#long one this time! hope this is some good food

[honeyslibrary]

Late Again | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, angst, cursing, not sure what else, edited once.

Summary; Inspired by this request: Hi hi!! I love your writing, especially for Quinn and I was just wondering if you could write some Quinn x reader angst? Like maybe he's been coming home late and she reaches her breaking point w him? Tysm!! 💕💗

Word Count; 3.4k

Author’s note; This was requested sooo long ago n I'm so sorry for the wait, but nonetheless I hope you like it. 😊 I listened to the song The Exit by Conan Gray when I wrote this, it doesn't fit the vibe, but it's a great song I newly discovered. Also I have no idea if he likes chicken fried steak, I just chose something random lol -Honey

You poked at the dinner you'd carefully prepared—chicken-fried steak, Quinn's favorite—half-heartedly pushing the mashed potatoes around your plate with your fork. The food was getting cold, untouched. You couldn't even bring yourself to take a bite. A home game tonight against the St. Louis Blues—he’d mentioned it this morning, and you’d nodded, knowing the routine all too well by now. Quick meal, pregame nap, then off to the rink. You understood how demanding his schedule was, but tonight was supposed to be different. He promised. The effort you put in, starting dinner earlier than usual so he’d have time to eat before his nap, now felt wasted. The smell of the crispy steak and buttery potatoes filled the air, but it only made you feel emptier.

You sat alone at the dinner table, your eyes flicking toward your phone every few minutes, hoping for the screen to light up with a message from him. But it never did. The minutes stretched into an hour, the silence from your phone growing heavier with every second. He’d promised to be home for dinner today—said it with that familiar smile like he really meant it this time. But here you were, waiting, yet again. The clock on the wall ticked louder in the empty room. The sound seemed to amplify the absence, reminding you of just how late he was. You glanced at your phone one more time, willing it to show some sign of life—an apology, an excuse, anything—but the screen stayed dark. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.

You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the disappointment clawing at your chest, but it didn’t help. The food, once so full of effort and care, now seemed like a mockery of your good intentions. You wondered if he even realized how much you’d gone out of your way tonight, or if he’d forgotten, caught up in his routine, his career, his world. You weren’t sure anymore.

An hour and a half late now. You stood up from the table, abandoning the cold meal as you walked over to the window, peeking outside as if expecting to see his car pulling into the driveway. Nothing. The quiet suburban street was empty, just as it always was. The sky had started to darken, and with it, the flicker of hope you’d been clinging to all evening. How many more times would you find yourself waiting, wondering if you were ever going to be a priority in his life again?

The more you thought about it, the more the dull ache of disappointment twisted itself into something sharper, hotter—anger. It started as a slow simmer in your chest, but with each passing second, the heat rose, spreading through your veins like wildfire. Was he serious? A bitter sigh escaped your lips as you walked back into the kitchen. You grabbed your plate first, then his—untouched, of course—and headed to the garbage can. With one swift motion, you scraped the food into the garbage, the chicken-fried steak falling in with a dull thud. It almost felt like a relief to throw it away, like you were getting rid of something that no longer had meaning. The mashed potatoes smeared against the sides of the plate as you tossed the rest, the food you’d spent time making reduced to nothing more than trash.

The pans on the stove caught your eye next, and before you even realized what you were doing, you were scooping the perfectly good leftovers into the trash as well. The scent of the meal you’d so carefully prepared—the aroma of rosemary, garlic—rose up as if to remind you of the effort you'd put in. It stung, but you didn’t care. Fuck that. He didn’t deserve your cooking. He didn’t deserve the time, the thoughtfulness. Not anymore.

His favorite meal, no less. What a joke. You felt ridiculous for even caring so much, for putting in the effort when he clearly couldn’t be bothered to be home like he'd promised, or even give you the courtesy of a text.

You slammed the pans down into the sink with more force than necessary, the clang reverberating in the quiet kitchen. You stood over the sink, glaring at the pile of dirty dishes, your hands tightening and un-tightening at your sides. The dishwasher was right there, but using it felt too easy, too detached. You needed something more physical, something to work out this simmering frustration before it consumed you.

So, instead, you grabbed the sponge and turned on the water, scrubbing the first plate with a force that made your knuckles whiten. The warm, soapy water splashed up against your arms, but you didn’t care. You scrubbed harder, as if each circular motion could somehow scrub away the resentment building inside you. The plate wasn’t even that dirty, but you attacked it like it was covered in grime.

Each scrape of the sponge against ceramic echoed in the quiet kitchen, filling the space where his excuses should have been. The more you scrubbed, the more it felt like you were scrubbing away the traces of him—his absence, his broken promises, his selfishness. If only it were that easy. If only a sink full of dishes could clean up all the messes he was leaving behind.

It was Quinn’s second year as captain of the Canucks, a role that had transformed him in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated. The weight of the 'C' on his chest seemed heavier this season, with expectations higher than ever after last year’s breakout performance. The team had exceeded everyone’s predictions, turning heads and silencing critics with a season no one saw coming. Now, all eyes were on them to prove it wasn’t just a fluke.

You knew Quinn was feeling that pressure—how could he not? He had something to prove, not just to the fans, the media, or his teammates, but to himself. The burden of leadership was always in the back of his mind, quietly pushing him to go harder, to be better, to set an example. And you understood that. You really did. You knew he was doing the best he could, managing the weight of it all in his own way. But even understanding had its limits. And so did you.

Quinn, on the other hand, seemed to have no boundaries when it came to pushing himself. It was almost like he didn’t know how to stop, how to pull back. Even now, he was still nursing that hand injury—an injury that should have sidelined him weeks ago—but he kept playing through it, insisting he could handle the pain. Thirty minutes a night, almost every game, skating until exhaustion blurred the edges of his vision. You’d seen the way he winced sometimes when he thought no one was looking, flexing his hand to work out the tightness, but refusing to sit out even for a single shift.

You admired his dedication. How could you not? His determination, his relentless drive to push through, to carry the weight of the team on his shoulders—it was part of what made him the player, the leader, that he was. But it was also the part of him that worried you the most.

You knew he felt like he had to do it, that as captain, anything less than perfection wasn’t enough. And while you respected that drive, it didn’t make it any easier watching him run himself into the ground night after night. Especially when you were the one sitting at home, picking up the pieces of what was left, wondering if he was going to come back from each game a little more broken than before.

You were patient. You’d learned to be. But your patience wasn’t endless.

The sound of the front door opening jolted you from your thoughts, the creak of the hinges cutting through the sound of the running water. You pause, your hands submerged in soapy water, your grip tightening on the sponge as Quinn stepped inside. He walks in, clad in his usual post-practice attire—Nike sweatpants hanging low on his hips and a black compression shirt clinging to the lines of his torso. He looked worn, as if the weight of the day hadn’t just been left on the ice but was still hanging on his shoulders, pulling him down.

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a quick once-over, but you didn’t say anything. The words felt stuck in your throat, trapped behind the frustration and sadness swirling in your chest. Instead, you turned back to the dishes, resuming your task with more force than necessary, the clinking of the plates louder than before. You didn’t offer a greeting, and neither did he. It was almost as if the two of you existed in different worlds now—yours, filled with waiting and disappointment, and his, consumed by the game, by the pressure that never seemed to leave him.

Quinn, oblivious or perhaps just avoiding the tension, didn’t seem to notice your silence. Without a word, he headed upstairs, his footsteps soft but steady, the sound growing fainter as he disappeared into the bedroom. A familiar ache settled in your chest as you stood there, staring down at the soapy water swirling in the sink. You could feel the sting of tears threatening to rise, but you blinked them away quickly, shaking your head at yourself.

Anger had been your companion all day, burning hot and steady in his absence. It had been so easy to hold onto, so easy to let the frustration build when you didn’t have to see him, when you didn’t have to look into those hazel eyes that always seemed to make your resolve crumble. The anger had felt justified when he wasn’t there—easy to fuel when it was just you, alone, staring at a cold, empty dinner table. But now that he was home, the anger began to unravel, slipping away and leaving only the sadness behind. It happened every time. That familiar pang of disappointment mixed with resignation, the sharp edges of your frustration softening into something more complicated, something you didn’t have the energy to untangle.

You bit your tongue, holding back the words you wanted to say—the questions, the accusations, the things that would start a fight you weren’t ready to have. You’d been here before, in this exact moment, torn between wanting to yell and wanting to break down. But you didn’t want to argue tonight. Not again.

The dishes were your only focus now, your hands scrubbing mechanically as your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t quiet. You wondered if he even knew how much you’d been waiting, not just tonight, but for weeks, months—for some sign that you still mattered in all of this, that you were still a part of his world. But it was getting harder to tell, harder to feel like you weren’t slowly fading into the background of his life, just like the sound of his footsteps fading upstairs.

By the time you finished the dishes and wiped down the counters, the kitchen was spotless, as if the day hadn’t happened at all. The room was clean, but the heavy silence remained, settling into the spaces between the freshly scrubbed surfaces. You paused for a moment, staring down at the empty sink, the exhaustion setting in—not just from the chores, but from everything that had been weighing on you lately.

When you finally made your way upstairs to the bedroom, Quinn had already begun his pregame nap. You stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame for a moment, just watching him. He was sprawled out on his stomach, the way he always slept, one arm curled beneath the pillow, his face turned slightly to the side. In sleep, the tension in his features was gone, the hard lines softened, and for a brief second, you felt a pang of something—nostalgia, maybe—for the way things used to be. Before all the pressure, before the distance between you had grown so wide.

You stood there, caught between wanting to crawl into bed next to him and knowing it wouldn’t make a difference tonight. He was already somewhere else, lost in the brief reprieve of sleep before the game. You let out a quiet breath and turned away, heading back downstairs, leaving him to his rest.

In the den, you curled up on the sofa, pulling a throw blanket over your legs as you flicked on the TV. The familiar theme song of One Tree Hill played in the background, but your mind wasn’t fully on the show. You watched the characters move across the screen, but their drama felt distant, unimportant compared to the real-life ache sitting in your chest. You’d seen these episodes a hundred times before, and yet tonight they felt like nothing more than white noise, a distraction to fill the space while Quinn slept upstairs.

Time passed in a blur of dialogue and background music, your eyes unfocused on the screen. You’d just started another episode when you heard footsteps approaching. You barely registered them until Quinn appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame just like you had earlier. He stood there for a moment, running a hand through his hair, before exhaling a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of everything unsaid between you.

"I missed dinner," he said, his voice quiet. It wasn’t a question, just a statement. The guilt was there, hanging in the air between you, but it didn’t quite land the way you wanted it to.

You turned your head toward him, feeling the familiar mix of emotions bubbling up—frustration, sadness, the lingering ache of disappointment. You nodded slowly, your voice calm but clipped. "You did."

That was all you said. Two simple words, but they carried so much more. The weight of your unspoken thoughts lingered in the air between you: You missed more than dinner. You missed me. You missed us. Again.

For a moment, Quinn didn’t say anything, just stood there, as if searching for something to say that would make it better. But nothing came. The silence stretched on, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the same exhaustion that you felt deep in your bones. Hockey had taken so much from him, and in its wake, it felt like there wasn’t much left for the two of you.

You shifted on the couch, turning back to the TV, not sure what else there was to say. If you opened your mouth now, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to stop the flood of everything you’d been holding back. So you stayed quiet, letting the distance between you grow a little wider, hoping—just once—that he’d be the one to cross it.

Quinn lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, the silence between you heavy and uncomfortable. You could feel his eyes on you, like he wanted to say something, to bridge the growing gap, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, his shoulders slumped, the weariness from the day etched into every part of him.

You kept your eyes on the TV, pretending to be more interested in the show than in the ache inside you. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him right now—not when the quiet between you felt so suffocating, so loaded with everything neither of you were saying. If you looked at him, you were afraid the dam would break, and all the frustration, the loneliness, the resentment that had been simmering beneath the surface would come pouring out.

He took a deep breath, and you could hear the slight hesitation in the exhale, like he was on the verge of speaking but didn’t know where to start. "I’m sorry," he finally muttered, the words barely audible, but they hung in the air nonetheless. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t enough, but it was something.

You closed your eyes for a brief second, letting the apology settle in, but it didn’t ease the ache. You had heard it before—too many times now. It always came after the fact, always when it was too late, and it never felt like enough to patch up the cracks that were forming between you.

Opening your eyes, you kept your gaze fixed on the TV, though you weren’t really watching. "You always are," you said softly, your voice lacking the sharpness you intended. There was no anger left, just a quiet exhaustion that had taken its place. "But it doesn’t change anything, Quinn."

The words hung between you, heavy and final. You didn’t mean for them to sound so distant, so resigned, but that’s where you were now. It wasn’t just about tonight, or the missed dinners, or the broken promises—it was about the slow unraveling that had been happening for months, the quiet slipping away of the relationship you once had.

Quinn pushed off the doorframe, his expression unreadable as he took a few steps into the room. He stood at the edge of the sofa, as if unsure whether he was welcome to sit down. His eyes, those familiar hazel eyes that once made your heart skip, were full of something—regret, frustration, maybe even guilt. But none of it seemed to change the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most.

"I know," he said, almost under his breath. He rubbed a hand over his face, the fatigue obvious. "I’m trying, I really am. It’s just—this season… it’s a lot." His voice trailed off, and you could hear the helplessness in it. He didn’t know how to fix this, and maybe he didn’t have the energy to try anymore.

You nodded, finally turning to look at him, but the sadness in your gaze must have said more than your words ever could. You understood that the season was demanding. You understood the pressure, the expectations, the endless grind. But understanding didn’t make it any easier to deal with the growing distance, the nights spent waiting, the feeling that you were slowly becoming an afterthought in his life.

"I know it’s a lot," you replied quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d walked in. "But it’s not just about the game, Quinn. It’s about us. I’m still here, waiting for you to show up… and I don’t know how much longer I can keep waiting."

The vulnerability in your voice hung in the air, and for a brief moment, you saw the conflict flicker across his face—worry, a twinge of something else, maybe fear. He took another deep breath, his hands flexing at his sides as if he wanted to reach out to you but wasn’t sure how.

"I don’t want to lose you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting it out loud made it all too real.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening at his words. For a second, you almost believed him, almost let yourself hope that this was the moment he’d truly understand how close he was to losing you. But then reality sank in, and you realized that wanting wasn’t enough.

"You already are," you said softly, the weight of your admission settling over both of you like a heavy blanket. You saw his expression falter, the pain in his eyes unmistakable, but there was nothing more you could say. You were tired—tired of the waiting, tired of the excuses, tired of being second to hockey and everything else in his life.

Quinn stood there, rooted in place, his eyes searching yours for some sign that he could fix this, that there was still time. But you didn’t know how to make him understand that you needed more than apologies, more than empty promises. You needed him to be here, fully present, not just physically but emotionally.

Without another word, he let out another sigh and slowly walked back toward the doorway, retreating once again into the space between you that had become too wide to cross. And you stayed on the couch, watching the TV, your heart aching with the truth you couldn’t ignore any longer: the Quinn you once knew was slipping away, and you didn’t know if he would ever come back.

My Patreon, where you can find exclusive fics not posted anywhere else: HERE

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

I love that you are writing for Dr. Abbott! 🩵

Can I pretty please request him with a younger reader like mid 20’s (or just the general idea of an age gap because I love me an old man) where he finds out he’s her emergency contact. He’s obviously older & he thinks she should pick someone her age instead in case something happens to him but he’s the only one she wants in every part of her life and reassures him. I hope that makes sense & isn’t too lame!

Not lame!! Loves an older man!!! They can be so sexyyyyy!!

Listed

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x MedStudent!Reader

Summary: Dr. Jack Abbott isn’t a man who lets his guard down easily. He’s precise. Composed. Rational. But when he finds out you — bright, mid-20s, and entirely too stubborn for your own good — listed him as your emergency contact, something in him unravels. Not because he doesn’t care. But because he cares too much.

He didn’t mean to see it.

You left your chart open on the counter when you got called away to Imaging, and Jack just needed the last lab values to sign off on your pre-op clearance.

He scrolled. Found what he needed. And then his eyes caught on something else.

Emergency Contact: Dr. Jack Abbott Relationship: Personal

His brow furrowed. Personal. Not “supervisor.” Not “colleague.” Just… personal.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t bring it up that day, or the next, or even the one after that. But it stuck.

Because he knew he was older. Knew people talked. Knew that in some ways, he’d always have a foot out of the world you were still building for yourself. And part of him had convinced himself that was good. Safe.

But seeing his name there, in black and white, in a space reserved for the one person you trust when everything goes wrong—It scared the hell out of him.

He finally brought it up when you were sitting in his office after hours, half-eaten takeout between you, the city lights bleeding through the window.

You were cross-legged in his chair, scrolling through your phone and humming under your breath when he said, quietly—

“You should change your emergency contact.”

You blinked. “What?”

He kept his eyes on the food. “I saw it. On your chart. The other day.”

You tilted your head. “Okay… and?”

“I just think,” he said, voice too even, too careful, “you should pick someone closer to your age. Someone who’ll be around for a long time. Just in case.”

You stared at him. Slowly put your phone down.

“Jack.”

“I’m not saying it to be dramatic—”

“No, you’re saying it because you’re afraid,” you said, soft but sure. “That you’re not enough. Or not right. Because of the age difference. Because you think I should want someone who can run a marathon with me or go to brunch with my college friends.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look at you.

You stood up, walked around the desk, and sat on the edge in front of him. Your voice was quieter now.

“You’re the one I call when I have a bad day. When I’m scared. When I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked up at that, meeting your eyes.

You shrugged, small and honest. “Why wouldn’t I want the person I love to be the one who’s called if something happens to me?” The word love hit him like a sucker punch.

“I don’t care how old you are, Jack,” you said. “I care that you’re you.”

He swallowed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “It is.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for days. Maybe he had.

You slid your hand into his, thumb brushing his knuckles. “You’re not temporary, Jack. You’re not just the for now part of my life. You’re the forever part.”

Silence.

Then—“I’m not going to live forever,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No one does,” you replied. “But you’re here now. And that’s who I want.”

He looked at you for a long time after that. Like he was trying to find the cracks in your certainty. But there weren’t any. There never had been.

And finally, quietly—He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go.

[hazbinhotei]

just another mission. – an alastor x gn!reader soul eater au.

warnings/tags: alastor and reader bickering as usual, mentions of blood and injury, soul eater elements, meister/weapon dynamic

word count: 2149

summary: You, a sharp-tongued meister, and Alastor, your sadistic headache-inducing weapon, are tasked with another mission from the Morningstar Weapon Meister Academy—proving once again that chaos makes the most loyal bond.

weapon!alastor x meister gn!reader — can be read as platonic or romantic. surprise! another fic where i somehow force alastor and reader into a completely different universe—this time in the realm of soul eater. i didn't necessarily want to just throw them into death city, so instead you get this weird mixture of both hellaverse and soul eater. ta-da! i hope you enjoy weapon!alastor as much as i do. [no tag list for this one because i'm not sure if anyone would want to be tagged in my au fics]

The sheets were still warm when you groaned awake, hair sticking up in odd angles, mouth dry, and muscles aching from yesterday's mission. Your limbs protested the idea of getting out of bed, but the smell of something suspiciously charred wafted into your nose, yanking you from your sluggish comfort.

"You're going to burn the whole place down," you grumbled, staggering into the small shared kitchen of your modest apartment in the grungier end of Pentagram City. Jazz music filled the air, the sound of sirens muffled in the distance, making you glance out the window towards the blood-red sky.

Alastor, all manic grins and vintage flair, stood humming to the music, flipping something in a skillet that had long since given up hope of survival. Your stomach lurched at the sight, sliding slowly into a chair at the table.

"Ah, good morning, sunshine!" he crooned, not turning around as he plopped his food onto a plate. "Did the aroma of my culinary masterpiece lure you from your slumber, or was it the soul-crushing guilt of sleeping in past noon again?"

You shoot him a look as you rubbed the sleep away from your eyes, your soul wavelength humming irritably against his own like mismatched radio frequencies. "You wake up at the crack of chaos. Not all of us are powered by sadism and radio static."

"Tut tut," he clicked his tongue, finally turning to face you with a grin sharp enough to gut a ghost. "How else am I to keep you on your toes?"

You ignored him, and instead slapped the day's mission scroll down on the table. The infernal wax seal cracks with a hiss. “Corrupted soul in the human realm,” you yawn, looking over the paper. “Feeding off fear. The Morningstar Weapon Meister Academy suspects it’s been terrorizing a bunch of kids in some abandoned funhouse on the edge of town.”

Alastor hums, walking over with his plate and a cup of coffee to sit across from you. He slides the cup to you, and you grab it in silent appreciation.

“How delightful. Children’s screams are so much more flavorful than adults’. Like candy apples. Rotting candy apples.”

You wince at his words as you drink your coffee, placing it down to give him an incredulous look. He only bats his lashes at you, smiling with faux innocence. You huffed, skimming the mission once more below you. "Should be simple."

"'Simple'," he echoed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he swallowed down whatever creature he was eating. "You always say that, dearest."

"Because I like lying to myself," you said flatly, finishing the cup of coffee Alastor had prepared for you.

Alastor only sighed in disdain, finishing his meal in silence. After letting the caffeine kick into your system, you get up, moving towards your living room to get ready for the day. Your shared living room doubled as a gear-up area, doing your stretches on a yoga mat to prepare for the mission.

Alastor joins you shortly after with his hands clasped behind his back, watching like a cat watches a mouse it hasn’t quite decided whether to kill or play with. You glance up at him from your spot on the floor, letting your demon form melt away—horns receding, claws dulling, eyes losing their hellish glow. What was left was your human disguise: ordinary. Soft. Dull.

Alastor clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he watched your transformation. "I hate that form."

You rolled your eyes, getting up once you felt fully human. "Yeah, well, the PTA in the human realm doesn’t exactly appreciate demon horns and the like."

He gave a sharp laugh. "Ah, but you have such character when you’re dripping in hellfire."

"And yet," you muttered, summoning a portal with a flick of your wrist. A swirling rift in space shimmered before you, pulsing with soft energy. "We go where the souls are."

You glanced towards the widening portal, a faint breeze from the human realm blowing into your warm Hellish apartment. Alastor buzzed with content as he got a whiff of the air, “This place smells like spoiled dreams and cotton candy corpses. Reminds me of a carnival I devoured once.”

Groaning in response, you place a foot in the portal, “Remind me to never ask for that story.”

“It ends with a fire. As all good things do!"

The portal spat you out into the outskirts of a human town, fog curling low against a withered funhouse that hadn’t seen joy in decades. It loomed like a rotten tooth in the mouth of the earth, squealing metal and flickering lights setting the stage.

You exhaled, a groan slipping past your lips at the sudden coldness in the air. "Of course it’s creepy. Why wouldn’t it be."

"Frightened already? Shall I hold your hand? Or better yet, shall I do all the work?" Alastor teased, his voice already warping into static as his body flickered, dissolving mid-sentence. Red static erupted around him like a crackling flame, curling up in jagged arcs, and with a flash of eerie green light, his figure vanished entirely. In his place stood his weapon form: a massive crimson scythe. Of course, with the accompaniment of a little blinking microphone and radio speakers etched into its tang—even green little sigils were engraved into the twisted wooden snath.

You scoffed and stepped forward, gripping the haft. The handle was warm, humming with energy that wasn’t just magic—it was personality. You could almost feel him smirking, making you grip the weapon harder. "Try not to insult me while I’m holding you."

"That was me being kind. I can turn the volume down lower, but then you’d miss the music."

You exhaled deeply in annoyance, shifting your stance. The fog pressed against your back like cold hands as you stalked toward the crooked porch of the decrepit funhouse. The paint peeled like rotting skin, and the windows gaped like mouths left mid-scream. Your lips thinned at the sight, grimacing internally while you willed yourself to move.

"Let's just get this over with, Smiles."

As your boot hit the first step, the walls of the funhouse breathed. Wood groaned, twisted, and dragged against itself in unnatural motions. From above, something shrieked before you could even take another step.

A streak of movement—a shadow dislodged from the roof—lunged down with a screech that splintered the air. You dropped low on instinct, the corrupted soul’s claws missing you by inches, your body rolling and scrambling back upright.

"Okay, rude!"

The corrupted soul towered over you, all mismatched limbs and warped carnival paint, twitching with spasms as if it was barely holding itself together. Its eyes glowed too bright for a human face, blinding you momentarily in the darkness of the night. Its giggle mimicked that of a child, but dragged through gravel, looping over itself like a broken record.

You lunged in, Alastor’s scythe slashing through the fog. He hummed in your grip, voice lilting with faux sweetness, "Oh come now, a touch more grace, if you please! I’d rather not spend the afterlife tethered to your shoddy combat skills."

"Then shut up and let me fight!" you snapped, pivoting for another strike as the creature’s laughter howled louder.

You parried a claw swipe and twisted, using the momentum to cleave downward. Alastor's blade cut clean through one of the soul's limbs, the corrupted flesh sizzling and hissing as it hit the warped floorboards with a wet smack. The creature shrieked, stumbling back.

"Oho! Beautifully executed, my dear!" Alastor sang, static flaring with delight in your grip. "You’re finally learning!"

"Gee, thanks," you grunted, flicking away the ichor that now coated the edge of his blade. "Didn’t realize I needed your approval to maim a monster."

"Oh, I do so love when you get feisty." He cooed, the scythe practically vibrating with amusement.

You slashed again, spinning low to avoid a second claw as the creature flailed. "And I love when you shut up. Funny how we never get what we want."

"But darling, if I were silent, who would narrate your mediocrity?"

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching despite yourself. "Keep talking and I’ll use you as a paperweight."

"Now, now, don't threaten me with a good time."

You were about to reply to the usual dance of bickering you and Alastor did when a sudden pain shot through your body, as if you were hit by lightning bolt. A searing line of agony lit up across your side as one of the soul’s talons found purchase. You gasped, stumbling back, something wet seeping into your coat as you glanced down to look at the bloodstain growing on your human form's clothes. Shit.

The air shifted, the scythe in your hands forcing you from harm's way as Alastor went unusually quiet.

When he spoke next, it was low. Cold. You could practically see his sinister smile, snarling at the corrupted soul who had done the damage.

"You will regret that."

The scythe pulsed in your hand with energy darker than usual. Alastor’s wrath, no longer gleeful but razor-focused, guided your every swing. You could feel his anger, his frequency tainting your wavelength like a growing poison. Together, you tore through the corrupted soul with practiced fury. It screamed, howled, and tried to flee—but you two together were faster. Stronger. Meaner.

The creature disintegrated, vanishing into a swirling orb of dark essence. You dropped to one knee, catching your breath. Alastor reappears beside you, adjusting his bowtie, the faintest trace of smoke still curling from his fingertips. He didn’t say a word as he scooped up the soul and devoured it, static rippling through his form as he licked his lips hungrily.

When the last echo of the corrupted soul faded, he turned to you.

“I told you not to let your guard down,” he says smoothly, but his gaze flicker to your shoulder. “Always so reckless.”

You glare at him from below. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“And I said I’m fine—”

He’s kneeling in front of you before you can finish, his glowing eyes studying the wound. For a split second, you see something behind his grin. Not pity. Not fear. But something rarer. Something tender. In one sudden swoop, you're being easily lifted by the demon in front of you.

You snort, instinctively wrapping your arms around his long neck as you let him carry you towards the portal that appears. “What, no jokes? No teasing?”

“Later,” he murmurs, voice low. “For now, I’m busy keeping my meister in one piece.”

Back in Hell, the portal closes behind you with a hiss. The mission scroll from earlier today transforms into a pile of coins, glistening on the small dining table. Mission complete.

Your shoulder aches. Your pride, more so. You transform back into your true demon form, your bones finally relaxing as if you had just peeled off too-tight clothing from your body. You’re halfway to your shared bedroom when Alastor grabs your wrist gently.

You blink, turning to look at him with a questioning gaze.

“I’ll bandage it properly,” he says, already guiding you toward the couch. “Unless you want it to fester.”

Sighing, you try to force down the knowing smile that tickles your lips. You do as he says, sitting down on the couch to watch him gather the first-aid materials in your shoe closet. His ears brush the top of the door frame, his lean body almost too tall for your tiny apartment. But you know deep down, he wouldn't have it any other way—and neither would you.

He returns with cleaning supplies and gauze, his expression softer than normal as his ears press against his head. "You seriously need to take more care of yourself, dearest."

"But then what would you do if I didn't get hurt most of the time?" You had meant that as a teasing remark, but you bite your cheek at the way Alastor looks at you with worried eyes. The two of you stare at each other for a brief moment, letting time pass before you breathe heavily. "Fine, I understand. But you better not gloat over saving me today."

“Oh no, of course not,” he says, his red eyes returning to their usual mirth. “I would never kick you while you’re down.”

A pause.

“...That’s tomorrow’s plan.”

You groan, trying to push him away as he cleans your wound. His laughter echoes throughout the small apartment, his hands gentle but firm on your body.

And in that messy one bedroom, one bath apartment that somehow barely fit both you and Alastor, beneath flickering overhead lamps and the scent of old jazz records, you let him patch you up.

Just a meister and their scythe. A perfect duo made in Hell. Souls stitched together by chaos. Bound not by fate—but by wavelength.

And somehow, that’s comfort enough.

once again, no tag list for this one because i'm not sure if anyone would want to be tagged in my au fics!

[passionwillow]

Hello my fellow Rookie fan! It seems like we started watching the show around the same time 😁 I hope you’re enjoying it as much as I am!

May I please request headcanons for Tim Bradford falling for a female rookie who’s had a tough life (homelessness, DV, etc) and doesn’t trust or open up to people easily because of her bad experiences?

Hi!! I absolutely love this idea. 🩷 I hope you enjoy, and thank you for requesting it! 🥰

Warnings: mentions of homelessness, domestic violence. Illusions to smut, but nothing explicit.

- It sounds cheesy, but there was nothing you wanted more than to become a cop.

- Having the ability and skillset to protect people was a deep seated goal of yours, and the day you became a rookie and met your TO, you knew you’d made it one step closer.

- Tim Bradford took one look at you that first day and knew you were going to make it. Not that he could outright say it. He needed to teach you and test you first, but he had a hunch you’d be good.

- You didn’t say much to him those first few months. You answered his questions, took notes, and worked your ass off the entire time. His “Tim Tests” didn’t phase you, which surprised him a bit.

- He was curious about you. Why you were so closed off, why you didn’t hang out much with the other rookies, why you seemed so unbothered by the violence you guys encountered on the streets.

- No one knew your history, because you’d left it all in New York. You’d been homeless from age 14-19, living on the streets or couch surfing between your few friends. When you met Bradley at 19, he seemed like a savior. He found you a job at his restaurant, helped you find a place to stay, even loaned you money for a deposit on an apartment.

- Did you love him, or was it the fact he saved you? You still aren’t sure. But soon you were dating him and the relationship seemed perfect. Until it wasn’t. Until he was hitting you for talking back to him, yelling and screaming when you went out with friends.

- It didn’t take long for things to escalate. Broken ribs, busted lips and black eyes. Your friends suspected but never stepped in, and one night you finally ran. You packed up what little belongings you had, the little money saved, and fled.

- Going across the country seemed the safest bet, so here you were in Cali. That was where you met an officer in San Diego, a kind woman who helped you get your life on track. And you knew that’s what you wanted to do for others.

- Tim was determined to crack you open and find out more about you. The months with him went from a stoic TO/Rookie dynamic to a friendship.

- You learned about his ex-wife and why they split. He came over and helped you fix up your apartment, bringing food and wine for the occasion.

- Lunches on duty went from a silent affair to laughter and jokes. He knew he was in trouble when your smile started making his chest ache.

- He wasn’t totally lost as to why you ended up here. He’s been a cop long enough to see the signs. Your eyes constantly roaming for danger, your tense body language when voices are raised.

- He was impressed with how you handled things in the moment. A violent suspect, people screaming. But he didn’t miss the shake of your hands once the situation was over.

- And you couldn’t deny how much you liked him. His no nonsense approach, his jokes and humor, the softness he could bring to people needing help. But getting hurt again? Opening up and having your past used against you? Not happening.

- But everything about him drew you in. The way he’d grin at you, his hands casually brushing yours, or his hand on your back. The way he held your face when a suspect elbowed you, and he was checking for bruises or blood.

- It took awhile for him to break down your defenses, but once the wall was lowered.. It was over.

- It was after shift when you guys sat down for some dinner and drinks you finally cracked. Your past, your reasons for leaving New York. What Bradley put you through and how you got away.

- You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until he grabbed them, touch soft and soothing as he assured you, you were safe. And no one would judge you.

- Getting it off your chest felt like a weight had been lifted. And Tim was thrilled to see you hanging out with the other rookies, building friendships and finding your place in the LAPD.

- Dating on the job was a bad idea, as most people knew. But Tim wasn’t sure he could help himself when it came to you. The lunches and dinners became more frequent, movie nights at your place or binging Top Chef at his.

- One night, late into the evening and 5 episodes deep in some new show, Tim finally moved. His hand on your cheek brought your attention to him, his thumb soft and gentle as it moved in circles.

- His intentions were clear, and he was giving you the time and space to move. But you didn’t, much to his relief.

- The kiss was everything opposite of your previous relationship. Soft, sweet, and gentle. His mouth was steady against yours, radiating affection and joy.

- Tim was content to move as slow as you needed in the relationship. You couldn’t deny you craved the physical contact, a connection with someone who had nothing but good intentions. And he was happy to oblige.

- You worried about the more intimate aspects, nothing had been enjoyable before. But Tim handled you with the most loving touch, taking his time figuring out what you enjoyed and what to avoid.

- Life found a balance for you, after all those years, and there was a pit in your stomach that it would all implode or disappear right out from under you. Tim assured you every time you voiced your fears that everything would be alright.

- He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Not without you.

[aria-but-horny]

Aria's Ask Game

ok ok, inspired by that ask game, I was talking with n@ and wanted to make my own full of important questions.

What color are your eyes?

Do you like being asked questions?

What’s your lucky number?

When's your birthday?

Do you have any pets?

Do you enjoy what you do with your time?

What's your favorite way to spend a weekend?

Do you like traveling?

Do you struggle with anxiety?

How important is your family to you?

What's your mother's maiden name?

What's the most important lesson that you've learned over the years?

What do you think the purpose of your life is?

What do you wish you had more time to do?

What was the name of the street you grew up on?

How loudly can you scream?

How do you like to stay updated on current events?

Do you have any siblings?

How many people would go looking for you if you suddenly disappeared?

What kind of music do you enjoy?

How fast can you run?

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

What's the longest you've ever gone without sleep?

What are you allergic to?

What kinds of food do you like?

What kinds of food remind you of home?

Do you ever cook for yourself?

What food and ingredients do you think a kitchen should be stocked with?

What's your social security number?

What do you do to try to stay active?

Do you enjoy spending time outdoors?

What's your phone's password?

What was your least favorite food as a kid?

How tall are you?

Do you have a favorite sport?

Does white noise help you sleep?

What color is your shirt?

Do you think you could fall in love with your secret admirer?

What's a skill you're proud of?

What position do you sleep in?

Do you sleep near any windows?

Do you keep a spare key outside your door? If so, where do you leave it?

Are you a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper?

When you wake up in the middle of the night, how long does it take you to fall back to sleep?

What’s the best joke you’ve ever heard?

What’s the last thing that made you cry?

What are your top five movies that you can watch over and over?

Is there a hobby you’ve always wanted to try?

How well do you handle boredom?

How's your pain tolerance?

Can you do your own laundry?

Are you into bondage?

Have you ever fantasized about being with a secret admirer?

Are you a good liar?

Have you ever been handcuffed before?

Did you grow up in a large house?

What's a topic you always love to talk about?

What part of your body is most sensitive to pain?

What's your phone's operating system?

Do you have any allergies or medical conditions that might cause complications with long term sedation?

How loudly can you scream?

How long would it take for your spirit to break if you were locked in a room with no hope of getting out?

What’s your funniest relationship dealbreaker?

Do you ever think about your beliefs and how they’ve changed over time?

Does your phone have GPS tracking enabled?

How hard is it to get you to consent?

What’s your favorite holiday?

What's your favorite type of pain to receive?

What’s your favorite midnight snack?

Would you rather your secret admirer dressed up or dressed down for when you meet her?

What’s your latest guilty pleasure?

Do you have an oral fixation?

Coffee or tea?

Are you trained in self-defense?

What’s your biggest fear?

Do you have any tips for time management?

What are some difficult lessons you’ve learned from past relationships?

Do you think your face would look good on a missing poster?

If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?

What’s your idea of a perfect vacation?

What’s your go-to karaoke song?

How much pain could you take before you stopped resisting?

What was your first job?

What makes you feel better when you're stressed?

How do you feel about making life-changing decisions on a whim?

What’s one thing you’re deeply passionate about?

What would you choose if you had to choose one meal to eat for the rest of your life?

Do you like meeting new people?

Is there anything you’re afraid you won’t accomplish?

What’s number one on your bucket list?

Does high humidity mess with your skin or hair?

What's the longest amount of time you've spent alone?

Do you believe that negative reinforcement works?

Do you find basements or attics cozier to spend time in?

What's the longest you've gone without eating?

Do you love me?

How much do you love me?

Do you think that love requires sacrifice?

If I kidnapped you and kept you in my basement would you still love me?

Does your therapist do telehealth?

[junkpuppet225]

note: Your wish is my command. Part Seven. There’s prob gonna be a part 8. Pinch of smut. A dash of angst. I hope you like it! DarylxFem!Reader. This goes along with the episode East, Season 6 Episode… 16? So spoilers and all that jazz. Enjoy!

You hold your fist up to Denise in a “pound it” motion, receiving a nervous smile as your knuckles touch and she readies herself to leave with Daryl and Rosita. Why she wants to do this you’ll never understand. She’s the only doctor in Alexandria and she has zero experience being outside this gated community. This is a mistake.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Tara will never forgive any of you for letting her go but birds gotta fly and you’re not her keeper. Plus she’s going out there with two complete apocalyptic badasses even if you still narrow your eyes at the thought of Rosita’s horde of luxury lotions she thinks you don’t know about.

The thought takes you back to that night and every other night Daryl’s stood outside your bedroom door desperate for a moment of peace only you can provide. Nights when his fingers sank into your hair the second you open the door - nights that have left an ache embedded deep inside your chest.

Once his shoulder healed things got busy in Alexandria. Pete killed Reg, Rick killed Pete, the wolves, the quarry full of walkers - the food shortage. It’s left your people - Rick’s people - exhausted, physically and mentally and none more so than his right hand. Some nights Daryl comes to you just to wrap himself in your embrace and sleep.

That sharp ache surges through you at the thought of his tired eyes and how he does whatever needs to be done for the community without question or regard for himself. He puts his own wellbeing and happiness off for the good of the group and it breaks your heart a little more every time you have to witness it.

“I want to help.” Denise assures you, answering a question you’ve already forgot.

“Ya got any requests?”

Daryl’s rough voice is at your back suddenly, his hand idly brushing against your hip to bring your attention to him. “Just that you come back in one piece.” The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them, raising the archers eyebrow as you gape at him with wide eyes. You’ve kept these thoughts buried for so long they sound foreign on your tongue. “All of you, I mean. Everyone. Just, come home safe.”

“Always do.” He assures searching your eyes for a long moment with his hand still searing against your skin - calloused fingers idly brushing just under the hem of your shirt. When Denise starts speaking, pleading her case as to why she should go he brings it back to his side giving her most of his attention but glancing back to you now and then while you memorize every detail of his face.

“Promise me.” You whisper, cutting off the doctor’s words as his eyes fall to your parted lips. It takes every ounce of your self control to keep the distance between the two of you - you want to fall to your knees and beg him to sit this one out but you know it’s not your place. Your relationship isn’t a secret, most people give you knowing grins when they see you together but they’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t that and Daryl is just the hot archer you let into your life and your body without question. As soon as the rising sun kisses the horizon he’s off to do whatever’s asked of him leaving you with that sharp, crippling ache you never breathe a word of to anyone. You’re not trying to fall in love in this ruined world and Daryl Dixon’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve it anyway.

Denise and Rosita watch your interaction with curious eyes, mirroring Daryl’s expression as the gears in his head turn. You deserve so much more than he could ever offer you so he forces himself to ignore the ache you leave inside of him, even if it’s slowly killing him.

“I promise.” He finally says, the few words a low whisper between the two of you and they give you no relief or reassurance. The tight ache in the center of your chest only intensifying with each passing moment as you watch the beat up truck stall about three times before the gears grind their way through the large gate, making a mental note to teach Daryl how to drive stick when they get back.

X

When Dale died he felt guilt. With Merle it was anger, Beth - sorrow but now as he forces his shovel into the dry dirt over and over again he just feels empty. Hollow like his heart isn’t even beating. This is on him. He knew better than to bring her. Denise had no fucking reason to be outside of these walls and now she’s gone.

You’re standing across the shallow grave from him with your arms wrapped around yourself. For you the tears of grief don’t come anymore - you’ve lost to much since all this started but that ache in your chest makes it hard to breathe. You should have never let them take her. She didn’t belong out there. Now Tara’s girlfriend is dead and Alexandria doesn’t have a doctor. You can’t even begin to think about what that means for Maggie and her baby.

“The antibiotics you brought back could save Eugene from an infection. Denise did that.”

It’s Carol who speaks but her voice sounds far away - eyes fixated on Daryl as he digs, only stopping to pull another mini bottle of Jack Daniel’s from his pocket to swallow it down in one quick gulp. You watch him toss it to the ground on top of six other empty bottles before returning to the task with a grunt.

“I’m gonna go check on Judith.” You say to no one, eyes lingering on Daryl a moment longer before turning on your heels.

X

“How many more of those do you have?”

Carol’s voice comes out strained as she watches Daryl toss another empty bottle to the pile before grabbing the shovel again. He’s reverted back to only speaking like a cave man with grunts and the occasional growl.

“Have you at least ate something?”

“Yeah.”

He’s lying and he knows she knows he’s lying but he doesn’t really give a fuck, idly wondering why she needs to be here with him while he does this. You know when to give him some fucking space, Carol should take a hint.

“Daryl, this isn’t your fault.”

He dig’s harder.

“Daryl.”

He closes his eyes tightly, taking in a shallow breath as the booze in his system starts making the world spin faster. Fuck. When they open again he resumes digging, ignoring Carol’s glare. “What?” The word comes out low and dangerous, like he may snap any second. This is his fault. He should have killed that motherfucker the first time he crossed him. Denise paid the price for that. Who else is going to pay for his mistakes?

What if it was you out there with them and that pricks bolt sunk into your head? Picturing you lying in this grave sends his shovel to the ground roughly as he searches his empty pockets for another bottle of liquor.

“Motherfucker.”

“Daryl, Denise—-.”

“Don’t, alright? Just fuckin’…, don’t.”

He doesn’t need a pep talk about how this isn’t anyone’s fault but the asshole from the burnt forest. He needs you and the peace you fucking bring him. Then he’s going to hunt that fucker down and make him wish whoever fucked up his face finished the job. Daryl stalks off from Carol to go find you with another low grunt. “Daryl, don’t take this out on her.” Carol calls after him but he’s already halfway there.

X

You close the door behind you as you leave Judith’s bedroom spotting Daryl climbing the stairs a second before he sees you. He looks angry. The muscles in his shoulders and arms wound as tight as coils with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he spots you that anger doesn’t go away it just makes room for the desire that fills his ocean eyes.

You brace yourself for the impact of his chest crashing into yours causing your back to hit Judith’s door, quietly pleading with him to calm down before he wakes her. “Alright.” Is all he says then his mouths on yours using his weight to hold you in place. It brings on a sudden rush of adrenaline mixed with fear and sorrow. It’s only a matter of time before he goes after that asshole they killed Denise. He fills your mouth with his desperate tongue, gripping your hips so hard he leaves bruises on your skin. You know he’s hurting and you know there’s nothing you can say to take that pain away right now so you do the only thing you can to keep him here with you.

You kiss him back. Brushing your tongue across his as he groans into your mouth and grasps your ass - lifting you up in his arms as if you’re weightless before bringing your legs around his hips. He smells like whiskey and he doesn’t break your kiss until he’s all but tossed you on his bed, climbing over your heaving chest to find your mouth again. This time isn’t like the first time. It’s not innocent and fun. It reminds you of the night you stood in the middle of Alexandria surrounded by a massive herd of walkers covered in rotting entrails. You watched silently as Daryl climbed to the top of that truck and fired a fucking bazooka into the man made lake just past this house. That night after you washed away one of the worst days of your life he was waiting for you outside of your bedroom. That night he kissed you just like this.

Desperately.

Your fingers rake into his hair as his mouth moves to kiss your jaw, then your throat - resting his forehead against your sternum as he takes in a deep breath gripping your waist roughly. “Jus’…, fuck… jus’ gimme a second.” The room is fucking spinning from too much Jack Daniel’s on an empty stomach - he can almost hear his brother calling him a pussy from beyond the grave. He lifts his face to yours slowly, hooded eyes searching before falling back to your soft lips. “…could’a been you out there.”

The heartache in his voice brings your back off the bed as you help him sit up placing your hands on his hot face as he watches you with tears threatening his eyes. “Was bad enough it was Denise…, but you.. if you…” The thought of you lying lifeless before him with a bolt in your brain causes him to choke on a quiet sob as you bring him to your chest.

Daryl buries his face in the bend of your neck wrapping strong arms around your body as your fingers sink into the back of his hair. “Daryl, I’m right here.” That thought gives him no comfort because he knows all to well how quickly you can be taken away. He says your name, barely a whisper against your throat as you tighten your fingers into his hair forcing him to lift his eyes to yours again. The words he’s so desperate to say are trapped in his throat as he runs a hand over your cheek, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip before he’s kissing you again.

You wish you could say you forced him to stop, made him go downstairs and eat something or talk about all these feelings inside of his head but you never claimed to be strong - especially when it comes to Daryl so you return his kiss just as fiercely, pulling your shirt over you head before demanding his, buttons flying from your shorts as he jerks then down your thighs - pushing you back onto the bed so he can sink into you deeply.

Once he’s inside of you all of the fucked up shit going on disappears and there’s just you and him and the soft groans between you. You card your fingers through his unruly hair as your eyes meet, his thrusts slow and deep - never wanting this to end, never wanting to go back to the outside world. Just as your fingers tighten in the back of his hair to bring his lips to yours he bends his face into your shoulder as a sudden rush of emotion surges through him.

“I love you.”

Everything stops - his slow moving hips, the deep thrusts - even his lungs stop taking in air as he keeps his head bowed beside yours. What the fuck did he just say? He whispers your name against your throat as your fingers slip from his hair, trailing feather light strokes down his back as he finally lifts his eyes to yours - surprised to see the hint of a smile on your lips. “Daryl…, I love you too.” You assure him softly as his mouth finds yours, kissing you until you’re a squirming mess beneath him as he begins to move again - harder this time, bringing your back off the bed as you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your deep moans. “F-fuck, Y/N—-, s-say it again.”

“I love you.” His grunts turn into soft whimpers as you grip him so fucking hard he’s seeing stars, spilling into you a moment later as you wrap your arms around him tightly. You know Daryl better than most and you know this is some kind of fucked up goodbye before he leaves to kill Dwight. You can’t lose him. He can’t leave you again. “D-Daryl, please don’t go after that asshole that killed Denise.” You whisper against his jaw, hot tears pouring from the corners of your eyes as you cling to him.

His back goes stiff at your words, brushing your tears away with a slight nod. “M’not goin’ anywhere.” He’s always lied so easily. Merle taught him how to lie before he taught him how to speak so it comes easy to him when he needs it but he wasn’t lying when he said he loved you. He felt that shit deep in his fucking soul. It just doesn’t change what happened on those train tracks yesterday. That motherfucker deserves to die for what he’s done. “Promise me.”

Daryl whispers your name, silently begging you not to ask this of him. “Daryl. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He whispers he loves you again later that night while he fucks up into you against the shower wall then again as you’re falling asleep wrapped up in his strong arms. He even says it in his head the next morning, chewing his bottom lip as he fights an inner battle before he slips out of the room without a sound. You’re his last thought as he sinks down to his motorcycle and guns it towards Alexandria’s gates to make this right.

[followingthebutterflies7]

Cabin Fever

Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: You’re forced to share a bed during a week-long cabin retreat with your infuriating coworker Spencer Agnew. Somewhere between all the snide remarks and bickering, fighting starts to feel a lot like falling.

Warnings: Mild language, enemies to lovers tension, forced proximity/one bed trope, lots of pining and mutual emotional avoidance.

--------------------------------------------------------

You and Spencer Agnew had… a history.

Not the cute kind. The “I can’t be in a room with you for more than fifteen minutes without arguing about something completely irrelevant” kind.

He got under your skin in that effortless way that only certain people do. Always quick with a sarcastic quip, always pretending not to care, always right when it mattered most, which only made it worse. He was charming in a smug, insufferable way. Infuriatingly quick-witted, too good at comebacks, and always had that damn half-smile on his face like he knew something you didn’t. You two clashed constantly, like flint and steel.

Everyone at Smosh knew the two of you didn’t get along. You were constantly being separated in group shoots to “keep the peace,” and when you were both unfortunately stuck in a group together everyone was walking on eggshells around you both. The tension between you was so thick, not even a sword could cut through it.

So when the team planned a full week retreat in the mountains for some downtime and brainstorming, you didn’t even think to worry. You’d be sharing a cabin with the crew, maybe bunk beds or couches or something. No big deal.

But the moment you saw Spencer Agnew’s name next to yours on the room assignments list, you knew the week was doomed. The Smosh cabin retreat was supposed to help everyone destress and relax, to disconnect from screens, and allegedly “bond.” How were you supposed to do any of that with Spencer Agnew in your room.

You had agreed to go to the cabin mostly for the free food and promise of hot chocolate by a fireplace. You had not agreed to be stuck sharing a room with the only person at Smosh you couldn’t get through a conversation with without biting your tongue.

“Room three,” Courtney said, handing you a key to your room upon your arrival. “Please be nice.”

“Define nice,” You grumbled, glaring at them through your lashes.

Courtney just laughed. “Try not to murder him. Some of us actually like him.”

They gave you a quick hug and sent you on your way to your own personal hell for the week.

You convinced yourself it would be fine. You would be the bigger person, not make a big deal about the room assignment, and have a fabulous time at the cabin retreat just to piss Spencer off.

And everything was fine, until you opened the door to your assigned room and saw a single queen-sized bed.

And Spencer was already sitting on it, scrolling on his phone.

You stopped dead in the doorway just looking in with your suitcase in hand. Your brain had short circuited and all hope you had for the week disappeared.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He didn’t look up. “I didn’t say anything. So I can’t be kidding.”

You stared at the bed. “There’s only one.”

Spencer finally glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “Wow, you’re great at counting. This’ll be fun.”

You groaned. “I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“No, you’re sleeping in the bed.”

“You’re not sleeping next to me.” You said quickly.

“Didn’t plan on it,” he said, already setting his bag on the floor. “I’ll take the floor. Not like it’s the first time I’ve slept on hard surfaces.”

You blinked. “Be my guest.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Night One

Spencer had made a makeshift bed out of throw pillows and a folded blanket from the linen closet. It looked fine. Not ideal, but you were determined to avoid sharing a bed with him.

You had to be honest, you did feel a little guilty, but you’d rather he woke up with a crick in his neck than risk kicking him in your sleep and giving him bragging rights for the rest of eternity.

Spencer didn’t say much as he changed into a t-shirt and joggers, and you brushed your teeth in the shared bathroom, already in your pajamas. You didn’t listen to what little he was saying, just like how you had ignored him the majority of the day. You just wanted to escape this horrid situation by sinking into your soft pillow and sweet dreams.

You curled up on the bed, back turned to the room, feeling weirdly tense even though Spencer wasn’t even on the mattress. You had glanced down to see him wrapping himself up on the cold floor like a disgruntled burrito, muttering something to himself that you couldn’t hear.

But you caught the end of his words, just as you rolled onto your side:

“…you know there’s room down here.”

You didn’t respond.

You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Despite your best efforts, you couldn't fall asleep. Not because of the cold, not because of the bed. Because just knowing that Spencer was somewhere in the darkness set you on edge.

You could hear him breathing. Soft and steady and too close for comfort.

You hated that you noticed.

--------------------------------------------------------

Night Two

You two argued about firewood. Being the bigger person be damned.

You argued over who should’ve grabbed it, whether it was stacked correctly, if it was even real firewood. What was kindling and what was tinder, and how to place it in your room's fireplace correctly. You stormed across the room and paced around him, fuming.

“I don’t get why you have to act like you know everything,” you muttered, digging through your bag for your extra hoodie. You pulled it on, then threw your coat over it.

“I don’t act like I know everything,” he said calmly, sitting down in the chair in the corner. “I do know everything. It’s a burden, really.”

You threw a pillow at his head.

He dodged it, laughing. “Wow, mature.”

You just flipped him off, proving his point, and stormed out of the room.

“Hey, are you alright?” Courtney asked as you stomped through the living room and towards the front door.

“Yep. Just need some fresh air.” You said shortly and accidentally slammed the door behind you, making the windows of the cabin quiver.

You trudged around the cabin, the snow inhibiting your desire to stomp around in rage. You couldn’t stand Spencer’s smug attitude. You hated how he was actually right a lot of time. You hated how his mouth curled up in a little smirk when he saw you knew he was right. You hated how much you stared at his lips in that smirk.

You walked a couple laps around the cabin, just trying to blow off steam. Finally coming to a stop to catch your breath, you noticed you were standing in front of the window to your shared room. Peeking inside, you caught Spencer pulling off his sweatshirt, the fabric riding up just enough to flash a glimpse of skin. Despite the cold, your cheeks instantly got warm. You looked away immediately, deciding it was time to go inside.

Upon reentering your room, you purposely kept your eyes far away from Spencer. If you so much as looked at his feet you started to feel a little hot. You didn’t speak as you gathered your things to take a shower and get ready for bed.

When you were done, you were expecting the lamp in your shared room to be turned off and Spencer to be once again curled up on the floor. What you weren't expecting was him to be right outside the bathroom door. You nearly ran into him.

“Did you enjoy the show earlier?”

“I- what?” Your face got hot again.

“In the window. Did you enjoy the show?”

You scoffed. “Please. I’ve seen more defined abs on bread dough.”

He snorted. “Don’t pretend you don’t look.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You don’t deny it, though.”

You pushed past him to get into your bed. “Shut up and get in your blanket cocoon.”

Later that night, a storm rolled in. It was loud, wind howling through the trees outside. It was cold, so much colder than the night before. You shifted under the covers, listening to the occasional crack of thunder.

Then a whisper: “Are you awake?”

You rolled over. “What?”

“Do you think anyone else is sharing a room this awkwardly?” His teeth chattered.

You stared into the dark. “Only if they also hate their roommate.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then: “Do you actually hate me?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you weren’t sure how to say “I think I might like you too much to just hate you.”

Like the night before, you lay awake in bed just listening to his breathing. You waited until it slowed and deepened. Then you got up, trying to not let the bed creak, and you silently placed your spare blanket on top of his huddled form.

As you crawled back into bed, you didn’t see the small smile appear on his face.

--------------------------------------------------------

Night Three

Courtney and Shayne had to pull you aside after dinner. They claimed it was your turn to help with dishes, but you knew it was supposed to be Angela. You helped regardless.

“You guys have to stop fighting,” Courtney said, handing you a plate to dry.

“We’re not fighting,” you replied too quickly, whipping the towel around a little too forcefully.

“Your entire vibe is aggressively like an old married couple on the brink of divorce,” Shayne added, his arms elbow-deep in soapy water. “It’s unbearable.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

Courtney gave you a long look. “You sure?”

You just finished putting the dishes away and walked away from them, not wanting to discuss Spencer any further. Unbeknownst to you, your two friends had taken matters into their own hands. Courtney had “accidentally” taken all the extra blankets for the group movie night, and the floor was officially freezing.

That night, when you walked into the room, Spencer was shivering in the fetal position on top of just the few throw pillows that were mercifully not stolen by Courtney. Spencer’s back was turned and didn’t say anything when you entered.

You stood there, staring at his pitiful floor setup. You knew his back was sore, you had seen him stretching and groaning in pain from the corner of your eye all day. You knew he was tired, he had a concerning amount of energy drinks during the day, at least four more than usual.

And you were tired too, tired of how quiet the room felt when he wasn’t tossing jabs your way because he didn’t have the energy. He didn’t even try to get another rise out of you after your third “fight” of the day. You wouldn’t stand for it.

“…Fine,” you mumbled. “Just get in the bed.”

Spencer rolled over to look at you over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Romance isn’t dead.”

“I’m serious. I’m not letting you freeze to death just because we’re emotionally stunted.”

“Fair.”

You crawled into the bed slowly, keeping to your side.

He climbed in slowly, leaving a polite three feet of space between you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you slept. Neither of you really tried.

After twenty minutes of silence, he finally spoke, voice low. “ You didn’t answer me last night. Why do you hate me?”

You exhaled. “I don’t.”

He turned to face you in the dark. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You swallowed. “I don’t hate you. You just… get under my skin.”

His voice dropped an octave. “Is that a bad thing?

You turned to look at him. His face was inches from yours now, barely lit by the glow of the moon through the curtain.

“No,” you said quietly. “That’s the problem.”

There was a pause. Then a very, very quiet: “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“I lose brain cells talking to you.”

“Every time you roll your eyes at me, I want to kiss you just to make you stop.”

Your breath caught.

You could barely see him, but you could feel him, warm and close, the air between you charged and heavy and full of something that had been buried for too long.

And then:

You kissed him.

Just once. Soft, cautious, like a question neither of you had been brave enough to ask before.

When you pulled back, Spencer didn’t move, but his voice came soft through the dark. “Took you long enough.”

You laughed, quiet and surprised. And even though you couldn’t see it, he smiled like he hadn’t in months.

--------------------------------------------------------

Night Four

Something changed.

Not dramatically, just barely enough to catch the corner of your eye if you knew where to look.

It started on the trail for the “Team Bonding Hike.” You didn’t argue during the hike. Not even once.

You’d both also ended up near the back of the hiking group, not deliberately, but not entirely by accident either. The rest of the cast was ahead, laughing about how Shayne tripped over a funny looking root. You and Spencer? Quietly walking. One could say even peacefully so.

He offered you his water bottle when yours ran out. No teasing, no smirk. Just a simple, “Here,” and a glance that lingered too long.

Later, when the wind picked up, you tugged your spare beanie from your backpack and held it out to him. “You’re gonna complain the whole way back if your ears freeze.”

He took it wordlessly. Pulled it on. And smiled just slightly.

When you returned to the cabin, the others filtered inside in pairs, stomping snow from their boots and shedding jackets. You hung back to kick off your own boots, fingers still cold and clumsy.

Spencer leaned against the doorframe behind you, watching you wrestle with the laces.

“You’re not as annoying as I remembered,” he said casually.

You looked up, frowning. “Is that your version of a compliment?”

He shrugged. “Don’t get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved into a smile before you could stop them.

He saw it. You saw that he saw it.

And neither of you said a word.

He just kneeled down, pushed your still struggling fingers aside, effortlessly untied your boot laces for you and walked away without another word.

That night, when you slid into bed, it was quieter than usual. No jabs. No grumbles about the blanket being uneven or the pillow “mysteriously” moving closer to the center of the bed.

Just warmth.

You both lay facing away from each other, suddenly shy as the memories of last night resurfaced. Your legs stretched toward opposite corners of the mattress.

But under the blankets, your feet brushed.

Neither of you moved away.

--------------------------------------------------------

Night Five

You couldn’t sleep.

Not from the cold, Spencer ran warm. His side of the bed was a furnace, radiating heat like a human space heater. But your mind wouldn’t rest. It had started replaying every moment from the last few days with new clarity. A look here. A laugh there.

The water bottle.

The beanie.

The way he hadn’t pulled away from your touch.

The kiss.

You stared at the ceiling, eyes wide in the darkness, heart thudding far too loudly in your chest. You were sure Spencer could hear it.

But next to you, Spencer was still.

Too still.

You rolled on your side to face him.

“Hey,” you whispered. “You awake?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. You were about to roll back over when-

“…Yeah.”

You hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

Sheets rustled. He shifted slightly, just enough to turn and face you. “Sure.”

Your voice came quieter now. “Why do we fight so much?”

There was a long pause. You could hear the wind against the cabin window, the distant creak of old wood and footsteps upstairs.

Then Spencer breathed out.

“I think…” He sounded unsure. Not like him. “It’s easier than admitting I like you.”

The room went silent again. Your breath caught and your chest clenched. “What?”

He didn’t try to explain it away. He just let it sit there, honest and a little raw.

“I mean, I’m not good at it,” he went on, barely above a whisper now. “But I’ve been trying to show it. I brought you tea last week. You didn’t even notice.”

Now your chest ached. “I noticed.”

He stilled.

“I noticed everything,” you admitted, voice fragile. “You gave me your seat at lunch even though you made it look like you didn’t want it. You offered me gum when I was nervous. You let me have the bed while you slept on the floor. The cold, hard floor. You always act like I’m a pain, but you’ve been kind in all these quiet little ways, and I didn’t know if it meant something or if I was just imagining it.”

In the dark, you reached across the invisible boundary line that had lived between you since the first night. The line that had only been broken once before with a forbidden kiss you two still hadn't discussed.

Your fingers brushed his arm, hesitant, barely touching his wrist.

His hand found yours, fingers curling around yours gently. Solid. Steady.

Spencer whispered, “You weren’t imagining it.”

You stared at each other in the dark. Not a word more passed between you.

But you did not let go.

Not all night.

--------------------------------------------------------

The Next Morning

You woke up slowly.

Soft morning light filtered in through the sheer curtains, and for a moment, you didn’t register why the bed felt… different.

And then you realized.

The space between you was gone.

Spencer’s arm was draped across your waist.

Your head was on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

Your legs were tangled together under the blankets, and the space between you that had once been filled with tension, complaints, and imaginary lines was now filled with warmth. Breath. Connection.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You just… stayed there.

Content. Warm.

Home.

He was awake, you realized, a few minutes later. His hand was gently rubbing circles on your back through the fabric of your shirt. Not suggestive. Not playful.

Just comforting.

He was holding you like he’d always meant to.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured eventually, voice rough with sleep.

You smiled into his chest. “So could I.”

At breakfast you sat next to each other without thinking, without any awkwardness, and without needing to explain anything.

Spencer handed you your coffee without asking how you liked it. You leaned into his shoulder when you laughed at something Shayne said. His knee pressed against yours beneath the table and didn’t move.

No one said anything. But they noticed.

You could feel it in the way Courtney looked over and smiled for half a second too long. In the way Angela bit her lip to keep from grinning. In the way that no one cracked a single joke about the two of you being civil, like they didn’t want to break the spell.

But it wasn’t a spell. It was something real.

Later, as people drifted outside to start packing the van, you lingered back to rinse your mug. Spencer stood behind you, close enough to feel the heat of his presence at your back.

When you turned, his hand came up gently to tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear. It was quiet in the cabin, just soft footsteps upstairs, and the distant buzz of someone zipping a duffel bag.

“Hey,” he said.

You looked up.

“I don’t want this to stay here,” he said, voice low. “Whatever this is. Us. I want to keep figuring it out when we’re back.”

Your heart flipped. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I really, really do.”

You nodded, unable to stop the smile that bloomed on your face.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I think I’m already used to waking up next to you.”

Spencer leaned in and kissed you, slow and sure, like a promise.

And for once, there was no fight left between you.

Just warmth. Just honesty. Just him.

[bullet-prooflove]

Addict: Dean Archer x Reader (feat: Sean Archer)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @sweetdaytimedreams @cosmic-psychickitty @squeakowl

Companion piece to:

Make A Wish - Sean is triggered on his birthday when he sees a familiar face in the paper.

A Good Day - Sean's day takes a turn when he comes face to face with the man who abused him.

Dean doesn’t realise that Sean’s been fired from his position as a sobriety counsellor not until he runs into Margo in the E.D. He’s treating one of her patients for a head injury when she turns up to support them. It’s a little awkward to say the least because he hasn’t seen her since the night she kissed him, since he told her he wouldn’t fuck anyone else but his wife.

“I’m sorry about the way things went with Sean.” She tells him, shaking her head outside the medical bay. “I hope there’s no hard feelings.”

“I don’t understand.” He tells her, stripping off his gloves and tossing them into medical waste bin. “What happened with Sean?”

“I had to let him go a couple of days ago.” Margo tells him, placing a hand on her hip. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No, he didn’t.” He says, gesturing between the two of them. “It wasn’t because of me was it? Because I wouldn’t-”

“No.” She sighs crossing her arms over her chest. “He hit his new boss, broke his nose. We have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to violence so I had to fire him.”

Dean walks away in a daze because even on his worst days, that boy was never violent. When he can’t get through to Sean on the phone, there’s this dread in his chest, one that lingers throughout his entire shift. A big change like this, it can mess with someone in recovery, it can tip them back over the edge.

When he turns up at Sean’s apartment that night, his son looks worse for wear. There’s dark circles under his eyes, his curls are a mess, he looks tired, more tired than Dean has seen him in a long time.

“You look like you could do with something to eat.” Dean says, holding up his bag of Chinese takeout. It’s from Sean’s favourite place down the street, Dean’s hoping it’ll cheer him up a little after his recent bad news.

“Yea.” Sean says, his palm rubbing over his weary features. “I’ve skipped a couple of meals lately.”

It’s when he steps into the apartment that Dean realises the state that Sean’s in. His son, he’s borderline institutionalised, everything has it’s place. What he’s looking at now is chaotic and disorganised, a reflection of Sean’s mind he thinks.

“Where’s Roxy tonight?” Dean asks taking a seat on the couch before he removes the red and white take out containers from the bag. There’s a Cubs game playing in the background, an old one from the other night.

“We’re on a break.” Sean tells him as he pokes at the food within the container with his chopsticks.  

“Since when…” Dean asks, his heart sinking because Sean’s life, it seems to be falling down around his head.

“Since I was arrested for punching my new boss.” Sean says without looking up from his meal. “I told her some stuff and she used it to get me released from PD and it’s put me in a position that I didn’t want to be in. Right now I’m not in a place where I can forgive that.”

“What kind of stuff?” Dean says, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown and Sean looks away, his jaw clenching. For a second Dean thinks he’s about to shut down but instead he exhales before meeting his father’s gaze.

“Do you remember Reg Richards?” Sean asks, setting the container down and pushing it away from him.

It takes Dean a few minutes to place the name, he flits through years of memory until he lands on the identity of the man.

“He was your patrol leader when you were in Navy Cadets, you used to love it.” He says thoughtfully. “Until you didn’t…”

“Yea he’s the reason I stopped loving it.” Sean informs him with a bitterness that causes Dean’s heart to twist in his chest. “It started on my 14th birthday and it stopped when I ran away the first time.”

The air rushes out of Dean’s lungs, it feels like he’s been stabbed, like someone has plunged a knife between his ribs and twisted the blade.

“My God Sean.” He whispers, his palm rubbing across his mouth. “I kept sending you back.”

“Yea dad.” Sean says softly, meeting his father’s gaze. “That’s why I went off the rails, that’s why I became an addict.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[n3ptoonz]

'Shape of You'

THANKS FOR 600+!!🩷🩷

Pairing: Laios Touden/F!Monster!Reader

Fandom: Dungeon Meshi/Delicious in Dungeon

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explciit! Riding, reader is a shapeshifter, reader is implied to be thicker, reader is tall, reader has larger breasts, mating press, creampie, msub to mdom, fdom to fsub, half proofread, might've missed a few tags

Word count: 2k+

aye this might not even get much traction but i did promise to write this a long time ago, so whoever is interested, i hope you enjoy and thanks in advance for reading!

the reference that launched me into overdrive to write this (like i took a shot of crack and heroine at the same time)

Laios' party made a quick stop by a shop on a lower floor of the dungeon--they were in desperate need of food and supplies. Thankfully it wasn't as packed as the ones on the upper floors, but the prices were a tad more expensive. And most of the vendors were...monsters. Or some variation of one.

"You're ten coins short," you said, quite flatly too. It was all too often that people would come through with not enough currency in their pockets to get by via these shops. Funnily enough, you couldn't help but take notice to the armored Tallman that was a bit unfazed by your statue. Most that come to and fro from whatever land shake in their boots, sometimes walking away without buying the things they need to continue. You even had to get a shorter stool at your kiosk so customers wouldn't faint or run off.

You were a tall female Beastman--well, taking the form of one--and your bangs covered your eyes. Clad in slightly revealing attire, but to most this was considered normal.

You could overhear the shorter blonde elf asking the rest what they can do since they really needed those supplies. The Tallman walked back over to you, some pep in his step and a genuine smile on his face. He really looked like a sweetheart. He looked like one of those kinds that took interest in monsters, and you've seen it all before. He might try to distract you, ask you questions about your species or life while the others attempt to steal the items and-

"Is there perhaps another way to pay?" he said, "We really need these supplies and I've gotta know my options...Please?"

In his mind, he was taking a shot in the dark. Being unable to read your facial expressions, especially unable to read your eyes was killing him. But he at least had to try.

You were pleasantly surprised. Not many customers pressed on this far. Not one was successful. Standing up, now being a generous four inches taller than him, you watched his jaw drop slightly. But not in a "I fucked up" way. No...He was practically drooling.

How can a monster be so...beautiful?! From your rigid horns to the patterns on your skin, and your rich voice that rattled around his brain, let's just say it's a good thing Laios would never eat a beastman. He could die happy just at the sight.

"This way," you said while gesturing to the hall that led to a spot closer to your habitat. Laios nearly broke into a sweat as his cheeks turned a deep red, clearing his throat and turning to reassure his party.

"I will be right back guys. Don't worry about me, I'll handle it."

Did he believe that? Maybe? I mean, surely if he had to fight for his life he'd have a better chance of winning if he wasn't walking behind you and taking in your figure. The confident sway of your hips. The silhouette of your thick thighs through your skirt...Woah! What is he thinking? Is it hot in here? Or rather, out here?

At the end of the hall, it was foresty and damp place that honestly looked enchanted. Like an untouched land filled with nothing but dreams. Though, that was the entire point. What use would this place be if you couldn't eventually carry out an...alternative transaction here? It's only been three months since the walls shifted and allowed your escape to this part of the dungeon. Make the most of it.

And make the most of it you will.

Once further in, the environment became more misty. The vines surrounding most of the area released some opaque vapor into the air, causing Laios to feel funny. His vision became wonky and he couldn't stop giggling to himself.

"Something funny?" you said stopping in front of him with your back turned. Your...really nice back. He couldn't help himself. He kept imagining what you looked like naked, but in his defense it's what happens when he's nervous! You know, like what you looked like without that piece of cloth just barely holding up your breasts. Just what you looked like hovering over him with not an article of anything on except for those pretty shiny beads around your waist...

Damn it.

He blushed hard and leaned on a nearby tree to compose himself before attempting an answer. If he spoke now, he didn't know what sound would come out his mouth.

The second he looked up in your direction you turned around and looked him dead in the eyes with your bangs out of the way. His pupils grew and the shine in his eyes was gone.

"Traveler?" you said in a feigned innocent tone. Laios blinked a few times and groaned, holding his head. His ears were ringing and he was sweating just standing there dazed as ever. His pants were getting tighter. He could barely look at you or register anything going on as your voice echoed in his head.

-

The weight of his limbs felt like bricks. But his legs only felt like that because you were sitting in his lap, and right atop his crotch.

"I have a challenge for you," you whispered in his ear, shifting your weight forward to wake him up more. He inhaled sharply as his eyes widened. He so badly wanted to touch you. Grab your hips. You shoulders. Anything! He could only just look at up you with hazy eyes and nod slowly.

"I accept," he muttered. His words may have been a bit slurred but he was well aware of the situation. He had to get supplies for his party, and if this was the only way, then shit, so be it! He was the last man to complain.

You smiled at him and sat up to push his pants further down his legs, softly gripping his shaft and hovering over it.

"All you have to do is ejaculate," you said. "I'm going to ride you until you do so. Clear?"

You could feel him twitch in your hand in response. So, with that, you sat right in his lap with zero preparation or warning. You had the ability to shape shift, so this kind of thing was never a bother. Although he was beneath you and locked up as soon as he registered your warmth around him. It was like a wet heating pad.

What you chose to omit was once inside of you, his system would slow down. The point was for it to be difficult, just take longer for him to cum. Also for him to not be able to speed up the process with whatever strength he may have. Not a soul has been able to do this without tapping out because even though it's taking longer, the sensitivity is still there. Stronger than ever before.

The hands that were lying helplessly at his side were generously placed on the fabric that covered your ass while you rode him. It was a normal pace but to him it was excruciatingly slow, but that didn't stop that goofy lazy smile from forming on his lips.

Every thought of his walking down that hall came true--which wasn't too many. You holding his head up let him just sit there with your tits bouncing in his face. This was not helping in the slightest. Oh the things he could say. The things he could do! Which was really...not a damn thing.

"Three minutes. Impressive." you said. Three minutes passed already?!

"I'm so sad..." he mumbled, more like whined.

"Why's that?"

You could feel his fingers wiggling, trying to gain some kind of control again. "Your breasts...so nice..." he huffed and a single tear fell down his face. You could almost laugh.

Wiping his tear with your thumb, you leaned forward to stuff his face in your cleavage, and you just couldn't help but chuckle at his groan of relief; your arms wrapped around his neck for balance. His tight muscles easing just a bit even as you rode faster, this time for your own pleasure. You could feel his hands gripping and kneading at the skin between his fingers. The pace his hands moved was oddly faster than before, but you were too caught up in your own world to care.

He was one of few that was decently sized when erect, which was the most exciting part. Each up and down slide better than the last, if that made any sense. To you it does, be as it may, you don't get this opportunity often.

He groaned again as he finally got the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach, his muscles a little less tense than before. Laios had to keep reminding himself why he was here. Why he agreed to this besides getting a nut off with a scheming, gorgeously thick monster that was taller than him. Whatever hit him, whatever newfound purpose reached up and slapped some sense into him moved his arms up to hug your waist, but not enough to trap you against him. Not yet anyway.

You were still coming undone. Your eyes to the sky and moaning to your heart’s content. It was now you who forgot what the purpose of all this was. Ten measly coins? What an excuse…or a lie.

But there was no time to think about it as your hips suddenly slammed into his lap and were unable to move. You panted in irritation as you looked down at him, feeling him trap you against his chest as he mustered every bit of strength to roll over so you were on your back. He hovered over you and caught his own breath, his arms shaking as he held himself up for a moment. You looked at him in pure shock. Of the few individuals that went through this “trial” of yours, it was just the typical process of you using them. However, now, as you watch him sit up straight and press your thighs to your chest, flushed cheeks and all, you couldn't tell if you should be upset, or thrilled.

If you were annoyed before, then it completely vanished the second his hips connected with the back of your thighs. A guttural, yet pleasurable shriek leaving your lips and echoing throughout the damp, dreamy forest. Your bright colored eyes wide and your fangs bore in its wake. Laios was determined to make this worth it and just move the hell on. It must've been the angle—it was—because now the heavy, dead feeling in his limbs was free, and he thrusted like he had nothing to lose yet all to gain, which was true.

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life. It's like the rush one gets when having a worthy opponent. The intensity running through your veins caused your form to change mid thrust, and you were focused on nothing else but the both of you reaching climax. You were already close to it, and especially Laois now that he just watched you shift like that because of him. He cursed under his breath and thrusted harder.

“You're…you are gorgeous,” he said breathlessly, his eyes taking in a totally different version of you. He groaned loudly once your tail wrapped around his neck. “In every form,” he added in a strained whisper.

He finally snapped. That sticky, warm substance filling the caverns of your core was almost never ending. You bucked and shook under him, shifting a few more times as your orgasm hit you like a weighted blanket in the cold. His hips finally stilled and he panted like a dog, shakily removing himself and watching his cum leak onto your now bigger tail from the new shift. You let out a sigh as your body relaxed, letting your legs drop.

“Traveler,” you said with a breathy laugh and looked at him while sitting up. “Take what you need.”

He helped you stand, silently marveling at the feeling of your hand in his since this shift gave you claws. Oh, how he wishes he could stay guess what you turned into post-Beastman form, but he had duties and a party to lead. He watched as his own cum evaporated from the ground, so he could only imagine at this point what it looked like after coating those walls of yours, like something he'd never felt before.

“It’s on the house.”

-

A/N: hello my tooniez <3, LOL, i hope this is not garbanzo beans. i been gone QUITE a bit, im not fully back yet cause college drained the hell out of my writing desires. i have my ideas but taking classes that involve writing really slapped me around 🗿 anyway, thank you for 600 hello?? i'm trying to release the old requests sitting in my drafts for y'all and i won't open requests until i get that done, so it may be a while. thanks for being patient if you've been waiting/haven't forgot about me :3

i've been reading a lot too so hopefully it improves my writing style? who knows!

[sophiamagia]

Bad habits

-Pairing: Bat family x gn reader

-Sumary: You vape. What started from sharing one with a friend, had slowly turned into buying some for yourself. You stayed at the manor often. The Waynes were a found family to you, and if you weren’t already being taken care of by your own legal guardians, you would’ve been adopted by Bruce himself. You’d probably be a new Robin and everything. You spent a dinner shared with the whole family, a rare occasion for the busy bunch. You step away for a bathroom break, and just take one hit. Then a few. Then you got caught.

-Authoes note: this is a request by the same person as last time, and I was excited to write this one. Btw I don’t usually write a lot of angst so this is so light I’m sorry. Again, I apologize for taking so long, it’s just a religious thing going on right now, no social media. I hope you enjoy it, and requests are open as usual. Sorry it’s a bit short 😔😔🙏

-warnings: small angst, usage of a vape, addiction references, little conflict, I don’t really proof read

~><><~><><~><><~><><~><><~><><~><><~><~

Bad Habits

     It was a rather cold night; you could hear the gentle patter of rain against the walls and windows of the structure you currently took residence in. There was minimal chatter in the large dining room as everyone waited for the food to be delivered. You were relieved to be in this comfy place again. The warm lighting graced the large room with a sense of security and peace. 

     Alfred delivered everyone’s plates, and Jason was quick to start devouring his food, followed by Dick. You chuckled softly, watching as everyone else ate like royalty. Bruce spoke softly to you from the other end of the table.

     “How have you been, y/n?” 

     “Oh, uhm…” you hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t on your best days. But it wasn’t worth talking about during a nice dinner like this. You took a small bit of your food before replying, “good. I’ve been good.”

     He nodded, and Tim chuckled. You glanced at him, seeing he was just on his phone, typing rapidly. Bruce told him to put it away. 

     You sighed, glancing around at everyone at the table. The comforting silence slowly became itchy. The urge to take a deep breath of something else was getting stronger the more you tried to sit still. You suddenly sat up.

     “I’m using the restroom…” you announced, a bit of nervousness in your tone. Everyone looked up at your suddenness, before looking back to their food. Damian spoke with a bit of attitude he always had.

     “Ok?” He spoke, before rolling his eyes and taking a bite of food from his own plate. You let out a breath, and turned away from the table. You walked down the huge halls, a slow pace turning into a pretty much a jog to get there. You could feel your hand already pulling out the vape before you shut the door. 

     Pressing the button, you brought the edge of the pen to your lips, slowly inhaling the sweet nectar that promised to solve all problems.

1

2

3

4

     Then you put it back in your pocket, holding the vapor in your mouth for a while cracking open a small window. You exhaled, feeling a calm wash over you. Feeling a bit lighter, you took your time with a few more hits. 

     You thought it was just a few minutes. Just a few minutes of relaxation before resuming the dinner. But when you checked your phone, ten minutes had passed.

     Shit…

     You couldn’t lie and say it was the dinner; you had barely touched your plate. Maybe you could say you ate something earlier? No…you told them you hadn’t eaten before this. Maybe they would believe you were just doom scrolling. Yeah. Tim does that all the time; forgetting he has somewhere to be meanwhile scrolling social media endlessly. You nod, closing the window. 

     You take another hit of the vape as you open the bathroom door, only to be met with Damian. You froze, making eye contact with him as a flavored smoke leaves your nose and mouth. His face curls in disgust, and his hands sink into his pockets. 

     “Please don’t say anything…” you muttered, putting the vape safely away in your pocket. He spoke lowly in response.

     “So this is what you spent ten minutes doing? I thought you hated bad habits like that.” He muttered, shaking his head. You couldn’t help but feel irritated and shameful. He must’ve been sent to check up on you, and you could sense his disappointment.

     “It’s different from smoking cigarettes, and it’s not alcohol, or drugs.” You spoke in a mumble, hands fiddling with the vape in your pocket. He snapped back.

     “It’s the same, Y/n,” He shook his head, “you might as well be smoking cigarettes. You can’t seriously be trying to tell me vaping is healthy.”

     You opened your mouth to reply, but saw Dick walking up to you both. This was quickly escalating to something you didn’t want it to.

     “Hey, everything ok?” Dick asked with a smile, looking at Damian, then at you. You tried to speak first, but Damian interrupted .

     “Y/n is vaping.” Damian said flatly, and Dick gave you a confused look. His eyes drifted to your pocket, seeing the vape. His eyes shifted to more of a concerned look than anything else. 

      Does everyone in this family snoop around? No, it wasn’t their fault. You were stupid…walking out of the door taking one last hit. But it’s good. Similar to the feeling of licking a lollipop. Then taking another lick before the sweet taste is gone. Then you’ve eaten the lollipop and go to get another one. 

      Humiliatingly, the lung-killer was taken from you. Everyone was told, and could’ve curled in on yourself when you saw Bruce look at you; the same look a father would give you. A father you actually want to be around, no less. A long conversation was had with you instead of a warm dinner and game night. You were just focused on the fact that you’ve seen some of them smoke before.

      Oh, but you practically begged Bruce not to tell your guardians. You would rather die than face that on top of everything else. But they did anyways. Your room was searched, your bathroom and trash cans. 

Now every time you come over for dinner, Alfred asks you to hand over any “addictive products.” Good luck sneaking past the famous vigilante detectives next time. 

[itstherisingdaylight]

Written for @jilymicrofics March Challenge Prompt 27: Rising || Words: 465 Rating: G Happy Birthday James! This micro is related to my main fic, but can be read independently!

“Why is it taking so long?”

James bent over the kitchen counter, eyeing the loaf of bread. Or really, what was supposed to become a loaf of bread. Eventually.

“It hasn’t even been an hour, James,” Lily said from her place on the sofa.

Despite his impatience, James couldn’t help but cast a fond smile her way. Harry was finally starting to sleep through the night with some regularity, and it had done wonders for her. James helped when he could, but there wasn’t much he could do about feedings.

Which was why he was trying to do something nice for his exhausted wife. But for whatever reason, bread dough took forever to rise.

“And you’re sure I can’t hurry it along with magic?” he asked.

“Don’t you dare,” Lily said. “I told you, it’ll impact the flavour.”

James grumbled.

“Come sit down, Love,” she said.

James did as he was told, not that it was any real chore. Lily sat cross-legged on the sofa, nursing Harry, her hair thrown up in a haphazard bun. But as always, she looked beautiful. Gorgeous, really. And for some reason, she wanted to be married to him. Have a family with him.

“I can wait for the dough to rise,” she said. “I’m not starving, neither are you.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to do something nice for you,” he grumbled.

“You are doing something nice,” she countered. “And you’re keeping me company while this one takes his sweet time.”

They both looked down at the little chunk currently bundled against her, no worry in the world except when he was hungry or tired. James knew nursing was uncomfortable for Lily, but it was safer than always having to go out and buy formula. He wished he could do more.

Or maybe he could!

He stood and went to stand behind her, beginning to rub her shoulders.  They seemed to drop and she leaned further back into the sofa. Harry gave a little snort, still oblivious to anything but food.

“You are growing restless, cooped up,” Lily said. “And you’re trying to take it out on the bread.”

James winced. He didn’t want her picking up on that.

“It’s okay,” she added. “I get restless too. I wish we could go out more than we can.”

“I’ve just never had to stay inside like this, away from everyone else.”

“I know. We’ll grow into it.”

James hoped so. It was a strange thing, feeling both the happiest he’d ever been, and restless to be moving. To be doing something. He sometimes felt guilty for all the good things he had going for him. But then he looked at his wife and son, and the guilt would begin to melt.

“Yeah,” he said. “Good things always take their time rising.”

[not-magdi]

-take care of you / ben Shelton

Warnings: none, flu?

Words: 616

Reading Time: 4min

Request: could you do another where ben takes care of a sick reader? maybe reader takes care of him? also ur writing is so amazing omg

I'm so sorry for not posting for a while but I'm drowning in exams and sadly didn't have the time, but I'll try to write a bit <3

The moment Ben stepped into their apartment, he knew something was wrong. Normally, by this time of day, Y/N would either be curled up on the couch watching something or coming up to greet him. But today, the apartment was eerily quiet.

Frowning, he kicked off his shoes and made his way down the hall, gently pushing open the bedroom door.

Y/N was barely visible under a pile of blankets, only the top of her head and the tip of her nose peeking out. Her face was flushed, her breathing uneven, and when she turned her head slightly to look at him, she let out a hoarse groan.

"Hey, babe," she croaked, her voice scratchy and weak. "I think I’m dying."

Ben's heart clenched at how miserable she looked. He quickly moved to the bed, crouching beside her and brushing a few damp strands of hair from her forehead.

"You’re burning up," he murmured, concern heavy in his voice. "Why didn’t you text me?"

Y/N gave a weak shrug. "Didn’t wanna bother you."

Ben scoffed, shaking his head. "You could never bother me."

She closed her eyes, sniffling, and he pressed a soft kiss to her warm forehead before standing up.

"Alright, you stay here—actually, you don’t really have a choice, you look like you can’t even move. I’m gonna grab some medicine, food, and one of my hoodies. I know you like them when you’re sick."

Y/N hummed in approval, barely able to keep her eyes open.

Ben returned a few minutes later, balancing a glass of water, some flu medicine, a bowl of soup, and one of his thick hoodies—the one she always stole because, as she put it, "it smells like you, and it’s the comfiest thing ever."

He set everything down and carefully helped her sit up. She groaned at the movement, her head falling against his shoulder.

"I feel like a puddle," she muttered.

Ben smiled softly, kissing the top of her head. "You kinda look like one, too."

She attempted to glare at him but was too weak to pull it off.

"Here, take this first," he said, handing her the medicine and the glass of water.

Y/N wrinkled her nose but obediently swallowed the pills, chasing them down with a few sips of water. She groaned at the taste and shuddered.

Ben chuckled. "Yeah, I know. Disgusting. But it’ll help."

He grabbed the hoodie and gently pulled it over her head, helping her slip her arms through the sleeves. Y/N sighed the moment it was on, snuggling into the warm fabric.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded sleepily. "Smells like you."

Ben grinned. "That’s the point."

Once she had eaten a few spoonfuls of soup, he decided she needed a change of scenery. Carefully, he scooped her up, ignoring her weak protests, and carried her to the couch. He settled in, letting her lay fully on top of him, her cheek resting against his chest.

Y/N let out a long sigh. "This is nice," she mumbled, already half-asleep.

Ben smiled, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing small circles on her back. "Yeah? Want me to rub your head? I know it hurts."

She made a small noise of approval, and Ben gently started massaging her scalp, his fingers threading through her hair in slow, soothing motions. Y/N practically melted against him.

"If I weren’t so sick, I’d marry you for this," she muttered.

Ben chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Good to know."

As she drifted off, Ben kept holding her, massaging her scalp every few minutes, just content to have her close. If he got sick, he got sick. Taking care of her was worth it.

--------

Hope you enjoyed it !! ❤️🎾

[twistedminutia]

A Million and One Minutia: Happy Birthday Gray

The Heartslabyul boys have birthday parties.

Find the rest of the chapters here and the story is crossposted to AO3 here.

“Happy Birthday, Trey!”

The Heartslabyul garden hosts parties on the regular, but this one is a bit different than its regular fare, because it’s not an Unbirthday party. It is, in fact, the exact opposite- it’s an actual birthday party for Trey.

(I’ll be honest, though. Birthday parties aren’t all that different from Unbirthday parties, except there are maybe less strict rules and everyone seems to be deferring to Trey rather than Riddle.)

Trey laughs awkwardly as he’s nudged to the head seat of the table. “It feels really weird to be sitting here.”

“You’re the guest of honor,” Riddle insists. “It’s customary for you to sit at the head of the table.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s not embarrassing,” Trey groans.

Cater, either oblivious or reveling in Trey’s suffering, holds up his phone. “C’mon, Trey, it’s your #birthday! Let’s get some snaps of this cammable moment!” Trey winces a little, but he doesn’t protest when Cater loops an arm over his shoulders and tugs him into a photo. “Perfect! #NotanUnbirthday, #celebratingourvicehousewarden, #dessertking.”

Ace looks over from where he’s setting out the silverware and snickers. Trey grimaces. “Not too many pictures, okay, Cater?”

I watch the scene from a little ways back. Heartslabyul works like a well-oiled machine when it comes to parties- Ace is setting out the silverware with a few other freshmen and Deuce is somewhere assisting with decorations and food prep. Cater and Riddle seem to be directing others, with students coming up to both of them to ask for help with various problems. Trey keeps jumping into try and help, though Cater and Riddle keep trying to brush him off. I’m just sitting off to the side. I did try to help, but Riddle insisted that I was a guest. I can’t help but feel like it’s also about me getting in the way if I did try to help. So I’m just sitting off to the side, making sure that Grim doesn’t escape and eat the cake before Trey gets an opportunity to.

“How long until the food’s going to be out?” Grim complains from his place in my arms. “I thought there was supposed to be food at a birthday party!”

“There will be, Grim. We’re just here a little early.” I give him a squeeze when he starts trying to squirm away and he settles a little. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” I ask, looking over at Riddle again.

“No. Keeping an eye on Grim is enough.” Riddle narrows his eyes at Grim, but doesn’t say anything else. Grim shrinks back in my arms, grousing.

Deuce jogs around a corner and skids to a stop. “Hey! The food’ll be out in a few minutes. Is everything set up out here?”

Ace waves an arm to him. “We’re pretty much good. All the silverware’s set out. I think.” Riddle fixes him with a glare and Ace backtracks. Fast. “It’s all set out! Promise, housewarden!”

“I’d better go check,” Riddle sighs and heads off with Ace in tow for an examination of the other tables.

“I hope the kitchen’s doing all right without me,” Trey says. “The last time they were left alone for an Unbirthday…” He trails off. “I did want to help out, but Riddle was insistent that I not do anything for my birthday.”

“You said you gave them a recipe book,” I say.

“Yes, but there have been arguments over what they want to make and that leads to a lot of chaos in the kitchen. I did tell them what I liked, but they might not listen,” Trey said.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say, mostly to be reassuring. I’m not sure at all. But come on, Trey can’t possibly be the only person here with any knowledge of baking, right?

We sit in silence for a few moments. Cater scrolls through Magicam. Grim grumbles about food. “I have a present for you,” I say. “Uh, I wasn’t sure if I should give it to you after the part or something, but there’s nothing going on now, so…”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Trey says, though he’s smiling. I pass him the package. It’s wrapped haphazardly in notebook paper. He has the grace to not mention it. “Is it a book?”

“Yeah, it is.” Admittedly, I’m not confident in my gift. It was easier for Ace’s birthday- I just begged Trey for some extra ingredients as thanks for my help with the OB incident and made Ace cookies. But Trey clearly wouldn’t be impressed by a baked good he could make himself, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if I asked him for stuff. So, I just fudged the food budget for a week, stole some extra stuff from the cafeteria to get by, and bought him a book.

He unwraps it. “Huh. The Science of Good Eats?”

“It’s supposed to be a book about the scientific aspects of cooking and baking,” I explain. “Riddle mentioned you were in science club, so I thought it might be a good fit.”

Trey laughs. “Thanks, Gray. I appreciate it.”

“Sure, it was the least I could do.” He flips through a few pages before setting it aside as Riddle returns with Ace, who’s uncollared, which is a good sign.

“Everything is in order,” Riddle says. Then his eye catches the book on the table. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s Gray’s gift for me,” Trey says. He offers the book to Riddle, who thumbs through a few pages, with mild interest.

“You got him a book? Lame,” Ace says, leaning over Riddle to look.

“There’s nothing wrong with a book as a present,” Riddle says. “Most of what I got as birthday gifts growing up were books.”

“That sucks,” Ace says emphatically as he throws himself into a seat. “What was the rest of it, clothes?”

Riddle bristles in anger. “Yes.”

“Dude. If my parents had given me books and clothes every birthday for my whole life, I’d have gone nuts,” Ace said.

Riddle folds his arms over his chest. “Then what did you receive as gifts?”

“Cool stuff,” Ace says. “My brother got me a couple decks of cards one year and taught me how to do all kinds of tricks with them. Last year, my parents got me tickets to a concert.”

“What’d they get you this year?” I ask.

“Usual stuff. My dad sent me some more sleight-of-hand stuff- I think it’s part of his old tricks that he doesn’t use anymore. He said he wanted me to try and figure it out on my own, and then when I go home for break, we’ll see if I can perform it for him.”

“I suppose sleight-of-hand is an interesting pastime,” Riddle says, albeit a bit reluctantly. “You’d probably do better relying on your studies, though.”

“Aw, come on. I bet there’s something you want for your birthday besides books and clothes,” Ace prods. Riddle falls silent for a few moments, face slightly scrunched.

“I do also enjoy strawberry tarts,” he finally says. He shifts about, a little awkward, then turns to Cater. “What do you usually receive from your family as gifts?”

“What, you’re asking about Cay-cay?” He waves his hand like he’s trying to brush us off. “Eh, my sisters were always trying to get me into cute things and sweets when I was younger, so most of what they got me was ridiculously frilly, you know? They’ve gotten a little better, but IDK. I’m not holding my breath for this year.”

It’s a bit of a non-answer, in my opinion, but nobody interrogates this because Ace leans back in his seat, earning another glare from Riddle, and calls, “Hey, Deuce! What kind of things do you get for your birthday?"

Deuce, who was apparently just walking over, hurries up. “Um. Well, my mom was working a lot growing up, so she didn’t always have a lot of time for birthdays, but she’d always make sure to get me a cake we’d share together and something small.” He smiles. “One year she got me a little music player. I’d been asking about it all year, but she needed to save up for ages to get it.”

Riddle smiles. “Your mother sounds like a lovely woman.”

Deuce nods. “Yeah, she’s great.” He turns to me. “What about you, Gray?”

I freeze. “Me?”

“Did they have birthdays in your world?” Ace asks.

“They did. Do. Um. I dunno. Books, usually.” Riddle nods in approval. “They were fiction books, though. Not nonfiction.”

“I rarely read fiction books,” Riddle says. “Though I suppose all reading is valuable.”

Trey adjusts his glasses as he looks at me. “When is your birthday, Gray?”

All gazes turn to me instantly. “Hey, yeah, you never mentioned,” Ace says. “Think Crowley’s gonna give you the birthday boy suit as well?”

“I don’t think he knows my birthday,” I say. Riddle’s brows immediately dip into a frown.

“All students are supposed to have their birthdays registered on their enrollment paperwork.”

“Grim and I did the enrollment paperwork together. We filled it out with mostly his information, since he’s actually from this world,” I say. “Did you put in your birthday, Grim?”

He shrugs. “I don’t got a birthday. But if it’s a day where you get cake and presents, then I gotta get in on it!”

“Aw. We’ll pick a date for your birthday, okay, Grim?” I tell him.

“Maybe he could share yours,” Ace suggests. “Which is when?”

I snort. “I don’t think Grim would like that, considering my birthday was last month.”

Everybody’s heads turn in near perfect sync to stare at me. It’s eerie. “Last month?” Ace says. “When?”

“Only a few days before your birthday,” I say.

“You didn’t say anything,” Deuce says. He’s looking at me with something almost like betrayal in his eyes.

“Well, no. We were just coming off the whole Riddle thing, and it didn’t seem like a good time, and then Ace was talking about his birthday and I didn’t want to seem like I was trying to draw attention away from him, so I just… didn’t say.” It sounds a little lame when I put it like that, but I’m not sure why everyone’s staring at me.

Riddle practically slams his hands down on the table in something close to a panic. “We were having unbirthday parties! They didn’t fall on your birthday, did they?!”

There’s a flush creeping onto his face and Trey actually puts a hand on his arm. “No, no, it wasn’t!” It’s true, but I would say it even if it wasn’t. I don’t know if Riddle would bother beheading someone who can’t use magic, but I’m not finding out. Also, I don’t want to freak him out if he’s accidentally broken a rule. “The unbirthday party was before my birthday.”

Riddle relaxes visibly. “That’s good, then.” He pauses for a moment, then clears his throat. “And I… apologize if my actions… took away from your ability to celebrate your birthday.” He hangs his head a little.

“It wasn’t really that,” I say. Okay, it was a little that, but I can’t tell him that. He already looks miserable. “Just coming here gave me a lot to think about and I was still adjusting, so I think it slipped my mind, and I’m not even sure if it counts anyway.”

Cater gestures absently with his phone, “Why would it not count?”

“Well, when I left my world, it was mid-January and I got here in early September, so it hasn’t actually been a year since my last birthday.”

There’s a noticeable ripple of surprise that passes through the group. “I suppose time inconsistency between worlds is to be expected,” Riddle says. “Though it must have been rather disorienting for you.”

“Eh, it wasn’t so bad. Just had to get used to the dates,” I say. “Not more stressful than anything else I’ve had to adjust to.”

“So how old are you?” Deuce asks.

“I’ve been saying I’m seventeen,” I say. “That’s how old I was when I left, and I’m not sure my birthday counts, since it wasn’t a year since my last one, so I just kept the age. I don’t think it matters, though.”

“You’re older than me,” Deuce says, looking surprised.

“What, did you think she was younger just ‘cause she’s so small?” Ace snickers.

“Hey, shut up, I’m not that small,” I protest. Ace snorts. Riddle’s eyes start narrowing dangerously (he’s barely taller than me when he’s not in his housewarden heels) and Ace jumps to another line of teasing.

“I mean, c’mon, Deucey, she’s practically ancient! Seventeen when the rest of us freshmen are only sixteen! Like she’s been held back!”

“You’re only calling me ancient because you’re the baby of the group now,” I huff. Deuce starts snorting with laughter and Ace goes pink.

“I am not!” he says hotly. “I bet Grim’s younger!”

“How old are you, Grim?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

“Seriously?” Ace says. “No idea?”

“Nah. Never kept track.” A smirk crosses his face. “Which means I could be older than all of you!”

“No way,” Ace says.

“Ha ha ha!” Grim cackles. He skitters onto the table, dodging my attempt to corral him. “Show some respect to your upperclassman!”

“Grim!” Riddle snaps. He immediately scampers back to me, glaring over my shoulder while still in a position to dodge any collaring that might head his way. “Keep off the table!”

Cater leans closer to me. “Hey, there’s nothing saying we can’t throw you a belated birthday party.”

Trey nods. “That’s a good idea. What kind of things did they do for birthdays in your world?”

“Pretty much the same, I think,” I say. “Cake. Presents. Parties. All that stuff.”

“Hey, if you’re getting cake and presents, I should get some too!” Grim protests.

“It’s true, it’s only fair,” I say. “Oh, but we shouldn’t be discussing this right now. It’s Trey’s birthday. We should be paying attention to him.”

Trey rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Ha, uh. You don’t have to.”

Too late- Riddle is already drawing himself up into ‘queen enforcer’ mode. “Yes, the preparations should all be completed by now. And if anyone is tardy, then it’s off with their-” Trey and Ace frown and Riddle hastily changes tune. “It’s a… stern lecture.” Trey looks approving. Riddle relaxes. Ace just rolls his eyes. I wonder which he would hate worse: being collared or forced to endure a lecture.

“Yeah, once all the tables are set up, we need to have a photoshoot with the birthday boy.” Cater spins to me and winks. “You’ve got your ghost camera, right, Gray? I can give you some pointers for getting some great shots!”

“Yeah, I do.” I’m surprised Carter noticed it. I’ve been using it to get shots of the guys in their fancy suits they wear for their birthdays (I am not calling them birthday suits- apparently that phrase doesn’t mean the same thing here, but I’m still not doing it). “I’d like the pointers. Thanks.”

“Sure thing! Upperclassmen have to look out for their helpless little freshies,” Cater says. “And hey, maybe if the photos come out well enough, I can post a couple on Magicam! Retro stuff like this is totes in right now.”

Ah. There’s the catch. “I’ll think about it.”

“Aww! C’mon, I’ll even tag you in it! You could become Magicam famous!”

“I don’t have a Magicam, Cater.”

“We have to get you a phone,” he huffs as he all but hauls me off, catching Trey in his tow. “Come on, we should get a photo in front of the cake. It’s a perfect background.”

“Cater,” Trey protests weakly, which does nothing to actually deter Cater. Riddle follows us, calling out reminders about time and punctuality. Deuce, Ace, and Grim all end up huddled together. I watch them in between photos, but they appear to be in some sort of deep discussion, which doesn’t bode well. Never a good sign when they put all their one and a half brain cells together.

Fortunately, whatever their planning doesn’t go off at the party, because everything continues smoothly. Trey seems to have a good time. Riddle doesn’t behead anyone, though there’s an issue with the silverware during cleanup that makes him go red in the face. Cater solves everything, though, and Riddle doesn’t have a total freakout. I feel a little awkward throughout, honestly. There are a few other students from other dorms as well, so it’s not just Heartslabyul and me, but they all seem to vaguely know each other. I feel a little… left out, maybe, being there. And also a little nervous that I’ll mess up a rule and Riddle will lose it. Ace and Deuce keep creeping off to whisper together, catching Cater at one point and Trey at another. I consider going after them, just to see what they’re doing, but stopping Grim from devouring the party is a full time job.

I walk back to my dorm, cradling a food-comatose Grim in my arms, and thinking about birthdays.

Three weeks later, I’m called out of my dorm by Deuce, who insists on me accompanying him to the school store. It’s a bit unusual for him- he’s usually more than happy to get things done by himself. But I go with him regardless. Grim comes along too, probably to try to convince me to buy him as much tuna as we can carry back to the dorm. The shopping trip is uneventful. Deuce checks his phone frequently, which I initially assume is because he’s looking at a list, but he never seem to buy anything. He picks up a few items, then puts them back. Even Sam, who usually has some patience with browsers, sweeps by three whole times to ask if he needs help with anything, and each time, Deuce jumps, looks guilty, and shakes his head.

I’m about ready to ask if he’s trying to buy something illegal (wouldn’t put it past Sam to have it- the man has everything) when he checks his phone again and his face sags with relief. “I’m done,” he announces. “We should get back to your dorm.”

“Wh- you didn’t buy anything,” I point out.

“Yeah! At least buy something for me!” Grim agrees, fur sticking out in little spikes. Deuce blinks at him, and, before I can tell him he doesn’t have to, picks out a couple cans of tuna and slides them over to Sam.

“You don’t need to buy things for Grim just because he asks,” I tell Deuce as we walk back along the path to Ramshackle. “He’ll just get greedier.” I don’t need to worry about Grim overhearing me, because he cracked open one of the cans as soon as Deuce handed them over and is more interested in stuffing his face than anything else. Including staying on the path. I have to nudge him away from pitfalls a couple of times.

“I know,” Deuce says. “I just thought he deserved something nice too.”

“Too?” I repeat blankly, and Deuce blanches. This man should never play poker. He doesn’t have the face for it. “Is there something going on?”

Fortunately for him and his terrible poker face, Ramshackle comes into view at that moment and Deuce starts jogging toward it. I pick up my pace and follow him. He’s on the track team, so of course by the time we reach there, I’m practically gasping for air and he’s not at all winded. Grim has to stop eating tuna to run, something he is clearly unhappy about.

“What’s the big idea?” he grouses. Deuce ignores him and heads toward the door. It’s not locked or anything (I don’t think the door actually does lock) but he’s usually polite enough to wait for me to open it. I hurry up, still panting, as Deuce opens the door and steps inside.

I follow him into the foyer and take about two steps into the dorm when the lights flash on and several people pop out from behind various pieces of furniture. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“Myahh!” Grim jumps and scrambles behind me, barely keeping a grip on his tuna. “What’s going on?”

“I think,” I say, a bit dazed, as Deuce trots over to Ace, who’s emerging from behind my couch, “it’s a surprise party.”

“Indeed,” Riddle says, dusting off his housewarden uniform. He was huddled behind a chair and is now standing next to it. “Though I think it would have been just fine if we didn’t crouch behind furniture for it.”

“It’s not a surprise party if you don’t hide!” Ace smirks. Riddle has an ‘I don’t think that’s true but I don’t know enough to disprove it’ look on his face.

“I got a great snap of your face,” Cater says, popping out from behind a curtain. He shows me his phone for a couple seconds before snatching it back to type. “#Suprisedparty, #faceofshock, #Ramshacklepartynight.”

“Cater, please don’t post that,” I plead.

“It was Ace and Deuce’s idea,” Trey says. “They thought you might like a party. Ace was pretty enthusiastic about it.”

“Yeah, well, I like having an excuse to party,” Ace says. He drapes an arm around my shoulders and starts tugging me toward a dessert table. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

“Don’t forget about me!” Grim yelps and hurries after us. Even Riddle breaks into a small smile and joins us with the desserts.

It’s not the sort of birthday party I’m used to. It’s in a different place, and with completely different people. But it’s unexpected. And it’s… nice, actually. Really, really nice.

Find the next chapter here.

[needyraincandy-u]

That knock on the door would even slap Ame back to reality. As much as she would like to be here alone with her girlfriend and, with her dog at much, there's something inside her that makes her shoulders tense as soon as she hears the knock and hears Yuki's voice.

She didn't exactly forget about how she looked at her when she first came inside, or how the phone call went after Ame had one of her episodes, so even if she enters inside with food, the streamer can't help but stare at the other woman with a pretty neutral expression.

However, she doesn't refuse the bowl despite not exactly having the apetite to try it, at least not yet.

"Thank you." Is all she says at first, content with her girlfriend's improved mood, but still wary on her own because…well, she didn't exactly know a thing about Yuki.

There's some comfort in feeling Harley change positions, seeing her in front of her. It gives her a little push and enough convincing to take a spoonful from her plate, although she's slow and taking her time to take a proper bite.

"Hmh…it tastes great."

Needless to say, her darkened eyes seemed to be more fixated on looking back at Yuki, with Ame also not being a stranger to the change in expression the other had. It was too obvious that something was plaguing Yuki's mind- something she wanted to say. And she couldn't help but feel judged. That's what people usually did when it came to her, right?

Her fingers tighten against the spoon she's holding as soon as Yuki says that she has indeed something to say, so it makes Ame drop her hand to focus on whatever she had to say, although with no much hope of hearing something good from the other.

Yet…she's surprised, not by the start, but by what Yuki adds later. About Harley and being her partner. Learning it's not common for Harley to open up like this fills Ame with joy and even pride; eyeing her girlfriend from the corner of her eyes and noticing that blush or how she's shying away from that fact.

However…before she can relax those shoulders, Yuki's voice shifts to something way sharper, and it comes off as a legit warning to her.

Honestly, she could easily kill her, but the streamer would stare back; eyes shifting between looking at Yuki's hand and that cold gaze of hers, while Ame would slowly let the spoon rest inside her bowl, perhaps as an attempt to stare back with the same intensity, albeit calmer.

"…who does she think I am?…" She would whisper to herself once Yuki left the room and closed to the door to leave them alone. For various reasons, Ame didn't think too deeply about all the horrible things she even said through Jine earlier, completely flying over her head that, yeah, there were enough reasons to be wary of her.

She was a walking red flag, but only at times was she self-aware of her own behavior.

Sighing softly, she looked back at her lover and listened with tired eyes, letting her lips press together until her body relaxed a bit more, like if the danger was completely gone now, and then letting her fingers wrap around Harley's hand when this one's picked.

"Definitely easier said than done…" She sighed again, but she understood where Yuki was coming from, even if there was still part of Ame's pride that made her feel somewhat spiteful about the situation. Hell, when Harley nuzzled against her shoulder, the streamer moved one of her arms up to wrap it around her, making sure she kept her close, clearly protective about her.

"There's no one else I would be stuck with, Hacchan…"

And she would stick to her word, because as long as Harley reciprocated as much as Ame gave, there was no risk of losing her, ever.

So she will gladly share what she has and more with Harley, forever.

Harley laughs at Ame's comment, feeling her chest grow lighter at the sound of Ame's chuckle, and her sweet words. "Yeah, but who cares? I mean it, and so do you. And hey, I'll take some corniness if you can handle my cheese."

A soft knock on the door puts a pause on Harley's thoughts, as she looks to the source of the sound. She'd nearly forgotten that they weren't entirely alone, but the smell of fresh chicken potato stew makes her stomach cheer with relief.

Yuki walks into the room, nudging the door open with her leg, and carrying two bowls of dinner. "Apologies for interrupting. Harley hasn't eaten yet, and I wasn't sure if you had, either."

Harley lets go of her beloved girlfriend for a moment to take the bowls, handing Ame one while she takes the other. Thankfully, the stew had just been finished, judging by the warmth of the plates. "Oh thank God, I'm starving! Did Grayson get samples?"

Yuki nods, a neutral expression on her face. "He seemed happy with the potato skins. I'll give him his regular food in a moment."

"I guess I wasn't the only one who was hungry," She giggles, looking back at Ame. She shifts to sit in front of her, with her legs touching Ame's. Enough space to let her eat, but not too far that she wasn't out of Ame's reach. "And you better eat up, too. It's not everyday you get to have some of Yuki's culinary masterpieces!"

The other girl leans on the door frame, observing the two ever since she walked into the room. She figures that given Harley's demeanor returning to its baseline, that surely her pain must have done the same. Whether that's due to the medicine, Ame's presence, or a combination of both, Harley seems satisfied by this outcome.

But as for Yuki… well, it wouldn't be the first time she's felt so conflicted.

Harley notices, tilting her head as she eats her stew. "Everything okay? You know you don't have to be all professional here, it's just us."

Yuki nods, her voice taking on a deeper tone than before. It comes to her with ease, her natural tone. "Actually, I think it will be fine if the both of you hear this."

Harley raises an eyebrow, but allows her to continue. She knows Yuki expressing herself doesn't come easy, especially when she's not using art as her medium for it. The calm she kept while talking to Ame, informing her of the situation- even amidst what had to be a spiral, was something Harley knows she'll have to thank her for later.

Yuki stands up straighter, unwavering, as she speaks. There's no trace of any emotion, other than a practiced, steadfast gaze. Her eyes lock on to Ame, peering into her. She didn't forget Ame's words, nor the familiar sting that came with them.

"Sage and Maddie have their reasons to be wary of you, but… with their salaries, they can only afford one annual trip here, at best. And that's not even accounting for other obligations they have, back in America. The same can be said for Harley's relatives. She has doctors to ensure that she's healthy, but in terms of immediate support…"

She softens for a moment. "You and I are all she has. And if she's willing to call you her partner, after everything she's been through, the bond you share must be sacred."

Harley's eyes widen for a moment, before heat rushes to her cheeks. She looks down at her food, concentrating on eating. Because, as embarrassing as it is to depend on someone, Ame was important. Too important to lose.

Yuki knows this, too. It's why her tone shifts into something sharp, a glistening blade to the throat.

"Let it be known that had I not convinced them to give you a chance, the three of us would have been the ones to take Harley back, that night. You rode in that cab with her, because we gave you the benefit of the doubt. However,"

Yuki's tightens her grip on the doorframe, holding herself back from clutching Ame's jaw the same way.

"If Harley did not come home safe, you would not have lived long enough to set foot in this apartment. Do not make me regret that choice."

She turns around, holding on to the door knob with her other hand. "I'll be down the hall. Call me if something comes up."

And with that, she closes the door. She keeps her word on filling Grayson's food, before she gathers her things from the Living Room, and leaves.

Harley pauses on eating, taking Ame's hands into her own. "Hey," She's gentle, rubbing her thumbs along Ame's skin. "Try not to take what she says personally. I know, easier said than done, but… she's lost a lot, too. Only natural that you get protective of what you have left."

"And hey, maybe when the two of you know each other better, she'll be just as fussy over you. So don't lose hope, alright?" She nuzzles against Ame's shoulder, peering up at her with a smile. "For now, you've got me, and you're stuck with me 'til the end of time. You're mine, and I'm yours."

She's not worried about it, mainly because she knows Ame well enough that by this point, she can handle whatever Ame throws at her. Roll with the punches, and stick around until the end comes for them all. Best to enjoy the time we have while we've got it, right?

Every moment matters, and Harley knows she wants to make every minute, every hour, every day, week, month, year, decade… all of it will be special. Because she won't be sharing it with someone who views her as a temporary fixation.

She'll be sharing it with Ame.

[peaterookie]

Yesterday i caught up on Shin Lupin from the San Fran arc to the first two chapters of Yapland and there were some things that i found interesting so i wanna talk abt it here

Vague spoilers for Chapter 160 and beyond

Firstly i wanna start with how much blatant the themes of freedom gets with every chapter, i find it peculiar that now it's put on the full front of things.

Monkey Punch typically leaves things up vague but topics of freedom has been spoken from the character's mouth multiple times, i think this is something we might wanna pay attention to

I'm not fully sure why Lupin is primarily the one that constantly states his freedom over and over given how little of it has happened in hundreds of previous chapters, but i can try to theorize on why

It's likely based on his feelings of pride, since on the second image he speaks on both his status as human being and his freedom back to back, showing a correlation between the two things

"Some people might be thieves because they're cockroaches." "I'm a thief because I am free."

My interpretation of this is that Lupin sees himself as above everyone in the world of crime, as some sort of righteous robinhood type of person that decided to lead into the path of crime because of a good reason, unlike the "cockroaches" that do it for greed and to hurt others

Why does he decide to emphasize freedom now of all times? Perhaps he feels the need to do so push back some sense of insecurity in him and argue against the world that he is better than what he/others see him as, he doesn't want to be seen as a cockroach, he rather wants to be seen as a butterfly, something that flies free in the world

This can be backed up by the fact that he tries to do good, like preventing this man from raping a woman (despite Lupin later raping Susan in the arc)

Why I theorize it could be due to insecurity is because of what happens in Yapland

i find it really interesting that instead of the "fake" Lupin (the one piloting the aliencraft) stating that he is the real one and the "real" lupin being fake, he says that both of them are real.

When reading this the first time, it really reminded me of the concept of Jungian Shadows, the side of yourself that you wish to not accept due to it inhibiting traits you wish you didn't have, but it is still a part of you (I am also a Persona fan, sorry for being a huge loser)

In this case the Lupin we first see (wearing a plain jacket) inhabits traits of the righteous thief, while the Shadow Lupin (wearing a suit jacket) inhabits traits of the cruel and villainous thief

the "good" Lupin claims innocence of everything he is accused of in the chapter, while the Shadow Lupin sends the Yapland residence to sexually assault Fujiko, forcing her to go to yapland with him. He really is sort of like the old lupin (from OG manga to early Shin), but in a kinda creepy way.

"Good" Lupin

Shadow Lupin

While the Shadow Lupin is proven in later scans to be the fake I think? the existence of two Lupins has some opportunity to be looked into what it means in a metaphorical sense.

What i think is that between the events of San Fran, Lupin psychologically spits himself in half and rejects his cruel side due to it being an undesirable part of him he wishes to leave behind yet can't fully detach himself from it, shown literally in how he constantly preaches about being free and doing good acts, yet turning around and doing horrible shit to others.

That 'shadow' of his comes back to haunt him in Yapland, trying to tell him that he is a side of himself that he will never be able to get rid of. Well see how well this theory holds up in later chapters lmfao

-----

Secondly, the thing with Lupin and Susan is lowkey disgusting but its also oddly interesting

I wanna point out how Goemon for possibly the first time comments on how Lupin raped a woman and how its unfaithful to Fujiko

Maybe he's doing this now out of all the times because he's behaving as Lupin's moral conscience, saying that Lupin's going out of line given how he's trying so hard to preach this sort of heroic side of himself yet is psychologically messing with this woman.

It also could be Goemon criticizing Lupin's lack of loyalty in general. Seeing how Lupin can easily discard his relationship with Fujiko and his effort to be a more righteous thief just because he's got the hots for this woman, what's stopping him from betraying Jigen and Goemon's trust too? (THIS IS FORESHADOWING TO THE EVENTS IN BAD CITY)

If you're free, then you're bound to nothing and nobody, not even the ones on your side

And throughout the arc Lupin murders quite a ton of people, wiping out the entire secret seven yet spares Susan, how could that show that he's a good person? He's just doing what seems right and sparing those he likes

What im saying is that bro is trying so hard to be good but is failing miserably, his treatment towards susan being a huge example

(in these pics he bombs a cable car but it turns out to be a fakeout, another example of how he seems to try to be the good kinds of criminals.)

-----

oh yeah i also wanna mention this panel

It's pretty interesting how Lupin was already considered Japanese / JP citizen from what Zenigata states. This either proves that he is a japanese citizen for quite a long time or he looks japanese enough to be considered a japanese person, or both

SEE GUYS HE'S CLEARLY HALF ASIAN

we support a wasian piece of shit 💚

okay thats it ive ran out of brain juice, that's what i took out of san fran and yapland

here's a oranges fail moment #funny #LOL

[ghostorbz]

I was supposed to play games after school but I did this instead. I am oh so very tired

@butter1knife