#so not only is your mouth likely stabbed but it's gonna burn

[aceofspadegrass]

So you know how people make corndogs?

Imagine, okay. Takeru's monologuing to Aguni about something, perhaps a new fabric he's gotten. Maybe about some new restaurant that's opened up that makes really good apple based treats. Or just talking about how it's a shame that they passed by that dead fish that was run over by a bike, although neither can explain why exactly a fish got run over in the first place.

Then, as any normal citizen does, they get robbed. Well, that's a lie, kind of. Really, people broke in with the intent to rob the place, but it's kind of occupied by a pair of dudes. Well maybe they knew that it wasn't empty, because they have weapons on them. Nothing serious, like guns, just knives, bolt cutters, things that would make robbing easier in the off chance something is locked away.

Aguni isn't having it, obviously. Tries to subdue them, but it's one against a group of them. As much as Aguni wants, he can't fight them all off in the current state he's in. Maybe he sprained an ankle, or is coming down with a cold and can't realistically do anything except maybe spread a cold around (Which is ineffective as a quick solution).

Takeru talks them down, somehow. Charisma off the charts convinces them to stay for corndogs, because he's already in the middle of making some and it would be quite rude if they interrupted him. Don't they respect the sanctity of preparing food from scratch? Principle of the matter.

Anyways, it works (Somehow.) and Takeru continues on making corndogs. He's efficient in it too, talks the entire time. Distracts them from actually robbing the place, because hell is he not good at generating attention.

They get their corndogs. They look delicious. Fresh from the fryer, glistening hot.

Now, I don't know if you know, but when you eat a corndog, typically there's one of two ways. You bite from the top and go down, or you attack it like a corn cob from the side (Although why you would is beyond me. Wouldn't that just fall?) And usually, unless you take shitty bites, you go for it, you know?

Neither really protects you when a man uses knives in place of skewers.

[glossysoap]

keep crying, pup

18+, afab, dubcon, mean johnny, basically just me rambling about perv soap eating you out against your will, smidgen of daddy kink (johnny referring to himself as daddy like once or twice), dropping this then going to bed 👍

he’s all thorough and deep and manhandling you - big hands digging into your plush thighs, squeezing the soft skin with an almost painful grip. keeping you right where he wants you, right where he needs you.

even better if you’re giving him some struggle and trying to squirm away, as if you could ever overpower his brute strength. even now, as he was wrapping his hairy arms around your hips to keep you still, you could see his muscles rippling beneath a good layer of fat. scars littered his broad, muscled body - you could only imagine what he’d endured to earn all of them. stabbed, shot, burned. all proof that he was stronger than you, mentally and especially physically.

tears pricked your eyes as the thought crossed your mind how easily he could kill you in five seconds flat if he wished. he could easily come up from between your legs and snap your neck if he got tired of your squirming.

his scruff was scratching your inner thighs as he bit at your sensitive skin, tugging your plush skin into his mouth and damn near growling into it.

“quit yer squirming, birdie. you’ll take what i give you.” is all he says before he’s diving into your pussy, tongue lapping at your folds.

a sob tore from your lips as his tongue pushes past the seam of your cunt.

he’s so fucking messy and mean, getting his fill of your cunt and taking every bit of you for himself. he was loud and obscene, growling and grunting into your pussy as he sucked your folds into his mouth one at a time.

you wish warmth wasn’t bubbling in your core from his ministrations between your thighs and the sounds of him slurping up your juices.

no matter how much you wriggled or tried to bat him away, swatting at where his head lay between your thighs - you couldn’t help the tightness that coiled in your stomach.

every time you tried to fight him off of you, his hands would move up to grab your wrists in an almost painful grip. he would growl into your cunt, a sound so solid and full of gravel that it sent chills up your spine.

your cunt would flutter around his tongue when he growled into it, betraying how sensitive you were no matter how much you cried big fat tears of protest.

“s-stop, st-ah!” your cries of protest, albeit weak, were interrupted by a choked out cry as he shoved two thick fingers in beside his tongue.

his mouth and tongue never stopped devouring you as his fingers started working you apart from the inside. he gave you no time to get accustomed to the intrusion of his fingers, just immediately set on taking up space inside your cunt. dead set on splitting you open, keeping your folds spread and coaxing more and more reluctant cries from your glossy lips.

his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked none too gently, his tongue flicking over the bud at the same time.

“never gonna stop, pup. ye’ can keep cryin’ though. sound even prettier when ye do that.” he talks into your cunt before shoving his tongue back in, his fingers never faltering or slowing.

“c’mon, do it. come for daddy. give it to me.”

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission.

[decayical]

✦ ── SOFTLY, SWEETLY !

❝ blade loves you, he will never stop loving you . ❞

01 notes: i literally have nothing to put here like ever ... this was my first time writing soft dom im pretty sure i hope it's ok 🙏🙏

02 tags: praise kink, dumbification, unintentional edging, a bit angsty a but fluffy if you squint, creampie, afab/gn reader, puppy/sweetheart/baby used as pet names, blade is called bladie :3

03 mdni blogs do not interact! a minor wrote this. word count 848

“so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, fuck—so pretty, just for me.”

blade let out a soft whimper as he continued to thrust gently into you, his tongue slightly lolling out of his mouth as he stared into space. he probably didn't even realize how tangled up he and you were in the blankets, because all on his mind was you, you, you. your pretty face, your flushed cheeks, your soft thighs and the oh-so-heavenly way you squeezed around his fat cock.

though, to be fair, it's not like you were much better—despite blade's slow movements, the drag of his cock along your walls was enough to fuck you dumb, making your head fuzzy in the best way possible. you had been teetering on the edge of a climax for so long you became much more sensitive than usual, and even though you desperately wanted to cum you still love, love, loved the feeling—being beneath him, completely at his mercy.

blade tilted his head down to connect your tongue to his, the sloppy kiss being the only thing to ground you as he let out a pretty little moan, snapping his hips into yours just once, but it was enough to make you squeal and writhe around under his hold. in that moment, he was so deep inside of you that his tip was probably kissing your cervix from how full you felt, the unfamiliar sensation quickly becoming too much as you arched your back, trying to make sense of the situation.

blade cursed internally, shushing you and pressing comforting kisses all over your exposed neck to distract yourself from the sudden pain. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, my love…” he continued to whisper to you, resuming his slow, sensual movements as he started to rub your clit with a calloused thumb.

you squealed again, your back arching as tears pricked the corner of your eyes and you reached out to tug at his hair. “blade, blade, ‘s too big! too much, hurts, fuck, more, so—ah—so full…”

blade let out a soft chuckle, his thumb doused in your arousal moving up to caress your cheek. “you're not making any sense, puppy. is it too much or not?” he asked teasingly, licking your jaw. “like that, yeah? right here?” his thrusts suddenly got more aggressive again, but not like he was trying to stab you with his dick—they were sharp, the thrusts inward so fast you could barely process what was happening, but he'd drag his cock out of your slick walls so painfully slow a frustrated moan left your mouth.

“blaaaade,” you whined, toes curling as your legs wrapped around his waist, “love you…”

blade’s chest panged with a sort of emotion he was unfamiliar with, yet somehow the sensation felt nostalgic to him at the same time. “oh, baby,” he cooed, tucking a strand of hair away from your face, “i love you too. taking me so well, hmm? ‘s just like you were made for this dick.”

his musings made your heart flutter as your cheeks burned up, you nodded vigorously in agreement as he moved his hands to pin your wrists above your head. “mm, yeah made f’ you, made just f’ you, bladie.”

you let out this bright smile that always seemed to make blade's day, and you nuzzled the forearm and hand that was close to your head. you peppered kisses all over his scarred wrists, feeling his hands twitch and tighten over your own.

“fuck, i—i love you.” blade's head swam, the coil in his stomach tightening as he let out another shy moan. “gonna let me cum inside you, pretty? gonna let me make you all mine?”

you whined, wiggling your hips to get more friction. “c–close,” was the only thing you managed to say, but to blade it was good enough.

“we cum together,” he mumbles, hand gently grazing your jaw as he kisses you softly, deliciously. he never once changed his pace, always keeping it slow, soft, firm, but it was still enough to have his thighs twitching and your walls fluttering around him, the comfort in each other more than enough.

you came first, letting out a high-pitched squeal as you tightened around him and your fluids covered the base of his dick. blade's eyes fell closed, he muttered “fuck”, before thrusting into you just once more before he let you milk his cock. he kept on moving, trying to prolong both of your orgasms, shaky breaths leaving his chest and he whined. his release filled you to the brim and then started to spill out, truly a mesmerizing sight.

his hands let go of yours and shyly, you reached for his neck, delving into a kiss. his tongue glided over yours, tasting everything you had to offer. “so good for me,” he whispered, trailing your jaw with his fingers.

“fuck… again, bladie,” you whined, moving to rile him up. “‘gain, please? wan’ your cock.”

blade huffed. “you have that, sweetheart.” he grabbed your jaw to make you look directly into his eyes. “you have that and more.”

[snuggleboots]

₊˚♡˚₊ The Akatsuki and their jealousy ₊˚♡˚₊

Tags: GN Reader, GN flirt, general jealousy and implied murder shenanigans.

Tobi essentially zeroes in the instant someone else starts laughing a little too hard at your jokes. Uhm, hello? You're funny, but you're not that funny. In fact, he's pretty sure he's the only person that busts a gut laughing when you crack your silly little one-liners or puns. It's cute to him, nobody else has any business making a play by acting all giggly and doe-eyed. He doesn't need to be violent about it - and really, why would he be? Tobi's just as happy to lean in - uncomfortably close - and then loudly declare that they have something stuck in their teeth! And it's super noticeable! So's their breath! It's not rude, he's just being helpful! He can smell their lunch through his mask! And it's rank! How embarrassing! Haha! They really should go brush their teeth, huh! Go away! Far, far, away!

Hidan is, in fact, very liable to wind up jealous over stupid little things that always result in becoming a pain in the ass for you to defuse when he inevitably hops onto his bullshit. You're out trying to enjoy one meal in peace together? That's funny, because the server seemed to put some weird, flirtatious emphasis on hot when they asked how you like your tea, and that's a problem, and that bitch knows it, too. Oh, they wanna know how hot you like it? Alright! There's loads of people on this earth, and they really wanna get stabbed over you? Fuck it! He just sat down, but clearly he's got some shit to do now. Dinner and a show! Why not?! He gets why Kakuzu doesn't tip now, not that he was gonna anyway. Shit service, and thirsty-ass servers. Fucking ridiculous.

Deidara is the first to notice when someone gets too close and cosy with you. Does it bug him immediately? No. His reaction, however, depends entirely on yours. Do you notice that they're smiling with way too much teeth when they playfully punched your arm? No? Alright. He can let that slide. It's when they deliberately divert your attention from him to themselves that he starts getting annoyed. He's not at all above pointing out tacky behaviour, petty king, and even if it embarrasses you a little, it is highly satisfying for him to see the flirt's face drop into something sour or burn up from the embarrassment. It's even better if you snicker along with him.

Kakuzu's only problem with someone chatting your ear off and really gushing over whatever comes out of your mouth is the fact that they're boosting your ego and he has to deal with it later. Not because the offending flirt boosted your ego, he doesn't give a damn about that, but he's now going to hear the same things you just told them about later when he's already just heard it - and he sincerely doesn't care to hear it again. He doesn't want to act interested, and yet he's going to be faced with either being called a dick, or being forced to feign something to avoid bickering about it after the fact. God dammit.

Kisame doesn't mind seeing someone try their damndest to flirt with you. He trusts you, and he's very happy to sit back while you turn them down- or, if he's lucky, watch while the flirt makes an idiot of themselves trying too hard to clue you in and get your attention. It's funny - he's laughing, and he isn't even trying to hide it. If he's in a cheeky mood, he'll even stir the pot, because he has gremlin tendencies and his humour is catered exclusively to himself. Yeah, he'll egg them on in little ways, until they're feeling nice and confident. Then, while he isn't really a PDA kind of guy, he'll drape a brawny arm over your shoulders, plonk a cheek atop your head and drawl something to the effect of, 'You know what? You do look great in that outfit. It'll look better on the floor later. Ready to go?' Kisame likes finding his own fun like this. The flirts always flap their lips like gasping fish when he hits 'em with that bit, and it tickles his brain just right.

Itachi is generally ambivalent. You have attractive qualities, he knows this, and he's well acquainted with the consequence of having said attractive qualities. As long as you're fine with it and nobody's pushing any obvious boundaries, he's fine with it too. Jealousy isn't an issue at all with Itachi. It only becomes one if you end up uncomfortable and the flirt doesn't pick up on that fact. In that case? He's glad to leave with you, if you don't feel like handling it. If you don't want to leave, or leaving isn't an option? Well, he can use his words. Or, if they've ruffled your feathers enough to annoy him, there are many benefits to being a genjutsu master. Oh, noooo, suddenly all eyes are on the flirt and the judgmental looks are intense and highly disarming. Or, uh oh! There's definitely a fire that just broke out, and they're the only one panicking about it! Oh wow, they left in a hurry. What a shame. They must've drank a little too much, or something like that.

Sasori, simply put, could not possibly care less if you paid him. Possibly aggravated by the fact that someone's breathing air in his direction while he's minding his business with you, someone he can actually tolerate. Yeah, he fully expects you to handle that. He's gained a knack for zoning minor annoyances out- until those minor annoyances become general annoyances. It's only when the offending flirt's voice becomes grating - which, really, doesn't take long at all before he bothers intervening if you haven't already shooed them away yourself. If a terse 'shut up' or 'begone' doesn't dissuade the persistent little gnat, he has poison and many fun, discrete vehicles with which to deliver it. It is purely for the sake of peace and quiet. Does he care when they drop like a sack of rocks, seizing and foaming at the mouth? Not particularly. Do as he does, and zone it out. Don't look at it (derogatory), you'll only encourage it to make more of a scene.

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 2

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Descriptions of the Rumbling (WC: 7k)

( Previous chapter / Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

-

It’s past curfew when you catch a glimpse of Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary. He's been coming up here this past week, though this is the first time you approach him.

“You gonna tell anyone?” Levi asks. He’s playing with a small pocket knife, twirling it in his hand.

You consider his question. No doubt Erwin would want to know that his new gamble is sneaking away from the barracks every evening. Then again, knowing Erwin, he might already know and chooses to just let it slide anyway.

You lean your weight over the edge of the window sill, gazing at the way moonlight crowns Levi's hair. “Are you going to hurt anyone with that knife?”

Levi's eyes twinkle in the night. “What, just because I’m from the Underground means I’m gonna stab someone?”

“Actually,” you say carefully, “I was more worried about you hurting yourself.”

His eyes lose their fire; he focuses back on his knife. “I won’t.”

.

.

.

Freedom—it is the ability to glimpse at endless blue skies; it is horse riding until dusk; it is choices and opinions and being able to voice them.

These days, Levi takes it for granted, his freedom. He’s an ungrateful asshole like that.

If the people from his childhood would hear him now, they would spit in his face. Try to beat him to a pulp. Here he is, lacking gratitude, when some poor lowlife was born and died in that shit hole that was the Underground.

Levi hears that the Underground doesn’t exist anymore. You’ve told him that the Rumbling caused earthquakes to fracture the ground, that much of the subterranean city has been buried under. There were some casualties, of course, but the worst could be avoided since Historia had ordered a gradual evacuation years prior.

Levi wonders if the people now discovering life above ground still have violence in their blood the way he once did when he first saw the sun.

“Levi, where is your secret tea stash?”

Your question muffles over the sound of the kettle groaning awake on the gas stove, blending with the sound of waves crashing outside. It tears him right out of his thoughts and away from the headline he'd been reading: 'More than 75% of refugees in Marley now rehoused, much work still remains in the mental aftermath of the war'.

Levi has been up for several hours now, breakfast long since consumed. You, on the other hand, just got up, the whisks of sleep still present in your cadence, in the corners of your eyes. An anomaly to be sure—Levi remembers you being an early riser, but he supposes that habits, just like people, change.

“Why would I have a secret tea stash?” he counters.

You yawn, a hand covering your mouth. “Well... you always had a secret tea stash, didn't you?”

“To hide from cadets and their grubby fingers. I’m all alone here.”

“Mm," you shrug, words a little slurred, "you could still want to hide a thing or two from me.”

“Then I wouldn’t tell ya where it was, would I?” Levi leans one elbow over the kitchen table, chin lazily resting on the center of his palm. His index finally pokes out to give directions. “S’on the left side, second cupboard.”

Your gaze follows his directive, only to look at him with a slightly more straight posture. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” You stick your tongue out, like a damn child. “Words. They help.”

Levi refrains from rolling his eyes. He watches you open the cupboard, grabbing the tin of loose tea leaves.

On the chair next to him, Scout is curled up and fast asleep. The kitten's muzzle scrunches as she dreams.

“Are you sure I'm allowed to drink this?” he hears you ask.

Levi's eyes flicker back towards you. “Yeah."

"But isn't this special? Isn't this tea from Paradis?"

It is tea from Paradis, courtesy of Armin. It's one of Levi's last boxes, in fact. He knows he'll eventually run out of it, and while he supposes he could ask for more of it, he thinks his taste buds will just need to adapt to something else. That's just the way life goes.

"You know," he mutters, "if you’re gonna be like this about every little thing around the house, it's gonna get tiring real fast.”

You focus on preparing the tea. “I’m just being polite."

“Why? You never bothered before."

A grimace splits across your face. "Ouch. Harsh.”

"S'not," Levi mumbles, running a hand through his hair. It’s freshly washed, still a bit damp. "I mean, no need to act all fake and shit."

"Okay... but this isn't like life in the Survey Corps. This is your house."

His house. Levi doesn't know if he should be more possessive about these things, the way he's seen some townspeople be with their possessions, but Levi's just never been one to care about these things. He never has.

Levi flips his newspaper to the next page. "So long as you keep the place clean, I don’t care about the rest."

“You don’t care?”

His eyes meet yours. There's a spark in your gaze.

Oh you’re taunting him.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest. "Drill this into your head, Adler: anything that’s mine is yours, so just treat this place as such.”

That seems to shut you right up. You blink with a dumbfounded expression, apparently startled by his (accidental, Levi swears it was accidental) turn of phrasing. It’s soon replaced by words uttered beneath your breath, words Levi doesn’t quite grasp because his own ears are whistling. He returns his attention back to the newspaper, attempting to shrug off the weight of the innuendo.

Anything that’s mine is yours. What a stupid thing to say. That almost sounded like a confession or some shit. 

For the next minute, Levi tries his damn best to focus on his newspaper.

“Getting her beauty rest, huh?”

You've placed two cups of tea on the table, one pushed towards him, along with a plate for the infusers. You're eying Scout.

“She seems glued to your side,” you add, sitting down.

“Kittens sleep a lot,” Levi supplies lamely.

“In any case, it’s cute to see the two of you together.”

Levi turns the handle of his cup to his left side. “Please.”

“Can you imagine what everyone would say? The fearless Captain Levi, succumbing to a cat—”

"Quit talking and just drink your tea, would you?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Aye, aye, captain."

For a moment, silence does fall, and his peripheral catches your chest rising and falling, something oddly quaint and peaceful about witnessing your breathing. You’re staring outside the window, looking at the view of the sea glimmering in the distance. He follows your line of sight, noting that there’s a buildup of crusted salt around the windows; Levi should really clean it off before summer ends.

“Hey, so,” you interrupt after a while, “I was thinking of going to the market today. Get a few things. Maybe find a job.”

Levi locks eyes with you. You’re holding onto your cup with two hands.

“A job?” Levi asks.

“Mm. Yeah. Something that makes sense for me...”

You want to get back to the medical field, already? You just got here.

“Why the hurry?"

“Well…" you say, "I don’t want to leech off you forever—”

“You're not.”

“Still, it'd be good for me, right?” You shoot a bright smile—something too bright about it. Levi eyes narrow. “Anyway, you wanna join or what?” Your eyes crinkle with softness. “You know... I’d love to meet all the nosy people you’ve told me about.”

Levi purses his lips, feeling as though you glossed over that subject much too quickly. A part of him wants to nudge you a bit, though his usual habit to just let you be kicks in. Whatever you're hiding, you have your reasons.

Levi considers your proposal. He knows it would be better if he didn’t join, seeing how damn foolish he’s already acting around you. He should try to set clear boundaries with you.

And yet—

“Sure,” comes out of him all the same.

Well, so much for that, anyway.

.

.

.

“You flew.”

You stand there, staring at the sight of the man as he finishes his round of training.

Levi shoots you a look, grappling with the hand grips. “I’m just using the ODM gear correctly.”

You take a step towards him. “No, but you’re amazing. You must know that, right? I’m not a soldier, but… I know talent when I see it.”

He gives you an odd look then, and before you have a chance to say anything else, propels himself in the air and disappears in the shadows of the forest.

.

.

.

At the market, Levi follows you around like a brooding shadow.

He’s in his wheelchair today. Behind him, you’re pushing him and asking questions about the scenery and the people and all sorts of trivial things.

(“Look, look there, all these teas. Have you tried any of them?”

“Some.”)

(“I'm gonna buy some flowers to plant in the gardens. Is that alright?”

“Do what you want.”)

(“Is the sea always as pretty?”

“Yeah. Sometimes, there's shit that gets carried in.”

"How poetic.")

(“Look, Levi! A car.”

“It looks dangerous.”

“I think I’d like to try driving. Get over my fear, you know?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Hey, give me some credit! S’not so different from riding a horse, right?”

“You’ve got a few screws loose up there, you know that?”)

Well, Levi was never great at talking. Not that you seem to mind; you’ve always liked to ask him questions and fill in the blanks when needed. Most of the time, it’s the silence that sits comfortably between the two of you that Levi appreciates so much anyway. It just is, filling the space between the two of you like a soft cloud fills the sky with shapes.

You're moving next to him, calmly taking in the sight of the buzzing market. It's a little too busy for Levi's liking, but the sight of you distracts him: you’re wearing a sunhat with ribbons today, coupled with your cotton overalls. Levi’s never seen you wear a hat like this one before, but he thinks it suits you.

“You should protect your skin from the sun,” you’d said earlier. “That’s why I wear a hat.”

“I didn’t come to the surface to run away from the sun,” he’d grumbled back, even if he did notice how warm summers in Marley truly are (and yes, he’d gotten sunburned on several occasions, and also yes, his injured eye stings every time the sun shines too brightly... but, still, Levi wouldn’t budge).

“Good morning, dear boy! What a surprise to see you here!” someone says, tearing Levi out of the thoughts. Attached to that booming voice is none other than Levi's boss, Adam Jakowski.

Originally an Eldian from Marley, Mr Jakowski was one of the first residents that settled here in Mare. He quickly opened his carpentry shop, and when Levi moved in, he found a job there.

Today, however, Mr Jakowski isn't here for any carpentry-related trades. Every week-end, the man likes to come here and share the goods his wife makes.

"What brings you here?" Mr Jakowski asks.

“I was dragged out, believe it or not,” Levi answers, head bobbing towards you.

Next to him, he hears you snort.

“And who might this pretty young lady be? Are you the missus Ackerman, per chance?” Mr Jakowski asks, his tone carrying a curiosity only people genuinely interested in others are capable of mustering.

Levi feels his cheeks burn at the idea, but you just chuckle, swatting a hand in the air to dispel the notion. “No such thing, sir. But I am new to town and it pleases me all the same to make your acquaintance. Miss Adler, charmed to meet you.”

Levi’s thin brows knit together. It’s the first time he hears you introduce yourself without your profession tied in.

Miss Adler. Not Dr Adler.

Strange.

“Well met, Miss Adler… Well met, indeed! Ah, it is a pleasure to see new faces in Mare, especially a lovely one such as yours. Will you be staying here for a while?”

“Mm. Who knows?” You smile. “I can’t quite say yet, to tell the truth.”

Levi’s throat suddenly feels a little thick.

“Anyway, what are you selling here, sir?” you ask, peering over the stall of the merchant, gazing at all the products and zeroing on a particular one: a red paste.

“The one you're eying is a paste from the eastern part of Marley, ma'am. It’s made with paprika and bell-peppers, you see. Great for inflammations and stomach issues,” the old man explains. He makes you smell it, then turns around to sprinkle it onto something. “You can coat it like so,” he raises a piece of bread that he smears with the red paste, “or add it to your cooking.”

He hands you the toast.

You bite into it, chewing for several moments as you raise a hand over your mouth. “Walls! It does have such a particular taste. It’s the aftertaste, right? Spicy.”

Your eyes wander to meet Levi’s, and you raise the bread slightly in his direction as if to inquire if he wants to taste it as well. Levi shakes his head, and you shoot him a smile, gulping down the rest of the food.

Levi crosses his arms over his chest, drumming his left index in a series of five taps over his forearm—tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Next to him, he hears the way you engage in easy conversation, talking about the weather, how the region has adjusted to the influx of settlers, how you're looking for a job and how, yes, you’d love to meet his wife and daughter!

The rest flies over his head. Instead, Levi looks up at your sunhat again, admiring the way it hugs the shape of your skull, the way the ribbons flow gently with the breeze.

Levi wonders if he could buy you a hat. Or sew you a new ribbon. Would you accept his gifts?

At last, you seem convinced of the product and order three jars. This is the moment when Levi comes back to his senses, seeing you rummage through your pockets to find coins to pay for your purchase.

No such luck.

Levi beats you to it, slinging out the leather pouch his first squad gifted him many years ago, placing the change in Mr Jakowski's hands.

You blink, mouth parted, but Levi just plops the jars he receives into your bag, wheeling himself back.

He hears you fumble your goodbyes to Mr Jakowski, thanking him for his help, and at once, your voice is in his ears.

“Levi, why did you just pay?” you ask, tone bewildered.

“Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.”

“I’m not." You stop in front of him, all stern-looking, hands on your hips. "You didn’t have to do that.”

Levi raises a defiant brow. “But I did, and it’s done.”

“Don’t make it sound so simple. You’re already letting me stay in your house for free. I intend to pay my dues, you know. I have money.”

“I'm sure you do.”

“You—”

“Complain again and I won’t let you pay for a damn thing.”

You close your mouth, glaring at him.

Levi swears he hears something along the lines of ‘I’ll just sneak it back into your pockets later’ whispered under your breath, but when he narrows his eyes in your direction, you feign a look of innocence.

After purchasing everything you wanted to purchase—a book on art, flower beds for the garden—you finally settle in a cozy little café on the town’s square. You order some pastries, while Levi takes his usual tea, the closest thing that resembles the tea from back home. You watch people from everywhere bustle by, while Levi sips on his drink.

“Hey, look!” you point out suddenly. “I’ve never seen those birds before.”

You've pointed to a flock of birds of all colors, no larger than a fist. They’re hopping on the ground, scavenging for food. You get up, asking for some seeds from a waiter to feed them.

“Why did they migrate to this part of the world?” you wonder as you lay out food for them.

Levi doesn’t know what to say. He stares at the birds, nibbling the seeds, admiring the way their feathers seem foreign in this strange land.

Maybe, Levi thinks to himself, just like all the rest of this town, the birds were looking for a new home.

.

.

.

“You know, you should try to teach them.”

Levi’s bored expression swerves in your direction. You’re back to leaning on the window sill, while he sits on the rooftop. A routine, these last weeks.

“What?” Levi mutters.

“Your combat skills. I saw you at training again. I’ve never seen anything quite like the way you handle yourself. You should teach the other cadets.”

His eyes narrow. “And why would I do that?”

“You’ve been out there, right? Seen what the titans are like? You could save their lives.”

.

.

.

The square of Mare is quiet at this time of the evening. A half-moon hangs lazily over the black sky, casting its silver glow over Mare.

You’ve both been drinking. Cheap, bubbly, acidic. Cremant, a drink native to Marley. It was given to you by a shopkeeper when you picked up bread earlier—all it took was seeing you by his side and hearing you were new in town. The woman practically threw the bottle at you, offering it as a welcome gift. You tried to refuse, many times over, but the woman wouldn't take no for an answer (“We need young blood around, so anythin’ to convince younglings like yourself to settle down!”).

Now, here you are, finishing the bottle together in a park. Levi sits with you on a bench, his wheelchair tucked behind it.

Silence.

Levi thinks there’s something on your mind. You’ve never been easy to read; you’ve got a tendency to hide and scheme, to play it off like it’s no big deal, but it’s always your lips that give you away. You bite them when you’re worried, you pout when you’re deep in thoughts.

“Hey.” Levi raises your attention, only to find gentle eagerness on your face. It makes him frown for some reason. “Say something.”

You seem a little taken aback by his directive. It’s rare for Levi to actually seek conversation after all, much less to be the one initiating it.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask.

Levi shrugs. “I don’t know, just anything.”

“Like… what?”

Levi mulls it over. If it were him, he’d hate to be put on the spot and asked outright what to say. So he decides to try a tactic he’s seen you use on others—starting with something light before finding the right angle to tackle the actual subject.

“What was your favorite sight?” he inquires. “On your travels.”

“My… favorite sight?”

Levi gives you a look that makes it clear he’s not gonna repeat himself.

“The sea, of course.” You raise your feet on the bench, hugging your knees as you stare off pensively. “It’s funny, really. With every nation we visited, we saw mountains, deserts and forests… but I kept coming back to the sea.”

Levi remembers the first he saw the sea. The water, glimmering like thousands of silver gems. The blue sky, coming to meet its shine. The 104th brats, with awestruck wonder. Hange and their brazen curiosity.

And you, the way you’d looked at him…

If ever there was a moment of peace during Levi’s years as a soldier, it was those blissful hours spent by the sea. It felt like the world had grown so big, and that there was only wonder to be discovered.

Of course, reality had caught up.

“I’m glad you’ve picked a place like this one to settle down,” you say. "It kind of feels like a homecoming, you know?"

"Yeah."

“The stars are so bright out here.”

Levi follows your line of sight.

This past year, Levi has rediscovered an admiration for stars. Back inside the Walls, they reminded him of Isabel and Furlan, of his dreams from another life. This past year, they’ve started making him think of you, too.

All because of one of your letters: 'Levi, do you ever think about the fact that, despite the distance that separates us, every night, when we look at the sky, we see the same stars?'

“What else,” he finds himself asking, “what else do you have to say about your travels?”

“Hmm… what do you want to know exactly? I wrote so much in my letters, I’d have thought you’d be tired of hearing about that topic.”

“Yeah, but you only described random shit. What was it like?”

What was it like without me?

That thought hangs on his tongue, begs for relief, but Levi bites it down. It’s not right for him to ask; it's none of his business.

And yet, your answer still takes him by surprise, “It was… hard.”

To that, Levi does raise a brow, looking at you.

He finds your gaze already on him.

“The sights were... nice, of course,” you continue. “I got to witness all manners of landscapes. Those were the photographs I sent you in my letters. But then, well, the rest came.”

You swallow loudly. Levi finds his heart squeezing, though he doesn’t fully understand why.

“Seeing the aftermath of the Rumbling…” Your lower lip quivers as the volume of your tone decreases. “It was horrifying. The emptiness was the worst. It’s not like murdering someone in cold blood, see. There, you have to deal with bodies. But, what Eren did…”

You shudder. Levi thinks you’re trying to even out your breathing, and a part of him wants to reach out to you and squeeze your hand. And yet, he knows there’s nothing he can do to really alleviate those images flashing in your brain. That nothing he does can make it right again, that the pain you feel is the cost both of you need to bear for the rest of your lives.

“After that, I went with Armin because I knew he would need help, because I always believed in diplomacy… because I still believe in it. Even now," you say. "But many nations hate the Eldians from Paradis. They hate us and maybe they have every right to hate us.”

You stop talking and close your eyes. For a while, the lull in conversation allows Levi to stare at you unabashedly, to commit your features to memory.

“Why did you never say any of this in your letters?” he asks mid-silence.

“I guess it felt easier not to mention it. I don’t know. I wanted you to hear hopeful things in my letters.”

“I’ve seen how shitty the world can be.”

“I know, but that’s exactly why.” Your eyes somehow find his own again. “That’s why I didn’t want you to know it’s still the same out there.”

It makes Levi’s blood rush, like he was some breakable thing that needed to be protected.

“You don’t need to coddle me.”

And yet, you don’t even seem to notice the snap in his tone, your crossed arms tightening around your knees.

“I know, Levi,” you whisper. “But that doesn’t mean that my pain is your burden to bear.”

Seeing your deflated expression, dipped chin resting over your knees as you lose yourself to your thoughts, Levi’s defense mechanism fizzles away.

That’s the thing about you.

No matter how harshly he reacts, you never seem to rise to the same level as him, the way others did in the military, and it might be why Levi always found it easier to stay by your side.

“You dumbass,” he says with a sigh. Despite telling himself to hone it back, Levi can’t help but raise a hand to the back of your skull, ruffling your head gently—the only comfort he knows how to hand out right now. “Of course that’s my burden.”

The knot in your throat bobs. “Levi, you don’t—”

“Don’t give me that.” He pauses, the words heavy on his tongue. “Even I no longer have the rank to prove it… what does it matter? Nothing’s changed.”

Your voice comes out grated. “Nothing’s changed?”

Levi hesitates. So much hangs on this question. Of course, things have changed.

And yet…

He retreats his hand, patting his stiff leg. “Some things did.”

“Does it still hurt a lot?”

“Some days more than others. The doctor has helped.”

“I’m glad... I'm so glad. Are you still seeing him every other week?”

He nods.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

His eyes narrow. “You said that already.” You shoot him a lopsided smile. He sighs. “Anyway, you gonna tell me why you stopped calling yourself a doctor?”

Different degrees of surprise flash across your face. Your eyes are wide as saucers, while your mouth stays slightly open.

Levi waits. And waits.

“Hey, you’re not trying to catch flies, are you?” he says, lifting a finger to poke at your chin.

His physical reminder seems to bring you back to the present.

A pout forms on your lips. “How did you know I no longer want to be a doctor?”

Levi shrugs with one arm, pressing his back against the bench. “I guessed, and you just confirmed it.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice so quickly." You let out a wry snort. "Should have known; you’re always so perceptive.”

“And you’re beating around the bush.”

You hum. “Indeed, I am. It’s just… I’m scared of your judgment.”

Levi frowns.

“Don’t give me that look, Levi Ackerman. Your judgment, yes. You’re a very scary man, just not for all the reasons people think you are.”

In the distance, the sound of seagulls drifts from the skies.

“When I asked you if I could come here…” you say after a pause, “I kept on thinking to myself: What will Levi think of me?” You raise one hand to your face, glancing at the scar that runs from your index to the lower part of your palm—a memento left by the Yaegerists. “What will he think of this hand?”

Levi stays silent.

Your smile turns bitter. “You always said my hands were made for healing. But after everything that happened, everything we did, they’re not anymore. They can’t be.”

“Hey—”

“—and the question kept playing in a loop in my head. Will Levi think I’m a coward? Will he think less of me for giving up on this? Is he gonna be done with me?”

Levi ignores all the ways you seem to include him in your insecurities and focuses on one thing only: “You’re a lot of things but a coward isn’t one of them.”

You shake your head. “But I am a coward. I don’t have it in me to heal people, not like that anymore.”

Levi doesn’t know why, but there’s a sense of dread forming in his pit of his stomach.

“Is that why you’re here?” he asks.

Your eyes fire back on him. “No, I didn’t come here to escape, or as a last resort.” You glance away. “But I do feel… lost.”

That makes him backtrack. You? Lost? The doctor who blazed through the Survey Corps’ ranks, making her demands known to the Interior and Erwin like it was no big deal, who pushed for changes to save soldiers' lives?

That doesn’t align with the person he knows.

“I don’t think it’s right anymore, the path I chose.” Your tone is suddenly more frail, more vulnerable. “The first three years after the Rumbling, it felt like the right thing to do, giving my skills in helping others but now… Now I feel like a fraud. To arrive here, I had to end lives.”

Levi’s throat is heavy. “We all did.”

You ignore his words. “The attack in Trost, the one in Liberio, and so many others…. I killed people there. I did. And I remember your words, Levi, about it being us or them but I… now, whenever I look at my hands, all I see is the stain of blood. After all of that, I just don’t think I’m fit to call myself a doctor anymore.”

“You shouldn’t regret the past.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Is that why you’re now calling yourself Miss Adler?”

You nod.

Levi purses his lips. He cannot understand your perspective, not truly, because his own moral compass has never been set right. To him, killing was always about survival and there was never good or bad. There simply was the act and the aftermath. There was the fact that he needed to keep on pushing, for humanity.

Despite this, Levi wants to understand. He wants to tell you that your hands did heal, that they continue to heal in invisible ways.

He wants to tell you that however you want to become want, it’s all fine to him.

“Then start over,” he declares, throwing an arm to the back of the bench.

“Yeah.” You snort, fiddling with a loose strand of fabric of your overalls. “It’s not that easy, starting over, is it?”

“Never said it was.” Levi would know. It’s not like he’s here to preach the moral high ground—he’s lost, much more lost than you are. “But if you want to, you’re the only one that can make it happen.”

“Yeah, I know.” You raise a hand to press against your right eye. Levi has the strange urge to tuck it away, to take it in between his own, but he holds himself back. “It’s just… hard. You know, when we were fighting titans, then humans, then nations… I just never considered who I would be after all of it. And when I found myself trying, I found I wasn’t the person I once was, that I couldn’t do what I would have done any more. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“Old me would have kept on going. Old me would have continued to heal people and traveled and helped Armin with peace negotiations. And I tried. Walls, I tried, Levi. But at the end of the day, I just find myself… tired. I’m just so tired.”

Something heavy fills Levi’s chest. He understands, to a degree, what you’re going through. He knew his role was over the moment that the fighting stopped, but for you, the war hasn’t stopped raging—conflicted on where your place should be.

“Sorry," you say, "I know I’m wallowing here, that I’m throwing my own pity party. But, shit, it’s hard, you know?”

“Yeah.” Levi hardens his expression. “But it’s fine, to wallow. No one expects you not to have setbacks.”

“You don’t mean that. Weren’t you always telling soldiers not to linger and look back? Besides, I don’t get to say any of this in front of you. Not with everything you went through.”

Levi’s jaw clenches. “Hey. It’s not a competition.”

This time, he reaches for your hand and unclasps it, noticing you digging your nails into your skin. He forces you to squeeze his hand instead—only, now, you treat him with such care, not even applying pressure.

He continues, “I only said what I said because a Scout’s life was a battlefield every day. But we’re not soldiers anymore.”

Levi sucks in a breath at those words; it’s the first time he acknowledges it out loud: We're not soldiers anymore. He’s a hypocrite, saying these things, when he himself hasn’t let go completely. And yet, for your sake, he wants to pretend—he wants to pretend that there’s a way out for the both of you.

“So I’ve told you, the offer still stands," he adds. "You can stay here for as long as you want."

“Careful what you promise, Levi." You snort. "I’m going to be a real burden to you.”

“Only when you don’t clean.”

Your weak snicker turns into laughter. It might be the most enchanting of sounds Levi’s heard in a long while.

Levi lets go of your hand, despite the fact that he wishes he could hold on, but he tells himself that friends don’t hold each other’s hands for prolonged moments. And that's what the two of you are. Friends.

“You know, when it came down to it… after months of introspection,” you say, voice soft, “all I knew is that I wanted to be near you.”

Oh.

“I stayed away for a year, thinking I could prove to myself, to you, that I wasn’t the needy person I once was," you say. "That I could, I don’t know, manage on my own. But all I got was… how much I missed you.”

Levi thinks his breathing might have stopped entirely.

“Levi, you’re… you’re important to me. You know that, right?” Your eyes find his own, glimmering under the moonlight. “I think… I just don’t want to not have you in my life anymore. Is that a strange thing to say?”

Levi is speechless. He stares at your lips, how plump and lovely they seem, glistening with moisture. He feels sweat on his back—damn this hellish warm weather—and he thinks perhaps he should act.

He forces his mouth open but instead of words—

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

An explosion blasts in his ears.

Levi screws his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact. There’s screams echoing in the back of his skull, bullets ricocheting against concrete. He smells the charred scent of bodies, sweet and off-putting.

But the fighting never comes. When he evens out his breathing, leaning his weight onto the bench, he notices—

You’re on the floor.

Your hands are covering your ears, your lower lip wobbling. You’re muttering things under your breath, things Levi can’t recognize, but there’s tears brimming the corner of your eyes, and Levi realizes then what happened.

You’re hyperventilating.

At once, Levi is by your side, bending down. The action causes his legs to scream in pain, but he promptly ignores it. He sees you and only you.

You, on the other hand, are unable to look at him; you whimper erratically.

Levi can deduce the source of your panic, because he’s had his own moments like this. It’s the way certain noises, smells, and others pull him back into the past. It must be the same for you.

“Hey,” Levi’s voice comes low and clear, trying to muster it all for you, “take a deep breath. It's not guns. Just fireworks some teenagers are toying with.”

But you seem unable to follow his advice, shaken as you are. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears clumping, streaming thick down the valleys of your cheeks. He sees your fingers pull at the strands of your hair.

Before he can think about it, his arms reach out of you, looping around the small of your back, where he draws you in. He presses you firmly against him. At first, you attempt to fight him back, muttering “no, no, no,” beneath your breath, scratching him, but when Levi finally manages to smooth over your words with his own, you accept the embrace.

Your head slumps down into the crest of his shoulder, like you were just a ragdoll gone limp. Levi tries to ignore the way his worry doubles down.

“Adler, listen to my voice,” he urges, trying to use things that have helped him during his worst panic attacks, during his worst episodes. Of course, Levi never allowed anyone to see him like this, but if he had, he thinks this would have helped. “Your ear’s pressed against my heart right now. Do you hear my heartbeat?”

“Y-yeah,” you answer, voice barely a raw whisper. The sound is enough to shatter something in Levi. It’s so small, so fragile.

“Focus on it," he says. "Focus on me speaking. Pretend that it’s the only sound in the world.”

You seem to attempt to laugh, but it comes across as another nervous sob, hiccups strangling your words. “S-someone thinks h-ighly of his v-voice.”

Levi just clicks his tongue, tightening his hold on you.

Your hands interweave with the collar of his shirt, and you bury your face deeper into his neck. It takes several moments, but he feels the tension in your spine untangle, vertebrate by vertebrate.

“Steady,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “You’re alright.”

Your warm lips, drenched with tears, move against his neck. “I just can’t do it, ‘Vi… I just can’t.”

“You can.”

“I’m fucking stuck and I feel so guilty there’s always noises in my brain…” A sob cracks out of you. “I’m so fucking lost.”

“But you’re not alone.”

Your knuckles tighten, but your breath falters.

“You’re not alone,” Levi repeats. His three-fingered hand weaves through the hair at the back of your skull, mingling between your locks. He’s reminded of another time, long ago, when he did this after Nanaba died. “Even if you feel lost right now, you’re not alone.”

“I just—I don’t want to be a bother. I don't want to overstay my w-welcome.”

“You’re not.” His hands have fallen onto your ribcage, slotting over every bone like they were made to belong there all along. “You can stay as long as you want.” Until you grow tired of me. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

You’re still hiccuping for air as you draw away from him. You seem to be searching for something, dazed and blurry.

“Y-you don’t mind?” you ask.

"Have I ever said something I didn't mean?"

"I guess not."

For a while, neither Levi nor you say anything else. He watches as your eyes cast down, eyelashes still full of tears. Your breath is back to being steady, though no less frail.

Eventually, your digits settle over his forearms, looking back at him with puffy eyes.

He offers you his clean handkerchief from his breast pocket. 

You take it with a crooked smile, staring down at the white cloth. “Thank you, Levi. I mean it.”

Levi looks away; he doesn't think he's done much.

“Walls.” You hiccup, lifting the handkerchief to your eyes. “I’ve made a scene, haven’t I? It’s the alcohol, I s-swear. I barely d-drink these days.”

“You were always a lightweight.”

“Pff, don’t remind me.”

“Well, judging by the brats walking towards us," he says, looking over your shoulders, "they’ve come to apologize.”

Sure enough, moments later, as you help Levi up and you both sit back down on the bench, three snotty kids approach the scene with a look of apology plastered on their faces.

One of them, a boy with vibrant ginger hair, takes the lead. “Ma’am… are you alright?”

You sniffle, eyes still red. “Fine—”

“She’s not fine, brat,” Levi interjects. “Don’t light this shit up in public.”

The boy grimaces with the kind of juvenile innocence only kids can muster.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say, giving Levi a look. “But hey, do try to be careful, ‘kay? Don’t light up things like this all on your own. Fireworks are dangerous, not to mention they’re scary when they’re up so close.”

“I... I won't do it no more, ma’am…" the boy says. "I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s alright. You couldn’t have known.”

The boy nods before finally fleeting up and meeting Levi's glare. The child instantly cowers back.

“Mistakes happen," Levi grumbles with a softer tone. "Just be more careful.”

“Y-yeah, mister. Won’t happen again.”

"Good."

.

.

.

Erwin finds you in the stables one day. “Levi is integrating with the squad.”

You stop cleaning your horse, raising a brow at the man. “Is he now?”

“Mm." There's wistful amusement on the Erwin's face. "He's started giving advice to his comrades.”

"Is that right?"

That night, when you greet Levi on the rooftop of the infirmary, you don't say a thing about this exchange, but you'll smile just a bit brighter at him anyway. 

.

.

.

Levi comes back from his evening shower to find something waiting for him in his bedroom. A piece of paper, carefully folded in three, is placed on his cabinet. Next to it is a medium-sized, black pouch.

Levi first unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find that it’s a letter and that it’s from you.

Levi, You’ll excuse me for coming in without asking, but you insinuated I should make myself comfortable, so… Here I am. You know, if you're going to let me pay for things, then it’s decided: I’m going to bribe you with new tea! No, you can’t fight me on that. As you know, I’m a force of nature—unstoppable. Here’s a new blend for you. I know for certain you haven’t tried this one because it’s straight from my travels. I don’t know why I waited a week to give it to you, but I hope you like it. Your amazing new roomie,- A.

Levi’s lips twitch. He can just picture you scribbling those words in your room, a grin on your face, waiting for him to take a shower just so you can place this handout in secret.

He briefly puts the letter back down, moving to open the gift. The black pouch hides a tea tin of simple design, with an etiquette that’s handwritten. White pu-erh tea. He slowly unscrews the sealed top, bringing it close to his nose to inhale its potent fragrant. Tea aromas, rich in citrus, fill his brain with a lovely buzzing effect. It smells nice, unlike anything he’s encountered before and Levi thinks its taste will be to his liking—that you picked it knowing it would.

His eyes stray back to the letter, picking it back up. He loves the way you write his name, the way you loop the letters together. It's elegant.

With his heart just a bit lighter than usual, Levi adds your letter to the chest under his bed, filled with the rest of your correspondence.

-

A/N: Thanks for reading! I was really touched by all the engagement the first chapter got, truly, so thank you for that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and hey, if you have a minute, I'd love to hear your thoughts in any shape or form! Take care <3

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[lustlovehart]

Caught In Her Web

A/n: I love women

Summary: [Yandere] Dinner never seems to go right with Kafka

Warnings: Toxic date, memory erasure, unwanted touching, unconscious kiss

Her gloved fingers tap against the wooden table, every sound only increasing the tension through the room.

"Hm? Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm not gonna eat you dear."

At this rate, you wouldn't doubt if she did take a bite out of you.

"Kafka, quit this, what do you need from me this time?"

"Don't be so heartless [Name], maybe I just wanted to have dinner with my favorite person through the universe's."

"Cut it out."

"I'm not messing with you," her leather covered hands slowly make their way into your own, both palms caging your own in hers as she makes heavy contact into your soul. "Let's just eat shall we?"

You don't reply, only looking hesitantly at your hand covered by her malice.

You knew of the existence of scripts, she never hid information from you. Whatever information she did withhold probably would’ve been stuff you wouldn’t wanna know anyway.

The food laid between you two, the steam floating off it being very visible, yet Kafkas eyes completely overshadow them, rather than being drawn to the appetizers your focus is entirely on her, you don't look into her eyes, but just staring at her gloved hands is enough.

She has that effect on people you assume.

Her left hand plays with your arm, the digits of her limb playful crawling up your skin until they catch onto your chin, forcing you to finally look at her.

"You know darling, it's common coutersy to look at someone when you talk to them is it not?"

"I'm not gonna look at you."

Her fingers quickly release you from her hold, a playful 'hm' leaving her lips as she takes a fork and, somehow, makes stabbing a steak look both violent and elegant at the same time.

"Fine, be that way, the least you could do is let me feed you."

"I doubt you'd give me a choice."

"Hm, you're smart, good," the knife cuts through the meat, her utensil slowly lifting it to your mouth, her lips telling you to say 'ahh'. "Be careful dear, it's hot."

You don't give her the satisfaction of listening to her, despite the heat of the food radiating off of it, you don't blow. You'd rather burn your tongue than make this criminal happy with you.

You were right, your mouth is in so much pain. You try to keep your face neutral, but you can't help letting a little of the pain escape.

"See, I told you it was hot. I just praised you too."

You swallowed, it hurt like hell, but you swallowed. You're sure if it wasn't boiling it would've been delicious, but what's done is done.

"Try to at least enjoy our dinner, this will be the last time I see you for a while"

"Hm, maybe you're right, that does sound like something to celebrate."

"Oh, so you're only witty when it comes to remarks against me?"

"Was that not obvious?"

"You wound me [Name]" she looked down at the food again, instead of giving you more she only sighs and pushes the plate to the side. "Seems the dinner plans fell through. That's okay, Elio saw it coming."

"So even your 'heartfelt' dinner was apart of the script."

"Not all of it, we were just meant to sit at table filled with food, that wasn't apart of the plan."

"So you decided toying with me would be funner?"

"Playing with anyone is enjoyable to me, it's just nicer when it's you." She smiles after her words. Just that, a closed lip smile at you.

You look at the clock she had set up, it felt more like a countdown than a way to keep track of time. 3 hours left, that's too long for you.

"What, so you added your flirtations into this dinner?"

The more you think, 3 hours left till what?

"Hm, I did, is there problem? I don't think I hide my liking towards you."

Your brain can't remember what it was you were waiting for. It's like the memory of what waited for you at the end wasn't there anymore.

"You don't, but I wish you did."

Keep... Date... As long... Possible...

She leans across the table, her lips ghosting over your earlobe, a deep laugh escaping from her throat.

"How will I express my adoration for you then?" Her whisper came out teasing, yet if you looked past that, you can hear her underlying annoyance slip through the cracks. "Perhaps lock you in a golden cage like an innocent bird? Or should I do like a spider and trap you in my web." You sit still, not daring to move.

"Jokes of course, though, I would like for you to stay with me."

Feint words of broken memories invade your head, beating like some painful headache.

"Once this is over, you'll be different. It's sad I won't be able to keep the [Name] I cherish, but it's the price we have to pay for the script. These last moments will be what I'll have left of you, so I hope we can enjoy it together.

The whispers felt familiar, like you've been through it before. Spirit Whsiperer...

"Now, can we please enjoy this last meal of peace before it changes ?"

Your hands grab onto her as you push her to her side of the table. Your breaths were heavy once you remembered the situation the damned clock. Looking back at the time, how could time go by so quickly?

1 hour left.

"Don't try using that shit on me Kafka. It was 3 hours left 10 minutes ago how the hell could that be."

"That's the [Name] I like to see." She doesn't answer you, not a single question. While you frantically shake her.

"I told you myelf, I really do enjoy messing with you." Her hands aren't gloved anymore. The leather long being discarded, her fingers slowly reach up to your cheek pulling you closer to her face.

Her fingers are cold, like a corpse. You don't shiver though. Her touch is the most undisturbing part about her. It's what makes her so horrifying.

"Times up dear." Her thumb ghosts over your lips, gently placing her digit on you. She stand up from her seat, being eye to eye to yourself, her other hand placing itself on your waist, seemingly pulling you closer.

"Boom."

Your vision blacks as your head falls forward, the last thing you remember being the soft feeling of your face resting on her shoulder. Ice cold fingers are left stroking your head as the sound of a door opens.

"At the end of the day," Though you're out cold, deep down she wishes you can feel the way her freezing lips place a chaste kiss on your own. "I'm a selfish woman."

------

A dim light is all your blurred vision can see, the sound of a feint hum ringing through the empty space as well. Your head is rested on what feels to be someone's thighs, whoever it is must be the one rubbing circles into your chest, more specifically, the area where a heart would be.

It's not beating. Your hearts not working.

"You're awake." Your eyes clear as you look up at the woman smiling from above. She's beautiful.

She's familar.

"Do you remember me?"

"..."

She waits.

"Do you like me?"

“I…”

She doesn’t say anymore, only tracing patterns into your skin as she waits, that unwavering smile still on her face. The lights grow darker. You don’t hear a throbbing in your ears, something someone with a heart would hear in distress. You don’t have that anymore. Well, maybe not anymore, you can’t remember if you ever did have one.

“Who are you?”

——

[thegnomelord]

If Makarov managed to capture Hound again, how do you think he'd punish Hound for letting himself be taken away?

OOOOH anon you're gonna give me more ideas for the angst lol

The punishment wouldn't be as much for getting captured as it would be that Hound let someone else touch what belongs to Makarov — Hound. And what a bad dog you've been, evidently he's been too lax with the leash if his hound got this spoiled and disobedient.

Here's 2 scenes that just came to mind that may or may not become cannon idk yet:

CW: NSFW, blood and gore, torture, angst, toxic relationship, cock-warming, dub-con at best non-con at worst

1: Blood. There's so much blood. You feel it creep from the wounds on your head down to the space between your eyes and the blindfold, your carved open back throbbing like one giant wound, shallow cuts weeping blood down your skin. Every harsh breath forces the scent of death and blood deeper into your nose, copper and iron staining your tastebuds. Scraps of flesh dig into your gums between your teeth — the throat of whichever man had stabbed you last.

Adrenaline keeps you standing, muscles trembling in preparation of another stab of pain, gums itching to bite and kill. "Good," You just barely hear before a sharp yank of the leash pulls you down. Light floods in as the blindfold is suddenly ripped off, your eyes stinging from the bright light but you force yourself to look.

Makarov smirks as he watches your eyes fly to look around, wild and feral only to focus on him. There's his hound, blood dying your world red, violence blurring the edges of your vision until the only clear thing you see is him — the one who owns you. Keeping the leash tight so you nearly choke he reaches out to grip your jaw, shoving his thumb into your mouth. There's a second of resistance he'll need to beat out later, but you open your mouth wide, blood glinting on your metal capped canines. "That's better." He presses his thumb on your tongue to keep you silent when he senses you about to try and speak, forcing your mouth to open even wider until a low whine escapes you.

A big mistake; you were ordered to stay quiet. Your muscles tense, but you don't dare anger him further and keep your eyes on him. "A disobedient dog, but at least you're smart." He tuts. You don't know why your eyes want to close when he spits into your mouth, something acrid burning beneath your skin as you feel his saliva rapidly cool on your tongue. (dumb dog, be grateful he's giving you this much)

"Good." Makarov sounds pleased, letting go of your jaw and pushing the blindfold back over your eyes. "Next." His voice rings, and you feel your stupid heart ache as violence rushes through your system as another man approaches you, ready to make you bleed even more until you can get your teeth around his throat.

Or

2: You've experienced it all: cuts, bruises, internal bleeding, broken bones, starvation and so much more — a thousand little deaths. But the sting of tattoo needles hurts more than all of that, like they're piercing deep through your flesh to ink Makarov's initials on your heart. Your head is tilted back so far your skin stretches taught across your Adam's apple, the buzz of the machine rattling your ears.

The tattooing stops long enough for you to hear Makarov scoff before a harsh slap nearly knocks your head off your neck. You realize only then that you'd closed your eyes, quickly snapping them open to look at Makarov as he looms over you. "That's better." Makarov hums, pulling on your throat skin to make it even tighter. "Evidently I spoiled you too much."

You feel Makarov shift, his gummy hot walls clenching around your hard cock as the needles return to your throat. The pain and pleasure blur in your skull, but something about the way his cologne — much harsher and crisper than the scent's of the 141 you'd grown used to — curls in your nose that makes you feel weird. You don't know what it is, but it feels like your heart wants to vomit, the sweet sensation of Makarov taking pleasure from your body buzzing on your tongue like battery acid.

A low sound escapes your chest as he finishes, a pleased look in his eyes as he traces the black lines across your throat. Just from how your skin throbs you know they're big and bold, his claim on you clear. (as it should/n't be -- dumb brute, what is wrong with you?)

"There, now you're a proper hound." Makarov hums, tracing the crisp lines — he's a good owner, he wouldn't make a sloppy job of ensuring everyone knows who his hound belongs to. "That feels better, yes?"

"Yes sir." You say.

You don't know why those words sound like a lie to your ears.

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me as Disenchantment Quotes #1

Lucifer & Satan: *Laughing maniacally*

Simeon: “While I question their evil motives, it is nice to see them happy.”

Barbatos: “Now announcing the triumphant return of our heroes from their quest that we all privately thought would fail.”

Mammon & Leviathan: “…”

Lucifer: “How do we even know it worked.”

Solomon: “Oh but it must have worked. Now to test it, we need a volunteer to kill you.”

Belphegor: “Dibs.”

Barbatos: “How can you keep messing up a recipe with two ingredients?”

Solomon: “If you ever run into trouble give them this note.”

MC: “Kill me?”

Solomon: “Thirteen gave it to me, now I give it to you.”

Leviathan: “I’ve been meaning to…but the thing is, I…so you see…well, I’m glad we had this talk. How bout you talk now?”

MC: “But you haven’t said anything yet.”

Belphegor: “Well I was waiting to tell you until after I was dead so I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

Mammon: “Now just keep holding on, okay. Just keep holding on.”

MC: “It’s okay, it’s okay Mammon, I always wanted to go out while I’m still young and hot.”

Leviathan: “I didn’t want to tell you because I’m terrified of female emotions.”

Satan: “No, no, no, I was mostly raised by Lucifer. And a bunch of friendly drunks down at the pub. They taught me the fine art of stabbing.”

Barbatos: “It’s just too painful seeing the truth all the time.”

Solomon: “Ah, that’s why humans tend to avoid it.”

Belphegor: “The profession left without me.”

Diavolo: “Oh, that’s too bad.”

Belphegor: “I blame myself, cause I didn’t even notice.”

Solomon & Barbatos: *fighting*

Asmodeus: “Guys, guys come on. I’m much more embarrassed than I am aroused.”

Asmodeus: “MC, you poor baby. What a horrific day you’ve had. Let’s have too much wine and forget about it all.”

Beelzebub: “How’d you become a weird talking cat.”

Satan: “You keep shoving waffles in your mouth while I think of an answer.”

Thirteen: “I’ll use my skills as a hunter and Raphael will use his diplomacy to stab them with a broom handle.”

Solomon: “I used to spend many nights up here. Watching the sky, the moon, the neighbors.”

Lucifer: “This is your home. You’re free to explore.”

MC: “Wow, what’s behind that door?”

Lucifer: “None of your business nosy.”

Mammon: “Maybe you were overcome by chimney fumes. It happens quite frequently in a place like this with no chimnies.”

Satan: “What family curse? You mean insanity?”

Leviathan: “No, don’t be crazy. But yes I mean insanity.”

Asmodeus: “You guys are heavy. Do I really need both of you?”

Solomon & Satan: “Yes!”

Asmodeus: “Damn, I hate democracy.”

Mammon: “I knew you could count on me!”

Simeon: “What’s this called again?”

Mammon: “A a massage. It’s like a light well intentioned beating.”

Diavolo: “You’re clearly upset.”

Lucifer: “I’m not upset!”

Diavolo: “You said that like you were upset!”

MC: “Come on Belphegor be reasonable!”

Belphegor: “Never!”

Satan: “We’re gonna have to wing this in a dangerously half assed manner.”

Mammon: “That’s the Morningstar way.”

Asmodeus: “There’s plenty of fish in the sea, Sol.”

Solomon: “Like hell am I marrying another fish woman.”

Lucifer: “Disappointment’s a form of caring.”

Diavolo: “Tell me, where are you from.”

Solomon: “A country setting, it’s kind of like a farm but more stabbing.”

Simeon: “This whole thing feels like a weird dream.”

Mammon: “Or scurvy. When does scurvy kick in?”

Lucifer: “Believe it or not I know what it feels like to be burned alive by a mob of idiots.”

Beelzebub: “Oh, sweet butter, you’re the only thing right with the world.”

Solomon: “Morning, Belphegor! Care to try my new cure all? It wards off the deadly plague.”

Belphegor: “I’m actually hoping for death. Thanks though.”

Mammon: “For the first time in my life I feel completely calm and—“

Mammon: *Gets attacked by hawk*

Satan: “I’ve loved you since the moment you killed my brother.”

Mammon: “You don’t scare me! I was born scared.”

[whorediaries-09]

okay, what if, reader (james gf) got jealous of lily tutoring james and told james abt it and james tells her "i would never date anyone else other than you" and also "you have all rights over me. you OWN me." and then smut where they're kissing, and reader suddenly says stop and james DOES stop to prove that he belongs to her???

hi honey <3 i'm sorry it took so much time to get around the request, but here you are, i hope you like it xoxo.

dark red

pairing(s)- james potter x reader warning(s)- stupid teenagers in love, 18+ content. a/n- uggh it was so hard to find proper pictures for the header, my feed is full of sirius black shit 💀🫢

ps- dark red is so james potter coded. (he dances on chammak challo, don't ask me how i know okay now bye)

masterlist

only you, my girl, only you, babe only you, darling, only you

'hey, darling,' your boyfriends' voice echoes in your ears. your eyes sink deeper into the words printed upon the paper of the book you'd been reading. they seemed like plain words on paper, which made no sense as your mind subconsciously made note that the one you loved so dearly was near you.

he sunk beside your bed, his quidditch sweater hugging his body in a form fitting way. he runs his finger through his curls, the familiar flowery, damp smell escalating off his body which burned your heart. through your peripherals, you see him smiling, a subtle hint of color on his brown skin. you feel the mattress sink beside your legs, as he pushes his legs into the silk duvet you were covered by. his fingers roam over your feet, applying a comforting amount of pressure.

he hums mindlessly under his breath, and you shift under the warmth of the duvet. you flip the book shut, keeping it on your nightstand. you free your feet from james's grasp, sitting up, moving closer to him. you stare at his face as you sit in front of him, knees touching.

'honey?' you whisper, nibbling at your bottom lip. it's like a sudden change of atmosphere, as he places his hand on your thigh, and he's staring at you, his brown eyes scanning yours.

'where were you?' you ask, even though you know the answer. his demeanor changes slightly, as he furrows his eyebrow. he'd told sirius to inform you about his tutoring session with lily. did the prick not tell you, he wonders.

'i was with lily,' he replies. you respond with a curt nod, biting your lip.

'because you needed academic help am i right?' you inquire. he swipes his tongue over his teeth,

'yes m'love,' he responds. you're not sure how to frame your next statement. the air feels stuffy around the both of you, and you intertwine your finger with his curl. his finger draws mindless shapes on your thigh.

'james,-' you begin, a heavy breath leaving your mouth, '-i'm gonna need you to stop these tutoring sessions with lily.' your mouth feels dry as you spill out the words from your throat. his eyes widen,

'i'm in heavy need of help in potions! otherwise i might fail!' he protests. you stare at him, stubborn to not let him dodge your demand.

'you're a fucking illegal animagus. what do you need help with potter?'

'well brewing a sleeping potion- hang on what's all this about?' he inquires, his former statement unheard.

'you know very well,'

'no i don't, enlighten me.'

'god are you really that daft?'

'if you think so, yes.'

'i'm fucking jealous, potter!'

his eyes widen with realization. as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water all over his face. his hands grasp your face in a swift move, his eyes boring into yours. he's breathless, your confession firing a puddle of guilt into which his heart drowns into. he treats you like a fragile piece of glass as if you'd break if he said the wrong words.

'jealous? because i liked her previously?' he questions, his forehead touching yours. your eyes burn with anger, with a clandestine stab upon your heart,

'yes,'

in a swift move, you're on your back, pinned to the mattress, his lips roaming into your mouth, as his mind screeches screams of guilt, an urge which echoes in his head, to prove to you that he was yours. just yours.

he bites your lip, pushing his leg between your thighs, and you moan, the rough fabric of his trouser providing you a lewd friction against your crotch.

'james,' you slur, huffed breaths leaving your mouth. he furrows his eyebrows,

'god,-' he holds your face closer to his, resting his forehead on yours, 'i'd never date anyone but you,-' he plants a soft kiss over your nose, '-god, i love you so fucking much.' he completes. his confession breaks through soft words, paired with broken breaths.

'i love you too, i'm sorry i doub-' he places his finger over your swollen lip, shushing you.

'let me show you how much i love you? let me show you i'm yours? just yours? let me show you how you have total rights over me?' he questions. you nod your head, and with your approval, he unbuttons your shirt.

*****

your nails rake on his bare chest, as he pushes his cock deep into your sopping cunt. you bottom down on his cock, your cunt throbbing. it was like high, as his hand place themselves on your hips, his rutting into yours. your breasts bounce deliciously within his vision, as he thrusts into you.

you pepper kisses all over his chest as he thrusts into you, his cock hitting your g-spot so perfectly, you feel like you'd drool. you gasp as his finger rubs over your swollen clit, rolling your eyes back, curling your toes as you feel the orgasm within you bubbling with a vigorous hotness which creeps all over your body. goosebumps erupt on your skin as his hot breath gazes over your skin,

'i'm yours, all yours, my girl,' he assures. you bite your lip,

'you're all mine. fucking mine.' you respond. he gasps at your words, and your walls clench around his cock, as your rub your clit. your orgasm bubbles within you, and consumes you from within, tearing into every cell of your body. it's as if you're on fire, as you feel the coil in your stomach tightens. it's as if you're glowing with lust, as your heart beats against your ribcage. it was like a shattering carnal desire to authorize your ownership over him.

'you're all m-mine- i fucking own you,' you moan, your lips meeting his, as you consume him, consume the feeling of his cock, consume the warmth of his touch, consume the cozy feeling of his words.

'only yours, my girl,' he says against your lips.

it's a dwindling mercurial high, a paradise shaking and pacing with your heartbeats, as the both of you release together, the mixture of cum and yours leaking through your sopping cunt.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Anyone up for some ANGST? >:) I started this when LU updated and didn’t get a chance to finish it til now.

Be aware! This can easily be read as major character death BUT I wanted to keep the end ambiguous enough that you could also assume there’s some hope left.

After all, fairies can bring people back to life if they act soon enough ;)

But please, keep yourselves safe <3

Other warnings: blood and injury

————————————————

There is blood everywhere.

It coats his hands, spreads in lazy puddles across the unforgiving ground, seeps from between his desperate, trembling fingers. Twilight presses down harder on the wound. More red escapes.

“‘M sorry,” Time mumbles.

All color has fled his face, making the blue of his eye unnaturally bright, his markings breathtakingly stark. He looks all at once like a being from another world, a deity to be feared, and a small child shivering in the face of something too strong, too terrible to defeat with weapons and courage.

That is not at all how he had looked mere moments ago. That is not how he had looked when he had detected substance in nothingness; when his response to Twilight’s strained query was to shove him aside so ferociously the rancher’s shoulder had collided with the stone wall.

There had been no words. Only a gasp, harsh and sharp as a blade. Then, the whisper of metal penetrating wind, the dull wet shunk of it lodging itself within something alive.

“An eye for an eye as they say,” that cursed lizard had purred as he placed a clawed paw upon Time’s back, holding him with the gentleness of a father embracing his child. And Time had not even had the presence of mind to pull away. He had merely stood there, rigid, as beads of crimson cascaded gracefully down the shattered plates of his armor, trailed down his lips.

“You took something of mine. Now I have taken something of yours.”

Twilight’s throat still throbs from the scream that had torn free. His body still aches from the force with which he had hurled himself at the beast, the force with which it had propelled him away.

“Pup, ‘m sorry.” Time is shaking his head now. His words trip over themselves in their haste to make it past his lips. “You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“Shut up,” Twilight chokes. His tears are so hot that they burn his cheeks. Emotions war within his stomach. He is furious, he is anguished; he is confounded, he is sympathetic. “Shut up, Time.” He drags in a breath, suffocates on a mouthful of salt. “You-you need to save your strength.”

He wants to scream. Why? Why did you do it? Why did you save me?

But he knows the answer. He can see it written across Time’s expression. It is in the way he smiles – a courageous upturn of the lips. It is in the way he lifts his hand, places it on Twilight’s cheek.

In the wake of his near-demise, he had thought he was a disappointment. That Time believed him a disgrace. It is only now, at the end, that he sees the love.

And the fear that that love propels forth.

“You need to leave.”

Twilight blinks away the tears, tries to screw up his face into something resembling a scowl.

“No. I’m not leaving you.”

“Twilight – ”

“No!” He shakes his head so hard liquid flies and his bangs slap his forehead. “No! If you think after that I’m just gonna run, you don’t know me at all!”

“But I do,” Time croaks. “I do know you. And that’s why I want you out of here. A-away from him.”

He leans forward, hissing through his teeth at the agony of the movement, expression brimming with urgency.

“Go, Twilight! Get the others out of here. Get to safety. You need to, you hav-have to…please.”

The last word drags itself forth, desperation weighing it down. Twilight lets the sound of it stab deep into his chest. He looks around at the scene through blurred eyes, at the shreds of bloodied tunic melding with the gore that splotches the ground, at the weapons fallen uselessly, at the too-pale fingers that clutch his, a band of gold embracing one of them.

The next sob takes his heart and wrenches it mercilessly from him.

“No.” It is a whisper, high-pitched from sorrow and lack of air. He collapses forward. His forehead comes to rest on Time’s chest and the hero’s gasping hiccups of breath fill his ears.

“No, no, no! This isn’t it!”

A hand comes up and cradles his head. Once firm, now it shakes with the weight of pain. Twilight breathes in sharply, tasting blood and salt, smelling mold and decay, sugary sweet fairy dust and warm hay and the soap Malon buys from Castle Town.

“I was supposed to change it. This was my chance to change it. To not let you die.”

“You’re not letting me die, pup,” Time whispers. “I chose this path. Do not burden yourself with guilt that is not yours.”

But you will. The thought rushes in, dreadful in its steadfast truth. You’ll burden yourself with the guilt of everything you couldn’t do. Everything you think you ought to have done. And it’ll turn you into a lonely, heartbroken wraith.

Time inhales and the sound is the desperate gasp of a dying man, shallow as the stream that flows through Ordon. Shallow and strangled and thin.

“Twilight…”

“No.”

It seems the only thing he can say now, the only word his trembling lips are capable of bringing forth. It is such a bitter utterance, a word that is all harsh edges and sharp angles. It cuts him on the way out.

“Don’t...”

Don’t speak, don’t waste your breath on a goodbye.

“Please, don’t...”

Don’t leave me here alone, don’t leave Malon, don’t leave…

“Twilight, I’m so…so…proud of you.”

Twilight squeezes his eyes closed. He has dreamt of hearing these words, clung to them as priceless treasure when he has. But hearing them now is a death sentence.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups through teeth gritted so severely his jaw aches. “I’m so sorry.”

Time cradles him to his chest. His chin rests atop Twilight’s head. His touch is not the firm, unyielding thing it has always been. His body is no longer the unrelenting rampart, capable of being fallen upon in a storm of emotion and never once breaking. Already it has begun to lose its warmth.

“Oh, pup.” It is a murmur, a whisper as soft as a fairy’s departure. It echoes in Twilight’s ears.

It is louder than the pound of his heart, louder than the sobs that tear out of him with feral, merciless violence….

Louder even than the sound of the door, screaming on its hinges, as Time’s chest lowers and doesn’t rise again.

And when something small and determined and glowing with the deep emerald of the forest depths zips over his head and begins its dance with expert precision…he hardly knows it.

[jo-harrington]

Leave of Absence (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie has royally fucked everything up and he needs to fix it. But after an unexpected emergency back home, he steps up to be there for Reader, just like she's always there for him.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Slow burn, mutual pining, angsty, emotional, fluffy, family problems, death in the family, loss, grief, pain and comfort, road trip, avoidance of feelings, Minor religious themes, mention of Catholic Church/Reader's family is Catholic but no overarching catholicism (that's what my other story is for)

Note: Woof ok this was an uphill battle FOR A YEAR. I'm gonna say the reason that Store Manager Verse exists in its present form is because of THIS CHAPTER RIGHT HERE. Before I could bring my two silly babies here to this moment, they needed to have some serious foundations laid down. Is it the best chapter? Probably not. But I'm incredibly happy that it's here and it's done.

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other Eddie stories.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

He was nervous.

"Stacey."

Of course he was nervous.

"Freak."

And what did he do when he was nervous? He talked.

"Hey now, I'm wounded," Eddie laid a hand across his chest, trying to keep the cool guy exterior. "Calling me a freak? Did I or did I not just help you with that flat tire last week?"

He was surprised when Stacey paused, a barb surely caught on the end of her tongue. She even looked a little embarrassed for a moment before her own frosty expression returned and she had the decency to look down her nose at him.

Sticking to the status quo.

"I know you're trying to put my boss under a love spell or hypnosis or something," she rolled her eyes. "So don't act like you would have helped any other time if she hadn't asked. Gotta keep her buttered up so you can get in her pants. Gag."

The typical stab of insult was welcome; the rest of it...wasn't. Not when it came to you. Not after what happened on Sunday. Not when he was nervous.

Sunday...

What started out as a normal night for the two of you had quickly become a nightmare. For him at least.

Well...it had been a dream at first. Hanging out. Food, laughter, music; it was nothing out of the norm for a Sunday night together. But then he had to go and suggest a little weed, where you had some kind of...bad reaction. To try and get your mind off the panic that had quickly taken over your body...he'd done the first thing that came to mind.

The only thing that came to mind lately when you were around.

He kissed you.

And he kept kissing you because you hadn't pushed him away. In fact, you’d kissed him harder.

For minutes or hours, he couldn't quite tell, he was overjoyed and he basked in being surrounded by you, in finding pleasure with you.

Finding pleasure. God, there was that poet's heart Mrs. Mills always told him he had. Almost fucking. Grinding one out on his couch. But yeah...finding pleasure worked too. Because it wasn't just a meaningless romp; he was kind of crazy about you, so of course it was gonna be special. Poetic.

How long had he been on the edge about confessing his feelings and ruining your friendship? He was the only one to blame when it came to keeping his mouth shut; Kyle had been telling him to just ask you out and plant one on you forever. And then Eddie did and it was perfect.

Until it wasn't. Until Wayne came home and Eddie had seen the panic and the fear and the...realization in your eyes, and he knew how badly he'd fucked up. Let alone the fact that you immediately ran away.

You’d been avoiding him for a few days. “Avoiding him,” as though school and work hadn't been putting you on opposite schedules. Still, there were no phone calls. No waiting to take your breaks with him. Only awkward glances as he passed your store on the way to start his shift, or a strained smile as you passed each other in the parking lot as he was coming and you were going.

And now Stacey was…being Stacey.

Had you told her? Complained about him? Made it known to your employees that the two of you had made a huge mistake.

No you would never…

Still, his nerves got the better of him and although he didn’t want to seem desperate, especially around Stacey of all people, he was.

"...did she say that or..." He paused and shook his head. "Where is your boss anyway? She’s supposed to close tonight right?”

Stacey looked a little unsure again and this time it made his stomach turn.

People were usually nervous around Eddie, but he had grown plenty used to that reaction from a wide array of classmates and neighbors.

Once again, when it came to you, especially given the circumstances, things were different. Maybe that's what was happening here? Maybe Stacey knew something he didn't, and you'd told her not to say anything so you could let him down easily.

Eddie was generally a level-headed guy but sometimes...sometimes...it didn't matter if he had a level head because the entire world was tipping on its side.

Who had you told? Stacey for sure...maybe Chrissy? Chrissy always avoided him at school thanks to his resident freak status, Starcourt Mall be damned. What about Mindy? Mindy was your only other confidante outside of him; what did she know? Had she convinced you to...to what? Dump him as a friend? Take the time you needed to avoid him? Somewhere between Sunday and today, had you finally come to the realization that he had been dreading all along. That he wasn't worth your time?

"Um, yeah,” Stacey finally replied and Eddie blinked himself back to reality. She picked at her cuticles and avoided his eyes. Never a good sign. “Well she was supposed to but Mindy was here when I clocked in. She's sick or something, I don't know. Mindy wouldn't say exactly...but she never calls out so..."

“Well where’s Mindy now?” he asked, almost desperately.

“She’s finishing up her break in the back,” she explained with a nod. “I can go see if she’s done.”

She disappeared into the stockroom, leaving him alone in the store.

He was unsure how to feel. Relief coursed through him; you weren’t avoiding him, you were simply not here. But on the other hand, what if you weren't here because you were avoiding him?

What if Stacey didn't know anything but Mindy did. Because no, you never called off. Ever. A fact that you had told him when he suggested playing hooky one busy Saturday when you were overwhelmed by a never-ending mid shift.

“I never leave early. I never take a sick day.”

“Well, shit, did you have perfect attendance in school too?”

“Uhm,” you hesitated, biting your lip naughtily. “I’m not at will to say.”

“Oh, you bad girl.”

"If it isn't our resident Van Halen impersonator," Mindy greeted as she walked out of the stockroom. Her usual sing-songs mom voice replaced by a gentler one as she smiled at him solemnly. "She's taking a few sick days. Should be back in time for your night out on Sunday, I hope."

"She's sick?" Eddie asked skeptically. "Wasn’t she here yesterday, she looked fi--"

"Why don't you give her a call," she insisted. She glanced over to the stock room door and as Eddie tracked her gaze, he saw Stacey eavesdropping. "Actually I was gonna stop by after work. Why don't you go? That way it's not a game of telephone.

"I'm sure she could really use a friend right now."

---

Eddie had never been inside of your apartment before.

He knew where you lived, sure; he'd dropped you off or picked you up a few times, especially once the two of you started planning dates outings outside of the usual Sundays. He'd never even rang the bell, if he was being honest. You usually watched out the window eagerly when you were expecting him to arrive.

The realization hit him as he stood there at the little residential door between the bakery and the furniture store, staring at your name on a little Dymo punch label next to the buzzer that he'd just jammed his finger into, and it filled him with doubt.

You'd been to the trailer a few times. Seen all of his favorite places, tried all of his favorite foods. Listened patiently to his insecurities and issues. Still, you seemed to keep him at arms length, if he didn't even know what your apartment looked like; did you have posters on the walls or pictures of your family? What color was your couch? Or the towels in your bathroom?

He knew so much about you but did he really know you, and did you even want him to?

The door buzzed open and Eddie took the stairs up to your landing two at a time, all the while worrying and overthinking: You weren't expecting him and he was beginning to doubt that you even wanted him here in the first place. Sure, Mindy told him to go over...but was this taking it a step too far?

He started preparing an apology as he closed the final few distance to your door and it swung open--

"I'm sorry I fucked up, I didn't mean to break your trust. I'll do anything...anything...if you'll just forgive me. If you just give me another chance."

--and he saw the sorry state you were in.

Hair and clothes mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, a bundle of black fabric clenched tightly in your hands; the shine of tears and snot was accentuated by the incandescent lights in the hallway.

"Eddie," you whispered in a strained, broken voice, then you dropped the fabric to cross the threshold of your apartment and bury your face into his shirt. He panicked for a moment, arms held uselessly at his sides as your tears penetrated the worn fabric at his shoulder, but he quickly engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm sorry," you both spoke over one another, then you pulled back and stared him straight in the eye. "You're sorry? I'm sorry."

"No," you shook your head. "I'm sorry. I...I should have done better, I shouldn't have--"

"I crossed a line and I ruined our friendship and--"

You both continued talking over one another, each half-listening to what the other had to say as you got your own apologies out, until you both synced back up again.

"I fucked up and I'm sorry."

Your shoulders and chests heaved from the cacophony of emotion and a tense laugh was shared between the two of you. Then Eddie came to a realization.

"If you're sorry..." he frowned and let his eyes rake over you again. "If you thought that you hurt or scared me--which you didn't, by the way. It was...it was me, my mistake--why are you crying?"

You worried your lip for a second and a lone tear escaped your eye and trailed down your cheek; his hand immediately came up so he could thumb it away.

"Mindy told me you were sick," he muttered, taking advantage of the proximity to be a little gentler, a little smaller than he was used to being, so you could put your trust in him again. "What happened?"

"Uhm..." you croaked. "I'm not sick. I'm just taking a few sick days. Bereavement days...actually. Little leave of absence. Just through the end of the weekend."

The word was distantly familiar to him; the memories, though, would stay with him forever. Rick picking him up from school, a phone call from Wayne to his boss. An appointment for all three of them to get suits rented...and then some flowers ordered. Shiny shoes that he could see his teary-eyed reflection in.

He swallowed painfully and watched you do the same as you prepared your confession.

"My...uh...my grandpa died last night."

And before he knew it, it was 12 hours later. 12 hours that he spent relatively quietly.

He let you fill the silence; let you talk and cry, only opening his mouth to comfort you when the realization hit again and it got to be too much.

He helped you pack your bag for the trip back home. That was when your grief finally turned into anger.

Towards your family. Towards yourself.

"I feel like it's my fault," you sighed as you showed him how to find a pair of tights that didn’t have runs in them, whatever that meant. "I was the only one who took care of him. Doctor's appointments, took him on walks, made sure he didn't have the food he wasn't supposed to. The works. And I left. It's my fault he's gone. At least, that's the way Michael made it sound on the phone."

Eddie almost didn't catch the last part, said under your breath as you stuffed a shiny pair of shoes into your duffel bag, but he did. He wasn't going to let you do this to yourself; how many times over the years had he questioned how he might have been able to keep his mom from dying? On those days where he needed her most. He knew he couldn't stop you from those thoughts, at least not now but he could do his best to fight them away until you could do it yourself.

"Michael," he spoke up, startling you with the realization that he heard. "That's your brother right?"

"Older brother," you nodded slowly.

"Sounds like a shithead."

"Yeah," you let out the briefest laugh and then fiddled with the zipper tab. "He kind of is."

You complained about perfect Michael and his perfect life until your stomach rumbled and Eddie offered to order dinner for the two of you. When you mentioned that you hadn't eaten all day, he made sure you had more than your fill of beef lo mein and garlic string beans as Monty Hall played on the television.

At a certain point, your takeout carton made it to the coffee table and you started to doze off as your head rested on his shoulder. It was a relief, but only for a second, because you startled back awake and dumped all the clothes out of your bag again.

"I didn't pack the right dress," you muttered. "Aunt Amelia's gonna say something about it. I just know."

So Eddie stayed up with you all night as you packed and unpacked and packed again, uncaring that he had school in the morning or Hellfire that night. Fuck it all. It didn’t matter. None of the doubts and self-hatred and worry that had plagued him all week since Sunday night even crossed his mind. All that he worried about was making sure you weren't alone.

When dawn came, and you tiredly tried to wave him out of your apartment so that he could get ready for class and you could hit the road, he pulled you into his arms and just...held you.

He closed his eyes and rocked you back and forth as you hummed softly and gripped the back of his t-shirt tightly beneath his jacket.

He thought of all the things that he could say in that moment...

Drive safe, call me tonight so I know you got there, I'm sorry, take it easy on yourself, it's not your fault.

...but none of them were able to fall from his lips.

"Welp," you sighed. "This is it."

But neither of you moved.

"Thank you for coming over Eddie. I really really appreciate it."

Still nothing. No forward momentum, no motivation to move on to the rest of the day without one another, no reassuring words from him to give you the strength you needed to go forth alone, and no will for him to leave you.

You'd both be ready when you were ready, it seemed.

But as you finally pulled away from him, and he thought about you getting in your car and driving for what might be one of the toughest weekends of your life, all he managed to say...

"Why don't I come with you? I know it's not a road trip or fun or anything. I know I have school and work but...fuck it. We can stop at the trailer, I'll leave a note for Wayne and grab the nicest clothes I own, and...I'll come with you. I just...I don't want you doing this all alone."

...resulted in him sitting in the passenger's seat of your car for 5 hours as you zoomed down the highway away from his whole life in Indiana to the great unknown of Chicago.

---

You talked for a majority of the drive.

Eddie already knew some things about your family—strict parents, pesky brothers, too many cousins than he could keep track of—but you seemed to want to prepare him because he would effectively meet all of them.

"Big Catholic family and a funeral," you glanced at him from the corner of your eye and shot a tense smile. “It's a lot. You sure you still want to come?”

You’d done that throughout the drive too, asked him if he was sure he wanted to come with you. He’d joked several times already that you’d have to leave him on the side of the road, which you wouldn’t, or turn back altogether if he chickened out.

Besides, he already called Jeff when you stopped at his place to let him grab some clothes, and canceled Hellfire; he wouldn’t chicken out for anything. He needed to be here for you.

If he was being honest, yes he was nervous. He hadn’t met any girlfriends' families before or anything, and this whole situation wasn’t exactly the way he’d ever imagined meeting yours. As you crossed the state border into Illinois, though, your breath got shallow and your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and Eddie wondered if you were looking for a way out because you never wanted the two parts of your life—family and friends—to clash.

“I don’t, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I know I’m not someone that…families approve of or anything, if that's why you keep asking if I want to be here.”

"It's not that--" you tried to interject.

"And I know we're not dating or anything but..." he trailed off awkwardly and then cleared his throat.

Well that was one way of sticking his foot in his mouth.

Your head was half turned towards him, jaw dropped, eyes darting back and forth from the road to him.

The thought of opening the car door and bailing as you zoomed down the highway briefly crossed his mind because he fucked up. Why would he say something like that? It was because he was a big dingus, actually, the biggest.

"Uh, Eddie listen--"

"No," he interrupted you again. "Sweetheart I'm sorry, that's...that wasn't fair of me. I didn't mean...I just..."

"No it's ok, we should ta--"

"I just thought that...I know I pretty much intruded on this trip, but I wanted to be here for you. But if me being here is gonna cause more problems for you...I mean damn, I don't mind taking a Greyhound back to Hawkins even. But more than anything, I want to make sure you're alright."

He nervously picked at the loose threads on the holes at his knees and was surprised when you took a hand off the steering wheel and grabbed his.

"Do you know," you whispered, voice barely audible. "I think I would have turned back by now if I tried to come alone. Michael on the phone...god I don't know how my dad's gonna be...or my aunt. I don't want to have to deal with all of that. But I know I need to be there...it's for my Papa, I have to be there.

"It's hard to go home when you've moved someplace else. When you've started to find home somewhere else. And I wasn't gonna say anything. I wasn't gonna ask you--it's too much to ask--but I secretly kind of hoped that you would ask to come along. And I'll never be able to really thank you, Eddie, for wanting to be here. For me.

"But thank you," you shot him a smile and squeezed his hand tightly.

He swallowed thickly and squeezed right back.

"I'll be here for as long as you need me to be, sweetheart. As long as you want me to be."

---

The weekend was a whirlwind, and honestly, Eddie knew he wasn't going to be able to make heads or tails of it until the two of you got home on Sunday night.

The first surprise, shortly after your heartfelt moment in the car, was the fact that you didn't actually live in Chicago. You'd been approaching the city on I-90, you even pointed out the Sears Tower to him. Then you got on an exit and drove for another 20 minutes down North Avenue.

"I feel like I've been lied to," he sniffed petulantly.

"I told you I'm from the suburbs before," you chuckled at his antics. "And it might as well be Chicago, it's all Cook County."

"We're not even driving North, how is this North Avenue?"

"We don't have time for a history lesson, we'll be there soon."

Still, it was exciting. Not exactly what he pictured in his head from watching shows on TV or seeing news reels about the city, but nonetheless different from what he was used to in Hawkins and that was the part he liked.

At a certain point, you reached a stretch of road that featured certain destinations that would live in Eddie's imagination until he could ask you about them--KiddieLand Amusement Park, Riviera Lanes, and Winston Plaza--and Eddie noticed your hands started to shake.

"You ok? There's plenty of places to pull over," he suggested. "I can drive the rest of the way."

"No it's ok," you said and swung a left-hand turn onto a residential street with houses that sort-of all looked the same, sort-of all looked different. "We're here."

You parked on the street in front of a house that you noted belonged to your aunt, and then led him down a narrow sidewalk to the backyard of the neighboring house, where a kid gangly enough to rival Mike Wheeler sat in a plastic lawn chair with headphones on, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes closed.

"Jimmy," you called to him and then kicked his foot. "Jimmy. James Joseph, wake up."

"I'm awake," he startled, knocked the headphones down so they sat around his neck, and stood up. Even with one hand rubbing his eye, your brother's resemblance to you was obvious, and a sense of dread washed over Eddie.

And so it began...meeting your family.

Jimmy was probably the best introduction of them all--there was an ease between the two of you, even with the snide jabs and banter back and forth--and that extended to Eddie. Especially when Jimmy realized that he and Eddie were wearing the same shirt.

"Don't let him fool you, he's a dweeb," you announced when Jimmy got excited over a shared love for Judas Priest, and Eddie hoped you meant your brother, but he couldn't be too sure you weren't referring to him.

There was a brief respite as you both rested for a minute, changed clothes, and ate a plate of some sort of casserole from the packed shelves of the avocado fridge in your grandpa's kitchen. Then it was an onslaught, a domino effect of faces and names that gradually got more important as you got back into the car to head towards the funeral home.

A sea of strange faces that smiled and hugged you and then looked over at Eddie in question, but not in an unwelcome way, and he was glad he'd pilfered a black scrunchie from your bag to tie his hair back respectfully.

You introduced him to this old coworker of your Papa and that great-aunt from Minneapolis and this cousin. He even got to meet your old store manager--a stern, short, blonde woman with victory rolls and shimmering black eyeshadow--who'd come to pay her respects after she saw your Papa's obituary in the newspaper; she honestly scared Eddie a little, but she made him laugh, which meant she was good in his book.

It was all reminiscent of meeting people after his mom died once upon a time, the only other funeral he'd ever been to. When people called and came out of the woodwork in an overwhelming number to offer their condolences. He had been young and sad then, but he was older, wiser, and tougher now. He shook hands and said "nice to meet you" and when people questioned whether he was a boyfriend, Eddie insisted he was just a friend who wanted to be here for you.

It wasn't a lie; still he got a skeptical gaze from at least two elderly women who tutted once they were out of earshot.

Eventually, you got to the front of the room, to the row of chairs that held your immediate family, and after a few tearful hugs, Eddie finally met your parents, your aunt and uncle, and your older brother.

He was surprised to hear "I've heard a lot about you" come from your mother's mouth, but was not surprised to hear the "no funny business under my roof" from your father after a clap on the shoulder. Your uncle said nothing after a short “hello”, just let your aunt do all the talking, and all she could talk about was your appearance.

"What are you doing, honey? What is this you're wearing? For Papa's wake? I hope you plan to wear something a little more modest for my father's funeral tomorrow. And your friend? A leather jacket? A little casual don't you think? What's that dear? Yes, nice to meet you too Edward. Thank you for coming."

Your brother Michael, though...Michael was a douchebag to put it in polite terms, and Eddie could tell that, unlike with Jimmy, the relationship between you was tense.

"You're late" he sniffed judgmentally instead of a greeting.

"We hit traffic and needed to change," you snarked right back.

"So you stopped off at home? Where's Jim? Why couldn't you get him here?"

"You know how he is at these things, he'll show up before they close up for the night. You remember how he was when Nana died. And now he's Mr. Tough Guy. He doesn't like to cry."

Back and forth the two of you went, Michael's accusations and your tense responses. Eddie could feel himself get more and more irritated the harsher it got, the angrier he felt you become. If it was anything other than a funeral--a wake, what was the difference--he would have started in on your brother several minutes ago to protect you.

And he was still tempted to.

But it was like a switch was flipped as someone else approached, and he watched as you changed right before his very eyes. As all the irritation and vulnerabilities left you, and in their place...was the Store Manager version of you he knew and sort of despised. Cold and stiff and everything he knew you weren't by the grace of becoming your friend.

Regardless, it was startling to see.

At the end of the night as Eddie settled into the second twin bed in what used to be Michael and Jimmy's shared room, Eddie realized that your customer service persona had been present for most of the evening, and had only slipped in the presence of those few family members that could see right past it.

Could they see past it? Or was it that you simply couldn't hide behind it with them?

For the whole time he'd known you, Eddie had often wondered what had driven you to Indiana. The job, sure, but...you'd left everything you'd known behind. And hell, for all the times that he wanted to get the hell out of Hawkins, he knew he couldn't leave Wayne or Rick for very long. In his heart he knew the day he finally left, he'd need to be back quite often to see them.

Now, though...when it came to you, he started to understand.

---

The next day, the day of the funeral, you couldn't stop shaking.

Eddie had been nervously second guessing the black jeans--the only non-ripped pair he owned--and Wayne's borrowed dress shirt when he saw you digging through your bag, trembling. It seemed like you were trying to hide it, kept your body moving and grabbing for something, but he noticed immediately,

He snatched the car keys out of your hands before you could get a solid grasp on them when it was time to go.

"It's alright," he reassured you. "Just tell me where I'm going and I'll get us there."

He thought it would be back to the funeral home, but instead you gave him directions to the church. A big old building with stained glass windows and a large statue of the Virgin Mary out in the front.

He could hear the organ music of the hymns emanating from within, and on the hour, the bells from the tower beside the chapel became deafening. For all the Catholic school girl jokes he made at your expense, he didn't realize you were Catholic Catholic.

"You sure I'm not gonna burst into flames if I set foot inside?" he joked to try and ease your nerves and his, but you just shook your head. He watched and suddenly felt helpless, as you began to shake more and worry your bottom lip with your teeth; he was supposed to be here to support you, to reassure you, and instead you looked ready to keel over. "Hey, it'll be ok."

"Yeah," you nodded tensely. "Yeah, let's just go inside."

You didn't make a move though, just rocked onto the toes of your shiny Mary Janes and looked on as tons of people filtered into the church.

Tons of people that, once again, reminded him of the people that had come to pay their respects for his mom. Eddie remembered being there, shaking in his shoes, trying to keep a straight-face, to be strong. To not be a baby because he was 10 years old.

It was just like you said about Jimmy the previous night; big tough guy, didn't want to cr--

Oh.

Realization hit Eddie. The culmination of all the other realizations that had been mounting over the past what? 48 hours? Maybe the past week? The two of you were more alike than he realized. Eddie had just noticed how you'd put up this strong front since you'd been home; the comfortable, safe Store Manager facade was starting to crack. Hadn't he just told you the story about his mom's funeral? How he'd fallen in love with metal because Rick had realized that he needed to process his grief? That he needed to lash out? To cry?

Here he was, trying to get you to laugh, when instead he should have been doing the opposite. But how was he gonna get you to cry? You didn't even cry much at the wake when you'd placed your hand on top of the shiny casket that held your Papa within.

Maybe it just hadn't hit you yet?

Alright, change of plans.

"Your Papa knew a lot of people," Eddie noted, gesturing towards the funeral-goers.

"He did," you agreed, and he watched as your shoulders lost the slightest bit of tension. "He was...I mean you met my cousin last night. The one who wants to run for Mayor."

"Yeah, he's got that yuppie thing about him."

"Well, my Papa could have been Mayor if he wanted," you said with the most conviction he'd ever heard in your voice. "He just didn't want to. Which means he deserved it even more. He was the nicest neighbor, the best friend. He went and played competitive Bocce at the civic center and fundraised for charity and canned his own peaches to give to people."

On and on, you talked about Papa's recipe for this and his idea for that and...

"And the way he fucking chain smoked god damn it Eddie," you hit his arm as he pulled his cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

Eddie thought that, at the very least, an emotional story would be the thing that would set you over the edge. Instead it was the pack of Marlboro Reds that he'd picked up when you had stopped for gas about halfway through the drive.

You hit his arm a few times, as you often did when you tried to playfully admonish him for this or that, then your face crumpled. Your shaking ceased as you collapsed against him and buried your face against his shoulder once again, just like you had when he first arrived at your apartment on Thursday night.

He dropped the cigarettes and folded his arms around you, pulled you into the safety of your friendship when it seemed like there wasn't anything safe out there for you right now; when you'd just lost one of the safe places you had in the world.

He whispered sweet words--comforts and reassurances--and he made you laugh once by threatening to punch your brother if he tried to make a scene.

"I'll do it," he goaded you. "I don't care if he's in mourning too. He's insufferable. Hate that guy. Never coming back to Chicago ever if he's still in town. You hear that? I might have to leave right now."

"No," you tugged him closer to you, and he reveled in the feeling. "You're staying right here. You promised."

"I did," he agreed.

The tense hold you had on him got looser and you hiccuped the last few tears you had.

A few yards away, a hearse pulled up to the curb in front of the church, and your brothers and several of your cousins went to start hauling the casket inside.

"You ready to go in?" Eddie asked. "You don't have to...but..."

"No," you shook your head and pulled back from him. "I'm ok. I'm ready."

"Good."

He waited for you to make the first move once again, but before you did, you took his hand in yours and squeezed.

"He would have been...so happy to have met you, Eddie," you looked at him earnestly. "I told him all about you. I think it hurts a little more...knowing that he didn't get the chance."

He squeezed your hand right back and smiled.

"I'm sad I didn't get the chance either. Guess I'm gonna have to work extra hard not to go to Hell so I can shake his hand in Heaven."

You snorted and pushed him away with a soft jackass then pulled him into the church with you saying he would have made the same joke.

---

The next morning, you and Eddie made a stealthy getaway.

Your father had tried to get you both to go to church with them again and you politely declined.

"We need to get on the road so we don't get back too late. I have to open tomorrow," you made the excuse.

Honestly Eddie was grateful; all the sitting and standing and kneeling...he hadn't gotten that much exercise since gym class Freshman year.

But as you soared back down North Avenue, you made a detour.

"I know this wasn't supposed to be a fun trip," you explained. "If you're up for it, we can make the drive back whenever...maybe during spring break or something? The least I can do before we head back to Hawkins, to thank you for coming, is give you a taste of good Chicago food. Especially after casseroles and funeral home sandwiches all weekend.

"It is Sunday, after all."

And that's how Eddie found himself having his first authentic Chicago style hot dog. Sitting on a picnic bench outside, under a red and yellow striped umbrella, the ambient sounds of cars zooming and your banter back and forth the perfect backdrop.

"No ketchup, are you kidding me right now Eddie?" you swatted his hand.

"Why do they have ketchup if they don't want it on the hot dog," he argued.

"It's for the fries and the fries only. You need to have the whole experience. A hot dog with everything, and ketchup on the fries only."

He watched as you unwrapped your hotdog and began picking through the toppings. Hypocrite.

"Wait, I thought you said you needed to have the whole experience, why are you taking the peppers off."

"I don't like the peppers."

"Are you kidding me right now?" Eddie scoffed. "Gonna have to take your Chicago Card away. Oh wait, I'm sorry. Suburb card."

"Oh my god, just eat. Before I leave you here."

He took his first bite and his tastebuds sang, as you munched on a French fry with a cheeky smile.

And Eddie was happy. Happy to be here with you. Sundays were his favorite days, hands down, and he would do everything in his power to keep them that way.

It might not have been the happiest weekend, there might still be some unanswered questions between the two of you. But you were here with him and you were still friends, and after everything that had happened, that's all Eddie could ask for.

Next Part: Closing Time

[sage-green-matcha]

FIGHT OR FLIGHT - ETHAN LANDRY ✈️

“It’s my move, fight or flight?” - Conan Gray

Content includes: gf! Ethan Landry, angst, betrayal…slight mention of reader getting horny ab sweaty Ethan (relatable) 😭

A/n: I literally adore Conan sm! I’ve been a fan of him for years and idk why I haven’t written anything based off his work! Hope u enjoy :)

<3

<3

<3

Well, fight or flight...I'd rather die than have to cry in front of you.

You swore your heart stopped as ghost face revealed himself. Ethan Landry, the so-called love of your life. The signs flashed in your face, but you were too in love to care.

"Y/n, hi sweet thing" You felt too betrayed to respond. All you felt was regret, anger, sadness. It filled every pore in your body and you felt like your heart was being stabbed thousands of times. God, you felt so stupid. You should've known. You shouldn't have let your heart get in the way of things.

Fight or flight?

Ethan knew it probably wasn't a good idea, to make you choose between him or your friends. But he did know you loved him, and he had manipulated you enough for you to think he was the only one who would ever love you.

"Come on Y/n, get the easy way out. It's life or death here" Quinn taunted you with her knife, Ethan watching you with curiosity.

"Y/n, don’t go with them. We can beat them together” Your eyes were watering, Sam’s figure blurry as she talked to you. "I can't, I can't pick" the answers was obvious. You had to pick your friends. But something inside of you told you to go with Ethan.

I'd rather lie than tell you I'm in love with you.

"We're waiting Y/n. Come on babe, you know you love me. I love you, I always will and I always have. Don't tell me all our time spent together meant nothing to you"

You didn’t want to admit it, that you loved him. He meant everything to you, but did you still feel the same after he revealed himself? You weren’t sure.

You knew you shouldn't listen, but it was so tempting. It felt wrong, to feel your core heat up at the sight of Ethan’s sweaty face. He looked so hot with a knife in his hand.

You started to question your sanity. He’s a killer, he killed Anika and who knows how many other people? But…he was your killer.

“What’s it gonna be Y/n?” You stood in between Ethan and Sam and Tara. “Don’t do it Y/n, please” Mascara ran down Tara’s cheeks, her hair and face sweaty.

You glanced back at the sisters before walking towards Ethan, cuddling yourself into his arms. “Y/n? Please, why?” Their lips spilled with cries, feeling betrayed by your decision.

“Shut up” Quinn’s words came out angrily, frustration shutting the sisters up.

“That’s my girl, now sit and look pretty while we work” He placed a kiss on your head and then your lips. The taste of blood in his mouth made you feel sick.

“Fuck you, Y/n. Hope you fucking burn in hell” Sam’s words hurt, but they wouldn’t mean anything after she was dead. This was the only way to survive. Also, you had the one thing you’d always wanted, Ethan Landry.

It's my move, fight or flight?

[somestonerchick423]

Warning: blood, violence, swearing, sexual harassment

So I had a thought…

He was completely and utterly, absolutely smitten, his whole team had their eyes on you but Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley swears he’d burn the world to the ground for you.

Of course when a beautiful dame like you walked onto base you’d catch a few eyes, even decked out in tactical gear it was obvious your body was bangin, and you were quiet a dish either way, but that’s not why Simon would secretly look for you in any room he went into, the attitude you carried yourself with drive him wild.

One day in the mess hall his team and him were sitting at a table enjoying some casual conversation, the second you walked into the building his attention was drawn, watching as you and a few of your friends gathered your dinners and take a seat almost clear across the room.

“You gonna keep staring or you gonna go say something this time?” Gaz says, breaking Ghosts train of thought

“Fuck off” He grumbled and moved his gaze to his tray, shovelling food into his mouth, ignoring the snickers from his friends.

Any further teasing was silenced by an argument taking place across the mess hall, None of them could make out what was going on, only hearing a ‘piss off’ and some other things, Ghost immediately recognized it to be you, your venomous voice, even from a distance. The fight drew the attention of his whole team, as they watched in interest, the stream of profanity coming from you making them chuckle, the spit-fire they’ve all come to enjoy observing once again putting on a good show, that is until a guy you were arguing with grabbed you, groping at you.

Realizing what exactly the argument was about all four men shot up from their seats, ready to interfere, possible render this piece of shit completely incapacitated, but before any of them could even get a step in, the jerk was screaming in pain, gripping at his thigh while he stumbled back, hand covered in blood from where you had just stabbed him with the fork you had in hand.

And there you sat, eating your meal, now with a spoon in hand, some blood on the tips of your fingers as you shovelled a bite into your mouth, seemingly unbothered.

He knew then and there he was in love. He’d do anything and everything for you, walk to the ends of the earth and back.

[ink-siren]

˗ˏˋʚ 𝙢𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞-𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚 ɞ´ˎ˗

ᡣ𐭩 A/N: this is like my first time posting on Tumblr (especially smut) so bear with me please - don’t hesitate to tell me if something is wrong or just weird, english is also not my first language :)

ᡣ𐭩 WARNINGS/CONTENT: smut, fingering, love (ig), petnames, vanilla (almost) sex, praise kink

ᡣ𐭩 WORD COUNT: 560 words

He was so fucking in love with you. Everything about you was infatuating. Your beautiful, big doe eyes, your sweet smile, your communicative laughter but most importantly; your oh so hot and melodic little moans and whimpers he could hear whenever he was pleasuring you.

Right now, you were on the couch between his legs, Avatar long forgotten. Your shorts were on the ground so you were only covered by his shirt, wayy too big for you. One of his hands was gently caressing your belly, while the other was slowly rubbing your clit.

“Come on princess, don’t try to be quiet… Just let me hear you.” He didn’t need to tell you twice and you immediately started whimpering louder as your hand left your mouth to grab the blanket next to you on the couch.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” You could hear him smile as he praised you. “Let me take care of you sweetheart, you deserve it.” At his words you let out a louder moan, receptive to what he was saying. He knew you were close and stopped his movements. The lack of sensations, when you were so close to finishing made you let out another moan, this time of disappointment.

“Don’t worry love, you’ll get what you want. My sweet girl…” He gathers your arousal with two fingers, running them up and down while you sigh with relief. He slowly, slowly thrusts a finger into you, watching you relax into him and resume your moans and whimpers. As he fastens his motions, he starts kissing your neck sometimes leaving small hickeys, a result of his nibbling on your burning and sweat-coated skin.

“I’m gonna put another finger in… Is that okay love?” Although he already knows the answer, he loves to hear you confirm that you enjoy what he does. You nod eagerly, hoping that he will soon let you climax. “Sweetheart… You know I want to hear you.” He smiles, waiting for you to speak. “Pl- please…” He laughs and stops rubbing your belly to gently grab your face and make you look at him. “Come on princess, I know you can do it.” He kisses you and as you part you whisper to him; “Please, I need more…”

“There you go love, wasn’t so hard wasn’t it?” He kisses your neck again, and carefully slides a second finger in your core. You grab his thigh, accidentally scratching it. He doesn’t mind, it means you like it. He picks up a good pace, comfortable for the both of you.

Soon enough, he can feel your walls fluttering in his fingers, you’re close. Your moans get louder and louder, you stab his thigh with your nails not even hearing him wince. Damn that’s gonna leave a mark -not that he’s not used to it- you’re lucky it’s up his thigh, he’ll be able to hide it.

“That’s it honey, that’s it…” He watches come on his fingers, smiling like an idiot as you pick up your breath. You turn your head to kiss his cheeks, to thank him for being the best boyfriend ever -at least that’s what he likes to think-. “Come on love, let’s get you cleaned up.” He tries to stand up but realizes you’re not moving. “What about you?” He laughs, kissing your head. “Sweetheart, tonight is all about you.”

Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Saturo Gojo, Kento Nanami

ᡣ𐭩 A/N: don’t hesitate to tell me what other characters it made you think about <3

[dairy-farmer]

Aaw D:> tumbr ate my first draft of this. But I persist!

Because? Consider! Ra's being a GENUINELY charismatic, manipulative Threat! Oh shit!

He can read you at a glance. Offer you your hearts desires. Money, power, vengeance, purpose. Don't you YEARN? Haven't they WRONGED you? The world is... so very UNFAIR, isn't it?

Don't you want to feel safe again?

Be strong?

Poisoned honey, spoken in a pleasing voice. Any mask for any job. Mentorly, seductive, fatherly, concern, whatever breaks your walls. Makes you TRUST him. He's been doing this for years. Centuries.

Bruce calls it a cult for a reason.

Never let him get into your head. Let him talk. Give no quarter or it's DONE. Bruce drilled it in to all of them. If you give even a sliver of the smallest scrap... he will take you for all you are worth and destroy you. Mould what remains however he pleases. Bruce himself, BARELY had the mental and emotional strength to escape.

And he's the most stubborn bastard alive.

But... but Bruce is GONE. Lost to the time stream. And no one believe Tim. Will listen. Yeah, he's not explaining himself that great. But he's upset, his brain has always moved faster then his mouth, it's... it's kinda a terrible combination. But that doesn't mean he's CRAZY!

Of all the shit they've seen! THIS is where you think things become impossible!? THIS is when you won't even check?! Fine. He'll go on his own.

Except he's not on his own.

Because Ra's either believes him... or has spotted his chance to strike.

Murmurs and drawling and croons in his ears. Like the devil whispering temptation as it leads him farther and farther from home. Tim's TRYING. Remembers what Bruce told him. Give him nothing. But... but every snapped reply, every short answer, is met with such... predatory amusement.

He's making a mistake.

He KNOWS he's making a mistake.

But Bruce is out there. He... he has to get him home. He can do this.

Then Tamara Fox is sent after him by her dad. He gets stabbed and loses an organ, nearly dies in the desert. Now there's a hostage and fucking spider assassins hunting Ra's cult of killers.

Ra's, who no longer seems amused.

He can't-... he HAS to do this. For Bruce. For Tam. For the people they've killed.

He manages. They invade. The stuff of nightmares. Honestly, fffffuck Ra's, he can handle himself. He's getting Tam and Pru out of here and blowing everything to kingdom come. Except... except... shit, the leader. Touch of death. He's so tired. Reflexes not what the should be, torso still too stiff from being TORN OPEN.

Weeks of jet lag, poor sleep, worse diet, and just generally spotty meal times, have taken their toll. His reaction time is off. Not by much. But enough to die by. And... and this is it. He IS going too...

THWUMP!

Staff. With the sort of deadly precision even weapon master's would consider unachievable. The sort that take lifetimes to achieve. So close, if he blinked, his eyelashes would sweep the weapon that just saved his life. The force behind that strike would shatter bone. The follow up, clearly meant to kill.

Ra's Al Ghul.

Tim is already jerking back and toward Tam. No time to observe. But... oh. Oh. He must look so... so CLUNKY with a staff in his hands, in Ra's eyes. The man moves like a rolling storm. All dark untouchable mist and deadly flashing light. Dances have been less elegant.

But that doesn't matter. It CAN'T.

He has to get out of here.

Tim leaves Ra's to either win or die. Flees with Tam and Pru. Pulls up his "fuck you, Ra's" program. And tries to get it going...

Shit.

Only half the bases blew.

A blow, yes. But not the "get fucked, now and forever" like he intended. At least the alarms behind him are sounding. So THIS one is gonna go. Rip in burning peices, ya spider fucks! (No one tell Bruce. It's been a long year okay?)

Except when has life EVER been kind or fair to Tim? Even once? ESPECIALLY this year? Ra's. Barely sweaty from his death match and ready for round two, just kicked open the hanger door behind them. Still in full armor. Still fully armed.

Tim doesn't even bother to calculate in his head.

They're fucked.

He slaps the evidence Bruce NEEDS to be rescued into Tam's arms. Tells her to get it to her father. Begs Pru to get her there. Tells them... to run.

Stands his ground.

He gets his ass beat like a drum. It's not even CLOSE. He's wounded, exhausted, and down to one weapon. Less trained then Ra's. And Ra's? Already warmed up, well rested, armed to the teeth and IN ARMOUR. Also probably pretty mad, what with Tim blowing up his bases.

He... he doesn't expect to wake up.

But he does.

Fancy guest room. The sort of guest not allowed to LEAVE, but still. Rich woods, fine fabrics, tasteful design. Ra's in an ornate, silken, open robe and loose low hanging lounge pants, sprawled out like a tiger as he casually sharpens a sword.

Subtle.

Captured then. He would have expected a dungeon after, you know, the whole "fuck you" base exploding. And Ra's? Doesn't even pause in his weapon maintenance as he calmly, in an almost musing voice, informs him that there's no NEED for THAT.

"Bases can be rebuilt. Rabble recollected."

"But you, Detective?"

What a glorious last stand~. Why, Tamara was it? He's quite sure Tamara is TEARFULLY recounting "your valiant final moments, even as we speak. You've done all the work to kill yourself, FOR me, Detective. I would be a fool not to take advantage of that."

He finally pauses, testing the edge of the blade. Pleased with it's sharpness.

Tim let's himself flop back down on the bed, refusing to wait for eye contact with those gemstone green eyes. So... what now? Torture? Brainwashing? Lectures on how awesome you are and how Tim should totally join you?

Of course not. Why would Ra's do THAT, when he has Tim right where he wants him? Tired, hurting, isolated. Mentally and emotionally exhausted. In other words... broken down. The world has done his job FOR him. Not, of course, that he'd ever SAY that. Why show your hand, after all?

So, no, no~

Now? You rest. Ra's brings you food. And if you want something? You'll have to trade for it.

Theeeere it is! Time called it. And WHAT, you creep, EXACTLY will he be expected to "trade"?

So suspicious! But, of course, he understands. Their's has hardly been a pleasant relationship, so far. Riddled with conflict. He simply wishes for conversation. For Tim to take care of himself. Allow RA'S to take care of him. After all, Ra's knows he would never allow him to help, otherwise.

.....right. "help".

Tim knows that's bullshit. He is trapped and this is a trap. Some form of conditioning. A fostering of dependence, maybe. He refuses to fall for it. Ignores Ra's, turns over, and pretends to go back to bed.

Ra's just hums, amused.

Because... sure enough? For all that Ra's oh so helpfully furnished "his" room with books and art supplies? Non-technological amusements? He can only ignore the only other person in the room for some many days. Can only stew in his "what ifs" and not knows for so long.

Damn it.

So he trades. Cagey and suspicious, looking for traps in every bit of wording and every action. Just as Ra's knew he would. Slowly exhausting himself. Just as Ra's knew he would. Hyper-vigilance taking it's brutal, chipping toll.

Just as Ra's knew it would~.

He asks only you eat this lovely snack you will enjoy. Take a nap, as look so tired. Allow him to massage those worn, long abused muscles. Wash the unmanageable curls of your hair. A conversation, perhaps, on that topic you love so much. You are quite knowledgeable.

And... and damn it. The body? Straight out refuses to stay vigilante forever. Especially when there appears to be no threat. When things are soft and soothing. It starts to slip through his fingers like sand. He keeps catching himself. Forgetting. Catching himself again.

Ra's has such... such a soothing voice, when he wishes too. Like rich cologne on a winter's coat, wrapping you in a masculine warmth against the cold. Strong, deadly hands. Unfairly good as they gently cradle his head, run fancy soaps and scented oils through his hair. Untwist the mess his muscles have become.

Like... like he's on some sort of high end vacation.

Or some pampered pet.

He's actually back to a healthy weight. He doesn't look like a disaster survivor.. and he just... just...

He has to get out of here. Soon. I-It's so comfortable. Soothing. Like sinking into warm honey, it clings. He just... there's this growing part of him that wants... because... because, yeah. Yeah, maybe he IS tired. Maybe it WOULD be nice. To stay. To be taken care off. Pampered.

But he CAN'T.

He has to get out.

So he confronts Ra's. What's it gonna take? Hopefully. This will blow up. A fight maybe. Something to give him some ANGER. Anything but this damn comfort and softness. It's sapping his will to fight. But of course not. Ra's has got him read like a learning letters pamphlet.

Of COURSE Ra's will let him go~!

...if Tim does... one little thing for him...

Those fucking TRADES. And this is it, he can feel it. Trap already sprung and now comes the moment to either gnaw off his own leg or be captured. Ra's looks so unbearably pleased. Victorious in his machinations and now reaping his reward. Tim wants to break his stupid smug face. But that will get him nowhere.

What.

What is the God damned trade.

Oh~ Just a moment of your time. Allow Ra's a taste of the feast you so vigilantly gaurd against him. He spreads his arms, elegant, white teeth flashing like a damn shark. The very picture of a wealthy, powerful, scoundrel. Promises in a low purr to behave.

The part of his brain that lights up when he's about to do something stupid, practically explodes from his head just to beat him to death. Sings the song of ten thousand klaxons. Oh... oh this is so PROFOUNDLY stupid there are are no words. Is possibly THE WORST idea.

He still... agrees.

Watchs Ra's not so much stand, as rise to his feet. Fluid and controlled. Letting his robe slide from his shoulders in an easy roll, to fall into a pool on the ground. The sword is set aside. Ra's focus on him. Undivided. It... it should not be MORE terrifying, unarmed and in just pants, then armed and in full armor. And yet...

Tim's mouth feels bone dry. Mistake. Mistaaaake....

He feels hunted. There aren't even that many steps, to cross the room. Yet he's shifted, distinctly, from a stride to a prowl. Tim feels absolutely no shame in backing up. Trying to gather his thoughts.

Ra's doesn't give him the chance.

Before Tim can even full register more then "too close!", a powerful hand is sliding through his hair to cradle is head, an arm like steel wrapping around his waist. He's pulled into an overwhelming kiss.

He brain stops.

The taste of Chai and a commanding mouth, overwhelm him. Steal his air. Tease and focus his attention. He's manhandled back onto the bed. A hand trails down Tim's body, another reaching up to wrench one of the pillows free of the pile. A possessive mouth slowly meanders down his body.

Kisses, sucked marks, teeth lined tastes of skin.

His hands grip like they want to imprint themselves. Leave permanent marks. Are trying, very, very hard not too. Not yet at least.

Not even divine intervention could save his shorts, Ra's rips them. Guides a pillow under his lower back. Tim has all of a second to be confused before everything Iights up. He chokes on a squeak.

The rumbling laugh Ra's makes does NOT help. Powerful hands holding him in place, keeping him from escaping the... the hot and wet! Tim writhes. It not the first time someone's eaten him out. But... but! It didn't feel like this! Was teammates and just fooling around. Not practiced seduction and centuries of skill.

His legs are already shaking. He's gasping for air. Trying to buck his hips closer to that magnificent feeling, trying to get away from how overwhelming it feels. Clenching his fists in the sheets. Whining like he's wounded.

It's PERFECT. Ra's KNEW he'd be weak to pleasure.

Knew his Detective was worth the wait.

Rolls and teases his tounge down, just a bit. Brings calloused fingers into play. To drive his Detective mad. Tease his sensitive little gem, while he plunders deep and cruelly with his tounge.

It's delightful. Watching him come apart. Again and again. First on his tounge alone, then joined by his fingers. Finding the places he KNOWS his Detective his most sensitive, and rubbing, stroking, teasing without mercy or relent.

Until even that magnificently stubborn boy, is a teary, drooling, red faced mess. Thighs painted with his pleasure. Limbs weak and trembling. So BEAUTIFULLY compliant and needy. Reliant on Ra's for everything. Craving his warmth. His care.

Head empty of those ever rushing thoughts.

He, of course, keeps his word. Let's Tim go. Back to the real world. Too the cruelties man does to man. Too being unappreciated. Tired and overworked. Too an empty, uncomfortable bed. A poor diet. The judgments of so called friends.

Hmmm~ Ra's wonders~ how long will it take?

Before the world does his job for him? Again. Before his Detective is tired. Sore. Lonely. Worn down and in need of care. Of a little... pleasure. A warm body to hold him in the night. Companionship IS vital to a healthy human mind and body, after all. Ra's can be a "friend". A lover. Whatever works, really.

He has time.

And Tim? Tim made the mistake of letting him in.

-🐼🐼🐼

ra's being MASSIVELY charismatic, having an effect that just lulls people into wanting to follow and obey him makes a lot of sense honestly! especially since for the most part the situtation given is that people follow ra's more out of admiration for his power/control of the lazarus pits and that's really it. ra's being incredibly charismatic and inspriring the fanatical loyalty that cults exhibit is soo good!

[mae-gi-writes]

Finders Keepers | Gally [TMR] - Part 4

In which Gally gets soft for one of the boys in the Glade, only…is it a boy? alternatively; In which Mai disguises herself into a boy to fit in the Glade, only to be suspected by the keen eyes of the Builder's Keeper.

taglist: @edynmeyer1 @ss28 @kurowvie @vaugarkel

Also available on Wattpad.

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-----

Don't look at him.

Gally stares straight ahead, not realizing that he's glowering at the wall where Frypan's apron is currently hanging. It's been three days and he's still not over his crazy theories because somehow his brain doesn't want to shut up.

He's tired, he lacks sleep and he merely wants to take a fat nap despite the risk of missing dinner tonight.

His fork, currently stabbed into a piece of meat from his curry bowl, is left unattended as he keeps on scowling at the apron like it's done something to him, and would've probably continued doing so if not for Alby's hand falling onto his shoulder.

"Gally."

That's when the said young man looks up at his leader, blinking and replying a gruff, "yeah?"

"You alright shank? You've been glaring at this wall for ages," the Leader motions towards Frypan's apron, "Fry did something to piss you off?"

"No," Gally resumes eating with a little too much vigor as Alby takes a seat across from him, "I was going to tell you that we're doing Bonfire night tonight."

"Why?" Gally says through a mouthful of food.

"Because we missed Mai's Bonfire night and I think everyone needs a break."

"Count me out then," Gally finishes up his bowl before he pushes it away, and when his leader's gaze turns stern, adds, "what?"

Alby leans forward just enough for the Builder to catch his eye,"You're a Keeper. How's it gonna look like to your Builders if you don't turn up?"

Gally's own blue eyes narrow, "I'm tired Alby. Just do it without me."

"We can't. We need you, and plus," a smile flickers across Alby's face, "who's gonna beat Mai up?"

Gally snorts at that, "the Greenie'll probably wet himself before he even gets to the circle."

"Is that a yes then?" Alby bumps his shoulder, "c'mon shank. Let's have some fun."

And that's how Gally finds himself mixing up his booze for Bonfire night, grumbling under his breath as everyone around him bustles with excitement. Stacks of wood are piled up high and Frypan's going all out in the kitchen, cooking up a feast for the occasion. Others are chattering his ears off and Gally wishes he can dump everything down the drain and find his hammock.

It is then that a particular blonde, second-in-command, sidles up to him, "ey Gal, you alright?"

"Fine as a ray of sunshine," Gally grumbles out, still not out of his hole of impending doom as he realizes what a mistake this is.

"Come and sit with us when you're done," Newt motions towards the table at the far back where Minho is knocking back a few drinks with some other Runners, "you look like you need a drink."

Gally has to agree with that.

He does need a drink.

As Alby lights up the bonfire and the flames bursts out like a million fireflies, the chatter of Gladers increase tenfold, the night slowly giving way to a much lighter atmosphere filled with hope and fun, an escape from the doom that usually fills their days. It's a different image from their routine and it's like a breath of fresh air, something that they need just so that they can hold on a little longer.

Finally done and ready to hit the sack, Gally decides to stride over to where Newt and Minho are currently discussing matters in hushed voices. He storms up to them, drops his body onto a nearby chair and takes a swig of his drink, relishing in the familiar burn down his throat.

The rest of the Builders are sitting at another table, laughter and boisterous chatter reaching his ears and making him want to walk away. It's in moments like these that Gally wishes he could be alone.

He hates noise, hates it so much more when it's useless.

And that's when the Greenie decides to plop in the seat right opposite him with a beam, "hey Gally!" the slur is evident in Mai's voice, causing the latter's eyebrow to rise up in curiosity.

He tilts his head towards Newt, eyes narrowed in suspicion when he glances over to Minho, "that shank's been drinking?"

"Mai wanted to know what your secret recipe was," Newt shrugs in response, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that this Greenie is literally swaying in front of Gally's face, "I think he likes it."

"That's an understatement," the Builder mutters. He spots Mai trying to swig another mouthful from his cup and quickly snatches it out of his hand before anymore damage is done, "that's enough for you," he snaps more sternly than intended.

Mai pouts, "but it's Bonfire night. Alby said anything can happen on Bonfire night."

"Yeah and if you keep drinking that clunk, terrible things will happen to you, slinthead. So slim it," Gally proceeds to toss the rest of it into his own cup, much to Mai's displeasure.

He makes a noise of protest from the back of his throat, "you're so rude, Gally. I was just trying to have fun!" his hands wave in the air in a dramatic manner, causing Newt and Minho to chuckle at the scene.

"Yeah I think you're right," Newt says, "the Greenie's a goner."

"He's a shucking lightweight, that's what he is," adds Minho.

Nevertheless, Mai is still challenged to a fight in the ring circle, and when Gally adamantly refused to fight a drunkard, is replaced by none other than another one of the Builders who seems all too keen to beat the newbie. A cut lip and a couple of bruises later find Mai sprawled out just outside of the circle, prompting hollers and exclamations of success, some sniggering as they leave Mai on the floor for Newt and Minho to pick up.

Gally's about to turn in for the night -- god knows he really does need that sleep and his hammock is looking tempting right at this particular moment -- when Newt dumps the Greenie beside him, cut lip and all.

"Gal, keep an eye on him for a minute will ya?" Newt says, and before Gally can say anything else, disappears into the crowd.

"Great," Gally mutters as another sigh falls from his lips. He doesn't have a choice but to gaze at Mai, whose face seems to be blossoming with new blue and purple decorative bruises every minute. "you look like shit."

"Gee thanks Gally, that's very kind of you," comes Mai's shaky inhale. Gally watches as the young Glader winces when he touches his face, "everything hurts," he whimpers like a kicked puppy and the Builder can't help but roll his eyes. Pathetic.

Finding a spare napkin that someone had left on the table, Gally holds it out to the Greenie, "here," he says gruffly, and when Mai doesn't respond, proceeds to press it into his palm.

"Thank you," Mai hiccups as he starts to wipe the blood of his face, "thank you very much...Gally."

The glader merely grunts in response. He's not quite sure how to respond to the rush of gratefulness in Mai's voice. He's not used to it, to people saying thank you and looking at him with anything other than disgust or fear.

Mai is different and he senses it. He's just not sure in what sense of the word.

Maybe because he's not what he seems--

Oh stop it, he says to himself. He should not be worrying about someone else's affairs when he has enough on his mind as it is.

So despite his reluctance to leave the Greenie alone with Minho and the rest of the Runners, Gally takes it upon himself to walk away to find the comfort of his hut, telling himself that the Greenie doesn't need him and in any case it's not his problem if ever something happens. He's not his babysitter after all, is he?

He tries not to think too hard about that.

----

The morning has started off on a wrong foot.

First off, Mai had woken up only to find a dark spot along the side of her inner thigh, a sign that her monthly duties are up. She'd scrambled around in a panicked heap as she tugged fresh clothes from her small rucksack hanging from her hammock before making a dash for the shower stalls, thanking god that it was still early morning and the sun hadn't risen yet.

She thought that would be the end of it -- setting a white protective cloth over her underwear and changing out of her dirty clothes -- but what she hadn't been expecting was the pain. It seared through her abdomen, squeezing her lower stomach as she made her way back to Homestead and Mai had no choice but to curl over, breathing loudly through her mouth as pain seized her body.

Great, and with those monthly duties came the consequences. As if she had time to deal with those in a camp full of boys that were not even aware of what she was exactly.

She was mentally kicking herself for not having divulged the truth in the first place when she's suddenly met with a familiar-looking asian.

"Hey Mai," Minho leans down to frown at her contorted face, "are you okay? You look like shit."

Despite herself, Mai forces a shaky smile onto her lips, "yeah, I'm fine. Just hungover."

"Ah, that would be Gally's doing," Minho grins as he falls into step beside her, "you can tell him off at Breakfast."

"Do I look like have a death wish, Minho?"

The latter lets out a bark of laughter, "yeah you're right. Not a wise idea."

Still, Mai has no choice but to feign that she's not that bad, trying her best not to curl over her stomach whenever a cramp would suddenly pulse through her abdomen. Her pelvis was aching and her spine felt so sensitive that every turn and motion had her wince in pain. Frypan took notice around mid-morning before asking her if she was alright, to which Mai reassured him that she was. But not wanting to have her in the kitchen and engulfed by flames for a second longer, the Cook then decides to send her out to the Builders to give them food instead.

"Are you sure Frypa--" he shoos her away with a wave of his hand, "I'll be fine, just go give them their lunch, would ya? These shanks are probably starving."

So Mai does as she's told even if every step makes her want to scream.

She'll need to change at some point in the day, but she's not quite sure how to do that without raising suspicion.

Reaching the Builder's area is like stepping through a different dimension. They're all big and huge and look like they could pack a punch, and Mai swears she feels all eyes on her the moment she steps around the half-built pieces of furniture. Quickening her pace, she finds the table where all plans and drawings are laid out before placing down the sandwich bag onto its surface.

Her brow is filled with sweat and she swears she might collapse, but then spots Gally and a few other Builders making their way towards her, and straightens up, "hey Gally," she says meekly, trying not to think of the embarrassment she'd made of herself last night because of his concoction.

"Greenie," he nods at her, eyes moving to the bag in question.

"Ah, Frypan told me to come give you guys lunch because you have a busy day today," she explains as she unwraps the bag. Handing out the sandwiches to each Builder that give her muttered thank you's, she leans down to get the last sandwich, her figure trembling with effort.

That doesn't go unnoticed by Gally, whose frown deepens tenfold, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she's quick to dispel his doubts as he takes the sandwich from her hands, quickly grabbing the empty basket and turning around to get away as soon as possible.

Her vision darkens and for a moment she sees stars.

Mai sways, stumbling against the side of a tree and causing all Gladers to react.

"Hey!" Gally's first to grab her, yanking her up and against him, "shuck. I'm bringing him to the Med-Jacks," she hears him say to the other Builders before she's suddenly scooped up into a pair of strong arms and brought to a chest so warm that she almost nuzzles into it. Gally's scent wraps around her like a blanket as he brings her to the Med-Jacks hut. He smells of pine and something like grass after it has rained, an earthy smell mixed in with the scent of boy that he carries around with him and if she closes her eyes, she's sure she can fall asleep to it, burrowed in its comfort.

She's not quite certain of her whereabouts until she hears Gally speak again, his voice rumbling through his chest and resonating through her, "Greenie collapsed a few minutes ago," he seems to be explaining her situation and a second later, Mai is deposited onto one of the beds before a hand is laid across her forehead.

"He's got a fever," another voice says, "we gotta strip him."

But when a sudden pair of hands clasp onto the edge of her shirt, Mai's eyes fly open in realization. She squeaks out a loud, "no!" causing all Gladers to fall back in surprise.

"Y--You can't--" Mai grips her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turn white, "no, no, please--"

Gally's the one that speaks up first, "You're burning up Greenie, we gotta take it off and let you cool down."

Still, she fights off any hands that come close to her, clasping both arms around her middle and curling up her legs in defense, "no," she gasps out, "you can't."

She spots the two Med-Jacks exchanging glances, but Gally is getting impatient, for he snaps out, "stop being a crybaby and let them do their job. We haven't got all day--"

"Please," her eyes land on his own and he curses at the way they're begging him, pleading. Mai's voice drops to a whisper, "please don't."

"Alright Greenie, no need to get antsy. We won't do anything," one of the Med-Jacks speaks gently, pressing a reassuring hand onto her shoulder so that she has no choice but to lie back down, "but we're gonna keep you in this room for a little while, 'cause we gotta monitor your condition. Sound good?"

Mai only nods in relief, and the Med-Jack responds with a smile, "good that, Greenie."

"Stupid, stubborn shank," Gally mutters under his breath. Mai's about to open her mouth to thank him, but he's already whirling around and walking out before she can even try to formulate a sentence. She sighs out in exasperation and closes her eyes. Gally is so complicated in all senses of the word, she just doesn't understand where his temperament comes from sometimes. What she's pretty certain of though, is that for one reason or another, he's mad at her. It's clear from the way he's stormed off and in any other situation Mai would've just brushed it aside without caring. But somehow, she can't.

Maybe it's the fact that despite all this aggressive exterior he's been the extra helping hand she needed throughout those few days, which makes Mai guilty of the fact that she hadn't been able to even thank him for being there when he's got loads of other stuff to do around the Glade. She makes a mental note to find him later.

In the end, Jeff and Clint -- the two Med-Jacks-- allow her to have a bit of a shut-eye until she feels better, attributing her symptoms to that of a common cold. By sundown, Mai has gathered enough energy to stumble out and towards the Homestead, just in time to bump into a sweaty Minho along the way.

"You still look like death," he comments, causing Mai to scowl. He extends a hand towards her, "need some help?"

"I'm--" Mai's brain stutters. No, actually. She's not fine, and so quickly replies with, "actually, yeah. Please."

And so this is how she finds herself being supported by the Runner as they make it back to the Homestead just in time for the Dinner bell. After forcing her down onto one of the seats so that she can at least regain some of her strength with Frypan's food, they are soon joined by Newt and the Track-Hoe Keeper Zart, who quickly usher her off to her hammock while stating that they'll take care of her utensils, all while brushing away her thanks.

Mai's heart can't help but swell with gratitude at how eager they all seem to be in helping her, and struggles back to her Hammock where she all but collapses into it. Her breathing is shaky and unsteady and she places a hand over her heart, feeling it vibrating right through her chest.

Maybe she just needs to sleep a little bit more. She knows she's gotta shower -- with her period, it's even more complicated -- but that'll have to wait. She resigns herself to sleep, rolling to the side before closing her eyes.

"Hey Greenie."

Her eyes fly open. She almost jumps up, spotting a disgruntled Gally standing beside her hammock, a towel slung around his neck and -- did she ever notice how handsome he is with just that mere towel?

She clears her throat, swallows thickly, "hey Gally."

He shuffles a bit in place, looking uncomfortable. Silence prevails and Mai blinks at him. It's not in his nature to be so quiet, "is there anything I can help you with?" she asks instead.

Finally, he grovels out, "I'm gonna shower."

"Oh," she blinks once more, "uh--okay."

"You need to shower."

"I--" flames of heat burst through her face, "yes, I do."

He sighs and frowns at her, "Are you coming or are you gonna ask one of these other shanks to stand guard for you like a shuckin' idiot?"

"Oh, right." Realization dawns on her, "you're right, uhm--" but the young man's already storming off at this point. Mai scrambles for her set of fresh clothes and a new cloth pad before dashing to him, almost tripping over her own feet as she does so, "wait, I'm coming!"

He didn't have to, but he did ask. And that's enough to make Mai grin at his broad back. Gally can act all tough and intimidating, but there's no way there's only just that. No, he's hiding behind this cold and menacing exterior for other reasons. But it's good enough to know that deep inside somewhere in the crevices of his heart, he cares in his own way.