#one less then a minute trailer of edge of sleep

[eyesore-boi]

y'know for a guy who hates the ocean sure is doing a lotta filming involving the ocean in some way-

But wOW REALLY WEIRD FOR ME TO ACTUALLY HAVE THE MOTIVATION TO DO T W O FULL DRAWINGS WITHIN THE MONTH. ....ART BLOCKS DEFINITELY GONNA STAB ME AGAIN SOON AFTER THIS BUT Y'KNOW WAS NICE WHILE IT LASTED-

But for real this one was another fun one to do! Really trying to practice more using my rendering """skills""" and try not to make it look as plain as leaving it just the shading, so hope it shows! Cool experiment with making one side lighter and the other darker, background simple but still wanted to add....things, and either glad I could just draw these guys!

Been a LONG while since I've last drawn Dave with his scars and sleepy face, and for the Convict (which i just found out is what we're apparently calling Mark's character in Iron Lung since, y'know, dunno that much yet-) was also fun with just making him look all scruffy and....honestly just kinda done with everything, so that's nice- XD

also yes i now know that in the actual full piece the split isn't actually in the middle and yes that really fucking bothers me too but now their'a nothing i can do about it so i'm sorry hskandksHHHHH-

But yeah, I'm still hoping that AT LEAST the Edge of Sleep trailer will eventually show one day, real fucking hyped for Iron Lung movie, but for now if you'll excuse me gonna go watch the man that starred in these soon to be masterpieces nearly cause his intestines to explode (again) eating expired pop tarts and taki's, so good day hhhjkdnskbsh-

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 16

part 1 | part 15 | ao3

cw: unsympathetic religious discussion, mentions of oral sex (istg if you’re under 18 i will send such a sternly worded letter to your legal guardian, go aWAY)

“So just, to recap…” Eddie says dully, digging a thumb into his brow bone like he’s got a headache coming on. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against a work bench — one knee drawn to his chest, the other stretched out long, nearly tripping Steve where he's pacing a hole into the concrete. He lets his head fall against the bench with a thunk, looks up at Steve and continues, “we just got abducted by two asthmatic freshmen—”

“Pretty sure Dustin's the only one with asthma.”

"Okay, and I’m pretty sure that doesn't fucking matter when we've just been kidnapped and forced to play the world’s shittiest version of Seven Minutes in Heaven!"

Eddie takes a shuddering breath, brings his voice back down an octave. "Sorry,” he says, then sighs morosely to himself. “Imprisoned by my own sheepies…”

What a goddamned drama queen.

“Sheepies?” Steve asks.

"Never mind,” Eddie huffs. “Just... I mean, Jesus Christ, is this really what's happening? This? This is really where my life's at right now?”

Steve’s been wondering that himself.

“It's an intervention!" Dustin screeches. "It's for your own good!” “I’m gonna intervene your head from your body!” “That doesn’t even make sense!” Steve gives the metal above him one final, fruitless shove, then sinks down on the steps and puts his head in his hands. Pinches the end of his nose. His voice is hoarse from yelling, his temples starting to throb. Eddie’s shaking beside him like a cat that fell in an ice bath. “Seriously,” he pleads, lowering his voice. “Let us out; this isn’t cool.” “We will, okay? We promise. Just talk to each other first. Please? Just fifteen minutes.” Aaand he's yelling again. "Fifteen— are you out of your mind??" He's about to say 'hell no,' or maybe 'go fuck yourself,' but then Dustin yelps, “U.S.S. Butterscotch!” 'U.S.S. Butterscotch.' It’s basically the Scoops Troop's 'Olly olly oxen free.' “Goddammit, dude, FINE!”

“....Yeah, that about sums it up." Steve runs a hand through his hair, sweeping his bangs back off his forehead.

Eddie gives him a worn-out stare. “Well, shit.”

“Yep.” He goes back to his pacing — back and forth, back and forth, like it's actually doing anything to calm him down. (It isn’t really. If anything it’s just making his lower back damp with sweat.)

On the floor, Eddie shivers and draws his other leg to his chest, chin resting on bony knees, arms wrapped around his legs. "Christ, it's freezing," he complains, rubbing a hand over his shins. "If we die of exposure before I get to exact my revenge on those little assholes I'm gonna be so pissed."

"Here—" Steve starts to shrug off his jacket to give it to Eddie, but then he remembers the pills he still has stashed in the left pocket and abruptly changes course. He turns to the storage shelves, scanning for anything that might be useful, and— "There we go."

He makes his way to a messy pile of old camping supplies, scoops up an armful of whatever he can find: sleeping bags, flashlights, a lantern, some old citronella candles. They won't do much for warmth, but they'll make the place a bit less Russian torture chamber, at least.

Eddie eyes him a little warily as he sets up a spot right beside him on the floor. He spreads one sleeping bag out for them to sit on like a picnic blanket; offers the other one to Eddie, who drapes it over his shoulders like a cloak, his long, dark curls spilling over the edge.

"You got a light?" he asks, arranging the candles and the lantern in a half-circle around them.

"Sure do,” Eddie says. His face lights up when he slips a hand inside his pocket. "Oh, hell yeah, baby! Look what else I got."

He pulls out a silver flask, flashing it at Steve, and Steve ignores the way the words 'hell yeah, baby' bounce around his skull like an echo through an empty cavern.

"A little insurance policy in case the dinner party was a bore." Eddie unscrews the lid; takes a wincing swig. "Would have taken boring over this, though. Think I might’ve gotten a little more excitement than I bargained for." "Yeah,” Steve laughs under his breath. "You think?"

Eddie passes him the flask, sets to lighting all the wicks while Steve takes a shot. The whiskey is cheap, and it stings on the way down, but it's nice. Warm. Liquid amber in his chest, glowing like the candlelight Eddie sparks to life.

Eddie settles down beside him. With the workbench at their backs and the warm tint to the room, it's almost cozy. Reminds him of backyard sleepovers with Tommy; a little fortress built for two.

“Do you think they’re still listening?” Eddie's eyes flit to the stairs.

“Probably." Steve takes another swig, gesturing to the shadows beyond their makeshift camp. "He probably got Suzie to help him bug this whole place."

"Ah, yes. The crazy hot, crazy smart summer camp girlfriend who totally exists."

"She does, actually,” Steve laughs, “if you can believe it."

"No shit?"

"I know, right? I mean, like..." He scratches the side of his nose. "She's Mormon and lives all the way out in Utah, so it's not exactly like... but, whatever. He's super into her, so—"

"Hold up. Dustin's dating a Mormon?" Eddie says it like he’s spitting sunflower hulls. "That's almost worse than her being fake."

“What, you got some kinda history with Mormons?”

“Oh, yeah," Eddie snorts derisively. "The Mormons and I go waaay back."

"Wait, for real?" Was Eddie in a cult? Because that would actually explain so much.

"Dude. No. Hell no. Those fuckers love to solicit the downtrodden, though. They show up at the park all the time.”

“Great,” Steve deadpans. Another wonderful amenity of the Forest Hills experience.

“Don’t worry. Wayne usually just crosses himself at them until they go away.” He makes the sign of the cross, his rings glinting in the light. “Catholic middle-aged men and LDS teens, now there’s some quality petty drama.”

“So you’re Catholic, then?” Steve asks.

“Jesus, Harrington. We’re supposed to be kissing and making up and you want to start a religious debate?”

No, he absolutely does not. He wants to make fun of Eddie, because, "That’s the second time you’ve mentioned kissing." Eddie’s cheeks go horribly pink; peach tint in the deep orange glow. “First you wanna suck my blood at dinner, now you’re talking about making out. What next?” Steve teases. “You gonna offer to suck my dick?”

He means it as a joke — a slightly rude one, sure; insinuating, but still. He expects Eddie to get it, to roll his eyes and play along. Ha ha, Harrington.

When he used to say shit like this to Tommy, Tommy would always just laugh and shove him off, tell him to go suck it yourself.

Only Eddie doesn’t laugh.

Eddie goes quiet. Runs his tongue over his teeth. He fixes Steve with one of those looks; the kind that make him feel like a burglar caught in a flood light’s beam. “Why?" he teases back. "Did you want me to or something?”

—

part 17

tag list below the cut comment if you want to be added to the next one

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[absolutebl]

Hi abl! I was watching the eighth sense and I got the distinct feeling that it's not really a BL, just a queer show. Maybe because it's so different from standard kbls. What do you think about that?

Shall we do this thing?

The Eighth Sense - Mid series thoughts...

Episodes 1-4

(I know, but I have a lot of them.)

With 10 episodes of about 40 minutes each this has got to be one of the longest BLs Korea has ever given us.

However from tone, filming style, opening credits, and trailer I am guessing this could be sad. If its KBL doing JBL style then we are in Eternal Yesterday territory (atmospheric, thoughtful, beautiful, but unhappy), but it could be more in the Blueming vein (ultimately happy but very rough getting there). I give it 50/50 odds.

It seems this show wants to be “taken seriously” which is the death knell of BL (the BL aspects, I mean). Also if a lead smokes it means that one or both will cheat. (I don’t make the rules, the Japanese yaoi gods do.)

There’s a homoeroticism to this show that is not normal for BL (I know... but it isn’t, certainly not KBL). Reminds me a bit of I Told Sunset About You + Shelter + His the series.

OK, but do I like it?

Yes, actually, it’s... interesting. It’s got a bit of an age gap, country boy/city boy, the acting is great, characters complex, good chemistry, and tons of tension.

I actually re-watched the first two episodes before I watched this week’s installments.

CHARACTERS

We know Jae Won is popular, rich, sunshine who wants to be loved but estranged from his fam (coming out drama?). Ji Hyun is a shy, serious, polite country boy deep in first crush. But despite this dichotomy it is JH who seems more comfortable in himself and, possibly, his sexuality. Incidentally, this is what we call being “dicked around by a closet case” (sadly not the same as being dicked out by a closet case). Baby’s first love is NOT going to go well. On the bright side, baby got himself his first fag hag to comfort him after the inevitable heartbreak.

FILMING

The director is doing some very interesting things that makes the viewer experience chewy. Note the actors have been told to match strides whenever they walk together? There's a lot of hand held camera work, makes us feel a little uncomfortable and shaken, just like they are.

STORY

So far as the narrative goes we have very interesting timing on the kiss (good kiss tho it may be) because it indicates that the plot will be fall out from kissing, not build up to a romantic relationship. (Timing is a bitch.) Honestly? I’m finding this challenging because it’s SO TENSE but I can't stop watching. (This is the opposite of cozy BL.)

FINAL THOUGHTS

It’s a bit rough and sticky and less perfect than most KBL (do I detect a touch of Taiwan?). This one is deploying BL tropes (messy eater, shoulder sleep, protective seme, there’s even some hyung-slinging) but it isn’t in the safe KBL bubble. It has sharp edges that might cut us watchers - we may get a coming out sequence or even a bashing. It certainly will stay interesting.

But proceed with caution. 

And to ultimately answer your question: it's BL because we are all watching it and it is using some tropes, but ultimately I think it will fall more into the queer drama genre than BL.

(source)

[kittyphoenix12-xx]

WIP Word Game

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

thanks to @thatgirlwithasquid for tagging me with the word SWEET <3 ily

S - try it once more (with feeling) (Kurtbastian, Glee)

Sebastian Smythe was in love with Kurt Hummel. And here he stood, twenty-nine years old, in love for the first (and probably the last) time, the best man to a vow renewal for a relationship that wasn’t working. Kurt and Blaine were a car crash turned concerning car pile-up, every minute they were still together added another car to the dumpster fire. Here’s the thing, and Sebastian can acknowledge the less positive aspects of his personality (used to pride himself with it, in fact), he’s a completely biased person.

W - awakened and found again (Gen, Glee)

When Sue saw that greasy, boy-band haired William Shuester walk into McKinley, proud and satisfied grin on his face, she decided, without a doubt, that she’d ruin his day. She watched as he greeted a bunch of the bone-headed Neanderthals by the trash, ignoring the small figure held in their grasp. Sue didn’t care about the students that she taught, but Shue did (or he claimed too, seeing as he walked by the twink without saying anything). As he entered the school, she exited her office and followed him to the staffroom. Big-eyed Bambi greeted him with a wave as she wiped down the table (Sue had once suggested that they stopped hiring janitors and instead just let Emma clean everything).

E - The Hawkins Mystery (Hellcheer, Harringrove, Buckleway - ST)

Eddie lived in Hawkins all his life and lived with the knowledge that there was something wrong with it. There had always been something sinister surrounding the town, with its dark forests and long winding roads. As shadows stretched into the night and each house grew dark with sleep, the forests and darkness came to life with something cold that settled in Eddie’s bones. The trailer camp was by the thickest edge of the forest, near Lover’s Lake and Skull Rock, but closed in by the circle of trees whose branches seemed to loom over them. Sometimes, in the beginning years after his dad went to prison, Eddie would sit on the steps of Uncle Wayne’s trailer and stare into the forest. If he listened closely, and let his imagination run wild, Eddie thought he could hear monsters in the woods. Sometimes they sounded like his dad.

E - The Lighthouse Keeper and The Mermaid (BuckTommy, 911)

“Evan,” he says, watching the man before him poke at the food on his plate, “I think you look like an Evan.” “Evan,” the other says, name rolling off his tongue, teeth blunt and human. “What does it mean?” “Mean?” Tommy thinks for a moment, mind running back through the baby-name book Howard was pouring through. “Bringer of good news or young warrior or gracious.” Evan grunts around the bacon in his mouth, he hums, chews and swallows. “Good news,” he says satisfied. “No-one has said that before.”

T - Naruto Lives Alone (Gen, Naruto)

The night was cool and crisp as the smouldering remains of the hospital finally began to dissipate. It was silent as the shinobi picked through the rubble, unearthing comrades and civilians alike, injured or dead in the wake of the Kyuubi’s destruction. Kakashi leapt deftly from a semi-collapsed rooftop, over most of the destruction, landing on the stone of the fallen hospital. It crumbled beneath his feet, but he didn’t care as he stumbled over to where two bodies lay. His heart was in his throat as he drew nearer, desperately straining to hear any noise, any slight movement to indicate that Kushina and Minato were alive. There was low wailing.

imma tag @elledelajoie @salty-autistic-writer @nachtwaechterin @half-oz-eddie and anyone else who wants to ramble with the word BEACH

[nei-ning]

Dream ppost, possibly long, once again.

First dream: I visited a woman who had some kind of mental illness. She had 3 puppies and 1 of them was very scared, sitting still and trembling. I thought I need to report about that poor puppy but never didn't. At one point she and I went near to her balcony and there was 3 or 4 wild HUGE Great Horned Owls (huuhkaja) sleeping on the railing under a bedsheet. I LOVE those owls so seeing them made me super excited!

Next we stood on the balcony after those owls left. Before us was Chinese landscape with mountains and lake which was right beneath us. In the lake was HUGE cat fish! Like at least 5 meters long! But with it in the lake lived dragons. 2 of them were middle sized / normal (whatever you consider "normal size" to be for dragons) and one HUGE one. Those smaller ones were black and red-black in color while biggest was made of stone. They all laid at the bottom of the lake, relaxing and living peacefully. At the edge of the lake, near mountains, was wooden polls with ropes and something hang from those ropes. Rope went from poll to poll. I then thought: "Wait a minute. This was MY idea! MY way to earn money and help environment! She STOLE this from me!" Soon after this I woke up.

In last night's dream I, first, was in some mall and first I followed this guy who liked me, like I liked him, and he played hard to catch. I lost him at some point. Then something happened and people started to rush out of the mall in panic. I tried to keep up with my sister but lost her.

Next I sat in a high car, looking behind through back window. We were driving on a forest road, forest being on both sides of the road. Road itself was like a storming sea, covered with water which was coming towards us. Suddenly bright yellow flashing, like lightning, started to appear in the middle line of the water and it made me happy. I knew it was the guy, my crush, who I lost at the mall. He had returned and found me instead. I also need to mention this guy was more or less like a lizard people (if you know what I mean).

Then, in the same dream, I was in HUGE white truck. It had 2 big trailers but they were shared in 2 levels. Upper levels looked like a bus with seats but below area was empty, stored with food and weapons. I sat near the window, equipped with a hammer only. We were chased by enemy or police, I'm not sure. My sister was there with many other people. I saw one enemy coming with flying scooter or something so I asked could I break the window so I could shoot him. Sis started to say no, but I already hit a small hole in the glass, pushing my little gun through it, aiming at the enemy.

I pulled the trigger and out came a group of small white balls which turned into seagulls! They attacked the man, me yelling at them to poke his eyes out of his head! :'D More enemies came to his aid and one of them aimed at me directly with his gun. The glass shattered and I fell out of the truck. Luckily I, like evetyobe else, were tied on their seat with a long rope or chain so I hanged along.

I managed to land on near by police car which was still chafing us. On it's roof was a pile of weapons, mostly old long axes, knives and swords. I took few of them before falling off on the car. I got sucked under the police car before my chain yanked me back with such huge force that I landed on another white truck which was driving beside us. I heard my sis scream at me something while I watched another pile of weapons in front of me. Once more I took old swords, knives and axes. We had no good weapons in our truck so I took weapons to as many people as I could.

I remember how excited and pleased I was when picking up those weapons, haha! Oh, and another thing! For a some reason wearing shoes, and socks, was forbid in our truck. Apparently they made noises what enemies could hear.

And then I slowly started to wake up.

[luveline]

I’m begging for more Golden Retriever Girlfriend with either Steve or Eddie- scraped knees? Doesn’t even notice, just too excited to tell their boyfriend about the butterfly they saw on their way over to see them…

I chose Eddie again cos I like him ♡ gn!reader | 1k words

The walk to Eddie's house is long but not boring. The trailer homes are dispersed over long stretches of green grass, so sometimes you see bugs. Mostly caterpillars, sometimes spiders, snails and slugs, ants, crickets if you're quiet enough. 

Today, two butterflies. They swing through the air beautifully as if orbiting the other, pure white with wings as unremarkable and delicate as tulip petals. 

They're distracting. You follow them for a short while until they fly too far to see and hurry the rest of the way to Eddie's home, rushing on toes up the steps into his trailer. 

"Eddie?" you ask into the empty living room. 

The bathroom door opens but he doesn't emerge. "In here." 

You stride over and peer inside. He's spitting toothpaste foam down the sink, his hair in a tie, his eyes still droopy with fatigue. 

"You get up way too early, you know that? I don't know how you can already have walked here when I got up five minutes ago."

"The weather's great," you say easily, pushing into the small bathroom though you shouldn't to wipe sleep from the corners of his eyes. 

He bats your hand away. "Stop." 

You stop and frown for the five seconds that you feel scolded until he grabs your fingers to give you a quick reassuring squeeze.

He drops your hand in favour of washing his face, cupping hot water in his hands to scrub at his nose roughly. You ramble mildly about the journey here.

"They were dancing, Eddie. I've never seen anything like it. They were really pretty..." you detail, distracted by his face, his lashes heavy with wetness.

He dries off with a towel. You reach around to the back of his head to pull his hair tie free and he sets his hands over your waist, a casual proximity as you run your hands through his curls. You're careful. You know how prone to tangles he is. 

"I can feel you looking at my face," you say, trying not to breathe too heavily. 

"Sure am, sweetheart." 

You feel as radiant as a marigold under his appreciative gaze. "There. Perfect again," you mumble.

"Thanks."

You nod and move out of his reach, back into the cooler space of his living room. You do a little spin as you go, an unbearable amount of happiness in your chest as you pose in front of the couch, one hand at your hip and the other pointing at your still-tired boyfriend where he follows you. 

"We have the whole day! What are we gonna do first?" you ask. 

"Baby, what the fuck have you done?" 

The smile slips off your face. He sounds mad enough to startle you and you drop your hands. "What?" you ask weakly. 

His eyes flit from your face to your knees and he gestures to them. He looks wide awake. "You're bleeding. Sit down." When you don't move he takes your shoulders into stern hands and guides you backward. "Sit down! Jesus, sit." 

You drop onto the couch and look down at your knees, surprised to see them all bloody and scratched. When you'd slipped on leaf litter walking down the main road into the park you'd assumed everything was fine despite the stinging pain, and by the time you'd seen the butterflies you'd forgotten altogether. 

"When did you do that?" he asks. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I forgot," you say, eyes blinking owlishly at his fierce expression. 

Eddie spins on his heel to dig through a kitchen cabinet for his first aid kit, popping it open by the sink. "Piece of shit kit," he mutters, piling foil wrapped bandages into his hand. 

He looks less formidable as he kneels on the floor between your knees, thumb probing the edge of your grazes one then the other, very gentle.

"You didn't tell me what happened," he says quietly, eyes on your knees as he sprays a small bottle of disinfectant over your knees with no warning and you flinch. 

"Shit, I'm sorry," he says. 

You blink back tears. "Stings," you say, giggling wetly.

He wipes your grazes with precise, almost calculated movements. One hurts worse than the other. "Sorry," he says again as he drops the bloodied wipes to the floor and rips a sterile packing open with his teeth – which is all types of wrong – and unrolls a length of white bandages. 

"Hold the gauze, honey," he says. 

You move your hands as he instructs, wondering if he's ever called you honey before. You're still deciding by the time he finishes, his hands in twin position just below your knees. 

You brush your bandages together and smile. "They're white. Like the butterflies." 

"Is that why you fell? Watching the butterflies?" he asks, sounding curious. 

You laugh and weave your fingers into the soft hair at the back of his neck, dropping your face down. "I'm not that stupid. It was all the fallen leaves by the turning." 

He smiles and clasps your wrists. "You're not stupid at all."

He doesn't give you time to argue as he stands and cleans the small mess he'd made fixing your bloody knees. You stand too, always trying to follow him despite limited places to go. Eddie's more than used to it by now. 

"For future reference," he says, a certain roughness to his tone. "Don't wait ten minutes to tell me the next time you split your knees." 

"Sorry." 

He throws an arm over your shoulder and tugs you into his side, giving you a good shake. "Stop. I'm serious, stop. Be sorry about how you've been here twenty minutes and haven't asked for a kiss yet." 

"I wanted to, but you got all scary about my legs!" 

"I can be scarier." 

"No you can't."

"No, I can't." 

You share what feels like an especially private smile despite being on your own and drop your head into his shoulder. He rests his cheek atop your crown.  

"You had blood down to your ankle," he murmurs. "You scared me." 

"Can I have a kiss now?" you ask. 

"You'll have to let me think about it," he bluffs, already leaning in. 

[demo-bats]

& ,, AN OFFER I CAN’T REFUSE

eddie munson x gn!reader

warnings: ‘sharing a bed for the first time’ trope, hurt/comfort, pure fluff, swearing, mentions of voyuerism, mentions of vomiting, one mention of sex/sexual thoughts, this is purely sfw though!

after a night of fighting monsters and holding back tears, eddie offers a new acquaintance his bed for the night. 2k +

DROPLETS of rain cascade down the foggy windows of the trailer, slick with grease and dirt from years of neglect. Eddie had never noticed the deterioration of his home’s exterior until now, grimacing at the way the water mixes with specs of mud and leaves murky streaks upon the glass.

But then again, he’s never wanted to impress anyone before. The trailer had simply been four walls and a roof, with a bed to sleep in and a shower to use whenever he could remember to wash his hair. It was a pitstop for local drunks or rebelious teens who needed their fix; They never cared for it’s upkeep, and frankly, neither did Eddie nor his uncle.

That was until you sat against his window ledge.

A storm continues to brew above Hawkins, both physically and metaphorically. You hadn’t expected your start to ‘Adult Life’ to be easy, already struggling to find a job in the two years since you had graduated high school. But then Family Video came along, and so did Robin and Steve.

And with their friendship came even more friendships, with people that you never thought you’d be trying to save the world with. Like Eleven, and Dustin Henderson, and Mike Wheeler, and Eddie Munson.

“Uh… Do y’want some water?” His voice is soft, almost timid, as though he’d been afraid of asking such a simple question. In all honesty, he had. The night had been filled with being pulled underwater and fighting monsters in an alternate universe, a sight that had been far too much for you to handle. The nausea of seeing Steve bleed out and creatures roaming in the sky had been pushed to the back of your head, adrenaline kicking in to fight for survival. But then reality had come flooding back once you’d climbed up and flipped yourself onto Eddie’s mattress, and you’d thrown up less-than-delicately from the steps that lead up to his trailer.

Eddie shuffles on his feet after not receiving a response, riddled with nerves. His ring-clad fingers are stuffed into the damp front pockets of his jeans, frizzy hair still matted to his forehead from the spontaneous swimming. He cracks under the tension, his usual awkwardness seeping through the silence. “I was gon’ offer you something stronger buuut…”

“Water’s fine,” You manage, throat burning as you produce the words. Too much lakewater, you conclude, trying to ignore the bitter taste that mixes with your saliva. Your head turns slightly, catching eyes with him for the first time since you’d heaved on his front lawn. “…Thank you.”

Eddie knows he’s an egotistical man, but he can’t recall a moment where he’s felt prouder than this. He salutes, limbs waving about as he spins on his heels and exits quickly, the faint sound of his fingers drumming along the walls growing quieter as he moves towards the kitchen.

You hear the faucet run, glad to be met with something other than the deafening silence you’d both been sitting in for the last hour.

The offer for you to spend the night had just been out of politeness, not really much thought put into it other than wanting to keep the few friends he’d made tonight, adding to his very short list.

But when you had jumped at the chance, a little too eagerly, Eddie had found himself holding his breath since the minute the last person walked out of his trailer.

He inspects the glass once, twice, ensuring there’s no stains or marks. Once satisfied, he repeats his journey until he’s stood in front of you once more.

He all but shoves the glass towards you, water spilling over the edges and trickling down his fingers. “S-Sorry—“

You smile.

He stops breathing.

You pry the glass from his fingers, taking small sips of the cool liquid. It eases the burn, if only by a little, now feeling a lot more comfortable in the plaid pyjama pants and black tee he’d kindly lent to you.

Your body no longer feels as though it’s on fire, able to relax in your own skin. Relaxation brings peace, and you take a moment to dive back into reality. The rain disappears from your line of vision for the first time since you’d sat here, now observing the bedroom you were in.

Eddie is shuffling by the bed, patting at his duvet and pillows until he’s certain they’re plump enough. He’s rolled the blankets back, a silent way of telling you that the bed is welcome for you at any time.

He busies himself next by digging through his dresser, skimming over various clothing items until he finds a set of pyjamas for himself.

He briefly lifts his head to find a private place to change, only to catch eyes with you.

An anxiety ripples through his body, his usual defence mechanism kicking in almost immediately.

“You know, most people stand outside the window when they want to stare at someone getting changed.”

A scoff leaves your lips, slight amusement dancing across your face as you stand from your position slowly. Your knees crack under the new movement, dulling the ache that had started to form. “I’m pretty sure I saw you catching a glimpse when I was in the shower.”

He raises a finger in protest, although the words die on his tongue. “That… was by accident.”

“Sure,” You let out slowly, dragging the word as you wander over to the bed. You glance down at the duvet, keeping your gaze on the cotton sheets as you think over what to say next. You don’t want the conversation to die, especially now that you’ve found the confidence to hold it. “…You okay with this?”

Eddie watches you gesture down to the bed, eyes widening before softening again. It’s not like anything dirty was going to happen, he knew that. But still, the thought of having anyone in his bed other than himself was a new adventure, one that he wasn’t sure how to express his emotions on.

So of course, he results to comedy.

“As long as you don’t mind the jet-engine snoring I let out.” He watches your skin crease beneath your eyes, the corners of your lips upturned in the most failed attempt of hiding a smile. He grins in return, a wide and beautiful act that has your heart skip a beat.

He was good at distracting you. Whether it was his voice, or his good looks that grabbed a hold on you first; Eddie Munson was your saviour tonight, and you’d wondered why you’d never found the time to properly get to know him before.

“I don’t remember it being that bad,” You give him another small smile, hands reaching down to peel the blankets back. He watches your every move, eyes never shifting. The clothes in his hands slip an inch within his weakening grip. You finally sit on the mattress, sweeping your feet under the duvet still held in your hands. “Back in my senior year, you fell asleep in the cafeteria that one time. It was loud, definitely, but it wasn’t annoying.”

It takes a moment for your words to kick in, his body stuck frozen in front of you. You use that time to sink further into his bed, now lying horizontally as your eyes stare up at him. He’s always been the centre of attention at school, even if not for the best of reasons— But he hadn’t expected you to have remembered something small like that.

Sure, you’d been in his original senior year, but Eddie had had a lot of defining moments. Getting caught smoking, drug deals with a teacher, a few hook-up rumours that made him the butt of a never-ending joke. But that particular one was tame, a memory that you’d only hold onto if you were really paying attention to him.

In those few seconds of revelation that maybe he hadn’t been viewed as a freak by everyone in Hawkins, he looks at you differently.

He no longer sees a weak person in desperate need of mummy and daddy, or a tissue box and a trip to the counsellor’s office to unload those childhood traumas. Instead he saw you, just you. A person who had risked their life tonight to assist him and his new friends in trying to save the world.

Behind all those layers, maybe, you were just like him.

“I need to change.” Is the only thing he’s able to blurt out, cringing internally at how he’d left your previous statement hanging.

You simply nod, seemingly unbothered by his lack of response to your trip down memory lane. “I can close my eyes.”

A part of him nearly scolds you for the idea, knowing full well that anybody would want to take a peek at him, just to ridicule his body and spread rumours of how his skin was somehow red like the devil’s. Or that’d contracted some sort of disease.

But then he remembers the moment of revelation he’d just had about you. He thinks back on how he’s trying not to judge you.

He looks at your face, closed eyelids on display, and undoes his belt buckle.

You hear the clank of metal hit the floor, ears twitching out of sensitivity. You’re curious, of course, but keep to your promise of no peeking. There’s a few shuffles, floorboards creaking as he shifts from foot to foot, the scratch of fabric rubbing against his damp skin.

And then the bed dips beside you, warmth radiating your side.

You keep your eyes closed, trying to ignore the way your breaths both hitch from finally crossing the line you’d both been working up to over the duration of the evening.

Eddie stammers, body laid out taunt and straight, suddenly overly aware of how much space he might be taking up. “I can take the couch. Trust me, I’ve spent one too many nights curled up on that thing after getting high and it’s really not that bad—“

“I-I don’t wanna be alone.” You finally admit the words you both knew deep down were true, spoken aloud and sealing the deal of fate between you both.

The subtle movement of his feet shifting back off the bed halts, before settling back into their previous spot.

Eddie slowly rolls onto his right side, now facing you and your closed eyes again. Your breathing is even, despite a few shakes every now and then. “Promise me you’ll stay?”

“Fuck…” He lets out under his breath, so quiet he’s sure you’ve probably not even heard him. His head nuzzles into the pillow until he’s comfortable, curly locks of hair tickling at his cheeks as his hand presses into the small space between your respective pillows. “Yeah,” he swallows thickly. “I promise.”

You sigh contentedly, shifting slightly until you too find a comfortable position. Eddie closes his eyes, trying to ignore the nightmares that already threaten to carve themselves into the backs of his eyelids, ready to play a never-ending repeat of the night you’ve both just endured.

As if by instinct, your finger brushes against his own, both of your hands trapped within the tiny gap. Another hitch of breaths fills the room, adventuring your hand further until it envelopes his. His rings are warm, conducting his body heat, which brings you an odd sense of comfort.

He feels you trace the intricate designs of the jewellrey, unable to open his eyes, much like you. He doesn’t complain, nor push you away. Instead he turns his palm upwards, ignoring the stutter in his heart when you press your own palm down firmly against his. Your fingers interlace, and he listens carefully until your soft breaths turn to even gentler snores.

Eddie Munson opens his eyes, watching you sleep throughout the night until the sun peeks through his curtains and they strain from a lack of rest.

He never often found himself scared. But that night, he swore to protect you.

Even if it meant a little more sacrifice of himself.

[angsty-twihardxx]

Heartbreak Led Me Back to You | E.M

Chapter 5 | When It Rains It Pours

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 |

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary | You and Eddie were childhood friends, best friends even. When your life changes drastically you run away from Hawkins, leaving Eddie and Wayne without a goodbye. But when things go wrong she has no choice but to go back, a second chance for the two to finally admit their feelings.

Warnings | (18+) Adult Themes that some may find upsetting, mentions of abuse, alcohol/drug abuse, slurs directed at reader(f), swearing, angst, sexual references and eventual smut. Pls let me know if I missed anything x

A/N | Sorry it’s definitely been a while, I’m busy taking care of tiny humans,  and also working on an Eddie x Hopper! Reader fic ;) sorry if it’s rushed in advanced

Likes and reblogs are highly welcomed:) x

Taglist | @haylaansmi​, @aedicn​, @kimmi-kat​, @lil-quinnie​  (if you would like to be added to the series taglist lemme know x)

You should’ve suspected that today was going to be a bad one. From the moment your alarm clock stopped working, letting you sleep in for over thirty minutes. “Shit!” You exclaimed, jumping out of bed, getting Chris up and ready and out the door to the Munson’s trailer. 

“Y’alright?” Wayne questioned as he raised a confused eyebrow at his nephew, the both of them watching you fret over Christopher. Evaluating the current whirlwind that was you, merely a blur as you moved in a blur.

Sure, you had run late numerous times, this isn’t the first time you’ve bursted into their dwelling. You looked exhausted, most likely from the industrious work day you endured just yesterday. Not even giving yourself a day's break, needing to keep busy in order to be distracted from your ‘husband’.

“No time to talk– late.” Hastily you said your goodbyes, but not before stealing a piece of Wayne’s toast and running out the door before he could chide you into taking a break, to relax.

“That girl doesn’t know how to slow down does she?”

It was even better when you managed to get stuck at every. red. light. And to top it off, you couldn’t find a single park that wasn’t at least two blocks away. It really felt like the world was out to get you. Treading on the cement walk path you felt erratic, at the edge of a nervous breakdown. Maybe an intervention was what you needed. Just one more thing going wrong till you snapped.

The first half of your shift went slowly, any other day it would be a blessing. But no–you swore at yourself for complaining that it wasn’t fast enough, like an idiot. You seriously couldn’t enjoy the peace and quiet.

You realised you made a mistake when you got paged over to the ER. Then like a total shift in mood, it was so busy you didn’t even have enough time to gather your thoughts. Maybe this was just what you needed.

And of course it got worse. A part of you seriously wanted to be done with it all, to go home and snuggle on the sofa with your son and pretend that your life totally wasn’t falling apart. “Y/N? There's a phone call for you.” Amanda, today's receptionist called out to you as you were taking down patient notes. Worry flashed over your face, your brain began coming up with every worst scenario. The only person that would call you at work was Wayne, if there was something wrong with Chris. “Hello?” Your worried voice almost passed off as harsh, not that you really felt bad, with the day you’ve been having you couldn’t really care less. “Y/N? It’s Howard, we spoke on the phone yesterday?” 

Oh that's right, your lawyer, a Hawkins local who was very close friends with your parents. Someone that would help you just from the sheer fact that he considered you family. “Oh Howard! Yes sorry, I completely forgot. Is everything alright?”

“Well, that’s actually what I’m calling you about. I think it’ll be good for us to meet up as soon as possible. I was wondering if this afternoon would work for you?” 

“I mean, I finish in a couple of hours. Can it wait till tomorrow?” You tried to hide your agitation but you really didn’t have the time for this. “I know it’s inconvenient.” You scoffed lightly– yeah no sight. “But Michael is really trying to push this through. I thought you might also want to get this over and done with.” You realised he was right, if Michael wanted this so bad you might as well give in. The less arguing was better for your son. “Yeah okay, I can swing by after work.”

“Thank you Y/N, look how about we meet at the diner, it's more of a relaxing setting.” 

. . . 

You couldn’t actually believe this was happening, you were walking to go and sign your divorce papers. Michael didn’t even have the guts to come to you himself. He was the one that kicked you out and yet he’s the one that’s hiding away from you– pathetic. 

The door chimed as you walked into the diner, Howard was already sitting and waiting for you. He smiled an awful lot for someone who is handing you a piece of paper to end your marriage. “Did you want to order anything before we get started?” He asked over a plate of fries that were placed in front of him. “No, I’d rather get this over and done with honestly.” You replied uninterested, the man before you swallowing the fries in his mouth, dusting his hands awkwardly.

Noticing the heavy tension, Howard sighed as he retrieved the paperwork he had stacked neatly away in his briefcase. “If you want to keep this over the weekend to go over everything feel free, but please try and bring it to my office by the end of the week. He’s really been up our asses trying to get this all approved.” Howard adjusted his neck tie as he spoke, it didn’t surprise you– he was always impatient.

“It won’t kill him to wait for once.” You muttered, mindlessly going over the many pages, one in particular. It was hidden right near the end, a highlighted list, conditions. “Do you understand what this means?” Howard asked as he watched you gaze at the words in front of you. It seemed like all the words were in another language, you didn’t speak lawyer. “It means that you will have complete custody of Christopher.” He chose his words carefully, slowly. “I’m pretty sure I already do.”

“But you will be his sole guardian.”

‘Sole guardian,’ as in his only one, as in not Michael. 

“So what you’re telling me, he wants nothing to do with his own son.” Your voice was slow, precise. Feeling your stress being overtaken with anger. No– you weren’t going to let him hurt Chris like this. “These are his terms he had agreed too” 

“And if I say no?” 

“Look Y/N, I understand your upset but I recommend that you agree–” 

“No– Look Howard, you can tell Michaels lawyer or whoever that if he wants me to sign these, to grow some balls and see his son. Those are my conditions.”

. . .

Eddie sat comfortably on the sofa inside your trailer, a ritual for him when he watched Christopher for you. He never minded doing these things for you, he always did extra things like this– just so he could see that smile on your face. A part of him wanted the rest of his life to be like this, you, him, Chris and Wayne– their perfectly imperfect family. 

Yet tonight he found himself watching over the clock, and worrying about you– you weren’t here yet. You would always call him and tell him if minded staying and watching Chris for a little longer, and he always accepted. If it weren’t for Christopher telling him how he tired he was, Eddie would probably be alright, he totally felt out of his league. 

“What’d’ya need buddy?” Eddie croaked, kneeling down towards the small child before him who tiredly rubbed his eyes. “M’tired Eddie.”

“Yeah, okay–uh how does your mum usually put you to bed? Brush your teeth then bed?” Eddie let out a breath he was holding when Chris nodded, his small lips pushed together in a pout. Eddie thanked whatever gods for the few times you would briefly get Chris ready for bed when he was there for dinner.

“C’mon bud, let’s  get you to bed, yeah?” 

“Is mummy going to do it?”

“Uh, not tonight buddy, but she’ll be home soon. I’ll tell her to tuck you in when she does, alright?” Chris nodded sleepily, happy with his answer. He let out a tired yawn as he finished in the bathroom, holding his arms out for Eddie to pick him up off the counter– simply too tired to walk. 

. . .

Bright headlights shone into the glass window of your trailer, where Eddie laid awake on your sofa, the tv dribbling a bright white light over his slumped figure. He lifted his head off the pillow, waiting to see your figure walk through the door. When he heard the car turn off but no footsteps he sat up properly, maybe you were waiting for him to barge out and scream at you for being late, from what you had told him anyway it sounded like a recurring theme. 

He waited a few more minutes for you patiently, maybe you just needed a minute, work has been busier than usual. And you did seem really rushed this morning. Okay, maybe more than a minute, had you fallen asleep in your car?

With a groan he reached up to his feet, giving himself a moment to adjust to being vertical. As his feet hit the wooden planks that was your patio, his eyes squinted as he looked for your silhouette. When he didn’t he frowned with concern, making his way to your car. 

When he got closer he still couldn’t see you, but he could hear you. The muffled sound of sob coming from the back seat, “Y/N? Oh sweetheart.” He sighed deplorably, taking in the sight of you. Your small frame crawled into your chest as you hugged your knees, sobbing into your lap. Your face leaned into the crease of the seat, your back to Eddie who leaned into the car.  His saucer eyes took in how defeated you looked, he wished he could make everything better. “Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” He patter your thigh, using his other hand to beckon you out with him.

With a sniff and a quick wipe of your tears you joined him, not yet ready to say anything about the horrible day you’ve had. You wanted to just enjoy being next to him. Eddie, being the perfect gentleman that he is, opened the door for you. Bowing and extending his arm for you, a small huff of air fell from you, Eddie could swear that he just made you laugh– but you weren’t going to let his ego get to his head. 

“You go lay down, y’want some water?” Eddie asked softly, taking another step towards you lifting his larger hand to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. You took a deep breath, taking in the familiar smell that was Eddie. The faint smell of cigarettes lingered behind what was unrecognisably your son's strawberry scented toothpaste. You chuckled at the thought of Eddie helping your son brush his teeth. “Sorry I was late, that you had to put Chris to bed on your own.”

“Stop apologising! We had a wonderful time, even when Chris managed to get his toothpaste in my hair.” Eddie chortled as he placed his hands on your shoulder, guiding you slowly through the hallway towards your room. Knowing you, you’d probably stay up all night being upset, a habit of yours since you were a kid. “But I’m his mum, it should be me doing it.” You sighed as you fell onto the edge of the bed, watching Eddie as he did a quick take of your room. He hadn’t been in before, no reason until now to go in. It was– plain, it wasn’t loud with colour like your sons, devoid of any personality. “Hey, that doesn’t mean you have to do everything on your own, you’ve got me and Wayne.” Eddie quickly moved to sit beside you, his words came from a warm place, you knew that.

Though you couldn’t help the sad feeling coming back again, because you were going to be on your own. Even if you didn’t always get along you at least had Michael, he was at least there for Chris, but now he was leaving the both of you for good. Eddie and Wayne meant well but it was different, you couldn’t expect them to do everything. It just wasn’t the same. And here comes the tears again.

“You don’t get it, I am on my own, I always have been. My own parent’s left me and now my husband is leaving me!” You sobbed into your own, not caring how silly you looked. 

But Eddie never thought you looked silly, ever. Instead he held onto you tightly, bringing you into his chest. “C’mon, why don’t you tell me what’s going on love?” His voice was soft, contrasting his usual brass voice, his hand rubbing comforting circles on your back. “Michael filed for the divorce, which is fine- he’s an asshole. But he wants nothing to do with Chris, like absolutely nothing.” You cried into Eddie’s shirt, a damp patch developing on his shoulder. For a moment, Eddie didn’t know what to say to you that would make you feel better. “Shit, Y/N I’m so sorry.” 

There was a beat of silence for a moment, the two of you just holding yourself close to one another. “But uh- you know that I’m always going to be here, no matter what.” 

“Eddie, could you stay here with me tonight? I don’t want to be on my own.” 

In that moment, all Eddie saw was you when you would tap on his window late at night in the pouring rain. When it seemed that the world was against you, you could always come to Eddie without judgement. He would without a doubt always capture you in his warmth, the safety that was always Eddie. 

“Of course.”

. . .

You didn’t have the strength to endure a warm shower, you knew that tomorrow morning it would be all the more rewarding to feel the scalding water on your skin. You did at least change into your pajamas though, retreating to the privacy of your bathroom to change. 

Eddie then slid into the bed beside you as you returned, your bodies were inches from one another, but not touching. You could still feel the heat radiating from his body, you wanted nothing more than to touch him, have him touch you all over. 

Instead you rolled over to face him, the moonlight casts a white glow over his cheekbones that bunched together into a smile. The two of you looked into one another, waiting to see what would happen next, no one daring to make a move. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this, hey.” You joked making Eddie chuckle, his movement made your arms graze on another. Your arm burning at his touch, you craved his contact.

 Eddie must’ve known this, reaching his arm out over your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. His lips finding its way to the top of your hair. “Eddie,” you reprimanded, “I probably smell like a hospital.” You whined into his chest, hearing him take a deep inhale pressing his nose into your hair, making you laugh. “No you don’t, you smell like Y/N.” 

“Oh and what do I smell like?” You dared him to answer, raising your head out of his chest to look at him. “Well, you uh smell like–” He dragged out, taking another whiff. “Hmm, I’m getting a hint of watermelon?” 

“That would be my shampoo Eddie.” You giggled into him again, just enjoying this. The two of you are tangled in Eddie's arms, totally just enjoying being next to one another. Eddie let out an astonished ‘ah’, like you had just given him an important piece of information. 

The two of you laid together silent, for the short moment you saw his lips under the small light and wandered what it would be like to have them on yours.

“Hey Eds, what do you think you would do if I kissed you right now?” Your question took him by surprise, freezing him in his spot. Hell, you even surprised yourself. He hoped that you wouldn’t hear how fast his heart rate accelerated. “I uh- we ah– why do you ask?” He stuttered, you had completely taken him aback. Suddenly feeling embarrassed you tried to take it back, “You can say no Eddie, y’know if you don’t want t–” 

“No, I–I want too, trust me. It’s just your feeling alot of emotions right now, I don’t want you to regret it later is all.” 

“I’ve wanted to for years, I think I’ll regret more if I have you here with me and don’t kiss you.” You spoke truthfully, your face still pushed against Eddie's chest, your eyes watching for his reaction carefully. Just waiting to see how he would react, the smile that grew on his cheeks settled your panicking heart. “So this was all a huge scheme to get me in your bed? Wow Y/N, I can’t say I would expect this from you.” He feigned offence as he gently pushed you away from his embrace, making you let out a shriek. “Okay, you know what?”

You grasped his cheeks in your hands and pulled his lips onto yours. Kissing him was everything you had always thought it would be, messy, hungrily. He leaned forward, deepening the kiss.

He answered your question by wrapping a strong arm around your waist, lifting up against him. You snake your arms around his neck, about to pull yourself on his lap when you feel his hands gripping yours. Eddie gently pulled away from you, a quiet sigh escaping from your agape mouth. “Hey, as much as I enjoyed that,” He threw a playful smile your way, minimising the embarrassment. “Let’s just take it easy tonight, yeah? I just want to enjoy having you close to me. Also you're still technically married.” He threw a gentle chuckle your way, letting you know– this is okay. 

You nodded, contempt with yourself as you scooted back facing him, allowing Eddie to wrap his arms around your middle. His head now tucked into the crook of your neck, god you’ve waited so long for this. 

“Night Eddie.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

[blob-of-atoms]

Missing Keys// Eddie Munson blurb

“Uncle, can you please stop asking about it?” Eddie sighed heavily while moving about the trailer to look for the car keys he’d misplaced (again). 

“What? You couldn’t stop talking about him less than 10 minutes ago.” Wayne eyed his nephew, taking a sip of his beer while Eddie moved around to open random drawers and look under the sofa. 

“Yeah, well, 10 minutes is enough,” Eddie groaned in exasperation at his missing keys. “God! Where the hell did I put them?” 

“Did you check the jeans you wore yesterday?” His uncle asked, rolling his eyes. He knew Eddie to be forgetful, but it was the third time that week he’d misplaced his keys. 

“These are the jeans I wore yesterday.” Eddie turned to look at him with a duh look.

“Of course they are,” Wayne chuckled, standing up to throw his beer can in the garbage. While peering in, he spotted a similar DIO keychain. “Well, well, you threw them away,” He moved to rummage the keys out of the small garbage can, swinging them dramatically in Eddie’s face. 

Eddie moved to snatch them out of his hand, but before he could, his uncle pulled them out of his grasp and into his own flannel pocket. 

“Driving is about being responsible, Ed.” Wayne turned his back to push the kitchen chair into the table, as if that would help tidy up the trailer. 

“Spare me the speech please,” Eddie knocked his head back to look at the ceiling, already feeling a lecture coming on. Why the hell had he thrown away his keys in the garbage? He was probably thinking about Steve again and got distracted..

“I’m serious, Eddie” His uncle turned to face him, but he was still staring at the ceiling. 

“I’m talking here, boy”, “look at me” His uncle moved closer to Eddie, putting a hand on his hip as he analyzed Eddie from head to toe. “Are you high right now?” 

“God! Why are you being such a hardass today?” Eddie blurted out, raising his voice more than he meant to.

“Hey!” Wayne had a stern look, his pointer finger close to Eddie's face. “This is my trailer boy, my space”, “now if you want to disrespect me in my own space, you’re more than welcome to get the hell out and sleep outside.” 

Eddie cowered and sat down on their sofa with a sigh, rubbing his eyes so hard that when he opened them to look up at his uncle, there were tiny spots running across his vision. 

“I'm...I’m sorry, Uncle.” Eddie mumbled, looking down to stare at his hands. “It's just that..I’m very on edge right now.” He kept his gaze down even when he felt his uncle sit beside him. 

“ I know you are, boy.” His Uncle tapped his jean-covered knee as if to let him know he wasn’t mad anymore. “You’ve got a lot going in that head of yours, huh?” he chuckled. 

Eddie smiled softly , shaking his head “you’ve got no idea,” he turned to look at his uncle, his gaze dropping to the flannel pocket that held the keys to his van. 

Wayne knew why he was staring, so he sighed before giving in and handing him the keys. Eddie grinned, reaching to receive the keys, but once again, his uncle pulled back his hand. “With one condition,” Wayne widened his eyes, waving his finger at his nephew again. “If I find these keys one more time laying around somewhere, I will personally sell that van to get the La-Z-Boy I’ve been eyeing at the store.” 

Eddie couldn’t help but nervously chuckle. “Okay, deal.” 

Wayne dropped the keys into his hand, tapping his knee again before standing up. 

“ Oh, and tell that Steve to come through the front door this time”, “ he’s going to break your window frame and I ain’t paying for it.” Wayne remarked as he put on his fishing cap and slammed the door loud enough to leave an echo in Eddie’s head. 

All Eddie could do was sit there stunned, feeling his ears turning red. 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

a/n: This was inspired by my prompt of Wanye telling Eddie Steve left him flowers. Let me know if you want more parts - Cota 🖤🖤🖤

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,266 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, sexuality, nudity, typical TWD A/N: I didn't do nearly as many read-throughs with this one so there are probably typos. Also YA'LL. ARE. GONNA. LOVE. THIS. A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: After the visit from the Saviors at Hilltop, Daryl and Y/N finally head back to Alexandria, waiting on the edge of war.

Your name: submit What is this?

That night, after the Saviors left, was to be your last in Hilltop before you returned to Alexandria to officialyl kick the hornet nest. You had said something about going to talk to Maggie but after a while you still hadn’t returned and Daryl went to see if there was anything he could help with. He knocked on the door of Jesus’ trailer and Enid pulled open the door. Everyone was there, except for you.

“Hey. Y/N ain’t here?” he drawled. Maggie noticed how his brow drew down low over his eyes, a clear expression of worry.

“She was but she left a while ago,” Jesus said, climbing to his feet. “I assumed she was headed your way.”

“Nah. She ain’t been back.” His stomach twisted a little with anxiety. “Alright… Thanks,” he said, turning to leave.

“Daryl, wait!” Maggie called after him. She got up from her seat at the table and walked over. “You’re leavin’ early in the mornin’, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Headin’ back.”

Maggie nodded. “Alright. Then let us say goodbye to ya now in case we don’t see ya.” She grabbed Daryl into a tight hug before he could protest. He was stiff at first but he soon pressed a hand to her back and returned it. “You be safe. And we’ll see ya soon.”

He nudged his nose up in a nod. Sasha grabbed him briefly into a hug. Enid waved from her place on the couch and Jesus strode forward to shake his hand. “Thanks for all your help here,” he said. “It really means a lot.”

Daryl nodded again. “Mhm. We’ll be rid of ‘em for good soon. See ya’ll.” The archer’s broad frame disappeared back outside. He stopped for a minute and scanned the open space for your familiar frame, but he couldn’t see you anywhere. The first places he checked were all the guard posts along the wall but there was no sign of you. He tried Abraham and Glenn’s graves next, but no luck. Then his eyes fell on the stable and he knew you sometimes went there in an attempt to quiet your mind, and after that interaction with Negan today, the things he had said loud enough for everyone to hear, Daryl suspected that your mind needed a little quieting.

His guess was right.

You came into view, leaning up against one of the stall doors, petting a mare who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the attention. There was only the glow of a few lanterns to light the space and your expression was cast in shadow when he came in, the soft hay making his steps nearly silent.

“Hey,” he said, drawing your eyes. “Been lookin’ for ya.”

“Sorry,” you said softly.

“Nah, it’s not¬—nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said, crossing the space to you. You didn’t have a smile for him this time and his concern grew. “Ya alright? Today was…” he broke off, not even sure what word to use.

You were usually quick to reassure him that you were fine, but this time you didn’t. You just stared ahead and absently smoothed your hand down the horse’s neck, trying to gather your courage to speak.

Daryl stepped closer to you until he was leaned up right beside you against the stall door. “Hey. C’mon. Talk to me. What is it?”

He watched you gulp and shut your eyes for a moment, gathering yourself. You shook your head a little and let out a shaky exhale before you glanced over at him. “Negan. What he—he said—and… everyone… the rest of the day today, I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. And you know that feeling you get when you enter a room and people were just talking about you? It felt like that in all of Hilltop today.” You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the tears burning in your eyes from spilling out. “Everybody here must just think I—”

“Hey, c’mon. Stop that. Nobody thinks anything about it,” he said trying to reassure you. But you turned your eyes down toward your hands.

“The way some of them were looking at me? Yeah. They do, Daryl… Now all of Hilltop knows that I—that I slept with Negan. With him.” It was hard even to get the words out. “And I can’t even really blame them. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I never should have allowed—” you said quietly, breaking off and shuffling your feet back and forth anxiously in the soft bedding on the barn floor. You could no longer stop any of the tears from spilling out and Daryl saw them cascade down your cheeks as you finally looked back up at him and met his blue eyes. “I can’t even blame them for what they probably think of me. What you must think of me…” You hastily wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks. “Hell, a lot of the time—” you shook your head, staring down at your hands again, “I think the worst of it myself…”

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. His gaze was intense. He hated that you had been put in that situation. He hated that circumstances had ever collided in just such a way as to put you in a place where your only option was to submit to Negan, to allow him to lay a finger on you. And then you’d gone back. For him. “Ya want to know what I think? Ya were victimized by him. But ya ain’t a victim. You’re a survivor. That’s all ya did. Ya survived. And ya saved my ass! Ya didn’t have a choice. And any of them who are too stupid to figure that out ain’t worth it. They don’t know a damn thing about it. All the rest of us, Maggie, Jesus, Rick, Aaron & Eric, we know. We know. I’m proud to even know ya. And I consider myself lucky that ya’ve chosen me as bein’—as bein’ someone worth yer time.” He watched you wipe another tear off your cheek, your eyes wide and glassy as you looked back at him. He tilted his head gently at you. “C’mere.” His expression was soft and one you never could refuse.

It was all you needed. You fell into him and his strong arms wrapped around you tightly and pressed you into him, like he needed you there against his chest. Daryl breathed in the scent of your hair and settled you against him, smoothing his hands over your back lightly. You squeezed your eyes shut tight and focused on that feeling of safety. “S’alright. I ain’t ever thought less of ya because of what happened to ya. It ain’t your fault. Wasn’t a choice. And if anybody so much as looks at ya sideways, ya just come tell me and I’ll knock them on their ass, alright?”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. You pressed your hand flat against his chest, loving how you could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers and the expansion of his lungs as he breathed. You pulled back slightly so you could look up into his handsome face. He looked worried still, anxiously chewing on his bottom lip. But, finally, you gave him a smile, albeit still a little teary, and he relaxed some. His fingers smoothed through your hair and you sighed, feeling a return of the warmth he always gave you. It grew and spread outward in your chest, spilling into your face, and you arched up onto your toes and kissed him.

You were setting your heels back down when his arm snaked around your lower back and pulled your hips into his. You looked up and met his eyes again and he nudged his nose up once. Daryl’s request for another kiss. You gladly acquiesced and this time you both sank into it, breathing each other in. Daryl’s hand clasped your face and his thumb traced the edge of your jaw gently as your lips moved in sync with his, effortless. The sensation of your hands light on his sides was enough to send him reeling with electricity.

“Thanks,” you said softly, after you finally broke apart. Daryl’s hands were landed on your hips and he gave you a questioning look. “Just—for what you said.”

“Ain’t gotta thank me. S’just the truth,” he said. He gave your hip an affectionate squeeze. “C’mon. S’late and we gotta get up early to head home. Let’s get some sleep.” He nudged his head in the direction of the door and you nodded.

You smiled as he laced his fingers with yours and tugged you back to the trailer.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl’s bike rumbled down the road and he pulled it into the garage at Aaron and Eric’s which was standing open. You were still climbing off when the door into the house burst open and Aaron and Eric both came bounding down the stairs.

Aaron reached you first and barreled into you, drawing a laugh from you as you stumbled backward a little before regaining your balance. Daryl watched the interaction with one corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Aaron said, his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

You patted his back. “You too,” you said fondly, smiling widely.

“Alright, quit hogging her!” Eric said, shaking his head. Aaron pulled back and gave you a warm smile before stepping aside to let Eric wrap his arms around you. “We’ve missed you,” he said.

“Missed you guys, too,” you replied, shutting your eyes and giving Eric a final squeeze.

“How’s Hilltop?” Aaron asked as you finally withdrew, glancing between you and Daryl.

Daryl shrugged. “Ready as they’ll ever be. Maggie’s got it,” he nodded. “How’re things here?”

“Ready,” Aaron said. “For the most part. We’re expecting The Saviors today thanks to your intel.”

You felt your stomach twist and you nodded. “Yeah… Hard to believe we’re really about to do this.”

“It’s time,” Eric said, looking suddenly sad. “You heard about Olivia and—and Spencer?”

You nodded. “Yeah. We heard,” you trailed off. “Olivia was sweet. That shouldn’t have happened to her, of all people. But Spencer? What the hell was he thinking?” you asked, shaking your head sadly. “He put himself right in the line of fire… he was naïve, but nobody deserves what happened to him.”

“He couldn’t handle Rick being in charge after his Mom,” Aaron said. “Thought he could do better.”

“Only someone who was completely clueless about what that means would say that,” Daryl drawled. “Ain’t an easy job, what Rick’s doin’. And he feels responsible for every damn thing that happens to everybody.”

You sighed. “That’s a lot of weight to carry around…”

“Speakin’ of,” Daryl said, glancing back over at you. “I wanna go see everybody. Check in with Rick.”

You nodded. “Go. I’m gonna catch up with these two for a bit.”

“They’re gonna wanna see ya, too,” Daryl said.

You felt your cheeks flush a little, nerves still at the idea of being brought so fully in as part of Daryl’s ‘family’. “Alright. I’ll meet you there in a little while,” you said with a nod. “Promise.”

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod. “Alright. See ya soon, then. Aaron. Eric,” he said, nodding at each of them. Daryl disappeared out into the bright morning sun.

Considering what he knew was coming, Alexandria seemed quiet.

But when he pulled open the front door of the house his group shared and paced into the kitchen, he was surrounded by his chosen family. Rick placed Judith in his arms and smiled as Daryl cooed at the little girl. “It’s good to have you back,” Rick said, clasping Daryl’s shoulder when he could.

Daryl nodded. “Yah. Good to be back.” He bounced Judith a couple more times and then glanced at Carl. “Hey. Take her for a minute, would ya? I gotta talk to your dad.”

Carl accepted his baby sister and Daryl straightened Rick’s old hat on the teenager’s head, eliciting a smile.

Once Carl was out of ear shot, Daryl leaned onto the counter with his forearms and sighed heavily. “We really doin’ this?” he drawled. “Ready?”

Rick nodded. “We’re doing it. And we’re ready. Everything is set.”

“And Negan?”

Rick scowled. “I’ll take care of him when the time is right.”

Daryl stared down at the pattern of countertop for a moment. “What if I get the chance first? Or Y/N? We ain’t supposed to take it?” he asked. “If anyone deserves to put that bastard in the ground it’s her. I can’t tell her not to.”

The muscle in Rick’s jaw twitched. “Yeah… I know. But—for now? We need to knock down what he’s built first. Can’t just be him.”

“I know. But if we get a shot at him… Rick, I want him dead,” Daryl growled. “For what he did to Glenn and Abraham. For what he did to all of us. For Hilltop, for the Kingdom… but most of all for her.” The archer straightened up. “If we get the chance, no hesitation. He’s dead.”

Rick eventually nodded, a tentative agreement. He wanted to be the one who pulled the trigger on Negan, but how could he argue for you or Daryl to not get the job done if the opportunity presented itself. “Where is Y/N?” Rick asked.

“Catchin’ up with Aaron and Eric. She said she’d come by in a bit.”

“Good. That’s good…” There was the weight of many cares on his shoulders. “When they get here, I don’t want either of you two anywhere they might be able to see you,” Rick said.

“Why? They saw us yesterday at Hilltop. They already know we’re part of this.”

“I know. I just don’t want to give them an opportunity to take a shot at either of you,” he replied. “And after yesterday, at Hilltop, with what they now know? They might.”

Daryl sighed and anxiously chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Ya, about that… Negan said somethin’ yesterday. He wants Y/N alive.”

Rick stared at his friend, his brow furrowing more deeply. “Alive?”

Daryl nodded, pacing a little restlessly. “That’s what he said to his douchebag lieutenant Simon. It seemed genuine. He wants her prisoner, and I don’t think he’d kill her after he got his hands on her.” Daryl’s face darkened with rage just at the thought. “So, that means that wherever we think Negan is gonna be, Y/N needs to not be…”

Rick considered the grave expression on Daryl’s face. “Will she agree to that?”

Daryl shrugged. “I dunno. But she’s gonna have to. I ain’t puttin’ her somewhere he might be able to get his hands on her again.”

“Not sure any of us can boss Y/N around,” Rick said, a small smile curving his lips despite the grim topic.

Daryl let out an amused exhale in place of a laugh. “Ya… tell me about it.”

As if on cue, Daryl and Rick heard the front door open and soft footsteps up the hall and into the kitchen. You had a small smile for Rick and the others who were gathered in the living room. Rick returned it as you came to stand beside Daryl. “Good to see you,” Rick said. “We sorely missed having both of you around. And not just because you two can get supply runs done in record time.”

You laughed a little lightly, exchanging a look with Daryl, and nodded. “We missed being home too.”

“Listen, I was just telling Daryl—” Rick hesitated. “I don’t want either of you anywhere near the gate when they show up. I don’t want him knowing you’re here.”

You straightened up and looked at Daryl briefly. His blue eyes met yours and he nodded once to show he was onboard. “Alright,” you said, turning back to look at Rick. “We’ll hang back.” Inside, you were hoping that if Negan didn’t see you there wouldn’t be a repeat of what he had divulged loudly for everyone at Hilltop the previous day. You sighed and looked at Rick. “Once you do this today, there’s no going back. And people are going to die. Our people.”

Rick’s expression was grave, but he nodded. “I know. But if we leave it be, more people will die anyway. At his hands.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “I just want to make sure you really understand what we’re all getting into. Negan, he’s—” You broke off, unable to continue and sighed.

“I know,” Rick said forcefully. “We’ve all seen it with our own eyes.” You weren’t looking up at him. “Hey—” he said, forcing your eyes back to his. “Whatever happens isn’t gonna be on you. You told us all you had to tell. You stopped us from rushing in unprepared. And you didn’t even have to do any of that. We owe you. More than I can say. And I—” Rick pressed his hand over the center of his chest, “I’m so grateful.”

At length, you nodded. “We’ll get it done. We will. I know it.”

Daryl was looking at you in awe of your strength and he watched with a swell of happiness as Rosita grinned at you and waved from her place in the other room and you went striding over to greet her.

“Daryl.” Rick’s voice drew his eyes again. “Whatever happens… we’re fighting the good fight.” And it was then that Daryl suddenly realized that Rick was worried that perhaps you might not make it through this. And he was worried about what that would mean for the archer. It was war. Anything could happen.

Daryl straightened up to his full height and chewed on his bottom lip anxiously. “Ain’t gotta worry. Y/N and I are both making it through this. Rick, she’s—” he paused and glanced back over at you, feeling himself soften as he watched you laugh at something Rosita had said, tossing your head back, your eyes crinkled closed. “She’s stronger than me. And she makes me strong. We’re gonna be just fine.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was surprised when he woke the next morning and realized you weren’t beside him. He shot straight up in bed, his heart pounding, and that’s when he realized that he could hear the shower running and the gentle sound of you humming to yourself over the pattering of the water. He flopped back down onto the pillow and reached over to your side, wanting to see if the warmth of you was still there.

Your side of the bed was cool but Daryl could still see the shape of your body in the sheets and the impression of your head on the pillow. He heard the shower turn off in the bathroom and the sound of you opening the door and stepping out. The archer climbed out of bed and made his way over to the doorway. He leaned against the door frame, taking in the shape of your figure wrapped in a towel, a comb in your hands as you ran it through your wet hair. You finally caught sight of him in the mirror and you gave him that megawatt smile that always sent electricity jumping up his spine and his heart skipping a beat.

“Hey. Morning,” you said, turning to look at him leaning up against the doorframe.

“Ya left me alone in bed?” he drawled. “Real nice…”

A small smile still curved you lips. “I’m sorry. You were really deeply asleep still. Must have needed it. I couldn’t sleep anymore and I just really wanted a hot shower.”

Daryl left his place leaning against the doorway and walked over to you in front of the mirror. His hands landed on your hips and you felt a flush of heat in your chest and face at the contact.

“Yah. Ya didn’t invite me to that either,” he joked quietly.

One of your eyebrows quirked down low over your eyes and you gave him a look, obviously trying to read what was on his mind. “Should I have?” you asked, turning around again to glance in the mirror. Daryl’s hands stayed on your hips and you soon felt his body pressing up against yours.

“Always,” he said, his voice deep and a little gruff with sleep still. He bent and kissed the bare skin on the side of your neck. The stubble on his face was exhilarating and you felt goosebumps rising on your skin immediately. He next pressed his lips to the skin on your shoulder. He thought you smelled of lavender and vanilla. His fingers gave your hips a gentle squeeze.

You bit your bottom lip. “Daryl Dixon…” you said softly. Your tone was smoky, silky, and it drew his eyes to yours in the mirror. “What are you doing?” you asked him playfully.

One corner of his mouth twitched up but then his expression was almost serious. He gently gathered the wet strands of your hair, his fingertips sweeping your neck softly, sending another electric jolt through you. He pressed his lips to the back of your neck and pulled you back against him more tightly.

You felt your lips part slightly of their own accord and your eyes closed. You let out a small exhale and Daryl straightened up again, taking in your expression in the mirror and feeling a flame of heat growing in his chest. After a moment your eyes opened again and met his once more. “Do you know what you’re doing?” you asked quietly. Your breath and heart were increasing in pace and the tingles running through you were becoming impossible to ignore.

Daryl ducked his head a little bashfully for a moment, but only for a moment. When he caught your eyes again, he tilted his head back toward the doorway into the bedroom.

Now your heart was absolutely pounding. You broke from your gaze in the mirror and spun to face him, your brilliantly colored eyes searching his face. You peered up at him and once again Daryl was taken aback by the vulnerability he saw in your eyes. All he wanted in that moment was to wrap you up and make you truly his, show you exactly how goddamn head over heels he was for you. “Are you sure?” you said, and then you hesitated. “I mean, am I—am I reading this right?”

One of Daryl’s hands lifted from your hip and clasped your face gently. And he swept you in against him, his other hand on the small of your back, kissing you deeply and insistently. You felt your knees start to go weak but there was no chance of falling with Daryl’s arm around you, pressing your hips into his. His tongue flicked over your bottom lip and you granted him entrance, letting out a small noise of pleasure as he deepened the kiss even more.

You suddenly pulled back, your hand landing flush against his strong chest. “Wait. Wait…” you breathed, looking up into his handsome face, his blue eyes connected with yours. “Are you—is this—”

Daryl studied your expression and smiled at your hesitation as he realized you were worrying about him. He clasped your face again in both of his hands delicately, his eyes flickering between both of yours. “I’ve wanted this with ya for a long time. I just—I needed there to be other things first… I didn’t want to—to risk ruinin’ this because I rushed anythin’.”

You nodded though there was some mixture of confusion and disbelief on your face. You gently rested your hands on his sides. The lightness, the delicate quality of your touch drove him crazy…

“Hey, I—” he paused for a moment and licked his lips anxiously, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/N, ‘M in love with you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Daryl’s heart was pounding as he waited for your response.

The confusion and disbelief in your eyes was suddenly replaced with a wild happiness that grew, like your smile, by the moment. He felt your fingers curl more tightly into his shirt. “I love you, too,” you said. You let out a joyful laugh as you looked up at him and then immediately arched up onto your toes, crashing your lips into his again.

Daryl kissed you back eagerly, feverishly, but he pulled back suddenly leaving you wanting more. He stared down at you and you gave him a questioning look again, but were unable to stop smiling. “Can you, uhh—could ya just say that again?” he asked, a little self-consciously.

You grinned at him and looped your arms around his neck, looking deeply into his eyes. “Daryl Dixon. I’m so in love with you.”

His heart leapt to hear those words leave your lips and he crashed into you again, his arms pulling you into him and lifting you off your feet. When he set you back down, your lips didn’t separate and you pressed your hands into his strong chest, pushing him backwards into the bedroom again. You pulled his bottom lip in between your teeth, dragging them lightly over it, and smiled into the kiss as the action elicited a chesty growl from him. His fingers dug more deeply into your hips.

He broke from you for a brief moment and looked into your face. His eyes were intense, wanting. “Are ya ready for this? This okay? We don’t have to—”

You grinned at his sweetness and captured him in another fiery kiss briefly before pulling back again. “Get your damn clothes off right now,” you said breathily, grinning at him. “How is this fair? I’m already in just a towel.”

His pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth briefly and shook his head at you like he couldn’t believe this was happening. You grinned and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off over his head. Your eyes wandered over his strong shoulders and bare chest down to the V of his hips, hitching again on the scars crisscrossing his skin.

Your hands went to him immediately and you leaned into him. He gulped a little nervously, staring down at the unmistakable desire in your eyes. You wrapped your arms around him and arched up onto your toes again, your lips meeting his hungrily, and Daryl happily sank into it. Suddenly he felt your fingernails raking gently down his back and he almost shivered at the sensation. He felt the overwhelming warmth in his chest blooming outward, causing his head to go vaguely fuzzy.

Before he could even think about doing it himself, he felt the towel wrapped around you fall to the floor and suddenly his fingers were wandering over the bare shape of you, unimpeded by distracting or cumbersome fabric.

He smoothed his hands from the flared curve of your hips up the narrowing of your waist and onto the angles of your ribs. His fingers reached around your frame and felt the sharpness of your shoulder blades. You felt small beneath his hands, delicate, despite the fact that he knew you were no wilted daylily. His lips wandered from yours to leave a trail along your jaw and down your neck to your collarbone. You heaved in a small breath at the sensation. Your fingers found his waistband and soon both of you were only skin, completely reeling with the sensations of one another.

A moment later you let out a surprised gasp as Daryl picked you up as if you weighed nothing and laid you down in the bed beneath him. He leaned over you, propped up on one elbow, moving aside a strand of your hair with the other hand. You stared up at him wantingly, your lips parted and waiting again for his. His hands, a little rough but so gentle, clasped your face as he kissed you before tracing the line of your collarbone and wandering down to explore all your curves and angles. You pulled his lips back to yours and tangled your legs with his, gasping in pleasure as the two of you became one and moved in sync together effortlessly.

Daryl was sweet and gentle but needy and fiery all at once and you were both just bounding hearts and sensations, curling toes and waves of rising pleasure. He kept one hand laced with yours and couldn’t take his eyes off you beneath him as you moved together unless it was to press kisses to every part of you. You relished the feeling of his strong muscles moving beneath your fingers, and when you both finally reached the peak his lips on yours were insistent before they softened. He drew back to watch the expression on your face as the two of you came down from your high, rushing breaths and a heartbeat that was loud in your ears.

Daryl settled down beside you, his chest heaving and an arm draped over you which you rested your hand on.

“Oh my God,” you gasped breathily, glancing over at him with a starry smile on your face. You turned onto your side so you were facing him, knowing your face and cheeks were flushed. Your fingers traced over the scars on his chest and despite the afterglow you were basking in you felt a twinge of anger and sadness at what he had gone through.

“Yah,” he agreed, a smile curving his lips. “I can’t even tell ya how long I’ve wanted that.” You thought you saw a blush in his cheeks too. His hands smoothed up and down your side from your shoulder to your hip, memorizing the feeling of you.

You sighed contentedly. “Same.”

Daryl nudged his nose up at you and you gladly acquiesced and pressed your lips to his softly, clasping his face and running your thumb along the line of his strong jaw. You watched his blue eyes open and you drank in the softness in them. His hand came to rest on your hip and his thumb drew absent strokes on your soft skin. You pressed a hand flat to his chest so you could feel the racing of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath.

“Wish we could stay here like this forever,” you said softly.

“Mhm. Me too. We can for a while though at least,” he drawled, moving closer to you again so he could feel your weight and your warmth. You draped your arm over him, the tips of your fingers brushing his back. Daryl watched you fondly as you settled in against him and closed your eyes.

At that moment, it was hard to believe anything could ever break the sense of fulfillment and peace both of you had.

[pastelwitchling]

“What do you mean he’s been hit with truth serum?” Michael demanded.

Alex giggled from where he had his head rested against the wall, his half-lidded eyes on Michael. “You’re pretty.”

Michael and Liz stared at him a moment, Michael’s cheeks warm.

“Exactly what it sounds like!” Liz said urgently. “Look, it’s all my fault, I – I got in an argument with Max, I wasn’t paying attention, the solution was about to erupt, Alex jumped in to protect me, and he got hit!”

“It’s not so bad,” Alex said from the corner. He pointed at Michael’s open flannel. “I love it when you wear your shirt like that, by the way. Unbutton another one.” He straightened. “Never mind, don’t. I don’t want anybody staring at you but me.”

Michael exhaled slowly. He looked to Liz whose eyes were wide, her cheeks pink. “Why were you making truth serum?!” he snapped.

“It was unfinished!” she argued. “It wasn’t supposed to be a truth serum!”

“I like the way you smell,” Alex told her dreamily. “Makes me feel safe. Well, it did, until you played favorites and encouraged Maria to go after the only man I’ve ever loved. Did you ever consider what that would do to me? It killed me every second, by the way.” He perked up. “Oh! I left my copy of Little Women under the sofa! I’ll have to remember to check when I get back.”

Neither Liz nor Michael said anything in response to that for a long time. Michael felt an uncomfortable twitch in his spine at the mention of his ex, and Liz looked no more pleased with herself for her mistakes.

Michael shut his eyes. “Why am I here? Don’t you think I’m the last person who should be around Alex when he’s spilling his guts out?”

“You’re the only other person who can help me find an antidote to this!”

“Aww,” Alex laughed. “You’re both so scared of the truth. I don’t think my feelings have been any secret.” He pointed at Michael. “I’m in love with you –” He looked to Liz “—I’m disappointed with you.” He shrugged. “And I can’t even look at Maria anymore without wanting to scream and cry my eyes out.” He slumped. “I’m hungry. I don’t eat nearly enough.”

“I can’t –” Michael shook his head. “I can’t do this, I can’t be here.”

He turned to the door, made it just to the handle, and Alex called out in a singsong voice, “Michael’s running away again!”

Michael stopped, his whole body tense and on edge. He turned slowly to Alex to find him staring blatantly back at him, his smile intact, but his eyes glassy, as if a small part of him was still conscious of what was going on.

“I don’t run away from you, Alex,” he said.

Liz held a hand up. “Michael, he’s under a serum’s effects, he doesn’t know what he’s –”

“Don’t you?” Alex whispered, but his sad tone and teasing smile were enough to blanket the lab with a heavy silence. “Never seems to matter what’s happening to me, how hurt I am, how scared or lost or confused . . . you’ve never stayed for any of it.”

He stretched out his arms and legs. “Sure wish it had been that easy for me to abandon you like that.” He laughed. “But no, I kept coming back. Kept hoping. Then you’d make some joke about me –” he faltered, like a lump in his throat constricted his words, “being good for nothing but sex, and I’d feel like an idiot every time.”

Michael took a step towards him. “I . . .” he breathed. “Alex, no, I never meant any of that.”

Alex hummed. “I know, Guerin. I always know.” His smile turned small as he looked down at his lap. “But you were nice to her. I was always jealous of that. That you were so nice to her, but you were fine with making me feel . . .”

Liz was watching with furrowed brows, her own eyes glassy at the exchange. Michael suspected she only now was realizing the damage she’d done when she’d – as Alex had put it – played favorites.

“Feel what?”

Alex smiled like it was all a fun, tragic joke. “Unwanted.” His eyes turned dazed, his smile small. “I’m so tired. I don’t sleep nearly enough.”

Without another word to either of them, Alex curled up against the wall and closed his eyes. A moment later, he was breathing deeply.

Liz let out a shaking breath and sniffed, wiping her cheek. Michael watched as Alex slept, then turned to the table, pulling off his jacket. He levitated it over to gently cover Alex.

“What’re you doing?” Liz asked as he pulled out a few beakers.

“Working on an antidote,” Michael said. His voice was distant and dark to his own ears. “Before he wakes up.”

 Michael worked fast when he was pissed off, and he was pissed off, but only at himself. All this time, Alex had spent it with his shattered heart in his hands, and Michael had never noticed. Or maybe he had. That was the most frightening thought of all. That he’d known how miserable and tired Alex had been, and left him alone to deal with it.

He finished an antidote in less than an hour.

“Here,” he handed the spray to Liz, watching Alex. “You do it.”

“Right,” Liz took the antidote glumly, like a child being told to clean up their own mess. Either that, or she, like Michael, was still reeling from Alex’s honesty.

She sprayed several times around his face, let him inhale the odorless, colorless serum, and he woke with a flutter of his eyes. He blinked up at Liz who must’ve looked like she was about to attack him with perfume, and his brows furrowed as he pushed himself off the wall.

He looked around a moment, seemed to realize Michael was there, and his frown deepened.

“Did I miss something?”

“Quick,” she said. “Tell a lie!”

“Uh – about what? What do you mean?”

Liz glanced back at Michael, then took a deep breath, bracing herself. “Are you mad at me for talking to Maria about Michael?”

Alex blinked, startled, then his expression cooled and his impartial laugh slotted right into place. “What? No, Liz, what’s going on?”

Michael’s jaw clenched. “He can lie.”

Liz’s shoulders slumped, but guilt accompanied the relief in her frown. She wrapped her arms around Alex’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “He’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I can lie?” Alex frowned, and Michael could see the gears in his head turning. “I couldn’t before?”

Liz pulled back. “You really don’t remember? My truth serum exploded, and you were hit!”

A moment of panic crossed his face before it was gone, so quickly that anyone that didn’t pay attention to every single thing Alex did would’ve missed it. But Michael did pay attention, so he hadn’t.

“It was truth serum?” he asked, then, “Why the hell were you making truth serum?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be truth serum!” she defended, exasperated.

“Liz,” Michael said darkly, “give us a minute.”

Liz looked between Michael and Alex for a moment before she silently nodded, brushed back Alex’s bangs, and left the lab.

Michael and Alex sat alone in the silence for a long time before Alex said, “I talked, huh?”

Michael shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “You finally did.”

Alex met his anger with a cool glare. “I came to your trailer to talk, remember? You never showed up. I offered my help, you told me you liked someone else.”

“Stop it,” Michael growled.

“That’s what happened,” Alex reminded him. “What did you want me to do, Guerin? You went after her, you didn’t come after me.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what else there is to say.”

“Stop talking like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve given up on us!”

Alex stood, his expression darkening. “I wasn’t the one that fell in love with someone else, Guerin.”

He turned to leave, but Michael grabbed his wrist and turned him around so that he stumbled right into his chest. Michael wrapped his arms around Alex’s body, keeping him pressed against him.

“Neither was I,” he whispered against Alex’s lips.

Alex, startled, searched Michael’s face.

Michael’s eyes burned and his grip on Alex tightened. “I didn’t want to be unwanted.” Alex faltered. “I knew you wanted to have me,” he shook his head, “not that you wanted to keep me.”

Alex’s frown deepened and he sighed, turning his face away before Michael gripped his chin and pulled him in for a kiss. Alex gasped against his lips, shocked, but Michael couldn’t get his expression out of his mind; when he’d told the truth of how hurt he was, the way he’d smiled because he’d believed no one would care, and knew he had to be fine with that. Even under a serum’s effects, he’d warned himself not to show too much emotion, not to break in front of the people he no longer trusted.

It made Michael pull him in deeper, kiss him harder, tilt his head and taste Alex’s tongue and nearly tear off his shirt. He wanted to touch every inch of Alex’s skin, to whisper his love for him against his lips, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his arms, his legs. All this time, he hadn’t realized just how badly he’d been suffocating, and now, with Alex back in his arms, he felt right. He felt like he could finally breathe.

Alex pulled away. “Stop,” he panted, his hands curled to fists on Michael’s chest. “Stop, you can’t just . . . I don’t trust you anymore, Guerin.”

A lump lodged in Michael’s throat, and he held Alex tighter, holding him close enough that nothing could’ve fit between them.

“I’ll earn it back,” he promised, pressing his forehead to Alex’s to keep them close. “I’ll earn your trust back, I swear.” He swallowed. “I want to be good for you, Alex.”

Alex tensed, doubt flickering in his eyes. Michael cupped his jaw and held on tight, his thumb brushing Alex’s cheek.

He growled, “I know I can be good for you.”

Alex’s lower lip trembled, and his eyes filled with tears. He whispered, “And what if I’m not good enough for you?”

Michael scoffed, unable to help the grin pulling at his lips as he closed his eyes, taking in the warmth of Alex against him.

“No one’s better for me than you.”

*** Shrug.

[ancient-cats-unite]

Piledriving Trouble

Corrupted Psychocat got his Zombie Talent!

Corrupted Psychocat got a recent request to join the Zombie hunters. They only knew some, like Cataur and Thaumaturge (ironically, both hate his guts.) Also Inspector Gabriel was there! Maybe they could talk more detective stuff!!

Psychocat ate his warped cereal and got to meeting them. They were cleaning up Into The Future Outbreaks for Catfood. Inside the trailer transporting them, there was Housewife, Shigong, Musashi, and Gabriel. A stake was driven behind him, ripping his cloak.

"Hey!"

A vehicle driven by a gruffy cat in a dusty cockpit backed up. Her paws were callused and she had a death glare.

"OI! Get the hell outta my way! I drive my stakes wherever I DAMN PLEASE!"

"Piledriver, its eight in the morning, loosen up dearie. Hey, Psychocat."

Housewife Cat was tying her apron behind her. Shigong and Ectoweight Cat were sparring. Piledriver scoffed, scaring Lil' Flying Cat half to death with a stake driving straight up them.

"Hi Housewife! Whats up with her?"

"Piledriver is a bit cranky in the morning. Welcome!"

Seafarer was at the way back with Catarzan, fishing up some mackarel.

"So you add a little garlic and.. voila."

"Thanks Seafarer. Barely got to eat. My wife is a black hole."

Catarzan munched on the fish. Thaumaturge and Gabriel sat next to Musashi, talking about nothing in particular. Extra Life Cat was playing with Musashi's spectral cat. Psychocat slid next to Gabriel, much to the demon's dismay.

"Heeeeeeeeeey Gabe! Hows my favourite detective doing?"

Psychocat stimmed, making a mini blackhole. They grinned while the detective sighed.

"Hello Psychocat. I didn't know you were here."

"Well I got my Zombie talent soooo I get to see you more! Boop!"

Psychocat poked Gabriel in the cheek.

"Oh joy. Did Piledriver give you a hard time?"

Thaumaturge said, noticing her come aboard.

"Yeah! Whats her problem? Grandon Corps has tons of money, get her something to manage that anger!"

Piledriver Cat got out, parking her piledriver at the edge of the trailer.

"Must be a good time at parties, eh? Probably doesn't go to them, she's got no friends?"

"Uh.. Psychocat?"

Piledriver Cat walked over. Chills ran throughout the trailer.

"Bitch could put R.Ost to shame! She's that much of a pain! How does Miter Saw deal?"

"Psychocat?"

Piledriver was above him. Thaumaturge could see her baleful glare.

"She should shove those stakes up her dumb, brute a-"

"PSYCHOCAT!"

Psychocat was expecting Piledriver to get riled up, but didn't expect her to punch him smack dab in the face.

"Oh shit!"

Psychocat was knocked to the floor. In a desperate attempt, he opened up a portal to teleport away. The malovent force threatened to suck the two up. The trailer moving was no help, sucking up poor Extra Life Cat.

"Language! Someone stop them!"

Housewife cried. Ectoweight yanked Psychocat away and Gabriel held Piledriver. He had to use two hands, Piledriver was a relentless one. After a while, they quit squirming.

"The minute we're done this, you're dead meat."

Piledriver Cat casted daggers at him. Psychocat gulped.

"Piledriver sweetie, come sit with me. Psychocat, go sit with Inspector Gabriel please. I want peace and quiet, even if I have to tie you up!"

Piledriver Cat sat next to Housewife, sulking. Psychocat grumbled. The ride there was less hectic than normal. Gabriel and Musashi managed to rescue Extra Life Cat from the vast expanse of space.

The gang stopped at Greece. Either Piledriver's punch screwed him up or his portals aren't working, but Psychocat couldn't get a single slow proc on Cavadear Bear. Luckily Shigong managed to Zombie Kill it before it could cause trouble. After that was over, they set up camp so they could head over to the next outbreak in a couple hours.

Psychocat should probably sleep with one eye open, especially with a pissed off Piledriver.

__________________________________

//Hallo! I finished up ITF outbreaks! I probably should have done them earlier to be honest. Have a funny little drabble of Psychocat and some Zombie Killers!//

[morizoras-cave]

Take Care (Request)

Chris Evans x gn!teen!co-star!reader

Genre: angst

Request Description: Hello! I love your writting❤ I was wondering if i could request a Chris Evans x teen reader were she is overworking herself and forgetting to eat and sleep and ends up fainting on set and he freaks out or something ❤❤❤❤❤thanks!!

Warnings: not taking care of oneself, stress, anxiety, language

(A/N): reader is kind of a crackhead in this ngl 

“Alright, 20 minute break!” 

You sighed, hoping it would shake off some of the stress. It didn’t. Your eyebrows were still furrowed and there was still a small shake in your right hand. You were dashing off to the break room, so you could work on that damned essay. 

Your legs felt like nothing today, it had been that way a couple of days. Like jelly, or not even that, just nothing. On top of that there was a tingly, almost anxious feeling in your stomach that had come with the non-existent legs. You knew you weren’t alright, but sadly what you also knew, was that you didn’t have time to be not-alright.

“You’re in a hurry,” your co-star Chris said, as he strolled into the break room, where you were already opening your laptop. 

“Uh huh,” was all you said, opening your Google drive to work some more.

You felt a sharp pain in your stomach, so bad that it made you look down, wondering if you’d been stabbed or something. You hadn’t, of course, seeing as you were sitting on a couch in a highly protected movie set. What the hell?

“You okay, kid?” 

You didn’t eat breakfast, that’s why. No big deal. Wait- Did you eat dinner yesterday? Or lunch? Or breakfast? Or-

The bright light of your document ripped you from your spiraling thoughts, immediately taking away the attention and worry you had only just begun to feel for yourself. 

“Yes,” you said, but your right hand was shaking so much that you had to grip the edge of your laptop to still it. Chris shuffled, watching you being obviously not okay. He said nothing.

You worked, researching the topic you were working on. Usually you’d like this type of assignment, but recently there’d just been so much stress. You couldn’t enjoy it, you just had too much work. Too much to do. Your eyes were heavy and you winced as you remembered that you went to bed at 5 AM.

The thought sent that creeping chill up your spine, as you remembered once more that you hadn’t eaten, and now also your lack of sleep, but the anxiety that had been roaming your body for the past week or so pushed it away with ease. 

“We’re starting again!”

You looked up, seeing Chris once more, in the same position as when he entered the room, staring at you worriedly. His eyes on you somehow made you aware that you were horribly out of breath, painfully gulping in air. 

You pushed your laptop away, going to stand up and walk back to set, when your legs turned into static and you dropped to the ground with a loud ‘smash’. 

You immediately heard Chris run over to you, followed by his hands on your shoulders. 

“Y/n!” he breathed and gulped, shaking you. Your body felt like nothing, nothing but tingling anxiety and static and painful, erratic gulps of air. You closed your eyes and kept them closed because your body decided right then and there that it was not going to deal with your bullshit. And so you passed out. 

You didn’t know how long you were out, it certainly didn’t feel like very long, because you awoke to the sound of Chris’ barking voice, feeling as tired as ever. 

“Y/n! Y/n? Oh, thank God!” he pulled your weak body up to his in a hug. You felt his quick heartbeat against your chest.

“W-Wha? How long was I out?” you asked, simply because that was what they always asked in the movies, and with your foggy state of mind you were slightly afraid that you’d been asleep for 70 years like Captain America. 

“Like, 20-30 seconds?” he said very much in a questioning voice and, without pulling you away from him, stood up, walking with you in his grasp, as your feet dragged against the ground. 

“Ugh,” was all you said, Chris gently putting you to lie down on the couch. Just then, a set worker came running in to see what the fuss was all about. He looked in need of glasses, narrowing his eyes and shifting his gaze from you, to Chris, and then back again. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“No.” 

Both you and Chris spoke at the same time, and then snapped your heads towards each other. He glared at you and again your brain failed you, so you glared back at him, wondering why you were glaring. 

“They’re not okay,” Chris sighed and the set worker looked at you for another two moments before nodding to Chris, and bounding away. Chris pulled out a stool and sat down beside your sofa. You were pretty close to falling asleep.

“What was that? Why did faint?” Chris asked and in that moment you remembered again.

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. You’ve really done it now! You hadn’t eaten or slept like an absolute idiot! And now you’d have to explain it, explain how you hadn’t taken care of yourself, like a five year old.

“Uh, well, I’ve been pretty.. Stressed,” you said and Chris scoffed. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. I mean, is that it? Have you been eating?” 

“Well..” you were really trying to dig your way out of this one, “Define eating?” 

Chris did not seem to think this was as funny as you did, and his eyes widened and you saw realization, anger, sadness, and worry all at the same time. He swore under his breath, looking away. You felt like shit. Both because you hadn’t been taking care of yourself and because now you’d worried your friend. 

“Y/n..  You can’t do this..” he mumbled and he seemed absolutely lost. 

“I know! I just- I haven’t had time for anything! I haven’t had time to relax, eat, sleep.. It’s all just been work, work, work, and everyone’s counting on me, and..” you trailed off, your words making you realize just how not-alright you really were. Meanwhile, Chris noticed something entirely different about your sentence.

“Did you say sleep?” 

“Uh-”

“Did you just say you haven’t eaten or slept?” Chris sounded almost baffled now, a slight absurdity and anger to his tone. 

“Well- I slept a little bit!” you defended because unlike the eating you had actually slept for at least 2 hours. 

“When did you go to bed?” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant right now-” 

“Y/n!” He yelled and then -

Silence. 

You looked over at him. His face was buried in his hands, hair ruffled as he had undoubtedly been running his hand through it as you spoke. He was shaking and you could hear his unsteady breath under his hands. 

Slowly, he pulled away his hands. He looked tired. And sad. 

Then he stood up and walked out of the room. Your heart skipped a beat, as you wondered whether he’d actually gotten tired of you. You felt tears prick your eyes. How could you be so stupid? How could be so neglectful and let down your friend? God, he must hate you.

You sniffled, tears falling down your face. You moved your heavy arms up to wipe away the tears, but they kept coming. You covered your eyes in shame.

A gentle hand was on your shoulder, making you jump. You pulled away your hands reluctantly, meeting Chris’ eyes once more. You glanced down and in his other hand, clutching a sandwich and an apple into his chest. 

“It’s okay,” he mumbled forcing himself to smile for you, just to show that he wasn’t angry. Well, he was, but mostly at himself, because you had too much on your plate. It was his responsibility to remind you to take care of yourself when it became too much. At least that’s what he felt. He sat down on the stool again and handed you the sandwich and the apple.

You took it and silently began eating it. It delicious, you realized, and wondered why you ever stopped eating. 

“Y/n. You have to take this seriously. You can’t do this. This is dangerous, you know that, right?” 

You nodded with your mouth full of food. 

“I know it must be hard with school and acting and all of this celebrity shit.. I know and I’ll try to be there for you to help, because this-” he looked at you, “No one deserves this amount of stress. No one. So I’d like for you to consider asking your school for a small break? And if that’s not what you want, I’d like to help you with your homework. How does that sound?” 

You chewed sheepishly. “That sounds good. The break thing.” 

“Good. Then, call your mom and she’ll call your school and explain it to them. But first, I want you to finish eating and then I’ll follow you down to your trailer and you’ll go to sleep. Tomorrow - or, you know, whenever you wake up - you’ll do nothing but relax, and then you can starting acting again the day after.”

You nodded, chewing the last mouthful of your sandwich. Chris tapped the apple playfully, “Apple, too,” he said. 

And so you ate your apple and went back to your trailer, sleeping a fairly long amount of time, and as promised the next day you did nothing but relax. The anxiety in your stomach was gone, and your legs felt strong again, so you did a little dance to celebrate.

You started working again the next day and after a two week break from school, you got homework again. This time though there was significantly less. You didn’t know who to thank for that, wether your mom had scolded their ears off, or if Chris or perhaps the director had called, but either way you weren’t nearly as stressed, and the feeling of being healthy was delightful. 

You never stopped thanking Chris for helping you, but he always shrugged it off. It was his duty, not as your coworker, but as your friend. He was just happy to see you healthy and functioning. That was reward enough. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun​ @deephideoutmilkshake​ @rae-is-typing​ @sophs-library​

[drabbles-mc]

Let Me Sleep (Part 1)

EZ Reyes x Reader

Warnings: language (mild), lots of fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Took two prompts from This Post, “Do it, I dare you,” and, “Pipe the fuck down, asshole,” and tied it all up in a little bit of friends-to-lovers. Very happy with how this one turned out. Enjoy!

Part 2

EZ Taglist: @ly--canthrope @noz4a2 @queenbeered​ @sincerelyasomebody​ @sadeyesgf​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @appropriate-writers-name​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ (if you want to be added let me know!)

You were giggling uncontrollably. Somehow you had convinced EZ to come pick you up from the club that you were partying at. He had groaned and complained on the phone, but he caved just like you knew that he would. He told you to give him time to go and get the pickup from his dad and he would be right over to get you.

“Why couldn’t we take the bike?” you pouted.

He shook his head, exhaustion all over his face, “You would not be able to fucking balance on the bike.”

“Says you!”

“Says logic, Y/N,” he was trying not to smile as he opened the door to the truck, “C’mon, hop in.”

You were talking his ear off the whole way back to his place. He was exhausted and he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t hoping that you would pass out and fall asleep so he could finish the ride in peace. He didn’t say anything, though. He knew that he owed you. He nodded at the appropriate times during your drunken rants, but stayed silent. He wanted to be more bitter about it, but he was smiling the whole time.

He pulled up to his trailer and threw the truck in park. You turned and looked over at him with a huge grin, “Back to your place?”

He chuckled, nodding, “You never did tell me where your new apartment is. I figured your parents wouldn’t want me dropping you off like…this,” he gestured to all of you.

“Do you remember,” you laughed, stopping yourself, “Ah, who am I kidding? Of course you remember. You’re EZ Reyes.”

He smiled over at you, “What do I remember?”

“You remember the first time I had to sneak you into my parents’ house when you were drunk?”

He laughed, nodding, “I do, I do,” he got out and walked over to the other side to help you out of the truck. He was going to help you walk, but when you stumbled on your first few steps, he decided it would just be easier to scoop you up and carry you, so that was exactly what he did.

“You’re so strong,” you batted your eyelashes at him.

“I’ve stayed strong for this situation specifically,” he chuckled as he opened the door to his trailer.

“Too bad I was never strong enough to carry you,” you gently ran your fingers up and down the back of his head.

He smiled at you, gently setting you down on the bed, “You carried me emotionally, that was good enough for me.

“That was a fun night,” you rolled onto your stomach and looked up at him.

He nodded, “Yea, for you maybe,” he laughed, “I remember you constantly slapping my arm to try and get me to be quiet.”

“You are a loud drunk, Ezekiel.”

“We have that in common,” he smirked at you, “Pipe the fuck down, asshole,” he mocked what high school you sounded like.

You laughed, “Listen, if my dad had found out I was sneaking you into my room? You woulda been dead. I saved your life.”

He shook his head as he tossed you one of his t-shirts, “Throw this on, Y/N. I don’t want my sheets smelling like cheap liquor from your dress.”

“I’m offended that you think I drink cheap liquor.”

You pulled your dress off over your head. You took a breath, glad to be out of the constricting fabric for a moment. EZ was trying to be respectful, trying not to look over at you, but he couldn’t help it. You were sitting cross-legged on his bed in your bra and underwear, and his heart felt like it was going to beat clean out of his chest. He shook his head at himself and forced himself to turn completely away from you. You pulled his t-shirt on, taking a deep breath and soaking in the scent of him.

You crawled under the covers and laid on your side so you could look at him. He was taking his boots off, trying to busy himself and push the unclean thoughts from his head. He got up and looked back at you, smiling at how small you looked underneath the blankets in his bed. For the first time in a long time his trailer felt like a home.

“C’mere,” you patted the spot next to you, “Just like old times.”

He laughed as he sat down on the edge of the bed, “Do I get to tell you to pipe the fuck down this time?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, “No one’s parents are going to murder us here. I can be as loud as I want.”

He smiled, shaking his head, “I’d really love it if you weren’t loud, Y/N.”

“I’ll think about it.” He went to get under the covers and you almost succeeded in pushing him back off the bed, “You’re not sleeping in that?”

“What?” he looked down at himself.

“Jeans? And your belt? EZ come on. There’s no way that’s comfortable.”

He always slept in his jeans, and he had left his shirt on to try and make things a little less intimate. But you weren’t leaving him much of a choice. With a heavy sigh he pushed his jeans down to the floor and grabbed a pair of shorts out of his dresser. He hit the light before crawling into bed next to you. The two of you laid so you were facing each other, and you could feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“When’d we stop doing this?” you asked.

He chuckled, still able to see you through the darkness, “About the time when I went to prison.”

You laughed, glad that he was able to joke about it, “Yea, that really put a damper on our slumber parties, huh?”

“Yea, sorry about that. Clearly didn’t have my priorities in order,” he laughed.

You rolled and scooted against him, pulling his arm around you so that he was effectively spooning you. You felt him sigh behind you. He knew that you were always extra cuddly when you were drunk, and at this point he was content to just let it happen.

“You’re like a little leech,” he laughed and his breath tickled your ear, “You know that?”

“Does it bother you, EZ?”

“And if it did?”

You giggled, “Yea, fair point.”

After every few minutes of silence, you would ask him something else. He had no idea where you were producing all of these questions from. More than that, he had no idea how you hadn’t fallen asleep yet. His body was screaming for rest, but yours just didn’t seem to be able to slow down. You had your legs entwined with his and you tapped lightly on his knuckles as you spoke.

You were quiet for about five minutes, and EZ thought that you had finally fallen asleep. He let out a deep sigh, settling more into the mattress, ready to get back to sleep. Just as he shut his eyes, you spoke up, “Have you ever thought about—”

“Y/N,” he didn’t open his eyes, “I’m begging you, go to sleep.”

You turned in his arms so that you were facing him, “I’m not tired, though,” you whined.

He slowly opened his eyes with a sigh, “If you don’t want to sleep, you gotta at least stop talking.”

“Or what?” you smirk, “You gonna make me?”

He raised his eyebrows, a smile creeping across his face, “Yea, I just might.”

“Do it,” you placed your hand on his chest, “I dare you.”

He laughed and pulled you right up against him. He wrapped his arms tight, smothering you into his chest. You laughed and struggled, but not enough to actually break free.

“Gonna suffocate me with your pecs, Ezekiel?” you laughed into him, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek.

“If that’s what it takes to let me get some rest, then yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do,” he couldn’t help but to laugh.

You pulled away from him just enough to look up at his face. You rested your hands lightly on his chest, “I’ve missed this, EZ.”

“I miss when you would let me sleep,” he chuckled.

“Do you?” you reached up and cupped one side of his face in your hand.

He smiled down at you, but there was a look in his eye that let you know that he knew the two of you were in dangerous territory. He let your hand rest there as one of his slid up underneath the fabric of his shirt that you were wearing, coming to rest on your hip.

“I guess this is alright too,” he finally admitted.

You stroked your fingers down the side of his face, letting your thumb lightly caress his bottom lip. He smiled, pressing a kiss against your finger. You let your hand linger there for a moment before sliding it down to it landed on the back of his neck. You used your fingertips to apply the slightest bit of pressure, just enough of an invitation to let him know what you wanted, but not so much that he couldn’t pretend to not know what was going on and derail the entire exchange.

He gave in, leaning in and kissing you lightly on the lips. You smiled and leaned into him, kissing him again. He pulled you close, hands sliding up your sides and around your back, the roughness of his hands feeling so good against your smooth, warm skin. You managed to snake both arms around his neck, keeping him as close to you as possible. You nipped at his bottom lip, earning a small laugh out of him. He pressed his fingers into your sides as his tongue slid to meet yours. You moaned and melted into him, wondering how the two of you had never ended up like this before.

You finally had to pull back to catch your breath. EZ pressed his forehead against yours and you smiled, “Still upset that I didn’t let you go to sleep?”

He chuckled, “I could be tired for this.”

[pallasperilous]

Boneless Wings

 {AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares. 

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now. 

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it. 

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1.  Bird mites. Holy shit. 

 2.  Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

 3.  Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube. 

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose. 

4.  The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is. 

 5.  When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

 6.  Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

 7.  After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a  “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning. 

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can. 

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit. 

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8.  No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.” 

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry. 

 9.  Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

 10.  Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

 11.  You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice. 

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex. 

12a.  One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV. 

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

 12b.  The less said about angel molt, the better. 

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit. 

 13.  There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings. 

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

 14.  Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas. 

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

 15.  Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

  16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement. 

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

 16.  So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon. 

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously). 

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off. 

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17.  For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration. 

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening. 

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack. 

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel. 

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy. 

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato. 

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually. 

 18.  There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything. 

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

 19.  Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership. 

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns. 

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

 20.  Seriously though, the bird mites. 

Gross.

[whirlybirbs]

 ✶  ———  FRIGID  ;   d.d.

summary: din doesn’t like the ocean. you’re soaked.

pairing: din djarin x reader, est. relationship 

warnings: fluff, din having the emotional fortitude of a rock

a/n: mando s2 trailer aka let’s write about glimmers of scenes that pique our interest, aka me seeing the “deadliest catch” scene and laughing out loud. but, hey, new mando content and it made me write. hehe.

The air whipping off the rough sea is frigid.

Your cheeks are raw, and your fingers ache. The chill that's settled deep into your bones doesn't shake once you've maneuvered yourself below deck into the tiny, cramped cabin that the child, the Mandalorian, and yourself will call home for the length of this voyage.

The small, round, port window in the cabin speaks to the cutting state of the waters. Waves linger, kissing the glass with sprays of inky black water and white foam.

Din Djarin is watching the tumultuous sea with a hint of distress, legs bent up and back pressed to the far wall. The cot protruding from the cabin's wall is small, and the warrior looks almost comically large as he tries to get comfortable.

He and the child had missed the majority of the rain — while you'd stayed on deck to haggle the price of your voyage with the captain, they'd ventured below deck to safety from the raucous waves. The wind had picked up, and by the time you'd handed over enough credits to satisfy the seafarer, you'd been pelted with enough rain to drown a Bantha.

Your entrance has his Beskar helmet turning owlishly to you; for a moment, you see the tensing of his bulky shoulders. A single pull between his shoulder blades. It's stiffness. Worry.

You close the durasteel door to the cabin as quiet as possible, offering a weary — but honest — smile.

It tells him all he needs.

Din eases against the wall.

Inside the cradle, the child is sleeping; seemingly rocked to sleep by the less than ideal conditions outside the barge. It's reassuring that at least he will get some sleep tonight.

The metal around you lets out a waning bellow and, once again, Din stiffens at the sound of the ship riding through the waves.

"There's a storm ahead," you speak softly, moving to shed your cloak — it's become more of a rag than anything, soaked with seawater and rain. It does little to soothe the chatter of your teeth, "Captain said something about it being a rough night."

"... As if it wasn't already a rough morning?"

Your snort is quiet.

Beneath his helmet, Din sighs.

Silence slips between you both as you try and kick off your boots — the soaked leather holding in more cold than it's worth. They join your cloak in the corner by the glowing, little space heater.

Din's eyes are stuck to you.

"You're soaked."

"Freezing, too," comes your tired reply; though, the words don't come as a complaint. They never do — it's one of those things that Din reasons he may never understand about you. In the near year that he's dragged you across this galaxy, he's only ever heard a single complaint fall from your lips; granted, you'd been stabbed — so he supposes that doesn't truly warrant itself as complaining.

Your voice drifts towards him, low and playful.

"This is still better than heatstroke."

There's a smirk playing on your lips; good-nature glimmering in your eyes. For the trillionth time in the span of a single day, he's rocketed with the realization you're beautiful in the dim light of the cabin.

These sorts of realizations happen every day. They've happened for as long as he can remember. Since Nevarro, he supposes. Long ago now. He keeps them close, nestled into the homes of his heart. Utters not a breath of them; though, he supposes he doesn't need to. Not when he bends so easily at your words.

He suspects you already know enough.

"You're shivering."

"I'm fine, Din."

His name tastes like honey on your tongue and you don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of saying it — nor he, hearing it. 

You push a hand through damp tendrils of your hair and muscle a look his way that makes you look exhausted. It's supposed to be reassuring, but it only has him humming in concern.

There's the tenseness in his body language again.

He's worrying.

"Din," you say gently, muscling your overcoat to the ground and wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. Your thin tunic is drier than the other pieces of clothing, but still — your muscles tense as shivers warp your movements. You bend to crank the rickety, rusted space heater, "Stop fretting."

He scoffs.

You suppose that's like asking him to not be himself — so you rephrase.

"Give me twenty minutes," you breathe, moving to settle by his boots at the edge of the cot. From here, you can feel the warmth slowly biting away at the cold prick lingering on your skin, "I'll be fine."

Your eyes are fluttering shut when you hear him move. Din is sitting up, body leaning over his legs to reach for you with a tender hand — cool leather grazes your chin and you're sighing when the cold, smooth surface of his Beskar is bumping your cheek.

The touch is reassuring and surprisingly warm; as always, you make no comment about the sudden affection. With Din, these moments come unshepherded. Quiet, calm, and easy. There are usually no words from him nor from you. Never a complaint.

You let the Mandalorian ease you closer to his chest. Soon, with some coaxing and a few more tender passes of his helmet from cheek to cheek, you're pressed neatly up against the chest of his armor.

You swear you can see the curve of a jaw beneath the edge of his helmet when you blink up at him. His voice sounds less modulated, less artificial. More like a man when your head is to his chest and his gloved fingers are making passes along your spine.

"I don't want you to get sick."

You hum.

Outside, the sea swells and falls.

"I'm alright now."