? With a few walks and a lot of plays, you will grow up to be a lazy dog.”

As if she could understand you, the dog barked and tried to lick you again. You cooed and hugged her, but, before you could say anything else, a man approached you while chasing another puppy. You decided to help him out by reaching out with your arm to stop the puppy from running past you, but you still didn’t let go of the dog in your lap.

“Thank you,” the man said as he leaned down to scoop the dog.

“Of course,” you replied before you saw another person bringing a cage. “Where are these cuties from?” You wondered when curiosity got the best of you.

“From a shelter, ma’am,” the first man answered.

“Oh, so they don’t have a family?”

“No, ma’am. Their first event will be this weekend. The shelter organizes a fair to try to find their animals some owners.”

You made up your mind before the man was even done talking. You knew it was insane to even think about it, but you couldn’t help. The puppy in your arms had already won your heart, you couldn’t deny it. Besides, you have been working from home since you got a new job and you certainly had the money to take care of a pet. It could work out perfectly.

Elizabeth seemed like she had read your mind because, when you slowly turned your head to look back at her, she was already shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Lizzie,” you tried to call out her nickname to soften her heart - exactly how you did it every time you were trying to get her to agree with something.

“No, Y/N.” Elizabeth kept her ground, firmly letting you know it was not going to happen. “We’re not taking a dog home with us.”

“But it’s not just a dog,” you complained while raising the puppy for her to see the cute little face. “It’s this little princess.”

“No,” she insisted. “No dogs. No little princess who tried to kill me either.”

“She didn’t try to kill you, I told you that,” you argued and then, because you could feel you were going to lose the argument, you went for your last weapon. A pout. “I promise you I will take care of her, you don’t even have to do anything! I will keep her fed and change the water, and take her for walks, and take her to the vet, all of it.”

“That’s not the problem, Y/N.” Elizabeth sighed. “I’m thinking about all of the mess. And the smell.” She added the last part while throwing a glance at the place where the puppies had pooped before, her nose scrunching adorably when she remembered the awful smell. “Look, I know you like animals, but we’re not getting a dog.”

“Lizzie,” you tried one more time, putting the dog down and pouting as well. It was now or never. “Pretty please? She won’t even get that big and we have so much space around the pool where she could run and play. We don’t need to let her go inside the house even.” Which you know was a little lie since you wouldn’t be able to keep the dog outside, but that was a problem you could solve later. “And I know you like animals, you just don’t… have much practice.”

“And I intend to keep that way.”

You sighed sadly at that and looked down at the dog who had gone oddly quiet during all of that conversation, as if she knew she shouldn’t interrupt. With a sniff, you leaned down to kiss the dog’s head before you let your cheek rest there. It was like saying goodbye to someone from your family.

“Oh, no, are you crying?” Elizabeth now sounded completely in panic, but you had your own emotions to deal with. You just shook your head, clearly lying since you could barely see anything after tears formed in your eyes, but you also didn’t want to seem stupid crying over it either. “No, my love, please don’t cry.” Elizabeth crouched in front of you and you briefly saw her wide green eyes staring at you like she had no idea what to do. “You can get a fish! What about that?”

“Okay,” you mumbled with a trembling voice without looking at her. You didn’t want a fish, although you couldn’t get enough energy to explain that to her. Besides, the lump in your throat wouldn’t allow you to form a phrase anyway.

“My love, please don’t be upset,” your girlfriend tried again, sadly this time. “I don’t like when you’re upset.” All you did was shrug. “I love you so much, my love, but-”

Before she could finish her explanation, the dog in your lap wailed so miserably that it made you hug her tighter and look at Elizabeth again.

Ironically, that’s what broke her.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and pinched her nose for a few seconds before she shook her head to herself. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” she whispered while staring at the ceiling above you and then she finally let out a sigh and looked at you. “Okay, fine, you can have the dog.”

“Oh, my God! Really?!” You didn’t wait for her confirmation. You just threw yourself at her, almost taking both of you to the ground, and started spreading kisses all over her face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” you kept repeating it non-stop.

“Okay, okay.” She pushed you away when it became clear you wouldn’t stop anytime soon, just to raise her index finger while she started listing some rules that you both knew would eventually be broken. “The dog must stay outside, you will take full responsibility for it, you will have to figure out what to do when we decide to travel together, and the dog is gone if she ever causes a single leaf from my garden to break.” Then, Elizabeth turned her attention to the dog, pointing at the puppy and raising her eyebrows. “And I mean it.”

“Did you hear that, pup?” You asked the dog while pointedly ignoring what Elizabeth said. “You’re going home with us!”

The dog picked up on your happiness and started to jump in your arms while trying to lick both of you, but Elizabeth quickly moved away and got up. “God, it has been a second and I’m already regretting it.” Just when you were about to get worried she might change her mind, Elizabeth added: “Wait here, I will see what we need to do to take the dog home.”

“Wait, Lizzie,” you called her before she could take another step away and she turned around at you in expectation. “Come here.” She rolled her eyes, but did as you asked. “Closer.” Again. “Closer.”

“Only if I climb in your lap, but my seat has been taken.” Elizabeth glared at the dog, but you could see she didn’t mean anything by it.

You chuckled and raised your chin. Once again, your girlfriend rolled her eyes although she leaned down to give you a kiss. “I love you,” you whispered when she pulled away.

“You better,” Elizabeth replied with a huff.

“Really, I love you so much.” You pecked her lips one more time.

She sighed and kissed your forehead. “I love you too, my love.”

Elizabeth had just started to leave again when you asked: “Can we call her Wanda?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” was the reply you got even if she didn’t even turn around to say it.

You only laughed and hugged the puppy again. You could convince her about the name too.